For more than two thousand years the government of China exhibited, in the main, the elements which characterized it when, in the reign of Ch'in Shih Huang Ti (221–209 B.C.), feudalism was abolished and a centralized system inaugurated. Through successive dynasties the changes introduced were in matters of detail. These facts admonish to unusual caution in the accepttance of the present system at its face value. “Republic,” “president,” “cabinet,” “parliament,” “courts,” “democracy,” —these are titles of Western institutions which continued to stand for the corresponding institutions in China when the latter were established upon the model of the former. Even in Western states the meaning of these terms varies, as does their application in actual government. It would be strange if a decade of republicanism in China had evolved a political organization which still remains largely an ideal among nations which have spent centuries of effort toward its attainment. New terms are applied more readily than old ways are altered. Different clothes may be a disguise, not a sure gauge of habitat or occupation. The more one strives to understand present political forces in China, the more is he driven to study the old régime.

In the question of liberty and equality we are at the very root of all political science. Nothing is so fundamental as the problem of authority and liberty. In no age or place has discussion of state and government proceeded without the express or tacit assumption of dogmas as to the essence and relationship of the conceptions of liberty, equality and authority. And the dogmas on these subjects have not been confined in their application to the affairs of individuals. They have constituted the foundation of theory and of practice in the affairs of those aggregations of individuals that constitute governments, states and nations. It is therefore my purpose to devote myself here to some consideration of the manifestation and influence of the conceptions of liberty and equality in the field of international relations.

“Suppose,” wrote William James in A Pluralistic Universe, “that a philosopher believes in what is called free-will. That a common man alongside of him should also share that belief, possessing it by a sort of inborn intuition, does not endear the man to the philosopher at all—he may even be ashamed to be associated with such a man. What interests the philosopher is the particular premises on which the free-will he believes in is established, the sense in which it is taken, the objections it eludes, the difficulties it takes account of, in short the whole form and temper and manner and technical apparatus that goes with the belief in question. A philosopher across the way who should use the same technical apparatus, making the same distinctions but drawing opposite conclusions and denying free-will entirely, would fascinate the first philosopher far more than the naif co-believer. Their common technical interests would unite them more than their opposite conclusions separate them. Each would feel an essential consanguinity in the other, would think of him, write at him, care for his good opinion. The simple-minded believer in free-will would be disregarded by either. Neither as ally nor as opponent would his vote be counted.”

Political science, like all other branches of social science, has, in the past century, become increasingly inductive in method. Attempts to deduce conclusions regarding the details of political organization and practice by speculative thought concerning the nature of man, of liberty, of authority, of society, and so on, have now largely ceased. In their place we have efforts to collect as much data as possible concerning actual forms of state organization and governmental methods, and efforts to analyze that data and discover therein the main lines of causation and the fundamental principles of politics.

This is all a matter of common knowledge. It is, moreover, a change which most of us regard with approval. The reason for calling attention to it here, therefore, is principally to point out its effect upon the study of the international field by political scientists.

There are several consequences which flow from the placing of political science upon the basis of inductive method. The consequence of which we think most frequently is that of rendering our conclusions more certain and secure, and of reducing as much as possible the element of subjective personal judgment therein.

Much has recently been said concerning the moral obligations of the state. It is not infrequently asserted that it is the moral duty of a state to assume some function in the interest of international society. The reaction against the philosophy which considered all state action as moral and which posited the realization of national aims as a paramount ethical end, has been followed by an increasing emphasis on the ethical liability of the state to interests in addition to its own.

In attributing moral obligations to the state, the ethical standards of the individual are frequently invoked as applicable to state conduct, and upon this analogy judgment is often pronounced on problems of international right and wrong. The question, however, defies settlement by this simple identification of two moral entities essentially dissimilar in their nature. The ascription of ethical duties to the state, wholesome as it is readily conceded to be, requires considerable analysis lest an undue inference be drawn from the mere fact of its admission. To concede the state as a moral entity does not of itself suffice. The manner of its response to moral questions; its distinctive position in a society which yet lacks many of the elemental requisites for moral progress; the forces limiting the movement of international ethics to a higher level—an inquiry into problems such as these would seem more profitable than the constant reiteration of a principle which probably few persons would longer be disposed to deny.

The Unites States of America was the only country that came through the World War with its fundamental principles of government unchanged. War necessitates a powerful and, in a parliamentary sense, irresponsible executive. Wars cannot be won by deliberate assemblies nor by executives harassed by such assemblies. That great national emergencies call for a dictator—a powerful and politically irresponsible executive—the Romans discovered two thousand years ago, and we of the twentieth century have re-discovered. To win the war France set up a dictator, and his name was Georges Clémenceau : to win the war, Great Britain set up a dictator, and his name was Lloyd-George; to win the war the United States set up a dictator, and his name was Woodrow Wilson. To have attempted to carry on government under old parliamentary forms would have been ruinous, for warfare requires quick and decisive action—the very thing deliberative assemblies lack.

The proposition is submitted that a government based upon a separation of powers lends itself more readily to concentrated and politically irresponsible executive power than do other forms of government. The parliamentary system is essentially a union of powers. Its differentiating characteristic is an intimate relation between the executive and the legislative branches, a relation so intimate as to amount to union. The executive can at all times be questioned and criticised by the legislative, and can be brought to task for its political failures. That results in responsibility and responsiveness, two sound principles of government. But under the strain of war the parliamentary system of responsible government broke down.

In the introduction to his readings in political philosophy, Professor Coker says, “since the time of Plato there has been, in every philosophic age, some inquiry as to the justification of political organization in general, as to the relative merits of different political forms, and as to the appropriate position and privileges of the individual as master, member, or subject of the political order of society. Why do we have political organization? What in our present condition do we owe to it? What future benefits may we properly expect to derive from it? Are its purposes characteristically manifold and changing, or are they ultimately reducible to a few limited objects or to some single end? What is its best form? Who should control it? What is its proper relation to the ideas and sentiments of the community at its basis? What spheres of individual and social life is it incompetent to enter? Philosophers and publicists of various types have sought to answer these questions in abstract terms.”

If an analysis be made of the questions with which political thought has been concerned, it is found that emphasis was placed at various periods upon widely different types of problems. In the medieval period political controversy centered in the contest for supremacy between spiritual and temporal authorities; in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the dominant interest was in the contest between monarchic and democratic theories of political organization; at present, the extent of state activities has come into prominence, and the connection between political and economic interests is especially close. Besides, political conditions have changed so greatly from age to age that the same problem had quite different meanings at different periods.

Our present task is one of definition. We are students of political science in its international phase, and we use history as a means. We operate in a marginal area that overlaps two fields, government as that term is usually understood, and the history of international affairs. How shall we bound this marginal area, what are its relations to those other two, more familiar conceptions?

We are forced to this study by the World War. Modern history has had an immemse expansion for the reason that a tremendous political event has taken place and the world must know why it happened, the causes as well as the occasions and events. A voluminous literature is appearing on the doings and motives of Great Powers, on the rise of nationalities and their crude strivings, on the remapping of state boundaries, and the development of spheres of economic influence. We welcome, for instance, Mr. Gibbons' recent book on World Politics, a clear and useful summary of the recent history of certain political entities called world powers and their policies. It is the story as he calls it of “the struggle of European nations for world power.” The struggle is there. More power to him in his description of the contestants and the contest. But we view all this as only preparatory for our task.

One of the most difficult problems of modern political science is that of sovereignty. The commonly accepted theory contains many elements that seem to be in obvious contradiction to our ideals of democracy; some of them do not fit into the present-day conception of state and government, while others are plain remnants of feudalism and autocracy. One should keep in mind, however, that it is not only a purely theoretical problem closely associated with the general idea of the state, but that it is also an eminently practical one, as it necessarily involves the political question of limitations on the state's powers. Those limitations are of equal importance internally, in the relations between state and citizen, and externally, in the domain of international law.

As often happens in cases where political questions are involved, the theory of sovereignty has two extreme wings of proponents. On the one hand there are theorists who defend an all-powerful state and make of the idea of sovereignty the emblem and symbol of the all-powerful state authority. On the other hand, there have appeared recently many writers, who believe that dangers lurk in the views of the first-mentioned school and who are loath to admit that any power, state or personal, may be unlimited; they distrust the theory of sovereignty, because of its association with unlimited power; consequently, they deny the existence of sovereignty altogether, asserting that it has no place whatever in the modern theory of the state.

When the late Dr. Charles McCarthy wrote The Wisconsin Idea he put into it a prediction and a warning which deserve our most thoughtful study in these days of increasing complexity of government. He saw several great dangers facing the commission plan of administration. It is one of these dangers with which we are concerned: “In spite of vigilance the stiffness and red tape of the bureau may eventually appear. …. While some commissions may grow sluggish, others may be inclined to be arrogant toward their masters—the people. There should be some means whereby commissions may be called before the legislature in the same manner in which members of the English cabinet are subjected to questioning or interpellation in the British Parliament.

“In the case of the proposed Interstate Trade Commission, supplementing the Sherman Anti-Trust Act, the members should be subject to recall by a majority vote of Congress. It is the belief of the author that sooner or later such a plan will be developed in addition to the program which has been laid down in Wisconsin. When all is said there is no sure cure in commissions.”

It is impossible accurately to determine whether the more potent line of causation of the recent attack on the orthodox theory of the state is to be found in the field of the developing science of jurisprudence, or in that of practical experience, economic, religious, social, and political, inasmuch as both of these factors are so largely involved. There is reason to think, however, that the more important cause lies in the latter field. The conditions of modern life are changing so rapidly and are becoming daily so much more complex that to many the existing political organization no longer adequately expresses or reflects the social organization behind it. These individuals and groups have in consequence become so discontented with the present system that they have not been satisfied with suggesting new governmental forms and machinery, but failing in their enthusiasm to distinguish state from government, have undertaken in many cases to overthrow the very citadel of the state itself. Nor has the movement halted even at this point, for in this attempt not only has the attack been launched against the nature of the state and of sovereignty, through the calling into question of its two fundamental attributes, unity and absolutism, but the charge has been carried over into the realm of right as well, in the challenging of the right and the justification of the absolute sovereign state.

It is unfortunate, in my opinion, that the terms monism and pluralism have been injected into the discussion of political theory and doubly unfortunate that they have been put forward as rival theories between which we are expected to choose. Both words are in fact very general, both are capable of many meanings and both have about them the connotations of centuries of philosophical dispute. And yet the one clear lesson from these disputes is that both monism and pluralism are inescapable aspects of our world and as such can neither of them be neglected. An effort to set the two in opposition, to picture them as incompatible, and to force a choice between them is surely wasted. The truth is that monism and pluralism are not theories but points of view or modes of attack, and any reasonable political theory will have to take account of both and both will have to be interpreted in such a way that they can be joined in one theory. It is not the purpose of this paper to undertake so large a task as this final reconciliation; but merely to state as exactly as may be what is connoted by such phrases as “a monistic theory of the state” and “a pluralistic theory of the state,” in order that the different points of view may be made as clear as possible and may be compared.

By political monism I understand a theory which holds that the state is ultimately a single indivisible authority, not subject to any other authority and therefore able itself to fix the limits and the content of the obligations to which it gives rise.

Numerically the political platform touches about six-tenths of one per cent of the legislation introduced in an average legislature. For instance, in the 1911 Indiana legislature, there were 1,111 bills introduced, while only six bills originated in the political platform of the controlling, in this case the Democratic, party. This revelation, although startling at first, is somewhat deceiving. In the first place, the political platform does not attempt, nor do the party leaders desire it, to touch upon all phases of legislation. There are various kinds of legislation, such as the relocation of county seats, weed laws and individual relief laws, which are too local or trivial to be included in the state platform, and there are other types, such as anti-liquor legislation, which the platform avoids because of their magnified importance.

Although the percentage given is correct, this six-tenths of one per cent is about twenty-five per cent of the important legislation considered. In this study of the twenty year period in Indiana, beginning with the inauguration of Governor Durbin in 1901 and through the successive administrations and ending with the first legislature under Governor McCray in 1921, we are interested in those platform planks alone which positively pledge the party to legislation.