A child is spoiled when he accepts the position into which fond, foolish parents thrust him.  Being a passenger on what was presumably intended to be a pleasure excursion, he begins to find fault as soon as the journey becomes a little wearisome.  He must find fault, because that is the only thing left for him to find.  Having no opportunity to exercise his creative faculties, he becomes a petulant critic of a world he can neither enjoy nor understand.  Taking for granted that everything should be done for him, he is angry because it is not done better.  His ready-made world does not please him—­why should it?  It never occurs to him that if he does not like it he should try and make it better.

Unfortunately, the characteristics of the spoiled child do not vanish with childhood or even with adolescence.  A university training does not necessarily transform petulance into ripe wisdom.  Literary ability may only give fluent expression to a peevish spirit.

Among the innumerable children of an advanced civilization there are those who have been spoiled by the petting to which they have been subjected.  Life has been made so easy for them that when they come upon hard places which demand sturdy endurance they break forth into angry complaints.  They have been given the results of the complicated activities of mankind, without having done their share in the common tasks.  They have not through personal endeavor learned how much everything costs.  They are not able, therefore, to pay cheerfully for any future good.  If it is not given to them at once they feel that they have a grievance.  For friendly cooeperation they are not prepared.  They must have their own way or they will not play the game.  Their fretful complaints are like those of the children in the old-time market-places:  “We have piped unto you and you have not danced, we have mourned unto you and you have not lamented.”

There is a fashionable attitude of mind among many who pride themselves on their acute intellectualism.  It manifests itself in a supercilious compassion for the efforts and ambitions of the man of action.  He, poor fellow, is well-meaning, but unilluminated.  He is eager and energetic because he imagines that he is accomplishing something.  If he were a serious thinker he would see that all effort is futile.  We are here in an unintelligible world, a world of mighty forces, moving we know not whither.  We are subject to passions and impulses which we cannot resist.  We are never so helpless as when we are in the midst of human affairs.  We have great words which we utter proudly.  We talk of Civilization, Christianity, Democracy, and the like.  What miserable failures they all are.  Civilization has failed to produce contentment.  It has failed to secure perfect justice between man and man, or to satisfy the hungry with bread.  Christianity after all these centuries of preaching leaves mankind as we see it to-day—­an armed camp, nation fighting