THERE IS AN elementary fact about politics, which is not well understood. It is this: that conflict here is the normal, not the abnormal state. Men talk of, even talk against, power-politics; there is in essence no other kind of politics. Though peace be its goal, war is the differential of politics. This is only half the story, the easier half at that. The other half, the harder half, is that in politics the strife which prevails is normally between honest men. Honesty, we seem to think, ought to beget amity; and amity, we surely believe, ought to cure strife. Why should it be baffling to meet honesty as obstacle? And yet it is so. Dishonest men you can scare into acquiescence; not so the honest opposites. Honest men are of all men the most obdurate. They have been martyred, of course; but even the martydom of such men but unites others behind their honesty, to make it more obdurate still. And when it is honesty that is at odds with honesty, as in politics, the conflict is rendered worse by efforts to subvert, divert, or even to convert. That is what makes politics so difficult. This conception of politics-as a crown of thorns woven by idealists for others to wear, but worn in the event by those who wove them-I do not present as an hypothesis to be discussed. I submit it as a characterization to be accepted before we can even talk intelligently about politics. If you cannot bring yourself to accept the hypothesis that ideals themselves are inharmonious, or at least provoke their devotees to open conflict in the name of the ideals, then I can throw little light upon any such questions; I can only leave you where you have stationed yourself: waiting at the wayside of life to be picked up by some candidate for dictatorship, be he but recommended to you in the warm axiological insignia of your particular provincialism. Together you will make fanatics, you and