shell shock. When the psycho-analyst discovers this festering energy, he suggests to the patient some way to work it off and he calls the proceeding "sublimation"-just as the old-fashioned practitioner, if he were prescribing "kitchen soda," would give it a cabalistic Latin name.

The man who returns to his office after an active summer finds desk work irksome. His internal laboratory has formed the habit of generating sufficient energy for golf or tennis, and he can no longer spare the time for so much exercise. The symptoms of his trouble, principally irritability, are at once noticeable to his business associates, but he does not need to despair. There is probably a furnace in his cellar and he can "sublimate" this excess energy shoveling coal.

In the delicate matter of mating there is always the conflict between "the heart that desires and the reason that reprehends." The psycho-analyst would prefer "subconscious" and "conscious mind" to the phraseology of Molière, but he would admit the conflict. We do not, in fact, follow slavishly the habits of our remote progenitors in regard to sex; we have achieved some self-control. Freud himself has gone to great pains in describing this process of "sublimation," by which the ancient urge of generation is redirected into channels of creative art and constructive statesmanship. To pretend that we cannot escape from the combat instincts is on a par with arguing that because the dark people of the jungle days gave free rein to their lusts, we, who are their offspring, cannot be civilized in love.

It is unfortunate that the psychoanalysts have called this simple, commonplace process of controlling the instincts by so transcendental a name as "sublimation," because the long word makes it sound difficult. It is this same simple and common-sense process by whatever name it is called-which is involved in discussing the possibility of organizing the world for peace. Un

doubtedly it is easier-more "natural" -for the nations to distrust and fear one another than it is to learn confidence. The first steps toward "civilization" were not the only hard ones. Our forbears have been working untiringly and undismayed at experiments in community organization these millions and millions of years, and there is still terribly much to learn. Every step in social life, the family, the clan, the nation, has been hard, contrary to some instincts. Every step forward has necessitated some change in human nature, has been a "sublimation," a triumph in conscious self-control, a redirection of energy from an outgrown and hampering purpose to some progressive enterprise. It is not easy to control the instincts, but it is possible at least it has always been possible for our ancestors.

History adds its testimony to that of the natural sciences. Within the last few hundred years we have seen alterations in human behavior more sweeping than those required to realize a limitation of armaments.

There has been no noticeable change in the blood strain of the Italians since the last barbarian invasion, no abrupt break in the hereditary characteristics of the nation, but in the days of Dante the combat instincts of the Italians found vent in fratricidal strife. The walled towns of the north were chronically at war, and when there was no good fight on with a neighboring city the Guelphs and Ghibellines fought out their petty feuds in the streets. To-day it is no longer fashionable for Italians to kill one another.

What has become of the ancient enmity of Highland Scot and English Lowlander? It has been absorbed into the larger unity of Great Britain.

A friend from the South, whom I knew in New York, enlisted in '98 for the Spanish War. He went home on leave to bid his family good-by, but his mother would not let him into the house because he wore the hated Federal uni

form. After the experience of national unity in 1917, it is difficult to remember the rancors of the Civil War and Reconstruction-but it is very comforting.

Sancta Sophia is not to be condemned because some of her acolytes take her name in vain and try to marry herto Mars. The real prelates of Science have more oftenfound in her revelations reasonstobelieve in progress and in developing peace.

This family of ours is very old. It has outlived innumerable dangers and has eaten often of adversity. Not once nor twice, but very frequently, it has been threatened with extinction. Floods and famines, wars and ghastly plagues, are an old, familiar story. Earthquakes more terrible than any since we have invented instruments of precision to measure them, climatic disturbances more catastrophic than any our very modern weather bureaus have recorded, have been survived. Savage and uncouth as they were, our ancestors had marvelous vitality. Not even the creeping glaciers could destroy them. come of a sturdy stock.

We

Our generation has just gone through a new ordeal by fire. It is impossible as yet to assess the damage done by the war. The actual destruction of capital the debit which the bookkeepers can compute has been staggering, and the loss which is symbolized by all the new graves in Europe is at once harder to calculate and more appalling. The gaps in the next generation are even a graver matter. And in the recent months we have begun to realize still another wound of the war, the breakdown of credit and the consequent dislocation of the economic machinery of our civilization. Unless the wheels of industry begin once more to turn, we shall find it increasingly difficult to keep the survivors of the Great War alive. Our family is inured to hardship, but the novelty of our present situation is that the danger comes not from an outside enemy, but from ourselves. The wounds from which we still bleed are self-inflicted.

The agonies of these last years have forced us all to give thought to their causes. We know more than we did a decade ago about why men fight. So, added to our worries about the Sisyphean labor of rebuilding what we have destroyed, is the fear that we are aiming for-arming for a new war.

The disputes of to-day are so sickeningly similar to those which preceded the last war-rivalries for foreign markets, trade barriers, strategic frontiers, the new irredenta, access to the sea-the old competition in armaments intensified. It seems so dismally certain that we are drifting in the same direction, toward the same reef, and we all know that what was only devastation a few years ago threatens destruction a few years hence.

Those who strive to ward off this danger as our ancestors, through all the millions of generations, successfully warded off the dangers which threatened them-need not be cast down when certain jumble-heads misquote Science to prove that the preservation of the species is contrary to the natural instincts. Science, on the contrary, tells us how our ancestors, when they found life in the swamps no longer possible, came ashore and learned to climb trees for safety. The task before our generation is modest indeed compared with that great achievement.

While pseudo-science is just as dangerous as the slander which is half true, Science and the scientific habit of mind are the one hope we have. The better understanding we have of all this new knowledge about heredity and psychology, the more chance we will have of working out sound projects for the prevention of wars. We shall not improve ourselves by denying our ancestors. We shall only make ourselves ridiculous as well as miserable if we pretend to be descended from doves. But it would be just as foolish to act as though we were the progeny of the saber-toothed cats or the heavily armored reptiles.

We come of a stock which learned to live by its wits, the most inventive, ver

satile, and adaptive of all the species. While it is true that we have in our blood a hereditary taint of churlish quarrelsomeness, we have also a long tradition of progressive self-control. Our forbears were contentious, self-assertive, suspicious—“sudden and quick in anger" but they knew how to conquer themselves.

They were also clever. Alone of all the animals they invented language, and for our delectation and instruction they left us histories of their wars, their follies, and their dreams. To be sure, they loved a fight, but they were also star gazers. Among the very oldest written words the archæologists have dug up are the records of their study of the stars.

The love of knowledge-an insatiable curiosity is among the most precious treasures of our heritage. And modern science is very explicit in teaching that very little progress can be hoped for from merely denouncing naughty instincts. Negations and interdictions accomplish little, for docility is not a strong trait in our race. Monastic vows have not proved so helpful to man in his struggle with rebellious passions as good hard work. William James understood how recalcitrant we are to "thou-shaltnots" when he wrote his essay on "A Moral Substitute for War." The way to control the instincts is not to tell them to be good, but to give them a man-sized job.

The modern psychologists, while giving us more and very important information about the combative instincts we have inherited, also teach us how to deal with them. Their testimony, instead of being discouraging, corroborates the lessons of history. The victories of mutual aid, of peace, have not been won by ignoring the old instincts, but by their redirection toward some new purpose. Life may, of course, invent some novel expedient, but in the past this progress has always come through the absorption of local and limited patriotism in some larger and more inspiring loyalty.

Our Atlantic seaboard would have re

mained backward and "Balkanized" if, after the Revolution, the irreconcilables of that day, who insisted on the undiminished sovereignty of the thirteen states, had had their way. Disarmament agreements between them would have had small worth if the citizens of Massachusetts and Virginia had continued to center their patriotism on their respective State Houses instead of gradually transferring it to the national Capitol. It was the active co-operation of the different states in solving common problems-a co-operation hard to achieve and never perfect-which overcame the first intense separatism, at last made union a reality and gave strength for the conquest of the continent.

Undoubtedly there were irreconcilables among the monkeys, when they faced their great decision, who refused to come down from the treetops. Such of their descendants as still survive never come any nearer to civilization than the primate house at the zoo. Our ancestors came down. And the people who inhabit this planet a few hundred generations hence will be the descendants of those of us who are not afraid of innovations, who prove ourselves most adaptable to the new needs of this new day.

Science and history, as well as common sense, are pro-league. It matters very little who gets the credit for the idea or what name we give to the cooperative organization of nations; but if we are going to stop distrusting and hating one another-fighting as often as we catch our breaths and with constantly increasing fury-it will be because we have begun working together and through constant association in a common purpose are building up a common loyalty.

Whatever new discoveries the explorers of science may make, whatever new and bewildering names they may give to old instincts and familiar methods of controlling them, it is evident, from the bare fact that we are alive to-day to disparage the dead, that our forefathers

PATSY

TOKIO.

ATSY,—It has happened! So have many other things since I wrote you. By it I mean Otani San has left.

The first I knew of it was Kate coming into my room with cheeks flushed and very bright eyes. She'd just had a visit from the broker-man. He rushed over here when he found pinned to a plush pillow a note saying:

I have a duty to perform. It may take me ten years, maybe twenty. I shall not return. Giru San knows why.

I can't remember the poetical phrasing, but this is plainer than poetry and quicker in the telling.

Kate frankly gave all the information she had. It wasn't much. Otani had said she was going some time. Her little daughter should have a chance which had never come to her. "But I did not know her determination was fixed or dated. I see it is. If I can find her I shall do everything I can to help her stick to it," declared Kitty; and I can see her back stiffen as she said it.

I am truly sorry to have missed that interview, for when it is a battle of standards between a sure saint and a determined sinner fireworks are bound to follow.

The man fought for self and all his unquestioned privileges. My missionary friend fought for right, and woe be to any unrighteous soul that clashed with her weapons. I'd pick Kitty as a sure thing any time. Don't reprove me, Patrick! I'm excited. And I am telling one Christian soldier about another of the same kind. If they aren't sure, who is?

Mr. Broker-man wasn't defeated; only

knocked dizzy. Maybe it was the confused state of mind which made him consent not to pursue. Instead he handed a roll of bills to Kate, asking her to find Otani San and give her a message. If she would return, the better part of his fortune and the child were hers to do with as she would. But Kitty, who knows something about everything, says the man has an attack of genuine love! Who can say? Love is a reckless bombthrower.

Do you think I am making too much of this? Not a bit of it. It's a sign of the times. A few years ago the thing simply could not have happened. And even now there are those who contend that, though the way be open for escape, the desire for a luxurious life is stronger than desire for the straight and thorny path of hard work and poverty. Time and Katherine will tell this story.

While Kate was gone on her search for a runaway lady, your fat, newsy letter came. Still at it, I see! Keeping your little-big world astir with enthusiasm, polishing up jaded people and weary hearts with your clear vision and kindly deeds!

Of course you didn't say so, but I have an enthusiasm or so myself. The two biggest ones in my treasure-box are you as a miracle-worker in turning handicaps into victory for yourself and others, and Katherine Jilson's fearlessness in tackling the devil in any disguise.

Every time she does it you can fairly see the crumpled horns and drooping tail of the personage in question, and you want to race to life's score-board, wherever that may be, and hang up a double number for Kit.