of modern intellectuals. Having had less of a struggle, they have
retained more energy and self-confidence. The candour and honesty of the
pioneers survive, with more determination to be socially effective. This
may be merely the natural character of youth, but I think it is more
than that. Young men under thirty have often come in contact with
Western ideas at a sufficiently early age to have assimilated them
without a great struggle, so that they can acquire knowledge without
being torn by spiritual conflicts. And they have been able to learn
Western knowledge from Chinese teachers to begin with, which has made
the process less difficult. Even the youngest students, of course, still
have reactionary families, but they find less difficulty than their
predecessors in resisting the claims of the family, and in realizing
practically, not only theoretically, that the traditional Chinese
reverence for the old may well be carried too far. In these young men I
see the hope of China. When a little experience has taught them
practical wisdom, I believe they will be able to lead Chinese opinion in
the directions in which it ought to move.

There is one traditional Chinese belief which dies very hard, and that
is the belief that correct ethical sentiments are more important then
detailed scientific knowledge. This view is, of course, derived from the
Confucian tradition, and is more or less true in a pre-industrial
society. It would have been upheld by Rousseau or Dr. Johnson, and
broadly speaking by everybody before the Benthamites. We, in the West,
have now swung to the opposite extreme: we tend to think that technical
efficiency is everything and moral purpose nothing. A battleship may be
taken as the concrete embodiment of this view. When we read, say, of
some new poison-gas by means of which one bomb from an aeroplane can
exterminate a whole town, we have a thrill of what we fondly believe to
be horror, but it is really delight in scientific skill. Science is our