The Economic Consequences of the Peace

INTRODUCTORY

The power to become habituated to his surroundings is a marked
characteristic of mankind. Very few of us realize with conviction the
intensely unusual, unstable, complicated, unreliable, temporary nature
of the economic organization by which Western Europe has lived for the
last half century. We assume some of the most peculiar and temporary of
our late advantages as natural, permanent, and to be depended on, and we
lay our plans accordingly. On this sandy and false foundation we scheme
for social improvement and dress our political platforms, pursue our
animosities and particular ambitions, and feel ourselves with enough
margin in hand to foster, not assuage, civil conflict in the European
family. Moved by insane delusion and reckless self-regard, the German
people overturned the foundations on which we all lived and built. But
the spokesmen of the French and British peoples have run the risk of
completing the ruin, which Germany began, by a Peace which, if it is
carried into effect, must impair yet further, when it might have
restored, the delicate, complicated organization, already shaken and
broken by war, through which alone the European peoples can employ
themselves and live.

In England the outward aspect of life does not yet teach us to feel or
realize in the least that an age is over. We are busy picking up the
threads of our life where we dropped them, with this difference only,
that many of us seem a good deal richer than we were before. Where we
spent millions before the war, we have now learnt that we can spend
hundreds of millions and apparently not suffer for it. Evidently we did
not exploit to the utmost the possibilities of our economic life. We
look, therefore, not only to a return to the comforts of 1914, but to an
immense broadening and intensification of them. All classes alike thus
build their plans, the rich to spend more and save less, the poor to
spend more and work less.

But perhaps it is only in England (and America) that it is possible to
be so unconscious. In continental Europe the earth heaves and no one but
is aware of the rumblings. There it is not just a matter of extravagance
or "labor troubles"; but of life and death, of starvation and existence,
and of the fearful convulsions of a dying civilization.

* * * * *

For one who spent in Paris the greater part of the six months which
succeeded the Armistice an occasional visit to London was a strange
experience. England still stands outside Europe. Europe's voiceless
tremors do not reach her. Europe is apart and England is not of her
flesh and body. But Europe is solid with herself. France, Germany,
Italy, Austria and Holland, Russia and Roumania and Poland, throb
together, and their structure and civilization are essentially one. They
flourished together, they have rocked together in a war, which we, in
spite of our enormous contributions and sacrifices (like though in a
less degree than America), economically stood outside, and they may fall
together. In this lies the destructive significance of the Peace of
Paris. If the European Civil War is to end with France and Italy abusing
their momentary victorious power to destroy Germany and Austria-Hungary
now prostrate, they invite their own destruction also, being so deeply
and inextricably intertwined with their victims by hidden psychic and
economic bonds. At any rate an Englishman who took part in the
Conference of Paris and was during those months a member of the Supreme
Economic Council of the Allied Powers, was bound to become, for him a
new experience, a European in his cares and outlook. There, at the nerve
center of the European system, his British preoccupations must largely
fall away and he must be haunted by other and more dreadful specters.
Paris was a nightmare, and every one there was morbid. A sense of
impending catastrophe overhung the frivolous scene; the futility and
smallness of man before the great events confronting him; the mingled
significance and unreality of the decisions; levity, blindness,
insolence, confused cries from without,--all the elements of ancient
tragedy were there. Seated indeed amid the theatrical trappings of the
French Saloons of State, one could wonder if the extraordinary visages
of Wilson and of Clemenceau, with their fixed hue and unchanging
characterization, were really faces at all and not the tragi-comic masks
of some strange drama or puppet-show.

The proceedings of Paris all had this air of extraordinary importance
and unimportance at the same time. The decisions seemed charged with
consequences to the future of human society; yet the air whispered that
the word was not flesh, that it was futile, insignificant, of no effect,
dissociated from events; and one felt most strongly the impression,
described by Tolstoy in War and Peace or by Hardy in The Dynasts, of
events marching on to their fated conclusion uninfluenced and unaffected
by the cerebrations of Statesmen in Council:

Spirit of the Years

Observe that all wide sight and self-command
Deserts these throngs now driven to demonry
By the Immanent Unrecking. Nought remains
But vindictiveness here amid the strong,
And there amid the weak an impotent rage.

Spirit of the Pities

Why prompts the Will so senseless-shaped a doing?

Spirit of the Years

I have told thee that It works unwittingly,
As one possessed not judging.

In Paris, where those connected with the Supreme Economic Council,
received almost hourly the reports of the misery, disorder, and decaying
organization of all Central and Eastern Europe, allied and enemy alike,
and learnt from the lips of the financial representatives of Germany and
Austria unanswerable evidence, of the terrible exhaustion of their
countries, an occasional visit to the hot, dry room in the President's
house, where the Four fulfilled their destinies in empty and arid
intrigue, only added to the sense of nightmare. Yet there in Paris the
problems of Europe were terrible and clamant, and an occasional return
to the vast unconcern of London a little disconcerting. For in London
these questions were very far away, and our own lesser problems alone
troubling. London believed that Paris was making a great confusion of
its business, but remained uninterested. In this spirit the British
people received the Treaty without reading it. But it is under the
influence of Paris, not London, that this book has been written by one
who, though an Englishman, feels himself a European also, and, because
of too vivid recent experience, cannot disinterest himself from the
further unfolding of the great historic drama of these days which will
destroy great institutions, but may also create a new world.