Since the ultimate sources of social conflicts are to be found in the ignorance and selfishness of men, it is natural that the hope of establishing justice by increasing human intelligence and benevolence should be perennially renewed. Religious idealists have usually emphasised selfishness rather than ignorance as the root of social injustice, and have given themselves to the hope, that a purer religion would increase the benevolence and decrease the egoism of the human spirit. Rationalists inclined to believe that injustice could be overcome by increasing the intelligence of men. They held, either that men were selfish because they were too ignorant to understand the needs of others, or that they were selfish because the victims of their egoism were too ignorant to defend themselves against their exactions. Or they believed that the injustices of society were due to a perpetuation of ancient and hereditary abuses, which were sanctioned by irrational superstitions and would be abolished by reason.

The belief that the growth of human intelligence would automatically eliminate social injustice really dates from the eighteenth century and the Enlightenment. The Age of Reason saw social injustice and medieval traditions and superstitions so intimately related to each other, that it was natural to conclude that the elimination of the one would result in the abolition of the other. Condorcet, one of the most fervent apostles of the Age of Reason, expressed the faith of his generation, when he declared that universal education and the development of the printing press would inevitably result in an ideal society in which the sun would shine "on an earth of none but freemen, with no masters save reason; for tyrants and slaves, priests and their hypocritical tools will all have disappeared."

This faith of the Enlightenment is still the creed of the educators of our day and is shared more or less by philosophers, psychologists and social scientists. The sorry plight of our civilisation has qualified it only in the slightest degree. The traditions and superstitions, which seemed to the eighteenth century to be the very root of injustice, have been eliminated, without checking the constant growth of social injustice. Yet the men of learning persist in their hope that more intelligence will solve the social problem. They may view present realities quite realistically; but they cling to their hope that an adequate pedagogical technique will finally produce the "socialised man" and thus solve the problems of society.

Since there are always unrealised potentialities in human life, which remain undeveloped, if hope does not encourage their development, the optimism of the rationalists and educators is not without value. If their optimism should be too unqualified, it need not result in serious error, when they deal with the facts of individual life. Education can no doubt solve many problems of society, and can increase the capacity of men to envisage the needs of their fellows and to live in harmonious and equitable relations with them. In individual relations a great confidence in the undeveloped potentialities of the human spirit may be the means of developing them. We
"hope, till hope creates
From its own wreck the thing it contemplates."

An optimistic appraisal of human potentialities may therefore create its own verification. But individual limitations have a cumulative effect in human societies, and the moral attitudes, which tend to diminish them, are decreasingly adequate, when they are directed toward masses of men and not to individuals. Any error in the appraisal of the moral resources of individuals is accentuated when it is made the basis of political theory and practice. It is necessary therefore to deal circumspectly with the facts, if the confusion which always exists in the area of life where politics and ethics meet, is to be resolved.

Human beings are endowed by nature with both selfish and unselfish impulses. The individual is a nucleus of energy which is organically related from the very beginning with other energy, but which maintains, nevertheless, its own discreet existence. Every type of energy in nature seeks to preserve and perpetuate itself and to gain fulfillment within terms of its unique genius. The energy of human life does not differ in this from the whole world of nature. It differs only in the degree of reason which directs the energy. Man is the only creature which is fully self-conscious. His reason endows him with a capacity for self-transcendence. He sees himself in relation to his environment and in relation to other life. Reason enables him, within limits, to direct his energy so that it will flow in harmony, and not in conflict, with other life. Reason is not the sole basis of moral virtue in man. His social impulses are more deeply rooted than his rational life. Reason may extend and stabilise, but it does not create, the capacity to affirm other life than his own. Nature endows him with a sex impulse which seeks the perpetuity of his kind with the same degree of energy with which he seeks the preservation of his own life. So basic is this impulse that Freudian psychology is able to interpret the libido entirely in its terms. Even if we should adopt the more plausible theory of Adler, that the libido expresses itself chiefly in terms of the will-to-power, or that of Jung, which makes the libido an undifferentiated energy from which sexuality,( Cf. inter alia C. G Jung, Two Essays on Analytic Psychology, Chaps. 2 and 4.) the will-to-power and their various derivatives arise, it is obvious that man does not express himself in terms of pure self-assertion, even before conscious purpose begins to qualify egoistic impulse. His natural impulses prompt him not only to the perpetuation of life beyond himself but to some achievement of harmony with other life. Whatever the theory of instincts which we may adopt, whether we regard them as discreet and underived, or whether we think they are sharply defined only after they are socially conditioned, it is obvious that man not only shares a gregarious impulse with the lower creatures but that a specific impulse of pity bids him fly to aid of stricken members of his community. Rationalistic moralists, as for instance Stoics and Kantians, who derive man's moral capacities purely from his reason and consequently set the mind at war with the impulses, are therefore always driven to the absurdity of depreciating the moral quality of social impulses, which are undeniably good but obviously rooted in instinct and nature. Thus the Stoics abhorred pity and Kant scorned sympathy if it did not flow from a sense of duty.

Reason, in-as-far as it is able to survey the whole field of life, analyses the various forces in their relation to each other and, gauging their consequences in terms of the total welfare, it inevitably places the stamp of its approval upon those impulses which affirm life in its most inclusive terms. Practically every moral theory, whether utilitarian or intuitional, insists on the goodness of benevolence, justice, kindness and unselfishness. Even when economic self-seeking is approved, as in the political morality of Adam Smith, the criterion of judgment is the good of the whole. The utilitarians may insist that the goodness of altruism is established by its social utility, and they may distinguish themselves from more rigorous moralists by assigning social utility and moral worth to egoism as well. But, in spite of these differences, the function of reason for every moralist is to support those impulses which carry life beyond itself, and to extend the measure and degree of their sociality. It is fair, therefore, to assume that growing rationality is a guarantee of man's growing morality.

The measure of our rationality determines the degree of vividness with which we appreciate the needs of other life, the extent to which we become conscious of the real character of our own motives and impulses, the ability to harmonise conflicting impulses in our own life and in society, and the capacity to choose adequate means for approved ends. In each instance a development of reason may increase the moral capacity.

The intelligent man, who exploits available resources for knowledge of the needs and wants of his fellows, will be more inclined to adjust his conduct to their needs than those who are less intelligent. He will feel sympathy for misery, not only when it comes immediately into his field of vision, but when it is geographically remote. A famine in China, a disaster in Europe, a cry for help from the ends of the earth, will excite his sympathy and prompt remedial action. No man will ever be so intelligent as to see the needs of others as vividly as he recognises his own, or to be as quick in his aid to remote as to immediately revealed necessities. Nevertheless it is impossible for an astute social pedagogy to increase the range of human sympathy. Social agencies in large urban communities, where individual need is easily obscured in the mass, have evolved stereotyped methods of individualising need by the choice of significant and vivid single examples of general social conditions. Thus they keep social sympathy, which might perish amid the indirect relationships of a large city, alive. The failure of even the wisest type of social pedagogy to prompt benevolences as generous as those which a more intimate community naturally evolves, suggests that ethical attitudes are more dependent upon personal, intimate and organic contacts than social technicians are inclined to assume. The dependence of ethical attitudes upon personal contacts and direct relations contributes to the moral chaos of a civilisation, in which life is related to life mechanically and not organically, and in which mutual responsibilities increase and personal contacts decrease.

The ability to consider, or even to prefer, the interests of others to our own, is not dependent upon the capacity for sympathy. Harmonious social relations depend upon the sense of justice as much as, or even more than, upon the sentiment of benevolence. This sense of justice is a product of the mind and not of the heart. It is the result of reason's insistence upon consistency. One of Immanuel Kant's two moral axioms: "Act in conformity with that maxim and that maxim only which you can at the same time will to be universal " simply the application to problems of conduct of reason's desire for consistency. As truth is judged by its harmonious relation to a previously discovered system of truths, so the morality of an action is judged by the possibility of conforming it to a universal scheme of consistent moral actions. This means, in terms of conduct, that the satisfaction of an impulse can be called good only if it can be related in terms of inner consistency with a total harmony of impulses. Unreason may approve the satisfaction of an impulse in the self and disapprove the same impulse in another. But the reasonable man is bound to judge his actions, in some degree, in terms of the total necessities of a social situation. Thus reason tends to check selfish impulses and to grant the satisfaction of legitimate impulses in others.( For a careful analysis of this function of reason in morality, see L. T. Hobhouse, The Rational Good.)

It is a question whether reason is ever sufficiently powerful to achieve, or even to approximate, a complete harmony and consistency between what is demanded for the self and what is granted to the other; but it works to that end. Its first task is to harmonise the various impulses of the self and to bring order out of the chaos of impulses with which nature has endowed man. For nature has not established the same degree of order in the human as in the lower creature. In the animal, impulses are related to each other in a pre-established harmony. But instincts are not as fully formed in human life, and natural impulses may therefore be so enlarged and extended that the satisfaction of one impulse interferes with the satisfaction of another. "All mind," declares Santayana, "is naturally synthetic.... In the mindful person the passions have spontaneously acquired a responsibility toward each other; or if they still allow themselves to make merry separately -- for liveliness in the parts is a good without which the whole would be lifeless -- yet the whole possesses, or aspires to possess, a unity of direction in which all parts may conspire, even if unwittingly."(George Santayana, The Genteel Tradition at Bay, p. 61.) It is naturally easier to bring order into the individual life than to establish a synthesis between it and other life. The force of reason is frequently exhausted in the first task and never essays the second. Yet the rational man is bound to recognise the claims made by others and to see the necessity of arriving at some working harmony for the total body of human impulse. Reason ultimately makes for social as well as for internal order.

The force of reason makes for justice, not only by placing inner restraints upon the desires of the self in the interest of social harmony, but by judging the claims and assertions of individuals from the perspective of the intelligence of the total community. An irrational society accepts injustice because it does not analyse the pretensions made by the powerful and privileged groups of society. Even that portion of society which suffers most from injustice may hold the power, responsible for it, in reverence. A growing rationality in society destroys the uncritical acceptance of injustice. It may destroy the morale of dominant groups by making them more conscious of the hollowness of their pretensions, so that they will be unable to assert their interests and protect their special privileges with the same degree of self-deception. It may furthermore destroy their social prestige in the community by revealing the relation between their special privileges and the misery of the underprivileged.( Robert Briffault, in his Rational Evolution (pp. 209-10), makes a convincing analysis of this function of reason in the attainment of justice. His thesis is summed up in his words: "No resistance to power is possible while the sanctioning lies, which justify that power, are accepted as valid. While that first and chief line of defense is unbroken there can be no revolt. Before any injustice, any abuse or oppression can be resisted, the lie upon which it is founded must be unmasked, must be clearly recognized for what it is.") It may also make those who suffer from injustice more conscious of their rights in society and persuade them to assert their rights more energetically. The resulting social conflict makes for a political rather than a rational justice. But all justice in the less intimate human relations is political as well as rational, that is, it is established by the assertion of power against power as well as by the rational comprehension of, and arbitration between, conflicting rights. The justice which results from such a process may not belong in the category of morally created social values, if morality be defined purely from the perspective of the individual. From the viewpoint of society itself it does represent a moral achievement. It means that the total society, and each constituent group, judges social relations not according to custom and tradition, but according to a rational ideal of justice. The partial perspective of each group makes the achievement of social harmony without conflict impossible. But a rational ideal of justice, operates both in initiating, and in resolving, conflict.

The development of reason and the growth of mind makes for increasingly just relations not only by bringing all impulses in society into reference with, and under the control of, an inclusive social ideal, but also by increasing the penetration with which all factors in the social situation are analysed. The psychological sciences discover and analyse the intricate web of motivation, which lies at the base of all human actions. The social sciences trace the consequences of human behavior into the farthest reaches of social life. They are specialised and yet typical efforts of a growing human intelligence, to come into possession of all facts relevant to human conduct. If the psychological scientist aids men in analysing their true motives, and in separating their inevitable pretensions from the actual desires, which they are intended to hide, he may increase the purity of social morality. If the social scientist is able to point out that traditional and customary social policies do not have the results, intended or pretended by those who champion them, honest social intentions will find more adequate instruments for the attainment of their ends, and dishonest pretensions will be unmasked

Thus, for instance, a laissez faire economic theory is maintained in an industrial era through the ignorant belief that the general welfare is best served by placing the least possible political restraints upon economic activity. The history of the past hundred years is a refutation of the theory; but it is still maintained, or is dying a too lingering death, particularly in nations as politically incompetent as our own. Its survival is due to the ignorance of those who suffer injustice from the application of this theory to modern industrial life but fail to attribute their difficulties to the social anarchy and political irresponsibility which the theory sanctions. Their ignorance permits the beneficiaries of the present anarchic industrial system to make dishonest use of the waning prestige of laissez faire economics. The men of power in modern industry would not, of course, capitulate simply because the social philosophy by which they justify their policies had been discredited. When power is robbed of the shining armor of political, moral and philosophical theories, by which it defends itself, it will fight on without armor; but it will be more vulnerable, and the strength of its enemies is increased.

When economic power desires to be left alone it uses the philosophy of laissez faire to discourage political restraint upon economic freedom. When it wants to make use of the police power of the state to subdue rebellions and discontent in the ranks of its helots, it justifies the use of political coercion and the resulting suppression of liberties by insisting that peace is more precious than freedom and that its

The possibilities of increasing both the rational and the more uniquely moral resources of individuals is so real that it is not surprising that those who study the possibilities should frequently indulge the hope of solving the problems of society by this method. They easily fail to recognise the limits of morality in human life. The possibility of extending reason does not guarantee that it can be extended far enough to give a majority of individuals a comprehension of the total social situation in which they stand. The ability of reason to check impulse does not inevitably provide a sufficient check to prevent the conflict of impulses, particularly the conflict of collective impulses in society.

In analysing the limits of reason in morality it is important to begin by recognising that the force of egoistic impulse is much more powerful than any but the most astute psychological analysts and the most rigorous devotees of introspection realise. If it is defeated on a lower or more obvious level, it will express itself in more subtle forms. If it is defeated by social impulse it insinuates itself into the social impulse, so that a man's devotion to his community always means the expression of a transferred egoism as well as of altruism. Reason may check egoism in order to fit it harmoniously into a total body of social impulse. But the same force of reason is bound to justify the egoism of the individual as a legitimate element in the total body of vital capacities, which society seeks to harmonise. It is difficult to prevent such social justifications of self-assertion from being made prematurely and from destroying the check upon selfish impulse which reason has established from the inner perspective. Rationalism in morals may persuade men in one moment that their selfishness is a peril to society and in the next moment it may condone their egoism as a necessary and inevitable element in the total social harmony The egoistic impulses are so powerful and insistent that they will be quick to take advantage of any such justifications. The utilitarian movement of the nineteenth century had the laudable purpose of persuading men to achieve a decent harmony between selfish and social impulse by diverting egoistic impulse to the most inclusive possible social objectives. It was significant that it merely provided the rising middle class with a nice moral justification for following its own interests.

Reason may not only justify egoism prematurely but actually give it a force which it does not possess in nonrational nature. Human self-consciousness is the fruit of reason. Men become conscious of themselves as they see themselves in relation to other life and to their environment. This self-consciousness increases the urge to preserve and to extend life. In the animal the instincts of self-preservation do not extend beyond the necessities provided by nature. The animal kills when it is hungry and fights or runs when it is in danger. In man the impulses of self-preservation are transmuted very easily into desires for aggrandisement. There is a pathetic quality in human self-consciousness which accentuates this tendency. Self-consciousness means the recognition of finiteness within infinity. The mind recognises the ego as an insignificant point amidst the immensities of the world. In all vital self-consciousness there is a note of protest against this finiteness. It may express itself in religion by the desire to be absorbed in infinitude. On the secular level it expresses itself in man's effort to universalise himself and give his life a significance beyond himself. The root of imperialism is therefore in all self-consciousness.

Once the effort to gain significance beyond himself has succeeded, man fights for his social eminence and increased significance with the same fervor and with the same sense of justification, with which he fights for his life. The economy of nature has provided that means of defense may be quickly transmuted into means of aggression. There is therefore no possibility of drawing a sharp line between the will-to-live and the will-to-power. Even in the emotions, attitudes of defense and aggression are so compounded that fear may easily lead to courage, and the necessity of consolidating the triumph won by courage may justify new fears.

France, seeking to maintain her hegemony in Europe, speaks with monotonous reiteration of her need of security. She typifies the human spirit with its curious mixture of fear of extinction and love of power. Power, once attained, places the individual or the group in a position of perilous eminence so that security is possible only by the extension of power. Thus nature's harmless and justifiable strategies for preserving life, are transmuted in the human spirit into imperial purposes and policies. So inextricably are the two intertwined, that the one may always be used to justify the other in conscious and unconscious deception.

Perhaps the imperial supremacy of the white races in the contemporary world depends much more upon the higher degree of self-consciousness of the "Faustian" soul than upon their development of the techniques of war their skill in government and their development of economic power. Waldo Frank, explaining the victory of the Spaniards over the great civilisation of Peru, attributes it to the cult of the individual soul: "The Spaniard believed in his own person. The most real reality of his world was his individual soul and his individual body which, though it must die, would rise again in the last days.... Whatever his religion, all experience is referred to the will, all his life is ruled by it, all time is made for it.... To meet the Spaniard there were no persons in Peru. There was only the ayllu. And the will of the ayllu, though persistent was not aggressive.... The ayllu did not yearn beyond the condor's flight nor beneath the shallow root of the maize.... It was a will delimited by the apparent surface of nature.... The Indian could not grasp, could not believe what he beheld. The notion of mortal man sailing across a trackless sea dismayed him.... Still more inconceivable was the lust and will of these men. Their every deed of daring, bestiality and devotion (indissolubly mixed in the conquistador) had a dimension which the Indian mind could not reach."( Waldo Frank, America Hispana, pp. 54-57. ) This astute analysis of the difference between the white man and the Indian man of nature is broadly applicable to the difference between man and nature. The very forces which lift man above nature give natural impulses a new and a more awful potency in the human world. Man fights his battles with instruments in which mind has sharpened nature's claws; and his ferocities are more sustained than those of the natural world, where they are prompted only by the moods and the necessities of the moment. The beast of prey ceases from its conquests when its maw is crammed; but man's lusts are fed by his imagination, and he will not be satisfied until the universal objectives which the imagination envisages are attained. His protest against finiteness makes the universal character of his imperial dreams inevitable. In his sanest moments he sees his life fulfilled as an organic part of a harmonious whole. But he has few sane moments; for he is governed more by imagination than by reason and imagination is compounded of mind and impulse.

The rational forces, which seek to bring this energy, in which self-consciousness has focused the primal dynamic of all life in one particular point, seem weak indeed, when compared with the force arrayed against them. They are all the more inadequate for having no impartial perspective, from which to view, and no transcendent fulcrum, from which to affect human action, They always remain bound to the forces they are intended to discipline. The will-to-power uses reason, as kings use courtiers and chaplains to add grace to their enterprise. Even the most rational men are never quite rational when their own interests are at stake. "What man," said Helvetius, ". . . if with a scrupulous attention he searches all the recesses of his soul, will not perceive that his virtues and vices are wholly owing to different modifications of personal interest? . . . For after all interest is always obeyed; hence the injustice of all our judgments."( Helvetius, De L'Esprit, or Essays on the Mind, Essay II, Chap. 2.)

This insinuation of the interests of the self into even the most ideal enterprises and most universal objectives, envisaged in moments of highest rationality, makes hypocrisy an inevitable by-product of all virtuous endeavor. It is, in a sense, a tribute to the moral nature of man as well as a proof of his moral limitations; for it is significant that men cannot pursue their own ends with the greatest devotion, if they are unable to attribute universal values to their particular objectives. But men are no more able to eliminate self-interest from their nobler pursuits than they are able to express it fully without hiding it behind and compounding it with honest efforts at or dishonest pretensions of universality. Even a conscious attempt to eliminate dishonest and ambiguous motives is no perfect guarantee against hypocrisy; for there is no miracle by which men can achieve a rationality high enough to give them as vivid an understanding of general interests as of their own.

Jeremy Bentham, who gave himself to the hope that men could be weaned from their immediate desires, if only they could be brought to realise that a broad social interest was not in conflict but in ultimate harmony with a wise egoism, found to his disappointment that a prudent self-interest was an achievement almost as rare as unselfishness. When impulse presses toward immediate goals it cannot always be deterred, even though reason try to persuade it that its real ends may be attained in more ultimate and inclusive terms. Writing in 1822, after many of his reform movements had failed to claim the popular support he had anticipated, Bentham confessed: "Now for some years past all inconsistencies, all surprises have vanished.... A clue to the interior of the labyrinth has been found. It is the principle of self-preference. Man, from the very constitution of his nature, prefers his own happiness to that of all other sentient beings put together.''(Jeremy Bentham, Works, Vol. X, p. 80.) The judgment may be a little too pessimistic, expressing a reaction from too romantic hopes, but it is nearer the truth than the early hope of the utilitarians that reason could resolve the conflict between self-interest and social interest.

Even when the individual is prompted to give himself in devotion to a cause or community, the will-to-power remains. In the family for instance, it may express itself in part within the family circle and in part through the family. Devotion to the family does not exclude the possibility of an autocratic relationship toward it. The tyranny of the husband and father in the family has yielded only very slowly to the principle of mutuality. And it is significant that women have never been able to overcome the vestigial remnants of male autocracy in modern social life without using other than purely rational weapons against it. It was not until they could avail themselves of the weapon of economic power and independence that they were able to gain a complete victory. Nor could they remove various economic disabilities from which they suffered without first securing political power in the state. In the long agitation which preceded suffrage reform, the men significantly used the same arguments against their own women, which privileged groups have always used in opposition to the extension of privilege. They insisted that women were not capable of exercising the rights to which they aspired, just as dominant classes have always tried to withhold the opportunity for the exercise of rational functions from underprivileged classes and then accused them of lacking capacities, which can be developed only by exercise.

Even if perfect mutuality should be attained within the family circle, the family may still remain a means of self-aggrandisement. The solicitous father wants his wife and children to have all possible advantages. His greater solicitude for them than for others grows naturally out of the sympathy, which intimate relations prompt. But it is also a projection of his own ego. Families may, in fact, be used to advertise a husband's and father's success and prosperity. Both the ascetics and the collectivists, who have regarded the family with a critical eye, are not quite as perverse as they seem from the viewpoint of conventional morality. The ascetics regarded family loyalty as a distraction from perfect devotion to God and the modern communists are inclined to view it as a peril to community loyalty; and there is a measure of truth in their conceptions. The truth is that every immediate loyalty is a potential danger to higher and more inclusive loyalties, and an opportunity for the expression of a sublimated egoism.

The larger social groups above the family, communities, classes, races and nations all present men with the same twofold opportunity for self-denial and self-aggrandisement; and both possibilities are usually exploited, Patriotism is a high form of altruism, when compared with lesser and more parochial loyalties; but from an absolute perspective it is simply another form of selfishness. The larger the group the more certainly will it express itself selfishly in the total human community. It will be more powerful and therefore more able to defy any social restraints which might be devised. It will also be less subject to internal moral restraints. The larger the group the more difficult it is to achieve a common mind and purpose and the more inevitably will it be unified by momentary impulses and immediate and unreflective purposes. The increasing size of the group increases the difficulties of achieving a group self-consciousness, except as it comes in conflict with other groups and is unified by perils and passions of war. It is a rather pathetic aspect of human social life that conflict is a seemingly unavoidable prerequisite of group solidarity. Furthermore the greater the strength and the wider the dominion of a community, the more will it seem to represent universal values from the perspective of the individual. There is something to be said for Treitschke's logic, which made the nation the ultimate community of significant loyalty, on the ground that smaller units were too small to deserve and larger units too vague and ephemeral to be able to exact, man's supreme loyalty. Treitschke was wrong only in glorying in this moral difficulty.

Try as he will, man seems incapable of forming an international community, with power and prestige great enough to bring social restraint upon collective egoism. He has not even succeeded in disciplining anti-social group egoism within the nation. The very extension of human sympathies has therefore resulted in the creation of larger units of conflict without abolishing conflict. So civilization has become a device for delegating the vices of individuals to larger and larger communities. The device gives men the illusion that they are moral; but the illusion is not lasting. A technological civilisation has created an international community, so interdependent as to require, even if not powerful or astute enough to achieve, ultimate social harmony. While there are halting efforts to create an international mind and conscience, capable of coping with this social situation, modern man has progressed only a little beyond his fathers in extending his ethical attitudes beyond the group to which he is organic and which possesses symbols, vivid enough to excite his social sympathies. His group is larger than that of his fathers, but whatever moral gain may be ascribed to that development is partially lost by the greater heterogeneity and the diminished mutuality of this larger group. The modern nation is divided into classes and the classes exhibit a greater disproportion of power and privilege than in the primitive community. This social inequality leads not only to internal strife but to conflict between various national communities, by prompting the more privileged and powerful classes to seek advantages at the expense of other nations so that they may consolidate the privileges which they have won at the expense of their own nationals. Thus modern life is involved in both class and international conflict; and it may be that class privileges cannot be abolished or diminished until they have reduced the whole of modern society to international and intra-national chaos. The growing intelligence of mankind seems not to be growing rapidly enough to achieve mastery over the social problems, which the advances of technology create.