absent from the societies of men, nor even, I believe, from those of
animals. Conservatism insists on unity and order; radicalism on
wealthy life, diversified powers, particular independence. Either,
left to itself, would crush society, one by emptying it of initiative,
the other by splitting it into a company of warring atoms. Ordinarily
each is dimly aware of its need of an opponent, yet does not on that
account denounce him the less, or less eagerly struggle to expel him
from provinces asserted to be its own.

By temperament certain classes of the community are naturally disposed
to become champions of the one or the other of these supplemental
ideals. Artists, for the most part, incline to the ideal of abounding
life, exult in each novel manifestation which it can be made to
assume, and scoff at order as Philistinism.

Moralists, on the other hand, lay grievous stress on order, as if it
had any value apart from its promotion of life. Assuming that
sufficient exuberance will come, unfostered by morality, they shut it
out from their charge, make duty to consist in checking instinct, and
devote themselves to pruning the sprouting man. But this is absurdly
to narrow ethics, whose true aim is to trace the laws involved in the
construction of a good person. In such construction the supply of
moral material, and the fostering of a wide diversity of vigorous
powers, is as necessary as bringing these powers into proper working
form. Richness of character is as important as correctness. The
world's benefactors have often been one-sided and faulty men. None of
us can be complete; and we had better not be much disturbed over the
fact, but rather set ourselves to grow strong enough to carry off our
defects.