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

work, yet even here there should be periodic and frequent inspection as to the chosen subjects of research, the organization of the work and the agents employed, with special inquiry into the efficiency of the efforts made to give all results suitable publicity and application. I need not recall the misuse of endowment funds in even our great universities, courses given to suit the convenience and whimsies of old men in endowed chairs rather than to suit the obvious needs of the students themselves; professors paid six thousand a year or more to lecture to two or three young men on erudite subjects so nearly useless that they would better be left to private curiosity. The need for efficient, well equipped universities is always exigeant; but the endowed institution gets out of touch with life, and accumulates, in spite of itself, a lot of dead timber in the way of men and methods and goals.

It is commonly believed that all education must be endowed, or it will not be able to carry on. I do not myself believe this; I believe the very contrary, that all education, to be vital, must be self supporting. If education is paid for by contemporary effort, it will more nearly approximate the genuine needs of current life, and will be supplied at somewhere near cost. An institution which cannot furnish what the community wants and at a price it can afford to pay, quite deserves to go under. I do not speak theoretically. I speak from a long experience in education. I have come to believe I have not always believed it-that all schools of whatever grade should be what our commercial friends call "going concerns", that they should in all cases pay their own way. The only endowment which they may properly and safely accept is the endowment of equipment,-land, building and apparatus,-and the small State favor of no taxation. I have found it possible to carry on very interesting educational work without even these subsidies. It has so chanced that my own field has been largely the experimental work of the pioneer, and that is notoriously expensive and precarious. To avoid three common pitfalls I formulated three guardian principles. The first was that there must be no trustees or directors; the second was that I must own the establishment myself, without debt or mortgage; and the third was that the school must be