That she herself has always been dimly aware of the nature of her strength—though not perhaps of her potential weakness—is shown by her steady insistence upon the necessity of aggression, upon maintaining the attack at whatever cost of life. This is a principle she has steadily acted upon throughout the war. It is exemplified by the whole series of terrible lunges at her enemies she has made. The strategic significance of these has, perhaps, become less as the moral necessity for them has become greater. France, Flanders, Russia, and the Balkans have in turn had to supply the moral food of victory and attack without which she would soon have starved. There is a quality at which the imagination cannot but be appalled in this fate of a great and wonderful nation, however much her alienation of herself from the instincts of mankind may have frozen the natural currents of pity. Panting with the exhaustion of her frightful blow at Russia, she must yet turn with who knows what weariness to yet another enterprise, in which to find the moral necessities which the Russian campaign was already ceasing to supply. It is to a similar mechanism that we must look to trace the ultimate source of the submarine and aircraft campaigns against England. Strategically, these proceedings may or may not have been regarded hopefully; possibly they were based on a definite military plan, though they do not to us have that appearance. Very probably they were expected to disorganize English morale. Behind them both, however, whether consciously or not, was the moral necessity to do something against England. This is indicated by the circumstances and the periods of the war at which they were seriously taken up. As both the submarine and the Zeppelin campaigns involve no great expenditure or dissipation of power, the fact that their value is moral rather than military, and concerned {189} with the morale of their inventors rather than that of their victims, is chiefly of academic interest as throwing further light on the nature of Germany’s strength and weakness.
Its attitude towards discipline displays the German mind in a relation sufficiently instructive to merit some comment here. When Germany has been reproached with being contented to remain in what is, by comparison with other peoples, a condition of political infantilism, with allowing the personal liberty of her citizens to be restricted on all hands, and their political responsibility to be kept within the narrowest limits, the answer of the political theorists has generally contained two distinct and contradictory apologetic theses. It has been said that the German, recognizing the value of State organization, and that strict discipline is a necessary preliminary to it, consciously resigns the illusory privileges of the democrat in order to gain power, and submits to a kind of social contract which is unquestionably advantageous in the long run. The mere statement of such a proposition is enough to refute it, and we need give no further attention to an intellectualist fallacy so venerable and so completely inconsistent with experience. It is also said, however, that the German has a natural aptitude for discipline amounting to genius. In a sense a little less flattering than it is intended to have, this proposition is as true as that of the social contract is false. The aggressive social type lends itself naturally to discipline, and shows it in its grossest forms. The socialized type is, of course, capable of discipline, otherwise a State would be impossible, but the discipline that prevails in it is apt to become indirect, less harshly compulsory and more dependent on goodwill.
It is perhaps natural that units within which {190} ferocity and hardness are tolerated and encouraged should depend on a correspondingly savage method of enforcing their will. The flock of sheep has its shepherd, but the pack of hounds has its Whips. In human societies of the same type we should expect to find, therefore, a general acquiescence in the value of discipline, and a toleration of its enforcement, because, rather than in spite of, its being harsh. This seems to be the mechanism which underlies what is to the Englishman the mystery of German submission to direction and discipline. That an able-bodied soldier should submit to being lashed across the face by his officer for some trivial breach of etiquette—a type of incident common and well witnessed to—is evidence of a state of mind in both parties utterly incomprehensible to our feelings. The hypothesis I am suggesting would explain it by comparison with the only available similar phenomenon—the submission of a dog to a thrashing administered by his master. The dog illustrates very well that in a predaceous social animal the enforcement of a harsh and even brutal discipline is not only a possible but also a perfectly satisfactory procedure in the psychological sense. That other common victim of man’s brutality—the horse—provides an interesting complement to the proposition by showing that in a protectively social animal a savage enforcement of discipline is psychologically unsatisfactory. It seems justifiable, therefore, to conclude that the aggressive gregariousness of the Germans is the instinctive source of the marvellous discipline of their soldiers, and the contribution it makes to their amazing bravery. It must not be taken as any disrespect for that wonderful quality, but as a desire to penetrate as far as possible into its meaning, that compels one to point out that the theoretical considerations I have advanced are confirmed by the generally admitted dependence of {191} the German soldier on his officers and the at least respectably attested liability he shows to the indulgence of an inhuman savagery towards any one who is not his master by suggestion or by force of arms.
In the attempt I have made to get some insight into the German mind, and to define the meaning of its ideals, and needs, and impulses in biological terms, I have had to contend with the constant bias one has naturally been influenced by in discussing a people not only intensely hostile, but also animated by what I have tried to show is an alien type of the social habit. Nevertheless, there seem to be certain broad conclusions which may be usefully recalled in summary here as constituting reasonable probabilities. My purpose will have been effected if these are sufficiently consistent to afford a point of view slightly different from the customary one, and yielding some practical insight into the facts.
Germany presents to the biological psychologist the remarkable paradox of being in the first place a State consciously directed towards a definite series of ideals and ambitions, and deliberately organized to obtain them, and in the second place a State in which prevails a primitive type of the gregarious instinct—the aggressive—a type which shows the closest resemblance in its needs, its ideals, and its reactions to the society of the wolf pack. Thus she displays, in one respect, what I have shown to be the summit of gregarious evolution, and in another its very antithesis—a type of society which has always been transient, and has failed to satisfy the needs of modern civilized man.
When I compare German society with the wolf pack, and the feelings, desires, and impulses of the individual German with those of the wolf or dog, I am not intending to use a vague analogy, but {192} to call attention to a real and gross identity. The aggressive social animal has a complete and consistent series of psychical reactions, which will necessarily be traceable in his feelings and his behaviour, whether he is a biped or a quadruped, a man or an insect. The psychical necessity that makes the wolf brave in a massed attack is the same as that which makes the German brave in a massed attack; the psychical necessity which makes the dog submit to the whip of his master and profit by it makes the German soldier submit to the lash of his officer and profit by it. The instinctive process which makes the dog among his fellows irritable, suspicious, ceremonious, sensitive about his honour, and immediately ready to fight for it is identical in the German and produces identical effects.
The number and minuteness of the coincidences of behaviour between the German and other aggressive social species, the number and precision of the differences between the German and the other types of social animals make up together a body of evidence which is difficult to ignore.
Moreover, we see Germany compelled to submit to disadvantages, consequent upon her social type, which, we may suppose, she would have avoided had they not been too deeply ingrained for even her thoroughness to remove. Thus she is unable to make or keep friends amongst nations of the socialized type; her instinctive valuation of fear as a compelling influence has allowed her to indulge the threatenings and warlike gestures which have alienated all the strong nations, and intimidated successfully only the weak—England, for example, is an enemy entirely of her own making; she has been forced to conduct the war on a plan of ceaseless and frightfully costly aggression, because her morale could have survived no other method. {193}
The ultimate object of science is foresight. It may fairly be asked, therefore, supposing these speculations to have any scientific justification, what light do they throw on the future? It would be foolish to suppose that speculations so general can yield, in forecasting the future, a precision which they do not pretend to possess. Keeping, however, to the level of very general inference, two observations may be hazarded.
First, the ultimate destiny of Germany cannot be regarded as very much in doubt. If we are content to look beyond this war, however it may issue, and take in a longer stretch of time, we can say with quite a reasonable degree of assurance that Germanic power, of the type we know and fear to-day, is impermanent. Germany has left the path of natural evolution, or rather, perhaps, has never found it. Unless, therefore, her civilization undergoes a radical change, and comes to be founded on a different series of instinctive impulses, it will disappear from the earth. All the advantages she has derived from conscious direction and organization will not avail to change her fate, because conscious direction is potent only when it works hand in hand with Nature, and its first task—which the directors of Germany have neglected—is to find out the path which man must follow.