by putting a fortress around it’.
So, he asserted, the 2016 referendum was a vote ‘by people who believed in democracy’ and ‘voted to take back control’. And any attempt by those he derided as ‘cave-dwellers’ to keep Britain in the EU – in fact if not name – ‘would be Suez all over again. It would be the most almighty smash to the national psyche that could be imagined … an admission of abject failure … that we were not fit, that we were too craven, that we were too weak to be able to govern ourselves … Although countries across the Globe can govern themselves, poor little Blighty cannot.’ But if, on the other hand, Britain embraced Brexit wholeheartedly, there was ‘a world of opportunity ahead of us’ as we took ‘charge of our own destiny protected by our own laws’ and ‘setting our own direction’ in international affairs rather than ‘hiding behind the skirts of the German Chancellor’.
This, then, was Jacob Rees-Mogg’s take on contemporary history: the ‘brave British people’ asserting themselves against the establishment’s ‘managers of decline’, and scorning the nanny state across the Channel. His fixation with 1956 echoed Thatcher’s ‘Suez syndrome’. His drama of goodies versus baddies paralleled the tone, though not the content, of Labour’s 1945 manifesto. And the elevation of willpower was a feature of all these anti-declinist narratives of betrayal. But the spin on Brexit was all his own.
A remarkable rise
On the face of it, decline might seem a plausible description of Great Britain’s changing place in the world over the last century or so. In the 1870s, the country possessed more battleships than the rest of the world combined. It directly controlled about a fifth of the earth’s surface, including India, Canada and Australasia. It was the world’s largest economy, accounting for over 20 per cent of global manufacturing output and a similar proportion of global trade. The first industrial nation had become the greatest power the world had ever seen. A century later, however, Britain had lost nearly all its overseas territories; it accounted for a mere 4 per cent of world manufacturing and about 7 per cent of world trade. The first post-industrial nation was struggling to find its post-imperial role.
Membership of the EEC from 1973 was supposed to resolve that identity crisis – the loss of an outmoded global empire would be offset by a new European dynamic. But in the wake of the 2016 referendum, Brexiters claimed that ‘Europe’ had been a blind alley and that leaving the EU in 2019 was the way to reverse national decline and retrieve Britain’s global greatness.
Yet this preoccupation with Britain’s ‘decline’ can mislead. More historically remarkable is the coutry’s rise. That, indeed, had been Gibbon’s thesis in the case of Rome: ‘The rise of a city, which swelled into an empire, may deserve, as a singular prodigy, the reflection of a philosophic mind. But the decline of Rome was the natural and inevitable effect of immoderate greatness.’ Similarly, observed a more recent historian, François Crouzet, ‘it is a mistake to think that England’s original supremacy was normal and her decline abnormal.’[29] On the contrary, what really needs explanation is the original ‘supremacy’.
To put it simply, Great Britain stood in the forefront of the great surges of European expansion that shaped the world between 1700 and 1900: commerce and conquest in the eighteenth century, industry and empire in the nineteenth century. All these movements were intertwined with the lucrative Atlantic slave trade – half of all Africans carried into slavery during the eighteenth century were transported on British vessels – and the profits from that trade lubricated Britain’s commercial and industrial revolutions.[30] The country’s principal advantage was a relatively secure island base during what was still the era of seapower. Unlike rivals such as France and Prussia/Germany, who shared land borders with bellicose neighbours, Britain could shelter behind the English Channel – what Shakespeare called the country’s ‘moat defensive,’ its ‘water-walled bulwark’. Or, to quote Gladstone in 1870, ‘the wise dispensation of Providence has cut her off by that streak of silver sea … partly from the dangers, absolutely from the temptations, which attend the local neighbourhood of the Continental nations.’[31] Insularity did not guarantee immunity – in 1588, 1804 and 1940 the threat of invasion seemed acute – but it did mean that the British did not require a large standing army of the sort that became normal on the Continent. The Royal Navy, however, was popular and also necessary, not just for direct defence but also because, as an island, increasingly dependent on the import of food and raw materials, Britain needed to protect its seaborne commerce from peacetime privateers and wartime enemies.
Britain’s insular position left it ideally placed to capitalise on five great bouts of warfare against France. Whereas French leaders from Louis XIV to Napoleon Bonaparte had to fight their primary battles on land against continental foes, Britain was able to divert more of its resources into the struggle for trade and colonies. The Seven Years’ War of 1756–63 left the British in control of most of North America and although thirteen colonies won their independence during the next world war of 1776–83, Britain held on to what became Canada and the British West Indies. The Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars of 1793–1815 was a period of extended crisis, during which Britain endured long periods of economic isolation, but, in the end, the country won a total victory. French seapower had been destroyed and Britain was left as the world’s main colonial power, paramount in India but also increasingly entrenched in Australasia and parts of Africa. Its fleet, previously based mostly at home and in the Baltic and Mediterranean, was now spread around the globe. The Royal Navy’s ability to command the seas depended on holding what Admiral Sir John Fisher, First Sea Lord at the start of the Great War, called the ‘five strategic keys’ that ‘lock up the world’ – the great British bases at Dover, Gibraltar, Alexandria, the Cape of Good Hope and Singapore.[32]
Established at strategic points around the globe, able to project power through a strong navy and merchant fleet, Britain after 1815 also enjoyed the huge advantage of becoming the world’s first industrial nation. The country’s initial manufacturing surge had been driven by the cotton trade. All the raw material was imported and most of the production was for export. By 1830, cotton goods accounted for half the value of British exports and raw cotton made up 20 per cent of net imports. After the cotton boom subsided, iron and steel became the new growth sector, stimulated by the railway-building mania of the 1830s and 1840s, and then sustained by British dominance in the financing and construction of railways around the world. By 1860, a country with only 2 per cent of the world’s population was producing half the world’s iron and steel and accounted for 40 per cent of world trade in manufactured goods. It had the highest GDP in the world and its population, despite vast inequalities of wealth, enjoyed the highest average per capita income.[33]
During much of the Victorian era, therefore, Britain did seem truly great as the leading colonial empire, the world’s industrial giant and the dominant sea power. In the decades after 1815, the Royal Navy appeared to rule the waves, driving piracy from the Indian Ocean and the China Seas, confronting slave traders in the Caribbean and South Atlantic, and aggressively promoting Britain’s commercial interests – particularly in the Opium War of 1839–42 to open up China to British trade. Many foreign leaders had no doubt that British power was decisive. ‘Only England, mistress of the seas, can protect us against the united force of European reaction,’ exclaimed Simón BolÍvar, the liberator of South America, as he contemplated the danger of Spanish reconquest. Muhammad Ali, the Ottomans’ unruly viceroy of Egypt, remarked that ‘with the English for my friends I can do anything: without their friendship I can do nothing’.[34] The analogy between the Pax Britannica and the Pax Romana did not sound far-fetched. Like Rome, Britain seemed to rule or shape much of the world, and was what the poet Alfred Tennyson rhapsodised in 1886 as
… the mightiest Ocean-power on earth
Our own fair isle, the lord of every sea.[35]