the world seeing something which in fact does not exist, wrought more
potently on the mind of England than did reason and justice in the Home
Rule controversies of 1886 and 1893. What has occurred may recur. And
since we are to speak here with all the candour of private conversation
I confess that I cannot devise or imagine any specific against such a
recurrence except an exercise in humility of the kind suggested by Mr
Chesterton. My own argument in that direction is perhaps compromised by
the fact that I am an Irishman. Let us therefore fall back on other
testimony. Out of the cloud of witnesses let us choose two or three, and
in the first place M. Alfred Fouillée. M. Fouillée is a Platonist--the
last Platonist in Europe--and consequently an amiable man. He is
universally regarded as the leader of philosophy in France, a position
not in the least shaken by Bergson's brief authority. In a charming and
lucid study of the "Psychology of the Peoples of Europe" Fouillée has
many pages that might serve for an introduction to the Irish Question.
The point of interest in his analysis is this: he exhibits Irish history
as a tragedy of character, a tragedy which flows with sad, inevitable
logic from a certain weakness which he notes, not in the Irish, but in
the English character.

"'In the eyes of the English,' says Taine who had studied them so
minutely, 'there is but one reasonable civilisation, namely their
own. Every other way of living is that of inferior beings, every
other religion is extravagant.' So that, one might add, the
Englishman is doubly personal, first as an individual and again as
a member of the most highly individualised of nations. The moment
the national interest is involved all dissensions cease, there is
on the scene but one single man, one single Englishman, who shrinks
from no expedient that may advance his ends. Morality for him
reduces itself to one precept: Safeguard at any cost the interest