the affections, and so far from being extinguished, they are thereby refined and ennobled, and their activity enlarged.1

We conclude that, since the subjection of the affections would quench them, but the subjection of the appetencies would advance them, the affections have rightful supremacy. Furthermore it follows that the right growth of character consists largely in this subjection of selfish propensities to the unselfish, and in so directing the former that they be no longer interested, but disinterested.

If it be objected that there are occasions for the exercise of affection, and other occasions for self-indulgence, the answer is easy. The claims of near relatives, of friends, of neighbors, of country, of mankind, of God, upon my means and energies, are paramount and exhaustive. Paramount, because these are dues, debts, duties, to be paid before selfgratification; exhaustive, since the totality of a devoted life fails to requite their righteous demands. Hence no hour, no dollar is my own to spend upon myself alone, regardless of my overwhelming indebtedness, of my unremitting and endless obligations.

It must be allowed that the scheme of character and conduct here proposed, is ideal, a high ideal, unattained and unattainable by any man. It calls for a declaration of truceless and internecine war upon selfishness. But selfishness so interpenetrates, in its many subtle forms and sacred guises, the human soul, interweaving its delicate fibers and gilded threads throughout our better nature, that to unravel and

Affection giving

1 The acquisitions of my appetencies are my resources. out from these does not impoverish, but only imparts so much as can and should be spared, economically reserving what is needed for continued efficiency. Sacrifice should rarely be total. In some cases the giving, as in the case of knowledge, does not diminish the store, nor does it weaken ability, but recuperates, refreshes, strengthens. Moreover, affection stimulates acquisition, so as to enlarge its available resources, which is the legitimate function of the appetencies.

wholly displace it seems impossible. The best of men, those morally most refined, are still more or less influenced by selfish propensities, and occupied with self-seeking. But to approximate, as nearly as may be, the moral ideal, is the true struggle of a noble life.1

1 Even Saint Paul confessed to falling grievously short, but still kept up the struggle. See Philippians, 3:12-16. Says Carlyle: "David's life and history, as written for us in those psalms of his, I consider to be the truest emblem ever given of a man's moral progress and warfare here below. All earnest souls will ever discern in it the faithful struggle of an earnest human soul toward what is good and best. Struggle, often baffled sore, baffled down into entire wreck, yet a struggle never ended; ever with tears, repentance, true, unconquerable purpose begun anew. Poor human nature! Is not a man's walking in truth always that a succession of falls? Man can do no other. In this wild element of a life he has to struggle upward; now fallen, now abased; and ever with tears, repentance, and bleeding heart he has to rise again, struggle again, still onward. That his struggle be a faithful, unconquerable one, that is the question of questions."- Heroes and Hero Worship.

CHAPTER X

SERVICE

§ 80. The three expressions of the law already considered, Trespass not, Be just, Do duty, upon a liberal yet fair interpretation, taking each in both its positive and its negative sense, are evidently coextensive and have the same content. This will be allowed. But their common extension may perhaps be understood to be limited to the obligation to do no harmful injury to another, either positively by direct aggression, or negatively by reserve of what he may justly demand. Practically most persons take this view, holding that, if one commit no hurtful trespass, pay promptly his manifest dues, be just in thought and deed, by this simple innocence his obligations are completely fulfilled. Many a man holds himself acquitted before the tribunal of his own moral judgment, before that of his fellow men, and of his final judge, provided he can truly say he has committed no wrong, meaning thereby that he has done no violence to patent rights, and awarded to every one his established claims. This seems to have been substantially the doctrine of the Stoics. It is a high estimate of duty, and one rarely accomplished. Nevertheless, if the notion be thus limited, it is safe to affirm there are obligations higher than duty. But the indicated limitation is by no means clear, the line cannot be sharply drawn, and hence it is better to extend the notion of duty to include these higher and wider obligations.

Recurring to the moral principle, a man has a right to gratify his normal desires, we observe that not merely the

acquiescence, but the assistance, of his fellows, is essential to this gratification. No man can live for himself alone. Apart from his natural longing for social intercourse, there are necessities that can be supplied only by the concurrence of those around, and in addition to necessities, there are many native and normal wants that require the coöperation of others. Here, then, is a just claim upon their assistance, upon their service. It is his right, and if withheld, he suffers trespass. The service cannot be compulsory, from lack of power, except in rare cases, and therefore must be free, willing service. Now rights are reciprocal. If some one have a rightful claim upon some other for free service, then this other has a like claim upon him; not, however, by way of repayment, of compensation, but because such claim is original with either. Hence no man may live for himself alone. Every one is morally bound to render, within certain limits, willing service to his fellow men. It is due them; free, willing service is duty.

§ 81. The obligation to render mutual service is universally recognized among men. In all the relations of life, this duty, though so imperfectly fulfilled and often grossly violated, is nevertheless judged by all to be binding on all, and its observance to be an essential part of righteous living. The prompting of instinct, antecedent to moral inference, is decisive in the matter. Imagine an extreme case.1 Suppose yourself standing on the brink of deep water in which a stranger is drowning, and it needs only that you reach out your hand to save him. Ought not you to do it? If you withhold the hand, and disregarding his cries for help and his manifest need, allow him to drown, would not your in

1 Extreme cases bring an informing principle more clearly to light, and hence are preferable for illustration. A principle, if true, will be thoroughly applicable to either extreme.

action be instinctively self-condemned and condemned by all as inhuman? Suppose him to be your friend, or your only brother; and, further, suppose that by letting him drown you shall obtain the whole instead of half the inheritance; would not even hesitation be intensely vile? Ought not a man to help his brother, his father, his mother, his child, his neighbor, his fellow man? There is but one answer in any candid mind, but one among all cultured peoples.

Again, let us suppose the drowning man to be known as a worthless vagabond, or even as a dangerous criminal whose death would be a blessed relief to his family, and to society

let him drown? No. Is it to give him time to repent and reform? Hardly. Suppose him, on the contrary, to be a godly man, afflicted with painful incurable disease, a distressing burden to himself, and to everybody else— let him drown? No. Stretch forth thy hand. Help, in the name of common humanity. The obligation of helpfulness has no other condition. It is binding in every personal relation. Setting aside the differences in concrete cases, there remains the common, imperative principle: Thou shalt serve.1

1 An historical case occurring in the north of Holland, early in the year 1569, is narrated by Motley, in The Rise of the Dutch Republic, Part iii, ch. 5, thus: "A poor Anabaptist, guilty of no crime but his fellowship with a persecuted sect, had been condemned to death. He had made his escape,

closely pursued by an officer of justice, across a frozen lake. It was late in the winter, and the ice had become unsound. It trembled and cracked beneath his footsteps, but he reached the shore in safety. The officer was not so fortunate. The ice gave way beneath him, and he sank into the lake, uttering a cry for succor. There were none to hear him, except the fugitive whom he had been hunting. Dirk Willemzoon, for so was the Anabaptist called, instinctively obeyed the dictates of a generous nature, returned, crossed the quaking and dangerous ice, at the peril of his life, extended his hand to his enemy, and saved him from certain death. Unfortunately for human nature, it cannot be added that the generosity of the action was met by a corresponding heroism. The officer was desirous, it is true, of avoiding the responsibility of sacrificing the preserver of his life, but the burgomaster of Asperen sternly reminded him to remember his oath. He accordingly