THE WORLD REVOLUTION 



of the deep are illimitable. The blinding vision 

 of which the West has caught sight has been that 

 there is but one class, and but one colour, and but 

 one soul in humanity. It is a vision under which 

 the soul of the pagan world-builder flames in 

 rebellion. But it has come to haunt the n oo Is of 

 industrial Demos as he hums his rag-time music 

 in the midst of the mills of force which he has 

 erected. The spirit of it moves in the dreams of 

 strange peoples at the ends of the earth. And on 

 the mind of Demos and of the distant peoples 

 the effect is the same. It has brought a haunting 

 sense of some meaning, infinite but unexplained, 

 through which our civilization moves towards a 

 fulfilment in which the past may pass for ever, and 

 in which new standards of efficiency, that men 

 have not dreamt of, may possibly arise in the 

 world. 



The male of Western civilization has become by 

 force of circumstances the supreme fighting animal 

 of creation. History and natural selection have 

 made of him what he is. For at least four thousand 

 years, and possibly for a period ten times as long, 

 his forbears have represented the highest expression 

 of force in the world. Every instinct of the fight, 

 every quality of the rule of force exists in him 

 through an ancestral inheritance measured by the 



