| | | We all know ~~ or, if we do not know, it is not for want of | dipping into the future at least as far as the human eye can | see ~~ that the Parliament of Man and the Federation of | the World are approaching at a visible rate of progress. | The war-drum is not going to throb much longer, and in a | few years, or generations, we shall all sit down under our | own vines and our own figtrees at peace with mankind in | general. It must, however, be admitted that the progress is | of the oscillatory kind. We grow more peaceful as we grow | richer, and the increase of wealth is one strong inducement | to the diminution of warlike propensities; but every year | sees a bad harvest of some particular crop, and a | depressed state of some particular industry. In the same | way, the gradual development of peaceful tendencies is | interrupted by incidental spurts and flashes of the military | spirit. They may be growing weaker, as the subterranean | fires of Vesuvius may be gradually becoming extinct; but | that fact does not hinder the periodic occurrence of very | respectable volcanic eruptions. Thus, one main | circumstance upon which the prophets of peace rely is the | progressive interlacing of commercial interests throughout | the world. The inconveniences of a war between France | and England, for example, increase in a still greater ratio | than the wealth of the two nations. For not only a greater | amount of wealth, but a greater proportion of the total | wealth of each country, depends upon the well-being of the | other, and upon the mutual goodwill of the two. We can hit | harder than formerly, and we are so much closer to each | other that every blow must tell with greater effect. It is thus | undeniable that we have stronger reasons for remaining at | peace every year than we had the year before. When each | country was, as Scotchmen say of a house, self-contained | comparatively few interests would be damaged by a war; | but when they come to bear a relation more like two flats in | the same building, it is of more importance that such close | neighbours should be on good terms. Yet it is obvious that | this operation is accompanied with a certain increase of | danger. If two substances are brought more closely | together, and each preserves the same combustible | properties, there is a greater chance of an explosion. If | France has, in regard to England, some of the power which | lucifer matches exercise over gunpowder, it is very | desirable that we should go through a process like that | invented by Mr. Gale, before coming into closer contact. | The bull must learn to overcome some of his pardon able | prejudices against crockery before the door of the china-shop | is set freely open to him. In short, it is necessary that | some of our patriotic sensibilities should be a little dulled, in | order that we may realize the full advantage which | philanthropists anticipate from a more frequent intercourse. | The danger is probably not very great, because there are | one or two obvious lessons which can scarcely fail to | impress themselves upon both nations as they are brought | nearer to each other. | Thus, for example, it is scarcely possible that we should | see more of another people without learning by degrees | how very little value should be attached to the judgments | which it passes upon us. Certain elementary lessons, | indeed, may be said to have been already learnt. It is | coming to be pretty generally known that Frenchmen eat | something besides frogs, and that Englishmen don’t | always sell their wives at Smithfield. The phase of opinion | represented by the popular cry,

“Down with Jews and | wooden shoes,”

may be said to be a thing of the past. | We have thus gained an elevation from which we are | entitled not so much to criticize as to appreciate the | extreme worthlessness of almost all international criticism. | It would be interesting, if it were possible, to obtain | statistics of the number of Frenchmen or Englishmen | whose opinions upon foreign affairs are really worth the | trouble of printing and publishing. We frequently remark, | although we seldom remember, that a man can hardly be | qualified to speak of a foreign people without studies of | which few men are capable, and for which still fewer can | give time and thought. The notions of nearly every man | about other countries than his own belong to that class | which lies upon the very surface of his mind. The name of | France or England has merely served as a framework for a | few incidental ideas drifting together at leisure moments. | An Englishman’s mental picture of France is to his picture | of his own country as a rough pencil outline to an elaborate | photograph. Even the most skilful of professed foreign | observers inevitably drift into blunders which every native | can correct from unconsciously acquired knowledge. Every | now and then we are reminded of this fact. When we are | told, as we have lately been told in foreign papers, that the | seizure of the Irish People proves that we have | no liberty of the press in England, or that an election riot | proves that our lives are in the hands of a brutal mob, we | merely shrug our shoulders. The statement only proves | that by the writer the word England was used as a mere | counter, and that it called up none of the associations with | which we are familiar. The judgment of the few observers | whose opinions are of real value has certainly not as yet | leavened the great mass of writing, which must necessarily | continue for a ling time to bear marks of an ignorance | which should deprive it, not only of all value, but of all | power of irritation. A critic who in all sincerity confounded | Tom Thumb with Chang the Chinese giant might criticize | either without giving offence. And until it has ceased to be | a necessity for the ordinary writer to discourse about | foreign affairs, or until the ordinary writer has become far | better educated than he is at present, such criticism must | continue to be common. From which it follows that we | should be silly to allow critics to annoy us. | The degree of value to be attached to such remarks will | become more obvious as we learn another truth, which is | gradually gaining recognition, and to which this class of | critic almost invariably runs counter ~~ namely, that, with | certain obvious exceptions, one nation is apt to be pretty | nearly as good as another. We do not, of course, here | include Englishmen, who, thanks to the blessings of a | well-balanced constitution, a sound form of religious | worship, and other advantages for which they sometimes give | thanks, are indisputably the leaders of European | civilization. Nor, on the other hand, do we take into account | that part of mankind which a discerning public summarily | puts down under the head of

“niggers.”

But it is | very difficult to place in what is called the order of merit the | races who are at the present moment foremost in the files | of time. None of them need be in want of a stone to throw | at its neighbour, nor of a feather to place in its own cap. | One may have more liberty, and the working-classes of | another may be better off, and a third may be making | greater commercial progress; but no race is able to plume | itself upon its virtues without setting off some | counterbalancing defects, nor, consequently, to assume | the attitude of general superiority most offensive to other | people’s vanity. There has been a sufficient interchange of | compliment to make the game pretty well understood; we | know by this time the correct way of parrying every thrust | that can be made, and what is the proper thrust to be made | in return. It is thus becoming daily more difficult for | naturally intelligent people to indulge in that reckless | species of wholesale ignorance that dictated it, fin is it hard | to be altogether indifferent. Men may not know much about | a foreign country, but they know vaguely that some things | are managed there better than at home. | Other causes will doubtless contribute to the effect | produced by these lessons. In one way or another, the | cuticle of different nations becomes gradually hardened. | The United States have generally represented the | maximum of sensitiveness; it is not difficult to wee why | they should have been unreasonably touchy, and why it | may be hoped that even they will become less | unreasonable in future. The Americans have developed a | national character very different, in many respects, from | that of any of the mother-races; but they have, | notwithstanding, remained intellectually an English colony. | They have been as much dependent upon us for literature, | as we were dependent upon them for cotton. A colony, | according to some politicians, is a nation which draws | incessantly upon the resources of another nation, and | gives nothing in return. However this may be in a political | sense, it is undoubtedly a true description of the literary | relations between England and America. Consequently, | English public opinion has had extraordinary facilities for | making itself known to Americans. Mr. Dicken’s criticisms, | for example, were addressed to as large an audience in | America as in England; if they had concerned France or | Germany, their existence would have been unknown to | nine-tenths of the reading population, and they would have | been left unread by ninety-nine hundredths of it. In America | there are probably more readers than in England, and their | reading, when it gets beyond newspapers and magazines, | is chiefly of English books. We have thus been connected | in one respect as closely as the Siamese twins, whilst | rapidly diverging in most others; or, as the relation has not | been reciprocal, we should rather say that the Americans | have continued to be our scholars (without paying school | fees) in literature, whilst precociously shifting for | themselves in all other departments of life. Now nothing | can be more likely to cause irritability than this curiously | one-sided relation. The Americans are condemned, by the | nature of the case, to have criticisms constantly brought | before them from a people whose competency they do not | acknowledge, but of whom they are inevitably the | intellectual dependents. When we complain of their undue | sensitiveness, it is only fair to remember this exceptional | state of things, which seems as if ingeniously contrived to | put one nation at the mercy of the other’s taunts; it can | neither shut its ears nor make an effectual reply, and | naturally loses temper. But it is also plain that it is a state of | things which must tend gradually to die out. As the United | States develop themselves, they can hardly fail to become | more independent in thought as well as in material things. | The struggle through which they are passing gives them at | any rate something to think about. It must be a healthy | mental stimulant; and we can scarcely suppose that they | are destined to stretch like an overgrown boy, in simple | bulk, without a corresponding intellectual growth. Now an | intellectual Declaration of Independence would do more | than anything else to remove the causes of their | over-sensitiveness. | We are generally in the habit of considering ourselves as | exemplifying the opposite type of the most complete | insensibility to foreign sarcasms. We take a certain | perverted pleasure in watching a poor foolish foreigner’s | attempts to sting the British lion. But before we admit our | self-congratulation to be well-founded, we should ask how | much of our indifference is owing to crass undiluted | ignorance. it is all very well to say that we do not care for | foreign criticisms, but how many of us read them? The | Allgemeine Zeitung or the Kolnische Zeitung | might declaim for years against British insolence | without an echo of its eloquence penetrating our outside | shell. Some notice of it would creep into the writings of | those foreign correspondents whose letters are scarcely | read by the multitude, and a stray tourist or two might | amuse himself with the audacious assailant; but such a | journal might as well hope to reach the tender places of the | Timbuctoo, as of the English, public. French newspapers | have rather a better chance, but the true Briton does not | believe that those meagre sheets can contain anything | worth reading, and, as a rule, he is content with mere | samples of their eloquence in the columns of his own | papers. This ignorance may perhaps diminish in time; but, | indeed, whilst it lasts it is an insufficient safe-guard, and we | may hope to obtain a more effective substitute. Every now | and then we become aware by some accident that other | countries are speaking too freely of us, and we flame up | into outbursts of unreasonable wrath. As our ignorance | tends to become somewhat less dense, we may hope to | become more philosophical. The good old English creed | that a foreigner is necessarily a silly and somewhat | offensive animal may, without dying out, undergo a healthy | transformation. We may become convinced that he is an | estimable character in his own sphere, but we may hold | with increased firmness that his criticisms are not worth a | loss of temper; they should be considered, not as | deliberate judgments, but as hints at conspicuously weak | places. Formerly we thought him a malicious libeller, to be | pursued with the utmost rigour of the law. Now we may | know him to be merely an ill-informed critic, who, however, | is acute enough to hit an occasional blot. And we may thus | become less sensitive with less affectation of superhuman | infallibility. |