In all the varied current of contemporary political theory which seems to have set against the conception of unitary sovereignty as the basis of the structure of the state, the work of Mr. H. J. Laski stands out sufficiently to command general attention. Perhaps this is as much because of the arresting fashion in which Mr. Laski has challenged the traditional doctrines of political theory as it is from the positive content of his own theories. He has seized upon the ideas centering about group rights which Drs. Figgis and Maitland have forced so brilliantly upon modern attention, and has made great play with them in developing Mr. Ernest Barker's idea of “The Discredited State.” Because of the radical implications of some of these theories as Mr. Laski has expounded them, political theorists have for some time been waiting for the promised exposition of Mr. Laski's ideas in more systematic form than has yet been offered by any of the historical and critical studies and the two brief introductory chapters of The Problem of Sovereignty and Authority in the Modern State, or even The Foundations of Sovereignty. But as Mr. Laski is professedly a disciple of William James, it is perhaps too much to ask that he throw his ideas into any form that smacks of system and the rationalistic taint which pragmatists seem to attach to system. To the end of his days William James never entertained seriously the idea of giving his “way of looking at things” any more logical arrangement than the form of a series of rather popular lectures—with vast benefit, no doubt, to the “readableness” of his essays, but with equal difficulty to an unambiguous interpretation of what he meant by his suggestions. The similarly casual nature of such connection as has yet bound Mr. Laski's ideas to a single unity may excuse one, then, for finding some difficulty in selecting a method of presentation.

As a part of its work, the committee on research of the American Political Science Association has undertaken a survey of the relation of politics to kindred types of inquiry, including psychology, anthropology, geography, biology, engineering and others. The purpose of such an inquiry is to explore the relationships that exist with kindred sciences, to facilitate coöperation with our fellow-workers, to improve our methods of investigation, and to promote the progress of political science.

The committee is not responsible for this report, for its form or content, its scope or method, its sins of omission or commission. Probably the general sentiment of the committee toward psychology would be expressed by the phrase, con amore ma non troppo.

It may be worth while at the outset to scrutinize some of the earlier relations of psychology to political science, for the friendship is one of long standing. In the earlier forms of political thinking, there are crude types of psychology that are of great interest and significance in the development of the art of political thinking. These philosophers evidently utilized all of the psychology that was current in the construction of their political systems.

It used to be said by a certain learned professor opposed to departure from old and familiar paths, “Gentlemen, all progress is change, but not all change is progress.”

In every department of human affairs, in every quarter of the civilized world, the contrast between conditions in the late eighties and the present time is amazing—not conditions only but the difference in attitudes, in beliefs, in human relations. We may well ask ourselves, Whither? Certainly it is incumbent upon us to consider the character of these changes—whether they are making for progress—and what steps we are taking or can take to meet them. I ask you to consider with me two aspects of this question, one affecting industrial and the other international relations. In each case the proposals heretofore offered to meet the situation appear to fall into one of two categories, the first mechanistic, the second educative; the first, an attempt to meet a new situation by introducing new devices of control; the second by a process of education to modify or change men's attitude and belief.

While the general policy governing the nature and the degree of American participation in international affairs may still be regarded as a contested issue, an unequivocal decision has been reached with respect to our foreign service.

Through the enactment of the Rogers Bill, for the reorganization and improvement of the foreign service, a basis has been fixed and a structure provided which are destined to place the foreign representation of the United States in the forefront of diplomatic efficiency. It is not to be concluded that this strengthening and remodeling of the diplomatic machinery is necessarily anticipatory of a forthcoming broader participation in world affairs, or that Congress has acted in the reverse order of logic by perfecting an instrumentality for the conduct of our foreign relations before the nature and the extent of those relations have been finally determined. The need of a strong foreign service is obvious.

The position of the United States has become so commanding that its every act, whether of a positive or of a negative character, is fraught with important consequences to other nations and not infrequently with equally important repercussions at home. A policy of isolation or aloofness, in which the interests of the world are engaged, is perhaps even more difficult to maintain than a policy of active participation.

Of all the clauses in the Bill of Rights, the free speech guaranty stands foremost in the significance of the political principle it defends, and in the enduring vitality of the problems it puts before us. In an age of toleration bordering on indifference, the phrase protecting the free exercise of religion has been reverently consigned to a life of honored retirement; in the days of conscription “the right of the people to keep and bear arms” finds a place in constitutional structure similar to that of the vermiform appendix in the human body; and the good old search and seizure clause now is roused from a senile contemplation of other days only at rarest intervals, relapsing soon into a customary desuetude. But no such fate will ever befall the free speech clause. The human interest it defends is in a very real sense the most fundamental and permanent in the Bill of Rights, and no changes brought by the onward movement of civilization are ever likely to make the need for its protection less necessary.

For as long as human beings have tongues and minds they will say what they think, and they will think differently. Where the question is important and the issues vital or seemingly vital, such hatred and bitterness is likely to develop as will require a very strong constitutional guaranty and a reverential respect for the written word if oppression is to be prevented. In fact, all the rancor and bitterness attached to actual physical conflict are frequently found in scarcely diminished intensity to have gathered about mere polemics.

The Supreme Court's decision in the Danbury Hatters' case marked the beginning of a new era in trade-union activity, for laborers well realized that the Sherman act, as interpreted and applied by the court in that case, was a measure with which they would eventually have to reckon. The provision expressly declaring that equity courts may be resorted to in order to restrain violations of the act was an objection in itself, serious enough. But the statute held for laborers a much more vital concern: they also perceived that a strict construction of its provisions might even jeopardize the existence of the trade union itself. Laborers naturally felt very keenly even the suggestion that the Anti-Trust Act might be interpreted in such a manner as to deny to laborers the right to organize, and they undoubtedly believed, and not without a certain justification, that the dissolution of the trade union, as a combination in restraint of trade, would be the probable, if not the necessary, result of the court's decision in the Hatters' case.

“Under the interpretation placed upon the Sherman Anti-Trust law by the courts,” Mr. Gompers averred, “it is within the province and within the power of any administration … to begin proceedings to dissolve any labor organization in the United States.” Labor unions exist only “at the suffrance of the Department of Justice.”

There is little need to point out the growing strength of the British Labor party. At the recent general elections, it achieved approximately one-third of both the House of Commons and the popular vote; and the fact that at the preceding election it had rolled up twenty-two per cent of the House and thirty per cent of the ballots proves that its recent achievement was not merely occasional. Throughout Great Britain there is thoughtful consideration as to whether Mr. J. Ramsay MacDonald will prove as able a prime minister as he proved a leader of His Majesty's Opposition.

What may not be so widely appreciated is that the British Labor party is fundamentally, in fact no less than in theory, a socialist party. At its annual conference held in June, 1923, the following resolution was proposed:

“This Conference … asserts that the supreme object of the Labour Party should be the supersession of Capitalism by the Socialist Commonwealth … ;” and with hundreds of delegates representing several million members, the resolution was passed unanimously. Indeed, as the chairman, Sidney Webb, remarked in putting the resolution to a vote, it was largely unnecessary, for everyone in Great Britain recognized that the British Labour party was a socialist movement.

Under the provisions of a constitutional amendment adopted in November, 1920, the voters of Missouri, at a special election in August, 1921, approved the plan for a constitutional convention, to consist of two delegates from each of the 34 senatorial districts and 15 delegates elected at large. In order to secure representation from different political parties the amendment restricted each party to the nomination of one candidate for delegate in each senatorial district. The state committees of the two major political parties agreed also to the nomination by each of seven candidates for delegates-at-large, and jointly nominated a candidate for the fifteenth delegate-at-large, so that the convention was bipartisan in its membership. This arrangement prevented the consideration of questions involving party differences, except in one case where agreement was secured upon a compromise plan.

The convention met on May 16, 1922 and adjourned sine die on November 6, 1923, after having been in session 267 working days. On account of the session of the legislature a recess was taken from December 15, 1922 to April 16, 1923. The convention continued to meet until September 7, 1923, when another recess was taken to enable the committees on phraseology and arrangement, submission and address, and others to complete their reports. The convention reassembled on October 2, 1923 and completed its work on October 5. In order to provide for any contingency that might arise it was decided to reconvene on November 6, with the understanding that the president and secretary with such delegates as might be present could declare the convention finally adjourned.

At the close of the Spanish-American War President McKinley sent word to a lawyer in New York City that he wanted him to be secretary of war. The lawyer sent word back to the President that he knew nothing about the army. The President replied that he had plenty of officers to look after the army, but for secretary of war he wanted a man who could work out a system for the government of our insular possessions. The lawyer accepted the cabinet position and in a short time the new secretary of war formulated the now famous McKinley Instructions to the second Philippine commission, and thereby established the policy for the government of the Philippine Islands. Twenty-two years of development under this policy bear testimony to the political genius and high statesmanship of Elihu Root.

The gist of this policy was that we should train the Filipinos to govern themselves. The task set for this paper is to explain the part played by the local governments in training the Filipinos for self-government. Any discussion of autonomy for the insular government must necessarily be mere academic speculation unless the parties to the discussion have some comprehension of the progress achieved in training the Filipinos for self-government in local affairs. And certainly there has been no scientific treatment of the local government side of our Philippine policy in the innumerable books and articles published in America on the Philippine problem.

Ten years ago the Moslem world seemed near to political extinction. The only portion of it that could present a reasonable claim to be called independent was Turkey, and Turkish freedom was hampered by debt control, which gave foreigners the command of a large fraction of the Turkish revenues, and by the Capitulations, which allowed foreigners to reside on Turkish territory without obedience to Turkish laws. At the close of the Great War this last remnant of the once vast political Islam seemed about to be destroyed. But in a little more than five years a very different situation has developed among the Moslems, and in many regions they are moving rapidly in the direction of independence and modernization. Not only Turkey, but Persia, Afghanistan, Khiva, Bokhara, Albania, Egypt, and the Hejaz claim to be independent now; while other regions, such as Palestine, Syria, Mesopotamia, Turkestan, and Azerbeijan, not to speak of Tripoli, Tunis, Algiers, and Morocco, are in different degrees stirred with the desire to become free. In fact, every portion of the Moslem world, defining it to mean those lands in which persons professing the Mohammedan faith are in the majority, aspires to full statehood. India does not fall within this definition, having only about 20 per cent of Moslems; but the Moslems of India along with the rest are agitated by the demand for the complete independence of that great country.

The principal ideas that have been working in the Moslem world are self-determination, constitutionalism, the separation of church and state, the desire to obtain the benefits of modern scientific advances, and unwillingness to remain indefinitely among those regarded as backward peoples. All of these ideas have had their origin or their recent development in western civilization. They have all been greatly promoted by the example and in many cases by the actual promises of Western nations engaged in the recent war.

Is there any fundamental distinction between so-called “public” and “private” agencies, officers, institutions, corporations, associations, persons—legal entities and quasi-entities of all sorts? It is the theory of the courts that such a distinction exists, but their attempts through a maze of decisions logically to establish a principle of distinction have been futile.

Several bases of distinction have been adopted by the courts, including, first, the purpose or interest involved. “An office … seems to comprehend every charge or employment in which the public is interested.” Thus “private corporations are those which are created for the immediate benefit and advantage of individuals…. Public corporations are those which are created for public purposes.”

However, it is held that the whole interest in the corporation must be public to make it a public corporation. “Public corporations are political corporations or such as are founded wholly for public purposes and the whole interest in which is in the public. The fact of the public having an interest in the works or property or the object of a corporation, does not make it a public corporation.”

Ever since the famous case of Marbury v. Madison in 1803, the United States Supreme Court has exercised the power of declaring acts of Congress unconstitutional and of refusing to enforce them as law. From the beginning, the exercise of this power has been the subject of great controversies as to both theory and practice. It has been assailed as subverting the true nature of our government. It has been stigmatized as the foundation of a judicial obligarchy. It has been attacked as a means for the nullification of the popular will as expressed in Congress. It will be the purpose of this paper, therefore, to inquire into the use of this power in relation to acts of Congress with especial regard to (1) the criticisms that have been made at various times throughout American history, and (2) the proposals that have been made to modify the exercise of this power.

The opening paragraph of Section 8 of Article 1 of the Constitution reads as follows: “Congress shall have power to lay and collect taxes‥‥ to pay the debts and provide for the common defense and general welfare of the United States.” For what purposes may Congress, in light of this phraseology, spend money raised by national taxation? Hamilton answered, for any purposes which Congress itself found to be promotive of the general welfare. Madison, on the contrary, held the power thus granted to be only instrumental—Congress might spend money only as a means of carrying into effect its other granted powers. So far as the practice of Congress is concerned, Hamilton's view has long since prevailed, but the Supreme Court has never had occasion so far to develop its theory on the subject. Its failure, therefore, to seize the opportunity proferred it in the Maternity Act cases is somewhat disappointing.

By the Maternity Act of November 23, 1921 Congress extends financial aid, in the work of reducing maternal and infant mortality, and protecting the health of mothers and infants, to such states as shall accept and comply with the provisions of the act. The act was attacked on two grounds; first, that the appropriations voted were “for purposes not national, but local to the states,” and secondly, that the acceptance by a state of the terms of the act would constitute a surrender by it of its reserved powers.

American democracy is not combating crime successfully. We are given the unenviable distinction of leading the civilized world in murder, robbery, burglary and other of the graver crimes against person and property. As a nation we have a disconcertingly high criminal ratio and in our large cities, where the opportunities and temptations for crime are greater, constantly recurring crime waves threaten our social organization.

The administration of justice is a state function. Police officers are technically state officials and justices of the peace, police and municipal courts are performing state functions, yet it nevertheless is true that the prevention, detection and treatment of crime and criminals are of special importance to city dwellers and under our decentralized administration of justice the city ought to feel its responsibility and be given the opportunity to deal with the problem in an intelligent manner.

It has been estimated that in Cleveland, Ohio, two-thirds of those who commit serious crimes are never arrested, and of the one-third arrested two-thirds are never convicted. The administration of criminal law has been declared a failure in Cleveland but few of our other large cities have any special reason for self-congratulation. Our criminal statistics in general are very unreliable and inadequate. The census bureau has been making an ambitious attempt at securing criminal statistics but has found it difficult and at times impossible to secure even the simplest data.