HAPPINESS ESSAYS ON THE MEANING OF LIFE BY CARL HILTY TRANSLATED 3 BY FRANCIS G.PEABODY HAPPINESS: BY CARL HILTY OF CALIF. LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES HAPPINESS ESSAYS ON THE MEANING OF LIFE BY CARL HILTY PROFESSOR OF CONSTITUTIONAL LAW UNIVERSITY OF BERN. TRANSLATED BY FRANCIS GREENWOOD PEABODY PROFESSOR OF CHRISTIAN MORALS IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY, CAMBRIDGE NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN CO. LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., L. 1903 COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Set up and electrotyped January, 1903. Reprinted June, October, 1903. Norfoooto Berwick fc Smith Co., Norwood, Man., U.S.A. CONTENTS ESSAY I THE ART OF WORK 3 ESSAY II HOW TO FIGHT THE BATTLES OF LIFE 25 ESSAY III GOOD HABITS 45 ESSAY IV THE CHILDREN OF THIS WORLD ARE WISER THAN THE CHILDREN OF LIGHT 6l ESSAY V THE ART OF HAVING TIME 73 ESSAY VI HAPPINESS 97 ESSAY VII THE MEANING OF LIFE 127 NOTES 153 2130559 PREFACE Great numbers of thoughtful people are just now much perplexed to know what to make of thefafts of life, and are looking about them for some reasonable interpretation of the modern world. 'They cannot abandon the work of the world, but they are conscious that they have not learned the art of work. They have to fight the battle of life, but they are not sure what weapons are fit for that battle. They are so beset by the cares of living that they have no time for life itself. They observe that happiness often eludes those who most eagerly pursue it; and that the meaning of life is often hidden from those whose way would seem to be most free. To this state of mind hesitating, restless, and dissatisfied, in the world but not content to be of the world the reflections of Professor Hilty, as published in Switzerland and Germany, have already brought much reassurance and composure ; and their message seems hardly less applicable to English and American life. Here also the fever of commercialism threatens the vitality of ideal- ism, and here also the art of life is lost in the pace of living. Religion to a great many edu- cated people still seems, as Bishop Butler wrote in 1736, "not so much as a subjeff of inquiry. 'This seems agreed among persons of discern- ment" ; and a book about religion might still begin with the words which Schleiermacher wrote in 1 806 : " // may well surprise the wise men of this age that any one should still venture to ask their attention for a subject which they have so wholly abandoned." And yet, in regions of experience which no one fails sooner or later to enter , regions of great joy and sorrow , ex- periences of serious duty and bewildering doubts of the meaning of life, many a mind that has seemed to itself to have outgrown religion looks about for a religion that is real. Such a mind will not be satisfied with a left-over faith ; it will not be tempted by an ecclesiastical omni- science. It demands sanity , reserve, wisdom, and insight, a competent witness of the things of the Spirit. This is the state of mind to which this little book is addressed. 'The author makes his ap- peal not to discussion , but to life. He reports the story of a rational experience. He walks with con- fidence because he knows the way. He accepts the saying of Pico della Mirandola: " Philosophia veritatem quaerit, . . . religio possidet" Let us take life, he says, just as it is and must be, and observe that the doors which lead into its inner meaning open only to the key of a reasonable faith. VI // might be fancied that a writer thus de- scribed must be a recluse or mystic, remote from the spirit of the modern world and judging ex- periences which he does not share. Quite the contrary is the f aft. Thephilosophy of life which he teaches is wrought out of large experience, both of academic and political affairs, and that which draws readers to the author is his capa- city to maintain in the midst of important duties of public service an unusual detachment of de- sire and an interior quietness of mind. His short Essays are the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, told in the language of modern life ; the Imita- tion of Christ, expressed with the academic re- serve of a modern gentleman. Some years ago I obtained permission from Professor Hilty to translate for English and American readers a few of these Essays which had found such acceptance in Switzerland and Germany ; and the present volume, containing his first series, has been a pleasant occupation of some vacation days. I have found it necessary, however, to use much freedom in dealing with his idiomatic and epigrammatic style, and have perhaps exceeded the legitimate right of a trans- lator in the attempt to reproduce the tone and temper of the author. Nothing, I think, is here Vll which Professor Hilty has not said ; but there are many shifting* of phrase and many rup- tures of German sentences ; and here and there a passage has been omitted which seemed impor- tant to Swiss readers only. The Essay on Epic- tetus, being rather a compilation and review than an illustration of Hilty' s own philosophy of life, is omitted; as are also the copious and discursive footnotes which enrich the original. I trust that these liberties and omissions may not obscure the qualities of Professor Hilty 's mind its insight , sagacity, humor, and de- voutness which no one who has had the privi- lege of his personal acquaintance can recall without affecJion and gratitude. FRANCIS G. PEABODY. Cambridge, Massachusetts, Oftober 15, 1902. Vlll NOTE Carl Hilty was born February 28, 1833, a * Chur, Switzerland. He was a student at Got- f tingen, Heidelberg, London, and Paris; and an advocate at Chur, 18551 874. In 1 874 he was appointed Professor of Constitutional Law (Staats- und Volkerrecht) in the University of Bern, which position he still holds. Since 1 890 he has been a member of the Swiss House of Representatives ( Nationalrat) ; and in 1901 he was Re El or of the University of Bern. Among his scientific writings may be named the following: Theorists and Idealists of Democ- racy (Theoristen und Idealisten der Demo- kratie), Bern, 1868; Ideas and Ideals of Swiss Politics (Ideen und Ideale schweizerischer Politik), Bern, 1875; Leftures on the Swiss Political System (Vorlesungen uber die Politik derEidgenossenschaft), Bern, 1 879 ; On Capi- tal Punishment (Ueber die Wiedereinfuhrung der Todesstrafe ) , Bern, 1879; ^ e Neutrality of Switzerland (Die Neutralitdt der Schweiz in ihrer heutigen Auffassung), Bern, 1889 (French translation by Mentha, 1889^; The Referendum in Switzerland (Das Referen- dum im schweizerischen Staatsrecht), Archiv fur offentliches Recht, 1887; The Boer War IX (Der Burenkrieg), Bern, 1900. He has also been the editor of the Journal of Swiss 'Juris- prudence ( Politisches Jahrbuch der schwei- zerischen Eidgenossenschaft) since 1886. In the midst of this scientific activity Pro- fessor Hilty has expressed his inner life through a series of little books issued at intervals dur- ing the last ten years, as follows : Happiness (Cluck), First Series, 1891, Second Series, 1895, Third Series, 1898; On Reading and Speaking ( Lesen und Reden), 1891; For Sleepless Nights (Fur schlaflose N'dchte) \~Brief Readings for each Day of the Tear\, 1901. I. THE ART OF WORK I. THE ART OF WORK HE most important of all arts is the art of work; for if one could thoroughly un- derstand this art, all other knowledge and conduct would be infinitely simpli- fied. Few people, however, really know how to work, and even in an age when oftener perhaps than ever before we hear of "work" and "workers" one can- not observe that the art of work makes much positive progress. On the contrary, the gen- eral inclination seems to be to work as little as possible, or to work for a short time in order to pass the remainder of one's life in rest. Work and rest are they then aims in life which are positiv ely contradictory ? This must be our first inquiry; for while every one is ready with praise of work, pleasure in work does not always come with the prais- ing. So long as the disinclination to work is so common an evil, indeed almost a disease of modern civilization, so long as every one as soon as possible endeavors to escape from the work which he thus theoretically praises, there is absolutely no hope for any better- ing of our social condition. Indeed, if work and rest were contradictories, our social con- ditions wouldbe wholly beyond redemption. 3 For every human heart longs for rest. The humblest and least intellectual know the need of it, and in its highest moods, the soul seeks relief from constant strain. Indeed, the im- agination has found no better name for a future and happier existence than a state of eternal rest. If work, then, is necessary, and rest is the cessation of work, then the saying "In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread" is indeed a bitter curse and this earth is a "vale of tears. "In every generation there are but few who can on such terms be said to lead a worthy or a human life; and even these can do so only by dooming other human beings to the curse of work and by holding these others fast boundin its slavery. It was from this point of view that the an- cient authors pictured the hopeless slavery of the many as the condition under which the few might become free citizens of a civi- lized State; and even in the nineteenth cen- tury, a considerable part of the population of one great nation, with Christian preachers, Bible in hand, directing them, maintained on the field of battle the proposition that one race should be from generation to generation condemned to be the slave of another. Cul- ture, it is said, grows only under conditions of wealth, and wealth only through accumu- lation of capital, and capital only through ac- cumulation of the work of those who are not justly paid; that is to say, through injustice. Such are the conceptions of society which at once confront us as we approach our sub- ject. The following pages are not, however, to be devoted to any profound consideration either of the relative or of the absolute truth of these conceptions. I suggest, at this point, only the obvious truth, that if, not some peo- ple, but all, would work and work faithfully, the "Social Question," as it is called, would be forthwith solved ; and I may add, that by no other means whatever is it likely to be solved. Faithful work, however, is not to be brought about by compulsion. Even if the physical means of universal compulsion were present, no fruitful work would come of it. It is the desire for work which must be kindled in man ; and this brings us back again to consider the principles which may be ap- plied to this desire. The desire for work, we must, first of all, admit, cannot be attained by instruction; or even as our daily experience sadly testi- fies by mere example. It must be reached by reflection and experience; and experience thus reflected on will reveal to any serious inquirer the following facts. Rest, such as is desired, is not to be found in complete in- activity of mind or body, or in as little activity 5 as possible. On the contrary, it is to be found only in well-adapted and well-ordered activ- ity of both body and mind. The whole na- ture of man is created for activity, and Nature revenges herself bitterly on him who would rashly defy this law. Man is indeed driven out of the paradise of absolute rest, and God gives him the command to work, but with the work comes the consolation that work is essential to happiness. True rest, therefore, issues from work. Intellectual rest occurs through the percep- tion of fruitful progress in one's work, and through the solving of one's problems. Phy- sical rest is found in those natural intermis- sions which are given by daily sleep and daily food, and the essential and restful pause of Sunday. Such a condition of continuous and wholesome activity, interrupted only by these natural pauses, is the happiest con- dition on earth, and no man should wish for himself any other outward happiness. In- deed, we may go a step farther and add that it does not very much matter what the na- ture of this activity may be. Genuine activ- ity, which is not mere sport, has the property of becoming interesting as soon as a man becomes seriously absorbed in it. It is not the kind of activity which ensures happiness to us; it is the joy of action and attainment. 6 The greatest unhappiness which one can ex- perience is to have a life to live without a work to do, and to come to the end of life without its fruit of accomplished work. It is, therefore, wholly justifiable to speak of the "right to work." Indeed, it is the most primitive of all human rights. The unemployed are, we must admit, the most unfortunate of people. There are, however, quite as many of these, and perhaps more of them, in what we call the better classes than among what we call the working classes. The latter are driven to work by necessity, while the former, through their mistaken ways of education, their prejudices, and the imperious custom which in certain classes forbids genuine work, find themselves al- most absolutely and by heredity condemned to this great unhappiness. Each year we see them turning their steps with spiritual weari- ness and ennui to the Swiss mountains and health-resorts, from which in vain they an- ticipate refreshment. Once, the summer was enough to give them at least a temporary restoration from their disease of idleness. Now, they have to add the winter also, and soon the fair valleys which they have con- verted into hospitals will be open all the year to a restless throng, ever seeking rest and never finding it, because it does not seek 7 rest in work. "Six days shalt thou labor," not less and not more, with this prescrip- tion most of the nervous diseases of our time would be healed, except so far as they are an inherited curse from idle ancestors. With this prescription most of the physicians in sanitariums and insane asylums would lose their practice. Life is not given to man to en- joy, but, so far as may be, to use effectively. One who does not recognize this has already lost his spiritual health. Indeed, it is not possible for him to retain even his physical health as he might under conditions of natu- ral activity and reasonable ways of living. The days of our age are threescore years and ten, and some are so strong that they come to fourscore years ; yet though there be labor and sorrow in these years of work, still they have been precious : thus we read the ancient saying. Perhaps, indeed, this was its original meaning. We do well, however, to add at once one limitation. Not all work is of equal value, and there is spurious work which is directed to fictitious ends, and work which is itself fictitious in its form. Much, for instance, of the sewing and embroidering done by culti- vated women, much of the parading of sol- diers, much of what is called art, like the use- less drumming on the piano by persons with 8 no musical sense, a considerable part of the sportsman's life, and, not least, the time de- voted to keeping one's accounts, all these are occupations of this fictitious nature. A sagacious and wide-awake person must look for something more satisfying than these. Here also is the reason why factory labor, and, in short, all mechanical occupation in which one does but a part of the work, gives meagre satisfaction, and why an artisan who completes his work, or an agricultural la- borer, is, as a rule, much more contented than factory operatives, among whom the social discontent of the modern world first uttered itself. The factory workman sees little of the outcome of his work. It is the machine that works, and he is a part of it. He contributes to the making of one little wheel, but he never makes a whole clock, which might be to him his work of art and an achievement worthy of a man. Mechanical work like this fails to satisfy because it offends that natural consciousness of human worth which the humblest human being feels. On the other hand, the happiest workmen are those who can absolutely lose themselves in their work: the artist whose soul must be wholly occupied with his subject, if he hopes to grasp and reproduce it; the scholar who has no eye for anything beyond his special 9 task. Indeed, the same thing is to be said of those people whom we call "one-idea-ed" and who have created their own little world within one narrow sphere. All these have at least the feeling sometimes, no doubt, without adequate reason that they are ac- complishing real work for the world; a true, useful, necessary work, which is not mere play ; and many such persons, by this contin- uous, strenuous, and sometimes even phy- sically unhealthy activity, attain great old age, while idle and luxurious men and wo- men of society, who are, perhaps, the least useful and least productive class of the mod- ern world, must devote much of their time to the restoration of their health. The first thing, then, for our modern world to acquire is the conviction and expe- rience that well-directed work is the neces- sary and universal condition of physical and intellectual health, and for this reason is the way to happiness. From this it necessarily fol- lows that the idle class is to be regarded, not as a superior and favored class, but as that which they are, spiritually defective and diseased persons who have lost the right principle for the guidance of their lives. As soon as this opinion becomes general and es- tablished, then, and only then, will the better era for the world begin. Until that time, the 10 world will suffer from the excessive work of some, balancing the insufficient work of others, and it still remains a question which of these two types is in reality the more un- fortunate. Why is it then that these principles to which the experience of thousands of years testifies, which any one, whether he works or does not work, can test for himself, and which ail the religions and philosophies preach have not made their just impres- sion? Why is it, for instance, that there are still thousands of women who "defend with much passion many passages of Bible-teach- ing, and yet, with astonishing composure and in opposition to an express command of the Bible, take one day at the most, or perhaps none at all, for work, and six for refined idleness? All this proceeds in large degree from an irrational division and arrangement of work, which thus ill-arranged may indeed become a positive burden. And this brings me back to the title of my Essay. Instruction in the art of work is possible only for him who is already con- vinced of my first proposition, that some work is necessary, and who would gladly give himself to work if it were not that, to his sur- prise, some hindrance confronts him. Yet, work, like every other art, has its ways of ii dexterity, by means of which one may greatly lessen its laboriousness; and not only the willingness to work, but even the capacity to work, is so difficult to acquire that many persons fail of it altogether. The first step, then, toward the overcom- ing of a difficulty is in recognizing the dif- ficulty. And what is the difficulty which chiefly hinders work? It is laziness. Every man is naturally lazy. It always costs one an effort to rise above one's customary condi- tion of physical indolence. Moral laziness is, in short, our original sin. No one is naturally fond of work; there are only differences of natural and constitutional excitability. Even the most active-minded, if they yielded to their natural disposition, would amuse them- selves with other things rather than with work. Love of work must, therefore, proceed from a motive which is stronger than the mo- tive of physical idleness. And this motive is to be found in either of two ways. It may be a low motive, as, for instance, a passion like ambition or self-seeking, or, indeed, the sense of necessity, as in the preservation of life; or it may be a high motive, like the sense of duty or love, either for the work itself, or for the persons for whom the work is done. The no- bler motive has this advantage, that it is the 12 more permanent and is not dependent on the mere success of work. It does not lose its force either through the disheartening effect of failure, or the satisfying effect of success. Thus it happens that ambitious and self-seeking persons are often very diligent workers, but are seldom continuous and evenly progressive workers. They are al- most always content with that which looks like work, if it produce favorable conditions for themselves, although it does nothing of this for their neighbors. Much of our mer- cantile and industrial activity and, alas! we must add, much of the work of scholars and artists has this mark of unreality. If, then, one were to give to a young man entering into lifea word of preliminary coun- sel, it would be this: Do your work from a sense of duty, or for love of what you are doing, or for love of certain definite persons : attach yourself to some great interest of hu- man life to a national movement for politi- cal liberty; to the extension of the Christian religion; to the elevation of the neglected classes; to the abolition of drunkenness; to the restoration of permanent peace among the nations; to social reform; to ballot re- form; to prison reform; there are plenty of such causes inviting us to-day; and you will soon discover an impulse proceeding from these causes to yourself; and in addi- tion you will have what at first is a great help companionship in your work. There should be no young person, man or woman, to-day among civilized nations who is not ac- tively enlisted in some such army of progress. The only means of elevating and strength- ening youth, and training it in perseverance, is this: that early in life one is freed from himself, and does not live for himself alone. Selfishness is always enfeebling, and from it proceeds no work that is strong. I go on to remark that the most effective instrument to overcome one's laziness in work is the force of habit. Why should we use this mighty force in the service of our physical nature and not put it to use in our higher life as well? As a matter of fact, one can as well accustom himself to work or to self-control, to virtue, or truthfulness, or generosity, as he can to laziness, or self-in- dulgence, or extravagance, or exaggeration, or stinginess. And this is to be said further that no virtue is securely possessed until it has become a habit. Thus it is that as a man trains himself to the habit of work, the resistance of idleness constantly diminishes until at last work becomes a necessity. When this happens, one has become free from a very great part of the troubles of life. There remain a few elementary rules with which one can the more easily find his way to this habit of work. And first among such rules is the knowing how to begin. The resolution to set oneself to work and to fix one's whole mind on the matter in hand is really the hardest part of working. When one has once taken his pen or his spade in hand, and has made the first stroke, his whole work has already grown easier. There are people who always find something espe- cially hard about beginning their work, and who are always so busy with preparations, behind which lurks their laziness, that they never apply themselves to their work until they are compelled; and then the intellec- tual and even the physical excitement roused by the sense of insufficient time in which to do one's work injures the work itself. Other people wait for some special inspira- tion, which in reality is much more likely to come by means of, or in the midst of, work itself. It is at least my experience that one's work, while one is doing it, takes on a differ- ent look from that which one anticipated, and that one does not reach so many fruitful and new ideas in his times of rest as he does during the work itself. From all this follows the rule, not to postpone work, or lightly to accept the pretext of physical or intellectual 15 indisposition, but to dedicate a definite and well-considered amount of time every day to one's work. Then, if the "old man," as St. Paul calls him, is cunning enough to see that he must in any event do some work at a special time and cannot wholly give himself to rest, he may usually be trusted to resolve to do each day that which for each day is most necessary. Again, there are a great many men, oc- cupied in intellectual work of a productive kind, who waste their time and lose the hap- piness of work by devoting themselves to the arrangement of their work, or still oftener,to the introduction of their work. As a general rule, no artistic, or profound, or remote in- troduction to one's work is desirable. On the contrary, it usually anticipates unsuitably that which should come later. Even if this be doubted, the advice is at any rate good that one's introduction and one's title should be written last. Thus composed, they com- monly cost no labor. One makes a beginning much more easily when he starts without any preamble, with that chapter of his work with which he is most familiar. For the same reason, when one reads a book, it is well to omit at the first reading the preface and often the first chapter. For my own part, I never read a preface until I have finished a 16 book, and I discover, almost without excep- tion, that when, after reading the book, I turn back for a look at the preface, I have lost nothing by omitting it. Of course, it must be said that there are books of which the preface is the best part. Of these, how- ever, it may also be said that they are not worth reading at all. And now I may safely take still another step and add, that, with the exception of an introduction to your work or its central treat- ment, it is best to begin with that part which is easiest to you. The chief thing is to begin. One may indeed advance less directly in his work by doing it unsystematically, but this loss is more than made good by his gain of time. Under this head also should be added two other rules. One is the law: "Take no thought for the morrow : for thejmorrow shall take thought for the things of itself." Man is endowed with the dangerous gift of im- agination, and imagination has a much larger realm than that of one's capacity. Through one's imagination one sees his whole work lying before him as a task to be achieved all at once, while his capacity, on the other hand, can conquer its task only by degrees, and must constantly renew its strength. Do your work, then, as a rule, for each day. The morrow will come in its own time, and with '7 it will come the strength for the morrow. The second rule is this : In intellectual work one should, indeed, deal with his material thoroughly; but he should not expect: to exhaust his material, so that there shall be nothing further left to say or to read. No man's strength is in these days sufficient for absolute thoroughness. The best principle is to be completely master of a relatively small region of research ; and to deal with the larger inquiries only in their essential fea- tures. He who tries to do too much usually accomplishes too little. A further condition of good work is this, that one should not persist in working when work has lost its freshness and plea- sure. I have already said that one may be- gin without pleasure, for otherwise one, as a rule, would not begin at all. But one should stop as soon as his work itself brings fatigue. This does not mean that one should, for this reason, stop all work, but only that he should stop the special kind of work which is fatiguing him. Change in work is almost as refreshing as complete rest. Indeed, with- out this characteristic of human nature, we should hardly accomplish anything. Again, in order to be able to do much work, one must economize one's force, and the practical means to this is by wasting no 18 time on useless activities. I can hardly make plain how much pleasure and power for work is lost by this form of wastefulness. First of all, among such ways of wasting time should be reckoned the excessive reading of news- papers ; and to this should be added the ex- cessive devotion to societies and meetings. An immense numberof people, for instance, begin their morning, the best time they have for work, with the newspaper, and end their day quite as regularly in some club or meet- ing. They read each morning the whole of a paper, or perhaps of several papers, but it would be hard, as a rule, to savrwhat in- tellectual acquisition remained the next day from such reading. This, at least, is certain, that after one has finished his paper, he ex- periences a certain disinclination for work, and snatches up another paper, if it happen to be within reach. Any one, therefore, who desires to do much work must carefully avoid all useless occupation of his mind, and, one may even add, of his body. He must reserve his powers for that which it is his business to do. Finally, and for intellectual work, with which throughout I am specially concerned, there is one last and important help. It is the habit of reviewing, and revising, one's material. Almost every intellectual work is '9 at first grasped only in its general outlines, and then, as one attacks it a second time, its finer aspects reveal themselves, and the appreciation of them becomes more com- plete. One's chief endeavor, then, should be, as a famous writer of our day remarks, "not to achieve the constant productiveness which permits itself no pause, but rather to lose oneself in that which one would create. Hence issues the desire to reproduce one's ideal in visible forms. External industry, the effort to grasp one's material and promptly master it, these are, indeed, obvious con- ditions of authorship, but they are of less value than that higher and spiritual industry which steadily works toward an unattained end." The conception of work, thus excellently stated, meets a final difficulty which our dis- cussion has already recognized. For work, under this view, maintains continuity, in spite of and even during one's necessary rest. Here is the ideal of the highest work. The mind works continuously, when it has once acquired the genuine industry which comes through devotion to one's task. In fact, it is curious to notice how often, after pauses in one's work not excessively prolonged, one's material has unconsciously advanced. Every- thing has grown spontaneously. Many dif- 20 ficulties seem suddenly disposed of, one's first supply of ideas is multiplied, assumes picturesqueness, and lends itself to expres- sion ; so that the renewal of one's work oc- curs with ease, as though it were merely the gathering of fruit which in the interval had ripened without effort of our own. This, then, is a second reward of work, in addition to that which one commonly recog- nizes. Only he who works knows what en- joyment and refreshment are. Rest which does not follow work is like eating without appetite. The best, the pleasantest, and the most rewarding and also the cheapest way of passing the time is to be busy with one's work. And as matters stand in the world to-day, it seems reasonable to antici- pate that at the end of our century some so- cial revolution will make those who are then at work the ruling class; just as at the be- ginning of the last century a social revolution gave to industrious citizens their victory over the idle nobility and the idle priests. Wher- ever any social class sinks into idleness, sub- sisting like those idlers of the past on in- comes created by the work of others, there such non-productive citizens again must yield. The ruling class of the future must be the working class. 21 II. HOW TO FIGHT THE BAT- TLES OF LIFE II. HOW TO FIGHT THE BAT- TLES OF LIFE ANY people in our day even well-intentioned peo- ple have lost their faith in idealism. They regard it as a respectable form of phi- losophy for the education of the young, but as a creed of little use in later life. Theoretically, they say, and for purposes of education, idealism has much to commend it, but, practically, things turn out to be brutally material. Thus such persons divide life into two parts, in one of which we may indulge ourselves in fine theories and sentiments, and, indeed, are to be encouraged in them; and in the other of which we wake rudely from this dream and deal with reality as best we can. Kant, in one of his briefer writings, dealt a hundred years ago with this state of mind. He examined the phrase which was even then familiar: "That may be well enough in theory, but does network in practice"; and he showed that it expressed an absurd con- tradiction unworthy of a thinking being. The logical realism of our day, however, is not concerned with theoretical proposi- tions. It turns, on the contrary, to the hard fact of the struggle for existence, in which 25 indifference to others and absolute self-in- terest are not only permissible, but, as one looks at the real conditions of life, seem more or less positively demanded. These modern realists say: "The world we see about us is one where only a few can succeed and where many must fail. There are not good things enough for all. The question is not whether such a state of things is right or just. On the contrary, it must be admitted to be a hard, unreasonable, unjust universe. It is not for the individual, however, set without consent of his own in such a universe, to change it. His only problem is to make it certain that in such a universe he is f the hammer, not the anvil/' 1 Such is the essence of that worldly wis- dom which is the creed of many cultivated people to-day. With it disappears, of course, any need of moral or religious education. Such instruction in schools might as well be abandoned. Indeed, Saint-Just made the original suggestion that instead of such in- struction there should be substituted the daily study of the placards posted on the street corners which announce the police regulations of the government as to the con- duct of life. Under such a theory of educa- tion, young people would grow immensely clever and practical. They would be trained 26 to get and to keep. They would be free from every sentiment of honor which might be a hindrance in their path. Most of them, it must be confessed, would, early in life, lose physical, intellectual, and moral vigor, and others would lament, perhaps too late, that their youth had been sacrificed to that which was not worth their seeking. At the best, they would acquire but uncertain possessions to be defended daily against a thousand com- petitors, and these possessions would bring bitterness along with them, both to those who have them and to those who have them not. Peace and happiness would be secured to no one. Such seems to be the issue of this view of life which is now so common among us, and which we call the view of the "prac- tical" man. But what is idealism? It is, as I under- stand it, a form of faith, an inward convic- tion. It is absolutely necessary for the per- manence of the world; yet it never can be proved true, and indeed for him who has it needs no proof. Further, no one becomes an idealist by being taughtabout it or by reason- ing concerning it. Nor is this so strange as it might seem, for the very trustworthiness of the human reason itself is proved to us only by experience. The very truths of religion re- mainunprovedunless the moral power which 27 issues from them provides their proof. That which has power must have reality. No other proof of reality is final. Even our senses could not convince us, if our experience and the experience of all other men did not assure us that we could not unconditionally, but under normal conditions trust them not to deceive. That which brings conviction to one is his experience, and that which rouses in him the desire and the inward disposition to believe in his own experience is the testi- mony of others who have had that experi- ence themselves. There is a short treatise, written by one who in his youth was a friend of Goethe's, the Russian General von Klinger, which gives its testimony in a few words concerning this idealism in practical life. It may be found in von Klinger's rarely opened works, under the title: "How it is possible without deceit, and even in constant conflict with evil, to overcome the world." Its contents are sim- ply a series of weighty aphorisms, of which I select a few: "First of all," says von Klinger,"onewho would overcome the world must give up thinking of what people call happiness, and must with all his might, without indirect- ness, or fear, or self-seeking, simply do his duty. He must, that is to say, be pure in 28 mind and heart, so that none of his actions shall be stained by selfishness. Where jus- tice and right-dealing are called for, there must be in him no distinction of great or small, of significant or insignificant. . . . "Secondly, for the protection of his own strength and his purity of conduct, he must be free from the desire to shine, free from the shallowness of vanity and the restless search for fame and power. Most human follies proceed from the restlessness of ambition. Ambition demoralizes both those whom it masters and those through whom it accom- plishes its ends. The boldest and most can- did criticism does not wound so deeply as does the foolish longing for praise. . . . "Again, one who is thus pure in motive will permit himself to be conspicuous only when and where his duty demands it. For the rest, he will live a life of seclusion in his family, with few friends, among his books, and in the world of the spirit. Thus heavoids that conflict with others about trifles which to many persons are of such absorbing con- cern. One may be pardoned for eccentricity in such affairs by having no place at all among them. His life does not touch the circle of society, and he asks of society only to let him do his duty, and then to be per- mitted to live in peace. It may be that he 29 will thus stir others to envy or to hate, but it will be an envy and hate too petty for ex- pression, or at any rate ineffective for harm. He who has thus withdrawn from trifles gets much out of life. Indeed, he gets more than he expects and more than he has intended; for he finally gains that which men in its coarser sense call happiness. . . . "To all this," says von Klinger, "I add another point: that one must withhold him- self from all ambition to pose as a reformer and from all signs of that desire. He must not enter into controversy about opinions with people who have nothing but opinions. He must speak of himself only to himself and think of himself only in himself. . . . I have developed," concludes von Klinger, "my own character and my own inner ex- perience as my power and disposition have permitted; and so far as I have done this se- riously and honestly, so far has come to me of itself what men call happiness and pros- perity. I have observed myself more deeply than others and dealt with myself more un- sparingly than with others. I have never played a part, never felt inclined thereto, and have ever expressed the convictions I have reached without fear, and have held them fast, so that I now no more fear the possibility of being or doing other than my 30 convictions demand. One is safe from the temptations of others only when one can no more tempt himself. I have borne many re- sponsibilities, but at the conclusion of each I have passed the rest of my time in the profoundest solitude and the most complete obscurity." 1 ^ The author of these weighty aphorisms was dealing especially with political life. He does not seek for them any philosophical basis. He offers them simply as the result of his stirring and often adventurous career, and as such his testimony is far more valu- able than if it had issued from the closet of a philosopher or a theologian who had slight contact with practical affairs. It is not my in- tention to translate these suggestions into abstract form and make them less real and persuasive. I only desire to annotate them with a few practical comments. I. Concerning von Klinger's first propo- sition, it is to be said that true idealism is not the deceiving of oneself concerning re- ality, or the intentional ignoring of reality, or the hiding from reality, or the creating for oneself a world of unreality. Idealism, on the contrary, is reached by a deeper in- terpretation of the world, by victory over it and especially by victory over oneself. For we, too, are an integral part of the world and 3 1 we cannot conquer the whole unless, first of all, we conquer our own part of it, by strength of principles and force of habit. Hence issues that right judgment of suc- cess which von Klinger lays down. One of our own contemporaries, Thiers, a man who had in high degree attained success, and who at certain points in his life pursued it with excessive zeal, once made this striking re- mark: " Men of principle need not succeed. Success is necessary only to schemers." In other words, agenuine victory over the world is not to be achieved through that kind of success which the French call succes, and which for many men makes the end of effort. He who plays this game of ambition may as well abandon the hope of peace of mind or of peace with others, and in most cases he must forfeit outright his self-respect. Real success in life, then, the attainment of the highest human perfection and of true and fruitful activity, necessarily and repeat- edly involves outward failure. Success, to von Klinger, means an honorable career with victory at its close. The work of life is regarded in its wholeness, as a brave and honorable man should wish and hope it to be. Unbroken success is necessary only for cowards. Indeed, one may go further and say that the secret of the highest success in 32 important affairs often lies in failure. The men who have most completely commanded the admiration of the world, and who are most conspicuous in history, are not those who have reached the goal of life through success alone. Caesar and Napoleon would have been remembered only as examples of tyranny if it had not been for Brutus, Waterloo and St. Helena. The Maid of Orleans would be recalled as a masterful woman like many others had it not been for her martyrdom. Hannibal would be no noble example if Carthage had conquered. A traitor like Charles I. of England is still held in high honor by many persons who cannot endure the memory of the most he- roic character in modern history, Crom- well. Had Cromwell died on the scaffold and Charles on the throne, this estimate of them would have been reversed. The life of the Emperor Frederick III. is another ex- ample and will be a still more impressive one as the better future looks back on it. The greatest example of all, the cross, the gallows of its time, became for all the world a sign of honor and subdued to itself the power of Rome. Looking at Christianity in a wholly human and untheological way, one may believe that its unexampled suc- cess would not have been possible if the 33 scholars and scribes of that day had wel- comed it. Something of such failure comes with all right ways of life. Without it, life sinks in the rut of commonplace. This kind of failure should not bear the common re- proach of misfortune. It is, on the contrary, the crown of thorns which marks the way of the cross, and proves to be the true crown after all. II. Concerning the second aphorism of von Klinger's there is this to add: that no self-seeking person ever reaches the end he most desires. It is surprising to see what one may accomplish when he gives his attention and energy wholly to the doing of one thing. Examples of this kind of success meet us at every turn. What these persons at heart de- sire, however, is not the wealth, or honor, or power, or learning which they reach. They prize these possessions only as the neces- sary prerequisites for happiness. What is it, then, of which they must first of all be con- vinced? It is the truth that happiness does not come through these possessions, that, in fa6t, these possessions are likely to bring un- happiness. When this conviction is attained, then, at last, the self-seeking spirit will per- haps abandon its aim. Of all self-seekers, the most unfortunate are to be found among the educated. When 34 they stand on the lower rung of the ladder which they wish to climb, they are consumed by envy of those above them; and of all the emotions which degrade a man in his own eyes the most humiliating is envy. When, on the other hand, they have climbed to the top, then they are distressed by the constant fear of those who are climbing toward them and whose thoughts and purposes they well know from their own experience. If they seek safety by surrounding themselves by flatter- ers, then they are never safe from betrayal ; for if they seem likely to fall, no one cares to hold them up. If, finally, they shut their ears to these disturbing voices within their hearts and give themselves to self-indul- gence, then they lose the very qualities which are most essential to success. Besides all this, the chances of success for the self-seeker are slight. Not one in ten at- tains what he desires, and, even of those whom we call fortunate, few should be so reckoned until they die. It is not necessary to cite examples of such failure. The daily paper reports them to us every morning. Long ago one of the prophets of Israel described this unsatisfying result of life and effort in classic words which we may well repeat: "Ye have sown much, and bring in little ; ye eat, but ye have not enough ; ye drink, but ye are not 35 filled with drink; ye clothe you, but there is none warm ; and he that earneth wages earn- eth wages to put it into a bag with holes." Still further, nothing is so exhausting as this self-seeking effort. The passion which it develops is like an access of fever which burns away one's vitality. The strength of health, on the other hand, renews itself through self- forgetting work; and thrives on unselfish service done for worthy ends. Only in such service are other people sincerely inclined to help. Thus it happens that some people, though they work hard and never retire to the health-resorts, still live to a robust old age, while other people spend half the year or perhaps the whole of it at the baths and remain without rest. The many nervous dis- eases of our time are for the most part caused by the self-centred life, and their real cure must be through a renewal in health of mind and will. III. As to von Klinger's third suggestion, it is to be said that the inclination to soli- tude is absolutely necessary not only for happiness, but for the tranquil development of one's spiritual life. The happiness which can really be attained, and which is indepen- dent of all changes, is to be found in a life given to great thoughts and in a work peace- fully directed toward great ends. Such a 36 life is, however, necessarily withdrawn from fruitless sociability. As Goethe says, "To such a life, all else is vanity and illusion." It is by such a course of life that one by de- grees escapes from the fickleness and moodi- ness of life. He learns not to take people too seriously. He comes to regard with tranquil- lity the shifting changes of opinions and in- clinations. So far as his inclination goes and his duties permit,he would rather shun popu- larity than seek it. IV. As to the last of von Klinger's para- graphs, it may be said to contain the philo- sophy of his life. Looking at people as individuals, their lives appear full of con- trasts; but taking them all together, their lives are in fad: much alike. One section of humanity, of high and of low estate, lives either consciously or unconsciously a merely animal life. Such persons simply follow the path which their physical nature indicates, fulfilling their little span of life, and know- ing no other destiny. Another group is ever seeking some escape from this unsatisfying end of life. Dante, in the first canto of his Divine Comedy, very beautifully describes these seekers for the better life; and this search makes in reality the spiritual experi- ence of all great personalities. The first step in this way of life is taken 37 when one becomes discontented with life as it is and longs for something better. One's reason seeks an outlet from the labyrinth of the world and at last from sheer weariness resolves, at any cost, to forsake the world's ways and to seek peace. When one has come to this resolution, then he is on the way to salvation, and experiences that inner happi- ness which one gains who has found at last the way he ought to go. And, indeed, this man is essentially saved ; for he is now open to the unhindered influences of new spiritual forces, against which in his early life his will had set itself. Yet, as a matter of fad, he is only ready for his second step. It is the long conflict for supremacy between what the Apostle calls "the old and the new man." Both of them are in him still and his problem is to realize the " new man " and bring it to fulness of life. Many people who are striving for the better life come to this second step and stay there all their days; and this is the reason why so many lives which are rightly directed still give the impression of imperfection, and why they do not seem to contribute much though often more than we think to the ennobling of human relationships. There remains the third step of spiritual growth, which, once fairly taken, leads to 38 the complete interpretation of life. It is the stage of practical activity, the participating in the creation of a spiritual kingdom. Some- times it has been likened to the taking part in a great work of architecture, sometimes to the enlistment in an active war. Nothing less than this life of unselfish service can bring to the individual true content. So long as one lives for himself and is considering, even in the highest and noblest way, his own self- culture, there lingers in him some taint of his original selfishness, or, at best, he but half sees his way. As Goethe has expressed it: "While one strives, he errs." This self- directed effort must, at last, cease. Nothing is more untrue, nothing is more fundamen- tally disheartening, than the maxim of Les- sing which so many have admired, accord- ing to which endless effort after truth is to be preferred to the possession of the truth. One might as well say that endless thirst, or endless cold, was more acceptable than the finding of a refreshing fountain or the warmth of the quickening sun. Here then, in this attitude of life, removed from religious or philosophical restlessness, is the path to continuous inward peace and power. It leads, first of all, to humility and to freedom from self-complacency. It is pos- sible to hold to this path through the midst 39 of all natural ills; it is the best way that life has to offer. What the happiness is which one then finds is hard to communicate to an- other. It comes of ceasing to think first of all of oneself. It has, as Rothe says, "no private business to transact." It does its work tran- quilly, with absolute certainty that, though the issue of its work may be unrecognized, still it is secure. This way of life brings with it courage, and this courage manifests itself, not in feverish excitement, but in an out- ward habit of composure which testifies to inward and central stability. Such a life trusts its way and its destiny. Outward experiences and the judgments of other men have no power to move it. It is, perhaps, not essential that in the education of youth these truths should be urgently pressed, for they may easily appear visionary and in such a mat- ter all appearance of obscurity and unreality is to be deplored. God permits only high- minded souls, like von Klinger, fully to at- tain this way of life. We need not discuss whether all this should be called idealism a name which would drive many clever people from its ac- ceptance. Whatever it may be named, it is a faith which has brought to those who have confidently given themselves to it greater in- ward peace than is found in any more familiar 40 creed. It needs but slight observation of life or of history to be convinced of this. And yet, I fear, most of my readers may be more inclined to say with King Agrippa: "Almost thou persuadest me," little as Agrippa prof- ited by the success he attained. A German poet sums up the richness of this spiritual peace, which men like von Klinger exhibit, in lines which I thus slightly adapt: " Outward life is light and shadow. Mingled wrong and struggling right. But within the outward trouble Shines a healing, inward light. Not to us may come fulfilment, Not below our struggles cease, Yet the heavenly vision gives us, Even here, an inward peace" III. GOOD HABITS III. GOOD HABITS HE most important experi- ence which, sooner or later, meets every thoughtful per- son, both in his own intel- lectual development and in his observation of others, is this, that every act, and, indeed, every definite thought, leaves behind it an inclination which is like a material in- fluence, and which makes the next similar thought, or act, easier, and the next dissimi- lar thought, or act, more difficult. This is the curse of evil conduct, that it ever brings forth more evil conduct; and this too is the sure and chief reward of good conduct, that it strengthens the tendency to good and makes permanent what has been gained. Here is the solemn and tragic fact which lies behind all human life, that what we have once done we can never change. There it remains, just as it happened, little as we may be inclined to believe, or to admit, that it is there. And hence it is that history truly written is no entertaining drama, ending in general reconciliation and embrace, but a tragedy which describes the movement of destiny. If, then, one begins thus to take life se- riously, he will soon observe that its main 45 problem does not concern its thought or its faith, still less any outward confession which may leave the soul within quite undis- turbed. The real problem of life is simply and solely one of habit, and the end of all education should be to train people to incli- nations toward good. To choose discreetly between good and evil is not always prac- ticable, for human passions are sometimes too strong; but what may be developed is a prompt and spontaneous instinct for the good; and the ideal of human life is one in which all that is good has become sheer habit, and all that is bad is so contrary to nature, that it gives one even a physically perceptible and painful shock. Failing this, all that one calls virtue or piety is but a series of those good intentions with which the path to evil, as to good, may be paved. What, then, are the most important of good habits? I propose to name a few, not in any systematic fashion; for of systems of morals the modern world seems to have had more than enough, and it is much more likely to give some attention to purely practical suggestions based on practical experience. The first and chief rule seems to be this, that one should try rather to cultivate good habits than merely negatively to escape from bad ones. It is much easier in the inner 46 life, as in the outer, to attack positively than to repel defensively; for in aggressive con- dud: every success brings joy, while in mere resistance much of one's effort seems to have no positive result. The main point to be gained is the habit of prompt resolution, directed immediately toward action. What Voltaire said of the history of nations is in large degree true of human life: "I have noticed that destiny in every case depends upon the act of a moment." The second principle of good habits is fearlessness. Perhaps this is not possible to acquire in a high degree without a strong re- ligious faith. This I will not discuss. It is, at any rate, certain that fear is not only the least agreeable of human emotions, so that one should at any cost conquer it, but that it is also the most superfluous. For fear does not prevent the approach of that which is feared; it only exhausts beforehand the strength which one needs to meet the thing he fears. Most of the things which we fear to meet are not in reality so terrible as they appear to be when looked at from afar. When they meet us, they can be borne. The imagi- nation is inclined to picture evils as more permanent and persistent than they are really to be. If, as one's trouble approached, he should say to himself: "This is likely to last 47 about three days," one would in many cases be justified by the event, and, at any rate, would proceed to meet the trouble with a better courage. On the whole, the best de- fence against fear which philosophy can pro- vide is the conviction that every fear is a symptom of some wrong condition in our- selves. If one search for that weakness and rid himself of it, then, for the most part, fear will vanish also. Beyond this philosophical defence from fear, however, lie certain spiritual conditions of courage. The chief of these is determining for oneself what are the best blessings of life. First of all, one must acquire as soon as pos- sible the habit of preferring the better things to the worse. He must especially abandon the expectation of possessing at the same time different things which are contradic- tory of each other. Here is the secret of fail- ure in many a career. In my opinion, a man may not only freely choose his aims in life, but he may attain all those aims which he seriously and wholly desires, provided that for the sake of this desire he is ready to sur- render all other desires which are inconsist- ent with it. The best possessions one can have in life, and the things which, with rea- sonable sagacity, are the easiest to get, are these : firm moral principles, intellectual dis- 48 cipline, love, loyalty, the capacity for work and the enjoyment of it, spiritual and physi- cal health, and very moderate worldly pos- sessions. No other blessings can be compared with these, and some other possessions are inconsistent with these for instance, great wealth, great worldly honor and power, ha- bitual self-indulgence. These are the things which people commonly most desire, and which they very often attain, but they must always be attained through the surrender of the better things. One must, therefore,promptlyandunhes- itatingly determine to surrender the desire for wealth, honor, and luxury, and to take in their place other possessions. Without this determination, there can be no religious or philosophical basis of spiritual education. What seems to be spiritual development ends in unreality, vacillation, at last hypo- crisy. It must be confessed that even the best of men are, as a rule, but half-hearted in making this fundamental resolution. They give up under compulsion one or another fragment of their desires. Few are sagacious enough to foresee the choice which sooner or later must be made, and free themselves while they are still young from their pro- longed perplexity by one quick and sublime decision. 49 A further obstacle to any worthy life is the desire for praise, or for pleasure. The man who is dominated by either of these motives is simply a slave of the opinions or tastes of others. Both of these desires must be, with- out compromise, expelled, and sympathy, which one has always at his command, must take their place. For, if the lower desires have been cast out and no higher impulses enter, then we have simply an unendurable emptiness in life. " When the unclean spirit," says the Gospel, "is gone out of a man, he walketh through dry places, seeking rest, and findeth none. . . . Then goeth he, and tak- eth with himself seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter in and dwell there: and the last state of that man is worse than the first." Thus, at any cost, and even for the sake of one's own soul, one must make it his habit to cultivate love for others, not first of all inquiring whether they deserve that love or not a question which is often too hard to answer. For without love life is without joy, especially when one has outgrown his youth. Lacking love, we sink into indiffer- ence, and indifference passes easily into aver- sion, and one's aversions so poison life that life is no better than death. Further, our dislikes must be directed, 50 not against people, but against things. Good and evil are too much mingled in persons to be justly distinguished, and each unjust judgment reads upon those who have per- mitted themselves to be unjust and embitters their lives. Therefore, permit neither your philosophy nor your experience to crowd out of your life the power to love. Dismiss the preliminary question of another's right to be loved. Love is the only way of keeping one's inner life in peace, and of maintaining an in- terest in people and in things. Without it, both people and things become by degrees an annoyance and affront. Thus love is, at the same time, the highest worldly wisdom. One who loves is always, though uncon- sciously, wiser than one who does not. If you incline to say with the poet: " This is my creed and this will ever be^ To love and hate as others may treat me!" live for a while by this creed, and you will learn soon enough how much of hate and how little of love you are likely to receive. I n all the points thus far indicated, and es- pecially in the last, there is no place for half- way conduct. There must be a complete and absolute decision, with no petty and clever computations of consequences. And in ad- dition to these more decisive rules of habit, there are many smaller ones which go to re- inforce and make practicable the larger prin- ciples. For instance, there is the Gospel com- mand : " Let the dead bury their dead." The dead are the best people to do this work. If one refrain from controversy about what is past and gone, then one may give himself to tasks of positive construclion,and not merely to that destructive work which, even if it be essential, should be subordinate. Many a me- morial has been dedicated to those who de- stroy which should have been reserved for those who fulfil. And yet, one must not let himself be cheated. He must not even be thought to be easily duped. He must let the would- be clever people know that he reads their thoughts and knows what they are seeking. One may, as I have already said, read such thoughts quite thoroughly if one be no longer blinded by any selfishness of his own. Apart from this degree of self-defence, which is so far necessary, the better plan in general is to see the good side of people and to take for granted that there is good in them. Then it not only happens that they often make the effort to be good and become ac- tually better through one's appreciation of them, but it also happens that one is saved from a personal experience of regret or dis- 52 tress. For intercourse with persons whom one recognizes as bad, demoralizes one's own nature, and in the case of sensitive per- sons may go so far as to have even a physi- cal effect. What is bad needs no severity of criticism or of reproach. In most cases it needs only to be brought to the light. Then, even if the man protest that he is not bad, his conscience judges him. Therefore, when one must blame others, he should proceed with great calmness, speak of the matter without disguise and without glossing, but simply and without passion. Passionate re- proaches seldom do good, and good people who lack sympathy are apt to be very trying. There is a kind of virtuous character not un- familiar in some Protestant circles which to those who differ from its convictions seems to have no capacity for love. It is especially aggravating to young people, so that they often prefer the company of the vicious to that of moral but cold-blooded friends. Finally, it may not appear possible for you to be equally friendly with everybody. Well, then, discriminate among people, but always in favor of the humble, the poor, the simple, the uneducated, the children, even the animals and plants. Never, on the other hand, if you desire a quiet mind, seek the favor of important people, and never expect 53 gratitude for condescension to the humble, but count the love they have for you as pre- cious as you do your love for them. There are many other of these lesser in- stances of good habits which I might still further mention, and if my reader should recall them, he is not to regard them as un- recognized by me. I only invite him, in the first place, to put to practical use my list as thus far suggested. As he does so, let him notice as he soon must notice that it is much more to his purpose to begin practi- cally with one good habit than to begin by making a complete catalogue of all. The real difficulty in this cultivation of good habits indeed the only difficulty is in ridding the heart of its natural selfishness. For self- ishness is the pra6tical obstacle to good hab- its, though it may pretend to believe in them. No one who understands himself will deny that there is in everyone a curious tendency to moral degeneration. It is often something that literally borders on depravity. Now, this inclination to evil is to be conquered only by a superior force; and the whole problem, both of philosophy and of religion, a prob- lem as old as the world and yet new with each individual, is summed up in the question: " Where shall I find this superior force which shall make me inclined to goodness and shall 54 renew that spiritual health which is essential for the right conduct of life?" To this question, there are still given many different answers. Dante, in the famous twenty-seventh canto ofthePurgatorio,says: " When underneath us was the stairway all Run