My position at that time may be summarized as follows: There is a divine power in the world, not individual, manifest in the moral law as revealed in human experience. The moral law involves recognition of the presence of a something holy in each human being. Since the world presents innumerable examples of the grossest violation of human personality (e.g., prostitution and exploitation of laborers), the business immediately in hand is to make an end of these violations. There was as yet in my mind no positive definition of personality. Clarification and further development were promoted by the necessity of grappling with the problems of poverty and with the attempted solutions of the Socialists and of other social reformers. At this period, the notion of personality in my mind being still without determinate content, empirical matter intruded, and a species of millennialism for a time vitiated my thinking. In order to set up a goal for humanity, I dallied with Utopias, and flattered my imagination with the vision of something like a state of ultimate earthly felicity. The cheap cry of “Let us have heaven on earth” was also on my lips, though the delusion did not last long and perhaps never penetrated very deeply.  
The problem of poverty, as mentioned above, en44grossed me early. I acted as chairman of the meeting at which Henry George was first introduced to the public in New York City. But Henry George’s remedy,—a single draught of Socialism with unstinted individualism thereafter—never attracted me, while his descriptions of the misery of the poor, eloquent as they were, and fitted to awaken persons unacquainted with actual conditions, conveyed to me no novel message. I had before then been profoundly stirred by the chapters in Karl Marx’s Kapital in which he collects from the English Blue Books frightful evidence of the mistreatment of laborers and especially of children in the early part of the nineteenth century. My errands in the tenement slums of New York had also made me fairly familiar with the bitter facts, and throughout my life I have been in touch in a practical way with the appalling complexus of misery and wrong which we abstractly designate as the Labor Question. I shall not here take time to discuss Socialism or other social reform movements in detail. My intention is to sketch a certain philosophy of life, and to trace the steps by which I reached it. My reaction against Socialism and related movements, however, was a prime factor in this inner development; and it is of this reaction and the causes of it that I must speak.
 
The evils inherent in poverty are, in the first place, obviously, the privations entailed by it; secondly, the fact that the greater part of the life of the poor is consumed in efforts to provide the bare necessaries, the mind being thus kept in bondage to bodily needs and prevented from rising to other interests more appropri45ate to rational beings; thirdly, the fact that the first two wrongs are caused, not wholly it is true, but yet in a large measure, by fellow human beings.13 The sting in poverty is not so much the hardships suffered, as the contempt for the manhood of the poor, exhibited by their exploiters,—the inequity being thus turned into iniquity.
 
Now my reaction against Socialism was and is that it neglects the third, the moral evil, and stresses only the first and second. I am now speaking of Marxian Socialism, with which in its rigid form I early acquainted myself. The Marxian Socialist does not deny the pain felt in consequence of the inequity, nor the desire of those who suffer to become the equals of their masters; but he regards this desire as a fact of nature explicable on deterministic grounds, a consequence of improvement in the technique or tools of industry. He does not deny that there are so-called moral ideas, but he considers them epiphenomena or by-products of economic development. The tendency toward equilibrium of power in human society, termed democracy, is to him just a fact and nothing more. The mere desire for it46 apart from the rightness of the desire is the efficient cause which leads to social readjustments. But evidently this account of the matter will be persuasive only in case the efficient cause proves to be really efficient, that is to say, in case the desire for equilibration is on the point of effectuating itself. If it is not, if the desire of the masses for power is thwarted, if the realization of their hopes is indefinitely postponed, then the foundations of the theory are undermined. Hence Marxian Socialism has been coupled with and depends on a belief which is a kind of materialistic parallel of the apocalyptic vision of Jesus,—the belief that the end of the present world (the world of the wage system) is close at hand, only with the difference that the end is to be brought about not by divine interference but automatically by the acquisition of power on the part of the masses.
 
To me neither hunger nor the bondage of the mind to physical necessities nor the bare fact of inequity seem sufficient to justify the demand for social reconstruction, apart from moral right. If there be no such thing as morality, or if morality be but an epiphenomenon of economic conditions, what warrant have the hungry or the disadvantaged for complaining? Animals, too, hunger and sicken. If man be like them a mere chance product of nature, why should he not share their fate? Let the weak succumb! Surely the bald fact that the democratic masses today chafe under the yoke of their masters and demand a better state of things, is no more a ground of obligation for the former than the tendency toward an ultimate equilibrium in nature of which scien47tists speak can be a ground of obligation. The tendency will effectuate itself or not as the acting forces determine. There is in truth no such thing as obligation from this point of view. Then why not fold our arms and wait for what will happen? The notion of democracy currently held is obnoxious to the same criticism. Leave out the moral basis in the claim to equity, and nothing remains but the brute fact that men, being egotists, fret under the exercise of superior power by their fellow egotists. But let Nietzsche or some one else demonstrate that certain higher values, higher merely because subjectively relished as higher, are incompatible with equilibrium of power, and he will be justified at least in his own eyes in scoffing at equality and scourging the democratic dogs back to their kennels. No one denies that the masses have the desire to be treated as the equals of their masters (very inconveniently for the latter), but it is quite another matter whether their desire ought to be gratified. Social reconstruction, in other words, must be motivated by other considerations than those by which according to Marx the great change is to come about.
 
I have not stopped to consider whether the Socialistic scheme is workable, whether the run of mankind are capable of co?perative effort on a large scale without the pre?minent leadership of master minds; whether Socialism, if carried out, would really breed, as it is expected to, the sentiment of ideal brotherhood; whether the sentiment of brotherhood itself, unless it be rooted in the closer family and national ties, is morally sound, whether the emotional forces that sweep through and48 overwhelm large aggregations of men, can be bridled and sufficiently enlightened to promote the ends of Socialism. All such questions as these touch the feasibility of the ideal proposed; my own reaction was and is against the ideal itself. Instead of pronouncing as some do that mankind are not yet ripe to carry out so high an ideal, I found myself seriously challenging and finally rejecting the very ideal on the ground that it is not a genuine moral ideal at all. It is ethically spurious, because it omits the notion of right and substitutes for it that of power.
 
A different objection lies against certain modifications of Socialism and against many of the social reform movements of our time. In these movements the idea of personality is not absent as in Marx’s theory. The inherent dignity of every human being is deeply felt, and per contra the indignity of the present condition of the greater number. Man is worth while; and for the sake of the worth in him, the unfavorable circumstances which stifle the promise of his nature are to be changed. My objection in this case is that the higher spiritual nature of man, or the notion of personality, is left indefinite and remains vaguely in the background. It supplies indeed the initial motive for practical efforts; but the instrumental relation of the goods of life to the supreme good is not apprehended positively. And thus the door is left open, as we shall presently see, for corrupting influences to enter in.
 
There seems, it is true, at first sight, considerable warrant for demanding certain instant reforms without troubling about ulterior spiritual ends. We are con49fronted in modern society with evils which seem to require immediate abolition. Exploitation is palpably one of them. It is the clearest possible case of trespass on personality. Why not then demand respect simply for personality in general, without inquiring into the nature of personality? Is it not beyond all question dishonoring to human nature that some should be on the verge of starvation while others are even themselves injured by excessive possessions; that the energies of children should be exhausted by premature toil; that adults should be worked like beasts of burden? Why not leave in abeyance the definition of the supreme end, and concentrate effort on the removal of these incontestable evils?
 
My answer to this is, in the first place, that we cannot gain the best leverage even for these initial reforms without a high and defined conception of man as a spiritual being. Efforts directed toward improving even material conditions are apt to be fluctuating, spasmodic, and are ever in danger of dying down, unless material improvement is seen in its relation towards something else that commands the highest respect—implicit respect. Sympathy alone is altogether inadequate. It often works grave harm; it is notoriously intermittent, at one time broadly expansive and then again contracting upon the nearest objects. Furthermore, we can at best sympathize genuinely with only a very limited number of persons. If anyone were to open his heart to the sufferings of all the millions of human beings at present engaged in conflict on the battlefields of Europe; if he were to try to realize the indirect consequences of this war; if he were to take a still wider sweep and embrace50 in his imagination the populations of India, China, and the races of Africa, the effect upon him would be simply paralyzing. The possible effect of one’s sympathetic action upon this huge volume of human suffering would appear so insignificant as to make exertion on his part seem quite irrational. We are assisted by sympathy in the matter of social reform by the narrowness of our horizons; and even within these narrow boundaries the efficiency of the motive depends largely upon the transciency of the sympathetic mood. Sympathy as a permanent attitude would disintegrate the self.14
 
The second answer is that by ignoring the ultimate end we install proximate ends in its place. The reform movements of our day abstain from attempting to set up an ultimate good. They are content, as they say, “to evaluate the tangible goods ready at hand.” In consequence these tangible goods inevitably usurp the place of the supreme good. Begin as we may with the high notion of personality, we become materialists before we have proceeded very far, and we infect the laboring masses with our materialism if we omit to define the relation of proximate ends to the ultimate aim. For remember that the ultimate end is that which prescribes the limits within which the nearer aims are to be sanctioned,—the limit for each being the degree in which it conduces toward the highest end. Without a goal set51 up, without an explicit conception of its regulative function, the proximate ends abound, and are likely to expand ad indefinitum. This is evident, for instance, in the case of wealth-getting. The poor have not enough wealth, the rich have too much. “Let us then redress the balance by at least securing enough for the poor. The necessary limitations we can discuss after they shall have at least reached the limit of sufficiency.” But we are thus kindling the desire for wealth; and this desire and its possible gratifications are boundless. It is in the nature of desire to be prolific of new desire, and to aim unceasingly at new satisfactions. First, a decent dwelling, sufficient food, education for the children, are wanted, then luxury, then millions, then multi-millions. Secondary motives take the place of primary ones. Wealth becomes a token; the satisfactions it gives are no longer related to actual wants or needs, but solely to a fantastic desire for pre?minence. Has not this been the actual history of many of those who have risen from poverty to great riches? But the same desires are present, though suppressed, unsatisfied, in the masses, who look up to the few with admiration or envy. And suppressed desires are often even more insidiously poisoning, more contaminating in their effects than satisfied desires.
 
The psychological fact is that human volition as expressed in action is always determined by some end. A means is never adopted without there being some object or purpose in view. Leave out the ultimate aim and the means become themselves the ends. A decent subsistence should be treated as related to the ultimate end,52— a decent living, for example, as a means to fit the worker for the duties of fatherhood and citizenship.
 
It may again be urged that what has been said is true only of the ambitious minority, and that the masses would be quite content with a decent subsistence if only that much could be assured them. But the prevalence of cheap imitations of luxury among the poor points in the opposite direction. At least in a democratic community, the ambitions of the few are apt to be contagious. And where this is not the case, as in some of the older countries of Europe, a certain sordid Philistinism is apt to manifest itself. The life of the middle class in Europe is without the restless brilliance that characterizes the upward-striving class in America,—is not daringly but meanly materialistic. Redeeming features are, of course, not wanting, yet how anyone can conceive the social ideal as a state of things in which the laboring people shall be raised to the level at present occupied by the “middle class” is difficult for me to understand. Nor is it a sufficient rejoinder to say that the present complexion of the middle class, its narrowness and Philistinism, are due to isolation from the social classes beneath them, and that the broad sentiment of universal fellowship and fraternity, when it shall have come to prevail, will purify the atmosphere on the middle level. I have sufficiently indicated my doubts as to the efficiency and soundness of what is called fraternalism.
 
In brief, if we are to preserve a man’s respect for himself as a moral being, we must find a ground on which he can maintain his self-esteem apart from the material conditions in which he is placed, and in the in53terval before the desirable material changes can possibly be accomplished. This interval is certain to be long. The betterment of social conditions is sure to be gradual. The slum ought to be abolished immediately, but until it goes we must find a reason to respect the man in the slums even now, and a reason why he should respect himself even now. This reason can only be derived from the spiritual nature of man, from the spiritual end for which he exists; and on this account, above all others, it is indispensable that the spiritual end be defined. How painfully social reformers may be led into error by slighting this consideration is seen in the readiness with which some have subscribed to the amazing opinion that the issue between chastity and dishonor for the working-girl depends ultimately on the amount of her wages.
 
There are two fallacies that affect the social reform movements of today. The substitution of power for right is one. What I venture to call the fallacy of provisionalism is the second. This is the fallacy of the opportunist movements. “Lead the laboring classes provisionally up to the level of sufficiency, or of decent existence, and then we shall see.” But man does not act without ends, and unless we define the ultimate end, we give license to the proximate ends. In other words, we simply cannot act provisionally. We cannot ignore our spiritual nature without offending against it. We may start with the idea of serving it, but without explicit definition of it we shall presently find ourselves disgraced in all sorts of idolatries.
 
What I am trying to show is how I came to perceive54 the inadequacy of the non-violation ethics. Its formula is: “Admit the existence of personality; do not infringe upon it. In your actions for the good of others, try to abolish the manifest infringements or violations. Since there must be some positive content to the idea of good, accept the material or empirical goods as the provisional content with the general understanding that they are to be instrumental to the higher life but without troubling to define exactly how.”
 
The aberrations to which this view leads on the side of action toward others I have pointed out. A word now as to the injurious effect on self. Of these the following are the most important:
 
1. The leader in social reform is apt to be regarded by his followers and to think of himself as a kind of savior. It is his sincere intention to save society from some of the glaring evils with which it is afflicted. But if salvation is sought in the betterment of external conditions, the social savior is apt to become the victim of a false sense of moral security. He is likely to be off his guard at the weak points of his own character, and to fall abruptly from high levels into the ditch.
 
2. The social reformer who adopts the fallacy of provisionalism is apt to be absorbed in the mechanical details of his work,—the settlement or the municipal reform society, or the charitable association tend to become highly organized and efficient pieces of machinery. But moral idealism declines in proportion as this kind of efficiency increases,—the salt loses its savor.
 
3. The social reformer who sets his heart on external changes is apt to become impatient to bring about those55 changes. For since he attempts to work from without inwardly, and not at the same time from within outwardly, he has nothing to show for his pains unless the desired outward changes are actually effected. In this way may be explained a certain dictatorial manner, a certain arbitrariness sometimes observed in social workers of whose earnestness and devotion there can be no question, the preposterous outcome being that in attempting to carry out plans of reform in a democratic community such reformers offend against the very principle of democracy by over-riding the personality of others.
 
4. The Social reformer who concentrates his attention on external changes is apt to be ambitious of large results, to measure betterment by statistical standards. Though quality be not overlooked, quantity is likely to be over-emphasized.
 
5. The painful spectacle is sometimes presented of a leader in social movements who goes to pieces morally in his private relations (becomes a bad father, a worthless husband, an unscrupulous sponge on his friends, etc.). Absorption in extensive public movements has this danger in it that it often tends to make men neglectful of the nearer duties.
 
Facts of this kind, which came repeatedly under my observation in the course of years, drove home to my mind the conviction that the provisional method in social reform (the method of working for external changes without definition of the end) is morally perilous, both in its effects on those who are to be benefited, and in its reaction on the character of the reformer himself. I parted company with opportunism in every one of its56 forms; I became more and more imbued with the belief that no one can really help others who in the effort to do so is not himself morally helped, i.e., whose character is not improved in every respect, who does not become a better father, husband, citizen, a more upright man in all his relations in and because of his endeavors to benefit society. I became convinced that the ethical principle must run like a golden thread through the whole of a man’s life, in a word, that social reform unless inspired by the spiritual view of it, that is, unless it is made tributary to the spiritual, the total end of life, is not social reform in any true sense at all.15
 
57
 
The fundamental question, therefore, echoed and re-echoed with ever intenser insistence: “What then is the holy thing in others? What is the supreme end or good to which all the lesser goods should be subordinate and subservient? And what is the holy thing in me?—for I may not spiritually sacrifice myself. My own highest good must be achievable in agreement with that of others. What definition of the essential end is possible that shall reconcile egoism and altruism by transforming and transcending them? And if there be such end thinkable and definable, how establish the applicability of this end to empirical man, either in the person of others or in my own?”
 
I shall have to dwell on this subject at length in the sequel. Here at the outset I cannot forbear expressing my sense of the obliquities, the folly, the meanness, the cruelties which human nature often exhibits on the empirical side when dispassionately contemplated. That there are also finer traits in people, gleams of gold in the quartz, I do not deny. But even in the best exemplars of the race the alloy is not wanting. And it is an open question how far any human being, if his whole make-up and all the circumstances that influenced him be considered, can be called predominantly good, assuming that goodness is a matter of desert and not of chance. How, therefore, a being that to actual, impartial observation reveals himself as so dubiously worth while, can be regarded as possessing the quality of transcendent worth (which seems to be implied in the idea of personality as inviolable and precious) will be the starting point of my inquiry into the philosophical first principle in the second part of this volume.