Right here is the crux of the whole matter. It deserves the closest scrutiny on the part of those who concern themselves with social problems, and with the large general questions of our human destiny. Broadly speaking, two points of view are possible. They are both understandable, but they are exclusive and contradict each other; consequently the social theories which grow out of them lead to opposite conclusions and programmes. The first point of view denies, of course, what I have just said about the impotence of the world endowment to produce of itself an admirable succeeding world; and specifically asserts the contrary. It is a doctrine of necessity. Man is a puppet of fate, the product of the world endowment, the result of his environment. From this point of view, free will is an illusion, and man is logically quite devoid of responsibility. If he make himself too much of a social nuisance, he is imprisoned or hanged, just as wild beasts, when they become a menace, are summarily disposed of. But short of inconvenient extremes of misconduct, man must be looked upon in the same dispassionate natural history spirit that we feel when we watch the antics of animals, or study the growth of plants.

The major objection to this point of view is to be found in the large mass of contradictory evidence. It is too voluminous to be presented in full, but one or two pertinent facts may be indicated.

The rise and fall of nations, for example, is one of the enigmas of history; and it is particularly baffling that while their rise is so gradual, their decline is so rapid, and in so many cases follows close upon the highest wave of material civilization and power. The fortunate nations would seem to be the target for the gods of misfortune-a brilliant flowering and then disaster. Just now America is approaching the crest of the wave, exhibiting a prosperity and a material civilization never before equalled, and already some of her anxious lovers are beginning to ask whether this is but another prelude to another immense disaster. One looks back, and asks, Where is Assyria? Where is Egypt? Where is Greece? Where is Rome? Even in our own day, Where is the German Empire? Will it be asked, a moment hence, Where is America?

It has been the same with families and with individuals. The heavier the endowment of outer advantage, the more certain would seem to be their ultimate deterioration and loss of distinction. It can be seen in New England and also in the South. In the West there are signs of loss, and already on the Pacific Coast one can find, as in Florida, the less fortunate children of the fortunate. If events prove anything, they assuredly prove that growth and progress come from within, and that while they may be helped from without, they may all too easily be smothered. The second point of view has already been indicated. It accepts most gratefully the tremendous endowment of the past, the highly organized body, the acute mind, the sensitive soul, all the wealth of structures, tools, equipment, our vast and expanding body of acquired knowledge, not as the source of further progress, but solely as substantial aid to contemporary achievement, if the will to achieve is there, and still bent upon the pursuit of perfection. But such a quest, endless in its very nature, involves genuine self-activity, genuine contemporary effort, and this is an entirely meaningless term unless we retain our old fashioned belief in the freedom of the will. If, like the animals and plants, we are the necessary and unavoidable product of our environment, if to our rich inheritance we add no power of volition, we are wholly incapable of self-activity, and are become automatons, tragic but hardly interesting.

I do not hide from myself that this doctrine of self-activity is not without difficulties. But the difficulties are at least no greater than those which dog the course of the first point of view, since both lead ultimately to the unknown, and are equally insoluble. If we were the puppets of fate, it would still be necessary to ask who plays the game and moves the puppets. One's reasonable choice depends, it seems to me, upon probabilities; and so far as I am able to read the evidence it all points in one direction. Inherited endowment, wearing the richest dress of outward civilization, has failed repeatedly, in races, families, individuals, to be the source of an enduring higher civilization; failed repeatedly to maintain even its own level; while human good will, bent upon mastery, has never failed to dominate outward circumstances and attain ultimate victory.

I state the issue between these contradictory points of view so sharply because so much depends upon one's choice. In all that follows, I assume the second view, which is whole-heartedly my own belief, that the human spirit is capable of this genuine selfactivity and can control events, instead of being controlled by them, "Gods are we,-if we will."

Self-activity, from this point of view, is synonymous with life. For each one of us, the given data are unescapable, and to that limited extent we are all fatalists,-what we now are, we are; what we now possess, we possess. But this static endowment is not life, nor is it the source of life; it is only the contemporary opportunity offered to life. The succeeding drama depends wholly upon the way in which this static endowment is handled. That is to say, the drama depends upon something added from outside itself, upon a spiritual force residing in individual human beings. As Marcus Aurelius put the matter, "Remember that this which pulls the strings is the thing which is hidden within.” That this spiritual force is an admitted mystery both as to its source and its ultimate destiny does not, I think, invalidate the observed fact of its present operation. Even the dimensions of our human drama do not depend upon the magnitude of the endowment, but almost wholly upon the measure of self-activity which is brought to bear upon it. We have the familiar spectacle of strong men of good will accomplishing great things with the most meagre opportunity, even in the face of powerful opposition; while other men, given what seems to be a magnificent material endowment, make so little of it that eventually they altogether go under. The determining factor in all that happens is just this intangible, imponderable spiritual ingredient which men through their own eager self-activity add to the given data, to that vast endowment of ideas and things inherited from the past. Those who love their fellows and who regard the pursuit of perfection as the major and legitimate purpose in our puzzling earth-life, must bend every effort to conserve and heighten this priceless motive power in themselves and others; and must never under any allurement sacrifice it to the static, lifeless equipment of the outer world of either past or present. To state the case very concisely, the most important thing in every human enter

prise is the spirit which gives it life and movement, which changes it from inert endowment into meritorious event.

All this is so little novel that it may properly be called obvious, but it may not on that account be impatiently dismissed. The importance of a fact does not depend upon its novelty, but upon its range, and we have here, I believe, a fact of the widest range. If we had the courage to apply it in every case, and to decline all exceptions, however plausible, the earthly pilgrimage would be a livelier and, I venture to think, a much happier and more engaging adventure. I am tempted to cite a number of instances where traditional thinking offers one interpretation and the principle of self-activity something quite different. Having touched upon natural endowments which we inherit willy-nilly, let us turn for a moment to those artificial endowments which wellmeaning friends intentionally create.

The first illustration which comes to mind is in connection with the so-called "drives" undertaken by many institutions which fancy themselves in need of money. I was living, at the time, in a distinguished old town which greatly prided itself upon its culture. Among its many organized activities for the betterment of the world was an energetic association devoted to the welfare of young men. I sympathized keenly with many of its purposes. But in an evil moment (or so it seemed to me) the association decided upon a "drive", and for a rather surprisingly large sum of money. An elaborate campaign was inaugurated. Two gentlemen called at my house. They were entire strangers to me, and in their zeal did not so much solicit, as demand, a substantial contribution. If I remember rightly they had even spared me the trouble of determining its amount. I had to send them away empty-handed. Not only did I object to the insolent method of the "drive", but I found on inquiry that in spite of my large sympathy with the general purposes of the association, I disapproved in toto of the proposed use for the fund which they were trying in this singularly high-handed manner to raise. It was to be spent, I found, for buildings,-not buildings needed to carry on the excellent work of the association, but buildings which were to be rented out for revenue. They wished, in a word, to create a technical "endowment", an income-producing investment which

would provide permanently for the salaries of the paid secretaries and for other current expenses. They explained quite frankly that it was inconvenient and somewhat precarious to have the work depend upon annual contributions. Many persons-I am bound to believe them rather unreflective persons-assented to this view and gave handsomely. I declined, because I realized that such an endowment fund was not desirable. It would kill the genuine life and self-activity of the association and induce a very speedy dry rot. I knew that so long as the association supplied a real need of the community, it would be generously supported. When it ceased to supply such a need, it no longer deserved support. Given a sufficient endowment fund, it could continue to function after a fashion, quite regardless of whether it truly ministered or not. Had the fund been asked for needed equipment,-libraries, lecture halls, class-rooms, work-shops, gymnasiums,—I should have felt quite differently about it. But to pay an agent permanently in advance for a service not yet performed, regardless of whether it is well or ill performed, whether it is wanted or not wanted, is to offer large opportunity for abuse, and to deprive the community of wholesome coöperation and control. The enterprise becomes inert, the sport of dead souls, and quite divorced from the current, palpitating life of the community. An endowed institution may, for a time, render acceptable service, but the tendency is unmistakably towards inefficiency and disservice. As it draws its sustenance from the past, so it is likely to represent the past, to represent something once wanted but no longer wanted; instead of that fine contemporary reality which a genuine self-activity alone can yield.

The same argument which I have applied to the well known association in that dignified old residence town, I would unhesitatingly apply to all those institutions which aspire to serve the spiritual needs of their day and generation,-to churches, schools, colleges, universities, boy scout organizations, girl scout camp fires, to young men's and young women's societies of all denominations, to public libraries and museums. Adequate equipment means enlarged opportunity, but endowment too often means death.

The one exception would be in the case of specific research