{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_26334/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_26334","id":"gutenberg_26334","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26334","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Character","Conduct of life"],"text":"E-text prepared by Delphine Lettau, Martin Pettit, and the Project\nGutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)\n\n\n\nTHE MAP OF LIFE\n\n * * * * *\n\nWORKS BY\n\nThe Rt. Hon. W. E. H. LECKY.\n\n\nHISTORY of ENGLAND in the EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.\n Library Edition. 8vo. Vols. I. and II. 1700-1760. 36s. Vols.\nIII. and IV. 1760-1784. 36s. Vols. V. and VI. 1784-1793. 36s.\nVols. VII. and VIII. 1793-1800. 36s.\n Cabinet Edition. ENGLAND. 7 vols. Crown 8vo. 6s. each.\nIRELAND. 5 vols. Crown 8vo. 6s. each.\n\nThe HISTORY of EUROPEAN MORALS from AUGUSTUS to CHARLEMAGNE.\n 2 vols. Crown 8vo. 12s.\n\nHISTORY of the RISE and INFLUENCE of the\n SPIRIT of RATIONALISM in EUROPE.\n 2 vols. Crown 8vo. 12s.\n\nDEMOCRACY and LIBERTY.\n Library Edition. 2 vols. 8vo. 36s.\n Cabinet Edition. 2 vols. Crown 8vo. 12s.\n\nTHE MAP OF LIFE: Conduct and Character.\n Library Edition. 8vo. 10s. 6d.\n Cabinet Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.\n\nPOEMS. Fcp. 8vo. 5s.\n\n\n LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO.\n 39 Paternoster Row, London, and Bombay.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\nTHE MAP OF LIFE\n\nConduct and Character\n\nby\n\nWILLIAM EDWARD HARTPOLE LECKY\n\n\n 'La vie n'est pas un plaisir ni une douleur, mais une affaire grave\n dont nous sommes charg\u00e9s, et qu'il faut conduire et terminer \u00e0\n notre honneur' TOCQUEVILLE\n\nNew Impression\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLongmans, Green, and Co.\n39 Paternoster Row, London\nNew York and Bombay\n1904\n\nAll rights reserved\n\nBibliographical Note.\n\n _First printed_, _8vo_, _September 1899_. _Reprinted November\n 1899_; _December 1899_; _January 1900 (with corrections)_. _Cabinet\n Edition_, _Crown 8vo_, _February 1901_. _Reprinted December, 1902_.\n _July, 1904_\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n PAGE\n\nHow far reasoning on happiness is of any use 1\nThe arguments of the Determinist 2\nThe arguments for free will 3\n_Securus judicat orbis terrarum_ 5\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nHappiness a condition of mind and often confused with\n the means of attaining it 7\nCircumstances and character contribute to it in different\n degrees 7\nReligion, Stoicism, and Eastern nations seek it mainly by\n acting on disposition 7\nSensational philosophies and industrial and progressive\n nations seek it chiefly in improved circumstances 8\nEnglish character 8\nAction of the body on happiness 10\nInfluence of predispositions in reasonings on life 12\nPromotion of health by legislation, fashion and self-culture 12\nSlight causes of life failures 14\nEffects of sanitary reform 14\nDiminished disease does not always imply a higher level of\n health 15\nTwo causes depressing health 16\nEncroachments on liberty in sanitary legislation 16\nSanitary education--its chief articles--its possible\n exaggeration 17\nConstant thought about health not the way to attain it 18\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nSome general rules of happiness--1. A life full of\n work.--Happiness should not be the main object of pursuit 19\nCarlyle on Ennui 20\n2. Aim rather at avoiding suffering than attaining pleasure 21\n3. The greatest pleasures and pains in spheres accessible to\n all 22\n4. Importance and difficulty of realising our blessings while\n they last 24\nComparison and contrast 26\nContent not the quality of progressive societies 27\nThe problem of balancing content and the desire for progress 28\nWhat civilisation can do for happiness 28\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nThe relation of morals to happiness.--The Utilitarian\n justification of virtue insufficient 30\nPower of man to aim at something different from and higher\n than happiness 32\nGeneral coincidence of duty and happiness 33\nThe creation of unselfish interests one of the chief elements\n of happiness 34\nBurke on a well-ordered life 35\nImprovement of character more within our power than\n improvement of intellect 36\nHigh moral qualities often go with low intellectual power 36\nDangers attaching to the unselfish side of our nature.--Active\n charity personally supervised least subject to abuse 37\nDisproportioned compassion 38\nTreatment of animals 41\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nChanges of morals chiefly in the proportionate value attached\n to different virtues 44\nMilitary, civic, and intellectual virtues 44\nThe medi\u00e6val type 45\nModifications introduced by Protestantism 47\nBossuet and Louis XIV. 48\nPersecution.--Operations at childbirth.--Usury 50\nEvery great religion and philosophic system produces or\n favours a distinct moral type 51\nVariations in moral judgments 51\nComplexity of moral influences of modern times.--The industrial\n type 53\nQualified by other influences 54\nUnnecessary suffering 57\nGoethe's exposition of modern morals 58\nMorals hitherto too much treated negatively 59\nPossibility of an over-sensitive conscience 60\nIncreased sense of the obligations of an active life 61\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nIn the guidance of life action more important than pure\n reasoning 62\nThe enforcement of active duty now specially needed 62\nTemptations to luxurious idleness 63\nRectification of false ideals.--The conqueror 64\nThe luxury of ostentation 64\nGlorification of the demi-monde 66\nStudy of ideals 67\nThe human mind more capable of distinguishing right\n from wrong than of measuring merit and demerit 67\nFallibility of moral judgments 68\nRules for moral judgment 73\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nThe school of Rousseau considers man by nature wholly\n good 76\nOther schools maintain that he is absolutely depraved 76\nExaggerations of these schools 78\nThe restraining conscience distinctively human.--Comparison\n with the animals 79\nReality of human depravity.--Illustrated by war 81\nLarge amount of pure malevolence.--Political crime.--The\n press 83\nMendacity in finance 85\nThe sane view of human character 86\nWe learn with age to value restraints, to expect moderately\nand value compromise 86\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nMoral compromise a necessity in life.--Statement of Newman 88\nImpossibility of acting on it 88\nMoral considerations though the highest must not absorb\n all others 90\nTruthfulness--cases in which it may be departed from 91\n\n_Moral compromise in war_\n War necessarily stimulates the malevolent passions and\n practises deception 92\n Rights of war in early stages of civilisation 93\n Distinction between Greeks and Barbarians 94\n Roman moralists insisted on just causes of war and on\n formal declaration 95\n Treatment of prisoners.--Combatants and non-combatants 95\n Treatment of private property 96\n Lawful and unlawful methods of conducting war 96\n Abdication by the soldier of private judgment and free\n will 98\n Distinctions and compromises 99\n Cases in which the military oath may be broken.--Illegal\n orders 100\n Violation of religious obligations.--The Sepoy mutiny 101\n The Italian conscript.--Fenians in the British army 104\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\n_Moral compromise in the law_\n What advocates may and may not do 108\n Inevitable temptations of the profession 109\n Its condemnation by Swift, Arnold, Macaulay, Bentham 109\n Its defence by Paley, Johnson, Basil Montagu 110\n How far a lawyer may support a bad case.--St. Thomas\n Aquinas and Catholic casuists 111\n Sir Matthew Hale.--General custom in England 113\n Distinction between the etiquette of prosecution and\n of defence 113\n The case of Courvoisier 114\n Statement of Lord Brougham 115\n The license of cross-examination.--Technicalities defeating\n justice 116\n Advantage of trial by jury 119\n Necessity of the profession of advocate 119\n\n_Moral compromise in politics_\n Necessity of party 120\n How far conscientious differences should impair party\n allegiance 121\n Lines of conduct adopted when such differences arise 121\n Parliamentary obstruction 123\n Moral difficulties inseparable from party 124\n Evil of extreme view of party allegiance.--Government\n and the Opposition 125\n Relations of members to their constituents 127\n Votes given without adequate knowledge 131\n Diminished power of the private member 134\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE STATESMAN\n\nDuty of a statesman when the interests and wishes of his\n nation conflict 136\nNature and extent of political trusteeship 137\nTemperance questions 138\nLegitimate and illegitimate time-serving 141\nEducation questions 141\nInconsistency in politics--how far it should be condemned 147\nThe conduct of Peel in 1829 and 1845 148\nThe conduct of Disraeli in 1867 149\nDifferent degrees of weight to be attached to party\n considerations 151\nTemptations to war 153\nTemptations of aristocratic and of democratic governments 155\nNecessity of assimilating legislation 157\nLegislation violating contracts.--Irish land legislation 158\nQuestions forced into prominence for party objects 164\nThe judgment of public servants who have committed\n indefensible acts 165\nThe French _coup d'\u00e9tat_ of 1851 166\nJudgments passed upon it 177\nProbable multiplication of _coups d'\u00e9tat_ 182\nGovernor Eyre 184\nThe Jameson raid 185\nHow statesmen should deal with political misdeeds 190\nThe standard of international morals--questions connected\n with it 191\nThe ethics of annexation 195\nPolitical morals and public opinion 196\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\n_Moral compromise in the Church_\n Difficulties of reconciling old formularies with changed\n beliefs 198\n Cause of some great revolutions of belief.--The Copernican\n system.--Discovery of Newton 198\n The antiquity of the world, of death, and of man 200\n The Darwinian theory 201\n Comparative mythology.--Biblical criticism.--Scientific\n habits of thought 201\n General incorporation of new ideas into the Church 204\n Growth of the sacerdotal spirit 204\n The two theories of the Reformation 205\n Modern Ritualism 210\n Its various elements of attraction 211\n Diversity of teaching has not enfeebled the Church 213\n Its literary activity.--Proofs that the Church is in\n touch with educated laymen 214\n Its political influence--how far this is a test of\n vitality 218\n Its influence on education 219\n Its spiritual influence 220\n How far clergymen who dissent from parts of its\n theology can remain within it 221\n Newman on a Latitudinarian establishment 223\n Obligations imposed on the clergy by the fact of\n Establishment 224\n Attitude of laymen towards the Church 225\n Increasing sense of the relativity of belief 226\n This tendency strengthens with age 227\n The conflict between belief and scepticism 229\n Power of religion to undergo transformation 229\n Probable influence of the sacerdotal spirit on the\n Church 231\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE MANAGEMENT OF CHARACTER\n\nA sound judgment of our own characters essential to moral\n improvement 235\nAnalogies between character and taste 236\nThe strongest desire generally prevails, but desires may be\n modified 238\nPassions and habits 239\nExaggerated regard for the future.--A happy childhood 239\nChoice of pleasures.--Athletic games 240\nThe intellectual pleasures 242\nTheir tendency to enhance other pleasures.--Importance of\n specialisation 243\nAnd of judicious selection 243\nEducation may act specially on the desires or on the will 245\nModern education and tendencies of the former kind 245\nOld Catholic training mainly of the will.--Its effects 247\nAnglo-Saxon types in the seventeenth century 248\nCapriciousness of willpower--heroism often succumbs to vice 249\nCourage--its varieties and inconsistencies 250\nThe circumstances of life the school of will.--Its place in\n character 251\nDangers of an early competence.--Choice of work 252\nChoice of friends.--Effect of early friendship on character 254\nMastery of will over thoughts.--Its intellectual importance 255\nIts importance in moral culture 255\nGreat difference among men in this respect 256\nMeans of governing thought 258\nThe dream power--its great place in life 258\nEspecially in the early stages of humanity 261\nMoral safety valves--danger of inventing unreal crimes 262\nCharacter of the English gentleman 266\nDifferent ways of treating temptation 266\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nMONEY\n\nHenry Taylor on its relation to character 268\nDifference between real and professed beliefs about money 268\nIts relation to happiness in different grades of life 269\nThe cost of pleasures 275\nLives of the millionaires 281\nLeaders of Society 284\nThe great speculator 287\nExpenditure in charity.--Rules for regulating it 288\nAdvantages and disadvantages of a large very wealthy class\n in a nation 292\nDirections in which philanthropic expenditure may be best\n turned 296\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nMARRIAGE\n\nIts importance and the motives that lead to it 300\nThe moral and intellectual qualities it specially demands 302\nDuty to the unborn.--Improvident marriages 305\nThe doctrine of heredity and its consequences 306\nReligious celibacy 308\nMarriages of dissimilar types often peculiarly happy 309\nMarriages resulting from a common weakness 310\nIndependent spheres in marriage.--Effect on character 311\nThe age of marriage 312\nIncreased independence of women 314\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nSUCCESS\n\nSuccess depends more on character than on intellect 316\nEspecially that accessible to most men and most conducive\n to happiness 317\nStrength of will, tact and judgment.--Not always joined 317\nTheir combination a great element of success 318\nGood nature 319\nTact: its nature and its importance 320\nIts intellectual and moral affinities 323\nValue of good society in cultivating it.--Newman's description\n of a gentleman 324\nDisparities between merit and success 326\nSuccess not universally desired 326\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nTIME\n\nRebellion of human nature against the essential conditions\n of life 328\nTime 'the stuff of life' 330\nVarious ways of treating it 330\nIncreased intensity of life 331\nSleep 332\nApparent inequalities of time 335\nThe tenure of life not too short 337\nOld age 341\nThe growing love of rest.--How time should be regarded 341\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nTHE END\n\nDeath terrible chiefly through its accessories 343\nPagan and Christian ideas about it 344\nPremature death 349\nHow easily the fear of death is overcome 351\nThe true way of regarding it 352\n\n\n\n\nTHE MAP OF LIFE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nOne of the first questions that must naturally occur to every writer who\ndeals with the subject of this book is, what influence mere discussion\nand reasoning can have in promoting the happiness of men. The\ncircumstances of our lives and the dispositions of our characters mainly\ndetermine the measure of happiness we enjoy, and mere argument about the\ncauses of happiness and unhappiness can do little to affect them. It is\nimpossible to read the many books that have been written on these\nsubjects without feeling how largely they consist of mere sounding\ngeneralities which the smallest experience shows to be perfectly\nimpotent in the face of some real and acute sorrow, and it is equally\nimpossible to obtain any serious knowledge of the world without\nperceiving that a large proportion of the happiest lives and characters\nare to be found where introspection, self-analysis and reasonings about\nthe good and evil of life hold the smallest place. Happiness, indeed,\nlike health, is one of the things of which men rarely think except when\nit is impaired, and much that has been written on the subject has been\nwritten under the stress of some great depression. Such writers are\nlike the man in Hogarth's picture occupying himself in the debtors'\nprison with plans for the payment of the National Debt. There are\nmoments when all of us feel the force of the words of Voltaire:\n'Travaillons sans raisonner, c'est le seul moyen de rendre la vie\nsupportable.'\n\nThat there is much truth in such considerations is incontestable, and it\nis only within a restricted sphere that the province of reasoning\nextends. Man comes into the world with mental and moral characteristics\nwhich he can only very imperfectly influence, and a large proportion of\nthe external circumstances of his life lie wholly or mainly beyond his\ncontrol. At the same time, every one recognises the power of skill,\nindustry and perseverance to modify surrounding circumstances; the power\nof temperance and prudence to strengthen a naturally weak constitution,\nprolong life, and diminish the chances of disease; the power of\neducation and private study to develop, sharpen and employ to the best\nadvantage our intellectual faculties. Every one also recognises how\nlarge a part of the unhappiness of most men may be directly traced to\ntheir own voluntary and deliberate acts. The power each man possesses in\nthe education and management of his character, and especially in the\ncultivation of the dispositions and tendencies which most largely\ncontribute to happiness, is less recognised and is perhaps less\nextensive, but it is not less real.\n\nThe eternal question of free will and determinism here naturally meets\nus, but on such a subject it is idle to suppose that a modern writer can\ndo more than define the question and state his own side. The\nDeterminist says that the real question is not whether a man can do\nwhat he desires, but whether he can do what he does not desire; whether\nthe will can act without a motive; whether that motive can in the last\nanalysis be other than the strongest pleasure. The illusion of free\nwill, he maintains, is only due to the conflict of our motives. Under\nmany forms and disguises pleasure and pain have an absolute empire over\nconduct. The will is nothing more than the last and strongest desire; or\nit is like a piece of iron surrounded by magnets and necessarily drawn\nby the most powerful; or (as has been ingeniously imagined) like a\nweathercock, conscious of its own motion, but not conscious of the winds\nthat are moving it. The law of compulsory causation applies to the world\nof mind as truly as to the world of matter. Heredity and Circumstance\nmake us what we are. Our actions are the inevitable result of the mental\nand moral constitutions with which we came into the world, operated on\nby external influences.\n\nThe supporters of free will, on the other hand, maintain that it is a\nfact of consciousness that there is a clear distinction between the Will\nand the Desires, and that although they are closely connected no sound\nanalysis will confuse them. Coleridge ingeniously compared their\nrelations to 'the co-instantaneous yet reciprocal action of the air and\nthe vital energy of the lungs in breathing.'[1] If the will is\npowerfully acted on by the desires, it has also in its turn a power of\nacting upon them, and it is not a mere slave to pleasure and pain. The\nsupporters of this view maintain that it is a fact of the plainest\nconsciousness that we can do things which we do not like; that we can\nsuspend the force of imperious desires, resist the bias of our nature,\npursue for the sake of duty the course which gives least pleasure\nwithout deriving or expecting from it any pleasure, and select at a\ngiven moment between alternate courses. They maintain that when various\nmotives pass before the mind, the mind retains a power of choosing and\njudging, of accepting and rejecting; that it can by force of reason or\nby force of imagination bring one motive into prominence, concentrating\nits attention on it and thus intensifying its power; that it has a\ncorresponding power of resisting other motives, driving them into the\nbackground and thus gradually diminishing their force; that the will\nitself becomes stronger by exercise, as the desires do by indulgence.\nThe conflict between the will and the desires, the reality of\nself-restraint and the power of Will to modify character, are among the\nmost familiar facts of moral life. In the words of Burke, 'It is the\nprerogative of man to be in a great degree a creature of his own\nmaking.' There are men whose whole lives are spent in willing one thing\nand desiring the opposite, and all morality depends upon the supposition\nthat we have at least some freedom of choice between good and evil. 'I\nought,' as Kant says, necessarily implies 'I can.' The feeling of moral\nresponsibility is an essential part of healthy and developed human\nnature, and it inevitably presupposes free will. The best argument in\nits favour is that it is impossible really to disbelieve it. No human\nbeing can prevent himself from viewing certain acts with an indignation,\nshame, remorse, resentment, gratitude, enthusiasm, praise or blame,\nwhich would be perfectly unmeaning and irrational if these acts could\nnot have been avoided. We can have no higher evidence on the subject\nthan is derived from this fact. It is impossible to explain the mystery\nof free will, but until a man ceases to feel these emotions he has not\nsucceeded in disbelieving in it. The feelings of all men and the\nvocabularies of all languages attest the universality of the belief.\n\nNewman, in a well-known passage in his 'Apologia,' describes the immense\neffect which the sentence of Augustine, 'Securus judicat orbis\nterrarum,' had upon his opinions in determining him to embrace the\nChurch of Rome. The force of this consideration in relation to the\nsubject to which Dr. Newman refers does not appear to have great weight.\nIt means only that at a time when the Christian Church included but a\nsmall fraction of the human race; when all questions of orthodoxy or the\nreverse were practically in the hands of the priesthood; when ignorance,\ncredulity and superstition were at their height and the habits of\nindependence and impartiality of judgment running very low; and when\nevery kind of violent persecution was directed against those who\ndissented from the prevailing dogmas,--certain councils of priests found\nit possible to attain unanimity on such questions as the two natures in\nChrist or the relations of the Persons in the Trinity, and to expel from\nthe Church those who differed from their views, and that the once\nformidable sects which held slightly different opinions about these\ninscrutable relations gradually faded away. Such an unanimity on such\nsubjects and attained by such methods does not appear to me to carry\nwith it any overwhelming force. There are, however, a certain number of\nbeliefs that are not susceptible of demonstrative proof, and which must\nalways rest essentially on the universal assent of mankind. Such is the\nexistence of the external world. Such, in my opinion, is the existence\nof a distinction between right and wrong, different from and higher than\nthe distinction between pleasure and pain, and subsisting in all human\nnature in spite of great diversities of opinion about the acts and\nqualities that are comprised in either category; and such also is the\nkindred belief in a self-determining will. If men contend that these\nthings are mere illusions and that their faculties are not to be\ntrusted, it will no doubt be difficult or impossible to refute them; but\na scepticism of this kind has no real influence on either conduct or\nfeeling.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[1] _Aids to Reflection_, p. 68.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nMen continually forget that Happiness is a condition of Mind and not a\ndisposition of circumstances, and one of the most common of errors is\nthat of confusing happiness with the means of happiness, sacrificing the\nfirst for the attainment of the second. It is the error of the miser,\nwho begins by seeking money for the enjoyment it procures and ends by\nmaking the mere acquisition of money his sole object, pursuing it to the\nsacrifice of all rational ends and pleasures. Circumstances and\nCharacter both contribute to Happiness, but the proportionate attention\npaid to one or other of these great departments not only varies largely\nwith different individuals, but also with different nations and in\ndifferent ages. Thus Religion acts mainly in the formation of\ndispositions, and it is especially in this field that its bearing on\nhuman happiness should be judged. It influences, it is true, vastly and\nvariously the external circumstances of life, but its chief power of\ncomforting and supporting lies in its direct and immediate action upon\nthe human soul. The same thing is true of some systems of philosophy of\nwhich Stoicism is the most conspicuous. The paradox of the Stoic that\ngood and evil are so entirely from within that to a wise man all\nexternal circumstances are indifferent, represents this view of life in\nits extreme form. Its more moderate form can hardly be better expressed\nthan in the saying of Dugald Stewart that 'the great secret of\nhappiness is to study to accommodate our own minds to things external\nrather than to accommodate things external to ourselves.'[2] It is\neminently the characteristic of Eastern nations to place their ideals\nmainly in states of mind or feeling rather than in changes of\ncircumstances, and in such nations men are much less desirous than in\nEuropean countries of altering the permanent conditions of their lives.\n\nOn the other hand, the tendency of those philosophies which treat\nman--his opinions and his character--essentially as the result of\ncircumstances, and which aggrandise the influence of the external world\nupon mankind, is in the opposite direction. All the sensational\nphilosophies from Bacon and Locke to our own day tend to concentrate\nattention on the external circumstances and conditions of happiness. And\nthe same tendency will be naturally found in the most active, industrial\nand progressive nations; where life is very full and busy; where its\ncompetitions are most keen; where scientific discoveries are rapidly\nmultiplying pleasures or diminishing pains; where town life with its\nconstant hurry and change is the most prominent. In such spheres men\nnaturally incline to seek happiness from without rather than from\nwithin, or, in other words, to seek it much less by acting directly on\nthe mind and character than through the indirect method of improved\ncircumstances.\n\nEnglish character on both sides of the Atlantic is an eminently\nobjective one--a character in which thoughts, interests and emotions\nare most habitually thrown on that which is without. Introspection and\nself-analysis are not congenial to it. No one can compare English life\nwith life even in the Continental nations which occupy the same rank in\ncivilisation without perceiving how much less Englishmen are accustomed\neither to dwell upon their emotions or to give free latitude to their\nexpression. Reticence and self-restraint are the lessons most constantly\ninculcated. The whole tone of society favours it. In times of great\nsorrow a degree of shame is attached to demonstrations of grief which in\nother countries would be deemed perfectly natural. The disposition to\ndilate upon and perpetuate an old grief by protracted mournings, by\ncarefully observed anniversaries, by long periods of retirement from the\nworld, is much less common than on the Continent and it is certainly\ndiminishing. The English tendency is to turn away speedily from the\npast, and to seek consolation in new fields of activity. Emotions\ntranslate themselves speedily into action, and they lose something of\ntheir intensity by the transformation. Philanthropy is nowhere more\nactive and more practical, and religion has in few countries a greater\nhold on the national life, but English Protestantism reflects very\nclearly the national characteristics. It, no doubt, like all religions,\nlays down rules for the government of thought and feeling, but these are\nof a very general character. Preeminently a regulator of conduct, it\nlays comparatively little stress upon the inner life. It discourages, or\nat least neglects that minutely introspective habit of thought which the\nconfessional is so much calculated to promote, which appears so\nprominently in the writings of the Catholic Saints, and which finds its\nspecial representation in the mystics and the religious contemplative\norders. Improved conduct and improved circumstances are to an English\nmind the chief and almost the only measures of progress.\n\nThat this tendency is on the whole a healthy one, I, at least, firmly\nbelieve, but it brings with it certain manifest limitations and somewhat\nincapacitates men from judging other types of character and happiness.\nThe part that circumstances play in the formation of our characters is\nindeed very manifest, and it is a humiliating truth that among these\ncircumstances mere bodily conditions which we share with the animals\nhold a foremost place. In the long run and to the great majority of men\nhealth is probably the most important of all the elements of happiness.\nAcute physical suffering or shattered health will more than\ncounterbalance the best gifts of fortune, and the bias of our nature and\neven the processes of our reasoning are largely influenced by physical\nconditions. Hume has spoken of that 'disposition to see the favourable\nrather than the unfavourable side of things which it is more happiness\nto possess than to be heir to an estate of 10,000_l._ a year;' but this\ngift of a happy temperament is very evidently greatly due to bodily\nconditions. On the other hand, it is well known how speedily and how\npowerfully bodily ailments react upon our moral natures. Every one is\naware of the morbid irritability that is produced by certain maladies of\nthe nerves or of the brain; of the deep constitutional depression which\noften follows diseases of the liver, or prolonged sleeplessness and\nother hypochondriacal maladies, and which not only deprives men of most\nof their capacity of enjoyment, but also infallibly gives a colour and a\nbias to their reasonings on life; of the manner in which animal passions\nas well as animal spirits are affected by certain well-known conditions\nof age and health. In spite of the 'coelum non animum mutant' of\nHorace, few men fail to experience how different is the range of spirits\nin the limbo-like atmosphere of a London winter and beneath the glories\nof an Italian sky or in the keen bracing atmosphere of the mountain\nside, and it is equally apparent how differently we judge the world when\nwe are jaded by a long spell of excessive work or refreshed after a\nnight of tranquil sleep. Poetry and Painting are probably not wrong in\nassociating a certain bilious temperament with a predisposition to envy,\nor an an\u00e6mic or lymphatic temperament with a saintly life, and there are\nwell-attested cases in which an acute illness has fundamentally altered\ncharacters, sometimes replacing an habitual gloom by buoyancy and\nlight.[3] That invaluable gift which enables some men to cast aside\ntrouble and turn their thoughts and energies swiftly and decisively into\nnew channels can be largely strengthened by the action of the will, but\naccording to some physiologists it has a well-ascertained physical\nantecedent in the greater or less contractile power of the blood-vessels\nwhich feed the brain causing the flow of blood into it to be stronger or\nless rapid. If it be true that 'a healthy mind in a healthy body' is the\nsupreme condition of happiness, it is also true that the healthy mind\ndepends more closely than we like to own on the healthy body.\n\nThese are but a few obvious instances of the manner in which the body\nacts upon happiness. They do not mean that the will is powerless in the\nface of bodily conditions, but that in the management of character it\nhas certain very definite predispositions to encounter. In reasonings on\nlife, even more than on other things, a good reasoner will consider not\nonly the force of the opposing arguments, but also the bias to which his\nown mind is subject. To raise the level of national health is one of the\nsurest ways of raising the level of national happiness, and in\nestimating the value of different pleasures many which, considered in\nthemselves, might appear to rank low upon the scale, will rank high, if\nin addition to the immediate and transient enjoyment they procure, they\ncontribute to form a strong and healthy body. No branch of legislation\nis more really valuable than that which is occupied with the health of\nthe people, whether it takes the form of encouraging the means by which\nremedies may be discovered and diffused, or of extirpating by combined\nefforts particular diseases, or of securing that the mass of labour in\nthe community should as far as possible be carried on under sound\nsanitary conditions. Fashion also can do much, both for good and ill. It\nexercises over great multitudes an almost absolute empire, regulating\ntheir dress, their education, their hours, their amusements, their food,\ntheir scale of expenditure; determining the qualities to which they\nprincipally aspire, the work in which they may engage, and even the form\nof beauty which they most cultivate. It is happy for a nation when this\nmighty influence is employed in encouraging habits of life which are\nbeneficial or at least not gravely prejudicial to health. Nor is any\nform of individual education more really valuable than that which\nteaches the main conditions of a healthy life and forms those habits of\ntemperance and self-restraint that are most likely to attain it.\n\nWith its great recuperative powers Youth can do with apparent impunity\nmany things which in later life bring a speedy Nemesis; but on the other\nhand Youth is pre-eminently the period when habits and tastes are\nformed, and the yoke which is then lightly, willingly, wantonly assumed\nwill in after years acquire a crushing weight. Few things are more\nstriking than the levity of the motives, the feebleness of the impulses\nunder which in youth fatal steps are taken which bring with them a\nweakened life and often an early grave. Smoking in manhood, when\npractised in moderation, is a very innocent and probably beneficent\npractice, but it is well known how deleterious it is to young boys, and\nhow many of them have taken to it through no other motive than a desire\nto appear older than they are--that surest of all signs that we are very\nyoung. How often have the far more pernicious habits of drinking, or\ngambling, or frequenting corrupt society been acquired through a similar\nmotive, or through the mere desire to enjoy the charm of a forbidden\npleasure or to stand well with some dissipated companions! How large a\nproportion of lifelong female debility is due to an early habit of tight\nlacing, springing only from the silliest vanity! How many lives have\nbeen sacrificed through the careless recklessness which refused to take\nthe trouble of changing wet clothes! How many have been shattered and\nshortened by excess in things which in moderation are harmless, useful,\nor praiseworthy,--by the broken blood-vessel, due to excess in some\nhealthy athletic exercise or game; by the ruined brain overstrained in\norder to win some paltry prize! It is melancholy to observe how many\nlives have been broken down, ruined or corrupted in attempts to realise\nsome supreme and unattainable desire; through the impulse of\novermastering passion, of powerful and perhaps irresistible temptation.\nIt is still sadder to observe how large a proportion of the failures of\nlife may be ultimately traced to the most insignificant causes and might\nhave been avoided without any serious effort either of intellect or\nwill.\n\nThe success with which medicine and sanitary science have laboured to\nprolong life, to extirpate or diminish different forms of disease and to\nalleviate their consequences is abundantly proved. In all civilised\ncountries the average of life has been raised, and there is good reason\nto believe that not only old age but also active, useful, enjoyable old\nage has become much more frequent. It is true that the gain to human\nhappiness is not quite as great as might at first sight be imagined.\nDeath is least sad when it comes in infancy or in extreme old age, and\nthe increased average of life is largely due to the great diminution in\ninfant mortality, which is in truth a very doubtful blessing. If extreme\nold age is a thing to be desired, it is perhaps chiefly because it\nusually implies a constitution which gives many earlier years of robust\nand healthy life. But with all deductions the triumphs of sanitary\nreform as well as of medical science are perhaps the brightest page in\nthe history of our century. Some of the measures which have proved most\nuseful can only be effected at some sacrifice of individual freedom and\nby widespread coercive sanitary regulations, and are thus more akin to\ndespotism than to free government. How different would have been the\ncondition of the world, and how far greater would have been the\npopularity of strong monarchy if at the time when such a form of\ngovernment generally prevailed rulers had had the intelligence to put\nbefore them the improvement of the health and the prolongation of the\nlives of their subjects as the main object of their policy rather than\nmilitary glory or the acquisition of territory or mere ostentatious and\nselfish display!\n\nThere is, however, some reason to believe that the diminution of disease\nand the prolongation of average human life are not necessarily or even\ngenerally accompanied by a corresponding improvement in general health.\n'Acute diseases,' says an excellent judge, 'which are eminently fatal,\nprevail, on the contrary, in a population where the standard of health\nis high.... Thus a high rate of mortality may often be observed in a\ncommunity where the number of persons affected with disease is small,\nand on the other hand general physical depression may concur with the\nprevalence of chronic maladies and yet be unattended with a great\nproportion of deaths.'[4] An an\u00e6mic population, free from severe\nillness, but living habitually at a low level of health and with the\ndepressed spirits and feeble capacity of enjoyment which such a\ncondition produces, is far from an ideal state, and there is much reason\nto fear that this type is an increasing one. Many things in modern life,\namong which ill-judged philanthropy and ill-judged legislation have no\nsmall part, contribute to produce it, but two causes probably dominate\nover all others. The one is to be found in sanitary science itself,\nwhich enables great numbers of constitutionally weak children who in\nother days would have died in infancy to grow up and marry and propagate\na feeble offspring. The other is the steady movement of population from\nthe country to the towns, which is one of the most conspicuous features\nof modern civilisation. These two influences inevitably and powerfully\ntend to depress the vitality of a nation, and by doing so to lower the\nlevel of animal spirits which is one of the most essential elements of\nhappiness. Whether our improved standards of living and our much greater\nknowledge of sanitary conditions altogether counteract them is very\ndoubtful.\n\nIn this as in most questions affecting life there are opposite dangers\nto be avoided, and wisdom lies mainly in a just sense of proportion and\ndegree. That sanitary reform, promoted by governments, has on the whole\nbeen a great blessing seems to me scarcely open to reasonable question,\nbut many of the best judges are of opinion that it may easily be pushed\nto dangerous extremes. Few things are more curious than to observe how\nrapidly during the past generation the love of individual liberty has\ndeclined; how contentedly the English race are submitting great\ndepartments of their lives to a web of regulations restricting and\nencircling them. Each individual case must be considered on its merits,\nand few persons will now deny that the right of adult men and women to\nregulate the conditions of their own work and to determine the risks\nthat they will assume may be wisely infringed in more cases than the\nManchester School would have admitted. At the same time the marked\ntendency of this generation to extend the stringency and area of\ncoercive legislation in the fields of industry and sanitary reform is\none that should be carefully watched. Its exaggerations may in more ways\nthan one greatly injure the very classes it is intended to benefit.\n\nA somewhat corresponding statement may be made about individual sanitary\neducation. It is, as I have said, a matter of the most vital importance\nthat we should acquire in youth the knowledge and the habits that lead\nto a healthy life. The main articles of the sanitary creed are few and\nsimple. Moderation and self-restraint in all things--an abundance of\nexercise, of fresh air, and of cold water--a sufficiency of steady work\nnot carried to excess--occasional change of habits and abstinence from a\nfew things which are manifestly injurious to health, are the cardinal\nrules to be observed. In the great lottery of life, men who have\nobserved them all may be doomed to illness, weak vitality, and early\ndeath, but they at least add enormously to the chances of a strong and\nfull life. The parent will need further knowledge for the care of his\nchildren, but for self-guidance little more is required, and with early\nhabits an observance of the rules of health becomes almost instinctive\nand unconscious. But while no kind of education is more transcendently\nimportant than this, it is not unfrequently carried to an extreme which\ndefeats its own purpose. The habit that so often grows upon men with\nslight chronic maladies, or feeble temperament, or idle lives, of making\ntheir own health and their own ailments the constant subject of their\nthoughts soon becomes a disease very fatal to happiness and positively\ninjurious to health. It is well known how in an epidemic the\npanic-stricken are most liable to the contagion, and the life of the\nhabitual valetudinarian tends promptly to depress the nerve energy which\nprovides the true stamina of health. In the words of an eminent\nphysician, 'It is not by being anxious in an inordinate or unduly fussy\nfashion that men can hope to live long and well. The best way to live\nwell is to work well. Good work is the daily test and safeguard of\npersonal health.... The practical aim should be to live an orderly and\nnatural life. We were not intended to pick our way through the world\ntrembling at every step.... It is worse than vain, for it encourages and\nincreases the evil it attempts to relieve.... I firmly believe one half\nof the confirmed invalids of the day could be cured of their maladies if\nthey were compelled to live busy and active lives and had no time to\nfret over their miseries.... One of the most seductive and mischievous\nof errors in self-management is the practice of giving way to inertia,\nweakness and depression.... Those who desire to live should settle this\nwell in their minds, that nerve power is the force of life and that the\nwill has a wondrously strong and direct influence over the body through\nthe brain and the nervous system.'[5]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[2] _Active and Moral Powers_, ii. 312.\n\n[3] Much curious information on this subject will be found in Cabanis'\n_Rapports du physique et du moral de l'homme_.\n\n[4] Kay's _Moral and Physical Condition of the Working Classes_, p. 75.\n\n[5] Mortimer Granville's _How to Make the Best of Life_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nBefore entering into a more particular account of the chief elements of\na happy life it may be useful to devote a few pages to some general\nconsiderations on the subject.\n\n\nOne of the first and most clearly recognised rules to be observed is\nthat happiness is most likely to be attained when it is not the direct\nobject of pursuit. In early youth we are accustomed to divide life\nbroadly into work and play, regarding the first as duty or necessity and\nthe second as pleasure. One of the great differences between childhood\nand manhood is that we come to like our work more than our play. It\nbecomes to us, if not the chief pleasure, at least the chief interest of\nour lives, and even when it is not this, an essential condition of our\nhappiness. Few lives produce so little happiness as those that are\naimless and unoccupied. Apart from all considerations of right and\nwrong, one of the first conditions of a happy life is that it should be\na full and busy one, directed to the attainment of aims outside\nourselves. Anxiety and Ennui are the Scylla and Charybdis on which the\nbark of human happiness is most commonly wrecked. If a life of luxurious\nidleness and selfish ease in some measure saves men from the first\ndanger, it seldom fails to bring with it the second. No change of scene,\nno multiplicity of selfish pleasures will in the long run enable them\nto escape it. As Carlyle says, 'The restless, gnawing ennui which, like\na dark, dim, ocean flood, communicating with the Phlegethons and Stygian\ndeeps, begirdles every human life so guided--is it not the painful cry\neven of that imprisoned heroism?... You ask for happiness. \"Oh give me\nhappiness,\" and they hand you ever new varieties of covering for the\nskin, ever new kinds of supply for the digestive apparatus.... Well,\nrejoice in your upholsteries and cookeries if so be they will make you\n\"happy.\" Let the varieties of them be continual and innumerable. In all\nthings let perpetual change, if that is a perpetual blessing to you, be\nyour portion instead of mine. Incur the prophet's curse and in all\nthings in this sublunary world \"make yourselves like unto a wheel.\"\nMount into your railways; whirl from place to place at the rate of fifty\nor, if you like, of five hundred miles an hour; you cannot escape from\nthat inexorable, all-encircling ocean moan of ennui. No; if you could\nmount to the stars and do yacht voyages under the belts of Jupiter or\nstalk deer on the ring of Saturn it would still begirdle you. You cannot\nescape from it; you can but change your place in it without solacement\nexcept one moment's. That prophetic Sermon from the Deeps will continue\nwith you till you wisely interpret it and do it or else till the Crack\nof Doom swallow it and you.'[6]\n\nIt needs but a few years of life experience to realise the profound\ntruth of this passage. An ideal life would be furnished with abundant\nwork of a kind that is congenial both to our intellects and our\ncharacters and that brings with it much interest and little anxiety. Few\nof us can command this. Most men's work is largely determined for them\nby circumstances, though in the guidance of life there are many\nalternatives and much room for skilful pilotage. But the first great\nrule is that we must do something--that life must have a purpose and an\naim--that work should be not merely occasional and spasmodic, but steady\nand continuous. Pleasure is a jewel which will only retain its lustre\nwhen it is in a setting of work, and a vacant life is one of the worst\nof pains, though the islands of leisure that stud a crowded,\nwell-occupied life may be among the things to which we look back with\nthe greatest delight.\n\nAnother great truth is conveyed in the saying of Aristotle that a wise\nman will make it his aim rather to avoid suffering than to attain\npleasure. Men can in reality do very little to mitigate the force of the\ngreat bereavements and the other graver calamities of life. All our\nsystems of philosophy and reasoning are vain when confronted with them.\nInnate temperament which we cannot greatly change determines whether we\nsink crushed beneath the blow or possess the buoyancy that can restore\nhealth to our natures. The conscious and deliberate pursuit of pleasure\nis attended by many deceptions and illusions, and rarely leads to\nlasting happiness. But we can do very much by prudence, self-restraint\nand intelligent regulation so to manage life as to avoid a large\nproportion of its calamities and at the same time, by preserving the\naffections pure and undimmed, by diversifying interests and forming\nactive habits, to combat its tedium and despondency.\n\nAnother truth is that both the greatest pleasures and the keenest pains\nof life lie much more in those humbler spheres which are accessible to\nall than on the rare pinnacles to which only the most gifted or the most\nfortunate can attain. It would probably be found upon examination that\nmost men who have devoted their lives successfully to great labours and\nambitions, and who have received the most splendid gifts from Fortune,\nhave nevertheless found their chief pleasure in things unconnected with\ntheir main pursuits and generally within the reach of common men.\nDomestic pleasures, pleasures of scenery, pleasures of reading,\npleasures of travel or of sport have been the highest enjoyment of men\nof great ambition, intellect, wealth and position. There is a curious\npassage in Lord Althorp's Life in which that most popular and successful\nstatesman, towards the close of his long parliamentary life, expressed\nhis emphatic conviction that 'the thing that gave him the greatest\npleasure in the world' was 'to see sporting dogs hunt.'[7] I can myself\nrecollect going over a country place with an old member of Parliament\nwho had sat in the House of Commons for nearly fifty years of the most\nmomentous period of modern English history. If questioned he could tell\nabout the stirring scenes of the great Reform Bill of 1832, but it was\ncurious to observe how speedily and inevitably he passed from such\nmatters to the history of the trees on his estate which he had planted\nand watched at every stage of their growth, and how evidently in the\nretrospect of life it was to these things and not to the incidents of a\nlong parliamentary career that his affections naturally turned. I once\nasked an illustrious public man who had served his country with\nbrilliant success in many lands, and who was spending the evening of his\nlife as an active country gentleman in a place which he dearly loved,\nwhether he did not find this sphere too contracted for his happiness.\n'Never for a day,' he answered; 'and in every country where I have been,\nin every post which I have filled, the thought of this place has always\nbeen at the back of my mind.' A great writer who had devoted almost his\nwhole life to one gigantic work, and to his own surprise brought it at\nlast to a successful end, sadly observed that amid the congratulations\nthat poured in to him from every side he could not help feeling, when he\nanalysed his own emotions, how tepid was the satisfaction which such a\ntriumph could give him, and what much more vivid gratification he had\ncome to take in hearing the approaching steps of some little children\nwhom he had taught to love him.\n\nIt is one of the paradoxes of human nature that the things that are most\nstruggled for and the things that are most envied are not those which\ngive either the most intense or the most unmixed joy. Ambition is the\nluxury of the happy. It is sometimes, but more rarely, the consolation\nand distraction of the wretched; but most of those who have trodden its\npaths, if they deal honestly with themselves, will acknowledge that the\ngravest disappointments of public life dwindle into insignificance\ncompared with the poignancy of suffering endured at the deathbed of a\nwife or of a child, and that within the small circle of a family life\nthey have found more real happiness than the applause of nations could\never give.\n\n\n Look down, look down from your glittering heights,\n And tell us, ye sons of glory,\n The joys and the pangs of your eagle flights,\n The triumph that crowned the story,\n\n The rapture that thrilled when the goal was won,\n The goal of a life's desire;\n And a voice replied from the setting sun,\n Nay, the dearest and best lies nigher.\n\n How oft in such hours our fond thoughts stray\n To the dream of two idle lovers;\n To the young wife's kiss; to the child at play;\n Or the grave which the long grass covers!\n\n And little we'd reck of power or gold,\n And of all life's vain endeavour,\n If the heart could glow as it glowed of old,\n And if youth could abide for ever.\n\n\nAnother consideration in the cultivation of happiness is the importance\nof acquiring the habit of realising our blessings while they last. It is\none of the saddest facts of human nature that we commonly only learn\ntheir value by their loss. This, as I have already noticed, is very\nevidently the case with health. By the laws of our being we are almost\nunconscious of the action of our bodily organs as long as they are\nworking well. It is only when they are deranged, obstructed or impaired\nthat our attention becomes concentrated upon them. In consequence of\nthis a state of perfect health is rarely fully appreciated until it is\nlost and during a short period after it has been regained. Gray has\ndescribed the new sensation of pleasure which convalescence gives in\nwell-known lines:\n\n\n See the wretch who long has tost\n On the thorny bed of pain,\n At length repair his vigour lost\n And breathe and walk again;\n The meanest floweret of the vale,\n The simplest note that swells the gale,\n The common sun, the air, the skies,\n To him are opening Paradise.\n\n\nAnd what is true of health is true of other things. It is only when some\ncalamity breaks the calm tenor of our ways and deprives us of some gift\nof fortune we have long enjoyed that we feel how great was the value of\nwhat we have lost. There are times in the lives of most of us when we\nwould have given all the world to be as we were but yesterday, though\nthat yesterday had passed over us unappreciated and unenjoyed.\nSometimes, indeed, our perception of this contrast brings with it a\nlasting and salutary result. In the medicine of Nature a chronic and\nabiding disquietude or morbidness of temperament is often cured by some\nkeen though more transient sorrow which violently changes the current of\nour thoughts and imaginations.\n\nThe difference between knowledge and realisation is one of the facts of\nour nature that are most worthy of our attention. Every human mind\ncontains great masses of inert, passive, undisputed knowledge which\nexercise no real influence on thought or character till something occurs\nwhich touches our imagination and quickens this knowledge into\nactivity. Very few things contribute so much to the happiness of life as\na constant realisation of the blessings we enjoy. The difference between\na naturally contented and a naturally discontented nature is one of the\nmarked differences of innate temperament, but we can do much to\ncultivate that habit of dwelling on the benefits of our lot which\nconverts acquiescence into a more positive enjoyment. Religion in this\nfield does much, for it inculcates thanksgiving as well as prayer,\ngratitude for the present and the past as well as hope for the future.\nAmong secular influences, contrast and comparison have the greatest\nvalue. Some minds are always looking on the fortunes that are above them\nand comparing their own penury with the opulence of others. A wise\nnature will take an opposite course and will cultivate the habit of\nlooking rather at the round of the ladder of fortune which is below our\nown and realising the countless points in which our lot is better than\nthat of others. As Dr. Johnson says, 'Few are placed in a situation so\ngloomy and distressful as not to see every day beings yet more forlorn\nand miserable from whom they may learn to rejoice in their own lot.'\n\nThe consolation men derive amid their misfortunes from reflecting upon\nthe still greater misfortunes of others and thus lightening their own by\ncontrast is a topic which must be delicately used, but when so used it\nis not wrong and it often proves very efficacious. Perhaps the pleasure\nLa Rochefoucauld pretends that men take in the misfortunes of their best\nfriends, if it is a real thing, is partly due to this consideration, as\nthe feeling of pity which is inspired by some sudden death or great\ntrouble falling on others is certainly not wholly unconnected with the\nrealisation that such calamities might fall upon ourselves. It is worthy\nof notice, however, that while all moralists recognise content as one of\nthe chief ingredients of happiness, some of the strongest influences of\nmodern industrial civilisation are antagonistic to it. The whole theory\nof progress as taught by Political Economy rests upon the importance of\ncreating wants and desires as a stimulus to exertion. There are\ncountries, especially in southern climates, where the wants of men are\nvery few, and where, as long as those wants are satisfied, men will live\na careless and contented life, enjoying the present, thinking very\nlittle of the future. Whether the sum of enjoyment in such a population\nis really less than in our more advanced civilisation is at least open\nto question. It is a remark of Schopenhauer that the Idyll, which is the\nonly form of poetry specially devoted to the description of human\nfelicity, always paints life in its simplest and least elaborated form,\nand he sees in this an illustration of his doctrine that the greatest\nhappiness will be found in the simplest and even most uniform life\nprovided it escapes the evil of ennui. The political economist, however,\nwill pronounce the condition of such a people as I have described a\ndeplorable one, and in order to raise them his first task will be to\ninfuse into them some discontent with their lot, to persuade them to\nmultiply their wants and to aspire to a higher standard of comfort, to a\nfuller and a larger existence. A discontent with existing circumstances\nis the chief source of a desire to improve them, and this desire is the\nmainspring of progress. In this theory of life, happiness is sought,\nnot in content, but in improved circumstances, in the development of new\ncapacities of enjoyment, in the pleasure which active existence\nnaturally gives. To maintain in their due proportion in our nature the\nspirit of content and the desire to improve, to combine a realised\nappreciation of the blessings we enjoy with a healthy and well-regulated\nambition, is no easy thing, but it is the problem which all who aspire\nto a perfect life should set before themselves. _In medio tutissimus\nibis_ is eminently true of the cultivation of character, and some of its\nbest elements become pernicious in their extremes. Thus prudent\nforethought, which is one of the first conditions of a successful life,\nmay easily degenerate into that most miserable state of mind in which\nmen are perpetually anticipating and dwelling upon the uncertain dangers\nand evils of an uncertain future. How much indeed of the happiness and\nmisery of men may be included under those two words, realisation and\nanticipation!\n\nThere is no such thing as a Eud\u00e6mometer measuring with accuracy the\ndegrees of happiness realised by men in different ages, under different\ncircumstances, and with different characters. Perhaps if such a thing\nexisted it might tend to discourage us by showing that diversities and\nimprovements of circumstances affect real happiness in a smaller degree\nthan we are accustomed to imagine. Our nature accommodates itself\nspeedily to improved circumstances, and they cease to give positive\npleasure while their loss is acutely painful. Advanced civilisation\nbrings with it countless and inestimable benefits, but it also brings\nwith it many forms of suffering from which a ruder existence is exempt.\nThere is some reason to believe that it is usually accompanied with a\nlower range of animal spirits, and it is certainly accompanied with an\nincreased sensitiveness to pain. Some philosophers have contended that\nthis is the best of all possible worlds. It is difficult to believe so,\nas the whole object of human effort is to make it a better one. But the\nsuccess of that effort is more apparent in the many terrible forms of\nhuman suffering which it has abolished or diminished than in the higher\nlevel of positive happiness that has been attained.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[6] _Latter-day Pamphlets:_ 'Jesuitism.'\n\n[7] Le Marchant's _Life of Althorp_, p. 143.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nThough the close relationship that subsists between morals and happiness\nis universally acknowledged, I do not belong to the school which\nbelieves that pleasure and pain, either actual or anticipated, are the\nonly motives by which the human will can be governed; that virtue\nresolves itself ultimately into well-considered interest and finds its\nultimate reason in the happiness of those who practise it; that 'all our\nvirtues,' as La Rochefoucauld has said, 'end in self-love as the rivers\nin the sea.' Such a proverb as 'Honesty is the best policy' represents\nno doubt a great truth, though it has been well said that no man is\nreally honest who is only honest through this motive, and though it is\nvery evident that it is by no means an universal truth but depends\nlargely upon changing and precarious conditions of laws, police, public\nopinion, and individual circumstances. But in the higher realms of\nmorals the coincidence of happiness and virtue is far more doubtful. It\nis certainly not true that the highest nature is necessarily or even\nnaturally the happiest. Paganism has produced no more perfect type than\nthe profoundly pathetic figure of Marcus Aurelius, while Christianity\nfinds its ideal in one who was known as the 'Man of Sorrows.' The\nconscience of Mankind has ever recognised self-sacrifice as the supreme\nelement of virtue, and self-sacrifice is never real when it is only the\nexchange of a less happiness for a greater one. No moral chemistry can\ntransmute the worship of Sorrow, which Goethe described as the essence\nof Christianity, into the worship of happiness, and probably with most\nmen health and temperament play a far larger part in the real happiness\nof their lives than any of the higher virtues. The satisfaction of\naccomplished duty which some moralists place among the chief pleasures\nof life is a real thing in so far as it saves men from internal\nreproaches, but it is probable that it is among the worst men that pangs\nof conscience are least dreaded, and it is certainly not among the best\nmen that they are least felt. Conscience, indeed, when it is very\nsensitive and very lofty, is far more an element of suffering than the\nreverse. It aims at an ideal higher than we can attain. It takes the\nlowest view of our own achievements. It suffers keenly from the many\nshortcomings of which it is acutely sensible. Far from indulging in the\npleasurable retrospect of a well-spent life, it urges men to constant,\npainful, and often unsuccessful effort. A nature that is strung to the\nsaintly or the heroic level will find itself placed in a jarring world,\nwill provoke much friction and opposition, and will be pained by many\nthings in which a lower nature would placidly acquiesce. The highest\nform of intellectual virtue is that love of truth for its own sake which\nbreaks up prejudices, tempers enthusiasm by the full admission of\nopposing arguments and qualifying circumstances, and places in the\nsphere of possibility or probability many things which we would gladly\naccept as certainties. Candour and impartiality are in a large degree\nvirtues of temperament; but no one who has any real knowledge of human\nnature can doubt how much more pleasurable it is to most men to live\nunder the empire of invincible prejudice, deliberately shutting out\nevery consideration that could shake or qualify cherished beliefs.\n'God,' says Emerson, 'offers to every mind its choice between truth and\nrepose. Take which you please. You can never have both.' One of the\nstrongest arguments of natural religion rests upon the fact that virtue\nso often fails to bring its reward; upon the belief that is so deeply\nimplanted in human nature that this is essentially unjust and must in\nsome future state be remedied.\n\nFor such reasons as these I believe it to be impossible to identify\nvirtue with happiness, and the views of the opposite school seem to me\nchiefly to rest upon an unnatural and deceptive use of words. Even when\nthe connection between virtue and pleasure is most close, it is true, as\nthe old Stoics said, that though virtue gives pleasure, this is not the\nreason why a good man will practise it; that pleasure is the companion\nand not the guide of his life; that he does not love virtue because it\ngives pleasure, but it gives pleasure because he loves it.[8] A true\naccount of human nature will recognise that it has the power of aiming\nat something which is different from happiness and something which may\nbe intelligibly described as higher, and that on the predominance of\nthis loftier aim the nobility of life essentially depends. It is not\neven true that the end of man should be to find peace at the last. It\nshould be to do his duty and tell the truth.\n\nBut while this great truth of the existence of a higher aim than\nhappiness should be always maintained, the relations between morals and\nhappiness are close and intimate and well worthy of investigation. As\nfar as the lower or more commonplace virtues are concerned there can be\nno mistake. It is very evident that a healthy, long and prosperous life\nis more likely to be attained by industry, moderation and purity than by\nthe opposite courses. It is very evident that drunkenness and sensuality\nruin health and shorten life; that idleness, gambling and disorderly\nhabits ruin prosperity; that ill-temper, selfishness and envy kill\nfriendship and provoke animosities and dislike; that in every\nwell-regulated society there is at least a general coincidence between\nthe path of duty and the path of prosperity; dishonesty, violence and\ndisregard for the rights of others naturally and usually bringing their\npunishment either from law or from public opinion or from both. Bishop\nButler has argued that the general tendency of virtue to lead to\nhappiness and the general tendency of vice to lead to unhappiness prove\nthat even in its present state there is a moral government of the world,\nand whatever controversy may be raised about the inference there can at\nleast be no doubt about the substantial truth of the facts. Happiness,\nas I have already said, is best attained when it is not the direct or at\nleast the main object that is aimed at. A wasted and inactive life not\nonly palls in itself but deprives men of the very real and definite\npleasure that naturally arises from the healthful activity of all our\npowers, while a life of egotism excludes the pleasures of sympathy which\nplay so large a part in human happiness. One of the lessons which\nexperience most clearly teaches is that work, duty and the discipline of\ncharacter are essential elements of lasting happiness. The pleasures of\nvice are often real, but they are commonly transient and they leave\nlegacies of suffering, weakness, or care behind them. The nobler\npleasures for the most part grow and strengthen with advancing years.\nThe passions of youth, when duly regulated, gradually transform\nthemselves into habits, interests and steady affections, and it is in\nthe long forecasts of life that the superiority of virtue as an element\nof happiness becomes most apparent.\n\nIt has been truly said that such words as 'pastime' and 'diversion'\napplied to our pleasures are among the most melancholy in the language,\nfor they are the confession of human nature that it cannot find\nhappiness in itself, but must seek for something that will fill up time,\nwill cover the void which it feels, and divert men's thoughts from the\nconditions and prospects of their own lives. How much of the pleasure of\nSociety, and indeed of all amusements, depends on their power of making\nus forget ourselves! The substratum of life is sad, and few men who\nreflect on the dangers and uncertainties that surround it can find it\neven tolerable without much extraneous aid. The first and most vital of\nthese aids is to be found in the creation of strong interests. It is one\nof the laws of our being that by seeking interests rather than by\nseeking pleasures we can best encounter the gloom of life. But those\nonly have the highest efficiency which are of an unselfish nature. By\nthrowing their whole nature into the interests of others men most\neffectually escape the melancholy of introspection; the horizon of life\nis enlarged; the development of the moral and sympathetic feelings\nchases egotistic cares, and by the same paradox that we have seen in\nother parts of human nature men best attain their own happiness by\nabsorbing themselves in the pursuit of the happiness of others.\n\nThe aims and perspective of a well-regulated life have never, I think,\nbeen better described than in one of the letters of Burke to the Duke of\nRichmond. 'It is wise indeed, considering the many positive vexations\nand the innumerable bitter disappointments of pleasure in the world, to\nhave as many resources of satisfaction as possible within one's power.\nWhenever we concentre the mind on one sole object, that object and life\nitself must go together. But though it is right to have reserves of\nemployment, still some one object must be kept principal; greatly and\neminently so; and the other masses and figures must preserve their due\nsubordination, to make out the grand composition of an important\nlife.'[9] It is equally true that among these objects the disinterested\nand the unselfish should hold a predominant place. With some this side\nof their activity is restricted to the narrow circle of home or to the\nisolated duties and charities of their own neighbourhood. With others it\ntakes the form of large public interests, of a keen participation in\nsocial, philanthropic, political or religious enterprises. Character\nplays a larger part than intellect in the happiness of life, and the\ncultivation of the unselfish part of our nature is not only one of the\nfirst lessons of morals but also of wisdom.\n\nLike most other things its difficulties lie at the beginning, and it is\nby steady practice that it passes into a second and instinctive nature.\nThe power of man to change organically his character is a very limited\none, but on the whole the improvement of character is probably more\nwithin his reach than intellectual development. Time and Opportunity are\nwanting to most men for any considerable intellectual study, and even\nwere it otherwise every man will find large tracts of knowledge and\nthought wholly external to his tastes, aptitudes and comprehension. But\nevery one can in some measure learn the lesson of self-sacrifice,\npractise what is right, correct or at least mitigate his dominant\nfaults. What fine examples of self-sacrifice, quiet courage, resignation\nin misfortune, patient performance of painful duty, magnanimity and\nforgiveness under injury may be often found among those who are\nintellectually the most commonplace!\n\nThe insidious growth of selfishness is a disease against which men\nshould be most on their guard; but it is a grave though a common error\nto suppose that the unselfish instincts may be gratified without\nrestraint. There is here, however, one important distinction to be\nnoted. The many and great evils that have sprung from lavish and\nill-considered charities do not always or perhaps generally spring from\nany excess or extravagance of the charitable feeling. They are much more\ncommonly due to its defect. The rich man who never cares to inquire into\nthe details of the cases that are brought before him or to give any\nserious thought to the ulterior consequences of his acts, but who is\nready to give money at any solicitation and who considers that by so\ndoing he has discharged his duty, is far more likely to do harm in this\nway than the man who devotes himself to patient, plodding, house to\nhouse work among the poor. The many men and the probably still larger\nnumber of women who give up great portions of their lives to such work\nsoon learn to trace with considerable accuracy the consequences of their\ncharities and to discriminate between the worthy and the unworthy. That\nsuch persons often become exclusive and one-sided, and acquire a kind of\nprofessional bent which induces them to subordinate all national\nconsiderations to their own subject and lose sight of the true\nproportion of things, is undoubtedly true, but it will probably not be\nfound with the best workers that such a life tends to unduly intensify\nemotion. As Bishop Butler has said with profound truth, active habits\nare strengthened and passive impressions weakened by repetition, and a\nlife spent in active charitable work is quite compatible with much\nsobriety and even coldness of judgment in estimating each case as it\narises. It is not the surgeon who is continually employed in operations\nfor the cure of his patients who is most moved at the sight of\nsuffering.\n\nThis is, I believe, on the whole true, but it is also true that there\nare grave diseases which attach themselves peculiarly to the unselfish\nside of our nature, and they are peculiarly dangerous because men,\nfeeling that the unselfish is the virtuous and nobler side of their\nbeing, are apt to suffer these tendencies to operate without supervision\nor control. Yet it is hardly possible to exaggerate the calamities that\nhave sprung from misjudged unselfish actions. The whole history of\nreligious persecution abundantly illustrates it, for there can be\nlittle question that a large proportion of the persecutors were\nsincerely seeking what they believed to be the highest good of mankind.\nAnd if this dark page of human history is now almost closed, there are\nstill many other ways in which a similar evil is displayed. Crotchets,\nsentimentalities and fanaticisms cluster especially around the unselfish\nside of our nature, and they work evil in many curious and subtle ways.\nFew things have done more harm in the world than disproportioned\ncompassion. It is a law of our being that we are only deeply moved by\nsufferings we distinctly realise, and the degrees in which different\nkinds of suffering appeal to the imagination bear no proportion to their\nreal magnitude. The most benevolent man will read of an earthquake in\nJapan or a plague in South America with a callousness he would never\ndisplay towards some untimely death or some painful accident in his\nimmediate neighbourhood, and in general the suffering of a prominent and\nisolated individual strikes us much more forcibly than that of an\nundistinguished multitude. Few deaths are so prominent, and therefore\nfew produce such widespread compassion, as those of conspicuous\ncriminals. It is no exaggeration to say that the death of an\n'interesting' murderer will often arouse much stronger feelings than\nwere ever excited by the death of his victim; or by the deaths of brave\nsoldiers who perished by disease or by the sword in some obscure\nexpedition in a remote country. This mode of judgment acts promptly upon\nconduct. The humanitarian spirit which mitigates the penal code and\nmakes the reclamation of the criminal a main object is a perfectly\nright thing as long as it does not so far diminish the deterrent power\nof punishment as to increase crime, and as long as it does not place the\ncriminal in a better position of comfort than the blameless poor, but\nwhen these conditions are not fulfilled it is much more an evil than a\ngood. The remote, indirect and unrealised consequences of our acts are\noften far more important than those which are manifest and direct, and\nit continually happens that in extirpating some concentrated and\nobtrusive evil, men increase or engender a diffused malady which\noperates over a far wider area. How few, for example, who share the\nprevailing tendency to deal with every evil that appears in Society by\ncoercive legislation adequately realise the danger of weakening the\nrobust, self-reliant, resourceful habits on which the happiness of\nSociety so largely depends, and at the same time, by multiplying the\nfunctions and therefore increasing the expenses of government, throwing\nnew and crushing burdens on struggling industry! How often have\nphilanthropists, through a genuine interest for some suffering class or\npeople, advocated measures which by kindling, prolonging, or enlarging a\ngreat war would infallibly create calamities far greater than those\nwhich they would redress! How often might great outbursts of savage\ncrime or grave and lasting disorders in the State, or international\nconflicts that have cost thousands of lives, have been averted by a\nprompt and unflinching severity from which an ill-judged humanity\nrecoiled! If in the February of 1848 Louis Philippe had permitted\nMarshal Bugeaud to fire on the Revolutionary mob at a time when there\nwas no real and widespread desire for revolution in France, how many\nbloody pages of French and European history might have been spared!\n\nMeasures guaranteeing men, and still more women, from excessive labour,\nand surrounding them with costly sanitary precautions, may easily, if\nthey are injudiciously framed, so handicap a sex or a people in the\ncompetition of industry as to drive them out of great fields of\nindustry, restrict their means of livelihood, lower their standard of\nwages and comfort, and thus seriously diminish the happiness of their\nlives. Injudicious suppressions of amusements that are not wholly good,\nbut which afford keen enjoyment to great masses, seldom fail to give an\nimpulse to other pleasures more secret and probably more vicious.\nInjudicious charities, or an extravagant and too indulgent poor law\nadministration, inevitably discourage industry and thrift, and usually\nincrease the poverty they were intended to cure. The parent who shrinks\nfrom inflicting any suffering on his child, or withholding from him any\npleasure that he desires, is not laying the foundation of a happy life,\nand the benevolence which counteracts or obscures the law of nature that\nextravagance, improvidence and vice lead naturally to ruin, is no real\nkindness either to the upright man who has resisted temptation or to the\nweak man whose virtue is trembling doubtfully in the balance. Nor is it\nin the long run for the benefit of the world that superior ability or\nsuperior energy or industry should be handicapped in the race of life,\nforbidden to encounter exceptional risks for the sake of exceptional\nrewards, reduced by regulations to measures of work and gain intended\nfor the benefit of inferior characters or powers.\n\nThe fatal vice of ill-considered benevolence is that it looks only to\nproximate and immediate results without considering either alternatives\nor distant and indirect consequences. A large and highly respectable\nform of benevolence is that connected with the animal world, and in\nEngland it is carried in some respects to a point which is unknown on\nthe Continent. But what a strange form of compassion is that which long\nmade it impossible to establish a Pasteur Institute in England, obliging\npatients threatened with one of the most horrible diseases that can\nafflict mankind to go--as they are always ready to do--to Paris, in\norder to undergo a treatment which what is called the humane sentiment\nof Englishmen forbid them to receive at home! What a strange form of\nbenevolence is that which in a country where field sports are the\nhabitual amusement of the higher ranks of Society denounces as criminal\neven the most carefully limited and supervised experiments on living\nanimals, and would thus close the best hope of finding remedies for some\nof the worst forms of human suffering, the one sure method of testing\nsupposed remedies which may be fatal or which may be of incalculable\nbenefit to mankind! Foreign critics, indeed, often go much further and\nbelieve that in other forms connected with this subject public opinion\nin England is strangely capricious and inconsistent. They compare with\nastonishment the sentences that are sometimes passed for the\nill-treatment of a woman and for the ill-treatment of a cat; they ask\nwhether the real sufferings caused by many things that are in England\npunished by law or reprobated by opinion are greater than those caused\nby sports which are constantly practised without reproach; and they are\napt to find much that is exaggerated or even fantastic in the great\npopularity and elaboration of some animal charities.[10] At the same\ntime in our own country the more recognised field sports greatly trouble\nmany benevolent natures. I will here only say that while the positive\nbenefits they produce are great and manifest, those who condemn them\nconstantly forget what would be the fate of the animals that are\nslaughtered if such sports did not exist, and how little the balance of\nsuffering is increased or altered by the destruction of beings which\nthemselves live by destroying. As a poet says--\n\n\n The fish exult whene'er the seagull dies,\n The salmon's death preserves a thousand flies.\n\n\nOn most of these questions the effect on human character is a more\nimportant consideration than the effect on animal happiness. The best\nthing that legislation can do for wild animals is to extend as far as\npossible to harmless classes a close time, securing them immunity while\nthey are producing and supporting their young. This is the truest\nkindness, and on quite other grounds it is peculiarly needed, as the\nimprovement of firearms and the increase of population have completely\naltered, as far as man is concerned, the old balance between production\nand destruction, and threaten, if unchecked, to lead to an almost\ncomplete extirpation of great classes of the animal world. It is\nmelancholy to observe how often sensitive women who object to field\nsports and who denounce all experiments on living animals will be found\nsupporting with perfect callousness fashions that are leading to the\nwholesale destruction of some of the most beautiful species of birds,\nand are in some cases dependent upon acts of very aggravated cruelty.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[8] Seneca, _De Vita Beata_.\n\n[9] Burke's _Correspondence_, i. 376, 377.\n\n[10] As I am writing these pages I find the following paragraph in a\nnewspaper which may illustrate my meaning:--'DOGS' NURSING. A case was\nheard at the Brompton County Court on Friday in which some suggestive\nevidence was given of the medical treatment of dogs. The proprietor of a\ndogs' infirmary at Tattersall's Corner sued Mr. Harding Cox for the\nboard and lodging of seven dogs, and the _r\u00e9gime_ was explained. They\nare fed on essence of meat, washed down with port wine, and have as a\ndigestive eggs beaten up in milk and arrowroot. Medicated baths and\ntonics are also supplied, and occasionally the animals are treated to a\nday in the country. This course of hygiene necessitated an expenditure\nof ten shillings a week. The defendant pleaded that the charges were\nexcessive, but the judge awarded the plaintiff \u00a325. How many hospital\npatients receive such treatment?'--_Daily Express_, February 16, 1897.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\nThe illustrations given in the last chapter will be sufficient to show\nthe danger of permitting the unselfish side of human nature to run wild\nwithout serious control by the reason and by the will. To see things in\ntheir true proportion, to escape the magnifying influence of a morbid\nimagination, should be one of the chief aims of life, and in no fields\nis it more needed than in those we have been reviewing. At the same time\nevery age has its own ideal moral type towards which the strongest and\nbest influences of the time converge. The history of morals is\nessentially a history of the changes that take place not so much in our\nconception of what is right and wrong as in the proportionate place and\nprominence we assign to different virtues and vices. There are large\ngroups of moral qualities which in some ages of the world's history have\nbeen regarded as of supreme importance, while in other ages they are\nthrown into the background, and there are corresponding groups of vices\nwhich are treated in some periods as very serious and in others as very\ntrivial. The heroic type of Paganism and the saintly type of\nChristianity in its purest form, consist largely of the same elements,\nbut the proportions in which they are mixed are altogether different.\nThere are ages when the military and civic virtues--the qualities that\nmake good soldiers and patriotic citizens--dominate over all others. The\nself-sacrifice of the best men flows habitually in these channels. In\nsuch an age integrity in business relations and the domestic virtues\nwhich maintain the purity of the family may be highly valued, but they\nare chiefly valued because they are essential to the well-being of the\nState. The soldier who has attained to the highest degree the best\nqualities of his profession, the patriot who sacrifices to the services\nof the State his comforts, his ambitions and his life, is the supreme\nmodel, and the estimation in which he is held is but little lowered even\nthough he may have been guilty, like Cato, of atrocious cruelty to his\nslaves, or, like some of the heroes of ancient times, of scandalous\nforms of private profligacy.\n\nThere are other ages in which military life is looked upon by moralists\nwith disfavour, and in which patriotism ranks very low in the scale of\nvirtues, while charity, gentleness, self-abnegation, devotional habits,\nand purity in thought, word and act are pre-eminently inculcated. The\nintellectual virtues, again, which deal with truth and falsehood, form a\ndistinct group. The habit of mind which makes men love truth for its own\nsake as the supreme ideal, and which turns aside from all falsehood,\nexaggeration, party or sectarian misrepresentation and invention, is in\nno age a common one, but there are some ages in which it is recognised\nand inculcated as virtue, while there are others in which it is no\nexaggeration to say that the whole tendency of religious teaching has\nbeen to discourage it. During many centuries the ascetic and purely\necclesiastical standard of virtue completely dominated. The domestic\nvirtues, though clearly recognised, held altogether a subordinate place\nto what were deemed the higher virtues of the ascetic celibate.\nCharity, though nobly cultivated and practised, was regarded mainly\nthrough a dogmatic medium and practised less for the benefit of the\nrecipient than for the spiritual welfare of the donor.\n\nIn the eyes of multitudes the highest conception of a saintly life\nconsisted largely if not mainly in complete detachment from secular\ninterests and affections. No type was more admired, and no type was ever\nmore completely severed from all active duties and all human relations\nthan that of the saint of the desert or of the monk of one of the\ncontemplative orders. To die to the world; to become indifferent to its\naims, interests and pleasures; to measure all things by a standard\nwholly different from human happiness, to live habitually for another\nlife was the constant teaching of the saints. In the stress laid on the\ncultivation of the spiritual life the whole sphere of active duties sank\ninto a lower plane; and the eye of the mind was turned upwards and\ninwards and but little on the world around. 'Happy,' said one saint, 'is\nthe mind which sees but two objects, God and self, one of which\nconceptions fills it with a sovereign delight and the other abases it to\nthe extremest dejection.'[11] 'As much love as we give to creatures,'\nsaid another saint, 'just so much we steal from the Creator.'[12] 'Two\nthings only do I ask,' said a third,[13] 'to suffer and to die.'\n'Forsake all,' said Thomas \u00e0 Kempis, 'and thou shalt find all. Leave\ndesire and thou shalt find rest.' 'Unless a man be disengaged from the\naffection of all creatures he cannot with freedom of mind attend unto\nDivine things.'\n\nThe gradual, silent and half-unconscious modification in the type of\nMorals which took place after the Reformation was certainly not the\nleast important of its results. If it may be traced in some degree to\nthe distinctive theology of the Protestant Churches, it was perhaps\nstill more due to the abolition of clerical celibacy which placed the\nreligious teachers in the centre of domestic life and in close contact\nwith a large circle of social duties. There is even now a distinct\ndifference between the morals of a sincerely Catholic and a sincerely\nProtestant country, and this difference is not so much, as\ncontroversialists would tell us, in the greater and the less as in the\nmoral type, or, in other words, in the different degrees of importance\nattached to different virtues and vices. Probably nowhere in the world\ncan more beautiful and more reverent types be found than in some of the\nCatholic countries of Europe which are but little touched by the\nintellectual movements of the age, but no good observer can fail to\nnotice how much larger is the place given to duties which rest wholly on\ntheological considerations, and how largely even the natural duties are\nbased on such considerations and governed, limited, and sometimes even\nsuperseded by them. The ecclesiastics who at the Council of Constance\ninduced Sigismund to violate the safe-conduct he had given, and, in\nspite of his solemn promise, to condemn Huss to a death of fire,[14] and\nthe ecclesiastics who at the Diet of Worms vainly tried to induce\nCharles V. to act with a similar perfidy towards Luther, represent a\nconception of morals which is abundantly prevalent in our day. It is no\nexaggeration to say that in Catholic countries the obligation of\ntruthfulness in cases in which it conflicts with the interests of the\nChurch rests wholly on the basis of honour, and not at all on the basis\nof religion. In the estimates of Catholic rulers no impartial observer\ncan fail to notice how their attitude towards the interest of the Church\ndominates over all considerations of public and private morals.\n\nIn past ages this was much more the case. The Church filled in the minds\nof men a place at least equal to that of the State in the Roman\nRepublic. Men who had made great sacrifices for it and rendered great\nservices to it were deemed, beyond all others, the good men, and in\nthose men things which we should regard as grossly criminal appeared\nmere venial frailties. Let any one who doubts this study the lives of\nthe early Catholic saints, and the still more instructive pages in which\nGregory of Tours and other ecclesiastical annalists have described the\ncharacters and acts of the more prominent figures in the secular history\nof their times, and he will soon feel that he has passed into a moral\natmosphere and is dealing with moral measurements and perspectives\nwholly unlike those of our own day.[15]\n\nIn highly civilised ages the same spirit may be clearly traced. Bossuet\nwas certainly no hypocrite or sycophant, but a man of austere virtue and\nundoubted courage. He did not hesitate to rebuke the gross profligacy\nof the life of Louis XIV., and although neither he nor any of the other\nCatholic divines of his age seriously protested against the wars of pure\negotism and ostentation which made that sovereign the scourge of Europe\nand brought down upon his people calamities immeasurably greater than\nthe faults of his private life--although, indeed, he has spoken of those\nwars in language of rapturous and unqualified eulogy[16]--he had at\nleast the grace to devote a chapter of his 'Politique tir\u00e9e de\nl'\u00c9criture Sainte' to the theme that 'God does not love war.' But in the\neyes of Bossuet the dominant fact in the life of Louis XIV. was the\nRevocation of the Edict of Nantes and the savage persecution of the\nHuguenots, and this was sufficient to place him among the best of\nsovereigns.[17]\n\nTo those who will candidly consider the subject there is nothing in this\nwhich need excite surprise. The doctrine that the Catholic Church is the\ninspired guide, representing the voice of the Divinity on earth and\ndeciding with absolute authority all questions of right and wrong, very\nnaturally led to the conviction that nothing which was conducive to its\ninterests could be really criminal, and in all departments of morals it\nregulated the degrees of praise and blame. The doctrine which is still\nso widely professed but now so faintly realised, that the first\nessential to salvation is orthodox belief, placed conduct on a lower\nplane of importance than dogma, while the conviction that it is in the\npower of man to obtain absolute certainty in religious belief, that\nerroneous belief is in the eyes of the Almighty a crime bringing with it\neternal damnation, and that the teacher of heresy is the greatest enemy\nof mankind, at once justified in the eyes of the believer acts which now\nseem the gravest moral aberrations. Many baser motives and elements no\ndoubt mingled with the long and hideous history of the religious\npersecutions of Christendom, but in the eyes of countless conscientious\nmen this teaching seemed amply sufficient to justify them and to stifle\nall feeling of compassion for the victims. Much the same considerations\nexplain the absolute indifference with which so many good men witnessed\nthose witch persecutions which consigned thousands of old, feeble and\ninnocent women to torture and to death.\n\nOther illustrations of a less tragical kind might be given. Thus in\ncases of child-birth the physician is sometimes placed in the\nalternative of sacrificing the life of the mother or of the unborn\nchild. In such cases a Protestant or freethinking physician would not\nhesitate to save the adult life as by far the most valuable. The\nCatholic doctrine is that under such circumstances the first duty of the\nphysician is to save the life of the unbaptized child.[18] Large numbers\nof commercial transactions which are now universally acknowledged to be\nperfectly innocent and useful would during a long period have been\nprohibited on account of the Catholic doctrine of usury which condemned\nas sinful even the most moderate interest on money if it was exacted as\nthe price of the loan.[19]\n\nEvery religious and indeed every philosophical system that has played a\ngreat part in the history of the world has a tendency either to form or\nto assimilate with a particular moral type, and in the eyes of a large\nand growing number it is upon the excellency of this type, and upon its\nsuccess in producing it, that its superiority mainly depends. The\nsuperstructure or scaffolding of belief around which it is formed\nappears to them of comparatively little moment, and it is not uncommon\nto find men ardently devoted to a particular type long after they have\ndiscarded the tenets with which it was once connected. Carlyle, for\nexample, sometimes spoke of himself as a Calvinist, and used language\nboth in public and private as if there was no important difference\nbetween himself and the most orthodox Puritans, yet it is very evident\nthat he disbelieved nearly all the articles of their creed. What he\nmeant was that Calvinism had produced in all countries in which it\nreally dominated a definite type of character and conception of morals\nwhich was in his eyes the noblest that had yet appeared in the world.\n\n'_Above all things_, my brethren, swear not.' If, as is generally\nassumed, this refers to the custom of using profane oaths in common\nconversation, how remote from modern ideas is the place assigned to\nthis vice, which perhaps affects human happiness as little as any other\nthat can be mentioned, in the scale of criminality, and how curiously\ncharacteristic is the fact that the vice to which this supremacy of\nenormity is attributed continued to be prevalent during the ages when\ntheological influences were most powerful, and has in all good society\nfaded away in simple obedience to a turn of fashion which proscribes it\nas ungentlemanly! For a long period Acts condemning it were read at\nstated periods in the churches,[20] and one of these described it as\nlikely, by provoking God's wrath, to 'increase the many calamities these\nnations now labour under.' How curiously characteristic is the\nrestriction in common usage of the term 'immoral' to a single vice, so\nthat a man who is untruthful, selfish, cruel, or intemperate might still\nbe said to have led 'a moral life' because he was blameless in the\nrelations of the sexes! In the estimates of the character of public men\nthe same disproportionate judgment may be constantly found in the\ncomparative stress placed upon private faults and the most gigantic\npublic crimes. Errors of judgment are not errors of morals, but any\npublic man who, through selfish, ambitious, or party motives, plunges or\nhelps to plunge his country into an unrighteous or unnecessary war,\nsubordinates public interest to his personal ambition, employs himself\nin stimulating class, national, or provincial hatreds, lowers the moral\nstandard of public life, or supports a legislation which he knows to\ntend to or facilitate dishonesty, is committing a crime before which, if\nit be measured by its consequences, the gravest acts of mere private\nimmorality dwindle into insignificance. Yet how differently in the case\nof brilliant and successful politicians are such things treated in the\njudgment of contemporaries, and sometimes even in the judgments of\nhistory!\n\nIt is, I think, a peculiarity of modern times that the chief moral\ninfluences are much more various and complex than in the past. There is\nno such absolute empire as that which was exercised over character by\nthe State in some periods of Pagan antiquity and by the Church during\nthe Middle Ages. Our civilisation is more than anything else an\nindustrial civilisation, and industrial habits are probably the\nstrongest in forming the moral type to which public opinion aspires.\nSlavery, which threw a deep discredit on industry and on the qualities\nit fosters, has passed away. The feudal system, which placed industry in\nan inferior position, has been abolished, and the strong modern tendency\nto diminish both the privileges and the exclusiveness of rank and to\nincrease the importance of wealth is in the same direction. An\nindustrial society has its special vices and failings, but it naturally\nbrings into the boldest relief the moral qualities which industry is\nmost fitted to foster and on which it most largely depends, and it also\ngives the whole tone of moral thinking a utilitarian character. It is\nnot Christianity but Industrialism that has brought into the world that\nstrong sense of the moral value of thrift, steady industry, punctuality\nin observing engagements, constant forethought with a view to providing\nfor the contingencies of the future, which is now so characteristic of\nthe moral type of the most civilised nations.\n\nMany other influences, however, have contributed to intensify, qualify,\nor impair the industrial type. Protestantism has disengaged primitive\nChristian ethics from a crowd of superstitious and artificial duties\nwhich had overlaid them, and a similar process has been going on in\nCatholic countries under the influence of the rationalising and\nsceptical spirit. The influence of dogmatic theology on Morals has\ndeclined. Out of the vast and complex religious systems of the past, an\neclectic spirit is bringing into special and ever-increasing prominence\nthose Christian virtues which are most manifestly in accordance with\nnatural religion and most clearly conducive to the well-being of men\nupon the earth. Philanthropy or charity, which forms the centre of the\nsystem, has also been immensely intensified by increased knowledge and\nrealisation of the wants and sorrows of others; by the sensitiveness to\npain, by the softening of manners and the more humane and refined tastes\nand habits which a highly elaborated intellectual civilisation naturally\nproduces. The sense of duty plays a great part in modern philanthropy,\nand lower motives of ostentation or custom mingle largely with the\ngenuine kindliness of feeling that inspires it; but on the whole it is\nprobable that men in our day, in doing good to others, look much more\nexclusively than in the past to the benefit of the recipient and much\nless to some reward for their acts in a future world. As long, too, as\nthis benefit is attained, they will gladly diminish as much as possible\nthe self-sacrifice it entails. An eminently characteristic feature of\nmodern philanthropy is its close connection with amusements. There was a\ntime when a great philanthropic work would be naturally supported by an\nissue of indulgences promising specific advantages in another world to\nall who took part in it. In our own generation balls, bazaars,\ntheatrical or other amusements given for the benefit of the charity,\noccupy an almost corresponding place.\n\nAt the same time increasing knowledge, and especially the kind of\nknowledge which science gives, has in other ways largely affected our\njudgments of right and wrong. The mental discipline, the habits of sound\nand accurate reasoning, the distrust of mere authority and of untested\nassertions and traditions that science tends to produce, all stimulate\nthe intellectual virtues, and science has done much to rectify the chart\nof life, pointing out more clearly the true conditions of human\nwell-being and disclosing much baselessness and many errors in the\nteaching of the past. It cannot, however, be said that the civic or the\nmilitary influences have declined. If the State does not hold altogether\nthe same place as in Pagan antiquity, it is at least certain that in a\ndemocratic age public interests are enormously prominent in the lives of\nmen, and there is a growing and dangerous tendency to aggrandise the\ninfluence of the State over the individual, while modern militarism is\ndrawing the flower of Continental Europe into its circle and making\nmilitary education one of the most powerful influences in the formation\nof characters and ideals.\n\nI do not believe that the world will ever greatly differ about the\nessential elements of right and wrong. These things lie deep in human\nnature and in the fundamental conditions of human life. The changes that\nare taking place, and which seem likely to strengthen in the future, lie\nchiefly in the importance attached to different qualities.\n\nWhat seems to be useless self-sacrifice and unnecessary suffering is as\nmuch as possible avoided. The strain of sentiment which valued suffering\nin itself as an expiatory thing, as a mode of following the Man of\nSorrows, as a thing to be for its own sake embraced and dwelt upon, and\nprolonged, bears a very great part in some of the most beautiful\nChristian lives, and especially in those which were formed under the\ninfluence of the Catholic Church. An old legend tells how Christ once\nappeared as a Man of Sorrows to a Catholic Saint, and asked him what\nboon he would most desire. 'Lord,' was the reply, 'that I might suffer\nmost.' This strain runs deeply through the whole ascetic literature and\nthe whole monastic system of Catholicism, and outside Catholicism it has\nbeen sometimes shown by a reluctance to accept the aid of an\u00e6sthetics,\nwhich partially or wholly removed suffering supposed to have been sent\nby Providence. The history of the use of chloroform furnishes striking\nillustrations of this. Many of my readers may remember the French monks\nwho devoted themselves to cultivating one of the most pestilential spots\nin the Roman Campagna, which was associated with an ecclesiastical\nlegend, and who quite unnecessarily insisted on remaining there during\nthe season when such a residence meant little less than a slow suicide.\nThey had, as they were accustomed to say, their purgatory upon earth,\nand they remained till their constitutions were hopelessly shattered and\nthey were sent to die in their own land. Touching examples might be\nfound in modern times of men who, in the last extremes of disease or\nsuffering, scrupled, through religious motives, about availing\nthemselves of the simplest alleviations,[21] and something of the same\nfeeling is shown in the desire to prolong to the last possible moment\nhopeless and agonising disease. All this is manifestly and rapidly\ndisappearing. To endure with patience and resignation inevitable\nsuffering; to encounter courageously dangers and suffering for some\nworthy and useful end, ranks, indeed, as high as it ever did in the\nethics of the century, but suffering for its own sake is no longer\nvalued, and it is deemed one of the first objects of a wise life to\nrestrict and diminish it.\n\nNo one, I think, has seen more clearly or described more vividly than\nGoethe the direction in which in modern times the current of morals is\nflowing. His philosophy is a terrestrial philosophy, and the old\ntheologians would have said that it allowed the second Table of the Law\naltogether to supersede or eclipse the first. It was said of him with\nmuch truth that 'repugnance to the supernatural was an inherent part of\nhis mind.' To turn away from useless and barren speculations; to\npersistently withdraw our thoughts from the unknowable, the inevitable,\nand the irreparable; to concentrate them on the immediate present and on\nthe nearest duty; to waste no moral energy on excessive introspection or\nself-abasement or self-reproach, but to make the cultivation and the\nwise use of all our powers the supreme ideal and end of our lives; to\noppose labour and study to affliction and regret; to keep at a distance\ngloomy thoughts and exaggerated anxieties; 'to see the individual in\nconnection and co-operation with the whole,' and to look upon effort and\naction as the main elements both of duty and happiness, was the lesson\nwhich he continually taught. 'The mind endowed with active powers, and\nkeeping with a practical object to the task that lies nearest, is the\nworthiest there is on earth.' 'Character consists in a man steadily\npursuing the things of which he feels himself capable.' 'Try to do your\nduty and you will know what you are worth.' 'Piety is not an end but a\nmeans; a means of attaining the highest culture by the purest\ntranquillity of soul.' 'We are not born to solve the problems of the\nworld, but to find out where the problem begins and then to keep within\nthe limits of what we can grasp.'\n\nTo cultivate sincere love of truth and clear and definite conceptions,\nand divest ourselves as much as possible from prejudices, fanaticisms,\nsuperstitions, and exaggeration; to take wide, sound, tolerant,\nmany-sided views of life, stands in his eyes in the forefront of ethics.\n'Let it be your earnest endeavour to use words coinciding as closely as\npossible with what we feel, see, think, experience, imagine, and\nreason;' 'remove by plain and honest purpose false, irrelevant and\nfutile ideas.' 'The truest liberality is appreciation.' 'Love of truth\nshows itself in this, that a man knows how to find and value the good in\neverything.'[22]\n\nIn the eyes of this school of thought one of the great vices of the old\ntheological type of ethics was that it was unduly negative. It thought\nmuch more of the avoidance of sin than of the performance of duty. The\nmore we advance in knowledge the more we shall come to judge men in the\nspirit of the parable of the talents; that is by the net result of their\nlives, by their essential unselfishness, by the degree in which they\nemploy and the objects to which they direct their capacities and\nopportunities. The staple of moral life becomes much less a matter of\nsmall scruples, of minute self-examination, of extreme stress laid upon\nflaws of character and conduct that have little or no bearing upon\nactive life. A life of idleness will be regarded with much less\ntolerance than at present. Men will grow less introspective and more\nobjective, and useful action will become more and more the guiding\nprinciple of morals.\n\nIn theory this will probably be readily admitted, but every good\nobserver will find that it involves a considerable change in the point\nof view. A life of habitual languor and idleness, with no faculties\nreally cultivated, and with no result that makes a man missed when he\nhas passed away, may be spent without any act which the world calls\nvicious, and is quite compatible with much charm of temper and demeanour\nand with a complete freedom from violent and aggressive selfishness.\nSuch a life, in the eyes of many moralists, would rank much higher than\na life of constant, honourable self-sacrificing labour for the good of\nothers which was at the same time flawed by some positive vice. Yet the\nlife which seems to be comparatively blameless has in truth wholly\nmissed, while the other life, in spite of all its defects, has largely\nattained what should be the main object of a human life, the full\ndevelopment and useful employment of whatever powers we possess. There\nare men, indeed, in whom an over-sensitive conscience is even a\nparalysing thing, which by suggesting constant petty and ingenious\nscruples holds them back from useful action. It is a moral infirmity\ncorresponding to that exaggerated intellectual fastidiousness which so\noften makes an intellectual life almost wholly barren, or to that\nexcessive tendency to look on all sides of a question and to realise the\ndangers and drawbacks of any course which not unfrequently in moments of\ndifficulty paralyses the actions of public men. Sometimes, under the\nstrange and subtle bias of the will, this excessive conscientiousness\nwill be unconsciously fostered in inert and sluggish natures which are\nconstitutionally disinclined to effort. The main lines of duty in the\ngreat relations of life are sufficiently obvious, and the casuistry\nwhich multiplies cases of conscience and invents unreal and factitious\nduties is apt to be rather an impediment than a furtherance to a noble\nlife.\n\nIt is probable that as the world goes on morals will move more and more\nin the direction I have described. There will be at the same time a\nsteadily increasing tendency to judge moral qualities and courses of\nconduct mainly by the degree in which they promote or diminish human\nhappiness. Enthusiasm and self-sacrifice for some object which has no\nreal bearing on the welfare of man will become rarer and will be less\nrespected, and the condemnation that is passed on acts that are\nrecognised as wrong will be much more proportioned than at present to\nthe injury they inflict. Some things, such as excessive luxury of\nexpenditure and the improvidence of bringing into the world children for\nwhom no provision has been made, which can now scarcely be said to enter\ninto the teaching of moralists, or at least of churches, may one day be\nlooked upon as graver offences than some that are in the penal code.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[11] St. Francis de Sales.\n\n[12] St. Philip Neri.\n\n[13] St. Teresa.\n\n[14] 'Cum dictus Johannes Hus fidem orthodoxam pertinaciter impugnans,\nse ab omni con ductu et privilegio reddiderit alienum, nec aliqua sibi\nfides aut promissio de jure naturali divino vel humano, fuerit in\npr\u00e6judicium Catholic\u00e6 fidei observanda.' Declaration of the Council of\nConstance. See Creighton's _History of the Papacy_, ii. 32.\n\n[15] I have collected some illustrations of this in my _History of\nEuropean Morals_, ii. 235-242.\n\n[16] See, e.g. his funeral oration on Marie Th\u00e9r\u00e8se d'Autriche.\n\n[17] See the enthusiastic eulogy of the persecution of the Huguenots in\nhis funeral oration on Michel le Tellier. It concludes: '\u00c9panchons nos\ncoeurs sur la pi\u00e9t\u00e9 de Louis; poussons jusqu'au ciel nos acclamations,\net disons \u00e0 ce nouveau Constantin, \u00e0 ce nouveau Th\u00e9odose, \u00e0 ce nouveau\nMarcien, \u00e0 ce nouveau Charlemagne ce que les six cent trente P\u00e8res\ndirent autrefois dans le Concile de Chalc\u00e9doine: \"Vous avez affermi la\nfoi; vous avez extermin\u00e9 les h\u00e9r\u00e9tiques; c'est le digne ouvrage de votre\nr\u00e8gne; c'en est le propre caract\u00e8re. Par vous l'h\u00e9r\u00e9sie n'est plus, Dieu\nseul a pu faire cette merveille. Roi du ciel, conservez le roi de la\nterre; c'est le voeu, des \u00c9glises; c'est le voeu des \u00c9v\u00eaques.\"'\n\n[18] See Migne, _Encyclop\u00e9die Th\u00e9ologique_, 'Dict. de Cas de\nConscience,' art. _Avortement_.\n\n[19] See on this subject my _History of Rationalism_, ii. 250-270, and\nmy _Democracy and Liberty_, ii., ch. viii.\n\n[20] 21 James I. c. 20; 19 Geo. II. c. 21. The penalties, however, were\nfines, the pillory, or short periods of imprisonment. The obligation of\nreading the statute in churches was abolished in 1823, but the custom\nhad before fallen into desuetude. In 1772 a vicar was (as an act of\nprivate vengeance) prosecuted and fined for having neglected to read it.\n(_Annual Register_, 1772, p. 115.)\n\n[21] The following beautiful passage from a funeral sermon by Newman is\nan example: 'One should have thought that a life so innocent, so active,\nso holy, I might say so faultless from first to last, might have been\nspared the visitation of any long and severe penance to bring it to an\nend; but in order doubtless to show us how vile and miserable the best\nof us are in ourselves ... and moreover to give us a pattern how to bear\nsuffering ourselves, and to increase the merits and to hasten and\nbrighten the crown of this faithful servant of his Lord, it pleased\nAlmighty God to send upon him a disorder which during the last six years\nfought with him, mastered him, and at length has destroyed him, so far,\nthat is, as death now has power to destroy.... It is for those who came\nnear him year after year to store up the many words and deeds of\nresignation, love and humility which that long penance elicited. These\nmeritorious acts are written in the Book of Life, and they have followed\nhim whither he is gone. They multiplied and grew in strength and\nperfection as his trial proceeded; and they were never so striking as at\nits close. When a friend visited him in the last week, he found he had\nscrupled at allowing his temples to be moistened with some refreshing\nwaters, and had with difficulty been brought to give his consent; he\nsaid he feared it was too great a luxury. When the same friend offered\nhim some liquid to allay his distressing thirst his answer was the\nsame.'--Sermon at the funeral of the Right Rev. Henry Weedall, pp. 19,\n20.\n\n[22] See the excellent little book of Mr. Bailey Saunders, called _The\nMaxims and Reflections of Goethe_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\nThe tendency to regard morals rather in their positive than their\nnegative aspects, and to estimate men by the good they do in the world,\nis a healthy element in modern life. A strong sense of the obligation of\na full, active, and useful life is the best safeguard both of individual\nand national morals at a time when the dissolution or enfeeblement of\ntheological beliefs is disturbing the foundations on which most current\nmoral teaching has been based. In the field of morals action holds a\nmuch larger place than reasoning--a larger place even in elucidating our\ndifficulties and illuminating the path on which we should go. It is by\nthe active pursuit of an immediate duty that the vista of future duties\nbecomes most clear, and those who are most immersed in active duties are\nusually little troubled with the perplexities of life, or with minute\nand paralysing scruples. A public opinion which discourages idleness and\nplaces high the standard of public duty is especially valuable in an age\nwhen the tendency to value wealth, and to measure dignity by wealth, has\ngreatly increased, and when wealth in some of its most important forms\nhas become wholly dissociated from special duties. The duties of the\nlandlord who is surrounded by a poor and in some measure dependent\ntenantry, the duties of the head of a great factory or shop who has a\nlarge number of workmen or dependents in his employment, are\nsufficiently obvious, though even in these spheres the tie of duty has\nbeen greatly relaxed by the growing spirit of independence, which makes\neach class increasingly jealous of the interference of others, and by\nthe growing tendency of legislation to regulate all relations of\nbusiness and contracts by definite law instead of leaving them, as in\nthe past, to voluntary action. But there are large classes of fortunes\nwhich are wholly, or almost wholly, dissociated from special and\ndefinite duties. The vast and ever-increasing multitude whose incomes\nare derived from national, or provincial, or municipal debts, or who are\nshareholders or debenture-holders in great commercial and industrial\nundertakings, have little or no practical control over, or interest in,\nthose from whom their fortunes are derived. The multiplication of such\nfortunes is one of the great characteristics of our time, and it brings\nwith it grave dangers. Such fortunes give unrivalled opportunities of\nluxurious idleness, and as in themselves they bring little or no social\ninfluence or position, those who possess them are peculiarly tempted to\nseek such a position by an ostentation of wealth and luxury which has a\nprofoundly vulgarising and demoralising influence upon Society. The\ntendency of idleness to lead to immorality has long been a commonplace\nof moralists. Perhaps our own age has seen more clearly than those that\npreceded it that complete and habitual idleness _is_ immorality, and\nthat when the circumstances of his life do not assign to a man a\ndefinite sphere of work it is his first duty to find it for himself. It\nhas been happily said that in the beginning of the reign of Queen\nVictoria young men in England who were really busy affected idleness,\nand at the close of the reign young men who are really idle pretend to\nbe busy. In my own opinion, a disproportionate amount of English energy\ntakes political forms, and there is a dangerous exaggeration in the\nprevailing tendency to combat all social and moral abuses by Acts of\nParliament. But there are multitudes of other and less obtrusive spheres\nof work adapted to all grades of intellect and to many types of\ncharacter, in which men who possess the inestimable boon of leisure can\nfind abundant and useful fields for the exercise of their powers.\n\nThe rectification of moral judgments is one of the most important\nelements of civilisation; it is upon this that the possibility of moral\nprogress on a large scale chiefly depends. Few things pervert men more\nthan the habit of regarding as enviable persons or qualities injurious\nto Society. The most obvious example is the passionate admiration\nbestowed on a brilliant conqueror, which is often quite irrespective of\nthe justice of his wars and of the motives that actuated him. This false\nmoral feeling has acquired such a strength that overwhelming military\npower almost certainly leads to a career of ambition. Perverted public\nopinion is the main cause. Glory, not interest, is the lure, or at least\nthe latter would be powerless if it were not accompanied by the\nformer--if the execration of mankind naturally followed unscrupulous\naggression.\n\nAnother and scarcely less flagrant instance of the worship of false\nideals is to be found in the fierce competition of luxury and\nostentation which characterises the more wealthy cities of Europe and\nAmerica. It is no exaggeration to say that in a single festival in\nLondon or New York sums are often expended in the idlest and most\nephemeral ostentation which might have revived industry, or extinguished\npauperism, or alleviated suffering over a vast area. The question of\nexpenditure on luxuries is no doubt a question of degree which cannot be\nreduced to strict rule, and there are many who will try to justify the\nmost ostentatious expenditure on the ground of the employment it gives\nand of other incidental advantages it is supposed to produce. But\nnothing in political economy is more certain than that the vast and\never-increasing expenditure on the luxury of ostentation in modern\nsocieties, by withdrawing great masses of capital from productive\nlabour, is a grave economical evil, and there is probably no other form\nof expenditure which, in proportion to its amount, gives so little real\npleasure and confers so little real good. Its evil in setting up\nmaterial and base standards of excellence, in stimulating the worst\npassions that grow out of an immoderate love of wealth, in ruining many\nwho are tempted into a competition which they are unable to support, can\nhardly be overrated. It is felt in every rank in raising the standard of\nconventional expenses, excluding from much social intercourse many who\nare admirably fitted to adorn it, and introducing into all society a\nlower and more material tone. Nor are these its only consequences.\nWealth which is expended in multiplying and elaborating real comforts,\nor even in pleasures which produce enjoyment at all proportionate to\ntheir cost, will never excite serious indignation. It is the colossal\nwaste of the means of human happiness in the most selfish and most\nvulgar forms of social advertisement and competition that gives a force\nand almost a justification to anarchical passions which menace the\nwhole future of our civilisation. It is such things that stimulate class\nhatreds and deepen class divisions, and if the law of opinion does not\ninterfere to check them they will one day bring down upon the society\nthat encourages them a signal and well-merited retribution.\n\nA more recognised, though probably not really more pernicious example of\nfalse ideals, is to be found in the glorification of the _demi-monde_,\nwhich is so conspicuous in some societies and literatures. In a healthy\nstate of opinion, the public, ostentatious appearance of such persons,\nwithout any concealment of their character, in the great concourse of\nfashion and among the notabilities of the State, would appear an\nintolerable scandal, and it becomes much worse when they give the tone\nto fashion and become the centres and the models of large and by no\nmeans undistinguished sections of Society. The evils springing from this\npublic glorification of the class are immeasurably greater than the\nevils arising from its existence. The standard of popular morals is\ndebased. Temptation in its most seductive form is forced upon\ninflammable natures, and the most pernicious of all lessons is taught to\npoor, honest, hard-working women. It is indeed wonderful that in\nsocieties where this evil prevails so much virtue should still exist\namong graceful, attractive women of the shopkeeping and servant class\nwhen they continually see before them members of their own class, by\npreferring vice to virtue, rising at once to wealth, luxury and\nidleness, and even held up as objects of admiration or imitation.\n\nIn judging wisely the characters of men, one of the first things to be\ndone is to understand their ideals. Try to find out what kind of men or\nof life; what qualities, what positions seem to them the most desirable.\nMen do not always fully recognise their own ideals, for education and\nthe conventionalities of Society oblige them to assert a preference for\nthat which may really have no root in their minds. But by a careful\nexamination it is usually possible to ascertain what persons or\nqualities or circumstances or gifts exercise a genuine, spontaneous,\nmagnetic power over them--whether they really value supremely rank or\nposition, or money, or beauty, or intellect, or superiority of\ncharacter. If you know the ideal of a man you have obtained a true key\nto his nature. The broad lines of his character, the permanent\ntendencies of his imagination, his essential nobility or meanness, are\nthus disclosed more effectually than by any other means. A man with high\nideals, who admires wisely and nobly, is never wholly base though he may\nfall into great vices. A man who worships the baser elements is in truth\nan idolater though he may have never bowed before an image of stone.\n\nThe human mind has much more power of distinguishing between right and\nwrong, and between true and false, than of estimating with accuracy the\ncomparative gravity of opposite evils. It is nearly always right in\njudging between right and wrong. It is generally wrong in estimating\ndegrees of guilt, and the root of its error lies in the extreme\ndifficulty of putting ourselves into the place of those whose characters\nor circumstances are radically different from our own. This want of\nimagination acts widely on our judgment of what is good as well as of\nwhat is bad. Few men have enough imagination to realise types of\nexcellence altogether differing from their own. It is this, much more\nthan vanity, that leads them to esteem the types of excellence to which\nthey themselves approximate as the best, and tastes and habits that are\naltogether incongruous with their own as futile and contemptible. It is,\nperhaps, most difficult of all to realise the difference of character\nand especially of moral sensibility produced by a profound difference of\ncircumstances. This difficulty largely falsifies our judgments of the\npast, and it is the reason why a powerful imagination enabling us to\nrealise very various characters and very remote circumstances is one of\nthe first necessities of a great historian. Historians rarely make\nsufficient allowance for the degree in which the judgments and\ndispositions even of the best men are coloured by the moral tone of the\ntime, society and profession in which they lived. Yet it is probable\nthat on the whole we estimate more justly the characters of the past\nthan of the present. No one would judge the actions of Charlemagne or of\nhis contemporaries by the strict rules of nineteenth-century ethics. We\nfeel that though they committed undoubted crimes, these crimes are at\nleast indefinitely less heinous than they would have been under the\nwholly different circumstances and moral atmosphere of our own day. Yet\nwe seldom apply this method of reasoning to the different strata of the\nsame society. Men who have been themselves brought up amid all the\ncomforts and all the moralising and restraining influences of a refined\nsociety, will often judge the crimes of the wretched pariahs of\ncivilisation as if their acts were in no degree palliated by their\nposition. They say to themselves 'How guilty should I have been if I\nhad done this thing,' and their verdict is quite just according to this\nstatement of the case. They realise the nature of the act. They utterly\nfail to realise the character and circumstances of the actor.\n\nAnd yet it is scarcely possible to exaggerate the difference between the\nposition of such a critic and that of the children of drunken, ignorant\nand profligate parents, born to abject poverty in the slums of our great\ncities. From their earliest childhood drunkenness, blasphemy,\ndishonesty, prostitution, indecency of every form are their most\nfamiliar experiences. All the social influences, such as they are, are\ninfluences of vice. As they grow up Life seems to them to present little\nmore than the alternative of hard, ill-paid, and at the same time\nprecarious labour, probably ending in the poor-house, or crime with its\nlarger and swifter gains, and its intervals of coarse pleasure probably,\nthough not certainly, followed by the prison or an early death. They see\nindeed, like figures in a dream, or like beings of another world, the\nwealthy and the luxurious spending their wealth and their time in many\nkinds of enjoyment, but to the very poor pleasure scarcely comes except\nin the form of the gin palace or perhaps the low music hall. And in many\ncases they have come into this reeking atmosphere of temptation and vice\nwith natures debased and enfeebled by a long succession of vicious\nhereditary influences, with weak wills, with no faculties of mind or\ncharacter that can respond to any healthy ambition; with powerful inborn\npredispositions to evil. The very mould of their features, the very\nshape of their skulls, marks them out as destined members of the\ncriminal class. Even here, no doubt, there is a difference between right\nand wrong; there is scope for the action of free will; there are just\ncauses of praise and blame, and Society rightly protects itself by\nsevere penalties against the crimes that are most natural; but what\nhuman judge can duly measure the scale of moral guilt? or what\ncomparison can there be between the crimes that are engendered by such\ncircumstances and those which spring up in the homes of refined and\nwell-regulated comfort?\n\nNor indeed even in this latter case is a really accurate judgment\npossible. Men are born into the world with both wills and passions of\nvarying strength, though in mature life the strength or weakness of each\nis largely due to their own conduct. With different characters the same\ntemptation, operating under the same external circumstances, has\nenormously different strength, and very few men can fully realise the\nstrength of a passion which they have never themselves experienced. To\nrepeat an illustration I have already used, how difficult is it for a\nconstitutionally sober man to form in his own mind an adequate\nconception of the force of the temptation of drink to a dipsomaniac, or\nfor a passionless man to conceive rightly the temptations of a\nprofoundly sensual nature! I have spoken in a former chapter of the\nforce with which bodily conditions act upon happiness. Their influence\non morals is not less terrible. There are diseases well known to\nphysicians which make the most placid temper habitually irritable;\ngive a morbid turn to the healthiest disposition; fill the purest\nmind with unholy thoughts. There are others which destroy the force\nof the strongest will and take from character all balance and\nself-control.[23] It often happens that we have long been blaming a man\nfor manifest faults of character till at last suicide, or the disclosure\nof some grave bodily or mental disease which has long been working\nunperceived, explains his faults and turns our blame into pity. In\nmadness the whole moral character is sometimes reversed, and tendencies\nwhich have been in sane life dormant or repressed become suddenly\nsupreme. In such cases we all acknowledge that there is no moral\nresponsibility, but madness, with its illusions and irresistible\nimpulses, and idiocy with its complete suspension of the will and of the\njudgment, are neither of them, as lawyers would pretend, clearly defined\nstates, marked out by sharp and well-cut boundaries, wholly distinct\nfrom sanity. There are incipient stages; there are gradual\napproximations; there are twilight states between sanity and insanity\nwhich are clearly recognised not only by experts but by all sagacious\nmen of the world. There are many who are not sufficiently mad to be shut\nup, or to be deprived of the management of their properties, or to be\nexempted from punishment if they have committed a crime, but who, in the\ncommon expressive phrase, 'are not all there'--whose eccentricities,\nillusions and caprices are on the verge of madness, whose judgments are\nhopelessly disordered; whose wills, though not completely atrophied, are\nmanifestly diseased. In questions of property, in questions of crime, in\nquestions of family arrangements, such persons cause the gravest\nperplexity, nor will any wise man judge them by the same moral standard\nas well-balanced and well-developed natures.\n\nThe inference to be drawn from such facts is certainly not that there is\nno such thing as free will and personal responsibility, nor yet that we\nhave no power of judging the acts of others and distinguishing among our\nfellowmen between the good and the bad. The true lesson is the extreme\nfallibility of our moral judgments whenever we attempt to measure\ndegrees of guilt. Sometimes men are even unjust to their own past from\ntheir incapacity in age of realising the force of the temptations they\nhad experienced in youth. On the other hand, increased knowledge of the\nworld tends to make us more sensible of the vast differences between the\nmoral circumstances of men, and therefore less confident and more\nindulgent in our judgments of others. There are men whose cards in life\nare so bad, whose temptations to vice, either from circumstances or\ninborn character, seem so overwhelming, that, though we may punish, and\nin a certain sense blame, we can scarcely look on them as more\nresponsible than some noxious wild beast. Among the terrible facts of\nlife none is indeed more terrible than this. Every believer in the wise\ngovernment of the world must have sometimes realised with a crushing or\nat least a staggering force the appalling injustices of life as shown in\nthe enormous differences in the distribution of unmerited happiness and\nmisery. But the disparity of moral circumstances is not less. It has\nshaken the faith of many. It has even led some to dream of a possible\nHeaven for the vicious where those who are born into the world with a\nphysical constitution rendering them fierce or cruel, or sensual, or\ncowardly, may be freed from the nature which was the cause of their\nvice and their suffering upon earth; where due allowance may be made for\nthe differences of circumstances which have plunged one man deeper and\never deeper into crime, and enabled another, who was not really better\nor worse, to pass through life with no serious blemish, and to rise\nhigher and higher in the moral scale.\n\nImperfect, however, as is our power of judging others, it is a power we\nare all obliged to exercise. It is impossible to exclude the\nconsiderations of moral guilt and of palliating or aggravating\ncircumstances from the penal code, and from the administration of\njustice, though it cannot be too clearly maintained that the criminal\ncode is not coextensive with the moral code, and that many things which\nare profoundly immoral lie beyond its scope. On the whole it should be\nas much as possible confined to acts by which men directly injure\nothers. In the case of adult men, private vices, vices by which no one\nis directly affected, except by his own free will, and in which the\nelements of force or fraud are not present, should not be brought within\nits range. This ideal, it is true, cannot be fully attained. The\nlegislator must take into account the strong pressure of public opinion.\nIt is sometimes true that a penal law may arrest, restrict, or prevent\nthe revival of some private vice without producing any countervailing\nevil. But the presumption is against all laws which punish the voluntary\nacts of adult men when those acts injure no one except themselves. The\nsocial censure, or the judgment of opinion, rightly extends much\nfurther, though it is often based on very imperfect knowledge or\nrealisation. It is probable that, on the whole, opinion judges too\nseverely the crimes of passion and of drink, as well as those which\nspring from the pressure of great poverty and are accompanied by great\nignorance. The causes of domestic anarchy are usually of such an\nintimate nature and involve so many unknown or imperfectly realised\nelements of aggravation or palliation that in most cases the less men\nattempt to judge them the better. On the other hand, public opinion is\nusually far too lenient in judging crimes of ambition, cupidity, envy,\nmalevolence, and callous selfishness; the crimes of ill-gotten and\nill-used wealth, especially in the many cases in which those crimes are\nunpunished by law.\n\nIt is a mere commonplace of morals that in the path of evil it is the\nfirst step that costs the most. The shame, the repugnance, and the\nremorse which attend the first crime speedily fade, and on every\nrepetition the habit of evil grows stronger. A process of the same kind\npasses over our judgments. Few things are more curious than to observe\nhow the eye accommodates itself to a new fashion of dress, however\nunbecoming; how speedily men, or at least women, will adopt a new and\nartificial standard and instinctively and unconsciously admire or blame\naccording to this standard and not according to any genuine sense of\nbeauty or the reverse. Few persons, however pure may be their natural\ntaste, can live long amid vulgar and vulgarising surroundings without\nlosing something of the delicacy of their taste and learning to\naccept--if not with pleasure, at least with acquiescence--things from\nwhich under other circumstances they would have recoiled. In the same\nway, both individuals and societies accommodate themselves but too\nreadily to lower moral levels, and a constant vigilance is needed to\ndetect the forms or directions in which individual and national\ncharacter insensibly deteriorate.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[23] See Ribot, _Les Maladies de la Volont\u00e9_, pp. 92, 116-119.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n\nIt is impossible for a physician to prescribe a rational regimen for a\npatient unless he has formed some clear conception of the nature of his\nconstitution and of the morbid influences to which it is inclined; and\nin judging the wisdom of various proposals for the management of\ncharacter we are at once met by the initial controversy about the\ngoodness or the depravity of human nature. It is a subject on which\nextreme exaggerations have prevailed. The school of Rousseau, which\ndominated on the Continent in the last half of the eighteenth century,\nrepresented mankind as a being who comes into existence essentially\ngood, and it attributed all the moral evils of the world, not to any\ninnate tendencies to vice, but to superstition, vicious institutions,\nmisleading education, a badly organised society. It is an obvious\ncriticism that if human nature had been as good as such writers\nimagined, these corrupt and corrupting influences could never have grown\nup, or at least could never have obtained a controlling influence, and\nthis philosophy became greatly discredited when the French Revolution,\nwhich it did so much to produce, ended in the unspeakable horrors of the\nReign of Terror and in the gigantic carnage of the Napoleonic wars. On\nthe other hand, there are large schools of theologians who represent man\nas utterly and fundamentally depraved, 'born in corruption, inclined to\nevil, incapable by himself of doing good;' totally wrecked and ruined\nas a moral being by the catastrophe in Eden. There are also moral\nphilosophers--usually very unconnected with theology--who deny or\nexplain away all unselfish elements in human nature, represent man as\nsimply governed by self-interest, and maintain that the whole art of\neducation and government consists of a judicious arrangement of selfish\nmotives, making the interests of the individual coincident with those of\nhis neighbours. It is not too much to say that Society never could have\nsubsisted if this view of human nature had been a just one. The world\nwould have been like a cage-full of wild beasts, and mankind would have\nsoon perished in constant internecine war.\n\nIt is indeed one of the plainest facts of human nature that such a view\nof mankind is an untrue one. Jealousy, envy, animosities and selfishness\nno doubt play a great part in life and disguise themselves under many\nspecious forms, and the cynical moralist was not wholly wrong when he\ndeclared that 'Virtue would not go so far if Vanity did not keep her\ncompany,' and that not only our crimes but even many of what are deemed\nour best acts may be traced to selfish motives. But he must have had a\nstrangely unfortunate experience of the world who does not recognise the\nenormous exaggeration of the pictures of human nature that are conveyed\nin some of the maxims of La Rochefoucauld and Schopenhauer. They tell us\nthat friendship is a mere exchange of interests in which each man only\nseeks to gain something from the other; that most women are only pure\nbecause they are untempted and regret that the temptation does not come;\nthat if we acknowledge some faults it is in order to persuade ourselves\nthat we have no greater ones, or in order, by our confession, to regain\nthe good opinion of our neighbours; that if we praise another it is\nmerely that we may ourselves in turn be praised; that the tears we shed\nover a deathbed, if they are not hypocritical tears intended only to\nimpress our neighbours, are only due to our conviction that we have\nourselves lost a source of pleasure or of gain; that envy so\npredominates in the world that it is only men of inferior intellect or\nwomen of inferior beauty who are sincerely liked by those about them;\nthat all virtue is an egotistic calculation, conscious or unconscious.\n\nSuch views are at least as far removed from truth as the roseate\npictures of Rousseau and St. Pierre. No one can look with an unjaundiced\neye upon the world without perceiving the enormous amount of\ndisinterested, self-sacrificing benevolence that pervades it; the\ncountless lives that are spent not only harmlessly and inoffensively but\nalso in the constant discharge of duties; in constant and often painful\nlabour for the good of others. The better section of the Utilitarian\nschool has fully recognised the truth that human nature is so\nconstituted that a great proportion of its enjoyment depends on\nsympathy; or, in other words, on the power we possess of entering into\nand sharing the happiness of others. The spectacle of suffering\nnaturally elicits compassion. Kindness naturally produces gratitude. The\nsympathies of men naturally move on the side of the good rather than of\nthe bad. This is true not only of the things that immediately concern\nus, but also in the perfectly disinterested judgments we form of the\nevents of history or of the characters in fiction and poetry. Great\nexhibitions of heroism and self-sacrifice touch a genuine chord of\nenthusiasm. The affections of the domestic circle are the rule and not\nthe exception; patriotism can elicit great outbursts of purely unselfish\ngenerosity and induce multitudes to risk or sacrifice their lives for\ncauses which are quite other than their own selfish interests. Human\nnature indeed has its moral as well as its physical needs, and naturally\nand instinctively seeks some object of interest and enthusiasm outside\nitself.\n\nIf we look again into the vice and sin that undoubtedly disfigure the\nworld we shall find much reason to believe that what is exceptional in\nhuman nature is not the evil tendency but the restraining conscience,\nand that it is chiefly the weakness of the distinctively human quality\nthat is the origin of the evil. It is impossible indeed, with the\nknowledge we now possess, to deny to animals some measure both of reason\nand of the moral sense. In addition to the higher instincts of parental\naffection and devotion which are so clearly developed we find among some\nanimals undoubted signs of remorse, gratitude, affection,\nself-sacrifice. Even the point of honour which attaches shame to some\nthings and pride to others may be clearly distinguished. No one who has\nwatched the more intelligent dog can question this, and many will\nmaintain that in some animals, though both good and bad qualities are\nless widely developed than in man, the proportion of the good to the\nevil is more favourable in the animal than in the man. At the same time\nin the animal world desire is usually followed without any other\nrestraint than fear, while in man it is largely though no doubt very\nimperfectly limited by moral self-control. Most crimes spring not from\nanything wrong in the original and primal desire but from the\nimperfection of this higher, distinct or superadded element in our\nnature. The crimes of dishonesty and envy, when duly analysed, have at\ntheir basis simply a desire for the desirable--a natural and inevitable\nfeeling. What is absent is the restraint which makes men refrain from\ntaking or trying to take desirable things that belong to another.\nSensual faults spring from a perfectly natural impulse, but the\nrestraint which confines the action of that impulse to defined\ncircumstances is wanting. Much, too, of the insensibility and hardness\nof the world is due to a simple want of imagination which prevents us\nfrom adequately realising the sufferings of others. The predatory,\nenvious and ferocious feelings that disturb mankind operate unrestrained\nthrough the animal world, though man's superior intelligence gives his\ndesires a special character and a greatly increased scope, and\nintroduces them into spheres inconceivable to the animal. Immoderate and\nuncontrolled desires are the root of most human crimes, but at the same\ntime the self-restraint that limits desire, or self-seeking, by the\nrights of others, seems to be mainly, though not wholly, the prerogative\nof man.\n\nConsiderations of this kind are sufficient to remedy the extreme\nexaggeration of human corruption that may often be heard, but they are\nnot inconsistent with the truth that human nature is so far depraved\nthat it can never be safely left to develop unimpeded without strong\nlegal and social restraint. It is not necessary to seek examples of its\ndepravity within the precincts of a prison or in the many instances\nthat may be found outside the criminal population of morbid moral taints\nwhich are often as clearly marked as physical disease. On a large scale\nand in the actions of great bodies of men the melancholy truth is\nabundantly displayed. On the whole Christianity has been far more\nsuccessful in influencing individuals than societies. The mere spectacle\nof a battle-field with the appalling mass of hideous suffering\ndeliberately and ingeniously inflicted by man upon man should be\nsufficient to scatter all idyllic pictures of human nature. It was once\nthe custom of a large school of writers to attribute unjust wars solely\nto the rulers of the world, who for their own selfish ambitions\nremorselessly sacrificed the lives of tens of thousands of their\nsubjects. Their guilt has been very great, but they would never have\npursued the course of ambitious conquest if the applause of nations had\nnot followed and encouraged them, and there are no signs that democracy,\nwhich has enthroned the masses, has any real tendency to diminish war.\n\nIn modern times the danger of war lies less in the intrigues of\nstatesmen than in deeply seated international jealousies and\nantipathies; in sudden, volcanic outbursts of popular passion. After\neighteen hundred years' profession of the creed of peace, Christendom is\nan armed camp. Never, or hardly ever, in times of peace had the mere\npreparations of war absorbed so large a proportion of its population and\nresources, and very seldom has so large an amount of its ability been\nmainly employed in inventing and in perfecting instruments of\ndestruction. Those who will look on the world without illusion will be\ncompelled to admit that the chief guarantees for its peace are to be\nfound much less in moral than in purely selfish motives. The financial\nembarrassments of the great nations; their profound distrust of one\nanother; the vast cost of modern war; the gigantic commercial disasters\nit inevitably entails; the extreme uncertainty of its issue; the utter\nruin that may follow defeat--these are the real influences that restrain\nthe tiger passions and the avaricious cravings of mankind. It is also\none of the advantages that accompany the many evils of universal\nservice, that great citizen armies who in time of war are drawn from\ntheir homes, their families, and their peaceful occupations have not the\nsame thirst for battle that grows up among purely professional soldiers,\nvoluntarily enlisted and making a military life their whole career. Yet,\nin spite of all this, what trust could be placed in the forbearance of\nChristian nations if the path of aggression was at once easy, lucrative\nand safe? The judgments of nations in dealing with the aggressions of\ntheir neighbours are, it is true, very different from those which they\nform of aggressions by their own statesmen or for their own benefit. But\nno great nation is blameless, and there is probably no nation that could\nnot speedily catch the infection of the warlike spirit if a conqueror\nand a few splendid victories obscured, as they nearly always do, the\nmoral issues of the contest.\n\nWar, it is true, is not always or wholly evil. Sometimes it is\njustifiable and necessary. Sometimes it is professedly and in part\nreally due to some strong wave of philanthropic feeling produced by\ngreat acts of wrong, though of all forms of philanthropy it is that\nwhich most naturally defeats itself. Even when unjustifiable, it calls\ninto action splendid qualities of courage, self-sacrifice, and\nendurance which cast a dazzling and deceptive glamour over its horrors\nand its criminality. It appeals too, beyond all other things, to that\ncraving for excitement, adventure, and danger which is an essential and\nimperious element in human nature, and which, while it is in itself\nneither a virtue nor a vice, blends powerfully with some of the best as\nwell as with some of the worst actions of mankind. It is indeed a\nstrange thing to observe how many men in every age have been ready to\nrisk or sacrifice their lives for causes which they have never clearly\nunderstood and which they would find it difficult in plain words to\ndescribe.\n\nBut the amount of pure and almost spontaneous malevolence in the world\nis probably far greater than we at first imagine. In public life the\nworkings of this side of human nature are at once disclosed and\nmagnified, like the figures thrown by a magic lantern on a screen, to a\nscale which it is impossible to overlook. No one, for example, can study\nthe anonymous press without perceiving how large a part of it is\nemployed systematically, persistently and deliberately in fostering\nclass, or race, or international hatreds, and often in circulating\nfalsehoods to attain this end. Many newspapers notoriously depend for\ntheir existence on such appeals, and more than any other instruments\nthey inflame and perpetuate those permanent animosities which most\nendanger the peace of mankind. The fact that such newspapers are\nbecoming in many countries the main and almost exclusive reading of the\npoor forms the most serious deduction from the value of popular\neducation. How many books have attained popularity, how many seats in\nParliament have been won, how many posts of influence and profit have\nbeen attained, how many party victories have been achieved, by appealing\nto such passions! Often they disguise themselves under the lofty names\nof patriotism and nationality, and men whose whole lives have been spent\nin sowing class hatreds and dividing kindred nations may be found\nmasquerading under the name of patriots, and have played no small part\non the stage of politics. The deep-seated sedition, the fierce class and\nnational hatreds that run through European life would have a very\ndifferent intensity from what they now unfortunately have if they had\nnot been artificially stimulated and fostered through purely selfish\nmotives by demagogues, political adventurers and public writers.\n\nSome of the very worst acts of which man can be guilty are acts which\nare commonly untouched by law and only faintly censured by opinion.\nPolitical crimes which a false and sickly sentiment so readily condones\nare conspicuous among them. Men who have been gambling for wealth and\npower with the lives and fortunes of multitudes; men who for their own\npersonal ambition are prepared to sacrifice the most vital interests of\ntheir country; men who in time of great national danger and excitement\ndeliberately launch falsehood after falsehood in the public press in the\nwell-founded conviction that they will do their evil work before they\ncan be contradicted, may be met shameless, and almost uncensured, in\nParliaments and drawing-rooms. The amount of false statement in the\nworld which cannot be attributed to mere carelessness, inaccuracy, or\nexaggeration, but which is plainly both deliberate and malevolent, can\nhardly be overrated. Sometimes it is due to a mere desire to create a\nlucrative sensation, or to gratify a personal dislike, or even to an\nunprovoked malevolence which takes pleasure in inflicting pain.\n\nVery often it is intended for purposes of stockjobbing. The financial\nworld is percolated with it. It is the common method of raising or\ndepreciating securities, attracting investors, preying upon the ignorant\nand credulous, and enabling dishonest men to rise rapidly to fortune.\nWhen the prospect of speedy wealth is in sight, there are always numbers\nwho are perfectly prepared to pursue courses involving the utter ruin of\nmultitudes, endangering the most serious international interests,\nperhaps bringing down upon the world all the calamities of war. It is no\ndoubt true that such men are only a minority, though it is less certain\nthat they would be a minority if the opportunity of obtaining sudden\nriches by immoral means was open to all, and it is no small minority who\nare accustomed to condone these crimes when they have succeeded. It is\nmuch to be questioned whether the greatest criminals are to be found\nwithin the walls of prisons. Dishonesty on a small scale nearly always\nfinds its punishment. Dishonesty on a gigantic scale continually\nescapes. The pickpocket and the burglar seldom fail to meet with their\nmerited punishment, but in the management of companies, in the great\nfields of industrial enterprise and speculation, gigantic fortunes are\nacquired by the ruin of multitudes and by methods which, though they\nevade legal penalties, are essentially fraudulent. In the majority of\ncases these crimes are perpetrated by educated men who are in possession\nof all the necessaries, of most of the comforts, and of many of the\nluxuries of life, and some of the worst of them are powerfully favoured\nby the conditions of modern civilisation. There is no greater scandal or\nmoral evil in our time than the readiness with which public opinion\nexcuses them, and the influence and social position it accords to mere\nwealth, even when it has been acquired by notorious dishonesty or when\nit is expended with absolute selfishness or in ways that are positively\ndemoralising. In many respects the moral progress of mankind seems to me\nincontestable, but it is extremely doubtful whether in this respect\nsocial morality, especially in England and America, has not seriously\nretrograded.\n\nIn truth, while it is a gross libel upon human nature to deny the vast\namount of genuine kindness, self-sacrifice and even heroism that exists\nin the world, it is equally idle to deny the deplorable weakness of\nself-restraint, the great force and the widespread influence of purely\nevil passions in the affairs of men. The distrust of human character\nwhich the experience of life tends to produce is one great cause of the\nConservatism which so commonly strengthens with age. It is more and more\nfelt that all the restraints of law, custom, and religion are essential\nto hold together in peaceful co-operation the elements of society, and\nmen learn to look with increasing tolerance on both institutions and\nopinions which cannot stand the test of pure reason and may be largely\nmixed with delusions if only they deepen the better habits and give an\nadditional strength to moral restraints. They learn also to appreciate\nthe danger of pitching their ideals too high, and endeavouring to\nenforce lines of conduct greatly above the average level of human\ngoodness. Such attempts, when they take the form of coercive action,\nseldom fail to produce a recoil which is very detrimental to morals. In\nthis, as in all other spheres, the importance of compromise in practical\nlife is one of the great lessons which experience teaches.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n\nThe phrase Moral Compromise has an evil sound, and it opens out\nquestions of practical ethics which are very difficult and very\ndangerous, but they are questions with which, consciously or\nunconsciously, every one is obliged to deal. The contrasts between the\nrigidity of theological formul\u00e6 and actual life are on this subject very\ngreat, though in practice, and by the many ingenious subtleties that\nconstitute the science of casuistry, many theologians have attempted to\nevade them. A striking passage from the pen of Cardinal Newman will\nbring these contrasts into the clearest light. 'The Church holds,' he\nwrites, 'that it were better for sun and moon to drop from heaven, for\nthe earth to fail, and for all the many millions who are upon it to die\nof starvation in extremest agony, so far as temporal affliction goes,\nthan that one soul, I will not say should be lost, but should commit one\nsingle venial sin, should tell one wilful untruth, though it harmed no\none, or steal one poor farthing without excuse.'[24]\n\nIt is certainly no exaggeration to say that such a doctrine would lead\nto consequences absolutely incompatible with any life outside a\nhermitage or a monastery. It would strike at the root of all\ncivilisation, and although many may be prepared to give it their formal\nassent, no human being actually believes it with the kind of belief\nthat becomes a guiding influence in life. I have dwelt on this subject\nin another book, and may here repeat a few lines which I then wrote. If\n'an undoubted sin, even the most trivial, is a thing in its essence and\nits consequences so unspeakably dreadful that rather than it should be\ncommitted it would be better that any amount of calamity which did not\nbring with it sin should be endured, even that the whole human race\nshould perish in agonies, it is manifest that the supreme object of\nhumanity should be sinlessness, and it is equally manifest that the\nmeans to this end is the absolute suppression of the desires. To expand\nthe circle of wants is necessarily to multiply temptations and therefore\nto increase the number of sins.' No material and intellectual\nadvantages, no increase of human happiness, no mitigation of the\nsuffering or dreariness of human life can, according to this theory, be\nother than an evil if it adds even in the smallest degree or in the most\nincidental manner to the sins that are committed. 'A sovereign, when\ncalculating the consequences of a war, should reflect that a single sin\noccasioned by that war, a single blasphemy of a wounded soldier, the\nrobbery of a single hen-coop, the violation of the purity of a single\nwoman is a greater calamity than the ruin of the entire commerce of his\nnation, the loss of her most precious provinces, the destruction of all\nher power. He must believe that the evil of the increase of unchastity\nwhich invariably results from the formation of an army is an\nimmeasurably greater calamity than any national or political disasters\nthat army can possibly avert. He must believe that the most fearful\nplagues and famines that desolate his land should be regarded as a\nmatter of rejoicing if they have but the feeblest and most transient\ninfluence in repressing vice. He must believe that if the agglomeration\nof his people in great cities adds but one to the number of their sins,\nno possible intellectual or material advantages can prevent the\nconstruction of cities being a fearful calamity. According to this\nprinciple every elaboration of life, every amusement that brings\nmultitudes together, almost every art, every accession of wealth, that\nawakens or stimulates desires is an evil, for all these become the\nsources of some sins, and their advantages are for the most part purely\nterrestrial.'\n\nConsiderations of this kind, if duly realised, bring out clearly the\ninsincerity and the unreality of much of our professed belief. Hardly\nany sane man would desire to suppress Bank Holidays simply because they\nare the occasion of a considerable number of cases of drunkenness which\nwould not otherwise have taken place. No humane legislator would\nhesitate to suppress them if they produced an equal number of deaths or\nother great physical calamities. This manner of measuring the relative\nimportance of things is not incompatible with a general acknowledgment\nof the fact that there are many amusements which produce an amount of\nmoral evil that overbalances their advantages as sources of pleasure, or\nof the great truth that the moral is the higher and ought to be the\nruling part of our being. But the realities of life cannot be measured\nby rigid theological formul\u00e6. Life is a scene in which different kinds\nof interest not only blend but also modify and in some degree\ncounterbalance one another, and it can only be carried on by constant\ncompromises in which the lines of definition are seldom very clearly\nmarked, and in which even the highest interest must not altogether\nabsorb or override the others. We have to deal with good principles that\ncannot be pushed to their full logical results; with varying standards\nwhich cannot be brought under inflexible law.\n\nTake, for example, the many untruths which the conventional courtesies\nof Society prescribe. Some of these are so purely matter of phraseology\nthat they deceive no one. Others chiefly serve the purpose of courteous\nconcealment, as when they enable us to refuse a request or to decline an\ninvitation or a visit without disclosing whether disinclination or\ninability is the cause. Then there are falsehoods for useful purposes.\nFew men would shrink from a falsehood which was the only means of saving\na patient from a shock which would probably produce his death. No one, I\nsuppose, would hesitate to deceive a criminal if by no other means he\ncould prevent him from accomplishing a crime. There are also cases of\nthe suppression of what we believe to be true, and of tacit or open\nacquiescence in what we believe to be false, when a full and truthful\ndisclosure of our own beliefs might destroy the happiness of others, or\nsubvert beliefs which are plainly necessary for their moral well-being.\nCases of this kind will continually occur in life, and a good man who\ndeals with each case as it arises will probably find no great difficulty\nin steering his course. But the vague and fluctuating lines of moral\ncompromise cannot without grave moral danger be reduced to fixed rules\nto be carried out to their full logical consequences. The immortal pages\nof Pascal are sufficient to show to what extremes of immorality the\ndoctrine that the end justifies the means has been pushed by the\ncasuists of the Church of which Cardinal Newman was so great an\nornament.\n\nA large and difficult field of moral compromise is opened out in the\ncase of war, which necessarily involves a complete suspension of great\nportions of the moral law. This is not merely the case in unjust wars;\nit applies also, though in a less degree, to those which are most\nnecessary and most righteous. War is not, and never can be, a mere\npassionless discharge of a painful duty. It is in its essence, and it is\na main condition of its success, to kindle into fierce exercise among\ngreat masses of men the destructive and combative passions--passions as\nfierce and as malevolent as that with which the hound hunts the fox to\nits death or the tiger springs upon its prey. Destruction is one of its\nchief ends. Deception is one of its chief means, and one of the great\narts of skilful generalship is to deceive in order to destroy. Whatever\nother elements may mingle with and dignify war, this at least is never\nabsent; and however reluctantly men may enter into war, however\nconscientiously they may endeavour to avoid it, they must know that when\nthe scene of carnage has once opened these things must be not only\naccepted and condoned, but stimulated, encouraged and applauded. It\nwould be difficult to conceive a disposition more remote from the morals\nof ordinary life, not to speak of Christian ideals, than that with which\nthe soldiers most animated with the fire and passion that lead to\nvictory rush forward to bayonet the foe.\n\nWar indeed, which is absolutely indispensable in our present stage of\ncivilisation, has its own morals which are very different from those of\npeaceful life. Yet there are few fields in which, through the stress of\nmoral motives, greater changes have been effected. In the early stages\nof human history it was simply a question of power. There was no\ndistinction between piracy and regular war, and incursions into a\nneighbouring State without provocation and with the sole purpose of\nplunder brought with them no moral blame. To carry the inhabitants of a\nconquered country into slavery; to slaughter the whole population of a\nbesieged town; to destroy over vast tracts every town, village and\nhouse, and to put to death every prisoner, were among the ordinary\nincidents of war. These things were done without reproach in the best\nperiods of Greek and Roman civilisation. In many cases neither age nor\nsex was spared![25] In Rome the conquered general was strangled or\nstarved to death in the Mamertine prison. Tens of thousands of captives\nwere condemned to perish in gladiatorial shows. Julius C\u00e6sar, whose\nclemency has been so greatly extolled, 'executed the whole senate of the\nVeneti; permitted a massacre of the Usipetes and Tencteri; sold as\nslaves 40,000 natives of Genabum; and cut off the right hands of all the\nbrave men whose only crime was that they held to the last against him\ntheir town of Uxellodunum.'[26] No slaughter in history is more terrible\nthan that which took place at Jerusalem under the general who was\ncalled 'the delight of the human race,' and when the last spasm of\nresistance had ceased, Titus sent Jewish captives, both male and female,\nby thousands to the provincial amphitheatres to be devoured by wild\nbeasts or slaughtered as gladiators.\n\nYet from a very early period lines were drawn forming a clear though\nsomewhat arbitrary code of military morals. In Greece a broad\ndistinction was made between wars with Greek States and with Barbarians,\nthe latter being regarded as almost outside the pale of moral\nconsideration. It is a distinction which in reality was not very widely\ndifferent from that which Christian nations have in practice continually\nmade between wars within the borders of Christendom, and wars with\nsavage or pagan nations. Greek, and perhaps still more Roman, moralists\nhave written much on the just causes of war. Many of them condemn all\nunjust, aggressive, or even unnecessary wars. Some of them insist on the\nduty of States always endeavouring by conferences, or even by\narbitration, to avert war, and although these precepts, like the\ncorresponding precepts of Christian divines, were often violated, they\nwere certainly not without some influence on affairs. It is probably not\ntoo much to say that in this respect Roman wars do not compare\nunfavourably with those of Christian periods. It is remarkable how large\na part of the best Christian works on the ethics of war is based on the\nprecepts of pagan moralists, and although in antiquity as in modern\ntimes the real cause of war was often very different from the pretexts,\nthe sense of justice in war was as clearly marked in Roman as in most\nChristian periods.[27]\n\nGreat stress was laid upon the duty of a formal declaration of war\npreceding hostilities. Polybius mentions the reprobation that was\nattached in Greece to the \u00c6tolians for having neglected this custom. It\nwas universal in Roman times, and during the medi\u00e6val period the custom\nof sending a challenge to the hostile power was carefully observed. In\nmodern times formal declaration of war has fallen greatly into\ndesuetude. The hostilities between England and Spain under Elizabeth,\nand the invasion of Germany by Gustavus Adolphus, were begun without any\nsuch declaration, and there have been numerous instances in later\ntimes.[28]\n\nThe treatment of prisoners has been profoundly modified. Quarter, it is\ntrue, has been very often refused in modern wars to rebels, to soldiers\nin mutiny, to revolted slaves, to savages who themselves give no\nquarter. It has been often--perhaps generally--refused to irregular\nsoldiers like the French Francs-tireurs in the War of 1870, who without\nuniforms endeavoured to defend their homes against invasion. It was long\nrefused to soldiers who, having rejected terms of surrender, continued\nto defend an indefensible place, but this severity during the last three\ncenturies has been generally condemned. But, on the whole, the treatment\nof the conquered soldier has steadily improved. At one time he was\nkilled. At another he was preserved as a slave. Then he was permitted to\nfree himself by payment of a ransom; now he is simply kept in custody\ntill he is exchanged or released on parole, or till the termination of\nthe war. In the latter half of the present century many elaborate and\nbeneficent regulations for the preservation of hospitals and the good\ntreatment of the wounded have been sanctioned by international\nagreement. The distinction between the civil population and combatants\nhas been increasingly observed. As a general rule non-combatants, if\nthey do not obstruct the enemy, are subjected to no further injury than\nthat of paying war contributions and in other ways providing for the\nsubsistence of the invaders. The wanton destruction of private property\nhas been more and more avoided. Such an act as the devastation of the\nPalatinate under Louis XIV. would now in a European war be universally\ncondemned, though the wholesale destruction of villages in our own\nIndian frontier wars and the methods employed on both sides in the civil\nwar in Cuba appear to have borne much resemblance to it. In the\ntreatment of merchants the rule of reciprocity which was laid down in\nMagna Charta is largely observed, and the Conference of Brussels in 1874\npronounced it to be contrary to the laws of war to bombard an\nunfortified town. The great Civil War in America probably contributed\nnot a little to raise the standard of humanity in war; for while few\nlong wars have been fought with such determination or at the cost of so\nmany lives, very few have been conducted with such a scrupulous\nabstinence from acts of wanton barbarity.\n\nMany restrictive rules also have been accepted tending in a small degree\nto mitigate the actual operations of war, and they have had some real\ninfluence in this direction, though it is not possible to justify the\nmilitary code on any clear principle either of ethics or logic.\nAssassination and the encouragement of assassination; the use of poison\nor poisoned weapons; the violation of parole; the deceptive use of a\nflag of truce or of the red cross; the slaughter of the wounded; the\ninfringement of terms of surrender or of other distinct agreements, are\nabsolutely forbidden, and in 1868 the Representatives of the European\nPowers assembled at St. Petersburg agreed to abolish the use in war of\nexplosive bullets below the weight of 14 ounces, and to forbid the\npropagation in an enemy's country of contagious disease as an instrument\nof war. It laid down the general principle that the object of war is\nconfined to disabling the enemy, and that weapons calculated to inflict\nunnecessary suffering, beyond what is required for attaining that\nobject, should be prohibited. At the same time explosive shells,\nconcealed mines, torpedoes and ambuscades lie fully within the permitted\nagencies of war. Starvation may be employed, and the cutting off of the\nsupply of water, or the destruction of that supply by mixing with it\nsomething not absolutely poisonous which renders it undrinkable. It is\nallowable to deceive an enemy by fabricated despatches purporting to\ncome from his own side; by tampering with telegraph messages; by\nspreading false intelligence in newspapers; by sending pretended spies\nand deserters to give him untrue reports of the numbers or movements of\nthe troops; by employing false signals to lure him into an ambuscade. On\nthe use of the flag and uniform of an enemy for purposes of deception\nthere has been some controversy, but it is supported by high military\nauthority.[29] The use of spies is fully authorised, but the spy, if\ndiscovered, is excluded from the rights of war and liable to an\nignominious death.\n\nApart from the questions I have discussed there is another class of\nquestions connected with war which present great difficulty. It is the\nright of men to abdicate their private judgment by entering into the\nmilitary profession. In small nations this question is not of much\nimportance, for in them wars are of very rare occurrence and are usually\nfor self-defence. In a great empire it is wholly different. Hardly any\none will be so confident of the virtue of his rulers as to believe that\nevery war which his country wages in every part of its dominions, with\nuncivilised as well as civilised populations, is just and necessary, and\nit is certainly _prim\u00e2 facie_ not in accordance with an ideal morality\nthat men should bind themselves absolutely for life or for a term of\nyears to kill without question, at the command of their superiors, those\nwho have personally done them no wrong. Yet this unquestioning obedience\nis the very essence of military discipline, and without it the\nefficiency of armies and the safety of nations would be hopelessly\ndestroyed. It is necessary to the great interests of society, and\ntherefore it is maintained, strengthened by the obligation of an oath\nand still more efficaciously by a code of honour which is one of the\nstrongest binding influences by which men can be governed.\n\nIt is not, however, altogether absolute, and a variety of distinctions\nand compromises have been made. There is a difference between the man\nwho enlists in the army of his own country and a man who enlists in\nforeign service either permanently or for the duration of a single war.\nIf a man unnecessarily takes an active part in a struggle between two\ncountries other than his own, it may at least be demanded that he should\nbe actuated, not by a mere spirit of adventure or personal ambition, but\nby a strong and reasoned conviction that the cause which he is\nsupporting is a righteous one. The conduct of a man who enlists in a\nforeign army which may possibly be used against his own country, and who\nat least binds himself to obey absolutely chiefs who have no natural\nauthority over him, has been much condemned, but even here special\ncircumstances must be taken into account. Few persons I suppose would\nseriously blame the Irish Catholics of the eighteenth century who filled\nthe armies of France, Austria, Spain and Naples at a time when\ndisqualifying laws excluded them, on account of their religion, from the\nBritish army and from almost every path of ambition at home. There is\nalso perhaps some distinction between the position of a soldier who is\nobliged to serve, and a soldier in a country where enlisting is\nvoluntary, and also between the position of an officer who can throw up\nhis commission without infringing the law, and a private who cannot\nabandon his flag without committing a grave legal offence. At the\nbeginning of the war of the American Revolution some English officers\nleft the army rather than serve in a cause which they believed to be\nunrighteous. It was in their full power to do so, but probably none of\nthem would have desired that private soldiers who had no legal choice in\nthe matter should have followed their example and become deserters from\nthe ranks.\n\nThere are, however, extreme cases in which the violation of the military\noath and disobedience to military discipline are justified. More than\nonce in French history an usurper or his agent has ordered soldiers to\ncoerce or fire upon the representatives of the nation. In such cases it\nhas been said 'the conscience of the soldier is the liberty of the\npeople,' and the refusal of private soldiers to obey a plainly illegal\norder will be generally though not universally applauded. In all such\ncases, however, there is much obscurity and inconsistency of judgment.\nThe rule that the moral responsibility falls exclusively on the person\nwho gives the order, and that the private has no voice or\nresponsibility, will even here be maintained by some. Ought a private\nsoldier to have refused to take part in such an execution as that of the\nDuc d'Enghien, or in the _Coup d'\u00c9tat_ of Napoleon III.? Ought he to\nrefuse to fire on a mob if he doubts the legality of the order of his\nsuperior officer? In such cases there is sometimes a direct conflict\nbetween the civil and the military law, and there have been instances in\nwhich a soldier might be punishable before the first for acts which were\nabsolutely enforced by the second.[30]\n\nPerhaps the strongest case of justifiable disobedience that can be\nalleged is when a soldier is ordered to do something which involves\napostasy from his faith, though even here it would be difficult to show,\nin the light of pure reason, that this is a graver thing than to kill\ninnocent men in an unrighteous cause. In the Early Church there were\nsome soldier martyrs who suffered death because they believed it\ninconsistent with their faith to bear arms, or because they were asked\nto do some acts which savoured of idolatry. The story of the Theb\u00e6an\nlegion which was said to have been martyred under Diocletian rests on no\ntrustworthy authority, but it illustrates the feeling of the Church on\nthe subject. Josephus tells how Jewish soldiers refused in spite of all\npunishments to bring earth with the other soldiers for the reparation of\nthe Temple of Belus at Babylon. Conflicts between military duty and\nreligious duty must have not unfrequently arisen during the religious\nwars of the sixteenth century, and in our own century and in our own\narmy there have been instances of soldiers refusing through religious\nmotives to escort or protect idolatrous processions in India, or to\npresent arms in Catholic countries when the Host was passing. Quaker\nopinions about war are absolutely inconsistent with the compulsory\nservice which prevails in nearly all European countries, and religious\nscruples about conscription have been among the motives that have\nbrought the Russian Raskolniks into collision with the civil power.\n\nOne of the most serious instances of the collision of duties in our time\nis furnished by the great Sepoy Mutiny of 1857. From the days of Clive,\nSepoy soldiers have served under the British flag with an admirable\nfidelity, and the Mutiny of Vellore in 1806, which was the one\nexception, was due, like that of 1857, to a belief that the British\nGovernment were interfering with their faith. Few things in the history\nof the great Mutiny are so touching as the profound belief of the\nEnglish commanders of the Sepoy regiments in the unalterable loyalty of\ntheir soldiers. Many of them lost their lives through this belief,\nrefusing even to the last moment and in spite of all evidence to abandon\nit. They were deceived, and, in the fierce outburst of indignation that\nfollowed, the conduct of the Sepoy soldiers was branded as the blackest\nand the most unprovoked treachery.\n\nYet assuredly no charge was less true. Agitators for their own selfish\npurposes had indeed acted upon the troops, but recent researches have\nfully proved that the real as well as the ostensible cause of the Mutiny\nwas the greased cartridges. It was believed that the cartridges which\nhad been recently issued for the Sepoy regiments were smeared with a\nmixture of cow's fat and pig's fat, one of these ingredients being\nutterly impure in the eyes of the Hindoo, and the other in the eyes of\nthe Mussulman. To bite these cartridges would destroy the caste of the\nHindoo and carry with it the loss of everything that was most dear and\nmost sacred to him both in this world and in the next. In the eyes both\nof the Moslem and the Hindoo it was the gravest and the most irreparable\nof crimes, destroying all hopes in a future world, and yet this crime,\nin their belief, was imposed upon them as a matter of military duty by\ntheir officers. It was as if the Puritan soldiers of the seventeenth\ncentury had been ordered by their commanders to abjure their hopes of\nsalvation and to repudiate and insult the Christian faith.\n\nIt is true that the existence of these obnoxious ingredients in the new\ncartridges was solemnly denied, but the sincerity of the Sepoy belief is\nincontestable, and General Anson, the commander-in-chief, having\nexamined the cartridges, was compelled to admit that it was very\nplausible.[31] 'I am not so much surprised,' he wrote to Lord Canning,\n'at their objections to the cartridges, having seen them. I had no idea\nthey contained, or rather are smeared with such a quantity of grease,\nwhich looks exactly like fat. After ramming down the ball, the muzzle of\nthe musket is covered with it.'\n\nUnfortunately this is not a complete statement of the case. It is a\nshameful and terrible truth that, as far as the fact was concerned, the\nSepoys were perfectly right in their belief. In the words of Lord\nRoberts, 'The recent researches of Mr. Forrest in the records of the\nGovernment of India prove that the lubricating mixture used in preparing\nthe cartridges was actually composed of the objectionable ingredients,\ncow's fat and lard, and that incredible disregard of the soldiers'\nreligious prejudices was displayed in the manufacture of these\ncartridges.'[32] This was certainly not due, as the Sepoys imagined, to\nany desire on the part of the British authorities to destroy caste or to\nprepare the way for the conversion of the Sepoys to Christianity. It was\nsimply a glaring instance of the indifference, ignorance and incapacity\ntoo often shown by British administrators in dealing with beliefs and\ntypes of character wholly unlike their own. They were unable to realise\nthat a belief which seemed to them so childish could have any depth, and\nthey accordingly produced a Mutiny that for a time shook the English\npower in India to its very foundation.\n\nThe horrors of Cawnpore--which were due to a single man--soon took away\nfrom the British public all power of sanely judging the conflict, and a\nstruggle in which no quarter was given was naturally marked by extreme\nsavageness; but in looking back upon it, English writers must\nacknowledge with humiliation that, if mutiny is ever justifiable, no\nstronger justification could be given than that of the Sepoy troops.\n\nMany of my readers will remember an exquisite little poem called 'The\nForced Recruit,' in which Mrs. Browning has described a young Venetian\nsoldier who was forced by the conscription to serve against his\nfellow-countrymen in the Austrian army at Solferino, and who advanced\ncheerfully to die by the Italian guns, holding a musket that had never\nbeen loaded in his hand. Such a figure, such a violation of military\nlaw, will claim the sympathy of all, but a very different judgment\nshould be passed upon those who, having voluntarily entered an army,\nbetray their trust and their oath in the name of patriotism. In the\nFenian movement in Ireland, one of the chief objects of the conspirators\nwas to corrupt the Irish soldiers and break down that high sense of\nmilitary honour for which in all times and in many armies the Irish\npeople have been conspicuous. 'The epidemic' [of disaffection], boasts\na writer who was much mixed in the conspiracies of those times, 'was not\nan affair of individuals, but of companies and of whole regiments. To\nattempt to impeach all the military Fenians before courts martial would\nhave been to throw England into a panic, if not to precipitate an\nappalling mutiny and invite foreign invasion.'[33]\n\nI do not quote these words as a true statement. They are, I believe, a\ngross exaggeration and a gross calumny on the Irish soldiers, nor do I\ndoubt that most, if not all, the soldiers who may have been induced over\na glass of whiskey, or through the persuasions of some cunning agitator,\nto take the Fenian oath would, if an actual conflict had arisen, have\nproved perfectly faithful soldiers of the Queen. The perversion of\nmorals, however, which looks on such violations of military duty as\npraiseworthy, has not been confined to writers of the stamp of Mr.\nO'Brien. A striking instance of it is furnished by a recent American\nbiography. Among the early Fenian conspirators was a young man named\nJohn Boyle O'Reilly. He was a genuine enthusiast, with a real vein of\nliterary talent; in the closing years of his life he won the affection\nand admiration of very honourable men, and I should certainly have no\nwish to look too harshly on youthful errors which were the result of a\nmisguided enthusiasm if they had been acknowledged as such. As a matter\nof fact, however, he began his career by an act which, according to\nevery sound principle of morality, religion, and secular honour, was in\nthe highest degree culpable. Being a sworn Fenian, he entered a regiment\nof hussars, assumed the uniform of the Queen, and took the oath of\nallegiance for the express purpose of betraying his trust and seducing\nthe soldiers of his regiment. He was detected and condemned to penal\nservitude, and he at last escaped to America, where he took an active\npart in the Fenian movement. After his death his biography was written\nin a strain of unqualified eulogy, but the biographer has honestly and\nfully disclosed the facts which I have related. This book has an\nintroduction written by Cardinal Gibbons, one of the most prominent\nCatholic divines in the United States. The reader may be curious to see\nhow the act of aggravated treachery and perjury which it revealed was\njudged by a personage who occupies all but the highest position in a\nChurch which professes to be the supreme and inspired teacher of morals.\nNot a word in this Introduction implies that O'Reilly had done any act\nfor which he should be ashamed. He is described as 'a great and good\nman,' and the only allusion to his crime is in the following terms: 'In\nyouth his heart agonises over that saddest and strangest romance in all\nhistory--the wrongs and woes of his motherland--that Niobe of the\nNations. In manhood, because he dared to wish her free, he finds himself\na doomed felon, an exiled convict, in what he calls himself the Nether\nWorld.... The Divine faith implanted in his soul in childhood flourished\nthere undyingly, pervaded his whole being with its blessed influences,\nfurnished his noblest ideals of thought and conduct.... The country of\nhis adoption vies with the land of his birth in testifying to the\nuprightness of his life.... With all these voices I blend my own, and in\ntheir name I say that the world is brighter for having possessed\nhim.'[34]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[24] Newman's _Anglican Difficulties_, p. 190.\n\n[25] See Grotius, _de Jure_, book iii. ch. iv. On the Jewish notions on\nthis subject, see Deut. ii. 34; vii. 2, 16; xx. 10-16; Psalm cxxxvii. 9;\n1 Sam. xv. 3. I have collected some additional facts on this subject in\nmy _History of European Morals_.\n\n[26] Tyrrell and Purser's _Correspondence of Cicero_, vol. v. p. xlvii.\n\n[27] See Grotius, _de Jure Belli et Pacis_.\n\n[28] Much information on this subject will be found in a remarkable\npamphlet (said to have been corrected by Pitt) called 'An Enquiry into\nthe Manner in which the different wars in Europe have commenced during\nthe last two centuries, by the Author of the History and Foundation of\nthe Law of Nations in Europe' (1805).\n\n[29] See Tovey's _Martial Law and the Custom of War_, part 2, pp. 13,\n29. A striking instance of the deceptive use of a flag occurred in 1781,\nwhen the English, having captured St. Eustatius from the Dutch, allowed\nthe Dutch flag still to float over its harbour in order that Dutch,\nFrench, Spanish and American ships which were ignorant of the capture\nmight be decoyed into the harbour and seized as prizes. Some writers on\nmilitary law maintain that this was within the rights of war.\n\n[30] See Fitzjames Stephen's _History of the Criminal Law_, i. 205.\n\n[31] Lord Roberts' _Forty-one Years in India_, i. 94.\n\n[32] _Ibid._ p. 431.\n\n[33] _Contemporary Review_, May 1897. Article by William O'Brien, 'Was\nFenianism ever Formidable?'\n\n[34] Roche's _Life of John Boyle O'Reilly_, with introduction by\nCardinal Gibbons. Since the publication of this book Cardinal Gibbons\nhas written a letter to the _Tablet_ (Dec. 2, 1899), in which he says:\n'I feel it due to myself and the interests of truth to declare that till\nI read Mr. Lecky's criticism I did not know that Mr. O'Reilly had ever\nbeen a Fenian or a British soldier, or that he had tried to seduce other\nsoldiers from their allegiance. In fact, up to this moment, I have never\nread a line of the biography for which I wrote the introduction.... My\nonly acquaintance with Mr. O'Reilly's history before he came to America\nwas the vague information I had that, for some political offence, the\nexact nature of which I did not learn, he had been exiled from his\nnative land to a penal colony, from which he afterwards escaped.'\n\nI gladly accept this assurance of Cardinal Gibbons, though I am\nsurprised that he should not have even glanced at the book which he\nintroduced, and that he should have been absolutely ignorant of the most\nconspicuous event of the life which, from early youth, he held up to\nunqualified admiration. I regret, too, that he has not taken the\nopportunity of this letter to reprobate a form of moral perversion which\nis widely spread among his Irish co-religionists, and which his own\nwords are only too likely to strengthen. It is but a short time since an\nIrish Nationalist Member of Parliament, being accused of once having\nserved the Queen as a Volunteer, justified himself by saying that he had\nonly worn the coat which was worn by Lord Edward Fitzgerald and Boyle\nO'Reilly; while another Irish Nationalist Member of Parliament, at a\npublic meeting in Dublin, and amid the cheers of his audience, expressed\nhis hope that in the South African war the Irish soldiers under the\nBritish flag would fire on the English instead of on the Boers.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\n\nThe foregoing chapter will have shown sufficiently how largely in one\ngreat and necessary profession the element of moral compromise must\nenter, and will show the nature of some of the moral difficulties that\nattend it. We find illustrations of much the same kind in the profession\nof an advocate. In the interests of the proper administration of justice\nit is of the utmost importance that every cause, however defective, and\nevery criminal, however bad, should be fully defended, and it is\ntherefore indispensable that there should be a class of men entrusted\nwith this duty. It is the business of the judge and of the jury to\ndecide on the merits of the case, but in order that they should\ndischarge this function it is necessary that the arguments on both sides\nshould be laid before them in the strongest form. The clear interest of\nsociety requires this, and a standard of professional honour and\netiquette is formed for the purpose of regulating the action of the\nadvocate. Misstatements of facts or of law; misquotations of documents;\nstrong expressions of personal opinion, and some other devices by which\nverdicts may be won, are condemned; there are cases which an honourable\nlawyer will not adopt, and there are rare cases in which, in the course\nof a trial, he will find it his duty to throw up his brief.\n\nBut necessary and honourable as the profession may be, there are sides\nof it which are far from being in accordance with an austere code of\nideal morals. It is idle to suppose that a master of the art of advocacy\nwill merely confine himself to a calm, dispassionate statement of the\nfacts and arguments of his side. He will inevitably use all his powers\nof rhetoric and persuasion to make the cause for which he holds a brief\nappear true, though he knows it to be false; he will affect a warmth\nwhich he does not feel and a conviction which he does not hold; he will\nskilfully avail himself of any mistake or omission of his opponent; of\nany technical rule that can exclude damaging evidence; of all the\nresources that legal subtlety and severe cross-examination can furnish\nto confuse dangerous issues, to obscure or minimise inconvenient facts,\nto discredit hostile witnesses. He will appeal to every prejudice that\ncan help his cause; he will for the time so completely identify himself\nwith it that he will make its success his supreme and all-absorbing\nobject; and he will hardly fail to feel some thrill of triumph if by the\nforce of ingenious and eloquent pleading he has saved the guilty from\nhis punishment or snatched a verdict in defiance of evidence.\n\nIt is not surprising that a profession which inevitably leads to such\nthings should have excited scruples among many good men. Swift very\nroughly described lawyers as 'a society of men bred from their youth in\nthe art of proving by words, multiplied for the purpose, that white is\nblack and black is white, according as they are paid.' Dr. Arnold has\nmore than once expressed his dislike, and indeed abhorrence, of the\nprofession of an advocate. It inevitably, he maintained, leads to moral\nperversion, involving, as it does, the indiscriminate defence of right\nand wrong, and in many cases the knowing suppression of truth. Macaulay,\nwho can hardly be regarded as addicted to the refinements of an\nover-fastidious morality, reviewing the professional rules that are\nrecognised in England, asks 'whether it be right that not merely\nbelieving, but knowing a statement to be true, he should do all that can\nbe done by sophistry, by rhetoric, by solemn asseveration, by indignant\nexclamation, by gesture, by play of features, by terrifying one honest\nwitness, by perplexing another, to cause a jury to think that statement\nfalse.' Bentham denounced in even stronger language the habitual method\nof 'the hireling lawyer' in cross-examining an honest but adverse\nwitness, and he declared that there is a code of morality current in\nWestminster Hall generically different from the code of ordinary life,\nand directly calculated to destroy the love of veracity and justice. On\nthe other hand, Paley recognised among falsehoods that are not lies\nbecause they deceive no one, the statement of 'an advocate asserting the\njustice or his belief of the justice of his client's cause.' Dr.\nJohnson, in reply to some objections of Boswell, argues at length, but,\nI think, with some sophistry, in favour of the profession. 'You are\nnot,' he says, 'to deceive your client with false representations of\nyour opinion. You are not to tell lies to the judge, but you need have\nno scruple about taking up a case which you believe to be bad, or\naffecting a warmth which you do not feel. You do not know your cause to\nbe bad till the judge determines it.... An argument which does not\nconvince yourself may convince the judge, and, if it does convince him,\nyou are wrong and he is right.... Everybody knows you are paid for\naffecting warmth for your client, and it is therefore properly no\ndissimulation.' Basil Montagu, in an excellent treatise on the subject,\nurges that an advocate is simply an officer assisting in the\nadministration of justice under the impression that truth is best\nelicited, and that difficulties are most effectually disentangled, by\nthe opposite statements of able men. He is an indispensable part of a\nmachine which in its net result is acting in the real interests of\ntruth, although he 'may profess feelings which he does not feel and may\nsupport a cause which he knows to be wrong,' and although his advocacy\nis 'a species of acting without an avowal that it is acting.'\n\nIt is, of course, possible to adopt the principles of the Quaker and to\ncondemn as unchristian all participation in the law courts, and although\nthe Catholic Church has never adopted this extreme, it seems to have\ninstinctively recognised some incompatibility between the profession of\nan advocate and the saintly character. Renan notices the significant\nfact that St. Yves, a saint of Brittany, appears to be the only advocate\nwho has found a place in its hagiology, and the worshippers were\naccustomed to sing on his festival 'Advocatus et non latro--Res miranda\npopulo.' It is indeed evident that a good deal of moral compromise must\nenter into this field, and the standards of right and wrong that have\nbeen adopted have varied greatly. How far, for example, may a lawyer\nsupport a cause which he believes to be wrong? In some ancient\nlegislations advocates were compelled to swear that they would not\ndefend causes which they thought or discovered to be unjust.[35] St.\nThomas Aquinas has laid down in emphatic terms that any lawyer who\nundertakes the defence of an unjust cause is committing a grievous sin.\nIt is unlawful, he contends, to co-operate with any one who is doing\nwrong, and an advocate clearly counsels and assists him whose cause he\nundertakes. Modern Catholic casuists have dealt with the subject in the\nsame spirit. They admit, indeed, that an advocate may undertake the\ndefence of a criminal whom he knows to be guilty, in order to bring to\nlight all extenuating circumstances, but they contend that no advocate\nshould undertake a civil cause unless by a previous and careful\nexamination he has convinced himself that it is a just one; that no\nadvocate can without sin undertake a cause which he knows or strongly\nbelieves to be unjust; that if he has done so he is himself bound in\nconscience to make restitution to the party that has been injured by his\nadvocacy; that if in the course of a trial he discovers that a cause\nwhich he had believed to be just is unjust he must try to persuade his\nclient to desist, and if he fails in this must himself abandon the\ncause, though without informing the opposite party of the conclusion at\nwhich he had arrived; that in conducting his case he must abstain from\nwounding the reputation of his neighbour or endeavouring to influence\nthe judges by bringing before them misdeeds of his opponent which are\nnot connected with and are not essential to the case.[36] As lately as\n1886 an order was issued from Rome, with the express approbation of the\nPope, forbidding any Catholic, mayor or judge, to take part in a\ndivorce case, as divorce is absolutely condemned by the Church.[37]\n\nThere have been, and perhaps still are, instances of lawyers\nendeavouring to limit their practice to cases which they believed to be\njust. Sir Matthew Hale is a conspicuous example, but he acknowledged\nthat he considerably relaxed his rule on the subject, having found in\ntwo instances that cases which at the first blush seemed very worthless\nwere in truth well founded. As a general rule English lawyers make no\ndiscrimination on this ground in accepting briefs unless the injustice\nis very flagrant, nor will they, except in very extreme cases, do their\nclient the great injury of throwing up a brief which they have once\naccepted. They contend that by acting in this way the administration of\njustice in the long run is best served, and in this fact they find its\njustification.\n\nIn the conduct of a case there are rules analogous to those which\ndistinguish between honourable and dishonourable war, but they are less\nclearly defined and less universally accepted. In criminal prosecutions\na remarkable though very explicable distinction is drawn between the\nprosecutor and the defender. It is the etiquette of the profession that\nthe former is bound to aim only at truth, neither straining any point\nagainst the prisoner nor keeping back any fact which is favourable to\nhim, nor using any argument which he does not himself believe to be\njust. The defender, however, is not bound, according to professional\netiquette, by such rules. He may use arguments which he knows to be\nbad, conceal or shut out by technical objections facts that will tell\nagainst his clients, and, subject to some wide and vague restrictions,\nhe must make the acquittal of his client his first object.[38]\n\nSometimes cases of extreme difficulty arise. Probably the best known is\nthe case of Courvoisier, the Swiss valet, who murdered Lord William\nRussell in 1840. In the course of the trial Courvoisier informed his\nadvocate, Phillips, that he was guilty of the murder, but at the same\ntime directed Phillips to continue to defend him to the last extremity.\nAs there was overwhelming evidence that the murder must have been\ncommitted by some one who slept in the house, the only possible defence\nwas that an equal amount of suspicion attached to the housemaid and cook\nwho were its other occupants. On the first day of the trial, before he\nknew the guilt of his client from his own lips, Phillips had\ncross-examined the housemaid, who first discovered the murder, with\ngreat severity and with the evident object of throwing suspicion upon\nher. What course ought he now to pursue? It happened that an eminent\njudge was sitting on the bench with the judge who was to try the case,\nand Phillips took this judge into his confidence, stated privately to\nhim the facts that had arisen, and asked for his advice. The judge\ndeclared that Phillips was bound to continue to defend the prisoner,\nwhose case would have been hopeless if his own counsel abandoned him,\nand in defending him he was bound to use all fair arguments arising out\nof the evidence. The speech of Phillips was a masterpiece of eloquence\nunder circumstances of extraordinary difficulty. Much of it was devoted\nto impugning the veracity of the witnesses for the prosecution. He\nsolemnly declared that it was not his business to say who committed the\nmurder, and that he had no desire to throw any imputation on the other\nservants in the house, and he abstained scrupulously from giving any\npersonal opinion on the matter; but the drift of his argument was that\nCourvoisier was the victim of a conspiracy, the police having concealed\ncompromising articles among his clothes, and that there was no clear\ncircumstance distinguishing the suspicion against him from that against\nthe other servants.[39]\n\nThe conduct of Phillips in this case has, I believe, been justified by\nthe preponderance of professional opinion, though when the facts were\nknown public opinion outside the profession generally condemned it. Some\nlawyers have pushed the duty of defence to a point which has aroused\nmuch protest even in their own profession. 'The Advocate,' said Lord\nBrougham in his great speech before the House of Lords in defence of\nQueen Caroline, 'by the sacred duty which he owes his client, knows in\nthe discharge of that office but one person in the world--that client\nand none other. To save that client by all expedient means, to protect\nthat client at all hazards and costs to all others, and among others to\nhimself, is the highest and most unquestioned of his duties; and he must\nnot regard the alarm, the suffering, the torment, the destruction which\nhe may bring upon any other. Nay, separating even the duties of a\npatriot from those of an advocate, and casting them, if need be, to the\nwind, he must go on, reckless of consequences, if his fate it should\nunhappily be to involve his country in confusion for his client's\nprotection.'\n\nThis doctrine has been emphatically repudiated by some eminent English\nlawyers, but both in practice and theory the profession have differed\nwidely in different courts, times and countries. How far, for example,\nis it permissible in cross-examination to browbeat or confuse an honest\nbut timid and unskilful witness; to attempt to discredit the evidence of\na witness on a plain matter of fact about which he had no interest in\nconcealment by exhuming against him some moral scandal of early youth\nwhich was totally unconnected with the subject of the trial; or, by\npursuing such a line of cross-examination, to keep out of the\nwitness-box material witnesses who are conscious that their past lives\nare not beyond reproach? How far is it right or permissible to press\nlegal technicalities as opposed to substantial justice? Probably most\nlawyers, if they are perfectly candid, will agree that these things are\nin some measure inevitable in their profession, and that the real\nquestion is one of degree, and therefore not susceptible of positive\ndefinition. There is a kind of mind that grows so enamoured with the\nsubtleties and technicalities of the law that it delights in the\nunexpected and unintended results to which they may lead. I have heard\nan English judge say of another long deceased that he had through this\nfeeling a positive pleasure in injustice, and one lawyer, not of this\ncountry, once confessed to me the amusement he derived from breaking the\nconvictions of criminals in his state by discovering technical flaws in\ntheir indictments. There is a class of mind that delights in such cases\nas that of the legal document which was invalidated because the letters\nA.D. were put before the date instead of the formula 'in the year of Our\nLord,' or that of a swindler who was suffered to escape with his booty\nbecause, in the writ that was issued for his arrest, by a copyist's\nerror the word 'sheriff' was written instead of 'sheriffs,' or that of a\nlady who was deprived of an estate of \u00a314,000 a year because by a mere\nmistake of the conveyancer one material word was omitted from the will,\nalthough the clearest possible evidence was offered showing the wishes\nof the testator.[40] Such lawyers argue that in will cases 'the true\nquestion is not what the testator intended to do, but what is the\nmeaning of the words of the will,' and that the balance of advantages is\nin favour of a strict adherence to the construction of the sentence and\nthe technicalities of the law, even though in particular cases it may\nlead to grave injustice.\n\nIt must indeed be acknowledged that up to a period extending far into\nthe nineteenth century those lawyers who adopted the most technical view\nof their profession were acting fully in accordance with its spirit.\nFew, if any, departments of English legislation and administration were\ntill near the middle of this century so scandalously bad as those\nconnected with the administration of the civil and the criminal law, and\nespecially with the Court of Chancery. The whole field was covered with\na network of obscure, intricate, archaic technicalities; useless except\nfor the purpose of piling up costs, procrastinating decisions, placing\nthe simplest legal processes wholly beyond the competence of any but\ntrained experts, giving endless facilities for fraud and for the evasion\nor defeat of justice, turning a law case into a game in which chance and\nskill had often vastly greater influence than substantial merits. Lord\nBrougham probably in no degree exaggerated when he described great\nportions of the English law as 'a two-edged sword in the hands of craft\nand of oppression,' and a great authority on chancery law declared in\n1839 that 'no man, as things now stand, can enter into a chancery suit\nwith any reasonable hope of being alive at its termination if he has a\ndetermined adversary.'[41]\n\nThe moral difficulties of administering such a system were very great,\nand in many cases English juries, in dealing with it, adopted a rough\nand ready code of morals of their own. Though they had sworn to decide\nevery case according to the law as it was stated to them, and according\nto the evidence that was laid before them, they frequently refused to\nfollow legal technicalities which would lead to substantial injustice,\nand they still more frequently refused to bring in verdicts according to\nevidence when by doing so they would consign a prisoner to a savage,\nexcessive, or unjust punishment. Some of the worst abuses of the English\nlaw were mitigated by the perjuries of juries who refused to put them in\nforce.\n\nThe great legal reforms of the past half-century have removed most of\nthese abuses, and have at the same time introduced a wider and juster\nspirit into the practical administration of the law. Yet even now\ndifferent judges sometimes differ widely in the importance they attach\nto substantial justice and to legal technicalities; and even now one of\nthe advantages of trial by jury is that it brings the masculine common\nsense and the unsophisticated sense of justice of unprofessional men\ninto fields that would otherwise be often distorted by ingenious\nsubtleties. It is, however, far less in the position of the judge than\nin the position of an advocate that the most difficult moral questions\nof the legal profession arise. The difference between an unscrupulous\nadvocate and an advocate who is governed by a high sense of honour and\nmorality is very manifest, but at best there must be many things in the\nprofession from which a very sensitive conscience would recoil, and\nthings must be said and done which can hardly be justified except on the\nground that the existence of this profession and the prescribed methods\nof its action are in the long run indispensable to the honest\nadministration of justice.\n\nThe same method of reasoning applies to other great departments of\nlife. In politics it is especially needed. In free countries party\ngovernment is the best if not the only way of conducting public affairs,\nbut it is impossible to conduct it without a large amount of moral\ncompromise; without a frequent surrender of private judgment and will. A\ngood man will choose his party through disinterested motives, and with a\nfirm and honest conviction that it represents the cast of policy most\nbeneficial to the country. He will on grave occasions assert his\nindependence of party, but in the large majority of cases he must act\nwith his party even if they are pursuing courses in some degree contrary\nto his own judgment.\n\nEvery one who is actively engaged in politics--every one especially who\nis a member of the House of Commons--must soon learn that if the\nabsolute independence of individual judgment were pushed to its extreme,\npolitical anarchy would ensue. The complete concurrence of a large\nnumber of independent judgments in a complicated measure is impossible.\nIf party government is to be carried on, there must be, both in the\nCabinet and in Parliament, perpetual compromise. The first condition of\nits success is that the Government should have a stable, permanent,\ndisciplined support behind it, and in order that this should be attained\nthe individual member must in most cases vote with his party. Sometimes\nhe must support a measure which he knows to be bad, because its\nrejection would involve a change of government which he believes would\nbe a still greater evil than its acceptance, and in order to prevent\nthis evil he may have to vote a direct negative to some resolution\ncontaining a statement which he believes to be true. At the same time,\nif he is an honest man, he will not be a mere slave of party. Sometimes\na question arises which he considers so supremely important that he will\nbreak away from his party and endeavour at all hazards to carry or to\ndefeat it. Much more frequently he will either abstain from voting, or\nwill vote against the Government on a particular question, but only when\nhe knows that by taking this course he is simply making a protest which\nwill produce no serious political complication. On most great measures\nthere is a dissentient minority in the Government party, and it often\nexercises a most useful influence in representing independent opinion,\nand bringing into the measure modifications and compromises which allay\nopposition, gratify minorities, and soften differences. But the action\nof that party will be governed by many motives other than a simple\nconsideration of the merits of the case. It is not sufficient to say\nthat they must vote for every resolution which they believe to be true,\nfor every bill or clause of a bill which they believe to be right, and\nmust vote against every bill or clause or resolution about which they\nform an opposite judgment. Sometimes they will try in private to prevent\nthe introduction of a measure, but when it is introduced they will feel\nit their duty either positively to support it or at least to abstain\nfrom protesting against it. Sometimes they will either vote against it\nor abstain from voting at all, but only when the majority is so large\nthat it is sure to be carried. Sometimes their conduct will be the\nresult of a bargain--they will vote for one portion of a bill of which\nthey disapprove because they have obtained from the Government a\nconcession on another which they think more important. The nature of\ntheir opposition will depend largely upon the strength or weakness of\nthe Government, upon the size of the majority, upon the degree in which\na change of ministry would affect the general policy of the country,\nupon the probability of the measure they object to being finally\nextinguished, or returning in another year either in an improved or in a\nmore dangerous form. Questions of proportion and degree and ulterior\nconsequences will continually sway them. Measures are often opposed, not\non their own intrinsic merits, but on account of precedents they might\nestablish; of other measures which might grow out of them or be\njustified by them.\n\nNot unfrequently it happens that a section of the dominant party is\nprofoundly discontented with the policy of the Government on some\nquestion which they deem of great importance. They find themselves\nincapable of offering any direct and successful opposition, but their\ndiscontent will show itself on some other Government measure on which\nvotes are more evenly divided. Possibly they may oppose that measure.\nMore probably they will fail to attend regularly at the divisions, or\nwill exercise their independent judgments on its clauses in a manner\nthey would not have done if their party allegiance had been unshaken.\nAnd this conduct is not mere revenge. It is a method of putting pressure\non the Government in order to obtain concessions on matters which they\ndeem of paramount importance. In the same way they will seek to gain\nsupporters by political alliances. Few things in parliamentary\ngovernment are more dangerous or more apt to lead to corruption than\nthe bargains which the Americans call log-rolling; but it is inevitable\nthat a member who has received from a colleague, or perhaps from an\nopponent, assistance on a question which he believes to be of the\nhighest importance, will be disposed to return that assistance in some\ncase in which his own feelings and opinions are not strongly enlisted.\n\nThen, too, we have to consider the great place which obstruction plays\nin parliamentary government. It constantly happens that a measure to\nwhich scarcely any one objects is debated at inordinate length for no\nother reason than to prevent a measure which is much objected to from\nbeing discussed. Measures may be opposed by hostile votes, but they are\noften much more efficaciously opposed by calculated delays, by\nmultiplied amendments or speeches, by some of the many devices that can\nbe employed to clog the legislative machine. There are large classes of\nmeasures on which governments or parliaments think it desirable to give\nno opinion, or at least no immediate opinion, though they cannot prevent\ntheir introduction, and many methods are employed with the real, though\nnot avowed and ostensible object of preventing a vote or even a\nministerial declaration upon them. Sometimes Parliament is quite ready\nto acknowledge the abstract justice of a proposal, but does not think it\nripe for legislation. In such cases the second reading of the bill will\nprobably be accepted, but, to the indignation and astonishment of its\nsupporters outside the House, it will be obstructed, delayed or defeated\nin committee with the acquiescence, or connivance, or even actual\nassistance of some of those who had voted for it. Some measures in the\neyes of some members involve questions of principle so sacred that they\nwill admit of no compromise of expediency, but most measures are deemed\nopen to compromise and are accepted, rejected, or modified under some of\nthe many motives I have described.\n\nAll this curious and indispensable mechanism of party government is\ncompatible with a high and genuine sense of public duty, and unless such\na sense at the last resort dominates over all other considerations,\npolitical life will inevitably decline. At the same time it is obvious\nthat many things have to be done from which a very rigid and austere\nnature would recoil. To support a Government when he believes it to be\nwrong, or to oppose a measure which he believes to be right; to connive\nat evasions which are mere pretexts, and at delays which rest upon\ngrounds that are not openly avowed,--is sometimes, and indeed not\nunfrequently, a parliamentary duty. A member of Parliament must often\nfeel himself in the position of a private in an army, or a player in a\ngame, or an advocate in a law case. On many questions each party\nrepresents and defends the special interests of some particular classes\nin the country. When there are two plausible alternative courses to be\npursued which divide public opinion, the Opposition is almost bound by\nits position to enforce the merits of the course opposed to that adopted\nby the Government. In theory nothing could seem more absurd than a\nsystem of government in which, as it has been said, the ablest men in\nParliament are divided into two classes, one side being charged with the\nduty of carrying on the government and the other with that of\nobstructing and opposing them in their task, and in which, on a vast\nmultitude of unconnected questions, these two great bodies of very\ncompetent men, with the same facts and arguments before them, habitually\ngo into opposite lobbies. In practice, however, parliamentary government\nby great parties, in countries where it is fully understood and\npractised, is found to be admirably efficacious in representing every\nvariety of political opinion; in securing a constant supervision and\ncriticism of men and measures; and in forming a safety valve through\nwhich the dangerous humours of society can expand without evil to the\ncommunity.\n\nThis, however, is only accomplished by constant compromises which are\nseldom successfully carried out without a long national experience.\nParty must exist. It must be maintained as an essential condition of\ngood government, but it must be subordinated to the public interests,\nand in the public interests it must be in many cases suspended. There\nare subjects which cannot be introduced without the gravest danger into\nthe arena of party controversy. Indian politics are a conspicuous\nexample, and, although foreign policy cannot be kept wholly outside it,\nthe dangers connected with its party treatment are extremely great. Many\nmeasures of a different kind are conducted with the concurrence of the\ntwo front benches. A cordial union on large classes of questions between\nthe heads of the rival parties is one of the first conditions of\nsuccessful parliamentary government. The Opposition leader must have a\nvoice in the conduct of business, on the questions that should be\nbrought forward, and on the questions that it is for the public interest\nto keep back. He is the official leader of systematic, organised\nopposition to the Government, yet he is on a large number of questions\ntheir most powerful ally. He must frequently have confidential relations\nwith them, and one of his most useful functions is to prevent sections\nof his party from endeavouring to snatch party advantages by courses\nwhich might endanger public interests. If the country is to be well\ngoverned there must be a large amount of continuity in its policy;\ncertain conditions and principles of administration must be inflexibly\nmaintained, and in great national emergencies all parties must unite.\n\nIn questions which lie at the heart of party politics, also some amount\nof compromise is usually effected. Debate not only elicits opinions but\nalso suggests alternatives and compromises, and very few measures are\ncarried by a majority which do not bear clear traces of the action of\nthe minority. The line is constantly deflected now on one side and now\non the other, and (usually without much regard to logical consistency)\nvarious and opposing sentiments are in some measure gratified. If the\nlines of party are drawn with an inflexible rigidity; and if the\nmajority insist on the full exercise of their powers, parliamentary\ngovernment may become a despotism as crushing as the worst autocracy--a\ndespotism which is perhaps even more dangerous as the sense of\nresponsibility is diminished by being divided. If, on the other hand,\nthe latitude conceded to individual opinion is excessive, Parliament\ninevitably breaks into groups, and parliamentary government loses much\nof its virtue. When coalitions of minorities can at any time overthrow a\nministry, the whole force of Government is lost. The temptation to\ncorrupt bargains with particular sections is enormously increased, and\nthe declining control of the two front benches will be speedily followed\nby a diminished sense of responsibility, and by the increased influence\nof violent, eccentric, exaggerated opinions. It is of the utmost moment\nthat the policy of an Opposition should be guided by its most important\nmen, and especially by men who have had the experience and the\nresponsibility of office, and who know that they may have that\nresponsibility again. But the healthy latitude of individual opinion and\nexpression in a party is like most of those things we are now\nconsidering, a question of degree, and not susceptible of clear and\nsharp definition.\n\nOther questions of a somewhat different nature, but involving grave\nmoral considerations, arise out of the relations between a member and\nhis constituents. In the days when small boroughs were openly bought in\nthe market, this was sometimes defended on the ground of the complete\nindependence of judgment which it gave to the purchasing member. Romilly\nand Henry Flood are said to have both purchased their seats with the\nexpress object of securing such independence. In the political\nphilosophy of Burke, no doctrine is more emphatically enforced than that\na member of Parliament is a representative but not a delegate; that he\nowes to his constituents not only his time and his services, but also\nthe exercise of his independent and unfettered judgment; that, while\nreflecting the general cast of their politics, he must never suffer\nhimself to be reduced to a mere mouthpiece, or accept binding\ninstructions prescribing on each particular measure the course he may\npursue; that after his election he must consider himself a member of an\nImperial Parliament rather than the representative of a particular\nlocality, and must subordinate local and special interests to the wider\nand more general interests of the whole nation.\n\nThe conditions of modern political life have greatly narrowed this\nliberty of judgment. In most constituencies a member can only enter\nParliament fettered by many pledges relating to specific measures, and\nin every turn of policy sections of his constituents will attempt to\ndictate his course of action. Certain large and general pledges\nnaturally and properly precede his election. He is chosen as a supporter\nor opponent of the Government; he avows himself an adherent of certain\nbroad lines of policy, and he also represents in a special degree the\ninterests and the distinctive type of opinion of the class or industry\nwhich is dominant in his constituency. But even at the time of election\nhe often finds that on some particular question in which his electors\nare much interested he differs from them, though they consent, in spite\nof it, to elect him; and, in the course of a long Parliament, others are\nvery apt unexpectedly to arise. Political changes take place which bring\ninto the foreground matters which at the time of the election seemed\nvery remote, or produce new questions, or give rise to unforeseen party\ncombinations, developments, and tendencies. It will often happen that on\nthese occasions a member will think differently from the majority of his\nelectors, and he must meet the question how far he must sacrifice his\njudgment to theirs, and how far he may use the influence which their\nvotes have given him to act in opposition to their wishes and perhaps\neven to their interests. Burke, for example, found himself in this\nposition when, being member for Bristol, he considered it his duty to\nsupport the concession of Free-trade to Ireland, although his\nconstituents had, or thought they had, a strong interest in commercial\nrestrictions and monopoly. In our own day it has happened that members\nrepresenting manufacturing districts of Lancashire have found themselves\nunexpectedly called upon to vote upon some measure for crippling or\nextending rival manufactures in India; for opening new markets by some\nvery dubious aggression in a distant land; or for limiting the child\nlabour employed in the local manufacture; and these members have often\nbelieved that the right course was a course which was exceedingly\nrepugnant to great sections of their electors.\n\nSometimes, too, a member is elected on purely secular issues, but in the\ncourse of the Parliament one of those fierce, sudden storms of religious\nsentiment, to which England is occasionally liable, sweeps over the\nland, and he finds himself wholly out of sympathy with a great portion\nof his constituency. In other cases the party which he entered\nParliament to support, pursues, on some grave question, a line of policy\nwhich he believes to be seriously wrong, and he goes into partial or\neven complete and bitter opposition. Differences of this kind have\nfrequently arisen when there is no question of any interested motive\nhaving influenced the member. Sometimes in such cases he has resigned\nhis seat and gone to his electors for re-election. In other cases he\nremains in Parliament till the next election. Each case, however, must\nbe left to individual judgment, and no clear, definite, unwavering moral\nline can be drawn. The member will consider the magnitude of the\ndisputed question, both in his own eyes and in the eyes of those whom he\nrepresents; its permanent or transitory character, the amount and\nimportance of the majority opposed to his views, the length of time that\nis likely to elapse before a dissolution will bring him face to face\nwith his constituents. In matters which he does not consider very urgent\nor important, he will probably sacrifice his own judgment to that of his\nelectors, at least so far as to abstain from voting or from pressing his\nown views. In graver matters it is his duty boldly to face unpopularity,\nor perhaps even take the extreme step of resigning his seat.\n\nThe cases in which a member of Parliament finds it his duty to support a\nmeasure which he believes to be positively bad, on the ground that\ngreater evils would follow its rejection, are happily not very numerous.\nHe can extricate himself from many moral difficulties by sometimes\nabstaining from voting or from the expression of his real opinions, and\nmost measures are of a composite character in which good and evil\nelements combine, and may in some degree be separated. In such measures\nit is often possible to accept the general principle while opposing\nparticular details, and there is considerable scope for compromise and\nmodification. But the cases in which a member of Parliament is compelled\nto vote for measures about which he has no real knowledge or conviction\nare very many. Crowds of measures of a highly complex and technical\ncharacter, affecting departments of life with which he has had no\nexperience, relating to the multitudinous industries, interests and\nconditions of a great people, are brought before him at very short\nnotice; and no intellect, however powerful, no industry, however great,\ncan master them. It is utterly impossible that mere extemporised\nknowledge, the listening to a short debate, the brief study which a\nmember of Parliament can give to a new subject, can place him on a real\nlevel of competence with those who can bring to it a lifelong knowledge\nor experience.\n\nA member of Parliament will soon find that he must select a class of\nsubjects which he can himself master, while on many others he must vote\nblindly with his party. The two or three capital measures in a session\nare debated with such a fulness that both the House and the country\nbecome thoroughly competent to judge them, and in those cases the\npreponderance of argument will have great weight. A powerful ministry\nand a strongly organised party may carry such a measure in spite of it,\nbut they will be obliged to accept amendments and modifications, and if\nthey persist in their policy their position both in the House and in the\ncountry will sooner or later be inevitably changed. But a large number\nof measures have a more restricted interest, and are far less widely\nunderstood. The House of Commons is rich in expert knowledge, and few\nsubjects are brought before it which some of its members do not\nthoroughly understand; but in a vast number of cases the majority who\ndecide the question are obliged to do so on the most superficial\nknowledge. Very often it is physically impossible for a member to obtain\nthe knowledge he requires. The most important and detailed investigation\nhas taken place in a committee upstairs to which he did not belong, or\nhe is detained elsewhere on important parliamentary business while the\ndebate is going on. Even when this is not the case, scarcely any one\nhas the physical or mental power which would enable him to sit\nintelligently through all the debates. Every member of Parliament is\nfamiliar with the scene, when, after a debate, carried on before nearly\nempty benches, the division bell rings, and the members stream in to\ndecide the issue. There is a moment of uncertainty. The questions 'Which\nside are we?' 'What is it about?' may be heard again and again. Then the\nSpeaker rises, and with one magical sentence clears the situation. It is\nthe sentence in which he announces that the tellers for the Ayes or\nNoes, as the case may be, are the Government whips. It is not argument,\nit is not eloquence, it is this single sentence which in countless cases\ndetermines the result and moulds the legislation of the country. Many\nmembers, it is true, are not present in the division lobby, but they are\nusually paired--that is to say, they have taken their sides before the\ndiscussion began; perhaps without even knowing what subject is to be\ndiscussed, perhaps for all the many foreseen and unforeseen questions\nthat may arise during long periods of the session.\n\nIt is a strange process, and to a new member who has been endeavouring\nthrough his life to weigh arguments and evidence with scrupulous care,\nand treat the formation and expression of opinions as a matter of\nserious duty, it is at first very painful. He finds that he is required\nagain and again to give an effective voice in the great council of the\nnation, on questions of grave importance, with a levity of conviction\nupon which he would not act in the most trivial affairs of private life.\nNo doctor would prescribe for the slightest malady; no lawyer would\nadvise in the easiest case; no wise man would act in the simplest\ntransactions of private business, or would even give an opinion to his\nneighbour at a dinner party without more knowledge of the subject than\nthat on which a member of Parliament is often obliged to vote. But he\nsoon finds that for good or evil this system is absolutely indispensable\nto the working of the machine. If no one voted except on matters he\nreally understood and cared for, four-fifths of the questions that are\ndetermined by the House of Commons would be determined by mere fractions\nof its members, and in that case parliamentary government under the\nparty system would be impossible. The stable, disciplined majorities\nwithout which it can never be efficiently conducted would be at an end.\nThose who refuse to accept the conditions of parliamentary life should\nabstain from entering into it.\n\nIt is obvious that the one justification of this system is to be found\nin the belief that parliamentary government, as it is worked in England,\nis on the whole a good thing, and that this is the indispensable\ncondition of its existence. Probably also with most men it strengthens\nthe disposition to support the Government on matters which they do not\nunderstand and in which grave party issues are not involved. They know\nthat these minor questions have at least been carefully examined on\ntheir merits by responsible men, and with the assistance of the best\navailable expert knowledge.\n\nThis fact goes far to reconcile us to the tendency to give governments\nan almost complete monopoly in the initiation of legislation which is so\nevident in modern parliamentary life. Much useful legislation in the\npast has been due to private and independent members, but the chance of\nbills introduced by such members ever becoming law is steadily\ndiminishing. This is not due to any recognised constitutional change,\nbut to the constantly increasing pressure of government business on the\ntime of the House, and especially to what is called the twelve o'clock\nrule, terminating debates at midnight.\n\nIt is a rule which is manifestly wise, for it limits on ordinary\noccasions the hours of parliamentary work to a period within the\nstrength of an average man. Parliamentary government has many dubious\naspects, but it never appears worse than in the cases which may still\nsometimes be seen when a Government thinks fit to force through an\nimportant measure by all-night sittings, and when a weary and irritated\nHouse which has been sitting since three or four in the afternoon is\ncalled upon at a corresponding hour of the early morning to pronounce\nupon grave and difficult questions of principle, and to deal with the\nserious interests of large classes. The utter and most natural\nincapacity of the House at such an hour for sustained argument; its\nanxiety that each successive amendment should be despatched in five\nminutes; the readiness with which in that tired, feverish atmosphere,\nsurprises and coalitions may be effected and solutions accepted, to\nwhich the House in its normal state would scarcely have listened, must\nbe evident to every observer. Scenes of this kind are among the greatest\nscandals of Parliament, and the rule which makes them impossible except\nin the closing weeks of the Session has been one of the greatest\nimprovements in modern parliamentary work. But its drawback is that it\nhas greatly limited the possibility of private member legislation. It is\nin late and rapid sittings that most measures of this kind passed\nthrough their final stages, and since the twelve o'clock rule has been\nadopted a much smaller number of bills introduced by private members\nfind their way to the statute book.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[35] O'Brien, _The Lawyer_, pp. 169, 170.\n\n[36] _Dictionnaire de Cas de Conscience_, Art. 'Avocat;' Migne,\n_Encyclop\u00e9die Th\u00e9ologique_, i. serie, tome xviii.\n\n[37] _Revue de Droit International_, xxi. 615.\n\n[38] See Sir James Stephen's _General View of the Criminal Law of\nEngland_, pp. 167, 168.\n\n[39] Phillips's defence of his own conduct will be found in a pamphlet\ncalled 'Correspondence of S. Warren and C. Phillips relating to the\nCourvoisier trial.' It has often been said that Phillips had asserted in\nhis speech his full belief in the innocence of his client, but this is\ndisproved by the statement of C. J. Tindal, who tried the case, and of\nBaron Parke, who sat on the bench. C. J. Denman also pronounced\nPhillips's speech to be unexceptionable. An able and interesting article\non this case by Mr. Atlay will be found in the _Cornhill Magazine_, May,\n1897.\n\n[40] See these cases in Warren's _Social and Professional Duties of an\nAttorney_, pp. 128-133, 195, 196.\n\n[41] See the admirable article by Lord Justice Bowen on 'The\nAdministration of the Law' in Ward's _Reign of Queen Victoria_, vol. i.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\n\nIt is obvious from the considerations that have been adduced in the last\nchapter that the moral limitations and conditions under which an\nordinary member of Parliament is compelled to work are far from ideal.\nAn upright man will try conscientiously, under these conditions, to do\nhis best for the cause of honesty and for the benefit of his country,\nbut he cannot essentially alter them, and they present many temptations\nand tend in many ways to blur the outlines separating good from evil. He\nwill find himself practically pledged to support his party in measures\nwhich he has never seen and in policies that are not yet developed; to\nvote in some cases contrary to his genuine belief and in many cases\nwithout real knowledge; to act throughout his political career on many\nmotives other than a reasoned conviction of the substantial merits of\nthe question at issue.\n\nI have dwelt on the difficult questions which arise when the wishes of\nhis constituents are at variance with his own genuine opinions. Another\nand a wider question is how far he is bound to make what he considers\nthe interests of the nation his guiding light, and how far he should\nsubordinate what he believes to be their interests to their prejudices\nand wishes. One of the first lessons that every active politician has to\nlearn is that he is a trustee bound to act for men whose opinions,\naims, desires and ideals are often very different from his own. No man\nwho holds the position of member of Parliament should divest himself of\nthis consideration, though it applies to different classes of members in\ndifferent degrees. A private member should not forget it, but at the\nsame time, being elected primarily and specially to represent one\nparticular element in the national life, he will concentrate his\nattention more exclusively on a narrow circle, though he has at the same\ntime more latitude of expressing unpopular opinions and pushing unripe\nand unpopular causes than a member who is taking a large and official\npart in the government of the nation. The opposition front bench\noccupies a somewhat different position. They are the special and\norganised representatives of a particular party and its ideas, but the\nfact that they may be called upon at any time to undertake the\ngovernment of the nation as a whole, and that even while in opposition\nthey take a great part in moulding its general policy, imposes on them\nlimitations and restrictions from which a mere private member is in a\ngreat degree exempt. When a party comes into power its position is again\nslightly altered. Its leaders are certainly not detached from the party\npolicy they had advocated in opposition. One of the main objects of\nparty is to incorporate certain political opinions and the interests of\ncertain sections of the community in an organised body which will be a\nsteady and permanent force in politics. It is by this means that\npolitical opinions are most likely to triumph; that class interests are\nmost effectually protected. But a Government cannot govern merely in the\ninterests of a party. It is a trustee for the whole nation, and one of\nits first duties is to ascertain and respect as far as possible the\nwishes as well as the interests of all sections.\n\nConcrete examples may perhaps show more clearly than abstract statements\nthe kind of difficulties that I am describing. Take, for example, the\nlarge class of proposals for limiting the sale of strong drink by such\nmethods as local veto or Sunday closing of public-houses. One class of\npoliticians take up the position of uncompromising opponents of the\ndrink trade. They argue that strong drink is beyond all question in\nEngland the chief source of the misery, the vice, the degradation of the\npoor; that it not only directly ruins tens of thousands, body and soul,\nbut also brings a mass of wretchedness that it is difficult to overrate\non their innocent families; that the drunkard's craving for drink often\nreproduces itself as an hereditary disease in his children; and that a\nlegislator can have no higher object and no plainer duty than by all\navailable means to put down the chief obstacle to the moral and material\nwell-being of the people. The principle of compulsion, as they truly\nsay, is more and more pervading all departments of industry. It is idle\nto contend that the State which, while prohibiting other forms of Sunday\ntrading, gives a special privilege to the most pernicious of all, has\nnot the right to limit or to withdraw it, and the legislature which\nlevies vast sums upon the whole community for the maintenance of the\npolice as well as for poor-houses, prisons and criminal administration,\nought surely, in the interests of the whole community, to do all that is\nin its power to suppress the main cause of pauperism, disorder and\ncrime.\n\nAnother class of politicians approach the question from a wholly\ndifferent point of view. They emphatically object to imposing upon\ngrown-up men a system of moral restriction which is very properly\nimposed upon children. They contend that adult men who have assumed all\nthe duties and responsibilities of life, and have even a voice in the\ngovernment of the country, should regulate their own conduct, as far as\nthey do not directly interfere with their neighbours, without legal\nrestraint, bearing themselves the consequences of their mistakes or\nexcesses. This, they say, is the first principle of freedom, the first\ncondition in the formation of strong and manly characters. A poor man,\nwho desires on his Sunday excursion to obtain moderate refreshment such\nas he likes for himself or his family, and who goes to the\npublic-house--probably in most cases to meet his friends and discuss the\nvillage gossip over a glass of beer--is in no degree interfering with\nthe liberty of his neighbours. He is doing nothing that is wrong;\nnothing that he has not a perfect right to do. No one denies the rich\nman access to his club on Sunday, and it should be remembered that the\npoor man has neither the private cellars nor the comfortable and roomy\nhomes of the rich, and has infinitely fewer opportunities of recreation.\nBecause some men abuse this right and are unable to drink alcohol in\nmoderation, are all men to be prevented from drinking it at all, or at\nleast from drinking it on Sunday? Because two men agree not to drink it,\nhave they a right to impose the same obligation on an unwilling third?\nHave those who never enter a public-house, and by their position in life\nnever need to enter it, a right, if they are in a majority, to close\nits doors against those who use it? On such grounds these politicians\nlook with extreme disfavour on all this restrictive legislation as\nunjust, partial and inconsistent with freedom.\n\nVery few, however, would carry either set of arguments to their full\nlogical consequences. Not many men who have had any practical experience\nin the management of men would advocate a complete suppression of the\ndrink trade, and still fewer would put it on the basis of complete free\ntrade, altogether exempt from special legislative restriction. To\nresponsible politicians the course to be pursued will depend mainly on\nfluctuating conditions of public opinion. Restrictions will be imposed,\nbut only when and as far as they are supported by a genuine public\nopinion. It must not be a mere majority, but a large majority; a steady\nmajority; a genuine majority representing a real and earnest desire, and\nespecially in the classes who are most directly affected; not a mere\nfactitious majority such as is often created by skilful organisation and\nagitation; by the enthusiasm of the few confronting the indifference of\nthe many. In free and democratic States one of the most necessary but\nalso one of the most difficult arts of statesmanship is that of testing\npublic opinion, discriminating between what is real, growing and\npermanent and what is transient, artificial and declining. As a French\nwriter has said, 'The great art in politics consists not in hearing\nthose who speak, but in hearing those who are silent.' On such questions\nas those I have mentioned we may find the same statesman without any\nreal inconsistency supporting the same measures in one part of the\nkingdom and opposing them in another; supporting them at one time\nbecause public opinion runs strongly in their favour; opposing them at\nanother because that public opinion has grown weak.\n\nOne of the worst moral evils that grow up in democratic countries is the\nexcessive tendency to time-serving and popularity hunting, and the\ndanger is all the greater because in a certain sense both of these\nthings are a necessity and even a duty. Their moral quality depends\nmainly on their motive. The question to be asked is whether a politician\nis acting from personal or merely party objects or from honourable\npublic ones. Every statesman must form in his own mind a conception\nwhether a prevailing tendency is favourable or opposed to the real\ninterests of the country. It will depend upon this judgment whether he\nwill endeavour to accelerate or retard it; whether he will yield slowly\nor readily to its pressure, and there are cases in which, at all hazards\nof popularity and influence, he should inexorably oppose it. But in the\nlong run, under free governments, political systems and measures must be\nadjusted to the wishes of the various sections of the people, and this\nadjustment is the great work of statesmanship. In judging a proposed\nmeasure a statesman must continually ask himself whether the country is\nripe for it--whether its introduction, however desirable it might be,\nwould not be premature, as public opinion is not yet prepared for\nit?--whether, even though it be a bad measure, it is not on the whole\nbetter to vote for it, as the nation manifestly desires it?\n\nThe same kind of reasoning applies to the difficult question of\neducation, and especially of religious education. Every one who is\ninterested in the subject has his own conviction about the kind of\neducation which is in itself the best for the people, and also the best\nfor the Government to undertake. He may prefer that the State should\nconfine itself to purely secular education, leaving all religious\nteaching to voluntary agencies; or he may approve of the kind of\nundenominational religious teaching of the English School Board; or he\nmay be a strong partisan of one of the many forms of distinctly\naccentuated denominational education. But when he comes to act as a\nresponsible legislator, he should feel that the question is not merely\nwhat _he_ considers the best, but also what the parents of the children\nmost desire. It is true that the authority of parents is not absolutely\nrecognised. The conviction that certain things are essential to the\nchildren, and to the well-being and vigour of the State, and the\nconviction that parents are often by no means the best judges of this,\nmake legislators, on some important subjects, override the wishes of the\nparents. The severe restrictions imposed on child labour; the\nmeasure--unhappily now greatly relaxed--providing for children's\nvaccination; and the legislation protecting children from ill treatment\nby their parents, are illustrations, and the most extensive and\nfar-reaching of all exceptions is education. After much misgiving, both\nparties in the State have arrived at the conclusion that it is essential\nto the future of the children, and essential also to the maintenance of\nthe relative position of England in the great competition of nations,\nthat at least the rudiments of education should be made universal, and\nthey are also convinced that this is one of the truths which perfectly\nignorant parents are least competent to understand. Hence the system\nwhich of late years has so rapidly extended of compulsory education.\n\nMany nations have gone further, and have claimed for the State the right\nof prescribing absolutely the kind of education that should be\npermitted, or at least the kind of education which shall be exclusively\nsupported by State funds. In England this is not the case. A great\nvariety of forms of education corresponding to the wishes and opinions\nof different classes of parents receive assistance from the State,\nsubject to the conditions of submitting to certain tests of educational\nefficiency, and to a conscience clause protecting minorities from\ninterference with their faith.\n\nA case which once caused much moral heart-burning among good men was the\nendowment, by the State, of Maynooth College, which is absolutely under\nthe control of the Roman Catholic priesthood, and intended to educate\ntheir Divinity students in the Roman Catholic faith. The endowment dated\nfrom the period of the old Irish Protestant Parliament; and when, on the\nDisestablishment of the Irish Church, it came to an end, it was replaced\nby a large capital grant from the Irish Church Fund, and it is upon the\ninterest of that grant that the College is still supported. This grant\nwas denounced by many excellent men on the ground that the State was\nProtestant; that it had a definite religious belief upon which it was\nbound in conscience to act; and that it was a sinful apostasy to endow\nout of the public purse the teaching of what all Protestants believe to\nbe superstition, and what many Protestants believe to be idolatrous and\nsoul-destroying error. The strength of this kind of feeling in England\nis shown by the extreme difficulty there has been in persuading public\nopinion to acquiesce in any form of that concurrent endowment of\nreligions which exists so widely and works so well upon the Continent.\n\nMany, again, who have no objection to the policy of assisting by State\nsubsidies the theological education of the priests are of opinion that\nit is extremely injurious both to the State and to the young that the\nsecular education--and especially the higher secular education--of the\nIrish Catholic population should be placed under their complete control,\nand that, through their influence, the Irish Catholics should be\nstrictly separated during the period of their education from their\nfellow-countrymen of other religions. No belief, in my own opinion, is\nbetter founded than this. If, however, those who hold it find that there\nis a great body of Catholic parents who persistently desire this control\nand separation; who will not be satisfied with any removal of\ndisabilities and sectarian influence in systems of common education; who\nobject to all mixed and undenominational education on the ground that\ntheir priests have condemned it, and that they are bound in conscience\nto follow the orders of their priests, and who are in consequence\nwithholding from their children the education they would otherwise have\ngiven them, such men will in my opinion be quite justified in modifying\ntheir policy. As a matter of expediency they will argue that it is\nbetter that these Catholics should receive an indifferent university\neducation than none at all; and that it is exceedingly desirable that\nwhat is felt to be a grievance by many honest, upright and loyal men\nshould be removed. As a matter of principle, they contend that in a\ncountry where higher education is largely and variously endowed from\npublic sources, it is a real grievance that there should be one large\nbody of the people who can derive little or no benefit from those\nendowments. It is no sufficient answer to say that the objection of the\nCatholic parents is in most cases not spontaneous, but is due to the\norders of their priests, since we are dealing with men who believe it to\nbe a matter of conscience on such questions to obey their priests. Nor\nis it, I think, sufficient to argue--as very many enlightened men will\ndo--that everything that could be in the smallest degree repugnant to\nthe faith of a Catholic has been eliminated from the education which is\nimposed on them in existing universities; that every post of honour,\nemolument and power has been thrown open to them; that for generations\nthey gladly followed the courses of Dublin University, and are even now\npermitted by their ecclesiastics to follow those of Oxford and\nCambridge; that, the nation having adopted the broad principle of\nunsectarian education open to all, no single sect has a right to\nexceptional treatment, though every sect has an undoubted right to set\nup at its own expense such education as it pleases. The answer is that\nthe objection of a certain class of Roman Catholics in Ireland is not to\nany abuses that may take place under the system of mixed and\nundenominational education, but to the system itself, and that the\nparticular type of education of which alone one considerable class of\ntaxpayers can conscientiously avail themselves has only been set up by\nvoluntary effort, and is only inadequately and indirectly endowed by\nthe State.[42] Slowly and very reluctantly governments in England\nhave come to recognise the fact that the trend of Catholic opinion\nin Ireland is as clearly in the direction of denominationalism as\nthe trend of Nonconformist English opinion is in the direction of\nundenominationalism, and that it is impossible to carry on the education\nof a priest-ridden Catholic people on the same lines as a Protestant\none. Primary education has become almost absolutely denominational, and,\ndirectly or indirectly, a crowd of endowments are given to exclusively\nCatholic institutions. On such grounds, many who entertain the strongest\nantipathy to the priestly control of higher education are prepared to\nadvocate an increased endowment of some university or college which is\ndistinctly sacerdotal, while strenuously upholding side by side with it\nthe undenominational institutions which they believe to be incomparably\nbetter, and which are at present resorted to not only by all\nProtestants, but also by a not inconsiderable body of Irish Catholics.\n\nMany of my readers will probably come to an opposite conclusion on this\nvery difficult question. The object of what I have written is simply to\nshow the process by which a politician may conscientiously advocate the\nestablishment and endowment of a thing which he believes to be\nintrinsically bad. It is said to have been a saying of Sir Robert\nInglis--an excellent representative of an old school of extreme but most\nconscientious Toryism--that 'he would never vote one penny of public\nmoney for any purpose which he did not think right and good.' The\nimpossibility of carrying out such a principle must be obvious to any\none who has truly grasped the nature of representative government and\nthe duty of a member of Parliament to act as a trustee for all classes\nin the community. In the exercise of this function every conscientious\nmember is obliged continually to vote money for purposes which he\ndislikes. In the particular instance I have just given, the process of\nreasoning I have described is purely disinterested, but of course it is\nnot by such a process of pure reasoning that such a question will be\ndetermined. English and Scotch members will have to consider the effects\nof their vote on their own constituencies, where there are generally\nlarge sections of electors with very little knowledge of the special\ncircumstances of Irish education, but very strong feelings about the\nRoman Catholic Church. Statesmen will have to consider the ulterior and\nvarious ways in which their policy may affect the whole social and\npolitical condition of Ireland, while the overwhelming majority of the\nIrish members are elected by small farmers and agricultural labourers\nwho could never avail themselves of University education, and who on all\nmatters relating to education act blindly at the dictation of their\npriests.\n\nInconsistency is no necessary condemnation of a politician, and parties\nas well as individual statesmen have abundantly shown it. It would lead\nme too far in a book in which the moral difficulties of politics form\nonly one subdivision, to enter into the history of English parties; but\nthose who will do so will easily convince themselves that there is\nhardly a principle of political action that has not in party history\nbeen abandoned, and that not unfrequently parties have come to advocate\nat one period of their history the very measures which at another period\nthey most strenuously resisted. Changed circumstances, the growth or\ndecline of intellectual tendencies, party strategy, individual\ninfluence, have all contributed to these mutations, and most of them\nhave been due to very blended motives of patriotism and self-interest.\n\nIn judging the moral quality of the changes of party leaders, the\nelement of time will usually be of capital importance. Violent and\nsudden reversals of policy are never effected by a party without a great\nloss of moral weight; though there are circumstances under which they\nhave been imperatively required. No one will now dispute the integrity\nof the motives that induced the Duke of Wellington and Sir Robert Peel\nto carry Catholic Emancipation in 1829, when the Clare election had\nbrought Ireland to the verge of revolution; and the conduct of Sir\nRobert Peel in carrying the repeal of the Corn Laws was certainly not\ndue to any motive either of personal or party ambition, though it may be\nurged with force that at a time when he was still the leader of the\nProtectionist party his mind had been manifestly moving in the direction\nof Free trade, and that the Irish famine, though not a mere pretext, was\nnot wholly the cause of the surrender. In each of these cases a ministry\npledged to resist a particular measure introduced and carried it, and\ndid so without any appeal to the electors. The justification was that\nthe measure in their eyes had become absolutely necessary to the public\nwelfare, and that the condition of politics made it impossible for them\neither to carry it by a dissolution or to resign the task into other\nhands. Had Sir Robert Peel either resigned office or dissolved\nParliament after the Clare election in 1828, it is highly probable that\nthe measure of Catholic Emancipation could not have been carried, and\nits postponement, in his belief, would have thrown Ireland into a\ndangerous rebellion. Few greater misfortunes have befallen party\ngovernment than the failure of the Whigs to form a ministry in 1845. Had\nthey done so the abolition of the Corn Laws would have been carried by\nstatesmen who were in some measure supported by the Free-trade party,\nand not by statesmen who had obtained their power as the special\nrepresentatives of the agricultural interests.\n\nAnother case which in a party point of view was more successful, but\nwhich should in my opinion be much more severely judged, was the Reform\nBill of 1867. The Conservative party, under the guidance of Mr.\nDisraeli, defeated Mr. Gladstone's Reform Bill mainly on the ground that\nit was an excessive step in the direction of Democracy. The victory\nplaced them in office, and they then declared that, as the question had\nbeen raised, they must deal with it themselves. They introduced a bill\ncarrying the suffrage to a much lower point than that which the late\nGovernment had proposed, but they surrounded it with a number of\nprovisions securing additional representation for particular classes and\ninterests which would have materially modified its democratic\ncharacter.\n\nBut for these safeguarding provisions the party would certainly not have\ntolerated the introduction of such a measure, yet in the face of\nopposition their leader dropped them one by one as of no capital\nimportance, and, by a leadership which was a masterpiece of unscrupulous\nadroitness, succeeded in inducing his party to carry a measure far more\ndemocratic than that which they had a few months before denounced and\ndefeated. It was argued that the question must be settled; that it must\nbe placed on a permanent and lasting basis; that it must no longer be\nsuffered to be a weapon in the hands of the Whigs, and that the Tory\nReform Bill, though it was acknowledged to be a 'leap in the dark,' had\nat least the result of 'dishing the Whigs.' There is little doubt that\nit was in accordance with the genuine convictions of Disraeli. He\nbelonged to a school of politics of which Bolingbroke, Carteret and\nShelburne, and, in some periods of his career, Chatham, were earlier\nrepresentatives who had no real sympathy with the preponderance of the\naristocratic element in the old Tory party, who had a decided\ndisposition to appeal frankly to democratic support, and who believed\nthat a strong executive resting on a broad democratic basis was the true\nfuture of Toryism. He anticipated to a remarkable degree the school of\npolitical thought which has triumphed in our own day, though he did not\nlive to witness its triumph. At the same time it cannot be denied that\nthe Reform Bill of 1867 in the form in which it was ultimately carried\nwas as far as possible from the wishes and policy of his party in the\nbeginning of the session, and as inconsistent as any policy could be\nwith their language and conduct in the session that preceded it.\n\nA parliamentary government chosen on the party system is, as we have\nseen, at once the trustee of the whole nation, bound as such to make the\nwelfare of the whole its supreme end, and also the special\nrepresentative of particular classes, the special guardian of their\ninterests, aims, wishes, and principles. The two points of view are not\nthe same, and grave difficulties, both ethical and political, have often\nto be encountered in endeavouring to harmonise them. It is, of course,\nnot true that a party object is merely a matter of place or power, and\nnaturally a different thing from a patriotic object. The very meaning of\nparty is that public men consider certain principles of government,\ncertain lines of policy, the protection and development of particular\ninterests, of capital importance to the nation, and they are therefore\non purely public grounds fully justified in making it a main object to\nplace the government of the country in the hands of their party. The\nimportance, however, of maintaining a particular party in power varies\ngreatly. In many, probably in most, periods of English history a change\nof government means no violent or far-reaching alteration in policy. It\nmeans only that one set of tendencies in legislation will for a time be\nsomewhat relaxed, and another set somewhat intensified; that the\ninterests of one class will be somewhat more and those of another class\nsomewhat less attended to; that the rate of progress or change will be\nslightly accelerated or retarded. Sometimes it means even less than\nthis. Opinions on the two front benches are so nearly assimilated that\na change of government principally means the removal for a time from\noffice of ministers who have made some isolated administrative blunders\nor incurred some individual unpopularity quite apart from their party\npolitics. It means that ministers who are jaded and somewhat worn out by\nseveral years' continuous work, and of whom the country had grown tired,\nare replaced by men who can bring fresher minds and energies to the\ntask; that patronage in all its branches having for some years gone\nmainly to one party, the other party are now to have their turn. There\nare periods when the country is well satisfied with the general policy\nof a government but not with the men who carry it on. Ministers of\nexcellent principles prove inefficient, tactless, or unfortunate, or\nquarrels and jealousies arise among them, or difficult negotiations are\ngoing on with foreign nations which can be best brought to a successful\ntermination if they are placed in the hands of fresh men, unpledged and\nunentangled by their past. The country wants a change of government but\nnot a change of policy, and under such circumstances the task of a\nvictorious opposition is much less to march in new directions than to\nmark time, to carry on the affairs of the nation on the same lines, but\nwith greater administrative skill. In such periods the importance of\nparty objects is much diminished and a policy which is intended merely\nto keep a party in power should be severely condemned.\n\nSometimes, however, it happens that a party has committed itself to a\nparticular measure which its opponents believe to be in a high degree\ndangerous or even ruinous to the country. In that case it becomes a\nmatter of supreme importance to keep this party out of office, or, if\nthey are in office, to keep them in a position of permanent debility\ntill this dangerous project is abandoned. Under such circumstances\nstatesmen are justified in carrying party objects and purely party\nlegislation much further than in other periods. To strengthen their own\nparty; to gain for it the largest amount of popularity; to win the\nsupport of different factions of the House of Commons, become a great\npublic object; and, in order to carry it out, sacrifices of policy and\nin some degree of principle, the acceptance of measures which the party\nhad once opposed, and the adjournment or abandonment of measures to\nwhich it had been pledged, which would once have been very properly\ncondemned, become justifiable. The supreme interest of the State is the\nend and the justification of their policy, and alliances are formed\nwhich under less pressing circumstances would have been impossible, and\nwhich, once established, sometimes profoundly change the permanent\ncharacter of party politics. Here, as in nearly all political matters,\nan attention to proportion and degree, the sacrifice of the less for the\nattainment of the greater, mark the path both of wisdom and of duty.\n\nThe temptations of party politicians are of many kinds and vary greatly\nwith different stages of political development. The worst is the\ntemptation to war. War undertaken without necessity, or at least without\nserious justification, is, according to all sound ethics, the gravest of\ncrimes, and among its causes motives of the kind I have indicated may be\noften detected. Many wars have been begun or have been prolonged in\norder to consolidate a dynasty or a party; in order to give it\npopularity or at least to save it from unpopularity; in order to divert\nthe minds of men from internal questions which had become dangerous or\nembarrassing, or to efface the memory of past quarrels, mistakes or\ncrimes.[43] Experience unfortunately shows only too clearly how easily\nthe combative passions of nations can be aroused and how much popularity\nmay be gained by a successful war. Even in this case, it is true, war\nusually impoverishes the country that wages it, but there are large\nclasses to whom it is by no means a calamity. The high level of\nagricultural prices; the brilliant careers opened to the military and\nnaval professions; the many special industries which are immediately\nstimulated; the rise in the rate of interest; the opportunities of\nwealth that spring from violent fluctuations on the Stock Exchange; even\nthe increased attractiveness of the newspapers,--all tend to give\nparticular classes an interest in its continuance. Sometimes it is\nclosely connected with party sympathies. During the French wars of Anne,\nthe facts that Marlborough was a Whig, and that the Elector of Hanover,\nwho was the hope of the Whig party, was in favour of the war,\ncontributed very materially to retard the peace. A state of great\ninternal disquietude is often a temptation to war, not because it leads\nto it directly, but because rulers find a foreign war the best means of\nturning dangerous and disturbing energies into new channels, and at the\nsame time of strengthening the military and authoritative elements in\nthe community. The successful transformation of the anarchy of the great\nFrench Revolution into a career of conquest is a typical example.\n\nIn aristocratic governments such as existed in England during the\neighteenth century, temptations to corruption were especially strong. To\nbuild up a vast system of parliamentary influence by rotten boroughs,\nand, by systematically bestowing honours on those who could control\nthem, to win the support of great corporations and professions by\nfurthering their interests and abstaining from all efforts to reform\nthem, was a chief part of the statecraft of the time. Class privileges\nin many forms were created, extended and maintained, and in some\ncountries--though much less in England than on the Continent--the burden\nof taxation was most inequitably distributed, falling mainly on the\npoor.\n\nIn democratic governments the temptations are of a different kind.\nPopularity is there the chief source of power, and the supreme tribunal\nconsists of numbers counted by the head. The well-being of the great\nmass of the people is the true end of politics, but it does not\nnecessarily follow that the opinion of the least instructed majority is\nthe best guide to obtaining it. In dwelling upon the temptations of\npoliticians under such a system I do not now refer merely to the\nunscrupulous agitator or demagogue who seeks power, notoriety or\npopularity by exciting class envies and animosities, by setting the poor\nagainst the rich and preaching the gospel of public plunder; nor would\nI dilate upon the methods so largely employed in the United States of\naccumulating, by skilfully devised electoral machinery, great masses of\nvoting power drawn from the most ignorant voters, and making use of them\nfor purposes of corruption. I would dwell rather on the bias which\nalmost inevitably obliges the party leader to measure legislation mainly\nby its immediate popularity, and its consequent success in adding to his\nvoting strength. In some countries this tendency shows itself in lavish\nexpenditure on public works which provide employment for great masses of\nworkmen and give a great immediate popularity in a constituency, leaving\nto posterity a heavy burden of accumulated debt. Much of the financial\nembarrassment of Europe is due to this source, and in most countries\nextravagance in government expenditure is more popular than economy.\nSometimes it shows itself in a legislation which regards only proximate\nor immediate effects, and wholly neglects those which are distant and\nobscure. A far-sighted policy sacrificing the present to a distant\nfuture becomes more difficult; measures involving new principles, but\nmeeting present embarrassments or securing immediate popularity, are\nstarted with little consideration for the precedents they are\nestablishing and for the more extensive changes that may follow in their\ntrain. The conditions of labour are altered for the benefit of the\nexisting workmen, perhaps at the cost of diverting capital from some\ngreat form of industry, making it impossible to resist foreign\ncompetition, and thus in the long run restricting employment and\nseriously injuring the very class who were to have been benefited.\n\nWhen one party has introduced a measure of this kind the other is under\nthe strongest temptation to outbid it, and under the stress of\ncompetition and through the fear of being distanced in the race of\npopularity both parties often end by going much further than either had\noriginally intended. When the rights of the few are opposed to the\ninterests of the many there is a constant tendency to prefer the latter.\nIt may be that the few are those who have built up an industry; who have\nborne all the risk and cost, who have by far the largest interest in its\nsuccess. The mere fact that they are the few determines the bias of the\nlegislators. There is a constant disposition to tamper with even clearly\ndefined and guaranteed rights if by doing so some large class of voters\ncan be conciliated.\n\nParliamentary life has many merits, but it has a manifest tendency to\nencourage short views. The immediate party interest becomes so absorbing\nthat men find it difficult to look greatly beyond it. The desire of a\nskilful debater to use the topics that will most influence the audience\nbefore him, or the desire of a party leader to pursue the course most\nlikely to be successful in an immediately impending contest, will often\noverride all other considerations, and the whole tendency of\nparliamentary life is to concentrate attention on landmarks which are\nnot very distant, thinking little of what is beyond.\n\nOne great cause of the inconsistency of parties lies in the absolute\nnecessity of assimilating legislation. Many, for example, are of opinion\nthat the existing tendency to introduce government regulations and\ninterferences into all departments is at least greatly exaggerated, and\nthat it would be far better if a larger sphere were left to individual\naction and free contract. But if large departments of industry have been\nbrought under the system of regulation, it is practically impossible to\nleave analogous industries under a different system, and the men who\nmost dislike the tendency are often themselves obliged to extend it.\nThey cannot resist the contention that certain legislative protections\nor other special favours have been granted to one class of workmen, and\nthat there is no real ground for distinguishing their case from that of\nothers. The dominant tendency will thus naturally extend itself, and\nevery considerable legislative movement carries others irresistibly in\nits train.\n\nThe pressure of this consideration is most painfully felt in the case of\nlegislation which appears not simply inexpedient and unwise, but\ndistinctly dishonest. In legislation relating to contracts there is a\nclear ethical distinction to be drawn. It is fully within the moral\nright of legislators to regulate the conditions of future contracts. It\nis a very different thing to break existing contracts, or to take the\nstill more extreme step of altering their conditions to the benefit of\none party without the assent of the other, leaving that other party\nbound by their restrictions.\n\nIn the American Constitution there is a special clause making it\nimpossible for any State to pass any law violating contracts. In\nEngland, unfortunately, no such provision exists. The most glaring and\nundoubted instance of this kind is to be found in the Irish land\nlegislation which was begun by the Ministry of Mr. Gladstone, but which\nhas been largely extended by the party that originally most strenuously\nopposed it. Much may no doubt be said to palliate it: agricultural\ndepression; the excessive demand for land; the fact that improvements\nwere in Ireland usually made by the tenants (who, however, were\nperfectly aware of the conditions under which they made them, and whose\nrents were proportionately lower); the prevalence in some parts of\nIreland of land customs unsanctioned by law; the existence of a great\nrevolutionary movement which had brought the country into a condition of\ndisgraceful anarchy. But when all this has been admitted, it remains\nindisputable to every clear and honest mind that English law has taken\naway without compensation unquestionably legal property and broken\nunquestionably legal contracts. A landlord placed a tenant on his farm\non a yearly tenancy, but if he desired to exercise his plain legal right\nof resuming it at the termination of the year, he was compelled to pay a\ncompensation 'for disturbance,' which might amount to seven times the\nyearly rent. A landlord let his land to a farmer for a longer period\nunder a clear written contract bearing the government stamp, and this\ncontract defined the rent to be paid, the conditions under which the\nfarm was to be held, and the number of years during which it was to be\nalienated from its owner. The fundamental clause of the lease distinctly\nstipulated that at the end of the assigned term the tenant must hand\nback that farm to the owner from whom he received it. The law has\ninterposed, and determined that the rent which this farmer had\nundertaken to pay shall be reduced by a government tribunal without the\nassent of the owner, and without giving the owner the option of\ndissolving the contract and seeking a new tenant. It has gone further,\nand provided that at the termination of the lease the tenant shall not\nhand back the land to the owner according to the terms of his contract,\nbut shall remain for all future time the occupier, subject only to a\nrent fixed and periodically revised, irrespective of the wishes of the\nlandlord, by an independent tribunal. Vast masses of property in Ireland\nhad been sold under the Incumbered Estates Act by a government tribunal\nacting as the representative of the Imperial Parliament, and each\npurchaser obtained from this tribunal a parliamentary title making him\nabsolute owner of the soil and of every building upon it, subject only\nto the existing tenancies in the schedule. No accounts of the earlier\nhistory of the property were handed to him, for except under the terms\nof the leases which had not yet expired he had no liability for anything\nin the past. The title he received was deemed so indefeasible that in\none memorable case, where by mistake a portion of the property of one\nman had been included in the sale of the property of another man, the\nCourt of Appeal decided that the injustice could not be remedied, as it\nwas impossible, except in the case of intentional fraud, to go behind\nparliamentary titles.[44] In cases in which the land was let at low\nrents, and in cases where tenants held under leases which would soon\nexpire, the facility of raising the rents was constantly specified by\nthe authority of the Court as an inducement to purchasers.\n\nWhat has become of this parliamentary title? Improvements, if they had\nbeen made, or were presumed to have been made by tenants anterior to the\nsale, have ceased to be the property of the purchaser, and he has at the\nsame time been deprived of some of the plainest and most inseparable\nrights of property. He has lost the power of disposing of his farms in\nthe open market, of regulating the terms and conditions on which he lets\nthem, of removing a tenant whom he considers unsuitable, of taking the\nland back into his own hands when the specified term of a tenancy had\nexpired, of availing himself of the enhanced value which a war or a\nperiod of great prosperity, or some other exceptional circumstance, may\nhave given to his property. He has become a simple rent-charger on the\nland which by inheritance or purchase was incontestably his own, and the\namount of his rent-charge is settled and periodically revised by a\ntribunal in which he has no voice, and which has been given an absolute\npower over his estate. He bought or inherited an exclusive right. The\nlaw has turned it into a dual ownership. A tenant right which, when he\nobtained his property, was wholly unknown to the law, and was only\ngenerally recognised by custom in one province, has been carved out of\nit. The tenant who happened to be in occupation when the law was passed\ncan, without the consent of the owner, sell to another the right of\noccupying the farm at the existing rent. In numerous cases this tenant\nright is more valuable than the fee simple of the farm. In many cases a\nfarmer who had eagerly begged to be a tenant at a specified rent has\nafterwards gone into the land court and had that rent reduced, and has\nthen proceeded to sell the tenant right for a sum much more than\nequivalent to the difference between the two rents. In many cases this\nhas happened where there could be no possible question of improvements\nby the tenant. The tenant right of the smaller farms has steadily risen\nin proportion as the rent has been reduced. In many cases, no doubt, the\nexcessive price of tenant right may be attributed to the land hunger or\npassion for land speculation so common in Ireland, or to some\nexceptional cause inducing a farmer to give an extravagant price for the\ntenant right of a particular farm. But although in such instances the\nprice of tenant right is a deceptive test, the movement, when it is a\ngeneral one, is a clear proof that the reduction of rent did not\nrepresent an equivalent decline in the marketable value of the land, but\nwas simply a gratuitous transfer, by the State, of property from one\nperson to another. Having in the first place turned the exclusive\nownership of the landlord into a simple partnership, the tribunal\nproceeded, in defiance of all equity, to throw the whole burden of the\nagricultural depression on one of the two partners. The law did, it is\ntrue, reserve to the landlord the right of pre-emption, or in other\nwords the right of purchasing the tenant right when it was for sale, at\na price to be determined by the Court, and thus becoming once more the\nabsolute owner of his farm. The sum specified by the Court was usually\nabout sixteen years' purchase of the judicial rent. By the payment of\nthis large sum he may regain the property which a few years ago was\nincontestably his own, which was held by him under the most secure title\nknown to English law, and which was taken from him, not by any process\nof honest purchase, but by an act of simple legislative confiscation.\n\nWhatever palliations of expediency may be alleged, the true nature of\nthis legislation cannot reasonably be questioned, and it has established\na precedent which is certain to grow. The point, however, on which I\nwould especially dwell is that the very party which most strongly\nopposed it, and which most clearly exposed its gross and essential\ndishonesty, have found themselves, or believed themselves to be, bound\nnot only to accept it but to extend it. They have contended that, as a\nmatter of practical politics, it is impossible to grant such privileges\nto one class of agricultural tenants and to withhold it from others. The\nchief pretext for this legislation in its first stages was that it was\nfor the benefit of very poor tenants who were incapable of making their\nown bargains, and that the fixity of tenure which the law gave to yearly\ntenants as long as they paid their rents had been very generally\nvoluntarily given them by good landlords. But the measure was soon\nextended by a Unionist government to the leaseholders, who are the\nlargest and most independent class of farmers, and who held their land\nfor a definite time and under a distinct written contract. It is in\ntruth much more the shrewder and wealthier farmers than the poor and\nhelpless ones that this legislation has chiefly benefited.\n\nInstances of this kind, in which strong expediency or an absolute\npolitical necessity is in apparent conflict with elementary principles\nof right and wrong, are among the most difficult with which a politician\nhas to deal. He must govern the country and preserve it in a condition\nof tolerable order, and he sometimes persuades himself that without a\ncapitulation to anarchy, without attacks on property and violations of\ncontract, this is impossible. Whether the necessity is as absolute or\nthe expediency as rightly calculated as he supposed, may indeed be open\nto much question, but there can be no doubt that most of the English\nstatesmen who carried the Irish agrarian legislation sincerely believed\nit, and some of them imagined that they were giving a security and\nfinality to the property which was left, that would indemnify the\nplundered landlords. Perhaps, under such circumstances, the most that\ncan be said is that wise legislators will endeavour, by encouraging\npurchase on a large scale, gradually to restore the absolute ownership\nand the validity of contract which have been destroyed, and at the same\ntime to compensate indirectly--if they cannot do it directly--the former\nowners for that portion of their losses which is not due to merely\neconomical causes, but to acts of the legislature that were plainly\nfraudulent.\n\nThere are other temptations of a different kind with which party leaders\nhave to deal. One of the most serious is the tendency to force questions\nfor which there is no genuine desire, in order to restore the unity or\nthe zeal of a divided or dispirited party. As all politicians know, the\ndesire for an attractive programme and a popular election cry is one of\nthe strongest in politics, and, as they also know well, there is such a\nthing as manufactured public opinion and artificially stimulated\nagitation. Questions are raised and pushed, not because they are for the\nadvantage of the country, but simply for the purposes of party. The\nleaders have often little or no power of resistance. The pressure of\ntheir followers, or of a section of their followers, becomes\nirresistible; ill-considered hopes are held out; rash pledges are\nextorted, and the party as a whole is committed. Much premature and\nmischievous legislation may be traced to such causes.\n\nAnother very difficult question is the manner in which governments\nshould deal with the acts of public servants which are intended for the\npublic service, but which in some of their parts are morally\nindefensible. Very few of the great acquisitions of nations have been\nmade by means that were absolutely blameless, and in a great empire\nwhich has to deal with uncivilised or semi-civilised populations acts of\nviolence are certain to be not infrequent. Neither in our judgments of\nhistory nor in our judgments of contemporaries is it possible to apply\nthe full stringency of private morals to the cases of men acting in\nposts of great responsibility and danger amid the storms of revolution,\nor panic, or civil war. With the vast interests confided to their care,\nand the terrible dangers that surround them, measures must often be\ntaken which cannot be wholly or at least legally justified. On the other\nhand, men in such circumstances are only too ready to accept the\nprinciple of Macchiavelli and of Napoleon, and to treat politics as if\nthey had absolutely no connection with morals.\n\nCases of this kind must be considered separately and with a careful\nexamination of the motives of the actor and of the magnitude of the\ndangers he had to encounter. Allowances must be made for the moral\natmosphere in which he moved, and his career must be considered as a\nwhole, and not only in its peccant parts. In the trial of Warren\nHastings, and in the judgments which historians have passed on the\nlives of the other great adventurers who have built up the Empire,\nquestions of this kind continually arise.\n\nIn our own day also they have been very frequent. The _Coup d'\u00e9tat_ of\nthe 2nd of December, 1851, is an extreme example. Louis Napoleon had\nsworn to observe and to defend the Constitution of the French Republic,\nwhich had been established in 1848, and that Constitution, among other\narticles, pronounced the persons of the representatives of the people to\nbe inviolable; declared every act of the President which dissolved the\nAssembly or prorogued it, or in any way trammelled it in the exercise of\nits functions, to be high treason, and guaranteed the fullest liberty of\nwriting and discussion. 'The oath which I have just taken,' said the\nPresident, addressing the Assembly, 'commands my future conduct. My duty\nis clear; I will fulfil it as a man of honour. I shall regard as enemies\nof the country all those who endeavour to change by illegal means what\nall France has established.' In more than one subsequent speech he\nreiterated the same sentiments and endeavoured to persuade the country\nthat under no possible circumstances would he break his oath or violate\nhis conscience, or overstep the limits of his constitutional powers.\n\nWhat he did is well known. Before daybreak on December 2, some of the\nmost eminent statesmen in France, including eighteen members of the\nChamber, were, by his orders, arrested in their beds and sent to prison,\nand many of them afterwards to exile. The Chamber was occupied by\nsoldiers, and its members, who assembled in another place, were marched\nto prison. The High Court of Justice was dissolved by force. Martial\nlaw was proclaimed. Orders were given that all who resisted the\nusurpation in the streets were at once, and without trial, to be shot.\nAll liberty of the press, all liberty of public meeting or discussion,\nwere absolutely destroyed. About one hundred newspapers were suppressed\nand great numbers of their editors transported to Cayenne. Nothing was\nallowed to be published without Government authority. In order to\ndeceive the people as to the amount of support behind the President, a\n'Consultative Commission' was announced and the names were placarded in\nParis. Fully half the persons whose names were placed on this list\nrefused to serve, but in spite of their protests their names were kept\nthere in order that they might appear to have approved of what was\ndone.[45] Orders were issued immediately after the _Coup d'\u00e9tat_ that\nevery public functionary who did not instantly give in writing his\nadhesion to the new Government should be dismissed. The Pr\u00e9fets were\ngiven the right to arrest in their departments whoever they pleased. By\nan _ex post facto_ decree, issued on December 8, the Executive were\nenabled without trial to send to Cayenne, or to the penal settlements in\nAfrica, any persons who had in any past time belonged to a 'secret\nsociety,' and this order placed all the numerous members of political\nclubs at the mercy of the Government. Parliament, when it was suffered\nto reassemble, was so organised and shackled that every vestige of free\ndiscussion for many years disappeared, and a despotism of almost\nAsiatic severity was established in France.\n\nIt may be fully conceded that the tragedy of December 4, when for more\nthan a quarter of an hour some 3,000 French soldiers deliberately fired\nvolley after volley without return upon the unoffending spectators on\nthe Boulevards, broke into the houses and killed multitudes, not only of\nmen but of women and children, till the Boulevards, in the words of an\nEnglish eye-witness, were 'at some points a perfect shambles,' and the\nblood lay in pools round the trees that fringed them, was not ordered by\nthe President, though it remained absolutely unpunished and uncensured\nby him. There is conflicting evidence on this point, but it is probable\nthat some stray shots had been fired from the houses, and it is certain\nthat a wild and sanguinary panic had fallen upon the soldiers. It is\npossible too, and not improbable, that the stories so generally believed\nin Paris that large batches of prisoners, who had been arrested, were\nbrought out of prison in the dead hours of the night and deliberately\nshot by bodies of soldiers, may have been exaggerated or untrue. Maupas,\nwho was Pr\u00e9fet of Police, and who must have known the truth, positively\ndenied it; but the question what credence should be attached to a man of\nhis antecedents who boasted that he had been from the first a leading\nagent in the whole conspiracy may be reasonably asked.[46] Evidence of\nthese things, as has been truly said, could scarcely be obtained, for\nthe press was absolutely gagged and all possibility of investigation was\nprevented. For the number of those who were transported or forcibly\nexpelled within the few weeks after December 2, we may perhaps rely upon\nthe historian and panegyrist of the Empire. He computes them at the\nenormous number of 26,500.[47] After the Pl\u00e9biscite new measures of\nproscription were taken, and, according to \u00c9mile Ollivier, one of the\nmost enthusiastic and skilful eulogists of the _Coup d'\u00e9tat_, in the\nfirst months of 1852 there were from 15,000 to 20,000 political\nprisoners in the French prisons.[48] It was by such means that Louis\nNapoleon attained the empire which had been the dream of his life.\n\nLike many, however, of the great crimes of history, this was not without\nits palliations, and a more detailed investigation will show that those\npalliations were not inconsiderable. Napoleon had been elected to the\npresidency by 5,434,226 votes out of 7,317,344 which were given, and\nwith his name, his antecedents, and his well-known aspirations, this\noverwhelming majority clearly showed what were the real wishes of the\npeople. His power rested on universal suffrage; it was independent of\nthe Chamber. It gave him the direction of the army, though he could not\ncommand it in person, and from the very beginning he assumed an\nindependent and almost regal position. In the first review that took\nplace after his election he was greeted by the soldiers with cries of\n'Vive Napol\u00e9on! Vive l'Empereur!' It was soon proved that the\nConstitution of 1848 was exceedingly unworkable. In the words of Lord\nPalmerston: 'There were two great powers, each deriving its existence\nfrom the same source, almost sure to disagree, but with no umpire to\ndecide between them, and neither able by any legal means to get rid of\nthe other.' The President could not dissolve the Chamber, but he could\nimpose upon it any ministry he chose. He was himself elected for only\nfour years, and he could not be re-elected, while by a most fatuous\nprovision the powers of the President and the Chamber were to expire in\n1852 at the same time, leaving France without a government and exposed\nto the gravest danger of anarchy.\n\nThe Legislative Assembly, which was elected in May, 1849, was, it is\ntrue, far from being a revolutionary one. It contained a minority of\ndesperate Socialists, it was broken into many factions, and like most\ndemocratic French Chambers it showed much weakness and inconsistency;\nbut the vast majority of its members were Conservatives who had no kind\nof sympathy with revolution, and its conduct towards the President, if\nfairly judged, was on the whole very moderate. He soon treated it with\ncontempt, and it was quite evident that there was no national enthusiasm\nbehind it. The Socialist party was growing rapidly in the great towns;\nin June, 1849, there was an abortive Socialist insurrection in Paris,\nand a somewhat more formidable one at Lyons. They were easily put down,\nbut the Socialists captured a great part of the representation of Paris,\nand they succeeded in producing a wild panic throughout the country. It\nled to several reactionary measures, the most important being a law\nwhich by imposing new conditions of residence very considerably limited\nthe suffrage. This law was presented to the Chamber by the Ministers of\nthe President and with his assent, though he subsequently demanded the\nreestablishment of universal suffrage, and made a decree effecting this\none of the chief justifications of his _Coup d'\u00e9tat_. The restrictive\nlaw was carried through the Chamber on May 31, 1850, by an immense\nmajority, but it was denounced with great eloquence by some of its\nleading members, and it added seriously to the unpopularity of the\nAssembly, and greatly lowered its authority in contending with a\nPresident whose authority rested on direct universal suffrage. More than\nonce he exercised his power of dismissing and appointing ministries\nabsolutely irrespective of its votes and wishes, and in each case in\norder to fill all posts of power with creatures of his own. The\nnewspapers supporting him continually inveighed against the Chamber, and\ndwelt upon the danger of anarchy to which France would be exposed in\n1852 and upon the absolute necessity of 'a Saviour of Society.' In\nrepeated journeys through France, and in more than one military review,\nthe President gave the occasion of demonstrations in which the cries of\n'Vive l'Empereur!' were often heard, and which were manifestly intended\nto strengthen him in his conflict with the Chamber.\n\nThe man from whom he had most to fear was Changarnier, who since the\nclose of 1848 had been commander of the troops in Paris, and whose name,\nthough far less popular than that of Napoleon, had much weight with the\narmy. He was a man with strong leanings to authority, and was much\ncourted by the monarchical parties, but was for some time in decided\nsympathy with Napoleon, from whom, however, in spite of large offers\nthat had been made him, he gradually diverged. He issued peremptory\norders to the troops under his command, forbidding all party cries at\nreviews. He declared in the Chamber that these cries had been 'not only\nencouraged but provoked,' and when the intention of the President to\nprolong his presidency became apparent, he assured Odilon Barrot that he\nwas prepared, if ordered by the minister and authorised by the President\nof the Chamber, to anticipate the _Coup d'\u00e9tat_ by seizing and\nimprisoning Louis Napoleon.[49] The President succeeded in removing him\nfrom his command, and in placing a creature of his own at the head of\nthe Paris troops; but though Changarnier acquiesced without resistance\nin his dismissal, he remained an important member of the Assembly; he\nopenly declared that his sword was at its service, and if an armed\nconflict broke out it was tolerably certain that he would be its\nrepresentative. The President had an official salary of 48,000\n_l_.--nearly five times as much as the President of the United States.\nThe Chamber refused to increase it, though they consented by a very\nsmall majority, and at the request of Changarnier, to pay his debts.\n\nThe demand for a revision of the Constitution, making it possible for\nthe President to be re-elected, was rising rapidly through the country,\nand there can be but little doubt that this was generally looked forward\nto as the only peaceful solution, and that it represented the real wish\nof the great majority of the people. Petitions in favour of it, bearing\nan enormous number of signatures, were presented to the Chamber, and the\noverwhelming majority of the Conseils G\u00e9n\u00e9raux of which the Deputies\ngenerally formed part voted for revision. The President did not so much\npetition for it as demand it. In a message he sent to the Chamber, he\ndeclared that if they did not vote Revision the people would, in 1852,\nsolemnly manifest their wishes. In a speech at Dijon, June 1, 1851, he\ndeclared that France from end to end demanded it; that he would follow\nthe wishes of the nation, and that France would not perish in his hands.\nIn the same speech he accused the Chamber of never seconding his wishes\nto ameliorate the lot of the people. He at the same time lost no\nopportunity of showing that his special sympathy and trust lay with the\narmy, and he singled out with marked favour the colonels of the\nregiments which had shown themselves at the reviews most prominent in\ndemonstrations in his favour.[50] The meaning of all this was hardly\ndoubtful. Changarnier took up the gauntlet, and at a time when the\nquestion of Revision was before the Chamber he declared that no soldier\nwould ever be induced to move against the law and the Assembly, and he\ncalled upon the Deputies to deliberate in peace.\n\nThe Revision was voted in the Chamber by 446 votes to 278, but a\nmajority of three-fourths was required for a constitutional change, and\nthis majority was not obtained, and in the disintegrated condition of\nFrench parties it seemed scarcely likely to be obtained. The Chamber\nwas soon after prorogued for about two months, leaving the situation\nunchanged, and the tension and panic were extreme. Out of eighty-five\nConseils G\u00e9n\u00e9raux in France, eighty passed votes in favour of Revision,\nthree abstained, two only opposed.\n\nThe President had now fully resolved upon a _Coup d'\u00e9tat_, and before\nthe Chamber reassembled a new ministry was constituted, St.-Arnaud being\nat the head of the army, and Maupas at the head of the police. His first\nstep was to summon the Chamber to repeal the law of May 31 which\nabolished universal suffrage. The Chamber, after much hesitation,\nrefused, but only by two votes. The belief that the question could only\nbe solved by force was becoming universal, and the bolder spirits in the\nChamber clearly saw that if no new measure was taken they were likely to\nbe helpless before the military party. By a decree of 1848 the President\nof the Chamber had a right, if necessary, to call for troops for its\nprotection independently of the Minister of War, and a motion was now\nmade that he should be able to select a general to whom he might\ndelegate this power. Such a measure, dividing the military command and\nenabling the Chamber to have its own general and its own army, might\nhave proved very efficacious, but it would probably have involved France\nin civil war, and the President was resolved that, if the Chamber voted\nit, the _Coup d'\u00e9tat_ should immediately take place. The vote was taken\non November 17, 1851. St.-Arnaud, as Minister of War, opposed the\nmeasure on constitutional grounds, dilating on the danger of a divided\nmilitary command, but during the discussion Maupas and Magnan were in\nthe gallery of the Chamber, waiting to give orders to St.-Arnaud to call\nout the troops and to surround and dissolve the Chamber if the\nproposition was carried.\n\nIt was, however, rejected by a majority of 108, and a few troubled days\nof conspiracy and panic still remained before the blow was struck. The\nstate of the public securities and the testimony of the best judges of\nall parties showed the genuineness of the alarm. It was not true, as the\nPresident stated in the proclamation issued when the _Coup d'\u00e9tat_ was\naccomplished, that the Chamber had become a mere nest of conspiracies,\nand there was a strange audacity in his assertion that he made the _Coup\nd'\u00e9tat_ for the purpose of maintaining the Republic against monarchical\nplots; but it was quite true that the conviction was general that force\nhad become inevitable; that the chief doubt was whether the first blow\nwould be struck by Napoleon or Changarnier, and that while the evident\ndesire of the majority of the people was to re-elect Napoleon, there was\na design among some members of the Chamber to seize him by force and to\nelect in his place some member of the House of Orleans.[51] On December\n2 the curtain fell, and Napoleon accompanied his _Coup d'\u00e9tat_ by a\ndecree dissolving the Chamber, restoring by his own authority universal\nsuffrage, abolishing the law of May 31, establishing a state of siege,\nand calling on the French people to judge his action by their vote.\n\nIt was certainly not an appeal upon which great confidence could be\nplaced. Immediately after the _Coup d'\u00e9tat_, the army, which was wholly\non his side, voted separately and openly in order that France might\nclearly know that the armed forces were with the President and might be\nable to predict the consequences of a verdict unfavourable to his\npretensions. When, nearly three weeks later, the civilian Pl\u00e9biscite\ntook place, martial law was in force. Public meetings of every kind were\nforbidden. No newspaper hostile to the new authority was permitted. No\nelectioneering paper or placard could be circulated which had not been\nsanctioned by Government officials. The terrible decree that all who had\never belonged to a secret society might be sent to die in the fevers of\nAfrica was interpreted in the widest sense, and every political society\nor organisation was included in it. All the functionaries of a highly\ncentralised country were turned into ardent electioneering agents, and\nthe question was so put that the voters had no alternative except for or\nagainst the President, a negative vote leaving the country with no\ngovernment and an almost certain prospect of anarchy and civil war.\nUnder these circumstances 7,500,000 votes were given for the President\nand 500,000 against him.\n\nBut after all deductions have been made there can be no real doubt that\nthe majority of Frenchmen acquiesced in the new _r\u00e9gime_. The terror of\nSocialism was abroad, and it brought with it an ardent desire for strong\ngovernment. The probabilities of a period of sanguinary anarchy were so\ngreat that multitudes were glad to be secured from it at almost any\ncost. Parliamentarism was profoundly discredited. The peasant\nproprietary had never cared for it, and the bourgeois class, among whom\nit had once been popular, were now thoroughly scared. Nothing in the\ncontemporary accounts of the period is more striking than the\nindifference, the almost amused cynicism, or the sense of relief with\nwhich the great mass of Frenchmen seem to have witnessed the destruction\nof their Constitution and the gross insults inflicted upon a Chamber\nwhich included so many of the most illustrious of their countrymen.\n\nWe can hardly have a better authority on this point than Tocqueville. No\none felt more profoundly or more bitterly the iniquity of what had been\ndone; but he was under no illusion about the sentiments of the people.\nThe Constitution, he says, was thoroughly unpopular. 'Louis Napoleon had\nthe merit or the luck to discover what few suspected--the latent\nBonapartism of the nation.... The memory of the Emperor, vague and\nundefined, but therefore the more imposing, still dwelt like an heroic\nlegend in the imaginations of the people.' All the educated, in the\nopinion of Tocqueville, condemned and repudiated the _Coup d'\u00e9tat_.\n'Thirty-seven years of liberty have made a free press and free\nparliamentary discussion necessary to us.' But the bulk of the nation\nwas not with them. The new Government, he predicted, 'will last until it\nis unpopular with the mass of the people. At present the disapprobation\nis confined to the educated classes.' 'The reaction against democracy\nand even against liberty is irresistible.'[52]\n\nThere is no doubt some exaggeration on both sides of this statement.\nThe appalling magnitude of the deportations and imprisonments by the new\nGovernment seems to show that the hatred went deeper than Tocqueville\nsupposed, and on the other hand it can hardly be said that the educated\nclasses wholly repudiated what had been done when we remember that the\nFrench Funds at once rose from 91 to 102, that nearly all branches of\nFrench commerce made a similar spring,[53] that some twenty generals\nwere actively engaged in the conspiracy, and that the great body of the\npriests were delighted at its success. The truth seems to be that the\nproperty of France saw in the success of the _Coup d'\u00e9tat_ an escape\nfrom a great danger, while two powerful professions, the army and the\nChurch, were strongly in favour of the President. Over the army the name\nof Napoleon exercised a magical influence, and the expedition to Rome\nand the probability that the new government would be under clerical\nguidance were, in the eyes of the Church party, quite sufficient to\njustify what had been done.\n\nNothing, indeed, in this strange history is more significant than the\nattitude assumed by the special leaders and representatives of the\nChurch which teaches that 'it were better for the sun and moon to drop\nfrom heaven, for the earth to fail, and for all of the many millions\nupon it to die of starvation in extremest agony, so far as temporal\naffliction goes, than that one soul ... should commit one venial sin,\nshould tell one wilful untruth.'[54]\n\nThree illustrious churchmen--Lacordaire, Ravignan and Dupanloup--to\ntheir immortal honour refused to give any approbation to the _Coup\nd'\u00e9tat_ or to express any confidence in its author. But the latest\npanegyrist of the Empire boasts that they were almost alone in their\nprofession. By the advice of the Papal Nuncio and of the leading French\nbishops, the clergy lost no time in presenting their felicitations.\nVeuillot, who more than any other man represented and influenced the\nvast majority of the French priesthood, wrote on what had been done with\nundisguised and unqualified exultation and delight. Even Montalembert\nrallied to the Government on the morrow of the _Coup d'\u00e9tat_. He\ndescribed Louis Napoleon as a Prince 'who had shown a more efficacious\nand intelligent devotion to religious interests than any of those who\nhad governed France during sixty years;' and it was universally admitted\nthat the great body of the clergy, with Archbishop Sibour at their head,\nwere in this critical moment ardent supporters of the new\ngovernment.[55] Kinglake, in a page of immortal beauty, has described\nthe scene when, thirty days after the _Coup d'\u00e9tat_, Louis Napoleon\nappeared in Notre Dame to receive, amid all the pomp that Catholic\nceremonial could give, the solemn blessing of the Church, and to listen\nto the Te Deum thanking the Almighty for what had been accomplished. The\ntime came, it is true, when the policy of the priests was changed, for\nthey found that Louis Napoleon was more liberal and less clerical than\nthey imagined; but in estimating the feelings with which French\nLiberals judge the Church, its attitude towards the perjury and violence\nof December 2 should never be forgotten.\n\nTo those who judge the political ethics of the Roman Catholic Church not\nfrom the deceptive pages of such writers as Newman, but from an\nexamination of its actual conduct in the different periods of its\nhistory, it will appear in no degree inconsistent. It is but another\ninstance added to many of the manner in which it regards all acts which\nappear conducive to its interests. It was the same spirit that led a\nPope to offer public thanks for the massacre of St. Bartholomew, and to\norder Vasari to paint the murder of Coligny on the walls of the Vatican\namong the triumphs of the Church. No Christian sovereign of modern times\nhas left a worse memory behind him than Ferdinand II. of Naples, who\nreceived the Pope when he fled to Ga\u00ebta in 1848. He was the sovereign\nwhose government was described by Gladstone as 'a negation of God.' He\nnot only destroyed the Constitution he had sworn to observe, but threw\ninto a loathsome dungeon the Liberal ministers who had trusted him. But\nin the eyes of the Pope his services to the Church far outweighed all\ndefects, and the monument erected to this 'most pious prince' may be\nseen in one of the chapels of St. Peter's. Every visitor to Paris may\nsee the fresco in the Madeleine in which Napoleon I. appears seated\ntriumphant on the clouds and surrounded by an admiring priesthood, the\nmost prominent and glorified figure in a picture representing the\nhistory of French Christianity, with Christ above, blessing the work.\n\nIt is indeed a most significant fact that in Catholic countries the\nhighest moral level in public life is now rarely to be found among those\nwho specially represent the spirit and teaching of their Church, and\nmuch more frequently among men who are unconnected with it, and often\nwith all dogmatic theology. How seldom has the distinctively Catholic\npress seriously censured unjust wars, unscrupulous alliances, violations\nof constitutional obligations, unprovoked aggressions, great outbursts\nof intolerance and fanaticism! It is, indeed, not too much to say that\nsome of the worst moral perversions of modern times have been supported\nand stimulated by a great body of genuinely Catholic opinion both in the\npriesthood and in the press. The anti-Semite movement, the shameful\nindifference to justice shown in France in the Dreyfus case, and the\ncountless frauds, outrages and oppressions that accompanied the\ndomination of the Irish Land League are recent and conspicuous examples.\n\nAmong secular-minded laymen the _Coup d'\u00e9tat_ of Louis Napoleon was, as\nI have said, differently judged. Few things in French history are more\nhonourable than the determination with which so many men who were the\nvery flower of the French nation refused to take the oath or give their\nadhesion to the new Government. Great statesmen and a few distinguished\nsoldiers, with a splendid past behind them and with the prospect of an\nillustrious career before them; men of genius who in their professorial\nchairs had been the centres of the intellectual life of France;\nfunctionaries who had by laborious and persevering industry climbed the\nsteps of their profession and depended for their livelihood on its\nemoluments, accepted poverty, exile and the long eclipse of the most\nhonourable ambitions rather than take an oath which seemed to justify\nthe usurpation. At the same time, some statesmen of unquestionable\nhonour did not wholly and in all its parts condemn it. Lord Palmerston\nwas conspicuous among them. Without expressing approval of all that had\nbeen done, he always maintained that the condition of France was such\nthat a violent subversion of an unworkable Constitution and the\nestablishment of a strong government had become absolutely necessary;\nthat the _Coup d'\u00e9tat_ saved France from the gravest and most imminent\ndanger of anarchy and civil war, and that this fact was its\njustification. If it had not been for the acts of ferocious tyranny\nwhich immediately followed it, his opinion would have been more largely\nshared.\n\nIt is probable that the moral character of _Coups d'\u00e9tat_ may in the\nfuture not unfrequently come into discussion in Europe, as it has often\ndone in South America. As the best observers are more and more\nperceiving, parliamentary government worked upon party lines is by no\nmeans an easy thing, and it seldom attains perfection without long\nexperience and without qualities of mind and character which are very\nunequally distributed among the nations of the world. It requires a\nspirit of compromise, patience and moderation; the kind of mind which\ncan distinguish the solid, the practical and the well meaning, from the\nbrilliant, the plausible and the ambitious, which cares more for useful\nresults and for the conciliation of many interests and opinions than for\nany rigid uniformity and consistency of principle; which, while\npursuing personal ambitions and party aims, can subordinate them on\ngreat occasions to public interests. It needs a combination of\nindependence and discipline which is not common, and where it does not\nexist parliaments speedily degenerate either into an assemblage of\npuppets in the hands of party leaders or into disintegrated,\ndemoralised, insubordinate groups. Some of the foremost nations of the\nworld--nations distinguished for noble and brilliant intellect; for\nsplendid heroism; for great achievements in peace and war--have in this\nform of government conspicuously failed. In England it has grown with\nour growth and strengthened with our strength. We have practised it in\nmany phases. Its traditions have taken deep root and are in full harmony\nwith the national character. But in the present century this kind of\ngovernment has been adopted by many nations which are wholly unfit for\nit, and they have usually adopted it in the most difficult of all\nforms--that of an uncontrolled democracy resting upon universal\nsuffrage. It is becoming very evident that in many countries such\nassemblies are wholly incompetent to take the foremost place in\ngovernment, but they are so fenced round by oaths and other\nconstitutional forms that nothing short of violence can take from them a\npower which they are never likely voluntarily to relinquish. In such\ncountries democracy tends much less naturally to the parliamentary\nsystem than to some form of dictatorship, to some despotism resting on\nand justified by a pl\u00e9biscite. It is probable that many transitions in\nthis direction will take place. They will seldom be carried out through\npurely public motives or without perjury and violence. But public\nopinion will judge each case on its own merits, and where it can be\nshown that its results are beneficial and that large sections of the\npeople have desired it, such an act will not be severely condemned.\n\nCases of conflicting ethical judgments of another kind may be easily\ncited. One of the best known was that of Governor Eyre at the time of\nthe Jamaica insurrection of 1865. In this case there was no question of\npersonal interest or ambition. The Governor was a man of stainless\nhonour, who in a moment of extreme difficulty and danger had rendered a\ngreat service to his country. By his prompt and courageous action a\nnegro insurrection was quickly suppressed, which, if it had been allowed\nto extend, must have brought untold horrors upon Jamaica. But the\nmartial law which he had proclaimed was certainly continued longer than\nwas necessary, it was exercised with excessive severity, and those who\nwere tried under it were not merely men who had been taken in arms. One\nconspicuous civilian agitator, who had contributed greatly to stimulate\nthe insurrection, and had been, in the opinion of the Governor, its\n'chief cause and origin,' but who, like most men of his kind, had merely\nincited others without taking any direct part himself, was arrested in a\npart of the island in which martial law was not proclaimed, and was\ntried and hanged by orders of a military tribunal in a way which the\nbest legal authorities in England pronounced wholly unwarranted by law.\nIf this act had been considered apart from the general conditions of the\nisland it would have deserved severe punishment. If the services of the\nGovernor had been considered apart from this act they would have\ndeserved high honours from the Crown. In Jamaica the Governor was fully\nsupported by the Legislative Council and the Assembly, but at home\npublic opinion was fiercely divided, and the fact that the chief\nliterary and scientific men in England took sides on the question added\ngreatly to its interest. Carlyle took a leading part in the defence of\nGovernor Eyre. John Stuart Mill was the chairman of a committee who\nregarded him as a simple criminal, and who for more than two years\npursued him with a persistent vindictiveness. As might have been\nexpected the one side dwelt solely on his services and the other side on\nhis misdeeds. Governor Eyre received no reward for the great service he\nhad rendered, and he was involved by his enemies in a ruinous legal\nexpenditure, which, however, was subsequently paid by the Government;\nbut those who desired to bring him to trial for murder were baffled, for\nthe Old Bailey Grand Jury threw out the bill. Public opinion, I think,\non the whole, approved of what they had done. Most moderate men had come\nto the conclusion that Governor Eyre was a brave and honourable man who\nhad rendered great services to the State and had saved countless lives,\nbut who, through no unworthy motive and in a time of extreme danger and\npanic, had committed a serious mistake which had been very amply\nexpiated.\n\nThe more recent events connected with the Jameson raid into the\nTransvaal may also be cited. Of the raid itself there is little to be\nsaid. It was, in truth, one of the most discreditable as well as\nmischievous events in recent colonial history, and its character was\nentirely unrelieved by any gleam either of heroism or of skill. Those\nwho took a direct part in it were duly tried and duly punished. A\nsection of English society adopted on this question a disgraceful\nattitude, but it must at least be said in palliation that they had been\ngrossly deceived, one of the chief and usually most trustworthy organs\nof opinion having been made use of as an organ of the conspirators.\n\nA more difficult question arose in the case of the statesman who had\nprepared and organized the expedition against the Transvaal. It is\ncertain that the actual raid had taken place without his knowledge or\nconsent, though when it was brought to his knowledge he abstained from\ntaking any step to stop it. It may be conceded also that there were real\ngrievances to be complained of. By a strange irony of fate some of the\nlargest gold mines of the world had fallen to the possession of perhaps\nthe only people who did not desire them; of a race of hunters and\nfarmers intensely hostile to modern ideas, who had twice abandoned their\nhomes and made long journeys into distant lands in search of solitude\nand space and of a home where they could live their primitive, pastoral\nlives, undisturbed by any foreign element. These men now found their\ncountry the centre of a vast stream of foreign immigration, and of that\nmost undesirable kind of immigration which gold mines invariably\npromote. Their laws were very backward, but the part which was most\noppressive was that connected with the gold-mining industry which was\nalmost entirely in the hands of the immigrants, and it was this which\nmade it a main object to overthrow their government. The trail of\nfinance runs over the whole story, but it may be acknowledged that,\nalthough Mr. Rhodes had made an enormous fortune by mining speculations,\nand although he was largely interested as a financier in overturning the\nsystem of government at Johannesburg, he was not a man likely to be\nactuated by mere love of money, and that political ambition closely\nconnected with the opening and the civilisation of Africa largely\nactuated him. Whether the motives of his co-conspirators were of the\nsame kind may be open to question. What, however, he did has been very\nclearly established. When holding the highly confidential position of\nPrime Minister of the Cape Colony, and being at the same time a Privy\nCouncillor of the Queen, he engaged in a conspiracy for the overthrow of\nthe government of a neighbouring and friendly State. In order to carry\nout this design he deceived the High Commissioner whose Prime Minister\nhe was. He deceived his own colleagues in the Ministry. He collected\nunder false pretences a force which was intended to co-operate with an\ninsurrection in Johannesburg. Being a Director of the Chartered Company\nhe made use of that position, without the knowledge of his colleagues,\nto further the conspiracy. He took an active and secret part in\nsmuggling great quantities of arms into the Transvaal, which were\nintended to be used in the rebellion; and at a time when his organs in\nthe press were representing Johannesburg as seething with spontaneous\nindignation against an oppressive government, he, with another\nmillionaire, was secretly expending many thousands of pounds in that\ntown in stimulating and subsidising the rising. He was also directly\nconnected with the shabbiest incident in the whole affair, the\nconcoction of a letter from the Johannesburg conspirators absurdly\nrepresenting English women and children at Johannesburg as in danger of\nbeing shot down by the Boers, and urging the British to come at once to\nsave them. It was a letter drawn up with the sanction of Mr. Rhodes many\nweeks before the raid, and before any disturbance had arisen, and kept\nin reserve to be dated and used in the last moment for the purpose of\ninducing the young soldiers in South Africa to join in the raid, and of\nsubsequently justifying their conduct before the War Office, and also\nfor the purpose of being published in the English press at the same time\nas the first news of the raid, in order to work upon English public\nopinion and persuade the English people that the raid, though\ntechnically wrong, was morally justifiable.[56]\n\nMr. Rhodes is a man of great genius and influence, and in the past he\nhas rendered great services to the Empire. At the same time no\nreasonable judge can question that in these transactions he was more\nblamable than those who were actually punished by the law for taking\npart in the raid--far more blamable than those young officers who were,\nin truth, the most severely punished, and who had been induced to take\npart in it under a false representation of the wishes of the Government\nat home, and a grossly false representation of the state of things at\nJohannesburg. The failure of the raid, and his undoubted complicity\nwith its design, obliged Mr. Rhodes to resign the post of Prime Minister\nand his directorship of the Chartered Company, and, for a time at least,\neclipsed his influence in Africa; but the question confronted the\nMinisters whether these resignations alone constituted a sufficient\npunishment for what he had done.\n\nThe question was indeed one of great difficulty. The Government, in my\nopinion, were right in not attempting a prosecution which, in the face\nof the fact that the actual raid had certainly been undertaken without\nthe knowledge of Mr. Rhodes, and that the evidence against him was\nchiefly drawn from his own voluntary admissions before the committee of\ninquiry, would inevitably have proved abortive. They were, perhaps,\nright in not taking from him the dignity of Privy Councillor, which had\nbeen bestowed on him as a reward for great services in the past, and\nwhich had never in the present reign been taken from anyone on whom it\nhad been bestowed. They were right also, I believe, in urging that after\na long and elaborate inquiry into the circumstances of the raid, and\nafter a report in which Mr. Rhodes's conduct had been fully examined and\nseverely censured, it was most important for the peace and good\ngovernment of South Africa that the matter should as soon as possible be\nallowed to drop, and the raid and the party animosities it had aroused\nto subside. But what can be thought of the language of a Minister who\nvolunteered to assure the House of Commons that in all the transactions\nI have described, Mr. Rhodes, though he had made 'a gigantic mistake,' a\nmistake perhaps as great as a statesman could make, had done nothing\naffecting his personal honour?[57]\n\nThe foregoing examples will serve to illustrate the kind of difficulty\nwhich every statesman has to encounter in dealing with political\nmisdeeds, and the impossibility of treating them by the clearly defined\nlines and standards that are applicable to the morals of a private life.\nWhatever conclusions men may arrive at in the seclusion of their\nstudies, when they take part in active political life they will find it\nnecessary to make large allowances for motives, tendencies, past\nservices, pressing dangers, overwhelming expediencies, opposing\ninterests. Every statesman who is worthy of the name has a strong\npredisposition to support the public servants who are under him when he\nknows that they have acted with a sincere desire to benefit the Empire.\nThis is, indeed, a characteristic of all really great statesmen, and it\ngives a confidence and energy to the public service which in times of\ndifficulty and danger are of supreme importance. In such times a\nmistaken decision is usually a less evil than timid, vacillating, or\nprocrastinated action, and a wise Minister will go far to defend his\nsubordinates if they have acted promptly and with substantial justice in\nthe way they believed to be best, even though they may have made\nconsiderable mistakes, and though the results of their action may have\nproved unfortunate.\n\nBut of all forms of prestige, moral prestige is the most valuable, and\nno statesman should forget that one of the chief elements of British\npower is the moral weight that is behind it. It is the conviction that\nBritish policy is essentially honourable and straightforward, that the\nword and honour of its statesmen and diplomatists may be implicitly\ntrusted, and that intrigues and deceptions are wholly alien to their\nnature. The statesman must steer his way between rival fanaticisms--the\nfanaticism of those who pardon everything if it is crowned by success\nand conduces to the greatness of the Empire, and who act as if weak\nPowers and savage nations had no moral rights; and the fanaticism of\nthose who always seem to have a leaning against their own country, and\nwho imagine that in times of war, anarchy, or rebellion, and in dealings\nwith savage or half-savage military populations, it is possible to act\nwith the same respect for the technicalities of law, and the same\ninvariably high standard of moral scrupulousness, as in a peaceful age\nand a highly civilised country. In the affairs of private life the\ndistinction between right and wrong is usually very clear, but it is not\nso in public affairs. Even the moral aspects of political acts can\nseldom be rightly estimated without the exercise of a large, judicial,\nand comprehensive judgment, and the spirit which should actuate a\nstatesman should be rather that of a high-minded and honourable man of\nthe world than that of a theologian, or a lawyer, or an abstract\nmoralist.\n\nIn some respects the standard of political morality has undoubtedly\nrisen in modern times; but it is by no means certain that in\ninternational politics this is the case. A true history of the wars of\nthe last half of the nineteenth century may well lead us to doubt it,\nand recent disclosures have shown us that in the most terrible of\nthem--the Franco-German War of 1870--the blame must be much more equally\ndivided than we had been accustomed to believe. Very few massacres in\nhistory have been more gigantic or more clearly traced to the action of\na government than those perpetrated by Turkish soldiers in our\ngeneration, and few signs of the low level of public feeling in\nChristendom are more impressive than the general indifference with which\nthese massacres were contemplated in most countries. It was made evident\nthat a Power which retains its military strength, and which is therefore\nsought as an ally and feared as an enemy, may do things with impunity,\nand even with very little censure, which in the case of a weak nation\nwould produce a swift retribution. Among the minor episodes of\nnineteenth-century history the historian will not forget how soon after\nthe savage Armenian massacres the sovereign of one of the greatest and\nmost civilised of Christian nations hastened to Constantinople to clasp\nthe hand which was so deeply dyed with Christian blood, and then,\nhaving, as he thought, sufficiently strengthened his popularity and\ninfluence in that quarter, proceeded to the Mount of Olives, where, amid\nscenes that are consecrated by the most sacred of all memories, and most\nfitted to humble the pride of power and dispel the dreams of ambition,\nhe proclaimed himself with melodramatic piety the champion and the\npatron of the Christian faith! How many instances may be culled from\nvery modern history of the deliberate falsehood of statesmen; of\ndistinct treaty engagements and obligations simply set aside because\nthey were inconvenient to one Power, and could be repudiated with\nimpunity; of weak nations annexed or plundered without a semblance of\nreal provocation! The safety of the weak in the presence of the strong\nis the best test of international morality. Can it be said that, if\nmeasured by this test, the public morality of our time ranks very high?\nNo one can fail to notice with what levity the causes of war with\nbarbarous or semi-civilised nations are scrutinised if only those wars\nare crowned with success; how strongly the present commercial policy of\nEurope is stimulating the passion for aggression; how warmly that policy\nis in all great nations supported by public opinion and by the Press.\n\nThe questions of morality arising out of these things are many and\ncomplicated, and they cannot be disposed of by short and simple formul\u00e6.\nHow far is a statesman who sees, or thinks he sees, some crushing danger\nfrom an aggressive foreign Power impending over his country, justified\nin anticipating that danger, and at a convenient moment and without any\nimmediate provocation forcing on a war? How far is it his right or his\nduty to sacrifice the lives of his people through humanitarian motives,\nfor the redress of some flagrant wrong with which he is under no treaty\nobligation to interfere? How far, if several Powers agree to guarantee\nthe integrity of a small Power, is one Power bound at great risk to\ninterfere in isolation if its co-partners refuse to do so or are even\naccomplices in a policy of plunder? How far, if the aggression of other\nPowers places his nation at a commercial or other disadvantage in the\ncompetition of nations, may a statesman take measures which, under\nother circumstances, would be plainly unjustifiable, to guard against\nsuch disadvantage? With what degrees of punctiliousness, at what cost of\ntreasure and of life, ought a nation to resent insults directed against\nits dignity, its subjects and its flag? What is the meaning and what are\nthe limits of national egotism and national unselfishness? There is such\na thing as the comity of nations, and even apart from treaty obligations\nno great nation can pursue a policy of complete isolation, disregarding\ncrimes and aggressions beyond its border. On the other hand, the primary\nduty of every statesman is to his own country. His task is to secure for\nmany millions of the human race the highest possible amount of peace and\nprosperity, and a selfishness is at least not a narrow one which, while\nabstaining from injuring others, restricts itself to promoting the\nhappiness of a vast section of the human race. Sacrifices and dangers\nwhich a good man would think it his clear duty to accept if they fell on\nhimself alone wear another aspect if he is acting as trustee for a great\nnation and for the interests of generations who are yet unborn. Nothing\nis more calamitous than the divorce of politics from morals, but in\npractical politics public and private morals will never absolutely\ncorrespond. The public opinion of the nation will inevitably inspire and\ncontrol its statesmen. It creates in all countries an ethical code which\nwith greater or less perfection marks out for them the path of duty, and\nthough a great statesman may do something to raise its level, he can\nnever wholly escape its influence. In different nations it is higher or\nlower--in truthfulness and sincerity of diplomacy the variations are\nvery great--but it will never be the exact code on which men act in\nprivate life. It is certainly widely different from the Sermon on the\nMount.\n\nThere is one belief, half unconscious, half avowed, which in our\ngeneration is passing widely over the world and is practically accepted\nin a very large measure by the English-speaking nations. It is that to\nreclaim savage tribes to civilisation, and to place the outlying\ndominions of civilised countries which are anarchical or grossly\nmisgoverned in the hands of rulers who govern wisely and uprightly, are\nsufficient justification for aggression and conquest. Many who, as a\ngeneral rule, would severely censure an unjust and unprovoked war,\ncarried on for the purpose of annexation by a strong Power against a\nweak one, will excuse or scarcely condemn such a war if it is directed\nagainst a country which has shown itself incapable of good government.\nTo place the world in the hands of those who can best govern it is\nlooked upon as a supreme end. Wars are not really undertaken for this\nend. The philanthropy of nations when it takes the form of war and\nconquest is seldom or never unmixed with selfishness, though strong\ngusts of humanitarian enthusiasm often give an impulse, a pretext, or a\nsupport to the calculated actions of statesmen. But when wars, however\nselfish and unprovoked, contribute to enlarge the boundaries of\ncivilisation, to stimulate real progress, to put an end to savage\ncustoms, to oppression or to anarchy, they are now very indulgently\njudged even in the many cases in which the inhabitants of the conquered\nPower do not desire the change and resist it strenuously in the field.\n\nIn domestic as in foreign politics the maintenance of a high moral\nstandard in statesmanship is impossible unless the public opinion of the\ncountry is in harmony with it. Moral declension in a nation is very\nswiftly followed by a corresponding decadence among its public men, and\nit will indeed be generally found that the standard of public men is apt\nto be somewhat lower than that of the better section of the public\noutside. They are exposed to very special temptations, some of which I\nhave already indicated.\n\nThe constant habit of regarding questions with a view to party\nadvantage, to proximate issues, to immediate popularity, which is\ninseparable from parliamentary government, can hardly fail to give some\nply to the most honest intellect. Most questions have to be treated more\nor less in the way of compromise; and alliances and coalitions not very\nconducive to a severe standard of political morals are frequent. In\nEngland the leading men of the opposing parties have happily usually\nbeen able to respect one another. The same standard of honour will be\nfound on both sides of the House, but every parliament contains its\nnotorious agitators, intriguers and self-seekers, men who have been\nconnected with acts which may or may not have been brought within the\nreach of the criminal law, but have at least been sufficient to stamp\ntheir character in the eyes of honest men. Such men cannot be neglected\nin party combinations. Political leaders must co-operate with them in\nthe daily intercourse and business of parliamentary life--must sometimes\nask them favours--must treat them with deference and respect. Men who on\nsome subjects and at some times have acted with glaring profligacy, on\nothers act with judgment, moderation and even patriotism, and become\nuseful supporters or formidable opponents. Combinations are in this way\nformed which are in no degree wrong, but which tend to dull the edge of\nmoral perception and imperceptibly to lower the standard of moral\njudgment. In the swift changes of the party kaleidoscope the bygone is\nsoon forgotten. The enemy of yesterday is the ally of to-day; the\nservices of the present soon obscure the misdeeds of the past; and men\ninsensibly grow very tolerant not only of diversities of opinion, but\nalso of gross aberrations of conduct. The constant watchfulness of\nexternal opinion is very necessary to keep up a high standard of\npolitical morality.\n\nPublic opinion, it is true, is by no means impeccable. The tendency to\nbelieve that crimes cease to be crimes when they have a political\nobject, and that a popular vote can absolve the worst crimes, is only\ntoo common; there are few political misdeeds which wealth, rank, genius\nor success will not induce large sections of English society to pardon,\nand nations even in their best moments will not judge acts which are\ngreatly for their own advantage with the severity of judgment that they\nwould apply to similar acts of other nations. But when all this is\nadmitted, it still remains true that there is a large body of public\nopinion in England which carries into all politics a sound moral sense\nand which places a just and righteous policy higher than any mere party\ninterest. It is on the power and pressure of this opinion that the high\ncharacter of English government must ultimately depend.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[42] This sentence may appear obscure to English readers. The\nexplanation is, that by an ingenious arrangement, devised by Lord\nBeaconsfield, the professors of the Jesuit College in Stephen's Green\nare nearly all made Fellows of the Royal University, those of the Arts\nFaculty receiving 400_l._ a year, and three Medical Fellows 150_l._\neach. By this device the Catholic college has in reality a State\nendowment to the amount of between 6,000_l._ and 7,000_l._ a year. This\nfact considerably reduces the grievance.\n\n[43] See e.g. the death-bed counsels of Henry IV. to his son:--\n\n\n 'Therefore, my Harry,\n Be it thy course to busy giddy minds\n With foreign quarrels; that action, hence borne out,\n May waste the memory of the former days.'\n _Henry IV_. Part II. Act IV. Sc. 4.\n\n\n[44] Lord Lanesborough _v._ Reilly.\n\n[45] See Tocqueville's _Memoirs_ (English trans.), ii. 189, Letter to\nthe _Times_.\n\n[46] See Maupas, _M\u00e9moires sur le Second Empire_, i. 511, 512. It is\nsaid that, contrary to the orders of St.-Arnaud, the soldiers, instead\nof immediately shooting all persons in the street who were found with\narms or constructing or defending a barricade, made many prisoners, and\nit is not clear what became of them. Granier de Cassagnac, however,\naltogether denies the executions on the Champ de Mars (ii. 433).\n\n[47] Granier de Cassagnac, ii. 438.\n\n[48] _L'Empire Lib\u00e9ral_, ii. 526.\n\n[49] _M\u00e9moires d'Odilon Barrot_, iv. 59-61.\n\n[50] _M\u00e9moires d'Odilon Barrot_, iv. 56, 57.\n\n[51] See Lord Palmerston's statements on this subject in Ashley's _Life\nof Palmerston_, ii. 200-211. Tocqueville, however, utterly denies that\nthe majority of the Assembly had any sympathy with these views\n(Tocqueville's _Memoirs_ (Eng. trans.), ii. 177). Maupas, in his\n_M\u00e9moires_, gives a very detailed account of the conspiracy on the\nBonapartist side. It appears that the 'homme de confiance' of\nChangarnier was in his pay.\n\n[52] Tocqueville's _Memoirs_, ii.\n\n[53] Ashley's _Life of Palmerston_, ii. 208.\n\n[54] Newman.\n\n[55] See Ollivier, _L'Empire Lib\u00e9ral_, i. 510-512.\n\n[56] _Second Report of the Select Committee on British South Africa_\n(July, 1897).\n\n[57] _Parliamentary Debates_, July 26, 1897, 1169, 1170.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\n\nThe necessities for moral compromise I have traced in the army, in the\nlaw, and in the fields of politics may be found in another form not less\nconspicuously in the Church. The members, and still more the ministers,\nof an ancient Church bound to formularies and creeds that were drawn up\nin long bygone centuries, are continually met by the difficulties of\nreconciling these forms with the changed conditions of human knowledge,\nand there are periods when the pressure of these difficulties is felt\nwith more than common force. Such, for example, were the periods of the\nRenaissance and the Reformation, when changes in the intellectual\ncondition of Europe produced a widespread conviction of the vast amount\nof imposture and delusion which had received the sanction of a Church\nthat claimed to be infallible, the result being in some countries a\nsilent evanescence of all religious belief among the educated class,\neven including a large number of the leaders of the Church, and in other\ncountries a great outburst of religious zeal aiming at the restoration\nof Christianity to its primitive form and a repudiation of the\naccretions of superstition that had gathered around it. The Copernican\ntheory proving that our world is not, as was long believed, the centre\nof the universe, but a single planet moving with many others around a\ncentral sun, and the discovery, by the instrumentality of the\ntelescope, of the infinitesimally small place which our globe occupies\nin the universe, altered men's measure of probability and affected\nwidely, though indirectly, their theological beliefs.\n\nA similar change was gradually produced by the Newtonian discovery that\nthe whole system of the universe was pervaded by one great law, and by\nthe steady growth of scientific knowledge, proving that vast numbers of\nphenomena which were once attributed to isolated and capricious acts of\nspiritual intervention were regulated by invariable, inexorable,\nall-pervasive law. Many of the formularies by which we still express our\nreligious beliefs date from periods when comets and eclipses were\nbelieved to have been sent to portend calamity; when every great\nmeteorological change was attributed to some isolated spiritual agency;\nwhen witchcraft and diabolical possession, supernatural diseases, and\nsupernatural cures were deemed indubitable facts: and when accounts of\ncontemporary miracles, Divine or Satanic, carried with them no sense of\nstrangeness or improbability. It is scarcely surprising that these\nformularies sometimes seem incongruous with an age when the scientific\nspirit has introduced very different conceptions of the government of\nthe universe, and when the miraculous, if it is not absolutely\ndiscredited, is, at least in the eyes of most educated men, relegated to\na distant past.\n\nThe present century has seen some powerful reactions towards older\nreligious beliefs, but it has also been to an unusual extent fertile in\nthe kind of changes that most deeply affect them. Not many years have\npassed since the whole drama of the world's history was believed to\nhave been comprised in the framework of 'Paradise Lost' and 'Paradise\nRegained.' Man appeared in the universe a faultless being in a faultless\nworld, but he soon fell from his first estate, and his fall entailed\nworld-wide consequences. It introduced into our globe sin, death,\nsuffering, disease, imperfection and decay; all the mischievous and\nferocious instincts and tendencies of man and beast; all the\nmultitudinous forms of struggle, terror, anxiety and grief; all that\nmakes life bitter to any living being, and, even as the Fathers were\naccustomed to say, the briars and weeds and sterility of the earth.\nParadise Regained was believed to be indissolubly connected with\nParadise Lost. The one was the explanation of the other. The one\nintroduced the disease, the other provided the remedy.\n\nIt is idle to deny that the main outlines of this picture have been\nwholly changed. First came the discovery that the existence of our globe\nstretches far beyond the period once assigned to the Creation, and that\nfor countless ages before the time when Adam was believed to have lost\nParadise, death had been its most familiar fact and its inexorable law;\nthat the animals who inhabited it preyed upon and devoured each other as\nat present, their claws and teeth being specially adapted for that\npurpose. Even their half-digested remains have been preserved in fossil.\n\n'Death,' wrote a Pagan philosopher, in sharp contrast to the teaching of\nthe Church, 'is a law and not a punishment,' and geology has fully\njustified his assertion.\n\nThen came decisive evidence showing that for many thousands of years\nbefore his supposed origin man had lived and died upon our globe--a\nbeing, as far as can be judged from the remains that have been\npreserved, not superior but greatly inferior to ourselves, whose almost\nonly art was the manufacture of rude instruments for killing, who\nappears in structure and in life to have approximated closely to the\nlowest existing forms of savage life.\n\nThen came the Darwinian theory maintaining that the whole history of the\nliving world is a history of slow and continuous evolution, chiefly by\nmeans of incessant strife, from lower to higher forms; that man himself\nhad in this way gradually emerged from the humblest forms of the animal\nworld; that most of the moral deflections which were attributed to the\napple in Eden are the remains and traditions of the earlier and lower\nstages of his existence. The theory of continuous ascent from a lower to\na higher stage took the place of the theory of the Fall as the\nexplanation of human history. It is a doctrine which is certainly not\nwithout hope for the human race. It gives no explanation of the ultimate\norigin of things, and it is in no degree inconsistent with the belief\neither in a Divine and Creative origin or in a settled and Providential\nplan. But it is as far as possible removed from the conception of human\nhistory and human nature which Christendom during eighteen centuries\naccepted as fundamental truth.\n\nWith these things have come influences of another kind. Comparative\nMythology has accumulated a vast amount of evidence, showing how myths\nand miracles are the natural product of certain stages of human\nhistory, of certain primitive misconceptions of the course of nature;\nhow legends essentially of the same kind, though with some varieties of\ndetail, have sprung up in many different quarters, and how they have\nmigrated and interacted on each other. Biblical criticism has at the\nsame time decomposed and analysed the Jewish writings, assigning to them\ndates and degrees of authority very different from those recognised by\nthe Church. It has certainly not impaired their significance as records\nof successive developments of religious and moral progress, nor has it\ndiminished their value as expressions of the loftiest and most enduring\nreligious sentiments of mankind; but in the eyes of a great section of\nthe educated world it has deprived them of the authoritative and\ninfallible character that was once attributed to them. At the same time\nhistorical criticism has brought with it severer standards of proof,\nmore efficient means of distinguishing the historical from the fabulous.\nIt has traced the phases and variations of religions, and the influences\nthat governed them, with a fulness of knowledge and an independence of\njudgment unknown in the past, and it has led its votaries to regard in\nthese matters a sceptical and hesitating spirit as a virtue, and\ncredulity and easiness of belief as a vice.\n\nThis is not a book of theology, and I have no intention of dilating on\nthese things. It must, however, be manifest to all who are acquainted\nwith contemporary thought how largely these influences have displaced\ntheological beliefs among great numbers of educated men; how many things\nthat were once widely believed have become absolutely incredible; how\nmany that were once supposed to rest on the plane of certainty have now\nsunk to the lower plane of mere probability or perhaps possibility. From\nthe time of Galileo downwards, these changes have been denounced as\nincompatible with the whole structure of Christian belief. No less an\napologist than Bishop Berkeley declared that the belief that the date of\nthe existence of the world was approximately that which could be deduced\nfrom the book of Genesis was one of the fundamental beliefs which could\nnot be given up.[58] When the traveller Brydone published his travels in\nSicily in 1773, conjecturing, from the deposits of lava, that the world\nmust be much older than the Mosaic cosmogony admitted, his work was\ndenounced as subverting the foundations of the Christian faith. The same\ncharges were brought against the earlier geologists, and in our own day\nagainst the early supporters of the Darwinian theory; and many now\nliving can remember the outbursts of indignation against those who first\nintroduced the principles of German criticism into English thought, and\nwho impugned the historical character and the assumed authorship of the\nPentateuch.\n\nIt is not surprising or unreasonable that it should have been so, for it\nis impossible to deny that these changes have profoundly altered large\nportions of the beliefs that were once regarded as essential. One main\nobject of a religion was believed to have been to furnish what may be\ncalled a theory of the universe--to explain its origin, its destiny, and\nthe strange contradictions and imperfections it presents. The Jewish\ntheory was a very clear and definite one, but it is certainly not that\nof modern science.\n\nYet few things are more remarkable than the facility with which these\nsuccessive changes have gradually found their places within the\nEstablished Church, and how little that Church has been shaken by this\nfact. Even the Darwinian theory, though it has not yet passed into the\ncircle of fully established truth, is in its main lines constantly\nmentioned with approbation by the clergy of the Church. The theory of\nevolution largely pervades their teaching. The doctrine that the Bible\nwas never intended to teach science or scientific facts, and also the\nmain facts and conclusions of modern Biblical criticism, have been\nlargely accepted among the most educated clergy. Very few of them would\nnow deny the antiquity of the world, the antiquity of man, or the\nantiquity of death, or would maintain that the Mosaic cosmogony was a\ntrue and literal account of the origin of the globe and of man, or would\nvery strenuously argue either for the Mosaic authorship or the\ninfallibility of the Pentateuch.\n\nAnd while changes of this kind have been going on in one direction,\nanother great movement has been taking place in an opposite one. The\nChurch of England was essentially a Protestant Church; though, being\nconstructed more than most other Churches under political influences, by\nsuccessive stages of progress, and with a view to including large and\nvarying sections of opinion in its fold, it retained, more than other\nChurches, formularies and tenets derived from the Church it superseded.\nThe earnest Protestant and Puritan party which dominated in Scotland\nand in the Continental Reformation, and which refused all compromise\nwith Rome, had not become powerful in English public opinion till some\ntime after the framework of the Church was established. The spirit of\ncompromise and conservatism which already characterised the English\npeople; the great part which kings and lawyers played in the formation\nof the Church; their desire to maintain in England a single body,\ncomprising men who had broken away from the Papacy but who had in other\nrespects no great objection to Roman Catholic forms and doctrines, and\nalso men seriously imbued with the strong Protestant feeling of Germany\nand Switzerland; the strange ductility of belief and conduct that\ninduced the great majority of the English clergy to retain their\npreferments and avoid persecution during the successive changes of Henry\nVIII., Edward VI., Mary, and Elizabeth, all assisted in forming a Church\nof a very composite character. Two distinct theories found their place\nwithin it. According to one school it was simply the pre-Reformation\nChurch purified from certain abuses that had gathered around it,\norganically united with it through a divinely appointed episcopacy,\nresting on an authoritative and ecclesiastical basis, and forming one of\nthe three great branches of the Catholic Church. According to the other\nschool it was one of several Protestant Churches, retaining indeed such\nportions of the old ecclesiastical organisation as might be justified\nfrom Scripture, but not regarding them as among the essentials of\nChristianity; agreeing with other Protestant bodies in what was\nfundamental, and differing from them mainly on points which were\nnon-essential; accepting cordially the principle that 'the Bible and\nthe Bible alone is the religion of Protestants,' and at the same time\nseparated by the gravest and most vital differences from what they\ndeemed the great apostasy of Rome.\n\nIt was argued on the one hand that in its ecclesiastical and legal\norganisation the Church in England was identical with the Church in the\nreign of Henry VII.; that there had been no breach of continuity; that\nbishops, and often the same bishops, sat in the same sees before and\nafter the Reformation; that the great majority of the parochial clergy\nwere unchanged, holding their endowments by the same titles and tenures,\nsubject to the same courts, and meeting in Convocation in the same\nmanner as their predecessors; that the old Catholic services were merely\ntranslated and revised, and that although Roman usurpations which had\nnever been completely acquiesced in had been decisively rejected, and\nalthough many superstitious novelties had been removed, the Church of\nEngland was still the Church of St. Augustine; that it had never, even\nin the darkest period, lost its distinct existence, and that\nsupernatural graces and sacerdotal powers denied to all schismatics had\ndescended to it through the Episcopacy in an unbroken stream. On the\nother hand it was argued that the essential of a true Church lay in the\naccordance of its doctrines with the language of Scripture and not in\nthe methods of Church government, and that whatever might be the case in\na legal point of view, the theory of the unity of the Church before and\nafter the Reformation was in a theological sense a delusion. The Church\nunder Henry VII. was emphatically a theocracy or ecclesiastical\nmonarchy, the Pope, as the supposed successor of the supposed prince of\nthe Apostles, being the very keystone of the spiritual arch. Under Henry\nVIII. and Elizabeth the Church of England had become a kind of\naristocracy of bishops, governed very really as well as theoretically by\nthe Crown, totally cut off from what called itself the Chair of Peter,\nand placed under completely new relations with the Catholic Church of\nChristendom. In this space of time Anglican Christianity had discarded\nnot only the Papacy but also great part of what for centuries before the\nchange had been deemed vitally and incontestably necessary both in its\ntheology and in its devotions. Though much of the old organisation and\nmany of the old formularies had been retained, its articles, its\nhomilies, the constant teaching of its founders, breathed a spirit of\nunquestionable Protestantism. The Church which remained attached to\nRome, and which held the same doctrines, practised the same devotions,\nand performed the same ceremonies as the English Church under Henry\nVII., professed to be infallible, and it utterly repudiated all\nconnection with the new Church of England, and regarded it as nothing\nmore than a Protestant schism; while the Church of England in her\nauthorised formularies branded some of the central beliefs and devotions\nof the Roman Church as blasphemous, idolatrous, superstitious and\ndeceitful, and was long accustomed to regard that Church as the Church\nof Antichrist; the Harlot of the Apocalypse, drunk with the blood of the\nSaints. Each Church during long periods and to the full measure of its\npowers suppressed or persecuted the other.\n\nIn the eyes of the Erastian and also in the eyes of the Puritan the\ntheory of the spiritual unity of these two bodies, and the various\nsacerdotal consequences that were inferred from it, seemed incredible,\nnor did the first generation of our reformers shrink from communion,\nsympathy and co-operation with the non-episcopal Protestants of the\nContinent. Although they laid great stress on patristic authority, and\nconsented--chiefly through political motives--to leave in the\nPrayer-book many things derived from the older Church, yet the High\nChurch theory of Anglicanism is much more the product of the\nseventeenth-century divines than of the reformers, just as Roman\nCatholicism is much more akin to the later fathers than to primitive\nChristianity. No one could doubt on what side were the sympathies and\nwhat were the opinions of Cranmer, Latimer, Ridley, Jewell and Hooper,\nand what spirit pervades the articles and the homilies. A Church which\ndoes not claim to be infallible; which owes its special form chiefly to\nthe sagacity of statesmen; in which the supreme tribunal, deciding what\ndoctrines may be taught by the clergy, is a secular law court; in which\nthe bands of conformity are so loose that the tendencies and sentiments\nof the nation give the complexion to the Church, appears in the eyes of\nmen of these schools to have no possible right to claim or share the\nauthority of the Church of Rome. It rests on another basis. It must be\njustified on other grounds.\n\nThese two distinct schools, however, have subsisted in the Church. Each\nof them can find some support in the Prayer-book, and the old orthodox\nHigh Church school which was chiefly elaborated and which chiefly\nflourished under the Stuarts, has produced a great part of the most\nlearned theology of Christendom, and had in its early days little or no\ntendency to Rome. It was exclusive and repellent on the side of\nNonconformity, and it placed Church authority very high; but the immense\nmajority of its members were intensely loyal to the Anglican Church, and\nlived and died contentedly within its pale. There were, however, always\nin that Church men of another kind whose true ideal lay beyond its\nborder. Falkland, in a remarkable speech, delivered in 1640, speaks of\nthem with much bitterness. 'Some,' he says, 'have so industriously\nlaboured to deduce themselves from Rome that they have given great\nsuspicion that in gratitude they desire to return thither, or at least\nto meet it half way. Some have evidently laboured to bring in an English\nthough not a Roman Popery; I mean not only the outside and dress of it,\nbut equally absolute.... Nay, common fame is more than ordinarily false\nif none of them have found a way to reconcile the opinions of Rome to\nthe preferments of England, and be so absolutely, directly and cordially\nPapists that it is all that 1,500_l._ a year can do to keep them from\nconfessing it.'[59]\n\nNo wide secession to Rome, however, followed the development of this\nseventeenth-century school, though it played a large part in the\nnonjuror schism, and with the decay of that schism and under the\nlatitudinarian tendencies of the eighteenth century it greatly dwindled.\nSince, however, the Tractarian movement, which carried so many leaders\nof the English Church to Rome, men of Roman sympathies and Roman ideals\nhave multiplied within the Church to an extraordinary degree. They have\nnot only carried their theological pretensions in the direction of Rome\nmuch further than the nonjurors; they have also in many cases so\ntransformed the old and simple Anglican service by vestments and\ncandles, and banners and incense, and genuflexions and whispered\nprayers, that a stranger might well imagine that he was in a Roman\nCatholic church. They have put forward sacerdotal pretensions little, if\nat all, inferior to those of Rome. The whole tendency of their\ndevotional literature and thought flows in the Roman channel, and even\nin the most insignificant matters of ceremony and dress they are\naccustomed to pay the greater Church the homage of constant imitation.\n\nIt would be unjust to deny that there are some real differences. The\nabsolute authority and infallibility of the Pope are sincerely\nrepudiated as an usurpation, the ritualist theory only conceding to him\na primacy among bishops. The discipline and submission to ecclesiastical\nauthority also, which so eminently distinguish the Roman Church, are\nwholly wanting in many of its Anglican imitators, and at the same time\nthe English sense of truth has proved sufficient to save the party from\nthe tolerance and propagation of false miracles and of grossly\nsuperstitious practices so common in Roman Catholic countries. In this\nlast respect, however, it is probable that English and American Roman\nCatholics are almost equally distinguished from Catholics in the\nSouthern States of Europe and of America. Still, when all this is\nadmitted, it can hardly be denied that there has grown up in a great\nsection of the English Church a sympathy with Rome and an antipathy to\nProtestantism and to Protestant types of thought and character utterly\nalien to the spirit of the Reformers and to the doctrinal formularies of\nthe Church of England.\n\nIt is not very easy to form a just estimate of the extent and depth of\nthis movement. There are wide variations in the High Church party; the\nextreme men are not the most numerous and certainly very far from the\nablest, and many influences other than convinced belief have tended to\nstrengthen the party. It has been, indeed, unlike the Tractarian party\nwhich preceded it, remarkably destitute of literary or theological\nability, and has added singularly little to the large and noble\ntheological literature of the English Church. The mere charm of novelty,\nwhich is always especially powerful in the field of religion, draws many\nto the ritualistic channel, and thousands who care very little for\nritualistic doctrines are attracted by the music, the pageantry, the\npictorial beauty of the ritualistic services. \u00c6sthetic tastes have of\nlate years greatly increased in England, and the closing of places of\namusement on Sunday probably strengthens the craving for more attractive\nservices. The extreme High Church party has chiefly fostered and chiefly\nbenefited by this desire, but it has extended much more widely. It has\ntouched even puritanical and non-episcopal bodies, and it is sometimes\ncombined with extremely latitudinarian opinions. There is, indeed, a\ntype of mind which finds in such services a happy anodyne for\nhalf-suppressed doubt. Petitions which in their poignant humiliation and\nprofound emotion no longer correspond to the genuine feelings of the\nworshipper, seem attenuated and transformed when they are intoned, and\ncreeds which when plainly read shock the understanding and the\nconscience are readily accepted as parts of a musical performance.\nScepticism as well as belief sometimes fills churches. Large classes who\nhave no wish to cut themselves off from religious services have lost all\ninterest in the theological distinctions which once were deemed\nsupremely important and all strong belief in great parts of dogmatic\nsystems, and such men naturally prefer services which by music and\nornament gratify their tastes and exercise a soothing or stimulating\ninfluence over the imagination.\n\nThe extreme High Church party has, however, other elements of\nattraction. Much of its power is due to the new springs of real\nspiritual life and the new forms of real usefulness and charity that\ngrew out of its highly developed sacerdotal system and out of the\nsemi-monastic confraternities which at once foster and encourage and\norganise an active zeal. The power of the party in acting not only on\nthe cultivated classes but also on the poor is very manifest, and it has\ndone much to give the Church of England a democratic character which in\npast generations it did not possess, and which in the conditions of\nmodern life is supremely important. The multiplication not only of\nreligious services but of communicants, and the great increase in the\ninterest taken in Church life in quarters where the Ritualist party\nprevail, cannot reasonably be questioned. Its highly ornate services\ndraw many into the churches who never entered them before, and they are\noften combined with a familiar and at the same time impassioned style of\npreaching, something like that of a Franciscan friar or a Methodist\npreacher, which is excellently fitted to act upon the ignorant. If its\nclergy have been distinguished for their insubordination to their\nbishops, if they have displayed in no dubious manner a keen desire to\naggrandise their own position and authority, it is also but just to add\nthat they have been prominent for the zeal and self-sacrifice with which\nthey have multiplied services, created confraternities, and penetrated\ninto the worst and most obscure haunts of poverty and vice.\n\nThe result, however, of all this is that the conflicting tendencies\nwhich have always been present in the Church have been greatly deepened.\nThere are to be found within it men whose opinions can hardly be\ndistinguished from simple Deism or Unitarianism, and men who abjure the\nname of Protestant and are only divided by the thinnest of partitions\nfrom the Roman Church. And this diversity exists in a Church which is\nheld together by articles and formularies of the sixteenth century.\n\nIt might, perhaps, _a priori_ have been imagined that a Church with so\nmuch diversity of opinion and of spirit was an enfeebled and\ndisintegrated Church, but no candid man will attribute such a character\nto the Church of England. All the signs of corporate vitality are\nabundantly displayed, and it is impossible to deny that it is playing an\nactive, powerful, and most useful part in English life. Looking at it\nfirst of all from the intellectual side, it is plain how large a\nproportion of the best intellect of the country is contented, not only\nto live within it, but to take an active part in its ministrations.\nCompare the amount of higher literature which proceeds from clergymen of\nthe Established Church with the amount which proceeds from the vastly\ngreater body of Catholic priests scattered over the world; compare the\nplace which the English clergy, or laymen deeply imbued with the\nteaching of the Church, hold in English literature with the place which\nCatholic priests, or sincere Catholic laymen, hold in the literature of\nFrance,--and the contrast will appear sufficiently evident. There is\nhardly a branch of serious English literature in which Anglican clergy\nare not conspicuous. There is nothing in a false and superstitious creed\nincompatible with some forms of literature. It may easily ally itself\nwith the genius of a poet or with great beauty of style either hortatory\nor narrative. But in the Church of England literary achievement is\ncertainly not restricted to these forms. In the fields of physical\nscience, in the fields of moral philosophy, metaphysics, social and even\npolitical philosophy, and perhaps still more in the fields of history,\nits clergy have won places in the foremost rank. It is notorious that a\nlarge proportion of the most serious criticism, of the best periodical\nwriting in England, is the work of Anglican clergymen. No one, in\nenumerating the leading historians of the present century, would omit\nsuch names as Milman, Thirlwall and Merivale, in the generation which\nhas just passed away, or Creighton and Stubbs among contemporaries, and\nthese are only eminent examples of a kind of literature to which the\nChurch has very largely contributed. Their histories are not specially\nconspicuous for beauty of style, and not only conspicuous for their\nprofound learning; they are marked to an eminent degree by judgment,\ncriticism, impartiality, a desire for truth, a skill in separating the\nproved from the false or the merely probable. Compare them with the\nchief histories that have been written by Catholic priests. In past ages\nsome of the greatest works of patient, lifelong industry in all literary\nhistory were due to the Catholic priesthood, and especially to members\nof the monastic orders; even in modern times they have produced some\nworks of great learning, of great dialectic skill, and of great beauty\nof style; but with scarcely an exception these works bear upon them the\nstamp of an advocate and are written for the purpose of proving a point,\nconcealing or explaining away the faults on one side, and bringing into\ndisproportioned relief those of the other. No one would look in them for\na candid estimate of the merits of an opponent or for a full statement\nof a hostile case. D\u00f6llinger, who would probably once have been cited as\nthe greatest historian the Catholic priesthood had produced in the\nnineteenth century, died under the anathema of his Church; and how large\na proportion of the best writing in modern English Catholicism has come\nfrom writers who have been brought up in Protestant universities and who\nhave learnt their skill in the Anglican Church!\n\nIt is at least one great test of a living Church that the best intellect\nof the country can enter into its ministry, that it contains men who in\nnearly all branches of literature are looked upon by lay scholars with\nrespect or admiration. It is said that the number of young men of\nability who take orders is diminishing, and that this is due, not merely\nto the agricultural depression which has made the Church much less\ndesirable as a profession, and indeed in many cases almost impossible\nfor those who have not some private fortune; not merely to the\ncompetitive examination system, which has opened out vast and attractive\nfields of ambition to the ablest laymen,--but also to the wide\ndivergence of men of the best intellect from the doctrines of the\nChurch, and the conviction that they cannot honestly subscribe its\narticles and recite its formularies. But although this is, I believe,\ntrue, it is also true that there is no other Church which has shown\nitself so capable of attracting and retaining the services of men of\ngeneral learning, criticism and ability. One of the most important\nfeatures of the English ecclesiastical system has been the education of\nthose who are intended for the Church, in common with other students in\nthe great national universities. Other systems of education may produce\na clergy of greater professional learning and more intense and exclusive\nzeal, but no other system of education is so efficacious in maintaining\na general harmony of thought and tendency between the Church and the\naverage educated opinion of the nation.\n\nTake another test. Compare the _Guardian_, which represents better than\nany other paper the opinions of moderate Churchmen, with the papers\nwhich are most read by the French priesthood and have most influence on\ntheir opinions. Certainly few English journalists have equalled in\nability Louis Veuillot, and few papers have exercised so great an\ninfluence over the clergy of the Church as the _Univers_ at the time\nwhen he directed it; but no one who read those savagely scurrilous and\nintolerant pages, burning with an impotent hatred of all the progressive\nand liberal tendencies of the time, shrinking from no misrepresentation\nof fact and from no apology for crime if it was in the interest of the\nChurch, could fail to perceive how utterly out of harmony it was with\nthe best lay thought of France. English religious journalism has\nsometimes, though in a very mitigated degree, exhibited some of these\ncharacteristics, but no one who reads the _Guardian_, which I suppose\nappeals to a larger clerical public than any other paper, can fail to\nrealise the contrast. It is not merely that it is habitually written in\nthe style and temper of a gentleman, but that it reflects most clearly\nin its criticism, its impartiality, its tone of thought, the best\nintellectual influences of the time. Men may agree or differ about its\npolitics or its theology, but no one who reads it can fail to admit that\nit is thoroughly in touch with cultivated lay opinion, and it is in fact\na favourite paper of many who care only for its secular aspects.\n\nThe intellectual ability, however, included among the ministers of a\nChurch, though one test, is by no means a decisive and infallible one of\nits religious life. During the period of the Renaissance, when genuine\nbelief in the Catholic Church had sunk to nearly its lowest point, most\nmen of literary tastes and talents were either members of the priesthood\nor of the monastic orders. This was not due to any fervour of belief,\nbut simply to the fact that the Church at that time furnished almost the\nonly sphere in which a literary life could be pursued with comfort,\nwithout molestation, and with some adequate reward. Much of the literary\nability found in the English Church is unquestionably due to the\nattraction it offers and the facilities it gives to those who simply\nwish for a studious life. The abolition of many clerical sinecures, and\nthe greatly increased activity of clerical duty imposed by contemporary\nopinion, have no doubt rendered the profession less desirable from this\npoint of view; but even now there is no other profession outside the\nuniversities which lends itself so readily to a literary life, and a\ngreat proportion of the most eminent thinkers and writers in the Church\nof England are eminent in fields that have little or no connection with\ntheology.\n\nOther tests of a flourishing Church are needed, but they can easily be\nfound. Political power is one test, though it is a very coarse and very\ndeceptive one. Perhaps it is not too much to say that the most\nsuperstitious creeds are often those which exercise the greatest\npolitical influence, for they are those in which the priesthood acquires\nthe most absolute authority. Nor does the decline of superstition among\nthe educated classes always bring with it a corresponding decline in\necclesiastical influence. There have been instances, both in Pagan and\nChristian times, of a sceptical and highly educated ruling class\nsupporting and allying themselves with a superstitious Church as the\nbest means of governing or moralising the masses. Such Churches, by\ntheir skilful organisation, by their ascendency over individual rulers,\nor by their political alliances, have long exercised an enormous\ninfluence, and in a democratic age the preponderance of political power\nis steadily passing from the most educated classes. At the same time, in\na highly civilised and perfectly free country, in which all laws of\nreligious disqualification and coercion have disappeared, and all\nquestions of religion are submitted to perpetual discussion, the\npolitical power which the Church of England retains at least proves that\nshe has a vast weight of genuine and earnest opinion behind her. No\npolitician will deny the strength with which the united or greatly\npreponderating influence of the Church can support or oppose a party. It\nhas been said by a cynical observer that the three things outside their\nown families that average Englishmen value the most are rank, money, and\nthe Church of England, and certainly no good observer will form a low\nestimate of the strength or earnestness of the Church feeling in every\nsection of the English people.\n\nStill less can it be denied that the Church retains in a high degree its\neducational influence. For a long period national education was almost\nwholly in its hands, and, since all disqualifications and most\nprivileges have been abolished, it still exercises a part in English\neducation which excites the alarm of some and the admiration of others.\nIt has thrown itself heartily into the new political conditions, and the\nvast number of voluntary schools established under clerical influence,\nand the immense sums that are annually raised for clerical purposes,\nshow beyond all doubt the amount of support and enthusiasm behind it. In\nevery branch of higher education its clergy are conspicuous, and their\ninfluence in training the nation is not confined to the pulpit, the\nuniversity, or the school. No candid observer of English life will\ndoubt the immense effect of the parochial system in sustaining the moral\nlevel both of principle and practice, and the multitude, activity, and\nvalue of the philanthropic and moralising agencies which are wholly or\nlargely due to the Anglican Church.\n\nNor can it be reasonably doubted that the Church has been very\nefficacious in promoting that spiritual life which, whatever opinion men\nmay form of its origin and meaning, is at least one of the great\nrealities of human nature. The power of a religion is not to be solely\nor mainly judged by its corporate action; by the institutions it\ncreates; by the part which it plays in the government of the world. It\nis to be found much more in its action on the individual soul, and\nespecially in those times and circumstances when man is most isolated\nfrom society. It is in furnishing the ideals and motives of individual\nlife; in guiding and purifying the emotions; in promoting habits of\nthought and feeling that rise above the things of earth; in the comfort\nit can give in age, sorrow, disappointment and bereavement; in the\nseasons of sickness, weakness, declining faculties, and approaching\ndeath, that its power is most felt. No one creed or Church has the\nmonopoly of this power, though each has often tried to identify it with\nsomething peculiar to itself. It maybe found in the Catholic and in the\nQuaker, in the High Anglican who attributes it to his sacramental\nsystem, and in the Evangelical in whose eyes that system holds only a\nvery subordinate place. All that need here be said is that no one who\nstudies the devotional literature of the English Church, or who has\nwatched the lives of its more devout members, will doubt that this life\ncan largely exist and flourish within its pale.\n\nThe attitude which men who have been born within that Church, but who\nhave come to dissent from large portions of its theology, should bear to\nthis great instrument of good, is certainly not less perplexing than the\nquestions we have been considering in the preceding chapters. The most\ndifficult position is, of course, that of those who are its actual\nministers and who have subscribed its formularies. Each man so situated\nmust judge in the light of his own conscience. There is a great\ndifference between the case of men who accept such a position in the\nChurch though they differ fundamentally from its tenets, and the case of\nmen who, having engaged in its service, find their old convictions\nmodified or shaken, perhaps very gradually, by the advance of science or\nby more matured thought and study. The stringency of the old form of\nsubscription has been much mitigated by an Act of 1865 which substituted\na general declaration that the subscriber believed in the doctrine of\nthe Church as a whole, for a declaration that he believed 'all and\neverything' in the Articles and the Prayer-book. The Church of England\ndoes not profess to be an infallible Church; it does profess to be a\nNational Church representing and including great bodies of more or less\ndivergent opinion, and the whole tendency of legal decisions since the\nGorham case has been to enlarge the circle of permissible opinion. The\npossibility of the National Church remaining in touch with the more\ninstructed and intellectual portions of the community depends mainly on\nthe latitude of opinion that is accorded to its clergy, and on their\npower of welcoming and adopting new knowledge, and it may reasonably be\nmaintained that few greater calamities can befall a nation than the\nseverance of its higher intelligence from religious influences.\n\nIt should be remembered, too, that on the latitudinarian side the\nchanges that take place in the teaching of the Church consist much less\nin the open repudiation of old doctrines than in their silent\nevanescence. They drop out of the exhortations of the pulpit. The\nrelative importance of different portions of the religious teaching is\nchanged. Dogma sinks into the background. Narratives which are no longer\nseriously believed become texts for moral disquisitions. The\nintrospective habits and the stress laid on purely ecclesiastical duties\nwhich once preponderated disappear. The teaching of the pulpit tends\nrather to the formation of active, useful and unselfish lives; to a\nclearer insight into the great masses of remediable suffering and need\nthat still exist in the world; to the duty of carrying into all the\nwalks of secular life a nobler and more unselfish spirit; to a habit of\njudging men and Churches mainly by their fruits and very little by their\nbeliefs. The disintegration or decadence of old religious beliefs which\nhad long been closely associated with moral teaching always brings with\nit grave moral dangers, but those dangers are greatly diminished when\nthe change of belief is effected by a gradual transition, without any\nviolent convulsion or disruption severing men from their old religious\nobservances. Such a transition has silently taken place in England\namong great numbers of educated men, and in some measure under the\ninfluence of the clergy. Nor has it, I think, weakened the Church. The\nstandard of duty among such men has not sunk, but has in most\ndepartments perceptibly risen: their zeal has not diminished, though it\nflows rather in philanthropic than in purely ecclesiastical channels.\nThe conviction that the special dogmas which divided other Protestant\nbodies from the Establishment rested on no substantial basis and have no\nreal importance tells in favour of the larger and the more liberal\nChurch, and the comprehensiveness which allows highly accentuated\nsacerdotalism and latitudinarianism in the same Church is in the eyes of\nmany of them rather an element of strength than of weakness.\n\nFew men have watched the religious tendencies of the time with a keener\neye than Cardinal Newman, and no man hated with a more intense hatred\nthe latitudinarian tendencies which he witnessed. His judgment of their\neffect on the Establishment is very remarkable. In a letter to his\nfriend Isaac Williams he says: 'Everything I hear makes me fear that\nlatitudinarian opinions are spreading furiously in the Church of\nEngland. I grieve deeply at it. The Anglican Church has been a most\nuseful breakwater against Scepticism. The time might come when you, as\nwell as I, might expect that it would be said above, \"Why cumbereth it\nthe ground?\" but at present it upholds far more truth in England than\nany other form of religion would, and than the Catholic Roman Church\ncould. But what I fear is that it is _tending_ to a powerful\nEstablishment teaching direct error, and more powerful than it has ever\nbeen; thrice powerful because it does teach error.'[60]\n\nIt is, however, of course, evident that the latitude of opinion which\nmay be reasonably claimed by the clergy of a Church encumbered with many\narticles and doctrinal formularies is not unlimited, and each man must\nfor himself draw the line. The fact, too, that the Church is an\nEstablished Church imposes some special obligations on its ministers. It\nis their first duty to celebrate public worship in such a form that all\nmembers of the Church of England may be able to join in it. Whatever\ninterpretations may be placed upon the ceremonies of the Church, those\nceremonies, at least, should be substantially the same. A stranger who\nenters a church which he has never before seen should be able to feel\nthat he is certain of finding public worship intelligibly and decently\nperformed, as in past generations it has been celebrated in all sections\nof the Established Church. It has, in my opinion, been a gross scandal,\nfollowing a gross neglect of duty, that this primary obligation has been\ndefied, and that services are held in English churches which would have\nbeen almost unrecognisable by the churchmen of a former generation, and\nwhich are manifest attempts to turn the English public worship into an\nimitation of the Romish Mass. Men have a perfect right, within the\nwidest limits, to perform what religious services and to preach what\nreligious doctrines they please, but they have not a right to do so in\nan Established Church.\n\nThe censorship of opinions is another thing, and in the conditions of\nEnglish life it has never been very effectively maintained. The latitude\nof opinion granted in an Established Church is, and ought to be, very\ngreat, but it is, I think, obvious that on some topics a greater degree\nof reticence of expression should be observed by a clergyman addressing\na miscellaneous audience from the pulpit of an Established Church than\nneed be required of him in private life or even in his published books.\n\nThe attitude of laymen whose opinions have come to diverge widely from\nthe Church formularies is less perplexing, and except in as far as the\nrecent revival of sacerdotal pretensions has produced a reaction, there\nhas, if I mistake not, of late years been a decided tendency in the best\nand most cultivated lay opinion of this kind to look with increasing\nfavour on the Established Church. The complete abolition of the\nreligious and political disqualifications which once placed its\nmaintenance in antagonism with the interests of large sections of the\npeople; the abolition of the indelibility of orders which excluded\nclergymen who changed their views from all other means of livelihood;\nthe greater elasticity of opinion permitted within its pale; and the\nelimination from the statute-book of nearly all penalties and\nrestrictions resting solely upon ecclesiastical grounds,--have all\ntended to diminish with such men the objections to the Church. It is a\nChurch which does not injure those who are external to it, or interfere\nwith those who are mere nominal adherents. It is more and more looked\nupon as a machine of well-organised beneficence, discharging efficiently\nand without corruption functions of supreme utility, and constituting\none of the main sources of spiritual and moral life in the community.\nNone of the modern influences of society can be said to have superseded\nit. Modern experience has furnished much evidence of the insufficiency\nof mere intellectual education if it is unaccompanied by the education\nof character, and it is on this side that modern education is most\ndefective. While it undoubtedly makes men far more keenly sensible than\nin the past to the vast inequalities of human lots, the habit of\nconstantly holding out material prizes as its immediate objects, and the\ndisappearance of those coercive methods of education which once\ndisciplined the will, make it perhaps less efficient as an instrument of\nmoral amelioration.\n\nSome habits of thought also, that have grown rapidly among educated men,\nhave tended powerfully in the same direction. The sharp contrasts\nbetween true and false in matters of theology have been considerably\nattenuated. The point of view has changed. It is believed that in the\nhistory of the world gross and material conceptions of religion have\nbeen not only natural, but indispensable, and that it is only by a\ngradual process of intellectual evolution that the masses of men become\nprepared for higher and purer conceptions. Superstition and illusion\nplay no small part in holding together the great fabric of society.\n'Every falsehood,' it has been said, 'is reduced to a certain\nmalleability by an alloy of truth,' and, on the other hand, truths of\nthe utmost moment are, in certain stages of the world's history, only\noperative when they are clothed with a vesture of superstition. The\nDivine Spirit filters down to the human heart through a gross and\nmaterial medium. And what is true of different stages of human history\nis not less true of different contemporary strata of knowledge and\nintelligence. In spite of democratic declamation about the equality of\nman, it is more and more felt that the same kind of teaching is not good\nfor everyone. Truth, when undiluted, is too strong a medicine for many\nminds. Some things which a highly cultivated intellect would probably\ndiscard, and discard without danger, are essential to the moral being of\nmultitudes. There is in all great religious systems something that is\ntransitory and something that is eternal. Theological interpretations of\nthe phenomena of outward nature which surround and influence us, and\nmythological narratives which have been handed down to us from a remote,\nuncritical and superstitious past, may be transformed or discredited;\nbut there are elements in religion which have their roots much less in\nthe reason of man than in his sorrows and his affections, and are the\nexpression of wants, moral appetites and aspirations which are an\nessential, indestructible part of his nature.\n\nNo one, I think, can doubt that this way of thinking, whether it be\nright or wrong, has very widely spread through educated Europe, and it\nis a habit of thought which commonly strengthens with age. Young men\ndiscuss religious questions simply as questions of truth or falsehood.\nIn later life they more frequently accept their creed as a working\nhypothesis of life; as a consolation in innumerable calamities; as the\none supposition under which life is not a melancholy anti-climax; as\nthe indispensable sanction of moral obligation; as the gratification and\nreflection of needs, instincts and longings which are planted in the\ndeepest recesses of human nature; as one of the chief pillars on which\nsociety rests. The proselytising, the aggressive, the critical spirit\ndiminishes. Very often they deliberately turn away their thoughts from\nquestions which appear to them to lead only to endless controversy or to\nmere negative conclusions, and base their moral life on some strong\nunselfish interest for the benefit of their kind. In active, useful and\nunselfish work they find the best refuge from the perplexities of belief\nand the best field for the cultivation of their moral nature, and work\ndone for the benefit of others seldom fails to react powerfully on their\nown happiness. Nor is it always those who have most completely abandoned\ndogmatic systems who are the least sensible to the moral beauty which\nhas grown up around them. The music of the village church, which sounds\nso harsh and commonplace to the worshipper within, sometimes fills with\ntears the eyes of the stranger who sits without, listening among the\ntombs.\n\nIt is difficult to say how far the partial truce which has now fallen in\nEngland over the great antagonisms of belief is likely to be permanent.\nNo one who knows the world can be insensible to the fact that a large\nand growing proportion of those who habitually attend our religious\nservices have come to diverge very widely, though in many different\ndegrees, from the beliefs which are expressed or implied in the\nformularies they use. Custom, fashion, the charm of old associations,\nthe cravings of their own moral or spiritual nature, a desire to\nsupport a useful system of moral training, to set a good example to\ntheir children, their household, or their neighbours, keep them in their\nold place when the beliefs which they profess with their lips have in a\ngreat measure ebbed away. I do not undertake to blame or to judge them.\nIndividual conscience and character and particular circumstances have,\nin these matters, a decisive voice. But there are times when the\ndifference between professed belief and real belief is too great for\nendurance, and when insincerity and half-belief affect seriously the\nmoral character of a nation. 'The deepest, nay, the only theme of the\nworld's history, to which all others are subordinate,' said Goethe, 'is\nthe conflict of faith and unbelief. The epochs in which faith, in\nwhatever form it may be, prevails, are the marked epochs in human\nhistory, full of heart-stirring memories and of substantial gains for\nall after times. The epochs in which unbelief, in whatever form it may\nbe, prevails, even when for the moment they put on the semblance of\nglory and success, inevitably sink into insignificance in the eyes of\nposterity, which will not waste its thoughts on things barren and\nunfruitful.'\n\nMany of my readers have probably felt the force of such considerations\nand the moral problems which they suggest, and there have been perhaps\nmoments when they have asked themselves the question of the poet--\n\n\n Tell me, my soul, what is thy creed?\n Is it a faith or only a need?\n\n\nThey will reflect, however, that a need, if it be universally felt when\nhuman nature is in its highest and purest state, furnishes some basis\nof belief, and also that no man can venture to assign limits to the\ntransformations which religion may undergo without losing its essence or\nits power. Even in the field of morals these have been very great,\nthough universal custom makes us insensible to the extent to which we\nhave diverged from a literal observance of Evangelical precepts. We\nshould hardly write over the Savings Bank, 'Take no thought for the\nmorrow, for the morrow will take thought for itself,' or over the Bank\nof England, 'Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth,' 'How\nhardly shall a rich man enter into the Kingdom of God,' or over the\nForeign Office, or the Law Court, or the prison, 'Resist not evil,' 'He\nthat smiteth thee on thy right cheek turn to him the other also,' 'He\nthat taketh away thy coat let him have thy cloak also.' Can it be said\nthat the whole force and meaning of such words are represented by an\nindustrial society in which the formation of habits of constant\nprovidence with the object of averting poverty or increasing comfort is\ndeemed one of the first of duties and a main element and measure of\nsocial progress; in which the indiscriminate charity which encourages\nmendicancy and discourages habits of forethought and thrift is far more\nseriously condemned than an industrial system based on the keenest, the\nmost deadly, and often the most malevolent competition; in which wealth\nis universally sought, and universally esteemed a good and not an evil,\nprovided only it is honestly obtained and wisely and generously used; in\nwhich, although wanton aggression and a violent and quarrelsome temper\nare no doubt condemned, it is esteemed the duty of every good citizen\nto protect his rights whenever they are unjustly infringed; in which war\nand the preparation for war kindle the most passionate enthusiasm and\nabsorb a vast proportion of the energies of Christendom, and in which no\nGovernment could remain a week in power if it did not promptly resent\nthe smallest insult to the national flag?\n\nIt is a question of a different kind whether the sacerdotal spirit which\nhas of late years so largely spread in the English Church can extend\nwithout producing a violent disruption. To cut the tap roots of\npriestcraft was one of the main aims and objects of the Reformation,\nand, for reasons I have already stated, I do not believe that the party\nwhich would re-establish it has by any means the strength that has been\nattributed to it. It is true that the Broad Church party, though it\nreflects faithfully the views of large numbers of educated laymen, has\nnever exercised an influence in active Church life at all proportionate\nto the eminence of its leading representatives. It is true also that the\nEvangelical party has in a very remarkable degree lost its old place in\nthe Anglican pulpit and in religious literature, though its tenets still\nform the staple of the preaching of the Salvation Army and of most other\nstreet preachers who exercise a real and widespread influence over the\npoor. But the middle and lower sections of English society are, I\nbelieve, at bottom, profoundly hostile to priestcraft; and although the\ndread of Popery has diminished, they are very far from being ready to\nacquiesce in any attempt to restore the dominion which their fathers\ndiscarded.\n\nIn one respect, indeed, sacerdotalism in the Anglican Church is a worse\nthing than in the Roman Church, for it is undisciplined and unregulated.\nThe history of the Church abundantly shows the dangers that have sprung\nfrom the Confessional, though the Roman Catholic will maintain that its\nhabitually restraining and moralising influence greatly outweighs these\noccasional abuses. But in the Roman Church the practice of confession is\ncarried on under the most severe ecclesiastical supervision and\ndiscipline. Confession can only be made to a celibate priest of mature\nage, who is bound to secrecy by the most solemn oath; who, except in\ncases of grave illness, confesses only in an open church; and who has\ngone through a long course of careful education specially and skilfully\ndesigned to fit him for the duty. None of these conditions are observed\nin Anglican Confession.\n\nIn other respects, indeed, the sacerdotal spirit is never likely to be\nquite the same as in the Roman Church. A married clergy, who have mixed\nin all the lay influences of an English university, and who still take\npart in the pursuits, studies, social intercourse and amusements of\nlaymen, are not likely to form a separate caste or to constitute a very\nformidable priesthood. It is perhaps a little difficult to treat their\npretensions with becoming gravity, and the atmosphere of unlimited\ndiscussion which envelops Englishmen through their whole lives has\neffectually destroyed the danger of coercive and restrictive laws\ndirected against opinion. Moral coercion and the tendency to interfere\nby law on moral grounds with the habits of men, even when those habits\nin no degree interfere with others, have increased. It is one of the\nmarked tendencies of Anglo-Saxon democracy, and it is very far from\nbeing peculiar to, or even specially prominent in, any one Church. But\nthe desire to repress the expression of opinions by force, which for so\nmany centuries marked with blood and fire the power of medi\u00e6val\nsacerdotalism, is wholly alien to modern English nature. Amid all the\nfanaticisms, exaggerations, and superstitions of belief, this kind of\ncoercion, at least, is never likely to be formidable, nor do I believe\nthat in the most extreme section of the sacerdotal clergy there is any\ndesire for it. There has been one significant contrast between the\nhistory of Catholicism and Anglicanism in the present century. In the\nCatholic Church the Ultramontane element has steadily dominated,\nrestricting liberty of opinion, and important tenets which were once\nundefined by the Church, and on which sincere Catholics had some\nlatitude of opinion, have been brought under the iron yoke. This is no\ndoubt largely due to the growth of scepticism and indifference, which\nhave made the great body of educated laymen hostile or indifferent to\nthe Church, and have thrown its management mainly into the hands of the\npriesthood and the more bigoted, ignorant and narrow-minded laymen. But\nin the Anglican Church educated laymen are much less alienated from\nChurch life, and a tribunal which is mainly lay exercises the supreme\nauthority. As a consequence of these conditions, although the sacerdotal\nelement has greatly increased, the latitude of opinion within the Church\nhas steadily grown.\n\nAt the same time, it is difficult to believe that serious dangers do not\nawait the Church if the unprotestantising influences that have spread\nwithin it continue to extend. It is not likely that the nation will\ncontinue to give its support to the Church if that Church in its main\ntendencies cuts itself off from the Reformation. The conversions to\nCatholicism in England, though probably much exaggerated, have been very\nnumerous, and it is certainly not surprising that it should be so. If\nthe Church of Rome permitted Protestantism to be constantly taught in\nher pulpits, and Protestant types of worship and character to be\nhabitually held up to admiration, there can be little doubt that many of\nher worshippers would be shaken. If the Church of England becomes in\ngeneral what it already is in some of its churches, it is not likely\nthat English public opinion will permanently acquiesce in its privileged\nposition in the State. If it ceases to be a Protestant Church, it will\nnot long remain an established one, and its disestablishment would\nprobably be followed by a disruption in which opinions would be more\nsharply defined, and the latitude of belief and the spirit of compromise\nthat now characterise our English religious life might be seriously\nimpaired.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[58] _Alciphron_, 6th Dialogue.\n\n[59] Nalsons's _Collections_, i. 769, February 9, 1640.\n\n[60] _Autobiography of Isaac Williams_, p. 132. This letter was written\nin 1863.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE MANAGEMENT OF CHARACTER\n\n\nOf all the tasks which are set before man in life, the education and\nmanagement of his character is the most important, and, in order that it\nshould be successfully pursued, it is necessary that he should make a\ncalm and careful survey of his own tendencies, unblinded either by the\nself-deception which conceals errors and magnifies excellences, or by\nthe indiscriminate pessimism which refuses to recognise his powers for\ngood. He must avoid the fatalism which would persuade him that he has no\npower over his nature, and he must also clearly recognise that this\npower is not unlimited. Man is like a card-player who receives from\nNature his cards--his disposition, his circumstances, the strength or\nweakness of his will, of his mind, and of his body. The game of life is\none of blended chance and skill. The best player will be defeated if he\nhas hopelessly bad cards, but in the long run the skill of the player\nwill not fail to tell. The power of man over his character bears much\nresemblance to his power over his body. Men come into the world with\nbodies very unequal in their health and strength; with hereditary\ndispositions to disease; with organs varying greatly in their normal\ncondition. At the same time a temperate or intemperate life, skilful or\nunskilful regimen, physical exercises well adapted to strengthen the\nweaker parts, physical apathy, vicious indulgence, misdirected or\nexcessive effort, will all in their different ways alter his bodily\ncondition and increase or diminish his chances of disease and premature\ndeath. The power of will over character is, however, stronger, or, at\nleast, wider than its power over the body. There are organs which lie\nwholly beyond its influence; there are diseases over which it can\nexercise no possible influence, but there is no part of our moral\nconstitution which we cannot in some degree influence or modify.\n\nIt has often seemed to me that diversities of taste throw much light on\nthe basis of character. Why is it that the same dish gives one man keen\npleasure and to another is loathsome and repulsive? To this simple\nquestion no real answer can be given. It is a fact of our nature that\none fruit, or meat, or drink will give pleasure to one palate and none\nwhatever to another. At the same time, while the original and natural\ndifference is undoubted, there are many differences which are wholly or\nlargely due to particular and often transitory causes. Dishes have an\nattraction or the reverse because they are associated with old\nrecollections or habits. Habit will make a Frenchman like his melon with\nsalt, while an Englishman prefers it with sugar. An old association of\nideas will make an Englishman shrink from eating a frog or a snail,\nthough he would probably like each if he ate it without knowing it, and\nhe could easily learn to do so. The kind of cookery which one age or one\nnation generally likes, another age or another nation finds distasteful.\nThe eye often governs the taste, and a dish which, when seen, excites\nintense repulsion, would have no such repulsion to a blind man. Every\none who has moved much about the world, and especially in uncivilised\ncountries, will get rid of many old antipathies, will lose the\nfastidiousness of his taste, and will acquire new and genuine tastes.\nThe original innate difference is not wholly destroyed, but it is\nprofoundly and variously modified.\n\nThese changes of taste are very analogous to what takes place in our\nmoral dispositions. They are for the most part in themselves simply\nexternal to morals, though there is at least one conspicuous exception.\nMany--it is to be hoped most--men might spend their lives with full\naccess to intoxicating liquors without even the temptation of getting\ndrunk. Apart from all considerations of religion, morals, social,\nphysical, or intellectual consequences, they abstain from doing so\nsimply as a matter of taste. With other men the pleasure of excessive\ndrinking is such that it requires an heroic effort of the will to resist\nit. There are men who not only are so constituted that it is their\ngreatest pleasure, but who are even born with a craving for drink. In no\nform is the terrible fact of heredity more clearly or more tragically\ndisplayed. Many, too, who had originally no such craving gradually\nacquire it: sometimes by mere social influence, which makes excessive\ndrinking the habit of their circle; more frequently through depression\nor sorrow, which gives men a longing for some keen pleasure in which\nthey can forget themselves; or through the jaded habit of mind and body\nwhich excessive work produces, or through the dreary, colourless,\njoyless surroundings of sordid poverty. Drink and the sensual pleasures,\nif viciously indulged, produce (doubtless through physical causes) an\nintense craving for their gratification. This, however, is not the case\nwith all our pleasures. Many are keenly enjoyed when present, yet not\nseriously missed when absent. Sometimes, too, the effect of\nover-indulgence is to vitiate and deaden the palate, so that what was\nonce pleasing ceases altogether to be an object of desire. This, too,\nhas its analogue in other things. We have a familiar example in the\nexcessive novel-reader, who begins with a kind of mental intoxication,\nand who ends with such a weariness that he finds it a serious effort to\nread the books which were once his strongest temptation.\n\nTastes of the palate also naturally change with age and with the\naccompanying changes of the body. The schoolboy who bitterly repines\nbecause the smallness of his allowance restricts his power of buying\ntarts and sweetmeats will probably grow into a man who, with many\nshillings in his pocket, daily passes the confectioner's shop without\nthe smallest desire to enter it.\n\nIt is evident that there is a close analogy between these things and\nthat collection of likes and dislikes, moral and intellectual, which\nforms the primal base of character, and which mainly determines the\ncomplexion of our lives. As Marcus Aurelius said: 'Who can change the\ndesires of man?' That which gives the strongest habitual pleasure,\nwhether it be innate or acquired, will in the great majority of cases\nultimately dominate. Certain things will always be intensely\npleasurable, and certain other things indifferent or repellent, and this\nmagnetism is the true basis of character, and with the majority of men\nit mainly determines conduct. By the associations of youth and by other\ncauses these natural likings and dislikings may be somewhat modified,\nbut even in youth our power is very limited, and in later life it is\nmuch less. No real believer in free-will will hold that man is an\nabsolute slave to his desires. No man who knows the world will deny that\nwith average man the strongest passion or desire will prevail--happy\nwhen that desire is not a vice.\n\nPassions weaken, but habits strengthen, with age, and it is the great\ntask of youth to set the current of habit and to form the tastes which\nare most productive of happiness in life. Here, as in most other things,\nopposite exaggerations are to be avoided. There is such a thing as\nlooking forward too rigidly and too exclusively to the future--to a\nfuture that may never arrive. This is the great fault of the\nover-educationist, who makes early life a burden and a toil, and also of\nthose who try to impose on youth the tastes and pleasures of the man.\nYouth has its own pleasures, which will always give it most enjoyment,\nand a happy youth is in itself an end. It is the time when the power of\nenjoyment is most keen, and it is often accompanied by such extreme\nsensitiveness that the sufferings of the child for what seem the most\ntrivial causes probably at least equal in acuteness, though not in\ndurability, the sufferings of a man. Many a parent standing by the\ncoffin of his child has felt with bitterness how much of the measure of\nenjoyment that short life might have known has been cut off by an\ninjudicious education. And even if adult life is attained, the evils of\nan unhappy childhood are seldom wholly compensated. The pleasures of\nretrospect are among the most real we possess, and it is around our\nchildish days that our fondest associations naturally cluster. An early\nover-strain of our powers often leaves behind it lasting distortion or\nweakness, and a sad childhood introduces into the character elements of\nmorbidness and bitterness that will not disappear.\n\nThe first great rule in judging of pleasures is that so well expressed\nby Seneca: 'Sic pr\u00e6sentibus utaris voluptatibus ut futuris non\nnoceas'--so to use present pleasures as not to impair future ones.\nDrunkenness, sensuality, gambling, habitual extravagance and\nself-indulgence, if they become the pleasures of youth, will almost\ninfallibly lead to the ruin of a life. Pleasures that are in themselves\ninnocent lose their power of pleasing if they become the sole or main\nobject of pursuit.\n\nIn starting in life we are apt to attach a disproportionate value to\ntastes, pleasures, and ideals that can only be even approximately\nsatisfied in youth, health, and strength. We have, I think, an example\nof this in the immense place which athletic games and out-of-door sports\nhave taken in modern English life. They are certainly not things to be\ncondemned. They have the direct effect of giving a large amount of\nintense and innocent pleasure, and they have indirect effects which are\nstill more important. In so far as they raise the level of physical\nstrength and health, and dispel the morbidness of temperament which is\nso apt to accompany a sedentary life and a diseased or inert frame, they\ncontribute powerfully to lasting happiness. They play a considerable\npart in the formation of friendships which is one of the best fruits of\nthe period between boyhood and mature manhood. Some of them give lessons\nof courage, perseverance, energy, self-restraint, and cheerful\nacquiescence in disappointment and defeat that are of no small value in\nthe formation of character, and when they are not associated with\ngambling they have often the inestimable advantage of turning young men\naway from vicious pleasures. At the same time it can hardly be doubted\nthat they hold an exaggerated prominence in the lives of young\nEnglishmen of the present generation. It is not too much to say that\namong large sections of the students at our Universities, and at a time\nwhen intellectual ambition ought to be most strong and when the\nacquisition of knowledge is most important, proficiency in cricket or\nboating or football is more prized than any intellectual achievement. I\nhave heard a good judge, who had long been associated with English\nUniversity life, express his opinion that during the last forty or fifty\nyears the relative intellectual position of the upper and middle classes\nin England has been materially changed, owing to the disproportioned\nplace which outdoor amusements have assumed in the lives of the former.\nIt is the impression of very competent judges that a genuine love,\nreverence and enthusiasm for intellectual things is less common among\nthe young men of the present day than it was in the days of their\nfathers. The predominance of the critical spirit which chills\nenthusiasm, and still more the cram system which teaches young men to\nlook on the prizes that are to be won by competitive examinations as the\nsupreme end of knowledge, no doubt largely account for this, but much\nis also due to the extravagant glorification of athletic games.\n\nIf we compare the class of pleasures I have described with the taste for\nreading and kindred intellectual pleasures, the superiority of the\nlatter is very manifest. To most young men, it is true, a game will\nprobably give at least as much pleasure as a book. Nor must we measure\nthe pleasure of reading altogether by the language of the genuine\nscholar. It is not every one who could say, like Gibbon, that he would\nnot exchange his love of reading for all the wealth of the Indies. Very\nmany would agree with him; but Gibbon was a man with an intense natural\nlove of knowledge, and the weak health of his early life intensified\nthis predominant passion. But while the tastes which require physical\nstrength decline or pass with age, that for reading steadily grows. It\nis illimitable in the vistas of pleasure it opens; it is one of the most\neasily satisfied, one of the cheapest, one of the least dependent on\nage, seasons, and the varying conditions of life. It cheers the invalid\nthrough years of weakness and confinement; illuminates the dreary hours\nof the sleepless night; stores the mind with pleasant thoughts, banishes\nennui, fills up the unoccupied interstices and enforced leisures of an\nactive life; makes men for a time at least forget their anxieties and\nsorrows, and if it is judiciously managed it is one of the most powerful\nmeans of training character and disciplining and elevating thought. It\nis eminently a pleasure which is not only good in itself but enhances\nmany others. By extending the range of our knowledge, by enlarging our\npowers of sympathy and appreciation, it adds incalculably to the\npleasures of society, to the pleasures of travel, to the pleasures of\nart, to the interest we take in the vast variety of events which form\nthe great world-drama around us.\n\nTo acquire this taste in early youth is one of the best fruits of\neducation, and it is especially useful when the taste for reading\nbecomes a taste for knowledge, and when it is accompanied by some\nspecialisation and concentration and by some exercise of the powers of\nobservation. 'Many tastes and one hobby' is no bad ideal to be aimed at.\nThe boy who learns to collect and classify fossils, or flowers, or\ninsects, who has acquired a love for chemical experiments, who has begun\nto form a taste for some particular kind or department of knowledge, has\nlaid the foundation of much happiness in life.\n\nIn the selection of pleasures and the cultivation of tastes much wisdom\nis shown in choosing in such a way that each should form a complement to\nthe others; that different pleasures should not clash, but rather cover\ndifferent areas and seasons of life; that each should tend to correct\nfaults or deficiencies of character which the others may possibly\nproduce. The young man who starts in life with keen literary tastes and\nalso with a keen love of out-of-door sports, and who possesses the means\nof gratifying each, has perhaps provided himself with as many elements\nof happiness as mere amusements can ever furnish. One set of pleasures,\nhowever, often kills the capacity for enjoying others, and some which in\nthemselves are absolutely innocent, by blunting the enjoyment of better\nthings, exercise an injurious influence on character. Habitual\nnovel-reading, for example, often destroys the taste for serious\nliterature, and few things tend so much to impair a sound literary\nperception and to vulgarise the character as the habit of constantly\nsaturating the mind with inferior literature, even when that literature\nis in no degree immoral. Sometimes an opposite evil may be produced.\nExcessive fastidiousness greatly limits our enjoyments, and the\ninestimable gift of extreme concentration is often dearly bought. The\nwell-known confession of Darwin that his intense addiction to science\nhad destroyed his power of enjoying even the noblest imaginative\nliterature represents a danger to which many men who have achieved much\nin the higher and severer forms of scientific thought are subject. Such\nmen are usually by their original temperament, and become still more by\nacquired habit, men of strong, narrow, concentrated natures, whose\nthoughts, like a deep and rapid stream confined in a restricted channel,\nflow with resistless energy in one direction. It is by the sacrifice of\nversatility that they do so much, and the result is amply sufficient to\njustify it. But it is a real sacrifice, depriving them of many forms\nboth of capacity and of enjoyment.\n\nThe same pleasures act differently on different characters, especially\non the differences of character that accompany difference of sex. I have\nmyself no doubt that the movement which in modern times has so widely\nopened to women amusements that were once almost wholly reserved for men\nhas been on the whole a good one. It has produced a higher level of\nhealth, stronger nerves, and less morbid characters, and it has given\nkeen and innocent enjoyment to many who from their circumstances and\nsurroundings once found their lives very dreary and insipid. Yet most\ngood observers will agree that amusements which have no kind of evil\neffect on men often in some degree impair the graces or characters of\nwomen, and that it is not quite with impunity that one sex tries to live\nthe life of the other. Some pleasures, too, exercise a much larger\ninfluence than others on the general habits of life. It is not too much\nto say that the invention of the bicycle, bringing with it an immense\nincrease of outdoor life, of active exercise, and of independent habits,\nhas revolutionised the course of many lives. Some amusements which may\nin themselves be but little valued are wisely cultivated as helping men\nto move more easily in different spheres of society, or as providing a\nresource for old age. Talleyrand was not wholly wrong in his reproach to\na man who had never learned to play whist: 'What an unhappy old age you\nare preparing for yourself!'\n\nI have already mentioned the differences that may be found in different\ncountries and ages, in the relative importance attached to external\ncircumstances and to dispositions of mind as means of happiness, and the\ntendency in the more progressive nations to seek their happiness mainly\nin improved circumstances. Another great line of distinction is between\neducation that acts specially upon the desires, and that which acts\nspecially upon the will. The great perfection of modern systems of\neducation is chiefly of the former kind. Its object is to make knowledge\nand virtue attractive, and therefore an object of desire. It does so\npartly by presenting them in the most alluring forms, partly by\nconnecting them as closely as possible with rewards. The great principle\nof modern moral education is to multiply innocent and beneficent\ninterests, tastes, and ambitions. It is to make the path of virtue the\nnatural, the easy, the pleasing one; to form a social atmosphere\nfavourable to its development, making duty and interest as far as\npossible coincident. Vicious pleasures are combated by the\nmultiplication of healthy ones, and by a clearer insight into the\nconsequences of each. An idle or inert character is stimulated by\nholding up worthy objects of interest and ambition, and it is the aim\nalike of the teacher and the legislator to make the grooves and channels\nof life such as tend naturally and easily towards good. But the\neducation of the will--the power of breasting the current of the desires\nand doing for long periods what is distasteful and painful--is much less\ncultivated than in some periods of the past.\n\nMany things contribute to this. The rush and hurry of modern existence\nand the incalculable multitude and variety of fleeting impressions that\nin the great centres of civilisation pass over the mind are very\nunfavourable to concentration, and perhaps still more to the direct\ncultivation of mental states. Amusements, and the appetite for\namusements, have greatly extended. Life has become more full. The long\nleisures, the introspective habits, the _vita contemplativa_ so\nconspicuous in the old Catholic discipline, grow very rare. Thoughts and\ninterests are more thrown on the external; and the comfort, the luxury,\nthe softness, the humanity of modern life, and especially of modern\neducation, make men less inclined to face the disagreeable and endure\nthe painful.\n\nThe starting-point of education is thus silently changing. Perhaps the\nextent of the change is best shown by the old Catholic ascetic training.\nIts supreme object was to discipline and strengthen the will: to\naccustom men habitually to repudiate the pleasurable and accept the\npainful; to mortify the most natural tastes and affections; to narrow\nand weaken the empire of the desires; to make men wholly independent of\noutward circumstances; to preach self-renunciation as itself an end.\n\nMen will always differ about the merits of this system. In my own\nopinion it is difficult to believe that in the period of Catholic\nascendency the moral standard was, on the whole and in its broad lines,\nhigher than our own. The repression of the sensual instincts was the\ncentral fact in ascetic morals; but, even tested by this test, it is at\nleast very doubtful whether it did not fail. The withdrawal from secular\nsociety of the best men did much to restrict the influences for good,\nand the habit of aiming at an unnatural ideal was not favourable to\ncommon, everyday, domestic virtue. The history of sacerdotal and\nmonastic celibacy abundantly shows how much vice that might easily have\nbeen avoided grew out of the adoption of an unnatural standard, and how\noften it led in those who had attained it to grave distortions of\ncharacter. Affections and impulses which were denied their healthy and\nnatural vent either became wholly atrophied or took other and morbid\nforms, and the hard, cruel, self-righteous fanatic, equally ready to\nendure or to inflict suffering, was a not unnatural result. But\nwhatever may have been its failures and its exaggerations, Catholic\nasceticism was at least a great school for disciplining and\nstrengthening the will, and the strength and discipline of the will form\none of the first elements of virtue and of happiness.\n\nIn the grave and noble type of character which prevailed in English and\nAmerican life during the seventeenth century, the strength of will was\nconspicuously apparent. Life was harder, simpler, more serious, and less\ndesultory than at present, and strong convictions shaped and fortified\nthe character. 'It was an age,' says a great American writer, 'when what\nwe call talent had far less consideration than now, but the massive\nmaterials which produce stability and dignity of character a great deal\nmore. The people possessed by hereditary right the quality of reverence,\nwhich, in their descendants, if it survive at all, exists in smaller\nproportion and with a vastly diminished force in the selection and\nestimate of public men. The change may be for good or ill, and is\npartly, perhaps, for both. In that old day the English settler on these\nrude shores, having left king, nobles, and all degrees of awful rank\nbehind, while still the faculty and necessity of reverence were strong\nin him, bestowed it on the white hair and venerable brow of age; on\nlong-tried integrity; on solid wisdom and sad-coloured experience; on\nendowments of that grave and weighty order which give the idea of\npermanence and come under the general definition of respectability.\nThese primitive statesmen, therefore,--Bradstreet, Endicott, Dudley,\nBellingham, and their compeers,--who were elevated to power by the\nearly choice of the people, seem to have been not often brilliant, but\ndistinguished by a ponderous sobriety rather than activity of intellect.\nThey had fortitude and self-reliance, and in time of difficulty or peril\nstood up for the welfare of the State like a line of cliffs against a\ntempestuous tide.'[61]\n\nThe power of the will, however, even when it exists in great strength,\nis often curiously capricious. History is full of examples of men who in\ngreat trials and emergencies have acted with admirable and persevering\nheroism, yet who readily succumbed to private vices or passions. The\nwill is not the same as the desires, but the connection between them is\nvery close. A love for a distant end; a dominating ambition or passion,\nwill call forth long perseverance in wholly distasteful work in men\nwhose will in other fields of life is lamentably feeble. Every one who\nhas embarked with real earnestness in some extended literary enterprise\nwhich as a whole represents the genuine bent of his talent and character\nwill be struck with his exceptional power of traversing perseveringly\nlong sections of this enterprise for which he has no natural aptitude\nand in which he takes no pleasure. Military courage is with most men\nchiefly a matter of temperament and impulse, but there have been\nconspicuous instances of great soldiers and sailors who have frankly\nacknowledged that they never lost in battle an intense constitutional\nshrinking from danger, though by the force of a strong will they never\nsuffered this timidity to govern or to weaken them. With men of very\nvivid imagination there is a natural tendency to timidity as they\nrealise more than ordinary men danger and suffering. On the other hand\nit has often been noticed how calmly the callous, semi-torpid\ntemperament that characterises many of the worst criminals enables them\nto meet death upon the gallows.\n\nIn courage itself, too, there are many varieties. The courage of the\nsoldier and the courage of the martyr are not the same, and it by no\nmeans follows that either would possess that of the other. Not a few men\nwho are capable of leading a forlorn hope, and who never shrink from the\nbayonet and the cannon, have shown themselves incapable of bearing the\nburden of responsibility, enduring long-continued suspense, taking\ndecisions which might expose them to censure or unpopularity. The active\ncourage that encounters and delights in danger is often found in men who\nshow no courage in bearing suffering, misfortune, or disease. In passive\ncourage the woman often excels the man as much as in active courage the\nman exceeds the woman. Even in active courage familiarity does much;\nsympathy and enthusiasm play great and often very various parts, and\ncurious anomalies may be found. The Teutonic and the Latin races are\nprobably equally distinguished for their military courage, but there is\na clear difference between them in the nature of that courage and in the\ncircumstances or conditions under which it is usually most splendidly\ndisplayed. The danger incurred by the gladiator was far greater than\nthat which was encountered by the soldier, but Tacitus[62] mentions\nthat when some of the bravest gladiators were employed in the Roman\narmy they were found wholly inefficient, as they were much less capable\nthan the ordinary soldiers of military courage.\n\nThe circumstances of life are the great school for forming and\nstrengthening the will, and in the excessive competition and struggle of\nmodern industrialism this school is not wanting. But in ethical and\neducational systems the value of its cultivation is often insufficiently\nfelt. Yet nothing which is learned in youth is so really valuable as the\npower and the habit of self-restraint, of self-sacrifice, of energetic,\ncontinuous and concentrated effort. In the best of us evil tendencies\nare always strong and the path of duty is often distasteful. With the\nmost favourable wind and tide the bark will never arrive at the harbour\nif it has ceased to obey the rudder. A weak nature which is naturally\nkindly, affectionate and pure, which floats through life under the\nimpulse of the feelings, with no real power of self-restraint, is indeed\nnot without its charm, and in a well-organised society, with good\nsurroundings and few temptations, it may attain a high degree of beauty;\nbut its besetting failings will steadily grow; without fortitude,\nperseverance and principle, it has no recuperative energy, and it will\noften end in a moral catastrophe which natures in other respects much\nless happily compounded would easily avoid. Nothing can permanently\nsecure our moral being in the absence of a restraining will basing\nitself upon a strong sense of the difference between right and wrong,\nupon the firm groundwork of principle and honour.\n\nExperience abundantly shows how powerfully the steady action of such a\nwill can operate upon innate defects, converting the constitutional\nidler into the indefatigably industrious, checking, limiting and\nsometimes almost destroying constitutional irritability and vicious\npassions. The natural power of the will in different men differs\ngreatly, but there is no part of our nature which is more strengthened\nby exercise or more weakened by disuse. The minor faults of character it\ncan usually correct; but when a character is once formed, and when its\ntendencies are essentially vicious, radical cure or even considerable\namelioration is very rare. Sometimes the strong influence of religion\neffects it. Sometimes it is effected by an illness, a great misfortune,\nor the total change of associations that follows emigration. Marriage\nperhaps more frequently than any other ordinary agency in early life\ntransforms or deeply modifies the character, for it puts an end to\npowerful temptations and brings with it a profound change of habits and\nmotives, associations and desires. But we have all of us encountered in\nlife depraved natures in which vicious self-indulgence had attained such\na strength, and the recuperating and moralising elements were so fatally\nweak, that we clearly perceive the disease to be incurable, and that it\nis hardly possible that any change of circumstances could even seriously\nmitigate it. In what proportion this is the fault or the calamity of the\npatient no human judgment can accurately tell.\n\nFew things are sadder than to observe how frequently the inheritance of\ngreat wealth or even of easy competence proves the utter and speedy ruin\nof a young man, except when the administration of a large property, or\nthe necessity of carrying on a great business, or some other propitious\ncircumstance provides him with a clearly defined sphere of work. The\nmajority of men will gladly discard distasteful work which their\ncircumstances do not require; and in the absence of steady work, and in\nthe possession of all the means of gratification, temptations assume an\noverwhelming strength, and the springs of moral life are fatally\nimpaired. It can hardly be doubted that the average longevity in this\nsmall class is far less than in that of common men, and that even when\nnatural capacity is considerable it is more rarely displayed. To a man\nwith a real desire for work such circumstances are indeed of inestimable\nvalue, giving him the leisure and the opportunities of applying himself\nwithout distraction and from early manhood to the kind of work that is\nmost suited to him. Sometimes this takes place, but much more frequently\nvicious tastes or a simply idle or purposeless life are the result.\nSometimes, indeed, a large amount of desultory and unregulated energy\nremains, but the serious labour of concentration is shunned and no real\nresult is attained. The stream is there, but it turns no mill.\n\nMost men escape this danger through the circumstances of life which make\nserious and steady work necessary to their livelihood, and in the\nmajority of cases the kind of work is so clearly marked out that they\nhave little choice. When some choice exists, the rule which I have\nalready laid down should not be forgotten. Men should choose their work\nnot only according to their talents and their opportunities, but also,\nas far as possible, according to their characters. They should select\nthe kinds which are most fitted to bring their best qualities into\nexercise, or should at least avoid those which have a special tendency\nto develop or encourage their dominant defects. On the whole it will be\nfound that men's characters are much more deeply influenced by their\npursuits than by their opinions.\n\nThe choice of work is one of the great agencies for the management of\ncharacter in youth. The choice of friends is another. In the words of\nBurke, 'The law of opinion ... is the strongest principle in the\ncomposition of the frame of the human mind, and more of the happiness\nand unhappiness of man reside in that inward principle than in all\nexternal circumstances put together.'[63] This is true of the great\npublic opinion of an age or country which envelops us like an\natmosphere, and by its silent pressure steadily and almost insensibly\nshapes or influences the whole texture of our lives. It is still more\ntrue of the smaller circle of our intimacies which will do more than\nalmost any other thing to make the path of virtue easy or difficult. How\nlarge a proportion of the incentives to a noble ambition, or of the\nfirst temptations to evil, may be traced to an early friendship, and it\nis often in the little circle that gathers round a college table that\nthe measure of life is first taken, and ideals and enthusiasms are\nformed which give a colour to all succeeding years. To admire strongly\nand to admire wisely is, indeed, one of the best means of moral\nimprovement.\n\nVery much, however, of the management of character can only be\naccomplished by the individual himself acting in complete isolation upon\nhis own nature and in the chamber of his own mind. The discipline of\nthought; the establishment of an ascendency of the will over our courses\nof thinking; the power of casting away morbid trains of reflection and\nturning resolutely to other subjects or aspects of life; the power of\nconcentrating the mind vigorously on a serious subject and pursuing\ncontinuous trains of thought,--form perhaps the best fruits of judicious\nself-education. Its importance, indeed, is manifold. In the higher walks\nof intellect this power of mental concentration is of supreme value.\nNewton is said to have ascribed mainly to an unusual amount of it his\nachievements in philosophy, and it is probable that the same might be\nsaid by most other great thinkers. In the pursuit of happiness hardly\nanything in external circumstances is so really valuable as the power of\ncasting off worry, turning in times of sorrow to healthy work, taking\nhabitually the brighter view of things. It is in such exercises of will\nthat we chiefly realise the truth of the lines of Tennyson:\n\n\n Oh, well for him whose will is strong,\n He suffers, but he will not suffer long.\n\n\nIn moral culture it is not less important to acquire the power of\ndiscarding the demoralising thoughts and imaginations that haunt so\nmany, and meeting temptation by calling up purer, higher and restraining\nthoughts. The faculty we possess of alternating and intensifying our own\nmotives by bringing certain thoughts, or images, or subjects into the\nforeground and throwing others into the background, is one of our chief\nmeans of moral progress. The cultivation of this power is a far wiser\nthing than the cultivation of that introspective habit of mind which is\nperpetually occupied with self-analysis or self-examination, and which\nis constantly and remorsefully dwelling upon past faults or upon the\nmorbid elements in our nature. In the morals which are called minor,\nthough they affect deeply the happiness of mankind, the importance of\nthe government of thought is not less apparent. The secret of good or\nbad temper is our habitual tendency to dwell upon or to fly from the\nirritating and the inevitable. Content or discontent, amiability or the\nreverse, depend mainly upon the disposition of our minds to turn\nspecially to the good or to the evil sides of our own lot, to the merits\nor to the defects of those about us. A power of turning our thoughts\nfrom a given subject, though not the sole element in self-control, is at\nleast one of its most important ingredients.\n\nThis power of the will over the thoughts is one in which men differ\nenormously. Thus--to take the most familiar instance--the capacity for\nworry, with all the exaggerations and distortions of sentiment it\nimplies, is very evidently a constitutional thing, and where it exists\nto a high degree neither reason nor will can effectually cure it. Such a\nman may have the clearest possible intellectual perception of its\nuselessness and its folly. Yet it will often banish sleep from his\npillow, follow him with an habitual depression in all the walks of life,\nand make his measure of happiness much less than that of others who with\nfar less propitious circumstances are endued by nature with the gift of\nlightly throwing off the past and looking forward with a sanguine and\ncheerful spirit to the future. It is hardly possible to exaggerate the\ndifferent degrees of suffering the same trouble will produce in\ndifferent men, and it is probable that the happiness of a life depends\nmuch less on the amount of pleasurable or painful things that are\nencountered, than upon the turn of thought which dwells chiefly on one\nor on the other. It is very evident that buoyancy of temperament is not\na thing that increases with civilisation or education. It is mainly\nphysical. It is greatly influenced by climate and by health, and where\nno very clear explanation of this kind can be given it is a thing in\nwhich different nations differ greatly. Few good observers will deny\nthat persistent and concentrated will is more common in Great Britain\nthan in Ireland, but that the gift of a buoyant temperament is more\ncommon among Irishmen than among Englishmen. Yet it co-exists in the\nnational character with a strong vein of very genuine melancholy, and it\nis often accompanied by keen sensitiveness to suffering. This\ncombination is a very common one. Every one who has often stood by a\ndeathbed knows how frequently it will be found that the mourner who is\nutterly prostrated by grief, and whose tears flow in torrents, casts off\nher grief much more completely and much sooner than one whose tears\nrefuse to flow and who never for a moment loses her self-command.\n\nBut though natural temperament enables one man to do without effort what\nanother man with the utmost effort fails to accomplish, there are some\navailable remedies that can palliate the disease. Society, travel and\nother amusements can do something, and such words as 'diversion' and\n'distraction' embalm the truth that the chief virtue of many pleasures\nis to divert or distract our minds from painful thoughts. Pascal\nconsidered this a sign of the misery and the baseness of our nature, and\nhe describes as a deplorable spectacle a man who rose from his bed\nweighed down with anxiety and grave sorrow, and who could for a time\nforget it all in the passionate excitement of the chase. But, in truth,\nthe possession of such a power--weak and transient though it be--is one\nof the great alleviations of the lot of man. Religion, with its powerful\nmotives and its wide range of consolatory and soothing thoughts and\nimages, has much power in this sphere when it does not take a morbid\nform and intensify instead of alleviating sorrow; and the steady\nexercise of the will gives us some real and increasing, though\nimperfect, control over the current of our feelings as well as of our\nideas.\n\nOften the power of dreaming comes to our aid. When we cannot turn from\nsome painfully pressing thought to serious thinking of another kind, we\ncan give the reins to our imaginations and soon lose ourselves in ideal\nscenes. There are men who live so habitually in a world of imagination\nthat it becomes to them a second life, and their strongest temptations\nand their keenest pleasures belong to it. To them 'common life seems\ntapestried with dreams.' Not unfrequently they derive a pleasure from\nimagined or remembered enjoyments which the realities themselves would\nfail to give. They select in imagination certain aspects or portions,\nthrow others into the shade, intensify or attenuate impressions,\ntransform and beautify the reality of things. The power of filling their\nexistence with happy day-dreams is their most precious luxury. They feel\nthe full force of the pathetic lines of an Irish poet:[64]\n\n\n Sweet thoughts, bright dreams my comfort be,\n I have no joy beside;\n Oh, throng around and be to me\n Power, country, fame and bride.\n\n\nTo train this side of our nature is no small part of the management of\ncharacter. There is a great sphere of happiness and misery which is\nalmost or altogether unconnected with surrounding circumstances, and\ndepends upon the thoughts, images, hopes and fears on which our minds\nare chiefly concentrated. The exercise of this form of imagination has\noften a great influence, both intellectually and morally. In childhood,\nas every teacher knows, it is often a distracting influence, and with\nmen also it is sometimes an obstacle to concentrated reasoning and\nobservation, turning the mind away from sober and difficult thought; but\nthere is a kind of dreaming which is eminently conducive to productive\nthought. It enables a man to place himself so completely in other\nconditions of thought and life that the ideas connected with those\nconditions rise spontaneously in the mind. A true and vivid realisation\nof characters and circumstances unlike his own is acquired. The mere\nfact of placing himself in other circumstances and investing himself\nwith imaginary powers and functions sometimes suggests possible remedies\nfor great human ills, and gives clearer views of the proportions,\ndifficulties and conditions of governments and societies. Much discovery\nin science has been due to this power of the imagination to realise\nconditions that are unseen, and the habit or faculty of living other\nlives than our own is scarcely less valuable to the historian, and even\nto the statesman, than to the poet or the novelist or the dramatist. It\ngives the magic touch which changes mere lifeless knowledge into\nrealisation.\n\nIts effect upon character also is great and various. No one can fail to\nrecognise the depraving influence of a corrupt imagination; and the\ncorruption may spring, not only from suggestions from without, but from\nthose which rise spontaneously in our minds. Nor is even the imagination\nwhich is wholly pure absolutely without its dangers. It is a well-known\nlaw of our nature that an excessive indulgence in emotion that does not\nend in action tends rather to deaden than to stimulate the moral nerve.\nIt has been often noticed that the exaggerated sentimentality which\nsheds passionate tears over the fictitious sorrows of a novel or a play\nis no certain sign of a benevolent and unselfish nature, and is quite\ncompatible with much indifference to real sorrows and much indisposition\nto make efforts for their alleviation. It is, however, no less true, as\nDugald Stewart says, that the apparent coldness and selfishness of men\nare often simply due to a want of that kind of imagination which enables\nus to realise sufferings with which we have never been brought into\ndirect contact, and that once this power of realisation is acquired, the\ncoldness is speedily dispelled. Nor can it be doubted that in the\nmanagement of thought, the dream power often plays a most important part\nin alleviating human suffering; illuminating cheerless and gloomy lives,\nand breaking the chain of evil or distressing thoughts.\n\nThe immense place which the literature of fiction holds in the world\nshows how widely some measure of it is diffused, and how large an amount\nof time and talent is devoted to its cultivation. It is probable,\nhowever, that it is really stronger in the earlier and uncultivated than\nin the later stages of humanity, as it is more vivid in childhood and in\nyouth than in mature life. 'A child,' as an American writer[65] has well\nsaid, 'can afford to sleep without dreaming; he has plenty of dreams\nwithout sleep.' The childhood of the world is also eminently an age of\ndreams. There are stages of civilisation in which the dream world blends\nso closely with the world of realities, in which the imagination so\nhabitually and so spontaneously transfigures or distorts, that men\nbecome almost incapable of distinguishing between the real and the\nfictitious. This is the true age of myths and legends; and there are\nstrata in contemporary society in which something of the same conditions\nis reproduced. 'To those who do not read or write much,' says an acute\nobserver, 'even in our days, dreams are much more real than to those who\nare continually exercising the imagination.... Since I have been\noccupied with literature my dreams have lost all vividness and are less\nreal than the shadows of the trees; they do not deceive me even in my\nsleep. At every hour of the day I am accustomed to call up figures at\nwill before my eyes, which stand out well defined and coloured to the\nvery hue of their faces.... The less literary a people the more they\nbelieve in dreams; the disappearance of superstition is not due to the\ncultivation of reason or the spread of knowledge, but purely to the\nmechanical effect of reading, which so perpetually puts figures and\na\u00ebrial shapes before the mental gaze that in time those that occur\nnaturally are thought no more of than those conjured into existence by a\nbook. It is in far-away country places, where people read very little,\nthat they see phantoms and consult the oracles of fate. Their dreams are\nreal.'[66]\n\nThe last point I would notice in the management of character is the\nimportance of what may be called moral safety-valves. One of the most\nfatal mistakes in education is the attempt which is so often made by the\neducator to impose his own habits and tastes on natures that are\nessentially different. It is common for men of lymphatic temperaments,\nof studious, saintly, and retiring tastes, to endeavor to force a\nhigh-spirited young man starting in life into their own mould--to\nprescribe for him the cast of tastes and pursuits they find most suited\nfor themselves, forgetting that such an ideal can never satisfy a wholly\ndifferent nature, and that in aiming at it a kind of excellence which\nmight easily have been attained is missed. This is one of the evils\nthat very frequently arise when the education of boys after an early age\nis left in the hands of women. It is the true explanation of the fact,\nwhich has so often been noticed, that children of clergymen, or at least\nchildren educated on a rigidly austere, puritanical system, so often go\nconspicuously to the bad. Such an education, imposed on a nature that is\nunfit for it, generally begins by producing hypocrisy, and not\nunfrequently ends by a violent reaction into vice. There is no greater\nmistake in education than to associate virtue in early youth with gloomy\ncolours and constant restrictions, and few people do more mischief in\nthe world than those who are perpetually inventing crimes. In circles\nwhere smoking, or field sports, or going to the play, or reading novels,\nor indulging in any boisterous games or in the most harmless Sunday\namusements, are treated as if they were grave moral offences, young men\nconstantly grow up who end by looking on grave moral offences as not\nworse than these things. They lose all sense of proportion and\nperspective in morals, and those who are always straining at gnats are\noften peculiarly apt to swallow camels. It is quite right that men who\nhave formed for themselves an ideal of life of the kind that I have\ndescribed should steadily pursue it, but it is another thing to impose\nit upon others, and to prescribe it as of general application. By\nteaching as absolutely wrong things that are in reality only culpable in\ntheir abuse or their excess, they destroy the habit of moderate and\nrestrained enjoyment, and a period of absolute prohibition is often\nfollowed by a period of unrestrained license.\n\nThe truth is there are elements in human nature which many moralists\nmight wish to be absent, as they are very easily turned in the direction\nof vice, but which at the same time are inherent in our being, and, if\nrightly understood, are essential elements of human progress. The love\nof excitement and adventure; the fierce combative instinct that delights\nin danger, in struggle, and even in destruction; the restless ambition\nthat seeks with an insatiable longing to better its position and to\nclimb heights that are yet unscaled; the craving for some enjoyment\nwhich not merely gives pleasure but carries with it a thrill of\npassion,--all this lies deep in human nature and plays a great part in\nthat struggle for existence, in that harsh and painful process of\nevolution by which civilisation is formed, faculty stimulated to its\nfull development, and human progress secured. In the education of the\nindividual, as in the education of the race, the true policy in dealing\nwith these things is to find for them a healthy, useful, or at least\nharmless sphere of action. In the chemistry of character they may ally\nthemselves with the most heroic as well as with the worst parts of our\nnature, and the same passion for excitement which in one man will take\nthe form of ruinous vice, in another may lead to brilliant enterprise,\nwhile in a third it may be turned with no great difficulty into channels\nwhich are very innocent.\n\nTake, for example, the case to which I have already referred, of a\nperfectly commonplace boy who, on coming of age, finds himself with a\ncompetence that saves him from the necessity of work; and who has no\nambition, literary or artistic taste, love of work, interest in\npolitics, religious or philanthropic earnestness, or special talent.\nWhat will become of him? In probably the majority of cases ruin,\ndisease, and an early death lie before him. He seeks only for amusement\nand excitement, and three fatal temptations await him--drink, gambling,\nand women. If he falls under the dominion of these, or even of one of\nthem, he almost infallibly wrecks either his fortune or his\nconstitution, or both. It is perfectly useless to set before him high\nmotives or ideals, or to incite him to lines of life for which he has no\naptitude and which can give him no pleasure. What, then, can save him?\nMost frequently a happy marriage; but even if he is fortunate enough to\nattain this, it will probably only be after several years, and in those\nyears a fatal bias is likely to be given to his life which can never be\nrecovered. Yet experience shows that in cases of this kind a keen love\nof sport can often do much. With his gun and with his hunter he finds an\ninterest, an excitement, an employment which may not be particularly\nnoble, but which is at least sufficiently absorbing, and is not\ninjurious either to his morals, his health, or his fortune. It is no\nsmall gain if, in the competition of pleasures, country pleasures take\nthe place of those town pleasures which, in such cases as I have\ndescribed, usually mean pleasures of vice.\n\nNor is it by any means only in such cases that field sports prove a\ngreat moral safety-valve, scattering morbid tastes and giving harmless\nand healthy vent to turns of character or feeling which might very\neasily be converted into vice. Among the influences that form the\ncharacter of the upper classes of Englishmen they have a great part,\nand in spite of the exaggerations and extravagances that often accompany\nthem, few good observers will doubt that they have an influence for\ngood. However much of the Philistine element there may be in the upper\nclasses in England, however manifest may be their limitations and their\ndefects, there can be little doubt that on the whole the conditions of\nEnglish life have in this sphere proved successful. There are few better\nworking types within the reach of commonplace men than that of an\nEnglish gentleman with his conventional tastes, standard of honour,\nreligion, sympathies, ideals, opinions and instincts. He is not likely\nto be either a saint or a philosopher, but he is tolerably sure to be\nboth an honourable and a useful man, with a fair measure of good sense\nand moderation, and with some disposition towards public duties. A crowd\nof out-of-door amusements and interests do much to dispel his peccant\nhumours and to save him from the stagnation and the sensuality that have\nbeset many foreign aristocracies. County business stimulates his\nactivity, mitigates his class prejudices, and forms his judgment: and\nhis standard of honour will keep him substantially right amid much\nfluctuation of opinions.\n\nThe reader, from his own experience of individual characters, will\nsupply other illustrations of the lines of thought I am enforcing. Some\ntemptations that beset us must be steadily faced and subdued. Others are\nbest met by flight--by avoiding the thoughts or scenes that call them\ninto activity; while other elements of character which we might wish to\nbe away are often better treated in the way of marriage--that is by a\njudicious regulation and harmless application--than in the way of\nasceticism or attempted suppression. It is possible for men--if not in\neducating themselves, at least in educating others--to pitch their\nstandard and their ideal too high. What they have to do is to recognise\ntheir own qualities and the qualities of those whom they influence as\nthey are, and endeavour to use these usually very imperfect materials to\nthe best advantage for the formation of useful, honourable and happy\nlives. According to the doctrine of this book, man comes into the world\nwith a free will. But his free will, though a real thing, acts in a\nnarrower circle and with more numerous limitations than he usually\nimagines. He can, however, do much so to dispose, regulate and modify\nthe circumstances of his life as to diminish both his sufferings and his\ntemptations, and to secure for himself the external conditions of a\nhappy and upright life, and he can do something by judicious and\npersevering self-culture to improve those conditions of character on\nwhich, more than on any external circumstances, both happiness and\nvirtue depend.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[61] Hawthorne's _Scarlet Letter_, ch. xxii.\n\n[62] _Hist._ ii. 35.\n\n[63] Speech on the Impeachment of Warren Hastings.\n\n[64] Davis.\n\n[65] Cable.\n\n[66] Jefferies, _Field and Hedgerow_, p. 242.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nMONEY\n\n\nI do not think that I can better introduce the few pages which I propose\nto write on the relations of money to happiness and to character than by\na pregnant passage from one of the essays[67] of Sir Henry Taylor. 'So\nmanifold are the bearings of money upon the lives and characters of\nmankind, that an insight which should search out the life of a man in\nhis pecuniary relations would penetrate into almost every cranny of his\nnature. He who knows like St. Paul both how to spare and how to abound\nhas a great knowledge; for if we take account of all the virtues with\nwhich money is mixed up--honesty, justice, generosity, charity,\nfrugality, forethought, self-sacrifice, and of their correlative vices,\nit is a knowledge which goes near to cover the length and breadth of\nhumanity, and a right measure in getting, saving, spending, giving,\ntaking, lending, borrowing and bequeathing would almost argue a perfect\nman.'\n\nThere are few subjects on which the contrast between the professed and\nthe real beliefs of men is greater than in the estimate of money. More\nthan any other single thing it is the object and usually the lifelong\nobject of human effort, and any accession of wealth is hailed by the\nimmense majority of mankind as an unquestionable blessing. Yet if we\nwere to take literally much of the teaching we have all heard we should\nconclude that money, beyond what is required for the necessaries of\nlife, is far more a danger than a good; that it is the pre-eminent\nsource of evil and temptation; that one of the first duties of man is to\nemancipate himself from the love of it, which can only mean from any\nstrong desire for its increase.\n\nIn this, as in so many other things, the question is largely one of\ndegree. No one who knows what is meant by the abject poverty to which a\ngreat proportion of the human race is condemned will doubt that at least\nsuch an amount of money as raises them from this condition is one of the\ngreatest of human blessings. Extreme poverty means a lifelong struggle\nfor the bare means of living; it means a life spent in wretched hovels,\nwith insufficient food, clothes and firing, in enforced and absolute\nignorance; an existence almost purely animal, with nearly all the higher\nfaculties of man undeveloped. There is a far greater real difference in\nthe material elements of happiness between the condition of such men and\nthat of a moderately prosperous artizan in a civilised country than\nthere is between the latter and the millionaire.\n\nMoney, again, at least to such an amount as enables men to be in some\nconsiderable degree masters of their own course in life, is also on the\nwhole a great good. In this second degree it has less influence on\nhappiness than health, and probably than character and domestic\nrelations, but its influence is at least very great. Money is a good\nthing because it can be transformed into many other things. It gives\nthe power of education which in itself does much to regulate the\ncharacter and opens out countless tastes and spheres of enjoyment. It\nsaves its possessor from the fear of a destitute old age and of the\ndestitution of those he may leave behind, which is the harrowing care of\nmultitudes who cannot be reckoned among the very poor. It enables him to\nintermit labour in times of sickness and sorrow and old age, and in\nthose extremes of heat and cold during which active labour is little\nless than physical pain. It gives him and it gives those he loves\nincreased chances of life and increased hope of recovery in sickness.\nFew of the pains of penury are more acute than those of a poor man who\nsees his wife or children withering away through disease, and who knows\nor believes that better food or medical attendance, or a surgical\noperation, or a change of climate, might have saved them. Money, too,\neven when it does not dispense with work, at least gives a choice of\nwork and longer intervals of leisure. For the very poor this choice\nhardly exists, or exists only within very narrow limits, and from want\nof culture or want of leisure some of their most marked natural\naptitudes are never called into exercise. With the comparatively rich\nthis is not the case. Money enables them to select the course of life\nwhich is congenial to their tastes and most suited to their natural\ntalents, or, if their strongest taste cannot become their work, money at\nleast gives them some leisure to cultivate it. The command of leisure,\nwhen it is fruitful leisure spent in congenial work, is to many,\nperhaps, the greatest boon it can bestow. 'Riches,' said Charles Lamb,\n'are chiefly good because they give us Time.' 'All one's time to\noneself! for which alone I rankle with envy at the rich. Books are good\nand pictures are good, and money to buy them is therefore good--but to\nbuy time--in other words, life!'\n\nTo some men money is chiefly valuable because it makes it possible for\nthem not to think of money. Except in the daily regulation of ordinary\nlife, it enables them to put aside cares which are to them both\nharassing and distasteful, and to concentrate their thoughts and\nenergies on other objects. An assured competence also, however moderate,\ngives men the priceless blessing of independence. There are walks of\nlife, there are fields of ambition, there are classes of employments in\nwhich between inadequate remuneration and the pressure of want on the\none side, and the facilities and temptations to illicit gain on the\nother, it is extremely difficult for a poor man to walk straight.\nIllicit gain does not merely mean gain that brings a man within the\nrange of the criminal law. Many of its forms escape legal and perhaps\nsocial censure, and may be even sanctioned by custom. A competence,\nwhether small or large, is no sure preservative against that appetite\nfor gain which becomes one of the most powerful and insatiable of\npassions. But it at least diminishes temptation. It takes away the\npressure of want under which so many natures that were once\nsubstantially honest have broken down.\n\nIn the expenditure of money there is usually a great deal of the\nconventional, the factitious, the purely ostentatious, but we are here\ndealing with the most serious realities of life. There are few or no\nelements of happiness and character more important than those I have\nindicated, and a small competence conduces powerfully to them. Let no\nman therefore despise it, for if wisely used it is one of the most real\nblessings of life. It is of course only within the reach of a small\nminority, but the number might easily be much larger than it is. Often\nwhen it is inherited in early youth it is scattered in one or two years\nof gambling and dissipation, followed by a lifetime of regret. In other\ncases it crumbles away in a generation, for it is made an excuse for a\nlife of idleness, and when children multiply or misfortunes arrive, what\nwas once a competence becomes nothing more than bare necessity. In a\nstill larger number of cases many of its advantages are lost because men\nat once adopt a scale of living fully equal to their income. A man who\nwith one house would be a wealthy man, finds life with two houses a\nconstant struggle. A set of habits is acquired, a scale or standard of\nluxury is adopted, which at once sweeps away the margin of superfluity.\nRiches or poverty depend not merely on the amount of our possessions,\nbut quite as much on the regulation of our desires, and the full\nadvantages of competence are only felt when men begin by settling their\nscheme of life on a scale materially within their income. When the great\nlines of expenditure are thus wisely and frugally established, they can\ncommand a wide latitude and much ease in dealing with the smaller ones.\n\nIt is of course true that the power of a man thus to regulate his\nexpenditure is by no means absolute. The position in society in which a\nman is born brings with it certain conventionalities and obligations\nthat cannot be discarded. A great nobleman who has inherited a vast\nestate and a conspicuous social position will, through no fault of his\nown, find himself involved in constant difficulties and struggles on an\nincome a tenth part of which would suffice to give a simple private\ngentleman every reasonable enjoyment in life. A poor clergyman who is\nobliged to keep up the position of a gentleman is in reality a much\npoorer man than a prosperous artizan, even though his actual income may\nbe somewhat larger. But within the bounds which the conventionalities of\nsociety imperatively prescribe many scales of expenditure are possible,\nand the wise regulation of these is one of the chief forms of practical\nwisdom.\n\nIt may be observed, however, that not only men but nations differ widely\nin this respect, and the difference is not merely that between prudence\nand folly, between forethought and passion, but is also in a large\ndegree a difference of tastes and ideals. In general it will be found\nthat in Continental nations a man of independent fortune will place his\nexpenditure more below his means than in England, and a man who has\npursued some lucrative employment will sooner be satisfied with the\ncompetence he has acquired and will gladly exchange his work for a life\nof leisure. The English character prefers a higher rate of expenditure\nand work continued to the end.\n\nIt is probable that, so far as happiness depends on money, the happiest\nlot--though it is certainly not that which is most envied--is that of a\nman who possesses a realised fortune sufficient to save him from serious\nmoney cares about the present and the future, but who at the same time\ncan only keep up the position in society he has chosen for himself, and\nprovide as he desires for his children, by adding to it a professional\nincome. Work is necessary both to happiness and to character, and\nexperience shows that it most frequently attains its full concentration\nand continuity when it is professional, or, in other words,\nmoney-making. Men work in traces as they will seldom work at liberty.\nThe compulsory character, the steady habits, the constant emulation of\nprofessional life mould and strengthen the will, and probably the\nhappiest lot is when this kind of work exists, but without the anxiety\nof those who depend solely on it.\n\nIt is also a good thing when wealth tends to increase with age. 'Old\nage,' it has been said, 'is a very expensive thing.' If the taste for\npleasure diminishes, the necessity for comfort increases. Men become\nmore dependent and more fastidious, and hardships that are indifferent\nto youth become acutely painful. Beside this, money cares are apt to\nweigh with an especial heaviness upon the old. Avarice, as has been\noften observed, is eminently an old-age vice, and in natures that are in\nno degree avaricious it will be found that real money anxieties are more\nfelt and have a greater haunting power in age than in youth. There is\nthen the sense of impotence which makes men feel that their earning\npower has gone. On the other hand youth, and especially early married\nlife spent under the pressure of narrow circumstances, will often be\nlooked back upon as both the happiest and the most fruitful period of\nlife. It is the best discipline of character. It is under such\ncircumstances that men acquire habits of hard and steady work,\nfrugality, order, forethought, punctuality, and simplicity of tastes.\nThey acquire sympathies and realisations they would never have known in\nmore prosperous circumstances. They learn to take keen pleasure in\nlittle things, and to value rightly both money and time. If wealth and\nluxury afterwards come in overflowing measure, these lessons will not be\nwholly lost.\n\nThe value of money as an element of happiness diminishes rapidly in\nproportion to its amount. In the case of the humbler fortunes, each\naccession brings with it a large increase of pleasure and comfort, and\nprobably a very considerable addition to real happiness. In the case of\nrich men this is not the case, and of colossal fortunes only a very\nsmall fraction can be truly said to minister to the personal enjoyment\nof the owner. The disproportion in the world between pleasure and cost\nis indeed almost ludicrous. The two or three shillings that gave us our\nfirst Shakespeare would go but a small way towards providing one of the\nperhaps untasted dishes on the dessert table. The choicest masterpieces\nof the human mind--the works of human genius that through the long\ncourse of centuries have done most to ennoble, console, brighten, and\ndirect the lives of men, might all be purchased--I do not say by the\ncost of a lady's necklace, but by that of one or two of the little\nstones of which it is composed. Compare the relish with which the tired\npedestrian eats his bread and cheese with the appetites with which men\nsit down to some stately banquet; compare the level of spirits at the\nvillage dance with that of the great city ball whose lavish splendour\nfills the society papers with admiration; compare the charm of\nconversation in the college common room with the weary faces that may be\noften seen around the millionaire's dinner table,--and we may gain a\ngood lesson of the vanity of riches. The transition from want to comfort\nbrings with it keen enjoyment and much lasting happiness. The transition\nfrom mere comfort to luxury brings incomparably less and costs\nincomparably more. Let a man of enormous wealth analyse his life from\nday to day and try to estimate what are the things or hours that have\nafforded him real and vivid pleasure. In many cases he will probably say\nthat he has found it in his work--in others in the hour spent with his\ncigar, his newspaper, or his book, or in his game of cricket, or in the\nexcitement of the hunting-field, or in his conversation with an old\nfriend, or in hearing his daughters sing, or in welcoming his son on his\nreturn from school. Let him look round the splendid adornments of his\nhome and ask how many of these things have ever given him a pleasure at\nall proportionate to their cost. Probably in many cases, if he deals\nhonestly with himself, he would confess that his armchair and his\nbookshelves are almost the only exceptions.\n\nSteam, the printing press, the spread of education, and the great\nmultiplication of public libraries, museums, picture galleries and\nexhibitions have brought the chief pleasures of life in a much larger\ndegree than in any previous age within the reach of what are called the\nworking classes, while in the conditions of modern life nearly all the\ngreat sources of real enjoyment that money can give are open to a man\nwho possesses a competent but not extraordinary fortune and some\nleisure. Intellectual tastes he may gratify to the full. Books, at all\nevents in the great centres of civilisation, are accessible far in\nexcess of his powers of reading. The pleasures of the theatre, the\npleasures of society, the pleasures of music in most of its forms, the\npleasures of travel with all its variety of interests, and many of the\npleasures of sport, are abundantly at his disposal. The possession of\nthe highest works of art has no doubt become more and more a monopoly of\nthe very rich, but picture galleries and exhibitions and the facilities\nof travel have diffused the knowledge and enjoyment of art over a vastly\nwider area than in the past. The power of reproducing works of art has\nbeen immensely increased and cheapened, and in one form at least the\nhighest art has been brought within the reach of a man of very moderate\nmeans. Photography can reproduce a drawing with such absolute perfection\nthat he may cover his walls with works of Michael Angelo and Leonardo da\nVinci that are indistinguishable from the originals. The standard of\ncomfort in mere material things is now so high in well-to-do households\nthat to a healthy nature the millionaire can add little to it. Perhaps\namong the pleasures of wealth that which has the strongest influence is\na country place, especially when it brings with it old remembrances, and\nassociations that appeal powerfully to the affections and the\nimagination. More than any other inanimate thing it throws its tendrils\nround the human heart and becomes the object of a deep and lasting\naffection. But even here it will be probably found that this pleasure is\nmore felt by the owner of one country place than by the great\nproprietor whose life is spent alternately in several--by the owner of a\nplace of moderate dimensions than by the owner of those vast parks which\ncan only be managed at great expense and trouble and by much delegated\nsupervision, and which are usually thrown open with such liberality to\nthe public that they probably give more real pleasure to others than to\ntheir owners.\n\nAmong the special pleasures of the enormously rich the collecting\npassion is conspicuous, and of course a very rich man can carry it into\ndepartments which men of moderate fortune can hardly touch. In the rare\ncase when the collector is a man of strong and genuine artistic taste\nthe possession of works of beauty is a thing of enduring pleasure, but\nin general the mere love of collecting, though it often becomes a\npassion almost amounting to a mania, bears very little proportion to\npecuniary value. The intelligent collector of fossils has as much\npleasure as the collector of gems--probably indeed more, as the former\npursuit brings with it a much greater variety of interest, and usually\ndepends much more on the personal exertions of the collector. It is\npleasant, in looking over a geological collection, to think that every\nstone we see has given a pleasure. A collector of Caxtons, a collector\nof large printed or illustrated editions, a collector of first editions\nof famous books, a collector of those editions that are so much prized\nbecause an author has made in them some blunder which he afterwards\ncorrected; a collector of those unique books which have survived as\nrarities because no one thought it worth while to reprint them or\nbecause they are distinguished by some obsolete absurdity, will\nprobably not derive more pleasure, though he will spend vastly more\nmoney, than the mere literary man who, being interested in some\nparticular period or topic, loves to hunt up in old bookshops the\nobscure and forgotten literature relating to it. Much the same thing may\nbe said of other tastes. The gratification of a strong taste or hobby\nwill always give pleasure, and it makes little difference whether it is\nan expensive or an inexpensive one.\n\nThe pleasures of acquisition, the pleasures of possession, and the\npleasures of ostentation, are no doubt real things, though they act in\nvery different degrees on different natures, and some of them much more\non one sex than on the other. In general, however, they tend to grow\npassive and inert. A state of luxury and splendour is little appreciated\nby those who are born to it, though much if it follows a period of\nstruggle and penury. Yet even then the circumstances and surroundings of\nlife soon become a second nature. Men become so habituated to them that\nthey are accepted almost mechanically and cease to give positive\npleasure, though a deprivation of them gives positive pain. The love of\npower, the love of society, and--what is not quite the same thing--the\nlove of social influence, are, however, much stronger and more enduring,\nand great wealth is largely valued because it helps to give them, though\nit does not give them invariably, and though there are other things that\ngive them in an equal or greater degree. To many very rich men some form\nof field sports is probably the greatest pleasure that money affords. It\nat least gives a genuine thrill of unmistakable enjoyment.\n\nFew of the special pleasures of the millionaire can be said to be\npurely selfish, for few are concentrated altogether on himself. His\ngreat park is usually open to the public. His pictures are lent for\nexhibition or exhibited in his house. If he keeps a pack of hounds\nothers hunt with it. If he preserves game to an enormous extent he\ninvites many to shoot it, and at his great entertainments it will often\nbe found that no one derives less pleasure than the weary host.\n\nAt the same time no thinking man can fail to be struck with the great\nwaste of the means of enjoyment in a society in which such gigantic sums\nare spent in mere conventional ostentation which gives little or no\npleasure; in which the best London houses are those which are the\nlongest untenanted; in which some of the most enchanting gardens and\nparks are only seen by their owners for a few weeks in the year.\n\nHamerton, in his Essay on Bohemianism, has very truly shown that the\nrationale of a great deal of this is simply the attempt of men to obtain\nfrom social intercourse the largest amount of positive pleasure or\namusement it can give by discarding the forms, the costly\nconventionalities, the social restrictions that encumber and limit it.\nOne of the worst tendencies of a very wealthy society is that by the\nmere competition of ostentation the standard of conventional expense is\nraised, and the intercourse of men limited by the introduction of a\nnumber of new and costly luxuries which either give no pleasure or give\npleasure that bears no kind of proportion to their cost. Examples may\nsometimes be seen of a very rich man who imagines that he can obtain\nfrom life real enjoyment in proportion to his wealth and who uses it\nfor purely selfish purposes. We may find this in the almost insane\nextravagance of vulgar ostentation by which the parvenu millionaire\ntries to gratify his vanity and dazzle his neighbours; in the wild round\nof prodigal dissipation and vice by which so many young men who have\ninherited enormous fortunes have wrecked their constitutions and found a\nspeedy path to an unhonoured grave. They sought from money what money\ncannot give, and learned too late that in pursuing shadows they missed\nthe substance that was within their reach.\n\nTo the intelligent millionaire, however, and especially to those who are\nbrought up to great possessions, wealth is looked on in a wholly\ndifferent light. It is a possession and a trust carrying with it many\nduties as well as many interests and accompanied by a great burden of\nresponsibility. Mere pleasure-hunting plays but a small and wholly\nsubsidiary part in such lives, and they are usually filled with much\nuseful work. This man, for example, is a banker on a colossal scale.\nFollow his life, and you will find that for four days in the week he is\nengaged in his office as steadily, as unremittingly as any clerk in his\nestablishment. He has made himself master not only of the details of his\nown gigantic business but of the whole great subject of finance in all\nits international relations. He is a power in many lands. He is\nconsulted in every crisis of finance. He is an important influence in a\ncrowd of enterprises, most of them useful as well as lucrative, some of\nthem distinctively philanthropic. Saturday and Sunday he spends at his\ncountry place, usually entertaining a number of guests. One other day\nduring the hunting season he regularly devotes to his favourite sport.\nHis holiday is the usual holiday of a professional man, with rather a\ntendency to abridge than to lengthen it, as the natural bent of his\nthoughts is so strongly to his work that time soon begins to hang\nheavily when he is away from it.\n\nAnother man is an ardent philanthropist, and his philanthropy probably\nblends with much religious fervour, and he becomes in consequence a\nleader in the religious world. Such a life cannot fail to be abundantly\nfilled. Religious meetings, committees, the various interests of the\nmany institutions with which he is connected, the conflicting and\ncompeting claims of different religious societies, fully occupy his time\nand thoughts, sometimes to the great neglect of his private affairs.\n\nAnother man is of a different type. Shy, retiring, hating publicity, and\nnot much interested in politics, he is a gigantic landowner, and the\nwork of his life is concentrated on the development of his own estate.\nHe knows the circumstances of every village, almost of every farm. It is\nhis pride that no labourer on his estate is badly housed, that no part\nof it is slovenly or mismanaged or poverty-stricken. He endows churches\nand hospitals, he erects public buildings, encourages every local\nindustry, makes in times of distress much larger remissions of rent than\nwould be possible for a poorer man, superintends personally the many\ninterests on his property, knows accurately the balance of receipts and\nexpenditure, takes a great interest in sanitation, in new improvements\nand experiments in agriculture, in all the multifarious matters that\naffect the prosperity of his numerous tenantry. He subscribes liberally\nto great national undertakings, as he considers it one of the duties of\nhis position, but his heart is not in such things, and the well-being of\nhis own vast estate and of those who live upon it is the aim and the\nwork of his life. For a few weeks of the year he exercises the splendid\nand lavish hospitality which is expected from a man in his position, and\nhe is always very glad when those weeks are over. He has, however, his\nown expensive hobby, which gives him real pleasure--his yacht, his\npicture gallery, his museum, his collection of wild animals, his\nhothouses or his racing establishment. One or more of these form the\nreal amusement of his active and useful life.\n\nA more common type in England is that of the active politician. Great\nwealth and especially great landed property bring men easily into\nParliament, and, if united with industry and some measure of ability,\ninto official life, and public life thus becomes a profession and in\nmany cases a very laborious one. There are few better examples of a\nwell-filled life and of the skilful management and economy of time than\nare to be found in the lives of some great noblemen who take a leading\npart in politics and preside over important Government departments\nwithout suffering their gigantic estates to fall into mismanagement, or\nneglecting the many social duties and local interests connected with\nthem. Most of their success is indeed due to the wise use of money in\neconomising time by trustworthy and efficient delegation. Yet the\nsuperintending brain, the skilful choice, the personal control cannot\nbe dispensed with. In a life so fully occupied the few weeks of pleasure\nwhich may be spent on a Scotch moor or in a Continental watering-place\nwill surely not be condemned.\n\nThe economy of time and the elasticity of brain and character such lives\ndevelop are, however, probably exceeded by another class. Nothing is\nmore remarkable in the social life of the present generation than the\nhigh pressure under which a large number of ladies in great positions\nhabitually live. It strikes every Continental observer, for there is\nnothing approaching it in any other European country, and it certainly\nfar exceeds anything that existed in England in former generations.\nPleasure-seeking, combined, however, on a large scale with\npleasure-giving, holds a much more prominent place in these lives than\nin those I have just described. With not a few women, indeed, of wealth\nand position, it is the all-in-all of life, and in general it is\nprobable that women obtain more pleasure from most forms of society than\nmen, though it is also true that they bear a much larger share of its\nburdens. There are, however, in this class, many who combine with\nsociety a truly surprising number and variety of serious interests. Not\nonly the management of a great house, not only the superintendence of\nschools and charities and local enterprises connected with a great\nestate, but also a crowd of philanthropic, artistic, political, and\nsometimes literary interests fill their lives. Few lives, indeed, in any\nstation are more full, more intense, more constantly and variously\noccupied. Public life, which in most foreign countries is wholly outside\nthe sphere of women, is eagerly followed. Public speaking, which in the\nmemory of many now living was almost unknown among women of any station\nin English society, has become the most ordinary accomplishment. Their\nobject is to put into life from youth to old age as much as life can\ngive, and they go far to attain their end. A wonderful nimbleness and\nflexibility of intellect capable of turning swiftly from subject to\nsubject has been developed, and keeps them in touch with a very wide\nrange both of interests and pleasures.\n\nThere are no doubt grave drawbacks to all this. Many will say that this\nexternal activity must be at the sacrifice of the duties of domestic\nlife, but on this subject there is, I think, at least much exaggeration.\nEducation has now assumed such forms and attained such a standard that\nusually for many hours in the day the education of the young in a\nwealthy family is in the hands of accomplished specialists, and I do not\nthink that the most occupied lives are those in which the cares of a\nhome are most neglected. How far, however, this intense and constant\nstrain is compatible with physical well-being is a graver question, and\nmany have feared that it must bequeath weakened constitutions to the\ncoming generation. Nor is a life of incessant excitement in other\nrespects beneficial. In both intellectual and moral hygiene the best\nlife is that which follows nature and alternates periods of great\nactivity with periods of rest. Retirement, quiet, steady reading, and\nthe silent thought which matures character and deepens impressions are\nthings that seem almost disappearing from many English lives. But lives\nsuch as I have described are certainly not useless, undeveloped, or\nwholly selfish, and they in a large degree fulfil that great law of\nhappiness, that it should be sought for rather in interests than in\npleasures.\n\nI have already referred to the class who value money chiefly because it\nenables them to dismiss money thoughts and cares from their minds. On\nthe whole, this end is probably more frequently attained by men of\nmoderate but competent fortunes than by the very rich. This is at least\nthe case when they are sufficiently rich to invest their money in\nsecurities which are liable to no serious risk or fluctuation. A\ngigantic fortune is seldom of such a nature that it does not bring with\nit great cares of administration and require much thought and many\ndecisions. There is, however, one important exception. When there are\nmany children the task of providing for their future falls much more\nlightly on the very rich than on those of medium fortune.\n\nThere is a class, however, who are the exact opposite of these and who\nmake the simple acquisition of money the chief interest and pleasure of\ntheir lives. Money-making in some form is the main occupation of the\ngreat majority of men, but it is usually as a means to an end. It is to\nacquire the means of livelihood, or the means of maintaining or\nimproving a social position, or the means of providing as they think fit\nfor the children who are to succeed them. Sometimes, however, with the\nvery rich and without any ulterior object, money-making for its own sake\nbecomes the absorbing interest. They can pursue it with great advantage;\nfor, as has been often said, nothing makes money like money, and the\npossession of an immense capital gives innumerable facilities for\nincreasing it. The collecting passion takes this form. They come to care\nmore for money than for anything money can purchase, though less for\nmoney than for the interest and the excitement of getting it.\nSpeculative enterprise, with its fluctuations, uncertainties and\nsurprises, becomes their strongest interest and their greatest\namusement.\n\nWhen it is honestly conducted there is no real reason why it should be\ncondemned. On these conditions a life so spent is, I think, usually\nuseful to the world, for it generally encourages works that are of real\nvalue. All that can be truly said is that it brings with it grave\ntemptations and is very apt to lower a man's moral being. Speculation\neasily becomes a form of gambling so fierce in its excitement that, when\ncarried on incessantly and on a great scale, it kills all capacity for\nhigher and tranquil pleasures, strengthens incalculably the temptations\nto unscrupulous gain, disturbs the whole balance of character, and often\neven shortens life. With others the love of accumulation has a strange\npower of materialising, narrowing and hardening. Habits of\nmeanness--sometimes taking curious and inconsistent forms, and applying\nonly to particular things or departments of life--steal insensibly over\nthem, and the love of money assumes something of the character of mania.\nTemptations connected with money are indeed among the most insidious and\namong the most powerful to which we are exposed. They have probably a\nwider empire than drink, and, unlike the temptations that spring from\nanimal passion, they strengthen rather than diminish with age. In no\nrespect is it more necessary for a man to keep watch over his own\ncharacter, taking care that the unselfish element does not diminish, and\ncorrecting the love of acquisition by generosity of expenditure.\n\nIt is probable that the highest form of charity, involving real and\nserious self-denial, is much more common among the poor, and even the\nvery poor, than among the rich. I think most persons who have had much\npractical acquaintance with the dealings of the poor with one another\nwill confirm this. It is certainly far less common among those who are\nat the opposite pole of fortune. They have not had the same discipline,\nor indeed the same possibility of self-sacrifice, or the same means of\nrealising the pains of poverty, and there is another reason which tends\nnot unnaturally to check their benevolence. A man with the reputation of\ngreat wealth soon finds himself beleaguered by countless forms of\nmendicancy and imposture. He comes to feel that there is a general\nconspiracy to plunder him, and he is naturally thrown into an attitude\nof suspicion and self-defence. Often, though he may give largely and\ngenerously, he will do so under the veil of strict anonymity, in order\nto avoid a reputation for generosity which will bring down upon him\nperpetual solicitations. If he is an intellectual man he will probably\ngeneralise from his own experience. He will be deeply impressed with the\nenormous evils that have sprung from ill-judged charity, and with the\nsuperiority even from a philanthropic point of view of a productive\nexpenditure of money.\n\nAnd in truth it is difficult to overrate the evil effects of injudicious\ncharities in discouraging thrift, industry, foresight and self-respect.\nThey take many forms; some of them extremely obvious, while others can\nonly be rightly judged by a careful consideration of remote\nconsequences. There are the idle tourists who break down, in a once\nunsophisticated district, that sense of self-respect which is one of the\nmost valuable lessons that early education can give, by flinging pence\nto be scrambled for among the children, or who teach the poor the fatal\nlesson that mendicancy or something hardly distinguishable from\nmendicancy will bring greater gain than honest and continuous work.\nThere is the impulsive, uninquiring charity that makes the trade of the\nskilful begging-letter writer a lucrative profession, and makes men and\nwomen who are rich, benevolent and weak, the habitual prey of greedy\nimpostors. There is the old-established charity for ministering to\nsimple poverty which draws to its centre all the pauperism of the\nneighbouring districts, depresses wages, and impoverishes the very\ndistrict or class it was intended to benefit. There are charities which\nnot only largely diminish the sufferings that are the natural\nconsequence and punishment of vice; but even make the lot of the\ncriminal and the vicious a better one than that of the hard-working\npoor. There are overlapping charities dealing with the same department,\nbut kept up with lavish waste through the rivalry of different religious\ndenominations, or in the interests of the officials connected with them;\nbelated or superannuated charities formed to deal with circumstances or\nsufferings that have in a large degree passed away--useless, or almost\nuseless, charities established to carry out some silly fad or to gratify\nsome silly vanity; sectarian charities intended to further ends which,\nin the eyes of all but the members of one sect, are not only useless but\nmischievous; charities that encourage thriftless marriages, or make it\neasy for men to neglect obvious duties, or keep a semi-pauper population\nstationary in employments and on a soil where they can never prosper, or\nin other ways handicap, impede or divert the natural and healthy course\nof industry. Illustrations of all these evils will occur to every\ncareful student of the subject. Unintelligent, thoughtless, purely\nimpulsive charity, and charity which is inspired by some other motive\nthan a real desire to relieve suffering, will constantly go wrong, but\nevery intelligent man can find without difficulty vast fields on which\nthe largest generosity may be expended with abundant fruit.\n\nHospitals and kindred institutions for alleviating great unavoidable\ncalamities, and giving the sick poor something of the same chances of\nrecovery as the rich, for the most part fall under this head. Money will\nseldom be wasted which is spent in promoting kinds of knowledge,\nenterprise or research that bring no certain remuneration proportioned\nto their value; in assisting poor young men of ability and industry to\ndevelop their special talents; in encouraging in their many different\nforms thrift, self-help and co-operation; in alleviating the inevitable\nsuffering that follows some great catastrophe on land or sea, or great\ntransitions of industry, or great fluctuations and depressions in class\nprosperity; in giving the means of healthy recreation or ennobling\npleasures to the denizens of a crowded town. The vast sphere of\neducation opens endless fields for generous expenditure, and every\nreligious man will find objects which, in the opinion not only of men of\nhis own persuasion, but also of many others, are transcendently\nimportant. Nor is it a right principle that charity should be denied to\nall calamities which are in some degree due to the fault of the\nsufferer, or which might have been averted by exceptional forethought or\nself-denial. Some economists write as if a far higher standard of will\nand morals should be expected among the poor and the uneducated than can\nbe found among the rich. Good sense and right feeling will here easily\ndraw the line, abstaining from charities that have a real influence in\nencouraging improvidence or vice, yet making due allowance for the\nnormal weaknesses of our nature.\n\nIn all these ways the very rich can find ample opportunities for useful\nbenevolence. It is the prerogative of great wealth that it can often\ncure what others can only palliate, and can establish permanent sources\nof good which will continue long after the donors have passed away. In\ndealing with individual cases of distress, rich men who have neither the\ntime nor the inclination to investigate the special circumstances will\ndo well to rely largely on the recommendation of others. If they choose\ntrustworthy, competent and sensible advisers with as much judgment as\nthey commonly show in the management of their private affairs, they are\nnot likely to go astray. There never was a period when a larger amount\nof intelligent and disinterested labour was employed in careful and\ndetailed examination of the circumstances and needs of the poor. The\nparish clergyman, the district visitor, the agents of the Charity\nOrganization Society which annually selects its special cases of\nwell-ascertained need, will abundantly furnish them with the knowledge\nthey require.\n\nThe advantage or disadvantage of the presence in a country of a large\nclass of men possessing fortunes far exceeding anything that can really\nadminister to their enjoyment is a question which has greatly divided\nboth political economists and moralists. The former were long accustomed\nto maintain somewhat exclusively that laws and institutions should be\nestablished with the object of furthering the greatest possible\naccumulation of wealth, and that a system of unrestricted competition,\ncoupled with equal laws, giving each man the most complete security in\nthe possession and disposal of his property, was the best means of\nattaining this end. They urged with great truth that, although under\nsuch a system the inequalities of fortune will be enormous, most of the\nwealth of the very rich will inevitably be distributed in the form of\nwages, purchases, and industrial enterprises through the community at\nlarge, and that, other things being equal, the richest country will on\nthe whole be the happiest. They clearly saw the complete delusion of the\ncommon assertions that the more millionaires there are in a country the\nmore paupers will multiply, and that society is dividing between the\nenormously rich and the abjectly poor. The great industrial communities,\nin which there are the largest number of very wealthy men, are also the\ncentres in which we find the most prosperous middle class, and the\nhighest and most progressive rates of wages and standards of comfort\namong the poor. Great corruption in many forms no doubt exists in them,\nbut it can scarcely be maintained with confidence that the standard of\nintegrity is on the whole lower in these than in other countries, and\nthey at least escape what in many poor countries is one of the most\nfruitful causes of corruption in all branches of administration--the\ninadequate pay of the servants of the Crown. The path of liberty in the\neyes of economists of this school is the path of wisdom, and they were\nprofoundly distrustful of all legislative attempts to restrict or\ninterfere with the course of industrial progress.\n\nIn our own generation a somewhat different tendency has manifestly\nstrengthened. It has been said that past political economists paid too\nmuch attention to the accumulation and too little to the distribution of\nwealth. Men have become more sensible to the high level of happiness and\nmoral well-being that has been attained in some of the smaller and\nsomewhat stagnant countries of Europe, where wealth is more generally\nattained by thrift and steady industry than by great industrial or\ncommercial enterprise, in which there are few large fortunes but little\nacute poverty, a low standard of luxury, but a high standard of real\ncomfort. The enormous evils that have grown up in wealthy countries, in\nthe form of company-mongering, excessive competition, extravagant and\noften vicious luxury, and dishonest administration of public funds, are\nmore and more felt, and it is only too true that in these countries\nthere are large and influential circles of society in which all\nconsiderations of character, intellect, or manners seem lost in an\nintense thirst for wealth and for the things that it can give.\nSometimes we find vast fortunes in countries where there is but little\nenterprise and a very low standard of comfort among the people, and\nwhere this is the case it is usually due to unequal laws or corrupt\nadministration. In the free, democratic, and industrial communities\ngreat fluctuations and disparities of wealth are inevitable, and some of\nthe most colossal fortunes have, no doubt, been made by the evil methods\nI have described. They are, however, only a minority, and not a very\nlarge one. Like all the great successes of life, abnormal accumulation\nof wealth is usually due to the combination in different proportions of\nability, character, and chance, and is not tainted with dishonesty. On\nthe whole, the question that should be asked is not what a man has, but\nhow he obtained it and how he uses it. When wealth is honestly acquired\nand wisely and generously used, the more rich men there are in a country\nthe better.\n\nThere has probably never been a period in the history of the world when\nthe conditions of industry, assisted by the great gold discoveries in\nseveral parts of the globe, were so favourable to the formation of\nenormous fortunes as at present, and when the race of millionaires was\nso large. The majority belong to the English-speaking race; probably\nmost of their gigantic fortunes have been rapidly accumulated, and bring\nwith them none of the necessary, hereditary, and clearly defined\nobligations of a great landowner, while a considerable proportion of\nthem have fallen to the lot of men who, through their education or early\nhabits, have not many cultivated or naturally expensive tastes. In\nEngland many of the new millionaires become great landowners and set up\ngreat establishments. In America, where country tastes are less marked\nand where the difficulties of domestic service are very great, this is\nless common. In both countries the number of men with immense fortunes,\nabsolutely at their own disposal, has enormously increased, and the\ncharacter of their expenditure has become a matter of real national\nimportance.\n\nMuch of it, no doubt, goes in simple luxury and ostentation, or in mere\nspeculation, or in restoring old and dilapidated fortunes through the\nmarriages of rank with money which are so characteristic of our time;\nbut much also is devoted to charitable or philanthropic purposes. In\nthis, as in most things, motives are often very blended. To men of such\nfortunes, such expenditure, even on a large scale, means no real\nself-sacrifice, and the inducements to it are not always of the highest\nkind. To some men it is a matter of ambition--a legitimate and useful\nambition--to obtain the enduring and honourable fame which attaches to\nthe founder of a great philanthropic or educational establishment.\nOthers find that, in England at least, large philanthropic expenditure\nis one of the easiest and shortest paths to social success, bringing men\nand women of low extraction and bad manners into close and frequent\nconnection with the recognised leaders of society; while others again\nhave discovered that it is the quickest way of effacing the stigma which\nstill in some degree attaches to wealth which has been acquired by\ndishonourable or dubious means. Fashion, social ambition, and social\nrivalries are by no means unknown in the fields of charity. There are\nmany, however, in whose philanthropy the element of self has no place,\nand whose sole desire is to expend their money in forms that can be of\nmost real and permanent benefit to others.\n\nSuch men have great power, and, if their philanthropic expenditure is\nwisely guided, it may be of incalculable benefit. I have already\nindicated many of the channels in which it may safely flow, but one or\ntwo additional hints on the subject may not be useless. Perhaps as a\ngeneral rule these men will find that they can act most wisely by\nstrengthening and enlarging old charities which are really good, rather\nthan by founding new ones. Competition is the soul of industry, but\ncertainly not of charity, and there is in England a deplorable waste of\nmoney and machinery through the excessive multiplication of institutions\nintended for the same objects. The kind of ambition to which I have just\nreferred tends to make men prefer new charities which can be identified\nwith their names; the paid officials connected with charities have\nbecome a large and powerful profession, and their influence is naturally\nused in the same direction; the many different religious bodies in the\ncountry often refuse to combine, and each desires to have its own\ninstitutions; and there are fashions in charity which, while they\ngreatly stimulate generosity, have too often the effect of diverting it\nfrom the older and more unobtrusive forms. On the other hand, one of the\nmost important facts in our present economical condition is that an\nextraordinary and almost unparalleled development of industrial\nprosperity has been accompanied by extreme and long-continued\nagricultural depression and by a great fall in the rate of interest.\nWealth in many forms is accumulating with wonderful rapidity, and the\nincreased rate of wages is diffusing prosperity among the working\nclasses; but those who depend directly or indirectly on agricultural\nrents or on interest of money invested in trust securities have been\nsuffering severely, and they comprise some of the most useful,\nblameless, and meritorious classes in the community. The same causes\nthat have injured them have fallen with crushing severity on\nold-established institutions which usually derive their income largely\nor entirely from the rent of land or from money invested in the public\nfunds. The bitter cry of distress that is rising from the hospitals and\nmany other ancient charities, from the universities, from the clergy of\nthe Established Church, abundantly proves it.\n\nThe preference, however, to be given to old charities rather than to new\nones is subject to very many exceptions. It does not apply to new\ncountries or to the many cases in which changes and developments of\nindustry have planted vast agglomerations of population in districts\nwhich were once but thinly populated, and therefore but little provided\nwith charitable or educational institutions. Nor does it apply to the\nmany cases in which the circumstances of modern life have called into\nexistence new forms of charity, new wants, new dangers and evils to be\ncombated, new departments of knowledge to be cultivated. One of the\ngreatest difficulties of the older universities is that of providing,\nout of their shrinking endowments, for the teaching of branches of\nscience and knowledge which have only come into existence, or at least\ninto prominence, long after these universities were established, and\nsome of which require not only trained teachers but costly apparatus\nand laboratories. Increasing international competition and enlarged\nscientific knowledge have rendered necessary an amount of technical and\nagricultural education never dreamed of by our ancestors; and the rise\nof the great provincial towns and the greater intensity of provincial\nlife and provincial patriotism, as well as the changes that have passed\nover the position both of the working and middle classes, have created a\ngenuine demand for educational establishments of a different type from\nthe older universities. The higher education of women is essentially a\nnineteenth-century work, and it has been carried on without the\nassistance of old endowments and with very little help from modern\nParliaments. In the distribution of public funds a class which is wholly\nunrepresented in Parliament seldom gets its fair share; and higher\neducation, like most forms of science, like most of the higher forms of\nliterature, and like many valuable forms of research, never can be\nself-supporting. There are great branches of knowledge which without\nestablished endowments must remain uncultivated, or be cultivated only\nby men of considerable private means. Some invaluable curative agencies,\nsuch as convalescent homes in different countries and climates and for\ndifferent diseases, have grown up in our own generation, as well as some\nof the most fruitful forms of medical research and some of the most\nefficacious methods of giving healthy change and brightness to the lives\nthat are most monotonous and overstrained. Every great revolution in\nindustry, in population, and even in knowledge, brings with it new and\nspecial wants, and there are cases in which assisted emigration is one\nof the best forms of charity.\n\nThese are but a few illustrations of the directions in which the large\nsurplus funds which many of the very rich are prepared to expend on\nphilanthropic purposes may profitably go. There is a marked and\nincreasing tendency in our age to meet all the various exigencies of\nSociety, as they arise, by State aid resting on compulsory taxation. In\ncountries where the levels of fortune are such that few men have incomes\ngreatly in excess of their real or factitious wants, this method will\nprobably be necessary; but many of the wants I have described can be\nbetter met by the old English method of intelligent private generosity,\nand in a country in which the number of the very rich is so great and so\nincreasing, this generosity should not be wanting.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[67] _Notes on Life._\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nMARRIAGE\n\n\nThe beautiful saying of Newton, that he felt like a child who had been\npicking up a few pebbles on the shore of the great ocean of undiscovered\ntruth, may well occur to any writer who attempts to say something on the\nvast subject of marriage. The infinite variety of circumstances and\ncharacters affects it in infinitely various ways, and all that can here\nbe done is to collect a few somewhat isolated and miscellaneous remarks\nupon it. Yet it is a subject which cannot be omitted in a book like\nthis. In numerous cases it is the great turning-point of a life, and in\nall cases when it takes place it is one of the most important of its\nevents. Whatever else marriage may do or fail to do, it never leaves a\nman unchanged. His intellect, his character, his happiness, his way of\nlooking on the world, will all be influenced by it. If it does not raise\nor strengthen him it will lower or weaken. If it does not deepen\nhappiness it will impair it. It brings with it duties, interests,\nhabits, hopes, cares, sorrows, and joys that will penetrate into every\nfissure of his nature and modify the whole course of his life.\n\nIt is strange to think with how much levity and how little knowledge a\ncontract which is so indissoluble and at the same time so momentous is\nconstantly assumed; sometimes under the influence of a blinding passion\nand at an age when life is still looked upon as a romance or an idyll;\nsometimes as a matter of mere ambition and calculation, through a desire\nfor wealth or title or position. Men and women rely on the force of\nhabit and necessity to accommodate themselves to conditions they have\nnever really understood or realised.\n\nIn most cases different motives combine, though in different degrees.\nSometimes an overpowering affection for the person is the strongest\nmotive and eclipses all others. Sometimes the main motive to marriage is\na desire to be married. It is to obtain a settled household and\nposition; to be relieved from the 'unchartered freedom' and the 'vague\ndesires' of a lonely life; to find some object of affection; to acquire\nthe steady habits and the exemption from household cares which are\nessential to a career; to perpetuate a race; perhaps to escape from\nfamily discomforts, or to introduce a new and happy influence into a\nfamily. With these motives a real affection for a particular person is\nunited, but it is not of such a character as to preclude choice,\njudgment, comparison, and a consideration of worldly advantages.\n\nIt is a wise saying of Swift that there would be fewer unhappy marriages\nin the world if women thought less of making nets and more of making\ncages. The qualities that attract, fascinate, and dazzle are often\nwidely different from those which are essential to a happy marriage.\nSometimes they are distinctly hostile to it. More frequently they\nconduce to it, but only in an inferior or subsidiary degree. The turn of\nmind and character that makes the accomplished flirt is certainly not\nthat which promises best for the happiness of a married life; and\ndistinguished beauty, brilliant talents, and the heroic qualities that\nplay a great part in the affairs of life, and shine conspicuously in the\nsocial sphere, sink into a minor place among the elements of married\nhappiness. In marriage the identification of two lives is so complete\nthat it brings every faculty and gift into play, but in degrees and\nproportions very different from public life or casual intercourse and\nrelations. The most essential are often wanting in a brilliant life, and\nare largely developed in lives and characters that rise little, if at\nall, above the commonplace. In the words of a very shrewd man of the\nworld: 'Before marriage the shape, the figure, the complexion carry all\nbefore them; after marriage the mind and character unexpectedly claim\ntheir share, and that the largest, of importance.'[68]\n\nThe relation is one of the closest intimacy and confidence, and if the\nidentity of interest between the two partners is not complete, each has\nan almost immeasurable power of injuring the other. A moral basis of\nsterling qualities is of capital importance. A true, honest, and\ntrustworthy nature, capable of self-sacrifice and self-restraint, should\nrank in the first line, and after that a kindly, equable, and contented\ntemper, a power of sympathy, a habit of looking at the better and\nbrighter side of men and things. Of intellectual qualities, judgment,\ntact, and order are perhaps the most valuable. Above almost all things,\nmen should seek in marriage perfect sanity, and dread everything like\nhysteria. Beauty will continue to be a delight, though with much\ndiminished power, but grace and the charm of manner will retain their\nfull attraction to the last. They brighten in innumerable ways the\nlittle things of life, and life is mainly made up of little things,\nexposed to petty frictions, and requiring small decisions and small\nsacrifices. Wide interests and large appreciations are, in the marriage\nrelation, more important than any great constructive or creative talent,\nand the power to soothe, to sympathise, to counsel, and to endure, than\nthe highest qualities of the hero or the saint. It is by these alone\nthat the married life attains its full measure of perfection.\n\n\n 'Tu mihi curarum requies, tu nocte vel atr\u00e2\n Lumen, et in solis tu mihi turba locis.'[69]\n\n\nBut while this is true of all marriages, it is obvious that different\nprofessions and circumstances of life will demand different qualities. A\nhard-working labouring man, or a man who, though not labouring with his\nhands, is living a life of poverty and struggle, will not seek in\nmarriage a type of character exactly the same as a man who is born to a\ngreat position, and who has large social and administrative duties to\ndischarge. The wife of a clergyman immersed in the many interests of a\nparish; the wife of a soldier or a merchant, who may have to live in\nmany lands, with long periods of separation from her husband, and\nperhaps amid many hardships; the wife of an active and ambitious\npolitician; the wife of a busy professional man incessantly occupied\noutside his home; the wife of a man whose health or business or habits\nkeep him constantly in his house, will each need some special qualities.\nThere are few things in which both men and women naturally differ more\nthan in the elasticity and adaptiveness of their natures, in their power\nof bearing monotony, in the place which habit, routine, and variety hold\nin their happiness; and in different kinds of life these things have\nvery different degrees of importance. Special family circumstances, such\nas children by a former marriage, or difficult and delicate relations\nwith members of the family of one partner, will require the exercise of\nspecial qualities. Such relations, indeed, are often one of the most\nsearching and severe tests of the sterling qualities of female\ncharacter.\n\nProbably, on the whole, the best presumption of a successful choice in\nmarriage will be found where the wife has not been educated in\ncircumstances or ideas absolutely dissimilar from those of her married\nlife. Marriages of different races or colours are rarely happy, and the\nsame thing is true of marriages between persons of social levels that\nare so different as to entail great differences of manners and habits.\nOther and minor disparities of circumstances between girl life and\nmarried life will have their effect, but they are less strong and less\ninvariable. Some of the happiest marriages have been marriages of\nemancipation, which removed a girl from uncongenial family surroundings,\nand placed her for the first time in an intellectual and moral\natmosphere in which she could freely breathe. At the same time, in the\nchoice of a wife, the character, circumstances, habits, and tone of the\nfamily in which she has been brought up will always be an important\nelement. There are qualities of race, there are pedigrees of character,\nwhich it is never prudent to neglect. Franklin quotes with approval the\nadvice of a wise man to choose a wife 'out of a bunch,' as girls brought\nup together improve each other by emulation, learn mutual self-sacrifice\nand forbearance, rub off their angularities, and are not suffered to\ndevelop overweening self-conceit. A family where the ruling taste is\nvulgar, where the standard of honour is low, where extravagance and\nself-indulgence and want of order habitually prevail, creates an\natmosphere which it needs a strong character altogether to escape. There\nis also the great question of physical health. A man should seek in\nmarriage rather to raise than to depress the physical level of his\nfamily, and above all not to introduce into it grave, well-ascertained\nhereditary disease. Of all forms of self-sacrifice hardly any is at once\nso plainly right and so plainly useful as the celibacy of those who are\ntainted with such disease.\n\nThere is no subject on which religious teachers have dwelt more than\nupon marriage and the relation of the sexes, and it has been continually\nurged that the propagation of children is its first end. It is strange,\nhowever, to observe how almost absolutely in the popular ethics of\nChristendom such considerations as that which I have last mentioned have\nbeen neglected. If one of the most responsible things that a man can do\nis to bring a human being into the world, one of his first and most\nobvious duties is to do what he can to secure that it shall come into\nthe world with a sound body and a sane mind. This is the best\ninheritance that parents can leave their children, and it is in a large\ndegree within their reach. Immature marriage, excessive child-bearing,\nmarriages of near relations, and, above all, marriages with some grave\nhereditary physical or mental disease or some great natural defect, may\nbring happiness to the parents, but can scarcely fail to entail a\nterrible penalty upon their children. It is clearly recognised that one\nof the first duties of parents to their children is to secure them in\nearly life not only good education, but also, as far as is within their\npower, the conditions of a healthy being. But the duty goes back to an\nearlier stage, and in marriage the prospects of the unborn should never\nbe forgotten. This is one of the considerations which in the ethics of\nthe future is likely to have a wholly different place from any that it\nhas occupied in the past.\n\nA kindred consideration, little less important and almost equally\nneglected in popular teaching, is that it is a moral offence to bring\nchildren into the world with no prospect of being able to provide for\nthem. It is difficult to exaggerate the extent to which the neglect of\nthese two duties has tended to the degradation and unhappiness of the\nworld.\n\nThe greatly increased importance which the Darwinian theory has given to\nheredity should tend to make men more sensible of the first of these\nduties. In marriage there are not only reciprocal duties between the two\npartners; there are also, more than in any other act of life, plain\nduties to the race. The hereditary nature of insanity and of some forms\nof disease is an indisputable truth. The hereditary transmission of\ncharacter has not, it is true, as yet acquired this position; and there\nis a grave schism on the subject in the Darwinian school. But that it\nexists to some extent few close observers will doubt, and it is in a\nhigh degree probable that it is one of the most powerful moulding\ninfluences of life. No more probable explanation has yet been given of\nthe manner in which human nature has been built up, and of the various\ninstincts and tastes with which we are born, than the doctrine that\nhabits and modes of thought and feeling indulged in and produced by\ncircumstances in former generations have gradually become innate in the\nrace, and exhibit themselves spontaneously and instinctively and quite\nindependently of the circumstances that originally produced them.\nAccording to this theory the same process is continually going on. Man\nhas slowly emerged from a degraded and bestial condition. The pressure\nof long-continued circumstances has moulded him into his special type;\nbut new feelings and habits, or modifications of old feelings and\nhabits, are constantly passing not only into his life but into his\nnature, taking root there, and in some degree at least reproducing\nthemselves by the force of heredity in the innate disposition of his\noffspring. If this be true, it gives a new and terrible importance both\nto the duty of self-culture and to the duty of wise selection in\nmarriage. It means that children are likely to be influenced not only by\nwhat we do and by what we say, but also by what we are, and that the\ncharacters of the parents in different degrees and combinations will\ndescend even to a remote posterity.\n\nIt throws a not less terrible light upon the miscalculations of the\npast. On this hypothesis, as Mr. Galton has truly shown, it is scarcely\npossible to exaggerate the evil which has been brought upon the world by\nthe religious glorification of celibacy and by the enormous development\nand encouragement of the monastic life. Generation after generation,\ncentury after century, and over the whole wide surface of Christendom,\nthis conception of religion drew into a sterile celibacy nearly all who\nwere most gentle, most unselfish, most earnest, studious, and religious,\nmost susceptible to moral and intellectual enthusiasm, and thus\nprevented them from transmitting to posterity the very qualities that\nare most needed for the happiness and the moral progress of the race.\nWhenever the good and evil resulting from different religious systems\ncome to be impartially judged, this consideration is likely to weigh\nheavily in the scale.[70]\n\nReturning, however, to the narrower sphere of particular marriages, it\nmay be observed that although full confidence, and, in one sense,\ncomplete identification of interests, are the characteristics of a\nperfect marriage, this does not by any means imply that one partner\nshould be a kind of duplicate of the other. Woman is not a mere weaker\nman; and the happiest marriages are often those in which, in tastes,\ncharacter, and intellectual qualities, the wife is rather the complement\nthan the reflection of her husband. In intellectual things this is\nconstantly shown. The purely practical and prosaic intellect is united\nwith an intellect strongly tinged with poetry and romance; the man whose\nstrength is in facts, with the woman whose strength is in ideas; the man\nwho is wholly absorbed in science or politics or economical or\nindustrial problems and pursuits, with a woman who possesses the talent\nor at least the temperament of an artist or musician. In such cases one\npartner brings sympathies or qualities, tastes or appreciations or kinds\nof knowledge in which the other is most defective; and by the close and\nconstant contact of two dissimilar types each is, often insensibly, but\nusually very effectually, improved. Men differ greatly in their\nrequirements of intellectual sympathy. A perfectly commonplace\nintellectual surrounding will usually do something to stunt or lower a\nfine intelligence, but it by no means follows that each man finds the\nbest intellectual atmosphere to be that which is most in harmony with\nhis own special talent.\n\nTo many, hard intellectual labour is an eminently isolated thing, and\nwhat they desire most in the family circle is to cast off all thought of\nit. I have known two men who were in the first rank of science, intimate\nfriends, and both of them of very domestic characters. One of them was\naccustomed to do nearly all his work in the presence of his wife, and in\nthe closest possible co-operation with her. The other used to\ncongratulate himself that none of his family had his own scientific\ntastes, and that when he left his work and came into his family circle\nhe had the rest of finding himself in an atmosphere that was entirely\ndifferent. Some men of letters need in their work constant stimulus,\ninterest, and sympathy. Others desire only to develop their talent\nuncontrolled, uninfluenced, and undisturbed, and with an atmosphere of\ncheerful quiet around them.\n\nWhat is true of intellect is also in a large degree true of character.\nTwo persons living constantly together should have many tastes and\nsympathies in common, and their characters will in most cases tend to\nassimilate. Yet great disparities of character may subsist in marriage,\nnot only without evil but often with great advantage. This is especially\nthe case where each supplies what is most needed in the other. Some\nnatures require sedatives and others tonics; and it will often be found\nin a happy marriage that the union of two dissimilar natures stimulates\nthe idle and inert, moderates the impetuous, gives generosity to the\nparsimonious and order to the extravagant, imparts the spirit of caution\nor the spirit of enterprise which is most needed, and corrects, by\ncontact with a healthy and cheerful nature, the morbid and the\ndesponding.\n\nMarriage may also very easily have opposite effects. It is not\nunfrequently founded on the sympathy of a common weakness, and when this\nis the case it can hardly fail to deepen the defect. On the whole,\nwomen, in some of the most valuable forms of strength--in the power of\nendurance and in the power of perseverance--are at least the equals of\nmen. But weak and tremulous nerves, excessive sensibility, and an\nexaggerated share of impulse and emotion, are indissolubly associated\nwith certain charms, both of manner and character, which are intensely\nfeminine, and to many men intensely attractive. When a nature of this\nkind is wedded to a weak or a desponding man, the result will seldom be\nhappiness to either party, but with a strong man such marriages are\noften very happy. Strength may wed with weakness or with strength, but\nweakness should beware of mating itself with weakness. It needs the oak\nto support the ivy with impunity, and there are many who find the\nconstant contact of a happy and cheerful nature the first essential of\ntheir happiness.\n\nAs it is not wise or right that either partner in marriage should lose\nhis or her individuality, so it is right that each should have an\nindependent sphere of authority. It is assumed, of course, that there is\nthe perfect trust which should be the first condition of marriage and\nalso a reasonable judgment. Many marriages have been permanently marred\nbecause the woman has been given no independence in money matters and is\nobliged to come for each small thing to her husband. In general the less\nthe husband meddles in household matters, or the wife in professional\nones, the better. The education of very young children of both sexes,\nand of girls of a mature age, will fall almost exclusively to the wife.\nThe education of the boys when they have emerged from childhood will be\nrather governed by the judgment of the man. Many things will be\nregulated in common; but the larger interests of the family will usually\nfall chiefly to one partner, the smaller and more numerous ones to the\nother.\n\nOn such matters, however, generalisations have little value, as\nexceptions are very numerous. Differences of character, age, experience,\nand judgment, and countless special circumstances, will modify the\nfamily type, and it is in discovering these differences that wisdom in\nmarriage mainly consists. The directions in which married life may\ninfluence character are also very many; but in the large number of cases\nin which it brings with it a great weight of household cares and family\ninterests it will usually be found with both partners, but especially\nwith the woman, at once to strengthen and to narrow unselfishness. She\nwill live very little for herself, but very exclusively for her family.\nOn the intellectual side such marriages usually give a sounder judgment\nand a wider knowledge of the world rather than purely intellectual\ntastes. It is a good thing when the education which precedes marriage\nnot only prepares for the duties of the married life, but also furnishes\na fair share of the interests and tastes which that state will probably\ntend to weaken. The hard battle of life, and the anxieties and sorrows\nthat a family seldom fails to bring, will naturally give an increased\ndepth and seriousness to character. There are, however, natures which,\nthough they may be tainted by no grave vice, are so incurably frivolous\nthat even this education will fail to influence them. As Emerson says,\n'A fly is as untameable as a hy\u00e6na.'\n\nThe age that is most suited for marriage is also a matter which will\ndepend largely on individual circumstances. The ancients, as is well\nknown, placed it, in the case of the man, far back, and they desired a\ngreat difference of age between the man and the woman. Plato assigned\nbetween thirty and thirty-five, and Aristotle thirty-seven, as the best\nage for a man to marry, while they would have the girls married at\neighteen or twenty.[71] In their view, however, marriage was looked\nupon very exclusively from the side of the man and of the State. They\nlooked on it mainly as the means of producing healthy citizens, and it\nwas in their eyes almost wholly dissociated from the passion of love.\nMontaigne, in one of his essays, has expounded this view with the\nfrankest cynicism.[72] Yet few things are so important in marriage as\nthat the man should bring into it the freshness and the purity of an\nuntried nature, and that the early poetry and enthusiasm of life should\nat least in some degree blend with the married state. Nor is it\ndesirable that a relation in which the formation of habits plays so\nlarge a part should be deferred until character has lost its\nflexibility, and until habits have been irretrievably hardened.\n\nOn the other hand there are invincible arguments against marriages\nentered into at an age when neither partner has any real knowledge of\nthe world and of men. Only too often they involve many illusions and\nleave many regrets. Some kinds of knowledge, such as that given by\nextended travel, are far more easily acquired before than after\nmarriage. Usually very early marriages are improvident marriages, made\nwith no sufficient provision for the children, and often they are\nimmature marriages, bringing with them grave physical evils. In those\ncases in which a great place or position is to be inherited, it is\nseldom a good thing that the interval of age between the owner and his\nheir should be so small that inheritance will probably be postponed till\nthe confines of old age.\n\nMarriages entered into in the decline of life stand somewhat apart from\nothers, and are governed by other motives. What men chiefly seek in them\nis a guiding hand to lead them gently down the last descent of life.\n\nOn this, as on most subjects connected with marriage, no general or\ninflexible rule can be laid down. Moralists have chiefly dilated on the\ndangers of deferred marriages; economists on the evils of improvident\nmarriages. Each man's circumstances and disposition must determine his\ncourse. On the whole, however, in most civilised countries the\nprevailing tendencies are in the direction of an increased postponement\nof marriage. Among the rich, the higher standard of luxury and\nrequirements, the comforts of club life, and also, I think, the\ndiminished place which emotion is taking in life, all lead to this,\nwhile the spread of providence and industrial habits among the poor has\nthe same tendency.\n\nA female pen is so much more competent than a masculine one for dealing\nwith marriage from the woman's point of view that I do not attempt to\nenter on that field. It is impossible, however, to overlook the marked\ntendency of nineteenth-century civilisation to give women, both married\nand unmarried, a degree of independence and self-reliance far exceeding\nthat of the past. The legislation of most civilised countries has\ngranted them full protection for their property and their earnings,\nincreased rights of guardianship over their children, a wider access to\nprofessional life, and even a very considerable voice in the management\nof public affairs; and these influences have been strengthened by great\nimprovement in female education, and by a change in the social tone\nwhich has greatly extended their latitude of independent action. For my\nown part, I have no doubt that this movement is, on the whole,\nbeneficial, not only to those who have to fight a lonely battle in life,\nbut also to those who are in the marriage state. Larger interests, wider\nsympathies, a more disciplined judgment, and a greater power of\nindependence and self-control naturally accompany it; and these things\ncan never be wholly wasted. They will often be called into active\nexercise by the many vicissitudes of the married life. They will,\nperhaps, be still more needed when the closest of human ties is severed\nby the great Divorce of Death.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[68] _Melbourne Papers_, p. 72.\n\n[69] Tibullus.\n\n[70] Galton's _Hereditary Genius_, pp. 357-8. It may be argued, on the\nother side, that the monasteries consigned to celibacy a great\nproportion of the weaker physical natures, who would otherwise have left\nsickly children behind them. This, and the much greater mortality of\nweak infant life, must have strengthened the race in an age when\nsanitary science was unknown and when external conditions were very\nunfavourable.\n\n[71] _Republic_, Book V. _Politics_, Book VII.\n\n[72] _Livre_ III. Ch. 5.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nSUCCESS\n\n\nOne of the most important lessons that experience teaches is that on the\nwhole, and in the great majority of cases, success in life depends more\non character than on either intellect or fortune. Many brilliant\nexceptions, no doubt, tend to obscure the rule, and some of the\nqualities of character that succeed the best may be united with grave\nvices or defects; but on the whole the law is one that cannot be\nquestioned, and it becomes more and more apparent as civilisation\nadvances. Temperance, industry, integrity, frugality, self-reliance, and\nself-restraint are the means by which the great masses of men rise from\npenury to comfort, and it is the nations in which these qualities are\nmost diffused that in the long run are the most prosperous. Chance and\ncircumstance may do much. A happy climate, a fortunate annexation, a\nfavourable vicissitude in the course of commerce, may vastly influence\nthe prosperity of nations; anarchy, agitation, unjust laws, and\nfraudulent enterprise may offer many opportunities of individual or even\nof class gains; but ultimately it will be found that the nations in\nwhich the solid industrial virtues are most diffused and most respected\npass all others in the race. The moral basis of character was the true\nfoundation of the greatness of ancient Rome, and when that foundation\nwas sapped the period of her decadence began. The solid, parsimonious,\nand industrious qualities of the French peasantry have given their\ncountry the recuperative force which has enabled its greatness to\nsurvive the countless follies and extravagances of its rulers.\n\nCharacter, it may be added, is especially pre-eminent in those kinds and\ndegrees of success that affect the greatest numbers of men and influence\nmost largely their real happiness--in the success which secures a high\nlevel of material comfort; which makes domestic life stable and happy;\nwhich wins for a man the respect and confidence of his neighbours. If we\nhave melancholy examples that very different qualities often gain\nsplendid prizes, it is still true that there are few walks in life in\nwhich a character that inspires complete confidence is not a leading\nelement of success.\n\nIn the paths of ambition that can only be pursued by the few,\nintellectual qualities bear a larger part, and there are, of course,\nmany works of genius that are in their own nature essentially\nintellectual. Yet even the most splendid successes of life will often be\nfound to be due much less to extraordinary intellectual gifts than to an\nextraordinary strength and tenacity of will, to the abnormal courage,\nperseverance, and work-power that spring from it, or to the tact and\njudgment which make men skilful in seizing opportunities, and which, of\nall intellectual qualities, are most closely allied with character.\n\nStrength of will and tact are not necessarily, perhaps not generally,\nconjoined, and often the first seems somewhat to impair the second. The\nstrong passion, the intense conviction, the commanding and imperious\nnature overriding obstacles and defying opposition, that often goes with\na will of abnormal strength, does not naturally harmonise with the\nreticence of expression, the delicacy of touch and management that\ncharacterise a man who possesses in a high degree the gift of tact.\nThere are circumstances and times when each of these two things is more\nimportant than the other, and the success of each man will mainly depend\nupon the suitability of his peculiar gift to the work he has to do. 'The\ndaring pilot in extremity' is often by no means the best navigator in a\nquiet sea; and men who have shown themselves supremely great in moments\nof crisis and appalling danger, who have built up mighty nations,\nsubdued savage tribes, guided the bark of the State with skill and\ncourage amid the storms of revolution or civil war, and written their\nnames in indelible letters on the page of history, have sometimes proved\nfar less successful than men of inferior powers in the art of managing\nassemblies, satisfying rival interests or assuaging by judicious\ncompromise old hatreds and prejudices. We have had at least one\nconspicuous example of the difference of these two types in our own day\nin the life of the great founder of German Unity.\n\nSometimes, however, men of great strength of will and purpose possess\nalso in a high degree the gift of tact; and when this is combined with\nsoundness of judgment it usually leads to a success in life out of all\nproportion to their purely intellectual qualities. In nearly all\nadministrative posts, in all the many fields of labour where the task of\nman is to govern, manage, or influence others, to adjust or harmonise\nantagonisms of race or interests or prejudices, to carry through\ndifficult business without friction and by skilful co-operation, this\ncombination of gifts is supremely valuable. It is much more valuable\nthan brilliancy, eloquence, or originality. I remember the comment of a\ngood judge of men on the administration of a great governor who was\npre-eminently remarkable for this combination. 'He always seemed to gain\nhis point, yet he never appeared to be in antagonism with anyone.' The\nsteady pressure of a firm and consistent will was scarcely felt when it\nwas accompanied by the ready recognition of everything that was good in\nthe argument of another, and by a charm of manner and of temper which\nseldom failed to disarm opposition and win personal affection.\n\nThe combination of qualities which, though not absolutely incompatible,\nare very usually disconnected, is the secret of many successful lives.\nThus, to take one of the most homely, but one of the most useful and\nmost pleasing of all qualities--good-nature--it will too often be found\nthat when it is the marked and leading feature of a character it is\naccompanied by some want of firmness, energy, and judgment. Sometimes,\nhowever, this is not the case, and there are then few greater elements\nof success. It is curious to observe the subtle, magnetic sympathy by\nwhich men feel whether their neighbour is a harsh or a kind judge of\nothers, and how generally those who judge harshly are themselves harshly\njudged, while those who judge others rather by their merits than by\ntheir defects, and perhaps a little above their merits, win popularity.\n\nNo one, indeed, can fail to notice the effect of good-nature in\nconciliating opposition, securing attachment, smoothing the various\npaths of life, and, it must be added, concealing grave faults. Laxities\nof conduct that might well blast the reputation of a man or a woman are\nconstantly forgotten, or at least forgiven, in those who lead a life of\ntactful good-nature, and in the eyes of the world this quality is more\nvalued than others of far higher and more solid worth. It is not\nunusual, for example, to see a lady in society, who is living wholly or\nalmost wholly for her pleasures, who has no high purpose in life, no\nreal sense of duty, no capacity for genuine and serious self-sacrifice,\nbut who at the same time never says an unkind thing of her neighbours,\nsets up no severe standard of conduct either for herself or for others,\nand by an innate amiability of temperament tries, successfully and\nwithout effort, to make all around her cheerful and happy. She will\nprobably be more admired, she will almost certainly be more popular,\nthan her neighbour whose whole life is one of self-denial for the good\nof others, who sacrifices to her duties her dearest pleasures, her time,\nher money, and her talents, but who through some unhappy turn of temper,\nstrengthened perhaps by a narrow and austere education, is a harsh and\ncensorious judge of the frailties of her fellows.\n\nIt is also a curious thing to observe how often, when the saving gift of\ntact is wanting, the brilliant, the witty, the ambitious, and the\nenergetic are passed in the race of life by men who in intellectual\nqualities are greatly their inferiors. They dazzle, agitate, and in a\nmeasure influence, and they easily win places in the second rank; but\nsomething in the very exercise of their talents continually trammels\nthem, while judgment, tact, and good-nature, with comparatively little\nbrilliancy, quietly and unobtrusively take the helm. There is the\nexcellent talker who, by his talents and his acquirements, is eminently\nfitted to delight and to instruct, yet he is so unable to repress some\nunseemly jest or some pointed sarcasm or some humorous paradox that he\ncontinually leaves a sting behind him, creates enemies, destroys his\nreputation for sobriety of thought, and makes himself impossible in\nposts of administration and trust. There is the parliamentary speaker\nwho, amid shouts of applause, pursues his adversary with scathing\ninvective or merciless ridicule, and who all the time is accumulating\nanimosities against himself, shutting the door against combinations that\nwould be all important to his career, and destroying his chances of\nparty leadership. There is the advocate who can state his case with\nconsummate power, but who, by an aggressive manner or a too evident\ncontempt for his adversary, or by the over-statement of a good cause,\nhabitually throws the minds of his hearers into an attitude of\nopposition. There are the many men who, by ill-timed or too frequent\nlevity, lose all credit for their serious qualities, or who by\npretentiousness or self-assertion or restless efforts to distinguish\nthemselves, make themselves universally disliked, or who by their\negotism or their repetitions or their persistence, or their incapacity\nof distinguishing essentials from details, or understanding the\ndispositions of others, or appreciating times and seasons, make their\nwearied and exasperated hearers blind to the most substantial merits. By\nfaults of tact men of really moderate opinions get the reputation of\nextremists; men of substantially kindly natures sow animosities\nwherever they go; men of real patriotism are regarded as mere jesters or\nparty gamblers; men who possess great talents and have rendered great\nservices to the world sink into inveterate bores and never obtain from\ntheir contemporaries a tithe of the success which is their due. Tact is\nnot merely shown in saying the right thing at the right time and to the\nright people; it is shown quite as much in the many things that are left\nunsaid and apparently unnoticed, or are only lightly and evasively\ntouched.\n\nIt is certainly not the highest of human endowments, but it is as\ncertainly one of the most valuable, for it is that which chiefly enables\na man to use his other gifts to advantage, and which most effectually\nsupplies the place of those that are wanting. It lies on the borderland\nof character and intellect. It implies self-restraint, good temper,\nquick and kindly sympathy with the feelings of others. It implies also a\nperception of the finer shadings of character and expression, the\nintellectual gift which enables a man to place himself in touch with\ngreat varieties of disposition, and to catch those more delicate notes\nof feeling to which a coarser nature is insensible.\n\nIt is perhaps in most cases more developed among women than among men,\nand it does not necessarily imply any other remarkable gift. It is\nsometimes found among both men and women of very small general\nintellectual powers; and in numerous cases it serves only to add to the\ncharm of private life and to secure social success. Where it is united\nwith real talents it not only enables its possessor to use these talents\nto the greatest advantage; it also often leads those about him greatly\nto magnify their amount. The presence or absence of this gift is one of\nthe chief causes why the relative value of different men is often so\ndifferently judged by contemporaries and by posterity; by those who have\ncome in direct personal contact with them, and by those who judge them\nfrom without, and by the broad results of their lives. Real tact, like\ngood manners, is or becomes a spontaneous and natural thing. The man of\nperfectly refined manners does not consciously and deliberately on each\noccasion observe the courtesies and amenities of good society. They have\nbecome to him a second nature, and he observes them as by a kind of\ninstinct, without thought or effort. In the same way true tact is\nsomething wholly different from the elaborate and artificial attempts to\nconciliate and attract which may often be seen, and which usually bring\nwith them the impression of manoeuvre and insincerity.\n\nThough it may be found in men of very different characters and grades of\nintellect, tact has its natural affinities. Seeking beyond all things to\navoid unnecessary friction, and therefore with a strong leaning towards\ncompromise, it does not generally or naturally go with intense\nconvictions, with strong enthusiasms, with an ardently impulsive or\nemotional temperament. Nor is it commonly found among men of deep and\nconcentrated genius, intensely absorbed in some special subject. Such\nmen are often among the most unobservant of the social sides of life,\nand very bad judges of character, though there will frequently be found\namong them an almost childlike unworldliness and simplicity of nature,\nand an essential moderation of temperament which, combined with their\nsuperiority of intellect, gives them a charm peculiarly their own.\nTact, however, has a natural affinity to a calm, equable, and\ngood-natured temper. It allies itself with a quick sense of opportunity,\nproportion, and degree; with the power of distinguishing readily and\ntruly between the essential and the unimportant; with that soundness of\njudgment which not only guides men among the varied events of life, and\nin their estimate of those about them, but also enables them to take a\ntrue measure of their own capacities, of the tasks that are most fitted\nfor them, of the objects of ambition that are and are not within their\nreach.\n\nThough in its higher degrees it is essentially a natural gift, and is\nsometimes conspicuous in perfectly uneducated men, it may be largely\ncultivated and improved; and in this respect the education of good\nsociety is especially valuable. Such an education, whatever else it may\ndo, at least removes many jarring notes from the rhythm of life. It\ntends to correct faults of manner, demeanour, or pronunciation which\ntell against men to a degree altogether disproportioned to their real\nimportance, and on which, it is hardly too much to say, the casual\njudgments of the world are mainly formed; and it also fosters moral\nqualities which are essentially of the nature of tact.\n\nWe can hardly have a better picture of a really tactful man than in some\nsentences taken from the admirable pages in which Cardinal Newman has\npainted the character of the perfect gentleman.\n\n'It is almost a definition of a gentleman to say he is one who never\ninflicts pain.... He carefully avoids whatever may cause a jar or a jolt\nin the minds of those with whom he is cast--all clashing of opinion or\ncollision of feeling, all restraint or suspicion or gloom or resentment;\nhis great concern being to make everyone at ease and at home. He has his\neyes on all his company; he is tender towards the bashful, gentle\ntowards the distant, and merciful towards the absurd; he can recollect\nto whom he is speaking; he guards against unreasonable allusions or\ntopics that may irritate; he is seldom prominent in conversation, and\nnever wearisome. He makes light of favours while he does them, and seems\nto be receiving when he is conferring. He never speaks of himself except\nwhen compelled, never defends himself by a mere retort; he has no ears\nfor slander or gossip, is scrupulous in imputing motives to those who\ninterfere with him, and interprets everything for the best. He is never\nmean or little in his disputes, never takes an unfair advantage, never\nmistakes personalities or sharp sayings for arguments, or insinuates\nevil which he dare not say out.... He has too much good sense to be\naffronted at insult; he is too busy to remember injuries, and too\nindolent to bear malice.... If he engages in controversy of any kind his\ndisciplined intellect preserves him from the blundering discourtesy of\nbetter though less educated minds, who, like blunt weapons, tear and\nhack instead of cutting clean.... He may be right or wrong in his\nopinion, but he is too clear-headed to be unjust; he is as simple as he\nis forcible, and as brief as he is decisive. Nowhere shall we find\ngreater candour, consideration, indulgence. He throws himself into the\nminds of his opponents, he accounts for their mistakes. He knows the\nweakness of human nature as well as its strength, its province, and its\nlimits.'[73]\n\nI have said at the beginning of this chapter that character bears, on\nthe whole, a larger part in promoting success than any other things, and\nthat a steady perseverance in the industrial virtues seldom fails to\nbring some reward in the directions that are most conducive to human\nhappiness. At the same time it is only too evident that success in life\nis by no means measured by merit, either moral or intellectual. Life is\na great lottery, in which chance and opportunity play an enormous part.\nThe higher qualities are often less successful than the medium and the\nlower ones. They are often most successful when they are blended with\nother and inferior elements, and a large share of the great prizes fall\nto the unscrupulous, the selfish, and the cunning. Probably, however,\nthe disparity between merit and success diminishes if we take the larger\naverages, and the fortunes of nations correspond with their real worth\nmuch more nearly than the fortunes of individuals. Success, too, is far\nfrom being a synonym for happiness, and while the desire for happiness\nis inherent in all human nature, the desire for success--at least beyond\nwhat is needed for obtaining a fair share of the comforts of life--is\nmuch less universal. The force of habit, the desire for a tranquil\ndomestic life, the love of country and of home, are often, among really\nable men, stronger than the impulse of ambition; and a distaste for the\ncompetitions and contentions of life, for the increasing\nresponsibilities of greatness, and for the envy and jealousies that\nseldom fail to follow in its trail, may be found among men who, if they\nchose to enter the arena, seem to have every requisite for success. The\nstrongest man is not always the most ardent climber, and the tranquil\nvalleys have to many a greater charm than the lofty pinnacles of life.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[73] Newman's _Scope and Nature of University Education_, Discourse IX.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nTIME\n\n\nConsidering the countless ages that man has lived upon this globe, it\nseems a strange thing that he has so little learned to acquiesce in the\nnormal conditions of humanity. How large a proportion of the melancholy\nwhich is reflected in the poetry of all ages, and which is felt in\ndifferent degrees in every human soul, is due not to any special or\npeculiar misfortune, but to things that are common to the whole human\nrace! The inexorable flight of time; the approach of old age and its\ninfirmities; the shadow of death; the mystery that surrounds our being;\nthe contrast between the depth of affection and the transitoriness and\nuncertainty of life; the spectacle of the broken lives and baffled\naspirations and useless labours and misdirected talents and pernicious\nenergies and long-continued delusions that fill the path of human\nhistory; the deep sense of vanity and aimlessness that must sometimes\ncome over us as we contemplate a world in which chance is so often\nstronger than wisdom; in which desert and reward are so widely\nseparated; in which living beings succeed each other in such a vast and\nbewildering redundance--eating, killing, suffering, and dying for no\nuseful discoverable purpose,--all these things belong to the normal lot\nor to the inevitable setting of human life. Nor can it be said that\nscience, which has so largely extended our knowledge of the Universe, or\ncivilisation, which has so greatly multiplied our comforts and\nalleviated our pains, has in any degree diminished the sadness they\nbring. It seems, indeed, as if the more man is raised above a purely\nanimal existence, and his mental and moral powers are developed, the\nmore this kind of feeling increases.\n\nIn few if any periods of the world's history has it been more\nperceptible in literature than at present. Physical constitution and\ntemperament have a vast and a humiliating power of deepening or\nlightening it, and the strength or weakness of religious belief largely\naffects it, yet the best, the strongest, the most believing, and the\nmost prosperous cannot wholly escape it. Sometimes it finds its true\nexpression in the lines of Raleigh:\n\n\n Even such is time; which takes in trust\n Our youth, our joys, and all we have!\n And pays us nought but age and dust,\n Which in the dark and silent grave,\n When we have wandered all our ways,\n Shuts up the story of our days;\n And from which grave and earth and dust,\n The Lord shall raise me up, I trust.\n\n\nSometimes it takes the tone of a lighter melancholy touched with\ncynicism:\n\n\n La vie est vaine:\n Un peu d'amour,\n Un peu de haine,\n Et puis--bon jour.\n\n La vie est br\u00e8ve,\n Un peu d'espoir,\n Un peu de r\u00eave,\n Et puis--bon soir.[74]\n\n\nThere are few sayings which deserve better to be brought continually\nbefore our minds than that of Franklin: 'You value life; then do not\nsquander time, for time is the stuff of life.' Of all the things that\nare bestowed on men, none is more valuable, but none is more unequally\nused, and the true measurement of life should be found less in its\nduration than in the amount that is put into it. The waste of time is\none of the oldest of commonplaces, but it is one of those which are\nnever really stale. How much of the precious 'stuff of life' is wasted\nby want of punctuality; by want of method involving superfluous and\nrepeated effort; by want of measure prolonging things that are\npleasurable or profitable in moderation to the point of weariness,\nsatiety, and extravagance; by want of selection dwelling too much on the\nuseless or the unimportant; by want of intensity, growing out of a\nnature that is listless and apathetic both in work and pleasure. Time\nis, in one sense, the most elastic of things. It is one of the commonest\nexperiences that the busiest men find most of it for exceptional work,\nand often a man who, under the strong stimulus of an active professional\nlife, repines bitterly that he finds so little time for pursuing some\nfavourite work or study, discovers, to his own surprise, that when\ncircumstances have placed all his time at his disposal he does less in\nthis field than in the hard-earned intervals of a crowded life. The art\nof wisely using the spare five minutes, the casual vacancies or\nintervals of life, is one of the most valuable we can acquire. There are\nlives in which the main preoccupation is to get through time. There are\nothers in which it is to find time for all that has to be got through,\nand most men, in different periods of their lives, are acquainted with\nboth extremes. With some, time is mere duration, a blank, featureless\nthing, gliding swiftly and insensibly by. With others every day, and\nalmost every hour, seems to have its distinctive stamp and character,\nfor good or ill, in work or pleasure. There are vast differences in this\nrespect between different ages of history, and between different\ngenerations in the same country, between town and country life, and\nbetween different countries. 'Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle\nof Cathay' is profoundly true, and no traveller can fail to be\ninsensible to the difference in the value of time in a Northern and in a\nSouthern country. The leisure of some nations seems busier than the work\nof others, and few things are more resting to an overwrought and jaded\nAnglo-Saxon nature than to pass for a short season into one of those\ncountries where time seems almost without value.\n\nOn the whole there can be little doubt that life in the more civilised\nnations has, in our own generation, largely increased. It is not simply\nthat its average duration is extended. This, in a large degree, is due\nto the diminished amount of infant mortality. The improvement is shown\nmore conclusively in the increased commonness of vigorous and active old\nage, in the multitude of new contrivances for economising and therefore\nincreasing time, in the far greater intensity of life both in the forms\nof work and in the forms of pleasure. 'Life at high pressure' is not\nwithout its drawbacks and its evils, but it at least means life which is\nlargely and fully used.\n\nAll intermissions of work, however, even when they do not take the form\nof positive pleasure, are not waste of time. Overwork, in all\ndepartments of life, is commonly bad economy, not so much because it\noften breaks down health--most of what is attributed to this cause is\nprobably rather due to anxiety than to work--as because it seldom fails\nto impair the quality of work. A great portion of our lives passes in\nthe unconsciousness of sleep, and perhaps no part is more usefully\nspent. It not only brings with it the restoration of our physical\nenergies, but it also gives a true and healthy tone to our moral nature.\nOf all earthly things sleep does the most to place things in their true\nproportions, calming excited nerves and dispelling exaggerated cares.\nHow many suicides have been averted, how many rash enterprises and\ndecisions have been prevented, how many dangerous quarrels have been\nallayed, by the soothing influence of a few hours of steady sleep!\n'Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care' is, indeed, in a\ncareworn world, one of the chief of blessings. Its healing and\nrestorative power is as much felt in the sicknesses of the mind as in\nthose of the body, and, in spite of the authority of Solomon, it is\nprobably a wise thing for men to take the full measure of it, which\nundoctored nature demands. The true waste of time of the sluggard is\nnot in the amount of natural sleep he enjoys, but in the time idly\nspent in bed when sleep has ceased, and in misplaced and mistimed sleep,\nwhich is not due to any genuine craving of the body for rest, but simply\nto mental sluggishness, to lack of interest and attention.\n\nSome men have claimed for sleep even more than this. 'The night-time of\nthe body,' an ancient writer has said, 'is the day-time of the soul,'\nand some, who do not absolutely hold the old belief that it is in the\ndreams of the night that the Divine Spirit most communicates with man,\nhave, nevertheless, believed that the complete withdrawal of our minds\nfrom those worldly cares which haunt our waking hours and do so much to\nmaterialise and harden our natures is one of the first conditions of a\nhigher life. 'In proportion,' said Swedenborg, 'as the mind is capable\nof being withdrawn from things sensual and corporeal, in the same\nproportion it is elevated into things celestial and spiritual.' It has\nbeen noticed that often thoughts and judgments, scattered and entangled\nin our evening hours, seem sifted, clarified, and arranged in sleep;\nthat problems which seemed hopelessly confused when we lay down are at\nonce and easily solved when we awake, 'as though a reason more perfect\nthan reason had been at work when we were in our beds.' Something\nanalogous to this, it has been contended, takes place in our moral\nnatures. 'A process is going on in us during those hours which is not,\nand cannot be, brought so effectually, if at all, at any other time, and\nwe are spiritually growing, developing, ripening more continuously while\nthus shielded from the distracting influences of the phenomenal world\nthan during the hours in which we are absorbed in them.... Is it not\nprecisely the function of sleep to give us for a portion of every day in\nour lives a respite from worldly influences which, uninterrupted, would\ndeprive us of the instruction, of the spiritual reinforcements,\nnecessary to qualify us to turn our waking experiences of the world to\nthe best account without being overcome by them? It is in these hours\nthat the plans and ambitions of our external worldly life cease to\ninterfere with or obstruct the flow of the Divine life into the\nwill.'[75]\n\nWithout, however, following this train of thought, it is at least\nsufficiently clear that no small portion of the happiness of life\ndepends upon our sleeping hours. Plato has exhorted men to observe\ncarefully their dreams as indicating their natural dispositions,\ntendencies, and temptations, and--perhaps with more reason--Burton and\nFranklin have proposed 'the art of procuring pleasant dreams' as one of\nthe great, though little recognised, branches of the science of life.\nThis is, no doubt, mainly a question of diet, exercise, efficient\nventilation, and a wise distribution of hours, but it is also largely\ninfluenced by moral causes.\n\n\n Somnia qu\u00e6 mentes ludunt volitantibus umbris,\n Nec delubra deum, nec ab \u00e6there numina mittunt,\n Sed sibi quisque facit.\n\n\nTo appease the perturbations of the mind, to live a tranquil, upright,\nunremorseful life, to cultivate the power of governing by the will the\ncurrent of our thoughts, repressing unruly passions, exaggerated\nanxieties, and unhealthy desires, is at least one great recipe for\nbanishing from our pillows those painful dreams that contribute not a\nlittle to the unhappiness of many lives.\n\nAn analogous branch of self-culture is that which seeks to provide some\nhealthy aliment for the waking hours of the night, when time seems so\nunnaturally prolonged, and when gloomy thoughts and exaggerated and\ndistempered views of the trials of life peculiarly prevail. Among the\nways in which education may conduce to the real happiness of man, its\npower of supplying pleasant or soothing thoughts for those dreary hours\nis not the least, though it is seldom or never noticed in books or\nspeeches. It is, perhaps, in this respect that the early habit of\ncommitting poetry--and especially religious poetry--to memory is most\nimportant.\n\nIn estimating the value of those intermissions of labour which are not\nspent in active enjoyment one other consideration may be noted. There\nare times when the mind should lie fallow, and all who have lived the\nintellectual life with profit have perceived that it is often in those\ntimes that it most regains the elasticity it may have lost and becomes\nmost prolific in spontaneous thought. Many periods of life which might\nat first sight appear to be merely unused time are, in truth, among the\nmost really valuable.\n\nWe have all noticed the curious fact of the extreme apparent\ninequalities of time, though it is, in its essence, of all things the\nmost uniform. Periods of pain or acute discomfort seem unnaturally\nlong, but this lengthening of time is fortunately not true of all the\nmelancholy scenes of life, nor is it peculiar to things that are\npainful. An invalid life with its almost unbroken monotony, and with the\nlarge measure of torpor that often accompanies it, usually flies very\nquickly, and most persons must have observed how the first week of\ntravel, or of some other great change of habits and pursuits, though\noften attended with keen enjoyment, appears disproportionately long.\nRoutine shortens and variety lengthens time, and it is therefore in the\npower of men to do something to regulate its pace. A life with many\nlandmarks, a life which is much subdivided when those subdivisions are\nnot of the same kind, and when new and diverse interests, impressions,\nand labours follow each other in swift and distinct succession, seems\nthe most long, and youth, with its keen susceptibility to impressions,\nappears to move much more slowly than apathetic old age. How almost\nimmeasurably long to a young child seems the period from birthday to\nbirthday! How long to the schoolboy seems the interval between vacation\nand vacation! How rapid as we go on in life becomes the awful beat of\neach recurring year! When the feeling of novelty has grown rare, and\nwhen interests have lost their edge, time glides by with an\never-increasing celerity. Campbell has justly noticed as a beneficent\nprovision of nature that it is in the period of life when enjoyments are\nfewest, and infirmities most numerous, that the march of time seems most\nrapid.\n\n\n The more we live, more brief appear\n Our life's succeeding stages,\n A day to childhood seems a year,\n And years like passing ages.\n\n * * * * *\n\n When Joys have lost their bloom and breath,\n And life itself is vapid,\n Why as we reach the Falls of death\n Feel we its tide more rapid?\n\n * * * * *\n\n Heaven gives our years of fading strength\n Indemnifying fleetness;\n And those of youth a seeming length\n Proportioned to their sweetness.\n\n\nThe shortness of life is one of the commonplaces of literature. Yet\nthough we may easily conceive beings with faculties both of mind and\nbody adapted to a far longer life than ours, it will usually be found,\nwith our existing powers, that life, if not prematurely shortened, is\nlong enough. In the case of men who have played a great part in public\naffairs, the best work is nearly always done before old age. It is a\nremarkable fact that although a Senate, by its very derivation, means an\nassembly of old men, and although in the Senate of Rome, which was the\ngreatest of all, the members sat for life, there was a special law\nproviding that no Senator, after sixty, should be summoned to attend his\nduty.[76] In the past centuries active septuagenarian statesmen were\nvery rare, and in parliamentary life almost unknown. In our own century\nthere have been brilliant exceptions, but in most cases it will be\nfound that the true glory of these statesmen rests on what they had done\nbefore old age, and sometimes the undue prolongation of their active\nlives has been a grave misfortune, not only to their own reputations,\nbut also to the nations they influenced. Often, indeed, while faculties\ndiminish, self-confidence, even in good men, increases. Moral and\nintellectual failings that had been formerly repressed take root and\nspread, and it is no small blessing that they have but a short time to\nrun their course. In the case of men of great capacities the follies of\nage are perhaps even more to be feared than the follies of youth. When\nmen have made a great reputation and acquired a great authority, when\nthey become the objects of the flattery of nations, and when they can,\nwith little trouble or thought or study, attract universal attention, a\nnew set of temptations begins. Their heads are apt to be turned. The\nfeeling of responsibility grows weaker; the old judgment, caution,\ndeliberation, self-restraint, and timidity disappear. Obstinacy and\nprejudice strengthen, while at the same time the force of the reasoning\nwill diminishes. Sometimes, through a failing that is partly\nintellectual, but partly also moral, they almost wholly lose the power\nof realising or recognising new conditions, discoveries and necessities.\nThey view with jealousy the rise of new reputations and of younger men,\nand the well-earned authority of an old man becomes the most formidable\nobstacle to improvement. In the field of politics, in the field of\nscience, and in the field of military organisation, these truths might\nbe abundantly illustrated. In the case of great but maleficent genius\nthe shortness of life is a priceless blessing. Few greater curses could\nbe imagined for the human race than the prolongation for centuries of\nthe life of Napoleon.\n\nIn literature also the same law may be detected. A writer's best\nthoughts are usually expressed long before extreme old age, though the\nhabit and desire of production continue. The time of repetition, of\ndiluted force, and of weakened judgment--the age when the mind has lost\nits flexibility and can no longer assimilate new ideas or keep pace with\nthe changing modes and tendencies of another generation--often sets in\nwhile physical life is but little enfeebled. In this case, it is true,\nthe evil is not very great, for Time may be trusted to sift the chaff\nfrom the wheat, and though it may not preserve the one it will\ninfallibly discard the other. 'While I live,' Victor Hugo said with some\ngrandiloquence, but also with some justice, 'it is my duty to produce.\nIt is the duty of the world to select, from what I produce, that which\nis worth keeping. The world will discharge its duty. I shall discharge\nmine.' At the same time, no one can have failed to observe how much in\nour own generation the long silence of Newman in his old age added to\nhis dignity and his reputation, and the same thing might have been said\nof Carlyle if a beneficent fire had destroyed the unrevised manuscripts\nwhich he wrote or dictated when a very old man.\n\nWe are here, however, dealing with great labours, and with men who are\nfilling a great place in the world's strife. The decay of faculty and\nwill, that impairs power in these cases, is often perceptible long\nbefore there is any real decay in the powers that are needed for\nordinary business or for the full enjoyment of life. But the time comes\nwhen children have grown into maturity, and when it becomes desirable\nthat a younger generation should take the government of the world,\nshould inherit its wealth, its power, its dignities, its many means of\ninfluence and enjoyment; and this cannot be fully done till the older\ngeneration is laid to rest. Often, indeed, old age, when it is free from\ngrave infirmities and from great trials and privations, is the most\nhonoured, the most tranquil, and perhaps on the whole the happiest\nperiod of life. The struggles, passions, and ambitions of other days\nhave passed. The mellowing touch of time has allayed animosities,\nsubdued old asperities of character, given a larger and more tolerant\njudgment, cured the morbid sensitiveness that most embitters life. The\nold man's mind is stored with the memories of a well-filled and\nhonourable life. In the long leisures that now fall to his lot he is\noften enabled to resume projects which in a crowded professional life he\nhad been obliged to adjourn; he finds (as Adam Smith has said) that one\nof the greatest pleasures in life is reverting in old age to the studies\nof youth, and he himself often feels something of the thrill of a second\nyouth in his sympathy with the children who are around him. It is the\nSt. Martin's summer, lighting with a pale but beautiful gleam the brief\nNovember day. But the time must come when all the alternatives of life\nare sad, and the least sad is a speedy and painless end. When the eye\nhas ceased to see and the ear to hear, when the mind has failed and all\nthe friends of youth are gone, and the old man's life becomes a burden\nnot only to himself but to those about him, it is far better that he\nshould quit the scene. If a natural clinging to life, or a natural\nshrinking from death, prevents him from clearly realising this, it is at\nleast fully seen by all others.\n\nNor, indeed, does this love of life in most cases of extreme old age\ngreatly persist. Few things are sadder than to see the young, or those\nin mature life, seeking, according to the current phrase, to find means\nof \"killing time.\" But in extreme old age, when the power of work, the\npower of reading, the pleasures of society, have gone, this phrase\nacquires a new significance. As Madame de Sta\u00ebl has beautifully said,\n'On d\u00e9pose fleur \u00e0 fleur la couronne de la vie.' An apathy steals over\nevery faculty, and rest--unbroken rest--becomes the chief desire. I\nremember a touching epitaph in a German churchyard: 'I will arise, O\nChrist, when Thou callest me; but oh! let me rest awhile, for I am very\nweary.'\n\nAfter all that can be said, most men are reluctant to look Time in the\nface. The close of the year or a birthday is to them merely a time of\nrevelry, into which they enter in order to turn away from depressing\nthought. They shrink from what seems to them the dreary truth, that they\nare drifting to a dark abyss. To many the milestones along the path of\nlife are tombstones, every epoch being mainly associated in their\nmemories with a death. To some, past time is nothing--a closed chapter\nnever to be reopened.\n\n\n The past is nothing, and at last,\n The future can but be the past.\n\n\nTo others, the thought of the work achieved in the vanished years is the\nmost real and abiding of their possessions. They can feel the force of\nthe noble lines of Dryden:\n\n\n Not Heaven itself upon the past has power,\n But what has been has been, and I have had my hour.\n\n\nHe who would look Time in the face without illusion and without fear\nshould associate each year as it passes with new developments of his\nnature; with duties accomplished, with work performed. To fill the time\nallotted to us to the brim with action and with thought is the only way\nin which we can learn to watch its passage with equanimity.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[74] Monte-Naken.\n\n[75] See _The Mystery of Sleep_, by John Bigelow.\n\n[76] Seneca, _de Brevitate Vit\u00e6_, cap. XX.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\n'THE END'\n\n\nIt is easy to conceive circumstances not widely different from those of\nactual life that would, if not altogether, at least very largely, take\nfrom death the gloom that commonly surrounds it. If all the members of\nthe human race died either before two or after seventy; if death was in\nall cases the swift and painless thing that it is with many; and if the\nold man always left behind him children to perpetuate his name, his\nmemory, and his thoughts, Death, though it might still seem a sad thing,\nwould certainly not excite the feelings it now so often produces. Of all\nthe events that befall us, it is that which owes most of its horror not\nto itself, but to its accessories, its associations, and to the\nimaginations that cluster around it. 'Death,' indeed, as a great stoical\nmoralist said, 'is the only evil that can never touch us. When we are,\ndeath is not. When death comes, we are not.'\n\nThe composition of treatises of consolation intended to accustom men to\ncontemplate death without terror was one of the favourite exercises of\nthe philosophers in the Augustan and in the subsequent periods of Pagan\nRome. The chapter which Cicero has devoted to this subject in his\ntreatise on old age is a beautiful example of how it appeared to a\nvirtuous pagan, who believed in a future life which would bring him into\ncommunion with those whom he had loved and lost on earth, but who at the\nsame time recognised this only as a probability, not a certainty.\n\"Death,\" he said, 'is an event either utterly to be disregarded if it\nextinguish the soul's existence, or much to be wished if it convey her\nto some region where she shall continue to exist for ever. One of these\ntwo consequences must necessarily follow the disunion of soul and body;\nthere is no other possible alternative. What then have I to fear if\nafter death I shall either not be miserable or shall certainly be\nhappy?'\n\nVague notions, however, of a dim, twilight, shadowy world where the\nghosts of the dead lived a faint and joyless existence, and whence they\nsometimes returned to haunt the living in their dreams, were widely\nspread through the popular imaginations, and it was as the extinction of\nall superstitious fears that the school of Lucretius and Pliny welcomed\nthe belief that all things ended with death--'Post mortem nihil est,\nipsaque mors nihil.' Nor is it by any means certain that even in the\nschool of Plato the thought of another life had a great and operative\ninfluence on minds and characters. Death was chiefly represented as\nrest; as the close of a banquet; as the universal law of nature which\nbefalls all living beings, though the immense majority encounter it at\nan earlier period than man. It was thought of simply as\nsleep--dreamless, undisturbed sleep--the final release from all the\nsorrows, sufferings, anxieties, labours, and longings of life.\n\n\n We are such stuff\n As dreams are made on, and our little life\n Is rounded with a sleep.[77]\n\n The best of rest is sleep,\n And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st\n Thy death, which is no more.[78]\n\n To die is landing on some silent shore\n Where billows never break, nor tempests roar.[79]\n\n\nIt is a strange thing to observe to what a height not only of moral\nexcellence, but also of devotional fervour, men have arisen without any\nassistance from the doctrine of a future life. Only the faintest and\nmost dubious glimmer of such a belief can be traced in the Psalms, in\nwhich countless generations of Christians have found the fullest\nexpression of their devotional feelings, or in the Meditations of Marcus\nAurelius, which are perhaps the purest product of pagan piety.\n\nAs I have already said, I am endeavouring in this book to steer clear of\nquestions of contested theologies; but it is impossible to avoid\nnoticing the great changes that have been introduced into the conception\nof death by some of the teaching which in different forms has grown up\nunder the name of Christianity, though much of it may be traced in germ\nto earlier periods of human development. Death in itself was made\nincomparably more terrible by the notion that it was not a law but a\npunishment; that sufferings inconceivably greater than those of Earth\nawaited the great masses of the human race beyond the grave; that an\nevent which was believed to have taken place ages before we were born,\nor small frailties such as the best of us cannot escape, were sufficient\nto bring men under this condemnation; that the only paths to safety were\nto be found in ecclesiastical ceremonies; in the assistance of priests;\nin an accurate choice among competing theological doctrines. At the same\ntime the largest and most powerful of the Churches of Christendom has,\nduring many centuries, done its utmost to intensify the natural fear of\ndeath by associating it in the imaginations of men with loathsome images\nand appalling surroundings. There can be no greater contrast than that\nbetween the Greek tomb with its garlands of flowers, its bright,\nyouthful and restful imagery, and the mortuary chapels that may often be\nfound in Catholic countries, with their ghastly pictures of the _saved_\nsouls writhing in purgatorial flames, while the inscription above and\nthe moneybox below point out the one means of alleviating their lot.\n\n\n Fermati, O Passagiero, mira tormenti.\n Siamo abbandonati dai nostri parenti.\n Di noi abbiate piet\u00e0, o voi amici cari.\n\n\nThis is one side of the picture. On the other hand it cannot be\nquestioned that the strong convictions and impressive ceremonies, even\nof the most superstitious faith, have consoled and strengthened\nmultitudes in their last moments, and in the purer and more enlightened\nforms of Christianity death now wears a very different aspect from what\nit did in the teaching of medi\u00e6val Catholicism, or of some of the sects\nthat grew out of the Reformation. Human life ending in the weakness of\nold age and in the corruption of the tomb will always seem a humiliating\nanti-climax, and often a hideous injustice. The belief in the rightful\nsupremacy of conscience, and in an eternal moral law redressing the many\nwrongs and injustices of life, and securing the ultimate triumph of good\nover evil; the incapacity of earth and earthly things to satisfy our\ncravings and ideals; the instinctive revolt of human nature against the\nidea of annihilation, and its capacity for affections and attachments,\nwhich seem by their intensity to transcend the limits of earth and carry\nwith them in moments of bereavement a persuasion or conviction of\nsomething that endures beyond the grave,--all these things have found in\nChristian beliefs a sanction and a satisfaction that men had failed to\nfind in Socrates or Cicero, or in the vague Pantheism to which\nunassisted reason naturally inclines.\n\nLooking, however, on death in its purely human aspects, the mourner\nshould consider how often in a long illness he wished the dying man\ncould sleep; how consoling to his mind was the thought of every hour of\npeaceful rest; of every hour in which the patient was withdrawn from\nconsciousness, insensible to suffering, removed for a time from the\nmiseries of a dying life. He should ask himself whether these intervals\nof insensibility were not on the whole the happiest in the\nillness--those which he would most have wished to multiply or to\nprolong. He should accustom himself, then, to think of death as\nsleep--undisturbed sleep--the only sleep from which man never wakes to\npain.\n\nYou find yourself in the presence of what is a far deeper and more\npoignant trial than an old man's death--a young life cut off in its\nprime; the eclipse of a sun before the evening has arrived. Accustom\nyourself to consider the life that has passed as a whole. A human being\nhas been called into the world--has lived in it ten, twenty, thirty\nyears. It seems to you an intolerable instance of the injustice of fate\nthat he is so early cut off. Estimate, then, that life as a whole, and\nask yourself whether, so judged, it has been a blessing or the reverse.\nCount up the years of happiness. Count up the days, or perhaps weeks, of\nillness and of pain. Measure the happiness that this short life has\ngiven to some who have passed away; who never lived to see its early\nclose. Balance the happiness which during its existence it gave to those\nwho survived, with the poignancy and the duration of pain caused by the\nloss. Here, for example, is one who lived perhaps twenty-five years in\nhealth and vigour; whose life during that period was chequered by no\nserious misfortune; whose nature, though from time to time clouded by\npetty anxieties and cares, was on the whole bright, buoyant, and happy;\nwho had the capacity of vivid enjoyment and many opportunities of\nattaining it; who felt all the thrill of health and friendship and\necstatic pleasure. Then came a change,--a year or two with a crippled\nwing--life, though not abjectly wretched, on the whole a burden, and\nthen the end. You can easily conceive--you can ardently desire--a better\nlot, but judge fairly the lights and shades of what has been. Does not\nthe happiness on the whole exceed the evil? Can you honestly say that\nthis life has been a curse and not a blessing?--that it would have been\nbetter if it had never been called out of nothingness?--that it would\nhave been better if the drama had never been played? It is over now. As\nyou lay in his last home the object of so much love, ask yourself\nwhether, even in a mere human point of view, this parenthesis between\ntwo darknesses has not been on the whole productive of more happiness\nthan pain to him and to those around him.\n\nIt was an ancient saying that 'he whom the gods love dies young,' and\nmore than one legend representing speedy and painless death as the\ngreatest of blessings has descended to us from pagan antiquity; while\nother legends, like that of Tithonus, anticipated the picture which\nSwift has so powerfully but so repulsively drawn of the misery of old\nage and its infirmities, if death did not come as a release. I have\nelsewhere related an old Irish legend embodying this truth. 'In a\ncertain lake in Munster, it is said, there were two islands; into the\nfirst death could never enter, but age and sickness, and the weariness\nof life and the paroxysms of fearful suffering were all known there, and\nthey did their work till the inhabitants, tired of their immortality,\nlearned to look upon the opposite island as upon a haven of repose. They\nlaunched their barks upon its gloomy waters; they touched its shore, and\nthey were at rest.'[80]\n\nNo one, however, can confidently say whether an early death is a\nmisfortune, for no one can really know what calamities would have\nbefallen the dead man if his life had been prolonged. How often does it\nhappen that the children of a dead parent do things or suffer things\nthat would have broken his heart if he had lived to see them! How often\ndo painful diseases lurk in germ in the body which would have produced\nunspeakable misery if an early and perhaps a painless death had not\nanticipated their development! How often do mistakes and misfortunes\ncloud the evening and mar the beauty of a noble life, or moral\ninfirmities, unperceived in youth or early manhood, break out before the\nday is over! Who is there who has not often said to himself as he looked\nback on a completed life, how much happier it would have been had it\nended sooner? 'Give us timely death' is in truth one of the best prayers\nthat man can pray. Pain, not Death, is the real enemy to be combated,\nand in this combat, at least, man can do much. Few men can have lived\nlong without realising how many things are worse than death, and how\nmany knots there are in life that Death alone can untie.\n\nRemember, above all, that whatever may lie beyond the tomb, the tomb\nitself is nothing to you. The narrow prison-house, the gloomy pomp, the\nhideousness of decay, are known to the living and the living alone. By a\ntoo common illusion of the imagination, men picture themselves as\nconsciously dead,--going through the process of corruption, and aware of\nit; imprisoned with the knowledge of the fact in the most hideous of\ndungeons. Endeavour earnestly to erase this illusion from your mind, for\nit lies at the root of the fear of death, and it is one of the worst\nsides of medi\u00e6val and of much modern teaching and art that it tends to\nstrengthen it. Nothing, if we truly realise it, is less real than the\ngrave. We should be no more concerned with the after fate of our\ndiscarded bodies than with that of the hair which the hair-cutter has\ncut off. The sooner they are resolved into their primitive elements the\nbetter. The imagination should never be suffered to dwell upon their\ndecay.\n\nBacon has justly noticed that while death is often regarded as the\nsupreme evil, there is no human passion that does not become so powerful\nas to lead men to despise it. It is not in the waning days of life, but\nin the full strength of youth, that men, through ambition or the mere\nlove of excitement, fearlessly and joyously encounter its risk.\nEncountered in hot blood it is seldom feared, and innumerable accounts\nof shipwrecks and other accidents, and many episodes in every war, show\nconclusively how calmly honour, duty, and discipline can enable men of\nno extraordinary characters, virtues, or attainments, to meet it even\nwhen it comes before them suddenly, as an inevitable fact, and without\nany of that excitement which might blind their eyes. If we analyse our\nown feelings on the death of those we love, we shall probably find that,\nexcept in cases where life is prematurely shortened and much promise cut\noff, pity for the dead person is rarely a marked element. The feelings\nwhich had long been exclusively concentrated on the sufferings of the\ndying man take a new course when the moment of death arrives. It is the\nsudden blank; the separation from him who is dear to us; the cessation\nof the long reciprocity of love and pleasure,--in a word our own\nloss,--that affects us then. 'A happy release' is perhaps the phrase\nmost frequently heard around a death-bed. And as we look back through\nthe vista of a few years, and have learned to separate death more\nclearly from the illness that preceded it, the sense of its essential\npeacefulness and naturalness grows upon us. A vanished life comes to be\nlooked upon as a day that has past, but leaving many memories behind it.\n\nIt is, I think, a healthy tendency that is leading men in our own\ngeneration to turn away as much as possible from the signs and the\ncontemplation of death. The pomp and elaboration of funerals; protracted\nmournings surrounding us with the gloom of an ostentatious and\nartificial sorrow; above all, the long suspension of those active habits\nwhich nature intended to be the chief medicine of grief, are things\nwhich at least in the English-speaking world are manifestly declining.\nWe should try to think of those who have passed away as they were at\ntheir best, and not in sickness or in decay. True sorrow needs no\nostentation, and the gloom of death no artificial enhancement. Every\ngood man, knowing the certainty of death and the uncertainty of its\nhour, will make it one of his first duties to provide for those he loves\nwhen he has himself passed away, and to do all in his power to make the\nperiod of bereavement as easy as possible. This is the last service he\ncan render before the ranks are closed, and his place is taken, and the\ndays of forgetfulness set in. In careers of riot and of vice the thought\nof death may have a salutary restraining influence; but in a useful,\nbusy, well-ordered life it should have little place. It was not the\nStoics alone who 'bestowed too much cost on death, and by their\npreparations made it more fearful.'[81] As Spinoza has taught, 'the\nproper study of a wise man is not how to die but how to live,' and as\nlong as he is discharging this task aright he may leave the end to take\ncare of itself. The great guiding landmarks of a wise life are indeed\nfew and simple; to do our duty--to avoid useless sorrow--to acquiesce\npatiently in the inevitable.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[77] _The Tempest._\n\n[78] _Measure for Measure._\n\n[79] Garth.\n\n[80] _History of European Morals_, i. p. 203. The legend is related by\nCamden.\n\n[81] Bacon.","title":"The Map of Life: Conduct and Character","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":98890}