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sections of labor. Both these points

of view, which obviously help to determine the course of history, spring from the intertwining of primitive human emotion with particular facts. The way history is taught in most schools is a direct encouragement to nationalism; the way it is taught in communist Sunday-schools is a direct incitement to class-warfare.

An acute and practical-minded man like Mr. H. G. Wells sees this, and asks himself what is the remedy. His answer is that the remedy is to teach history in such a way that what one may loosely call the patriotic emotions are interwined not with one nation or one class, but with humanity at large; and his practical response is to write a "History of Civilization." Because of the importance of dominant ideas, the way in which the history of events is taught is one of the chief factors in determining the course of events in the future. Thus if the prolongation of life is limited by the nature of the brain, the idea of dominance helps the brain to make the best use of the span of life that is allotted.

The time has gone by when the intelligent public needs to be reminded of the practical utility of science, or of the fact that investigation of any problem, however apparently remote from every-day life, may be fraught with the most valuable consequences. But it should not be forgotten that there is another utility besides that of

creature comforts and improved machinery. Science is not only a useful drudge, inventing telephones and electric light or teaching us how best to breed cattle. Man demands a philosophy of life, a point of view under whose wings he may exist, and science gives him the knowledge from which he may build this philosophy and this point of view. In the few examples which have been discussed in this article we see how experiments on lower animals may modify our ideas on the span of life and on natural death, and hold out hopes of new powers to humanity; and how the idea of dominance, drawn in the first place from humble forms of life, is seen to be of general application, and to help to a clearer understanding of certain problems in the psychology of how to live, and of others concerned with the structure of society.

Man primitively tends to draw both his philosophy and his religion almost exclusively from within himself; but as the generations pass, he finds gradually that his wishes, his imaginations, his symbols, his ideals, do not correspond properly with the realities of the universe in which he lives or even with the realities of his own nature. To attempt to understand this universe, including the nature of man, is the task of science; and as she makes progress with this task, so will she become more and more an indispensable part of philosophy and religionimagination's touchstone, thought's background, action's base.

The Month in World Affairs


E stand to-day between two worlds, the pre-war world, which

W worlds, the pre-war world, which

is dying, and the world that is to be. Between two worlds. This must be remembered if our judgment of world affairs and world policies is to be sound. Too many persons still believe that the Great War abruptly finished off one age and automatically brought another into being. That, of course, is not true. We are moving rapidly out of one well marked epoch into another of a very different character, but we are yet by no means off with the old or on with the new. Society can no more arbitrarily break with its past than a man can jump out of his skin.

The Washington conference has dramatized the stress and strain of our transition period. Its convocation was the fruit of mingled fear and hope. During the last three years a great fear has been settling down upon the world. Bled, impoverished, debt-ridden, demoralized, the world has found no rest. True peace has not come; rather wars and rumors of war. Europe and the Near East remain a welter of jarring rivalries and hatreds, encumbered with ruins, yet bristling with bayonets, debt-ridden and unable to recover financial solvency, shattered in spirit and unable to regain spiritual poise. Some areas like Austria have already collapsed, while Russia seems sinking steadily into new difficulties.

Yet, as if this were not enough, at

the very moment when Europe and the Near East are thus harried by war's aftermath, about the far-flung shores of the Pacific there is an ominous mustering of vast new forces which, unless their mutual antagonisms can be harmonized on the basis of the principles asserted at Washington, may well make the Pacific the storm-center of the next war. And our most competent students of affairs insist that another world-war would mean the breakdown of civilization.


Such is the sinister specter which haunts men's minds. But with this great fear there rises a solemn hope. Of course we should not expect the Washington conference to usher in the millennium. From the very first our Government had in mind not a general discussion of the world's troubles, but rather a limited program of specific questions, carefully restricted and clearly defined. Furthermore, Mr. Hughes made clear that he did not regard the Washington conference as a unique event. On the contrary, he viewed it merely as one link in a chain-the first of a series of similar international gatherings. This way of looking at world affairs as an evolution rather than as a fixture is the best guaranty of true progress as a result of the Washington conference and of its projected successors. The great defect of previous diplomatic congresses

has been that they usually attempted to lay down hard-and-fast settlements so rigid that the only practicable way of altering them was by war or revolution. To-day we seem to be in a fair way of evolving a substitute for such cataclysmic methods by the evolutionary process of periodic reconsideration and readjustment.

The main aims of the Washington conference were simply the limitation of naval armaments and a sensible easement of the dangerous tension in the Far East. The first of these seems to be virtually certain of attainment.

The crux of the present naval-armament problem is the "capital ship," that is, the battle-ship and the battlecruiser. The capital ship has developed into a veritable Frankenstein. A single one of these steel monsters, with its appropriate quota of auxiliary craft, to-day costs more than a whole navy did a generation or so ago. The financial burden of competitive naval armaments has thus become intolerable, especially for treasuries half bankrupted by war. And the case against the capital ship is greatly strengthened by the further fact that its fighting value has been seriously questioned. Many naval experts today assert that the prodigious development of the submarine and the aëroplane has made, or is fast making, the capital ship so much obsolete junk. Of course many other naval experts still pin their faith on the capital ship, but the trend of technical opinion seems to be running the other way. For example, only last autumn the British Navy League stated flatly that the capital ship was obsolescent, and predicted its speedy abandonment, together with its auxiliaries; in other words, the greater part of existing

naval establishments. In fact, the Navy League went on to attack the whole classic theory of "sea-power" as laid down by Mahan and his compeers.

Instead of the old idea of seapower, the Navy League proposed the new idea of sea-service, and suggested that the navies of the future should consist mainly of light cruisers, impotent for aggression, but capable of protecting the ocean highways.

Now, when we see such revolutionary proposals put forward by an organization composed largely of naval specialists we begin to appreciate the strength of the practical as well as the idealistic forces behind the movement for the limitation of naval armaments, and the proposals made by Mr. Hughes, instead of seeming radical, appear rather conservative. So much so that some critics have called the Washington proposals of reduced naval armaments not so much a matter of reducing armaments as of stripping for action. for action. Indeed, not only does Mr. Hughes's "naval holiday" program seem to be assured, but it would not be a bit surprising to see the limitation of naval armament proceed still further within the next few years so far as capital ships are concerned.

§ 3

So much for the matter of naval armaments. The problem of the Far East is another story. Beside it, the question of naval armaments is simplicity itself. In fact, the Far East presents not a problem, but a whole kaleidoscope of problems, political, strategic, economic, social, racial, cultural, and more besides. All the great powers of the world are involved. America, the British Empire, Japan, and China are the chief protagonists

in the mighty drama, with France, Holland, and Portugal playing minor rôles, and Russia, the incalculable, lurking in the background.

The important thing to be borne in mind is that the Far East is undergoing a change of the most acute and farreaching character. Its ancient civilization, shot through and through with Western ideas and pressures, is literally dissolving before our eyes, and a new civilization, compounded of Eastern and Western elements, is rising.

This process of change has taken different courses in different regions. In Japan it has, on the whole, been evolutionary in character. Old forms have been preserved and in many instances subtly blended with the new. To be sure, even in Japan grave friction, especially political and social, has developed, and this friction will probably increase rather than diminish in the near future. Thus far, however, the thread of national life has run on unbroken.

It is far different with China. There the forces of change have been revolutionary. The old molds have been violently shattered, the political system, complicated by foreign intervention, has collapsed into chaos, and this political chaos threatens to spread into the social field as well. Lastly, north of China the vast region of Siberia has been leavened by the revolutionary ferment of its Russian motherland, and serves as a potential link between the Chinese and Muscovite areas of dissolution.

Throughout the Far East the late war wrought a political transformation. It eliminated Germany, broke imperial Russia, and left Japan master of China, that huge, but helpless, giant, floundering in the bog of revolution and

anarchy. Japan is unquestionably the "big winner" of the Great War. Master of China, practical master of eastern Siberia, gorged with war profits, with a vastly increased industrial plant and merchant marine, a splendid army of thirty-one divisions, and a navy almost the equal of our own, Japan entered the Washington conference the practical dictator of the Far East.

Yet Japan is ill at ease, for these gains are challenged from more than one quarter. To begin with, the other peoples of the Far East have by no means welcomed the predominance which Japan has attained. China, the pivot of Japanese foreign policy, the supremely cherished source of future Japanese prosperity, sullenly withholds her acquiescence and struggles doggedly against Japanese domination. Japan may bend supple mandarin officials to her imperious will, and the coolie millions may be too much engrossed in the grim struggle for existence to care much who are their masters; but the powerful Chinese merchant classes express their deep resentment by ruinous boycotts of Japanese goods, while China's Westerneducated intelligentsia, thrilling to Occidental ideas of nationality and patriotism, voice their hatred, and denounce Japan as the arch-enemy.

And China is not alone in her protests. All the other Japanese "spheres" are stirred by a kindred unrest. Korea, though formally annexed to Japan under the new title of "Chosen," seethes with disaffection. Japanese efforts at assimilation have utterly failed, and the Koreans, though physically helpless, are in acute spiritual revolt. In eastern Siberia likewise Japan's sway rests solely on the bayonets of her garrisons and on the

purchased support of mercenary adventurers like Semenoff and Kappell; the hearts of the Siberian people turn longingly to their Russian motherland for deliverance. Even Formosa, Japan's semi-tropical island possession acquired from China a generation ago, remains more or less refractory to Japanese rule.

Such is the seamy side of Japan's Far-Eastern mastery. Obviously, this mastery can be maintained and consolidated only by the most strenuous exertions of the Japanese peopleexertions involving crushing taxation for colossal armaments which is causing social unrest among the Japanese masses, already touched by Western ideas, and less docile than formerly to the military oligarchy that has hitherto guided Japan's political life.


Bearing the above facts in mind, we are able to appreciate the apprehension felt by Japanese for America, the power whom they regard as the chief challenger of Japan's Far-Eastern supremacy. It is the Far East, particularly China, and not immigration, which is the danger-point in JapaneseAmerican relations. The immigration question may raise hot resentment in Japan, while some Japanese jingoes may cast covetous eyes at Hawaii, Guam, and the Philippines; but neither the Japanese people nor the shrewd Japanese leaders would ever embark on the terrible adventure of an American war for those issues alone.

What the mass of articulate Japanese public opinion would apparently be willing to fight for is Japanese supremacy in the Far East, particularly in China. Let us not deceive ourselves. The Japanese people, or at

least the Japanese ruling classes, seem to regard their supremacy over the Far East as a vital issue, just as we regard our primacy in the western hemisphere as expressed in our Monroe Doctrine. In Japanese eyes, China must be controlled and economically exploited by Japan if Japan is to be prosperous and secure.

This foreshadows something very like an eventual deadlock between Japan and the United States if both countries maintain their present attitudes. Such a deadlock would, of course, be diplomatic in character. But it would be so envenomed by other irritants (immigration, armament programs, Hawaii, Siberia, and like issues) that it would be very apt to flame into war. Now, how can such a catastrophe be averted? By a thoroughgoing settlement of Far-Eastern problems? That is the suggestion which leaps to many sanguine minds. Unfortunately, such a suggestion is utopian. The Far-Eastern question cannot be settled at Washington or anywhere else. It is not merely that it is too complicated at the moment, but that it is changing too fast for any diplomatic gathering, however wise or well intentioned, to discover any permanent solution. What can be achieved, however, is a however, is a frank meeting of minds, an honest facing of facts, and an easing of existing tensions by compromise arrangements frankly recognized as temporary and modifiable by subsequent agreements. This may seem vague, unsatisfactory, disappointing; it may be even intensely repugnant to warm-hearted idealists dreaming of a thoroughgoing solution. Yet it is really the truest as well as the most practicable method. Better far an arrangement frankly provisional

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