AN OLIGARCHY OF PROFITEERS.
To accomplish this we must work, act, take risks. And that is precisely the difficulty in the present state of French society. The obstacle is not of a material kind—we have all the capital and the talent necessary ; it is, rather, psychological and social.
A nation makes a figure in the world not only according to its latent qualities, its energy and the culture of its people, but according to the spirit which animates its leaders.
The extraordinary complexity of the economic founda tions and the extreme specialisation of modern society are such that only a very few men are capable of grasping the conditions of national life in their entirety. These men, in consequence, have great power and freedom from control. The sovereignty of peoples is everywhere nothing but a solemn fiction. The American Federation is no more a real democracy than the French Republic or the British Monarchy. A few closely-related groups of men—industrial ists, bankers, armament makers, politicians—alone direct the enormous machine of State, as the captain on board controls a ship. The path they choose depends upon the views they hold of their proper part and of their relation to the country they control. In this respect we notice a striking contrast between the British ruling class and the French bourgeoisie.
Ten years ago France and Great Britain were in exactly the same position as regards petroleum. Each had a few millions invested in distant enterprises ; neither had any control over an indispensable fuel. Suddenly it was noticed that a technical invention, the introduction of oil fuel into the furnaces of ships, was about to give the United States the power to make all other nations its tributaries. At once a few British business men, technical experts and diplomatists joined forces. They decided to wrest from America the mastery of this new force. They laid their plans in silence, and followed them for years with determina tion ; they sank millions of money, carried on intrigue in every corner of the world ; they fomented revolutions and accumulated on their own shoulders responsibilities, risks, expenses.
Why ? To gain money or honours ? No ! Sir Marcus Samuel and Lord Cowdray count their wealth in millions ; Lord Curzon is at the height of his diplomatic career ; Sir John Cadman still remains a university professor.
But in Britain, as in America, there is a tradition that a successful business man has obligations towards the society in which he has amassed his millions. He must
make a personal contribution to its greatness. He is no longer the simple passenger who is guaranteed a comfort able berth in the great ship. He must take his share of responsibility for the progress and the direction of the vessel. If he neglects this duty, he is looked upon by his equals as an inferior person, a man lacking in energy and principle ; he feels himself ostracised.
The Empire is an undertaking whose prosperity and development he wishes to ensure, even though he reaps no personal benefit therefrom. Beyond a certain degree of wealth money is for him not an end, but a means. He feels himself a part of everlasting Britain ; he sets himself a task which is almost beyond his strength. That is the basic principle of all greatness.
It is to this tradition that Britain owes her great leaders ; it is these leaders who have created her world-wide Empire and who, under our astonished eyes, have just made possible for her so prodigious a development.
Very probably the Lord Cowdrays and Lord Curzons are not animated by love of humanity, or even by love of country. These same leaders who hazard their repose or their fortunes for an impersonal dream of greatness are capable of allowing the men who drive their machines or navigate their ships to rot of tuberculosis or alcoholism in the slums of Liverpool and Glasgow. Their liberal convictions, if they have any, are satisfied by a show of words and pious speeches. Of the booty gained in their exploitations all over the world, they grant to their workmen no more than the latter can drag from them. To ensure success to their vast designs they are capable of fomenting revolutions in Mexico or sowing civil war in Asia ; to crush a competitor they are willing to set fire to Europe and the world. From this point of view their imperialism is a universal danger. But since it is neither cowardly nor purely egotistic, it does not lack a certain greatness. And though their efforts may cause widespread harm, they do, at least, tend to develop to the utmost an economic equip ment which may be turned one day to the profit of the masses of mankind, and which will then be a powerful instrument of well-being and of civilisation.