THE ESSENTIALS OF SPIRITUALITY

by Felix Adler

The Essentials of Spirituality

The first essential is an awakening, a sense of the absence ofspirituality, the realized need of giving to our lives a new andhigher quality; first there must be the hunger before there can bethe satisfaction. 

Similar effects are often produced by widely differing processes. Inthe psychical world that quality which we call spirituality may beassociated with and evoked by Theism, or the belief in a DivineFather; by Pantheism, as in the case of Spinoza, whose face at thevery first glance impresses you with its spiritual cast; or even bythe Buddhist belief in Nirvana. It may also be attained by followingthe precepts and striving after the ideals of Ethical Culture. Forspirituality is not indissolubly associated with any one type ofreligion or philosophy; it is a quality of soul manifesting itself in avariety of activities and beliefs. 

Before we proceed further, however, we must hazard a definitionof the word. In the region of mental activity which is called thespiritual life vagueness is apt to prevail, the outlines of thought areapt to be blurred, the feelings aroused are apt to be indistinct andtransitory. The word 'spiritual' becomes a synonym of muddythought and misty emotionalism. If there were another word in thelanguage to take its place, it would be well to use it. But there isnot. We must use the word 'spiritual, ' despite its associations andits abuse. We shall endeavor, however, to attach a distinct anddefinite meaning to the word. Mere definition, however, is tooabstract and nakedly intellectual. Perhaps a description of sometypes of character, combined with definition, will be the betterway. 

Savonarola is surely one of the commanding figures in history. Hisfiery earnestness, his passion for righteousness, the boldness withwhich he censured the corruptions of the Roman Court, thepersonal qualities by which he--a foreigner and a mere monk--madehimself for a short period the lawgiver, the prophet, and virtuallythe dictator of Florence--that Florence which was at the time thevery gemmary of the Renaissance--his sudden fall and tragic death;all combine to attract toward him our admiration, pity, and love, and to leave upon our minds the impression of his extraordinarymoral genius. And yet, though a spiritual side was not wanting inSavonarola, we should not quote him as an outstanding exemplarof spirituality. The spiritual life is unperturbed and serene. Hisnature was too passionate, he was too vehement in his philippics, too deeply engrossed in the attainment of immediate results, too stormy a soul to deserve the name of spiritual. 

Again, our own Washington is one of the commanding figures inhistory. He achieved the great task which he set himself; hesecured the political independence of America. He became themaster builder of a nation; he laid securely the foundations onwhich succeeding generations have built. He was calm, too, withrare exceptions; an expert in self-control. But there was mingledwith his calmness a certain coldness. He was lofty and pure, butwe should hardly go to him for instruction in the interior secrets ofthe spiritual life. His achievements were in another field. His claimto our gratitude rests on other grounds. The spiritual life is calm, but serenely calm; irradiated by a fervor and a depth of feeling thatwere to some extent lacking in our first president. Lincoln, perhaps, came nearer to possessing them. 

Again, we have such types of men as John Howard, the prisonreformer, and George Peabody, who devoted his great fortune tobettering the housing of the poor and to multiplying and improvingschools. These men--especially the latter--were practical and sane, and were prompted in their endeavors by an active and tenderbenevolence. Yet we should scarcely think of them as conspicuousexamples of the spiritual quality in human life and conduct. Benevolence, be it never so tender and practical, does not reachthe high mark of spirituality. Spirituality is more than benevolencein the ordinary sense of the term. The spiritual man is benevolentto a signal degree, but his benevolence is of a peculiar kind. It ischaracterized by a certain serene fervor which we may almost callsaintliness. 

But perhaps some one may object that a standard by whichpersonalities like Savonarola, Washington, Howard and Peabodyfall short is probably set too high, and that in any case the erectionof such a standard cannot be very helpful to the common run ofhuman beings. Where these heroic natures fall short, can you and Ihope to attain? To such an objection the reply is that we cannot betoo fastidious or exacting in respect to our standard, however poorour performance may be. Nothing less than a kind of divinecompleteness should ever content us. Furthermore, there havebeen some men who approached nearer to the spiritual ideal thanthe patriots and the philanthropists just mentioned--some few menamong the Greeks, the Hindus, and the Hebrews. And for theguidance of conduct, these more excellent spirits avail us morethan the examples of a Savonarola, a Washington or a Howard. Tobe a prophet or the lawgiver of a nation is not within yourprovince and mine. For such a task hardly one among millions hasthe opportunity or the gifts. To be liberators of their country hasbeen accorded in all the ages thus far covered by human history toso small a number of men that one might count them on the fingersof a single hand. Even to be philanthropists on a large scale is therestricted privilege of a very few. But to lead the spiritual life ispossible to you and me if we choose to do so. The best is withinthe reach of all, or it would not be the best. Every one is permittedto share life's highest good. 

The spiritual life, then, may be described by its characteristicmarks of serenity, a certain inwardness, a measure of saintliness. By the latter we are not to understand merely the aspiration aftervirtue or after a lofty ideal, still pursued and still eluding, but to acertain extent the embodiment of this ideal in the life--virtuebecome a normal experience like the inhalation and exhalation ofbreath! Moreover, the spiritually-minded seem always to bepossessed of a great secret. This air of interior knowledge, of theperception of that which is hidden from the uninitiated, is acommon mark of all refinement, aesthetic as well as moral. Instudying the face of Leonardo da Vinci's 'Mona Lisa, ' for instance, one will find that it is this interior insight that explains the so-called"cryptic smile. " In the case of aesthetic refinement, the secretdiscloses itself as at bottom delicacy, the delicacy which preventsintrusion on the personality of others; which abhors a pryingcuriosity; which finds subtle ways of conveying esteem anddelicate modes of rendering service. But the secret of moralrefinement is of a far higher order, transcending aestheticrefinement by as much as goodness is superior to mere charm. Thesecret in this case consists in the insight vouchsafed to thespiritually-minded of the true end of human existence. 

Constituted as we are, there exist for us lower and higher ends. This distinction is fundamental for ethics. Food is necessary;without it we cannot live. But the getting of food--howevernecessary--is a lower end. Knowledge is a necessary end, and ahigher one. The practical moral ends, such as the reformation ofprisons, the improvement of the dwellings of the poor, are yethigher ends. But above all these is the highest end, that of moralcompleteness, of perfection, not in one particular but in everyparticular. Spirituality consists in always keeping in view thissupreme end. The spiritually-minded person is one who regardswhatever he undertakes from the point of view of its hindering orfurthering his attainment of the supreme end. If a river had aconsciousness like the human consciousness, we might imaginethat it hears the murmur of the distant sea from the very momentwhen it leaves its source, and that the murmur grows clearer andclearer as the river flows on its way, welcoming every tributary itreceives as adding to the volume which it will contribute to thesea, rejoicing at every turn and bend in its long course that bringsit nearer to its goal. Such is the consciousness of a spiritually-mindedhuman being. Or to take a simile from human experience. Thereare times when we go abroad to travel just for change of sceneryand the refreshment which change brings with it. When we go inthis mood we are likely to be intent on wayside pleasures, andat every stage of the journey, at every town where we halt, weshall suffer ourselves to be engrossed in the points of interestwhich that temporary abiding-place has to offer us, careless ofwhat may await us farther on. But there are other times whenwe go abroad on serious business. Some congress of scientists orfellow-workers is to meet in which we are to take our part; or thereis a conflict being waged in which we are to bear our share ofwounds or death, as in the case of the Japanese, who are nowsetting out from their homes toward the battlefields of Manchuria;or there is some loved one at a distance who needs us, calls us, expects us. Then the stations on the way are unable to captivateour attention; we are impatient to pass them by; we welcome eachone as we approach it as bringing us one step nearer to the desiredgoal. 

Some such analogy will help us understand the inner state of aspiritually-minded person. He thinks always of the ultimate end. In whatever he does or omits to do he asks himself, Will it advanceme or divert me from the ultimate goal? Since spirituality consistsin keeping in mind the ultimate goal, it follows, in accordance withwhat was said in the beginning, that there must be various types ofspirituality, corresponding to the various ways in which theultimate goal is conceived. For those to whom the final end ofhuman life is union with God, the Divine Father, the thought ofthis Divine Father gives color and complexion to their spiritual life. They think of Him when they lie down at night and when they riseup in the morning; his praise is ever on their lips; the desire to winhis approbation is with them in all their undertakings. To thosewho regard the attainment of Nirvana as the supreme end, like theBuddhists, the thought of Nirvana is a perpetual admonition. Tothose who view the supreme end of life as moral perfection, thethought of that perfection is the constant inner companion. Themoral man, commonly so-called; the man who is honest, pays hisdebts, performs his duties to his family; the man who works forspecific objects, such as political reform; this man, worthy of allrespect though he be, is still intent on the stages of his journey. The spiritual man, as we must now define him from the point ofview of Ethical Culture, is the man who always thinks of theultimate goal of his journey, i. E. , a moral character complete inevery particular, and who is influenced by that thought at all timesand in all things. Spirituality, in this conception of it, is nothing butmorality raised to its highest power. 

And now, let us ask what are some of the conditions on which theattainment of such a life depends. The prime condition is toacquire the habit of ever and anon detaching one's self from one'saccustomed interests and pursuits, becoming, as it were, aspectator of one's self and one's doings, escaping from thesweeping current and standing on the shore. For this purpose it isadvisable to consecrate certain times, preferably a certain timeeach day, to self-recollection; to dedicate an hour--or a half-hour, if no more can be spared--to seeing one's life in all its relations;that is, as the poet has put it, to seeing life "steadily and seeing itwhole. " The sane view is to see things in their relation to otherthings; the non-sane view is to see them isolated, in such a waythat they exercise a kind of hypnotic spell over us. And it makes nodifference what a man's habitual interests may be, whether they besordid or lofty, he needs ever and anon to get away from them. Inreality, nothing wherewith a man occupies himself need be sordid. The spiritual attitude does not consist in turning one's back onthings mundane and fixing one's gaze on some supernal blaze ofglory, but rather in seeing things mundane in their relation tothings ultimate, perfect. 

The eating of bread is surely a sufficiently commonplaceoperation. Yet Jesus brake bread with his disciples in such waythat that simple act has become the symbol of sublimely spiritualrelations, the centre of the most august rite of the ChristianChurch. In like manner the act of sitting down to an ordinary mealwith the members of our family may, if seen in its relations, be forus a spiritual consecration. The common meal may become for usthe type of the common life we share, the common love we bear. 

On the other hand, seemingly much more lofty pursuits may have anarrowing and deadening effect on us if we do not see them intheir ultimate relations, and so divest them of reference to life'shighest end. For instance, the pursuit of science may have thiseffect, if the sole object of the scientist be to perform someastonishing piece of work for the purpose of attracting attention orto secure a well-salaried position, or even if he be so wedded tohis specialty as to fail to be sensitive to the relations of it to thebody of truth in general. And the same holds good of thenarrow-minded reformer, of whom Emerson has said that hisvirtue so painfully resembles vice; the man who puts a moral idolin the place of the moral ideal, who erects into the object towardwhich all his enthusiasm goes some particular reform, such as thesingle tax, or socialism, or public parks, or a model school; theman, in short, who strives for a good instead of striving forgoodness. Whatever our pursuits may be, we should oftenmentally detach ourselves from them, and, standing aloof asimpartial spectators, consider the direction in which they are takingus. 

This counsel is frequently urged on grounds of health, since thewear and tear of too intense absorption in any pursuit is apt towreck the nervous system. I urge it on the ground of mental sanity, since a man cannot maintain his mental poise if he follows theobject of his devotion singly, without seeing it in relation to otherobjects. And I urge it also on the ground of spirituality, for asalient characteristic of spirituality is calmness, and without themental repose which comes of detachment we cannot importcalmness into our lives. There are some persons, notably amongthose engaged in philanthropic activities, who glory in beingcompletely engrossed in their tasks, and who hug a secret sense ofmartyrdom, when late at night, perhaps worn out in mind andbody, they throw themselves upon their couch to snatch a fewhours of insufficient sleep. Great occasions, of course, do occurwhen every thought of self should be effaced in service; but as arule, complete absorption in philanthropic activity is as little saneand as little moral as complete absorption in the race for gain. Thetired and worn-out worker cannot do justice to others, nor can hedo justice to that inner self whose demands are not satisfied evenby philanthropic activity. If, then, self-recollection is essential, letus make daily provision for it. Some interest we should have--evenworldly prudence counsels this much--as far remote as possiblefrom our leading interest; and beyond that, some book belongingto the world's great spiritual literature on which we may daily feed. The Bible used to be in the old days all-sufficient for this purpose, and it is still, in part at least, an admirable aid to those who knowhow to use it. But there are other books, such as the legacy of thegreat Stoics, the writings of our latter-day prophets, the essays ofArnold and Carlyle and Emerson, the wisdom of Goethe. Thesenoble works, even if they do not wholly satisfy us, serve to setour thoughts in motion about high concerns, and give to the minda spiritual direction. 

A second condition of the spiritual life has been expressed inthe precept, reiterated in many religions, by many experts in thingsrelating to the life of the soul: "Live as if this hour were thy last. "You will recall, as I pronounce these words, the _memento mori_of the Ancients, their custom of exhibiting a skeleton at the feast, in order to remind the banqueters of the fate that awaited them. You will remember the other-worldliness of Christian monks andascetics who decried this pleasant earth as a vale of tears, andendeavored to fix the attention of their followers upon the palejoys of the Christian heaven, and you will wonder, perhaps, that Ishould be harking back to these conceptions of the past. I have, however, no such intention. 

The prevailing attitude toward the thought of death is that ofstudied neglect. Men wish to face it as little as possible. We know, of course, what the fate is that awaits us. We know what are theterms of the compact. Now and again we are momentarily struckby the pathos of it all; for instance, when we walk through somecrowded thoroughfare on a bright day and reflect that beforemany years this entire multitude will have disappeared. Therosy-cheeked girl who has just passed; the gay young fellow at herside, full of his hopes, confident of his achievements, acting andspeaking as if the lease of eternity were his; that "grave andreverend seigneur, " clad with dignity and authority--all will havegone, and others will have taken their places. Yet, as a rule, we arenot much affected by such reflections. When one of our friends hasmet with a painless death we are apt to solace ourselves with thehope that perhaps we shall be as lucky as he; at all events, weknow that when our time comes we must take our turn. Eventhose who look forward with apprehension to the last moment, and who when it approaches, cling desperately to life, are prudentenough to hold their peace. There is a general understanding thatthose who go shall not mar the composure of those who stay, andthat public decorum shall not be disturbed by outcries. 

This is the baldly secular view of the matter, and this view, thoughbased on low considerations, in some respects is sound enough. And yet I reiterate the opinion that to live as if this hour were ourlast--in other words, to frankly face the idea of death--is mostconducive to the spiritual life. It is for the sake of the reflex actionupon life that the practice of coming to a right understanding withdeath is so valuable. Take the case of a man who calls on hisphysician, and there unexpectedly discovers that he is afflicted witha fatal malady, and is told that he may have only a few monthslonger to live. This visit to the physician has changed the wholecomplexion of life for him. What will be the effect upon him? If hebe a sane, strong, morally high-bred man, the effect will beennobling; it will certainly not darken the face of nature for him. Matthew Arnold wished that when he died he might be placed atthe open window, that he might see the sun shining on thelandscape, and catch at evening the gleam of the rising star. Everything that is beautiful in the world will still be beautiful; hewill thankfully accept the last draught of the joy which nature haspoured into his goblet. Everything that is really uplifting in humanlife will have a more exquisite and tender message for him. Thegayety of children will thrill him as never before, interpreted as asign of the invincible buoyancy of the human race, of that racewhich will go on battling its way after he has ceased to live. If hebe a man of large business connections, he will still, and more thanever, be interested in planning how what he has begun may besafely continued. If he be the father of a family, he will providewith a wise solicitude, as far as possible, for every contingency. Hewill dispose of matters now, as if he could see what will happenafter his departure. On the other hand, all that is vain or frivolous, every vile pleasure, gambling, cruelty, harsh language to wife orchild, trickery in business, social snobbishness, all the base traitsthat disfigure human conduct, he will now recoil from with horror, as being incongruous with the solemn realization of his condition. The frank facing of death, therefore, has the effect of sifting outthe true values of life from the false, the things that are worthwhile from the things that are not worth while, the things thatare related to the highest end from those related to the lowerpartial ends. The precept, "Live as if this hour were thy last, " isenjoined as a touchstone; not for the purpose of dampening thehealthy relish of life, but as a means of enhancing the relish forreal living, the kind of living that is devoted to things really worthwhile. As such a test it is invaluable. The question, "Should I careto be surprised by death in what I am doing now?"--put it to thedissipated young man in his cups, put it to the respectablerogue--nay, put it to each one of us, and it will often bring theblush of shame to our cheeks. When, therefore, I commend thethought of death, I think of death not as a grim, grisly skeleton, aKing of Terrors, but rather as a mighty angel, holding with avertedface a wondrous lamp. By that lamp--hold it still nearer, ODeath--I would read the scripture of my life, and what I read inthat searching light, that would I take to heart. 

Finally, there is a third condition of the spiritual life which I wouldmention, and which comes nearer to the heart of the matter thananything that has yet been said. Learn to look upon any pains andinjuries which you may have to endure as you would upon thesame pains and injuries endured by someone else. If sick andsuffering, remember what you would say to someone else who issick and suffering, remember how you would admonish him thathe is not the first or the only one that has been in like case, howyou would expect of him fortitude in bearing pain as an evidenceof human dignity. Exhort yourself in like manner; expect the samefortitude of yourself. If any one has done you a wrong, rememberwhat you would adduce in palliation of the offence if another werein the same situation; remember how you would suggest thatperhaps the one injured had given some provocation to thewrongdoer, how you would perhaps have quoted the saying:_"Tout comprendre est tout pardonner"_--"to understand is topardon, " how you would in any case have condemned vindictiveresentment. In the moral world each one counts for one and notmore than one. The judgment that you pass on others, pass onyourself, and the fact that you are able to do so, that you have thepower to rise above your subjective self and take the publicuniversal point of view with respect to yourself, will give you awonderful sense of enfranchisement and poise and spiritual dignity. And, on the other hand (and this is but the obverse of the samerule), look upon everyone else as being from the moral point ofview just as important as you are; nay, realize that every humanbeing is but another self, a part of the same spiritual being that is inyou, a complement of yourself, a part of your essential being. Realize the unity that subsists between you and your fellow-men, and then your life will be spiritual indeed. For the highest end withwhich we must be ever in touch, toward which we must be everlooking, is to make actual that unity between ourselves and othersof which our moral nature is the prophecy. The realization of thatunity is the goal toward which humanity tends. 

Spirituality depends upon our tutoring ourselves to regard thewelfare of others--moral as well as external--as much our concernas our own. What this practically means the following illustrationwill indicate. A certain bank official, a man of excellent educationand of high social standing, committed a crime. He allowed himselfin a moment of lamentable weakness to use certain trust fundswhich had been committed to him to cover losses which he hadsustained. He intended to replace what he had taken, of course, but he could not do so, for he became more and more deeplyinvolved. One night as he was alone in his office it became plain tohim that the day of reckoning could no longer be put off. He wasat the end of his resources. The morrow would bring exposure andruin. Then the temptation seized him to make away with himself. He had a charming wife and two lovely daughters. He was therevered head of the household; in the eyes of his family theparagon of honor. He was universally esteemed by his friends, whoknew not his temptation and his fall. On that night in the lonelyoffice he could not bear to think of meeting the future, of beingexposed as a criminal in the eyes of his friends, of bringing uponhis family the infamy and the agony of his disgrace. Should a manin his situation be permitted to commit suicide? If we were at hiselbow should we allow him to do so? This question was submittedto one of my Ethics classes. The students at first impulsivelydecided in the affirmative, for they argued, as many do, that rightconduct consists in bestowing happiness on others, and wrongconduct in inflicting suffering on others; and now that the man hadcommitted the crime, they maintained he could at least relievethose whom he loved of his presence by taking himself out of theirway. True, someone said, the exposure was inevitable in any case, and the shock of discovery could not be averted; but we wereforced to concede that from the point of view of suffering, the paininvolved in the sudden shock could not be compared to thelong-drawn-out anguish which would result if he continued to live. For presently he would forfeit his liberty; he would sit as a prisonerin the dock. His wife and daughters, loyal to their duties eventoward an unworthy husband and father, would be found at hisside. They would hear the whispers, they would see the significantnods, they would endure all the shame. Later on, when the trialwas at an end, the prisoner would stand up to hear the verdict. They would still be near him. Still later there would be thepilgrimage to the prison on the Hudson. They would see theirbeloved husband and father in striped garb among the scum andrefuse of society, and these weary journeys would be repeatedduring long years until his term was over and he returned a brokenand outcast man to what was once a home. Could not thislamentable issue at least be forestalled? But then there came anew light into our discussion. One of the students suggested thathe must face the consequences of his wrongdoing, and that one ofthe consequences is the very suffering which he inflicts upon theinnocent. He must see that day by day. That would be a part of hisexpiation, the purifying fire that may consume the dross of hisnature. And, on the other hand, it would be right for the innocentto bear, not the guilt, but the consequences of the guilt of thewrongdoer whom they have loved, whom they still love. For this isthe holy law: that the other whom we love shall be taken into ourself as a part of our very self, that in his joy we shall rejoice as ifhis joy were ours, that in his achievements we shall triumph, that inhis humiliations we shall be humbled, and that we shall work outhis redemption by traveling with him the hard road that leads outof the dark depths upward again to the levels of peace andreconciliation. 

The spiritual life depends on self-recollection and detachment fromthe rush of life; it depends on facing frankly the thought of death; itis signalized, especially, by the identification of self with others, even of the guiltless with the guilty. Spirituality is sometimesspoken of as if it were a kind of moral luxury, a work ofsupererogation, a token of fastidiousness and over-refinement. It isnothing of the sort. Spirituality is simply morality carried to itsfarthest bounds; it is not an airy bauble of the fancy, it is of "thetough fibre of the human heart. "

II. THE SPIRITUAL ATTITUDE TOWARD ONE'SNEIGHBOR. 

Sunday, Nov. 27, 1904. 

Those whom we call our neighbors, our fellow-men, may stand tous in a threefold relation. Some possess gifts far greater than ourown, and in point of development are our superiors; some are onthe same level; and some are much inferior to us. The spiritualattitude toward our neighbor--though always governed by thesame principle, expresses itself in different ways, according asour neighbor is related to us in one or another of these three ways. 

I recently read a biography of Matthew Arnold, the author ofwhich constantly speaks of himself as Arnold's disciple. It is notoften nowadays that we hear men proclaim themselves disciplesand glory in their discipleship. At the present day the tendency isfor every one to assert an equality with others; and most personswould resent the imputation of subordination implied in such aword as disciple. And yet the writer in question is a self-respectingman, he is thoroughly alive to his dignity, and he has keen andunsparing words for certain of the faults of the master whom hereveres. He is not blind, he is not wax in the hands of the master, he does not look upon him with undiscerning admiration, and yethe takes toward him the reverent attitude--what I should call thespiritual attitude--for he recognizes that this master of his is acasket in which nature has deposited a treasure of extraordinaryvalue, that he possesses a genius much superior to that of others. The loyal disciple is concerned that this genius should appear in itsfull potency and in undiminished radiance. To this end is theupward look, the appreciation and reverence, and to this end alsothe misgiving and the remonstrance when the great man deviatesfrom the course which he ought to follow. The same attitude ofloyalty we sometimes find among the disciples of great artists, andthe followers of great religious teachers. Loyalty is a virtue whichis somewhat underrated at the present day. Loyalty is notdebasing, not unworthy of a self-respecting man; it is but anothername for the spiritual attitude toward those who have a superiorgenius, to whose height we are lifted by our appreciation of them. 

Furthermore, in our spiritual relation toward those who occupyabout the same plane of development with ourselves, the sameprinciple of sympathy with the best possible attainment should bethe rule. To rejoice in the failure of others, to accentuate in ourthinking and in our conversation the faults of others, to triumph attheir expense, is the utterly unspiritual attitude. To desire thatothers may manifest the excellence that is latent in them--be it liketo or different from our own, to desire that they shall have creditfor every excellence they possess, and to sedulously aid them indeveloping such excellence as they can attain to, that is thespiritual attitude. 

I have spoken of superiors and equals, of our attitude towardthose who are more developed than we are, and toward those whoare about equally developed; but my address to-day will be mainlyoccupied with our duty toward those who are or seem to bewholly undeveloped. The fundamental principle of Ethics is thatevery human being possesses indefeasible worth. It is comparativelyeasy to apply the principle of anticipating our neighbor's latenttalents to the highly gifted, to the great authors, scientists, statesmen, artists, and even to the moderately gifted, fortheir worth is, in part, already manifested in their lives. But it is notso easy to apply or justify the principle in the case of the obscuremasses, whose lives are uneventful, unilluminated by talent, charm, or conspicuous service, and who, as individuals at least, it mightappear, could well be spared without impairing the progress of thehuman race. And yet this doctrine of the worth of all is thecornerstone of our democracy. Upon it rests the principle of theequal rights of even the humblest before the law, the equal right ofall to participate in the government. It is also the cornerstone of allprivate morality; for unless we accept it, we cannot take thespiritual attitude toward those who are undeveloped. 

The doctrine, then, that every man possesses indefeasible worth isthe basis of public morality, and at the same time the moralprinciple by which our private relations to our fellow-men areregulated. What does it mean to ascribe indefeasible worth toevery man? It means, for instance, that human beings may not behunted and killed in sport as hunters kill birds or other game; thathuman beings may not be devoured for food as they have been bycannibals or sometimes by men in starvation camps when hardpressed by hunger; that human beings may not be forced to workwithout pay, or in any way treated as mere tools or instruments forthe satisfaction of the desires of others. This, and more to the samepurpose, is implied in the ascription of indefeasible worth to everyman. Moreover, on the same principle, it follows that it is morallywrong to deprive another of the property which he needs for hislivelihood or for the expression of his personality, and to blast thereputation of another--thereby destroying what may be called hissocial existence. And it also follows that a society is morally mostimperfect, the conditions of which are such that many lives areindirectly sacrificed because of the lack of sufficient food, and thatmany persons are deprived of their property through cunning andfraud. The life of animals we do take, and whatever secretcompunction we may have in the matter, the most confirmedvegetarian will not regard himself in the light of a cannibal when hepartakes of animal food. The liberty of animals we do abridgewithout scruple; we harness horses to our carriages, regardless ofwhat may be their inclinations, and we do not regard ourselves asslaveholders when we thus use them. Why is there this enormousdistinction between animals and men? Are the Hottentots sogreatly elevated above the animal level; are the lowest classes ofnegroes so much superior in intelligence to animals? Have theblack race and the brown race any claim to be treated as the equalsof the white? Among white men themselves is there not a similardifference between inferiors and superiors? Such questionsnaturally suggest themselves; and they have been asked at alltimes. It seems obvious that value should be ascribed to those whopossess genius or even talent, or at least average intelligence; butwhy should value be ascribed to every human being just becausehe wears the human form?

The positive belief in human worth on which is based the belief inhuman equality, so far as it has rooted itself in the world at all, weowe to religion, and more particularly to the Hebrew and Christianreligions. The Hebrew Bible says: "In the image of God did Hecreate man"--it is this God-likeness that to the Hebrew mindattests the worth of man. As some of the great masters oncompleting a painting have placed a miniature portrait ofthemselves by way of signature below their work, so the greatWorld-Artist when He had created the human soul stamped it withthe likeness of Himself to attest its divine origin. And the greatestof the Hebrew thinkers conceived of this dignity as belonging to allhuman beings alike, irrespective of race or creed. In practice, however, the idea of equal human worth was more or less limitedto the Chosen People. At least, to keep within the bounds of theartistic simile, the members of the Hebrew people were regardedas first-proof copies, and other men as somewhat dim and lessperfect duplicates. 

In the Christian religion a new idea was introduced. The belief inthe worth of man was founded on the doctrine of redemption. Thesacrifice of atonement had been offered up for the benefit of allpersons who chose to avail themselves of it. Christ had come tosave the Gentile as well as the Jew, the bond as well as the free, men, women and children of every race, living under every sky, ofevery color of skin and degree of intelligence. The sacred respectwhich we owe to every human being is due from this point of viewto the circumstance that every human being is a possiblebeneficiary of the Atonement. For him too--as the theologicalphrase is--Christ died upon the cross. But in Christianity too wefind that the idea of brotherhood, of equal worth, universal asit is in theory, in practice came to be considerably restricted. It didnot really extend to all human beings as such; it did not extend tothose who refused to be the beneficiaries of the act of atonement. In reality, it applied only to Christians or to those who were notaverse to receiving the Christian faith. The theological formulationof the fundamental idea which we are discussing, therefore, isbeset by two difficulties: it is limited in application, and it is basedon theological conceptions. As soon as these theologicalconceptions are relinquished, the doctrine of equality is in dangerof being abandoned. 

In 1776, the founders of the American Republic undertook tosupply a new and a secular foundation for this doctrine. In theDeclaration of Independence, Jefferson wrote: "We hold thesetruths to be self-evident, that all men are created free and equal. "In other words, he put forth the astonishing proposition thathuman equality is self-evident. Many of us would incline to theopinion that the opposite is self-evident, that the inequalities whichsubsist between men are so palpable that we cannot overlookthem. If, however, we inquire what led Jefferson to this statement, we shall find that, at the time when the Declaration ofIndependence was written, there existed a basis of fact that gavecolor to his assumption. The population of the United Colonieswas small--only about three millions--and on the wholehomogeneous. The great majority of the people wereagriculturists, pursuing the same occupations and on the wholeexhibiting the same traits. They were all, or almost all, of vigorousstock, capable of self-government, jealous of their rights, independent in spirit. At that particular time, the points ofsimilarity and equality among the members of the AmericanColonies far outweighed the points of dissimilarity. It was, then, toa certain extent on facts of experience, and not entirely on thehypothesis of the eighteenth century philosophy, that Jefferson'sfamous proclamation rested. 

Since Jefferson's day the facts have markedly changed. We havepassed beyond the agricultural stage, and have entered the stage ofindustrial development. The occupations of our citizens havebecome greatly diversified. Large bodies of foreign immigrantshave come to us. If we survey the conditions of American life atpresent, we are strongly impressed with the differences that existbetween the various strata of our population: differences in mentalability, differences in vital energy, differences in the point ofculture attained, differences in capacity to rise. As a consequence, the Declaration of Independence is treated by many as an obsoletedocument, and its assertions as mere bombast and rhetoric;unjustly so, because the truth which it attempts to convey is valid, though the form in which the truth is expressed and the grounds onwhich it is put are no longer adequate. 

We have arrived, then, at this pass: the theological foundationfor the doctrine of human equality has failed or is failing us; thefacts to which the Declaration of Independence appealed havealtered. Are we, then, to give up the belief in human equality--thatpriceless postulate of the moral law, the basis alike of democracyand of private morality? At times it seems to us that the world isalmost ready to do so. Nietzsche in Germany puts it forth as aphilosophic principle that humanity exists not for the democraticpurpose of securing the highest development of all, but for thearistocratic purpose of producing a race of supermen, an elite ofstrong, forceful, "leonine" beings. And in his doctrine that themany exist as a kind of pedestal for the grandeur of the few, hefinds support the world over. Men are but too ready in this age, when the energies of the strong have been unfettered and moralrestraints have become weakened, to put Nietzche's doctrine intopractice too. From the Congo we hear appalling accounts of thecruelty of civilized men in their dealings with the uncivilized. Rubber and ivory, it appears, must be obtained in large quantitiesto secure a handsome profit on investments that have been made inthose regions. Railroads must be built to make the supply ofrubber and of ivory accessible. In consequence, a system of forcedlabor, of virtual slavery, has been imposed on the miserable nativesin order to make the building of these railroads possible. Humanlife has not been spared, for human life in the Congo is as dust inthe balance when weighed against the profits from rubber. Punitiveexpeditions have been organized (in other words, wholesaleslaughter has been resorted to), in order to coerce the reluctantnatives to bring in their supplies more punctually. The wives anddaughters of the natives have been seized, brutally chained, anddetained as hostages in order to influence their husbands andfathers to a more ready obedience. The story of the Congo readslike an incredible nightmare; the civilized world is aghast at thepartial revelations of it which have been published. From Armeniawe hear similar stories of ruthless contempt for human life andmerciless outrage. With Kishineff and Siberia in mind, we need notcomment on the conditions that exist in Russia. In the UnitedStates, the heartrending circumstances that accompany negrolynchings, the conditions in the sweated industries, and thewidespread evil of child labor show us clearly enough how littlethe doctrine of the intrinsic and indefeasible worth of man hasas yet become the property of even the most advanced nations. Inthe face of all these odds on the other side, in the face of theseconfederate forces working the world over for the abasement ofman, how urgent is the appeal to rescue and fortify the doctrine, tomake it effectual, first in our own conduct and then in that ofothers! And on what tenable foundations can we rest it, that it maybecome operative?

First, as to its meaning. It does not mean equality of gifts, orequality of mental energy, or equality in any of the traits that leadto successful careers. It means equality in the sense that each is thevehicle of some talent, however small, the bearer of some gift, however seemingly inconsiderable, which in the sum total ofhumanity's development is needed; that each one in his place andwith his gift, however insignificant in appearance, is in factindispensable. 

And what is the reason for ascribing such worth to human beings?The sole reason is, that the moral law enjoins us to do so. Beforeever we have discovered whether a man has worth in him or not, the moral law enjoins us to ascribe it to him, to treat him as if hehad it, to see in him the light of the possibilities which he has nevermade good and which he never wholly will make good: and thus, and thus only, shall we bring to light, in part at least, the preciousthings in his nature, the existence of which we can only divine. Themoral law is wholly misunderstood if it be founded on the actualworth or value of men, for none of us has great worth or value. The moral law is a law for the eliciting of possibilities. Briefly put, it enjoins that we shall invest others with a garment of light, thatwe shall ascribe worth to others and to ourselves, in order thatthey and we may become worthy. This is the spiritual basis of thedoctrine of equality; this is the spiritual conception which shouldregulate our attitude toward our neighbors. 

And yet if there were no evidence at all to support our faith inhuman goodness, our faith, however vigorous at first, would soondecline, and hope and courage might utterly desert us. If men onnearer acquaintance turned out to be, as some pessimists haverepresented them to be, hard egotists, ingrates, slanderers, backbiters, envious, incapable of generous admirations, sodden insensuality, knaves devoid of scruple; if experience indeed bore outthis sweeping impeachment, if especially the so-called masses ofmankind were hopelessly delivered over to the sway of brutalinstincts, of superstition and folly; the faith of which I speak mightjustly be termed mere fatuousness, and the rule of acting on theassumption that men are better than they appear would turn out ablind delusion. But the striking fact is, that as soon as we act onthe principle of looking for the latent good in others, we arerewarded by finding far more than we had any reason to expect. 

Take as an instance the masses of the poor and ignorant, uponwhom we are so apt to pass sweeping judgments, as Carlyle didwhen he said that the population of England was forty millions--mostly fools. The experience of those who have had to do withpopular education does not corroborate this rash condemnation. There is hardly a child in our public schools that is not found topossess mental power of some sort, if only we possess the rightmethod of calling it out. The new education is new and significantjust because it has succeeded in devising methods for gainingaccess to the latent mental power, and thus reaching what hadbeen supposed to be non-existent. Every so-called educationalcampaign in the field of politics brings out the same truth. Thecapacity for hard thinking and sound judgment which resides in theworking class is surprising to us, only because in our preposterouspride we had supposed them to be baked of different clay than weare. In the matter of artistic endowment, too, what wonderfuldiscoveries do we constantly make among poor children, evenamong children that come from the lowest dregs of society! Whatfine fancy, what prompt response to the appeal of the beautiful, inspite of all the debasing inheritance!

But it is, in the last analysis, the moral qualities upon whichour respect for human nature rests, and in this respect how oftenare we astonished, yes and abashed, when we observe the extent towhich the moral virtues express themselves in the life of thosewho, in point of so-called culture, are infinitely our inferiors! Whatpower of self-sacrifice is displayed by these poor people, whomsometimes in our wicked moods we are disposed to despise; whatreadiness to share the last crust with those who are, I will not sayhungry, but hungrier! Who of us would take into his own house, his own bedchamber, a dying consumptive, a mere acquaintance, inorder that the last days of the sufferer might be soothed by friendlynursing? Who of us would make provision in our will to share ourgrave with a worthy stranger, in order to avert from him thedreaded fate of being buried in the Potter's Field? Which of ouryoung men would be willing to refuse the proffered opportunity ofan education in one of the foremost colleges in the land, in orderto stay with the old folks at home and work at a menial occupationfor their support? Who of us would give up the joys of youth todevote his whole life to the care of a bed-ridden, half-dementedparent? Yet all of these things and many others like them I haveknown to be done by people who live in the tenement houses ofthis great city. It sometimes seems as if the angelic aspect ofhuman nature displayed itself by preference in the house ofpoverty, as if those who possessed no other treasure, no otherjewels with which to adorn themselves, were compensated fortheir penury in other ways by these priceless gems of the mostunselfish virtue. Such conduct, of course, is not universal. Thereare abundant instances of the opposite. But the truth remains thatit is the worth which those who seem to lead the least desirablelives display toward others that assures us of their own worth. This, too, is the lesson of the oft-quoted and oft-misunderstoodparable of the Good Samaritan, upon which here, for the moment, I should like to dwell. 

The Jewish State in the time of Jesus was substantially anecclesiastical aristocracy. The highest rank was occupied by thepriests and their assessors, the Levites; after them, sometimesdisputing the first place, came the doctors learned in the sacredlaw; below them the commonalty; and still lower in the social scalewere the people of Samaria, who accepted the current Jewishreligion only in part, and who were regarded by the blue-bloodecclesiastical aristocrats with contempt, indeed almost as outcasts. This fact it is necessary to remember in order to understand theparable. The designation Good Samaritan has become so associatedwith the idea of mercifulness, that I doubt not there aremany persons who have the impression that Samaritans in theancient Hebrew days were people specially noted for theirbenevolent disposition. Nothing of the kind, of course, is true. TheSamaritans were a despised lower stratum of the population ofPalestine. Read the parable in this light, and you will perceive thatthe moral of it is not as commonly stated--every one who has needof me is my neighbor; but that there is a far deeper meaning in it. 

There came to Jesus one day a man versed in the sacred law, andasked him what he must do to inherit eternal life. And Jesusreplied: The substance of right conduct is plain enough. Why doyou ask as if it were a thing very recondite and difficult? Love thyGod and thy neighbor. But the doctor of the sacred law, wishingto justify himself (wishing to show that the way of the upright lifeis not so plain, that it may be difficult to decide whom one shouldregard as one's equal, to whom one should ascribe worth), asked:Who is my neighbor? And Jesus replied in the words of thewell-known parable concerning a certain man who had fallen amongthieves, and these stripped him of his raiment and left him for deadon the public road that runs between Jerusalem and Jericho. Presently a member of the high aristocracy, a priest, passed by, butpaid no attention to the sufferer; then another, a Levite, came thatway, looked at the man who was lying there helpless, and turnedand went on his journey. Then there came one of those low-castedespised Samaritans; and he acted like a tender human brother, bound up the man's wounds, poured oil and wine into them, etc. And Jesus said: Which one of these three showed himself to be aneighbor to the man that had fallen among thieves? In which of thesocial classes did there appear to be the truest understanding of theconduct which moral duty requires of us toward our fellow-men--inthe upper classes or in the lowest? And the answer evidently is--inthe lowest. The point of the parable is that the Samaritan himself, whom priest and Levite and doctor of the law refused to regardas a neighbor, was worthy to be treated as a neighbor, becausehe understood, as they did not, how to treat others as neighbors. The lesson of the parable is a twofold one: not only that thewounded man lying untended on the road was a neighbor becauseof his need, but more especially that the Samaritan was a neighborbecause he responded to the need, and set an example of trulyhuman behavior to those who had doubted whether, because ofhis extreme social degradation, he was himself to be regarded as human. 

The moral qualities in men, then, constitute their most universaltitle to respect, and these qualities we find in all social grades andamong all races and nationalities. We find them among theChinese, as their devoted family life, the honesty of theirmerchants, and the ethics of Confucius indicate. We find themamong the negroes, not only in the case of exceptional personslike Booker Washington or Dubois or Atkinson, but also in theundistinguished life of many an obscure man and woman, whom toknow more intimately is to learn to respect as a neighbor and amoral equal. What we need to build up our faith in humangoodness is the clairvoyance that discerns the hidden treasures ofcharacter in others. And one other quality is indispensable for themoral appreciation of our neighbors, namely, the quality ofhumility. Strange as it may seem, the less we plume ourselves onour own goodness, the more we shall be ready to believe in thegoodness of other people; the more we realize the infinite natureof the moral ideal and our own distance from it, the more we shallesteem as of relatively small importance the distance that separatesus from others, the slight extent to which we may morally surpassthem. The more we are aware of our own frequent and seriousshortcomings, the more, when we perceive the moral delinquenciesof others, shall we recognize in their nature the same recuperativeagency which we believe to be in ourselves, namely, the power ofdivine regeneration that can make all things new. If we regardourselves as morally little and yet as never lost, we shall regard noone else as lost, however morally little he may seem to be. 

Respect, then, for the indefeasible worth of every human beingmust be based not on theological systems which are fast decaying, nor on the fancied self-evidence of Jefferson's Declaration, butsolely on the moral law which commands us to ascribe such worthto others whether we perceive it or not, nay, to create it in othersby ascribing it to them. 

Such is the spiritual attitude toward our fellow-men. And thoughour confidence may not always be demonstrably justified by theresult, though we not always succeed in uplifting others, yet bypursuing this line of conduct we ourselves at all events shall beuplifted, our own life will be touched to finer issues. 

III. THE SPIRITUAL ATTITUDE TOWARD OPPRESSORS. 

Sunday, Dec. 4, 1904. 

The problem of our spiritual attitude toward positive badness, social and individual wrongdoing, cruelty and oppression, is farmore difficult of solution than the problem of our attitude towardworth really existent but concealed. The thorny question, how weare to deal with wicked persons, whether we are to observe thespiritual attitude toward them, and in what that attitude consists, requires the most sincere and straightforward treatment. 

Should we cultivate an attitude of indifference in such cases? Aruffian cruelly beats his horse, the poor beast that has rendered himfaithful service for many a day, but is feeble now and sinks beneathits load. With curses and the sharp persuasion of the lash, themerciless driver seeks to force the animal to efforts of which it isplainly incapable. Can we stand by and witness such a scene inphilosophic calm? Shall we say that the wretch is the product ofcircumstances, and cannot be expected to act otherwise than hedoes? Shall we liken evildoers generally, as at present is customaryin certain quarters, to the sick? Shall we say that such men are theoutcome of their heredity, their education, their environment? Ihave known of a husband who in a state of intoxication brutallystruck and injured his wife, while she was holding in her arms ababe not eight days old. Shall we say that that man was morallysick, that he could not help becoming intoxicated, and thereforewas not responsible for the havoc he wrought when the demon ofdrink had gained possession of him? Shall we say of the syndicateof traders who hunt the natives on the Congo like rabbits, massacre and mutilate them, that they are sick? A bad deed donewith intention argues badness in the doer. We impute to the manthe act and its consequences. We cannot separate the sin from thesinner, and merely condemn sin in the abstract. There is no suchthing as sin in the abstract. Sin is sin only when it is incorporatedin the will of a human individual. We condemn the sinner becausehe has wedded himself to the sin. If this were not the case, wemight as well close our courts of justice. We hold men accountable, then, for their misdeeds, whatever speculative philosophy may urgeto the contrary. How could we revere virtue if we did not stigmatize itsopposite; how could we believe in human worth if we did not condemnunworth where it appears?

But the ordinary judgment stops short right here. It recognizesthe particular badness of a particular act, and desires that the agentbe made to suffer for it. It says, this act is the expression of an evildisposition, and it identifies the whole man with the particular actof which he was guilty. The spiritual attitude is characterized bydiscriminating between the particular act and the whole of theman's nature. It recognizes that there is an evil strand; but it alsosees or divines the good that exists along with the evil, even in themost seemingly hopeless cases. It trusts to the good, and buildsupon it with a view to making it paramount over evil. Upon thebasis of this spiritual attitude, what should be our mode of dealingwith the bad? There are a number of steps to be taken in order, and much depends on our following the right order. 

The first step is to arrest the course of evil, to prevent its channelfrom being deepened, its area from being enlarged. Pluck the whipfrom the hand of the ruffian who is lashing his beast; stay the armthat is uplifted to strike the cowardly murderous blow. Much hasbeen said of the need of considering the good of society, ofprotecting the community at large from the depredations of theviolent and fraudulent; and of subjecting the latter to exemplarypunishment, in order to deter others from following their example. But the welfare of society and the welfare of the criminal arealways identical. Nothing should be done to the worst criminal, nota hair of his head should be touched merely for the sake ofsecuring the public good, if the thing done be not also for hisprivate good. And on the other hand, nothing can be done to thecriminal which is for his own lasting good that will not alsoprofoundly react for the good of society, assuring its security, anddeterring others from a like career of crime. The very first claimwhich the criminal has upon the services of his fellow-men is thatthey stop him in his headlong course of wickedness. Arrest, whether by the agents of the law or in some other way, is the firststep. The most spiritual concern for a degraded and demoralizedfellow-being does not exclude the sharp intervention implied inarrest, for the spiritual attitude is not mawkish or incompatiblewith the infliction of pain. 

This, I think, will be readily granted. But the second step, a stepfar more important than the arrest of the evildoer in order to arrestthe evildoing, is more likely to be contested and misunderstood. The second step consists in fixing the mark of shame upon theoffender and publicly humiliating him by means of the solemnsentence of the judge. It may be asked, What human being is fit toexercise this awful office of acting as judge of another? Rememberthe words of Shakespeare in King Lear: ". . . . See how yondjustice rails upon yond simple thief. Hark in thine ear: changeplaces; and . . . . Which is the justice, which the thief?" Or recallwhat the Puritan preacher said when he saw from his window aculprit being led to the gallows: "There, but for the grace of God, go I. " In other words, had I been born as this man was, had I beenplayed upon by the influences to which he was subject, had I beentempted as he was, how dare I say that I should not have fallen ashe did? Had it not been for some grace extended to me through nodesert of mine, I might be traveling the road on which he travelsnow. 

Furthermore, can we say that the sentence of the judge isproportioned to the heinousness of the deed? Is the murderer whoin a fit of uncontrolled passion has taken a human life--it may havebeen his first and only crime--necessarily more depraved than thethief; or is the thief in jail who has indeed broken the law, necessarily more depraved than numbers of others who havedexterously circumvented the law, violating the spirit thoughkeeping within the letter of it? Is even the abject creature whostrikes his wife more abandoned than a man of the type ofGrandcourt in _Daniel Deronda_, whose insults are dealt with amarble politeness, and who crushes his wife's sensibilities, not witha vulgar blow but with the cold and calculating cruelty of a cynic?When it comes to passing moral judgments and fixing blame, andespecially to measuring the degree of another's guilt, who of us isgood enough, who of us is pure enough, who of us is himself freeenough from wrong to exercise so terrible an office? Is not Learright, after all: ". . . . Change places; and. . . . Which is the justice, which is the thief?"

It may be said in reply to these objections: First, that the judgedoes not speak in his private capacity, but that he delivers thejudgment of mankind on the doer and the deed, serving as themouthpiece of the moral law, so far as it is incorporated in thehuman law. We should select the highest characters available forso exalted a duty, but freedom from even great human infirmity wecannot expect to find. Again, it is not the judge's business to fix thedegree of moral guilt; that not even the best and wisest of men cando. The inscrutable fact of the degree of moral guilt eludes allhuman insight. Only omniscience could decide who is more guiltyrelatively to opportunities, advantages, circumstances; who hasmade the braver effort to escape wrongdoing; whether the admiredpreacher, or the culprit on his way to the gallows; whether thePresident in the White House or the wretch behind the bars. Theoffice of the judge is to pronounce that crime has been committed, irrespective of the subtle question of the degree of guilt. Murderhas been done, property has been stolen, the sin and the sinnerwedded together. The office of the judge is to declare the fact ofthat infelicitous union, and to pronounce the penalty according tothe law. And this, in particular. The object of the punishmentwhich the law pronounces is not vindictive chastisement of theculprit. The object of punishment is purely reformatory. Only itmust not be forgotten that there can be no reformation withoutpenitence, and no penitence without self-abasement. And thisconsists in confessing one's self guilty, admitting that the guilt hasbecome a part of one's being, and humbling one's pride to theground. The public sentence pronounced by the judge, the shamewhich he fixes upon the culprit, has, then, for its object to pave theway toward reformation, to break down the defenses which thesophistry of wickedness sets up, to compel the man to see himselfas others see him, to force him to realize to the full the evil of hispresent state. Not to blast him utterly, not to exclude him foreverfrom the kindly society of men, but to lead him into the way alongwhich--if he travel it--he may eventually return, though perhapsonly after many years, to human fellowship. If the verdict ispronounced in any other spirit, it is false and inhuman. Themethods to be employed to bring about reformation must often besevere and painful, and one of these methods is shock, shock sharpand sudden enough to loosen the incrustations of evil habit, and to shake a wicked nature down to its foundations. Thepurpose of the trial of a criminal in a court of justice, and of theverdict in which the trial culminates, is to supply such a shock, asearching and terrible experience, yet salutary and indispensable inorder that better things may ensue. 

From what has been said, it follows that the death penalty as apunishment even for the worst crimes is morally untenable; foreither the culprit is really irredeemable, that is to say, he is anirresponsible moral idiot, in which case an asylum for the insane isthe proper place for him; or he is not irredeemable, inwhich case the chance of reformation should not be taken fromhim by cutting off his life. The death penalty is the last lingeringvestige of the _Lex Talionis_, of the law which attempts toequalize the penalty with the crime, a conception of justice whichin all other respects we have happily outgrown. It does notnecessarily follow that the immediate abolition of capitalpunishment is expedient. It is not expedient in fact, because of thecondition of our prisons, and because of the abuses to which thepardoning power of the State is subjected; because security islacking that the worst offenders, before ever they can bereclaimed, may not be returned unrepentant into the bosom ofsociety, to prey upon it anew with impunity. But, then, we mustnot defend the death penalty as such, but rather deplore and do ourutmost to change our political conditions, which make it stillunwise to abolish a form of punishment so barbarous and sorepugnant to the moral sense. 

The step which follows the arrest and condemnation of theevildoer is isolation, with a view to the formation of new habits. Achange of heart is the necessary pre-requisite of any permanentchange in conduct; but the change of heart, and the resolution toturn over a new leaf to which it gives birth, must be gradually andslowly worked out into a corresponding practice. The old body ofsin cannot be stripped off in a moment; the old encumbrance ofbad habits cannot be sloughed off like a serpent's coil. The newspirit must incorporate itself slowly in new habits; and to this endthe delinquent must be aided in his efforts by a more or lessprolonged absence from the scene of his former temptations. He must be placed in an entirely new and suitable environment, and encouraging pressure must be exerted upon him to acquirenew habits of order, diligent application to work, obedience, self-control. It is upon this idea that the moral propriety ofimprisonment and of prison discipline is based, whether the actualtreatment of prisoners be in accord with it or not. 

And so we may pass on at once to the last and chief element inthe process of the reclamation of the evildoer, namely, forgiveness. An angel's tongue, the wisdom and insight of the loftiest of thesages, would be required to describe all the wealth of meaningcontained in the sublime spiritual process which we designate bythe word pardon. It is a process which affects equally both partiesto the act, the one who forgives and the one who is forgiven. Itexalts both, transfigures both, indeed establishes a new tie ofwonderful tenderness and sublimity between them. The personwho forgives is a benefactor. 

Is it a little thing, when a man is sunk in the slough of poverty, denuded of all the decencies of life, harassed day and night bygrinding cares, knows not whither to turn to find shelter and food, for some fellow human being, moved by pure human kindness, orlet us rather say moved by respect for the worth which he sees inhis perishing fellow-man, to come to the aid of the latter, to lifthim out of his distress, to place him on sun-lit levels, to put him onhis feet and give him a new chance, to open for him a new careerin which effort may meet with its reward? Such an act of humanhelpfulness is not a little thing; the man who does it is rightlyesteemed a great benefactor. Or is it a little thing to save theimperiled sick, to bring back from the brink of the grave a preciouslife, already despaired of? This, too, surely is not a little thing, and the good physician who accomplishes such a miracle is rightlyesteemed a benefactor to whom lifelong gratitude is due. 

But there is a yet greater thing, a benefit, by the side of which eventhese--great as they are--appear almost insignificant. To take aman who is sinking in the moral slough and has no courage left torise out of it; to give him back his lost self-esteem, that jewelwithout which health and wealth are of little avail; to put him in aposition once more to look his fellow-men straight in the eye; toplace him morally on the sun-lit levels; to put him morally on hisfeet--this assuredly is the supreme benefit, and the man whoaccomplishes this for another is the supreme benefactor. And anote of exquisite moral beauty is added if the benefactor be thesame person whom the guilty man had injured. This is what ismeant by forgiveness. This is why forgiveness is so divine a thing. This is the reason why, when an act of genuine forgiveness occurs, "the music of the spheres" seems to become audible in our netherworld. And this is also the reason why we often see such a strangekind of tie springing up between a person who has been chastisedand the one who has chastised him in the right spirit and thenforgiven him--a tie into which there enters shame for the wrongdone, gratitude for the unmerited good received, and a reverenceakin to idolatry toward the one upon whose faith in him the sinnerrebuilt his faith in himself. 

There should be some organ of the State to exercise this office offorgiveness toward criminals, this pardoning power in the finersense of the term. The prison warden, if he be a man of the rightstamp, sometimes exercises it. The Society for the Befriending ofReleased Prisoners has here an appropriate function open to it;also the employer who after due inquiry has the courage to dismisssuspicion and to give work to the released prisoner. 

The methods and principles which I have described in the case ofthe criminal are used for illustration, not that I am interested todayin discussing the special problem of the criminal, but becauseprinciples can best be exemplified in extreme cases. The samemethods, the same maxims should control punishment in general;our dealings, for instance, with the misdeeds of which our ownchildren are guilty. Here, too, there should be by no meansunvarying gentleness and pleading, but when need arises the sharpcheck, that evil may be instantaneously stopped. Here, too, thereshould be the temporary disgrace, the clear presentation of themagnitude of the fault, if it have magnitude, the humiliation thatcalls forth penitence and good resolutions. Here, too, there shouldbe sedulous care, to work out the better habits. And all these stepsshould be taken with a view to ultimate reconciliation, forgiveness, and the holier bond between parent and child. 

But now can we take one step further? Can we dispose our mindsand our hearts in the same fashion toward oppressors? I have inmind, for instance, the hard proprietors of houses who pitilesslywring the last penny from their tenants; the cruel taskmasters whodrive the workers, sometimes only children not yet full-grown, twelve and fifteen hours a day; the unscrupulous exploiters on alarge scale, who raise the price of the people's food, and in theireagerness for fabulous gain conspire by every corrupt means tocrush their less crafty or less shameless competitors. As we hatewrong, must we not hate them? Shall we assail greed andexploitation merely in the abstract? What effect will that have?Which one of the oppressors will not hypocritically assent to suchabstract denunciation? If we seek to produce a change, must wenot proceed to more specific allegations and point the finger ofscorn at the offenders, saying as the Prophet Nathan said to KingDavid: "Thou art the man"? Is it not necessary to arouse thepopular anger against the oppressors and to encourage hatredagainst the hateful?

Clearly the case is not the same as that of the criminal in the dock. He stands there dishonored; the evil he has done has been broughthome to him; he is covered with the garment of shame. But thoseothers are invested--despite the evil they have done and are stilldoing--with every outward symbol of success; they triumphdefiantly over the better moral sense of the community; theyinhabit, as it were, impregnable citadels; they have harvestedunholy gains which no one seems strong enough to take fromthem; and the influence they wield in consequence of their powerto benefit or harm is immense. Is it a wonder, then, that suchoppressors are branded as monsters, and that the hoarse note ofsome of the Hebrew psalms is sometimes to be heard re-echoing inthe cry of the social radicals of our time--Let vengeance be visitedupon the wicked; let the oppressors be destroyed from the face ofthe earth!

But the logical and inevitable conclusion of the thought I havedeveloped to-day is, that we are bound to recognize theindefeasible worth latent even in the cruel exploiter and themerciless expropriator. I have already sufficiently indicated that thespiritual view is consistent with severe and stringent treatment. Checks there should be by the heavy hand of legislation laid uponthe arrogant evildoers. They should be stopped if possible inmid-career. The oppressed, also, should oppose those who oppressthem. No one is worth his salt who is not willing to defend hisrights against those who would trample on them. So far fromruling out conflict, I regard conflict as a weapon of progress--anethical weapon, if it be waged with the right intentions. Furthermore, when speaking of oppression, I have in mind notmerely the cupidity of the few as it operates mercilessly upon themany, but also the banded arrogance of the many as it sometimesdisplays itself in contempt for the rights of the few. Fromwhichever side oppression proceeds, there should be resistance toit; the check imposed by resistance is one of the means ofeducating to new habits those who find themselves checked. Individuals, and social classes, too, as history proves, learn torespect the rights which they find in practice they cannot traverse. First come the limits set to the aggression, and then the opening ofthe eyes to perceive the justice of the limitation. But conflict is anethical weapon only if it is wielded like the knife in the surgeon'shands. The knife wounds and hurts; the method is apparently cruel;but the purpose is benevolent. So should the battle of social reformbe animated by concern not only for the oppressed, but also for theoppressor. And such a motive does not exceed the capacity ofhuman nature, but, on the contrary, is the only motive which willpermanently satisfy human nature. Certain of the Socialists havemade it their deliberate policy for years to stir up hatred betweenthe poor and the rich, on the ground that hatred alone canovercome the lethargy of the masses and arouse in them theintensity of feeling necessary for conflict. On the contrary, hatredengenders hatred on the opposite side, action provokes reaction. As the individual can be uplifted in his life only by accepting thespiritual motive, by trying to act always so as to recognize inothers and to make manifest the indefeasible worth of the humansoul, so the social classes can be uplifted only by acting on thesame spiritual motive. Despite the efforts of a hundred years, thereal progress that has been achieved in ameliorating the relationsbetween the social classes at the present day is slight, andsometimes one is impelled to doubt whether there has been anyprogress at all. The egotism of one side is met by the egotism ofthe other side. But appeals to mass egotism will no more elevatemankind, than appeals to individual egotism. Appeals tosympathy also will not permanently help. Only the highest motiveof all can furnish the power needed to accomplish the miracle ofsocial transformation; only that conflict which is waged for thepurpose not of striking down the oppressor and rescuing hisvictim, but for the rescue of both the victim and the oppressor, willattain its end. 

The oppressor may be regarded as a man who has consented so todegrade himself as to become for the time being a heartlessautomaton, ruthlessly working for gain, a being like one of thoseterrible ogres of the popular mythology who feed on human flesh. But he is not a mere automaton or ogre. There is a better side tohis nature, as we often discover, to our amazement, when we learnabout the facts of his private life. These private virtues do notindeed condone his social sins--far from it--but they indicate thatthere exists a better side. If that side could be made victorious, ifconditions could be shaped so as to starve out the worse natureand bring to the fore the better nature in the oppressor as well as inthe oppressed, the problem would be advanced toward a solution. 

There is a story told of two brothers, sons of the same father, whogrew up in the same home and were deeply attached to each other. It happened that the older wandered away and fell into the powerof an evil magician, who changed him into a ravening wolf. Theyounger mourned his loss, and treasured in his heart the image ofthe brother as he had been in the days before the wicked spell fellupon him. Impelled by his longing, he at last went out into theworld to find his brother, and if possible to redeem him. One dayas he passed through a lonely forest, a hungry wolf set upon him. The horrid, brutal face was near to his, the hot breath breathedupon him, and the fierce eyes flamed into his own. But by themight of his love, the younger brother was able to detect beneaththe wolfish disguise the faint outlines of the brother whom he hadlong ago lost, and by the strength of his gaze, which saw only thebrother and refused to see the wolf, he was able to give shape andsubstance to that faint outline. The outer frame of brutishnessgradually melted away, and the human brother was restored to hissenses and to his home. This is a parable of the spiritual attitudetoward oppressors, toward those who oppress the people inpublic, as well as toward those who oppress us in our private lives. We must liberate them from the brutal frame in which they areinclosed; we must give them back their human shape!

IV. THE TWO SOULS IN THE HUMAN BREAST. 

Sunday, Dec. 11, 1904. 

Painful and revolting associations are called up by thephrase--"leading the double life. " To the aversion provoked by theevil itself, is added in such cases the disgust excited by the hypocrisywith which it is cloaked. He who leads a double life offends notonly by the wrong he does, but by borrowing the plumes of virtue. He lives a perpetual lie; he is "a whited sepulchre, clean on theoutside, full of filth and corruption within. " The Beecher trial atthe time so profoundly agitated the whole country, because theaccusations brought forward associated the name of one of themost prominent characters of the nation, a man of brilliant talentand meritorious service, with secret impurity. The moremeritorious such a man's services, the more damning the charges ifthey be established. Nor do we admit in such cases the sophisticalargument, that the interests of public morality require the facts tobe hushed up in order to avoid a scandal. Nothing is so imperativewhere guilt really exists as that it be confessed and expiated. Thepublic conscience requires the truth. Let the sinner make a cleanbreast of it; let the atmosphere be cleared by an act of publichumiliation. No injury to the cause of public morality is so great asthe lurking suspicion that men who stand forth as exponents ofmorality are themselves corrupt. Lurking suspicion, distrust of allthe moral values, is worse than recognition of human weakness, however deplorable. 

There are other examples of the double life, with which all whohave knowledge of the world's ways are familiar. That of themerchant, for instance, who, though he has long been virtually abankrupt, conceals his position behind a screen of opulence, emulating the sumptuous expenditure of the rich, living a life ofglittering show; tortured inwardly by the fear of exposure, yet notcourageous enough to be honest; sinking deeper himself and, whatis worse, dragging others down with him. A young man at collegesometimes leads a double life, his letters home being filled withaccounts of his legitimate employments, while at the same time heis leading the life of the prodigal, the spendthrift, the dissipatedsot. 

The dual life has been depicted in powerful colors by poets andwriters of fiction; as, for instance, by Hawthorne in his "ScarletLetter, " by Robert Louis Stevenson in his "Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. " I suppose if there be such a thing as hell on earth, thedouble life is another name for it. Yet I know of no writer offiction whose plummet has sounded the depths of this hell. InStevenson's story one gets the impression of a too mechanicalseparation between the two sides. The man is at one moment thebenevolent doctor, and at another the malignant fiend. The deviceof the drug is introduced to explain the transition; but thetransformation is too sudden, too abrupt. Jekyll and Hyde dwellside by side in the same body, and the relations between them havenot been wrought out with sufficient subtlety. It is rather a broadmoral parable than a subtle study of man's dual nature. 

The initial point I desire to make is, that in certain cases the innertorture and anguish of the dual life can only be ended by publishingthe secret, so long and jealously hidden. Just as the criminal muststand judgment in a court of law, so must the double-minded manstand judgment in the court of public opinion. It is not possible todetermine by a hard and fast line, when such exposure isobligatory; but in general it may be said that it is required in thosecases where publicity is necessary to set things right and to repairthe wrong that has been done to others. 

There are, however, cases in which others are not affected, or onlyindirectly so; in which the evil relates to the personal life and itsconsequences are private to the man himself. The situation is suchas is described by Goethe, when he speaks of the two soulsdwelling within the human breast; the soul itself in its own spherebeing divided against itself. The man is conscious of rectitude inone part of his conduct, of magnanimous impulses, of high andnoble aspirations. He feels himself allied on one side to what isbest and purest, and at the same time is aware of another sidewhich in his saner moments fills him with loathing, and poisons forhim life's cup of satisfaction. It is of this class of cases that Ipropose to speak. And here the terrible fact stares us in the face, that if the dual life be interpreted in this sense, there is hardly aman who is not leading it. Even the best of men have been awareof an abhorrent side of their nature. What else can St. Paul meanwhen he speaks of the continual warfare between the twolaws--"the law of the flesh that is in his members, and the lawof God that is in his spirit"? What else do the confessions of St. Augustine reveal but the continual oscillations of a finely poisednature between the two extremes? What else can we gather fromcertain passages in Tennyson's writings, but hints of a miserableand grievous struggle of the same sort? And what an intolerableburden to any person of integrity, to any one who would at leastbe honest, to think that he passes for better than he is, to think thatif men only could see his heart as he sees it, they would pass himby with scorn instead of admiration! Yet as a rule, in such casesself-revelation is not only not demanded, but not even allowable. The opening of the secret chambers of one's life to the public, confessions like those of Rousseau, are, if anything, indecent andnauseating. The case of a man in such situations is bad enough, butthe remedy for it is perforce committed to his own hands. Let himput his hand to the plough and not turn back, let him grapple withthe evil in his nature and subdue and transform it, let himaccomplish his inner redemption, let him make himself what heought to be--what others perhaps think he is. What aid can thespiritual view of life extend to him in this stupendous business?

The cardinal thought I have in mind, which I believe will providean escape from such intolerable moral dilemmas, can best be setforth by contrasting it with its diametrical opposite. This oppositeis contained in the Buddhistic doctrine of the Karma. The doctrineof Karma implies that we are what we are to-day, good or bad, orgood and bad, in consequence of good or bad deeds which weperformed in previous states of existence. Our present life, according to this view, is but a link added to the chain of theinnumerable lives which we have left behind us. It is true, we donot remember those past existences; but all the same, they have lefttheir indelible mark upon us. Our fortunes, too, in this presentexistence, are determined by our meritorious or unmeritoriousbehavior in the past. If, for example, a man acts as your enemyto-day, it is because in a previous state you wantonly injured himor some one like him. Bear your disappointments, then, and theharm you receive from others without complaint; you are butsuffering the penalty you deserve. Not only our fortune but ourcharacter, as has been said, is thus predetermined; we are whatwe are, in virtue of what we have been. If a man is a mean miser, itis because in a previous existence he was already unduly covetousof wealth. 'Tis but the seed he sowed in the past, that blossoms outin the present. If a man commit murder, it is because he wasalready guilty of unchecked violence in previous lives. Thebeginnings which he made in the past culminate in the awfulpresent. 

This is indeed a plausible theory, and it would help us to read somedark riddles if it were true, but there is not the slightest reason forsupposing that it is. If ever there was a theory in the air, this isone. We not only have no recollections of any past incarnations, but we have no ground for inferring that there were any. I havementioned the theory merely in order to exhibit its opposite. Andthe opposite is this: that a man is not responsible for the attractiveor repulsive qualities with which he is born; that these are not to beaccounted as his, in the sense that he is accountable for them. Theson of the dipsomaniac, for instance, is not responsible for themorbid craving that stirs in him. He begins life, so far asresponsibility is concerned, so far as merit or demerit is concerned, with a fresh start. He is not responsible for the craving; he isresponsible only for assenting to it. True, the pull in his case isincomparably stronger than in others; still he can resist. He isresponsible, not for the hideous thing itself, but for the degree inwhich he yields to it. He is meritorious to the extent of the efforthe puts forth not to yield to it. The reason why this point is oftenobscured is that from the first awakening of consciousness, fromthe time when first we have been capable of deliberate choice, wehave more or less often assented to these evil propulsions and havethus made them our own. It has therefore become impossible toseparate clearly between that element in our acts which is imposedupon us from without, and that deliberate element in the act whichis our own. Nevertheless, no fair-minded person will dispute thatthere are qualities or predispositions, for which--hideous as theymay be--we are no more responsible than we are for being bornwith an unprepossessing face. Men are born with certain attractivequalities and certain atrocious qualities, but moral goodness andbadness consists not in having these predispositions, but rather inconsenting to them and adopting them into our will. 

Now this, it seems to me, throws an entirely new light upon theduality of our inner life. The fact that we discover that there isbaseness within us from which we recoil as we should from avenomous snake, need not shake our throne of reason or overthrowour balance. These base things are not we; our true selfdoes not reside in them, until, indeed, we unite with them byassenting to them. A man's natural propensities are motley, but hissoul is white. One hears much nowadays of the "white man'sburden. " There is such a thing as the white soul's burden. Thesedipsomaniac cravings with which some men are handicapped, these explosive irascibilities with which some are accursed, thesetendencies to impurity with which others are defiled--these are thewhite soul's burden. Some men are more heavily burdened thanothers. But it is not the nature of the burden that makes men goodor bad; it is the way they bear it, or rather it is the extent to whichthey transform this initial nature of theirs into a better nature. There is a distinction between the natural character and the moralcharacter; the moral character results from the changes producedin the natural character, by the power of the moral will, or by theenergy of the soul striving to imprint its nobler pattern on thisdifficult, oft intractable material. 

But if we are not blameworthy for the repellant propensities, neither are we praiseworthy on account of the attractive andgracious qualities we may possess. The state of mind of one who isconscious of a divided inner life is torture. Nothing but an heroictreatment, nothing but a radical cure will free him from thattorture; the cure is to realize that our seeming virtues are often notvirtues at all. We must sacrifice our fancied virtues, if we wouldescape from the horrid sense of utter depravity that arises from ourvices. A man puts to himself the question: How is it possible thatat one moment I should be sympathetic and kind, should strive tocompass the happiness of my fellow-beings, should take agenerous interest in public causes, and try to act justly; and that atanother moment I am so selfish and base? How can there be thisoscillation from one pole to the other of human character? It is thecontradiction that makes the tragedy. Am I, too, not "truly one buttruly two"; am I, too, a Jekyll and a Hyde, both dwelling under thesame skin? The answer is: You are neither the Hyde nor the Jekyllunless you elect to be. The true self is a principle in you superiorto both these natural characters, a kind of oversoul, as Emersonputs it. 

Sympathy and kindness lend themselves to the building up of avirtuous character, they are the psychological bases of virtue, butthey must not be confounded with virtue itself. Taken bythemselves, they represent merely a felicitous mixture of theelements of which we are compounded, no more praiseworthythan their opposites are blameworthy. Sympathy and kindnessmust be governed and regulated by principle, if they are to be ratedas moral qualities. Left uncultivated, they often produce positivelyimmoral results. Likewise, what is called justice is often no morethan a hard adherence to rules, a love of order in our relations toothers, which must be tempered and softened by the quality ofmercy, before it can be accounted a moral virtue. Again, awillingness to advance the interests of a class or of a people isoften no more than an enlarged egotism, with most of the defectsof the narrower egotism, and must be regulated by a moralprinciple, if it is to attain to the dignity of a moral attribute. It isonly by the conformity of our thoughts, our feelings, and our actsto principle, that morality is achieved. It is only by such means thatthe genial and attractive tendencies of our nature are convertedinto genuine virtues, and the way of escape from the double life isalong the line of the moral transformation of our seeming virtues. _Mend your virtues, and your vices will take care of themselves. _

But if the illusion is dispelled that the goodness or badness ofan action as it appears to the eye is the measure of the virtuousnessor viciousness of the agent; if the principle that governs the act andthe effort put forth to conform to the principle be recognized asthe true standard by which we are to judge, then two consequenceswill follow with respect to the conduct of life. The firstis that the seemingly petty occasions of life are to be treatedas grand occasions in so far as a moral principle is involved. Forinstance, a petty falsehood spoken for the purpose of securingbusiness advantage or of avoiding business loss may seem to theaverage man a trivial affair; and it is so, so far as the results areconcerned. And yet a morally high-bred man could no morecondescend to such a falsehood than a man of cleanly habits wouldwillingly steep himself in the mire. It is not the consequences, oneway or the other, that matter. It is the eternal issue between themoral realities, truth and untruth, that is at stake. And in the lightof this issue, in the light of the principle involved, petty as thecircumstances may be, the occasion is not to be considered trivial. The eternal forces that have been at war since mankind firstexisted are at war on this occasion also; he must cast in his lot onthe side of the good. 

Another instance of action seemingly trivial is that of simulating apersonal interest in others, of pretending agreement in the foiblesof others or of affecting a personal homage which one does notfeel, in order to use others as instruments for the achievement ofone's ends, whether those ends be selfish pecuniary advantage orpolitical preferment, or even financial aid and support for someimportant philanthropic enterprise. As if philanthropy--whichis based on respect for the worth of man--did not defeat its ownends, the moment it seeks to accomplish them by methods whichdegrade both him who gives and him who receives. The occasionis small, but the principle involved as to the choice of means isgreat. Another instance relates to the degree to which we maytrench upon the personality of others, or seek to enter into thatpart of their life which they keep secret from us. We may suspect, for instance, that a friend is oppressed by some secret trouble, andwe may believe that we could help him if only he would consent toreveal himself; but the act of self-revelation must come from hisside, and the permission to help him must first be granted. We maygive him the opportunity to declare himself, but we may not invadethe sanctuary of his silence. The principle involved is great; it isthat of respect for the precincts within which every soul has theright to live its own life. 

And there are other illustrations in abundance that might bequoted. For instance, custom prescribes rules of behavior inrespect to many things which are really indifferent; in regard to thecut of the clothes we wear, in regard to the accepted form ofsalutation, in regard to the language of polite speech, and muchmore of the same sort. Now, the ethically-minded man is not apedantic micrologist who wastes his time on the minutiae ofconduct. But where custom relates to things not indifferent, wherea principle is involved, there is no detail of conduct so minute asnot to challenge the most vigorous protest, the utmost assertion ofindependence. The ethically-minded man is one who endeavors toshake off the yoke of custom, wherever it interferes with theaffirmation of the great principles of life; who disdains to followthe multitude in doing not only what is palpably wrong, but what ismorally unfine. He seeks to be a free man, an independent being, and to assert without acrimony or invidious criticism of others, yetfirmly and unflinchingly, a strong and self-poised manhood. This, then, is one consequence that flows from our point of view:namely, that in the moral sphere the small occasions are to betreated as if they were grand occasions. As the poet puts it, "Rightly to be great is not to stir without great argument, butgreatly to find quarrel in a straw when honor is at stake, " or, as weshould put it, greatly to find quarrel in the straws of life whenprinciple is at stake. 

And the second consequence is the obverse of this: To treat whatseem to be great occasions because of their outward results, as ifthey were small. Is it a fortune that smiles upon you, that you canwin by suppressing a moral scruple, by transgressing the eternallaw? Put it aside as a thing not worth a second glance, if the priceexacted be the loss of self-respect, if the bargain to which youmust subscribe be the betrayal of principle. Is it life itself that is atstake; the dear life to which we cling so fondly? Yes, life isprecious in its nobler uses; but life itself shall not be esteemed asgreat in the hour in which we must choose between it and fidelityto principle. And that it is really possible to take this high attitudethe example of the world's great martyrs shows. 

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The leading thoughts I have endeavored to state in these addressesare the following: Spirituality is morality carried out to the finish. It depends on always keeping the ultimate end of existence inview, and on not resting in the partial ends. Intervals set aside forself-recollection and the facing of the thought of death are usefulaids. The ultimate end itself is to elicit worth in others, and, byso doing, in one's self. The indispensable condition of this attitudeis to ascribe worth to every human being before even we observeit, to cast as it were a mantle of glory over him, to take towardevery fellow human being the expectant attitude, to seek the worthin him until we find it. Even toward oppressors we should take thesame attitude. Furthermore, our true self resides neither in ourpoorer nor in our better natural endowments, but in the will thatsuppresses the one and alone gives moral significance to the other. Finally, we must testify to our respect for principle by treating thesmall occasions of life as great if they involve a moral issue, andthe great prizes of life as small if they are offered at the price ofmoral integrity. These are thoughts which I have found helpful inmy own experience; I submit them to you, in the hope that theymay be of use to you also.