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lowed by a reaction of internal feuds and other forces of disruption.

In these immediate causes and results of revolution, the state of China has therefore much in common with that of Turkey. But these things, as I have said, are on the surface; beneath them, less obvious to the passer-by, but more vitally important, there exist fundamental differences in the structural and political character of the two races (as well as in their environment) which, in determining their respective destinies, must eventually outweigh the temporary and semi-accidental ascendency of any particular class of politicians. The instincts and traditions of Asiatic races cannot be suddenly changed by the drafting of a Constitution; in the long run, every nation gets the government it deserves, all political quidnuncs to the contrary notwithstanding.

Amongst the important differences between the Turkish nation and the Chinese, the most conspicuous lies in the fact that whereas the Chinese are a homogeneous people, bound together by community of traditions, laws, and literature, the Turks of the Ottoman Empire are practically an army of occupation, environed by subject races, more or less hostile. The spirit which moves Young Turkey is a spirit of militant Ottomanism; the spirit which moves Young China, pace the firebrands of Canton, is a doctrinaire spirit of political speculation. The dream of the Young Turk is to restore the military power and prestige of the Empire, undermined by the pernicious rule of Abdul Hamid; to recover Bosnia and Bulgaria and Crete. The ideal professed by Young China is rather that of the Hague Conference and Count Tolstoi, an ideal of peace founded on reason, together with universal recognition of the intellectual and moral superiority of the Chinese race. The Young Turk hopes in time

to abolish the Capitulations and to obtain tariff autonomy, for the greater glory of Islam and the defenders of the Faith; Young China cherishes similar hopes, but chiefly in view of the lucrative opportunities thereupon depending. The Turkish Revolution was accomplished by the army, loyally fulfilling the purpose of the nation; the Chinese Revolution was the work of students, journalists, and mandarins, effected almost without fighting; and the army of the Republic now constitutes its chief danger.

Another fundamental difference between the races, far-reaching in its political results, lies in the deep-rooted religious faith of the Turkish people, and the agnostic indifference of the Chinese. The Mahomedan faith gives something more than dignity to the true believers; the Koran and the Sacred Law are the inspiration of the nation's unity: the Sword and the Banner of the Prophet are the strong bulwarks of its defences. For the Chinese, hereditary agnostics and passive resisters by instinct, such a thing as a Holy War is inconceivable the folly of outer barbarians. But it is because of their religious faith that the Turks have clung to the things which still hold the Empire together; to the Heir of Osman on his sacred Throne, to the observances and feasts of the Law, to reverence of elders, and to discipline. All these things, together with the ethical restraints of Confucianism, Young China would cast by the board, letting the ship of State drift rudderless on perilous seas, hoping somehow and some day to reach the Utopian Lotusland of its imagination. Moreover, because in Turkey experience and wisdom count for more than enthusiasm, and because the final control of Government rests with the Elder Statesmen, it is possible for the Porte, without loss of prestige, to avail itself of the services of foreign advisers for the

adjustment of its finances, for the supervision of its revenues, and even for the restoration of order in its discontented provinces, giving to these advisers a free hand within reasonable limits of authority and deriving from their services no small profit, as in the case of the Customs. In China, the classes at present dominant are SO deeply imbued with the self-sufficiency and the valor of ignorance, that the employment of Europeans in any position of authority is regarded as quite unnecessary waste of money and loss of "face." That the Powers should even suggest supervision over the expenditure of borrowed capital is construed as a direct violation of the Republic's "sovereign rights," besides being a clear loss of the individual op portunities of patriots.

In discussing political and economic questions with the Progressives of China and Turkey alike, one finds at every turn deep traces of the influence exercised on their minds by the philosophers and essayists of the French Revolution, and by the later political economists of England. The works of John Stuart Mill, in particular, are well known to Eastern students (though more especially in India and China), the directness and lucidity of his inductive logic and the benevolence of his philosophy appealing powerfully to the Oriental mind. But the Chinese student, like other men, is apt to find in the works of the wise men of the West, those things which his own preconceived ideas impel him to seek-the things which justify his own conclusions. Therefore, we find the influence of Mill directed chiefly into channels where, meeting with that of Rousseau and Voltaire, it flows towards the uncharted storm-tossed seas of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity; whilst those things which would seem to have been specially written for the learning of Young China, are rarely quoted by its

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for instance, the question of the abolition of the Monarchy, settled (for the time being) by a handful of Cantonese students, upon democratic principles derived from American text-books; or the correlated question of the fitness of the Chinese race for representative government. Many passages might be cited from Mill's essay on the latter subject, which should give pause to the enthusiasts who believe that a new era has dawned for China with the proclamation of the Republic. The following quotations will serve, taken from the chapter headed "Under what social conditions representative Government is inapplicable":

The same passages of history forcibly illustrate another mode in which unlimited monarchy overcomes obstacles to the progress of civilization which representative government would have had a decided tendency to aggravate. One of the strongest hindrances to improvement, up to a rather advanced stage, is an inveterate spirit of locality. Portions of mankind, in many respects capable of, and prepared for, freedom, may be unqualified for amalgamating into even the smallest nation. Not only may jealousies and antipathies repel them from one another, and bar all possibility of voluntary union, but they may not yet have acquired any of the feelings or habits which would make the union real, supposing it to be nominally accomplished. They may, like the citizens of an ancient community, or those of an Asiatic village, have had considerable practice in exercising their faculties on village or town interests, and have even realized a tolerably effective popular government on that restricted scale, and may yet have but slender sympathies with anything beyond, and no habit or capacity of dealing with interests common to many such communities.

The third cause of failure in a representative government is, when the people want either the will or the capacity to fulfil the part which belongs to them in a representative constitution. When

nobody, or only some small fraction, feels the degree of interest in the gen. eral affairs of the State necessary to the formation of a public opinion, the electors will seldom make any use of the right of suffrage but to serve their private interest, or the interest of their locality, or of some one with whom they are connected as adherents or dependents. The class who, in this state of public feeling, gain the command of the representative body, for the most part use it solely as a means of seeking their fortune. If the executive is weak, the country is distracted by mere struggles for place; if strong, it makes itself despotic, at the cheap price of appeasing the representatives, or such of them as are capable of giving trouble, by a share of the spoil; and the only fruit produced by national representation is, that in addition to those who really govern, there is an assembly quartered on the public, and no abuse in which a portion of the assembly are interested is at all likely to be removed.

And

A people are no less unfitted for representative government by extreme passiveness and ready submission to tyranny. If a people thus prostrated by character and circumstances could obtain representative institutions, they would inevitably choose their tyrants as their representatives, and the yoke would be made heavier on them by the The National Review.

contrivance which prima facie might be expected to lighten it.

To sum up. The Turkish Revolution was a movement effectively organized against the real tyranny of a corrupt and vindictive ruler by the leaders of a highly centralized military Power; its objects were, not to destroy the social structure of the dominant race, but to solidify its power and to conciliate or divide the non-Turkish elements in the State. To this extent, it was a Revolution justified by necessity and, to some extent, by its results. The Chinese Revolution has grown out of the accidental success of an insignificant local rebellion, precipitated by the moral and physical helplessness of rulers who had lost all capacity for ruling. Destitute of all constructive genius, without authoritative leaders or permanent elements of cohesion, the Chinese Republic has been suddenly conferred upon a people that neither wants nor understands representative government. Under such conditions, it would seem as if only a miracle, in the shape of a strong leader endowed with extraordinary political wisdom-a Chinese Charlemagne or Peter the Great-can save the nation from complete disorganization and disruption.

J. O. P. Bland.

THE TECHNIQUE OF CONTROVERSY.

The critical treatment of the Art of Controversy simply as an art has been curiously neglected. I suppose the reason is that it is the very aim of the controversialist to distract attention from his art and concentrate it on his object. The silly phrase "Art for Art's sake" (which is either the tamest of truisms or an extravagant absurdity) can hardly be applied by the most audacious to the art of controversy in the sense that some have attempted to

Contro

apply it to the plastic arts. versy is not conducted for controversy's sake; it is conducted for truth's sake, or at least victory's sake. Even those who think that Raphael painted his Madonnas "for Art's sake" and not for the Mother of God's sake, even those who will maintain that Velasquez in painting Phillip II-or for that matter Whistler himself in painting Carlyle-cared nothing for the personalities of their subjects, and re

garded them only as arrangements, will hardly go so far as to say that Swift did not care whether "Wood's Halfpence" were withdrawn or that Strafford did not care whether his head was cut off. Yet who will deny the title of the Drapier Letters or of Strafford's speech on his impeachment to be considered masterpieces of art?

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Yet controversy, like any other art, can be considered from the purely artistic standpoint and its technical quality analyzed without reference to the rightness or wrongness of its aim. This is the obvious truism on which the æsthetic sophistry was reared. good shot is a good shot, and if you are a technical judge of shooting you will judge impartially of the technical excellence of a shot whether it is fired by a patriot at his country's enemies or by a murderer at his wealthy uncle. It is hardly necessary to add that this does not mean-as the protagonists of the Unmorality of Art seem to suppose -that it does not matter whether you shoot your country's enemies or your wealthy uncle.

The object of controversy is, of course, to impress a certain conviction upon the minds of your readers or hearers. Yet all writing that seeks this end is not necessarily controversy. Many great didactic writers were indifferent to the art of controversy, or when they attempted it failed conspicuously.

Carlyle was such a man; so was Ruskin. These great men preached-and preached most powerfully-but they preached to congregations. They did not debate with others; if ever either of them attempted to do so he failed lamentably. Exposition and the moving of men by rhetoric was the direction of their genius, not controversy. Carlyle was a greater man than Macaulay and has influenced the age far more profoundly, but had he engaged in controversy with Macaulay he would have been badly

mauled. Many will say-though I certainly should not-that Ruskin was a greater man than Huxley, but no one can think that Ruskin could have stood up to Huxley for ten minutes. The lamentable fate of poor Kingsley over the Apologia business may stand as a permanent warning to the eloquent, persuasive, imaginative, enthusiastic preacher not to allow himself to get within range of the guns of a genuine controversialist.

An analogy might be drawn between the relations of controversy to pure didactics and the relation of war to politics. The ultimate object of controversy is to produce conviction, as the ultimate object of war is to produce a political effect-to impose the will of one community on another. But in each case there is an immediate object without which the ultimate object cannot be achieved; and this object is the elimination of the opposing army or the opposing controversialist. To render the position of a controversial opponent untenable, to force him into self-contradiction or into withdrawal and to leave on the mind of a balanced reader the impression that his particular line of objection has ceased to exist-this is what the controversialist aims at: his success in this is the measure of his technical skill.

The three nineteenth-century names which I have already mentioned, as those of controversial experts, may well serve to illustrate the difference in effectiveness of various controversial methods. For each had his own special technique, which should be studied by those who wish to know how controversial victories are won, as carefully as the campaigns of great commanders are studied by men who wish to be proficient in military strategy.

The case of Macaulay is the more interesting, because it illustrates very well the distinction which I have

drawn between the immediate and the ultimate end of controversy. In the ultimate end Macaulay, of course, fails. He does not convince us, even if he convinced his contemporaries, that that curious Whig version of history and politics which he preached so picturesquely is valid. Events have gone against him: his political creed has become incredible. But it is a gross injustice to allow that to blind us to the fact that he showed extraordinary genius as a controversialist in maintaining it. Nay, the very fact that he was so often in the wrong throws his ability as a controversialist into the higher relief. Take, for example, his attack upon Southey's Colloquies on Society. On the main points at issue, the evil effect of the industrial system upon the poor, the urgent necessity of a strong national government to control the anarchy of plutocratic commercialism, the need of a common religion if a community is to be happy and secure, Southey was certainly in the right and Macaulay as certainly in the wrong.

But it is not less certain

that in the actual battle Macaulay is the victor and Southey the vanquished. To deny this because Southey's view has been found ultimately more true to the needs of men would be as absurd as to deny the defeat of Napoleon at Waterloo because France is not now ruled by the Bourbons.

If we try to examine the special quality of Macaulay's effectiveness in controversy we shall find, I think, that it consists very largely in the cumulative effect of a rapid repetition of blows, delivered successively at the same point and each a little stronger and heavier than the last. These things can best be illustrated by quotation, and I will take first a passage, not especially controversial, but illustrating the literary method which this process involves. It is all the better in that, like all that Macaulay wrote on

matters outside the purview of an English Whig, it is full of insular crudities, and quite misses the real point of view of those he is criticizing. It is from his essay on Mirabeau, and it is concerned with monarchical France before the Revolution and with Fénelon's importance as a figure therein.

The fundamental principles of Fénelon's political morality, the tests by which he judged of institutions and of men, were absolutely new to his counHe had taught them indeed, trymen. with the happiest effect, to his royal pupil. But how incomprehensible they were to most people we learn from Saint Simon. That amusing writer tells us, as a thing almost incredible, that the Duke of Burgundy declared it to be his opinion that kings existed for the good of the people, and not the people for the good of the kings. Saint Simon is delighted with the benevolence of this saying; but startled by its novelty and terrified by its boldness. Indeed, he distinctly says that it was not safe to repeat the sentiment in the court of Lewis. Saint Simon was, of all the members of that court, the least courtly. He was as nearly an opposiHis tionist as any man of his time. disposition was proud, bitter and cynical. In religion he was a Jansenist; in politics, a less hearty royalist than most of his neighbors. His opinions and his temper had preserved him from the illusions which the demeanor of Lewis produced on others. He neither loved nor respected the King. Yet even this man-one of the most liberal men in France-was struck dumb with astonishment at hearing the fundamental axiom of all government propounded-an axiom which, in our time, nobody in England or France would dispute which the stoutest Tory takes for granted as much as the fiercest Radical, and concerning which the Carlist would agree with the most republican deputy of the "extreme left." No person will do justice to Fénelon, who does not constantly keep in mind that Telemachus was written in an age and nation in which bold and independent thinkers stared to hear

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