enturies. When force
becomes educated, force opposes itself. It limits and incloses itself.
It becomes intelligent and tempered by reserve and by tact. Brutal
force thus changes into moral force, power becomes justice.
The more a nation lends itself to such a change, the more it rises
from the material plane toward the spiritual plane. The more it
enshrines in its institution respect for humanity as a whole, the
greater and more civilized it becomes. Such a nation remains faithful
to its pledged word; neither interest nor even necessity moves it to
commit felony. It loves to protect and not to oppress those who are
weaker than itself. It has at heart the work of propagating throughout
the world certain principles of social life which certainly are
utopian, but are yet beautiful to have before the eyes and in the
heart, in order to live not only for the present, but also for the
future.
These admirable principles which may never be put wholly into
practice, but toward which we must try to grow always nearer, are the
expression of the deepest human generosity. They are the radical
negation of brutal and primitive force; they incline the world toward
a unanimous and serene peace. They have based on faith the infinite
perfectibility of conscience. Only a nation of a high degree of
civilization can conceive of relations so perfect between human beings
and cherish dreams so great.
Germany was never capable of this. The individual German is the least
subtle and the least susceptible to education of any in the world.
It has been my lot to take part in certain European capitals in a
number of reunions where English, French, Italians, and Germans came
together and conversed. They were all, I was assured, distinguished
people, of whom their respective nations might be proud. Now, the
German was rarely to be seen in an excellent attitude. He was at once
embarrassed and arrogant. He lacked refinement. His politeness was
clumsy. He was as though afraid of seeming not to know everything. The
most eccentric taste seemed to him the best taste. To him to be up to
date was to be up to the minute. He would have been wretched if any
one in his presence had claimed to be up to the second.
As soon as he had the chance to speak and got a hearing, he
inaugurated, as it were, a course of lectures. Clearness was not at
all necessary to him. One rarely understood precisely what he meant.
The fastidiousness and subtlety which led others
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