THE historian in whose honour this series of lectures was founded
once made a famous judgement. 'The statesman,' he wrote,
'always seems to me in a non-moral position, because he has to
consider what is possible as well as what is best, and the compro-
mise is necessarily pitiable.' ² No doubt this dictum is true in the
sense that the frailty of human nature makes all human beings
objects of pity. But it disregards the great advances made by man-
kind through the leadership of those who had a sense of reality.
All great institutions have been produced by reconciling high
principles with vested interests, amongst them the Christian
Churches. Some of the greatest political achievements have been
made possible by men as selfish as the Barons of Runnymede.
The attempt to construct a charter to meet the peculiar needs of
our own age is rooted both in national interests and moral pur-
poses. The statesmen who, by taking both into consideration, have
given the world another opportunity to obtain peace and welfare
by international co-operation do not need our pity whatever the
subsequent fate of the charter may be. I should have liked to pay a
tribute to some of them by conveying to you my own impressions
of them, recorded at the time. But what I have to say today is an
essay in contemporary history and it is obvious that there is much
that cannot yet be told. For what they are worth these impressions
must be left to a later period and perhaps for the use of others.
The charter was, however, made to a large extent under public
scrutiny. Many of its most intimate secrets have been revealed
by the skill of modern journalism or the technique of modern
diplomacy. New methods of public discussion have been used to

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