“Yes.  Isn’t that what we are trying to do?  We are not determinists or fatalists, and to condemn us to such a philosophy would be to destroy us.  We live on hope.  In spite of our apparent materialism, we are idealists.  And is it not possible to regard nature as governed by laws—­remorseless, if you like the word—­and yet believe, with Kant and Goethe, that there is an inner realm?  You yourself struggle—­you cling to ideals.”

“Ideals!” she echoed.  “Ideals are useless unless one is able to see, to feel something beyond this ruthless mechanism by which we are surrounded and hemmed in, to have some perception of another scheme.  Why struggle, unless we struggle for something definite?  Oh, I don’t mean heavenly rewards.  Nothing could be more insipid and senseless than the orthodox view of the hereafter.  I am talking about a scheme of life here and now.”

“So am I,” answered Hodder.  “But may there not be a meaning in this very desire we have to struggle against the order of things as it appears to us?”

“A meaning?”

“A little while ago you spoke of your indignation at the inequalities and injustices of the world, and when I asked you if you had always felt this, you replied that this feeling had grown upon you.  My question is this:  whether that indignation would be present at all if it were not meant to be turned into action.”

“You believe that an influence is at work, an influence that impels us against our reason?”

“I should like to think so,” he said.  “Why should so many persons be experiencing such a feeling to-day, persons who, like yourself, are the beneficiaries of our present system of privilege?  Why should you, who have every reason to be satisfied, materially, with things as they are, be troubling yourself with thoughts of others who are less-fortunate?  And why should we have the spectacle, today, of men and women all over this country in social work, in science and medicine and politics, striving to better conditions while most of them might be much more comfortable and luxurious letting well enough alone?”

“But it’s human to care,” she objected.

“Ah—­human!” he said, and was silent.  “What do we mean by human, unless it is the distinguishing mark of something within us that the natural world doesn’t possess?  Unless it is the desire and willingness to strive for a larger interest than the individual interest, work and suffer for others?  And you spoke of making people happier.  What do you mean by happiness?  Not merely the possession of material comforts, surely.  I grant you that those who are overworked and underfed, who are burning with the consciousness of wrongs, who have no outlook ahead, are essentially hopeless and miserable.  But by ‘happiness’ you, mean something more than the complacency and contentment which clothing and food might bring, and the removal of the economic fear,—­and even the restoration of self-respect.”