{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_39155/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_39155","id":"gutenberg_39155","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39155","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Science - Biology","Ethics, Evolutionary"],"text":"Produced by Charlene Taylor, Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe,\nJosephine Paolucci and the Online Distributed Proofreading\nTeam at http://www.pgdp.net.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nA REVIEW OF THE SYSTEMS OF ETHICS FOUNDED ON THE THEORY OF EVOLUTION\n\nBY\n\nC. M. WILLIAMS\n\nNew York\nMACMILLAN & CO.\nAND LONDON\n1893\n\n_All rights reserved_\n\nCOPYRIGHT, 1892,\nBY MACMILLAN & CO.\n\nTYPOGRAPHY BY J. S. CUSHING & CO., BOSTON, U.S.A.\n\nPRESSWORK BY BERWICK & SMITH, BOSTON, U.S.A.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTO MY FIRST TEACHER OF MORALS\n\nMY MOTHER\n\nTHIS BOOK IS GRATEFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY\nDEDICATED\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nOf the Ethics founded on the theory of Evolution, I have considered only\nthe independent theories which have been elaborated to systems. I have\nomitted consideration of many works which bear on Evolutional Ethics as\npractical or exhortative treatises, or compilations of facts, but which\ninvolve no distinctly worked-out theory of morals. On the other hand, I\nhave ventured to include Professor von Gizycki's \"Moralphilosophie\"\namong the theoretical systems founded upon the theory of Evolution,\nsince, although the popular form of the work renders the prominence of\nthe latter theory impracticable, the warp of Evolution is clearly\nperceptible throughout it. In analyzing Hoeffding's work, I have made use\nnot of the Danish but the German edition of his \"Ethics,\" which was\ntranslated with his cooeperation.\n\nIt is generally customary for an author to acknowledge, in the preface\nof his book, his especial indebtedness to those who have most influenced\nthe growth of his thought in the line of research treated in the book.\nBut I find this duty a difficult one to perform. Many of the authors\nwhose work has aided me are cited in the text. But it is impossible,\nwith regard to many points, to say to whom one is indebted, or most\nindebted, since much that one reads is so assimilated into one's\norganized thought, and changed in the process of assimilation, that its\nsource and original form are no longer remembered. Besides this, much is\nalways owed to personal influence and argument, and also to indefinite\nand minute forces whose workings it is impossible to trace. The growth\nof thought is, like any other growth, by imperceptible degrees and\ninfinitesimal increments, and we breathe in ideas from our mental\natmosphere as we breathe in perfumes or infections from our physical\natmosphere. It is, of course, unnecessary to mention Mr. Spencer's name\nin this connection, since it goes without saying, that every one who\nwrites on Ethics in their relation to the Theory of Evolution must owe\nmuch to him, even where he differs from him. But there is perhaps one\nname which it is fitting that I should mention here, since the influence\nof its bearer on my work, although one for which I have reason to feel\npeculiarly indebted, is not of a nature to determine its mention in\nconnection with any particular theory. I refer to my first teacher of\nPhilosophy, Professor M. Stuart Phelps, now deceased, whose life and\nlabor all those who had the privilege of sharing his instruction and\nbenefiting by his kindness must ever hold in grateful remembrance.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nPART I\n\n                                   PAGES\n\nINTRODUCTORY REMARKS                 1-2\n\nDARWIN                              2-12\n\nWALLACE                            12-23\n\nHAECKEL                            23-28\n\nSPENCER                            28-76\n\nFISKE                              77-82\n\nROLPH                             82-107\n\nBARRATT                          107-120\n\nSTEPHEN                          120-143\n\nCARNERI                          143-175\n\nHOeFFDING                         175-200\n\nGIZYCKI                          200-224\n\nALEXANDER                        225-263\n\n(REE)                            264-268\n\nPART II\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n    Refutation of _a priori_ objections to Evolutional Ethics, and a\n    statement of reasons for supposing that an application of the\n    theory of Evolution to Ethics must be of use                    269-276\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE CONCEPTS OF EVOLUTION\n\n    Extension of the meaning of Darwinian concepts since\n    Darwin--Lewes on the Struggle for Existence as internal--The\n    mystery of \"Variation\" according to Darwin not a metaphysical\n    mystery, but one of the incompleteness of scientific\n    knowledge--Rolph's criticism of the Darwinian conception of the\n    Struggle for Existence criticised--General classification of the\n    theories of Evolution--Fechner's theory of the Tendency to\n    Stability--Petzoldt on Fechner--Petzoldt's concepts of Tendency\n    and Competition--Zoellner and Du Prel--Examination of the concept\n    of Absolute Stability, and of a full stability of the universe,\n    in the light of the question as to the finite or infinite\n    character of the material universe--Periodicity in\n    Organisms--Criticism of the concepts of Cause and\n    Effect--Criticism of Spencer's definition of Life--The concepts\n    of Heredity and Adaptation--The point of dispute with regard to\n    Variation--Darwin, Haeckel, and Eimer with regard to the\n    inheritance of individual acquirements--Criticisms of\n    Weismann--Habit in the life of the individual--Advantage of the\n    method pursued by Avenarius in the \"Kritik der reinen\n    Erfahrung\"--Lamarck on the relation of Use and Function--Darwin\n    on Habit and Instinct--Function and Tendency to\n    Function--Relation of organism and environment--Theory of a\n    special vital force--The relation of exercise to strength of\n    Tendency--The concepts of Cause and Effect as applied to\n    organism and environment--Relation of primary tendency to\n    later-evolved function--Form and Function--The mixture of types\n    in sexual propagation--Summary of conclusions                   277-306\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nINTELLIGENCE AND \"END\"\n\n    The question as to the extent to which Reason is diffused in the\n    universe--Darwin and Haeckel on Reason and Instinct--Du Prel on\n    Reason as a fundamental property of all matter--Carneri on the\n    automatism of animals--The dependence of theories on this\n    question on the starting-point assumed in the\n    argument--Difficulties of assigning a limit-line to\n    Reason--Schneider's criteria--Insectivorous plants--Knight,\n    Darwin, etc., on the movements of plants--Race-habits--So-called\n    reflex-action in man--From non-analogy no inference\n    possible--Arbitrary nature of the assumptions involved in the\n    two starting-points of query--Reason = Cause or Effect?--Further\n    criticism of the concepts of Cause and Effect--The bias of the\n    specialist--Attempted definition of the province of\n    reason--Definition of \"End\"--Unreliability of inference as to\n    the nature of ends in other individuals; in other\n    species--Possible inferences from the analogy of the nervous\n    system--Certain possible limiting assumptions as to the province\n    of knowledge in animal species--The Law of the Variation of\n    Pain and Pleasure in function--The ultimate\n    dilemma--Examinations of Teleological conceptions with respect\n    to the Tendency to Stability--Criticism of Wallace on the Origin\n    of Life, or of Consciousness--Summary of conclusions            307-340\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE WILL\n\n    Difficulties of definition--The Will and\n    Consciousness--\"Involuntary\" action--Will in passivity--The\n    concept of Choice--\"Ends\" and the Will--The Future and Will--The\n    External and Will--Criticism of Barratt's axioms and\n    propositions--Discussion of the relation of Thought and Feeling\n    to Will--The argument of the Physiologist--The argument of the\n    Evolutionist--The argument from social statistics--The argument\n    from Psychiatry, Criminology, etc.--The argument from the\n    psychological principles on which Evolutional Ethics is\n    founded--Definition of Natural Law and Necessity--The positive\n    factors of Evolution--The positive and active character of the\n    organism as the result of evolution--The equivalence of\n    Conditions and Results--The positive character of the organism\n    as a part of Nature--The sense of Freedom as the sense of\n    Activity--The theory of the Will as determined by Motives--As\n    determined by Feeling--As determined by the desirability of the\n    end or object--The argument of Concomitance and that of Sequence\n    as used by both Materialist and Spiritualist--The endeavor to\n    prove (1) the causal character of physiological process; (2) the\n    causal character of Consciousness--Inconsistencies of these\n    attempts                                                        341-359\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE MUTUAL RELATIONS OF THOUGHT, FEELING, AND WILL IN EVOLUTION\n\n    Hume on Reason and Passion--The constant connection of Thought\n    with Feeling, and with Feeling as pleasure or pain--The question\n    as to whether Thought or Feeling is primary--Application of\n    answer to previous considerations on the diffusion of\n    Consciousness in Nature--The relation of the concepts of the\n    Pleasurable and Painful to the concept of \"End\"--Will as a\n    constant accompaniment of Consciousness--Absurdities to which\n    the division of Consciousness into distinct faculties leads--Law\n    of the growth of functional tendency and of pleasure in\n    function--The New as a disturber of equilibrium--The pleasure\n    involved in the overcoming of obstacles--The equilibrium of\n    function as Health--Connection of the pleasure of food-taking\n    with Health--Criticism of Rolph's principle of the Insatiability\n    of Life--Further criticism of Rolph on the Darwinian theory of\n    Growth--The cooerdinate progress of physiological adaptation with\n    the advancement of knowledge, and with the variation of Feeling\n    and Will--The pleasure of the strongest motive as relative, not\n    absolute--The character of the End in view--The pleasure of\n    anticipation and the pleasure of the event--Criticism of\n    Sidgwick on Hedonism--Criticism of Rolph's theory of Want as\n    universal motive--Suicide--Rest--The diminution of pain with\n    lapse of time as adaptation--Pleasure in pain as pleasure in\n    function--The relation of Health to Happiness--The theory of the\n    absolute Freedom of Feeling--The concepts of Cause and Effect as\n    applied to the evolution of Thought, Feeling, and\n    Will--Application of conclusions to the Teleological Argument   360-382\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nEGOISM AND ALTRUISM IN EVOLUTION\n\n    Prototypes in other animal species of what we term Egoism and\n    Altruism in man; care for the young on the part of the\n    parent-animal; mutual aid between the sexes; animal\n    societies--Experiments of Lubbock showing the irregularity and\n    caprice of action altruistic in form, among the ants--Benno\n    Scheitz on maternal care among lower species--Answers to the\n    argument of automatism--Dependence of a theory of moral\n    Evolution on the definition of Egoism and Altruism--The\n    significance of the terms progressive--The possibility of\n    differences in the form of the evolution of Altruism, in\n    different species--The possibility of the combination of\n    different forms in the evolution of a single species--Discussion\n    of the question of the first beginning of action prompted by\n    altruistic motive--The argument of the illogical nature of a\n    supposed development of Altruism from Egoism--The question as to\n    whether Health, the Preservation of Species, or Pleasure, is the\n    actual final end of action--The question of Heredity in relation\n    to that of the moral evolution--Stephen's views--Arguments from\n    Ribot, Dugdale's \"Jukes,\" etc.                                  383-422\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nCONSCIENCE\n\n    The gradual character of the evolution of Altruism--Paul\n    Friedmann on the genesis of benevolence--The observable growth\n    of Altruism from Egoism in the individual--Human society as\n    necessitated by increase of the species--Criticism of Darwin's\n    form of statement on this point--The mixed character of the\n    motives which lead to advancement--The necessity of evolution,\n    primal organisms once having come into existence--General\n    features of the moral evolution in the human race--Personal and\n    Social Virtues--Racial evolution as subordinate to the evolution\n    of the species--Criticism of Stephen--The theory of the\n    connection of Intelligence and Morality--Testimony of Maudsley,\n    Lombroso, Dugdale--The advantages of conformity to social\n    standards--Definition of \"advantage\"--Arguments from the general\n    direction of social advancement--The direction of evolution in\n    the race as a whole and in the individual not always the\n    same--Conclusion: the connection of Intelligence with Morality\n    not invariable--Definition of Morality--Identification of\n    Morality with Justice--Special rules of morality--Morality as\n    inward--The virtue of Truthfulness--Necessity of individual\n    sacrifice--Dependence of Justice on certain general features of\n    particular circumstances---Definition of Conscience--The mixed\n    character of remorse--The theory of Conscience as a special\n    sense--Criticism of Utilitarianism--Criticism of some forms of\n    reaction against Utilitarianism--The terms \"higher\" and \"lower\"\n    as applied to pleasures and \"ends\"--The idea of a \"return to\n    Nature\"--The objection to Evolutional Ethics on the ground of\n    degradation--Struggle as an element of virtue--The evolution of\n    social rewards and punishments--Criticism of the objection to\n    state-punishment on the ground of Determinism--Morality and the\n    question of the Transcendental--Conscience in other species--The\n    contempt for \"mere habit\"--The concepts of Cause and Effect as\n    applied to the moral evolution                                  423-465\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE MORAL PROGRESS OF THE HUMAN SPECIES AS SHOWN BY HISTORY\n\n    The assimilative character of human progress--The character of\n    our savage ancestors--Greek civilization--The Greek treatment of\n    children--Of old men--Human sacrifices among the\n    Greeks--Slaughter of prisoners--Slavery--The Greek attitude\n    towards the fundamental virtues of trustworthiness--Athenian\n    Democracy--Roman civilization--Treatment of children--Human\n    sacrifices--Gladiatorial shows--Slavery--Moral character of the\n    Middle Ages--Human sacrifice in England before the Roman\n    conquest--Slave laws--State punishment in England: burning,\n    hanging, and boiling, quartering and disembowelling--Women under\n    the criminal law--Blood-money--The classification of\n    crimes--Caste-favor in English criminal\n    law--Mutilation--Flaying--Ordeals--Punishment by starvation--The\n    press--The rack--\"Skevington's Daughter\"--Benefit of Clergy--The\n    position of the English churl--The worship of rank--Hanging for\n    petty theft--The pillory--Brutality of public feeling--Condition\n    of the prisons--Jail-breaking, bribery, etc.--More concerning\n    women under the law--Favor to rank--The logical consistency of\n    human character in its various directions of action--General\n    comparison of the past with the present--The evidence of\n    literature--Modern philanthropy--Decrease of national\n    prejudices--Growth of the democratic spirit--Lack of imagination\n    a reason for the failure to realize the evils of the past--The\n    Golden Age of Man                                               466-499\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE RESULTS OF ETHICAL INQUIRY ON AN EVOLUTIONAL BASIS\n\n    Criticism of Alexander's theory of the right as always absolute\n    right and as the expression, on all planes of development, of an\n    equal equilibrium--The Moral Evolution as one involving the\n    whole of humanity and the whole earth--Gradual relaxation of the\n    Struggle for Existence--The final limitation of the increase in\n    density of population--The increase of vitality--The habituation\n    to progress--The gradual cooerdination of individual with social\n    welfare through (1) Spread and increase of sympathy with the\n    individual on the part of society as a whole; (2) Growth of\n    individual predilections in the direction of harmony with social\n    requirements--Decrease of punishment through (1) Increase in\n    general sympathy; (2) Increase of amenability of the individual\n    to influence--Increase of pleasure in pleasure--The possible\n    egoistic element in sympathy with pain--Criticism of Rolph on\n    Want as necessary to induce action--The moral evolution and\n    emotion--Criticism of Spencer on Altruism--Criticism of Wundt on\n    Evolutional Ethics--The theory that Evolution adds nothing to\n    Ethics--Criticism of Stephen on the impossibility of predicting\n    the course of Evolution--The Moral Evolution as willed--The\n    motives furnished by Evolutional Ethics--The theological\n    doctrine of a \"change of heart\"--The doctrine of the\n    Atonement--Divine forgiveness--Theology and social evils--The\n    prominence of the idea of self-salvation in Christian\n    doctrine--Human sacrifice among the Jews--Biblical authority for\n    the killing of witches and heretics--The infliction of death for\n    ceremonial offences among the Jews--The visiting of the sins of\n    the fathers upon the children--Slave-holding, adultery, murder,\n    etc., by God's chosen, bloodshed and cruelty of all sorts by\n    God's express command--Animal sacrifice among the Jews--The\n    original idea of Jehovah and of Heaven--The autocracy of the\n    Jewish priesthood confirmed by Christ--Forced exegesis--The\n    asceticism of Christianity--Slavery and the New\n    Testament--Predestination, Hell, and the Justification of the\n    Elect--The defence of Christianity as being a comforting\n    belief                                                          500-528\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE IDEAL AND THE WAY OF ITS ATTAINMENT\n\n    Criticism of Stephen's assertion that the ideal cannot be\n    determined--The necessity of the choice between evils, under\n    present social conditions--The argument for individual\n    gratification of \"natural desire\"--Dangers of\n    Utilitarianism--Moral right of the minority and the ethical\n    demand for compensation to the minority--The contest between\n    Individualist and Socialist--Criticism of Spencer on personal\n    vice--Individualistic errors--Socialistic pessimism--The idea of\n    a \"return to Nature\"--The Socialistic glorification of the\n    laborer--The agitation against machinery--The agitation against\n    luxury--The abolition of luxury and the population question--The\n    proposed change of social \"environment\"--Socialism at the\n    present date--Arbitrary character of many Socialistic\n    ideas--Criticisms of Bellamy--The idea of a\n    Revolution--Conclusions--The education of the child--The right\n    of the child to state protection--The advantages of parental\n    control--The education of women--The question of\n    prostitution--Monogamy or polygamy?--Temporary\n    contracts--Divorce--The argument that the freedom of women must\n    involve the forfeiture of chivalric feeling in men--The respect\n    for age--Desirable changes in criminal law--Criticism of Bellamy\n    on Crime--The question of Capital Punishment--Arguments\n    for--Arguments against--Conclusions--The conflict between\n    justice and mercy--The supreme arbiter--The courage of Moral\n    Sincerity--Heroic characters--The final destruction of the human\n    species--The loss of belief in personal immortality--The human\n    and earthly ideal                                               529-581\n\n\n\n\nA REVIEW OF EVOLUTIONAL ETHICS\n\nPART I\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTORY REMARKS\n\nIn the preface to the latest edition of his \"Natuerliche\nSchoepfungsgeschichte,\" Haeckel, writing of recent developments of\nthought on the subject of evolution, and the change of attitude\nobservable in our later literature, says: \"The vast mass of literature,\nyearly increasing in astonishing measure, on the theory of evolution in\nits various branches, best illustrates the remarkable change which\npublic opinion has undergone. Twenty years ago, the greater part of this\nliterature was in opposition to Darwin; to-day such opposition is not to\nbe feared from well-informed students of science. On the other hand,\nalmost the whole literature of biology now gives testimony in Darwin's\nfavor, for almost all zooelogical, and botanical, anatomic, and\nontogenetic works are founded upon the principles of the development of\nspecies, and derive from Darwin their best and most fruitful ideas.\"\n\nNo science is a better exponent of this radical and important change\nthan that which has to do with the principles of morals; for by no\nscience was the theory of evolution assailed, in the beginning, with\nmore vehemence and indefatigability. Not only did the zealous adherents\nof Christian dogma fear to find, in the destruction of all distinct\nbarriers between the different forms of animal life, a ground for the\ndenial of God's especial favor to man, and the worshippers of emotional\nmorals become indignant at the unveiling of the divine Mystic (as if\nonly ignorance were reverence, and only the Unknown worthy of homage),\nbut even the less conservative schools of philosophy often showed\nthemselves unfavorable or hesitant towards the new ideas, dreading their\nimplications. All this is changed. If England's most popular living\nphilosopher was among the first to declare himself for Darwin, and to\nrevise his whole system in accordance with the theory of evolution, so\nthat this theory early began to find adherents among students of\nphilosophy in all lands where English is spoken, it was not long before\nthe newer schools of France and Germany began to follow in their wake.\nNow every year, and almost every month, brings with it a fresh supply of\nbooks, pamphlets, and magazine articles on \"The Evolution of Morality,\"\n\"L'Evolution de la Morale,\" \"Die Evolution der Sittlichkeit,\"\n\"Sittlichkeit und Darwinismus,\" etc. So many are the waters which now\npour themselves into this common stream that the current threatens soon\nto become too deep and swift for any but the most expert swimmers.\n\nIn a short review of Evolutional Ethics, it will be impossible to\nconsider all the literature that has added to our knowledge on this\nsubject; we must confine ourselves to the few books that are most\nprominent. The first laborer in this line, not only indirectly through\ngeneral theory, but also directly through particular theory, is, as\nusual, Charles Darwin; and though Darwin was himself no psychologist,\nand moreover advances his ideas on the origin and development of morals\nonly in the tentative manner that necessarily attaches to a first\nattempt when made by so conscientious a thinker, he doubtless suggested\nto all other writers in this field a very large part of that which was\nbest in their work. A Review of Evolutional Ethics must, therefore, in\norder to start with the proper origin of the science, begin with\n\n\n\n\nCHARLES DARWIN\n\n\nIn the essay on \"Instinct\" appended to G. J. Romanes' \"Mental Evolution\nin Animals,\"[1] Darwin says: \"The social instinct is indispensable to\nsome animals, useful to still more, and apparently only pleasant to some\nfew animals.\" The social tendency being thus classed as an instinct, it\nbelongs to our work to examine what are Darwin's theories as to the\norigin and nature of instinct.\n\nIn the chapter on \"Instinct,\" in \"The Origin of Species,\" Darwin\npremises: \"I have nothing to do with the origin of the mental powers,\nany more than I have with that of life itself.\"[2] Again: \"Frederick\nCuvier and several of the older metaphysicians have compared instinct\nwith habit. This comparison gives, I think, an accurate notion of the\nframe of mind under which an instinctive action is performed, but not\nnecessarily of its origin.... If we suppose any habitual action to\nbecome inherited--and it can be shown that this does sometimes\nhappen--then the resemblance between what originally was a habit and an\ninstinct becomes so close as not to be distinguished.... But it would be\na serious error to suppose that the greater number of instincts have\nbeen acquired by habit in one generation, and then transmitted by\ninheritance to succeeding generations. It can be clearly shown that the\nmost wonderful instincts with which we are acquainted, namely, those of\nthe hive-bee and of many ants, could not possibly have been acquired by\nhabit.\"[3] Of one of the habits of these last-named insects Darwin,\nhowever, writes: \"I have not rarely felt that small and trifling\ninstincts were a greater difficulty on our theory than those which have\nso justly excited the wonder of mankind; for an instinct, if really of\nno considerable importance in the struggle for life, could not be\nmodified or formed through natural selection. Perhaps as striking an\ninstance as can be given is that of the workers of the hive-bee arranged\nin files and ventilating, by a peculiar movement of their wings, the\nwell-closed hive: this ventilation has been artificially imitated, and\nas it is carried on even during winter, there can be no doubt that it is\nto bring in free air and displace the carbonic acid gas; therefore _it\nis in truth indispensable, and we may imagine the stages_--a few bees\nfirst going to the orifice to fan themselves--_by which the instinct\nmight have been arrived at_.\"[4] Again: \"Glancing at instincts,\nmarvellous as some are, they offer no greater difficulty than do\ncorporeal structures on the theory of the natural selection of\nsuccessive slight, but profitable modifications. We can thus understand\nwhy nature moves by graduated steps in endowing different animals of\nthe same class with their several instincts.\"[5] And again: \"As I\nbelieve, the most wonderful of all known instincts, that of the\nhive-bee, can be explained by natural selection having taken advantage\nof numerous successive, slight modifications of simpler instincts,\nnatural selection having, by slow degrees, more and more perfectly led\nthe bees to sweep equal spheres at a given distance from each other in a\ndouble layer, and to build up and excavate the wax along the planes of\nintersection; the bees, of course, no more knowing that they swept their\nspheres at one particular distance from each other, than they know what\nare the several angles of the hexagonal prisms and of the basal rhombic\nplates; the motive power of the process of natural selection having been\nthe construction of cells of due strength and of the proper size and\nshape for the larvae, this being effected with the greatest possible\neconomy of labor and wax; that individual swarm which thus made the best\ncells with least labor, and least waste of honey in the secretion of\nwax, having succeeded best, and having transmitted their newly acquired\neconomical instincts to new swarms, which in their turn will have had\nthe best chance of succeeding in the struggle for existence.\"[6] And\nfurther, of instinct in general: \"It will be universally admitted that\ninstincts are as important as corporeal structures for the welfare of\neach species, under its present conditions of life. Under changed\nconditions of life, it is at least possible that slight modifications of\ninstinct might be profitable to a species; and if it can be shown that\ninstincts do vary ever so little, then I can see no difficulty in\nnatural selection preserving and continually accumulating variations of\ninstinct to any extent that was profitable. It is thus, as I believe,\nthat all the most complex and wonderful instincts have originated. As\nmodifications of corporeal structure arise from, and are increased by,\nuse or habit, and are diminished or lost by disuse, so I do not doubt it\nhas been with instincts\"; though Darwin adds: \"But I believe that the\neffects of habit are in many cases of subordinate importance to the\neffects of the natural selection of what may be called spontaneous\nvariations of instincts; that is, of variations produced by the same\nunknown causes which produce slight deviations of bodily structure.\"\nHowever, \"No complex instinct can possibly be produced through natural\nselection, except by the slow and gradual accumulation of numerous\nslight, yet profitable, variations.\"[7] And of habit as connected with\nheredity, Darwin writes: \"Changed habits produce an inherited effect, as\nin the period of the flowering of plants when transported from one\nclimate to another. With animals the increased use or disuse of parts\nhas had a more marked influence.... No breeder doubts how strong is the\ntendency to inheritance; that like produces like is his fundamental\nbelief; doubts have been thrown on this principle only by theoretical\nwriters.... If strange and rare deviations of structure are really\ninherited, less strange and commoner deviations may be freely admitted\nto be inheritable. Perhaps the correct way of viewing the whole subject\nwould be to look at the inheritance of every character whatever as the\nrule, and non-inheritance as the anomaly.... If it could be shown that\nour domestic varieties manifested a strong tendency to reversion--that\nis, to lose their acquired characters whilst kept under the same\nconditions, and whilst kept in a considerable body, so that free\nintercrossing might check, by blending together, any slight deviations\nin their structure, in such case I grant that we could deduce nothing\nfrom domestic varieties in regard to species. But there is not a shadow\nof evidence in favor of this view; to assert that we could not breed our\ncart and race horses, long and short horned cattle, and poultry of\nvarious breeds, and esculent vegetables, for an unlimited number of\ngenerations, would be opposed to all experience.\"[8] Darwin recognizes,\nin instinct, the possibility for the play of a certain amount of\nimitation, as also of intelligence and experience,[9] though denying to\nthese the range attributed to them by Wallace. And summing up his theory\nin the essay given by Romanes, he writes: \"It may not be logical, but to\nmy imagination it is far more satisfactory, to look at the young cuckoo\nejecting his foster brothers, ants making slaves, the larvae of the\nichneumidae feeding within the live bodies of their prey, cats playing\nwith mice, otters and cormorants with living fish, not as instincts\nspecially given by the Creator, but as very small parts of one general\nlaw leading to the advancement of all organic bodies--Multiply, Vary,\nlet the strongest Live and the weakest Die.\"\n\nIt will thus be seen that Darwin, while confessing a disability to\naccount for the origin of _Instinct_,--beginning with some form of\ninstinct as already existent, just as he begins with life as already\nexistent,--does advance some perfectly definite views as to the probable\norigins of _instincts_,--namely, preservation, in the struggle for\nexistence, of numerous slight but profitable variations. The assertion\nof the inadequacy of habit to account for the origin of more complex\ninstincts, as in the case of the hive-bees, when compared with the\nsubsequent explanation, in the same connection, of the rise of these\nvery instincts partly by habit acquired from experience and imitation,\npartly by accidental modifications of simpler instincts, both taken\nadvantage of by natural selection,--would seem to limit the term\n\"habit,\" as here used, to modes of action acquired during the life of\nthe individual; this interpretation of the word being confirmed by the\nadditional phrase \"in one generation.\" But here, as everywhere in\nDarwin's work, an unknown quantity appears--namely, the cause of\nvariation; _i.e._ of the differences, or tendency to differ, of\noffspring, from the parental type.\n\nIn \"The Descent of Man,\" published twelve years later than \"The Origin\nof Species,\" and \"The Variation of Plants and Animals under\nDomestication,\" which appeared yet three years later, Darwin's views on\ninstinct and habit are still further elaborated, and a definition of the\nrelation of these to reason, pleasure, pain, and the moral sense,\nattempted. In Vol. I. of the former work, Darwin devotes two chapters to\nthese subjects. Instinct he calls, pages 116-122, \"inherited habit\"; and\non page 168 he says: \"But as love, sympathy, and self-command became\nstrengthened by habit, and as the power of reasoning becomes clearer, so\nthat man can value justly the judgments of his fellows, he will feel\nhimself impelled, apart from any transitory pleasure or pain, to certain\nlines of conduct.\" Here, I take it, the word \"habit\" cannot be\ninterpreted as referring to one generation of men, but to the race as a\nwhole, a general continuity being thus ascribed to the inheritance of\nmental characteristics, and the important concept of progress as\nadaptation acquired. In contrasting reason with instinct, Darwin thinks\nthat instinct and intelligence do not, as Cuvier maintained, stand in\ninverse ratio to each other, but that a high degree of intelligence is\ncompatible with complex instincts--as in the case of the beaver; \"yet it\nis not improbable that there is a certain amount of interference\nbetween the development of free intelligence and of instinct,--which\nlatter implies some inherited modification of the brain. Little is known\nabout the functions of the brain, but we can perceive that, as the\nintellectual powers become highly developed, the various parts of the\nbrain must be connected by very intricate channels of the freest\nintercommunication; and as a consequence, each separate part would\nperhaps tend to be less well fitted to answer to particular\nsensations or associations in a definite and inherited--that is,\ninstinctive--manner. There seems even to exist some relation between a\nlow degree of intelligence and a strong tendency to the formation of\nfixed, though not inherited habits; for, as a sagacious physician\nremarked to me, persons who are slightly imbecile tend to act in\neverything by routine or habit; and they are rendered much happier if\nthis is encouraged.\"[10] Darwin thinks instinctive action and action\nfrom habit may not be connected with either pleasure or pain, though he\nwould seem to contradict this view in the latter part of the passage\njust quoted, and again where he says: \"Although a habit may be blindly\nand implicitly followed, independently of any pleasure or pain felt at\nthe moment, yet if it be forcibly and abruptly checked, a vague sense of\ndissatisfaction is generally experienced.\"[11]\n\nIn writing of the social instinct, Darwin begins with it as already\nexistent, and seems, moreover, to maintain concerning it a theory of\npurpose elsewhere denied in his works and, indeed, antagonistic to the\nwhole principle of the struggle for existence. He says: \"It has often\nbeen assumed that animals were in the first place rendered social, and\nthat they feel, as a consequence, uncomfortable when separated from each\nother, and comfortable whilst together; but it is a more probable view\nthat these sensations were first developed, _in order that_ those\nanimals which would profit by living in society, _should be induced to\nlive together_, in the same manner as the sense of hunger and the\npleasure of eating were, no doubt, first acquired, in order to induce\nanimals to eat.\"[12] If it were not for the expressions \"should be\ninduced\" and \"to induce,\" the words \"in order that,\" taken in connection\nwith what follows, might be interpreted as referring to mere sequence of\ntime, as, on page 199, where Darwin refers to the \"social faculties\"\nsimply as antecedent to society, they evidently do. For he says: \"In\norder that primeval man, or the ape-like progenitors of man, should\nbecome social, they must have acquired the same instinctive feelings\nwhich induce other animals to live in a body.\" The sentences referred to\nwhich follow the first quotation are as follows: \"The feeling of\npleasure from society is probably an extension of the parental or filial\naffections, since the social instinct seems to be developed by the young\nremaining for a long time with their parents; and this extension may be\nattributed in part to habit, but chiefly to natural selection. With\nthose animals which were benefited by living in close association, the\nindividuals which took the greatest pleasure in society would best\nescape various dangers, whilst those that cared least for their\ncomrades, and lived solitary, would perish in greater numbers. With\nrespect to the origin of the parental and filial affections, which\napparently lie at the base of the social instincts, we know not the\nsteps by which they have been gained; but we may infer that it has been\nto a large extent through natural selection.\" The passage may possibly\nbe consistently explained by the idea of the Survival of the Fittest,\nbut it is at least very unclear in its wording. At the beginning of\nChapter IV. of the same book, Darwin also gives a synopsis of the\ndevelopment of the moral sense from the social instincts, through the\npleasure of association and service, remorse being a result of the power\nof representation, regard for the approbation and disapprobation of\nfellows arising from sympathy with them until resulting habit plays a\nvery important part in guiding the conduct of the individual. Another\npassage, however, again introduces an antagonism between habit,\ninstinct, and reason, and natural selection: \"It is impossible to decide\nin many cases whether certain social instincts have been acquired\nthrough natural selection, or are the indirect result of other instincts\nand faculties, such as sympathy, reason, experience, and a tendency to\nimitation; or again, whether they are simply the result of\nlong-continued habit.\" Darwin distinguishes between \"the all-important\nemotion of sympathy,\" and that of love. \"A mother may passionately love\nher sleeping and passive infant, but she can hardly at such times be\nsaid to feel sympathy for it\"; but he includes both love and sympathy\nunder the head of \"sympathetic emotions\"; and on page 163 he says: \"With\nmankind, selfishness, experience, and imitation probably add, as Mr.\nBain has shown, to the power of sympathy; for we are led by the hope of\nreceiving good in return to perform acts of sympathetic kindness to\nothers; and sympathy is much strengthened by habit.\" Again, on page 166,\n\"instinctive love and sympathy\" would seem to be contrasted with love\nand sympathy as habit, the increase of such feelings in the race through\nhabit, elsewhere more or less distinctly asserted, being here ignored:\n\"Although man, as he now exists, has few special instincts, having lost\nany which his early progenitors may have possessed, this is no reason\nwhy he should not have retained, from an extremely remote period, some\ndegree of instinctive love and sympathy for his fellows. We are, indeed,\nall conscious that we do possess such sympathetic feelings; but our\nconsciousness does not tell us whether they are instinctive, having\noriginated long ago in the same manner as with the lower animals, or\nwhether they have been acquired by each of us during our early years.\"\nBut again, on page 220, sympathy is referred to as an element of the\nsocial instincts:[13] \"It should, however, be borne in mind that the\nenforcement of public opinion depends on our appreciation of the\napprobation and disapprobation of others; and this appreciation is\nfounded on our sympathy, which it can hardly be doubted was originally\ndeveloped through natural selection as one of the most important\nelements of the social instincts\"; though, on pages 167, 168, the social\ninstinct is again contrasted with sympathy, since according to Darwin\nthe desire for the approbation of others and the consequent yielding to\ntheir wishes is the result of sympathy: \"Thus the social instincts,\nwhich must have been acquired by man in a very rude state, and probably\neven by his early ape-like progenitors, still give the impulse to some\nof his best actions; but his actions are in a higher degree determined\nby the expressed wishes and judgments of his fellow-men.\" Again the\nsocial and the maternal instincts and sympathy are identified and\nclassed as under the dominion of the moral sense, pages 168-170: \"It is\nevident, in the first place, that with mankind the instinctive impulses\nhave different degrees of strength; a savage, will risk his own life to\nsave that of a member of the same community, but will be wholly\nindifferent about a stranger; a young and timid mother urged by the\nmaternal instinct will, without a moment's hesitation, run the greatest\ndanger for her own infant, but not for a mere fellow-creature.\nNevertheless, many a civilized man, or even boy, who never before risked\nhis life for another, but full of courage and sympathy, has disregarded\nthe instinct of self-preservation, and plunged at once into a torrent to\nsave a drowning man, though a stranger.... Such actions as the above\nappear to be the simple result of the greater strength of the social or\nmaternal instincts than that of any other instinct or motive; for they\nare performed too instantaneously for reflection, or for pleasure or\npain to be felt at the time; though, if prevented by any cause, distress\nor even misery might be felt.... I am aware that some persons maintain\nthat actions performed impulsively, as in the above cases, do not come\nunder the dominion of the moral sense, and cannot be called moral.... On\nthe contrary, we all feel that an act cannot be considered as perfect or\nas performed in the most noble manner, unless it be done impulsively,\nwithout deliberation or effort, in the same manner as by a man in whom\nthe requisite qualities are innate.\" Darwin defines the office of the\nmoral sense as \"telling us what to do,\"[14] that of conscience,--which\nincludes remorse, repentance, regret or shame, fear of the gods and of\nthe disapprobation of men,--as reproving us if we disobey it;[15]\nconscience seems elsewhere to be defined as concerned with resolve to\nbetter future action; and in still another passage, the moral sense and\nconscience are identified. But again, in another paragraph, Darwin seems\nto ascribe remorse or regret, not to the baulking of an instinct, but to\na _judgment_ of having been baulked: \"A man cannot prevent past\nimpressions often repassing through his mind; he will thus be driven to\nmake a comparison between the impressions of past hunger, vengeance\nsatisfied, or danger shunned at other men's cost, with the almost\never-present instinct of sympathy, and with his early knowledge of what\nothers consider as praiseworthy or blamable. This knowledge cannot be\nbanished from his mind, and from instinctive sympathy is esteemed of\ngreat moment. He will then feel as if he had been baulked in following a\npresent instinct or habit, and this with all animals causes\ndissatisfaction, or even misery.\"[16] But, in spite of all\nindefiniteness in the use of terms and uncertainty as to the\ninterrelations of \"the social instincts,\" sympathy, reason, pleasure,\nand the moral sense, it is, after all, comparatively easy to gather,\nafter a little deeper study, the general and more important features of\nDarwin's theory as to the origin of morality. We may state these as\nfollows: The social instinct led men or their ape-like progenitors to\nsociety,[17] this instinct growing out of the parental or filial\naffections through habit and natural selection. Virtue is, at first,\nonly tribal.[18] The social qualities of sympathy, fidelity, and courage\nimplied in mutual aid and defence, were no doubt acquired by man through\nthe same means. \"When two tribes of primeval man, living in the same\ncountry, came into competition, if (other circumstances being equal) the\none tribe included a great number of courageous, sympathetic, and\nfaithful members, who were always ready to warn each other of danger, to\naid and defend each other, this tribe would succeed better and conquer\nthe other.... Selfish and contentious people will not cohere, and\nwithout coherence nothing can be effected. A tribe rich in the above\nqualities would spread and be victorious over other tribes; but in the\ncourse of time it would, judging from all past history, be in its turn\novercome by some other tribe still more highly endowed. Thus the social\nand moral qualities would tend slowly to advance and be diffused\nthroughout the world.\" Though in a warlike state, where courage is\nespecially necessary to tribal existence, the bravest men would perish\nin larger numbers than other men, and the survival of the unfittest\nwould seem thus to be secured, the influence of their bravery on others\nmight excite the latter to imitation and do far more good than the\nbegetting of offspring who would inherit their bravery. So, also, pity,\nthough inciting modern society to the preservation of the weak, yet is\nuseful in that it cultivates sympathy; and so, too, wealth, affording\nleisure for intellectual pursuits and a wider choice in marriage, tends,\nin the end, to the preservation of the fittest morally, by direct or\nindirect means.[19] Altruistic action, followed from selfish motives,\nmay become habit; habits of benevolence certainly strengthen the feeling\nof sympathy; and \"habits followed during many generations probably tend\nto be inherited.\" Furthermore, melancholy tends often to suicide, as\nviolence, and quarrelsomeness to a bloody end, intemperance to the\ndestruction of individual life, and profligacy to disease and sterility;\nso that some elimination of the worst dispositions takes place. These\nare some of the probable steps of advancement, though the process is\ntoo complex to be clearly followed out. The approbation of\nothers--the strengthening of sympathies by habit--example and\nimitation--reason--experience and even self-interest--instruction during\nyouth, and religious feelings--are the causes which lead to the\nadvancement of morality.[20] In the paragraph just quoted, Darwin says:\n\"With civilized nations, as far as an advanced standard of morality and\nan increased number of fairly good men are concerned, natural selection\napparently effects but little, though the fundamental social instincts\nwere originally thus gained\"; but he later writes: \"Judging from all\nthat we know of man and the lower animals, there has always been\nsufficient variability in their intellectual and moral faculties for a\nsteady advance through natural selection\"; and he further says: \"No\ndoubt such advance demands many favorable concurrent circumstances; but\nit may well be doubted whether the most favorable would have sufficed,\nhad not the rate of increase been rapid, and the consequent struggle for\nexistence extremely severe.\"[21] The end or aim of morality is the\ngeneral good, rather than the general happiness, though \"no doubt the\nwelfare and the happiness of the individual usually coincide; and a\ncontented, happy tribe will flourish better than one that is\ndiscontented and unhappy.... As all wish for happiness, the 'greatest\nhappiness principle' will have become a most important secondary guide\nand object; the social instinct, however, together with sympathy (which\nleads to our regarding the approbation and disapprobation of others),\nhaving served as the primary impulse and guide.\"[22] And with regard to\nthe future, Darwin says: \"Looking to future generations, there is no\ncause to fear that the social instincts will grow weaker, and we may\nexpect that virtuous habits will grow stronger, becoming perhaps fixed\nby inheritance. In this case the struggle between our higher and lower\nimpulses will be less severe, and virtue will be triumphant.\"[23]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] P. 381. This essay originally formed part of the chapter on\n\"Instinct\" in \"The Origin of Species,\" but was omitted for the sake of\ncondensation.\n\n[2] Vol. I. p. 319.\n\n[3] Pp. 320, 321.\n\n[4] Appendix to \"Mental Evolution in Animals,\" pp. 378, 379. The italics\nare my own.\n\n[5] \"The Origin of Species,\" II. p. 286.\n\n[6] Ibid. I. pp. 353, 354.\n\n[7] \"The Origin of Species,\" I. pp. 321, 322.\n\n[8] Ibid. I. pp. 12-17.\n\n[9] Appendix to \"Mental Evolution in Animals,\" pp. 370, 383; see also\n\"The Descent of Man,\" I. p. 102 _et seq._; and \"Nature\" for Feb. 13,\n1873, introduction to a letter to the editor from William Higginson.\n\n[10] P. 103.\n\n[11] Pp. 160, 161.\n\n[12] P. 161.\n\n[13] See also p. 171. And, p. 172, sympathy is designated as \"a\nfundamental element of the social instincts.\"\n\n[14] P. 178.\n\n[15] Pp. 174, 178.\n\n[16] P. 173.\n\n[17] \"Descent of Man,\" I. p. 199, etc.\n\n[18] Ibid. p. 179.\n\n[19] Ibid. pp. 199-209.\n\n[20] Ibid. p. 212.\n\n[21] Ibid. pp. 219, 220.\n\n[22] Ibid. p. 185.\n\n[23] Ibid. p. 192.\n\n\n\n\nALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE\n\n\n\"Whatever we may define instinct to be, it is evidently some form of\nmental manifestation,\" says Wallace in his \"Contributions to Natural\nSelection\" (1871). We know little of the senses of animals; some animals\nmay even possess senses which we have not, and by which stores of\nknowledge of the outside world may be opened that are closed to us. We\ndo not know certainly, for instance, what is the office of the little\nstalked balls that are the sole remnants of hind wings in flies, or what\nis the office of the third joints of the antennae in the same insects,\nthough both these evidently correspond to some sense. How can we pretend\nto fathom the profound mystery of the mental nature of animals, and\ndecide what or how much they can perceive or remember, reason or\nreflect? Defining instinct, then, as \"the performance by an animal of\ncomplex acts, absolutely without instruction,\" Wallace refuses to accept\nthe theory of such action, in any case where all other modes of\nexplanation have not been exhausted; for \"a point which can be proved\nshould not be assumed, and a totally unknown power should not be brought\nin to explain facts, when known powers may be sufficient.\" He maintains\nthat there is a possibility, for instance, of the instruction of young\nbirds by old in the art of nest-building. It is quite likely that birds\nremember the form, size, position, and materials of the nest in which\nthey were hatched, as it is also probable that young birds often pair\nwith old ones who have experience in nest-building. Man's architecture\nis also chiefly imitative. \"Birds brought up from the egg in cages do\nnot make the characteristic nest of their species, even though the\nproper materials are supplied them, and often make no nest at all, but\nrudely heap together a quantity of materials.\" \"No one has ever yet\nobtained the eggs of some bird which builds an elaborate nest, hatched\nthose eggs by steam or under quite a distinct parent, placed them\nafterwards in an extensive aviary or covered garden, where the situation\nand the materials of a nest similar to that of the parent-birds may be\nfound, and then seen what kind of nest these birds would build. If under\nthese rigorous conditions they choose the same materials, the same\nsituation, and construct the nest in the same way and as perfectly as\ntheir parents did, instinct would be proved in their case; now it is\nonly assumed.... So no one has ever carefully taken the pupae of a hive\nof bees out of the comb, removed them from the presence of other bees,\nand loosed them in a large conservatory with plenty of flowers and food,\nand observed what kind of cells they would construct. But till this is\ndone no one can say that, with every new swarm there are no bees older\nthan those of the same year, who may be the teachers in forming the new\ncomb.\"[24] \"Young birds never have the song peculiar to their species\nif they have not heard it, whereas they acquire very easily the song of\nalmost any other bird with which they are associated.\" Moreover, there\nare failures and imperfections in the nesting of birds that are not\ncompatible with the theory of instinct, which is supposed to be\ninfallible, but are quite so with the theory of intelligence and\nimitation. Furthermore, in their manner of building, birds adapt\nthemselves to circumstances and frequently alter and improve. The theory\nof instincts in man is likewise in the wrong. The sucking of the child,\nwhich is said to be instinctive, is merely one of those _simple_ acts\ndependent on organization, like breathing or muscular motion. \"So\nwalking is evidently dependent on the arrangement of the bones and\njoints, and the pleasurable exertion of the muscles, which lead to the\nvertical posture becoming gradually the most agreeable one; and there\ncan be little doubt that an infant would learn of itself to walk, even\nif suckled by a wild beast.\"\n\nThe theory of instinct \"implies innate ideas[25] of a very definite\nkind, and if established, would overthrow Mr. Mill's Sensationalism and\nall the modern philosophy of experience.\"\n\nThe reason why natural selection acts so powerfully upon animals, is to\nbe found mainly in their individual isolation. \"A slight injury, a\ntemporary illness, will often end in death, because it leaves the\nindividual powerless against its enemies.... There is, as a rule, no\nmutual assistance between adults, which enables them to tide over a\nperiod of sickness. Neither is there any division of labor; each must\nfulfil _all_ the conditions of its existence, and therefore natural\nselection keeps all up to a pretty uniform standard.\" But in man as we\nnow behold him, this is different. He is social and sympathetic; and in\nsociety, a division of labor takes place that leaves the physically\ndefective still something to do by which he may sustain life, and saves\nhim from the extreme penalty which falls upon animals so defective. By\nhis skill in constructing for himself tools and clothing and in planting\nhis own food, man has an immense advantage over the animals, in whom a\nchange of structure must take place in adaptation to changed conditions.\nMoreover, he not only escapes natural selection himself, but \"is\nactually able to take away some of that power from nature, which, before\nhis appearance, she universally exercised,\" establishing so his\nsupremacy by means of that subtle force we term mind. \"We can anticipate\nthe time when the earth will produce only cultivated plants and domestic\nanimals, when man's selection shall have supplanted natural selection.\"\n\nWe must, in future geological study, trace back the gradually decreasing\nbrain of former races to a time when the body as well begins materially\nto differ, if we would wish to reach the starting-point of the human\nfamily. Before that time man had not mind enough to preserve his body\nfrom change. From this point, however, we shall probably see that, while\nall other forms of animal life changed again and again, man's physical\ncharacter became fixed and almost immutable, advance taking place only\nin his mental and moral characteristics, with which are united\nmodifications of the brain, as well as of the head and face, parts that\nare immediately connected with the brain and the medium of the most\nrefined emotions. By man's superior sympathetic and moral feelings, he\nbecomes fitted for the social state. There is one feature, however, in\nwhich natural selection will still act upon him--namely, the color of\nthe skin, which, as Mr. Darwin has shown, is correlated with\nconstitutional peculiarities, liability to certain diseases being often\naccompanied by marked external characteristics; so that, in certain\ncountries, certain tints would be likely to be weeded out, and certain\nother tints, with which, again, color and texture of the hair seem to be\nassociated, would be established by natural selection.\n\nNatural selection has no power \"to produce modifications which are in\nany degree injurious to their possessor, and Mr. Darwin uses the strong\nexpression that a single case of this kind would be fatal to his theory.\nIf, therefore, we find in man any characters which all the evidence we\ncan obtain goes to show would have been actually injurious to him on\ntheir first appearance, they could not possibly have been produced by\nnatural selection. Neither could any specially developed organ have been\nso produced if it had been merely useless to its possessor, or if its\nuse were not proportionate to its degree of development. Such cases as\nthese would prove that some other law, or some other power, than natural\nselection, had been at work. But if, further, we could see that these\nvery modifications, though hurtful or useless at the time when they\nfirst appeared, became in the highest degree useful at a much later\nperiod, and are essential to the full moral and intellectual development\nof human nature, we should then infer the action of mind, foreseeing the\nfuture and preparing for it, just as surely as we do when we see the\nbreeder set himself to work with the determination to produce a definite\nimprovement in some cultivated plant or domestic animal\"; we should\ninfer a creation by law. Skull-measurement shows that the brain of the\nsavage was, and is, larger than it needs to be, and \"capable, if\ncultivated and developed, of performing work of a degree and kind far\nbeyond what he ever requires it to do.\" In evidence of this, Wallace\ncites the measurements of Esquimaux skulls and the testimony of Paul\nBroca to the fine form and capacity of the skulls of Les Eyzies, a race\nof cave-dwellers undoubtedly contemporary with the reindeer in Southern\nFrance.[26] He also argues that the loss, by man, of the hairy covering\nso long persistent in the mammalia, cannot have taken place on account\nof its lack of usefulness, since even the most savage tribes show a need\nof it, endeavoring to replace it by artificial coverings, especially on\nthe back. This naked skin is, however, of importance to civilization,\nsince it leads to the adoption of both clothing and houses, and\ndevelops, through the former, the sense of modesty. The loss of the\nprehensile character of the whole foot, and especially of the pedal\nthumb, is a preparation for civilization. So, too, the capacity of the\nhuman voice for music, of little use to savages, since their singing\nconsists only in a sort of monotonous howling, must be regarded as a\npreparation for the civilized man's delight in music, and probably also\nfor a higher state than that to which we have yet attained.\n\nNor can the sanctity which attaches to virtue, even among savages, be\nexplained by utility or natural selection. The \"mystic sense of wrong,\"\nwhich, although few laws enforce truth, yet attaches to untruth, even\namong whole tribes of utter savages, is an example of such sanctity.\nWallace adds, however, in the same breath: \"No very severe reprobation\nfollows untruth. In all ages, falsehood has been thought venial or even\nlaudable under certain conditions.\" He asserts that \"the utilitarian\ndoctrine is not sufficient to account for the development of the moral\nsense,\" but seems, nevertheless, to adopt a utilitarian principle as the\nbasis of the moral sense when he says: \"Where free play is allowed to\nthe relations between man and man, this feeling [_i.e._ of sanctity]\nattaches itself to those acts of universal utility or self-sacrifice\nwhich are the products of our affections and sympathies which we term\nmoral\"; and he adds: \"while it may be, and often is, perverted to give\nthe same sanction to acts of narrow and conventional utility which are\nreally immoral,--as when the Hindoo will tell a lie, but will sooner\nstarve than eat unclean food; and looks upon the marriage of adult\nfemales as gross immorality.\" The explanation of this inconsistency is,\naccording to Wallace, that the strength of the moral feeling, in any\ncase, will depend on the individual or racial constitution, and on\neducation and habit; and the acts to which its sanctions are applied\nwill depend on the extent of modification of the simple feelings and\naffections by custom, law, and religion. If a moral sense is an\nessential part of our nature, it is easy to see that its sanction may\noften be given to acts which are useless or immoral, just as the natural\nappetite for drink is perverted by the drunkard into the means of his\ndestruction.\n\nThese phenomena of the preparation of the human being for civilization\nand morality can be explained only on the supposition of a superior\nintelligence which has guided man's development in a definite direction,\njust as man guides the development of many animal forms. By a superior\nintelligence is not necessarily meant the supreme intelligence. The\nmodern cultivated mind seems incapable of realizing between it and the\nDeity other grades of intelligence, which the law of Continuity would,\nhowever, force us to infer: and rejecting first causes for any and every\nespecial effect in the universe, except in the sense that the action of\nany intelligent being is a first cause, we can still conceive that the\ndevelopment of the essentially human portions of man's structure may\nhave been, in this sense, \"determined by the directing influence of some\nhigher intelligent beings acting through natural and universal\nlaws.\"[27] \"It is probable that the true law of this development lies\ntoo deep for our discovery.\" Wallace quotes, in support of his theory,\nsome of Professor Tyndall's much-disputed statements,--to the effect\nthat the chasm between the phenomena of mind and those of brain is\nimpassable. \"To say that mind is a product or function of protoplasm, or\nof its molecular changes, is to use words to which we can attach no\nclear conception. You cannot have in the whole what does not exist in\nany of the parts;[28] and those who argue thus should put forth a\nprecise definition of matter with clearly enumerated properties, and\nshow that the necessary result of a certain complex arrangement of the\nelements or atoms of that matter will be the production of\nself-consciousness. There is no escape from the dilemma,--either all\nmatter is conscious, or consciousness is[29] something distinct from\nmatter, and in the latter case its presence in material forms is a proof\nof the existence of conscious beings outside of, and independent of,\nwhat we term matter.\n\n\"The merest rudiment of sensation or self-consciousness is infinitely\nremoved from absolutely non-sentient or unconscious matter. We can\nconceive of no physical addition to, or modification of, an unconscious\nmass which should create consciousness, no step in the series of changes\norganized matter may undergo, which should bring sensation where there\nwas no sensation or power of sensation at the preceding step. It is\nbecause the things are utterly incomparable and incommensurable that we\ncan only conceive of _sensation_ coming to matter from without, while\n_life_ may be conceived as merely a specific modification and\ncooerdination of the matter and the forces that compose the universe, and\nwith which we are separately acquainted. We may admit with Professor\nHuxley, that _protoplasm_ is the 'matter of life' and the cause of\norganization; but we cannot admit or conceive that _protoplasm_ is the\nprimary source of sensation and consciousness, or that it can ever of\nitself become _conscious_ in the same way as we may perhaps conceive\nthat it may become _alive_.\"\n\nWallace then reaches, without further preliminary discussion, the\nconclusion that \"matter is essentially force\" (arguing that we may draw\nthis conclusion from the preceding considerations); that \"matter, as\npopularly understood, does not exist, and is, in fact, philosophically\ninconceivable. When we touch matter, we only really experience\nsensations of resistance, implying repulsive force; and no other sense\ncan give us such apparently solid proofs of the reality of matter as\ntouch does.\" Wallace considers it a great step in advance thus \"to get\nrid of the notion that matter is a thing in itself which can exist _per\nse_, and must have been eternal, since it is supposed to be\nindestructible and uncreated,--that force, or the forces of nature, are\nanother thing given or added to matter, or else its necessary\nproperties,--and that mind is yet another thing, either a product of\nthis matter and its supposed inherent forces, or distinct from and\nco-existent with it\"; and to be able to substitute for this theory \"the\nfar simpler and more consistent belief, that matter, as an entity\ndistinct from force, does not exist; and that FORCE is a product of\nMIND.\"\n\n\"If we are satisfied that force or forces are all that exist in the\nmaterial universe, we are next led to inquire what is force.\" We are\nacquainted with two kinds of force--our own will-force, and the forces\nof nature. Freedom of the will cannot be disproved, for it cannot be\nshown that there is not one-thousandth of a grain's difference between\nthe force exerted by the body and the force derived from without. \"If,\ntherefore, we have traced one force, however minute, to an origin in our\nwill, while we have no knowledge of any other primary cause of force, it\ndoes not seem an improbable conclusion that all force may be will-force;\nand thus, that the whole universe is not merely dependent on, but\nactually _is_ the _will_ of higher intelligences, or of one Supreme\nIntelligence.\"\n\nBut though Wallace declares \"natural selection, as the law of the\nstrongest, inadequate\" to account for man's mental and moral\ndevelopment, since the finer feelings and capacities could have been of\nno use to human beings in the early stages of barbarism, and further\nmaintains that it is also difficult to understand how \"feelings\ndeveloped by one set of actions could be transferred to acts of which\nthe utility was partial, imaginary, or altogether absent,\" he\nnevertheless has other passages like the following: \"In proportion as\nphysical characteristics become of less importance, mental and moral\nqualities will have increasing influence on the well-being of the race.\nCapacity for acting in concert for protection and for the acquisition of\nfood and shelter; sympathy, which leads all in turn to assist each\nother; the sense of right, which checks depredations upon our fellows;\nthe smaller development of the combative and destructive propensities,\nself-restraint in present appetites; and that intelligent foresight\nwhich prepares for the future, are all qualities that, from their\nearliest appearance, must have been for the benefit of each community,\nand would, therefore, have become the subjects of natural selection. For\nit is evident that such qualities would be for the well-being of man;\nwould guard him against external enemies, against internal dissensions,\nand against the effects of inclement seasons and impending famine, more\nsurely than could any merely physical modification. Tribes in which such\nmental and moral qualities were predominant would therefore have an\nadvantage over other tribes in which they were less developed, would\nlive and maintain their numbers, while the others would decrease and\nfinally succumb.\" \"From the time, therefore, when the social and\nsympathetic feelings came into active operation, and the intellectual\nand moral faculties became fairly developed, man would cease to be\ninfluenced by natural selection in his physical form and structure. As\nan animal, he would remain almost stationary, the changes of the\nsurrounding universe ceasing to produce in him that powerful modifying\neffect which they exercise over other parts of the organic world. But\nfrom the moment that the form of his body became stationary, his mind\nwould become subject to those very influences from which his body had\nescaped; every slight variation in his mental and moral nature which\nshould enable him better to guard against adverse circumstances, and\ncombine for mutual comfort and protection would be preserved and\naccumulated; the better and higher specimens of our race would therefore\nincrease and spread, the lower and more brutal would give way and\nsuccessively die out, and that rapid advancement of mental organization\nwould occur which has raised the very lowest races of man so far above\nthe brutes (although differing so little from some of them in physical\nstructure) and, in conjunction with scarcely perceptible modifications\nof form, has developed the wonderful intellect of the European races.\"\n\"When the power that had hitherto modified the body had its action\ntransferred to the mind, then races would advance and become improved,\nmerely by the harsh discipline of a sterile soil and inclement seasons;\nunder their influence a hardier, a more provident, and a more social\nrace would be developed.\" And especially: \"If my conclusions are just,\nit must inevitably follow that the higher--the more intellectual and\nmoral--must displace the lower and more degraded races; and the power of\nnatural selection, still acting on his mental organization, must ever\nlead to a more perfect adaptation of man's higher faculties to the\nconditions of surrounding nature and to the exigencies of the social\nstate. While his external form will probably ever remain unchanged,\nexcept in the development of that perfect beauty which results from a\nhealthy and well-organized body, refined and ennobled by the highest\nintellectual faculties and sympathetic emotions, his mental constitution\nmay advance and improve, till the world is again inhabited by a single\nnearly homogeneous race, no individual of which will be inferior to the\nnoblest specimens of existing humanity.\n\n\"Our progress towards such a result is very slow, but it still seems to\nbe a progress.\"\n\nIn \"Darwinism\" (1889), Wallace advocates Weismann's theory of heredity.\nWith regard to instinct, he uses arguments similar to those of his\nearlier work. He says of the hunting instincts of dogs: \"At first sight\nit appears as if the acquired habits of our trained dogs--pointers,\nretrievers, etc.--are certainly inherited; but this need not be the\ncase, because there must be some structural or physical peculiarities,\nsuch as modifications in the attachments of muscles, increased delicacy\nof smell or sight, or peculiar likes and dislikes, which are inherited;\nand from these, peculiar habits follow as a natural consequence, or are\neasily acquired.\" So that he thus defines instinct, by implication, as\nhe does also in his former book, as inherited habit which has no\ncorrelative in physical organization, and is unconnected with feelings\nof liking or disliking. He further says: \"Again, much of the perfection\nof instinct is due to the extreme severity of the selection, any failure\ninvolving destruction\"; and adds that, even if we admit the inheritance\nof the effects of the direct action of the environment on the\nindividual, the effects are so small in comparison with the amount of\nspontaneous variation of every part of the organism, that they must be\nquite overshadowed by the latter.[30] In his theory of a higher\nintelligence guiding human development, Wallace seems, in this book, to\nhave abandoned all his former arguments except those from the mental and\nmoral faculties, and it is perhaps due to a perception of the\ninconsistencies of his former utterances on the subject of the moral\nsense that he barely touches upon it in this book. On the other hand, he\nhas elaborated his arguments from the mathematical and artistic\nfaculties, and added an argument from wit and humor, none of which are\nfound, he urges, among savages, except in their very rudiments, and none\nof which could have been developed by natural selection, since none\ncould have been a cause of man's conquest in his struggles with wild\nbeasts or with other tribes or nations. In answer to the objection that\nthe law of Continuity, which he has quoted as favoring the belief in the\nexistence of grades of supernatural beings between man and the Deity,\ntells against the introduction of new causes in man's development,\nWallace maintains that there are certainly two other points in evolution\nwhere such new causes come into play,--namely, at the beginning of life\nand at the beginning of consciousness. \"Increase of complexity in\nchemical compounds, with consequent instability, even if we admit that\nit may have produced protoplasm as a chemical compound, could certainly\nnot have produced living protoplasm,--protoplasm which has the power of\ngrowth and reproduction, and of that continuous process of development\nwhich has resulted in the marvellous variety and complex organization of\nthe whole vegetable kingdom, or, that is, vitality.\"[31] \"All idea of\nmere complication of structure producing\" consciousness is \"out of the\nquestion.\" \"Because man's physical structure has been developed from an\nanimal form by natural selection, it does not follow that his mental\nnature, even though developed _pari passu_ with it, has been developed\nby the same causes only.\"[32] Yet, in assuming Weismann's theory,\nWallace asserts: \"Whatever other causes have been at work, Natural\nSelection is supreme, to an extent which even Darwin himself hesitated\nto claim for it.\" \"While admitting, as Darwin always admitted, the\ncooeperation of the fundamental laws of growth and variation, of\ncorrelation and heredity, in determining the direction of lines of\nvariation, or in the initiation of peculiar organs, we find that\nvariation and natural selection are ever-present agencies which take\npossession, as it were, of every minute change originated by these\nfundamental causes, check or favor their further development, or modify\nthem in countless ways according to the varying needs of the\norganism.\"[33]\n\nIn the opening portions of this book Wallace introduces a teleological\nargument to the effect that the pain which we ordinarily conceive as\nconnected with the struggle for existence among lower species is mostly\na figment of our imagination. Periods of suffering are comparatively\nshort, since death speedily and without anticipation puts an end to\nthose animals in any way incapacitated. Livingstone describes how, when\nseized by a lion, a sort of stupor succeeded the first shock, so that he\nfelt neither fear nor pain; it is probable that terror induces this same\ncondition in animals seized by beasts of prey, and that their end is\ntherefore painless after the first shock. Cold is generally severest at\nnight and tends to produce sleep and painless extinction. Hunger is\nscarcely felt during periods of excitement, \"and when food is scarce,\nthe excitement of seeking it is at its greatest.\" Nor is the gradual\nexhaustion and weakness of slow starvation necessarily painful.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[24] For criticism of these arguments, see Romanes, \"Mental Evolution in\nAnimals,\" p. 225, etc.; also \"Animal Intelligence.\" In his second\nedition of this book (1891), Wallace notices a few of the instances\ncited by Romanes in objection to his theory: such as the recognition of\nthe hen's call by a chicken hatched in an incubator, the fear shown, on\nthe other hand, at the note of a hawk, and the fear exhibited by most\nyoung animals at the voice or presence of their natural enemies. Of\nthese he says, however: \"But in all these cases we have comparatively\nsimple motions or acts induced by feelings of liking or disliking, and\nwe can see that they may be due to definite nervous and muscular\ncooerdinations which are essential to the existence of the species. That\na chicken should feel pleasure at the sound of a hen's voice, and pain\nor fear at that of a hawk, and should move towards the one and away from\nthe other, is a fact of the same nature as the liking of an infant for\nmilk and its dislike of beer, with the motion of the head towards the\none and away from the other when offered to it.\" Of two authentic cases\nof the building of a nest by young birds, without instruction, he says\nthat, in one case (that of ring-doves), the nest is a very simple one,\nand that the birds also received some assistance; and in the other case\nthe nest was not built with the neatness ordinarily characteristic of\nthe species. (See \"Natural Selection and Tropical Nature,\" pp. 108-112.)\nThe most of Romanes' instances and arguments he does not notice or\nanswer.\n\n[25] In his second edition, Wallace writes \"not only innate ideas, but\ninnate knowledge.\"\n\n[26] In the second edition of this book, Wallace maintains the same\nposition with regard to skull-measurement as a criterion of mental\ncapacity. Nor does he notice distinctions in skull-form or the\nproportions of different parts of the brain to each other, except in the\none case of the Eyzies.\n\n[27] See Wallace on \"Miracles and Modern Spiritualism,\" \"The\nPsycho-physiological Sciences and their Assailants,\" and \"The Scientific\nAspect of the Supernatural.\"\n\n[28] Wallace omits this particular clause in his second edition.\n\n[29] The second edition reads \"is, or pertains to.\"\n\n[30] Pp. 442, 443.\n\n[31] This is contradictory of the passages on the subject of life above\nnoticed as occurring in the \"Contributions to Natural Selection,\" and\nretained in the second edition of that book.\n\n[32] P. 463.\n\n[33] P. 444.\n\n\n\n\nERNST HAECKEL\n\n\nIn his \"Anthropogenie\" (1874), Haeckel says: \"The soul, or 'psyche' of\nman has evolved, as function of the cerebro-spinal nerve-chord\nsimultaneously with the latter, and just as, even yet, brain and spinal\ncolumn develop from the simple nerve-chord, so the human mind, or the\nsoul-activity of the whole human race, has evolved, gradually and step\nby step, from the lower vertebrate soul. 'Spirit' and 'soul' are only\nhigher and combined or differentiated powers of the same function which\nwe designate with the general expression 'force.'\"[34] In his essay on\n\"Cell-souls and Soul-cells\" (1878), Haeckel attributes to all animals\nthe possession of soul, and adds that \"we cannot wholly deny a soul to\nthe plants also.\" The possession of soul he defines as the \"capacity of\nsensibility in the organism to excitations of various sorts, and of\nreaction upon these excitations with certain movements.\" \"This uniform\ncharacter of protoplasm gifted with soul permits us the hypothesis that\nthe ultimate factors of the soul-life are the plastidules, the\ninvisible, homogeneous, elemental particles, or molecules, of\nprotoplasm, which, in limitless multiplicity, compose the unnumbered\ncells.\" The soul connected with the higher developments of brain and\nspinal column is likewise a higher development, and differs from the\nsoul connected with the uncentralized organization of lower species. In\nthe latest edition of his \"Natuerliche Schoepfungsgeschichte\" (1889), he\nfurther asserts that all matter is possessed of soul, and that \"the\nantithesis which we have assumed between living and dead nature does not\nexist. When a stone, thrown into the air, falls to the earth according\nto fixed laws, or when a crystal is formed in a solution of salts, or\nwhen sulphur and quicksilver combine to form cinnabar, these phenomena\nare not more and not less mechanical phenomena of life than the growth\nand bloom of the plants, than the propagation and sense-activity of\nanimals, than the perception and thought-processes of human beings.\"[35]\nAnd both in this work and in his \"Anthropogenie\" he quotes the words of\nGoethe, that \"matter can never exist and act without soul, the soul can\nnever exist and act without matter.\" This last statement is, however,\nrather a metaphysical one, in distinction from Haeckel's other\nstatements on this subject, which are properly naturalistic.\n\nIn his lecture on \"Cell-souls and Soul-cells,\" Haeckel says of instinct:\n\"Unbiassed observation, applying its tests without prejudice, shows\nconclusively that the so-called 'instinct' of the animals is nothing\nelse than a sum of psychical functions originally acquired by\nadaptation, fixed by habit, and descending from generation to\ngeneration by inheritance. Originally carried out with consciousness and\nreflection, many instinctive actions of the animals have become\nunconscious, as have, in like manner, the ordinary acts of intelligence\nin man. These too, may, with the same justice, be regarded as the\nexpression of innate instinct, as often is the impulse to\nself-preservation, maternal love, and the social impulse. Instinct is\nnot an exclusive attribute of the animal-brain, nor is reason an\nespecial endowment of man; there is, on the contrary, for the unbiassed\nobserver, a long, long scale of gradual improvement and evolution in\npsychic life, which may be traced step by step, from the higher to lower\nhuman beings, from the perfect to the imperfect animals, until we reach\nthose simple worms, whose nerve-ganglia are the beginning of all the\nnumberless brain-forms of the scale.\"\n\nIn his \"Anthropogenie,\" Haeckel denies Free Will, maintaining that all\nphenomena are the result of mechanical causes--_causae efficientes_, not\n_causae finales_. In an essay on the \"Relation of the Theory of Evolution\nin its present form to Science in General\" (1877), he says of Ethics:\n\"By far the most important and the most difficult demand which Practical\nPhilosophy makes upon the theory of Evolution seems to be that of a new\ntheory of Morals. Certainly in the future, as in the past, the careful\ndevelopment of moral character and of religious conviction must be the\nchief problem of education. But until now the greater number of people\nhave clung to the conviction that this most important problem could be\nsolved only in connection with certain ecclesiastical articles of faith.\nAnd since these dogmas, especially as connected with ancient myths of\nthe Creation, are in direct opposition to the facts of evolution, the\nlatter have been believed to be, in the highest degree, inimical to\nreligion and morality.\n\n\"This fear we believe to be erroneous. It has its origin in the\ncontinual confusion of the true, reasonable, nature-religion and the\ndogmatic, mythological, church-religion. The Comparative History of\nReligions, an important branch of Anthropology, teaches us the manifold\nnature of outward form in which different peoples and epochs have, in\naccordance with their individual character, enveloped religious thought.\nIt shows us that the dogmatic teachings of the church-religion itself\nare subject to a slow, continuous evolution. New churches and sects\narise, old ones disappear; at the best, a particular tenet of faith\nlasts but a few thousand years, an inconsiderably short space of time\ncompared with the aeons of the geological periods. Finally, the History\nof Civilization shows us to how small an extent true morality has been\nassociated with any particular ecclesiastical form. The greatest\nrudeness and barbarity of custom often goes hand in hand with the\nabsolute dominion of an all-powerful church; in confirmation of which\nassertion one need only remember the Middle Ages. On the other hand, we\nbehold the highest standard of perfection attained by men who have\nsevered connection with every creed.\n\n\"Independent of every confession of faith, there lives in the breast of\nevery human being the germ of a pure nature-religion; this is\nindissolubly bound up with the noblest sides of human life. Its highest\ncommandment is love, the restraint of our natural egoism for the benefit\nof our fellow-men, and for the good of human society whose members we\nare. This natural law of morality is much older than all\nchurch-religion. It has developed out of the social instincts of the\nanimals. We meet with its rudiments among all animals, especially among\nall mammals. Following the laws of association and of division of labor,\nmany individuals of such species unite to form the higher community of\nthe swarm, herd, or tribe. The existence of the latter is necessarily\ndependent upon the mutual relations of the members of the community and\nthe sacrifices which these make to the whole society at the cost of\ntheir own egoism. The consciousness of this necessity of self-sacrifice,\nthe sense of duty, is nothing else than a social instinct. But this\ninstinct is always a psychical habit, which was originally acquired, but\nwhich, becoming in the course of time hereditary, appears at last as\ninnate.\n\n\"In order to convince ourselves of the wonderful power of the sense of\nduty among animals, we need only to destroy an ant-hill. Immediately we\nsee, in the midst of the destruction, thousands of zealous citizens\nemployed, not in the rescue of their own precious lives, but in the\nprotection of the beloved community to which they belong. Brave soldiers\nof the ant-state prepare to offer strong resistance to our intruding\nfinger; instructors of youth rescue the so-called ant-eggs, the precious\nlarvae, on which the future of the state depends; busy workers\nimmediately begin with undiminished courage to clear away the ruins and\nto prepare new dwellings. But the admirable state of civilization among\nthese ants, among bees and other social animals, has been developed,\njust as has been our own, from the rudest beginnings.\n\n\"Even those finest and most beautiful forms of human emotion which we\nespecially celebrate in poetry are to be found prefigured among the\nanimals. Have not the tender mother-love of the lioness, the touching\naffection between male and female parrots, the self-sacrificing fidelity\nof the dog, been long proverbial? The noblest emotions of sympathy and\nlove, which direct action, are here, as with human beings, nothing else\nthan ennobled instinct.\" Beginning with this conception, the Ethics of\nEvolution has to seek for no new principle, but, on the contrary, to\ntrace back the old rules of duty to their scientific basis. Long before\nthe rise of all church-religion, these natural commandments regulated\nthe lawful relations of human beings, as of gregarious animals. This\nsignificant fact the church-religions should utilize, instead of\ndisputing. For the future does not belong to that Theology which\ndeclares war against the triumphant Theory of Evolution, but to that\nwhich makes it its own, acknowledges it, and turns it to advantage.\n\n\"Far, therefore, from fearing, from the influence of the Theory of\nEvolution, a subversion of all accepted moral law and a destructive\nemancipation of Egoism, we, on the contrary, look forward to a system of\nEthics erected upon the indestructible foundation of unchanging natural\nlaw, since at the same time with the clear recognition of our true place\nin nature, the study of Anthropogeny opens to us the comprehension of\nthe necessary character of our old rules of duty. Like theoretical\nscience, Practical Philosophy and Pedagogy will no longer derive their\nmost important principles from so-called revelations, but from the\nscientific truths of Evolution. This victory of Monism over Dualism\nopens to us a most hopeful prospect of an unending continuation of our\nmoral, as of our intellectual evolution. In this sense, we welcome the\nTheory of Evolution in its present form newly stated by Darwin, as a\nchallenge--the most important challenge of pure and applied science.\"\n\nAs touching on the idea of a nature-religion as conceived by Haeckel,\nmay be noticed, however, a passage which occurs at the end of chapter\nXII. of the \"Natuerliche Schoepfungsgeschichte,\" as well as the passage\nbefore referred to in which it is asserted that we know only _causae\nefficientes_, never _causae finales_. The passage is as follows: \"The\ngeneral significance of the degenerated or rudimentary organs in the\nmost important questions of natural philosophy cannot be over-estimated.\nOn these may be founded a theory of Disteleology as opposed to the\nancient, usual Teleology.\"\n\nWith especial theories of Heredity advocated by Haeckel we are not\nconcerned, except in one respect. Even in the first edition of his\n\"Natuerliche Schoepfungsgeschichte,\" Haeckel makes a distinction between\nconservative and progressive inheritance, and in the edition of 1889 he\nstill maintains this division against Weismann and others, claiming the\nheredity of acquired habit, under certain circumstances, and showing\nconclusively that even wounds and blemishes received during the life of\nan individual may be, in some instances, inherited by descendants.[36]\nThe laws of progressive heredity he gives as four: (1) the law of the\ninheritance of adaptation; (2) the law of the surer inheritance of\nqualities fixed by continual operation of its causes on individual\ngenerations; (3) the law of homochronous inheritance or inheritance at a\ncorresponding age; (4) the law of homotypous inheritance, which may be\notherwise called the law of inheritance in corresponding parts of the\nbody.[37]\n\nHaving thus glanced at the special theories by which the great original\nauthorities paved the way for a system of Evolutional Ethics, we may\ndirect our attention to the more purely philosophical writers who have\nturned these theories to advantage and elaborated them. The first on the\nlist is\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[34] P. 703 _et seq._\n\n[35] Erster Vortrag.\n\n[36] P. 194 _et seq._\n\n[37] For illustrations and proofs of these laws, see the \"Natuerliche\nSchoepfungsgeschichte,\" pp. 193-197.\n\n\n\n\nHERBERT SPENCER\n\n\nIn treating of Mr. Spencer's work, it is necessary to begin with a book\nwhich made its appearance before the publication of \"The Origin of\nSpecies,\" namely, \"Social Statics\" (1851), Mr. Spencer's first\nnoteworthy publication. In this are contained some remarkable\nstatements, which are of especial worth as showing in what measure the\nthought of the time was already tending in the direction of the\nrevelations of its greatest prophet, and science, in England as in\nGermany, was slowly coming to recognize the unity of nature in life and\nhuman progress. An analysis of the first and theoretical part of this\nwork will be, therefore, of use, and with this we will begin.\n\nMr. Spencer opens his book with some criticisms of Utilitarianism or the\n\"Expediency Philosophy.\" Every rule, in order to be of value, must have\na definite meaning. The rule of \"the greatest happiness to the greatest\nnumber\" supposes mankind to be unanimous in the definition of the\ngreatest happiness; the standard of happiness is, however, infinitely\nvariable, in nations and in individuals. For happiness signifies a\ngratified state of all the faculties; and no two individuals are alike\nin faculties. In endeavoring to fix a standard, we are met by such\ninsolvable problems as: What is the ratio between mental and bodily\nenjoyments constituting the greatest happiness? Which is most truly an\nelement in the desired felicity, content or aspiration? The conclusion\nwe inevitably reach is that a true conception of what human life should\nbe is possible only to the ideal man,--in whom the component feelings\nexist in their normal proportions. The world as yet contains no such\nmen, and we are left with an insolvable riddle on our hands.\n\nThere is the same uncertainty as to the mode of obtaining the greatest\nhappiness.\n\nThe Expediency Philosophy believes that man's intellect is competent to\nobserve accurately and to grasp at once the multiplied phenomena of life\nand derive therefrom the knowledge which shall enable him to say whether\nsuch or such measures will conduce to the greatest happiness of the\ngreatest number.\n\nIf without knowledge of terrestrial phenomena and their laws, Newton had\nattempted a theory of planetary and stellar equilibrium, he might have\ncogitated to all eternity without result. Such an attempt, however,\nwould have been far less absurd than the attempt to find out the\nprinciples of public polity by a direct examination of that wonderfully\nintricate combination, Society. In order to understand Society it is\nnecessary to comprehend Man.\n\nAnother mistake of the Expediency Philosophy is that it assumes the\neternity of government, which marks a certain stage of civilization, but\nwhich will by no means necessarily last forever. Time was when the\nhistory of a people was the history of its government. Feudalism,\nserfdom, slavery,--all were forms of government. Progress means less\ngovernment; constitutional forms, political freedom, democracy, all mean\nthis. Government is a sign of imperfection, an evil necessary against\nknavery; it must exist only so long as this exists. The Expediency\nPhilosophy is, however, founded on government; takes it into\npartnership: but a system of moral philosophy professes to be a code of\ncorrect rules for the best, as well as the worst, members of society,\nand applicable to humanity in its highest conceivable perfection. Of the\nExpediency Philosophy it must, therefore, be said that it can claim no\nscientific character, since:\n\nIts fundamental proposition is not an axiom but a problem to be solved;\n\nIt is expressed in terms possessing no fixed acceptation;\n\nIt would require omniscience to carry it into practice;\n\nAnd, moreover, it takes imperfection for its basis.\n\nThe existence of society argues a certain fitness and desire of mankind\nfor it; without this, it would not exist, as eating and drinking, and\nthe nourishment and protection of offspring would not take place if\nthere were no corresponding desires, but merely an abstract opinion in\nfavor of the worth of the two. In the method of nature, there is always\nsome prompter, called a desire, answering to each of the actions which\nit is requisite for us to perform. It is probable, therefore, that we\nshall find an instrumentality of this sort prompting us to morality. In\nobjection to the theory of a moral sense, the want of uniformity in\njudgment as to what is right is often advanced. But none deny the\nimportance of appetite, though all know that it is by no means an\ninfallible guide in the choice of kind or quantity of food. The same may\nbe said of parental affection. The foundation of the claim of any man\nthat he has as great a right to happiness as any other can be found in\nthe last analysis in feeling only; he feels that it is so.\n\nNone but those committed to a preconceived theory can fail to recognize\nthe workings of such a faculty as the moral sense. It is clear that the\nperceptions of propriety or impropriety of conduct do not originate with\nthe intellect but with the emotional faculties. The intellect,\nuninfluenced by desire, would show both miser and spendthrift that their\nhabits were unwise; whereas the intellect, influenced by desire, makes\neach think the other a fool, but does not enable him to see his own\nfoolishness.\n\nThis is a universal law: Every feeling is accompanied by a sense of the\nrightness of those actions which give it gratification. From an impulse\nto behave in a way we call equitable arises a perception that it is\nproper, and a conviction that it is good. There is, however, a\nperpetual conflict amongst feelings, from which results an incongruity\nof beliefs.\n\nIt has been said that codes derived from the moral sense have no\nstability since this sense ratifies one principle at one time and place,\nanother at another. The same objection applies, however, to every other\nsystem of morals, and happily there is an answer to the objection. The\nerror criticised is one of application, not of doctrine. The decisions\nof the Geometric Sense are conflicting; yet there are certain axioms\nupon which all agree; and in the same manner there are moral axioms to\nbe found, upon which all must agree. Disagreement is to be looked for\namong imperfect characters. But nature's laws know no exception: Obey or\nsuffer are the alternatives. A progress from entire unconsciousness of\nthese laws to the conviction that law is universal and inevitable,\nconstancy an essential attribute of divine rule, is the substance of the\nprogress of man. The end of these unbending utterances is universal\ngood; we have no alternative but to assume the law of constancy to be\nthe best possible one. As with the physical, so with the ethical; all\nreligions teach the inevitableness of punishment and reward, with which\ndeeds are _necessarily_ and _indissolubly_ connected. It is of infinite\nimportance to recognize and follow the laws of society. To the objection\nthat one cannot always be guided by abstract principles, that there are\nexceptions where prudence must act, it may be replied that there are no\nexceptions to the laws of nature; that even if, in a particular\ninstance, partial good may result, a far greater general evil is\nentailed by the opening of the way to future disobediences, and that we\ncannot, moreover, be sure that an exceptional disobedience will bring\nthe anticipated benefits. Moral as well as physical evil is the result\nof a want of congruity between the faculties and their sphere of action.\nWith regard to the results of varying conditions upon man, we have three\nalternative theories from which to choose: either man remains entirely\nunaltered by his surroundings, or he grows more unfitted for them, or\nelse he grows more fitted for them. The first two suppositions being\nabsurd, we are obliged to admit the remaining one. And since all evil\nresults from non-adaptation, and non-adaptation is being continually\ndiminished, it follows that evil must be continually diminishing. The\nevil in society shows that man is not yet completely adapted to a state\nwhich requires that each individual shall have such desires only as may\nbe fully satisfied without trenching upon the ability of other\nindividuals to obtain a like satisfaction. The primitive condition of\nman required that he should sacrifice the welfare of other beings to his\nown; the old attribute still clings to him in some measure; the belief\nin human perfectibility amounts to the belief that man will eventually\nbecome completely suited to his mode of life. Progress is not an\naccident but a necessity; and if, instead of proposing it as a rule of\nhuman conduct, Bentham had simply assumed the \"greatest happiness\" to be\nthe creative purpose, his position would have been tenable enough. It is\none thing, however, to hold that greatest happiness is the creative\npurpose, and quite a different thing to hold that greatest happiness\nshould be the immediate aim of mankind. Truth has two sides, a divine\nand a human; or, it is for man to ascertain the conditions which lead to\nthe greatest happiness, and to live in conformity with these.\n\nThe men who are to realize this greatest sum of happiness must be such\nas can obtain complete happiness without diminishing the activity and\nhappiness of others. The first great condition of the attainment of the\nend is, therefore, justice, and, as a supplement to this, negative and\npositive beneficence,--abstinence from diminishing the spheres of\nactivity of others, and further, a positive increase of their pleasure.\nFor man is sympathetic, and the sympathetic pleasures increase the sum\ntotal of happiness.\n\nThe exercise[38] of all the faculties in which happiness consists is not\nonly man's right but also his duty. For the fact of pain, of punishment,\nproves that God intends and wills such exercise. But the exercise of all\nthe faculties is freedom; all men have, therefore, a right to freedom of\naction. This principle, however, implies a limitation of man by men,\nwhereby we arrive at the general proposition that every man may claim\nthe fullest liberty to exercise his feelings _compatible with the\npossession of a like liberty in every other man_. In the progress of\nmankind, or adaptation, the conduct which hurts necessary feelings in\nothers must inevitably undergo restraint and consequent limitation;\nconduct which hurts only their incidental feelings, as those of caste or\nprejudice, will not inevitably be restrained, but if it springs from\nnecessary feelings, will, on the contrary, be continued at the expense\nof these incidental feelings and to their final suppression. Morality is\n_not_, therefore, to be interpreted as a refraining from the infliction\nof any pain whatever, for some sentiment must be wounded; and by much\nwounding it is gradually weakened. When men mutually behave in a way\nthat offends some essential element in the nature of each, and all in\nturn have to bear the consequent suffering, there will arise a tendency\nto curb the desire that makes them so behave.\n\nQuestions of individual morality seem to present a difficulty to this\ntheory of freedom. Thus, for instance, on the principle above adopted,\nthe liberty of drunkenness cannot be condemned as long as the drunkard\nrespects a like liberty in others; and here we fall into the\ninconsistency of affirming that a man is at liberty to do something\nessentially destructive of happiness. However, if we admit, as we must,\nthat liberty is the _primary_ law, no desire to get a secondary law\nfulfilled can warrant us in breaking this primary one; we must deal with\nsecondary laws as best we can.\n\nThe first principle above stated may also be secondarily derived. The\nregulation of conduct is not left to the accident of a philosophical\ninquiry; the agent of morality is the Moral Sense.\n\nIn all ages, but more especially in recent ones, have there been\naffirmations of the equality of all men and their equal right to\nhappiness. When we find that a belief like this is not only permanent\nbut daily gaining ground, we have good reason to conclude that it\ncorresponds to some essential element of our moral constitution; more\nespecially since we find that its existence is in harmony with that\nchief prerequisite to greatest happiness lately dwelt upon; and that its\ngrowth is in harmony with the law of adaptation, by which the greatest\nhappiness is being wrought out.\n\nTo assert, however, that the sense of justice is but the gradually\nacquired conviction that benefits spring from some kinds of action, and\nevils from other kinds, the sympathies and antipathies contracted\nmanifesting themselves as a love of justice and a hatred of injustice,\nis as absurd as to conclude that hunger springs from a conviction of the\nbenefit of eating.\n\nThe Moral Sense must be regarded as a special faculty, since, otherwise,\nthere would be nothing during the dormancy of the other faculties, which\nmust sometimes occur, to prevent an infringement on the freedom\nrequisite for their future action.\n\nAs Adam Smith has shown in his \"Theory of Moral Sentiments,\" the proper\nregulation of our conduct to others is secured by means of a faculty\nwhose function it is to excite in each being the emotions displayed by\nthe beings about him. The sentiment of justice is nothing but a\nsympathetic affection of the instinct of personal rights, a sort of\nreflex function of it. Other things being equal, those persons\npossessing the strongest sense of personal rights have, also, the\nstrongest sense of the rights of others. There is no _necessary_\nconnection between the two; but in the average of cases they bear a\nconstant ratio.\n\nIt may be objected that if the truth that every man has a freedom to do\nall that he wills, provided he infringe not upon the equal freedom of\nothers, be an axiom, it should be recognized by all, as is not the case.\nThis difficulty seems in part due to the impossibility of making the\nperfect law recognize an imperfect state. It may further be answered\nthat the Bushman knows nothing of the science of mathematics, yet that\narithmetic is a fact; the difference in men's moral perceptions is no\ndifficulty in our way, but rather illustrates the truth of our theory,\nsince man is not yet adapted to the social state.\n\nIn further confirmation of the doctrine of the free exercise of\nfunction, it may be added that, since non-fulfilment of desire produces\nmisery, if God is to be regarded as willing such non-fulfilment, he must\nbe regarded as willing men's misery; which is absurd. If men are not\nnaturally free, then a doctrine of the divine right of kings is easily\nreached, and whoever is king must be regarded as such by divine right,\nno matter how he reached the throne.\n\nSpencer then proceeds to apply his first principle or axiom of freedom\nto prove the right to life and liberty, to the use of the earth, to\nproperty and free speech; and considers further the rights of women and\nof children, and the political rights of individuals; the constitution\nand duty of the state; commerce, education, and the poor-laws;\ngovernment colonization, sanitary supervision, postal arrangements, etc.\nA remarkable feature of this part of \"Social Statics\" is that Spencer,\nwhile applying his principle with quite an opposite result to all other\nproperty, advocates the nationalization of the land, on the ground that\nthe freedom of the individual is right only in so far as it does not\nhinder a like freedom in others; and that the monopolization of the\nprivileges of land-ownership by individuals does prevent the enjoyment\nof the same privilege by others.\n\n\nGENERAL CONSIDERATIONS\n\nThe course of civilization could not possibly have been other than it\nhas been.\n\nProgress shows us that perfect individuation joined to the greatest\nmutual dependence will be reached in the future of the race. There will\nbe an ultimate identity of personal and social interests, and a\ndisappearance of evil. Spencer gives, however, a number of arguments to\nprove that the interest of society is, at present also, the interest of\nthe individual.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe \"Theory of Population\" (published in 1852), which is founded on the\ntheory of an antagonism between the intellectual and the reproductive\npowers, and on the ancient theory of a direct relation between\nskull-capacity or brain-size and intellectual power, contains this\npassage: \"From the beginning, pressure of population has been the\nproximate cause of progress. It produced the original diffusion of the\nrace. It compelled men to abandon predatory habits and take to\nagriculture. It led to the clearing of the earth's surface. It forced\nmen into the social state; made social organization inevitable; and has\ndeveloped the social sentiments. It has stimulated to progressive\nimprovements in production, and to increased skill and intelligence. It\nis daily pressing us into closer contact and more mutually dependent\nrelationships. And after having caused, as it ultimately must, the due\npeopling of the globe, and the bringing of all its habitable parts into\nthe highest state of culture,--after having brought all processes for\nthe satisfaction of human wants to the greatest perfection,--after\nhaving, at the same time, developed the intellect into complete\ncompetency for its work, and the feelings into complete fitness for\nsocial life,--after having done all this, we see the pressure of\npopulation, as it gradually finishes its work, must gradually bring\nitself to an end.\"\n\nIn a letter to Mr. Mill, published in Bain's \"Mental and Moral Science\"\n(p. 721, 3d edition), Spencer repudiates the title of Anti-Utilitarian,\nwhich Mr. Mill, in view of the criticisms of Utilitarianism contained in\n\"Social Statics,\" had applied to him. He defines his position in respect\nto Utilitarianism as follows: \"I have never regarded myself as an\nAnti-Utilitarian. My dissent from the doctrine of Utility as commonly\nunderstood, concerns, not the object to be reached by men, but the\nmethod of reaching it. While I admit that happiness is the ultimate end\nto be contemplated, I do not admit that it should be the proximate end.\nThe Expediency Philosophy, having concluded that happiness is a thing to\nbe achieved, assumes that Morality has no other business than\nempirically to generalize the results of conduct, and to supply for the\nguidance of conduct nothing more than its empirical generalizations.\n\n\"But the view for which I contend is, that Morality properly\nso-called--the science of right conduct--has for its object to determine\nhow and why certain modes of conduct are detrimental, and certain other\nmodes beneficial. These good and bad results cannot be accidental, but\nmust be necessary consequences of the constitution of things, and I\nconceive it to be the business of Moral Science to deduce from the laws\nof life and the conditions of existence what kinds of action necessarily\ntend to produce happiness and what kinds to produce unhappiness. Having\ndone this, its deductions are to be recognized as laws of conduct; and\nare to be conformed to irrespective of a direct estimation of happiness\nor misery.\n\n\"Perhaps an analogy will most clearly show my meaning. During its early\nstages, planetary astronomy consisted of nothing more than accumulated\nobservations respecting the positions and motions of the sun and\nplanets; from which accumulated observations it came by and by to be\nempirically predicted, with an approach to truth, that certain of the\nheavenly bodies would have certain positions at certain times. But the\nmodern science of planetary astronomy consists of deductions from the\nlaw of gravitation--deductions showing why the celestial bodies\nnecessarily occupy certain places at certain times. Now the kind of\nrelation which thus exists between ancient and modern astronomy is\nanalogous to the kind of relation which, I conceive, exists between the\nExpediency Morality and Moral Science properly so-called. And the\nobjection which I have to the current Utilitarianism is, that it\nrecognizes no more developed form of morality--does not see that it has\nreached but the initial stage of Moral Science.\n\n\"To make my position fully understood, it seems needful to add that,\ncorresponding to the fundamental propositions of a developed Moral\nScience, there have been, and still are, developing in the race, certain\nfundamental moral intuitions; and that, though these moral intuitions\nare the results of accumulated experiences of Utility, gradually\norganized and inherited, they have come to be quite independent of\nconscious experience. Just in the same way that I believe the intuition\nof space possessed by any living individual, to have arisen from the\norganized and consolidated experiences of all antecedent individuals,\nwho bequeathed to him their slowly developed nervous organizations--just\nas I believe that this intuition, requiring only to be made definite and\ncomplete by personal experiences, has practically become a form of\nthought, apparently quite independent of experience; so do I believe\nthat the experiences of utility organized and consolidated through all\npast generations of the human race, have been producing nervous\nmodifications, which, by continued transmission and accumulation, have\nbecome in us certain faculties of moral intuition, certain emotions\nresponding to right and wrong conduct, which have no apparent basis in\nthe individual experiences of utility. I also hold that, just as the\nspace-intuition responds to the exact demonstrations of geometry, and\nhas its rough conclusions interpreted and verified by them, so will\nmoral intuitions respond to the demonstrations of Moral Science; and\nwill have their rough conclusions interpreted and verified by them.\"\n\nIn \"Recent Discussions in Science, Philosophy, and Morals\"[39] (1871),\nSpencer, after quoting portions of the above letter as defining his\nposition, continues with a consideration of the continual readjustment\nof the compromise between the ideal and the practicable, the former of\nwhich prescribes a system far too good for men as they are, the latter\nof which does not of itself tend to establish a system better than the\nexisting one; and he reiterates his law of the perfect man as follows:--\n\n\"Granted that we are chiefly interested in ascertaining what is\n_relatively_ right, it still follows that we must first consider what is\nabsolutely right; since the one conception presupposes the other.\"\nSpencer further expressly repudiates empirical Utilitarianism, and\ndenies the assertion of Mr. Hutton that he by implication recognizes no\nparentage for morals beyond that of the accumulation and organization of\nthe facts of experience. On this head he says:--\n\n\"In the genesis of an idea, the successive experiences, be they of\nsounds, colors, touches, tastes, or be they of the special objects that\ncombine many of these into groups, have so much in common that each,\nwhen it occurs, can be definitely thought of as like those which\npreceded it. But in the genesis of an emotion, the successive\nexperiences so far differ that each of them, when it occurs, suggests\npast experiences which are not specifically similar, but have only a\ngeneral similarity; and, at the same time, it suggests benefits or evils\nin past experience which likewise are various in their special natures,\nthough they have a certain community of general nature. Hence it results\nthat the consciousness aroused is a multitudinous confused\nconsciousness, in which, along with a certain kind of combination among\nimpressions received from without, there is a vague cloud of ideal\ncombinations akin to them, and a vague mass of ideal feelings of\npleasure or pain that were associated with them. We have abundant proof\nthat feelings grow up without reference to recognized causes and\nconsequences, and without the possessor of them being able to say why\nthey have grown up, though analysis, nevertheless, shows that they have\nbeen formed out of connected experiences. The experiences of utility I\nrefer to are those which become registered, not as distinctly recognized\nconnections between certain kinds of acts and certain kinds of remote\nresults, but those which become registered in the shape of associations\nbetween groups of feelings that have often recurred together,\nthough the relation between them has not been consciously\ngeneralized\"--associations which though little perceived, nevertheless\nserve as incentives or deterrents. Much deeper down than the history of\nthe human race must we go to find the beginnings of these connections.\nThe appearances and sounds which excite in the infant a vague dread\nindicate danger; and do so because they are the physiological\naccompaniments of destructive action.\n\n\"What we call the natural language of anger is due to a partial\ncontraction of those muscles which actual combat would call into play;\nand all marks of irritation, down to that passing shade over the brow\nwhich accompanies slight annoyance, are incipient stages of these same\ncontractions. Conversely with the natural language of pleasure, and of\nthat state of mind which we call amicable feeling; this, too, has a\nphysical interpretation.\"\n\nOf the altruistic sentiments, Spencer says: \"The development of these\nhas gone on only as fast as society has advanced to a state in which the\nactivities are mainly peaceful. The root of all the altruistic\nsentiments is sympathy, and sympathy could become dominant only when the\nmode of life, instead of being one that habitually inflicted direct\npain, became one which conferred direct and indirect benefits; the pains\ninflicted being mainly incidental and indirect.\" Sympathy is \"the\nconcomitant of gregariousness; the two having all along increased by\nreciprocal aid.\"\n\n\"If we suppose all thought of rewards or punishments, immediate or\nremote, to be left out of consideration, it is clear that any one who\nhesitates to inflict a pain because of the vivid representation of that\npain which rises in his consciousness, is restrained not by any sense of\nobligation or by any formulated doctrine of utility, but by the painful\nassociations established in him. And it is clear that if, after repeated\nexperiences of the moral discomfort he has felt from witnessing the\nunhappiness indirectly caused by some of his acts, he is led to check\nhimself when again tempted to those acts, the restraint is of like\nnature. Conversely with the pleasure-giving acts, repetitions of kind\ndeeds and experiences of the sympathetic gratifications that follow tend\ncontinually to make stronger the association between deeds and feelings\nof happiness.\"\n\nSpencer continues: \"Eventually these experiences may be consciously\ngeneralized, and there may result a deliberate pursuit of the\nsympathetic gratifications. There may also come to be distinctly\nrecognized the truths that the remoter results are respectively\ndetrimental and beneficial--that due regard for others is conducive to\nultimate personal welfare, and disregard of others to ultimate personal\ndisaster; and then there may become current such summations of\nexperience as 'honesty is the best policy.' But so far from regarding\nthese intellectual recognitions of utility as preceding and causing the\nmoral sentiment, I regard the moral sentiment as preceding such\nrecognitions of utility and making them possible. The pleasures and\npains directly resulting, in experience, from sympathetic and\nunsympathetic actions, had first to be slowly associated with such\nactions, and the resulting incentives and deterrents frequently obeyed,\nbefore there could arise the perceptions that sympathetic and\nunsympathetic actions are remotely beneficial or detrimental to the\nactor; and they had to be obeyed still longer and more generally before\nthere could arise the perceptions that they are socially beneficial and\ndetrimental. When, however, the remote effects, personal and social,\nhave gained general recognition, are expressed in current maxims, and\nlead to injunctions having the religious sanction, the sentiments that\nprompt sympathetic actions and check unsympathetic ones, are immensely\nstrengthened by their alliances. Approbation and reprobation, divine and\nhuman, come to be associated in thought with the sympathetic and\nunsympathetic actions respectively. The commands of a creed, the legal\npenalties, and the code of social conduct, mutually enforce them; and\nevery child, as it grows up, daily has impressed on it, by the words and\nfaces and voices of those around, the authority of these highest\nprinciples.\"\n\nThe altruistic sentiments develop, and altruistic action becomes\nhabitual, \"until at length these altruistic sentiments begin to call in\nquestion the authority of those ego-altruistic sentiments which once\nruled unchallenged.\"\n\nAnd Spencer sums up his objections to the interpretation of his theory\nof the development of the moral sentiment as follows: \"What I have said\nwill make it clear that two fundamental errors have been made in the\ninterpretation put upon it. Both Utility and Experience have been\nconstrued in senses much too narrow.\n\n\"Utility, convenient a word as it is from its comprehensiveness, has\nvery inconvenient and misleading implications. It vividly suggests uses\nand means and proximate ends, but very faintly suggests the pleasures,\npositive or negative, which are the ultimate ends, and which, in the\nethical meaning of the word, are alone considered; and, further, it\nimplies conscious recognition of means and ends--implies the deliberate\ntaking of some course to gain a perceived benefit. Experience, too, in\nits ordinary acceptation, connotes definite perceptions of causes and\nconsequences, as standing in observed relations, and is not taken to\ninclude the connections found in consciousness between states that occur\ntogether, when the relation between them, causal or other, is not\nperceived. It is in their widest senses, however, that I habitually use\nthese words, as will be manifest to every one who reads the 'Principles\nof Psychology.'\"\n\nIn his essay on Prison Ethics (1860), Spencer says: \"The antagonistic\nschools of morals, like many other antagonistic schools, are both right\nand both wrong. The _a priori_ school has its truth; the _a posteriori_\nschool has its truth; and for the proper guidance of conduct there\nshould be due recognition of both. On the one hand, it is asserted that\nthere is an absolute standard of rectitude; and respecting certain\nclasses of actions, it is rightly asserted. From the fundamental laws of\nlife and the conditions of social existence are deducible certain\nimperative limitations to individual action--limitations which are\nessential to a perfect life, individual and social; or, in other words,\nessential to the greatest possible happiness. And these limitations,\nfollowing inevitably as they do from undeniable first principles, deep\nas the nature of life itself, constitute what we may distinguish as\nabsolute morality.\n\n\"On the other hand, it is contended, and in a sense rightly contended,\nthat with men as they are, and society as it is, the dictates of\nabsolute morality are impracticable. Legal control, which involves the\ninfliction of pain, alike on those who are restrained and on those who\npay the cost of restraining them, is proved by this fact to be not\nabsolutely moral, seeing that absolute morality is the regulation of\nconduct in such way that pain shall not be inflicted. Wherefore, if it\nbe admitted that legal control is at present indispensable, it must be\nadmitted that these _a priori_ rules cannot be immediately carried out.\nAnd hence it follows that we must adapt our laws and actions to the\nexisting character of mankind--that we must estimate the good or evil\nresulting from this or that arrangement, and so reach _a posteriori_ a\ncode fitted for the time being. In short, we must fall back on\nexpediency.\" Spencer then goes on to argue that an advanced penal code\nis as impossible to an early stage of civilization as is an advanced\nform of government; a bloody penal code is both a natural product of the\ntime and a needful restraint for the time, and is also the only one\nwhich could be carried out by the existing administration.\n\nThe aim of morality is life, of absolute morality complete life; society\nis therefore justified in coercing the criminal who breaks through the\nconditions of life or constrains us to do so. Coercion is legitimate to\nthe extent of compelling restitution, and preventing a repetition of\naggressions; no further. Less bloody systems of punishment, wherever\nintroduced, have borne excellent fruit. It may be deductively shown that\nthe best of all systems must be that best calculated to reform the\ncriminal; too severe punishment, instead of awakening a sense of guilt,\nprevents the same, begetting a sense of injustice towards the\ninflicting power, which causes resentment; so that, even if the\ncriminal, on reentering society, commits no further crime, he is\nrestrained by the lowest of motives--fear. The industrial system applied\nin prisons must have the best results--counteracting habits of idleness,\nstrengthening self-control, and educating the will.\n\nThe principle of freedom, which runs through all Spencer's works, is\nespecially enounced again, in his essay, \"The Man versus the State\"\n(1884), in which he combats \"the great political superstition\" of\nso-called \"paternal government.\" He says: \"Reduced to its lowest terms,\nevery proposal to interfere with citizens' activities further than by\nenforcing their mutual limitations, is a proposal to improve life by\nbreaking through the fundamental conditions of life.\"[40]\n\nIn \"The Data of Ethics\" (published 1874), Mr. Spencer assumes a somewhat\ndifferent standpoint from that of his earlier works bearing on morals.\nThe course of reasoning contained in this book is as follows:--\n\nThe doctrine that correlatives imply one another has, for one of its\ncommon examples, the relation between the conceptions of whole and part.\nBeyond the primary truth that no idea of a whole can be framed without a\nnascent idea of parts constituting it, and that no idea of a part can be\nframed without a nascent idea of some whole to which it belongs, there\nis the secondary truth that there can be no correct idea of a part\nwithout a correct idea of the correlative whole. Still less, when part\nand whole are dynamically related, and least of all when the whole is\norganic, can the part be understood except by comprehension of the whole\nto which it belongs. This truth holds not only of material but also of\nimmaterial aggregates.\n\nConduct is a whole and, in a sense, an organic whole, and Ethics, of\nwhich it is a part, cannot be understood except through the\nunderstanding of the whole of conduct.\n\nA definition of conduct must exclude purposeless actions,--such, for\ninstance, as those of an epileptic in a fit. Hence the definition\nemerges either: acts adjusted to ends; or, the adjustment of acts to\nends; according as we contemplate the formed body of acts, or think of\nthe form alone. And conduct, in its full acceptation, must be taken as\ncomprehending all adjustments of acts to ends, from the simplest to the\nmost complex, whatever their special natures and whether they are\nconsidered separately or in their totality.\n\nA large part of conduct is non-ethical, indifferent; this passes, by\nsmall degrees and in countless ways, into conduct which is either moral\nor immoral.\n\nThe acts of all living creatures, as acts adjusted to ends, come within\nthe definition of conduct; the conduct of the higher animals as compared\nwith that of man, and of the lower animals as compared with the higher,\ndiffers mainly in that the adjustments of acts to ends is relatively\nsimple and relatively incomplete. And as in other cases, so in this\ncase, we must interpret the more developed by the less developed; human\nconduct as a part of the whole of the conduct of animate beings. And\nfurther: as, in order to understand the part of human conduct with which\nEthics is concerned, we must study it as a part of human conduct as a\nwhole, and in order to understand human conduct, we must again study it\nas a part of the whole of conduct exhibited in animate beings, so, in\norder to comprehend this too, we must regard it as an outcome of former,\nless developed conduct, out of which it has arisen. Our first step must\nbe to study the evolution of conduct.\n\nMorphology deals with physical structure, physiology with the processes\ncarried on in the body. But we enter on the subject of conduct when we\nbegin to study such combinations among the actions of sensory and\nmotor-organs as are externally manifested.\n\nWe saw that conduct is distinguished from the totality of actions by the\nexclusion of purposeless actions; but during evolution this distinction\narises by degrees. We trace up conduct to the vertebrates and through\nthe vertebrates to man, and find that here the adjustments of acts to\nends are both more numerous and better than among lower mammals; and we\nfind the same thing on comparing the doings of higher races of men with\nthose of lower. These better adjustments favor, not only prolongation,\nbut also increased amount of life.\n\nAnd among these adjustments of acts to ends, there are not only such as\nfurther individual life but also, evolving with these, such as favor the\nlife of the species. Race-maintaining conduct, like self-maintaining\nconduct, arises gradually out of that which cannot be called conduct.\nThe multitudinous creatures of all kinds which fill the earth are\nengaged in a continuous struggle for existence, in which the adjustments\nof acts to ends, being imperfectly evolved, miss completeness because\nthey cannot be made by one creature without other creatures being\nprevented from making them. This imperfectly evolved conduct introduces\nus, by antithesis, to conduct which is perfectly evolved,--such\nadjustments that each creature may make them without preventing other\ncreatures making them also. The conditions of such conduct cannot exist\nin predatory savage life; nor can it exist where there remains\nantagonism between individuals forming a group, or between groups of\nindividuals,--two traits of life necessarily associated, since the\nnature which prompts international aggression prompts aggression of\nindividuals on one another also. Hence the limit of evolution can be\nreached by conduct only in permanently peaceful societies; can be\napproached only as war decreases and dies out.\n\nThe principle of beneficence is not derived by Spencer from the\nprinciple of freedom, in \"Social Statics\"; and here, as in the latter\nbook, Spencer has difficulty with it. He says: \"A gap in this outline\nmust now be filled up. There remains a further advance not yet even\nhinted. For beyond so behaving that each achieves his ends without\npreventing others from achieving their ends, the members of a society\nmay give mutual help in the achievement of ends. And if either\nindirectly by industrial cooeperation, or directly by volunteered aid,\nfellow-citizens can make easier for one another the adjustments of acts\nto ends, then their conduct assumes a still higher phase of evolution;\nsince whatever facilitates the making of adjustments by each increases\nthe totality of the adjustments made, and serves to render the lives of\nall more complete.\"\n\nThus, then, says Spencer, \"we have been led to see that Ethics has for\nits subject-matter that form which universal conduct assumes during the\nlast stages of its evolution.\"\n\nBy comparing the meanings of a word in different connections, and\nobserving what they have in common, we learn its essential significance.\nMaterial objects we are accustomed to designate as good or bad according\nas they are well or ill adapted to achieve prescribed ends. The good\nknife is one which will cut; the good gun is one which will carry far\nand true; and so on. So of inanimate actions, and so, also, of living\nthings and actions. A good jump is a jump which, remoter ends ignored,\nwell achieves the immediate purpose of a jump; and a stroke at billiards\nis called good when the movements are skilfully adjusted to the\nrequirements. So too our use of the words good and bad with respect to\nconduct under its ethical aspects has regard to the efficiency or\nnon-efficiency of the adjustments of acts to ends. This last truth is,\nthrough the entanglements of social relations, by which men's actions\noften simultaneously affect the welfares of self, of offspring, and of\nfellow-citizens, somewhat disguised. Nevertheless, when we disentangle\nthe three orders of ends, and consider each separately, it becomes clear\nthat the conduct which achieves each kind of end is regarded as\nrelatively good; and conduct which fails to achieve it is regarded as\nrelatively bad. The goodness ascribed to a man of business, as such, is\nmeasured by the activity and ability with which he buys and sells to\nadvantage, and may coexist with a hard treatment of dependents which is\nreprobated. The ethical judgments we pass on such self-regarding acts\nare ordinarily little emphasized; partly because the promptings of the\nself-regarding desires, generally strong enough, do not need moral\nenforcement, and partly because the promptings of the other-regarding\ndesires, less strong, do need moral enforcement. With regard to the\nsecond class of adjustments of acts to ends, which subserve the rearing\nof offspring, we no longer find any obscurity in the application of the\nwords good and bad to them, according as they are efficient or\ninefficient. And most emphatic are the application of the words, in this\nsense, throughout the third division of conduct comprising the deeds by\nwhich men affect one another. Always, then, acts are good or bad,\naccording as they are well or ill-adapted to ends. That is, good is the\nname we apply to the relatively more evolved conduct; and bad is the\nname we apply to that which is relatively less evolved; for we have seen\nthat \"evolution, tending ever towards self-preservation, reaches its\nlimits when individual life is the greatest, both in length and breadth;\nand we now see that, leaving other ends aside, we regard as good the\nconduct furthering self-preservation, and as bad the conduct tending to\nself-destruction.\" With increasing power of maintaining individual life\ngoes increasing power of perpetuating the species by fostering progeny;\nand the establishment of an associated state both makes possible and\nrequires a form of conduct such that life may be completed in each and\nin his offspring, not only without preventing completion of it in\nothers, but with furtherance of it in others; and this is the form of\nconduct most emphatically termed good. \"Moreover, just as we saw that\nevolution becomes the highest possible when the conduct simultaneously\nachieves the greatest totality of life in self, in offspring, and in\nfellow-men; so here we see that the conduct called good rises to the\nconduct conceived as best, when it fulfils all three classes of ends at\nthe same time.\"\n\nHas this evolution been a mistake? The pessimist claims so, the optimist\nclaims not. But there is one postulate in which both pessimists and\noptimists agree--namely, that it is evident that life is good or bad,\naccording as it does, or does not, have a surplus of agreeable feeling;\nif a future life is included in the theory of either, the assumption is\nstill the same, that life is a blessing or a curse according as\nexistence, now considered in both worlds, contains more of pleasure or\nof pain; and the implication is therefore that conduct which conduces to\nthe preservation of self, the family, and society, is good or bad in the\nsame measure. \"Thus there is no escape from the admission that conduct\nis good or bad according as its total effects are pleasurable or\npainful.\" So that if self-mutilation furthered life, and picking a man's\npocket brightened his prospects, we should regard these acts as good.\nApproach to such a constitution as effects complete adjustment of acts\nto ends of every kind is, however, an approach to perfection, and\ntherefore means approach to that which secures greater happiness.\n\"Pleasure somewhere, at some time, to some being or beings, is an\ninexpugnable element of the conception\" of moral aim.\n\nHere follow criticisms of the religious school of morals, which bases\nits system on the will of God, and of the school of \"pure\nintuitionists,\" who hold \"that men have been divinely endowed with moral\nfaculties.\" \"It must be either admitted or denied that the acts called\ngood and the acts called bad naturally conduce, the one to human\nwell-being and the other to human ill-being. Is it admitted? Then the\nadmission amounts to an assertion that the conduciveness is shown by\nexperience; and this involves abandonment of the doctrine that there is\nno origin for morals apart from divine injunctions. Is it denied that\nacts classed as good and bad differ in their effects? Then it is tacitly\naffirmed that human affairs would go on just as well in ignorance of\nthe distinction; and the alleged need for commandments from God\ndisappears.\" To affirm that we know some things to be right and other\nthings to be wrong, by virtue of a supernaturally given conscience; and\nthus tacitly to affirm that we do not otherwise know right from wrong,\nis tacitly to deny any natural relations between acts and results. For\nif there exist any such relations, then we may ascertain by induction,\nor deduction, or both, what these are. And if it be admitted that\nbecause of such natural relations happiness is produced by this kind of\nconduct, which is therefore to be approved; while misery is produced by\nthat kind of conduct, which is therefore to be condemned; then it is\nadmitted that the rightness or wrongness of actions is determinable, and\nmust finally be determined, by the goodness or badness of the effects\nthat flow from them, which is contrary to the hypothesis. Spencer also\nrepeats and enlarges upon his formerly stated objections to\nutilitarianism as superficial: \"The utilitarianism which recognizes only\nthe principles of conduct reached by induction, is but preparatory to\nthe utilitarianism which deduces these principles from the processes of\nlife as carried on under established conditions of existence.\"\n\nEvery science begins by accumulating observations, and presently\ngeneralizes these empirically, but only when it reaches the stage at\nwhich its empirical generalizations are included in a rational\ngeneralization, does it become developed science. So with Ethics; a\npreparation in the simpler sciences is presupposed. It has a biological\naspect; since it concerns certain effects, inner and outer, individual\nand social, of the vital changes going on in the highest type of\nanimals. It has a psychological aspect; for its subject-matter is an\naggregate of actions that are prompted by feelings and guided by\nintelligence. And it has a sociological aspect; for these actions, some\nof them directly, and all of them indirectly, affect associated beings.\nBelonging under one aspect of each of these sciences,--physical,\nbiological, psychological, sociological,--it can find its ultimate\ninterpretations only in those fundamental truths which are common to all\nof them, as different aspects of evolving life.\n\n\nTHE PHYSICAL VIEW\n\nWhile an aggregate evolves, not only the matter composing it, but also\nthe motion of that matter, passes from an indefinite, incoherent\nhomogeneity to a definite, coherent, heterogeneity. It is so with\nconduct. The conduct of lowly organized creatures has its successive\nportions feebly connected. From these up to man may be observed an\nincrease in cohesion. Man, even in his lowest state, displays in his\nconduct far more coherent combinations of motions; and in civilized man\nthis trait of developed conduct becomes more conspicuous still. But an\neven greater coherence among its component motions broadly distinguishes\nthe conduct we call moral from the conduct we call immoral. The\napplication of the word dissolute to the last, and of the word\nself-restrained to the first, implies this fact. The sequences of\nconduct in the moral man are more easily to be specified, as implied by\nthe word trustworthy applied to them; while those of the less principled\nman cannot be so specified; as is implied by the word untrustworthy.\nIndefiniteness accompanies incoherence in conduct that is little\nevolved; and throughout the ascending stages of evolving conduct there\nis an increasingly definite cooerdination of the motions constituting it,\nuntil we reach the conscientious man, who is exact in all his\ntransactions. With this increase of definiteness and coherence goes also\nan increase of heterogeneity; the moral man performs more varied duties,\nadjustments of acts to ends in more varied relations, than does the\nimmoral man.\n\nEvolution in conduct is, like all other evolution, towards\nequilibrium,--not the equilibrium reached by the individual in death,\nbut a moving equilibrium. His evolution consists in a continual\nadjustment of inner to outer relations, until a state of society shall\nbe reached in which the individual will find his nature congruous with\nthe environment.\n\n\nTHE BIOLOGICAL VIEW\n\n\"The truth that the ideally moral man is one in whom the moving\nequilibrium is perfect, or approaches nearest to perfection, becomes,\nwhen translated with physiological language, the truth that he is one in\nwhom the functions of all kinds are duly fulfilled.\" Either excess or\ndefect in the performance of function results in a lowering of life, for\nthe time being at least. Hence, the performance of every function is, in\na sense, a moral obligation. One test of action is thus given us. An\naction must be classed as right or wrong in respect of its immediate\nbearings, according as it does or does not tend either to the\nmaintenance of complete life for the time being or the prolongation of\nlife to its full extent. This is true even though the remoter bearings\nof the action may call for a different classification. The seeming\nparadoxy of this statement results from the tendency, so difficult to\navoid, to judge a conclusion which presupposes an ideal humanity, by its\napplicability to humanity as now existing. In the ideal state, towards\nwhich evolution tends, any falling short of function implies deviation\nfrom perfectly moral conduct.\n\n\"Fit connections between acts and results must establish themselves in\nliving things, even before consciousness arises; and after the rise of\nconsciousness these connections can change in no other way than to\nbecome better established. At the very outset, life is maintained by\npersistence in acts which conduce to it and desistence from acts which\nimpede it; and whenever sentience makes its appearance as an\naccompaniment, its forms must be such that in the one case the produced\nfeeling is of a kind that will be sought--pleasure, and in the other\ncase is of a kind that will be shunned--pain.\" So, in the case of the\nseizure of food, for example, \"the pleasurable sensation,\" everywhere\nwhere it arises, must be itself the stimulus to the contraction by which\nthe pleasurable sensation is maintained and increased; or must be so\nbound up with the stimulus that the two increase together. \"And this\nrelation, which we see is directly established in the case of a\nfundamental function, must be indirectly established with all other\nfunctions; since non-establishment of it in any particular case implies,\nin so far, unfitness to the conditions of existence.\" \"Sentient\nexistence can evolve only on condition that pleasure-giving acts are\nlife-sustaining acts.\"\n\nIt is true that, in mankind as at present constituted, guidance by\npresent or proximate pleasures and pains fails throughout a wide range\nof cases. This arises throughout evolution by changes in the\nenvironment, from which result partial misadjustments of the feelings,\nnecessitating readjustments. This general cause of derangement has been\noperating on human beings in the changes from a primitive to a\ncivilized condition through the direct opposition and struggle of the\nmilitant and the industrial spirit, in a manner unusually decided,\npersistent, and involved.\n\nBut there is a still further relation between pleasure and welfare to be\nconsidered. There are connections between pleasure in general, and\nphysiological exaltation, and between pain in general and physiological\ndepression. Every pleasure increases vitality, every pain decreases\nvitality. Non-recognition of these general truths vitiates moral\nspeculation at large. \"'You have had your gratification--it is past; and\nyou are as you were before,' says the moralist to one; and to another he\nsays: 'You have borne the suffering--it is over; and there the matter\nends.' Both statements are false; leaving out of view indirect results,\nthe direct results are that the one has moved a step away from death,\nand the other has moved a step towards death.\"\n\nHowever, it is with the indirect results that the moralist is especially\nconcerned; since remote consequences of action are especially to be\nconsidered in ethical questions. But doubtless a better understanding of\nbiological truths would be to the benefit of moral theory and society at\nlarge.\n\nSpencer especially combats, in a note at the end of this chapter,\nBarratt's theory, stated in \"Physical Ethics,\" that movements of\nretraction and withdrawal and movements that secure the continuance of\nthe impression of any acting force, are the external marks,\nrespectively, of pain and pleasure. A great part of the vital processes,\neven in creatures of developed nervous systems, are carried on by\nunconscious reflex action, and there is, therefore, no propriety in\nassuming the existence of what we understand by consciousness in\ncreatures not only devoid of nervous systems but devoid of structures in\ngeneral. It is more proper to conceive such feelings as arising\ngradually, by the compounding of ultimate elements of consciousness.\n\n\nTHE PSYCHOLOGICAL VIEW\n\n\"Mind consists of feelings and the relations among feelings.[41] By\ncompositions of the relations, and ideas of relations, intelligence\narises. By composition of feelings, and ideas of feelings, emotion\narises. And, other things equal, the evolution of either is great in\nproportion as the composition is great. One of the necessary\nimplications is that cognition becomes higher in proportion as it is\nremoter from reflex action; while emotion becomes higher in proportion\nas it is remoter from sensation.\"[42]\n\n\"The mental process by which, in any case, the adjustment of acts to\nends is effected and which, under its higher forms, becomes the\nsubject-matter of ethical judgments, is, as above implied, divisible\ninto the rise of a feeling or feelings constituting the motive, and the\nthought or thoughts through which the motive is shaped and finally\nissues in action. The first of these elements, originally an excitement,\nbecomes a simple sensation; then a compound sensation; then a cluster of\npartially presentative and partially representative sensations, forming\nan incipient emotion; then a cluster of exclusively ideal or\nrepresentative sensations forming an emotion proper; then a cluster of\nsuch clusters forming a compound emotion; and eventually becomes a still\nmore involved emotion composed of the ideal forms of such compound\nemotions. The other element, beginning with that immediate passage of a\nsingle stimulus into a single motion, called reflex action, presently\ncomes to be a set of associated discharges of stimuli producing\nassociated motions; constituting instinct. Step by step arise more\nentangled combinations of stimuli, somewhat variable in their modes of\nunion, leading to complex motions, similarly variable in their\nadjustments; whence occasional hesitations in the sensori-motor\nprocesses. Presently is reached a stage at which the combined clusters\nof impressions, not all present together, issue in actions not all\nsimultaneous, implying representation of results, or thought. Afterwards\nfollow stages in which various thoughts have time to pass before the\ncomposite motives produce the appropriate actions, until at last arise\nthose long deliberations during which the probabilities of various\nconsequences are estimated, and the promptings of the correlative\nfeelings balanced; constituting calm judgment. That, under either of its\naspects, the later forms of this mental process are the higher,\nethically considered as well as otherwise considered, will be readily\nseen.\"[43]\n\n\"Observe, then, what follows respecting the relative authorities of\nmotives. Throughout the ascent from low creatures up to man, and from\nthe lowest types of man to the highest, self-preservation has been\nincreased by the subordination of simple excitations to compound\nexcitations,--the subjection of immediate sensations to the ideas of\nsensations to come,--the overruling of presentative feelings by\nrepresentative feelings, and of representative feelings by\nre-representative feelings. As life has advanced, the accompanying\nsentience has become increasingly ideal; and among feelings produced by\nthe compounding of ideas, the highest, and those which are evolved\nlatest, are the re-compounded or doubly ideal. Hence it follows that, as\nguides, the feelings have authorities proportionate to the degrees in\nwhich they are removed, by their complexity and their ideality, from\nsimple sensations and appetites. A further implication is made clear by\nstudying the intellectual sides of these mental processes by which acts\nare adjusted to ends. Where they are low and simple, these comprehend\nthe guiding only of immediate acts by immediate stimuli--the entire\ntransaction in each case, lasting but a moment, refers only to a\nproximate result. But with the development of intelligence and the\ngrowing ideality of the motives, the ends to which the acts are adjusted\ncease to be exclusively immediate. The more ideal motives concern ends\nthat are more distant; and with approach to the highest types, present\nends become increasingly subordinate to those future ends which the\nideal motives have for their objects. Hence there arises a certain\npresumption in favor of a motive which refers to a remote good, in\ncomparison with one which refers to a proximate good.\"[44]\n\nOut of the three controls of conduct, the political, the religious, and\nthe social, the first and the last of which are generated in the social\nstate through the supremacy of individuals in the midst of a control\nthat is also, in some degree, exerted by the whole community, the moral\nconsciousness grows; the feeling of moral obligation in general arising\nin a manner analogous to that in which abstract ideas are generated, out\nof concrete instances. As in such groupings of instances the different\ncomponents are mutually cancelled to form the abstract idea, so in\ngroupings of the emotions, there takes place a mutual cancelling of\ndiverse components; the common component is made relatively appreciable,\nand becomes an abstract feeling. That which the moral feelings--the\nfeelings that prompt honesty, truthfulness, etc.--have in common, is\ncomplexity and re-representative character. The idea of\nauthoritativeness has, therefore, come to be connected with feelings\nhaving these traits: the implication being that the lower and simpler\nfeelings are without authority. Another element--that of\ncoerciveness--originated from experience of those several forms of\nrestraint that have established themselves in the course of\ncivilization--the political, religious, and social. By punishment is\ngenerated the sense of compulsion which the consciousness of duty\nincludes, and which the word obligation indicates. This sense, however,\nbecomes indirectly connected with the feelings distinguished as moral;\nand slowly fades as these emerge from amidst the political, religious,\nand social motives, and become distinct and predominant. The sense of\nduty is, therefore, transitory, fading as a motive as pleasure in\nright-doing is evolved.\n\n\nTHE SOCIOLOGICAL VIEW\n\n\"Not for the human race only, but for every race, there are laws of\nright living. Given its environment and its structure, and there is, for\neach kind of creature, a set of actions adapted in their kinds, amounts,\nand combinations, to secure the highest conservation its nature\npermits.\" Yet in man we find an additional factor in the formula for\nlife: for man is sociable to a degree not found anywhere else among\nanimals. The conditions of the associated state have therefore called\nfor an emphasizing of those restraints on conduct entailed by the\npresence of fellow-men. \"From the sociological point of view, then,\nEthics becomes nothing else than a definite account of the forms of\nconduct that are fitted to the associated state, in such wise that the\nlives of each and all may be the greatest possible, alike in length and\nbreadth.\" \"But here we are met by a fact which forbids us thus to put in\nthe foreground the welfare of citizens, individually considered, and\nrequires us to put in the foreground the welfare of the society as a\nwhole. The life of the social organism must, as an end, rank above the\nlives of its units.\" These two ends are not harmonious at the outset,\nsince as long as communities are endangered by rival communities, a\nsacrifice of private to public claims is necessary. When, however,\nantagonism between communities shall cease, there will cease to be any\npublic claims at variance with private claims; the need for the\nsubordination of individual lives to the general life will cease, and\nthe latter, having from the beginning had furtherance of individual\nlives as its ultimate purpose, will come to have this as its proximate\npurpose. Between the commands of duty towards members of the same\ncommunity and towards those of different communities as between the\nsentiments answering to these relations, there is, at present, conflict.\nIn the course of evolution, however, the various forms of subjection\ncountenanced by a warlike regime--slavery, the subjection of women to\nmen, and paternal absolutism, become more and more unpopular, and are\ndone away with. For each kind and degree of social evolution, there is\nan appropriate compromise between the moral code of enmity and that of\namity; this is, for the time being, authoritative.[45] But such\ncompromise belongs to incomplete conduct; the end of evolution is in the\nannihilation of enmity between societies as between individuals. Nor is\na mere abstinence from mutual injury enough. Without cooeperation for\nsatisfying wants the social state loses its _raison d'etre_. In all\nefforts for cooeperation equivalence of exchange is a necessary basis;\nall failure to fulfil such equivalence causes antagonism and thus a\ndiminution of social coherence; in the social, as in the animal\norganism, waste without repair destroys the equilibrium of the parts;\nfulfilment of contract is, therefore, the primary condition of the\nwelfare of society.\n\nAnd even mutual punctiliousness in the fulfilment of contract is not\nsufficient to the moral ideal. Daily experience proves that every one\nwould suffer many evils and lose many goods, did none give him unpaid\nassistance. The limit of the evolution of conduct is not reached until,\nbeyond avoidance of direct and indirect injuries to others, there are\nspontaneous efforts to further the welfare of others. The form of nature\nwhich thus adds beneficence to justice, is one which adaptation to the\nsocial state produces. \"The social man has not reached that\nharmonization of constitution with conditions forming the limit of\nevolution, so long as there remains space for the growth of faculties\nwhich, by their exercise, bring positive benefit to others and\nsatisfaction to self. If the presence of fellow-men, while putting\ncertain limits to each man's sphere of activity, opens certain other\nspheres of activity in which feelings, while achieving their\ngratifications, do not diminish but add to the gratifications of others,\nthen such spheres will inevitably be occupied.\"[46] But of beneficence,\nas well as of justice, sympathy is the root.\n\nThe assumption that feelings can be arranged in a scale of\ndesirability, against which Mr. Sidgwick especially argues in his\nobjections to (empirical) egoistic hedonism, is not necessarily an\nelement of such hedonism, although Bentham, in naming intensity,\nduration, certainty, and proximity as traits entering into an estimation\nof the relative value of a pleasure or pain, has committed himself to\nit. But if a debtor who cannot pay offers to compound for his debt by\nmaking over to me any one of various objects of property, will I not\nendeavor to estimate their relative value, though I may not be able to\ndo it exactly; and if I choose wrongly is therefore the ground of choice\nto be abandoned? Mr. Sidgwick's argument against empirical hedonism must\ntell, moreover, in a still greater degree, against his own\nutilitarianism, since this is applicable, not to the individual simply,\nbut to many classes of differing individuals. To this difficulty must be\nadded, moreover, the future indeterminateness of the means for obtaining\nsuch universal happiness. Mr. Sidgwick's objection contains, however, a\npartial truth; for guidance in the pursuit of happiness through the mere\nbalancing of pleasures and pains is, if partially practicable throughout\na certain range of conduct, futile throughout a much wider range. \"It is\nquite consistent to assert that happiness is the ultimate aim of action,\nand at the same time to deny that it can be reached by making it the\nimmediate aim. I go with Mr. Sidgwick as far as the conclusion that 'we\nmust at least admit the desirability of confirming or correcting the\nresults of such comparisons (of pleasures and pains) by any other method\nupon which we may find reason to rely'; and I then go further, and say\nthat throughout a large part of conduct guidance by such comparisons is\nto be entirely set aside and replaced by other guidance.\"\n\nThe fact cited by Mr. Sidgwick as the \"fundamental paradox of hedonism,\"\nthat to get the pleasures of pursuit one must \"forget\" them, is\nexplained by the fact that the pleasures of pursuit lie greatly in the\nconsciousness of capability in the efficient use of means, and the sense\nof the admiration excited thereby in others. And so the \"fundamental\nparadox\" disappears. Yet the truth of the pleasure derived from means as\ndistinguished from ends is of significance. Throughout the evolution of\nconduct we find a growing complexity of adjustment of acts to ends, the\ninterposition of more and more complex means, each as a step to the\nnext, and leading to the final attainment of even remoter ends. Of\nthese means, each set, with its accompanying satisfaction, developed\nwith the function, comes at last to be regarded as proximate end, and\nconstitutes an obligation; and each later and higher order of means\ncomes to take precedence in time and authoritativeness of each earlier\nand lower order of means. In this manner arises the authoritativeness of\nmoral requirements, as designating the latest and highest order of\nmeans.\n\nSuch means are more determinable than the end--happiness--for any\nsociety. What constitutes happiness is more difficult of determination\nthan what constitutes the means of its attainment. We may now see our\nway to reconciling sundry conflicting ethical theories, which generally\nembody portions of the truth, and simply require to be combined in\nproper order in order to embody the whole truth. The theological theory\ncontains a part. If for the divine will, supposed to be supernaturally\nrevealed, we substitute the naturally revealed end towards which the\nPower manifested throughout Evolution works; then, since evolution has\nbeen, and is still, working towards the highest life, it follows that\nconformity to those principles by which the highest life is achieved, is\nfurtherance of that end. The doctrine that perfection or excellence of\nnature should be the purpose of pursuit, is in one sense true; for it\ntacitly recognizes that ideal form of being which the highest life\nimplies, and to which evolution tends. There is a truth, also, in the\ndoctrine that virtue must be the aim; for this is another form of the\ndoctrine that the aim must be to fulfil the conditions to achievement of\nthe highest life. That the intuitions of a moral faculty should guide\nour conduct is a proposition in which a truth is contained; for these\nintuitions are the slowly organized results of experiences received by\nthe race while living in presence of these conditions. And that\nhappiness is the supreme end is beyond question true; for it is the\nconcomitant of that highest life which every theory of moral guidance\nhas, distinctly or vaguely, in view.\n\nThus, those ethical systems which make virtue, right, obligation, the\ncardinal aims, are seen to be complementary to those ethical systems\nwhich make welfare, happiness, pleasure, the cardinal aims.\n\nSpencer follows up this argument with a chapter on the relativity of\npleasures and pains, and then proceeds with an argument against\nexcessive altruism as, in the end, selfish, since it is destructive to\nthe power for work and to individual life, diminishes the vigor of\noffspring, and finally results in the survival of the less altruistic as\nthe fittest; this chapter is under the heading \"Egoism versus Altruism.\"\nIt is followed by a chapter on Altruism versus Egoism, in which is shown\nthat some individual self-sacrifice, at least to offspring, is found far\ndown in the scale of being; that altruism is, therefore, \"no less\nprimordial than self-preservation,\"[47] and hence no less imperative;\nthat this altruism, at first unconscious, becomes, in higher stages of\nevolution, conscious; and that if often selfish in motive, it may be\nwithout any element of conscious self-regard, although it conduces\ngreatly to egoistic satisfaction. Indeed, pure egoism defeats itself,\nsince pleasure palls by over-indulgence, is dulled by maturity, and\nalmost destroyed by old age. He that can find pleasure in ministering to\nthat of others has, however, a source of pleasure which may serve in\nplace of personal pleasure. In the associated state, a certain altruism\nis, and must necessarily be, an advantage to each member of the\ncommunity. Whatever conduces to the well-being of each is conducive to\nthe well-being of all.\n\nHere follows a criticism of utilitarianism as one form of pure altruism,\nsince, according to the utilitarian doctrine, each individual is to\ncount for one, not more than one, and the individual share of happiness\nthus becomes infinitesimal as compared with general happiness. Shall A,\nwho has, by labor, acquired some material happiness, take the attitude\nof a disinterested spectator with regard to their use, as Mr. Mill\nrecommends? And will he, as such, decide on a division of these means to\nhappiness with B, C, and D, who have not labored to produce them? From\nthe conclusion that a really disinterested spectator would not decree\nany such division, Spencer seems to draw the conclusion that Mr. Mill's\nposition is untenable. He further illustrates the untenability of\nutilitarianism (as pure altruism) by the figure of a cluster of bodies\ngenerating heat, each of which will have, as long as it generates heat\nfor itself, a certain amount of proper heat and a certain amount of heat\nderived from the others; whereas the whole cluster will become cold as\nsoon as each ceases to generate heat for itself and depends on the heat\ngenerated by the rest. Utilitarianism involves the further paradox that,\nto achieve the greatest sum of happiness, each individual must be more\negoistic than altruistic. \"For, speaking generally, sympathetic\npleasures must ever continue less intense than the pleasures with which\nthere is sympathy.\" And while the individual must be extremely\nunegoistic in that he is willing to yield up the benefit for which he\nhas labored, he must, at the same time, be extremely egoistic, since he\nis so selfish as willingly to let others yield up to him the benefits\nthey have labored for. \"To assume that egoistic pleasures may be\nrelinquished to any extent is to fall into one of those many errors of\nethical speculation which result from ignoring the laws of biology....\nTo yield up normal pleasure is to yield up so much life; and there\narises the question:--to what extent may this be done?... Surrender,\ncarried to a certain point, is extremely mischievous, and to a further\npoint, fatal.\"[48] After beginning, however, with this assertion that to\nassume that egoistic pleasure may be relinquished to any extent is to\nfall, from ignorance of biology, into an error of ethical speculation,\nSpencer reaches only the conclusion that, if the individual is to\ncontinue living, he _must_ take \"certain amounts\" of those pleasures\nwhich go along with the fulfilment of the bodily functions, and that\n\"the portion of happiness which it is possible for him to yield up for\nredistribution is a limited portion.\" He further argues that \"a\nperfectly moral law must be one which becomes perfectly practicable as\nhuman nature becomes perfect\"; but that the law of utilitarianism does\nnot so become practicable, since opportunities for practising altruism,\nwhich originate in imperfection in others, will diminish and finally\ndisappear in the ideal state. There is no addition to happiness by\nredistribution, and there is the additional labor and loss of time of\nsuch redistribution. The conclusion must be that \"general happiness is\nto be achieved mainly through the adequate pursuit of their own\nhappiness by individuals, while reciprocally, the happiness of\nindividuals is to be achieved in part by their pursuit of the general\nhappiness.\" The chapter on the conciliation of altruism and egoism is\noccupied with the development of sympathy, as the militant spirit grows\nless. The expression of emotion, as also the power of interpreting such\nexpression, must become greater as the impelling cause to concealment\nfound in lack of sympathy, disappears. When conditions require any class\nof activities to be relatively great, there will arise a relatively\ngreat pleasure accompanying that class of activities; the scope for\naltruistic activities will not exceed the desire for altruistic\nsatisfaction. Such altruistic satisfaction, though in a transfigured\nsense egoistic, will not be pursued egoistically--that is, from egoistic\nmotives. General altruism will resist too great altruism in the\nindividual, and as the occasion for self-sacrifice disappears, altruism\nwill take on the ultimate form of sympathy with the pleasure of others\nproduced by the successful activities of these. And so there will\ndisappear the apparently permanent opposition between egoism and\naltruism.\n\nThe last two chapters of \"The Data of Ethics\" deal with Ethics as the\nlaw of the ideal man in an ideal society, and treat of the attainment of\ngeneral principles in this science as in other sciences by the neglect\nof conflicting factors, and the recognition of fundamental factors, in\nthe gradually accumulated knowledge of society. On account of the\ndiversity of men and societies, a code of perfect personal conduct can\nnever be made definite; only certain general conditions of perfection\ncan be pointed out. As life is now carried on, the conflict of claims is\ncontinual; and ethical science, here necessarily empirical, can do no\nmore than aid in making least objectionable compromises. Absolute\nEthics, which supplies the law of perfect right-doing possible only in\nan ideal state, does not greatly aid Relative Ethics, yet it aids\nsomewhat, as keeping before consciousness an ideal conciliation of\nclaims, and suggesting search for the best form of compromise possible\nunder the circumstances.\n\n\"Justice,\" which constitutes Part IV. of \"The Principles of Ethics,\" and\nto which \"The Data of Ethics\" belongs as Part I., was published (1891)\nin advance of Parts II. and III. The argument of the book runs as\nfollows:--\n\nEthics properly involves a consideration of the conduct of animals as\nwell as of human beings, for the primary subject-matter of Ethics is\nconduct considered as producing good and bad results to self or others,\nor both, not, as most people believe, conduct as calling forth\napprobation or disapprobation. And even on this latter view, Ethics\nincludes Animal Ethics, since we feel approbation or disapprobation with\nregard to many actions of animals.\n\nAnimal Ethics includes, as its two cardinal principles, the opposed\nclasses of altruistic and egoistic acts. For preservation of the\nspecies, benefits received must be, during immaturity, inversely\nproportionate to merit or capacities possessed, merit being measured by\npowers of self-sustentation, and after maturity, directly proportionate\nto worth as measured by fitness to the conditions of existence.\nFurthermore, though the species is made up of individuals, many of these\nindividuals may disappear and the species still be preserved, whereas\nits disappearance as a whole involves absolute failure in achieving the\nend, so that, where preservation of individuals conflicts with\npreservation of the species, the individuals must be sacrificed.\n\nThe principle that among adults benefits must be in proportion to\nmerits, implies in its biological aspect survival of the fittest. Its\nviolation involves double harm to the species by sacrifice of the\nsuperior to the inferior, and consequent increase of the inferior.\n\"Interpreted in ethical terms, it is that each individual ought to be\nsubject to the effects of its own nature and resulting conduct\"; and\nthroughout sub-human life this rule holds without qualification. The\nsame principle is displayed in the mutual relations of the parts of\norganisms, every part being nourished in proportion to its use or\nfunction, a balancing of the relative powers of the parts being thus\neffected, and the organism \"fitted as a whole to its existence by having\nits parts continuously proportioned to the requirements.\" In a parallel\nmanner, the species as a whole is fitted to its environment by the\ngreater prosperity to self and offspring that comes to those better\nadapted.\n\nBut sub-human justice is extremely imperfect, alike in general and in\ndetail.\n\nIn general it is imperfect, in that the sustentation of multitudinous\nspecies depends on the wholesale destruction of others; so that, in the\nspecies serving as prey, the relations between conduct and consequence\nare so habitually broken that in very few individuals are they long\nmaintained. It is true the destruction of the species serving as prey is\nthe result of their natures; \"but this violent ending of the immense\nmajority implies that the species is one in which justice, as above\nconceived, is displayed in but small measure.\" Sub-human justice is also\nimperfect in detail, in that the relation between conduct and\nconsequences is, in such an immense proportion of cases, broken by\naccidents,--such as scarcity of food, inclemencies of weather, invasions\nby parasites, attacks of enemies,--which fall indiscriminately on the\nsuperior and the inferior. As organization becomes higher, sub-human\njustice becomes more decided; as general superiority increases, there\nis less dependence on accident, and individual differences become more\nimportant.\n\nWith the beginning of gregariousness, we find the new element of\ncooeperation, passive or active, which is an advantage to the species.\nThis involves so much restraint of conflicting acts as will leave a\nbalance of advantage; else survival of the fittest will exterminate the\nvariety in which association begins. The experience of the evils of not\nmaintaining such limits to action results in an inherited tendency to\nmaintain them. The general consciousness of the need for maintaining\nthem results in punishment of their disregard. Self-subordination among\nsolitary animals is found only in parenthood; among gregarious animals\nthere is a further subjection of the individual to his kind, and where\nan occasional sacrifice of life furthers the preservation of species,\nsub-human justice may rightly have this second limitation.\n\nIn order of priority, the law of relation between conduct and\nconsequence, the principle that each individual ought to receive the\ngood and evil resulting from his own nature, stands first; it is the\nprimary law holding of all creatures. The law of the restraint, in\ngregarious animals, of interfering acts, is second in time and\nauthority, and is simply a specification of the form which the primary\nlaw takes under conditions of gregarious life, since, in asserting\nrestriction of the interactions of conduct and consequence, it tacitly\nreasserts that these interactions must be maintained in other\nindividuals, that is, in all individuals. The third law, of the\noccasional sacrifice of individuals to their kind, is later and narrower\nin application, and a qualification of the first law. The first law is\nabsolute for animals in general; the second is absolute for gregarious\nanimals; but the third \"is relative to the existence of enemies of such\nkinds that, in contending with them, the species gains more than it\nloses by the sacrifice of a few members; and in the absence of such\nenemies this qualification imposed by the third law disappears.\"\n\nAs human life is a development of sub-human life, so human justice is a\ndevelopment of sub-human justice. According to pure justice, the\nindividual should suffer the consequences of his acts, and that such is\nthe general opinion is implied in such common expressions as: \"He has no\none to blame but himself\"; \"He has made his own bed, and now he must lie\non it\"; \"He has got no more than he deserved\"; or, \"He has fairly earned\nhis reward.\"\n\nThe truth that, with higher organization, danger from accident becomes\nless, longevity is greater, and so differences count for more, showing\ntheir effects for longer periods, and justice therefore becomes greater,\napplies also to human beings. The rate of mortality decreases with man,\nand according to his civilization.\n\nMore clearly in the case of human beings than in that of other animals\nis it shown that gregariousness establishes itself because it profits\nthe variety. Where a variety live on wild food, they associate only in\nsmall groups; game and fruit, widely distributed, can support these\nonly. \"But greater gregariousness arises where agriculture makes\npossible the support of a large number on a small area; and where the\naccompanying development of industries introduces many and various\ncooeperations.\" The advantages of cooeperation can be had only by\nconformity to the conditions which association imposes--by such\nlimitation of the pursuits of individuals as to leave a surplus of\nadvantage to associated life. \"This truth is illustrated by the\nunprosperous or decaying state of communities in which the trespasses of\nindividuals on one another are so numerous and great as generally to\nprevent them from severally receiving the normal results of their\nlabors.\" Mutual restraint being more imperative with human beings than\nwith animals, there is with them a still more marked habit of\npunishment.\n\n\"Through all which sets of facts is manifested the truth, recognized\npractically if not theoretically, that each individual, carrying on the\nactions which subserve his life, and not prevented from receiving their\nnormal results, good and bad, shall carry on these actions under such\nrestraints as are imposed by the carrying on of kindred actions by other\nindividuals, who have similarly to receive such normal results, good and\nbad. And vaguely, if not definitely, this is seen to constitute what is\ncalled justice.\"\n\nIn the highest gregarious creature, the necessity which we found, of an\noccasional sacrifice of the individual in defence of species, assumes\nlarge proportions, the defence being not only against enemies of other\nkinds, but also against enemies of the same kind. This obligation is\nless than that of care for offspring, or mutual restraint. It exists\nonly as necessary to protect the society against destruction, hence only\nfor defensive, not for offensive, war. It may be objected that war\npeoples the earth with the stronger, but this is not necessarily so,\nsince the conquered may merely be fewer in number. And further, it is\nonly during the earlier stages of human progress that the development of\nstrength, courage, and cunning are of chief importance. But for an\naccident, Persia would have conquered Greece; and Tartar hordes once\nvery nearly overwhelmed European civilization. The races best fitted for\nsocial life do not necessarily conquer, and there are injurious moral\nreactions on both conquering and conquered. Only defensive war retains a\nquasi-ethical justification. It belongs, however, to a transitional\nstate, and is not justified by Absolute Ethics.\n\nAs the organs of inferior animals are moulded into fitness for the\nrequirements of life, so, simultaneously, through nervous modifications,\ntheir sensations, instincts, emotions, and intellectual aptitudes are\nalso moulded to these requirements,--in the gregarious animals to the\nconditions of gregarious life. Many evolutionists appear to regard the\nvariability of man as ceasing with civilized life, but the whole analogy\nof nature is against such a theory; we must assume that man, like other\nanimals, is moulded to suit his requirements, and that moral changes are\namong those thus wrought out. Aggressive actions often entail suffering\non the individuals of a group performing them, as well as on the group\nas a whole, and on the other hand, harmonious cooeperation in a group\nprofits the average of its members; so that there is a tendency to\nsurvival of groups having such adaptation of nature. And just as a love\nof property, formerly gratified by possession of food and shelter, came\nlater to be extended to the weapons for obtaining these, and, later,\neven to the raw materials, the pleasure in ownership becoming more and\nmore abstract and remote from material satisfaction, so the natural\nimpatience of animal nature at restraint of its powers becomes in man a\nsentiment of egoistic justice, for justice requires the free play of all\nforces in order that the results of character may fall upon the\nindividual. It is more difficult to understand how the altruistic\nsentiment of justice comes into being. On one hand, its implication is\nthat it can be developed only by adaptation to social life; on the\nother, it appears that social life is impossible without the maintenance\nof those equitable relations which imply a sentiment of justice. These\nrequirements are fulfilled by a pro-altruistic sentiment of justice,\nwhich takes its place. The first deterrent from aggression, among\nanimals, is fear of retaliation; a further restraint, with man, is fear\nof reprobation or social disgrace. To these are to be added the feelings\narising under political and religious authority--the dread of legal\npunishment and the dread of divine vengeance; and these four kinds of\nfeelings cooeperate, forming a body of feeling, which checks the\nprimitive tendency to pursue the objects of desire without regard to the\ninterests of fellow-men, and though containing nothing of the altruistic\nsentiment of justice, makes social cooeperation possible. Creatures which\nbecome gregarious, tend to become sympathetic in degrees proportionate\nto their intelligence--by sympathy being meant the arousing of kindred\nfeeling by the witness of a display of feeling in others, sympathy being\nfostered by common enjoyments and sufferings. The altruistic sentiment\nof justice is slow in assuming a high form, \"partly because its primary\ncomponent does not become highly developed until a late phase of\nprogress, partly because it is relatively complex, and partly because it\nimplies a stretch of imagination not possible for low intelligences.\"\nAs, until pain has been felt, there cannot be sympathy with pain, so the\naltruistic sentiment of justice cannot be developed until the egoistic\nsentiment has arisen; moreover, the sentiment of justice is concerned,\nnot only with concrete pains and pleasures, but also with their\nconditions, and hence this sentiment demands a development of the power\nof mental representation.\n\nThere is a close connection between the sentiment of justice and the\nsocial type. Predominant militancy affords no scope for the egoistic\nsentiment of justice, and at the same time sympathy is perpetually\nseared by militant activities. On the other hand, as fast as voluntary\ncooeperation, which characterizes the industrial type of society, becomes\nmore general than compulsory cooeperation, which characterizes the\nmilitant type of society, individual activities become less restrained,\nand the sentiment which rejoices in the scope for them is encouraged;\nwhile simultaneously, the occasions for repressing the sympathies become\nless frequent.\n\nThe idea of justice is different from the mere sentiment of justice; the\nformer gradually arising from the latter, in the course of generations,\nby experience of the limits to which action can be carried without\ncausing resentment from others. But since the kinds of activity are many\nand become increasingly various with the development of social life, it\nis a long time before the general nature of the limit common to all\ncases can be conceived. A further reason for the slowness of development\nis, that the arising ideas of justice have been perpetually confused by\nthe conflicting requirements of internal amity and external enmity.\n\nTwo elements, a positive and a negative, constitute the idea of\njustice--that of man's recognition of his claims to unimpeded activities\nand the results they bring, and that of the limits which the presence of\nother men necessitate. The primordial ideal suggested is inequality, for\nsince the principal is that each should receive the results due to his\nown nature, then, since men differ in their powers, unequal benefits are\nimplied. But mutual limitations suggest a contrary idea, experience\nshowing that the bounds to which one may pursue his own ends are, on the\naverage, the same for all, so that the idea of equality arises.\nUnbalanced appreciations of these two factors in human justice lead to\ndivergent moral and social theories.\n\nAmong the rudest men the appreciations are no higher than among inferior\ngregarious animals. Where war has developed political organization the\nidea of inequality predominates, but the idea is one, not of natural,\nbut of artificial apportionment. And in general, we find that the\nprimary or brute factor in justice is but little qualified by the human\nfactor.\n\nAll movements are rhythmical, social movements included, and after the\nidea of justice in which inequality predominates comes a conception in\nwhich the idea of equality unduly predominates--as in Bentham's ethical\ntheory, where \"one person's happiness, supposed equal in degree (with\nproper allowance made for kind), is accounted for exactly as much as\nanother's\"; and this is the theory which Communism would reduce to\npractice. It is an absolute denial of the principle of inequality, and\nmust apply alike to the worthy and unworthy, as well as to the superior\nand inferior in physical and intellectual capacities, since moral\ninequalities are as much inherited as others. Here we have a deliberate\nabolition of that cardinal distinction between the ethics of the family\nand the ethics of the state emphasized at the outset--\"an abolition\nwhich, as we saw, must eventuate in decay and disappearance of the\nspecies or variety in which it takes place.\"\n\nThe true principle shows an amalgamation of these two. \"The equality\nconcerns the mutually limited spheres of action which must be maintained\nif associated men are to cooeperate harmoniously. The inequality concerns\nthe results which each may achieve by carrying on his actions within the\nimplied limits. No incongruity exists when the ideas of equality and\ninequality are applied, the one to the bounds and the other to the\nbenefits. Contrariwise, the two may be, and must be, simultaneously\nasserted.\"\n\n\"Any considerable acceptance of so definite an idea of justice is not to\nbe expected. It is an idea appropriate to an ultimate state, and can be\nbut partially entertained during transitional states; for the prevailing\nideas must, on the average, be congruous with existing institutions and\nactivities.\" During the thirty, or rather forty years' peace, and\nweakening of militant organization, the idea of justice became clearer;\nbut since then the idea of regimentation has spread. It is predominant\nin the conception of socialism with its army of workers with appointed\ntasks and apportioned shares of products, and every act of Parliament\nwhich takes money from the individual for public purposes shows a\ntendency in the same direction. In the countries where militancy is most\npronounced, socialism is most highly developed. \"Sympathy, which, a\ngeneration ago, was taking the shape of justice, is relapsing into\ngenerosity; and the generosity is exercised by inflicting injustice.\nDaily legislation betrays little anxiety that each shall have that which\nbelongs to him, but great anxiety that he shall have that which belongs\nto somebody else.\"\n\nThe formula of justice may be expressed thus: \"Every man is free to do\nthat which he wills, provided he infringes not the equal freedom of any\nother man.\"\n\nThis is not to be interpreted as meaning that aggression is permissible\nas long as retaliation is permitted; for the formula means that\ninterference with another's life is limited, that life shall not be\nimpeded in one case further than is necessary to the maintenance of\nother lives; it does not countenance a superfluous interference on the\nground that an equal interference may balance it. In earlier stages, the\nconception of justice was this erroneous one of a balancing of\ninjuries--an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. By oscillations\nwhich become gradually less, social equilibrium is approached; and with\nthis approach to equilibrium comes approach to a definite theory of\nequilibrium.\n\nIn the reigning school of politics and morals, scorn is expressed for\nevery doctrine which implies restraint of immediate expediency, or what\nappears to be such;--contempt for generalizations and abstract\nprinciples, with unlimited faith in political machinery. Strangely\nenough, we find this approval of political empiricism and disbelief in\nany other guidance, in the world of science also. The accepted\nscientific fact that causation holds of the actions of incorporated men\nas of other parts of nature, remains a dead letter; there is no attempt\nto identify the causation, and ridicule is visited upon those who\nendeavor to find a definite expression for the fundamental principle of\nharmonious social order.\n\nPeoples with whom confusion is not caused by the conflicting disciplines\nof outer war and internal peace, early arrive at the principle of\nequity, and accordingly some uncivilized tribes show a stronger sense of\nit than is found among civilized peoples. Nevertheless, the conception\nof justice has slowly evolved to some extent, and is expressed in such\nformulae as, \"Do unto others as ye would that others should do unto you\"\n(too sweeping a statement of the equality of claims, since it implies no\nrecognition of the inequality necessary in the shares of good\nrespectively appropriate), or in the Kantian rule, which is an\nallotropic form of the Christian rule. Jurists, too, have recognized a\nnatural law of equity underlying human law. To the reproach that belief\nin such a law is an _a priori_ belief, it may be answered that _a\npriori_ beliefs are explained by the theory of evolution, as arising\nwith determination of the nervous system and certain resulting\nnecessities of thought, and that they differ from _a posteriori_ beliefs\nmerely in the circumstance \"that they are the products of the\nexperiences of innumerable successive individuals, instead of the\nexperiences of a single individual.\" If we ask for the ground of the\ngreatest happiness principle, we come to an _a priori_ belief also; for\nwhence is the postulate? If it is an induction, where and by whom has\nthe induction been drawn; and if it is a truth of experience derived\nfrom careful observation, then what are the observations, and when was\nthere generalized that vast mass of them on which all politics and\nmorals should be built? \"Not only are there no such experiences, no such\nobservations, no such inductions, but it is impossible that any should\nbe assigned.\" The like is true of Bentham's rule: \"Everybody to count\nfor one, nobody for more than one,\" and also of the objection to this\nrule, that happiness cannot be divided, or greatest happiness obtained,\nby equal division of the means to happiness; they all lead, in the last\nanalysis, to an _a priori_ belief. Moreover, the rule of natural equity,\nthe freedom of each limited only by the like freedom of all, is not an\nexclusively _a priori_ belief, but although the immediate dictum of the\nhuman consciousness after subjection to the discipline of prolonged\nsocial life, it is deducible from the conditions to be fulfilled,\nfirstly for the maintenance of life at large, and secondly for the\nmaintenance of social life.\n\nRights, properly so-called, are corollaries from the law of equal\nfreedom, and \"so far is it from its being true, as some claim, that the\nwarrant for what are properly called rights is derived from law, it is,\nconversely, true that law derives its warrant from them.\"\n\nIn the application of this theory to practical questions, Mr. Spencer's\n\"Justice\" differs from \"Social Statics,\" which it resembles in form and\nmethod, in general in the greatly increased conservatism of the views\nexpressed. This is shown in all parts of the book, though perhaps most\nclearly in those parts relating to the Rights of Women, to the Land\nQuestion, and to the Limits of State-Duties. \"Social Statics\" advocated\nland-nationalization; but \"Justice,\" though still asserting the original\nright of the aggregate of men forming the community to the use of the\nearth, as that from which all material objects capable of being owned\nare derived and so that on which the right to property is originally\ndependent, denies the expediency and the justice of a present\nredistribution of the land according to this principle; and this because\nof the confusion of claims at the present time, the impossibility of\nascertaining whose ancestors were the robbers and whose the robbed in\nthe gradually arising monopoly, the wrong of making descendants\nresponsible for the sins of their ancestors, and leaving those now\ndependent on the land without compensation for their loss, and the fact\nthat any claim to the land is merely a claim to it in its original\ncondition, not in its present state of drainage and cultivation effected\nby the labor of generations. Moreover, \"under the existing system of\nownership, those who manage the land experience a direct connection\nbetween effort and benefit, while, were it under state-ownership, those\nwho managed it would experience no such direct connection. The vices of\nofficialism would inevitably entail immense evils.\"\n\nThe whole of the practical part of \"Justice\" is especially directed\nagainst Socialism; in general, the course of history shows a less and\nless interference with personal freedom, and growing benefit from this\ncause. The practicality of woman suffrage and of universal man suffrage\nat the present time is denied. If earlier legislation was too much for\nthe benefit of wealthy and ruling classes, recent extensions of the\nsuffrage have resulted in still more injurious class-legislation of\nanother sort.\n\nIn this book, Mr. Spencer seems to adhere to his theory of a \"final\nperfect adaptation to the conditions of social life.\" Not only is the\ndistinction between Relative and Absolute Ethics still drawn, but there\nare numerous references to an \"ultimate state,\" though certain of these\nreferences might suggest the view that by such a state was meant only\nthe attainment of so great a degree of civilization as would involve the\ncessation of wars.[49] Other passages, however, seem to contradict this\nview. One may be especially cited; it is as follows: \"This law [of the\ngradual reestablishment of deranged harmony, through adaptation and\nheredity], holding of human beings among others, implies that the nature\nwhich we inherit from an uncivilized past, and which is still very\nimperfectly fitted to the partially-civilized present, will, if allowed\nto do so, slowly adjust itself to the requirements of a fully-civilized\nfuture.\" And after some consideration of adaptation up to the present\ntime, the paragraph concludes: \"If, in the course of these few thousand\nyears, the discipline of social life has done so much, it is folly to\nsuppose that it cannot do more--folly to suppose that it will not, in\ncourse of time, do all that has to be done.\"[50] But in the abridged and\nrevised edition of \"Social Statics\" (1892), the following passage occurs\nas part of a note at the end of the chapter on \"The Evanescence (?\nDiminution) of Evil.\" \"The rate of progress towards any adapted form\nmust diminish with the approach to complete adaptation, since the force\nproducing it must diminish; so that other causes apart, perfect\nadaptation can be reached only in infinite time.\"[51]\n\nVol. I. of \"The Principles of Ethics,\" including Parts I., II., and\nIII., appeared in August, 1892. In this volume, \"The Data of Ethics,\"\nreprinted as Part I., remains unchanged, except for one or two\nunimportant sentences. To this Part I. is, however, appended a chapter\nwhich was, according to Mr. Spencer, written for the first publication\nof \"The Data of Ethics,\" but was either put aside for some reason, or\nelse overlooked, probably the latter, says the author, since it contains\nmaterial which should have been embodied. The chapter is headed \"The\nConciliation,\" and seems to correspond to the two chapters on \"Trial and\nCompromise\" and \"Conciliation\" which follow the chapters on \"Egoism\n_versus_ Altruism,\" and \"Altruism _versus_ Egoism\"; for it begins with a\nconsideration of the conflict of claims shown by \"the last two\nchapters,\" the apparent impossibility of the establishment of an\nequilibrium, and the consequent apparent necessity of self-sacrifice.\nBut this conflict between egoism and altruism is merely transitional and\nis in process of gradual disappearance, in the same manner in which the\npresent degree of conciliation of the two has been reached,--namely, by\nthe growth of such a constitution in each creature as entails pleasure\nin altruistic action. Even with the lower animals, the acts which are\nnecessary to care for ova or young are the fulfilment of an instinct\nwhich is gratified by the act; and in the human race, conciliation\nbetween egoism and altruism, which goes hand in hand with evolution, has\nreached a high degree. In the evolution of the human race itself, from\nsavagery to its present condition, there has been a marked increase of\nthis conciliation; this is true not only in the family, but to a small\nextent also with regard to the larger groups of men constituting\nsocieties. There is decrease of cruelty, increase of justice, both in\nthe form of state institutions and in their methods of administration,\nmore active benevolence, and a public sentiment that leads large numbers\nof people to find egoistic gratification in the pursuit of the general\ngood even to the neglect of private interests. Self-sacrifice thus\nceases to be sacrifice in the ordinary sense of the word, since it comes\nto bring with it more pleasure than pain. The future must hold in store\nchanges analogous to those of the past, but these must go on much more\nrapidly under the present comparatively peaceful organization of society\nthan they have during the militant life of the past. This moral\ndevelopment is retarded, however, not only by the degree of militancy\nyet existing, but also by the necessity for a certain degree of\nbluntness of feeling, too great sensitiveness to the suffering of others\nentailing, while the pressure of population is as great as at present, a\nmisery that would make life intolerable. It is likely that, with social\nprogress, human fertility will decrease as cerebral activity increases,\nuntil a comparative balance of fertility and mortality is reached as\n\"human evolution approaches its limit of complete adaptation to the\nsocial state\"; and sympathy will increase in proportion, no longer\nentailing on its possessor more of pain than of pleasure, but the\ncontrary. \"Sympathy is the root of every other kind of altruism than\nthat which, from the beginning, originates the parental activities. It\nis the root of that higher altruism which, apart from the\nphiloprogenitive instinct, produces desire for the happiness of others\nand reluctance to inflict pain upon them. These two traits are\ninevitably associated. The same mental faculty which reproduces in the\nindividual consciousness the feelings that are being displayed by other\nbeings, acts equally to reproduce those states when they are pleasurable\nor when they are painful.\"\n\nThe general corollary from the above-described process of evolution is\nthat, with the increase of sympathy there arises the double result, that\nby its increase it tends to decrease the causes of human misery, and in\nproportion as it does this, it becomes itself the cause of further\nreflected happiness received by each from others. \"And the limit towards\nwhich this evolution approaches is one under which, as the amount of\npain suffered by those around from individual imperfections and from\nimperfections of social arrangement and conduct, becomes relatively\nsmall, and simultaneously the growth of sympathy goes on with little\ncheck, the sympathy becomes at the same time almost exclusively a source\nof pleasure received from the happiness of others, and not of pains\nreceived from their pains. And as this condition is approached, the\nfunction of sympathy is not that of stimulating to self-sacrifice and of\nentailing upon its possessor positive or negative pain, but its function\nbecomes that of making him a recipient of positive pleasure.\" Thus\naltruism will overgrow egoism, becoming itself a source of egoistic\npleasure, and eventually, with the diminution of the pressure of\npopulation, there will come a state in which egoism and altruism are so\nconciliated that the one merges in the other.\n\nAmong the social animals, with the ant and the bee, for instance, who\ncannot be supposed to possess a sense of duty, we see that this\nidentification of egoism and altruism, as necessary to social life, has\ntaken place to a considerable extent; and since pleasure of every kind\nis the concomitant of nervous structure, we can understand the pleasure\nin altruistic as well as in egoistic activities, as soon as there exists\nthe nervous structure answering to these activities. As certainly as\nthere yet exist in civilized men instincts of the chase inherited from\nsavage ancestors, there are growing up and will continue to grow up in\nmen, these other structures which will prompt to altruistic activities.\n\nPart II. of \"The Principles of Ethics\" is concerned with \"The\nInductions of Ethics.\" It opens with a chapter on the confusion of\nethical thought due to the fact that, conforming to the general law of\nevolution, \"the set of conceptions constituting ethics, together with\nthe associated sentiments, arise out of a relatively incoherent and\nindefinite consciousness; and slowly acquire coherence and definiteness\nat the same time that the aggregate of them differentiates from the\nlarger aggregate with which it originally mingled. Long remaining\nundistinguished, and then but vaguely discernible as something\nindependent, ethics must be expected to acquire a distinct embodiment\nonly when mental evolution has reached a high stage.\" \"Originally,\nethics has no existence apart from religion, which holds it in solution.\nReligion itself, in its earliest form, is undistinguished from\nancestor-worship,\" which passes, in the second stage, into worship of\ndead rulers, and is a method of propitiation, prompted by self-interest.\nAmong some peoples, the idea of sin is limited to offences against the\ngods; and in those other cases where there are ethical commands, the\npropriety of not offending God is the primary reason given for obeying\nthem. This last phase of thought is illustrated by the religion of the\nHebrews, among whom good and bad conduct was but little associated with\nthe intrinsic natures of right and wrong. The popular belief is still\nthat right and wrong become such by divine fiat.\n\nThe gods of primitive, warlike peoples were gods of war, and the belief\nin the moral virtue and honor of war still holds large place in the\nthought of the world. The ethics of enmity, thus taught at the same time\nwith the ethics of amity necessary to the internal life of society, gave\nrise to utterly inconsistent and contradictory sentiments and ideas,\nwhich, in considerable measure, still exist side by side, in our\nchurches and outside them.\n\nBut, together with these ethical conceptions, there have slowly evolved\nother, utilitarian conceptions, derived from a recognition of the\nnatural consequences of acts. Authority has been introduced into these\nconceptions as the source of the duty of action in accordance with them;\nyet there has generally been also some perception of their fitness. Such\nutilitarian conceptions are to be found in the later Hebrew writings,\namong the Egyptians, Greeks, etc. \"The divergence of expediency-ethics\nfrom theological ethics is well illustrated in Paley, who in his\nofficial character derived right and wrong from divine commands, and in\nhis unofficial character derived them from observation of consequences.\nSince his day, the last of these views has spread at the expense of the\nfirst.\"\n\nA still further simultaneous origin of moral dictates is found in the\nsentiments which have arisen with such habits of conformity to rules of\nconduct as have been furthered by survival of the fittest. We thus have\na conflict of ethical ideas arising from the conflict of these various\nsanctions; and also from the further conflict that ensues where a later\nreligion has been grafted on a more primitive one, as is the case\neverywhere in Christendom.\n\nAmong modern writers who assert the existence of a moral sense, there is\na division between those who regard the dicta of conscience as supreme,\nand those who hold them to be subordinate to divine commands. The two\nare agreed in so far as they regard conscience as having a supernatural\norigin; and, in that they both recognize the moral sentiment as innate\nand suppose human nature to be everywhere the same, they are also, by\nimplication, alike in supposing that the moral sentiment is identical in\nall men.\n\nBut as a matter of fact, the moral sentiment is connected with entirely\ndifferent rules among different peoples, prescribing monogamy among one\npeople, polygamy among another; demanding faithfulness and chastity on\nthe part of women among one people, encouraging adultery among another,\netc.\n\nCommon elements in all codes of rules for conduct are the consciousness\nof authority, whether that of a God, of a ruler or government, or of\nconscience, the more or less definite sense of power or coercion on the\npart of this authority, and the representation of public opinion. These\nelements, combined in different proportions, result in an idea and a\nfeeling of obligation, forming a body of thought and feeling which may\nbe termed pro-ethical, and which, with the mass of mankind, stands in\nplace of the ethical.\n\n\"For now let us observe that the ethical sentiment and idea, properly\nso-called, are independent of the ideas and sentiments above described\nas derived from external authorities, and coercions, and\napprobations--religious, political, or social. The true moral\nconsciousness which we name conscience does not refer to those extrinsic\nresults of conduct which take the shape of praise or blame, reward or\npunishment, externally awarded; but it refers to the intrinsic results\nof conduct which in part and by some intellectually perceived, are\nmainly and by most intuitively felt. The moral consciousness proper\ndoes not contemplate obligations as artificially imposed by an external\npower; nor is it chiefly occupied with estimates of the amounts of\npleasure and pain which given actions may produce, though these may be\nclearly or dimly perceived; but it is chiefly occupied with recognition\nof, and regard for, those _conditions_ by fulfilment of which happiness\nis achieved or misery avoided.\" It may or may not be in harmony with the\npro-ethical sentiment; but in any case it is \"vaguely or distinctly\nrecognized as the rightful ruler, responding as it does to consequences\nwhich are not artificial and variable, but to consequences which are\nnatural and permanent.\" With the established supremacy of this ethical\nsentiment, the feeling of obligation retires into the background, right\nactions being performed \"spontaneously or from liking.\" \"Though, while\nthe moral nature is imperfectly developed, there may often arise\nconformity to the ethical sentiment under a sense of compulsion by it;\nand though, in other cases, non-conformity to it may cause subsequent\nself-reproach (as instance a remembered lack of gratitude, which may be\na source of pain without there being any thought of extrinsic penalty);\nyet with a moral nature completely balanced, neither of these feelings\nwill arise, because that which is done is done in satisfaction of the\nappropriate desire.\"\n\nWhere the really ethical sentiment conflicts with the factitious idea\nand sentiment of obedience to legal authority, the latter may rule at\nthe expense of the former, as, for instance, in the case of a pedler\ncondemned for selling without a license. \"His act of selling is morally\njustifiable, and forbidding him to sell without a license is morally\nunjustifiable--is an interference with his due liberty which is\nethically unwarranted.\"\n\nThe remainder of Part II. of the \"Principles of Ethics\" is occupied with\ndata cited to show that the amount of internal aggression, of revenge\nand robbery, is greater among peoples much occupied with external\naggression, and that these decrease, while justice, generosity (which\nMr. Spencer defines as having a double root, in the philoprogenitive\ninstinct and the relatively modern feeling of sympathy), humanity\n(including kindness, pity, mercy), filial obedience, and industry,\nincrease as more peaceful habits are reached. A greater veracity is also\nindirectly the result of this evolution, since a coercive internal\nstructure of society is connected with external enmity, and such\ncoercive structure is unfavorable to veracity. Chastity also increases\nwith the social evolution, though it does not necessarily characterize\nsocieties of the non-militant type. Its increase is connected with the\ngrowth of the higher moral and aesthetic feelings; romantic love plays a\npredominant part in our art. Intemperance, as causing, indirectly,\nsocial evil by a lowering of social efficiency, must, in like manner,\ndecrease with social advancement.\n\nIn summing up his inductions, Spencer says: \"Though, as shown in my\nfirst work, 'Social Statics,' I once espoused the doctrine of the\nintuitive moralists,... yet it has gradually become clear to me that the\nqualifications required practically obliterate the doctrine as\nenunciated by them. It has become clear to me that if, among ourselves,\nthe current belief is that a man who robs and does not repent will be\neternally damned, while an accepted proverb among the Bilochs is, that\n'God will not favor a man who does not steal and rob'; it is impossible\nto hold that men have in common an innate perception of right and wrong.\n\n\"But now, while we are shown that the moral sense doctrine in its\noriginal form is not true, we are also shown that it adumbrates a truth,\nand a much higher truth. For the facts cited... unite in proving that\nthe sentiments and ideas current in each society become adjusted to the\nkinds of activity predominating in it.... If the life of internal amity\ncontinues unbroken from generation to generation, there must result not\nonly the appropriate code, but the appropriate emotional nature.... Men\nso conditioned will acquire, to the degree needful for complete\nguidance, that innate conscience which intuitive moralists erroneously\nsuppose to be possessed by mankind at large. There needs but a\ncontinuance of absolute peace externally, and a rigorous insistance on\nnon-aggression internally, to insure the moulding of men into a form\nnaturally characterized by all the virtues.\" Complete exemption from war\nhas already been attained by some few isolated peoples. \"May we not\nreasonably infer that the state reached by these small uncultured tribes\nmay be reached by the great cultured nations, when the life of internal\namity shall be unqualified by the life of external enmity?\"\n\nPart III. of the \"Principles of Ethics\" is occupied with practical\nconsiderations concerning \"The Ethics of Individual Life,\" under the\nheadings \"Activity,\" \"Rest,\" \"Nutrition,\" \"Stimulation,\" \"Culture,\"\n\"Amusements,\" \"Marriage,\" \"Parenthood.\" Of the general ethical relation\nof the individual to society, Spencer says:--\"Integration being the\nprimary process of evolution, we may expect that the aggregate of\nconceptions constituting ethics enlarges at the same time that its\ncomponents acquire heterogeneity, definiteness, and that kind of\ncohesion which system gives to them. As fulfilling this expectation, we\nmay first note that while drawing within its range of judgment numerous\nactions of men towards one another which at first were not recognized as\nright or wrong, it finally takes into its sphere the various divisions\nof private conduct--those actions of each individual which directly\nconcern himself only, and in but remote ways concern his fellows.\"\n\nEthics has been commonly regarded as merely a system of interdicts on\ncertain kinds of acts which men would like to do and of injunctions to\nperform certain acts which they would like not to do. It says nothing\nabout the great mass of acts constituting normal life, though these have\ntheir ethical aspect. The pleasurable has been too often regarded as\noutside the legitimate sphere of ethical approval, where not directly\nthe rightful subject of ethical disapproval. But pleasure is an\naccompaniment of vitality, and furthers the vital activities; and if the\ngeneral happiness is to be the aim of action, then the happiness of each\nunit is a fit aim; and there is unquestionably \"a division of ethics\nwhich yields sanction to all the normal actions of individual life,\nwhile it forbids the abnormal ones.\" There is an altruistic as well as\nan egoistic justification of the care for self, since the health of\ndescendants and the ability to provide for offspring is directly\nconcerned; and since such care is needful to exclude the risk of\nbecoming a burden to others. And there is a further positive\njustification of egoism which results from the obligation to expend some\neffort for others, and to become, as far as possible, a source of social\npleasure to others.\n\nIt will be seen, from the above analysis, that the chapter appended to\nPart I. still speaks of an ultimate state of complete adjustment to\nsocial life[52]; this chapter was, however, published from the original\nMS. without alteration. Some passages in Part II. seem to involve the\nsame idea of a possible complete attainment of the ethical end,[53] but\nPart III. closes with reference to \"an approximately complete adjustment\nof the nature to the life which has to be led.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[38] Spencer elsewhere says \"due exercise,\" _vide_ p. 76.\n\n[39] Essay on \"Morals and Moral Sentiment.\"\n\n[40] P. 105.\n\n[41] _Vide_ \"Principles of Psychology.\"\n\n[42] P. 104.\n\n[43] Pp. 104,105.\n\n[44] Pp. 108, 109.\n\n[45] Pp. 134, 148.\n\n[46] P. 147.\n\n[47] Pp. 202, 203.\n\n[48] P. 231.\n\n[49] See pp. 71, 193.\n\n[50] Pp. 258, 259.\n\n[51] As the \"revision\" of the theoretical part of this book chiefly\nconsists, like its abridgment, in the elimination of the references to\nDivine Will and other earlier views held before acquaintance with\nDarwin's theory of life, there is nothing in the book, in distinction\nfrom Mr. Spencer's other later works, that needs especially to be\nconsidered here.\n\n[52] See, for instance, _supra_, p. 70.\n\n[53] See _supra_, p. 75.\n\n\n\n\nJOHN FISKE\n\n\nAs Herbert Spencer's closest follower, John Fiske deserves to stand next\nhim in order of analysis. Fiske accepts, though evidently with\nreluctance, what he terms \"the terrible theory\" of evolution, which\nestablishes the fact of man's consanguinity with dumb beasts. In his\nbook on \"The Destiny of Man\" (1884), he sets forth his theory of the\nevolution of society as foreshowing man's final destiny. With regard to\nthe beginnings of psychical development in the course of evolution, he\nthus expresses himself: \"At length there came a wonderful\nmoment;--silent and unnoticed, even as the day of the Lord which cometh\nlike a thief in the night, there arrived that wonderful moment at which\npsychical changes began to be of more use than physical changes to the\nbrute ancestor of man. Through further ages of ceaseless struggle the\nprofitable variations in this creature occurred oftener and oftener in\nthe brain, and less often in other parts of the organism, until bye and\nbye the size of his brain had been doubled and its complexity of\nstructure increased a thousandfold, while in other respects his\nappearance was not so very different from that of his brother apes....\nNo fact in nature is fraught with deeper meaning than this two-sided\nfact of the extreme physical similarity and enormous psychical\ndivergence between man and the group of animals to which he traces his\npedigree. It shows that when humanity began to be evolved, an entirely\nnew chapter in the history of the universe was opened. Henceforth the\nlife of the nascent soul came to be first in importance, and the bodily\nlife became subordinated to it. Henceforth it appeared that the process\nof zooelogical change had come to an end, and a process of psychological\nchange was to take its place. Henceforth along this supreme line there\nwas to be no further evolution of new species through physical\nvariation, but through the accumulation of psychical variations one\nparticular species was to be indefinitely perfected.... Henceforth, in\nshort, the dominant aspect of evolution was to be, not the genesis of\nspecies, but the progress of civilization.... In the deadly struggle for\nexistence, which has raged throughout countless aeons of time, the whole\ncreation has been groaning and travailing together in order to bring\nforth that last consummate specimen of God's handiwork, the Human Soul.\"\n\nAnd further, of the genesis of this Human Soul: \"With the growth of the\nhigher centres, the capacities of action become so various and\nindeterminate that definite direction is not given to them until after\nbirth.\" By the increase of cerebral surface, infancy, which is the\nperiod of plasticity, is prolonged, Man becomes teachable, and though\ninherited tendencies and aptitudes still form the foundations of\ncharacter, yet the career of the individual is no longer wholly\npredetermined by the careers of its ancestors, but individual experience\ncomes to count as an enormous factor in modifying the career of mankind\nfrom generation to generation.\n\nThe psychical development of humanity since its earlier stages has been\nlargely due to the reaction of individuals upon one another in those\nvarious relations which we characterize as social.\n\nForeshadowings of social relations occur in the animal world.\nRudimentary moral sentiments are also clearly discernible in the highest\nmembers of various mammalian orders and in all but the lowest members of\nour own order. But in respect of definiteness and permanence, the\nrelations between animals in a state of gregariousness fall far short of\nthe relations between individuals in the rudest human society. The\nprimordial unit of human society is the family, the establishment of\nwhich was made necessary and took place through the lengthening of\ninfancy. When childhood had come to extend over a period of ten or a\ndozen years, a period which would have been doubled where several\nchildren were born in succession to the same parents, the relationships\nbetween father and mother, brothers and sisters, must have become firmly\nknit; thus the family came into existence, and the way was opened for\nthe growth of sympathies and ethical feelings. The rudimentary form of\nthe ethical feelings was that of the transient affection of a female\nbird or mammal for its young. First given a definite direction through\nthe genesis of the primitive human family, the development of altruism\nhas yet scarcely kept pace with the general development of intelligence;\nthe advance of civilized man in justice and kindness has been less\nmarked than his advance in quick intelligence. But the creative energy\nwhich has been thus at work through the bygone eternity is not going to\nbecome quiescent to-morrow; the psychical development of man is\ndestined to go on in the future as it has in the past. And from the\n\"Origin of Man,\" when thoroughly comprehended, we may catch some\nglimpses of his destiny.\n\nThe earlier condition of things was a state of universal warfare, on\naccount of the limitation of the food-supply. This warfare was checked\nby the beginnings of industrial civilization, which made it possible for\na vastly greater population to live upon a given area, and in many ways\nfavored social compactness. A new basis of political combination was now\nfurnished by territorial continuity and by community of occupation. The\nsupply of food was no longer strictly limited, for it could be\nindefinitely increased by peaceful industry; and, moreover, in the free\nexchange of the products of labor, it ceased to be true that one man's\ninterest was opposed to another's. Men did not, it is true, at once\nrecognize this fact, but have done so only gradually. When the clan had\ngrown into the state, and the state into the empire, in which many\nstates were brought together in pacific relations, the recognized sphere\nof moral obligation became enlarged, until at length it comprehended all\nmankind. The coalescence of groups of men into larger and larger\npolitical aggregates has been the chief work of civilization; and the\nchief obstacle to such coalescence has been warfare. Great political\nbodies have arisen in three ways. The first, conquest without\nincorporation, proved itself suicidal. The second way was conquest with\nincorporation, but without representation; and this lacking, the\ngovernment retrograded and gradually became a despotism. The third\nmethod, federation, has been the policy of the English government. The\nadvantage of the habit of self-government has been shown in England's\nwide conquest and colonization. The federative method of political\nunion, pacific in its very conception, is assuming an unquestionable\nsway and destined to become universal; the progress of the race will be,\nas it has been, with the gradual elimination of warfare.\n\nIn a race of inferior animals, any maladjustment is quickly removed by\nnatural selection. But in man there is a wide interval between the\nhighest and lowest degree of completeness which are compatible with\nmaintenance of life; in all grades of civilization above the lowest,\nthere are so many kinds of superiorities which severally enable men to\nsurvive, notwithstanding accompanying inferiorities, that natural\nselection cannot, by itself, rectify any particular unfitness. Hence,\nthe action of natural selection upon man has long since been essentially\ndiminished through the operation of social conditions. Therefore the\nwicked flourish. Vice is but slowly eliminated, because mankind has so\nmany other qualities, besides the bad ones, which enable it, in spite of\nthem, to subsist and achieve progress.\n\nThe fundamental difference between civilized man and the savage lies in\nthe representative power, the imagination, by which men comprehend\npleasure and pain in others. Use and disuse, in place of natural\nselection, have come to be paramount with man; and though the ethical\nemotions are still too feeble, they will be more and more strengthened\nby use, while the manifestation of selfish and hateful feelings will be\nmore and more weakened by disuse. Man is slowly passing from a primitive\nsocial state, in which he was little better than a brute, toward an\nultimate social state, in which his character shall have become so\ntransformed that nothing of the brute can be detected in it. The\n\"original sin\" of theology is the brute inheritance, which is being\ngradually eliminated; and the message of Christianity: \"Blessed are the\nmeek, for they shall inherit the earth\" will be realized in the state of\nuniversal peace towards which mankind is tending. Strife and Sorrow\nshall disappear. Peace and Love shall reign supreme. The goal of\nevolution is the perfecting of man, whereby we see, more than ever, that\nhe is the chief object of divine care, the fruition of that creative\nenergy which is manifested throughout the knowable universe.\n\nWe know soul only in connection with body. Yet nothing could be more\ngrossly unscientific than the famous remark of Cabanis that the brain\nsecretes thought as the liver secretes bile; the molecular movements of\nthe brain and the phenomena of thought and feeling are merely\nconcomitants related in some unknown way. It is not even correct to say\nthat thought goes on in the brain. He who regards man as the consummate\nfruition of creative energy and the chief object of divine care, is\nalmost irresistibly driven to the belief that the soul's career is not\ncompleted with the life upon the earth. Difficulties to this theory he\nwill meet; yet the alternative view contains difficulties at least as\ngreat; nor is there any problem in the simplest and most exact\ndepartments of science which does not speedily lead us to a\ntranscendental problem that we can neither solve nor elude. A broad\ncommon sense argument has often to be called in, where keen-edged\nmetaphysical analysis has confessed itself baffled. The doctrine of\nevolution does not allow us to take the atheistic view of the position\nof man; the Darwinian theory, properly understood, replaces as much\nteleology as it destroys. In the Titanic events of the development of\nworlds from the nebular mist and their after-destruction, we may find no\nsigns of purpose, or even of a dramatic tendency; but on the earth we do\nfind distinct indications of a dramatic tendency; though doubtless not\nof purpose in the limited human sense. Are we to regard the Creator's\nwork as like that of a child, who builds houses out of blocks just for\nthe pleasure of knocking them down again? On such a view the riddle of\nthe universe becomes a riddle without a meaning. \"I can see no\ninsuperable difficulty in the notion that at some period in the\nevolution of humanity this divine spark [the soul] may have acquired\nsufficient concentration and steadiness to survive the wreck of material\nforms and endure forever. Such a crowning wonder seems to me no more\nthan the fit climax to a creative work that has been ineffably beautiful\nand marvellous in all its myriad stages.\"\n\nFiske gives some further definition of social evolution in man, in his\n\"Cosmic Philosophy\" (1874). He there denies the incompatibility of\nfree-will with causation, saying that \"it is the doctrine of\nlawlessness, and not the causationist doctrine, which is incompatible\nwith liberty and destructive of responsibility.\"[54]\n\nHe further postulates heterogeneity of the environment as \"the chief\nproximate determining cause of social progress,\" and defines such\nevolution as \"a continuous establishment of psychical relations within\nthe community, in conformity to physical and psychical relations arising\nin the environment, during which both the community and the environment\npass from a state of relatively indefinite, incoherent homogeneity to a\nstate of relatively definite, coherent heterogeneity; and during which\nthe constituent units of the community become ever more distinctly\nindividual.\"[55] \"The progress of a community, as of an organism, is a\nprocess of _adaptation_--the continuous establishment of inner relations\nin conformity to outer relations. If we contemplate material\ncivilization under its widest aspect, we discover its legitimate aim to\nbe the attainment and maintenance of an equilibrium between the wants\nof men and the outward means of satisfying them. And while approaching\nthis goal, society is ever acquiring in its economic structure both\ngreater heterogeneity and greater specialization. It is not only that\nagriculture, manufactures, commerce, legislation, the acts of the ruler,\nthe judge, and the physician, have, since ancient times, grown\nimmeasurably multiform, both in their processes and in their appliances;\nbut it is also that this specialization has resulted in the greatly\nincreased ability of society to adapt itself to the emergencies by which\nit is now beset.\"[56] Religion, too, is adjustment; form after form has\nbeen outgrown and perished, yet the life of Christianity, incorporated\nin ever higher forms, is continually renewed. The omission of the moral\nfeeling, as a factor, from Comte's interpretation of the progress of\nsociety, is a fatal defect, since moral and social progress depend more\non feelings than on ideas. As Wallace shows, tribes which combined for\nmutual help and protection, restrained appetite by foresight, and felt\nsympathy, would have an advantage in the struggle for existence.\n\n\"As surely as the astronomer can predict the future state of the\nheavens, the sociologist can foresee that the process of adaptation must\ngo on until, in a remote future, it comes to an end in proximate\nequilibrium. The increasing interdependence of human interests must\neventually go far to realize the dream of the philosophic poet, of a\nParliament of Man, a Federation of the World.\n\n\"'When the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law,' and when\nthe desires of each individual shall be in proximate equilibrium with\nthe means of satisfying them and with the simultaneous desires of all\nsurrounding individuals.\"[57]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[54] Vol. II. p. 189.\n\n[55] Ibid. p. 223, 224.\n\n[56] Vol. II. p. 212.\n\n[57] Ibid. pp. 227, 228.\n\n\n\n\nW. H. ROLPH\n\n\"BIOLOGICAL PROBLEMS\" (\"Biologische Probleme,\" 1884)\n\n\nFor what purpose are we in the world? asks the philosopher, and lays,\nwith this question, the foundation for later errors. In the effort to\nrescue from destruction the theory of a creative intelligence, teleology\nhas adapted itself to many forms of scientific theory, not excepting\nthat of evolution. It reads into evolution progress towards what is, in\none way or another, assumed to be an end. But we really know, in the\nuniverse, nothing but continuity, eternal change according to natural\nlaw, and so only _causae efficientes_, never _causae finales_; and organic\ndevelopment as well as processes in inorganic nature are to be explained\nin this manner. The assumption that the result of a process is an end\ntowards which the process was directed is unwarranted. The question of\nscience is not: Wherefore is any creature in the world? but: What is he?\nWhat is his actual aim, that is, his endeavor?\n\nIn the answer to this question, all philosophical schools have something\nin common. Happiness, in one form or another, is acknowledged to be the\n\"end\" of life in this sense. A follower of the utilitarian school may\ndefine happiness as the \"sublime feeling that one has taken part in the\ncontinuous improvement of humanity, and the increase of human\nhappiness,\" but his words are less a definition of the concept than a\ndesignation of the way in which happiness is to be arrived at. The\n\"sublime feeling\" can be represented only as a feeling of happiness, of\njoy. The religious theory, too, which represents the joys of religion on\nearth and in heaven, as compensating for the evils of this life, makes\nhappiness the end of life, though in a different manner. Spencer is\nright in declaring that happiness, however it may be defined, always\nmeans, in the end, a greater amount of pleasure than of pain. At this\npoint, however, the harmony of the schools ceases. The question as to\nthe method by which this surplus of pleasure is to be obtained is\nanswered in different ways. All say, indeed, by seeking good and\navoiding evil. But opinion is divided as to what is good and what is\nevil.\n\nRolph here introduces a long criticism of the different schools. Against\nutilitarianism he urges that, in so far as it makes the happiness of the\ngreatest number its principle, it asserts the right of the majority over\na minority, and so advocates, by implication, an absolute subjection to\nauthority.\n\nOur whole moral education has for its aim to give the young as high a\nconception as possible of the happiness which springs from virtue and,\non the other hand, to decry the pleasure which may result from forbidden\nacts. We seek, in this manner, to diminish the inward struggle and bring\nabout the right result. He who has grown up under good influences\nescapes many temptations to which a man of less moral education falls a\nprey. According to Wallock, who makes the degree of inner struggle the\nmeasure of virtue, the man of better education in this case, the more\nmoral man, must have less merit than the less moral man. Wallock thus\nfounders on the rock which Kant so skilfully avoids; according to the\nformer, the man whose lusts have been mastered by education could never\nequal the man of evil instincts, and the chastity of a Magdalen must be\nregarded as more moral than that of a pure woman.\n\nSpencer's theory, that the conduct of the higher animals is better\nadjusted to ends than that of lower species, is erroneous; the lower\nanimals are exactly as well organized for the ends of their existence as\nare the higher animals for theirs; the tapeworm is relatively just as\nperfect as the human being, in comparison with whom he possesses many\nsuperior qualities. The common judgment that the human being is superior\ndoes not accord with the real adjustment of things, but with our human\nconception of the ideal end of organization, our anthropocentric idea of\nthe aim of life. We foolishly believe that the tapeworm and every other\nanimal has the same end as the human being, and rank the animals\naccording to this principle, instead of tracing the different\ngenealogical branches to a like height and then comparing them. Not the\nfitness for ends, but the kind and multiplicity of the ends for which\nthere is fitness, determine our judgment; and the ends by which we judge\nare those of our own life. We judge subjectively and absolutely instead\nof objectively and relatively. We are ever unconsciously influenced by\nthe conception that nature, in creating the tapeworm, merely made a\nfalse step and a step backwards in her way towards the creation of man.\nThat all animals are adapted, some in a greater, some in a less degree,\nto the ends of their existence, is proved by the simple fact of their\nexistence, that is, of their survival in the struggle for existence; but\nwhich are in a higher, and which are in a less degree so adapted, is, in\nthe individual instance, extremely difficult to determine. In any\nattempt at such an estimate, we must meet with peculiar difficulties,\nresulting from the fact that we judge of the adaptation to ends with\nless certainty the further from us any animal is in its organization. A\ncomparison such as Spencer institutes is possible only with respect to\nlike functions of similar organs in closely related forms.\n\nThe assertion that increase of ability for self-preservation leads to\nbetter care for the young, and makes of such care a duty, is likewise\nerroneous. For, up to the highly organized class of the crustacea, we\nhave no example of care for the young. In the struggle for existence,\nthe species which survive must be such as not only are in themselves\nbest fitted for survival, but as also bring forth best fitted progeny.\nNor has Spencer made clear on what ground natural process is to be\nregarded as identical with duty. In truth he has succeeded in showing\nonly that care for the young is wide-spread in the animal kingdom, from\nwhich fact naturally follows that it is a quality which tends to the\npreservation of species.\n\nIt cannot be conceded that such a perfection as Spencer pictures, where\neach shall fulfil all the functions of his own life in the most perfect\nand complete manner without interfering with a like freedom in others,\nis possible. The assertion involves the extension to all living beings\nof that ideal principle of equal claims which Spencer repudiates with\nregard to man,--showing that not all men are capable of a like degree of\nhappiness and that individuals desire, moreover, pleasure differing in\nquality. Furthermore, a world of beings which, like the animals and many\nplants, can support life only by means of organic material, must, in\norder to exist, destroy organic life, either animal or vegetable. The\ntheory does not even hold with regard to individuals of the same\nspecies; Spencer himself acknowledges the truth of the principles of\nMalthus and of Darwin, according to which, even with the lowest rate of\nincrease, a struggle of competition must soon arise between individuals\nof the same species.\n\nNor does Spencer's proof of the fundamental character of altruism hold,\non investigation. He demonstrates that through the animal species up to\nman, there is less and less self-sacrifice of the mother animal in\ngiving birth to offspring. But this physical sacrifice is not altruism;\naltruism lies in conscious care for the young after birth, and this is\nnot lessened, but increased, the higher we ascend.\n\nThat morality is but greater adjustment of acts to ends cannot be\nadmitted. If, in ordinary speech, the word good refers to greatest\nadjustment to ends, whatever the ends may be, that is no proof that it\nmust have the same significance in Ethics. A good shot may be a good one\nin that it hits the mark; but what if it kill a man? The acts of\ncriminals may be as well adjusted to their ends and as easy to predict\nas those of a good man. Spencer's theory would lead, consistently\ncarried out, to the principle that the means justify the end, an\nassertion that is even more dangerous than its opposite. The fact is,\nthat in Ethics it is the nature of the end which is of importance.\n\nSpencer endeavors to show that only normal exercise of function is\nfavorable to life, and so moral;--that excess and deprivation are both\ninjurious. It is not true, however, that excess is always injurious;\nwithin certain bounds it is made up for by reserves in the animal\norganism. Or, if Spencer should answer to this objection, that his\n\"normal\" is not to be represented by a sharp line, difficult to keep to,\nbut by a broad road within which excess is safe, such a representation\nwould both burden his theory with two dividing-lines, and moreover would\nnot save it. For he has not deemed it necessary to treat the concept\n\"normal\" to an exact definition, and we find him using it in his later\ndeductions in an entirely new sense--not as equilibrium between capacity\nof function and its exercise, but in the ideal significance of a harmony\nbetween the claims of the individual on the one side, and those of the\nenvironment on the other. This normal is nowhere actually to be found\nand cannot, from the nature of things, be arrived at. By addition of\nthis significance, the word normal becomes indefinite in meaning, and is\nused, now in one sense, now in the other. Normal exercise of function\nhas, however, nothing to do with the claims of the environment, which\ngenerally demands, indeed, a deviation from the normal.\n\nNor is Spencer's analysis of the beginning of the process of\nfood-seizure, adduced in support of the theory that happiness and\nmorality are commensurable, confirmed by facts. According to this\ntheory, the process of food-taking begins with the contact of animal and\nfood, in which act the commencement of diffusion of food in the body of\nthe animal causes a pleasure which leads to the seizure of its prey and\nthe further act of devouring it. The theory might hold of the lowest\norganisms, but could not be true of any animal furnished with an\nimpenetrable shell or skin. Nor would the seizure follow with sufficient\npromptness if it were left to the action of the pleasure caused by\ndiffusion. Moreover, we should expect to find, according to this theory,\na much more general and finer development of the organ of taste among\nthe animals,--to find it as a special organ on the lowest planes of\nanimal life; it is, on the contrary, the latest of the special senses to\ndevelop. It is the reaction on the sense of touch, the lowest and most\ngeneral of the special senses, which causes the seizure of nourishment.\nWe must, therefore, deny that pleasure is the motive to the seizure of\nfood, and so, too, reject the conclusion that it is the motive to every\nother act.\n\nBesides arguing that normal function brings pleasure, Spencer has\nattempted to prove that all pleasure has its spring in normal function,\nand is therefore moral. Could he succeed in so doing, hedonism would be\nproved. For since all schools agree in regarding happiness as the end of\nlife, and since all these, in common, acknowledge happiness to be an\nexcess of pleasure over pain, enjoyment might be regarded as the\nabsolute guide. But if, as Spencer acknowledges, pleasure and morality\nare only in a perfectly adapted society commensurate, then in only such\na society can pleasure be the criterion; and since we do not live in a\nperfectly adapted society, the theory is not applicable to us, and if\npracticably applied would be fatal to society.\n\nAgainst Spencer's theory of the final spontaneity of morality, many\nobjections may be urged, among others especially the one that such a\nmorality ceases to be morality at all, virtue being possible, as Kant\nhas demonstrated, only where a certain conquest of desire is achieved.\nSuch a morality is, moreover, unattainable, an extravagant fancy.\n\n\nTHE PROBLEM OF FOOD-TAKING\n\nRolph thinks Spencer's theory awakes the conjecture that it was not\nfirst arrived at through investigation, but rests upon a preconceived\nopinion, as do to a greater or less extent all theories on this subject.\nIt seems as if the author had first attached himself to that theory\nwhich best accorded with his scientific bias, and then tried whether\nthis theory might be proved or supported by facts of biology and\npsychology. One might surmise, from the very skilful, but often too\nartificial argument, that the author pursued the following train of\nthought. Pleasure, and indeed the greatest possible pleasure, is the end\nof endeavor in the organic world, that is, the psychical cause of\nendeavor. May it not also be the physical cause?\n\nRolph answers this question with a denial, and endeavors to show that\nthe taking of food has its cause in the insatiability of all organic\nsubstance. The theory of Spontaneous Generation contains nothing\nimpossible or improbable; is, on the contrary, a necessary logical\nassumption not to be disproved by the mere result of experiment under\nconditions of the laboratory. It is easy to imagine that organic\nelements, which are to be found in great quantities in inorganic nature,\nmay come together by chance, or rather in the natural order of things,\nto the formation of protoplasm.\n\nThe movement of these masses of protoplasm seems, at first glance, to\nset the law of gravitation at defiance, but we may answer that an\nascending balloon might seem, to an uninstructed observer, to do the\nsame, although its movement is merely the natural result of that force;\nit is not necessary, therefore, to assume a free inner motive, the soul,\nas the cause of the one motion or the other. The first assimilation of\nfood has its beginning in the process of endosmose and exosmose, in\nwhich the protoplasm, as in general the denser fluid, increases in\nvolume, taking up more than it gives out; the process occurring, in\ndetail, according to the special relations of attraction in the parts.\nThe organism always takes up the greatest amount possible under the\ncircumstances, exactly as, in the inorganic world, water takes up the\ngreatest amount possible of salt or any other soluble substance; the\ngrowth of a crystal, and the oxidation of iron are illustrations of the\nsame principle. Of the limit of this capacity to take up new matter into\nthe organism we know nothing; all recent experiments go to show that the\norganism is capable, under propitious circumstances, of an enormous\nreceptivity, such as, under natural conditions, it never reaches. The\nlower animals feed continually, and their whole lives are passed in this\nemployment. In plants the tendency is seen still more clearly.\nExperiments with electric, violet, and ultra-violet light show an\nenormous growth in plants exposed to its action. But this can be only an\nindirect growth, namely, the exorbitant acceleration of organic change\nand assimilation. This fact is proved by experiments turning on increase\nof warmth in soil; from which is seen to result an unusual development\nof that part of the plant to which growth is especially directed at the\ntime. When the warmth of an incubator is increased, the animal organ\nespecially engaged in development at the time is affected in like\nmanner. So that we may assume that the organism is capable of responding\nto every demand that nature makes upon it under normal conditions; and\nsince the greatest possible assimilation under the existing conditions\nis thus removed from the control of the creature, the latter appears\npractically insatiable. This insatiability must appear to the observer\nan inner impulse of the organism, an effort towards increase of\nnourishment. It may be called mechanical hunger in distinction from\npsychical hunger, of which it is the basis. It is not necessary to take\ninto consideration, in the question as to the degree of assimilation\npossible, the amount of excretion of substance by the organism; we must,\non the contrary, assert that this is dependent upon the amount of\nassimilation. The measure of growth depends, therefore, on the degree of\nassimilation of new material. This degree, however, like the degree to\nwhich the matter may be dissolved in a liquid in the case of inorganic\nmatter, is especially affected by light and warmth. The creature which\ncomes into existence in the sun will experience a decrease of organic\nchange when placed in the shade; and the creature which comes into\nexistence in the shade will experience an increase of such change under\nthe influence of the sun, a decrease again with a return to the shade.\nThis decrease means hunger,--harm. Experiments with zooespores throw an\ninteresting light upon these relations. They show that the zooespores,\nalthough suited to very different degrees of light, all shun darkness.\nAlthough when in the light they soon come to rest, divide, and copulate,\nthey remain, in the darkness, in a state of continual unrest and motion.\nThey grow so thin \"that they almost excite pity\" (Strassburger), and\nfinally perish of hunger. Only such zooespores as are distinguished by\nsex and copulate come to rest, or those of such sorts as prey upon\nothers. It is easy to perceive that the unrest of the zooespores in the\ndarkness springs from lack of nourishment, from hunger; they seek\nfeverishly for the light, without which assimilation follows with\ninsufficient energy to satisfy need and render life possible. In\ndarkness, copulation alone can do this; copulation takes, then, the\nplace of normal nourishment.\n\nOr let us consider the case of an organism which has originated in the\nshade. Heat, as we know, increases chemical change, in inorganic as well\nas organic matter; it hastens the disintegration of certain compounds,\nand alone renders it possible in many cases. In general, we may assert\nthat increase of temperature within certain limits increases\nassimilation; that is, capacity to assimilate. Therefore, if an animal\nis placed in the sun, its capacity, that is, its need, to assimilate is\nincreased, although assimilation is much more energetic than before.\nNeed to assimilate or hunger is, therefore, dependent upon the supply of\nfood, although, doubtless, also on other conditions, especially those of\nlight and temperature. If this is true, the hunger of a simple organism\nthat assimilates energetically must be more intense than that of one\nwhich assimilates slowly, in spite of the consumption of an enormous\nquantity of food in the case of the former. Botanists know (Sachs,\n\"Lehrbuch der Botanik,\" p. 613) \"that growth may be so hastened by too\nhigh a temperature that assimilation (especially under scanty light)\ndoes not suffice to provide the necessary material for it. The\ntranspiration of the leaves may be so increased that the roots cannot\nrepair the loss. And on the other hand, a too low temperature of the\nsoil may so diminish the action of the roots that even a small loss by\ntranspiration cannot be repaired.\"\n\nAt what stage of organization psychical hunger is added to mechanical\nhunger, or whether it may be identified with it, we cannot say. In any\ncase, the former appears exceedingly early, for excitations of hunger\nmay be observed in creatures very low in the scale of being. Certainly\nhunger is never absent where there is movement.\n\nHunger, a sense of pain, is, therefore, the first impulse to action.[58]\n\nWith a like effort in the attempt to obtain food, that organism will be\nbest nourished which commands the best means of obtaining and preparing\nits food,--the best apparatus for the seizure and grinding of food, and\nthe best salivary gland. And finally, greater surface of skin, of lungs,\nof gills, or of intestines, causes greater capacity for assimilation,\nand since this surface is increased by cell-division or propagation, the\ncapacity of the organism for assimilation grows with its capacity of\npropagation.[59] Protoplasm is never entirely homogeneous, and we must\nsuppose some difference even in the beginning; such difference is,\nindeed, fundamental through the very composition of protoplasm from the\nfour fundamental elements, and this or that other element. These\ndifferent elements must be held together by forces of attraction, and\nthe direction of these forces must have some common centre represented\nby some differentiation of the protoplasm, whether as clearer spot, or\nas nucleus. This spontaneously generated organism, neither animal nor\nplant, is nourished, as we have seen, by diffusion, by the\ntransformation of inorganic into organic substance. The lowest organisms\npossess no definite organs for taking food; they manifest, however,\nphenomena of movement which are exactly like those of the animal\norganism, for they appear unconditioned and hence voluntary. Locomotion\nis, in the lowest animal forms, the only means of obtaining nourishment.\nThe amoeba surrounds and takes in whatever is by chance met with.\nAnimals a little higher in the scale swim about and seek their food; or,\nremaining in one place, they cause, by means of cilia, a movement of the\nwater towards a certain part of the body, a sort of mouth where the\nprotoplasm is open and can take up the prey in the same manner as does\nthe amoeba. Ascending the scale of life, we find more and more\ncomplicated apparatus for the seizure of food, for its preparation and\ndigestion, and the beginning of a nervous system, first as the\ndifferentiation of certain muscle-cells, then in connection with a\nspecial sense, that of hearing. If we assume any pleasure to be\nconnected with the earliest acts of assimilation, it must be that of the\nsatisfaction of a want, the stilling of pain in the form of hunger.\n\n\nTHE PROBLEM OF PERFECTIBILITY\n\nIn the earliest forms of propagation, the younger organism is a true\ncopy of that from which it springs, the trifling differences being due,\nas Schmankewicz has shown, to outer influences. The differences of male,\nfemale, worker, and soldier are due to such outer influences. The\ndifferences in the younger organism, where propagation takes place\nthrough copulation, may be explained by the mixture of types, through\nwhich, by action and reaction, some qualities are intensified, while\nsome others become latent or are entirely destroyed. To these mutual\ninfluences are to be added such as come from without, especially those\nof warmth, and of quantity and quality of food. Under too great an\nincrease in temperature, the young organism may even be destroyed, the\nprocess of assimilation not being able to keep pace with it. Those\nvariations which have led to the development of existing forms, that is,\nwhich were favorable to life, are chiefly such as could be brought about\nby relative or absolute increase of assimilation. This is true of\nmental, as well as of physical, qualities.\n\nIt is a fact established without doubt, that the most common and most\nwidely distributed species show the greatest variability, and that those\nspecies, on the contrary, which are now rare, although they were,\nperhaps, at earlier periods, the most common and extremely variable,\nvary, at the present date, the least of all. Following Darwin, one\ngenerally draws the conclusion that the severity of the struggle for\nexistence favors the formation of varieties. For, it is said, the most\ncommon species fight the severest battle with one another, while the\nscanty representatives of rarer species come the least into competition\nand continue unchanged. But this theory is, in two ways, erroneous. In\nthe first place, no attention is paid to the fact that a rare species\nmay be exposed to a severe struggle against another species for the same\nnourishment, while a common species may, on the other hand, be exposed\nto no such struggle, and, supporting life from a generous supply of\nfood, be subjected to but slight pressure. The conception of the\nDarwinians means nothing more or less than that the individuals of a\nspecies vary the more, the less favorable the conditions of nourishment;\nand this cannot be conceded. Again, the fact is to be taken into\nconsideration, that the species at present common must have passed\nthrough a favorable period in which food was so plentiful that it not\nonly afforded an abundance to individuals past the dangers of infancy\nand youth, but allowed, in addition, the existence of an ever-increasing\nnumber of individuals. And it is this period of increase, of abundance,\nnot a period of struggle, which has developed the variations we now have\nbefore our eyes. In the same manner one must conclude, with regard to\nthe rarer species, that the formerly existing numerous varieties were\ndestroyed during the period of decline, that is, of overpowering\npressure. We have abundant proof of this in the fact that domesticated\nspecies, which are carefully tended and fed, and so wholly withdrawn\nfrom the struggle for existence, vary enormously, and produce the most\nwonderful monstrosities.\n\nTo what direct causes the appearance of a variety is due, is a question\nas yet unanswered. But Weismann's investigations have shown us that\nclimate plays a large part in their development. Embryology teaches us,\nmoreover, that the development of the young organism does not take place\nwith the same uniformity in all organs, but that, on the contrary, in\none period one organ, in another, another, undergoes a more rapid\ngrowth, which may be influenced by variations in food or temperature.\nThrough such variations the development of monstrosities is explained.\nWe know that influences of nourishment are operative in the development\nof the larvae of bees to workers or to queens, and we can easily conceive\nthat other organs besides the sexual are subject to these influences.\nThe field in which such influences may be operative is, indeed,\nboundless.\n\nAll these considerations lead us to the conclusion that variability in\ngeneral, but especially that variability resulting in a so-called\nimprovement of the varieties producing it, is an accompaniment of\nprosperous conditions. This is a conclusion not yet reached in zooelogy,\nalthough botanists long ago recognized, in abundance of food, the most\nessential condition for the development of variations.\n\nDarwinism fails to account for any need of nourishment beyond that\nnecessary for the maintenance of the _status quo_ of life. According to\nDarwin, the animal can acquire only sufficient for the repair of loss.\nThe struggle for existence is, therefore, according to him, a struggle\nof self-defence, and its results could be, at the best, only the\nmaintenance of species in their present position or, in a less favorable\ncase, their decline, and finally their destruction. But this view is\nwholly false. The animal acquires not only enough to repair loss, but\nmuch more. How could the first amoeba have propagated itself, if it\nconsumed no more than it needed for mere self-maintenance, and how could\nevolution have taken place? We have seen that, even in the inorganic\nworld, there is not an equality of loss and repair, but that, in osmose,\nthe denser fluid takes up more than it gives, while the fluid that is\nless dense loses more than it receives, and the mutual exchange reaches\nthe maximum possible under the existing circumstances. It is this\ncharacteristic which renders the involuntary and forced tendency of the\norganism to satiation independent of the amount of waste; this\nmechanical hunger is the spring of the insatiability of organisms, and\nexplains to us their increase in number, the process of increasing\nperfection, and individual development. Without it, an eternity would\nnot have sufficed for evolution; we should still have only a world of\nprimitive amoebae.\n\nThis theory of development is, then, the opposite of that ordinarily\nassumed. The latter asserts that increase of growth demands increase of\nnourishment, whereas this asserts the fact that increase of nourishment\ndetermines growth. The struggle for existence is not a struggle for the\nmere necessaries to maintain life, but a struggle for increase of\nacquisition, increase of life; it is not a struggle of defence, but an\nattack which only under certain circumstances becomes a defence. The\nrule with which we advise our friends is, \"Forward! strive to better\nyourself!\" though we may endeavor, in hypocritical spirit, to persuade\nto contentment those who come into competition with our interests.\n\nThe chief points, therefore, in which this theory differs from that of\nDarwin, are as follows:--\n\n\"The struggle for existence is really a struggle for increase of\nnourishment, of life; and independent of the supply of the moment, it\ngoes on at all times, hence even in a state of abundance.\n\n\"Limitation of supply by competition leads to fixation of the species\nand, in the end, to its decrease and disappearance.\n\n\"Sickness, climate, and direct enemies are the destructive agencies, and\nmust secure more propitious conditions for survivors, the stronger their\neffect.\n\n\"Only under conditions of prosperity can the survivors propagate\nlargely, and perfect themselves, separating into varieties and species.\n\n\"The increase and differentiation of the organic world shows us that\nconditions of prosperity have been the rule, those of want the\nexception.\"\n\nRolph's extremely interesting chapter on Propagation traces the sexual\ninstinct to the \"mechanical hunger.\" The earliest example which may be\nadduced in support of this theory is that of the zooespores which, by\ncopulation, sustain life for a time under the unfavorable conditions of\ndarkness, the thinner male representing, as does also the spermatozooen,\nthe seeking individual suffering from want, the female representing a\nmeans of sustenance. The sex of the young organism is in like manner\nreferred by Rolph to conditions of nourishment during development. We\nnow come to the chapter on\n\n\nANIMAL OR NATURAL ETHICS\n\nThe existence of morality presupposes the existence of commandments of\nduty, and of an authority. Among animals, as well as among human beings,\nwe find recognized authority and can discern the principles of action\nwhich constitute the duty of any particular animal. Authority among the\nlower animals is based on might, which is, indeed, the universal source\nof authority, without which no authority can exist. Personal authority\nis but a particular form of the authority of circumstances; and to this\nauthority every creature must be subject. It consists of two factors:\nthe outer authority of the environment, and the inner authority of\nimpulse. Duty is obedience to authority. The duty of the organism\nconsists in action that corresponds to these two authorities, following\nthe direction given as the resultant of the mixture of the two\ncomponents. That is, that manner of life is right or moral which renders\nthe life of the organism the fullest possible under the circumstances.\nThe unreasoning organism is unconsciously drawn to seek this maximum,\nwhile the reasoning being seeks it through reflection. The impulse to\nhappiness includes, therefore, for the reasoning being, the impulse to\nmorality; or, ideally expressed, the relative morality equals the\nrelative happiness; morality and happiness are the same thing.\n\nAn authority without the means of enforcing itself is a\nself-contradiction. The means by which nature makes its authority felt\nis organic excitation. In proportion to its strength, an excitation\nproduces sensation, in case it is not too weak to make itself felt at\nall. Every excitation has a definite significance and may come from\nwithout or within. Pleasant excitations are always, primarily, the\nfeeling of the stilling of pain, though there are pains, such as, for\ninstance, that of a wound, the toothache, headache, an aching corn,\nwhich have no corresponding feeling of pleasure. Nor is pleasure the\nonly offspring of pain, since pain may bring forth pain. Pleasure\ndepends, in its character as pleasure as well as in its strength, on the\nfeeling preceding it in the organism; that is, its quality is the\nresult, not of the degree of organic excitation, but of the order of\nsuccession of the feelings. For this reason, the same feeling which\nbrings pleasure to one individual may bring pain to another.\n\nThis whole deduction is at variance with Spencer's theory that\npleasurable excitations are favorable to life, painful ones injurious.\nAnd since observation is in direct opposition to his assertion, his\nfollowers have been obliged to supplement it with the conception that\npain is gradually weeded out by natural selection. On the contrary, we\nneed pain at every instant, since it is the impulse to action;\npersistence in the same condition through lack of excitation, must\nresult in death; pleasure can never originate action, it can only cause\npersistence in action already begun. The fact has been too often\noverlooked, that the motive and the \"end\" of an action are by no means\nthe same. The motive is pain, and the end is either simply the stilling\nof pain or an additional positive pleasure. There are, therefore, many\nactions which are directed to no concrete positive end, but only to the\npurely negative end of escape from pain without consideration of the\nfurther results; a striking example of such action is suicide. Even\nwhere positive pleasure appears as an end, it is never in itself the\nmotive to action. In order to become a motive, it must first be\ntransformed into an excitation, into desire for pleasure; and this\ndesire for a definite or an indefinite pleasure is, in its essence,\npain--the pain of the absence of pleasure.[60]\n\nThe pleasure sought may be one already known through experience, or it\nmay be one not yet experienced. In the latter case, the desire is\nawakened by instruction or reflection, or else induced by instinct. But\nthe motive is always the same, namely, a seeking after pleasure, hence a\nfeeling of pain.\n\nThis view furnishes us with a psychical explanation of the association\nof ideas, the mysterious so-called transferrence of the feeling of\npleasure from the end to the means. Pleasure begins as soon as we have\nbegun the action which will bring us with certainty to the end desired,\nand this pleasure may reach such a degree of strength at some point of\nthe process as to conquer the desire for the real end, hem further\naction, and dispose to continuance at the point reached. The action of\nthe miser may be thus explained.\n\nThe objection that, if pain is the motive, the organism is nothing but a\nbundle of pains, is by no means valid, for it overlooks the fact that\npain remains, in an immense number of cases, below the threshold of\nconsciousness; as in the case of organic action, where it is rhythmic.\nThe same is true of reflex action. To any close observer of the lower\norganisms, it seems most probable that these possess consciousness (see\nWundt, \"Physiologische Psychologie\"), nor is it by any means proved that\nthe plants do not possess it likewise. It is certainly remarkable that\nexactly the lowest plants, which stand so near the animals in the\nphenomena of their life, exhibit movements closely resembling those of\nanimals. And it is, moreover, a fact that automatic and reflex actions\nincrease with the degree of organization, and are most numerous in human\nbeings. With increased exercise, one chain of movements after the other\nis withdrawn from consciousness; and through this removal from\nconsciousness action gains in certainty and rapidity, and in energy\nalso, since the part of the force which was before lost in inducing\nconsciousness is now released. Such removal from consciousness is,\ntherefore, a benefit to the organism, as an adaptation to the increased\ndemands of circumstances. Movements which thus become unconscious are\neach and every one of them movements which have but one definite end and\nan interruption of which either kills or seriously injures the organism,\nor at least brings disorder into its life for the time being. An easily\nexcited consciousness would be an exceeding danger to the animal.\nConscious action is directed to the attainment of variable ends by means\nwhich are also variable. It cannot, therefore, astonish us that\nconsciousness disappeared in plants after the loss of free motion.\n\nBy the regular exercise of certain actions or of trains of thought,\neither through necessity or by habit certain tracks are worn or taken\npossession of, so that the whole process, from the excitation to the\naction resulting upon it, takes place with such rapidity that we are no\nlonger conscious of its separate phases and so of the growth of the\nresult.\n\nThe first commandment of animal ethics is, therefore: \"Flee pain\"; and\nclosely associated with it is a second commandment furnished by the\ninsatiability of the organism, the impulse to happiness, to increase of\nlife. The principle of Spencer's ethics, according to which normal\nliving is right living, would result in stagnation. Right living\nconsists, on the contrary, in progress, in passing beyond the normal. No\neducator would hesitate for an instant to pronounce the continuance of a\npupil upon a present normal immoral, and to oppose it with all his\npowers. From day to day the developing organism advances the line of its\nnormal activity. And as in the individual, so in the species: every new\ngeneration exceeds in a certain measure the activity of the last. Not\nrest, but motion, constitutes the normal; not rest, but motion, is\nhappiness, and the spring of happiness. Not that being which has no\nwants, but that which develops and satisfies the greatest possible\nnumber of wants, is the happiest, leads the most pleasurable life. When\nwe apply these principles to the animals, we reach the conception that\nall such as lead a solitary life live morally when they endeavor, with\nall their powers, to better their own condition. That they injure plants\nand other animals in so doing need not trouble us, since they are forced\nto do so in order to maintain life. The principle on which animal life\nis based is hence preeminently egoistic and acknowledges no other right\nthan that of might. Spencer, in speaking of altruism on the lowest plane\nof animal life, makes the fundamental and quite fatal mistake that he\ndoes not first sharply and distinctly define egoism. Had he done this,\nhe would certainly have found that, for egoism, as for altruism, the\ncriterion of consciousness, of will, is indispensable. In his definition\nof altruism as consisting in those acts which in any way benefit others,\nhe does nothing less than get rid of egoism altogether, since there are\nno acts which do not, in the end, benefit others than the performer. The\ngreater number of the young brought forth by lowest organisms serve as\nfood for other species, and hence the parent animal, in bringing forth\nsuch numbers, favors these species rather than her own flesh and blood.\nThe fly would act altruistically, according to Spencer's definition, in\nbeing caught in the net of the spider.\n\nA creature which gets its food, as do many of the lower species, without\nexertion of its own, does not act egoistically, nor does the animal\nwhich, in the natural course of its growth, brings forth young by\nspontaneous division; but that animal may do so which acquires its food\nby means of any voluntary actions, however insignificant, or which\nvoluntarily protects and cares for its young; and such voluntary action\nincreases rather than decreases with greater organization. Real egoism\nbegins with the voluntary acquisition of food, a process continued in\nthe forced excretion of the young. But since this action benefits the\nsecond generation, we may regard it as the connecting link between\negoism and altruism. It is not purely altruistic; altruism proper begins\nwith the nourishment and care of the young. And to what degree we have a\nright to consider even this as really altruistic can be determined only\nby further investigation. The emptying of the milk-glands is combined\nwith pleasure; it may therefore be regarded as primarily egoistic, and\nfurnishes us with a further example of the development of altruism from\negoism. Altruism increases, not only with higher organization, but also\nwith a higher development of social life.\n\nThe beginnings of society are to be found in the family life of animals;\nthe most primitive form of this is the temporary, voluntary association\nof male and female among the higher species; that is, the anthropoids\nand vertebrates. On this merely temporary association follows, as a\nhigher stage, the lasting family union, which exists among comparatively\nfew animals. The so-called \"states\" of the animals are, in their most\ntypical instances, nothing but families living in a condition of\npolyandry.\n\nCloser association gives opportunity for a misuse of the powers and aims\nof the individual, before impossible. Examples of this are the theft of\nhoney from one hive of bees by the workers of another, and the carrying\noff of the young by wasps and ants, as also the slaughter of the drones.\nSince the robber of yesterday may be the robbed of to-day, such acts are\nharmful to individuals, to the family, and to the species. They diminish\nthe degree of life, and are opposed to animal ethics. The association of\nmale and female, since only temporary, affords little opportunity for\nimmorality, and the duties of parents to their young are, for the most\npart, faithfully performed. In striking contrast to the natural morality\nof wild animals is the immorality of domestic animals, which give\nthemselves up to every sort of vice when not restrained. The moral\nconditions of any associated animals not under control, whether in\nzooelogical gardens, in the town, or in the country, is, in fact,\nmonstrous. Immorality increases with the closer association of animals.\nThe closer the contact and the looser the bond between the individuals\nof a species, the greater the opportunity for immorality, and the worse\nthe resulting habits. The careless life of pleasure led by animals that\nlive in solitude, is interfered with, in a state of association, by\ncertain duties. How far the performance of such duties springs from a\nconcealed pleasure, or from instinct, or follows upon the command of\nauthority, we, unfortunately, cannot say. The limitation of\ngratification signifies, however, decrease of pleasure. The needs of\ndifferent animals differ according to differing organization; higher\norganization means greater and more complicated desire, the satisfaction\nof which is often impossible, but it means also the attainment of\ncapacity for greater pleasure in form and intensity. Hence even the\npartly attained pleasure of the higher animals is, in intensity as well\nas in fulness, much greater than the completely attained pleasure of the\nlower animals.\n\n\nHUMANE ETHICS\n\nRolph contests Lubbock's theory that the early type of man lived in a\ncondition of sexual promiscuity, and gives as a reason for his opinion\nthe \"strict\" monogamy of those animals which are most closely related to\nman. The customs of such animals should have as much weight, as\nevidence, as those of any of the present tribes of savages, since these\ntribes are as old as civilized races, and their customs cannot,\ntherefore, be unhesitatingly regarded as primary ones.\n\nThe real needs of men, those the gratification of which is indispensable\nto the maintenance of life, are few. By experience, and by experience\nalone, can man learn that present gratification may mean future pain,\nand so be withheld from such gratification; for only disinclination to\none form of pleasure can induce inclination to another form. In the\nsimplicity of primitive social conditions and the uniform character of\naction under such conditions, rules of experience must have been early\nformed, which, inherited by succeeding generations, became the rules of\nconduct.[61] With the development of authority,--first the paternal\nauthority, then that of the family, and finally that of the elders of\nthe tribe,--the possibility of establishing rules of action, and\ninducing morality, increased. The very nomination of elders, to which\nprimitive authority may almost everywhere be traced, shows how great was\nthe respect for experience.\n\nSpencer remarks, in one place in his \"Data of Ethics,\" that human beings\nfirst banded themselves together because they found it more advantageous\nto cooeperate. This is only conditionally true. Before human beings could\nfind association advantageous, they must have accumulated experience of\nit. That they did this by their own inclination is certainly not true.\nWherever we find two solitary beings coming together by chance, enmity\nis the first feeling excited, and war the result. Everything new,\neverything unknown, causes aversion, and this aversion must lead to\nmisunderstandings and war the more surely because each of the opponents\nfeels himself disturbed in his supposed right to limitless possession.\nHuman beings must first have warred with one another before they came to\nthe knowledge, not that social life, that is, mutual forbearance, was\nmore advantageous, but that more closely associated individuals gained\nin power against a common enemy by their association. Man did not choose\nsociety, but was, on the contrary, forced into it, for good or evil,\nthrough increase of his kind. The discovery of the first tools must have\nhad an immense influence upon increase in the number of individuals,\nwhich was before limited by struggle with wild animals, and by the\nrestriction of food to fruit. We must conclude that, under such\ncircumstances, a lasting contract was inevitable, and that, with it,\nvices suddenly appeared which had before existed only potentially, as\npredisposition. War or theft must have followed the mutual limitation of\nrights, but against this disturbance of the peace other members of the\nsociety must have banded themselves together. The weaker must soon have\nbeen driven from their possessions by the stronger, and must then have\nunited for the purpose of obtaining, by association, what they were\nunable to acquire otherwise. The growing children settled near their\nparents, with whom they entered into a family union, in which the father\nrepresented the authority. In this arrangement is the germ of civil\norder,--of the ideas of right and wrong. Inner conflicts can at first\nscarcely have occurred, since the possessions of the family were in\ncommon, and a conception of theft between members of the family could\nnot exist. Furthermore, there was scarcely anything worth stealing, for\nthe implements must have been so primitive that each individual could\neasily manufacture them for himself. Only women could have been, in the\nbeginning, an object of conflict, and for avoidance of this conflict\nlaws and customs arose, which are, to our modern minds, inexplicable.\nReal polyandry may doubtless be explained by the idea of the common\nright of possession among brothers; it has, in most cases, this\nsignificance. It is extended, indeed, later, to more distant relatives,\nand gains finally a solemn significance, the presentation of the wife,\nor of one of a number of wives, being a symbol of fraternity by which\nthe guest is honored.\n\nWith the manufacture of better tools and weapons, temptation to theft\nwas increased, and authority began to be directed inwards to the society\nitself, since inner conflict injured the family in its contests with\nouter enemies. What is true of the family in this connection, is true of\nthe tribe. A joint egoism of the society as a whole must thus have been\ndeveloped, as soon as the first step of association was taken. The\nearliest law is always negative, a prohibition, not a positive command.\n\nWar had its good as well as its evil side, since it made different\npeoples acquainted and gave them knowledge of each other's tools,\nweapons, and customs. War was, at first, the only means by which peoples\nlearned to know each other. The establishment of peace led to the union\nof different peoples, or at least to peaceful intercourse by exchange,\nwhich united the tribes by common interests, corrected ideas, and\ntempered customs.\n\nThe egoistic impulses, the feeling of unconditional right to possession,\nare the impulses with which the child is born; morality is not inborn,\nbut must be developed by education, as is shown by the example of such\nchildren as are neglected in education.[62] Or, if there is anything\ninnate in the direction of morality, it is merely a certain inherited\npredisposition acquired in the course of the thousands of years of\nsocial intercourse, which makes it easier for us to respond to\neducation. If this is not so, and the impulse to morality is innate, why\nhas it required so many centuries for man to make the simple connection\nof ideas, that what is just towards one man is just towards another. In\nthis feeling of justice, acquired through an extension of egoism, is the\nroot of all virtue. It is the spring of sympathy or benevolence, which\ncan be developed only where the feeling of the like rights of others is\nstrong.\n\nBut an unconsidered over-estimate of this feeling is the source of\nSpencer's Utopia, as it is of that of present socialism. We have seen\nthat authority is a primary and necessary factor of society. Authority,\nvirtue, and duty are interdependent, and must be of about the same\nantiquity. From all compulsion imposed by authority, the creature, by\nits nature, attempts to escape, and the feeling which prompts this\nattempt has been falsely called the instinct of freedom. Authority\nexceeds its bounds, where it issues commands not demanded by the general\nconditions existing in the society. But though these conditions may\ndemand a limitation of personal freedom, their requirements must,\nnevertheless, in general, be enforced.\n\nNatural and Humane Ethics may thus be at variance in some things; may in\nothers, coincide. There is no necessary conflict and no necessary\nagreement between them; therefore the theological theory of an absolute\ncontradiction between them is false, as is also the teleological theory\nof their coincidence. The latter theory, not being able to deny that the\nmoral and the natural do not always coincide under present\ncircumstances, endeavors to avoid the difficulty by calling these\nconditions abnormal. The theory falls into two errors: in the first\nplace, it ignores the fact that we have our organs, not _for_ use but\n_by_ use; and that our inherited characteristics may be regarded as an\nadjustment to the conditions of our ancestors, but not an adjustment to\nour own; and in the second place, there are no abnormal conditions.\nThere are new or changed conditions, but either there are no abnormal\nones, or all are abnormal.\n\nBut although increase of life means also increase of desire, although\nthe organism is insatiable, yet there is, as we have seen, an increase\nof happiness, both in quantity and quality, with higher organization.\nThe absolute amount is increased, but not the relative amount, the\namount realizable in proportion to desire.\n\nWant does not lead to improvement, as Darwin maintains, and the\nindividual cannot be just or sympathetic in a condition of want. The\nfreer he is from the direct care of the acquirement of necessities, the\nmore manifold capabilities will he develop, and the greater will be his\nhappiness.\n\nThe task which authority must set itself, in order to secure greater\njustice in society, and so greater happiness, is twofold, a positive and\na negative task. The positive task consists in such an education of the\nyoung as will enable them by their own effort to advance towards their\nindividual ideal of happiness, and in the inculcation of such an ideal\nas corresponds to their individual talents and means, and is attainable\nunder the existing circumstances. The negative task, already implied in\nthe positive one, is the imposition of necessary restrictions in the\nmeans used for the attainment of happiness. Within the limits set by\njustice, the individual has a natural right to seek his own pleasure,\nand for each individual an attainable maximum may be reckoned. This is\nnot saying, however, that the individual has a just claim to this\nmaximum, in case he cannot, or will not, be sufficiently energetic to\ngain it by his own efforts. It is an error of modern times to suppose\nthat the realization of happiness rests in any other hand than that of\nthe individual himself--that the state can make and decree happiness.\nHappiness cannot be secured by means of decrees, by a division of goods,\nor by gifts. Division is always unjust, since it leaves out of\nconsideration that individuality of character which is the only measure\nof sensibility to pleasure. The negative part of the task is to be\naccomplished less by inculcation of many special virtues than by the\ncontinual direction of the attention to the fundamental virtue of\njustice. The positive task is to be accomplished by the most thorough\neducation of the intelligence of the individual, through which he shall\nlearn to inquire the reason of moral precepts, to judge for himself, and\nthen to act on the decision he arrives at. We have seen that the ethical\neducation of the present time tends to reduce inner struggle, rendering\nthe results of wrong-doing as repellant as possible. One in whom has\nbeen instilled a very terrible conception of the sufferings resulting,\nin the present and future life, from wrong-doing, will perhaps\nautomatically avoid the evil; and the means for a moral education seem\nthus attained. However, it is not so; for when the individual accustoms\nhimself to being directed in action, not by his own carefully won\nexperience, but by feelings instilled by others, concerning the ethical\ncharacter of which his own insight does not, and cannot, afford him any\nexplanation, he opens the way to every chance influence, and becomes the\nplaything of unknown forces; while he at the same time divests himself\nof that personal responsibility without which no society can exist. The\ntrue ideal of education is such as sharpens the judgment and accustoms\nthe individual to consider his action from all sides, in the\nconsciousness of personal responsibility. Only through such action is\nman the possessor of freedom. He who acts without reflection, from\nunreliable emotion, is not free. The freest possible decision is that\nwhich is reached as the result of such a careful consideration of all\nthe single components of reflection that no one of them exceeds in its\ninfluence its real worth. The ideal of education is not, therefore, the\nproduction of spontaneous decision and action, but of reasoning,\nconscious action. That this principle is the only right one is shown by\nour former observations, according to which, as society develops, more\nand more actions are the result of reflection. And in case a state of\nmoral perfection is attainable, it can be arrived at only as each member\nof the society acts from perfect reflection, not from impulse or\ninstinct. In attempting social improvement, we must take example by the\nchemist, who does not attempt a chemical combination by force but\nendeavors to attain the conditions under which the elements will unite,\nthrough their own inner laws, to the desired, homogeneous body. This is\na wearisome process; but it is the shortest and swiftest, for it leads\nus to the desired end.\n\nThe single virtues cannot be regarded as ideal principles. They\ncontradict each other, and whether the one or the other should have the\npreference depends on the individual case and can be decided only by\nreflection. The formulation of these general rules of conduct under the\nname of virtues has, practically, only the advantage of reducing the\nnumberless possibilities of action to a few; but such principles can\nnever be exhaustive. Wherever the individual forgets this fact and is\nled to regard virtue as an end, instead of as the means to an innocent\nhappiness, virtue ceases to be virtue and becomes its opposite. Thus\nthrift becomes avarice, generosity extravagance, courage foolhardiness,\nopenness want of consideration, gentleness weakness, and chastity\ncelibacy. The single virtues are only abstractions from special\ncircumstances generalized to an ideal of action. But in practical life,\nwe have to do with individual cases whose conditions are by no means\nideal, and cannot be treated as ideal. We must act, in each case, for\nthe relative best, not for absolute good; and what is best for one sex\nor in one society may not be best for the other sex or in another\nsociety. A compromise between idealism and realism is everywhere\nnecessary; and such a compromise is made, despite all fine words to the\ncontrary, by every one,--by one only more openly or consciously than\nanother. It is comforting to remark that mankind shows itself, and\nalways has shown itself, instinctively taking the road to the attainment\nof the end.\n\nThrough an extension of relations, authority, at first represented by a\nsingle individual, the head of the family or tribe, reaches the point of\ndevelopment where the one ruler is unable to rule all parts, and decide\nall questions, alone, so that he is obliged to call in help. He\nnaturally chooses men near to him, with whose character he is\nacquainted. But there arises, by this division of authority, the danger\nof its misuse to the disadvantage of the ruler himself. Since despotic\ngovernment depends on might alone, and the voice of the people has no\ninfluence, every person in any way related to the ruler represents a\ndanger. Nevertheless, the establishment of new powers to assist the\nruler was the starting-point of constitutional government. For by this\ndivision of power the ruler rendered it impossible for himself to govern\nwithout help from others, and opened the way to a contract of compromise\nwith the people. The influence of individuals upon the state spread,\nthus, to the people itself. Self-government, pure parliamentarism, is\nthe ultimate end to be reached by the process.\n\nWe have seen that neither pleasure, nor utility, nor virtue, nor,\nfinally, religion, can be regarded as the absolute means, but only as\nthe relative means to the attainment of happiness. Both the hedonist and\nthe utilitarian need to correct and further define their principle, as\nwell in respect to the end to be attained, as in respect to the means\nproposed. Their principles are not to be rejected, but fanaticism is to\nbe condemned. Principles may have exceptions; but fanaticism recognizes\nno exceptions.\n\nAs to man's final end. Though he has attained to the power of shaping,\nto some extent, his own environment and means of existence, yet he does\nnot occupy an exceptional position in the animal kingdom, and must cease\nto exist unless he submits to adapt himself. It has been almost the rule\nthat the highest animals of an epoch have later died out and been\nreplaced by some new aristocracy, developed from somewhat lower forms.\nIt is to be supposed that man, also, will be destroyed, whether by a new\nice-age or by a period of heat. By the very fact of his supremacy, he\ndisturbs the primal equilibrium, and originates conditions which, even\nnow, press hard upon single lands and may easily become dangerous to all\ncivilization. Destruction may also threaten mankind morally, for the\ndevelopment of morality hitherto gives no surety of its continuance.\nEvery advancement brings with it some evil, every virtue contains the\ngerms of some vice. Modern humanity has given us an unreasoning\nsoft-heartedness, with an extravagant malady of forgiveness which is\nnothing less than immorality itself, since it on the one hand undermines\nthe general sense of justice, while on the other it prompts and\nencourages wrong-doing.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[58] For further arguments in support of this assertion, see\n\"Biologische Probleme,\" pp. 64-66, etc.\n\n[59] Und da diese Flaeche durch Zelltheilung oder Fortpflanzung\nvergroessert wird, so waechst die Aufnahmefaehigkeit des Organismus mit der\nFortpflanzungsfaehigkeit desselben (p. 67).\n\n[60] Und diese Begierde... ist ihrem innersten Kerne nach, eine Unlust,\nein Leid: das Leid des Entbehrens des Genusses (p. 176).\n\n[61] Bei der Binfachheit der primitiven socialen Verhaeltnisse und der\nEinfoermigkeit der Lebenstaetigkeit muessen sich bald Erfahrungsregeln\ngebildet haben, die nun durch Vererbung uebertragen und damit zu\nLebensregeln vertieft wurden (p. 195).\n\n[62] Compare _supra_, p. 100, note.\n\n\n\n\nALFRED BARRATT\n\n\nAlfred Barratt's \"Physical Ethics\" (1869) deals with First Principles,\n\"Pure,\" as distinguished from \"Applied,\" Ethics, the aim of the science,\nas stated by the author, being \"to try to establish the first principle\nwhich is the condition of further progress. If we can establish a\nprinciple _a priori_, and then verify its universality by an appeal to\nmental phenomena and to philosophical theories, its existence as a fact\nwill be made certain; if, in addition to this, we can connect it with\nlaws still more general and with the family of natural sciences, it will\nbe no longer a fact, but become a scientific law, a section of the\nuniversal code; and the title of this essay will be justified.\"\n\n_Part First_ of \"Physical Ethics\" is occupied with the statement of\naxioms, definitions, and propositions \"derived from general experience.\"\nThey are as follows:--\n\n\"_Axiom 1._--Actions, like objects, are capable of being classified\naccording to their properties, and of being measured by a definite\nstandard.\n\n\"_Obs._--This axiom merely means that the qualities of actions, like\nthose of objects, are fixed and constant, so that the same action has\nalways the same properties and moral value, and, under the same\ncircumstances, always produces the same effect.... It follows from this\naxiom that it is possible to act so as to attain a definite object, and\nthus a general end of action may be arrived at....\n\n\"_Axiom 2._--The end of action (being some common property or effect) is\na possible object of knowledge.\n\n\"_Axiom 3._--We are capable of being affected by any external object\nonly through our faculties, or (in other words) as a part of our\nconsciousness.\n\n\"_Axiom 4._--Faculties are known only by their action, or (in other\nwords) so far as they are portions of our consciousness.\n\n\"_Axiom 5._--The sphere of action lies in the adaptation of 'inner' to\n'outer' sequences, of faculties to the laws of nature.\n\n\"_Axiom 6._--The constitution of man and other animal beings is an\norganism consisting of a number of parts, each having its appropriate\nfunction, and the end of each part results from the performance of its\nfunction.\n\n\"_Axiom 7._--Approbation is the standard whereby we judge of the moral\nvalue of actions, and is the universal mark of the due performance of a\nfunction and of the attainment of an end.\"\n\n\nDEFINITIONS\n\n\"1. Good is the object of moral approbation. The highest good is,\ntherefore, the ultimate object of such approbation, the end of action.\n\n\"2. Pleasure is that state of consciousness which follows upon the\nunimpeded performance (as such) of its function, by one or more of the\nparts of our organism.\"\n\n\nPROPOSITION I\n\n\"The Good is relative to our faculties. For no object can affect us\nexcept through our faculties (Axiom 3); but to be known by us is to\naffect us;\n\n\"Therefore, nothing can be known except through our faculties, or (in\nother words) except in relation to our faculties;\n\n\"But the Good, or End of Action, is a possible object of knowledge\n(Axiom 2);\n\n\"Hence the Good is relative to our faculties.\n\n\"_Corollary 1._--The highest good of man at any time is relative to his\nfaculties at that time.\n\n\"_Corollary 2._--Since ideas derive their elements from experience, the\nidea of perfect Good, or God, can only be an idealization of humanity.\n\n\nPROPOSITION II\n\n\"The Good is a state of Consciousness. For, the Good is a possible\nobject of knowledge (Axiom 2); but all objects of knowledge are states\nof consciousness;\n\n\"Hence the Good is a state of Consciousness. Or, the Good exists (or is\ncapable of being known) only by affecting our faculties, or, in other\nwords, only as an affection of our faculties (Proposition I);\n\n\"But an affection of our faculties is a state of consciousness;\n\n\"Hence the Good exists only as a state of consciousness.\n\n\"_Obs._--... To speak of anything existent external to our\nconsciousness, is, as we saw, a pure hypothesis, incapable of proof,\nperfectly unintelligible and void of utility. When, therefore, we make\nuse of the ordinary dualistic phraseology, we must remember that the two\nworlds there distinguished are merely two divisions of the universe of\nself considered as distinct for convenience of language, but differing\nonly as two classes comprehended under a common genus.\n\n\nPROPOSITION III\n\n\"The Good is relative to circumstances. For, the Good is determined by,\nand therefore lies in action (Axioms 7, 6, Obs.); but Action is relative\nto circumstances (Axiom 5). Hence the Good is relative to circumstances.\n\n\nPROPOSITION IV\n\n\"The Good depends upon the adaptation of faculties to circumstances.\n\n\"For, the Good is identical with the end (Def.); which results from the\nperformance of function by each part of the organism (Axiom 6).\n\n\"But the function of each part is its adaptation to circumstances\n(Axioms 5, 6): Hence the Good depends upon the adaptation of faculties\nto circumstances.\n\n\"_Corollary._--Since man is an organism composed of parts (Axiom 6), the\nwhole good of man is the sum of the goods of his parts, and therefore\ndepends upon the adaptation of all his parts to their corresponding\ncircumstances.\n\n\nPROPOSITION V\n\n\"The Good is Pleasure.\n\n\"For the good results from the due performance of functions (Prop. IV);\nbut the Good is a state of consciousness (Prop. II), therefore the Good\nis the state of consciousness which results from the due performance of\nfunctions (as such). Hence (by Definition), the Good is Pleasure.\n\n\"_Obs._--By our definitions of Good and Pleasure it was evident that\nthey were coextensive, being both marks of the same thing; to prove\ntheir identity it was necessary to show that Good is a state of\nconsciousness.\"\n\nOf these propositions Barratt says that I and II are perhaps the most\nimportant, since they assert the impossibility of Transcendentalism.\n\n_Part Second_ of \"Physical Ethics\" is a \"Verification by Special\nExperience.\"\n\n\nTHE ORIGIN OF THE MORAL SENSE\n\nThe assumption of a moral sense has already been made in the definition\nof Good as the object of Approbation.\n\nOur previous reasoning would lead us nevertheless to guess that this\nsense is not, in its nature, a simple and indecomposable faculty. How,\nthen, did this sense arise, and what is its nature and composition?\n\nIn the lowest animal organization, there are merely vague and indefinite\nstates of consciousness corresponding to the undeveloped state of\nphysical function. With the development and specialization of advancing\nevolution arises Perception; by which likeness and unlikeness among\nsensations are distinguished, and classification is begun.\n\n\"At first only the most obvious resemblances are noticed, but as\nexperience progresses, wider and wider classes ever tend to be formed,\ntill at last we arrive at those highest ideas which are coextensive with\nexperience. These, though the last in order of birth, become the\nstarting-points of science--just as men formed the idea of stones\nfalling long before they discovered the law of attraction, yet by that\nlaw they afterwards 'explain' the former fact. Thus we trace the whole\nof Perception or Knowledge to this power of comparison and noting\nlikenesses, and this we see to be coincident with the organization of\nconsciousness into central meeting-places or ganglia, in which different\nsensations are presented to a common tribunal and so compared together.\nWe see, therefore, that Perception does not originate consciousness; it\nonly organizes and develops it. We cannot, therefore, agree with Mr.\nHerbert Spencer, who will not allow consciousness to the lowest\nanimals.\"[63]\n\nThe process of perception or Knowledge works, not only on states of\nconsciousness themselves, but on the changes from one state to another,\nor, in other words, on relations. Thus results, on the one hand,\nrecognition of objects; on the other, argument and reasoning, for the\nmost abstruse reasoning is nothing more than a classification of\nrelations.\n\n\"We have now, therefore, two distinct divisions of Consciousness:\n_Sensation_, which as before consists only of pleasure and pain, though\nnow of different kinds; and _Perception_, which classifies states of\nconsciousness and their relations, and is therefore concerned only with\nchange. Knowledge, therefore, has originally no other object than\ndifferent pleasures and pains, but eventually it attends so much to the\ndifferences and resemblances that it ceases to remember the pleasure or\npain; in its absorption in the relation it well-nigh forgets the things\nrelated. This process is furthered by the fact that, as the medium gets\nmore extended, each part of it has less average effect upon the\norganism: the primary pleasures and pains being spread over a larger\nsurface are less intense, and so obtrude themselves less. This is\nexemplified by the common observation that sensation and perception tend\nto exclude each other.... Nevertheless pleasure and pain ever remain\nindissolubly connected with consciousness, though their presence is\noften unheeded, and only the more violent forms force themselves on the\nattention.\n\n\"What is true of these simple forms of consciousness, is true of their\nlater development. The relation of sensation to perception is the same\nas that between the faculties of which these are respectively the germs,\nemotion and intellect. For emotion is associated sensations of pleasure\nand pain; and intellect is associated perceptions of change and\nrelation. Hence by their very nature these are at once mutually\nexclusive and inseparable. A strong emotion drives out reason, and much\nreasoning chills emotion.... Yet we can give _some_ reason for any\nemotion; and we feel some emotion in working a mathematical problem....\nIn every intentional act it is evident that both are involved; the end\nbeing given by emotion, the means by reasoning. Reasoning can give no\nend, it can only arrange, elicit, suggest; emotion can give no means,\nfor it cannot classify or observe relations. In the building up,\ntherefore, of any moral faculty, both these elements must take a part.\nHence it will be well to trace, a little more closely, their mode of\nformation, and their connection with muscular activity.\n\n\"When in the course of experience a certain sequence of sensation\nfrequently recurs, the consciousness becomes habituated to it, and the\nreturn of the first sensation is followed by an idea or associative\nimage of the others.... Hence the idea of pleasure or pain not actually\nfelt comes to be associated with objects, which, if placed in certain\ndifferent positions, would effect us in the way imagined.... Pleasure\nmay thus be associated through a train of ideas of any length.... After\na time this process becomes organic, the intermediate terms are lost,\nand pleasure is _directly_ connected with sensations and ideas that are\nin themselves not distinctly pleasurable.\n\n\"Now by various trains of association, various pleasures and pains are\nconnected with the same object. These different combinations of\npleasures and pains, some of which arise, before reasoning, by\nunintentional association, but the higher of which are the results of\nautomatization of reasoning, form the different emotions....\n\n\"Action in its origin is simply the correlative of sensation.\nContractility and irritability are the two general properties of vital\ntissue, or rather are two sides of one fundamental property which is\nalso known under the name of sensibility--the power of contraction under\nirritation, or of expressing impressed force. Irritability means merely\nthe phenomena of consciousness, the development of which we have\nhitherto been tracing, though we have been throughout obliged to express\nourselves in the language of the inner, and not of the outer\nexperience.... This internal development we have already examined; we\nmust now turn to the obverse external development which takes its origin\nin contractility.\n\n\"The connection between these two fundamental properties is exceedingly\nintimate, that of ultimate identity or at any rate inseparability. For\nnot only is contraction universally the result of irritation, but the\nonly evidence that we have of irritation is the contraction which\nfollows, and in their early stages the two represent one and the same\nprocess. When, however, the expression, in action, of force impressed\nin sensation, becomes indirect and immediate, the name of irritability\nis given to the _immediate_, internal results of its impression, while\ncontractility expresses the action _ultimately_ expressed. Hence the\nseat of irritability is preeminently the nervous system, while\ncontractility, or the _vis musculosa_, is the name of the special\nproperty of the muscular tissue.\n\n\"Considering them however in their origin, they together represent a\ncertain form of the transmission of force.... Some kinds of impressed\nforce are followed by movements of retraction and withdrawal, others by\nsuch as secure a continuance of the impression. These two kinds of\ncontraction are the phenomena and external marks of pain and pleasure\nrespectively. Hence the tissue acts so as to secure pleasure and avoid\npain by a law as truly physical and natural as that whereby a needle\nturns to the pole, or a tree to the light.... Hence, the law of\nSelf-Conservation, or of the direction of Action, is merely another mode\nof expressing the fundamental property of animal tissue, which we have\nevery reason to believe is derived from the more elementary physical\nproperties of matter. The course of action is just as dependent on\nphysical laws as that of a stone which falls to the ground. The belief\nin external consciousness makes no difference either way; the earliest\nphenomena of such consciousness are those of pleasure and pain,\ntherefore we can suppose it to exist only as pleasure and pain. In the\none case we say that action aims at, or naturally results in, the\nphenomena of pleasure; in the other case that it aims at the actual\nconsciousness of pleasure.\n\n\"The expression of impressed force, or the connection of action and\nsensation, is at first in the unorganized tissue direct and immediate,\nwithout the agency of nervous communication, or to return again to the\nordinary psychological language, is unintentional or involuntary.... The\nearliest modification is due to association, whereby secondary\nsensations, or (as they are called later when they become perceived)\nideas are produced. These manifest themselves as weaker repetitions of\nthe primary pleasures and pains, and, therefore, are naturally followed\nby like results.... The process is this: the force originally impressed\nby the first sensation, instead of being all expressed in action, is\npartly induced by habituation into an internal channel, and so\ntransformed into the kind of force which generally impresses the second\nkind of sensation, and this now produces its appropriate action. Hence\npart of the original force has undergone two transformations instead of\none; the immediate antecedent of action being the force produced by\nassociation, or in other words, the associated pleasure. This is the\nrudiment of _motive_, which, however, is not generally called by that\nname till it is _perceived_. The same process may go on through two or\nmore links of association; the first transformed force being again\ntransformed internally instead of expressed, and the second again in its\nturn, until eventually a transformation is reached which finds its\neasiest way of escape in action; the immediate motive power being that\ntransformation of force, or that associated pleasure, which immediately\nprecedes the action. Actions of this kind constitute the lower phenomena\nof instinct: and we see therefore that they may depend on any number of\nlinks of unperceived, or, as we say, unconscious reasoning; and that\ntheir motive is also 'unconscious.' These actions stand half way between\nReflex and Voluntary Actions....\n\n\"We now come to the third and last development of associated action.\nHere not only is each associated idea perceived, but the change, in each\ncase, is also a fresh centre of association; whereby similar changes are\nconnected with it, and it is referred to a class. Hence the whole train\nis perceived, not only by the classification of each of its parts with\nsimilar previous sensations, but by the classification of each of its\nsequences with previous like sequences: in other words, it is now a\nchain of reasoning from the past to the present. That associated\npleasure from which this reasoned train commences is now called the\n_motive_ (though really the immediate motive power lies in the last\ntransformation which directly precedes the active expression) and the\nseries of ideas intervening between this and the action is called the\n_means_. Hence the motive associates the means, and the motive power is\ntransmitted through them till it is finally expressed in the action\nwhich is appropriate to the attainment of the pleasurable state whose\nidea is its source. This association of means with ends is at first\nsight opposed to the natural direction, which is from antecedent to\nconsequent; but when a line of nervous connection is formed, a current\nmay be transmitted indifferently in either direction. An effect may lead\nus to think of its cause, as easily as a cause associates its effect.\nBy the sequence of action and sensation, a connection is established\nbetween their ideas, which is independent of the order of excitation.\nThis last kind of action is that which we call voluntary, and the series\nof classified ideas and relations which lead to it is called Reasoning.\nIf at any point the current is attracted in two or more directions by\ndifferent trains of association, deliberation is the result; and the\neventual victory of one and the consequent transmission of the force\nalong it is entitled Will.\n\n\"We have therefore distinguished four kinds of action: _Reflex Action_,\nwhich is purely physical and independent of association, and which is\nthe last link in all the derived varieties; _Lower Instinctive Action_,\nwhich is caused by the first introduction of association, and is hardly\nto be distinguished in its phenomena from the last;... _Higher\nInstinctive Action_, which involves perception of qualities or\nobjects;... and finally, _Voluntary_ or _Intentional Action_, such as we\nfind it in man.... Though we have separated these classes from each\nother for clearness of description, there is no distinct line to be\ndrawn anywhere between them. Each fades insensibly into the next....\nEvolution, we must remember, does not advance by stages; these are\nmerely marks that we make ourselves, like the constellations in\nastronomy, for convenience of study.\n\n\"Finally, we must remark that the last two kinds of Action ever tend to\nrelapse into the second, which subjectively is a mere form of the first.\nAssociation of all kinds tends to become organic. By this we mean that,\nas the connection becomes more definitely marked and easy, the perpetual\nradiation which occurs as the current passes the different points on its\npath, disappears; and the whole current passes unimpaired. First, the\nradiation caused by the changes disappears, and reasoning becomes\ninstinct, as in doing a mathematical example from mere memory of the\ndifferent steps. Secondly, the radiation from the different nervous\ncentres also disappears, and the current which ends in action becomes\nnot only unreasoning but unperceived, as in walking or reading aloud\nwhile thinking of something else....\n\n\"Long habituation has two effects: it increases the number of trains\nconnected with each object, and also the length of each. If we suppose\nthe simpler emotions to have, by this time, become organic or apparently\nsimple states of consciousness, a continuance of association tends to\nconnect them together in bundles, as they themselves were originally\nbundles of elementary pleasures and pains. Hence the emotions become\norganized in their turn so as to form higher emotions, and eventually,\nwhen association has completed its work,... this organization ends in\none supreme emotion, which is the head of the emotional or sensitive\nside of the consciousness....\n\n\"Turning next to the second effect of prolonged habituation, we find\nthat, with objects or actions with which pleasure was at first\nassociated and which so were called pleasurable, further association\noften connects a subsequent pain which increased experience has shown\nalways to follow upon the immediate pleasure. This pain often more than\ncounterbalances the preceding pleasure; hence when it is taken into the\nemotion, that emotion becomes one no longer of appetition but of\naversion, and the object or action is remembered as one not to be sought\nafter but avoided. It cannot, however, be called painful, because it\ncauses immediate pleasure, so a new name has to be invented, and it is\ncalled Bad, or Evil. Similarly, many things which are immediately\nassociated with pain are found to be eventually followed by pleasure\nwhich more than counterbalances the pain, and as this experience becomes\nconsolidated by the power of association, they attract rather than\nrepel, and for a name whereby to distinguish them, are called Good; so\nthat Good and Evil are correlative terms like Pleasure and Pain, and\nmean respectively the greatest total Pleasure, and the greatest total\nPain. Now this experience when once acquired is never lost, but by\nvirtue of hereditary transmission descends from parents to children.\nBut, as in the case of the simpler emotions, only the results survive,\nand not the means whereby they were arrived at; so that, in a short\ntime, the words Good and Evil come to be quite separated from Pleasant\nand Painful; nay, as might be expected from their origin, they tend to\nacquire exactly opposite meanings; for Pleasure and Pain come to signify\nonly immediate pleasure and pain; and the final reckoning is often\nconsiderably at variance with the first item; as in a race the man who\nleads for the first lap seldom wins in the end....\n\n\"This, then, is the origin of the Moral Sense.... The Moral Sense,\ntherefore, is merely one of the emotions,\" though the last of all in the\norder of evolution; it can only claim a life of some two or three\ncenturies; and there are even some who still doubt its existence. \"Man\nat any rate is the only animal who possesses it in its latest\ndevelopment; for even in horses and dogs we cannot believe that it has\npassed the intentional or conscious stage.... Good, with them, has no\nartificial meaning; it is simply identical with the greatest pleasure.\"\n\nOnly by complete and perfect obedience to all emotions can perfect\nfreedom from regret be obtained in the gratification of all desire. Man\nis at present passion's slave, because he is so only in part; \"for the\ncause of repentance is never the attainment of some pleasure, but always\nthe non-attainment of more: not the satisfaction of one desire, but the\ninability to satisfy all. The highest virtue, therefore, consists in\nbeing led, not by one desire, but by all; in the complete organization\nof the Moral Nature.\"\n\n\nOF THE SOCIAL RELATION OF THE INDIVIDUAL\n\nWhen we assert the end of Action to be Pleasure, do we mean the pleasure\nof the individual, or universal happiness? \"Good has been shown to\nfollow immediately on the adaptation of an organism to circumstances; it\nis evident that external objects can affect it only in so far as they\nform part of these circumstances. Hence it follows that the pleasure and\npain of others can come in only incidentally; from the fact that each\nman is not an isolated unit, but a member of society. But further, this\nsocial medium itself is, after all, nothing but a part of the individual\naffected by it; it is one division of that primary side of his nature,\nby which the other side, the emotional, the intellectual, the moral, is\nbeing continually moulded and fashioned; and even if we take the\nnarrower meaning of self, the pleasures and pains of others cannot\npossibly affect a man's actions or emotions except in so far as they\nbecome a part of his. If man aims at pleasure merely by the physical law\nof action, that pleasure must evidently be ultimately his own; and\nwhether it be or be not preceded by phenomena which he calls the\npleasures and pains of others, is a question not of principle but of\ndetail, just as the force of a pound weight is unaltered whether it be\ncomposed of lead or of feathers, or whether it act directly or through\npulleys.\n\n\"The principle, therefore, is clear enough, that the happiness of others\ncan have only an indirect influence upon the good of each individual.\nBut it is equally clear that this direct influence must be of no mean\nextent, and that it is now our duty to trace its history.\" Here follows\na scheme of the development of the state from the family, which last was\nnecessitated by the helplessness of infancy, and from which arose the\nhabit of human association. We have no evidence from history or science\nthat mankind has not always existed in a state of society; there is no\nwarrant for assuming an earlier condition of isolation. \"Hence to the\nhuman race the earliest Good was inseparably bound up with what we now\ncall the Family Virtues.\"[64] The state, thus originated, developed as a\nsocial organism, with ever greater integration, heterogeneity, and\ncomplexity of parts, and \"the End or Good of each individual became\nlargely modified by the extension of the medium to which his actions had\nto be adapted\"; man became a member, not only of the family but of the\nstate, and the conceptions of his nature and duty became wider, \"so that\nat last the more perfectly each attains his own interest, and the more\npleasure he gathers to his own store, the more certainly does he secure\nthe universal happiness of mankind.\" If a man aims, as Spinoza remarks,\nat doing real good to himself, he will be sure to do most good to\nothers.\n\n\nTHE UNSELFISH EMOTIONS\n\nUnder this head is traced the genesis of sympathy through representation\nof the pains and pleasures of others and interpretation of them by\nindividual experience in the same environment; and the genesis of\nbenevolence, the active side of sympathy, through habit associated with\nthe ideas of the pleasures and pains of others. Love is defined as\n\"originally the association of many pleasures with one individual.\" From\nthe wider experience of man as a member of a state is developed justice\nor the sense of equality of right, patriotism, etc. All these feelings\nare hereditary.\n\n\nOF THE RELATION OF MAN TO NATURE\n\nThis portion of the book treats of the gradual development of knowledge\nto wider and wider generalization; of the extension of sympathy from man\nto the animal world also; of the universality of consciousness, which\nexists in the inanimate as well as the animate world; of the perfection\nof morality through the perfection of knowledge, since \"knowledge moulds\nemotion, and absolute virtue is nothing but absolute correspondence with\nnature in action resulting from thought\"; and of the evolution of\nreligion, through knowledge, to a religion of knowledge of the real\nuniverse or of humanity.\n\n\nOF THE WILL\n\nUnder this heading the metaphysical doctrine of freedom of the will is\ncombated as a contradiction of the laws of Cause and Effect. Praise and\nblame, reward and punishment, are desirable because of their effect on\naction.\n\n\nOF OBLIGATION\n\nBarratt defines obligation as a \"violent motive.\" Paley says: \"If a man\nfinds the pleasure of sin to exceed the remorse of conscience, of which\nhe alone is the judge, the moral-instinct man, so far as I can\nunderstand, has nothing more to offer.\" What, then, asks Barratt, has he\nhimself to offer if a man finds the pleasure of sin to exceed the pain\nentailed by disobedience to the external command? It may, indeed, be the\nfact that particular kinds of motive only come from particular sources,\nbut unless we can prove that those coming from a command are always the\nstrongest, we cannot claim for them a position such as that implied by\nthe word obligation, of being the highest or most universal motives. In\na contest between two motives, it is not the kind but the quantity which\ndecides. For if two pleasures or pains be equal, what does it matter\nwhere they came from? And if they be not equal, the greater, whatever\nits source, will always be the stronger motive.\n\n\"Hence obligation is nothing more than a 'violent motive.' Prudence and\nduty are both the following of the greatest pleasure; but so far as in\nordinary language we make a distinction between them, the pleasure aimed\nat in prudence is proximate and only slightly greater than the pain,\nwhereas in duty it is not only very considerably greater, but the\ngreatness is further glorified by a dim aureole of magnificent\ngeneralities and the halo of an unfathomable future....\n\n\"And as the result of a motive is in no way dependent on its external\nsource, so neither is it influenced by its mode of internal operation. A\nmotive may be strong either by its own natural force as a large excess\nof associated pleasure in one direction, or by the facility artificially\ngiven to its expression by the long-continued custom, either in\nourselves or in our fathers, of acting in a certain way on certain\noccasions. In other words, the strength of a motive is not absolute, it\nis relative to the habits and predispositions of our organisms; but the\nstrongest motive, whatever its kind, prevails in all cases.\n\n\"Obligation is often, again, confounded with compulsion: but submission\nto physical force is not morally an act at all, because its [Greek:\narche] or immediate antecedent is external to us, and therefore\nindependent of our moral laws.\"\n\n\nOF PLEASURES THAT ARE CALLED BAD\n\n\"We saw that Good differs from Pleasure simply by a widening of the\nfield of calculation; whereby the pleasure of the moment is often found\nto entail future pain greater than itself (allowance being made for\nperspective), and is therefore condemned as Bad. When, therefore, we\nspeak of Pleasure as opposed to Good, we always mean the pleasure of the\nmoment; or very often by a still further narrowing of the term, sensual\nas opposed to intellectual pleasures.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[63] Pp. 39, 40.\n\n[64] P. 73.\n\n\n\n\nLESLIE STEPHEN\n\n\"THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS\" (1882)\n\n\nWhile with regard to the matter of Ethics,--the general classifications\nof right and wrong conduct,--moralists are almost unanimous, with regard\nto its form,--the essence and criterion of right and wrong,--there is\ngreat disagreement. All widely spread opinions deserve respect by their\nmere existence; they are phenomena to be accounted for. On the subject\nof morals, as on all other subjects, opinions gradually modify and\napproach each other; but a perfect agreement will probably not be\narrived at.\n\nLeaving aside metaphysical questions, however, we may be able to find,\nas in physical science, some constants or ultimate elements which,\nthough they, according to the metaphysician's view, require further\nanalysis, yet constitute, within their sphere, scientific knowledge\nindependent of metaphysics. The follower of Hegel means, in all\nprobability, precisely the same thing as the follower of Hume, when he\nsays that a mother loves her child; though, when they come to reflect\nupon certain ulterior imports of the phrases used, they may come to\ndifferent conclusions. The formula remains the same; for all purposes of\nconduct it evokes the same impressions, sentiments, and sensible images,\nand it therefore represents a stage at which all theories must coincide,\nthough they start, or profess to start, from the most opposite bases.\n\"Mothers love their children\" is not unconditionally true; some mothers\ndo not love their children; but the statement is of worth as\napproximating scientific truth. It may be well to attempt to ascertain\nin how far it may be rendered scientific.\n\nIn the physical sciences, the statements of laws arrived at by the labor\nof generations are ideal statements, in which a mass of modifying\ncircumstances are disregarded for the sake of simplification. Even in\nthese sciences, the power of prediction is small. Of the complicated\nconditions of human action we have even less accurate knowledge than of\nthose of physical phenomena, though this does not lead us, any more than\nin the physical sciences, to suppose that prediction would not be\npossible if we knew the conditions. So far as man is a thing or an\nanimal, it is comparatively easy to determine his conduct. Given a\nstarving dog and a lump of meat in contact, you can predict the result.\nBut to determine the behavior of a human being with a glass of water\npresented to his lips, you must be able to calculate the action of human\nmotive and to unravel the tangled skein of thought and feeling in its\nvariation in the individual under consideration. Moreover, much of the\nlife of the individual is ruled, not by conscious motive, but by\nautomatic habit, acquired through education. The prediction of action in\nsociety as a unit is not less difficult than the prediction of\nindividual action, for if individual differences neutralize each other,\nso that a certain uniformity in the influence of circumstances is shown\nby statistics, it is not the less difficult to predict what these\nuniformities will be. Society as an organism, not a mere aggregate,\npresents, in the interaction of more complicated conditions, greater\ndifficulties than does the individual as such; and it may be said that\nprediction of the course of history, even in general terms and for a\nbrief period, would require an intellect as much superior to that of\nSocrates as the intellect of Socrates is superior to that of an ape.\n\nAnd yet mankind does possess knowledge of conduct, which does not differ\nin kind from scientific knowledge; there is, in fact, but one kind of\nknowledge, which passes into scientific knowledge as it becomes more\ndefinite and articulate. The knowledge that mankind possesses consists\nin what we have thus far taken for granted, that under the same\ncircumstances of outward environment and inward character, human conduct\ndoes not change. Of society, as of an organism, we cannot say _a priori_\nthat it is so and could not have been otherwise; we can only show, _a\nposteriori_, how different parts mutually imply each other, so that,\ngiven the whole, we can see that any particular part could not have been\notherwise. Our gain from such knowledge is the recognition that there\nmay be discoverable laws of growth essentially relevant to our\ninvestigation of conduct. So long as reasoning was conducted upon the\ntacit assumption that social phenomena can be satisfactorily explained\nby studying their constituent elements separately, attention was\ndiverted from the important principles of the interrelation of parts to\nthe whole. The theory of evolution brings out the fact that every\norganism, whether social or individual, represents the product of an\nindefinite series of adjustments between it and its environment. Every\nrace or society is part of a larger system, product of the continuous\nplay of a number of forces constantly shifting with an effort towards\ngeneral equilibrium, so that every permanent property represents, not an\naccidental similarity, but a correspondence between the organism and\nsome permanent conditions of life. To solve the problem of existence by\ncalculation is an impossibility; but our own lives are working it out;\nthe evolution of history is the solution of our problem. And when we\nfully recognize that a problem is being solved, we have only to gain\nsome appreciation of its general nature and conditions, in order to\nreach some important, though limited, conclusions, which may fairly be\ncalled scientific, as to the meaning of the answer. These conclusions\nare not scientific in the sense of giving us quantitative and precise\nformulae, but they may be so far scientific as to be certain and\nreliable.\n\nThus we may be able to show how a given set of instincts corresponds to\ncertain permanent conditions under which they were developed, and\n(returning to the problem of differing theories of morals with which we\nstarted) to show what is the cause of differing opinions. Our\ninvestigations of the problem of morality have nothing to do, in the\nfirst instance, with moral principles which are, or profess to be,\ndeduced from pure logic, independent of any particular fact; they deal\nwith actual moral sentiments as historical facts. The word moral, as\nused in our considerations, does not, therefore, refer to an ideal moral\ncode, but to the one actually existing in the case considered.\n\nEthical speculation, as thus understood, must be concerned with\npsychological inquiries--inquiries in regions where the vague doctrines\nof common sense have not yet crystallized into scientific coherence; we\nmust therefore proceed with caution.\n\nThe contention between materialist and idealist is irrelevant to our\ndiscussion. The fact that mechanical processes underlie all mental\nprocess does not make the latter the less a fact; nor can the mechanical\nstatement ever supersede the psychological statement. The proposition\nthat hunger makes men eat will express truth, whatever material\nimplications are involved in the statement.\n\nConduct is determined by feeling; we fly from pain, we seek pleasure;\nlife is a continuous struggle to minimize suffering and lay a firm grasp\nupon happiness. \"Good\" means everything that favors happiness, and \"bad\"\neverything that is conducive to misery; nor can any other intelligible\nmeaning be assigned to the words. The difficulty of proving these\npropositions lies in the fact that they are primary doctrines, for proof\nof which we must appeal to the direct testimony of consciousness. But\ncritics oppose, not so much the propositions themselves, as certain\nsupposed implications. By pain and pleasure is here meant every\nconceivable form of agreeable or disagreeable feeling. The assertion\nthat conduct is determined by pain and pleasure is not meant as a denial\nthat it is also, in some sense, determined by the reason; but a state of\nconsciousness which is neither painful or pleasurable cannot be an\nobject of desire or aversion. The reason is often contrasted with the\nfeelings in its determination of conduct, the reasonable man being\ndefined as one who, instead of being the slave of immediate impulse, is\ncapable of adapting means to ends and following, thus, courses of\nconduct not in themselves agreeable but promising a greater total of\nhappiness. The fact is, however, that all happiness that determines the\nwill is future; conduct is determined, in every case, not by a future\nfeeling of pleasure, which, as future, does not yet exist, but by\npresent feeling. It is therefore more accurate to say that conduct is\ndetermined by the pleasantest judgment than to say that it is determined\nby the judgment of what is pleasantest. The intention of the agent is\ndefined by the foreseen consequences of his conduct; his end is defined\nby that part of the foreseen consequences which he actually desires; and\nthe end defines the motive, that is, the feeling, which actually\ndetermines conduct. The pleasantest end is adopted because the foretaste\nof the pleasure is itself pleasurable. The intellect and the emotions\nare in reality related as form and substance, and cannot be divided.\n\nIn the action of pain and pleasure, it seems to be an obvious fact that\npain, as pain, represents tension, that is, a state of feeling from\nwhich there is a tendency to change; pleasure represents equilibrium, or\na state in which there is a tendency to persist. The worm writhes on the\nhook, and the mind may be said to writhe under a painful emotion in the\neffort to writhe into some more tolerable position. In the act of\nchoice, each mode of action is tried ideally, and the individual settles\ninto that which is, on the whole, the easiest. The analogy which\nnaturally offers itself and seems to give the best account of the facts\nis the mechanical principle of least resistance. It is not, perhaps,\nsuperfluous to remark that the volition may exercise a very small\ninfluence, even when the limiting conditions are in a great part ideal.\nThe more painful is not necessarily the less permanent condition. It is\none in which there is an additional chance against permanence. Terror\nsets up so disturbed a condition that the mind cannot settle into any\ndefinite course. We can no more alter arbitrarily the circumstances of\nour microcosm than those of the external world. It is as difficult to\navoid brooding in vain regret as to evade a physical constraint.\n\nReason and feeling are bound together in inseparable unity. But reason,\nwhatever its nature, is the faculty which enables us to act with a view\nto the distant and the future. A great part of conduct is automatic; it\nis either not determined by conscious motives, or it is determined by\nmotives which, though they rise for a moment to the surface of\nconsciousness, are forgotten as soon as felt. Of our conscious conduct,\nagain, part may be called instinctive and part reasonable. These modes\nof action pass into each other by imperceptible degrees. The instinctive\nmay be converted into reasoned as the consequences become manifest, and\nthe reasoned become instinctive as the consequences are left out of\naccount. So, again, the instinctive action becomes automatic when it is\nperformed without leaving any trace upon consciousness. It may still be\nvoluntary in the sense that the agent may be able to refrain from it if\nhis attention happens to be aroused. Habitual actions pass through all\nthese gradations. When the reason is called into action, it is not in\nvirtue of a purely logical operation that it conquers if it does so; it\nis in virtue of the fact that it reveals a new set of forces ready to\nspring into action to the necessary degree.\n\nWe may be said to feel by signs as well as to reason by signs. The sight\nof a red flag may deter us from crossing a rifle range without calling\nup to our imagination all the effects of a bullet traversing the body.\nIf the motive which prompts us to run the risk be strong, it may be\nnecessary to convert a greater volume of latent, into active emotion;\nand as we frequently fail to do this, we often run risks which we should\navoid were the consequences distinctly contemplated.\n\nThe development of the whole nature implies a development of both the\nemotional and the intellectual nature; new sensibilities imply new\nsentiments; and increased range of thought is associated with an equal\ngrowth in complexity and variety of emotion. The more reasonable being\nacts with emotion, but his emotions have more complex and refined\nmethods. The reasonable man is a better mirror of the world without him,\nhis conduct shows a better adaptation to ends and a greater logical\nconsistency in its parts; more harmony of action between the different\ninstincts. The important question is not solved by these facts. We may\nstill ask: How is the relation between the different instincts, the\ninfluence exerted by each member of the federation, determined?\n\nWe start with certain fixed relations between our various instincts; and\nhowever these may change afterwards, our character is so far determined\nfrom the start. Again, it is plain that this inherited balance varies\ngreatly with different peoples and gives rise to different types. In one\nman the sensual passions have a greater relative importance than in his\nneighbor, and so forth. And the question arises, whether we can\ndetermine which of these types is most reasonable.\n\nIn the construction of the bow, we may suppose that, from rude\nbeginnings, through discovery of better and better forms as adapted to\nends in view in its construction, a form of bow would finally be reached\nwhich would represent the maximum of efficiency. This bow may be called\nthe typical bow. As exquisitely adapted to its purpose, it arouses in us\naesthetic satisfaction. Like the bow, every organism represents the\nsolution of a problem, as well as a set of data for a new problem. As\nthe bow is felt out, so the animal is always feeling itself out. The\nproblem which it solves is how to hold its own against the surrounding\npressure and the active competition of innumerable rivals. Though we\ncannot apply an _a priori_ method, cannot define the materials of which\nmen are made or the end which they have to fulfil, we can determine to\nsome extent their typical excellence. Recognizing the general nature of\nthe great problem which is being worked out, we can discover what is\nimplied in some of the results. The process of evolution must be, at\nevery moment, a process of discovering a maximum of efficiency; though\nthe conditions are always varying slowly, and an absolute maximum is\ninconceivable. At every point of the process, there is a certain\ndeterminate direction along which development must take place. The form\nwhich represents this direction is the typical form, any deviation from\nwhich is a defect. It is conceivable that the highest efficiency in\ndifferent departments of conduct may imply consistent conditions. The\ngreatest philosopher may also be the greatest athlete and the greatest\npoet. It is equally clear that there is no necessary connection. What,\nthen, is the relative value of different kinds of efficiency? A complete\nanswer to the question might bring out the fact, which seems on other\ngrounds probable, that it is an advantage to a race to include a great\nvariety of different types. It is enough, however, to say that, in\nspeaking of a type, the assertion is not intended, that there is one\nspecial type conformity to which is a condition of efficiency, but that\nevolution is always the working out of a problem, the solution of which\nimplies the attainment of certain general qualities.\n\nWe have changed our point of view from the consideration of pain and\npleasure to that of the conditions of existence. The fact is simply,\nthat the constants in one problem are variables in the other. Given a\ncertain character, the agent does what gives him pleasure. But if we ask\nhow he comes to have that character, the only mode of answering is by\nreferring to the conditions of existence. His character must be such as\nto fit him for the struggle for existence. There must therefore be a\ncorrelation between painful and pernicious actions on the one hand, and\npleasurable and temporal on the other. The useful in the sense of the\npleasure-giving must approximately coincide with the useful in the sense\nof the life-preserving. All conduct may be considered as a set of\nhabits, to each of which there is a corresponding instinct--the word\nhabit being used to designate any mode of conduct, automatic or\nvoluntary, which may be brought under a general rule, instinct denoting\nall conscious impulses to action, whether including more or less\nreasoned choice, and whether innate or acquired. Habits graduate from\nthe essential processes which constitute life rather than maintain it,\nand which are, for the most part, automatic, to the most superficial and\ntransitory. In order that the proposition \"This habit is a bad one\" may\nhave any real meaning, we must assume that the organism can exist\nwithout it. A habit cannot be removed as one takes off a coat, as has\nbeen too often assumed; the whole character of the man is affected by\nits removal.\n\nA capacity is essential if it is essential under normal conditions of\nenvironment. The quality which makes a race survive may not always be a\nsource of advantage to every individual, or even to the average\nindividual. Since the animal which is better adapted for continuing its\nspecies will have an advantage in the struggle, even though it may not\nbe so well adapted for pursuing its own happiness, an instinct grows and\ndecays not on account of its effects on the individual, but on account\nof its effects upon the race. The qualities of the individual and those\nof the race mutually imply each other, since the individual can no more\nbe considered apart from society than the apple can be considered apart\nfrom the tree on which it grows. It remains true, however, that certain\nqualities of the apple may vary whilst the relation to the tree remains\napproximately the same, as also that the individual may vary in his\nqualities to some extent, his relation to society remaining\napproximately constant; and qualities thus variable may be regarded as,\nin so far, independent of society.\n\nSocial development takes place without corresponding change of\nindividual organization. We cannot interpret the changes from savage\nlife arrived at in present civilization, as representing an essential,\ngreat, or corresponding difference in the innate faculties of the\ncivilized man from those of the savage, but must regard them rather as\nrepresenting the accumulation of mental and material wealth. The child,\nlearning, with the words of his language, their implicit meanings, has\nhis feelings modified by them, is thus a philosopher and metaphysician\nin the cradle by the associations given him, and is educated from\ninfancy by the necessity of conforming his activities to those of the\nsurrounding mass. All organization implies uniformities of conduct, and\ntherefore continuous discipline. Society is an organism in this sense,\nnot in any mystical sense. It is not an organism with a single centre of\nconsciousness.\n\nAn organization implies organs; and these are to be found in the various\norganizations, political, religious, etc., by which, through a greater\nor less division of labor, certain special functions are relegated to\nparticular associations. We thus have not only to go beyond the\nindividual and refer to the organs in order to determine the \"law\" or\nform of any instinct developed through the social factor, but we have\nalso to classify the various social instincts by reference to the\ncomplex structure of society, which implies a distribution into mutually\ndependent organs. Moreover, such organs, though primarily directed to a\nspecific end, acquire a vitality independent of any special end, become\norgans discharging a complex function, and imply the existence of a\ncorrespondingly complex set of instincts. We come really to love an\norganization because it supplies us with a means of cultivating certain\nemotions and of enjoying the society of our fellows; it would be an\nentirely inadequate account of the facts if we regarded it simply as the\nmeans of attaining that pleasure which has given the pretext for its\nformation.\n\nThe organs of society are not, however, distinct from each other as the\nphysical organs are distinct; the same individuals may be members of\nvarious organizations. The race is not, in fact, analogous to the higher\norganism, which forms a whole separated from all similar wholes, but to\nan organism of the lower type, which consists of mutually connected\nparts spreading independently in dependence upon external conditions,\nand capable of indefinite extension, not of united growth. We may\nconsider the race, thus, as forming social tissue, rather than\nconstituting an organism. The tissue is built up of men, as the tissue\nof physiology is said to be built up of cells. The laws of growth and\nvitality of the organs of society are always relative to the underlying\nproperties of the tissue; although, in particular cases, the more\ncivilized race may be supplanted by the less civilized, we may assume\nthat these accidental and contingent advantages will be eliminated on\nthe average, and the general tendency will be to the predominance of\nthose races which have intrinsically the strongest tissue. Not the state\nas such, and (as we have seen) not the individual, is the unit of\nevolution; the state may develop when the external pressure is little or\nnothing; the social tissue is that primary unit upon which the process\nof social evolution impinges. The family is not, itself, a mode of\norganization cooerdinate with other social organs, but rather represents\nthe immediate and primitive relation which holds men together. It is\nquite possible to suppose men living together without any political and\nsocial organization; but some association between the sexes, however\ntemporary and casual, and some protection of infants by parents, are\nabsolutely necessary to the continuance of the race beyond a single\ngeneration. A change in family associations implies a corresponding\nchange of vast importance in the intimate structure of society itself,\nin the social tissue. The state may make a marriage law, but it cannot\ncreate or modify the family tie beyond certain narrow limits. It can\nbestow privileges upon some one kind of association, but it cannot\noriginate it, cannot enforce fidelity and chastity.\n\nThe social tissue is its own end, or depends upon the whole system of\ninstincts possessed by man as a social and rational creature.\n\nThe development of society as an organic structure implies the\ndevelopment of customs in the race, and habits in the individuals\nforming it. There must be certain rules of conduct which are observed by\nall, in order that corresponding rules may be observed by each.\n\nCustom in the civilized society may be distinguished from positive law.\nIn primitive states, the distinction is imperceptible. The authority of\nlaw itself must rest upon custom,--the custom of obedience. But physical\nforce alone, or the dread of its application, cannot produce obedience;\nthe application of such force is so little essential that a state of\nsociety is conceivable, in which it should disappear altogether; men\nmight be willing to obey their rulers simply from respect and affection.\nThe power of applying coercion in case of need must no doubt increase as\nthe strength of the social bond increases; but that bond is also the\nstronger, in proportion as the need of applying it becomes less. The\nwhole social structure, then, must rest, in the last resort, upon the\nexistence of certain organic customs, which cannot be explained from\nwithout. They depend, for their force and vitality, upon the instincts\nof the individual as modified by the social factor; they correspond to a\ngiven state of the social tissue. A legal sanction may be added to any\ncustom whatever, and thus it may seem that a state can make its own\nconstitution and define its own organic laws; in reality, however, the\npower of making a certain constitution presupposes a readiness to act\ntogether and accept certain rules as binding, and thus implies a whole\nset of established customs, essential to the life of the society and\ngiving rise to special types of character in its members. Every law of\nconduct more or less affects the character of the persons subject to it,\nso long as it is enforced; and necessarily, every variation in the\ncharacter more or less affects the sentiments from which the external\nlaw derives its force. The correspondence, however, is not so intimate\nthat one mode of statement can always be rendered into the other. For\nlaws, indeed elaborate codes, are developed without seriously affecting\nthe general character of the underlying customs, and in the same way\ninstincts may vary widely without producing any normal change in the\nexternal order, though they affect the mode in which it works. The\nessence of any law is in the mutual pressure of the different parts of\nthe social structure. Any association with a given end will have laws\ndetermined with reference to that end. When we pass, however, from the\norgan to the tissue, we still have an organic structure with certain\nrules of conduct and corresponding instincts, but we no longer have a\ndefinite end or a fixed material. The material, that is, is to be\nregarded as developing and determining the development of the subsidiary\norgans. And since the most efficient society normally survives, we may\ninversely infer from the survival of a society that it has developed the\nproperties on which its efficiency depends. The actual laws existing at\nany period may not represent the greatest degree of efficiency possible;\nbut they must be an approximate statement of the essential conditions.\n\nThe moral law, as applicable to all members of a society, defines some\nof the most important qualities of the social tissue. It is as\nindependent of the legislature as are the movements of the planets. This\nis true whether you resolve morality into reason or make it dependent\nupon utility. The action of any set of people can no more change the\nnature of facts than that of logical necessities. This is, however,\nfully true only of morality as it ought to be in correspondence with\nfacts. Actual morality corresponds to men's theories about facts, and it\nmay, therefore, deviate from what the code would be if they were\nincapable of error. But it is plain that, though it varies, it must vary\nwithin incomparably narrower limits than other systems of law, because\nits variation is determined by far more general conditions; it maintains\nitself, so to speak, by the direct action of the organic instincts. The\ndoctrines of the greatest moral teacher, though somewhat in advance of\nprevailing standards, are successful only in proportion as they are\ncongenial to existing sentiments, give articulate shape to thoughts\nalready obscurely present in the social medium. Like Socrates, the\nreformer must be something of a midwife. Morality grows, and is not\nmade; that is, it is the fruit of a gradual evolution of the organic\ninstinct continued through many generations. The ordinary mind resists\nany change in principles instilled into it from birth; the great masses\nare sluggish in movement.\n\nThe moral law has to be expressed in the form: \"Be this,\" not \"Do this.\"\nThe existence of a character such that variations of circumstances will\ncause no deviation from morality is the only security for morals. The\nlegislator is forced to classify conduct by its objective\nmanifestations. But the cunning of the man who desires to evade the code\ncan still devise innumerable methods of accomplishing his end\nindirectly. Law permits what it does not prohibit, and is, therefore, in\ndanger of producing hypocrisy instead of virtue.\n\nThe process by which the moral law (or rather, the law of conduct which\nincludes, but is not coincident with the moral law) is developed, is a\nprocess of generalization. It corresponds to a vast induction carried on\nby the race as organized in society. Beginning with modes of conduct\nwhich are seen to be bad, society gradually perceives that the ultimate\nprinciple of classification must be by the primary feelings, that rules\nof conduct must be expressed in terms of character, and other rules\nwhich concern the application of these to more special cases must take a\nsubordinate position and be regarded as only of conditional value. All\nthese rules must necessarily correspond, within very narrow limits, to a\nstatement of the conditions of vitality of the tissue which they\ncharacterize. In an ideal state of society, every general principle\nwould also be recognized in every particular rule. This is a result a\ngradual approximation to which, rather than its actual attainment, must\nbe anticipated.\n\nMorality implies action for the good of others in some sense. Society\nmay be regarded both as an aggregate and as an organism. There are\ncertain qualities which we may suppose to vary in the individual without\nnecessarily involving a change in the social structure. How is the\ngeneral rule, as distinguished from other rules, deduced from the\ngeneral principle of social vitality?\n\nThe law of nature has but one precept, \"Be strong.\" But when we regard\nthe individual in his relations to society, the law takes on different\nforms. This may be expressed by saying that the law \"Be strong,\" has two\nmain branches, \"Be prudent\" and \"Be virtuous,\" the first applying to\ncases in which the individual is primarily affected, the other to those\nin which the units are affected through society and the social factor\nmust be taken into account.\n\nTo find a classification of the virtues that will not run into infinite\ndetail or be a simple affirmation of the general principle, the internal\ndevelopment of moral character under its emotional and intellectual\naspects may furnish a sufficient method. The general formula of primary\nindividual virtues is: \"Be strong.\" The condition of vitality of the\nindividual as a complex of instincts, is expressed by the formula: \"Be\ntemperate.\" And the class of virtues referring to the conditions of\nintellectual efficiency, has the general rule: \"Be truthful.\"\n\n_Ceteris paribus_, an increase of individual energy is an advantage to\nsociety; and, as a matter of fact, we find that civilized society\ndiffers conspicuously from the ruder in stimulating more vigorously and\nsystematically the various energies of its members. The most conspicuous\nvirtue of this class is the virtue of courage. In more primitive\nconditions, courage, as necessary to the preservation of society, is\nregarded as a virtue in itself; later, some mixture of judgment and\nreason is required in its exercise; and finally, since it may be\ncombined with other anti-social qualities, it is not approved in the\nsame manner as the more directly social virtues. Courage is now regarded\nmerely as one manifestation of a character which is fitted for all the\nrequirements of social existence.\n\nThe courage of the bulldog is blind instinct. Where such an instinct\nexists, the animal survives by reason of it, not because he forms any\nconscious judgment of its advantages. It seems necessary to suppose that\nraces owed their survival to military prowess when reflection was still\nin the most rudimentary stage. The utility of courage must have been a\nvery obvious discovery as soon as reflection became possible; but the\nquality must have existed, in some degree, before it could be\ndiscovered, although the existence of a distinct moral sentiment\ndoubtless implies some reflection. Moreover, the instincts which imply a\nperception of utility must themselves comply with the conditions of\nexistence, must themselves be useful. Increased intelligence might act\nto the disadvantage of the race by increasing selfish cowardice through\na keener perception of personal, as distinct from social, risk; but this\ncannot be true ultimately, since we perceive that intelligent races have\nan advantage; we may suppose that those races are most successful in\nwhich a perception of the vitality of courage goes along with an\nincrease of courage. This principle must be regarded, therefore, as\nworking, not only through the less conscious instinct of the lower\nraces, but also upon the judgments of a highly civilized society. The\nlike is true, _mutatis mutandis_, of other qualities (such as industry,\nenergy, and so forth) which belong to the same class.\n\nThe estimate of courage differs with respect to the two sexes, as does\nalso that of chastity. The historical explanation is simple; courage was\nnecessary in men in early social stages, to race-preservation; to women,\non the other hand, has been given, from early times, a class of social\nfunctions not requiring courage. The estimate, once fixed, survives even\nwhen some of its early conditions disappear. The savage acquired his\nwife by knocking her down; to him the ideal feminine character must\nhave included readiness to be knocked down, or at least unreadiness to\nstrike again; and, as some of the forms of marriage recall the early\nsystem, so in the sentiments with which it is regarded there may still\nlinger something of the early instinct associated with striking and\nbeing struck.\n\nThe virtues of chastity and temperance occupy an intermediate position\nbetween the virtues of strength and the directly social virtues. Some of\nthem are a part of the prudential, and others of the directly moral\ncode. Temperance is primarily prudential, but the sexual and parental\ninstincts concern the most intimate structure of society. Our\ninstinctive classification of temperance as higher than courage has good\nreason; the classification of it as a personal virtue cannot be\nmaintained. A man whose vice injures only himself in the first place,\nbecomes incapable of benefiting others. As we condemn the man whose\ncharacter is bad, whether external circumstances do, or do not, give him\nan opportunity of displaying it, so we object logically to the man who\nis destroying his social qualities, whether the immediate effect of his\nconduct tells upon himself or upon others. Another element, an\ninstinctive disgust at sensuality, seems to precede judgment upon\nintemperance, with a strength not to be accounted for by a mere summing\nup of consequences. The human hog revolts us as the smell of the sty\nturns our stomach. The justification of the instinct is not that it\nimplies a judgment of what is useful, but rather that it is a useful\njudgment. As men become more intellectual, sympathetic, and so forth,\nthey gain fresh sensibilities, which are not simple judgments of\nconsequences but as direct, imperative, and substantial, as any of the\nprimitive sensibilities. To get rid of the sensibility you must lower\nthe whole tone of the character. Asceticism, which has arisen chiefly at\ntimes of great indulgence, may have been of use if only as a\ndemonstration of the possibility of conquering the prevailing passions.\nIn a similar manner, we may think a great reformer, a Howard for\nexample, admirable, though he neglects duties which must be performed in\nthe ordinary case. We thus admit that the general moral code of\nbenevolence prescribes different conduct according to a man's\nopportunities and talents.\n\nTruth is a virtue of slow growth; the savage, like the child, is unable\nto distinguish clearly the difference between imagination, hypothesis,\nand historical statement. The perception of the utility of truth first\ntakes the external form: \"Lie not,\" which corresponds approximately but\nnot perfectly to the internal rule: \"Be trustworthy.\" The internal rule,\nas such, is the higher; the external may have exceptions.\n\nWe come, at last, to the directly social virtues of justice and\nbenevolence. So far as truth and temperance are strictly virtuous, they\nmay be classed, the one under justice, the other under benevolence.\nThere is no real conflict between justice and benevolence; so far as a\nman is really benevolent, he will not wish to benefit some to the injury\nof others. Justice seems to consist in the application to conduct of the\nprinciple of sufficient reason.\n\nIt is not safe to infer altruistic intention merely from altruistic\nconsequences. The sexual appetite appears to be the most selfish of\nimpulses, in that it prompts to conduct often ruinous to its objects. On\nthe other hand, it is the root of all social virtues. We cannot be sure\nthat the hen who covers her chicks regards them as more than comfortable\nfurniture in the nest. Altruism begins with the capability of benevolent\nintention; where the conferring of pleasure upon others becomes a\npossible motive. The generation of pleasure in others' happiness has\nbeen traced to association; but, though the pleasant association\ndoubtless prepares the way for the higher sentiment, the latter is\nsomething more.\n\nIt is true that all conduct is egoistic, in the sense that all conduct\nhas its source in the pain and pleasure of the doer; but there is great\ndifference between conduct that regards human beings as mere means to\npersonal pleasure and that which takes into account their feelings as\nsentient beings. Sympathy springs from the primary intellectual power of\nrepresentation. I cannot properly know a man without knowledge of his\nthoughts and feelings. Cruelty is, in many cases, simple insensibility,\nincapacity for projecting ourselves into the position of other beings.\nWe may desire the pain of others when it is useful as a deterrent, or\nsecures our own safety; yet to think about other beings is, in general,\nto stimulate our sympathies, our sensibility being thus quickened by the\nsame power which implies intellectual progress.\n\nTo believe in the existence of sentient beings is to take into account\ntheir feelings, to believe that they have feelings, which may persist\nwhen I am not aware of them. A real belief, again, implies that, at the\nmoment of belief, I have representative sensations or emotions\ncorresponding to those which imply the actual presence of the object. To\ntake sentience into account is to sympathize, to feel with. The only\ncondition necessary for the sympathy to exist, and to be capable,\ntherefore, of becoming a motive, is that I should really believe in the\nobject, and hence have representative feelings. Systematically to ignore\nthese relations is to act as I should act if I were an egoist in the\nextremest sense and held that there were no consciousness in the world\nexcept my own. But really to carry out this principle is to be an idiot;\nfor an essential part of the world as interesting to me is constituted\nby the feelings of other conscious agents, and I can ignore their\nexistence only at the cost of losing all the intelligence which\ndistinguishes me from the lower animals. It is true that this vicarious\nsympathy, this pain at another's pain, may result in our simply getting\nrid of our own pain by going away from the sufferer, removing him, or\ndismissing him from our mind; as a fact, these methods are often\npursued. But in many cases, such a course is impossible without the\nrenunciation, at the same time, of many pleasures. If a man is to live\nwith his friends, he must share their joys and sorrows; the choice is\nnot between a particular pain and its absence, but involves the whole\nquestion of the renunciation of companionship. Emotions are inevitable,\nwhether sympathetic or not, in proportion, not simply to the pain and\npleasure at the moment, but to the intensity and degree in which they\nform part of the world of the individual,--the world constituted, not by\nmere sensations, but by the whole system of thoughts and emotions\nsustained by the framework of perception. The existence of pure\nmalignity must, it is true, be admitted; it may be partly explained as\nlove of the \"sensational,\" the novel; the full explanation must be left\nto the psychologist. Sympathy is the natural and fundamental fact. If\nintellectual progress carried with it inferior sociability, it would\ntend to be eliminated; the world would be to the stupid; it must carry\nwith it something which counterbalances the anti-social tendency. Reason\nis that which enables a human being to take account of future, as well\nas present pleasures. The working of the instincts or feelings, which\ndictates conduct, approximately coincides with the prevision as to the\nmaximum of happiness obtainable by the agent; normally, it is prudent\nto be virtuous; and the sympathetic motives, so to speak, always develop\nwithin the framework provided by the other motives. To become reasonable\nis to act on general principles, and to act consistently; and this\nincludes the condition that a statement of the real cause of my action\nshould equally assign the reason of my action. The law which my feelings\nactually follow must coincide with the principle which commends itself\nto my reason. In order, then, that a being provided with the social\ninstincts should act reasonably it is necessary that he should take that\ncourse of conduct which gives the greatest chances of happiness to the\norganization of which he forms a part. As the pain or pleasure in\nanother's pain or pleasure is direct, so the end willed is willed as\npleasurable to the subject, and the statement that altruism involves the\ncontradiction of aiming at something else than the real end--the\npleasure of the subject--in order to secure that end, is erroneous. The\nfact probably is that the mind \"flickers,\" taking into consideration\nvarious consistent and mutually dependent ends, some of which may be\nprimarily egoistic, some altruistic. The physician is not benevolent\nenough to cure me unless he expects a fee; but he may act also out of\nsympathy; he need not be always thinking of his fee. Our sympathies\nwould be stifled, if it were not for the cooeperation of motives of a\ndifferent kind.\n\nAltruism is the faculty essentially necessary to moral conduct; but the\naltruistic sentiment is not to be identified with morality. The\nelementary sympathy must be regulated and disciplined, in order that it\nmay give rise to true morality. Virtues, for instance, which belong to\nthe type of truthfulness and justice, generally imply a severe restraint\nof the immediate sympathetic impulses.\n\nWe recognize the internal motive as desirable, and recognize a\ndifference between the man who acts only from prudential motives and the\none who acts from moral motives. We consider the latter meritorious,\nthat is, that he has a certain claim upon society, inasmuch as he has\ndone for nothing what another man will only do for pay, or has refrained\nfrom action from which a less moral man can be restrained only by\ncoercion. Wherever society finds sacrifice of the individual necessary,\nit pays for it in terms of merit. Merit is the value put upon virtue; it\nis a function of the social forces, by which our characters are moulded.\n\nEvery character is developed under circumstances, and depends upon\nmutual adjustment with these; we cannot disentangle the two factors.\nUpon the power to infer future action the science of Ethics depends. The\naction of the individual is not a matter of chance; in this sense it is\ncaused. But the instinct from which the action springs is not something\nexternal to the man, which moves him; there is not the man plus the\ninstinct; the whole man, including the instinct, acts in a certain way,\nin which he would not act if he did not possess the instinct. We are\naccustomed to say that a man has inherited certain qualities; but the\nman is not one thing and the inherited qualities another; the whole man\nis inherited. Merit implies effort. This does not mean that effort,\ntaken absolutely, is the measure of merit. Such an assumption would lead\nto our excusing men for the very qualities that make them wicked,--the\nmurderer because of his spiteful disposition, for instance. The man is\nmost meritorious who is virtuous with the least effort--provided always\nthat he has the normal passions of a man. By these, however, since they\nare morally neutral, he is accessible to temptation and to a certain\nstruggle.\n\nConscience appears, historically, as a development of simpler instincts;\nit is not a primary or a separate faculty; material morality makes its\nappearance long before the conscious recognition of a moral law. The\nexistence of conscience is undeniable. Yet moralists are much given to\nexaggerate the sorrow which it actually excites. In almost every case,\nthe pain which we feel for a bad act is complex, and due only in part to\nour conviction that we have broken the moral law. If we regard\nconscience as a separate faculty judging of action by some inherent\npower, we have to attribute to it reason and feeling. It is not a\nprimary attribute of the agent (to borrow Spinoza's language), but a\nmode of the attributes.\n\nThere is, indeed, a sensibility which seems to have as good a claim as\nany to be regarded as elementary, and which is clearly concerned in most\nof our moral judgments: the sense of shame. This is excited by the\nconsciousness of the judgment of others. It operates, however, not only\nin cases of a breach of morality; but often more strongly even in cases\nnot concerned directly with morality; and may even operate against the\nmoral code. But the variation is clearly not indefinite. Social\ndevelopment implies the development of a certain type of character,\nwhich includes, as essential, certain moral qualities; the\nconsciousness of the code and of the condemnation of certain classes of\nacts, which it would cause, is implied in the sense of shame. The sense\nis closely connected with the instinctive disgust before noticed. It\nseems to have especial reference to decency and indecency. The value of\nthe sense of decency cannot be measured by a consideration of a\nparticular set of bad consequences from indecent actions other than the\nshock to decency; we must consider the whole difference between a state\nof society which does, and one which does not, possess it; it is an\nessential symptom of refinement and delicacy. Again, the judgments of\nconscience may be compared to aesthetic judgments. The difference between\nthe aesthetic and other pleasures depends upon the form of gratification,\nnot upon the instincts gratified, and seems to correspond to the\ndifference between work and play. The artist may appeal to our moral\nemotions, giving us imaginary ideals; but emotion at the contemplation\nof such types is in the aesthetic phase when we simply enjoy their\ncontemplation, and it passes into the practical phase as soon as it\nbegins to have a definite relation to the conduct of our lives. Only in\nso far as the moral law has become internal, is the delight in heroic or\nbenevolent energy spontaneous; in so far, we may speak of the existence\nof a moral, as of an aesthetic, sense. A man of fine moral sensibility\nmay, indeed, like the artist, perceive finer moral discords than can be\nmeasured by formulae; and may thus supply a more delicate test. But the\ncomplex problem of a difference in moral judgment may yet be solved\napproximately by reference to the test of social welfare; the highest\ntype is that which is best fitted for the conditions of social welfare.\nThe collective experience of the race is always progressing towards a\nmore accurate solution of the problem.\n\nThe utilitarian theory, which makes happiness the criterion of morals,\ncoincides approximately with the evolutionist theory which makes health\nof the society the criterion; for, as we have seen, health and happiness\napproximately coincide. The utilitarian theory fails, however, in one or\ntwo respects. It gets rid, as much as possible, of _a priori_ truths,\nand rejects intuitions; it bases its argument on the assumption that all\nknowledge is empirical and the ethical problem to be solved by a summing\nup of the consequences of action. It thus neglects the truth which is\nimplied by evolution,--that the organism itself is solving the problem;\nit neglects the instinctive sense generated by social evolution.\nMoreover, it considers society as an aggregate of similar individuals,\ntaking little account of the variability of human desire. And, further,\nthe utilitarian theory lays its stress upon morality as extrinsic;\naccording to it, love of morality for its own sake, as love of the means\nto the end, must be as unreasonable as the miser's love for his gold.\nAssociation, in this sense, means illusion; and the more reasonable we\nbecome, the more we should deliver ourselves from the bondage of such\nerrors; the theory fails just at the point where true morality begins.\nFurthermore, in substituting the external rule: \"Do this,\" for \"Be\nthis,\" it seems to fall into the error of expediency. Though lying is\nassumed to be, on the whole, detrimental to happiness, truth is\nmaintained to be desirable only where it contributes to happiness. The\nutilitarian destroys, to some extent, the force of the objection to this\nby asserting the danger of trusting ourselves. The force of this\nobjection is only seen, however, when it is applied, not to the\nexternal, but to the internal code; we instinctively feel the danger to\ncharacter in the lie, and hesitate to trust human nature in the\nestablishment of such a precedent, just as we object to permitting the\ntaking of life even in cases where prolonged life means prolonged\nmisery, because we cannot trust human nature with the decision as to\nlife and death. We make binding laws of morality, and leave it to the\nman of exceptional qualities to break them; for the generality of\nmankind, the stricter code is safer.\n\nWhat is the sanction of morality? Why should a man be virtuous? The\nanswer depends upon the answer to the previous question: What is it to\nbe virtuous? If, for example, virtue means all such conduct as promotes\nhappiness, the motives to virtuous conduct must be all such motives as\nimpel a man to aim at increasing the sum of happiness. These motives\nconstitute the sanction, and the sanction may be defined either as an\nintrinsic, or as an extrinsic, sanction; that is, it may be argued\neither that virtuous conduct leads to consequences which are desirable\nto every man, whether he be or be not virtuous; or, on the other hand,\nthat virtuous conduct as such, and irrespectively of any future\nconsequences, makes the agent happier. The problem is, thus, to find a\nscientific basis for the art of conduct. The \"sanction\" must supply the\nmotive power by which individuals are to be made virtuous. This is, for\nthe practical moralist, the culminating point of all ethical inquiry.\nNow there is, by our theory, a necessary and immediate relation between\nsocial vitality and morality. But it does not follow that there is the\nsame intimate connection in the individual case. The sacrifice of some\nof its members may be essential to the welfare of the society itself.\n\nWe have, then, to answer three questions: first, whether the virtuous\nman, as such, is happier than the vicious; second, whether it is worth\nwhile, on prudential grounds, for the vicious man to acquire the\nvirtuous character; and third, whether it can be worth while, in the\nsame sense, for the vicious man to observe the moral law.\n\nIf any man outside the pulpit were to ask himself what were the main\nconditions of happiness, the answer would certainly include health as\nthe first, most essential, most sufficient condition. But the whole\nprocess of nature, upon the evolutionist doctrine, implies a correlation\nbetween the painful and the pernicious, and thus the elaboration of\ntypes in which this problem is solved by an ever-increasing efficiency\nand complexity of organization. Hence we may infer that the typical or\nideal character, at any given stage of development, the organization\nwhich, as we may say, represents the true line of advance, corresponds\nto a maximum of vitality. It seems, again, that this typical form, as\nthe healthiest, must represent not only the strongest type--that is, the\ntype most capable of resisting unfavorable influences--but also the\nhappiest type; for every deviation from it affords a strong presumption,\nnot merely of liability to the destructive processes which are\ndistinctly morbid, but also to a diminished efficiency under normal\nconditions. However, the typical man, though he is, on this theory, the\nvirtuous man, is also much more than is generally understood by that\nname. Happiness is the reward offered, not for virtue alone, but for\nconformity to the law of nature, \"Be strong.\" Beauty, strength,\nintellectual vigor, aesthetic sensibility, prudence, industry, and so\nforth, are all implied in the best type, and are, so far, conducive to\nhappiness. If virtue be taken in the narrower sense as implying chiefly\nthe negative quality of habitual abstinence from forbidden actions,\nthere is no reason to suppose that it coincides with happiness. You can\nraise a presumption that moral excellence coincides closely with a happy\nnature only when you extend \"moral\" to include all admirable qualities.\nIt is chiefly practical reasons which cause an attempted evasion of this\nconclusion; the practical moralist holds that the non-social qualities\nmay be left to take care of themselves, but that stress must be laid\nupon the social qualities as the more important, in order to obtain them\nin society.\n\nSympathetic motives may lead to self-sacrifice; but this is also true of\nselfish motives; gin is a more potent source of imprudence, even in a\nmoderate sense, than family affection; and the sympathetic motives have\non their side the far greater intrinsic advantage, that they promote\nends more permanent, far richer in interest, and giving a proper\nemployment to all the faculties of our nature, besides the intrinsic\nadvantages that spring from friendly relations with the society of which\nwe form a part. It is, however, true that higher activity of any sort\nmay cause pain in an uncongenial medium, and that, hence, the man who is\nmorally in advance of his age may suffer through his morality; every\nreformer who breaks with the world, though for the world's good, must\nexpect much pain. \"Be good if you would be happy,\" seems to be the\nverdict even of worldly prudence; but it adds in an emphatic aside, \"Be\nnot too good.\" We must acknowledge that excessive virtue cannot be\nrecommended to the selfish person upon grounds intelligible to him.\nThere is, however, a general advantage in possessing more varied\npossibilities of enjoyment, and in being on the side of the strongest\nforces, those of progress.\n\nExtreme self-sacrifice is sometimes demanded of a man by his moral\nprinciples. Is the sacrifice worth making? Would Regulus have suffered,\nfrom remorse, pain worse than death, had he chosen life at the cost of\nhonor, or would he have found, as many do, that remorse is amongst the\npassions most easily lived down? To these questions can only be answered\nthat morality must often involve pain, but that the virtuous man\nnevertheless chooses it.\n\nWe must thus conclude, leaving one great difficulty unsolved; and this\nis because this difficulty is intrinsically insoluble; there is no\nabsolute coincidence between virtue and happiness. The scientific\nmoralist has to do with facts; beyond these he cannot go. From the\nscientific point of view, we may hold that evolution implies progress,\nand that progress implies a solution of many discords and an extirpation\nof many evils; but there is no reason for supposing that all evil will\nbe extirpated and perfect harmony attained. New sensibilities bring with\nthem new dangers; even sympathy, when not guided by knowledge, may lead\nto rash changes productive of evil as well as good. To improve, whether\nfor the race or the individual, whether in knowledge or in sympathy, is\nto be put in a position where a new set of experiments has to be tried,\nand experience to be bought at the price of pain.\n\nIt is true that beyond the science lies the art; we must incite the\nintrinsic motives to good through the pressure of the social factor. A\ncertain disadvantage to the individual cannot form a reason for our not\nendeavoring to make him moral as far as possible; the good of society as\na whole is involved; and even the man who is himself immoral sees the\nadvantage of living in a moral medium, and would prefer that the world\nat large should not be guided by his own principles.\n\n\n\n\nB. CARNERI\n\n\nCarneri begins his book on \"Morality and Darwinism\" (\"Sittlichkeit und\nDarwinismus,\" 1871), with the rejection of the older Spiritualism in\nfavor of Idealism, on the ground that modern investigation has made it\nimpossible for philosophy to assume any foundation but one sanctioned by\nscience; and with a rejection of dualism in favor of monism, on the\nground that the investigations of Wundt and others have shown the\npsychical and the physical to be identical.\n\nInstinct is defined by Carneri as thought upon the standpoint of mere\nsensation, but following the laws of the same logic as governs conscious\nthought. There is, thus, according to his view, no exception to be taken\nto the conception which represents instinct as the action of mental\nforce, the difference between it and human reason as one of degree only.\nIt is nevertheless a confusion which ascribes reason to the animals.\nEven their intelligence is one-sided, since it does not reach\nself-consciousness, and it is not to be regarded as an unqualified\nimprovement upon instinct, since the latter loses both in intensity and\nin certainty of action when it no longer governs undisturbed by other\ninfluences: only such animals as are endowed with intelligence\never eat of injurious food. In human beings instinct has almost\ndisappeared;--almost, we say, since savages do many things in an\ninstinctive manner, and even civilized men at times perform acts which,\non account of the exceeding rapidity of their execution, cannot be\nregarded as the results of reflection. Instinct may be compared to\npolarity in magnetism, according to which opposites are attracted.\nInstinct was evolved by natural selection. But intelligence and judgment\nare doubtless also to be found even far down in the scale of species.\nThe brute consciousness is, nevertheless, only a transition-stage, in\nwhich the individual is still lost in the species; and, as such, it is\nnot to be confused with human reason. Consciousness in the brutes is\npurely subjective, a consciousness \"fuer sich\"; while in human beings it\nis consciousness \"an und fuer sich,\" consciousness that becomes\nsubject-object through the concepts developed by language.\n\nMan is as unconditionally subject to the law of causality, psychically\nand physically, as the merest atom. There is no such thing as chance;\nbut in this very fact lies a consolation. In the concept of\nindividualization in its broadest sense, is included the conception of\nfreedom, and in the very nature of man there is an indestructible\nimpulse to freedom; his being, as self-conscious, is identical with the\nlatter impulse. This increases with increasing civilization, and has\nfinally become the problem by the solution of which alone man can attain\nto self-satisfaction. It is true that the power of choice is\ninconsistent with the law of causality; but in the manner in which the\nman, as a thinking being, takes his stand over against the species, he\nbecomes a person, an individuality. As one of the species, he shares the\ncharacteristics of the species, is an expression of the species-idea,\nand his action is determined outwardly by things; but it is so\ndetermined only mediately by means of thought, of concepts; these are\nthe immediate determinants. Hence, man's relation to things is a\ndifferent one according to the grade of his knowledge. In so far as this\nis adequate, that is, corresponds to the truth of actuality, his\nrelation is an active one; in so far as it is, on the contrary,\ninadequate, the relation is a passive one.\n\nCharacter is inborn and can never be effaced but only clarified, though\nthis least through the bitter experience of the results of action. As\nthe horse loses his sure-footedness after one fall, and falls again more\neasily, so we lose, through many a deed, the motive furnished by the\nconsciousness of never having committed it, and have a greater tendency\nto repeat it. If an act has bad results, it is more likely that an\nattempt to avoid these results by cunning will be made at later\nopportunities for the act, than that the act itself will be avoided.\nAnd even if it were to be avoided, such avoidance would not constitute\nan improvement of the character; the latter would but hide itself under\na mask to reappear at the first prospect of exemption from punishment.\nThat which alone can modify character is a considerable extension of\nknowledge. For, since all things influence us only in proportion to the\nworth we attribute to them, their power over us must differ according to\nthe correctness or incorrectness of our judgment. Therefore, the more we\nregard things in the light of their actual worth and hence also in their\nrelations to each other, the more our character, beholding in these\nrelations the general as the true, will incline to avoid extremes in\naction. A preponderantly sensual character remains such through life;\nbut there is no doubt that a careful education, which makes it\nacquainted with nobler principles and develops a sensibility to true\nbeauty, may ennoble it; while, if the education is, on the contrary,\nneglected, it must sink deeper and deeper into the mire of coarseness\nand vulgarity.\n\nCharacter is the sum of its \"affections,\" that is, of all\nstates and motions of the disposition. These are divisible into\n\"passions,\"--included under selfishness, which is the general,\nall-embracing passion,--and the active conditions of existence. These\ntwo divisions are also identical with pain and pleasure, passion with\npain, and activity with pleasure. All desires have their root in the\nprimary instinct of self-preservation and self-propagation, the instinct\nof self-propagation being only the racial form of the instinct of\nself-preservation. The instinct of self-propagation is the highest of\nall the passions, yet, as Spinoza says, every form of love which\nrecognizes another cause than mental freedom is easily turned to\nhate,--if it is not already a sort of madness, nourished rather by\ndiscord than concord. The various forms of family love, the love of\ncountry, and friendship, noble sisters of love in the narrower sense,\nresult in desirable activity only as they exist in the form of concepts.\nCivilization is nothing but the struggle of inadequate and adequate\nconcepts, in which, as in the struggle for existence in nature, only\nthat is triumphant which, instead of assuming a position of separation,\nmakes the general and the conditions of existence its own; so that\ncharity in the widest sense of the term is, of all humane feelings, that\nto which the palm has been given. In this feeling, the dialectic\nmovement of the concept \"man\" is completed and perfected, the single\nman, instead of perishing in the struggle of all against all, first\nworking his way upward out of his species and then taking up, in his own\nbeing, the whole of mankind through the medium of benevolence. By this\nevolution he raises himself to the level of the general. Far higher than\nthat confused sympathy which, in lending temporary aid to one, brings\nlasting harm to many, is this adequate concept; true benevolence is\nfounded upon the clearest reasoning, and is the activity of the mind's\nfullest power. The discord which self-consciousness has caused in man\ncan be done away with only by the greatest possible clarification of\nself-consciousness: man returns mentally to the bosom of the universal,\nwhen every living thing causes him to exclaim in the words of the Indian\nphilosopher: \"Behold thyself.\"\n\nEthics ranks higher than morals, the latter merely comprising a\ncollection of particular rules of conduct which, as particular, bear the\nstamp of the individual, the non-universal. The details of morality\nchange according to epochs and peoples. This change has been regarded as\nan argument that there is no absolute but only relative good. But the\nconcept of the Good is, like the concept of the Beautiful, the fruit of\neducation; that is, it is the product of mind, which, through its own\nevolution, arrives at Knowledge. When we do away with all concessions to\none-sided, extravagant desires, abstain from placing mind above the\nuniversal law of causality, and are content with the facts made known to\nus by science, we perceive that the absolute True, Beautiful, and Good,\nbears the character of the Universal. In this universal character it has\nalways finally found expression in human life, and in this character it\nwill always find expression. The idea which reaches perfect expression\nin the dialectic movement of these three concepts, the True, the\nBeautiful, and the Good, has come into existence by the mediation of the\nself-individualizing self-consciousness, just as the evolution on the\nearth, which reaches its completion in man, is the outcome of the first\nchemical process. Not only have the two one law,--(mind is only in so\nfar realized[65] as nature is expressed through it, and the actuality of\nnature is its expression in mind) but both are, in fact, one, the\nsuccession in their development on the earth being a succession only in\nrelation to the earth, and for us in this respect. Although to our\nnotion of time, thousands of millions of years lie between the two,\ntheir separation does not represent a second for the universe and its\neternity, for the comprehension of which it must be disregarded.\n\nThe good man is he who does good for its own sake, without effort, not\nout of momentary caprice, but out of perfect knowledge and conviction.\nHe is free, since he acts out of his own character, the law of nature\nappearing as the law of his own mind; freedom lies in the absence of\ndiscord and strife in the mind. The good man has strength of soul, just\nas the man who lifts a weight without effort, not he who lifts it only\nwith the greatest effort, possesses strength of body.\n\nThere is no absolute Evil in contrast to the absolute Good. Evil is\nnegative. The perfection of man is identical with the attainment of\nabsolute Good through evolution.\n\nMorality knows nothing of either reward or punishment; for it there are\nonly causes and effects. This truth, on which morality is based, lends\nto the freedom out of which its activity proceeds a deeper worth. The\neternal laws of mind point the way by which mankind has to proceed; it\nis the same way by which man has become man and by which he must\nproceed, even if he did not will to advance thus. In the struggle for\nexistence, which knows only victory or destruction, progress is a\nnecessity of nature, but it is less painful and more rapid the more\nclearly these laws come to be perceived by consciousness. Yet, however\nclear they may be, it is only by a tireless endeavor which shrinks from\nno sacrifice, that progress takes place. The end which morality has in\nview is distant, for it is high; but only with its attainment will\nmankind fully deserve its name when \"struggle has been transformed to\nlabor, when no insignia are recognized but those of right, no weapon\nused but intelligence, no banner raised but that of civilization.\"\n\nIn the volume, \"Man the 'End' of Man\" (\"Der Mensch als Selbstzweck,\"\n1877), \"a positive criticism of Hartmann's Philosophy of the\nUnconscious,\" Carneri defines instinct as no form of real thought,\nnothing dependent upon perception, but merely an inherited, mechanical\ndexterity dependent upon sensation. For the assumption that thought is\nthe source of instinct must lead us naturally, on account of the\nexistence of the latter where the centralizing organ of thought is\nabsent, to the theory that thought is universal in nature; that is, we\nshall arrive at a theory of atom-souls. It is evident here that not\nCarneri's definition of instinct so much as his conception of thought\nis changed from the one adopted in \"Sittlichkeit und Darwinismus,\"\nthought being now limited, as it was not in the former book, to\nself-conscious mental activity, assumed to be dependent upon nervous\ncentralization in the brain. In this book also, the author defines the\nidea as something having mental existence, though not, he says, in any\nmetaphysical sense. His idealism is not of such sort that he recognizes\nany other way to the attainment of ideas than that of science; and to\nhim \"the service of the materialist who gives us information concerning\nthe function of the smallest nerve-fibres is of more worth than that of\nthe idealist who originates a whole philosophical system.\" The work of\nphilosophy lies in the rejection of all that is contrary to science, and\nthe clarification of ideals.\n\nThe will may be defined, not as a definite, separate power, but as the\nself-conscious impulse to action resulting from excitation. Any other\ndefinition is inconsistent with the theory of evolution, according to\nwhich that individuation which is the first condition of the struggle\nfor existence, is nevertheless but the expression of all previously\nexisting oppositions. To make of the will or of the impulse to\nself-preservation anything separate and individual, is as childish as to\npersonify death. The individual is totality as unity. Darwinism teaches\nus, not that the world together with man has been created according to\nany teleological principle, but that it has developed by virtue of\nmotion. The human being moves by virtue of reciprocal action and\nreaction with the world. Yet only by virtue of his unity as feeling does\nhe think and will. Individuality is that which stamps all our activity\nwith the mark of the ego, which causes us to recognize every impulse\nthat moves in us as our impulse, to call all our willing ours. The\npsychical, the summation of functions to which we give this name,\nreaches consummation in the clarification of feeling to consciousness,\nin which the desire of an action or of abstinence from an action appears\nto us as our will. As thought is based on perception, so will is based\non impulse; and since thought and will appear as the two highest\nopposites of feeling, and this, according to our definition, springs\nfrom sensation by way of perception, the will, including action and\nabstinence from action, arises out of the general sensitivity. The\nprogress of science authorizes the expectation that the close relation\nof sensitivity to simple reaction will one day be discovered.\n\nThe conceptions of teleology are groundless. The so-called \"ends\" of\nnature have the peculiarity that they are according to the means. It\ndoes not rain in order that there may be vegetation, but vegetation\nexists because it is conditioned by the rain. Only with thinking man, in\nhis struggle for existence, arises the concept of ends; man has not\nattained to civilization by help of a friend; rather has he wrung\ncivilization from nature as an enemy; compelled by it to the exertion of\nhis whole strength, and growing in cunning by exercise, he has learned\nto use the weaknesses of his foe to his own advantage. To want he owes\nthe greatest things that he has accomplished. By way of labor alone can\nvictory over nature be achieved and salvation won.\n\nThe standpoint of faith is childlike. Faith does not reason, and may not\ndo so if it wishes to remain faith. The child can comprehend nature and\nman's relation to it only by the language of faith, and there are large\nclasses of people who, for a long time, will be accessible to no other\nlanguage but this. But faith must decrease in the same ratio as mankind\noutgrows intellectual childhood. In the same measure, the worth of the\nphilosophical solution of certain problems must increase; and among the\nmost important of these problems must be reckoned that of bridging the\nchasm between the individual and the world, which has grown wider with\nthe awakening of consciousness. It lies in the nature of self-conscious\nthought to reach out beyond itself, just as it lies in the nature of\nsense-perception to regard this \"beyond\" as the world to come. Hence the\nendless longing which seeks the ruler of the world to come, and despairs\nwithout him; until the supposed right to a future life is perceived to\nbe the right to the Only Whole, and an end is set in the attainment of\nthis whole. For the thinking man an aimless life has no meaning; there\nis only one means of bridging the chasm; namely, that mankind shall set\nitself an end.\n\nA final destruction of life upon the earth must surely come, whether it\nbe in the shape of a sudden catastrophe or as the result of a slow\nprocess. But such an end can no more be regarded as the \"end\" in the\nphilosophical sense than death can be regarded, in the same sense, as\nthe \"end\" of the individual life. By the development of ideas, which are\nconcepts of reason in distinction from concepts of the understanding, we\narrive at a notion of the ideal as end.\n\nIn the ethical ideal, there is contained more than the empiricist can\noffer. The enthusiasm with which the true artist starves for his art, or\nthe martyr perishes for his conviction, can never be fully explained\nfrom the empirical standpoint. One does not even need to be an idealist\nin order to act thus; but the materialist or the realist who possesses\ntrue love of beauty and a heart framed for great deeds, merely deceives\nhimself when he refuses to acknowledge the All-embracing which therein\noverwhelms him. Sociology and the History of Civilization can only point\nout how man has attained to the ideas of the Beautiful and the Good;\nwhat these are and wherefore their influence is so powerful,--the real\nworth of the Beautiful and the Good,--thought by concepts alone can\nshow.\n\nThe Idea of Man, as he has already developed and may yet develop, is, as\nfar as our knowledge reaches, the highest of human thoughts. We are\ntherefore formulating no metaphysical theory in personifying mankind,\nand pointing out that the perfecting of which it is capable is the great\nend which it has set itself. We know, by our knowledge of human nature,\nthat mankind will always endeavor to be happy, and that it will approach\nnearer perfection the more real and general its happiness becomes.\n\nThe particular rules of morality may and must change; but the highest\nprinciple of all morality is changeless. From the purest moral feeling\ncame Schiller's words: \"Live with thy generation, but be not its\ncreature; serve thy contemporaries, but in that which they need, not\nthat which they prize. Without having shared their guilt, share with\nnoble resignation their punishments, and yield thyself freely to the\nyoke which they both illy could do without and illy bear. By the\nsteadfast courage with which thou refusest their pleasure, thou shalt\nprove to them that it is not cowardice which causes thy submission.\" In\nthese three sentences there lies a whole system of ethics.\n\nIn the will to good, indivisible from a feeling of freedom, of which no\npower on earth can rob us, lies true happiness.\n\nFor mind, as for matter, the law of the indestructibility of force, of\nwork, is true. That which appears as force or energy is motion; every\nimpulse to motion is motion, and only in so far as it appears, can the\nquantity of motion, force, energy, increase or diminish; as a matter of\nfact, it always remains the same. But just as the activity and force of\nmatter increase with its differentiation, so the activity and energy of\nthe mind increase with intelligence. It is through intelligence that we\ncome to a comprehension of the distinction between good and evil, and\nthrough intelligence that we are able to increase social prosperity, and\nso morality.\n\nThere are no innate, primary human rights; there are only acquired\nrights which man has gained for himself in the process of development.\n\nIf we were to express negatively the end which mankind sets itself, we\nshould define it as the greatest possible reduction of pain. Conscious\nexistence is accompanied by a feeling of pleasure; but the general\nprogress heedlessly overrides the individual being, and we therefore\nhave to erect barriers against the stream which thus turns pleasure into\npain.\n\nPain and pleasure are relative to the individual. Every sensation is\npleasurable as long as it does not exceed in strength a certain limit\ncorresponding, in each case, to the nature of the individual. Since,\nhowever, every sensation becomes, by perception, feeling, thought\nappears as a modifying factor in all pain which does not arise from too\nextreme physical injury. The manner in which our perceptions,\nthought-images, are formed, the store of thought-images and concepts\nwhich we possess, and hence our thought-capacity, combined with the\nextent and clearness of our knowledge, are decisive not only with\nrespect to the avoidance of pain and attainment of pleasure, but also\nwith respect to our attitude towards pain and pleasure in general; every\npain and every pleasure has, in the last analysis, such worth alone as\nwe attribute to it. The universalization of true education, the increase\nof intelligence, is, therefore, the means by which man's lot may be\nbettered.\n\nThrough the conditions of the earth's atmosphere, man has grown to be\nthe glorious creature that he is. If we gradually give him, by\neducation, an advantageous love of life and pleasure therein, and at the\nsame time do not neglect the cultivation of ethical principles, virtue\nwill become, with the increase of happiness, a necessity.\n\nIf intelligence is to bear the fruit which we thus demand of it, its\nnature must be such as not only to be nourished by actual life, but also\nto uplift by its increase the whole man. And this is, in fact, the case;\nwhere it is not so, we have to do with a one-sided development such as\nexisting circumstances often condition, but which cannot be regarded as\nnormal. This point of view is the necessary consequence of the unity\nwhich we postulate of man. If thought and will have their origin in\nfeeling, and if will clarifies itself through the clarification of\nthought, then all advance in thought leads, in general, to an advance in\nfeeling, and true intelligence is inseparable from true love. We use the\nword \"love\" here, as designating intelligence in its highest sense, and\ndeclare, moreover, that we would desire to see this meaning alone\nattached to love. Over against the conception of love which we find in\nHartmann and Schopenhauer, we place the conception of Spinoza, who\ndesignates it as a free, reasonable activity, and says of it as\ndistinguished from passion that \"the love of both man and wife has for\nits cause, not a pleasing exterior merely, but especially freedom of\nsoul.\"\n\nIf we regard intelligence and love in their highest antithesis, the one\nappears as the appropriative, the other as the self-devoting conception\nof things. But since we form a conception of things and make them our\nown only in proportion to our intelligence, our attitude towards them\nmust be according to this measure; and since there is no action without\nreaction, intelligence must be broadened by love as well as love\nclarified by intelligence. The highest of all is intelligence; but it is\nlove that first lends it creative power; without love it cannot create,\nbut only destroy. Everything great and noble that man can point out as\nhis work is due to love--love of mankind, love of country, love of\nknowledge, love of art, love of labor in general. If the devotion is\ndeficient in purity, determined by extraneous motives, the work will\nbear marks of the deficiency. The reason why the power of love is so\nmuch greater than every other power is that its all-embracing, boundless\ncharacter reacts upon it as a feeling of eternity, enabling it to\nundertake all things, as if it might conquer even death. Life,\nconsidered in its parts, is cheerless; but love, regarding it in its\ntotality, points out to it the way of salvation through itself. Love is\nthe concrete element which exalts the abstraction of Intelligence to\nincarnate Idea; therefore is love the idealizing principle from which\nintelligence draws belief in its own aims. And if one questions whence\ncomes the conception of immortality, impossible to be won from\nexperience, love must confess itself guilty of originating it, being\nunable, to exist without this self-delusion.\n\nCarneri thus places himself in direct opposition to Schopenhauer's and\nHartmann's notion of love, which, he says, \"falls like a deep shadow\nover their whole conception of the world\"; and he pleads in favor of a\nstandpoint which shall make self-perfection the aim of existence for\nwoman as for man. He propounds a theory of education for woman which,\naccording to his own statement, places him at one in spirit with Mill;\nbut he avers that he cannot follow the latter in his more extreme views,\nwhich, he says, were evidently assumed by Mill only in view of the\nstrength of the enemy with which he had to contend. The book ends with\nthe following paragraph:--\n\n\"We do not run after ideals; hence no plan floats before us, according\nto which the world should be shaped anew. He who understands how to read\nthe book of History knows that, in no one place does the identity of\nform and content come more clearly into view than in others, and that,\nwith every new content, there is always a new form also. The modern\nstate has by no means outlived itself yet, and those who endeavor to do\naway with it know not what they are about. Instead of thinking upon a\nnew form, let us devote our care to the clarification of the content. No\none deceives himself as to the suffering in the world; but he deceives\nhimself who thinks that he alone can bring about a better condition.\nOnly the action of all can better things. Therefore, that which remains\nfor us to do can be summed up in these few words: _Let us make every\neffort possible to place every one in a position to help himself._ This\nis the only ethical conception of universal reform. Let us prize\nknowledge above all things, and let us show that we so prize it by\nincreasing it and diffusing it as much as lies in our power; let us\nprize it above all things, and prove that we do so by using it for the\ngood of mankind. By knowledge we have become human beings, because\nknowledge has brought us to a comprehension of the Beautiful and the\nGood. It is knowledge that sets life an end in the attainment of the\nGood, and knowledge that glorifies our path to that end. Let us educate\nfor ourselves wives that shall not merely dimly feel what we think, but\nsuch as will bring to the execution of our will a clear understanding.\nLet us educate for ourselves wives who, fired by the same feelings as\nour own, will unite their efforts with ours in the education of a\ngeneration that shall take _morally_ the stand upon which the science of\nthe century finds itself. Let us seek true happiness if we would find\nvirtue. It is to no wisdom, but it is likewise to no foolishness that we\nowe the existence of the world. Man can be foolish; but he can also be\nwise; and if he is wise, then the world too is wisely arranged.\"\n\nCarneri begins his \"First Principles of Ethics\" (\"Grundlegung der\nEthik,\" 1881) with an investigation of the origin of primary concepts\nand our knowledge through these. In order to bring light into our\nconception, we must first of all learn the way to the concept; for then\nonly can we see how the concept completes itself in the judgment, and\nbecomes, in reasoning, the criterion of its own worth.\n\nThe problem which first presents itself to us is that of Life in\ngeneral. The problem is inseparable from that of corporeality. If we\nfollow phenomena to their last conceivable reduction, we finally pass\nfrom the perception of mass to the concept of matter; but further than\nthis we cannot go. At least, we can perceive only material things, and\nthat which we call the spiritual in distinction from the corporeal has\nalways something corporeal as its basis; and if we do not wish to\ndispense with the reliable guidance of experience, we shall not overleap\nthis barrier. Science cannot reckon with supernatural factors.\n\nWhat matter _is_ we cannot know; that it exists, however, that the\nphenomena of nature are no empty seeming, sensation, as the felt result\nof the mutual relation between us and the outer world, testifies.\nSensation is the basis of our self-consciousness, of the only full and\nirrefutable certainty that we possess. As to what true Being or\nExistence is, there is disagreement; but there can be none regarding the\nfact that we are conscious of our sensations; and upon this\nconsciousness rests the postulate of the materiality[66] of all\nexistence. In order to assert the materiality of all phenomena, we are\nforced to distinguish between a corporeal and a non-corporeal action of\nmatter; matter operates mentally when its division or differentiation\nproceeds so far that the resulting phenomena can no longer be perceived\nby the senses, but only conceived by thought. The indivisibility of mind\nfrom corporeality follows directly from this definition of the mental\nside of nature. We distinguish between the two only for convenience'\nsake. The newer Psychology knows nothing of Sensuality in the old sense\nof the word, since the basis of all psychical effects is physical.\n\nFor matter operating mentally, as for matter operating corporeally,\nthere are no specific energies; it is, as Wundt expresses it,\nfunctionally indifferent. The differing results of a high\ndifferentiation of centralized organisms arise in accordance with the\nchanging combinations of elementary parts and nerve activities. These\nresults are not, however, to be regarded as the mere effects of matter,\nbut as phenomena of the same, in fact, as the consummation and crown of\nthe whole evolution of nature. Even in the sense-organs we see the\ndifferentiation of matter advance beyond the sphere of sense-perception.\nTherefore, in distinguishing between mind and matter, we are still in\nthe realm of the natural, and follow the path of experience, if by\nexperience is understood not alone immediate experience, but also the\nconclusions which directly or by strict analogy may be drawn from it.\n\nThe theory of an atom-soul and the theory of an organizing principle\nmust be abandoned as teleological, and so inconsistent with the facts of\nevolution. The theory which holds force to be a transcendental\nexistence, a something outside of matter, must also be rejected. With\nthe endless divisibility is given an endless motion, inward or outward;\nthe endlessly divisible matter exists in endless motion, or what is the\nsame, the endless motion is the endlessly divided matter. Hence motion,\nlike matter, can never diminish; only the form of its appearance\nchanges.\n\nThe order in nature cannot be used as the basis of a teleological\nargument; what we call order of nature is necessity as distinguished\nfrom chance. For example, the statement that the life of the earth\nrequires the alternation of day and night means merely that, since day\nand night alternate upon the earth, only such beings could arise and\ncontinue in existence thereon as flourish under this alternation.\n\nThe first appearance of protoplasm introduces no strictly new thing, but\nonly a new form of matter with life-motion; and the formation of germs\nis only a further step of the process. The most important characteristic\nof all life is sensation. This is the form in which, in all living\nthings, that which in the rest of nature we call reaction, appears. That\nit is so easy for us to say in the same breath, the animal possesses\nsensation; and, by this particular excitation we produce in him this\nparticular sensation, has its reason in the fact that the animal is not\nonly capable of sensation, but is, moreover, continually in a state of\nsensation. By the fact of its continual reaction upon sensation, it\nkeeps itself alive. Hence the two concepts coincide, so to speak;\nsensation is to life what divisibility is to matter. We express with\nthese words more than a similitude, since all sensation is based upon\nmotion, is, indeed, motion, and every motion may be reduced to a\ndivision or differentiation in the broadest sense of the word. All\nfurther distinctions, as, for instance, with respect to the mode of\nsensation (which belongs, without doubt, to plants as well as to\nanimals), we leave unnoticed; all differences in the forms of life are\nbut those of degree, though they may be wide differences of degree; they\nare to be ascribed to the influence of outer circumstances.\n\nSensation develops in the direction of least resistance. In the animal\nworld, we have to distinguish between outer and inner factors, with the\nlatter of which a new element seems to be introduced. The difference\nbetween the two is not, however, one of essence, since the will, too, is\ndetermined by outward circumstance. The inner factors of evolution are\ncomprised in the germ, from which the individual is produced; while the\nenvironment constitutes the outer factors. The individual enters the\nworld with a certain reserve quantity of force, which represents his\npower of resistance to outside forces, and he passes the more rapidly\nfrom youth to age the more rapidly this force is consumed. This\naccumulation of force is, therefore, identical with the impulse to\nself-preservation, which, as modified by various inner and outer\nexcitations, manifests itself in various forms. But he who, as\nunimpassioned thinker, desires progress, desires also retrogression; he\nwho desires youth desires age, since the two concepts are correlative\nand the one includes the other; old age, and finally death, must come to\nour planet as a whole, as well as to the human individual. The original\ntendencies of the total character determine, for the most part, the\nmanner in which the individual sustains the struggle for existence; yet\nthe environment is in no less degree active in this determination. Not\nless important than the manner of reaction is the differing\nsusceptibility to particular kinds of excitation; the character\nresulting from the mutual action and reaction of individual and world\ndepends upon the manner in which the individual adapts himself to\ncircumstances, ennobles and disciplines himself.\n\nIn idealism, as long as it remains within proper bounds, there is\ncertainly truth; he who derides it, derides himself. But realism has\nalso its truth, as long as it does not misjudge the worth of concepts,\nby which alone we clearly recognize what things are to us, what their\nrelations to us are, and so how we have to deal with them. Concrete\nconcepts inform us as to what is true and what is not true in phenomena.\nThere is no greater mistake than to suppose that what things are in\nthemselves, not what they are for us, is of importance to us; as if we\ncould have an interest in that which things are not for us. The decisive\npoint is the fact that, not things as they appear to us, but their\nrightly conceived appearance, their appearance as understood by adequate\nconcepts, is the beginning and end of knowledge. Hence the true student\nof nature can no more do without the concept than the true philosopher\ncan leave material perception out of account. Stiff-necked Materialism\nis as one-sided as old-time Metaphysics; the one has no meaning for its\nform, the other no form for its content; the one is a corpse, the other\na ghost, and each strives in vain to attain the warmth of life. Natural\nScience and Philosophy must tread different paths, in so far as division\nof labor requires them to do so; but they labor at the two sides of one\nwhole. Nature is not a machine, but life in its fullest form, and the\ntask set us is to understand her as she is, not to patch together a\nnature out of disconnected scraps.\n\nCarneri adopts the definition given by Claude Bernard, to whom life is\nneither a principle nor a result, but a conflict. To the chemical\nsynthesis, from which protoplasm results, is added, through mechanical\nintegration, morphological synthesis, to whose special form inherited\ncharacteristics are related as elements. Through the conflict within\nliving forms, and between these and the rest of the world, motion,\nattaining to the character of function, appears as continuous\nconsumption. Destruction and renewal are inseparable correlative\nconcepts. This fact is contained in the concept of the conservation of\nforce, work, and motion. We may distinguish between (1) latent life,\nsuch as that accumulated in the germ, (2) the merely oscillating\nplant-life, and (3) free animal life. With this distinction, we place\nourselves upon the standpoint of the individual, for whom there is both\nbeginning and end, and to whom renewal is subordinated to destruction;\nfor consumption, death is the characteristic of living in distinction\nfrom non-living matter. If, therefore, we regard life as identical with\ndeath, we merely assert that we consider death identical with life, and\nthat, in the broader sense of the word, for the universe as a whole,\nthere is no death. That which Claude Bernard designates as Construction\nis the differentiation and division of labor arising in the process of\nintegration. The cell constitutes the first integration of protoplasm.\nIn it, motion takes place in a particular form, organizes according to\nthis form, causes division and synthesis, and impresses features of\ncharacter that, by their action and reaction with the environment,\neither effect their own destruction, or else maintain their existence,\npropagate themselves, become fixed, and undergo further evolution. In\nthis manner species arise and vary: and the more primitive the form, the\nmore variable it is; the more advanced, the more fixed. Hence the\ninvariable character of the germ-cells. In bone-formation, it is clearly\nshown that special structure begins very early,--in the cell, namely;\nbut it is preserved only where it is aided by the necessary action and\nreaction. Autonomic in itself, life submits itself to the general laws\nof evolution.[67] As the direction of motion is determined for whole\ngroups of cells by the direction of the motion of the protoplasm in the\nsingle cells, so organic function is determined by the grouping of the\nirritable, contractile, sensible cells. From the first origin of life up\nto its most perfect development, everything is formed at the cost of\nother forms. If life is, therefore, to be conceived as a conflict, it is\na conflict as wide as the universe itself, and we say, with Claude\nBernard, that \"life may be characterized, but not defined.\"\n\nEverything that has sensation lives. As life depends upon particular\ncombinations of particular elements, so sensation is the characteristic\nmark of such combinations, and a higher form of that simple reaction\ncommon to nature in general. Reaction has its reason in the motion\narising from the endless divisibility of matter, through which the most\ndifferent combinations and reactions are produced. Since we have before\nus, in our contemplation of corporeal nature, not abstract matter in\ngeneral, but some sixty or more special chemical elements, we must, in\nthinking of atoms, have in mind atoms of these particular elements, and\nnot atoms of abstract matter in general; of such atoms of matter in\ngeneral, or, if one will, of primordial matter, we can know only that\nthey would in general attract and repel. Only by degrees can a\nparticular reaction of the elements have been developed; and since our\nknown elements have particular different reactions, they must be the\nproduct of different combinations. Sensation is due to certain\ncombinations of these elements; when the combinations no longer exist,\nthe atoms of these elements still react according to their\ncharacteristic method as atoms of particular elements, but the sensation\ndependent on their peculiar combinations is destroyed. The atom as such\nis devoid of sensation, and we may convert our earlier proposition,\nmaking it read: Only that which lives is sensible. We know quite well\nhow much of this course of reasoning is of hypothetic nature; but the\nstrictest consistency cannot be denied it. The method which explains\nlife by the assumption of sensible atoms is a much shorter and easier\none; but is it not likewise a method of greater risk? And is there no\ndanger that, in rejecting a method by which all changes in phenomena are\nreferred to functions of combinations of elements, we may seek, in\nmatter itself, something that is not matter? The above theory of life,\nalso, takes its departure from the assumption that all was, originally,\nin the formation of the world, living in the broader sense of the word.\nBut here we are concerned with life in the narrower sense of the word,\nas distinguished from what we call dead nature.\n\nSoul is, therefore, according to our definition, equivalent to animal\nlife, in contrast to the life of the plant. The significance of the\ndistinction lies in the intermediation of the general organic unity, not\nin a qualitative division. The elements are the same; only their\nconnection is different, and that which distinguishes the animal is a\ncentralization of the organs. In referring to the possession of soul by\nthe animal, we simply point out the independent manner in which, by\nreason of sensation, its impulses govern, and develop, through the\nscale, up to consciousness and will. Of course the gradations are very\nnumerous, inasmuch as the functions of the soul are determined by the\ndevelopment of the organism. The difference between animals whose\nsensation attains clear consciousness and such as do not attain to more\nthan a mechanical action, does not concern us, as long as we regard the\npsychical phenomena in their most general form. Every animal possesses\nsoul; we avoid the expression \"_a_ soul,\" as giving the soul the\nsignificance of something by itself. In like manner, we do not say that\n_a_ life, but that life belongs to the animal. The chief condition\nnecessary to soul as to life consists in union to a whole, and soul\nrepresents the gradation by which life lifts itself to the plane where\nit becomes a mirror of the world.\n\nSensation, as centralized in the brain, becomes perception, the\nsensation of a part becoming the sensation of the whole, a _feeling_ of\nthe individual. It is perceptions which cause movement. To find a\nconnection between perception as generally understood and the action of\nthe muscle would be as difficult as to show the connection between body\nand soul in the sense of Spirit. But if we regard perception as feeling,\nthen the awakening of a corresponding impulse, and the transformation of\nthis into will, which finds expression in a corresponding motion, is\nsomething so natural that it needs but a glance at the nerve-apparatus\nin order to comprehend the rapidity of the whole process. With regard to\nthe unconscious character of the greater part of the process, and its\ncorresponding rapidity, we have to consider the gradual nature of the\ndevelopment of the nervous system, the gradual drill of the parts, until\nthe whole process becomes perfect. By feeling is here not meant\nnecessarily feeling as pain or pleasure. This quality of feeling does\nnot necessarily belong to every perception, else thought, as a train of\nperceptions, would be unbearable; a certain strength of feeling is\nnecessary in order that it may attain the character of pain or pleasure;\nas we recognize a boundary at which sensation begins, so we recognize\none at which feeling begins to attain the character of pleasure and from\nwhich, up to a second boundary-line, it continues to appear as pleasure;\nbeyond this line it appears as pain. Moderate feeling is beneficial to\nthe organism, immoderate feeling harmful; hence the appearance of the\none as pleasure, and of the other as pain. We say expressly \"moderate,\"\nnot \"weak\" feeling, because too weak feeling may also, under certain\nconditions, be painful. Horwicz rightly protests against any attempt to\narrange the feelings in an exact scale, since a particular feeling may\nlead to quite different phenomena of emotion, according to the\nparticular circumstances and the particular development which it\nundergoes in the organism, and since it is furthermore nothing\nchangeless and distinct, but merely an energy that necessarily leads to\nactivity. Hence it is that the excitation which does not pass the stage\nof sensation remains localized, but when it attains to the stage of\nfeeling takes possession of the whole individual, and brings the\nessential tendency of his being[68] to expression.\n\nAs Carneri tends to interpret the sensation which he predicates of the\nlower animals as a mere higher reaction of living matter, and thus\nwholly mechanical, so he tends to regard the activity of all animals\nwhich lack brain (under which he understands especially the nervous\ndevelopments found in the gray matter which contains Haeckel's\n\"soul-cells\") as devoid of pleasure and pain, and due to mere\ninheritance and force of habit. So the action of the ants is not to be\nattributed to intelligence, but to mere reaction upon sensation due to\ninheritance and exercise; and so the movements of a butterfly impaled\nupon a red-hot needle would be attributable to the hindrance of its\nflight, not to pain.[69] Thus, with Carneri, the words \"sensation,\"\n\"soul,\" \"perception,\" and \"feeling,\" lose their ordinary significance;\nand this fact must be held in mind in the interpretation of his\nassertions that \"all animals have soul,\" and \"all animals have\nsensation.\"\n\nCarneri further cites Haeckel's definition of the organism as a\ncell-monarchy, in which different individuals, and different groups of\nindividuals, having different duties, are guided by a central power. He\ndoes not intend thus to assume special centres for consciousness and\nwill, but only to assert that, through such centralization, the\nexpression of the whole individual, as total consciousness and total\nwill, takes place.\n\nNot only the brain, but other parts of the nervous system, are affected\nin perception; and the same parts are operative in remembrance. Thus the\nassociation of ideas is explained.\n\nAs long as the animal remains upon the plane of mere instinct, it has\nonly blind impulses.[70] Only in the most highly organized animals do we\nfind the first traces of conscious, though not yet of self-conscious,\nwill. In that the animal knows what it will, it distinguishes clearly\nthe objects of its will, and hence its own impulses. Upon the earlier\nplane of mere self-preservation, the beneficial, harmful, and\nindifferent were not yet made inward, but only distinguished outwardly\nby nature in the struggle for existence, in which the fittest survived;\nin consciousness, however, the harmful and advantageous become inward,\ntaking the form of pain and pleasure. But the animal never gets beyond\nthe concrete case,--in which his inherited instincts, working with a\nrapidity and freedom we often see imitated in the passions of men,\nsometimes act so advantageously as almost to deceive us into believing\nthem the result of reflection; yet sometimes, again, bring most\ndisastrous results. The animal never attains to a notion of the Whole.\nAssociations and general perceptions the higher animal species have, but\nnot concepts.\n\nImpulses appear, in their primary form in the animals, as passions.[71]\nThe first beginning of the ethical may be found in the passion of love\nin the broadest sense of the word, as sexual love and the love of\noffspring. The first is chiefly exacting, the second is higher, in that\nit gives.\n\nThat which divides man physically from the brutes is merely the union of\nqualities, all of which, but never all of which united, we find among\nthe animals; that which divides him mentally from them is self-conscious\nthought, developed by means of speech. Through the development of\nattention, which arises in connection with a greater and greater\ncentralization, sensation becomes perception, this develops further to\ngeneral perceptions, and is still further perfected to concepts.\n\nCarneri believes primitive man to have been, not more benevolent than\nthe animals, but less so. Leaving out of account the carnivorous\nanimals, the brutes seem to satisfy their own wants without interfering\nwith the satisfaction of others, and, except where the possession of\nfemales is concerned, to live in peace with each other. On the other\nhand, the influence of man upon the domestic animals may be seen in the\ngreed of the dog, who, as capable of instruction, takes on himself all\nthe evil qualities of his master. The cat, who is not so intelligent as\nthe dog, is not thus influenced.\n\nFor nature there is no good and evil. The animal which tears and devours\nits prey is no worse than the swollen stream, that uproots the trees in\nits course. With consciousness, intention awakes; yet in the brute this\nis only secondary; the brute distinguishes between pain and pleasure,\nbut not between these as the result of its own action in distinction\nfrom that of nature outside itself. Only the self-consciousness of the\nhuman being knows good and evil; nature does not know evil, for she does\nnot know the opposition on which it is based. There is wisdom in the\nstory of Genesis, which sees in the beginning of knowledge, the\ncommencement of evil. The awakening of self-feeling is the beginning of\na chasm, through the full development of which the individual is at\nlength separated from nature. With self-consciousness and the feeling of\nboundless isolation that therein comes over him, man begins his ethical\ndevelopment.\n\nBut the ethical does not begin with the human being known to us by\nnatural history; even yet there are races of man which stand lower than\nmany species of animals; and the early development of moral activity was\nof necessity much more of the nature of that which we call evil than of\nthat which we call good. The mind is a sort of light; and as warmth is\nindivisible from the motion which we call light, and the first warmth of\nthe sun could only burn, so the motion which we call mind could at first\nonly have destroyed; self-consciousness, in its earliest stages, can\nhave produced only the intense feelings which lie nearer pain than\npleasure. As man came to have intention, and gained new wants in\ndevelopment, he could regard the intentions of his fellow-men only with\ndistrust. Envy, hatred, dislike, were developed long before the family,\nand, later, the tribe furnished opportunity for love. Self-consciousness\ncould, at first, interpret good and evil only as having reference to\nself, just as it also conceived its freedom as that of its own caprice.\nThe desire for happiness and endeavor to attain it is the primary\nincentive to all human undertakings. It is erroneous to suppose that man\nis nearer to the brutes by this impulse; the animal does not possess it,\nhas only the impulse to self-preservation.\n\nThe idea that man and wife together first constitute the complete human\nbeing, and that the real future of this human being lies in the\nchildren--the idea of the family is, certainly, of all ideas,\nprimordial, though it probably came late to consciousness. From the\nfamily developed the tribe with the eldest at its head. The more\npeaceful the tribe, the more others combined against it, and by their\ncombination compelled it still further to strengthen its resources. The\nfeeling of power awakened by the growing concord extended further and\nfurther, and finally made its way to the individual with the full force\nof the Idea. This development, but more especially the compelling power\nof the struggle for existence, soon called the bravest to command in\nplace of the eldest of the tribe.\n\nIt is by the agency of no other being that, in the mutual relation of\nphysical and mental activity, consciousness is attained; man himself\ncomes to a feeling of himself. In the being endowed with soul, who on\nthe one hand attains, through integration, an independence that appears\nas the impulse to self-preservation, on the other hand becomes conscious\nof this impulse to self-preservation through a centralized nervous\nsystem that raises the part-sensations to feelings of the whole,\nsensation divides into two chief functions, which appear as passion and\nthought. We are not concerned, in thought and passion, with opposites,\nbut with an opposition which a single phenomenon develops through\nmanifold action and reaction with the rest of the world of phenomena.\nThe distinction is merely a convenience in finer investigations; there\nis, in fact, as little thought without emotion as emotion without\nthought. And since emotion always manifests itself as will, this highest\nopposition is best defined as that of thought and will. In order to\nunderstand the human being, we must analyze these two sides of\nconsciousness.\n\nCarneri's examination of the primary laws of thought can be only touched\nupon here. In the law of Identity, or, negatively speaking, the law of\nConsistency,[72] there comes to our consciousness a more general Species\nwhich includes a determinate species. \"The adequate, clear, correct,\ncorresponding[73] concept is consistent with itself,\" means, the\nadequate concept finds itself again in every object which it includes.\nThe law of Identity expresses, therefore, not entire sameness, with\nwhich the cessation of all thought would be reached, but simple\nconsistency. It affords us, thus, the means of recognizing the Untrue in\nthat which is not what it is called, hence also the means of recognizing\nthe True. The law of Excluded Middle contains an extension or doubling\nof the law of Identity, in that the identity here appears, not in the\nform of consistency, but in that of contradiction; as, \"either--or.\" Not\none, but two cases are supposed, only one of which can exist or be true.\nThe disjunctive proposition which corresponds to it is not less\ndeterminate than the categorical proposition which corresponds to the\nlaw or judgment of Identity, but is rather, on the contrary, a more\nforcible affirmation of it. In this determinate nature lies the worth\nof the Excluded Middle. Du Bois Raymond's address on the Limits of\nKnowledge has caused much joy to conservative thinkers; but these have\nmade much more out of it than it really means. There is either for us a\ntranscendental, or there is not; and if not, then we are limited to the\nknowledge of nature. The scientific limit set to our knowledge by our\nhypotheses and theories is, however, merely a limit set for the purpose\nof rounding knowledge to a whole, not of closing it to a further\nadvancement; but such hypotheses must be consistent with experience and\nfounded upon it; otherwise we leave knowledge behind us and abandon the\nhope of it. We cannot say what, within the province of science, man will\nnot know, except that he never will know everything.\n\nThe law of Causality is the most important law of thought, after that of\nIdentity. Reason and result are often confused with cause and effect.\nThe reason on account of which we do a thing is not, however, the cause\nby which it occurs. The cause is the complexity of all conditions which\nmake it possible, and the reason of its performance coincides with a\nconscious design on our part that constitutes our purpose. Causality has\nnothing in common with the concept of purpose. The principal of\nSufficient Reason has been made the bridge between Causality and Design.\nProbably human experience reached first the conception that nothing\noccurs without sufficient reason, and only later, by a further mental\nstep, the conviction that everything for which the necessary conditions\nexist takes place. With this conviction, the concept of causality became\nclear; but, at the same time the bridge which connects it with the\ntheory of design in the succession of events was destroyed, so that only\na logical leap can restore us to this incomplete conception of earlier\nexperience. Causal necessity excludes purposed necessity. That which\ntakes place may be regarded as, in one direction, conformable to an end,\nbut may, on the other hand, conform to no end in any direction. A\nsuccession of events conforms to purpose only in so far as it is\nregarded by a particular consciousness which combines it in thought with\nends of its own or such as it ascribes to another consciousness. In the\nlaw of Causality, as in the law of Identity, the necessity of\nself-consistency and the self-consistency of Necessity reaches\nexpression. The sufficient reason is simply the completeness of the\nconditions, with the existence of which the event takes place, and the\nabsence of which the event fails to take place.\n\nSpinoza's \"Will and intellect are one and the same\" is the ethical law\nof Identity. All thought is willed; that is, indivisible from a certain\ncoloring which it has in virtue of its identity with the will, just as\nall will is connected with thought; there is, indeed, a will-less\nthought, which might, however, just as correctly be called \"unthinking\nthought,\"[74] just as \"unthinking willing\" is, in reality, will-less\nwilling. In all mental operations, the identity of the two functions is\nfound. A will is unthinkable without something willed--an end, given by\nthought. It is the fact that, in his practical life, man recognizes\npurpose as a necessity, which causes him to read purpose into nature.\n\n\"At the basis of identity lies a concept which throws light upon the\nteleological principle. This is the concept of the General. The basis of\nthe principle of identity is a concept of species which embraces the\ngeneral in contrast to the singular and particular; just as the judgment\nof Identity constitutes an advance to still greater Generality. The\nconcept of the General which reaches expression in species coincides\nwith the concept: Law of Nature. The Law is, for a particular circle of\nevents, what the Species is for a particular circle of objects. As in\nthe Species, the characteristics are expressed which an object must\nexhibit in order to belong to it, so in the Law the conditions are\nexpressed which much exist in order that the instance included under it\nmay take place. The relation of Identity to Causality is unmistakable.\nSpecies and Law include no mere plurality of objects and instances, for\nas often as the instance comes to pass the law is fulfilled, and the\nnumber belonging to a species is, in conception, limitless. Worlds like\nour earth may come into existence again and again; hence specimens of a\ncertain species, eternally destroyed, may eternally renew themselves,\nand instances which fall under a certain law may eternally occur. Simply\ntheir conditions must exist in order that they may occur. Such cases\nform, therefore, a whole; and this is Totality in Little.\" The\nimportance of every whole which sets itself over against the greater\nwhole has already been noticed. The former whole constitutes the concept\nof Individuality which, as Undivided Unity, becomes independent. \"The\nlimitlessness which we claim for the whole is one of conception; we thus\nseek to make that which is incomprehensible conceivable.\" The concept\ndoes not need to be imagined; it may be thought. \"Every one knows what\nhe means when he opposes the whole to the part. The whole is not a\nlarger part, but the opposite of the part, as 'all' constitutes the\nopposite of the many and the particular.\"\n\nWhat we aim at, in this analysis, is a true Realism in the conception of\nthe Purposeful. The Purposeful is that which conduces to an end, the\nUseful. From Individuality follows the individual nature of ends. Every\nman has his own ends, and in the attempt to attain his ends does not\nhesitate to set himself in opposition to all the rest of mankind. If he\nis sufficiently energetic and cunning, he may even succeed, for a time,\nin his endeavors, to the harm of humanity. Yet to have the whole of\nhumanity against oneself is to endeavor to proceed in the direction of\ngreater resistance, and the process must, sooner or later, result in the\ntriumph of the stronger power. In the struggle for existence, in its\nlarger as well as its smaller manifestations, the individual seeks, with\nall his power, to satisfy the impulse to happiness which arises with\nconscious existence; while the species, as the complex of all energies\ndeveloped by its parts, has an impulse to self-preservation of its own,\nwhich, by its action as type, has originated and preserved for centuries\nthe conception of changeless kind.\n\n\"Here is the beginning of the dawn, whose sun, however, in order to\nbecome visible and impart warmth, must rise still higher. The certainty\nafforded in the law of Identity in positive form, in the law of\nContradiction in negative form, in the law of Excluded Middle in the\nform of an opposition, and in the law of Sufficient Reason in\nconditional form, is based upon Causality, Community of Species, or\nTotality. For this reason, deduction and induction are only then to be\nrelied upon when the first form of reasoning has for its middle\nproposition one that expresses causality, community of species, or\ntotality, and the latter form of reasoning takes these for its point of\ndeparture. The analysis of Deduction is of worth as clarifying and\nconfirming thought, and thus extending its field as often as the\nsyntheses of Induction stand the proof of the process of clarification.\nThe supernaturalism of Dualism leads to a dead, the natural character of\nMonism to a living, dialectic,--to the dialectic of Becoming. The\nconcept assumes a concrete form, and, as higher and higher rising sun,\nenables us to conceive what it will be to us as Idea. The understanding\nknows nothing of ideas; their realm is that of the reason; yet since the\nreason is but a higher development of the understanding, the\ncommencement of this dawn must be perceptible in it. Moreover, the\ndivision which we make between the two originates in our genetic\ntreatment of the subject, which seeks to explain the concept by showing\nthe course of its development. Yet the distinction is no empty\nabstraction which may not claim life and form to a certain extent. The\nhuman being is always the whole human being; but he is not always\nuniformly developed, either physically or mentally. In one individual\nthe understanding, in another the reason, manifests itself more plainly\nin thought. This is also true of the race, the people, and the epoch, as\nof the individual. Modern development has turned more and more from the\nideal to material interests; we seem to be progressing towards a\nreaction,\" but what that reaction will be, we cannot say; it may be a\nreaction in the worst sense. The mistakes of the understanding cannot be\npredicted. With the point of culmination, the extreme is reached, and in\nSpiritualism may be found traces of a touching of extremes. Yet the\ninfluence of the understanding is to be relied on in so far as it is the\nclear mirror of Necessity. The understanding may err, just because it is\nconscious; but experience always corrects these mistakes. Nature, as\ngifted with mind, is no new nature; the laws of thought are the natural\nlaws of the mind. In their mirror the will sees the accomplishment of\nthe first mental development, and learns to comprehend this, on higher\nmental planes, as Common Weal.\n\nThe opposition of the individual to the rest of the world which arises\nwith self-consciousness and individuality is greater, the greater the\nindividuality. To the struggle for existence is added the struggle for\nhappiness, which, separating into numberless desires that gain in\nattractiveness with every obstacle opposed to their satisfaction, is the\norigin of all the passions,--of greed, jealousy, envy, hatred, etc.\nThrough passion, which is the exaggeration of activities that, in a\nnormal form, are good, man is led into a struggle for false happiness,\njust as the concepts under which his passions arise are false. The\nindividual against the world cannot attain happiness for himself. The\ngreatest good, peace of soul, freedom from passion, is attained only\nthrough knowledge, by which the concepts of the individual are\ncorrected; it is attained, not as dead incapability of emotion, but only\nas clear enjoyment of life after past storm. Labor and education are\nthe path to true happiness and, through true happiness, to virtue. The\npassions are not separate existences; the whole man is the passion of\nhis heart; the whole man feels, just as the whole man thinks. But just\nfor this reason, because of the identity of will and understanding, the\ncorrection of the concept is the correction of will. This is not saying\nthat will and understanding are never in opposition to each other; the\napparent opposition is, however, merely a hesitation of the will, which\ndoes not know what it really will. It is true that one passion can be\nconquered only by another; we cannot will an emotion that leads to a\ncertain course of action; but we can fix our attention on the objects\nwhich produce it, and by thus reaching a clear recognition of their\nactual and necessary relations, affect our own action. It is true that\nman does as he wills; but he wills necessarily as he does. According to\nthe doctrine of freedom, it must be exactly those who act without\nknowing wherefore they act, and who are thus driven by blind impulse,\nwho are the most fully self-determined. A real freedom and conquest of\nnecessity can, on the contrary, be attained only by obedience. Just as,\nin the animal, the summation of impulses and desires reaches a focus in\nfeeling, so in man, in proportion to his development, the summation is\nin consciousness, the focus of which is the point of concentration of\nthe will's activity. Spinoza's \"Will and understanding are one\" means:\nthe activity of the will is the realization of the activity of thought.\nEvery one, the more self-sacrificing, as the less self-sacrificing man,\ndoes that which is to him the pleasantest; egoism turns the scale in\nboth cases; only in the one case the egoism has a basis of broader love.\nAnd since we act according to our conception of things, the question of\nour responsibility is the question of our full possession of\nconsciousness. The necessity of nature must take away our desert, as far\nas a future life and its reward are concerned; but from the standpoint\nof a being who desires happiness and attains to it through evolution,\nnecessity gains a new aspect. Natural Selection is Natural Necessity.\n\nYet not in the understanding, as such, but in the reason, is the\nreconciliation of the same with will. Reason in the narrower sense is a\nhigher development of the understanding, constitutes its completion and\nperfection, and presupposes a high degree of culture; though in a wider\nsense, as the half-unconscious modification of the impulses by\nadjustment to the needs of the species, it develops early in man. By it\nalone man becomes man in the full sense of the word. The activity of the\nmere understanding is an analytical, that of the reason a synthetical\none, the return of cold consciousness to warm feeling, of abstract mind\nto concrete nature. Truth lies, for the reason, in Totality; hence, to\nit, the General alone is comprehensible. It has to do, not with abstract\nconcepts, to which nothing in the realms of the mental or physical\ncorresponds, but with concepts of species, concrete concepts, which we\ncall, in distinction from abstract concepts, ideas. By ideas is not\nmeant existences in the Platonic sense, but the Typical in species.\n\nThe impulse to happiness which arises with consciousness as thought and\nwill, calls itself \"I.\" It is the individual who, with every nerve-cell\nand every drop of blood, attempts his own realization. But all\nindividuals are alike in this, that they reach, at last, a point where\nthey recognize the fact that their ego is but a miserable half which\nneeds a Thou to its completion. In the union of the Thou and the I, the\nfirst I becomes a complete and perfect I. Man and woman both realize\nthat only together do they represent the whole human being. I and Thou\ntogether constitute a We. The ego remains after, as before the union,\nthe axis upon which the whole world turns. But the egoism of mere\nunderstanding is, by a broader thought, elevated to the altruism of\nreason. As the highest union of thought and will, the reason becomes\nIdea in and for itself, actual, absolute Idea. With the We was born the\nSaviour who should reconcile the sharply opposed factors of awaking\nconsciousness. The light of his gospel spread in wider and wider\ncircles; man and woman no longer beheld, each, merely his own happiness\nin the other; they saw their mutual happiness in their children, and\ntheir own and their children's happiness in friends, and their own and\ntheir children's and their friends' happiness in their fellow-men. The I\nof the reason is the self-conscious We.\n\nThe struggle for happiness has brought forth, out of the privileges and\nendeavors of individuals, civilization in its present form. Want and the\nnecessity for labor have been the spur to endeavor and advance. Through\nthe concepts of ends and of intention, the self-conscious will further\nevolved ideas, which themselves undergo a struggle in the activities to\nwhich they give rise; and this is no longer the struggle for existence,\nbut the struggle for civilization.\n\nThere are three Ideas which, arising out of the extension of the I to\nThou and We, are the spring of all ethical conceptions; these are Love,\nHumanity, and Public Spirit.[75] Love is the passion of passions and is\nthe spring of all capacity to altruistic emotion. Love is life in its\nhighest degree;[76] and by the manner in which a human being loves one\nmay know what manner of man he is, and what will be the nature of his\nfeelings towards his fellow-men in other relations of life. A man's\nconduct towards women is the surest test of his character. That which\nSpencer calls Integration, that which has created all nature, from the\nfirst germ to the perfect human being, and, as preservative cell-labor,\nstill continues to create,--this infinite Something comes to\nconsciousness in the human being, as Love. On the lowest plane it can\nappear only as simple impulse; but what, developing from stage to stage,\nit can accomplish, the history of Love shows us.\n\nTo these three ideas of Love, Humanity (or Benevolence), and Public\nSpirit correspond three outward phenomena, which bear such relation to\nthem in the development of morality as the body bears to the soul. These\nare: the Family, the State-form, and the Representatives of Great Ideas.\nThese latter, the men who have been pioneers of civilization, we do not\nneed to pity or regard as victims, though life was to them a mighty\nstruggle and a restless labor; in their suffering was their pleasure;\nand that which impelled them and compelled them to attain their end was\nthe impulse to happiness. Therein lies the wonderful secret of the\nclarified impulse to happiness, that it finds its highest satisfaction\nin itself. Such representatives of great ideas are those in whom the\nspecies overcomes the individual, and out of the species \"man\" the\nspecies-man is developed. That which they express is the True, if only\nthe True for, and in, mankind. In this lies their worth; as worth in\nScience also, and in the Beautiful, lies in the truth of the Idea that\nis therein expressed. The True becomes practical in the Good.\n\nThe reason is thus the first condition of happiness, and freedom of the\nwill lies in the ethical ennoblement of reason, which is nothing more\nnor less than obedience, as the total result of all natural causes; by\nit the individual is lost in the species as a whole. This ethical height\ndoes not consist in impulse, but in the self-conscious activity of will.\nIts mental expression is an Ethical Sense, in distinction from the Moral\nSense of the Intuitionists. Through it man is at one with himself as\nwith his kind.\n\nThe Ethical Sense is not the common property of the species. Just as it\nhas, however, reached expression in a few, so it is more and more\nrealized in the many by the process of evolution, through which a common\nwill, purpose, and good are necessarily finally evolved from all\nstriving of individual wills after happiness. Ethical ideas arise as the\nresult of experience, and in them man gradually attains reason.\n\nFor the Reason to which Love, Public Spirit, and Humanity are the\nnatural element, the General (Common) as truth, is no empty conception,\nbut a promise whose fulfilment is the Good and the Beautiful. The\nfaithfulness of this Reason never swerves, since it depends on no fear,\nbut springs from the clearest conviction, and therefore is one with the\nlove which it feels and inspires. Its friendship is as strong as it is\nunselfish, for it does not call anything \"friendship\" that is based on\nother relations than those of mind. Its generosity is always strength,\nits mercy never weakness. As far as its power reaches, so far and no\nfarther do its remorse and pity extend; for all passions which reduce or\ndim the activity of the soul are unreasonable. The way to the attainment\nof the ethical spirit is pleasure, which guides, though it often\nmisguides us; fortunately, on the wrong paths we sooner or later meet\nwith pain, while on the right path we are ever accompanied by pleasure\nas \"transition from less to greater perfection,\" to quote Spinoza. The\nfeeling of Responsibility consists in the soul's recognition of all its\naction and omission of action as its own, and in the courage to endure\nthe consequences of these.\n\nThe ethical Ideal, which the ethical imagination as \"scientific\"\nconceives, is the truly happy man, the man fully in harmony with\nhimself. This idea is to be regarded as a star by which we are to shape\nour course, not as an end to be fully attained. Through labor mankind\napproaches this ideal, attains knowledge from experience, and clarifies\nthe concept of happiness. The \"I\" extends itself to an \"I\" of mankind,\nso that the individual, in making self his end, comes to make the whole\nof mankind his end. The ideal cannot be fully realized; the happiness\nof all cannot be attained; so that there is always choice between two\nevils, never choice of perfect good, and it is necessary to be content\nwith the greatest good of the greatest number as principle of action.\n\nThis is an ideal which is actually and necessarily evolved. Benevolence\nhas become more general, and has attained a degree not conceived of in\nformer times. The ideal of a happy humanity has gained definite\noutlines, and has become an earnest aim towards which we steer with\nfilling sails. The end is not to be reached by force, which brings in\nits train evil that cannot be gotten rid of for generations, but must be\nattained within the bounds prescribed by the state, through education\nand increase of intelligence. Nor can the state declare and ensure\nhappiness; the duties of the state are chiefly negative, as Bentham has\nsaid. Each individual sacrifices a portion of his happiness in order\nthat the rest may be secured to him by the state; the first-named part\ncomprises his duties, the rest constitutes his rights; the office of the\nstate is to hold each to his duties and secure to each his rights. There\nis no perfect state, just as there is no perfectly good individual; but\nthere is progress in states as in individuals.\n\nThe merely Useful can never furnish a full solution of the problem of\nEthics, any more than Mathematics and Mechanics or Physics and\nPhysiology can do so. The Perfect is much more than the merely Useful.\nSpencer finds the condition of happiness in the exercise of function.\nBut he regards happiness as the final end of morality, while, according\nto our system, the latter is the product of the former.\n\nCarneri again pleads, in this book, for the like right of woman with man\nto mental culture, and to labor which shall make her independent of the\ncaprice of man; the good of the family alone to be regarded as the\nlimiting factor.\n\nThe extent of Carneri's work on the subject of Ethics makes it\nimpossible to consider minor points of his theory, such as are included,\nfor instance, in his criticism of Hartmann, of Schopenhauer, Feuerbach,\nand others; or to define more clearly than has been done his relation to\nSpinoza, Kant, Hegel, etc. His book \"Entwicklung und Glueckseligkeit,\"\npublished in 1886, is a collection of essays which first appeared\nseparately in \"Kosmos,\" and which, as such, do not hold to each other\nthe relation of parts of an organic whole. They are chiefly a\nrecapitulation of the views already expressed in the \"Grundlegung der\nEthik,\" with some extensions and possibly some modifications;--these\nlast, however, chiefly of an extraneous character. In these essays\nCarneri demands a systematic moral training in the common school, to the\nend of the development of conscience, such training to be non-religious,\nthough not anti-religious excepting in case the religion itself be seen\nto transgress the laws of right established by humane reason; he\nprotests against the error of Materialism, as likewise against that of\nthe Apriorists and the \"Ideologists\" or Idealists in the narrower sense\nof the word; and he reaffirms, defines, and further defends his\nstandpoint as that of a \"Real-idealist\"; that is, of one to whom Kant is\nthe point of departure in a farther evolution of theory. He reaffirms\nthe oneness of the universe, so of man with nature, restates the\nself-identity of the individual in will and thought, limits the\nknowledge of man to nature as it is for us, but invests it with\ncertainty within these bounds, and reasserts the necessity of the\nprogress of the whole through the efforts of the many for happiness. He\nlays further stress upon the absence of morality, not only among the\nanimals, in whom at least general ethical feelings, in distinction from\nthose towards individuals, are not found, but also among savages;\nmorality being not the incentive to, but the product of the state. From\nthis standpoint, he combats Socialism as proposing impossible ideals,\nsince it presupposes ethically perfect men as governing and being\ngoverned by the laws, and since it disposes of the freedom of the\nindividual. The theory of compulsion reckons without the will of man as\nhe is and must be. Man has no primordial rights (except, perhaps, the\nright to get and keep all he can); he has only rights that he has gained\nby the help of the state. There is no one commandment in which man's\nwhole duty may be expressed, unless it be, perhaps, some such new\nrendering of Kant's words as this: Act always in such a manner that the\nmaxims of thy will might be taken as the principle by which to render\nhappy the greatest possible number of human beings. But this can never\nbecome a categorical imperative for all men. Morality lies in the Will\nto Good, which becomes in the moral, or according to Carneri's phrase,\nthe ethical man, a second nature: his sense of duty is joy in duty,\nhighest satisfaction of his desire for happiness. It might perhaps be\nclaimed that Carneri, in his theory of the Conscience, has in this book\nlaid more stress on feeling than in his others; however, it is to be\nrecollected that, with him, thought and feeling are no distinct\nfaculties, but that conscience means less an impulse unconscious of\nfinal ends than a self-conscious attitude or readiness of the will as\nthe result of conviction.\n\nCarneri's latest book, \"Die Lebensfuehrung des modernen Menschen\" (1891),\nis practical rather than theoretical, a consideration of general\nproblems and rules of action.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[65] Wirklich.\n\n[66] Stofflichkeit; by this word Carneri designates \"das Gemeinsame\naller Gegenstaendlichkeit.\"\n\n[67] An sich autonom, unterwirft sich das Leben den Cesetzen, die aus\nder allgemeinen Entwicklung sich ergeben.\n\n[68] Daseinstrieb.\n\n[69] Pp. 112, 113.\n\n[70] Dunkle Triebe.\n\n[71] Affecte.\n\n[72] Widerspruchslosigkeit.\n\n[73] Entsprechend.\n\n[74] Gedankenloses Denken.\n\n[75] Gemeinsinn oder Gemeingeist, pp. 340, 410. Carneri explains this\nword as equivalent to the English \"common-sense,\" but defines the latter\nas feeling for the general, the universal.\n\n[76] Potenz.\n\n\n\n\nHARALD HOeFFDING\n\n\"ETHICS\" (\"Ethik,\" 1887)\n\n\nEthical judgments contain an estimate of the worth of human actions.\nEvery such estimate presupposes the existence of a need, a feeling which\nspurs us on to the judgment of the action, as also the existence of a\nstandard, an ideal, according to which we judge. The motive to the\nethical judgment may be called the basis of Ethics. The standard\ninvolved in the ethical judgment determines the content of Ethics, in\nthat it decides which actions, which directions and modes of life, are\nto be called good in the ethical sense. The ethical basis is the\nsubjective, the standard the objective, principle in Ethics; the\ncharacter of an ethical conception depends upon this presupposed basis,\nthe applied standard, and the relation between the two.\n\nThe feelings and impulses of the individual are not only influenced by\nhis own experience, but bear also a character derived from the\nexperience of the whole species; hence the ethical judgments delivered\nby the individual are the result of the whole experience of his kind. It\nis by virtue of this circumstance that the ethical system of the\nindividual gains its power; as ethics of the species, it is a condition\nof the health and vitality of human life.\n\nThis actual working Ethics of the species and of life has been named\nPositive Morality. Such Positive Morality manifests itself in the\nevery-day judgments and principles of men, often in the form of\nproverbs, and may express either the enduring worldly wisdom of a\nnation, a tribe, or a religious society, or the less enduring \"public\nopinion\" of a century or an epoch.\n\nIs it well to treat such Positive Morality to a criticism, which,\narousing, as it must, doubts and questions, will interfere with the\ncertainty and energy of action that characterize unreflecting instinct?\nIs it well to examine the principles of such a system from a scientific\nstandpoint? We may answer: Life itself leads naturally to such\nquestionings; only where the view is narrow and the problems simple is\nthere full security from doubt. With the growth of experience begins a\ncomparison of the different laws and ideals, the differing institutions\nof different epochs and peoples of which one learns; or new experience\npresents problems which cannot be solved by means of the system handed\ndown; or the individual seeks some orderly arrangement of the great\nmultiplicity of ethical judgments which he himself pronounces or hears\nothers pronounce, for the purpose of distinguishing between the more and\nthe less important ones. It is certainly a serious point in an\nindividual's or a nation's development when reflection and criticism\nbegin; but where life leads naturally to such questionings, we must\neither find some answer to them or else some reason why they shall not\nbe answered. Moreover, it is to be noticed that certainty and force of\naction are not absolute Goods. The greatest energy may take a most\ndisastrous direction, and must then be checked. To a new and better\ninsight, when attained, one must endeavor to secure all the energy\npossible. All evolution consists in the diversion of energy from lower\nto higher ends.\n\nA scientific system of Ethics does not, and cannot, take the place of\nPositive Morality; it only supplies the latter with a basis of reason,\nbroadens, and develops it. Such a scientific system only endeavors to\ndiscover in accordance with what principles we direct our life, and to\nsecure for these, when ascertained, greater clearness and inner harmony.\nIn the mental life of the human being, a continuous action and reaction\nof the conscious and the unconscious takes place, as well as of\nperception, feeling, and will. What is won in the one province may\nprofit the others also.\n\nTwo tasks of Scientific Ethics, as Historical Ethics and as\nPhilosophical Ethics, are to be distinguished. Historical Ethics has to\ndo with the description and explanation of the development of Positive\nMorality. Philosophical Ethics has to decide upon the worth of the\nvarious forms assumed by the latter. Philosophical Ethics is a practical\nscience, and is based upon the supposition that we set ourselves ends\nwhich may be reached through human action. Every ethical judgment\npresupposes such an end, for feeling is set in motion by the sight or\nthe thought of an act only when the latter promotes, or stands in the\nway of something, the existence and success of which are desired by us.\nNot all that is developed as practical morality can be pronounced good.\nOn the other hand, customs which were at first assumed from motives\nwhich must be condemned by Philosophical Ethics, may yet prove\nthemselves good, and may be practised, later, from higher motives; and\nsuch customs cannot then be condemned on account of their origin. Hence,\nPhilosophical Ethics is both conservative and radical; it respects\nnothing simply because it exists; but since it endeavors to furnish\nguidance beyond present standards, it attempts to show how that which\nhas been developed historically may be given new forms and thus used for\nfurther progress. It is difficult, from a broader view, to distinguish\nperfectly between Historical and Philosophical Ethics; the historian has\nan ideal which he applies more or less in his researches; and the\nphilosopher in Ethics is more or less ruled by the prevailing opinions\nof his time. This necessitates a continual re-discussion of problems.\nYet it does not prevent the existence, in any system, of lasting\nprinciples among the less enduring ones.\n\nTheological Ethics is directly opposed to Historical Ethics as well as\nto Philosophical Ethics. It builds upon tradition, upon truth as\nsomething historically revealed. So far, it might appear as if\nTheological Ethics were related to Historical Ethics. But the system of\nthe former does not recognize the method of scientific research, since\nthe revelation on which it is based is due, according to its doctrine,\nto an interposition of supernatural forces not to be explained by the\nphysical, psychological, and social laws that serve as the foundation of\nhistorical science. It demands a unique position for its historical\nbasis, and asserts that this must be looked at in an entirely different\nlight from that in which the rest of the history of the world is\nregarded. It appears to approach Philosophical Ethics in instituting an\nexamination of the worth of historic acts and modes of life. But it\nundertakes this examination, not according to any principle that can be\nfound in nature, but from the point of view of a supernatural revelation\nof an ideal. Its foundation is an absolute principle of Authority; its\ngood is that which is God's will. But how is the individual to be sure\nas to what, in the single case, is God's will? By the inward testimony?\nHow is he to distinguish certainly between such and his own natural\nthoughts and feelings; what means of distinction can be applied? In\npassing thus to the province of Psychology, we assume a human means of\ndistinction, and the principle of Authority loses its force. Or if it be\nsaid that we should receive this principle of Authority because it\nanswers to a need of our nature, we may ask how we know that the need is\none that should be satisfied? Its mere existence cannot guarantee that.\nOr how, then, are we to distinguish which of other wishes and needs of\nour nature should, and which should not, be gratified? Is the principle\nof Authority to decide this? Then we argue in a circle.\n\nA similar circle is adopted by such theologians as attempt to combine\nthe two assertions: \"The good is good because God wills it\"; and \"God\nwills it because it is good.\" If the good is identical with God's will,\nthis means that he wills it because it is his will; if he, however,\nfirst recognizes something as good, and therefore wills it, then his\nwill bows to a law and rule, and is not, in itself, the cause whereby\nthe Good is good.\n\nHave we not, as a fact, already broken with the absolute principle of\nAuthority as soon as we begin to reflect, to endeavor to bring the\nvarious commandments of Authority into harmony with each other, thus\napplying the measure of our own reason to them?\n\nBut it is not these inner contradictions alone which hinder\nPhilosophical Ethics from making use of theological assumptions; that\nwhich has called Philosophical Ethics into existence and lends it\ninterest, is the conviction that the ultimate reason of the ethical must\nlie in man himself. However lofty may be the ideal, it can become man's\nideal only through his own recognition of it as ideal. For this reason\nSocrates was the founder of Ethics by the command: \"Know thyself!\" In\nthis command is expressed the principle of free investigation, the\nopposite to that of blind obedience. The desire to make Ethics as far as\npossible independent of assailable assumptions is likewise active in the\nestablishment of a system of Philosophical Ethics.\n\nIn the great, sometimes too great, regard paid to the distinction\nbetween the subjective and the objective worth of actions, and the\ncontest as to the relative importance of the two factors, the fact is\noften overlooked, that the standard by which ethical judgment is\npronounced is itself of subjective nature. The question arises as to\nwherefore we seek a general and objective standard.\n\nIt is a fact that human beings reflect upon their own acts, pronouncing\nthem, according to the result of this reflection, good or bad. How are\nsuch judgments as these possible?\n\nWe will suppose, first, the simplest conceivable case, namely, that the\nacting subject pronounces judgment on his own act without consideration\nof the existence of other beings. Such a judgment must presuppose\nmemory; but it presupposes something more, namely pain or pleasure\nthrough memory; an end is aimed at only because the thought of a result\ncauses pleasure. In the simple case supposed, the feeling which\ndetermines the end can be only that of the individual himself, and the\nlatter will judge the act as good or bad according as it has affected\nhis own life. The character and significance of the judgment will depend\non whether the feeling of pain or pleasure is determined only by the\nsingle moment or has reference to the life of the individual as a whole.\nThe lower the life of consciousness, the more isolated and independent\nare the single moments of time in relation to each other, and the less\nis the significance of the memory and the thought of the ego as a whole\nembracing the single moments with their content. Only a half-unconscious\ninstinct hinders the individual from losing himself in the moment; the\ninstinct of self-preservation leads him to consider the future and to\nmake use of the experience of the past. The more he loses himself in the\nmoment, the less is the power of judgment, since comparison and action\nand reaction of the different states cannot take place. The single\nmoment bears to all others the relation of an absolute egoist, who does\nnot wish to relinquish any part of its satisfaction for their advantage.\n\nAnd here we may perceive the possibility of a standpoint upon which all\njudgment is dispensed with. Such a standpoint is represented by\nAristippus of Cyrene, who asserts the sovereignty of the moment. It is\nnot without its justification. Ethics itself must show cause for the\nrelinquishment of the satisfaction of the moment in favor of other\nmoments.\n\nIf the principle of the sovereignty of the moment could be practically\ncarried out, no reasoning could overthrow it. However, there can\nscarcely be a conscious individual in whom there are not instincts and\nimpulses which reach beyond the moment. When a momentary state of\nfeeling, as the effect of an act of the subject, comes together in\nconsciousness with the feeling determined by the conception of the life\nas totality (the result of memory and comparison), a new feeling arises\nwhich is either one of harmony or one of discord. The standard by which\njudgment is pronounced is determined by this feeling. The capacity for\nsuch feelings is conscience, as this may manifest itself in entirely\nisolated individuals. Conscience, in the broadest sense of the word, is\na feeling of relations, and requires only a relation between central and\nperipheral feelings,--feelings of wider, and feelings of narrower\nthought-connection. The single moment and the single act are judged\naccording to their worth as parts of the individual life as totality.\n\nAnd here the individual is confronted by the necessity of bringing the\nsingle parts of his life into harmony. The problem is certainly never\nsolved by any individual involuntarily. The estimation of earlier acts\naccording to the assistance they give in this task is, therefore, at\nthis point, of great importance to the individual. The judgment\npronounced is thus not only made possible through the central feeling\nwhich corresponds to the life as totality, but is determined by it. An\nacute sense for that which benefits the individual life whose single\nmembers are the moments, is a condition of the continuance and\ndevelopment of the life; it is a higher sort of instinct of\nself-preservation, and need not be confined to the continuance of\nphysical life, but may also refer to the ideal needs.\n\nAnd here we come upon the standpoint of Individualistic Ethics. From\nsuch a standpoint, the problem is to determine, not only how much energy\nmay be used in the single moments of time, but also in what manner it\nshould be used in order to secure as great variety and many-sidedness as\nmay be consistent with the interests of the life as totality. Nor are\nthe interests of the life to be summed up in physical self-preservation;\nthe individual acquires, in the natural course of things, interests of\nincreased ideality and complexity, through which the life gains in\ncontent.\n\nThe ethical law, from the standpoint of Individualism, is expressed by a\nformula which requires harmonious relation between the interest of the\nlife as totality and the impulse of the moment; it consists of two chief\nmandates: (1) The single instant should have no greater independence\nthan corresponds to its significance in the life as totality; (2) but,\non the other hand, the single moments should be as richly and intensely\nlived as is consistent with the preservation of the life's totality.\n\nOf Individualism, or the principle of the Sovereignty of the Individual,\nthe same is true as of the sovereignty of the moment, that no reasoning\ncan overthrow it; if the individual recognizes no end but his own life,\nthere is no logical way of transition to another standpoint. A change of\naim can take place only through such a change in the central feelings\nwhich determine the standard of the individual that a wider circle of\nconceptions enter into his reflections. Until this takes place, there is\nno use in appealing to conscience.\n\nThe science of Ethics has often claimed to be a science of pure reason.\nThis claim is opposed to its character as a practical science, since\naction can be judged only according to the ends it had in view, and ends\npresuppose feelings of pain and pleasure. On the other hand, there is,\nin the mere capacity for pain and pleasure, no limitation of the extent\nof the circle of conceptions with which the feelings of pain and\npleasure are connected.\n\nIndividualism can be carried out in practice only approximately; the\nindividual has his origin in the species, and lives his whole life as a\npart of the life of his kind, with an organization in which the results\nof the action and passion of earlier generations are inherited, and in a\nmental atmosphere which has induced the development of his species. And\njust as the instinct of self-preservation did away with the isolation of\nthe single moments of the individual life, becoming, thus, the basis of\nfeelings determined by the interests of the life as totality, so the\nsympathetic instincts do away with the isolation of the single\nindividuals and determine the conditions of the life of the species in\nthe minds of its individuals. The most primitive form of the sympathetic\ninstincts is exhibited in the family. Here, however loose and variable\nthe relation of man and wife may be, that of mother and child cannot, by\nits nature, be done away with or essentially changed. In this case, the\nsympathetic feeling springs immediately from the natural instinct, and\nthe relation is the nucleus which makes possible the higher forms of\nfamily life. In the family circle, the sympathetic feelings are\ncultivated, and arrive at such strength that they come to include ever\nwider and wider circles of human beings. Indeed, the mother-love remains\nforever the image and criterion of all sympathy, as well in respect to\nstrength as to purity.\n\nWhen sympathy has reached full purity, it is a feeling of pain or\npleasure determined by the fact that other beings feel pain or pleasure.\nThe most important point of its development was when it so broadened as\nto include all mankind. The Peripatetic and the Stoic schools of Greek\nphilosophy led to this idea of love to all humanity and the natural\nunion of all men in one great society. But this idea acquired greater\nhistoric importance when it became a chief commandment of a great\nreligion,--of Christianity. To this sympathetic feeling the criterion of\ngood and evil is no longer to be found in the individual life, but is\ndependent on the life of the whole society of which the individual is a\nmember.\n\nYet sympathy is not, from this standpoint, identical with the ethical\nfeeling, conscience. Conscience is here, too, a feeling of relations\ndetermined by the relation between the ruling or central feeling of the\nindividual and the results of action. When the individual feels his own\ninterests subordinate to the good of the whole of which, through\nsympathy, he regards himself as a part, the ethical feeling appears as\nthe feeling of duty. A feeling of duty may be spoken of, likewise, from\nthe standpoint of pure Individualism, for the concept of duty expresses\nonly the relation of a lower, narrower consideration to a higher; and\nthis is represented, in Individualism, by the relation of the single\nmoments to the life as a whole.\n\nFrom another point of view, the ethical feeling appears, in its higher\ndevelopment, as the feeling of justice, which, while regarding the good\nof the whole as the chief end, considers also the peculiarities of\nindividuals. Sympathy in its active form is impulse to share. This\nsharing must be carried out according to fixed principles; where\nsympathy is universal, differences of division can be justified only by\nthe fact that the Goods divided, if otherwise divided, would not be in\nso high a degree Goods to those to whom they reverted, or would not\nconduce to so great progress of the society as a whole. The ethical law\nupon this standpoint, the standpoint of Humane Ethics, can be no other\nas to content, than that action shall conduce to the greatest possible\nwelfare and the greatest possible progress of the greatest possible\nnumber of conscious beings; and this law includes two chief mandates, a\nnegative and a positive mandate: (1) The individual may not receive more\nthan befits the position which, in consequence of his peculiar\nqualities, he occupies among his kind; (2) but, on the other hand, the\ncapacities and impulses of every individual shall be as fully and\nrichly developed and satisfied as is consistent with the demands of the\nlife of the species as a whole. These two mandates follow with logical\nnecessity from the concept of society as a multiplicity of conscious\nbeings united into one whole. It is contrary to the unity of society,\nthat an individual, or that individuals, should be wilfully preferred to\nothers; every exceptional position must be justified by the demands of\nthe general conditions of life; on the other hand, a society is the more\nperfect the more freely and more independently the single members move,\nand the larger the number of different possibilities it realizes, if, at\nthe same time, unity is preserved and attains an ever higher character\nand ever increasing validity.\n\nWhen the ethical feeling develops, upon the basis of sympathy, to the\nfeeling of duty and justice, the principle included in the above law\nbecomes the standard according to which the individual judges his own\nactions as well as those of others, and pronounces them good or bad. The\ngood is that which preserves and develops the welfare of conscious\nbeings.\n\nThe ethical principle now arrived at applies to the deeds of conscious\nbeings, presupposing an end in view. Unconscious nature affects man's\nlife, but its workings have no ethical character. The ethical judgment\nis itself determined by the principle on which it is pronounced, and\nhence it serves to produce greater welfare. This is especially to be\nseen where the judging and the acting individual are one and the same\nperson; in other cases, it becomes a special problem to bring the acting\nindividual to the recognition of the principle; this is a problem of\npsychologic-pedagogical nature.\n\nThe word \"welfare\" is used in preference to utility or happiness in\norder to prevent misunderstanding, and may be defined as including all\nthat serves to satisfy the needs of man's nature. Ethics must take into\nconsideration all the gradations of life, and cannot, therefore,\ndistinguish in the beginning between outer and inner, higher and lower,\nwelfare. Such a distinction is already an ethical judgment, and can be\nmade only after determination of the ethical criterion. Another mistake\nis the stress often laid upon momentary feelings of pain and pleasure.\nPain signifies, it is true, the beginning of the disintegration of life,\nand pleasure its normal and harmonious development; yet each must be\nconsidered in its relation to the whole consciousness, the whole\ncharacter, and the whole social state. So-called utilitarianism has\ninjured its own cause by resolving consciousness into a sum of feelings,\nand society into a collection of individuals. The significance of single\nfeelings of pain and pleasure for the welfare of society cannot be\ndetermined as if the problem were a simple arithmetical one.\n\nThe reasoning of Philosophical Ethics must not be confused with\npractical reflection. In the last we are led by instincts and impulses,\nby motives of which we are, for the most part, wholly unconscious, by\nthoughts and feelings the first origin of which we cannot designate. We\nfollow the \"positive morality\" to which we have accustomed ourselves and\nwhich is, in part, an inheritance of our species. Ethics as an art\nprecedes Ethics as a science; the aim of the latter is partly to show by\nwhat principles the former is guided, and partly to correct these\nprinciples.\n\nThe ethical principle broadens out, thus, from the single moment of the\nindividual life until it embraces the whole of mankind; but there are\nmany points in the course of the development at which we can make a\nstand, and there may, therefore, be as many philosophical systems as\nthere are larger or smaller totalities. The position of the man who\nholds fast consistently to a principle that determines the criterion by\nthe family, the caste, the nation, a sect, as highest totality, is as\nunassailable as we have seen that of the individualist to be. The\npsychologic-historical evolution alone can bring us, through the changes\nwhich it produces in the feelings, beyond these criterions. In other\nwords, every criterion has a psychologic-historical basis. He who is to\nrecognize and carry out practically the principle of the greatest\npossible welfare, must be no egoist or individualist, no fanatical\npatriot or sectarian; this is the subjective condition necessary to the\nobjective principle. The conscience which is to be regulated by the\nobjective principle is always itself the condition of the recognition of\nthis principle. A system which leaves this fact out of consideration\ntakes on a dogmatic character. The basis of all ethical judgments is\nfeeling. By this is not meant, however, that the standpoint of an\nindividual cannot be influenced by argument; the feelings are always\nconnected with concepts, and discussion of these concepts is both\npossible and must react upon them even if only very gradually.\n\nConscience is not infallible in its application of the objective\nprinciple; a wider experience may show it to have erred. Conscience is\nhighest authority, but still an authority which may continually perfect\nitself. The objective principle makes possible the mutual correction of\ndifferent consciences and the self-correction of the conscience of the\nindividual through self-judgment.\n\nThe difference between Subjective Ethics and Objective Ethics, as here\nexplained, does not coincide with the difference between Individual\nEthics and Social Ethics. Objective Ethics includes both the latter,\nsince it recognizes individual peculiarities. It has yet to be decided\nwhether, within the bounds of Objective Ethics, Individual Ethics and\nSocial Ethics are dependent upon each other, or whether one, and if one\nthen which one, determines the other. It has to be decided whether,\naccording to the principle of welfare, the free self-development of the\nindividual is to be limited by the conditions of social life, or _vice\nversa_. Within the limits of Objective Ethics, there may arise an\nIndividualism of another sort than that before mentioned, founded, not\nupon the sovereignty of the individual, but upon the principle of\nwelfare, which demands as many independent and peculiar points of\ndeparture for action as possible. The like is true, also, of the\nquestion of smaller organizations within larger ones.\n\nThe history of Ethics shows us that the ethical judgment of actions at\nfirst regarded the outer act itself and its results, but was gradually\nextended to include the motive, the disposition, the character of the\nacting subject. It is perfectly natural that regard should first be\nattracted to that which is the object of sense-perception. Moreover,\naction at an earlier stage of development is essentially reflex action,\nand the expression of instinct; the motives are simple and transparent,\nand interest does not linger long with them. The great revolutions in\nEthics appear as essentially progress with regard to the importance\naccorded, in ethical judgment, to the inner factors of action. This\ngreater inwardness is combined with a generalization; for the rejection\nof a motive is the rejection of all action occasioned by it, and the\nethical acceptance of a motive the acceptance of all action springing\nfrom it. Hence the transference of regard to inner conditions represents\na great simplification of the ethical law. Examples of such a\ntransference may be found in the rupture between Christianity and\nJudaism, and between Protestantism and Catholicism.\n\nIn this way, too, Objective Ethics leads to Subjective Ethics. The\nobjective judgment not only presupposes a subjective basis, but also\nfinds some of its best objects in actions which spring from the same\nmental constitution which is the basis of the judgment. Here, the basis\nof mental constitution and the motive coincide; the ethical law demands\nthe existence of the moral disposition by which it itself exists in the\nspecies. This Kant expresses in the assertion that it is a duty to\npossess conscience. Since the recognition of duties presupposes the\nexistence of conscience, it might seem as if here were an argument in a\ncircle. But that this is an illusion may be seen from the fact that the\nbasis of ethical judgment and the motive do not necessarily coincide and\nthat it is not necessarily an imperfection when they do not coincide. It\nmay be necessary in some cases, in accordance with the principle of\nwelfare, that other motives than the sense of duty shall guide the\naction; it may be necessary and healthful, for example, that in some\ncases man should be led by the instinct of self-preservation, or by an\nimmediate sympathy, to labor for the welfare of others, and that\nconscience should not be aroused in every single act. It may even be a\nsign of perfection when actions that demand exertion and sacrifice are\ncarried out without the intervention of a sense of duty. Indeed, mental\ndrill in the end renders that which at first took place by means of a\nlong psychological process of reflection and will, direct and without\nspecial consciousness of its reason.\n\nAll Ethics is practical Idealism. All systems assume an end, and an end\nis not anything at present existing, but something which ought to be.\nAll systems assume, therefore, strong feeling, impulse, and endeavor,\ncombined with the image of that which is the object of the endeavor. But\nthe ideal must have points of contact with actuality, so that at least\nan approach to it is practicable; it must be physically,\npsychologically, and historically possible.\n\nEthical ideals deviate from the actual in three ways. In the first\nplace, there is often in actual willing and doing something directly\nopposed to the principle of welfare. In this case, the office of Ethics\nis to restrain and forbid. To this function corresponds, in the\npractical life of the will, the hemming by which involuntary, original,\nor acquired impulses and inclinations are repressed. Again, actual\nwilling and doing often exhibit only a weak and imperfect realization\nof that which Ethics demands. Here there must be an increase in the\ndegree as well as in the extent of the realization. To this corresponds,\nin the practical life of the will, effort and attention, the power of\nthe will, through its influence upon conceptions and feelings, to react\nupon itself. And finally, there may be, in willing and doing, a lack of\nunity and harmony; various opposed tendencies and impulses may make\nthemselves felt. Here a process of harmonizing and concentration is\nnecessary. And to this corresponds, in the practical life of the will, a\ndrilling in connected action and trains of thought, and in the power to\nmake an end of reflection by decision. In all three cases, the principle\nof welfare is to be followed; and the three processes are to be applied\nnot only in the development of the individual but also in that of\nsocieties, and of the species.\n\nThat which manifests itself in conscience is a species-instinct. In the\nfeeling of judgment, the relation between central and peripheral factors\nfinds expression, neither of which, and least of all the central\nfactors, are developed by individual experience, but both of which are,\non the contrary, the product of the experience of the species. What Kant\ncalled the Categorical Imperative is, in fact, an instinct; and every\ninstinct speaks unconditionally, categorically, gives no reasons and\nadmits of no excuse.\n\nNo instinct finds expression without the existence of conditions which\ncall it forth; but all manner of individual and social circumstances may\nfurnish such conditions.\n\nWhen conscience begins to be conscious of its office, it manifests\nitself as an Impulse.[77] The thought of actions which the instinctive\njudgment has recognized, or to the performance of which it has perhaps\nincited, is combined with pleasure, the conception of actions of the\nopposite nature with pain. The tendency arises to linger with the former\nand to repeat them, and to turn from the latter, if no stronger impulses\nof another sort make themselves felt.\n\nConscience may develop, without losing entirely its instinctive or\nimpulsive character, to practical reason. This takes place through the\ndevelopment of the conceptions which determine the conscience as\nimpulse, to greater clearness and distinctness. When conscience acts as\ninstinct, the individual does not know what he does. If it acts as\nimpulse, he has a dawning consciousness of his acts. And when it\nbecomes practical reason, there arises a clear consciousness of ethical\nlaws and ethical ideals. In different individuals, conscience may appear\nin very different forms and degrees, as instinct, impulse, practical\nreason, sense of duty, sense of justice. Sometimes it appears as mainly\nnegative and restraining, sometimes again as chiefly positive, partly\nharmonizing and partly increasing. Here it appears as enthusiastic\ndevotion, there as quiet and continuous tendency. It would be impossible\nto name even the principal forms in which it may manifest itself, but it\nis of great importance to call attention to the fact of these individual\ndifferences, since we suffer at present from a dogmatism that has but\none measure for all these different manifestations.\n\nWe must go a step farther still. There may be men who possess no\nstrictly ethical feeling and who do not need it. Such men do what they\ncan with their whole heart without applying any reflective standard to\ntheir own or others' acts. They entirely absorb themselves with\nunflagging zeal in a work that perfectly corresponds to their\ncapabilities and impulses, without any doubt of its rightfulness and\nimport. They may devote themselves to art and science, to the service of\nsociety, or to their family. Or they belong to the class of happy\nnatures who spread light and joy by their mere existence. They act in\naccordance with the law, without being in possession of the law, and\nwhat objection can Ethics have to offer to this? Ethics is for the sake\nof life, not life for the sake of Ethics.\n\nSince all ethical judgments have conscience for their psychological\nbasis, conscience is highest authority, highest law-giver, in comparison\nwith which every other authority is subordinate and derived. To wish to\ngo beyond one's conscience is to wish to go beyond oneself. When I yield\nto another human being whose judgment I trust more than my own, this can\nbe justified only as it takes place through my conscience. Conscience is\ninfallible, if one understands by infallibility that it is, at every\ninstant, the highest judge; this infallibility does not mean, however,\nthat it does not err. Every earnest conviction takes the form of\nconscience; the truth is not, however, secured by the mere form. Was it\nnot from conviction that Aristotle asserted the right of slavery, and\nCalvin, with Melancthon's approval, sent Servetus to the stake?\n\nNot less dogmatic than Fichte's assertion that conscience never deceives\nus, is the view which regards a system of Ethics as merely the science\nof the forms of society and of outward acts, and thus declares\nconscience to be without authority in comparison with outer\ncircumstances and their demands. The law which we obey must always\nexpress itself in the form of conscience. The light which illumines for\nus all other things must be within ourselves.\n\nHere we perceive the possibility of a conflict between Subjective Ethics\nand Objective Ethics, between the two principles upon which Ethics is\nfounded. There can be no other solution to the problem than that we\nshall follow the command of conscience, provided it speaks clearly and\nafter sufficient deliberation. It may be added that conscience can\ncorrect and control itself, the later and more experienced conscience\ncriticising the earlier. As long as the individual acts according to his\nbest conviction, he is morally healthy; hence, from an ethical point of\nview, a pernicious action carried out under the conviction that it is\ngood is to be preferred to a good action performed with the conviction\nthat it is bad. In the former case, the spring is pure; in the latter it\nis corrupt. Only he who has courage to make mistakes can accomplish\nanything great. It is not the cold and narrow, but those who are zealous\nfor the true and good, who thus err.\n\nThe power of self-correction can be developed only when some definite\nprinciple or criterion may be found. Such a principle is that of\nwelfare. The problem of the application of this principle to action is,\nhowever, like that of the application of the principle of causality to\nactual phenomena, an endless one.\n\nIn close relation to the concept of Authority stands that of Sanction.\nThe Authority commands or forbids, the Sanction enables the command or\nprohibition to remain in force. The sanction consists in the pain or\npleasure connected with the observation or transgression of the command,\nin the reward or punishment which one brings on oneself through one's\naction, in the heaven or hell which one approaches by the action. It is\nonly, however, when the authority itself is an outward one that the\nsanction holds this outward relation to the action. In this outward form\nit has no immediate ethical significance. The ethical character of an\naction is dependent, in subjective regard, on its origin in the\nintention of the performer, in objective regard, on its harmony with the\nprinciple of welfare. What ethical significance could it have that here\na feeling of pain or pleasure not arising from the action itself, is\nadded to it? The outer sanction of reward and punishment is thus but an\neducating sanction. The inner sanction consists in a feeling of harmony\nand unity with one's own highest convictions, of consistency between\none's ideas and one's actual willing. Thus arises an inner peace that\nmay be stronger than all contradiction and opposition from without.\n\nSuch an inner sanction is not only an effect of the action, but a\nfeeling already present before the action. It was the preservation and\nfull development of this feeling that led to the decision and made it\npossible. Blessedness, says Spinoza, is not the reward of virtue, but\nvirtue itself.\n\nThe manner in which the ethical is so often made dependent upon certain\nfixed religious or speculative assumptions must be, from an ethical\npoint of view, matter for great solicitude. In the first place, it is\neasy to suppose that the man who no longer respects these dogmas may\nhave emancipated himself also from the ethical maxims dependent upon\nthem, and would be most consistent if he acted in accordance with the\nprinciple: \"Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.\" In the second\nplace, action is reft of its ethical character when the attention is\ndirected to things outside its essence and origin, and considerations of\nreward and punishment are declared to be a necessary motive. Not even a\nbelief in progress within the world of experience can have any absolute\nworth for Ethics. It may be theoretically difficult to maintain such a\nbelief; and even if the victorious direction of evolution were shown to\nbe unfavorable to Ethics, ethical principles would not be destroyed.\nSimply the problems would be different; pity and resignation would\nacquire greater importance. Wherever the ethical disposition were\npresent, it would take the side of the conquered and remain upon that\nside though the gods themselves were with the conquerors. Ethical worth\ndoes not depend upon mere might.\n\nThe birth-hour of conscience is the time when, through the difference\nbetween ideal and actuality, a certain feeling arises. Its death-hour\nwould be the instant in which the difference forever disappeared. Such a\ndisappearance might occur in two ways, either through the conquest of\nthe ideal by actuality or through that of actuality by the ideal. The\nobjection has been made to the theory of evolution that it fulfilled\nthe first of these possibilities, and so left no room for Ethics. But\nthe very fact of the existence of ethical impulses as the actual result\nof evolution would seem to belie this theory. And indeed, we see that\nevolution is not physical growth alone, but mental as well; and that the\nimportant feature of man's development consists in his aspiration\nthrough desires and impulses, which act as moving forces in his life.\nAspiration is necessary to his evolution, and indifference and lack of\nsensibility an obstacle to it. The theory of evolution leads directly to\nEthics, in that it shows that the struggle for existence becomes, in its\nhigher forms, a common struggle for the continuance and development of\nhuman life. The theory of evolution takes us, indeed, not only to, but\nbeyond, Ethics; for, according to Spencer, the ethical sense is but an\nintermediate condition in a development toward a state of \"organic\nmorality,\" where right-doing will be involuntary and natural, and a\nspecial ethical sense no longer existent or necessary. Such a state\nwould constitute the realization of the second alternative mentioned\nabove, with which Ethics would come to an end. This state is\nconceivable, and Ethics could have no objection to offer to it. Yet we\nare still far from such a condition, and though we may strengthen our\ncourage and hope with the thought of a continual progress of human\nnature, yet the assumption of such an end to evolution cannot have an\nessential influence upon the method of Ethics.\n\nWe must, in fact, suppose that progress will bring us new problems and\nnew ideals, that, as the Ethics of the civilized man includes whole\nprovinces unknown to the savage, so many relations will certainly\npresent themselves in the future whose ethical significance our present\nthick-skinned condition, our ignorance and egoism, prevent us from\ncomprehending.\n\nCan one do more than one's duty? From the standpoint of ethical systems\nwhich are founded on authority or any outward principle, this question\nmay be answered in the affirmative. The Roman Catholic Church\ndistinguishes, for instance, between that which is commanded and that\nwhich, beyond the command, is merely advised. But he who follows an\ninward sanction cannot but feel that he has done no more than his duty\nwhen he has done all that lies in his power for the welfare of mankind.\nIt may be right, from a pedagogical standpoint, to give especial praise\nto actions that tower above the usual; he who performs them, however,\nonly then possesses the right spirit when he feels that he has done no\nmore than his duty, and could not have done otherwise. Even from a\npedagogical standpoint, the difference between duty and merely\ncounselled action, beyond the duty commanded, can be only a relative\none; that which is, upon a lower plane of development, merely advised,\nbecomes, upon a higher plane, one of the most elementary duties; mercy\nto the conquered may be a high virtue in a savage, but to the civilized\nman it is a primary rule of morals.\n\nIt is of the highest importance to keep in mind the fact that conscience\nitself is a cause, and that ethical judgment, arising as a feeling,\ntakes part, by its influence upon the will, in the ethical evolution\ntowards highest welfare. Keeping this in mind, it is easy to see that\nEthics not only calls for no limitation of the law of Causality, but\nthat such a limitation would be pernicious, even destructive, to Ethics.\n\nThere are at least six different significations in which the expression\n\"freedom of the will\" may be used.\n\nIt may be used to denote absence of outward constraint; but this might\nrather be called a freedom of action than a freedom of the will.\n\nIt may be used to denote absence of inner constraint; the will which\nsprings from pain or fear is often called unfree in distinction from the\nwill which springs from pleasure or hope.\n\nIt may refer to energy and vitality of the will. Here the stress is laid\nupon the amount which the will can accomplish, not, however, upon its\nindependence of causes. One can be a determinist and yet concede that\nthe will plays an important part in the world; or one can be an\nindeterminist and yet assume that free will plays but a small part in\nthe world.\n\nBy freedom of the will is often meant the power of choice. This freedom\nis not opposed, however, to causality, but to blindness of action,\nsubjection to momentary impulses. \"Free will\" denotes, in this case,\nself-conscious will.\n\nOr the word \"freedom\" may refer to the will as ruled by ethical motives.\nIn this sense, only the good man is free. This significance of the word\nis the oldest, comes down to us from Socrates, and is used by Augustine,\nSpinoza, and many others.\n\nBut the sense of the word \"freedom\" with which the strife between\nDeterminism and Indeterminism has to do is that in accordance with\nwhich a free will is not subject to the law of Causality, is not, like\nother phenomena, a link in the chain of causes, but is, on the contrary,\na cause, without being an effect. To be free in will is, according to\nthis definition, to will without cause,--independent of all that has\ngone before.\n\nIndeterminism destroys the bond between the individual and his kind,\nbetween the individual and the rest of existence. Indeterminism is hence\nunable to regard existence as a totality. Every deeper philosophical or\nreligious conception becomes, thus, impossible; the only religious\nconception consistent with Indeterminism is Polytheism, since every\nbeing that can form the absolute beginning of a chain of causes is a\nlittle god, an absolute being. This fact is to be noted, for the reason\nthat Determinism is sometimes designated as a godless doctrine.\n\nThe assertion that the will is without cause, and the assertion that we\nourselves are the cause of our willing, are two different assertions.\nThe last finds a cause in our nature. Thoughts and feelings, tendencies,\ninstincts, and impulses arise in us, and in these the origin of the acts\nof the will is to be sought.\n\nIf the will, or a part of it, is not subject to the law of Causality, it\nstands in relation to the whole personality as something isolated and\naccidental. The Indeterminist who asserts that Determinism makes man a\nmere machine, himself makes of him something much meaner, something\nincoherent and accidental. Ethical judgment is based upon the assumption\nthat my action is mine; it is, therefore, clear and certain only when\nmotives and the decision they cause are known. The less my actions can\nbe understood by knowledge of my character, the more easily I may be\nregarded as irresponsible. Although law regards, by its nature, action\nand not motive, yet even the judge must gain an insight into the\nmotives, the outer and inner relations from which the deed originated,\nboth in order to determine the degree of punishment necessary, and in\norder even to be fully persuaded that the action really took place.\n\nMany recent Indeterminists designate the freedom of the will as\nexceedingly small. They thus extend the dissolution of the unity of\nexistence and of the unity of personality to the act of willing itself.\nMoreover, if responsibility depends upon freedom, it is impossible to\nsee how reward and punishment are to be justified upon this standpoint;\nsince the individual can say with reason that he is not guilty with\nrespect to the whole, but only with respect to a very small part of his\nact.\n\nThe words Responsibility, Guilt, Accountability, are taken, like so many\nother ethical expressions, from Jurisprudence, or rather they come to us\nfrom a time when the distinction between the province of Jurisprudence\nand that of Ethics had not yet been recognized. That I am made\naccountable for my action means that I stand as the one to whom reward\nor punishment for the deed is meted out. _For what reason_ the action is\nrewarded or punished is a question by itself.\n\nIn relation to Ethics, the feeling of guilt, of responsibility or\naccountability, signifies that my act is subjected to the judgment of\nconscience. If I find discord between my act and that which I recognize\nas good, remorse arises,--a feeling of inner disharmony, unworthiness,\nand self-contempt which may increase until it becomes the greatest\npsychical pain. This feeling may be defined, from a deterministic\nstandpoint, as dissatisfaction with oneself because one has not acted\notherwise, and the wish that one had done so. This wish arises in the\nmoment of reflection, when one weighs one's act. From the present wish\nis not, however, to be concluded that one could just as well have acted\notherwise _at the moment the act took place_. Such an illusion dates the\nexperience dearly bought with mistake and remorse back to an earlier\nperiod. According to the theory of retribution, remorse must be greatest\nin him who has committed the greatest crime. This is not so, however;\nsince remorse arises from a contrast between ideal and act, which\ncontrast can take place only when the conception of the ideal is strong;\nthe purest and best characters often have the strongest feelings of\nremorse.\n\nRemorse first arises when a new attitude of mind is attained different\nfrom that which ruled at the time of the action. Time is necessary for\nthis new feeling to replace the old, if it is to be more than a\nmomentary passion, and during this interval the two feelings are both\nactive in consciousness. This is the time of the birth-pains by which\nthe new character comes into being. The significance of remorse lies in\nthe fact that it urges forward, that it gives birth to impulse and\nendeavor after a higher plane. Only because remorse is a _motive_, is it\nof ethical nature.\n\nIf the law of Causality were not active in the realm of the psychical,\nthis ethical endeavor would be hopeless. Only where order reigns can\nthe will accomplish anything. Only as we know the law of outer nature,\nand know what conditions must be produced in order to bring about a\ncertain result, can we serve our own ends in this province; and the like\nis true in our relation to human nature. Here the problem is to find\nmotives of the right sort and of sufficient strength. Of what use were\nall possible exertion if, under given conditions, the same motive were\nfollowed by now this, now the other entirely different decision. I am\nmaster of my future willing only in so far as a causal relation exists\nbetween my present and my future will. We find, therefore, that the\nreason why responsibility goes no further back in the causal chain than\nthe will, is this: that it is the will which is to be acted on and\naltered. That which precedes the act of the will interests us,\nethically, only in so far as it influences the will.\n\nIt is a strange assertion, sometimes made, that the consistent\nDeterminist must be a mere spectator of his own and others' lives. As if\none could feel no pain or pleasure and no desire to interfere, because\none believes life to be subject to law. It is true that theoretical\nstudy may weaken practical interest; but Indeterminism is a theory as\nwell as Determinism.\n\nWhat the ethically bad is follows from what has already been said. It\nconsists of a more or less conscious isolation of the single moment in\nthe life of the individual, or of the single individual in the life of\nthe species, such that not only a hindrance to the welfare of individual\nor species arises, but also a relaxation of energy and a diminution of\nthe coherence of individual or species. In most such cases, inertia is\nat work. The one moment demands to be lived without any consideration of\nothers, the individual will not move outside the circle of his own\ninterests. Such a resistance to influence may be unconscious. It may be\nauthorized in so far as it is a condition of the development of real\nwilling that action shall not immediately respond to impression. In this\nresistance lies, therefore, the germ of the ethical as well as the\nnon-ethical life of the will. The clearer consciousness becomes, the\nmore this inertia takes on the character of defiance. Or the discord\nfelt through consciousness of the good may be so painful that the\nindividual desires to free himself at any price. In this case, no\nremorse is felt; on the contrary, the individual seeks to dull the\nawakened consciousness, or to get rid of it.\n\nIt is important to note that conceptions develop, in this connection,\nfaster than feelings. And as long as the former do not find points of\nconnection with the existing feelings, they will have no practical\ninfluence. The bad consists in the persistence, from inertia or\ndefiance, upon a lower plane of development after the consciousness of a\nhigher has arisen. Evil is the animal in man, the remains of an earlier\nplane of life. From the instincts of self-preservation and\nself-propagation in their most primitive forms, the ethically bad is\nproduced, and offers fierce resistance to harmonizing influences.\n\nEvil is, furthermore, a sociological phenomenon; the general\npsychological elements take on different forms under different\nhistorical conditions; society, in its different forms and functions, is\nalways one of the determining factors of its development. The criminal\nis, like the saint, the child of his time.\n\nIt appears, therefore, that the term \"bad\" is applied from a standpoint\nnot shared by him to whom it is applied. If the man who stands upon the\nlower plane of morals possessed the full and clear consciousness that\nthe predicate of badness applied to his conduct, the corresponding\nfeelings and impulses must arise in him, and his conduct be altered. It\nis psychologically impossible to act against our fixed and full\nconviction, if this is not blunted by other impulses.\n\nThe definition of the good must be, on different ethical planes, a\ndifferent one. But when a disinterested and universal sympathy\ndetermines the ethical judgment, only that can be good which preserves\nand adds to the welfare of conscious beings, increases their pleasure or\ndiminishes their pain. Every action which tends in this direction\nwithout producing further results of an opposite nature, is authorized;\nevery action of which the opposite is true is to be rejected.\n\nSince, in general, pleasure is connected with the healthy and natural\nuse of the powers, with that which preserves and benefits life, and pain\nis connected with the opposite of this, Ethics merely continues the work\nbegun by nature, in aiming at human progress, at as rich and harmonious\na development of human powers as is possible. The problems of Ethics\nconcern, therefore, the pleasures of the moment as well as those of the\nwhole life, the pleasures of the individual as well as those of the\nwhole species. This remains true even if we accept the pessimistic view\nthat all life is pain; the good would consist, from this point of view,\nin as great alleviation of pain as possible. Even the ascetic tortures\nhimself only in order to gain greater good.\n\nThe ethical end as welfare is not to be conceived as a state of\ncontinuance on the same plane. Such a continuance is impossible;\nevolution does not stand still; every step of progress creates new\nneeds, the satisfaction of which again demands endeavor; perfect\nsatisfaction is impossible. Even the development of sympathy makes it\neasier to wound us in many ways and brings us larger duties. The need of\nvariety alone would make continuance upon one plane impossible; we labor\nnot only in order to arrive at conscious ends, but also in order to\nrelieve ourselves of accumulated energy. The highest end that we can\nconceive is a progress in which each step is felt as a good because it\naffords scope for action without over-exertion.\n\nActivity is also welfare. But it is so only in so far as it is healthful\nactivity; when the powers are over-exerted or dissipated in action,\nhaving no common end, or when their application in one direction is at\nthe cost of other more important directions, progress ceases to be\nwelfare. The evolution of civilization contains an element of blindness\nand heedlessness which is bound up with both its excellencies and its\nfaults. But civilization is not an act of choice; it is the continuance\nof the evolution of nature. Progress is necessary; it is impossible to\nremain upon any level attained. Ethics must, therefore, accept progress\nas a fact. It does not feel an admiration for an order of nature in\nwhich no advance appears possible without one-sidedness and dissipation\nof energy. It is not so hard-hearted that it could forget, in the\nseeming splendor of outward results, the anxiety and pain, the sweat and\nblood, with which these were won. It demands, therefore, that the heavy\nburdens be lightened, the scattered forces united, and all capabilities\nthat are of worth developed. On the other hand, Ethics is not so\nsentimental and short-sighted that it could forget that progress can\ntake place only through exertion and suffering. Its chief task with\nregard to progress is to impress upon the mind the fact that life should\nnot be made a mere means to the solution of impersonal problems.\nCivilization is a means for the individual, not _vice versa_.\n\nThe natural division of Ethics is into Individual Ethics and Social\nEthics. It has sometimes been assumed that the whole duty of man could\nbe summed up in Individual Ethics. However, it is not necessarily true\nthat that which assists the best development of the individual serves\nsociety as a whole also. When the attention is directed so excessively\nto oneself, the general welfare is likely to be forgotten. On the other\nhand, a too great subjection of individual interests makes a man a mere\nparasite, robbing him of all self-dependence. When Ethics condemns the\ninstinct of self-preservation, it condemns its own means. If the impulse\nto self-preservation, self-assertion, and self-development were evil,\nthen our essential nature would be evil, and Ethics would be impossible.\nThe right relation of the two principles is given in the principle of\nwelfare. Mill's book \"On Liberty\" denies the ethical significance of\nself-development and forgets the individual's oneness with his kind, in\ndeclaring personal vices of no importance to the general welfare. That\nwhich Mill wished to defend was the freedom of the individual, the loss\nof which through the compulsion of society and the \"moral police\" he\nfeared. But he might have accomplished this purpose without denying the\nethical value of self-development. There is nothing that is a ground for\ngreater solicitude than the mistake that public opinion and Ethics are\none, and that a condition of things is no longer a subject for ethical\ncondemnation when no outer power has the right to denounce it.\n\nThe first question which presents itself in Individual Ethics is: How is\nthe individual to educate himself to an ethical personality? Here the\ndevelopment and strengthening of the ethical principle as governing and\ndetermining the life of the individual is concerned. The problem is one\nwith the determination of the chief virtue which includes all other\nethical qualities. This virtue is justice, which includes in itself the\ntwo groups contained under Self-assertion and Self-sacrifice.[78]\n\nIn the application of this general theory of Ethics, Hoeffding maintains\nthe radical-conservative and individual-social position already stated.\nThe principle of welfare demands the reconciliation of the free\ndevelopment of the individual and the progress of society as a whole;\nthe individual does not live to himself alone, hence the state has a\nright to demand sacrifices; but it must always be able to show good\nreason for such; the burden of proof lies with the side which would take\naway the most valuable possession of the individual,--the right to free\nself-development in the ever-shifting direction of his need. This very\ncharacteristic of change makes it impossible for the state to decide for\nthe individual what are his needs, and how they may be satisfied; hence\nthe best course of the state is a chiefly restrictive one. The relation\nbetween state-help and self-help must be exactly the reverse of that\nwhich Socialism, in remarkable agreement with Bureaucracy and\nAbsolutism, asserts. Socialism presupposes not only perfection in the\ngoverned but also perfection in the persons to whom the government is\nentrusted. It assumes, moreover, that pleasure in activity and its\nresulting power of originality and invention would not be weakened if\nmen's right of initiative were taken from them and their needs\ndetermined by others. Much of the good even now accomplished by the\nstate in its functions is due to the competition with individual\nundertakings.\n\nPhilanthropy, on the part of individuals as on that of the state, will\nbest follow this same principle of indirect aid, in order to obtain the\nbest results through education of character. Organization is desirable\non the part of individuals, but the state will achieve best results by\nacting through smaller organizations which afford a wider field and the\npossibility of more intelligent work. In its methods of punishment,\nalso, the state must have regard, not only to prevention through fear,\nbut also and chiefly to the bettering of the criminal character; capital\npunishment and life-long imprisonment cannot be justified from a higher\nethical standpoint. Freedom should be allowed and tolerance shown the\nvarious religious sects as corresponding to various needs. The more\nliberal education of woman, which will make her capable of greater\nindependence of thought and action, is one of the chief means to the\nsolution of the marriage-question. The ideal of marriage is free\nmonogamy; in polygamy, the purely physical must always rule; that part\nof self which one can surrender to many can be only the animal; long\nassociation and sympathy alone admit to the sanctuary of love. It\nbelongs to the nature of true love to believe in its own endlessness; it\nis, therefore, incompatible with its nature to arrange for a mere\ntemporary union. Yet where an unhappy union exists, divorce should be\npermitted. Strict divorce laws have always fettered and burdened nobler\nnatures, while light-minded people have easily found means of escape.\n\nThe view that the artist occupies a peculiar position in his ideal\nworld, must free himself from the actual world, and live only for his\nideal, is ethically false; art should lend form to actual life, defining\nand clarifying it, broadening the view and educating sympathy. A great\nartist is, at the same time, half a prophet; his whole people and epoch\nmust learn to know themselves through him. Freedom is to be regarded as\nboth means and end. A representative government is not only an education\nfor the people, who through freedom alone can learn to use freedom, but\naffords the state, moreover, a firmer foundation in the consciousness of\nits citizens that they are responsible for the existing condition of\nthings.\n\nThe development of conscience in force and extent takes place through\nthought and imagination. Knowledge alone is not enough; it must be fixed\nby exercise,--made a persistent thought, until it becomes, by means of\nthe laws of association, such a thought as will easily come in play\nwhenever the case requires it.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[77] Trieb.\n\n[78] Selbstbehauptung und Hingebung.\n\n\n\n\nGEORG VON GIZYCKI\n\n\"MORAL PHILOSOPHY\" (\"Moralphilosophie,\" 1889)\n\n\nMoral Philosophy has a scientific and a practical office. Its scientific\ntask is to supply the human being with a clearer, more thorough\nunderstanding, founded on ultimate reasons, of his moral life. Its\npractical task is to answer the important question: How am I to act? How\nshall I order my life?\n\nIt was not left to science first to direct human action. Custom and law\nseek to order the doing and leaving undone of the members of society.\nEthical philosophy ascertains means of testing the actually existing\nideas of morality, and thus enables us to better law and custom.\n\nA highest criterion, one only, is necessary, by which to judge of the\nmorality of a deed. If there were more than one, the judgment might fall\nout differently from the different standpoints furnished by these.\n\nWhen I regard the qualities which I consider morally good, I perceive\nthat they all have a direction conducive to the general welfare or\nhappiness; and when I regard the qualities which I consider morally bad,\nI find that they all have an aim prejudicial to the general welfare or\nhappiness.\n\nWhen I attempt to convince any one that certain conduct which he\nconsiders right is wrong, by showing him that it is opposed to the\ngeneral welfare, my final appeal is to his conscience. And in the same\nmanner, when I correct some of my own moral conceptions, it is my\nconscience which determines me to the proof of them, and my conscience\nwhich is the standard that determines my decision. Conscience is the\nprinciple underlying my moral convictions. But I do not possess, in\nconscience, a moral power which never errs; hence it behooves me to\njudge carefully. Body and mind both have their laws on which depend the\nwelfare and happiness of society; the last results of science and human\nexperience give us these laws.\n\nThere are few things in regard to which there is so great unanimity as\nthere is in regard to the right and good. In the fundamental questions,\nall the more highly civilized peoples are, for the most part, agreed.\n\nOn the lowest planes of civilization, only the narrowest tribal\nassociation is taken into consideration in morals, but gradually, with\nthe growth of experience, growth of the understanding, which permits the\nrecognition, in a much higher degree, of the results of action and the\npower of sympathy, ever larger circles of human beings are\nregarded,--the tribe, the nation, the whole of mankind, all sentient\nbeings. In this development of conscience and benevolence, there is\nnothing to cause moral uncertainty or contempt of conscience; for, in\nthat case, the fact that there was once a time when human beings were\nnot on the earth must be a reason for contempt of everything human.\n\nWe call various different things good, of worth, others bad, evil; there\nmust be something common to all these, on account of which we apply the\ncommon term to them. That which is thus common to them is their relation\nto a consciousness for which they are good or bad, and not to a merely\nperceiving consciousness, but to one that feels and wills. As true and\nfalse relate to the intellectual side of human nature, so do good and\nbad relate to the side of feeling and will. Such things are good as are\nthe mediate or immediate cause of agreeable states of consciousness or\nof the prevention or removal of disagreeable states; and on the other\nhand, such things are bad as are the cause of pain or the hindrance of\npleasure. We say of these things that they are agreeable or\ndisagreeable. Or we may use, instead of \"agreeable,\" the term \"object\nof desire,\" and instead of \"disagreeable,\" the term \"object of\naversion\"; for all that is agreeable has an attractive influence upon\nthe will, and all that is disagreeable or painful has a repellant one.\nJoy is that condition of consciousness which we seek to attain and\npreserve, whose existence we prefer to its non-existence; and pain is\nthat state of consciousness which we seek to avoid and destroy, whose\nnon-existence we prefer to its existence.\n\nThe good is often defined as that which conduces to some end; but an end\nis nothing other than something willed; that which conduces to an end is\nthe cause of something that is willed, so that this explanation also\nrefers back to a consciousness.\n\nWhatever is existent for us must be existent in us, in our\nconsciousness. Our states of consciousness are either painful, or\nindifferent, or pleasant. We must turn, therefore, in the last analysis,\nnot to things, but to the mind, if we wish to distinguish what is good\nand what is bad; and according to the differing constitution of\ndifferent minds, the same things may be good or bad. There is good and\nbad with respect to our body or senses, and good and bad with respect to\nour mind. A moral good is one which causes conscious states of moral\nsatisfaction.\n\nThe good has often been divided into the useful and the agreeable. The\nagreeable is that which causes immediate, the useful that which causes\nmediate pleasure. A thing may be both useful and agreeable; and the like\nis true of the disagreeable and the harmful. The useful and the harmful\nin this, as it were inner, (subjective) sense, are to be distinguished\nfrom the useful and the harmful in an objective sense; in the last\nsense, that is useful which tends to the preservation of life. Between\nthe useful and harmful, and the pleasurable and painful, in this sense,\nthere must exist, as the theory of evolution teaches us, a wide-reaching\ncorrespondence. Living beings do that which is pleasurable to them; they\navoid that which is painful; they continue alive when they do that which\nis conducive to life and avoid that which is harmful to life. This\ncontinuous process of exterminating those beings to whom the harmful is\nagreeable and the useful painful, must tend to make the harmful coincide\nwith the painful, and the useful with the pleasurable. The agreement is,\nhowever, far from being a perfect one; and it is the less so, the more\ncomplicated are the conditions of life. It is the most imperfect in\nhuman beings.\n\nGood is that which causes pleasure or prevents pain; that is better\nwhich causes more pleasure or prevents more pain. A thing may cause both\njoy and pain; in this case, the excess decides whether a thing is good\nor bad; and the greater the excess, the better or the worse is the\nthing. The greatest possible excess of satisfied states of consciousness\nin the life of a human being one may call his greatest possible\nhappiness. The greatest possible happiness is hence the standard by\nwhich good and evil are determined.\n\nFrom these reflections is to be seen that a distinction is to be made\nbetween that which is _desired_ and that which is _desirable_. All that\nis desired is pleasurable, yet much that is pleasurable has pain for its\nresult,--pain that is far greater than the momentary pleasure.\n\nThe good is often considered as opposed to the agreeable, and the bad as\nopposed to the disagreeable or painful. In this case, by pain and\npleasure are understood feelings of the moment, by good and bad are\nunderstood enduring, or at least long-continuing causes of lasting or\noft-recurring pain or pleasure; momentary pleasure may be bought at the\nexpense of long suffering; and short pain may be the condition of the\nprevention of greater evil.\n\nA thing may be good as regards one individual, bad as regards another. A\nthing is truly good as regards a society when its total effect has for\nthe society lasting beneficial results, that is, accords with the\nhappiness of the society during its whole existence; and that is for\nmankind truly good which is, in its total effect, beneficial to present\nand future humanity.\n\nIn general, we may say that, when we order our conduct by the thought to\nserve mankind to the best of our ability, we have a satisfied\nconsciousness, a good conscience. In so far, therefore, a noble deed is\ngood for ourselves as well as for society. The question whether or not\nthe performance of our duty corresponds to our greatest possible\nhappiness, is a different one. But the good man does not allow this\nthought the chief role in consciousness; he is filled with the thought\nof doing his duty in devoting himself to the happiness of mankind, and\nthere is but _one_ form of his own happiness which he will not forego,\nnamely, the blessedness of a good conscience. This consciousness, this\nblessedness which unites the human being to mankind, he should regard\nas his highest good; for it is a moral good; and the dissatisfaction\nwhich lies in the consciousness of having violated his duty towards\nmankind he should regard as the greatest evil.\n\nIt may be objected that this morally satisfied consciousness, this sort\nof joy, cannot be called a good. A good is the _cause_ of pleasurable\nstates of consciousness. But it would appear strange to claim that joy,\nhappiness, are not goods, and pain, unhappiness, not evils; the terms\n\"good\" and \"evil\" and \"worth\" refer not only to joy and suffering, but\nalso to _desire_ and _will_; and no one doubts that happiness is an\nobject of desire, and pain an object of aversion.\n\nFrom what has been said it appears that happiness cannot be defined as\n\"satisfaction of the desires.\" Such satisfaction may have unhappiness as\nits result. Not all desires are to be satisfied simply because they are\ndesires.\n\nThe study of the history of moral conceptions appears to show us that\nmost changes in this province are the result of a change of views\nconcerning the effects of actions with regard to the welfare of society;\nhence, that they were the fruit of experience. This process of change\ntakes place, however, very gradually; the rules which are the result of\nexperience are handed down, for the most part, without statement of\nreasons; and only in a very limited measure do the new generations labor\nfor a progressive development of moral conceptions. We cannot wonder\nthat a clear consciousness of the highest reasons of moral precepts is\nseldom to be found. Yet in civilized societies, the conviction is\ngeneral that at least an average conformity to rules of morality is the\nindispensable condition of the safety and the good of society. The\nanswer to the question: What would happen if every one were to act thus?\nhas been regarded, from earliest times, as decisive with regard to the\nmoral quality of an act.\n\nWhen we recognize that actions which we call good and bad are so called\nbecause of their causal relation to pain and pleasure, the belief must\narise in us, that the worth of qualities of character depends on the\npromise they contain of future action. The most important power for the\nhappiness or misery of humanity is the character of human beings. Hence\nthe morally good, excellence of character, is to be regarded as\npreeminently Good. And so it appears that our instinctive judgments are\njustified by the deliberations of calm reason.\n\nThe question: Why shall I act in accordance with the general welfare? is\nanswered by these considerations; because such action is right and\nreasonable, enjoined by conscience and reason, by human nature itself in\nits higher development. He who does not recognize this fact, who does\nnot find in it the highest and holiest of commandments, and who yet\ndesires to act reasonably and well, recognizing duties to all men, does\nnot see what he himself really will.\n\nThe conception of right-doing is the motive of the human being, in so\nfar as he is good. The teacher who desires to have moral influence will\nendeavor to awaken this motive in his hearers or readers. For this\npurpose he must appeal to their actual characters. And it is as much a\n_petitio principii_ to assume, in Ethics, the existence of moral\nfeelings, as to assume, in Optics, the existence of sight. Just as there\nare blind persons, so there are persons without moral feelings. These\nare, however, comparatively few; some trace of moral feeling, of\nconscience, is to be found in almost every member of society.\n\nThe general welfare, that is, the greatest possible true happiness of\nall, not the greatest happiness of the smallest number which is often\nthe ruling principle of state laws, nor the greatest happiness of the\ngreatest number without consideration of the minority,--is the highest\nethical criterion. It may be difficult to ascertain wherein this\nhappiness consists; Bentham demands, for the determination of the worth\nof an action, a calculation of the intensity, duration, certainty,\nfecundity, and purity, of the feelings produced by it. But the happiness\nand misery of mankind is surely the most important object of mankind; it\nmust be, therefore, our highest care to ascertain the results of an\naction _as far as we are able_. And, in fact, the most important results\nof any form of action are generally ascertainable.\n\nTo make endeavor after one's own and others' perfection the criterion of\nmorality is to set up a false standard, a form without a content, since\n\"perfection\" designates merely a state that accords with some\npreconceived concept or end. The question is: What end shall human\nperfection realize? The criterion of general welfare alone can define\nhuman perfection. It is such a constitution of man's bodily and\nspiritual characteristics as conduces in the highest degree to general\nhappiness.\n\nToo long and detailed a consideration of possible results is not\ndesirable in every case where action is called for. There is seldom time\nfor a consideration of the intensity, duration, etc., of resulting pain\nand pleasure. It is well, in most cases, to follow the general moral\nrules we have attained to through previous reflection. In cases of\ndoubt, we need to appeal to our highest criterion. Often such doubt may\nbe caused by selfishness, by the hidden desire to act, after all, for\nour own benefit; we need, therefore, to put to ourselves the question:\nHow would we judge the action of another in our own position? Thus we\narrive at the highest moral commandment, which is: So act that thy\nconduct, if made general, would be for the good of mankind. And the\nforce of example is here one of the factors to be considered.\n\nIt has been asked what right one has to assert the rule that each one is\nto count for one, and no one for more than one, in moral decisions. May\nnot one human being's capacity for happiness be greater than another's,\nand his happiness, therefore, more to be considered? It may be answered\nthat bad men have never been embarrassed for an excuse for selfishness,\nbut that the arrogance of regarding one's own happiness as of greater\nworth than that of others has brought incalculable harm into the world,\nand that the only safe method of calculation for the purpose of\nfurthering the general welfare, is the rule above given,--that each one\nshall count as one and no more.\n\nThe rule that the greatest possible happiness of _all_ is to be striven\nfor, is an assertion that the happiness of every one is to be\nconsidered, that not that of the lowest human being is to be interfered\nwith unless such interference is _necessary_ in order to prevent still\ngreater harm to others; and that no such interference shall be greater\nthan is positively necessary in accordance with this aim. The highest\nmoral law is thus nothing more than the Christian commandment of love to\nall men. And the rule \"To count each as one, no more,\" may receive the\nrestrictive clause \"in so far as the good of the whole of society is not\ndiminished by so doing.\"\n\nSome Darwinians are inclined to regard the preservation of existence as\nthe criterion by which to judge the moral quality of action. \"Aim for\nthe preservation of the species\" would be, from their standpoint, the\nmoral law. But mere existence is not happiness; that is shown by the\nfact of suicide. However, it is true that health is one of the\nconditions of happiness. Pessimists are generally men of an unhappy\ntemperament, often of morbid physical constitution; medical science\nmust, in its progress, help to prevent the development of such morose\ndispositions. Want of love may also be a cause of pessimism; most\npessimists have been lonely men. And want of employment may also lead to\npessimism. If we follow Rousseau's advice not to listen to those who are\nin exceptional abnormal positions, but appeal to those who constitute\nthe great majority, we shall conclude that, in general, the happiness of\nmen greatly exceeds their misery. The increase of suicide is often used\nas an argument that civilization has not caused an increase, but a\ndecrease, of happiness. To this argument it may be answered that the\nreligious scruples which formerly withheld men from this extreme step\nhave diminished, that men have grown more self-conscious and independent\nin action; and that, moreover, our age is one of unrest, a\ntransition-period such as no other period has been. When we examine the\nlives of tribes on a low plane of civilization, we find their existence\nfull of uncertainty and of superstitious fear, and at the mercy of the\nforces of nature. Without doubt, much misery exists; a great part of it,\nhowever, is caused by the disappointment of too extreme demands for\nhappiness; the individual must not require that life shall be continuous\nrapture.\n\nThe recognition of what right action is, is not its accomplishment. Pain\nand pleasure determine the will,--the pain and pleasure of the person\nwho wills, since he cannot feel with the feelings of others or will with\ntheir will any more than he can move with their limbs. He may have a\nconception of the welfare or suffering of others, but a mere mental\nimage does not determine the will. Only when such a conception arouses\npleasure or pain in the subject himself, are will and action possible.\n\nLove consists in joy in the thought of the beloved person, with joy in\nhis joy, and pain in his pain. He who seeks to render happy one whom he\nloves does not, as a rule, consider the fact that he will himself have a\njoy in the happiness of that other; his aim is to give pleasure, not to\nhimself, but to the other. But the thought of doing for him is combined\nwith pleasure, the thought of not doing for him is combined with pain;\nand these present feelings determine the will.\n\nThat which distinguishes the moral from the immoral man is that,\nin the former, the notions of the right and good rouse strong\nfeelings,--feelings of pain at the thought of acting contrary to them,\nof pleasure at the thought of acting in accordance with them, feelings\nwhich may overpower all others; while in the immoral man these\nconceptions call forth no feelings or only such weak ones as offer no\nsufficient opposition to the influence of other feelings. Both men act\nfrom feeling, but not from the same feelings.\n\nDo we, by proving that the moral, as well as the immoral man is\ndetermined in his action by feelings, show that the one approximates to,\nor is identical with the other? By no means. In that case, the proof\nthat both the moral man and the immoral man will with their own will,\nand act through their own limbs, that both possess arms, hands, senses,\nfeelings, understanding, in short, that both are human beings, must\nshow, in the same manner, an approximation of the moral to the immoral\nman. A perceptive, intellectual, objective side, and an emotional,\ninner, subjective side are to be distinguished in all action; and only\nthe confusion of the two has led to the fancy that, with the proof that\nall action proceeds from the pain or pleasure of the person who wills,\nit is shown that all action, every human being, is selfish, and that\nunselfishness is a figment of the imagination. It is not the expected\npleasure that moves the will; it is only when the conception of future\nhappiness or misery awakens present feelings stronger than other present\nfeelings which would move the will in another direction, that willing\nand action can follow in accordance with that conception. Hence, there\nis nothing so remarkable in the sacrifice of one's own happiness. It is\nnot morally desirable that self-love should be weak, but only that\nconscience and general benevolence should be stronger still.\n\nMany who have recognized the reality of sympathy and benevolence have\nnot regarded them as primary but as evolved from egoism. However, if the\nword egoism is to have a distinct meaning, it must be interpreted as the\nconscious preference of one's own good to that of others. But with\nself-consciousness is likewise developed the consciousness of other\nbeings, and the latter, as the former, clothes itself with\nfeelings--with egoistic feelings, and with sympathetic feelings as well.\n\nIt is further to be remarked that the proof that an action is\ndisinterested, is no proof of its moral worth. The worst action,--an\naction of pure cruelty, envy, or hatred, may be disinterested, that is,\nit may have for its end the pain of another without consideration of the\nadvantage of the doer.\n\nThe effects, as pain or pleasure, of conduct opposed to, or in harmony\nwith, civil or moral law, in so far as such effects can be predicted\nand, as thus predicted, they influence the will, are called Sanctions.\nOne may distinguish between a physical, a political, a social, a\nsympathetic, and a moral sanction. Doubtless the conduct recommended by\nself-love, as a result of these sanctions, coincides, to a very large\nextent, to a larger extent than egoists in the rule perceive, with that\nwhich the good of society demands; but it is just as certain that, in\nmany cases, the way of selfish cunning and that of virtue diverge. The\nouter sanctions do not insure the coincidence of duty and one's own\nhappiness; nor does the sympathetic sanction secure this, for sympathy\nis often on the side opposed to duty. There is but one sanction which is\never on the side of action in accordance with duty: the moral sanction,\nthe peace and joy which accompany the knowledge of having done right.\nDuty and self-interest coincide the more nearly, the better and more\nunanimous the various sanctions are, and, especially, the more strongly\nthe moral feelings are developed in a society; one of the tasks society\nhas to set itself is to labor for the greatest possible concord of duty\nand self-interest. But this harmony will never become an absolutely\nperfect one and self-sacrifice impossible. Man needs, therefore, some\nend which shall depend upon himself alone, if he is to be kept from\ndiscouragement and despair. Such an end is the consciousness of\nright-doing. He who chooses this as highest end must devote himself to\nthe service of mankind, as well as he who makes the advancement of the\ngood of mankind his end. The thought of this end will prevent him from\nbeing blinded by self-interest in answering the question as to what\nright and duty are, and will also preserve him from permitting himself\none or the other pet sin under the excuse that he will atone for it by\nother good actions; it will compel him to the endeavor to fulfil every\nduty. And though he may not be perfectly happy, he will be happier than\nthe man who makes the good of humanity his end; since he is less\ndependent upon outer events. Benevolence and conscience are not the\nsame. The latter constrains us to do right, that is, to perform actions\nthe expected results of which are in harmony with the general welfare;\nit has attained its end when the right action is performed, and it has\nfailed to attain its end when this aim is frustrated. Man has a deep\ninner longing for happiness of some sort. When he does not find it upon\nearth, he seeks it in some other world. He has often a deep inner\nyearning for holiness, and a secret dissatisfaction in his own conduct.\nEthics satisfies this double longing in commanding him to renounce his\ngreatest happiness and endeavor to attain moral blessedness, the\nhappiness of holiness.\n\nPerhaps some one may object that this is a selfish view of the moral\nlife. Is it selfish to renounce one's greatest happiness in order to\nattain only peace of conscience? That no one were without such\nselfishness! He who sets himself this end will act better, more in\naccordance with the good of humanity, than he who makes the advancement\nof human welfare his ultimate aim. Hence the human being _should_ choose\nthis end. Therefore, the highest moral commandment, the Categorical\nImperative, receives this form: \"Strive to attain peace of conscience in\ndevoting thyself to the service of mankind.\"\n\nBy \"right\" we understand what is in conformity with a standard of action\nwhich we recognize, by \"wrong,\" what is in opposition to it. The\nrecognition and application of the standard belong to the reason. But\nnot to reason alone; every rule is the outcome of feelings; and this is\nthe reason why ideas of right possess the power of motives.\n\nJudgment of action may take place in two ways: immediately, through the\nfeeling; and mediately, through moral rules, the adoption of which,\nhowever, presupposes feeling. According to the disposition, the\neducation, the circumstances, of a man, the one or the other form of\njudgment prevails. The words \"obligation,\" \"commandment,\" \"duty,\" \"law,\"\nexpress the fact that something lies without the mere free pleasure of\nthe acting individual, is withdrawn from its sphere.\n\nIt has been said that a distinction is to be made between duty and the\nsense of duty--that an objective duty still exists, even when no\ncorresponding inner sense of duty is present. This merely means that\nsome one else in distinction from the acting person recognizes a moral\nlaw, by which he may blame the action. Duties are actions sanctioned by\none or another sort of punishment. The moral sanction is self-blame. But\nnot the performer of an act alone, others also, pronounce judgment on\nhis action, and in the rule there exists a greater or less harmony\nbetween his judgment and that of others. To self-condemnation is added\nthe consciousness of having deserved the blame of others.\n\nHuman actions are not only an object of displeasure or of indifference,\nbut also of praise, gratitude, love, admiration. Actions which reveal a\ncharacter above the average are regarded as meritorious according to the\nmeasure of their superiority; they deserve recognition, respect, praise,\nhonor.\n\nThree classes of actions to which public opinion applies its sanction\nmay be distinguished: actions blamed; those the neglect of which is\nblamed; and those which are praised. The first two classes, sanctioned\nby a punishment, are regarded as duty; the last class, sanctioned by at\nleast mental reward, are actions of desert. Actions the omission of\nwhich is punished or blamed are not actions of desert, but of duty and\nobligation.\n\nThe boundary-line between duty and desert is not fixed and definite; in\nthe measure in which the moral condition of a society is perfected, the\nprovince of that which is regarded as duty is extended into that which\nwas formerly regarded as desert. The distinction between duty and desert\nhas, in general, only an outward significance; it has regard to the\nrelation to others, to the social sanction. The moral human being does\nnot inquire what entitles him to praise, but simply what is right; and\nhe does not compare himself with others but with his moral ideal. Hence\nhe recognizes, with regard to himself, only duty, not desert. He aspires\nto attain, not the approbation of others, but his own, and he attains\nthis only when he has done that which he holds to be the best possible.\n\nThe moral significance of the outward sanction lies in its educating\ninfluence; it acts as counterpoise to inclination to action opposed to\nthe moral law, and facilitates, thus, the victory of the moral motives,\nwhich increase in strength through use. If it is true that a condition\nof \"heteronomy\" always precedes that of \"autonomy,\" then the outer\nsanction is the indispensable condition of the evolution of moral\nfeelings.\n\nIt has sometimes been said that the human being is under obligation to\nothers only. But it seems that this view has proceeded from a confusion\nof the moral with the juridic significance of the word \"duty.\" It is not\nto be doubted that the consciousness of duty would not develop in an\nindividual who grew up in solitude,--but speech and reason likewise\nwould not become his. The law of morality applies not only to social\nconduct but also to conduct having reference to self.\n\nBy \"moral law\" is not meant a law in the sense that it is imposed on\nhuman beings from without, by another; it is exactly the peculiarity of\nthe moral law that it is self-imposed as the voice of conscience.\n\nVirtue is related to duty as the enduring characteristic to the single\naction, or the lasting will to obligation, to the \"ought\"; virtue is a\ndisposition to act in accordance with duty. Vice is a characteristic\nwhich continually determines actions opposed to duty.\n\nThere may be exceptional cases where vice is innate, as is idiocy or\ninsanity, but the records of prisons and reformatories where a moral\ninfluence has been attempted, show us that germs of good may exist even\nin those apparently wholly given over to vice. It is true that the\ncapacity for moral education is narrowed with every added year of life;\nbut it is impossible for us to say, with certainty, how great this\ndecrease of capacity may be.[79]\n\nThe most essential influence for moral betterment is that which the\npersonality of an earnest human being exerts by example and precept. The\nawakening and strengthening of good impulses is not, however, the\nimmediate destruction of the bad; and struggle is often necessary if the\ngood shall conquer. The more frequent the victory, the easier it\nbecomes. Every virtue can be acquired at least in some degree, if the\nwish to acquire it be sufficiently strong and persistent.\n\nBut although such struggle as this is often necessary, exactly the sign\nof the attainment of virtue consists in the absence of self-compulsion;\nby this absence, its perfection is measured.\n\nThe assertion, occasionally heard, that virtue is in proportion to\nstruggle, amounts to the contradictory assertion that the more perfect\nthe man is, the less is his virtue. The truths which, imperfectly\ncomprehended, lead to this opinion, are these: We distinguish by the\nname of virtue that moral constitution which rises above the average. It\nis presupposed, however, that its possessor has, in general, the\nimpulses and capacities belonging to human nature; he could not be\ncalled temperate in any particular direction, if he did not possess the\ncapacity of enjoyment which leads many to intemperance. Moreover, the\ncontrol of strong impulses from a desire to do right presupposes a\nstrong sense of duty; and it is on account of this sense of duty that we\nrespect a man. But if an individual distinguished by a strong sense of\nduty gradually succeeds in tempering his impulses and ridding himself of\nhis faults, his virtue is not less, but more perfect. And finally, the\nfact is also to be taken into consideration that, while one cannot\nnecessarily conclude, from a man's innate love for some especial class\nof good actions, that he will do his duty in other directions also, this\nis an inference which can be drawn where actions are performed from a\nsense of duty.\n\nA certain degree of intelligence is a condition of virtue; a being\nwithout reason is not a moral being, as the animal is not; but morality\nrequires only average human intelligence.\n\nThere is no greater error than the opinion that virtue is not concerned\nwith action; for virtue is excellence of character which leads to right\naction; action is the test of moral worth.\n\nIn olden times, an attempt was often made to set up one especial form of\ncharacter as universal ideal. Such an attempt is injustifiable, since\nthe nature and circumstances of individuals differ. In morality, too,\nthere may be originality.\n\nIn the judgment of an action, two questions must be distinguished: the\nquestion whether the action is right or wrong, and the question as to\nwhat inference shall be drawn from it with regard to the character of\nthe performer.\n\nIn the action, there must be distinguished the following points: the\nmovement of the body; the results of the act; the act of the will; the\nintent; the presence or absence of a conviction that the action will not\nhave evil results; the part of the intent willed, not merely as means\nbut as end; and the incentive, or feeling from which the action springs.\nThe chief end and the incentive together are often called the motive.\nThe movement of the body is not an object of moral judgment, as are not,\nalso, the outer results of the action as such. Nor is a mere act of the\nwill as such, but its nature, of moral importance.\n\nNo human motive or incentive is, in itself, bad. Not even anger and\nhatred are in themselves evil; since wrath against wrong is justifiable.\nYet motives are by no means morally of the same worth; while where\nmotives directed to the good of the individual are at work, the action\nwill be, in nine cases out of ten, in accordance with the general good;\nit will be, let us say, in nine cases out of ten, contrary to the\ngeneral good where motives of malevolence are active. And for this\nreason the motive in the single case gives us a clue to the character.\nThere exists a certain stability of character which makes it likely that\nthe individual who acts out of good motives on one occasion will do so\nagain. Of greatest worth are the motives which spring from desire for\nthe general good; these are moral motives. Actions may be right, yet\nimmoral, and moral yet wrong. Yet the theory that the objective judgment\nof an action, and the judgment of the character of the doer have nothing\nin common is erroneous; for in both cases the highest ground of\nreasonable judgment is the same; namely, the general good.\n\nBlame is not merely for the sake of prevention through fear; since we\nmay blame a deed and not its doer. When a man does what we consider\nwrong under the impression that he is acting for the general good, we do\nnot endeavor to frighten him from his conduct by blame, but to convince\nhim of his error.\n\nBut the significance of the motives of an action does not lie merely in\nour inference from them to the character of the doer; from the actual,\nor inferred, motives of the action spring its most important results;\nnamely, its influence upon the morality of human beings. Every moral\naction reacts for good upon the performer, strengthening his tendency to\nsuch conduct; and it is, besides, an inciting example.\n\nIt is not necessary for morality that all actions should take place\ndirectly from desire for the general good, but only that the belief be\npresent that they are in harmony with the general good; duty need not be\nthe only motive, but simply the ruling one; one may act immediately from\nother motives.\n\nThe aesthetic judgment of a character is to be distinguished from the\nmoral judgment of it. Much that pleases one aesthetically in character is\nmorally indifferent; and much that is morally of the greatest worth has\nlittle or no aesthetic value. The talk of an identity of the beautiful\nand the good has caused much confusion.\n\nThings have particular qualities according to which they affect us and\nare affected. All that I can predicate of things, all their being is\ntheir effect. And when I say that a certain thing, as long as it does\nnot change, will, under the same circumstances, operate in the same way,\nI assert merely that this certain thing, as long as it remains\nunchanged, is this certain thing. It may often be difficult or\nimpossible to determine whether or not the thing has changed, but if it\nhas not changed, it must, under the same circumstances, operate in the\nsame manner as formerly. As everything is, at each moment, a definite\nthing, so is also every human being; he has definite qualities, and if\nthese do not change, neither does his action under the same\ncircumstances; if it could change, he would act according to that which\nhe is not.\n\nDifferent individuals have different innate tendencies; and differing\ncircumstances develop similar tendencies in different ways. The history\nof the human being is his character, if we add what he has inherited to\nhis own history. To reflect upon human nature is to assume its\nconformity to law; to deny such conformity involves ceasing from thought\non it; for thought means the conclusion of like from like. Though the\naction of the human being depends, in a high degree, upon circumstances,\nwe can often predict, from a knowledge of his character, the general\nnature of his action. And if our expectation should be, for once,\ndisappointed, we do not say that his character has suddenly passed into\nits opposite, but that we had an insufficient knowledge of the\ncircumstances, or that we imputed to him a character which he did not\nreally possess. We have thus to distinguish two groups of facts in the\ncontemplation of a particular action: the present constitution of the\ndoer of the action, and that of the outward circumstances concerned; if\na change occurs in either, the conduct will also change. Criminal\nstatistics are evidence of the effects of similar circumstances upon\nsimilar characters.\n\nThose who deny the action of cause and effect in the conduct of men as\ncontradictory of freedom, cannot refer to physical or political liberty,\nsince the absence of these does not involve the absence of cause and\neffect. The free will which is said to be peculiar to the human being\nand not possessed by the animals, is an absence of subjection to the\nimpressions of the moment, and this has been regarded as an activity of\npure reason. But, as Hoeffding says, the contest of the reason with the\npassions is really a contest between feelings combined with reflections\nof reason and other violent feelings that are combined with few\nthought-elements. This free will is the capacity of reflection gained by\nexperience. It is not a negation of cause and effect, for the act of the\nwill is determined by the feelings, thoughts, inclinations, which\nprecede it; it may be determined by reflection as opposed to the\nimpressions of the moment. The word \"freedom\" is also used to denote\nmoral freedom, or the freedom from determination by immoral motives; in\nsuch case, however, moral motives determine.\n\nBut it must be remembered that the natural law of cause and effect is\nnot like a law in the sense of the political law; it is not something\nimposed from the outside. Natural laws are rules formed by men to\nexpress the regularity of events in one sentence; things do not obey the\nlaws, but the laws are according to things. When we say: Gunpowder\n\"must\" explode when it comes in contact with a flame, the explosion is\nnecessary; we do not mean that the gunpowder is compelled, under certain\ncircumstances, to explode; it explodes of its own essential nature.\n\"Necessity\" designates, not a state of things, but a state of the\nunderstanding regarding them. The same is true of the words \"possible\"\nand \"accidental.\" The accidental is the unintentional. The bullet which\naccidentally killed a man was not sent with the intention of killing\nhim. Or \"accident\" is used of that with regard to which we are ignorant\nand cannot predict; the word does not, in this sense either, denote an\nabsence of cause. Objectively, nothing is \"possible\"; either it is, or\nit is not. Great confusion is, however, caused by a want of clearness in\nthe interpretation of the words \"possible,\" \"impossible,\" \"necessary,\"\netc., with regard to the will. When I say: \"It is _possible_ for the\ngood man to perform even the worst action, he _can_ perform it\"; and:\n\"It is not _possible_ for the good man to perform a bad act, he cannot\ndo it\"; I use the words \"possible\" and \"can\" in two quite different\nsenses. The first sentence means: \"Even the best man can perform the\nworst act _if he will_\"; the second: \"The good man never has the will;\nit follows from his nature that he does not possess it; it would be a\nself-contradiction to say that he has it.\" The human being can do this\nor that if he wills, provided no outer force opposes his will; but\nwhether he wills or not depends upon his character. His will is not\nuncaused.\n\nIt has been said that \"one should not allow himself to be determined,\nbut should himself determine his act.\" This assertion makes self\nsomething distinct from one's thoughts and feelings. Free will has also\nbeen interpreted as choice between motives. The human being does not,\nhowever, choose between motives but between acts, and his choice is free\nin that he can, as has been said, choose this or that act _if he will_;\nbut his choice is not the less caused. When, in reflection on a past\nact, the human being says to himself: \"It was possible for me to act\notherwise,\" he means, as a rule, simply: \"If I had thought as I do now,\nI should not have acted thus; but I did not think as I do now.\" The\ndelusion that he might have acted differently under the same outer\ncircumstances and with the same thoughts and feelings, arises from the\ndifficulty of realizing, from his present standpoint, his position at\nthe time of action. It may, indeed, seem to us, after we have chosen a\ncertain course, that another was the easier; but can it be possible that\none preferred the former course when he yet really preferred the latter?\nIt is the strongest motive that determines the action. Or, if it be\nobjected to this assertion, that our only criterion of the strength of\nmotives is their effect as overcoming other motives, the assertion that\nthe will follows the strongest motive would still exclude accident in\nchoice; the assertion would amount to this: that the motive which\ndetermines the will in the one instance will always, under the same\nouter and inner circumstances, determine it. So Mill remarks that, when\nwe say that the heavier weight will weigh down the other, we understand\nby \"heavier weight,\" merely the one which will weigh down the other.\nNevertheless, the sentence is not senseless, since it means that there\nis, in many or most cases, a heavier weight, and that its action is\nalways the same. Education by others, and self-education would be\nuseless, if the same thoughts and feelings could, under the same\ncircumstances, produce now this, now that totally different result, and\nnot always the same one.\n\nKant's doctrine of freedom includes practical freedom (which is not,\naccording to his definition, opposed to causality) and transcendental\nfreedom; he seems, however, not always to have kept the distinction\nbetween the two clearly in view. His theory of transcendental freedom is\ngrounded upon the doctrine of the pure ideality of time. The only method\nof saving the doctrine of freedom is, according to Kant, the theory that\nthe law of necessity applies to things as phenomena but not to things\nin themselves. If phenomena are not to be regarded as things in\nthemselves, but as mere thought-images, they must themselves have\nreasons which are not phenomena. Such a cause for pure reason[80] is not\ndetermined by phenomena, although its effects appear as phenomena. The\ncausal action of reason does not have a beginning in time, but is the\nconstant condition, outside time, of all free action of the will.\n\nKant failed, however, to prove the pure ideality of time, as Riehl has\nsufficiently shown. Moreover, were the _intelligibile_ character of\nreason the cause of action as phenomenon, there would be no possibility\nof moral improvement, since the noumenon is not affected by\nphenomena,--an inference which Schopenhauer makes in adopting Kant's\ntheory. Moreover, if space has, as Kant also assumes, transcendental\nideality, plurality is not conceivable; hence, the moral difference of\ncharacters, and the science of Ethics itself, could have no\ntranscendental significance. It is evident that Kant argues from the\nstandpoint of an assumption of a \"soul-thing,\" a constant \"substratum\"\nof psychical phenomena,--a standpoint which he himself criticizes. He\nidentifies this thing-in-itself, moreover, with the reason, although he\nhimself declares that the concept of the thing-in-itself is but a\nconcept limiting reason.[81] He makes the reason a thing-in-itself\noutside time, although it is an activity, a process of consciousness in\ntime. The thought of duty, of the categorical imperative, is a\nphenomenon, and if the will is determined thereby, it is determined by\nsomething in time. Kant takes but little account, moreover, of the fact\nof birth. Is the _intelligibile_ character born? If so, it is preceded\nby something in time; if not, it must be eternal, existing before birth\nas well as after death. And how can he assert, too, that an action might\nhave been other than it was, if it depended upon the constitution of the\n_intelligibile_ character, and this is as it is, and operates as it is?\n\nSchopenhauer's argument for transcendental freedom contains many\nself-contradictions, and is founded on the fiction of a first free\nchoice of character. Schopenhauer asserts, however, that character is\ninnate. If so, how is it chosen? The theory assumes that one is before\nhe is. An act of choice presupposes a chooser, and, according to his own\nwords, \"Every _existentia_ presupposes an _essentia_\"; that is, every\nexistence must have a particular being, essence.\n\nAccountability assumes that some one is held answerable for an action or\nevent, and is, as answerable, amenable to punishment. The punishment may\nbe one of law, of society, or a moral punishment. The concept of\nresponsibility is closely allied to that of accountability; it assumes,\nin general, that a person is the author of a deed. Responsibility may be\nimmediate, when the author of the deed was also its performer, or\nmediate, when the performer was another person.\n\nRemorse is pain at the recognition of the immorality of a past action.\nWith the pain is often connected the wish that the action had not been\nperformed. This wish is naturally unreasonable, since it is directed to\nthe impossible. Yet it is not idle, as Schopenhauer asserts, since it\nhas an effect upon future action. There is often also an egoistic\nregret, or one not called forth especially by the conscience, for a past\naction. This may or may not be moral, according as it is or is not in\nharmony with the general welfare.\n\nThe friends of the theory of chance as regards the will have asserted\nthat shame, remorse, would be impossible, if the human being recognized\nthe fact that his act was necessary. They have neglected, however, to\ngive any reasons for this remarkable assertion. If a man recognizes that\nthe constitution of his mind was such as to lead unavoidably to vicious\nacts, this is the strongest motive for condemnation of his own moral\nconstitution, for pain at it, and an endeavor to better it. But if the\nact had no necessary foundation in his character, if it was merely an\naccident that his will chose thus, then, since the act is past and there\nis no reason for drawing conclusions from it with regard to future\naction, how does it concern him?\n\nBlame and punishment, as well as self-blame, have regard to character\nand so to the future. Acts are not blameworthy and punishable if they\nhave no cause. Punishment is inflicted from two motives: as a\npreventive, and as an expression of the felt need of retribution.\nOriginally, mankind punished from a desire for revenge. This is not the\nmoral motive. Not the criminal alone, but the whole constitution of\nsociety, is responsible for his crime. If, then, punishment is allowable\nfor the sake of prevention, it cannot, as an evil, be permissible\nfurther than is in accordance with this end. Punishment of the insane\ncould be justified only in case it could prevent insanity.\n\nNor is desert based upon an uncaused character of the will. We do not\nadmire, praise, and reward great genius the less because genius is\ninborn; nor do we admire the moral man the less because his father\nbefore him was distinguished by deeds of philanthropy. We admire him for\nwhat he _is_.\n\nThe doctrine of causality in human action is far from being what it is\nsometimes called, a doctrine of fatalism. Fatalism assumes that,\nwhatever a man may do, a power outside him determines the event; but the\nrecognition of cause and effect in human action is the recognition of\nthe fact that the actions of human beings are never without result.\n\nIt is often said that morality is founded upon religion. Assuming that,\nby religion, is meant the belief in a personal God and in the\nimmortality of the soul, is this true?\n\nIf a mighty tyrant commanded a man to do what was contrary to his\nconscience, if he promised rich reward for obedience and fearful torture\nfor disobedience, would obedience therefore be moral? Why is it\nrepresented as wrong to follow Satan's commands and right to follow\nGod's will? Evidently not because God is mighty but because he is good,\nand Satan is bad. But if it is, thus, a matter of duty, and not merely\none of selfish cunning, to obey God's will, then his will must be\ndirected to the good; and this presupposes the good to be something in\nitself, without regard to the fact that God wills it. If God is a moral\nbeing, this must be so.\n\nThis is, in fact, an assumption which the moral members of society have,\nin general, made. They boast of the morals of their religion, comparing\nit, in this respect, with other religions; and thus they subject it to\nthe test of morality. Moreover, when we examine the Christian gospel, we\nfind that it in general assumes the moral laws as already existent and\nonly urges obedience to them. The good is, as we have seen, that which\nconduces to the general welfare. The earliest religions had no\nconnection with rules of morality; these have developed with the social\nlife of human beings and have, in it, their root.\n\nAs to the belief in immortality, cannot the human being do right without\nthe thought of the reward and punishment of another life? As a matter of\nfact, many good men have not possessed such a belief. The distance of\nsuch an end often makes its effect a weak one, and the motive may easily\nbecome selfish. Yet it is true that a loss of faith may include a loss\nof morality, in case the belief exist that there is no basis for\nmorality outside religion; the responsibility of such a loss of morality\nlies with those who teach this latter doctrine. Through love to others\nand the thought of the immortality of influence, the moral man gains a\nlarger life and loses the fear of death. He who has thus faced the\nthought of death finds life more earnest but not less happy. Each hour\nhas not the less its own joy because there is an end, at last. Nor, in\nspite of the deep pain the loss of friends causes us, do we lose them\nwholly, since the memory of all that was best in them may remain with\nus. Our own pain may bring to us a deeper sympathy with, and love for,\nothers.\n\nIf we are able to love the good in God, we may also learn to love the\ngood in those about us, and be incited, by it, to emulation. The love of\nthe good in men has always had stronger effect than love for a distant\nGod of whom but little was known. It was the thought of the man Buddha\nwhich exerted an ennobling influence upon thousands, and it was the\nthought of another human being that moved the \"christians\" more strongly\nthan did that of a Father in Heaven. Do we love father and mother,\nbrother or sister, wife or child, or our friends, for God's sake? Why\nmay we not love all men, as we love our friends and children, for their\nown sake?\n\nIt has been said that there is no accountability, if not to God. But if\nGod is the author of the world, he must himself be the cause of evil,\neither by direct influence or by neglect to avert. Where, then, is the\njustice of his punishment? It does not suffice to answer that God's\njustice is not our justice; for in that case, what right have we to\napply the word to him at all?\n\nHistory demonstrates the fact that morality is by no means necessarily\nconnected with religion. In the name of religion millions upon millions\nof human beings, and these often the most upright and conscientious men\nof their nation, have been put to death, and thus the civilization of\nwhole peoples has been retarded. Slavery in America had no stronger\nfriends than the churches. How is the forgiveness of sins by God to be\njustified? Are the evils which they caused any the less existent because\nof such forgiveness, and is it well for the doer to escape, in this way,\nthe sense of responsibility? Only labor for the good of humanity is the\nway of atonement. We ourselves are the creators of the kingdom of\nrighteousness.\n\nMany claim that Ethics is not indeed based upon Theology, but that it\nneeds a metaphysical, a teleological, foundation. For it presupposes\nthat human life has an \"end.\" If we wish to ascertain how our life\nshould be conducted, we must ascertain what is the end Nature has in\nview for us.\n\nBut an end is an effect imagined beforehand and willed, which we cannot\nbring about immediately but only through a chain of causes. These causes\nwe call the means to the end. They too are willed, but only indirectly\nand because the end is attainable only through them. These processes to\nan end are sometimes treated as if the causal succession in them were\nreversed, so that the last effect appears as the beginning, and the\nfuture determines the present; in this sense, the end has been called\nthe end-cause, because the final link of the process causes the\nbeginning. But this is a senseless conception, since the future, that\nwhich does not yet exist, cannot now operate. In fact, the succession of\ncauses and effects is no more broken into in the processes leading to an\nend than in any other processes. When a human being imagines to himself\na result and endeavors to bring it about, these mental processes are not\nfuture but present; and they are not determined by an influence of the\nfuture upon the present, but by an influence of the past upon the\npresent; they follow from experience, that is, from that which has\nalready occurred. They are causal processes in which the activities of\nunderstanding and will have part. Hence \"ends\" exist in nature in so far\nas they exist in man and the higher animals; but outside these, ends\ncannot be predicated, unless Nature is regarded either as gifted with\nimagination and will or as the creation of a being possessing these. But\nimagination and will require, according to all our experience, a highly\ndeveloped nervous system, and to assume their existence where such a\ncentralized system does not exist is scientifically injustifiable.\nMoreover, the laws of thought by no means determine us to inquire after\na cause of the whole world, since the concept of cause is applicable\nonly to changes, not, however, to enduring existences and their\nqualities.\n\nOr let us assume that we had discovered an end set by Nature. Then,\neither it would appear useless to interfere with its attainment and\nunnecessary to assist in it, or it would appear to us possible to oppose\nthis end. In this latter case, cause must be shown why we should assist,\nor should resist, the process of Nature.\n\nMany philosophers have said that man should live according to his own\nnature. If the word \"nature\" here denotes the totality of his\ncharacteristics, it is evident that the worst actions are not less\nnatural than the best. Therefore, the word nature cannot, as here used,\nhave this sense; the natural in this sense is not identical with the\nmoral. Nor can the term as here used refer to the usual, for in that\ncase the greatest moral excellence, as unusual, must be rejected. Nor\ncan it be used to designate the more primary, for in that case, again,\nthe later developments of benevolence and truthfulness should be\nrejected.\n\nThe word can have but one other sense, namely, as opposed to artificial.\nBut what is in man artificial and what is natural? It seems that the\nnatural is understood as that which is not the work of human intention\nand reflection, of labor, and of education. Innate impulses would be,\naccording to this definition, natural. But it is evident that one cannot\nabandon himself to his blind impulses; society could not exist under\nsuch circumstances.\n\nOr if it be said that, since all organs and impulses of the human being\ntend to preservation of the species, and that this must, therefore, be\nthe end, then let us say \"the preservation of the species,\" or \"the good\nof mankind\" but not \"the natural life,\" is the end for man to attempt.\n\nNature as a whole is neither good nor bad. Her cruelty in the struggle\nfor life is continuous. Yet this is not \"cruelty,\" in so far as it is\nnot willed. She has often selected the best men for her sacrifices. Yet\nthis is not all that is to be said of the relation of Darwinism to\nEthics. The law of natural selection regulates not only the life of the\nindividual but also that of peoples and nations. Evil may arise and\nprosper in society. But it has no permanent existence. The chances that\nthe descendants of human beings possessing evil characteristics will\nlong survive, that they will not, sooner or later, perish as the result\nof conflict with the mandates of health, or the laws of the state, or\nthe demands of society, are not great. In the life of nations, it\nappears more clearly than in the life of the individual, that \"Death is\nthe price of sin.\" Should in any society the opinion gain power that the\nstruggle for existence authorizes or demands a regardless pursuit of\none's own interests, an oppression and robbery of the weak by the\nstrong, an annihilation of pain through the annihilation of the\nsuffering individuals, an outrooting of conscience, and the natural\nvoice of pity which raises protest against such a course; should\nselfishness be bred, and physical strength and refined cunning become\nthe highest ideal; such a community would be on the verge of its own\ndestruction; it would have labored for this result by justifying the\nstruggle of all against all, permitting this the moment that a conflict\nof interests arose. Let times of need and danger, times of national war,\ncome, and we shall see what is the fate of a society in which love of\ncountry, self-sacrifice, a sense of the ideal, respect for truth and\njustice, are only subjects for scorn. \"The world's history is its\njudgment-day.\"\n\nAll positive human authorities are subject to the authority of the\nconditions of life. If they do not take note of the nature of things, if\nthey disturb the foundations of social life, their endeavors must\nfinally suffer shipwreck on the rock of this powerful impersonal\nauthority.\n\nNatural selection is therefore a power of judgment, in that it preserves\nthe just and lets the evil perish. Will this war of the good with the\nevil always continue? Or will the perfect kingdom of righteousness one\nday prevail? We hope this last but we cannot know certainly.\n\nWe ourselves shall decide our future, by our acts.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn an essay written for the Society for Ethical Culture, and read\nOctober 10, 1891, before the London branch of that society, Gizycki\nreconstructs his theory of the right final end of life, advocating as\nsuch the General Welfare, instead of Peace of Conscience in the pursuit\nof the same. The objections to his own former theory offered are,\nchiefly, that if peace of conscience is regarded as the final end, the\nindividual is likely to take too little account of the outward effects\nof his action, to be too little impressed by the evil results which\nshould teach him greater care. The good of society is regarded by the\nvirtuous man as more important than his own happiness, as that for which\nhe is willing to sacrifice his own peace.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[79] The references here are to Lombroso, \"Der Verbrecher,\" deutsche\nAusgabe, S. 129 u. f.; H. v. Valentini, \"Das Verbrecherthum im\npreussischen Staate,\" S. 226 u. f.\n\n[80] Intelligibile Ursache.\n\n[81] Grenzbegriff.\n\n\n\n\nS. ALEXANDER\n\n\"MORAL ORDER AND PROGRESS\" (1889)\n\n\nThe proper business of Ethics is the study of moral judgments--or, if we\nsay of human conduct, then of conduct as submitted to the praise or\nblame of moral judgments. But these judgments are not mere opinions;\nconduct is not that which is \"judged\" to be right in distinction from\nthat which is right; and thus the analysis of such judgments is a\nsystematization of both conceptions and facts.\n\nThe task of Ethics falls into two parts. It has (1) to supply a\n_catalogue raisonne_ of the moral observances of life, the various moral\njudgments which make up the contents of the moral consciousness, and (2)\nto discuss what it is that the moral judgment, as such, expresses.\n\nNothing is more striking at the present time than the convergence of\ndifferent schools of Ethics--English Utilitarianism developing into\nEvolutional Ethics, on the one hand, and the idealism associated with\nthe German philosophy derived from Kant on the other. The convergence is\nnot, of course, in mere practical precepts, but in method also. It\nconsists in an \"objectivity\" or impartiality of treatment, commonly\ncalled \"scientific.\" There is also a convergence in general results\nwhich consists in a recognition of a kind of proportion between\nindividual and society, expressed by the phrase \"organic connection.\"\nThe theory of egoism, pure and simple, has been long dead;\nUtilitarianism succeeded it and enlarged the moral end. Evolution\ncontinued the process of enlarging the individual interest, and has\ngiven precision to the relation between the individual and the moral\nlaw. But in this it has added nothing new; for Hegel, in the early part\nof the century, gave life to Kant's formula by treating the law of\nmorality as realized in the society and the state. The change in ethical\nconception is not due to biological research alone, but to the study of\nhistory also, and to other general changes in the practical data on\nwhich its principles are built. The social and political history of the\ncentury represents the growth of the idea of freedom, which has properly\ntwo sides--that of individual liberty of healthy development, and that\nof the solidarity of society and the responsibility of the individual\nto it. With the increasing complexity of interests and the growth of\nindividual freedom, has come, however, a certain sense of loneliness to\nthe individual in the midst of modern competition, and this explains, to\na great extent, the increase of suicide in the present century.\n\nThe convergence of dissimilar theories affords us some prospect of\nobtaining a satisfactory statement of the ethical truths towards which\nthey seem to move.\n\nOur inquiry falls into two parts, according as we analyze the\nconceptions which relate to the existence of the moral judgment or those\nconnected with its growth, maintenance, and change--the statics or the\ndynamics of morality. To these two divisions is to be added a third,\npreliminary division, more closely allied with the statical examination\nof morality. These three parts are represented by the questions: (1)\nWhat is it that is good? To what are the terms good and bad applied? (2)\nWhy is it good? What does its goodness mean? (3) How does goodness come\ninto being; how is it maintained; how does it advance?\n\nMoral judgments apply to voluntary action, that is, action distinguished\nby the presence of an idea of the end to be attained \"not merely _in_\nconsciousness but _to_ consciousness,\" and the conversion of the idea\ninto the actual reality of presentation. The terms good and bad, indeed,\nare applied, not only outside the realm of morals, but also, within it,\nto desires and thoughts; but to these only as they are the objects of\nvolition, in that the will at present allows them to persist in\nconsciousness or in that their present occurrence is regarded as the\nresult of past willing.\n\nThe conduct to which we apply moral judgment is a whole made up of many\nparts--and actions, consequences, and internal feelings have value for\nmorality only in so far as they are its elements.\n\nExternal action concerns conduct only in so far as the object of\nvolitions (which may be either internal or external) is derived from\nthis source. Voluntary external action is not external only, but has\nalso an internal side; and not whether I succeed in performing a certain\naction or am prevented in the middle of it, but whether I willed it, is\nof importance to moral judgment. Conduct is sometimes considered\nseparately from character; but this separation results from confusing\nconduct with mere action. A character exists only in its conduct, and\nall moral actions issue from character.\n\nThe consequences cannot be separated from conduct in the moral judgment,\nexcept in so far as they could not have been foreseen. The consequences\nof conduct are a most important part of action, in that they should be\nconsidered by the person willing, and should influence the nature of his\nconduct.\n\nThe internal side of conduct is represented by the moral sentiments.\nThese are to be distinguished from the mere motives, which, defined as\nsomething that has propulsive force, whether a feeling or a passion,\ndoes not enter into moral action except as absorbed into volition. No\nemotion is, in itself, right or wrong, but is only indirectly judged as\nsuch as it makes a difference to the action--as an aptitude of mind\nwhich tends to this or that predominating form of conduct. Moral\nsentiments, on the other hand, as moral aptitudes effective for\nparticular conduct, contain an additional element. Moral sentiments,\nthus defined, being equivalent to conduct, it follows that the mere\npossession of sentiments cannot constitute the difference between\nintrinsic or internal, and customary morality; customs are themselves a\nmatter of sentiment. Thus \"conduct as a concrete whole has an inward\nelement of sentiment and an outward element of action, and these are\ndifferent, on the one hand from mere given feelings, on the other from\nmere action.\" \"Conduct is this unity of feeling and action in which mere\nfeeling is modified by the idea of action, and mere action becomes a\nmental, or, if we like, a spiritual thing.\" \"Conduct and character are\nthe same thing facing different ways.\" \"Think of a man's conduct in\nrelation to the mental conditions from which it proceeds, and you think\nof his character; think of his character as it produces results beyond\nthese sentiments themselves, and you have conduct.\"\n\nThere are no morally indifferent acts; when viewed in general and\nbroader lights, all acts are either good or bad; though there are some\ncases of really indifferent means arising from the mechanism of action;\nas, for instance, that I am to go to London is not indifferent, but we\nmay suppose that the fact that I may go by the road or by the river\nmakes no difference to my volition. There is no distinction between\nvirtue and prudence as regard for self, but prudence, in so far as it is\ncompatible with social requirements, is a duty and a virtue.\n\nEthics, then, has to do with conduct as a whole in its external and its\ninternal aspects. In distinction from Psychology, it has to do with it\nnot merely as a fact to be analyzed, but with reference to its nature,\nquality, or content, judged by a standard of value. It is not dependent\nupon Metaphysics, but precedes it in order of time, whatever may be said\nof the order of importance; Metaphysics examines, properly, the ultimate\nquestions left over unanswered by the other sciences. From the purely\nphysical method, Ethics has advanced to a biological method; and the\ndoctrine that pleasure is the end of right action has been replaced by\nthe idea of social vitality as the end.\n\n\nSTATICAL ANALYSIS--MORAL ORDER\n\nThe recognition of the reference in morality to society has been implied\nin all ethical theories; theories of selfish pleasure themselves\nrecognize the social element in individual gratification, even Cyrenaic\ntheories recommending selection and refinement of pleasures, and\ncontaining a reference to personal dignity which implies a conception of\nman as typical of a perfection that others may sympathize in and attain.\nIndividualism and Universalism in morals differ only in the order in\nwhich they take their terms. \"To the former, the individual comes first\nand is the measure of the law; to the latter, the law or society comes\nfirst, and is the measure of the worth of the individual.\" Nevertheless,\nthe ethical problem is very differently conceived by the two schools.\nBut the History of Philosophy shows a tendency to harmonization of the\ntwo; we find that Individualism becomes more and more socialistic, while\nUniversalism becomes more and more conscious of individuality. We may\ntrace this movement, in the case of Individualism, in the development of\nthe philosophic theory of morality as true benevolence from the theory\nof benevolence as merely another form of self-love. The earlier\nconceptions of Universalism, emphasizing the good as something binding\nirrespective of the inclinations of the individual, issue in particular\nformulae of virtue; later conceptions recognize the differences of\nindividual cases while still insisting on the universal or authoritative\ncharacter of morality. The problem receives its definite shape when the\nexplanation of authority is sought, not in some categorical imperative,\nbut in the very nature of society itself, which, if a whole, is yet a\nwhole made up of individuals. Ethical inquiry thus naturally breaks up\ninto two parts, according as we consider the meaning of right and wrong\nfor the individual, or for society as embracing many individuals.\n\nAs far as morality concerns itself with the individual, the good act\nimplies a certain adjustment of functions to one another, too much in\nany one direction implying a defect in others. \"The good life as a whole\nis a system of consecutive acts, where each function has its limits\nprescribed for it by the demands of all the other functions.\" And the\ngood character is \"an order or systematic arrangement of volitions.\" The\ngoodness of an act is thus a matter of equilibration or adjustment of\nthe elements of an individual's nature. In this proportion or adjustment\nconsists the reasonableness, rationality (ratio, [Greek: logos]) of good\nconduct. This does not mean that the principle of morality is the result\nof reason, for moral adjustment is no more specially the work of reason\nthan of any other mental faculty.\n\nThis account of good character uses ideas which apply, _mutatis\nmutandis_, to the life of any organism, as well as to the mind of man;\nit merely explains, in terms of human experience, the elements involved\nin the conception of organization; the difference lies simply in the\nnature of the elements involved in the adjustment, the elements being,\nin the case before us, conscious acts. To the question whether such a\ndefinition of morality would not apply rather to conduct than to\ncharacter, and whether, the volitions being conceived as a series in\ntime, it does not dissolve the unity of character, may be answered that\nconduct and character have already been shown to be identical, and that\nunity can no more be denied to the series of acts involved than it can\nbe denied to the growing plant or animal whose functions are successive.\nThe unity conditioned by time is a unity characterized by succession, as\nthat of space by extension. The objection, as it gathers its strength\nfrom a persuasion that the good character should be described by the\nfeelings or sentiments of any one time, is legitimate; good conduct is\nbuilt upon a man's needs or desires and is defined as satisfying every\npart of his nature in its proportion; so that an equilibrium of the\nemotions and the moral sentiments is involved in morality, and any\nsentiment is moral which can be equilibrated with the rest. \"The good\nman may be described either as an equilibrated order of conduct, or as\nan equilibrium of moral sentiments or of the parts of his nature.\nNevertheless, the order of conduct is a prior conception to that of\nstructural equilibrium.\" In a machine, the combination of parts is made\nin order to produce the motion of the engine, and the equilibrium is\nmaintained by the motion. \"In the organism, the bodily structure retains\nits proportion only in so far as it is in physiological action, and this\nphysiological action subserves the conduct of the organism,\" while \"in\nlike manner the equilibrium of moral sentiments exists only through\nconduct and is determined by the requirements of conduct.\" The\nequilibrium is effected simultaneously both for conduct and the moral\nstructure. The ideal is a plan of conduct, ideal in that it is never\nfully attained. The ideal is hypothetical in two senses. It supposes\nthat every member of the order is good, whereas no life contains good\nacts only; and that the order itself remains permanent, whereas morality\nis necessarily progressive. Nevertheless, it is to be observed that the\nideal is a realized ideal. It is realized in every good act, since the\ngood act is the act which has the shape it would wear in the ideal\norder. \"Though it is adjusted to imaginary elements, it realizes the\nwhole so far as its own particular share is concerned.\"\n\nMorality implies the existence of society. It is useless to inquire what\nwould be moral in case the human individual were an isolated being; the\nfact is that he is not so, and that all moral judgment implies not only\nthe judgment of other individuals besides the acting individual, but\nalso the function of the acting individual as a member of a society. Yet\neach member of a society has his special individual work, so that duty\nvaries according to individual circumstances, and so far from its being\ntrue that morality is not a respecter of persons, it is a fact that it\nis always a respecter of persons. This does not deny that there are\ncertain common bounds of morality, which allow the formation of some\ngeneral propositions; nor does it mean that each individual is at\nliberty to construct his own moral precepts. The individuality of\nmorality, which finds a place or vocation for each individual, involves\nan equilibrium between the members of society, in which consists the\nmorality of the whole.\n\nThe so-called self-regarding virtues are social as well as\nself-regarding; their disregard involves evil, not to the individual\nalone, but to others also. It may be objected that acts and thoughts\nwhich can never be known to others are condemned by conscience. In\nanswer it must be observed:--\n\n(1) That the knowledge of others is a matter of degree; my friends know\nmy actions; and in order to judge an action, it is not necessary to\nsuppose the whole nation looking on.\n\n(2) That as personal morality becomes more and more complex, and hence\nknowledge by others less and less possible, we leave the judgment of an\nact more to the conscience of the individual, as vicegerent of the moral\nlaw. \"Acts which are wrong when nobody knows them have come to be so by\na process beginning with simple acts which are known, that is, known in\ntheir outward appearance.\" The act, known or unknown, leaves its impress\nupon character, raising or lowering the efficiency of the agent; and\nhence is judged good or bad. The study of art and science has, thus,\nmoral value, as influencing character.\n\nGood and bad acts and conduct are thus to be distinguished by their\nadjustment or non-adjustment to the social order. The adjustment takes\nplace in a similar manner as in a trial of strength, and the compromise\nbetween the different individuals must be taken as measuring the actual\nforces which were engaged.\n\nThe social organism has both its morphological, or structural, and its\nphysiological or functional aspect; and here, once more, the order of\nfunctions is a prior conception to the structural order; in the society,\nconduct bears to structure the relation which physiological action in\nthe body bears to the bodily structure. The social ideal is doubly\nhypothetical, implying that all members of the society are good and that\nsociety is statical.\n\nThat to which moral judgment applies with regard to the individual's\nrelation to society, is the adjustment of individual wills regarded\neither as directly appearing or as latent and capable of acting, the\noccasion being given. The moral principle in society as a whole is thus,\nas in the case of the individual, a rational one, and Aristotle rightly\ngives the same name ([Greek: orthos logos]) to it as to the principle of\nindividual action. The moral individual is the reproduction in small of\nthe social order. But \"the two conditions that the individual must be a\nharmony within himself, and that he must possess all the powers that are\nrequired of him for the purposes of society, are not different, but\nidentical.\" For the absence of such powers implies the absence of\nadjustment to his conditions, failing which adjustment the inner harmony\nis impossible, although life may be continued, just as it may be\ncontinued under diseased physical conditions.\n\nGood men may thus be said to conform to a certain type or ideal; but\nthis type is not merely something to which they are fashioned, but to\nwhich they themselves are the contributory elements. Hence the social\nideal is a species of which all good men are the individual instances;\nand the species exists, not, as in the case of natural science, as a\ngeneralization in the mind of the observer or as an identical plan upon\nwhich the members are organized, not as a mere collection of\nindividuals, but as in itself an organism. \"Let it not be objected that,\nsince no society is in perfect equilibrium, and the ideal exists only in\ngood men, the ideal is therefore as much a creation of the observer's\nmind as a natural species. An ideal implies no contrast of observer and\nobserved: conduct is something mental: the ideal is a reality of mind,\nexisting in the minds of those who act upon it. The social ideal has\nthus a concrete existence in the collective action of good men.\"\n\nIn this manner, the supposed independence of the tendencies towards\nIndividualism and Universalism disappears, the harmony of the individual\nand his harmony with society being identical--a true independence being\nequivalent to true cooeperation.\n\nMorality implying adjustment to the ideal order, a realization of the\nbearings of our acts is important. But we need no special moral faculty\nto teach us morality; it is prompted by thoughts and feelings that, as\nthe result of a process of compromise, are thoughts and feelings\nadjusted to a social order.\n\nObligation \"expresses that an act is the act required.\" \"It is that\nrelation in which the single part of the order stands to the whole\norder, when it is confronted by the whole,\" whether we consider the\nsingle act in relation to the whole character of the individual, or the\nsingle individual in his relations to society. \"Duty in the abstract is\nthe name which comprehends obligation in all its details; a duty in the\nconcrete is any good act regarded in its relation to the whole. On the\nother hand, the whole has _authority_ against its parts, and every\nparticular duty is said to have authority just so far as it is backed by\nthe whole mass of duties,\" as the command of a sovereign has authority\nbecause it gives expression to the will of the whole society over which\nhe presides. Obligation \"corresponds to the necessity under which an\norganism lies of acting in a certain manner in order to conform to its\ntype.\" Duty is thus not necessarily antagonistic to inclination, as\nKant conceived it, since, in the good man, inclinations are adjusted to\nthe requirements of social life; and obligation is thus different from\ncompulsion, which, as attendant on authority, applies to the bad, not\nthe good, man. The negative side of compulsion is responsibility, which\nimplies that, in the case of transgression, the person will be called to\naccount. Duty, though thus free from the idea of antagonism, is itself\nalways negative, implying subjection of the individual to the larger\norder. It is from this negativity that duty lends itself to the legal\nidea of compulsion, and in general wears a legal garb.\n\nIn law, rights and duties are correlative, the right of one implying\nduties of others, and _vice versa_; but in morals, rights and duties are\nnot merely correlative but identical; it is a duty to insist on rights\nin so far as these rights are moral, not merely legal, and the\nindividual has a right to the performance of duty.\n\nThe moral judgment is a judgment on a fact, but expresses, nevertheless,\na fact also; it expresses an adjustment to an ideal order, which, if\nideal, is yet a fact, although never realized in its entirety. Thus\nmorality is not a mere matter of opinion. Opinions may differ with\nregard to a fact of morality as different individuals differ in the\napprehension of a physical fact. An action is not right simply because I\nthink it is so; but the opinion of the good man represents what is\nreally good.\n\nGoodness is a mental fact; the apprehension of goodness, as the passing\nof judgment upon it, is different from it; but it is nevertheless, in\nanother sense, the goodness of the good man which approves or is the\napprobation of the good act; and \"badness exists in the mind of the good\nman and is known as disapprobation.\" The quality of an action is that\nwhich excites approbation; its goodness or adjustment is nothing but the\napprobation of the good man, but not of other men. In like manner, duty\nand the sense of duty are the same thing. When the act judged is\npresented to the mind only as idea, the feeling of approbation or\ndisapprobation is that which we know as the working of the moral sense\nor conscience.\n\nIt is this truth that goodness and approbation are identical that\nIntuitionism builds upon. Intuitionism, however, regards goodness as\nsome new quality of action, peculiar and inexplicable; while a true\nanalysis looks upon goodness as no new quality, the moral judgment\nmerely placing a mark upon any action as conforming to a certain order\nor equilibrated system wanted.\n\nThere is in the good man a vague mass of moral sentiments and emotions;\nand when the idea of any act comes in contact with these, a feeling of\nsatisfaction or dissatisfaction arises, according as the idea fuses with\nthis mass of sentiments or fails in adjustment to them. Moral promptings\nare merely promptings which have been adjusted on one side and the other\nuntil they have come to be in harmony with social conditions; they grow\nout of the natural feelings by the process of adjustment. The word\n\"conscience,\" as it is more generally used, seems to emphasize the\nelement of reflection in a greater degree than \"moral sense.\" The\nexplanation of the apparent independence of conscience is merely that,\nin the good man, the moral order is realized, and action from moral\nprinciple takes place spontaneously. In so far as this is true, he is,\nin the ethical sense, free, yet not free in the sense that he is to be\nbound by his own conscience alone in opposition to the judgment of all\nother consciences; \"on the contrary, the conscience sits as a tribunal\non a man's acts or intentions, just because it is the representative of\nthe moral order.\"\n\nIn speaking of a \"perverted conscience,\" morality condemns the isolation\nof a man's ideas about right conduct, from the judgment of his fellows.\n\nThe conscience, by reason of the element of reflectiveness, is higher\nthan the moral sense; and the cultivation of a refined conscience is the\nbasis of all morality. Yet this very reflectiveness involves danger, in\nthat, attaching itself as it does to the negative side of duty, it tends\nto associate the latter with the idea of painfulness rather than of\npleasure, and to induce fear, and also in that it tends to develop a\nmorbid subjectivity of feeling through too much self-examination.\n\nGood conduct, as good in virtue of the equilibrium it establishes\nbetween the various parts of conduct itself, should contain within\nitself the whole justification of morality. As such, it is the end of\nmorality, in that it is both the object and purpose, the aim or desire;\nand in that it is also the standard, criterion, or result by which\nconduct is measured.\n\nGood conduct involves a common good as part of the moral order, and so\ncreative of a tie between all members of society. The common good is\nthus not to be conceived as something that might be, as it were, cut up\nand distributed, but as common in that it involves an adjustment of\nclaims. The common good is thus, in a sense, objective, or objectively\nvalid, though not objective in the sense that it exists outside the\nminds of men, but in the sense that it is a compromise between wills, in\nwhich each mind surrenders merely personal whims for a common agreement.\n\nSince there seems a discrepancy between my own good and the good of\nothers, how do I make the good of others my object, going beyond myself\nin the range of my interest? And how is self-sacrifice possible? The\nanswer to the first question is that morality reconciles the likes and\ndislikes of individuals, so that self-love and love of others describe\nthe moral relation from opposite ends; every act of respect for others\nis an act of self-furtherance.\n\nWe are entitled to assume, as not needing proof, that the instincts of\naltruism are as fundamental and original as those of self-love. But if\nwe use stricter reasoning, we can see how, in either case, we identify\nourselves with others. Altruism is merely a form of conduct in which the\negoistic element, though present, retires into the background; while in\nall right egoism, we aim at the good of others as well as our own good,\nthough our own good appears as the more prominent feature in the act of\nwilling. We must not be understood as willing, in altruism, another's\ngood in any mystical sense, in the sense of any identification of self\nwith others; we will the good of others in quite a different sense from\nthat in which we will our own good, the idea of their good being a\nrepresentation in our mind from the analogy of our own experience; and\nthe good attained by each party to the transaction is different and\nincommunicable. Neither must egoism or altruism be interpreted in the\nsense that, in either, reflection on the end as distinctively the good\nof self or of others is involved; the moral agent in general throws his\nenergies into this or that course of action, because it is felt to be\nwhat is wanted, without further reflectiveness.\n\nHuman beings, as plastic shapes, moulded by contact, adjust themselves\nto each other, and thus it comes about that certain personal claims are\nwaived. Self-sacrifice is a real fact, a fact attested by the existence\nof the bad, to whom such sacrifice involves a loss of happiness and is\nimpossible. It means the abandonment of a real good which the individual\nwould seize under other circumstances. It is sometimes contended that\nreal self-sacrifice is impossible, either (1) because the sacrifice is\nreally pleasanter to the agent, or (2) because he is compensated for his\nloss. But the evident fact that self-sacrifice is pleasanter to the\nagent does not involve the seeking of his own pleasure by the agent, and\neven if it be admitted that there is always the forecast of compensation\nin the mind of the agent, yet part of the forecast is the picture of\nhappiness foregone. But here, as before, it may be said that the element\nof reflection, the weighing of one's own and others' happiness against\neach other is read into the act by the onlooker, and is not necessarily\ninvolved. That his own self-sacrifice, the compensation of his own\nconsciousness of right-doing outweighs, to the moral man, the pleasure\nof lower aims, does not mean that the individual is selfish in seeking\nself-sacrifice. And, in fact, that any ulterior aim of self-satisfaction\nbeyond the act itself is sought, in self-sacrifice, by the moral man, is\nfalse; the greatest acts of heroism are characterized by complete\nabsorption in the impersonal end sought, the good of the agent thus not\nlying beyond, but consisting in his action. Acts characterized by\nanother spirit than this we do not term self-sacrifice.\n\nAs all conduct is a matter of will, so morality is concerned not merely\nwith the virtues, the practical dealings of men, but also with all that\nstrengthens or weakens the will and, in general, conduces to character.\nIn judging a man, the significance of his individual gifts, and the\nresponsibility which attends the cultivation of these gifts must be\nrecognized. Not special virtues alone must be considered, but the whole\nman must be judged and the significance of his self-cultivation in this\nor that direction observed. This does not mean that the exceptional\nfaults of exceptional men are to be condoned. On the contrary, there is\nno reason to suppose that special gifts confer a special privilege\nrather than a special responsibility. Judged in the entirety of their\ncharacter, such men may not be worse than others, and this fact should\nbe regarded; but we should not defend their sins as such. The neglect of\nself-cultivation in one direction may be necessary to action in another\ndirection; but the moral criterion of such self-cultivation or action is\nto be found in morality as an equilibrium of powers.\n\nPerfection is not itself sufficient to define the end. Perfect is that\nwhich is the best possible; perfection as a perfect activity rather\nthan a perfect state (as we must conceive it) is equivalent to the best\npossible conduct. But the moral end can be understood as perfection only\nwhen by the best possible conduct is understood that which is the best\npossible under circumstances determined by morality itself. The fullest\ndevelopment as demanded by morality is not necessarily the perfection of\ndevelopment in any particular case, that is, with regard to any\nparticular gift or individual. Or, in other words, perfection in both\nits absolute and its comparative meaning, is a conception which belongs,\nnot to morality as such, but to the materials out of which morality is\nconstituted. Take \"perfect\" as equivalent to \"best,\" then perfection is\nequally involved in every good action. The good is always the best; what\nis right is perfect; morality discards degrees of comparison. But the\ndegree of perfection to which any power or individual is to be developed\nis determined, morally, by the principle of equilibrium. Moreover, we\nmay recognize degrees of perfection in individuals who are,\nnevertheless, not to be classified as of less or greater moral value.\n\nThere are two different conceptions of merit, the one as applied to\nmagnitude of actual achievement, the other to magnitude of effort. The\napparent discrepancy vanishes on reflection, since both conceptions\napply to what passes beyond the average and measures the distance\nbetween the two.\n\nAgainst the hedonistic doctrine, it has been urged by Green that\npleasure as such is not the end of action, for even where the single\npleasure is desired there is always the thought of a permanent self\nwhose good is supposed to lie in the direction of this pleasure; while a\nsum of pleasures cannot, as such, be an object of desire, since\npleasures, as separate and transitory in contradistinction from the\npermanent self, cannot be added together in fact, but only in thought;\nand with regard to a greatest sum of pleasures the difficulty is still\ngreater, since pleasures admit of indefinite increase, and their sum can\nnever be the greatest possible. In so far as desire is supposed to be\nfor pleasures and nothing else, the argument that a sum of pleasures\ncannot be desired must be admitted. The transiency of the pleasures has,\nhowever, nothing to do with the question; the reason why a sum of\npleasures cannot form a single pleasure is that they are pleasures with\na higher idea--that of a series involving a plan. This does not prove\nthat a sum of pleasures might not be the criterion of conduct. It must\nbe admitted that \"sum\" is an unfortunate word, since it seems to imply\nthat the pleasures must be combined in one total result; but such an\ninterpretation of the word is not necessary. A series of pleasures is\nproperly nothing more than an aggregate or combination of pleasures,\npartly successive, partly coexistent. Nor does the greatest possible\nhappiness mean a happiness than which no greater is possible, but the\ngreatest possible under the given conditions. The polemic is directed\nagainst the individualistic psychology, which regards mental states as a\nmere succession of events. So far the arguments enforce a great\nprinciple; a mere succession of feelings or sensations could never yield\na conception of a sum apprehended as a sum. But this is irrelevant. For\nsuch an idea we require much more than sensation: we require memory,\nperception, the idea of a self. But this is only saying that morality\nrequires more than mere sensation, and the argument assumes the\nstandpoint it is fighting, treating mental states as mere events. It,\nmoreover, introduces the idea of a permanent self as something superior\nto mere sensations, whereas perhaps this self is elaborated from\nsensational elements. Furthermore, if the proposition means that a mind\nwhich had only sensations could not have a sum of sensations, this may\nbe denied. A sum is possible from three positions--that of the\nconception of a spectator, that of a reflecting consciousness, and that\nof a feeling consciousness which feels its states continuously, though\nit may not feel them as continuous, for such a feeling would argue\ncomparison and reflection. The polemic, therefore, while in so far right\nas it is directed against individualistic psychology, seems to assign\nwrong reasons for a rejection of hedonism; Utilitarians, while speaking\nof pleasures in the language of psychology, treat them really as\nsomething more than mere events--treat them as we really combine them by\nprocesses much higher than sensation. A refutation of hedonism must\nconsist in showing that pleasures really differ in kind, and cannot,\ntherefore, be compared in intensity. \"Pleasure\" is often used as\nequivalent to a pleasant sensation; such pleasures differ in kind, as in\nthe case of gratified hunger, ambition, and the like, and cannot be\nactually added, either in thought or in enjoyment, because\nincommensurable. \"Pleasure\" is often used, also, to refer, not to the\nsensation itself, but to its pleasantness, and here the same thing is\ntrue; if we distinguish the quality and the tone of feeling, as usual in\npsychology, the classification of tones as pleasurable and painful is\ninsufficient. \"The tones of colors and sounds, for instance, are more\nnaturally represented by the mood of mind they suggest: red has a warm\ntone, black a sad, gray a sober, the organ a solemn tone.\"[82] The tone\nof some feelings is too indefinite for description,--a vague comfort or\ndiscomfort,--while the tone may rise to a condition to be described only\nby \"bliss\" or \"rapture.\" Pleasure and pain depend, moreover, not only on\nthe quality and quantity of the feeling, but on the whole condition of\nthe mind, pleasure indicating agreement with the mind, pain\nnon-agreement. Every pleasure being a function of the sensation in which\nit is an element, the supposed sum of pleasures must be made up of\npleasures every one of which is qualified as that which is produced by a\ncertain activity. \"The sum of pleasures, therefore, re-introduces the\ndistinctions and contents of the moral order, and, though an expression\nof the criterion of conduct, is therefore, like perfection, not an\nindependent criterion.\" The element of quality in pleasure may be\n_verified_ more easily as what may be called _preferability_. The term\npreferability does not mean that there is an inherent moral value in\nevery pleasure, in virtue of which pleasures may be distinguished as\nhigher or lower--obviously an erroneous view, for higher and lower is an\nantithesis established by morality itself; the value depends on the kind\nof pleasure, and the preferability is that in the good man's mind.\n\nIt might be objected that even though pleasures differ in kind, a\ncomparison and summation of them might be possible, just as comparison\nand summation of weights is possible, although weight depends not on\nbulk alone but also on specific gravity. It cannot be denied that some\nnumerical expression for qualities of pleasure may yet be found, by\nwhich they may be compared. But it is to be noted that, the higher we go\nin the scale of existence, the more distinct becomes the growth of a\nprinciple of selection or distribution which the members of a\ncombination must follow in order to produce a given quantitative result.\nIn chemistry we may obtain the atomic equivalent of sulphuric acid (98)\nin many ways, but we can obtain the acid itself only by specific\ncombinations in specific proportions. In determining what food to give\nan animal, we must consider not bulk alone but the nutritiousness of\nvarious sorts. We might express the nutritiousness of various foods by\nnumbers, but the numerical equivalent would tell us nothing, unless we\nknew the kinds of food to be combined. And in the same way we might\nexpress the sum of pleasures as end numerically, but until we know the\nkinds of activities and so of pleasures to be combined to this sum, the\nformula is useless to inform us as to the end or method of attaining it.\nThe popular conception of happiness avoids all the difficulties and\nperplexities caused by setting up pleasure as the end, because in that\nconception pleasures and pains are never considered apart from conduct\nand character. Thus, though the end involves pleasure, the criterion is\ngood conduct. The good conduct necessarily involves pleasure, for\nconduct which only outwardly conforms to the moral rule, and in which\nthe agent does not take pleasure, is not really good.\n\nThe pleasure-formula thus represented as the standard of conduct is to\nbe distinguished, as actual ethical pleasure in the act, from the\npleasures attendant on the act as results, and which may be termed\npathological in a Kantian sense. The ethical pleasure need not be\nunmixed, for the act which satisfies one part of a man's nature does not\nnecessarily satisfy all the other parts. But the ethical pleasure must\nbe present as the total reaction of character considered apart from the\nincidentals of result.\n\nPleasures and pains may be divided into two classes, active and passive;\nactive pleasures being those attendant on an act, as gratification of an\nimpulse, passive pleasures those which come to us as enjoyments, not as\nthe gratification of the impulse producing an act, though perhaps\nresulting from our act. Active pains are those of want, passive those of\nsuffering. The pleasures accompanying an act as pleasures of attainment\nare always pleasures of gratification, but not of gratification merely,\nfor they gratify a sentiment directed towards an object previously\npresent to the mind in idea; and it is because the volition realizes the\nidea that the pleasures are called pleasures of attainment, and in this\nfact lies also their ethical value. The ethical pleasure in the action\nitself is not to be confused with the mere pleasure in the explicit\nconsciousness of right-doing, which argues special reflectiveness. The\nethical pleasure meant is identical with the feeling of approbation, not\nas a reflection on the act as idea, but as present in the act itself.\nBut the ethical pleasures are not independent of the incidental\npleasures, but depend upon them, the latter themselves being considered\nin determining what acts are to be performed.\n\nThe pleasure-formula of the end represents the end in terms of all the\nethical pleasures secured by good action; and now we can see how\nmorality can be expressed in terms of all the pleasures and pains\ninvolved in action, the purely ethical pleasures being reckoned among\nthe rest. Every pleasure is an inducement to persistence, every pain an\ninducement to change; hence, since the society of good persons, or the\nkingdom of powers within a man's own mind acquiesce in the moral order\nas the equilibrium in which all their claims are gratified as far as may\nbe, it follows that the order of good conduct represents the maximum of\nhappiness. The end thus _involves_ the greatest happiness of the\ngreatest number.\n\nIf pleasure is but a part of the standard of morality, is it, then, the\nobject of conduct? If the idea before the mind to be realized in action\nis called the object of the action, then in the same sense the pleasure\nconnected with the idea, which must be pleasant, is the object of\nconduct. The difficulty in agreeing that the pleasure of the idea is\npart of the object of desire arises from two causes: (1) confusion of\nthe object of desire with the character or criterion of the object; (2)\na misunderstanding of how the ideal object is related to the result. As\nto the latter cause, it may be said that the idea is only in this sense\nan idea of the result, that the result is the idea as it is realized;\nthe elements of the idea are derived from the past, and the desire is\nnot for the prospective pleasure of the end. As to the first cause,\nthough it is false that the prospective pleasure must necessarily be\npart of the idea, the opposite conclusion is not necessarily legitimate\nthat desire is not for pleasure at all. It is true that, in order to\ndistinguish one object from another, we need to know what kind of an\nobject it is; but to conclude that, therefore, the desire is not for\npleasure, is to confuse the actual idea before the mind in desire with\nits quality. That we do not make pleasure an object in the sense that\nthe pleasantness of the object itself is what we have before us in\ndesire, is obvious. Such a desire would argue a reflectiveness which has\nbeen shown not to be necessarily characteristic of action. Nor is it the\npleasure of an act which is the cause of the desire, even if we suppose\nthis not in the sense that reflection apprehends it as cause. To suppose\nthis is to confuse the cause with its sign. The pleasure is a function\nof the quality of the object. The element of reflectiveness _may_ enter\ninto a consideration of the object, and the prospective pleasure thus\nbecome an element of the object of desire. But it is only a part; the\npleasure alone cannot be the object of desire. The pleasure which is\nthus a part of the object is not a future pleasure, but that which is\nactually present in our minds, belonging to the ideal object as part of\nit--the represented pleasure of attainment. To call the pleasure desired\nthe prospective pleasure is to confound the reflection of the spectator\nwith the actual fact in the mind of the agent to an act. The pleasure\nis, moreover, not pleasure in general, but the pleasure of the agent;\nbut this is not stating that the act is necessarily selfish.\n\nSince every object of desire and will includes pleasure, the so-called\n\"paradox of hedonism\"--that pleasure is lost by seeking after it--cannot\nbe explained by holding that pleasure is not itself the object of\ndesire, and that consequently pleasure is never, in enjoyment, what it\nis in idea. This last is true, for no idea is in reality what it is as\nidea. But the explanation lies rather in pointing out how foolish it is\nto seek for what is a sign or effect rather than for its cause.\n\nIn the good man, the pleasure of attainment is the ethical sense of\napprobation, and this is also goodness. It may, however, be asserted\nthat it is not this ethical pleasure, this goodness as such, that is\ndesired by the good man; again, it is only in exceptional cases of\nreflectiveness that goodness or the right action as such is\ndistinctively desired; and herein lies Kant's mistake in asserting that\na moral act must be done from a sense of duty.\n\nActive pains, as wants, are what prompt to action, and are, so, the\nconditions of conduct. Though in themselves evil, as pain, they cannot\nbe considered by themselves apart from the action to which they lead. As\nfor passive pains, in so far as they are the result of evil action on\nthe part of others, they ought not to have occurred, and we try to\nprevent their repetition by punishment. Those sufferings incidental to\nright conduct are to be borne, in so far as they are inevitable, as a\nnecessary evil in that which, considered as a whole, is good. As soon as\nthey cease to be inevitable, they are to be removed. We do not imagine,\nhowever, that pain may ever be wholly removed. But the statement that\npain is inevitable to right conduct is not to be interpreted as an\nassertion that it is for the sake of goodness, as a discipline,--a\nmetaphysical conception depending on the idea of a divine purpose.\n\nMorality is thus a kind of optimism, not ignoring the reality of pains\nin right conduct, but treating them as part of the given conditions\nwhich it has to turn to the best account, by the creation of a conduct\nand character involving ethical pleasures. Pessimistic theories do not\nignore this optimism of morality; but in such theories the fact of pain\nis emphasized and dwelt upon, and morality is regarded only as a means\nof lessening pain, or, as in the case of Von Hartmann, finally getting\nrid of it altogether by a universal suicide. It is impossible to\ndetermine whether existence represents an excess of pain or of pleasure,\nsince the answer to the problem is a matter of individual temperament;\nand, moreover, pleasures and pains cannot be (as yet) merely\nquantitatively compared. Another error of pessimism consists in\ncomparing pleasures and pains in detail and supposing the result to hold\ngood in the general sum; but even in cases where pleasures are greatly\noutweighed by pains, the pains may sink in value considered in\nconnection with the rest of life. The desirability of non-existence\ncould be maintained only as a race should be developed desiring it; but\nthe whole course of history is in the opposite direction.\n\nThe question, Is life worth living? involves two: (1) Is it actually\npreferable to the creature who lives it? (2) Can any life be said to\nhave a real value; is any life subjectively, is any objectively,\npreferable? The answer to the first question is the fact of life, for\nthe mysterious instinct of self-preservation called in to account for\nthe continuance of existence is one of the elements to be considered in\nthe problem, cannot be excluded. It is true that only certain kinds of\nlife are preferable, but the very meaning of the principle of selection\nis the securing of the life that is worth living.\n\nHaving arrived at this answer, we can no longer compare existence and\nnon-existence in respect to preferability, and the second problem\npresents itself to us as the question as to what existence is of value.\nThe answer is the moral life, goodness, as including all the activities\nof character.\n\nThe moral end has sometimes been defined as social vitality. Vitality\nis, in strictness, the energy to live, and has two aspects. It is (1)\nthe force which keeps a creature alive, or (2) the force which keeps it\nwell. As implying the keeping up of vital functions, the notion of\ncontinued existence represents the end, but represents it in its lowest\naspect, its least and poorest significance, and is an insufficient\ndescription; for not existence can be the end, but existence of a\ncertain sort. \"Existence, in fact, is an abstraction to which nothing\ncorresponds in experience: nothing exists except upon certain terms.\nGiven the type, the end of the creature is to continue the existence of\nthat type; but continuance of existence is nothing more nor less than\nthe performance of those functions which constitute the type of life in\nquestion: it is not separated from those functions as something which\nthey subserve.\" If the functions in man or animal are said to be\ndetermined by the need of maintaining his existence, it may be answered\nthat his existence is these functions. In this sense of continued\nexistence as the repetition of vital functions in their order, it is\ntrue, but only secondarily true, that the end is to preserve life. But\nthe doctrine of evolution implies much more than such preservation. It\nmeans the victorious continuance of life. But because a type is\nvictorious, we cannot infer that the end of the type is to maintain its\nvictorious existence in the sense of aiming at victory. To do this is to\nread into the end a theory of how the type came into existence. The end\nof a type is to act according to the type; the victory over rivals\naffords the opportunity of this. The preservation of existence is a\ncondition of the end, not the end itself; to regard it as such is to\nconfuse cause with effect.\n\nVitality as health, on the other hand, implies the equilibrium which\nconstitutes good conduct good. It must, however, \"be observed that\nhealth is not a further specification or a limitation of continued life,\nbut is coextensive with it.\"\n\nBut health, as applied to morals, is a metaphorical term. Morality does\nnot consist in mere physical vitality; on the contrary, some sacrifice\nof such vitality may be necessary, the perfect physical vitality may be\ninconsistent with the development of higher and finer mental functions.\n\"With this proviso, vitality as health is simply another name for the\ncharacter of good conduct which wins it the title of good.\"\n\nThere is often a distinction made between virtue and duty, the former\nword seeming to include the latter and go beyond it. However, it is not\nonly virtuous to do one's duty, but it is also the duty of the\nindividual to do his best. In fact, the two, virtue and duty, are\ncoextensive, the term \"virtue\" describing conduct by the quality of the\nagent's mind, the term \"duty\" by the nature of the act performed.\nNevertheless, there are actions to which it is more natural to apply the\nterm \"virtue,\" \"duty\" being colored by legal implications. In the legal\nsense, duty fixes, not the highest line of conduct, but the lowest\nlimit, beneath which conduct must not fall. Virtue, as contrasted with\nduty in the legal sense, seems to be coextensive with merit. Negative\nmerit, however, where a man is good in spite of some great disadvantage,\ndoes not make an act virtuous in distinction from dutiful conduct. It is\nthe duty of a man with a passion for drink to repress it; but we do not\nterm his performance virtuous, though it may be meritorious. Merit, that\nis, implies a scale within the range of good acts themselves. Virtue and\nduty coincide, however, only so long as the moral value of actions are\nconsidered. For we distinguish two different classes of virtues, or two\nsenses of the word \"virtue,\" corresponding to the distinction of ethical\nand pathological, the pathological virtues being certain gifts of\nemotion or sentiment, which are sometimes thought to make action more\nvirtuous, but do not alter its real character. \"Thus, for example, the\nvirtue of benevolence may be thought imperfect without kindly feeling,\nthough a man may be benevolent without any such spontaneous movement.\nChastity, again, may in some natures be accompanied by, and flow from, a\ndelicacy of feeling which makes all unlawful suggestions impossible.\nNow, if these emotions were necessary to their respective virtues, we\nshould have to admit that duty was less than virtue. But we must\nmaintain that they are excellences which do not alter the moral\ncharacter of conduct, and may be absent altogether and leave the agent\nas virtuous as if they were present. Some persons, indeed, would say\nthat there was less virtue in characters which possessed these emotional\nendowments.... In themselves, they are not virtues in the ethical sense,\nbut only 'add a lustre' to habits of will. They may even be ineffectual,\nas often happens with very good-natured persons, or they may be\npositively bad. Courage, for instance, we admire even in a villain. We\nmay conclude, then, that these excellences of disposition are only\nvaluable in so far as they are helps to virtue, and we praise the brave\nvillain on account of a quality which is of the utmost importance for\nactual goodness. They enter into our ideal of the perfect or complete\ncharacter, though, if we estimate our ideal of perfection, we shall\nfind, I think, that we attach less value to them when they are native\nthan when they have been produced by a constant discipline.\"\n\nIt might seem, then, that we could classify duties under virtues. To a\nconsiderable extent such a classification is possible. But it must be\nimperfect, because there are duties--for example, filial duty, or the\nduty of casting one's vote in a political contest--which do not\ncorrespond to any general head of virtue, or may be ranked under several\nheads: and again, we may rank along with virtues which stand for duties\nqualities of conduct which do not correspond to duties in the same\nsense; as, for instance, in a list of heads of duties, wisdom and\nself-control. The enumeration mixes up two classifications, in the one\nof which we group observances together under certain heads, in the other\nof which we enumerate certain elements of good action in general,\ncertain aspects which every good action presents, and we exhibit them as\nqualities in the agent's mind. The two classifications are combined in\nthe ancient description of morality under the heads of wisdom, courage,\ntemperance, and justice. The better classification is by moral\ninstitutions, where the moral life is already mapped out for us into its\ndifferent parts. Such a scheme of classification will consider (_a_) the\nIndividual, (_b_) the Family, (_c_) the Society, (_d_) the State; the\nfourth division including international duties, the third not being\nnecessarily limited to a particular society, but extending to all\nmankind.\n\n\nDYNAMICAL ANALYSIS--MORAL GROWTH AND PROGRESS\n\nThe previous description of morality supposes it to be stationary, and\nis like a section taken across the path of morality at any one time. It\ngives us no idea of the process and progress of morality. We have yet to\nshow how the moral order is produced, and to examine the meaning and the\nlaw of moral progress.\n\nAs the moral organism may be compared to a species of which the various\nmoral individuals are the members, so the moral ideal may be regarded as\na species of which the various ideals in the minds of good men are the\ndifferent individuals. We should thus expect to find the origin and\ngrowth of morality analogous to or, more strictly speaking, identical\nwith, the growth of natural species.\n\n\"If an ultimate ideal were admissible, it would be impossible to assert\nthat morality is essentially progressive.\" Morality, in the sense of an\nequilibrium, has at every stage a certain finality, in the sense that it\nis, for that stage, the ideal adjustment. But we cannot conceive of any\nideal as final in the sense of stationary. The good is always ultimate\nbut always in motion. \"Moral progress admits of only two degrees of\ncomparison, the superlative being identical with the positive.\" By\n\"best\" we do not imply a greater rightness in the ultimate condition,\nbut only a highest development. Spencer's conception of the distinction\nbetween Absolute and Relative Ethics involves the conception of an\nultimate \"ideal congruity,\" or complete adaptation of man to his\nconditions, a mobile equilibrium including perfection as well as\ngoodness, present choice being never between wrong and an absolute\nright, but always between two wrongs, the lesser of which is to have the\npreference. The picture is, in itself, perfectly legitimate; and in so\nfar as Spencer \"conceives that the only ideal is the absolutely right\nconduct, his conception is not only legitimate, but true.\" There is\nalways, however, an absolute right that may be chosen; and \"using the\nconception of a mobile equilibrium, we found it to be, not a goal of\nprogress, but the meaning of goodness at any time.\" \"The distinction of\ngood and bad (right and wrong) arises within the limited range of\nconditions that are to be met by good action.\" That, as Sidgwick\nasserts, there is always some course of conduct which is right, the\nmoral consciousness declares with certainty, and is thus against the\nrelativity of morality. Mr. Spencer holds that any concomitant of pain\nmakes an action wrong, therefore it is natural for him to regard all\npresent morality as only relative. But to the good man the pleasure of\ndoing right exceeds the possible attendant pains of an action; and\nexcept upon the understanding that, in a society of good men, every one\nwill adjust himself with equanimity to the needs of others, not even the\nacts which are declared to be typical of absolutely right conduct can be\nfree from concomitant pain. \"Will the ideal state exhibit no\ncompetitions, such as rivalry in love, which can be ended indeed with\nthe contentment of all persons, but assuredly not without attendant\npain?\"\n\nThe general error in theory on this subject lies in a misconception of\nthe idea of \"adjustment\" to environment, the fact not being noted that\nthe environment is not itself fixed and permanent. What the environment\nis depends upon the nature and faculties of the individual, the same\nenvironment being a different one for amoeba and human being, for the\nblind man and the man possessing sight; and what environment is and what\nthe individual does are settled at one and the same time, the process of\nselection being one from both sides, and the variation of both. The\nadaptation \"wherever it exists and so far as it exists\" is, hence,\nperfect adaptation; if the lower organism is adapted to its environment,\nits adaptation is as perfect as that of the higher organism to its\nenvironment.\n\nEvery successful life means adaptation. \"Every animal which can maintain\nits life is in adaptation to its environment.\" The bare formula of\nadaptation means nothing more than the fact of existence. \"Adaptation to\nthe conditions as such teaches us nothing as to the nature of the\norganism; for all functions are reactions upon the conditions, and\ntherefore, so far, adaptations. But it points to something behind. It\nmeans that _all_ the functions of the animal are adapted to the\nconditions, and this means that its functions are adapted or adjusted to\none another under the conditions.\"\n\n\"The moral ideal consists in a certain equilibrium established on the\nbasis of certain conditions--wants and sentiments in moral agents.\" It\ninvolves advance just for this reason, because the act of adjustment\nimplied in good conduct itself alters the sentiments of the agent, and\ncreates new needs demanding a new satisfaction. The change is not always\nin the same direction, however; for cultivation in one direction may\ncause the individual to become aware of capacities or wants in quite\nanother direction, or the advocacy of one side of a question, persevered\nin, may so open up the other side as to end in complete change of view.\nIn any case, however, there is an enlargement of experience, and the old\nfacts are themselves changed by it as well as are the individuals\nsubject to it.\n\nThis change or adjustment leads to a maladjustment requiring a new\nadjustment. This maladjustment is to be distinguished from the\nreaerrangements which are contemplated by the statical ideal and due to\nthe mere rotation of wants in society; the latter are within the moral\nsystem as a system of mobile equilibrium. The maladjustment is of\nanother sort. \"The good act ceases to be good by its performance. The\nmoral ideal ceases to satisfy.\" The two forms of change may be compared\nrespectively to a shifting of position on the same locus, and to such a\nshifting of position as involves a shifting of locus. Thus, by change\nafter change of this sort, a new variety replaces its parent, and this\nvariety in time producing a fresh variety, there is finally reached a\nnew species. Progress thus becomes a necessary fact, and the difference\nof so-called stationary societies from progressive ones can lie only in\nthe comparative slowness of change.\n\n\"As there is a difference between different societies in rate of change,\nso there is a similar difference as between different parts of conduct.\"\nLaw, a part of morality, lags behind in moral progress. However, there\nis nevertheless always advancement, otherwise legislators would be\nunnecessary. And the direct outward change of form is preceded by other\nchange, laws which fall into disfavor by means of moral progress being\nmodified, in application, within the possible limits of interpretation,\nand less and less rigidly enforced. There is good reason why law should\nhave a certain permanence.\n\nThe moral standard appears to have a similar more or less fixed\ncharacter, while morality itself is in continuous change. There are two\nreasons for this appearance: (1) the changes in the moral order are\ninfinitesimal and not perceived by us except as accumulated through some\nperiod of time; and, moreover, what is commonly called the moral\nstandard is only a kind of generalization from the extremely various\nopinions of different persons as to what is right, and differs from the\nreal standard which \"registers the conduct constituting equilibrium, and\nis possessed by the good man. Perfectly good men are impossible. The\nstandard current is therefore nothing more than a common understanding,\nwhich every one, even every good man, expresses differently; it is no\nmore an exact expression of the truth than is, let us say, a great\nscientific conception (like development) which regulates all knowledge,\nbut is amongst the educated little more than the name of a general way\nof thinking, while the thing itself is becoming, at the hands of men of\nscience, modified or even transformed.\" (2) The mistake is often made of\ndescribing morality, not by institutions, but in terms of virtues, and\nwhile the name applied to different virtues remains the same, their\ncontent changes from age to age.\n\nThis idea of variability affects the statical conception of order with\nregard to habit--the moral requirement being that the fixed habits of\nmorality should not be so fixed as to be incapable of advancement; and\nwith regard to conscience, of which it might be said that, instead of\nrepresenting the moral order, it was more occupied in changing than in\nmaintaining it, but which in reality thus represents the moral order, to\nwhich the ideal is a changing one.\n\nTwo difficulties or objections may arise with regard to this idea of a\nchanging ideal. The progress has been represented by personifying the\nideal and supposing the person to change with each new ideal. Again,\n\"goodness consists, we saw, of a system of conduct in the individual\nhimself or in society, and this system forms a series in time. It would\nseem to follow that, if goodness is always progressive, no second act\nwould be performed under the same law, although the very idea of the law\nmeans a series of acts.\" But we are not to suppose that, if fifty good\nmen in a society act rightly, fifty new ideals are established, for the\nideal represents the equilibrium of the members of the society, and it\ndepends on whether the new ideals of the fifty men represent the new\nequilibrium whether we shall call the persons good or bad. Again, the\nideal at any moment would be in fact realized in a series, supposing the\nconditions did not alter meanwhile; and while the system of conduct is\nserial, it is realized at any one moment in the mind of the man whose\nsentiments correspond to its requirements.\n\n\"In this process we see exhibited the interplay of the element of\ngoodness or rightness with that of perfection. In all actual goodness,\nwe have perfection attained as well; but in the statical notion of\ngoodness perfection is subordinate--only that exercise is perfect which\nis legitimate. But in the notion of progressive goodness, perfection\nregains its rights. For goodness, having secured perfection, creates new\nmaterials which destroy the old equilibrium and call for a new one.\nGoodness determines perfection, but change in perfection determines,\ntherefore, changes in goodness.\" Morality is the creation of a better;\nthis better is change from a lower to a higher development, not the\ngrowth of a greater rightness. All good conduct is _absolutely_ good,\nand the good man of former days was as good as the good man of to-day,\nalthough he performed acts not allowable by the higher moral standard\nattained as highest development. Accordingly, there is no such thing as\nan absolute morality, in comparison with which other conduct is variable\nand relative. The relativity of good conduct, instead of being a\nreproach, is in reality its highest praise, for it implies that the\nconduct takes account of exactly those conditions to which it is meant\nto apply. This conception of morality as absolute runs into that of\nmorality as an eternal and identical law: eternal, for the morality of\ngiven conditions remains eternally true for those conditions; identical,\nfor although it cannot be called identical in the sense that virtues do\nnot change with institutions, it is identical in form,--as an\nequilibrium of social forces in an order of conduct. The more important\nconception of the moral law is its unity in which, as the stages of one\ncontinuous law, its identity consists. \"Progress is not mere destruction\nof the lower, but fulfilment.\"\n\nIn considering how morality arises, it would be erroneous to suppose\nthat it comes into existence by an actual compromise. It arises through\na process of continuous change, parts of which may be an insensible\ngrowth, parts the self-conscious adoption of a proposed new scheme. In\nthe latter case, a slight reform may be adopted with but little\nopposition from members of the society other than the proposer, as\nmeeting a recognized, common want; or, in the case of a more extended\nreform, the idea as first proposed may be long contended against, and\nonly finally adopted after much alteration by reason of contact with\nsuch opposition. In its acceptance innumerable forces are combined,\ninnumerable different motives determine its acceptation by different\npersons. Whatever the motive, however, the conduct of the person\naccepting it alters in accordance with its acceptation.\n\nThe chief importance of pleasure and pain lies in the part they take in\nsuch choice. They are \"the tests of the act being suitable or the\nreverse to the character (in the widest sense) of the agent.\" If a\nreform does not suit the character, it will cause pain and urge to\nremoval of the pain by resistance; and on the other hand, when the\nreform is accepted, it must be that it gives pleasure to the persons\nconcerned. But in saying this we have to remember the distinction\nbetween ethical (or effective) and pathological (or incidental)\npleasures and pains. The total reaction of character on a stimulus may\nbe pleasurable, but this pleasure results from a mixture of pleasures\nand pains weighed against one another. This balancing of pleasures and\npains is not reflective, but takes place by a kind of intuitive act in\nwhich only subsequent reflection may be able to distinguish the\nelements. The pleasure or pain involved in acceptance or rejection is\nnot the ground of acceptance or rejection. The cause of the acceptance\nor rejection is the nature of the reform itself, its congruity or\nincongruity with the natures of the persons accepting or rejecting it.\n\"When the new ideal is definitely established, those who do not obey it\nare bad, those who do are good.\" Those who were good under the old may\nthus be bad under the new ideal, and _vice versa_.\n\nThe gradual reform through the choice of individuals who act upon their\nfeelings without knowing the whole aim or bearing of their conduct is\nsimilar to that where a definite reform is the end in view. It is a\ngradual adjustment of wills under new conditions and represents the\nposition of equilibrium which would be completely realized if all the\nsociety were good.\n\nThe new ideal is not to be defined as merely the will of the majority,\nthe possession of a majority being nothing but the fact of its\nprevalence. The ground of prevalence is that it represents the\nequilibrium. \"There is no virtue in mere preponderance; it is not that\nreforms follow the majority, but that a majority is attracted by a\nsuitable reform.\"\n\nA new ideal arises by a struggle of varieties analogous to that in the\norganic world,--the word \"struggle\" being metaphorical in both cases,\nsince actual conflict is not necessary to either. \"The distinction of\ngood and bad corresponds to the domination of one variety... which has\ncome to prevail in virtue of its being a social equilibrium,\" and thus\nrepresenting suitability to all the conditions of life. Evil is simply\nthat which has been rejected and defeated in the struggle with the good.\n\nThe reformer, as not representing the predominating ideal and so the\nsocial equilibrium, and the man who turns out to be bad by the new\nideal, thus stand originally upon the same level. \"Each is an instance\nof a variety of the original species, but the former is the successful\nvariety\"; his ideal \"represents the real forces of society and can be\nadopted by the whole.\" The struggle is one of character and conduct, and\nresults not necessarily in the extinction of life, but in the extinction\nof unsuitable ideals.\n\n\"The distinction of the _formally_ bad from the _materially_ good rests\nupon the transition from the old ideal to the new, though sometimes we\nuse those terms as describing what is only legally wrong though morally\napproved. A reformer, until his reform is established, is formally\nwrong. He can be considered materially right only prospectively;... time\nonly can prove whether he had really forecast the movement of his\nsociety.\" \"Sometimes a society may be so divided, as in our civil war,\nthat neither variety is predominant. In such a case we must say, not\nthat there was no rule of right, but that there was a different rule for\neach of the two halves of the nation.\" \"There does not arise any need\nfor the distinction of formally and materially right conduct, until the\nlimits have been overstepped, within which it is in any age considered\nright for a man to act upon his own conviction. These limits are placed\nvery differently in different ages.\"\n\nDoes good action, then, depend on the bad man as well as on the good?\n\"Good and evil arise together, and good is therefore always relative to\nevil, but we do not therefore take our morality from the bad. We cannot,\nin fact, know who is bad until the standard is created, but once\ncreated, we maintain it against bad men by punishment. But, on the other\nhand, the moral standard does depend upon the forces which, when allowed\nfree play, are distinguished as bad.... A large part of conduct consists\nof precautions which it is not only legitimate but incumbent to take,\nbut which we should dispense with under happier conditions.... And in a\nsecond way, morality depends on 'badness,' for when a habit of action\nwhich we dislike and call bad comes to be strong enough to make itself\nfelt, we seek to satisfy its claims as reasonable. There is... no\nexternal standard by which we can settle once and for all what claims\nare legitimate and what are not. We derive our conception of the\nreasonableness of things from our experience of their vitality and\neffective powers. A wise man who thinks the feelings and beliefs of his\nneighbors ridiculous will, by persuasion or force, resist them with all\nhis energies, but when he finds them persist in spite of all his\nefforts, he will recognize that there are more things in human nature\nthan stir within the narrow limits of his own breast. If what we now\ncall bad conduct, murder, adultery, theft, could be conceived to become\npredominant under greatly changed and of course impossible conditions,\nit would cease to be bad and would be the ideal of life.\"\n\nFrom the view that morality depends upon victory, misconceptions may\narise. The question may be asked: Should one, in case of doubt, follow\none's own conviction, or join the side it is thought will prevail? But\nthat good is created by predominance is a theory of the means by which\nideals come into existence, not a statement of the motive of those who\nparticipate in the struggle. The struggle is between characters and\ntheir forces, and not victory is the end, but the assertion of certain\nprinciples.\n\n\"Interest or good in general is a different conception from the right or\nthe morally good. Interest means what is good for an individual\nconsidered from his own point of view, and without regard to similar\nclaims of other individuals. It is the maximum of happiness or\nsatisfaction which he can secure under his conditions. By 'maximum\nhappiness' is meant that distribution of satisfactions or of the\nenergies which produce them, any deviation from which on either side\nimplies a less fulness of life.\" It refers, however, to his good as a\nsocial, not as an isolated individual.\n\nAs a general rule, interest is in agreement with goodness; misdeeds are\nunprofitable. But there are instances where goodness and interest do not\ncoincide, though not in the case of the good man. That virtue and\ninterest are in general identical means, statically, that morality is a\nreconciliation of interests by which wants are satisfied, and is\nestablished by the creation of a new type of character, which has wants\nof only certain kinds; and, dynamically, it represents the fact that\nforces are arrayed on the side of the good which are too powerful for\nthe bad. \"Good is the victorious ideal\"; and though we may say that it\nwould really be to the bad man's interest to be bad, if circumstances\nwere such that his variety could maintain itself, we may add that such\nhypothetical interests cannot be secured. However, interest does not\ncoincide with morality--\n\n(1) Where the individual does not care for punishments and social\ncensures. (2) Where a man, by reason of certain superiorities of force\nover others with whom he is more directly in contact, is able to obtain\npower and suppress their resistance, or where the moral weakness of\nothers leaves him unpunished. In these exceptional cases, we have the\ncontradictory phenomenon that an ideal which can maintain its existence\nis yet declared to be bad. \"Such cases mark a stage of transition in the\nprocess by which the distinction of good or bad is established.\" In the\nstruggle of animal species, the same phenomenon may be found; an\nexceptional individual of a vanishing variety maintains his existence\nfor a time by reason of his exceptional endowment or of coming in\ncontact merely with the weaker members of the successful variety.\n\nThere are two ways in which the moral ideal is maintained,--by education\nand by punishment. Punishment is the condemnation of wrong-doing by\ncensure or by legal penalties. The unpleasant consequences of neglect of\nthe self-regarding virtues are not punishment; but the reaction of the\ngood forces of society against wrong-doing is as natural as the\nunpleasant physical effects of imprudence.\n\n\"If the question as to what moral sanction is means, 'What reason is\nthere why morality exists?' the answer lies not in enumerating the\npenalties of wrong-doing, but in tracing the origin of morality as an\nequilibrium of the forces of society.... But the question, 'Why should I\nbe moral?' means, most naturally and usually, What inducements are there\nto me to do right?\" The answer is that motives differ for different\nindividuals. With some, outer social inducements, with others, the\napprobation and disapprobation of conscience are stronger. These latter\nethical pains and pleasures which are felt at the idea of an action\nstand on a different footing from feelings having regard to external\nrewards and punishments and also the prospective pleasures and pains of\nconscience. The man who does right because he shrinks from prospective\npains of conscience is not a good man, but intermediate morally between\nthe bad man who seeks only to escape legal punishment and the good man\nwhose pains of conscience felt at the idea of a wrong act prevent his\nperforming it.\n\nPunishment wears different shapes according to the point of view from\nwhich it is regarded, but, in the distinctively moral view, is\nreformatory. All punishment is retribution, but not in the sense that it\nis personal vengeance. The value of this idea of retribution lies in the\nfact that it places punishment on a line with the process of\nself-assertion by which species maintain their life; it is a part of the\nreaction of the organism against anything which impedes its vitality.\nIf, however, punishment avenges the evil deed, it is a confusion to say\nthat it is for the sake of vengeance. The purpose in the mind of those\npunishing is not necessarily vengeance, and the idea of mere retribution\nis repugnant to the good man. From the juridic point of view, the object\nof punishment is prevention; from the moral point of view, reformation.\nThe reformation seeks to destroy a bad ideal, and does not necessarily\ndestroy the individual in whom it is found; but in some cases the\nwrong-doer's mind is so perverted that only death, it is judged, will\nsuffice. \"Here, too, paradoxical as it may seem, though perhaps the\nchief object of our punishment is the indirect one of bettering others,\nwe punish with death in order to make him a good man and to bring him\nwithin the ideal of society.... The penalty of death is thought\nnecessary to bring home to him the enormity of his guilt.\"\n\nThe object of punishment is not always achieved, but this matters not\nfor its moral character, which lies in its conscious object. The idea of\npunishment as reconciling the criminal with society includes the aspect\nof retribution or expiation, under which punishment may be viewed from\nwithout; but it is only when the suffering is attended by reformation\nthat it can be considered in a proper sense expiation or atonement.\n\nResponsibility differs from obligation by introduction of the element of\npunishment. Obligation is the necessity of good conduct which arises out\nof the relation of the act to the order of which it forms a part.\n\"Responsibility is the negative aspect of this relation. When I think of\nconduct as required of me, I think of it as my duty; when I think of it\nas conduct which if I do not perform, I shall be rightly punished, I\nhave the sense of responsibility.\" The sense of responsibility is thus a\nknowledge of the requirements of the law, and it is only as we have\nlaw-abiding instincts that we feel it; and we feel it differently\naccording as we think of the authority of the law as derived from its\nmere enactment or as founded upon the social good, or as established in\nour own conscience and self-respect, which represent the social good. As\nincluding recognition of certain conduct as right, the sense of\nresponsibility is more than the mere knowledge and fear of punishment.\n\"It is only those who can appreciate that punishment will be deserved to\nwhom the idea of responsibility applies. There is, therefore, no\ndifference between the fact of responsibility and the sense of\nresponsibility, any more than there is between goodness and the feeling\nof approbation, or duty and the sense of duty. When we declare a bad\nman responsible, we mean that the good man holds him to be justly\npunished.\"\n\nResponsibility depends, then, on two things,--that a man is capable of\nbeing influenced by what is right, and that whatever he does is\ndetermined by his character. This capacity depends on his being aware of\nthe meaning of his acts, and so of their connection with other acts, and\ncontains thus an element not present in the relations of animals.\n\n\"Except for the authority of one or two great names, there seems to be a\ngeneral agreement that the will is determined by character.\" If\ncharacter means the principle of volition, as it is regarded in our\nanalyses, the assertion is a truism. It is no less true if character is\ndefined as disposition; all our dealings with our fellow-men reckon on\ntheir acting in accordance with their character. The distinction made by\nGreen that the mind acts from its own nature (the motive and the whole\nprocess of willing being within the mind) is no more and no less true of\nthe action of other bodies. The emergence of new sentiments in character\nmight be urged as an argument for free will; but this is of no more\nsignificance than the budding of trees in springtime. The sense of\nfreedom is the sense of choice between two motives; but this merely\ndepends upon the intellectual property that the object willed is present\nto consciousness,--in case of choice two objects being present to the\nmind. \"So far is the consciousness of freedom from being a ground for\nassuming an arbitrary or undetermined power of volition that it is\nexactly what would be expected to accompany the process of determination\nwhen the object concerned was a conscious mind. Pull a body to the right\nwith a force of twelve pounds and to the left with a force of eight; it\nmoves to the right. Imagine that body a mind aware of the forces which\nact upon it; it will move in the direction of that which, for whatever\nreason, appeals to it most; and in doing so it will, just because it is\nconscious, act of itself, and will have the consciousness of freedom.\"\nBut which motive is chosen is fixed and dependent upon character, that\ncannot choose otherwise than it does; and the sense of freedom is a\nsheer delusion. The feeling that one ought to have acted otherwise\nimplies another sort of freedom, according to which he only is truly\nfree who chooses the right; in such choice it is, however, the\ncharacter which acts, and though a man is free, in this sense, _if he\nchooses_, his choice is determined. The argument of free will in regard\nto punishment does not explain punishment, but renders it inexplicable.\nIt would be senseless to punish except as, by so doing, we can influence\na man's character. Determinism does not make punishment wrong; it is not\ncruelty, but kindness to punish: it saves a man from worse, from\ndegradation of character, enabling him to change his ideal, and thus\nbringing himself into equilibrium with his kind. The reason of certain\ndoubts which are beginning to be felt to-day with regard to punishment\nis the larger knowledge of the dependence of men on their surroundings,\nhence of the culpability of society as a whole; it is not an objection\nto responsibility as such, but to the distribution of responsibility.\n\nEducation, the second means by which the moral ideal is defended, is not\nidentical with social progress, by which the moral ideal is itself\nchanged, but is the individual progress included within each definite\nmoral ideal. Education and progress are, however, inseparably bound\ntogether, in that education goes hand in hand with punishment, and in\nthat it leads to the discovery of new ideals. If we take only the\nirregular line which includes the good, and discard the ideals which are\nexterminated or left behind, the movement of ideals is continuous with\neducation, and progress may therefore be described as an education of\nsociety. The education of children has to put them in possession of the\npresent moral achievement, and to make them independent individuals,--so\nto penetrate them with the moral order that it shall appear in them as\nspontaneous character. It is an evolving of an ideal already present;\nfor, to be capable of education, a person must have already set foot on\nthe right path.\n\nAs in the physical world, so in the moral, we have the survival of many\ndifferent genera and species,--various ideals of conduct or institutions\nof life, some of which may be grouped together by strong resemblances,\nothers of which stand to each other in the relation of lower to higher\norganisms; the survival of archaic institutions in the higher as well as\ntheir history of progress showing their affinities with the lower.\n\"History is the palaeontology of moral ideals,\" and provides us with a\nbetter means of studying the growth of morality than exists for the\nstudy of the growth of species. As in the organic world, varieties\ndevelop from species by a gradual and continuous movement of sentiment,\neach successful variation forming the basis of a new variation, and the\ndifferences of the varieties from each other and from the original\nspecies increasing with their distance from the original species, until\nthe difference amounts to a difference of species. We may call these\nmodifications \"accidental,\" but, as in the physical world, they are so\nonly as we regard them from the position occupied by a person before the\nevent; they have their causes if we can find them. These causes are to\nbe found in the contact of different minds. Variability depends to a\nconsiderable extent on the size of a genus, but only in so far as\ngreater size involves greater complexity and variety of interests; the\nvast but homogeneous societies of the East being less progressive than\nthe smaller but more complex ones of the West. \"Where freer scope is\nleft to individual inclinations or aptitudes, there the friction of mind\nagainst mind is more intense. New ideas are generated in the more vivid\nconsciousness of the people, and life becomes more inventive.\"\n\nSpecies developed from a common genus will show some common traits and\nsome rules of mutual observance, savage peoples which have divided into\ntribes being an exception to the latter part of the statement, for the\nreason that lower societies have very little moral cohesion; they may be\ncompared to lower organisms which reproduce themselves by fission, or to\nhomogeneous colonies of animals, like sponges. Under the generic\ninstitutions we must not include those which arise merely as the result\nof similar circumstances. Ideals once formed advance at very different\nrates, though the tendency to divergence is always being corrected by\nthe diffusion of ideas. But where one nation takes ideas from another,\nthese ideas are not borrowed, in the sense that they come wholly from\nthe other nation; there must have been, in the borrowing nation, a\ndevelopment of ideas up to the point that makes the borrowing\npossible,--a similar development to that of the nation from which the\nborrowing takes place, due to similar circumstances. The communication\nof moral ideas does not depend upon race-community, as is shown by the\nready adoption of Western ideas by such nations as the Hindoos and\nJapanese.\n\nIn general language, we identify development and progress; and this is\ntrue also in the case of morality. Goodness means progress; wickedness,\nretrogression or else stagnation, which, compared with advance, is\nretrogression. \"In changing from one form to another, morality changes\nfrom what is right under one set of conditions to what is right under\nanother set, and such change from good to good is what we mean by\nbecoming better. To deny this is to find some other standard of advance\nthan in the actual movement which has taken place, to put an _a priori_\nconception of development in place of the facts.\" \"The moral ideal is\nalways, therefore, a progress, for either the society is single, and\ngoodness represents the law of its advance, or if the society is part of\na larger one, its ideal can be retrogressive only because the society is\nso far bad.\" \"And since goodness and badness exhaust the field of moral\npossibilities, if the propositions that goodness means progress, and\nbadness regress, are both true, we must be able to convert them, and\nmaintain that all progress is due to goodness and all regress to\nbadness.\" To do this, we must distinguish between degradation and a mere\ndegeneration which involves a return to simpler conditions as an\nadaptation to changed environment. Such degeneration as adaptation to\ncircumstances, in an individual or a society as a whole, is progress.\nFish who become blind by living in the dark become thus better fitted to\ntheir circumstances, and the like is true of moral degeneration under\nsimpler conditions. Old age and death are characteristic of the higher\ntype of organism, in distinction from the lower types which, multiplying\nby fission, are practically eternal; they are conditions of the\nadvantage of type, in which the individual is partaker. So a good\nsociety under simpler conditions is on the side of progress, though it\nmay lie outside the main line of advance.\n\nIt is true that bad persons often help on progress, but the good they do\nlies in their representation of the will of society for progress, the\nevil lies in their use of this will as means to their own ends. It may\nbe objected, too, that the good man is sometimes a hindrance to progress\nthrough stupidity; but to this is to be answered that intellect itself\nbecomes morally characterized in action.\n\nAll events and institutions are thus determined by their conditions; but\nthere is a movement forward distinguishable from the delay of stragglers\nand the resistance of enemies, and this distinction is enforced by the\nmoral predicates of good and bad.\n\nOur theory does not imply that whatever is, is right; such a statement\ninvolves the use of the word right in the sense of \"correct,\" or\n\"intelligible,\" \"accountable by reflection.\" Nor is the doctrine\nfatalistic. Fatalism implies that men act at the impulse of some force\nwhich they do not understand; \"but the history of mankind is the history\nof beings who, through their own gift of consciousness, subdue\ncircumstances to their own characters.\" In judging a nation's\ndevelopment, we must not interpret it according to our own likings, as\nprogression or retrogression; nor must we imagine retrogression from\nrelaxation of duties in some certain directions, but must regard the\nsociety and its institutions as a whole.\n\nThe test of higher organization usually given is that of increasing\ndifferentiation of parts with corresponding specialization of function.\nBut the main course of progress is not linear, or in one continuous\ndirection; apparent reversions to former types are only apparent; the\nnew type stands higher than the old. In other words, history moves in\ncycles. It follows, from this, that mere differentiation is insufficient\nfor definition. While the differentiation advances, its significance\nalters, or, let us say, the relative places of specialization and of\nunity alter. Along with differentiation goes a process of integration.\nGreat revolutions simplify. The result of greater and greater\nheterogeneity is to produce a new principle, which combines the warring\nelements. The definition of progress by increased differentiation is\nlacking in two ways: It tells us nothing of the forces by which progress\nis produced, and it gives no connected view of the actual facts of\nhistorical development. A general statement of progress in its formal\nsense is found in the conception of a struggle of ideals. But as in this\nstruggle the survival of the fittest does not necessarily mean the\ndestruction of those who represented the defeated ideal, but the\nsupplanting of their ideal by another, the movement is one of\ncomprehension, and we should expect to find, and do find, the history of\nmorality exhibit the gradual development of a universal moral order,\ngood not for one group of men but for all. It would be a misapprehension\nto regard this change as merely quantitative, as if the virtues were the\nsame whether they applied on a larger or a smaller scale. \"The\nquantitative extension is parallel with, and in reality proceeds from, a\nchange in the conception of the human person himself.\" In primitive\ncommunities, the individual is so limited that he can hardly be called\nan individual at all. First among the Greeks do we find the person the\nembodiment of the social order, but in a limited sense. \"When this\nlimitation breaks down, and the individual stands forth as independent\nand self-conscious, the author of the laws he obeys, we have at the same\ntime the extension of the area of persons with whom he is in moral\nrelation.\"\n\n\"It matters little that the Western ideal of a society of humanity is\nrealized to so slight an extent. The ideal exists and implies the\ninclusion of mankind.\" The principle of democracy, which we are engaged\nin working out, \"continues, or perhaps supersedes, under much more\ncomplex conditions and over a wider range of institutions, the same\nprinciple as Christianity introduced.\" It is not merely an identical\nelement in many individual states, but a comprehensive ideal. The power\nof naturalization, extradition laws, international action among the\nworking classes, etc., imply this.\n\nThis \"comprehension\" is not merely one of breadth, but of depth as well:\nthe ideal includes not only the present of mankind, but its whole future\nalso. Duties have always been recognized to posterity, but the range of\ngenerations to whom they applied was small, and the interests which it\nwas believed could be secured were limited also. _Apres moi le deluge_\ndescribes a form of selfishness of all ages, but different ages have\nunderstood the _apres moi_ quite differently. At the present day, the\nrange of responsibility is extending indefinitely.\n\nA common political ideal does not mean a universal peace. Coarser forms\nof dispute disappear, but, on the other hand, as nations grow more\nrefined in their ideals, they grow more susceptible. What a political\nhumanity, or a political community of Europe, would mean, is the\nsubstitution of international punishment for the self-willed conflicts\nof irresponsible nations.\n\nWe cannot say what the future of society and of morality may\nbe,--whether mankind will be able to take mechanical means against a\nperiod of ice, or whether human society may not, as a whole, be\ndestroyed, to be replaced by a higher type of existence, which may arise\non the earth from the development of humanity, or may, on some other\nplanet, take up the tale of human civilization as we take up that of the\ncivilization of Greece and Rome.\n\nTwo things follow from the progressive character of the moral ideal: (1)\nthat the classification and description of duties will vary with each\nage; (2) that, as the ideal changes from age to age, the highest moral\nprinciple or sentiment will change with it.\n\nAt the present time, a belief has gained great authority, that the sense\nof duty is transitory and will finally disappear; but whether we, with\nSpencer, identify obligation with coercion, or understand it as the\nrelation of a part of conduct to the rest, in neither sense is the\nproposition true as it stands. If duty means constraint, it by no means\nfollows that constraint will cease with progress; for constraint arises\nfrom confronting one inclination with a higher idea, and its\ndisappearance would mean that inclinations had become constant; this is,\nhowever, impossible. The fiction of a final stage of mobile equilibrium\nis an unwarranted conclusion from the fact that all morality involves a\ncycle of conduct in mobile equilibrium. But the theory represents a\ntruth,--the truth that morality at no time implies in itself the sense\nof duty. The sense of duty, as involving the hard feeling of compulsion,\nof subjection to authority, and bound up with the sense of sin, a sense\nstronger in proportion to merit or the interval between first\ninclination and final moral willing, may and is giving place to a higher\nconception. In the family, this may already be found, where\nself-sacrifice and aid are matters of affection and rendered freely. In\nthe higher ideal, we have that love of man for a higher and larger order\nthan himself which morality represents as solidarity with society, a\ncontinually progressive society of free individuals; which religion\nrepresents as the love for and of God.\n\nAnd at the last two questions may be asked: (1) whether the difficulties\nin which Christianity is placed at the present day do not arise from\nabsorption of its highest idea into the conceptions and the practice of\nmorality, so that the religious sentiment is starved; and (2) whether\nthe ideal of a free cooeperation in the progress of humanity may not be\nused to interpret the belief in immortality, putting in the place of\nindividual immortality the continuance of life in the persons whom the\nindividual may affect. In \"The International Journal of Ethics\" July,\n1892, Alexander combats some misinterpretations of \"Natural Selection in\nMorals,\" which he says are partly due to Spencer's Individualism.\nNatural Selection in social life does not mean necessarily destruction\nof individuals, but is a struggle of ideals, such as that between\nIndividualism and Collectivism,--in which Selection seems to favor\nCollectivism.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[82] The reference is here to Wundt, \"Phys. Psych.,\" I. p. 485 (ed.\nII.).\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX TO PART I\n\nPAUL REE\n\n\nDr. Paul Ree's \"Source of the Moral Feelings\" (\"Ursprung der moralischen\nEmpfindungen,\" 1877), is written from a pessimistic and mechanical\nstandpoint. The connection of thought and feeling in the region of\nmorals is, according to Ree, a purely, or very nearly a purely, outward\none, moral judgments not being the result of sympathy or antipathy, or\nrelated to these feelings in more than an external manner, but arising\nfrom associations of ideas engendered by education; the Sense of Justice\nbeing, in this manner, the effect of Punishment. A definite distinction\nis likewise made by Ree, between vice, which affects the individual\nonly, and badness, which affects society, the profligate who satisfies\nhis lust in the most unrestrained manner being regarded as perhaps\nunwise, but not bad, as long as he does not seduce the pure. The author\nfails, however, to show us how vice can be practised without social\ninjury, and necessarily fails also--since his position takes into\naccount no organic relations of characteristics--to notice the\nsignificance of profligacy as an inherent feature of character. He\ntouches at one or two points, only, on Habit, and at one point alone on\nHeredity, where he raises the question of the hereditary character of\nVanity, but arrives at no conclusion. He also makes the division of\nEgoism from Non-egoism a definite one, fully identifying the Good with\nthe Non-egoistic, the Bad with the Egoistic. The Non-egoistic really\nexists; a man may relieve another's suffering in order to free himself\nfrom the sight of it; or he may relieve it for the other's sake.\nNevertheless, non-egoistic action is rare; men are much more egoistic\nthan the apes, who are rivals only with regard to food and sexual\ndesire, while men are rivals not only with respect to these primitive\nwants, but with respect to many others besides, especially since they\nnot only regard the present but provide for the future also.\n\nVanity, according to Ree, gives rise to envy, hatred, and malignity.\nBut, the action of these passions being opposed to the safety of\nsociety, some persons[83] introduced punishment for its protection, and\nfear of punishment, and exchange of labor united men in peace. Deeds and\nnever motives were at first considered in the infliction of punishment,\nbut, outer compulsion not securing safety, the ideal of an inner\ncondition of character which should secure it arose. \"Good\" and \"useful\"\nare synonyms, but men of later generations, receiving laws without\nexplanation of their origin, fail to understand that the Good was, in\nits origin, simply the Useful, that the Bad was, in like manner, the\nHarmful, and that Punishment is for the purpose of prevention and not in\nthe nature of a return for things done. The knowledge of this truth\ntakes from life some of its grandeur; but the truth remains the truth,\nnevertheless.\n\nThe will is not free; the mistake of regarding it as free is the result\nof the failure to perceive that punishment looks to the future, not to\nthe past,--is a means of prevention, not a requital. The right to punish\ndoes not rest, therefore, upon the Sense of Justice; but punishment is\njustifiable as a means of prevention. Its choice, like that of other\nevils as the alternatives of greater ones, is the practice of the\nprinciple, The end justifies the means. Those who repudiate this\nprinciple have not generally looked deeply into its meaning; moreover,\nit has been misused. In putting it in practice, several things must be\nobserved:--\n\n1. The end to be served must be a good one;\n\n2. The choice of means causing pain is permissible only when no other\nmeans are possible;\n\n3. The pain must be reduced to the least possible;\n\n4. The pain must be less than would be involved in the omission of this\nparticular choice.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe doctrine of eternal punishment is untenable, because:--\n\n1. It presupposes the existence of a God.\n\n2. Supposing a God to be existent, we cannot name him either good or\nbad. \"God is good\" means \"He does good to the world and its\ninhabitants\"; but of the world we know only the little earth, and of God\nwe know nothing.\n\n3. If we will, nevertheless, predicate goodness or badness of God, we\nmust call him bad, since all beings known to us suffer much pain and\nhave little pleasure. The gods of the savages, who are not yet led away\nby theological hair-splitting, are evil.\n\n4. But if we still persist in naming God good, then we cannot suppose\nhim to be also cruel, and even more cruel than the hardest-hearted of\nmortals.\n\n5. The doctrine of eternal punishment assumes the existence of a soul;\nbut the difference between human beings and the higher animals is not so\ngreat that one can ascribe an especial soul to men.\n\n6. But if a soul exists, it cannot be tortured, since it is immaterial.\n\n7. And the deeds which God will thus punish deserve, on the theory of\npunishment as prevention, no requital.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is not immaterial to us whether men have a good or an evil opinion of\nus.\n\n1. Because we hope for advantages from a good opinion.\n\n2. Because we are vain.\n\nVanity arose, in the first place, because admiration was useful to men,\njust as it is useful to the birds at pairing-time, and habit rendered it\nagreeable in itself. Men therefore desire it, even when it has no\nespecial use, because \"they know that all admiration is followed by a\nstrong feeling of pleasure.\"[84] The difference between man and the\npeacock in respect to vanity is merely that he desires to be admired for\nother things than outer appearance alone,--for courage, strength,\ncleverness, the tools of battle, and many other things. Since, among\nhuman beings, men and not women choose their mates, endeavoring to\nobtain one or more of the most beautiful women possible, women endeavor\nto render themselves beautiful, expending greater efforts as the stake\nis greater in their case than in that of the peacock. They endeavor to\nsupplement their outward attractiveness by amiability, cleverness,\nhousehold industry, and, in our days, wealth; but beauty always makes\nthe strongest impression upon the man. Men desire to be admired rather\nfor other things than outward appearance, though for this, too, to some\nextent.\n\nBut vanity may be objected to (1) on the ground that it is a desire to\ncreate envy, and envy is pain and gives rise to hatred; (2) on the\nhedonistic ground that the vain man more often suffers pain from not\nbeing admired than experiences pleasure from admiration; (3) on the\nintellectual ground that vanity renders a man incapable of impersonal\ninterest in Nature, Art, Philosophy, and Science. Entire freedom from\nvanity could, however, be attained only by a life of complete isolation.\nBecause of these reasons for blame, men do not confess that they act\nfrom vanity, but give other reasons for deeds prompted by this\nfeeling.[85]\n\nAmbition may be blamed on grounds similar to those on which vanity is\nblamed. However, this feeling urges to many useful acts, and without it\nfew would find interest for great effort. And since, because of its\nusefulness, ambition is less blamed than vanity, men are more ready to\nacknowledge that they possess it.\n\nWe desire to appear well in the eyes of others, therefore we conceal our\nenvy and hatred, and affect high courage, great honesty, and charity.\nSuch hypocrisy is bad; but it is necessary. For if men were to show\nthemselves as they are, with hearts full of hostility, they could not at\nall associate. In order to make frankness and peace both possible, men\nmust become what they now pretend to be; but this does not lie in their\npower.\n\nMalignant pleasure in others' pain arises from a comparison with our own\nmore agreeable situation, or from the pleasure in our own superiority in\nany respect.\n\nWhen a woman is seduced, it is in the interest of other women to\nostracise her, since, if marriage were to be abolished, women would lose\nin position; the man who seduces her is blamed for bringing shame on\nher, but not for unchastity, for men have no interest in maintaining\nchastity in their own sex.\n\nCaprice arises, not from change of mood, but from the pleasure of power\nexperienced in now charming by amiability, now causing gloom by\ncoldness, and again inspiring fear through anger.\n\nIf one desires anything from another, one should not say, \"It is a\nlittle thing,\" but \"It is very much that I ask\"; since he who is asked\ngives more readily when he thinks he will appear very kind.\n\nNatural Selection does not prefer the individual as far as morals are\nconcerned, but only nations. Moral rules are variable, but not steadily\nprogressive. Man is by nature selfish; simply habit tames men and makes\nthem, by change in nerves and muscle, more amenable to rule.\n\nThe good man is probably worse off than the bad man. Pain exceeds\npleasure in all beings. Everything, love included, becomes worthless\nwhen attained, and labor begins again for new attainment. Man is,\nmoreover, the most unhappy of all beings, for he feels most strongly,\nand in his complicated organism there is almost always something out of\norder. For this reason, sympathy[86] brings more pain than pleasure. The\nbad man has only pangs of conscience to disturb him, and, if he is\nsuperstitious, the fear of punishment after death. It is difficult to\nsay whether the bad man or the good man is happier. In fact, happiness\ndepends rather on temperament, power of self-control, and health.\nPossibly these truths may seem harmful; and if the good man is higher\nthan the bad man, and goodness should be sought, only so much of the\ntruth should be revealed as is not antagonistic to this end. But the\ngood man is not the higher, although, because goodness is useful, our\neducation has attempted to make us believe this. The animals may be\nunselfish as well as man; on the other hand, the disinterested search\nfor truth is not found among the animals. The attainment of truth is,\nmoreover, pleasurable to the searcher, turning painful desire for truth\nto pleasurable fulfilment.\n\nDr. Ree's later book, \"The Origin of Conscience\" (\"Die Entstehung des\nGewissens,\" 1885), does not add anything distinctly new in theory to\nthis first book; it is rather noticeable for what it omits of the\npessimism of the earlier book, for a more moderate, thoughtful, and less\nassertive tone, than for additional theories or even much further\nelaboration of the old theories, except as regards the derivation of the\nSense of Justice. It traces the savage custom of the revenge of death\nthrough its displacement by the payment of blood-money, up to the final\nsubstitution of state punishment. Punishment does not grow out of\nrevenge, but succeeds it. It is not revenge, though the desire that the\nguilty may be punished and the desire for revenge may be mixed, in some\ncases. Pain, not the Sense of Justice, drives the savage to revenge.\nPunishment does not grow out of the Sense of Justice, but the latter out\nof the former. The interference of the state with the revenge of the\nindividual is at first a mediation between the two parties for the\nmaintenance of peace in the interest of the community; later, the state\narrives at a method of punishment for the purpose of prevention.\n\nHume's theory of the origin of religion has been confirmed by\nAnthropology. The savage sees in natural phenomena the action of living\nbeings endowed with mental faculties like his own, and he gradually\ncomes to transfer this action to beings not in, but, according to his\nnew idea, behind, phenomena. The gods of primitive religions are moral\nonly as the peoples whose gods they are, are moral. As society\nprogresses, religion falls behind, and a new interpretation of old\ndoctrines must be introduced in order to bring it up to the later\nstandard. Then the gods, as moral with the morality of this later date,\nare imagined as commanding the later standard, and to the fear of\npunishment by the state is added, as a preventive force, that of the\npunishment of the gods. The gods command what men command, forbid what\nmen forbid. The God of the Old Testament, Jahveh, was, like Zeus, a\nnature-god, and took revenge as men did. When a later date demanded a\nstandard of greater humanity, Christ came, and he represented the God\nof the Old Testament, no longer as revengeful and passionate, but as\npossessing the attributes of sympathy which he felt in himself. The\nlater standard of the New Testament takes into consideration motives as\nwell as deeds, and commands positively as well as forbids. But the God\nof the New Testament is not wholly love; if his love is unreturned, he\nbecomes angry, like men.\n\nThe Categoric Imperative in the individual is merely the result of his\nindividual education. Conscience alone accomplishes little; other\nmotives than the desire to do right--fear of punishment, etc.--are\nstronger. Nothing is, in itself, good or bad, but only so far as it is\nuseful or harmful.\n\nSympathy is to some degree innate,--how it arose we cannot say; but it\nhas been preserved by natural selection.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[83] P. 46.\n\n[84] P. 78.\n\n[85] See, in contradistinction to Ree's theory of vanity, Sigwart's\nadmirable essay on this subject, contained in his \"Kleine Schriften.\"\n\n[86] Dr. Ree appears to depart from his general theory here and identify\nsympathy with morality.\n\n\n\n\nA REVIEW OF EVOLUTIONAL ETHICS\n\nPART II\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nTwenty years ago, any one about to deal with moral science from the\nstandpoint of the Theory of Evolution, might have deemed it necessary to\npreface his work with a statement of cogent reasons for the assumption\nof such a standpoint. At a time when Theology saw in Darwinism only a\nweapon of the anti-theological party, and when even many scientists were\nnot yet decided as to the worth of the new ideas, the right of the\nstudent to make use of them in psychological and ethical investigations\nmight have been a subject for dispute. Yet even in the beginning the\nattitude of apology was assumed oftener without, than within,\nEnglish-speaking countries, for the very reason that exactly among the\nrace from which Darwin sprang, the warfare of his conception of animate\nnature with older systems was fiercest. At the present date, the\nattitude of opinion is changed in all countries. The Theory of Evolution\nhas few, if it can be said to have any, enemies among the students of\nscience. \"With Louis Agassiz died the last opponent of Darwinism\ndeserving scientific notice,\" says Haeckel.[87] Theology itself has\nceased from extreme hostilities, and many theologians have even found in\nthe idea of Evolution an argument with which to defend teleological\ndoctrine. The present opponents of Darwinism as applied to psychology\nand ethics rather contest its special worth for these provinces than\ndeny its validity in them. Nevertheless, a universal acceptance cannot\nbe claimed for the theory; and since ethics is, above all other\nsciences, the one that should most desire to persuade rather than to\nalienate,--and this the more, the stronger its conviction of its own\ntruth,--it may be well to state or restate some of the reasons which\njustify, from almost all modern standpoints, at least a tentative\napplication of the ideas of Evolution to ethical theory. Such a\nstatement, or restatement, must be an attempt to demonstrate the\nvalidity of the theory in this province, and to give some good reasons\nfor supposing, _a priori_, that a survey of ethical questions from the\npoint of view it furnishes may be of ethical utility. The proof of such\nutility can be found, ultimately, only in the results of the\ninvestigation itself.\n\nThere is but one phase of the theological doctrine of Creation with\nwhich the mere idea of an evolution of life, by itself considered, is\ndirectly at variance; this is the doctrine of Creation as taught by the\nolder Theology, which accepted the opening chapters of Genesis as\nliteral history, not as, by any possibility, an oriental allegory.\nBetween the theory of Evolution and the idea of Creation as a primal\nformation of matter with force or motion in accordance with fixed laws,\nbetween it and the idea of an initial application of force from\nwithout,--an impulsion which set the universe in motion,--between it and\nthe conception of a transcendental guidance through natural law or of a\npantheistic order of development, there is no such necessary\ncontradiction as could justify the denial of Evolution from the\nstandpoint of any of these theories. It is, therefore, with the\ndefenders of the older theological doctrine of creation only that an _a\npriori_ defence of Evolution has to deal.\n\nThe argument which this doctrine has always regarded as one of its\nstrongest defences is that of the universality of the notion of a\nCreating Spirit. But this defence is no longer available; modern\nresearch has proved the idea to be by no means universal. Sir John\nLubbock says, \"The lower races have no idea of a Creation; and among\nthose somewhat more advanced it is, at first, very incomplete.\" \"The\nlower savages regard their gods as scarcely more powerful than\nthemselves;... they are not creators; they are neither omniscient nor\nall-powerful; far from conferring immortality on man, they are not even\nin all cases immortal themselves.\"[88] \"Stuhr, who was, as Mueller says,\na good observer of such matters, reports that the Siberians had no idea\nof a Creator. When Burchill suggested the idea of creation to the\nBachapin Kaffirs, these 'asserted that everything made itself,' and that\ntrees and herbage grew by their own will.\"[89] \"As regards Tahiti,\nWilliams observes that the 'origin of the gods and their priority of\nexistence in comparison with the formation of the earth, being a matter\nof uncertainty even among the native priests, involves the whole in the\ngreatest obscurity.'\"[90] \"When the Capuchin missionary, Merolla, asked\nthe queen of Singa in Western Africa who made the world, she, 'without\nthe least hesitation, readily answered, \"My ancestors.\"'\"[91] \"The\nBongos of Sudan had no conception of there being a Creator,\"[92] the\nAdipones, the Californian Indians, before they came in contact with\nwhite men, the Crees, the Zulu Kaffirs, the Hottentots, had no idea of a\ncreation. \"Even in Sanscrit, there is no word for creation, nor does any\nsuch appear in the Rigveda, the Zendavesta, or in Homer.\"[93] The idea\nof a creation in any sense is not, then, universal, and cannot be\nasserted to be innate, _a priori_, primordial, or essential to human\nnature. Nor, assuming the standpoint of belief in a Creator, is there\nany ground for supposing that he would have chosen the one rather than\nany other method of creation. The internal as well as the external\ndifficulties in the way of a too literal exegesis of the Old Testament\nare rapidly causing the abandonment of dogmatism with respect to this\npoint; and any other interpretation than a literal one cannot, as has\nbeen said, logically object to a theory of Becoming based on scientific\ngrounds.\n\nIt is in the nature of many of our greatest scientific theories that\ntheir simplicity and naturalness in the explanation of facts fill us\nwith a sense of wonder that they had not long before suggested\nthemselves to scientists. If, for instance, we were to attempt, in a\nCartesian spirit, to free ourselves from all the prejudice of previous\ndogma and regard only the general course of nature, we could not\nlogically avoid the conclusion, even from a superficial view, that a\ntheory of the gradual development of existing forms has far more\nprobability on its side than that of a creation from without which broke\nin upon natural process, and placed ready-made suns and planets in the\nheavens, and finished beasts and men upon the earth. Everywhere in the\norganic world we behold the process of growth, the development of\ngerms, the passage of the inorganic into the organic, and of the organic\ninto the inorganic again,--change and transformation under natural law.\n\nThe difficulty which difference of form and function in the various\nspecies offers to a theory of Evolution is by no means so large as has\noften been claimed; as great difference exists between the oak and the\nacorn, from which we know it, nevertheless, to spring; as much contrast\nis exhibited between the brown twigs of the trees and shrubs in winter\nand the brilliant foliage and flowers which they put forth under the\nwarmer sun of spring; quite as great contrasts may be found, in the life\nof every human being, between the single cell and the individual\ncompleteness attained at birth, between infancy and morally\ncharacterized manhood and womanhood, between the vigor of full maturity\nand the deterioration of age. Even the chasm between the organic and the\ninorganic is not logically impassable. The necessity of nourishment is\nthe natural bridge between the two, and the equivalence of conditions\nand result, the indestructibility of matter and motion, establish at\nonce the necessity of the inference that the organic can exist only at\nthe ultimate expense of the inorganic, from which it is continually\nrenewed. Were our senses such that, having before been closed, they were\nsuddenly opened to the perception of the daily observable facts of\ngrowth, these would probably appear to us very nearly as strange,\nanomalous, and impossible as the changes which, according to the\nDarwinian Theory, have resulted in the existence of different species;\nand it is obvious that the public mind, becoming gradually accustomed to\nthe conception of the latter changes, does not now regard them as so\nwonderful and anomalous as they appeared to it in the beginning.\n\nProcesses involving complete change of form may be observed, at the\npresent time, everywhere in nature; but they are observable, everywhere\nin the organic, as growth without breaches; even a primitive science has\nalways recognized the gradual character of motion, the absence of gaps\nin the causal chain, at least outside of the initiative action of human\nwill. Such a natural hypothesis of creation as we have above supposed,\nformed upon crude and superficial, but as far as it goes, logical\nreasoning from facts of observation, could not regard the process as\nother than a gradual one, in which simpler forms and conditions must be\nsupposed to have preceded more complex ones; in other words, it could\nnot logically conceive the process as other than an evolution.\n\nTraces of an idea of Evolution may be found in various crude forms in\nnearly all the earlier Greek philosophers, especially in Anaximander,\nHeraclitus, Democritus, Empedocles, and later in Aristotle. Such traces\nmay even be found in many heathen mythologies in contradistinction from\nthe Judaic. The progress of investigation, establishing the universality\nof natural law and, in every province, the gradual character of change\nwas, before Darwin, as it has been since his work, in the direction of\nsuch a theory, as was shown by the ready acceptance with which Darwinism\nmet, if not by the world at large, at least by the majority of\nscientists. In England, France, and Germany, there were others at work\nunder the influence of thoughts similar to if not identical with those\nthat inspired the researches and experiments of Darwin; and the nebular\ntheory of Kant had already claimed in Astronomy what the Darwinian\nclaimed in Biology. \"When Kant, in his Natural History of the Heavens,\nwhich has become the fundament of modern Astronomy, says, 'Give me\nmatter and I will make you a world,' what he intended to express was\nthat the natural laws of matter are perfectly competent to render\ncomprehensible to us the development of our well-known solar\nsystem.\"[94]\n\nIn the very beginning, the theory of Evolution may be said to have had\nthree distinct branches, represented by the Nebular Theory in Astronomy,\nHaeckel's Ontogeny, and the Biology of Lamarck, Darwin, Wallace, and\nHuxley; and to these should properly be added the Sociological Ethics of\nSpencer, which was not, however, worked out to a complete system. But Du\nPrel says of later research: \"In the progress of modern science, no\nprinciple has proved so fruitful as that of evolution. All branches\ncompete with one another in its use, and have brought about by its aid\nthe most gratifying results. Geology interprets the significance of\nsuperimposed, hardened strata of the earth's crust in the sense of a\nhistory of the earth's development; Biology, in union with the study of\nfossils, arranges the living and petrified specimens of plants and\nanimals in their order, and constructs a history of the evolution of\norganic life; Philology prepares a genealogical tree of languages, and\nfinds in it signs which throw light on prehistoric times, and reveal\nfacts forgotten for thousands of years; Anthropology discovers in the\nform and expression of human beings rudimentary signs that point to a\ntheory of development from lower forms; and, finally, History reveals\nthe evolution of civilization in far-distant historic times; and in all\nthese branches it becomes apparent that we only then understand\nphenomena when we have comprehended their Becoming.\"[95]\n\nIt is due to the gradual perception of the fact that some such theory as\nthat of Evolution is implied in the very conception of the constancy of\nnature that there has been a continual decrease of that negative form of\ncriticism which has made much of the gaps in the direct proof. Modern\nscience has so grown to, and by, the theory of Evolution that the\noverthrow of the latter means nothing more nor less than the destruction\nof science itself in its highest results. Even those who reject the\nconclusions of Evolution are found to make use of its methods, and must\ndo so perforce. As the breadth and depth and height of the theory come\nto be perceived, it is seen that the demand for complete proof is\nnothing more nor less than a demand for the perfection of all branches\nof knowledge, the refusal of credit without such proof a refusal to\nplace any confidence in the first principles of scientific theory until\nit has fully explored the universe and left nothing further to be\ndiscovered. But science would have less ground for complaint, if the\nopponents of Darwinism consistently refused, on the ground of the\nincompleteness of our knowledge, to form any theory whatever on the\nsubject of man's nature and development, permitting the worth of the\nevolutional theory to be determined by its future results in application\nas hypothesis. But the peculiar spectacle is afforded us of a party\nrejecting a theory supported by numberless facts in all branches, and\nwhose very breaches the direction of discovery continually tends to\nbridge, in favor of a dogma which cannot point to one scientific fact in\nits support,--a party demanding absolute perfection of proof as the\ncondition of its acceptance of one theory, while it at the same time\nfiercely defends a conception of nature of which it cannot furnish the\nmost imperfect proof. It is true that mankind has not beheld the\nevolution of the whole vegetable and animal kingdom. But neither had any\nhuman eye ever yet beheld the planet Neptune when Le Verrier prophesied\nits existence and calculated its size and position. The theory of\nEvolution is a reasoning from the constancy of nature, as was that of Le\nVerrier, only, in the case of the former, we have the observation and\ncalculations of not one scientist alone, but of thousands, on which to\nrely. To demand of the scientist that he shall produce the organic from\nthe inorganic, and practically demonstrate the change of form and\nfunction, and the process of separation of species, before the\npossibility of such development is conceded, is on a par with demanding\nof him an actual reproduction of the Glacial Period before the theory of\nits previous existence shall be accepted. There is no reason for\nsupposing that, if spontaneous generation once took place, the peculiar\ncomplication of conditions which produced it will ever again recur or\ncan be artificially constructed.\n\nBut science has no desire to be dogmatic. It readily acknowledges the\ntotal absence of direct and established proof at this particular\njuncture of the beginning of life. It can only point to the indirect\ntestimony of Physiological Chemistry and Crystallogeny, to the\nsimplicity of structure and movement in certain forms of life, and\nfinally to the observed constancy of nature. But an exaggerated\nsignificance has been given to this chief flaw in the theory of\nEvolution, by those who, starting with the intention of defending\nTheology or the dignity of the Human, have been driven back, step by\nstep, to this point, and fail to perceive that, arrived here, they have\nalready abandoned the ground on which contest was possible. What\nsignificance a primal creation merely of lowest organisms can have, for\neither a defence of human dignity or for Christian Theology, it is\ndifficult to perceive. As a matter of choice, it would seem to be more\nconsistent with the omnipotence and dignity of a Creator to suppose that\nthese very simple organisms arose, like other forms, under the action of\nnatural law than that special interference was necessary in just their\ncase. But, supposing such a special Creation, the following questions\nimmediately present themselves from the theological standpoint: Are\nthese special creations endowed with soul? If so, they must be immortal;\nif not, then soul arises in the process of evolution; if it arises as do\nall other things, qualities, functions, by growth,--that is, by the\naddition of infinitesimal increments (as we must, indeed, suppose it to\narise if we regard it as \"evolved\")--then whence come these increments?\nIf they come direct from a Creator, then surely no special favor towards\nman in the bestowment of soul can be alleged; and if they arise by\nnatural causes, out of nature, then why may not their first beginning,\ntheir first infinitesimal appearance, also be supposed to be due to such\ncauses?\n\nThe proof of an increase, a growth, of what have been called\ndistinctively the mental faculties, throughout the animal kingdom, is\nevery day stronger. No one believes, at the present date, with\nDescartes, that the animals are automata. Differences of mental power\nwould seem to be but differences of degree; the facts all point to such\na theory. The more scientific theologians have, indeed, abandoned this\nwith the other minor points of contest above discussed, and devoted\ntheir efforts to argument from the moral nature of man. Philology,\nAnthropology, and Geology testify to mental progress, even in the human\nspecies; and if such a progress is a fact, it cannot have been without\ninfluence upon the moral nature of man, even supposing the latter to be\nGod-given. Indeed, a merely physical progress or change cannot have been\nwithout such influence; for the most conservative theologians admit the\nstrong action of the body upon the mind. It would seem, then, for all\nreasons, that an investigation of the process of mental evolution, or of\nevolution in general, ought not to be without results significant for\nany system of morality. If it is true that we learn wisdom and morality\nfrom human history, this can be so only because history gives us\nincreased knowledge of the constancy of nature in those of its\nmanifestations which specially concern the human, and thus enables us\nbetter to judge the present and predict the future. We should suppose\nthat a still wider knowledge of our mental and physical evolution must\nbe of yet greater worth to us in the same manner,--that the disclosure\nof more extended fields of nature to our vision must afford us new and\nvaluable lessons with regard to ourselves; just as the telescope makes\nno discovery in the most distant regions of space that does not prove to\nhave, in the end, its peculiar significance for our own planet. If our\ninvestigations should prove fruitless, as all such investigations have\nbeen said by some to be, the fact, established _a posteriori_, could not\nbe disputed. But, considering all the points above noticed, such a\nresult could not but astonish us; and we should even be inclined, after\nall that has been said, to suspect that the fault lay rather in the\nparticular method than in the direction of our research.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[87] \"Natuerliche Schoepfungsgeschichte,\" 8th ed., p. 109.\n\n[88] \"Origin of Civilization,\" p. 391.\n\n[89] \"Origin of Civilization.\"\n\n[90] Ibid.\n\n[91] Ibid.\n\n[92] Ibid.\n\n[93] Ibid.\n\n[94] Du Prel: \"Die Entwicklungsgeschichte des Weltalls.\"\n\n[95] \"Die Entwicklungsgeschichte des Weltalls.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE CONCEPTS OF EVOLUTION\n\n\nThe preceding considerations have made it evident that the idea of\nEvolution has undergone a broadening process since Darwin first brought\nit before the world. It is necessary to glance briefly at some of the\nchief phases and the general significance of this process in order to\ndefine the extent and intent of the concept as far as science has made\nsuch definition possible.\n\nTo Darwin himself the struggle for existence was always between the\nunities represented by complete organisms whether as isolated\nindividuals, or in family, tribal, or national groups. Everywhere in his\ncalculations, appearing unchanged in his results, is found the unknown\nquantity of variation from ancestral type, the known factors being\nheredity, and natural and sexual selection in the struggle for\nexistence. Wallace's ideas as to color in birds deprive the theory of\nsexual selection of one of its most important points of application in\nDarwin's work. It is, in fact, easy to see that sexual selection cannot\nneutralize natural selection, that any particular form of sexual\nselection can arise and finally survive only by a harmony with the\ndirection of natural selection, and that the two must therefore appear,\neven from any standpoint of freedom of the will, as continually\nattaining coincidence. It has been said, above, that the struggle for\nexistence was, for Darwin, between the organisms as unities. This\nconsistent position of the specialist has been criticised, from a more\ngeneral point of view, by Lewes in his essay on the Nature of Life,[96]\nin which he asserts that we must logically \"extend our conception of the\nstruggle for existence beyond that of the competition and antagonism of\norganisms--the external struggle; and include under it the competition\nand antagonism of tissues and organs--the internal struggle.\" \"Mr.\nDarwin,\" he says, \"has so patiently and profoundly meditated on the\nwhole subject, that we must be very slow in presuming him to have\noverlooked any important point. I know that he has not altogether\noverlooked this which we are now considering; but he is so preoccupied\nwith the tracing out of his splendid discovery in all its bearings, that\nhe has thrown the emphasis mainly on the external struggle, neglecting\nthe internal struggle; and has thus, in many passages, employed language\nwhich implies a radical distinction where--as I conceive--no such\ndistinction can be recognized. 'Natural Selection,' he says, 'depends on\nthe survival, under various and complex circumstances, of the\nbest-fitted individuals, but has no relation whatever to the primary\ncause of any modification of structure.'[97] On this we may remark,\nfirst, that selection does not _depend_ on the survival, but _is_ that\nsurvival; secondly, that the best-fitted individual survives because of\nthat modification of its structure which has given it the superiority;\ntherefore, if the primary cause of this modification is not due to\nselection, the selection cannot be the cause of species. The facts which\nare relied on in support of the idea of 'fixity of species' show, at any\nrate, that a given superiority will remain stationary for thousands of\nyears; and no one supposes that the progeny of an organism will vary\nunless some external or internal cause of variation accompanies the\ninheritance. Mr. Darwin agrees with Mr. Spencer in admitting the\ndifficulty of distinguishing between the effects of some definite action\nof external conditions, and the accumulation through natural selection\nof inherited variations serviceable to the organism. But even in cases\nwhere the distinction could be clearly established, I think we should\nonly see an _historical_ distinction, that is to say, one between\neffects produced by particular causes now in operation and effects\nproduced by very complex and obscure causes in operation during\nancestral development.... Natural Selection is only the expression of\nthe results of obscure physiological processes.\"\n\nThe last statement is one to which Darwin himself would certainly not\nhave objected. It is an extension of the principle implicitly involved\nin all his work and explicitly stated in his later work, although the\nchief emphasis is laid on outer conditions. The extension of the idea of\ncompetition from the outer condition of organisms to the more ultimate\nphysiological unities of organ and tissue is a philosophic gain. It is\nevident, however, that that for which Darwin is seeking is not a\nphilosophical generalization which shall include outer and inner change\nunder one highest law, but, first of all, the particular causes of\nparticular variation interesting to the specialist in biology. It is\nmade too clear for mistake in \"The Variation of Animals and Plants under\nDomestication\" that the uncertainty with regard to such particular forms\nof cause is the spring of his declaration of our ignorance as to\nvariation. The possibility of an inclusion of lower in higher\ngeneralizations he would not deny; though the special laws first occupy\nhis attention. Doubtless, his work is not, as is no man's, wholly free\nfrom inconsistencies and contradictions,--which are due, in part, to the\nfact that every scientific theory is, even in the thought of the\nindividual, an evolution. But the declaration of mystery in the question\nof variation is not equivalent to a theory of accident, of\ntranscendental mystery, or of some special organic or vital force, such\nas Claude Bernard especially opposed; it is merely and simply a\nstatement of the mystery of present ignorance. This fact is expressly\nstated in Darwin's later work. We find, for instance, in the\nintroduction to a letter to the editor of \"Nature,\" written in 1873, the\norigin of many instincts referred to \"modifications or variations in the\nbrain, which we, in our ignorance, most improperly call spontaneous or\naccidental;\" and we have, in \"The Variation of Animals and Plants under\nDomestication,\"[98] such passages as the following: \"When we reflect on\nthe individual differences between organic beings in a state of nature,\nas shown by every wild animal knowing its mate; and when we reflect on\nthe infinite diversity of many varieties of our domesticated\nproductions, we may well be inclined to exclaim, though falsely, as I\nbelieve, that variability must be looked at as an ultimate fact,\nnecessarily contingent on reproduction. Those authors who adopt this\nlatter view would probably deny that each separate variation has its own\nproper exciting cause. Although we can seldom trace the precise relation\nbetween cause and effect, yet the considerations presently to be given\nlead to the conclusion that each modification must have its own distinct\ncause.\" It is \"probable that variability of every kind is directly or\nindirectly caused by changed conditions of life. Or, to put the case\nunder another point of view, if it were possible to expose all the\nindividuals of a species during many generations to absolutely uniform\nconditions of life, there would be no variability.... The causes which\ninduce variability act on the mature organism, on the embryo, and, as we\nhave good reason to believe, on both sexual elements before impregnation\nhas been effected.\" Darwin further considers, in this same book, some of\nthe probable particular causes of variation, as given in climate and\nfood. And it may be remarked, in this connection, that Rolph's criticism\nof the impossibility of progress under conditions of want is irrelevant\nas applied to Darwin, since the latter himself says expressly: \"Of all\ncauses which induce variability, excess of food, whether or not changed\nin nature, is probably the most powerful\";[99] again: \"We have reason to\nsuspect that an habitual excess of highly nutritive food, or an excess\nrelatively to the wear and tear of the organization from exercise, is a\npowerful exciting cause of variability.\"[100] Rolph's criticism is\nprobably due to forgetfulness of the fact that Darwin limited the\nstruggle for existence to that of complete organisms with one another,\nand that, under such a limitation of the conception to external\nstruggle, a condition of want cannot be conceived as necessarily\nprecluding a monopoly of abundance by best-fitted individuals.\n\nTheories with regard to the special outer causes and resulting\nphysiological conditions of variation have been gradually added to, as\nfacts on this score have accumulated. But, as investigation advances,\nthe question is seen to involve all the problems of the intricate\nchemical and mechanical nature of physiological structure in its\nmanifold forms and degrees of organization. The field stretches out in\nthis direction, under our contemplation, to an indefinite distance; and\nscience appears as yet to have passed only the outer limits of its\nterritory.\n\nIt is certain that the comparatively recent science of Physiological\nChemistry will have many of the decisive words to say on this score, in\nthe future. \"When we see the symmetrical and complex outgrowths caused\nby a single atom of the poison of a gall-insect, we may believe that\nslight changes in the chemical nature of the sap or blood would lead to\nextraordinary modifications of structure,\" says the great seer of\nevolution himself.[101]\n\nAmong special theories of Evolution, a distinction may be made between:\n(1) such special theories as aim at biological simplification by\nreduction of all organic variation to one primary form of cellular\nprocess; (2) such theories as are content with less ultimate laws, by\nwhich the various ascertained forms of change are included in one\ngeneral statement not involving special physiological or physical theory\nbut applicable to all forms of life; (3) such theories as aim to give\ndistinctive philosophic expression to a generalization like the last\nnamed, including in this statement both psychical and physiological\nphenomena; and (4) such theories as aim at an ultimate expression of the\ndirection of evolution that shall include the phenomena of life, both\nphysiological and psychical, under one head with all other natural\nphenomena. To the first class belong only \"provisional\" hypotheses,\namong the best known of which are those of Pangenesis, Perigenesis, and\nthe Continuity of the Germ-Plasm. To the second, which are not merely\ntentative but have a broad foundation in known fact, belongs Haeckel's\ntheory of Inheritance and Adaptation, a theory restated in substance,\nfrom independent research, by Eimer, whose ultimate general factors of\nanalysis are the same with Haeckel's, though he deals, beyond these,\nwith special facts and special theories of his own. Phases of the second\nclass often entitle them to inclusion in the third. An example of the\nthird class is found in Spencer's definition, \"Life is the continual\nadjustment of inner relations to outer relations.\" The fourth and last\nclass includes Fechner's \"Tendency to Stability\" and Spencer's theory of\nthe rhythm of motion (see his \"First Principles\"), similar to which are\ncertain ideas of Zoellner, Du Prel, and others; and similar elements to\nwhich are to be found in Haeckel's \"Plastidule-Theory.\" In connection\nwith this class, reference may be made to an article by Dr. J. Petzoldt\nin the \"Vierteljahrschrift fuer wissenschaftliche Philosophie\" under the\ntitle \"Maxima, Minima, und Oekonomie,\" in which, among others, Fechner's\nviews especially are discussed with reference to an ultimate principle\nof evolution. The first pages on the \"Tendency to Stability\" in\nFechner's \"Ideas concerning the Evolution of the Organic\" (\"Einige Ideen\nzur Schoepfungs- und Entwicklungsgeschichte der Organismen\") are as\nfollows:--\n\n\"For the sake of brevity I call relations of position and motions\nrecurring at regular periods, that is after like intervals, in the\nparticles forming a material system or in the centres of whole masses\nconceived as forming a larger system, 'stable relations.' Among such\nrelations is to be reckoned the condition of rest of the particles or\nmasses in relation to each other, as the extreme case, which we may call\nthe state of 'absolute stability'; while a dissipation of the particles\nor masses, to infinity, in different directions, constitutes the other\nextreme of absolute instability.\n\n\"We do not speak of 'absolute stability,' but of 'full stability,' in\ncases where motion still takes place, but this brings continually, in\nexactly the same periods of time, the same relations of particles or\nmasses, not only as regards position, but also as regards velocity and\ndirection of the motion and change of velocity and direction....\n\n\"To absolute and full stability may be added, as third case, that of\ngreater or less approach to full stability, which we may term briefly\n'aproximate stability'... and of which we have an example in the chief\nbodies of our solar system.\n\n\"It may serve as a simplification of the consideration of stable\nrelations of motion to remark... that, in an isolated system or one\nunder constant outer conditions, exactly or very nearly the same\nrelations of velocity and direction recur when exactly or very nearly\nthe same relations in the position of the particles or masses return. As\nregards the velocity, this follows directly from the principle of the\nconservation of energy; as regards the direction, it is indisputably\npossible to assume the connection of its recurrence with that of the\nother relations, although I cannot remember that a direct general proof\nof this has been found.\n\n\"With these introductory specifications in mind, let us assume any\nnumber of material particles to be restricted, by forces of some sort,\nto motion within limited space, and the system either withdrawn from\nouter influences or under such as are constant; let us, moreover,\nsuppose the system undisturbed by the interference of psychic freedom,\nor the latter impossible. In such case, certain initial positions,\nvelocities, and directions of the parts of the system being assumed, all\nfollowing states will be determined by these. And now, if there are\namong these conditions, either present at the beginning, or attained in\nthe course of the motion, any such as have for their result a return of\nthe same states after a given time, then the motion, and so also the\npositions of the parts conceived as at first undergoing alteration in\nform and velocity, will, unless they contain the immediate condition of\nperiodic recurrence, continue altering until those of all the possible\nstates are reached which contain the condition of recurrence; until this\npoint is attained, the system will, so to speak, know no rest. Has the\nrecurrence once taken place within a given time, then it must always\ntake place anew within the same time, because the same conditions are\nthere to determine it. And since these conditions are determinative of\nthe whole course of motion from one recurrence to the next, the same\ncourse must be repeated; that is, in every like phase of the period a\nlike state of motion will exist. But this gives us full stability of the\nsystem, a change, a deviation from the attained stability being possible\nonly through changes in outer influences, the assumed constancy of which\nrendered the attainment of stability possible.\n\n\"This principle appears at first purely _a priori_; but the assumption\nshould not be overlooked that there are among the conditions determining\nthe motion such as lead to their own recurrence, and this is to be taken\nfor granted, since it is necessary to assume that a system must continue\nto change until, but only until, the conditions of full stability are\nattained, in case it is attainable; and that this full stability, when\nonce reached, cannot be again destroyed by the action of the system\nitself. The question presents itself as to how far calculation and\nexperience permit us to lay down a more general principle.\n\n\"In a system in which only two particles or masses, withdrawn from outer\ninfluences, are determined to motion by mutual attraction and the\ninfluence of a primary impulse in another direction, calculation shows\nus that, motion to infinity being excluded, the attainment, and indeed\nthe immediate attainment, of full stability is a necessity; and for\nswinging pendula and vibrating strings it may be calculated, from the\nnature of the moving forces, that they would remain in a condition of\nfully stable motion if outer resistance were removed; for, such\nobstacles present, they pass through an approximately stable condition\nto one of absolute stability. The power of purely mathematical\ncalculation does not go beyond such comparatively simple cases....\n\n\"But if we call experience to our aid, it may be asserted, in accordance\nwith very general facts, that, in a system left to itself or under\nconstant outer conditions, and starting from any conceivable state, if\nnot full stability at least a greater or less approximation to it is\nreached as final condition, from which no retrogression takes place\nthrough the inner workings of the system itself. The tendency to\napproximately stable conditions appears, or the actual state is\nattained, according to the measure in which variable outer influences\nare withdrawn. So that so little is lacking to our hypothesis, that,\nalthough it has at this point to make up for the impossibility of\nperfect demonstration, we are nevertheless justified in laying down the\nfollowing law or principle:--\n\n\"In every system of material parts left to itself or under constant\nouter influences, so, then, in the material system of the universe, in\nso far as we regard it as isolated, there takes place, motion to\ninfinity being excluded, a continuous progress from more unstable to\nmore stable conditions, up to the attainment of a final condition of\nfull or approximate stability.\"\n\nFrom the union of the principle thus stated and that of the conservation\nof energy \"it follows that no unlimited progress of the universe to\nabsolute stability, which consists in perfect rest of the parts, can\ntake place.... The energy manifested in the universe cannot be altered,\nin general, in its amount, but only in the form in which it manifests\nitself.\" \"It cannot be asserted that the attainment of full stability in\nthe universe would be the attainment of an eternal rest, but only of the\nmost perfectly adjusted motions, and therefore such motions as would\ngive rise to no variations.... But a condition which brings with it\neternal repetition cannot be reached in finite time.\"\n\n\"To elucidation of this principle of the Tendency to Stability,\" says\nDr. Petzoldt analyzing Fechner's work, \"we have only to call to\nremembrance a number of natural phenomena, such as the ebb and flow of\nthe tide, the circulation of moisture, periodic changes of temperature,\nand so forth, which exhibit great periods of approximate stability and\nin which we notice in general no retrogression.\n\n\"Not less does the constitution of organisms which are, 'so to speak,\nconstituted dependent upon periodicity of their functions, and so upon\nstable relations of their life,' serve to confirm the theory. Only the\nconcept of stability must be extended in their case, since not always\nthe same, but only substitutive parts of the organic systems tend\ntowards stability.\n\n\"Experience never gives us an example of an isolated system; on the\ncontrary, every system is a part of higher systems. The inner relations\nof its stability are not conditioned by its own parts only, but also,\nmore or less, by those of other systems, so that the destruction of one\npart-system is always only in the direction towards the stability of a\nhigher, ultimately of the highest, system; that is, of the system of the\nuniverse.\"\n\n\"Thus the teleological principle coincides with the principle of the\nTendency to Stability, and at the same time the latter constitutes the\nlink between the former and the law of Causality. Though, in truth, this\nmanner of looking at the matter signifies a generalization of the\nconcept of 'end,' since it defines _all_ stable conditions as ends. The\nview is justified, however, by the fact that the greatest possible\nphysical satisfaction--for us, the criterion of teleology--is always\nbound up with the longest possible preservation or slow change of a\nstable organic condition. The _physical_ Tendency to Stability 'bears\nwith it a _psychical_ tendency to the attainment and conservation of\njust those conditions' towards which the physical tendency is directed.\"\n\nOf the fact that Lange \"feels the lack of the proof of this 'Tendency to\nStability,'\" Dr. Petzoldt says: \"But how is there a need of proof here?\nTo prove is to refer back to known facts. But what is there in Fechner's\nremarks that stands in need of such a reference? They simply draw our\nattention to the result of evolution as a state which bears, in itself,\nthe guarantee of some continuance. Can any one contest this? Is there\nanything further to prove? It is said that Gauss once remarked that\nLagrange's equations of motion are not proved, but only historically\nstated. The case is exactly the same here. The fact is attested, merely,\nthat evolution ends in a stable condition; and herein lies the pith and\nthe great merit of the theory of the Tendency to Stability.\"\n\nDr. Petzoldt criticises, among other things, especially Fechner's\nconcept of approximate stability, in that no distinction is made by the\nauthor between three different cases. The first case comprises forms of\nmotion in which periodicity is only approximate, but in which,\nnevertheless, no retrogression in stability takes place; this case is\nillustrated by our solar system. The second case comprises forms of\nmotion in which the stability increases up to a certain point, but\nbeyond this, despite relative constancy in outer conditions, decreases\nagain until complete destruction of the system supervenes; an\nillustration of this form of motion is found in all organisms. The\nthird case comprises forms of motion which we cannot concede to be\nstable. \"For, if we ascribe periodic motion to pendula and musical\nstrings which vibrate in a resisting medium, this is nevertheless a\nperiodicity, which continually changes _in the same sense_, and we\ncertainly cannot say that pendula and strings approach, in a resisting\nmedium, a condition of absolute, through a condition of approximate,\nstability. We recognize in these vibrations, decreasing in amplitude,\nmerely unstable changes which tend toward a final stable\ncondition,--namely that of rest.\"\n\nThe author finds a further ground of criticism in Fechner's assertion\nthat organisms are entirely dependent upon the periodicity of their\nfunctions. Only a part of such functions are periodic. Periodicity is\nnot conceivable without stability, but stability is conceivable without\nperiodicity.\n\nIn the process of evolution towards a stable form of movement,\nDr. Petzoldt recognizes briefly two factors, \"Tendency and\nCompetition.\"[102] Tendency is defined, in general, as the direction,\nactual or potential, of material parts or of mental or physical\nfunction; competition, as the conflict of tendencies, from which a\ntendency of a higher order results. \"The concept of Competition is, like\nthat of Tendency, to be taken in a general significance. A number of\nforces which act upon a single point compete. Different mental images,\nobservations, concepts, laws, come into competition, from which result\nconcepts and laws of lower and higher orders. The struggle for existence\nis only a special case of competition. Though this often ends with the\nimmediate or gradual destruction of systems entering upon it,\nnevertheless only a middle worth between all the competing tendencies\ncan be ascribed to the resultant. Even the conqueror is, after the\nstruggle, other than what he was before it; a part of the tendency\ndestroyed by him lives on in him, has combined with his original\ntendency to a resultant. Tendencies can as little disappear without\ncompensation as can forces, whether the compensation consists in a\nstrengthening or in a weakening of others, and the _conservation of\ncompeting tendencies_ might be regarded as a further qualitative\naddition to the law of the conservation of force. Hence, in the\nexamination of the effects of the struggle for existence, the like\nclaim of all tendencies taking part in it is not to be left out of\nconsideration. Each makes its full force felt. But not all attain to\ncompetition; of the numerous tendencies bound up in one organism, only a\nfew unite, in the single case, to a resultant, which has a direction\ntowards a definite issue.\" The less the opposition of competing\ntendencies of concepts or laws, the less the deviation of the resultant\nfrom its components, and the less the change these have to undergo. The\nhigher concepts and laws are, the less are the number of distinguishing\nmarks which they take from all single conceptions; for they are the\nresultants of very strongly opposed components.[103]\n\nFechner's views are related to, and, to some extent, dependent upon,\ncertain ones of Zoellner adduced in connection with a consideration of\nsun-spots.[104] Du Prel, who also acknowledges special indebtedness to\nZoellner, attempted in his \"Struggle for Existence in the Heavens\" (\"Der\nKampf ums Dasein am Himmel\") to demonstrate the fact of a struggle and\nselection among the heavenly bodies analogous to that claimed for life\nupon the earth. The title of the book was afterwards changed to \"The\nHistory of the Evolution of the Universe,\"[105] its scope having \"grown\nfar beyond the limit of the former title.\" Du Prel finds one of the\nchief advantages of an application of Darwinian ideas to astronomy in\nthe fact that, unlike our earth, the heavens in their immensity afford\nus existing, or to our eye existing, examples of the various stages of\ntheir evolution, in nebular mist, comets, suns, fixed stars, planets,\nrings, and moons,--all subject to processes of development, which we may\nto some extent observe. In the first chapter of this book, Du Prel says:\n\"The existing condition of the Cosmos with respect to all forms of the\nPurposeful[106]--whether we regard the realm of the organic or the\ninorganic--can be looked upon only as an attained, moving equilibrium of\nforces. Immanent in Nature lies the capacity to develop from chaotic\nconditions to teleologic forms; for, in the ceaseless play of forces,\nall other than such combinations are by their nature given over to\ndestruction, while it lies, on the contrary, in the essence of all\npurposeful combinations to be preserved. In every system of mechanical\nforces an adjustment of the same must finally be arrived at through the\nremoval of all immanent oppositions.\" \"_It is impossible_ for nature to\nremain in chaotic conditions.\" \"Every system of forces tends to a state\nof equilibrium. This is as true of the conflict of images in a human\nbrain, from whose mutual accommodation the resultant of a unified theory\nof the universe arises, as of oppositions in the social organism, of the\nconditions of power and civilization of neighboring peoples, of the\nmeteorologic states of the earth, of the mechanical forces of a solar\nsystem, or the atoms of a cosmic mist. Every war of the elements ends\nwith an adjustment of ideal justice, for every 'moment' of force has\ninfluence proportioned to its power and the duration of its\nactivity.\"[107]\n\nThere is one portion of Fechner's theory as above stated (its\nmetaphysical phases being beyond the scope of the present chapter have\nnot been touched upon) that raises a question which may perhaps appear\nto have in itself no special significance, but which nevertheless opens\nup, by its implications, new fields of inquiry, and may possibly lead to\nfurther theory. The condition of stability which evolution in the\nuniverse as a whole gradually approaches but can never attain to in\nfinite time is declared, namely, to be one not of rest, but of motion. A\nquestion might be raised, here, as to the definition of the \"infinite\ntime\" asserted to be necessary to the attainment of such full\nstability,--whether the phrase be used in the mathematical or the\nphilosophic sense; and the question would be found, I believe, to\ninvolve the unanswerable problem of the finite or infinite character of\nthe universe in space. Of a universe conceived under the philosophic\nconcept of spatial infinitude, obviously no final state as the result of\nevolution can be predicated, the evolution supposing a progress which,\nas involving infinite matter, cannot be accomplished in finite time. If\nwe, however, conceive the universe as occupying finite space and\nundergoing continual evolution as a whole in the direction of\nequilibrium, it is a question whether the end must not be attained in\nfinite time. For a universe conceived as finite, however immense, there\nmust be a finite number, however great, representing the changes\nnecessary to the attainment of final equilibrium; and if progress in the\ndirection of such equilibrium is of necessity continual, the final\nequilibrium must be attainable in finite time. The question of the\nnature of such a state of final, universal stability is bound up with\nthe problem of motion through a perfect void, and of the possibility of\nthe formation of such a void through the concentration of matter.\nLeaving out of consideration the problem in its metaphysical form, which\nconcerns the possibility of conceiving inter-material space, it may be\nsaid that it is not now supposed that the heavenly bodies move through\nan absolute void; and the existence of any medium opposing resistance,\nhowever slight, is a condition rendering impossible the attainment of\nabsolute stability of motion or a full stability which suffers no\ndiminution and is, therefore, in effect, an absolute stability. It may\nbe questioned whether the very nature of motion is not coincident with\nchange, and this with action and reaction, or competition. Such a view\nwould reduce evolution to a single ultimate principle, in place of\nDarwin's Variation and Selection through struggle, or Petzoldt's\nTendency and Competition. We should have left, instead of these, only\nthe final principle involved in moving matter considered in its ultimate\nparts. The metaphysical problem of the infinite divisibility of matter\nneed not here concern us; the ultimate parts of an organism could not\nbe, however, its organs as Lewes defined them, but rather, from a\npositive standpoint, the ultimate units recognized by science in cell\nand cell-parts. We may, indeed, since we know no beginning of motion,\nlegitimately regard all tendency as itself resultant. Just as we cannot\nseparate matter and motion, except by abstraction from reality, so, too,\nwe cannot conceive of motion except as having definite direction; and\nthus we arrive, by a final analysis, at the ultimate philosophic\nprinciples of matter and its motion. I use these terms in no\nmetaphysical sense, but merely as generic terms including under one head\nspecific forms of material combination and the specific forms of motion\nof their wholes or parts.\n\nThe question of the character of a conceived state of final equilibrium\nmay be approached from a somewhat different side, though the emphasis\nfalls, as before, on the solidarity of the universe and the nature of\nmotion as change. We may, for instance, regard the earth as an isolated\nsystem whose isolation makes possible the continual progress of the\nevolution taking place on its surface. But this whole evolution is, on\nthe other hand, dependent upon the light and heat of the sun. Again, the\nsun is undergoing an evolution whose continuous progress may be regarded\nas in a certain sense dependent upon isolation; but we see, on\nreflection, that this very process is the result of the cooling nature\nof the sun's surroundings, and that it is sending its motion in every\ndirection through space. The moon, which has passed through both the\nevolution that the sun is undergoing and that which is in progress upon\nthe earth, is now passing through another stage which the earth must\nreach in time by diffusion of its atmosphere, in case its destruction is\nnot accomplished by some catastrophic event before the arrival of that\ndistant period. Suns and planets, all the heavenly bodies, are sending\ntheir influence in every direction through the unfathomable depths of\nspace; and just as the capacity of the earth to be warmed by the\ninfluence of the sun involves its reciprocal capacity to act as a\ncooling medium for that body, so the conditions throughout the universe\nmust be regarded as everywhere interdependent and mutually implying one\nanother. Thus we again arrive finally at a universal action and reaction\namong the parts of the universe, all motion implying change of the\ndirection of motion. Or, since we may and are, in fact, obliged to\nregard every direction or form of motion as a resultant,--for of motion\nas of matter we know no absolute beginning,--even this simple assumption\nmay supply us with the conclusion which we have reached in a more\nroundabout way. We may regard motion in any direction as counterbalanced\nby a resistance in every other direction sufficient to produce it in\nthis one; in other words, motion takes place at every instant, in the\ndirection of least resistance, even though this direction may represent,\nin the next instant, through the action of new \"moments\" of force, the\ngreatest resistance. Any direction as well as any change of direction\nimplies, then, resistance; resistance is equivalent to the interference\nof force, or, in other words, to competition; and competition may, at\nany moment, become catastrophe. The difference between competition and\ncatastrophe is one merely of degree, or rather it is a subjective\ndifference depending upon the point of view of the observer. In other\nwords, all that we can testify to is a certain periodicity of motion,\nall motion meeting with resistance, the accumulation of which finally\ninduces motion in another sense. Larger periodicities are made up of\nsmaller periodicities, and, according to the point of view taken, any\nperiod of such motion may be regarded as an evolution, that which\nFechner terms \"full\" stability being only the maximum towards which\nmotion during that period tends. Absolute stability can be conceived\nonly as perfect rest, whether we conceive it as merely an abstraction,\nits realization as rendered impossible by the conservation of energy, or\nwhether we conceive it as possible in a universe regarded as finite; an\nabsolute stability of motion is a self-contradiction, and a full\nstability which knows no retrogression is equally a self-contradiction.\nPeriodicity is, then, all into which the Tendency to Stability resolves\nitself for nature as we know it.\n\nWe perceive, in the actual universe, the fact of a certain imperfect\nperiodicity. This wave form of movement in great and little plays, as\nSpencer has shown far more elaborately than Fechner, a large part in the\nuniverse.\n\nBut the evident fact of a present periodicity of imperfect form suggests\nanother possible conception. We are under no necessity to regard the\nuniverse as finite either in space or time. On the contrary. We tend\nnaturally to conceive of it as finite after the analogy of particular\nthings which we perceive continually to arise and perish; but as\nconcerns space, we have no knowledge of any limit, and, as concerns\ntime, the conception of any actual beginning or end to the universe as a\nwhole is only the ancient naive idea which science has disproved in\nshowing that neither matter nor motion ever perish. An infinite universe\nis conceivable, in which not exactly the same but very similar forms, or\nforms of which the successive ones closely resemble each other though\nthose widely separated may be very dissimilar, continue to arise and be\ndestroyed to all eternity. The conception of a primal nebular mist is\nnot a necessary inference from astronomic phenomena; it is as easy and\nas logical to regard the various phases of planetary development\nrevealed to us by the telescope as so many phases of an evolution and\ndissolution continually recurring in different parts of the universe,\none extreme of which is represented by the nebular mist, the other by\nthe cold and lifeless remains of planets gradually suffering dissolution\nas they revolve through space. The greater the immensity of the\nuniverse is conceived to be, the nearer our conception of it must\napproach to this type. But the term Tendency to Stability is misapplied\nwhen applied to such infinite and imperfect periodicity--to the motion,\nthus conceived, of the universe as a whole.\n\nThe periodicity in the life of organic species may be compared to the\nwave-motions of light and heat as distinguished from those of water, the\nindividual representing the single wave-length. The analogy is not,\nhowever, intended--to speak with Bacon--as one of nature, but merely as\none of mind. And just here it may be questioned whether Fechner may not\nhave been right, after all, in his assertion of the dependency of the\norganism upon periodicity of function, whether the periodic character of\nthe individual life, dependent, as it must be supposed to be, on\nadaptation to a medium to some degree resisting, does not sacrifice its\nstability in so far as the increments of resistance lack uniformity.\nThis is evidently the case in large relations; is it not logically\nnecessary to suppose it so in minute relations, though the fact may not\nbe so evident to the coarse measurement of the senses? Experience seems\nto prove that an approximate periodicity in larger relations, is most\nconsistent with health; and it must be remembered that the non-periodic\nrelations are subordinated to periodic ones, that not only in the case\nof waking and sleeping, working and eating, but also in those of rest\nand labor, a certain uniformity is necessary to the best mental and\nphysical condition. A close observation will, I think, reveal a greater\nperiodicity than was at first suspected; since much of it is of\nso-called \"automatic,\" \"unconscious,\" or \"half-conscious\" nature. It is\nto be noticed, here, that the termination of individual lives is often\nin the nature of a catastrophe, and a uniform periodicity of individual\ndevelopment and decay cannot be assigned, except in the form of an\naverage that falls much below the figure attained by the thoroughly\nhealthy individual. There is every reason to believe that if we could\nsleep, rise, eat, bathe, exercise, work, and rest with the regularity of\na clock, we should be the better for it physically. But the\nirregularities outside the province of our will-power render it\nimpossible for us to order our lives in this manner. Nor do we desire to\ndo so. For these very irregularities, as representing greater or less\nchange to which adaptation is necessary, are, in many cases and within\ncertain lines, the conditions and signs of progress; though they may\nconstitute in other cases and beyond these lines--that is, where they\nare of too great intensity or duration--conditions of retrogression, the\nimperfection in periodicity becoming catastrophe, which may extend\nbeyond the individual to his offspring. We may thus infer that the final\ndestruction of the individual organism is conditioned by its own\nprogress and the progress of its species, but that on the other hand,\nwhen the destruction of the individual is too abrupt, it may mean\ncatastrophe to the species also, or at least to a part of it, through\nheredity.\n\nOur considerations so far have been of a nature to convince us that not\nisolation, but a constancy in the continual action of like relatively\nsmall increments of force in the same directions, is the condition of\nsteady evolution. The less constant and the larger the increments, the\nnearer the changes involved resemble catastrophe, though the\ncatastrophes themselves may be regarded in another light as forming part\nof an evolution of a higher order. The changes the sun is undergoing may\nbe regarded as evolution in so far as the influence of the cooling\nmedium is a constant one. The earth as a whole and in its parts may be\nregarded as passing through a process of evolution towards full\nstability in so far as the sun's heat is a constant quantity, the\nperiodic changes of seasons and of day and night the same. The relation\nwould seem, therefore, to be one of time--the time-relation involved in\nthe duration of outer conditions as constant with reference to the\nperiod required for the attainment of stability. Thus the sun's\ninfluence upon the earth might appear approximately constant to the\nhuman individual, but might represent a rapid change in relation to some\nstupendous and long-continued evolution in some other part of the\nuniverse. Considerations which we have already noticed forbid our\nregarding any conditions of \"full\" as distinguished from absolute\nstability as anything other than peculiar states single in the system\nand thus unenduring maxima succeeded by decrease, although the process\nmay be, with reference to any other particular process, so slow, the\nretrogression from the culminating point so gradual, as to be, with\nrespect to this other process, inappreciable.\n\nAnd while we are busied with matters which involve the whole\nmultiplicity of relations in the universe, just a word with reference\nto cause and effect. Which one of these myriad material parts\ninteracting at any moment shall we single out as the cause of the\nsucceeding state? The solidarity of the universe as far as the complete\ninterdependence of all its parts is concerned is clear to us. It is true\nwe cannot reckon with all factors of the universe at once; and the\nconcept of cause and effect is therefore a useful one. But the cause of\nanything must be, from a positive point of view, just what the methods\nprescribed for its discovery in any particular case shows it to be:\nnamely, a factor, merely, in the manifold conditions determining a\nfollowing state, the removal of which means the prevention of the\nsuccession of exactly that state. Which, for instance, shall we regard\nas the cause of an evil act--the character of a man or the temptation\noffered by circumstances? The change or removal of either means the\nchange or removal of the act. Neither is complete without the other, and\nboth are involved in the whole complexity of the universe, through\nheredity on the one hand and the action of nature external to life on\nthe other.\n\nAnd just here we may glance at Spencer's definition of life as \"the\ncontinual adjustment of inner relations to outer relations.\" Though\nemphasizing an important side of evolution, it is evidently incomplete.\nEvolution is not only the adjustment of inner relations to outer\nrelations, it is also the adjustment of outer relations to inner\nrelations as well as of inner relations among themselves; or it is a\nprocess of mutual adjustment of all the parts engaged in it.\n\nOur analysis, though crude and imperfect, may now be regarded as\ncomplete. Our scope will not allow of a more elaborate one. It is\nfitting, therefore, that we proceed to synthesis. The first matter which\npresents itself to us, in this connection, is the theory of Heredity and\nAdaptation mentioned above.\n\nThe theory is not a new one, wholly outside Darwin's conception of\nevolution. The concept of Adaptation represents simply the\ngeneralization of all those special causes with which Darwin more\nparticularly occupied himself, and is, in essence, only a proclamation\nof that universal subjection to natural law which Darwin himself plainly\nasserted. As such a. generalization it is, however, a useful one; it\nfurnishes us with an expression, for the organic world, of that\nuniversal action and reaction through which opposing forces move towards\nstability by mutual adjustment.\n\nThe law of Heredity, again, may be regarded as an organic expression of\nthe more general principle according to which motion that, in the sense\ndefined above, suffers only a minimum of interference, that is, motion\nwhich, by a certain equilibrium of mutual relations, is \"approximately\"\nor \"fully\" stable, tends to continue to take place in nearly the same\ndirections, or nearly to repeat itself. It is thus apparent, also, that\nHeredity is closely related to the more special principle of Habit, or\nalso of Use and Disuse, if only we remember that, whatever the\nmetaphysical truths of Freedom or Determination, the psychical is always\naccompanied by what may be called equivalents of the physical under\nnatural law. The special laws of Heredity are still enveloped in\nmystery; I refer, not to that mystery which may be regarded as\nsurrounding all ultimate facts, if we choose to conceive them as\nexpressing or concealing something further unknowable, but to the\nscientific mystery of ignorance, which time may dissolve. Biologists\ndisagree on this question, the ultimate decision of which must be left\nto them. Still some general criticism on the results of research in this\ndirection may be allowable from a philosophic standpoint.\n\nThe chief point at issue between various theories of Heredity seems to\nbe the degree of importance to be attached to Adaptation: however we may\nexpress the question, this is the ultimate form to which it is\nreducible. Now it is obvious, from the foregoing analysis, that the form\nof theory which would be most useful to us, if such were attainable,\nwould be one in which the degree of tendency to inheritance as well as\nthe strength of inherited tendency is expressed in terms of the\nintensity and duration of exercise, use, function, habit, or form of\nmotion or action (however we may choose to term it); and variation is\nregarded as the resultant of such tendency and change in the\nenvironment, or, in other words, deviation from constancy of influence.\nIt may be useful to inquire to what extent such a general theory is\nauthorized by special ones.\n\nWe have the testimony of two of the acknowledged greatest\nauthorities--Darwin and Haeckel--as well as that of a score of other\nbiologists, and specialists in related branches, to the inheritance of\npeculiarities acquired during the life of the individual.[108] Eimer\nlays especial stress on the fact, long witnessed to by one class of\nspecialists, of the hereditary character of brain-diseases, among which\nmay be reckoned some that are without doubt due to direct influence of\nthe environment.[109] Haeckel and Eimer even instance cases in which\nmutilation has been inherited.[110] One such instance would be\nsufficient, in overthrowing the general denial of the inheritance of\nindividual adaptation, to make probable the direct influence of the\nenvironment in other cases, the uniformity discoverable in the workings\nof natural law leading us to suppose that the one instance would not be\nisolated. It must have weight, too, as an argument, in the judgment of\nmany doubtful cases. Not one such case alone is furnished us, however,\nbut many well-authenticated ones. And it is to be remarked that even\nWeismann has gradually parted from his original theory, recognizing more\nand more clearly the element of adaptation in inheritance. It seems open\nto question, indeed, whether Weismann's theory, in withdrawing the\ngerm-plasm from the direct influence of the environment with which the\nparent individual is in contact does not exempt it from the universal\nlaw of action and reaction. Eimer designates such an opposition as\nWeismann postulates of the germ-plasm to the rest of the organism as a\n\"physiological miracle,\" and the artificial line thus drawn between the\ngerm-cells before and after the beginning of development as \"opposed to\nthat conformity to law shown in the morphological and physiological\nunity of living beings.\"[111] Ancient ideas seldom conceived of a\nuniversality of action and reaction; and ancient belief, isolating\nphenomena, invested each with some special guiding power. This belief\nwas maintained as the conception of a special vital force long after the\nincreasing knowledge of nature had caused it to be abandoned with regard\nto inorganic phenomena; and the theory of the continuity of the\ngerm-plasm seems to be a survival, with regard to the comparatively\nunexplored province of Embryology, of the idea of such a force.\n\nThe elements of which the organism is composed are not strange essences\nor entities peculiar to the organic; they are the same with those of\ninorganic matter, though their combinations differ somewhat from these,\nboth in chemical composition and in the morphological arrangement of the\ncomposites. We can easily conceive these differences as cooerdinate with\ndifferences of general form and function; but it is inconceivable that\nthe continual assimilation of matter in growth should be at any time\nwithout result in function, however comparatively small this result may\nbe in higher forms representing an accumulation of energy from previous\nconditions. The separation of form and function is an abstraction, as is\nthat of matter and motion; we cannot suppose the connection of\nparticular functions with particular forms,--particular\norganization,--to be accidental, any more than we can suppose the\nparticular properties of particular inorganic composites and elements to\nbe accidental or these particular properties to be without result in the\norganic matter into which the particular composites and elements are\ntaken up.\n\nThe environment must contain complementary conditions of function in\norder that the individual may even come into existence and survive at\nall. The great question is, then, how much is to be allowed for original\ntendency in primal organisms and how much is to be reckoned to the\naccount of the action of the environment in the course of evolution.\nEven if we go back beyond the organic, assuming a development of the\norganic from the inorganic, we must come, in the last analysis, to\nirresolvable elements whose motion, as distinct and particular action\nand reaction, must have definite form. If we begin with a supposititious\nsimple organism conceived as lowest,--the primal form to which the name\n\"organism\" may be applied,--we must likewise conceive of this as\nembodying motion distinctive as its form, which may be regarded as\nconcomitant and cooerdinate with that form,--or, that is, as function.\nThe ultimate elements of this organism represent positive factors and\nthe primal organism itself must be regarded as a positive factor (or\npositive composite) without which the evolution of highest organisms\nwould be impossible. We may, therefore, regard it as in this sense\nembracing the potentialities of evolution. But are we to regard it as\nrepresenting potentiality in a further sense--in the sense that, beyond\nthe particular life-motion cooerdinate with its particular composition\nand form, it represents an independent force that prefigures the whole\nanimate evolution? To such an assumption the analogy--which is something\nfar more than a mere analogy--of Embryology logically reduces us, on\nWeismann's theory, unless we assume a fixity of species that practically\ndoes away with the whole theory of Evolution and returns to the original\ndarkness that on which Darwin threw light. Or, if we leave out of\naccount this analogy and begin with sexual propagation, the problem, on\nWeismann's theory, is very nearly as difficult. Are we to look upon the\nconditions involved in the environment as mere negatives and simply\ndeveloping the positive potentialities of the germ-plasm? If we resolve\nthe environment into its elements, even the ultimate analysis must show\nit composed of positive factors of matter and motion, each one of which\nhas its full worth in any resultant of incidence. The positivity of\nthese elements takes from the primal germ-plasm any superiority of\npotentiality; the potentiality lies also in the environment. That the\norganism is in constant contact with the environment is evident; and\nthat this contact, involving incidence of force, cannot be without\nresult, and result representing a full equivalent of all the factors, is\nalso evident. It may seem as if we could understand human progress, or\nprogress in other species, in the limited province open to direct\nobservation, on Weismann's theory; but evolution as a whole becomes, on\nthis theory, a mystery, and indeed, as Eimer terms it, a miracle.\nLogical consistency thus tells against the theory; and undeniable\nexceptions to its fundamental conception, furnished by such authorities\nas Darwin and Haeckel, raise a further presumption against it, that,\ntaken in connection with the logical inconsistencies noticed,\nconstitutes the strongest probability against its truth.\n\nThe general experience of mankind has recognized, in a thousand ways,\nthat the individual is \"a creature of habit.\" The strength of the\nmuscle, the cunning of hand or eye or ear, mental acuteness, and even\nliability to temptation in any direction, or, on the other hand, moral\nstrength, all are coincident with exercise within the bounds set by the\nnormal of the organ,--that is, within its ability to repair its waste in\nlabor, an ability defined by the food-supply and its power of\nassimilation; for even the moral struggle that is so great as to exhaust\nphysically ends in a weakness which may represent the very condition of\nconquest by the temptation opposed, if this present itself again before\nthe system has had time to repair its loss. We may regard this weakness\nas a lessening of force in one particular direction, the resultant of\naction deviating in favor of the other of the opposing forces or\ntendencies manifested in the struggle. In this connection I cannot do\nbetter than refer to the \"Kritik der reinen Erfahrung\" already\nmentioned, in which the influence of the environment on the individual\nis minutely traced. The special feature of the work is its entire\nfreedom from the thousand metaphysical implications which have gradually\ngathered about our philosophical vocabulary and which render it\nwell-nigh impossible to write from any new standpoint without danger of\nmisunderstanding. This perspicuity and exactness are secured by a new\nvocabulary which may seem at first glance, on account of its\nunfamiliarity, elaborate and incomprehensible, but which is, when\nmastered, the greatest possible aid to understanding. Nevertheless, the\nterminology of the book and the exceeding closeness of its analysis,\nwhile rendering it peculiarly valuable to the expert in Philosophy,\nplace it beyond the grasp of the average reader; and Ethics is a science\nwhich concerns, not the specialist in Philosophy alone, but all thinking\nminds.\n\nThe influence of exercise even beyond the individual has long been\nrecognized. Lamarck advanced the theory that the development of organs\nand their force of action is in ratio to their employment. Darwin also\nlaid stress, particularly in his later works, on Use and Disuse, but he\noften defined the term more specifically than many other authors,\nLamarck among them, seem to have done. The very mass and magnitude of\nDarwin's knowledge made it, as Huxley has said, somewhat unwieldy, and,\nin diverting the attention to minute features, sometimes prevented\ndistinctness in broad generalizations; the very virtue of Darwin's work\nconditioned also its defect. If we begin with the general theory of use\nand disuse, we may regard each present form of organic action or\nfunction, whether conscious or unconscious, as in some manner the result\nof exercise, the processes of food-taking, digestion, repair of waste,\nbeing classed, not as, in any case, mere negative reactions, but as\npositive organic functions. If we apply the term \"habit\" to all these,\nit is evident that we must, in so doing, extend the significance of the\nword beyond its ordinary interpretation. From our present point of view,\nsuch an extension of meaning might be claimed to be legitimate; the\nquestion here is, in reality, only one of expediency, namely, whether it\nis not better to retain the more specific significance of the word. It\nmay be useful, at least, to indicate the relations of Habit to Use and\nDisuse. In its ordinary interpretation, the term \"habit\" refers more\nparticularly to a form of action acquired during the life of the\nindividual, and may be used to imply the action of the will in its\nformation, or may simply have in view the organic concomitants of\nwhatever mental action is included in such formation. Since our present\nstandpoint supposes a certain equivalence of the mental and physical,\nthat is, uniformity in their connection (without entering into the\nquestion of their dependence or independence, or considering which, in\ncase of dependence, is to be regarded as dependent, which as fundamental\nand independent), we may leave for the moment the mental side of\nfunction out of account, to take it up later. Darwin's definition of\nhabit was, as we have seen, no distinct and invariable one, and while he\nspeaks of \"inherited habit,\" referring both to forms of action acquired\nduring the life of the individual and to such acquired through use\nfavored by constancy of environment during several generations, it is\nnot always plain whether he has in mind the action of the will, or only\nits organic equivalents. He inclines, like many other authors, to give\nprominence to the physical side of action in lower species, to the\nmental side in higher. If we use the term \"habit\" in the sense of\ntendency to function acquired by use, we employ what is certainly a\nuseful terminology, yet we are in danger, if we do not carefully define\nour terms, of elevating to the position of a reality an abstraction that\nhas none. Function and Tendency to Function are not separable; the\ndistinction is not an inner, but an outer one, of favorable or\nunfavorable environment by which tendency to function becomes function\nor _vice versa_. To habit, then, we can attach, from our present\nstandpoint, no distinctive implication beyond that of individual\nacquirement,--an implication obviously not fundamental in a theory of\norganic function. Use and disuse are rather the fundamental concepts\nwith which, in a consideration of function under Heredity and\nAdaptation, we have to do.\n\nBut, in this connection, it is also obvious that, when we, from our\npoint of view, distinguish between the organism as acted on by the\nenvironment and the environment as acting, we make a distinction that\nmay be both useful and necessary for many purposes, but that is yet an\narbitrary one. The organism is not the dependent, passive, the\nenvironment the independent, formative factor in the process of\ndevelopment, the organism is not purely reactive, the environment\nactive, but the two are interactive; and from their interaction arises\nchange, as resultant, in both organism and environment. So, too, if we\nreturn to Fechner's conception, the separation of function as effect\nfrom use and disuse as cause is an arbitrary one. Every function, as\nrepresenting a state of more or less perfect, moving equilibrium, may be\nregarded either as the final form issuing from a long process of action\nand reaction or, as determined at present, by such a comparative\nconstancy of all its conditions as makes the line followed by the\nresultant approximately a repetition of that which it has followed\nbefore; and we may lay stress upon either the inferior resistance in\nthis line or the continual application of superior force, the\naccumulation of energy, in its direction. Use or exercise is function;\nlong continuance of the same or approximately the same form of function\nmay be regarded as concomitant with a certain constancy of environment,\nsufficient to furnish the complementary condition always necessary. The\npresent form of function may be regarded as the result of an evolution\nof function in the sense that it is the end-form assumed by the same,\nbut not in a sense that separates it from previous forms of function by\na distinction of kind; since each of these may be regarded, in like\nmanner, as the result of the preceding evolution. As in the definition\nof Habit, so in that of Use, the element of animal will or of a distinct\nvital principle is likely to be consciously or unconsciously included,\nlending it thus a superior significance to that of mere organic function\nregarded as its result. Again it must be said, however, that, whatever\nthe metaphysical truth of freedom, will does not interfere with the\nequivalence of physical conditions and results or prevent perfect\nuniformity of relation between the physical and the psychical, and that\na special vital force cannot be demonstrated. Disuse may be defined\neither as the mere discontinuance of Use or as Use in a sense opposed to\nthe form of function particularly under consideration.\n\nThe idea of some special vital principle doubtless has its origin in the\nmysterious tendency of every organic form to develop along certain\nlines. The mystery involved is here, again, besides that of ultimate\nfact on which the metaphysician lays stress, the lack of the ability of\npresent science to furnish such a description of the process as shall\nresolve it into its elements and demonstrate the uniformities of\nrelation among these elements in this last analysis. But it is to be\nremarked that the metaphysician is apt to confuse these two meanings of\nthe word \"mystery,\" and regard the mystery of the organism as a greater\nmetaphysical one than that of simpler processes whose elements are\nbetter known; and this in spite of the fact that he himself does not at\nall deny the uniformity in natural process which we term Law, or expect\nto find it less in an ultimate analysis than in a more superficial one.\nWe understand the simple parallelogram by which the physicist represents\nto us the action of two forces at incidence, we may represent to\nourselves the motion of any one of the heavenly bodies as the resultant\nof the centrifugal and centripetal forces, but when we come to consider\nthe formation of a crystal, and watch the regularity of shape and\ngrouping, this very uniformity which had been before an explanation now\nseems all at once to represent an insoluble mystery separating the\nprocess forever from those others. The more complicated the process\nbecomes, the more the mystery appears to increase, until we build up,\nout of a negative ignorance, some positive new entity to baffle us. And\nyet neither do we deny, as has been said, the constancy of nature in its\nmost final elements, nor can it at all be shown or supposed that those\nsimpler processes we seemed to understand were less along fixed lines\nthan the more complicated ones. If we grant, then, the insoluble mystery\nof the transcendental meaning of things claimed by the metaphysician, we\ncannot admit the presence of this mystery in the organic more than in\nthe inorganic, nor discover in the science of the former any further\nelement lacking than in that of the latter, except a remediable\nignorance which, when remedied, can only reveal in new particulars the\nworkings of natural law. It may be remarked, in this connection, that\nthose who are so ready to claim the workings of some special force or\npower in the development of the organism make no assertion of such in\nthe so analogous growth of the crystal. The passage of the inorganic\ninto the organic and back into the inorganic is, in fact, no more (if\nthe metaphysician will, no less) mysterious than the evaporation of\nwater and its recondensation, the propagation of animal form no greater\nmystery than the continued flowing of a stream in spite of evaporation,\nor the growth of a crystal to the form of its kind. The propagation of\nspecies is, in one sense, an isolated fact; but so, in like sense, is\nthe evaporation of water or the formation of the crystal of a\nparticular chemical: but none of these phenomena are isolated in any\nother sense, as less or more than a part of a universal whole. We carry\nour notion of human importance into all our science, and so invest with\ngreater weight and mystery ignorance that concerns our own life and that\nof allied forms. As we have seen, a connection of use, or of duration\nand intensity of function, with its strength is evident in the\nindividual, and we are compelled to suppose the connection a constant\none even where such constancy cannot be directly demonstrated. There is\nevidently a relation likewise between degree, or duration and intensity,\nof use or exercise of function, and strength of tendency in the species,\nwhich we must also suppose to be constant. Darwin distinctly recognizes\nthis, everywhere in his work, in asserting that such function as is\nfavored by the environment for several generations is more likely to be\ntransmitted. But though the separation of organism and environment into\ncause and effect may be useful in the solution of some problems, it is\nyet to be kept in mind that the distinction is an arbitrary selection of\nsome factors as dependent, others as independent variables, while all\nare, in fact, interdependent. Function may be regarded as at every\nmoment determined by the factors given in environment and organism, in\nwhich either may seem the more important, according to the particular\ncase or the point of view from which it is regarded. The tendency of the\norganism may represent such an accumulation of potential energy that a\nslight favorable element in the environment may be like a spark in a\nmagazine of gunpowder, followed by results seemingly most\ndisproportionate to its own significance; yet the accumulation of energy\nin the organism can have taken place only under previous favorable\ncircumstances of the environment; and if we regard the organism in its\nrelation to the whole environment, that is, to the universal conditions\noutside it, the primary importance may seem to attach to these. But yet,\nwhich is, in the last analysis, the more important to the explosion of\nthe magazine--spark or powder? Either is insufficient without the other;\nthe two are simply complementary and both indispensable to the result.\nSo too habit, use, or exercise of function and influence of the\nenvironment cannot be held distinct; exercise of function is impossible\nwithout a sufficient complementary factor in the environment, but this\nis evidently sufficient only with the existence of that tendency in the\norganism of which it is the complement. Regarding strong tendency as the\nresult of a long process of evolution in which the environment has\npresented sufficient complementary elements to condition its\ndevelopment, the strength of tendency being cooerdinate with the duration\nand intensity of the process of evolution, we can understand that any\nsuch change in the environment as shall prevent such function may be of\nso much significance, the suppression of the function represent so great\ndeparture from what was previous resultant, that even the destruction of\nthe organism may supervene in cases where longest exercised and\nstrongest functions are prevented; and we can understand, from the same\nstandpoint, the slight comparative importance of the experience of\nindividuals as influencing their descendants, except under especially\nfavorable conditions of the organism.\n\nAll biologists make much of the mixture of types in sexual propagation;\nand Rolph, perhaps, lays especial stress on it in connection with\nprogressive heredity. He calls attention to the intricacy of interaction\nof forces at once introduced by it in its action and reaction with the\nenvironment, and shows, in this connection, the extreme similarity of\nthe younger generation to the parent where propagation is non-sexual,\nthat is, does not involve such mixture of types. It may be said that\nevery new factor in development introduces a complexity greater as the\ncomplexity of the conditions already attained by the organism is\ngreater, since its influence on the different elements and combinations\nof elements varies; or (if we choose to put it thus) since the possible\nchemical compounds and especially the possible combinations and\npermutations of elements and parts increase enormously with the increase\nof the latter in number. But the importance of the presence of any\nparticular new element in these complexities depends, further, on its\nparticular nature.\n\nThe final decision of the principal question of progressive heredity\nwhich our argument concerns must be left to Biology; but biologists\nthemselves have as yet discussed these questions chiefly from a\nphilosophical standpoint,--on general, as distinguished from specific,\ngrounds. All theory is at this point tentative. But if only for this\nreason we have a right, in assuming a working theory, to select that\nwhich seems best to accord with philosophic principles of universal\napplication as well as with general biological fact. For the rest, it\nhas at least been made evident, by all that has been said above\nconcerning the constant contact and interaction of organism and\nenvironment, that the selection of one of these two factors as the\npositive and one as the negative, one as the formative the other as the\nformed, one as the active the other as the passive factor, one as\nindependent the other as dependent, one as invariable the other as alone\nvariable, is an arbitrary one. In dealing with the complexity of the\nuniverse, whether mathematically or logically, we cannot grasp all\nfactors at once, and so are obliged to regard some sides to the\nexclusion of others, to disregard the variable and dependent nature of\nsome factors in the consideration of that of others. The method is\nuseful as well as necessary, useful because necessary; but we are too\napt to forget that we are dealing with half-truths, devices of reason,\nand come to regard them as whole truths. Thus the abstraction of Natural\nSelection is too often elevated to a separate entity, a particular power\nresiding in the environment as such. It is, on the contrary, a mere\nfiction, a device for assisting our comprehension of complex action and\nreaction. Not only does the action of the environment alter the\norganism, the action of the organism also alters the environment; or, to\nput it more plainly, the state of organism and environment at any moment\nis the result of the interaction of preceding states of organism and\nenvironment. Material combinations, whether organic or inorganic, when\nfitted to their environment, survive; those best fitted, where perfect\nfitness does not exist, thrive best; this is only another method of\nsaying that absence of resistance is cooerdinate with the preservation of\nform and its inherent motion to the extent of the non-interference. As\norganic forms survive only to the extent to which they are in harmony\nwith each other and with inorganic conditions, so inorganic forms or\ncombinations survive unaltered only when they are in harmony with other\ninorganic conditions and uninterfered with by organic forms. Matter and\nmotion in some form must survive, both being indestructible. Natural\nSelection in this sense, as at each moment regulating inorganic\ncombinations and motions and organic form and function, is either\nultimately the origin of variation, or else it is not its preserver. It\nis to be remembered that the organism is, from the physical point of\nview, simply form (that is, organization) and function; when we have\nsubtracted these, we have subtracted the organism.\n\nThe inability of the reason to grasp all sides of the complexity of\nnatural processes at once, even where these are known, is a thing to be\nkept in mind in our future investigations; we are apt to take our\nanalyses for the syntheses of nature.\n\nIn the preceding considerations, an \"equivalence of the Physical and the\nPsychical\" has been assumed, which, though already in a measure defined,\nshould have been, perhaps, more fully explained. It may be repeated\nthat, in such equivalence, no materialistic assumption is made of the\ndependence of the Psychical on the Physical; nor is the intention to\nassert that the Psychical can be measured by the weights and measures of\nthe Physical. The assertion is intended in the sense that there is\nalways a physical function connected with the psychical, and that the\nrelation of the two is not an accidental or variable, but a constant\none. All that is claimed is, in other words, that, whatever the\nmetaphysical truth as to the freedom of the will, such freedom cannot\ninterfere with the constancy of nature. But, in fact, all that is\npostulated by physical science in the assertion of the equivalence of\nphysical forces is such a uniformity or constancy of relation as we\npostulate of the Psychical and Physical; for the different forms of\nphysical force can no more be measured by the same standards than can\nthought and brain-process.\n\nIt may be added, further, that by \"force\" as used in the above\narguments, no metaphysical entity is implied; the word simply serves as\nthe generic term embracing different forms of motion and the equivalent\nof motion in resistance, and enables us to deal with motion regarded as\npotential as well as with motion actually existent.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[96] \"Problems of Life and Mind,\" second series, chap. on Evolution.\n\n[97] \"The Variation of Plants and Animals under Domestication,\" 1868,\nII. 272.\n\n[98] Vol. II. Chap. XXII.\n\n[99] \"Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication,\" II. p. 257.\nSee also \"Origin of Species,\" 6th ed., I. pp. 7-9, etc.\n\n[100] \"Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication,\" II. p. 418.\n\n[101] Ibid.\n\n[102] For elaboration of definition and theory, _vide_ the article in\nquestion, \"Vierteljahrschrift fuer wissenschaftliche Philosophie,\" 1890.\n\n[103] As confirming this analysis of evolution, reference is made to\nMach: \"Die Mechanik in ihrer Entwicklungen,\" p. 128, and \"Beitrage zur\nAnalyse der Empfindungen,\" pp. 25, 154; also Avenarius: \"Kritik der\nreinen Erfahrung.\"\n\n[104] See above essay by Petzoldt.\n\n[105] \"Die Entwicklungsgeschichte des Weltalls,\" 1882.\n\n[106] \"Gestaltungen des Zweckmaessigen.\"\n\n[107] \"Die Entwicklungsgeschichte des Weltalls,\" chap. I.\n\n[108] See especially Darwin: \"The Variation of Animals and Plants under\nDomestication\"; Haeckel: \"Natuerliche Schoepfungsgeschichte,\" 8th ed.,\n1889, p. 179 _et seq._\n\n[109] \"Die Entstehung der Arten auf Grund von Vererben erworbener\nEigenschaften,\" p. 204 _et seq._\n\n[110] Ibid. p. 190 _et seq._\n\n[111] \"Entstehung der Arten,\" p. 15.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nINTELLIGENCE AND \"END\"\n\n\nIt is interesting to notice the opinions of different scientists and\nphilosophers as to the extent to which reason is diffused in the\nuniverse, where the point lies at which the boundary line is to be drawn\nbetween reason and an automatism of instinct or organic action, or\nwhether any such point can be found at all, whether reason, at least as\nconsciousness and will, is not inherent in all life, or at least in all\nanimal life, or whether it is not, indeed, to be regarded as the cause\nof motion even outside life, in the inorganic as well as the organic.\nThere is no need to remind ourselves of the philosophic conception of\nthe World as Will, the Philosophy of the Unconscious, or the Theory of\nMonads. The theories that specialists in physical science have arrived\nat, through the results of wide-reaching investigations in their own\npeculiar branch, are as various as those of philosophers. Darwin\ncarefully avoids drawing any distinct limit-line between reason and\ninstinct, but remarks that \"A little dose of judgment or reason, as\nPierre Huber expresses it, often comes into play, even with animals low\nin the scale of nature.\"[112] Haeckel says: \"Unbiassed comparison and\nunprejudiced test and observation place it beyond doubt that so-called\n'instinct' is nothing else than a sum of soul-activities which,\noriginally acquired by adaptation, have been fixed by habit and carried\ndown from generation to generation by inheritance. Originally performed\nwith consciousness and reflection, many instinctive actions of the\nanimals have become, in the course of time, unconscious, exactly as is\nthe case with the habitual activities of human reason. These, too, may,\nwith like justice, be looked upon as the workings of innate instinct,\nas, indeed, the impulse to self-preservation, maternal love, and the\nsocial instinct often are regarded. Again, instinct is neither\ndistinctively an attribute of the brain of the animal, nor is the\nreason an especial endowment of human beings. On the contrary, an\nimpartial doctrine of soul recognizes a long, long, descending scale of\ngradual evolution in the life of the soul, which leads from higher to\nlower human beings, from more perfect to more imperfect animals, step by\nstep, down to those forms whose simple nerve-ganglion furnishes the\nstarting-point of all the cell-less brain-forms of this scale.\"[113] The\nlecture in which this passage occurs not only argues further that the\nsoul is composed of soul-activities as the brain is composed of cells,\nbut finds in all living cells, \"all protoplasm, the first element of all\nsoul life, sensation in the simple forms of pain and pleasure, movement\nin the simple forms of attraction and repulsion. Only the degrees of\ndevelopment and combination of soul are different in different beings.\"\nDu Prel, impressed with the evolution of order from disorder in the\nheavens as on the earth, ascribes this to universal sensation as a\nfundamental quality of all matter, which makes it continually tend\ntowards a state of equilibrium in which collision is reduced to a\nminimum.[114] Some biologists ascribe sensation, or consciousness, to\nanimal life alone; some ascribe consciousness to such animals only as\npossess a nervous system; some philosophers make a distinction between\nsensation, consciousness, and self-consciousness, as shown in the scale\nof animal life; some, again, approaching the problem from another side,\nlay emphasis on the difference between automatic and organic action,\ninstinct, \"blind impulse,\" and will. Carneri, as we have seen,[115]\nholds that even the action of an animal so high in the scale as the\nbutterfly may be pure automatism, its fluttering when impaled merely the\nmotion of a continued attempt at flight.\n\nThese differences in opinion seem to depend, in great measure, upon the\nend of the scale of being chosen as the starting-point in the\ndevelopment of theory. If we begin with man and assume intelligence to\nbe the cause of design,--of the purposeful, the self-preserving,--in his\naction, we shall be likely to infer intelligence as the cause of\nself-preserving function in all animals, and we shall find great\ndifficulty in drawing any distinct line between intelligence and\nautomatism. If we are not students of inorganic nature, the evolution to\nbe found also in it, up to the attainment of preservative forms of\nmotion, may escape our observation, preoccupation with man and the self-\nor rather human-interested bias of observation blinding us to it; but if\nwe carry our considerations, in an unprejudiced spirit, on beyond the\nprovince of life, we may, like Du Prel and others, arrive at a theory of\nintelligence as a universal property of matter. On the other hand, if we\nbegin with inorganic matter and assume automatism to be the cause of its\nmotion, we are likely, ascending the scale of organic existence, to\ninterpret much of its function as due to material action and reaction,\nand may again, from this side, find so great difficulty in drawing the\nline where intelligence begins, that we may fall, as Carneri has done,\ninto the opposite extreme to that last noticed, and interpret nearly all\nanimal action as unintelligent or even insentient.\n\nLet us look at the dilemma a little more closely. Might it not seem,\nfrom one point of view, as if the harmonious movements of the stars, by\nwhich they avoid their own destruction, must be referred to desire and\nwill to avoid it? If all systems of material parts, without exception or\ndistinction, tend, as Fechner, Du Prel, and Petzoldt assert, towards\nharmony of the parts such that the motion of these parts will become\nself-preservative, does it not seem logically necessary to assume that\nthis self-preservation, arising in inorganic matter in the same manner\nas in organic matter, must be due to the same causes as those\nto which we ascribe action towards an end, action that involves\nself-preservation, in the broadest sense of the word, in man? May not\nthe heavenly bodies, learning from experience in some way, as man does,\ngradually come to choose, though still in accordance with natural laws\n(as man also invariably chooses) that orbit which preserves them from\ncollision? True, they must finally suffer destruction, but so, also,\nmust the human individual, and the race of human beings. The difference\nof evolution and dissolution in the two cases is only one of time. Among\ndifferent species of nervously organized beings, the duration of life\nalso differs. Or, if we deny the existence of intelligence in inorganic\nnature, can we, at least, descending the scale of organic being, find\nany point of which we can say, \"Here intelligence ends and automatism\nbegins\"? Shall we deny the existence of intelligence in plants, and if\nso, how shall we find that dividing line between the plant and animal\nkingdoms which the advancement of science in many directions is\nrendering, not more distinct, but less and less so? G. Th. Schneider\nsays, in his book on \"The Human Will\": \"The movements of touch and\nlocomotion in the search for food are the first movements in which the\nspecific animal-life may be recognized. In no plant is the groping\ncaused by hunger to be observed.\"[116] But is this true? The\ninsectivorous plants, for instance, open their leaves when their prey is\ndigested, waiting for fresh prey; and they close them again when prey\nhas again entered, thus practically grasping their victim and holding\nhim fast. Although the nature of the plant prevents its moving from the\nspot where it grows, are these movements less a search for and capture\nof food than those of the animal? To say that the closing of the leaves\ndepends upon the beginning of some chemical process in the plant\nfurnishes us with no mark of distinction between the two, for it is\nequally true that chemical processes underlie animal motion; and to\nobject that the reopening of the leaves is the result of the completion\nof assimilation gives us, also, no distinctive mark, since the animal's\nsearch for food is likewise the result of hunger and so connected with a\nparticular state of the digestive organs. The action of insectivorous\nplants draws our attention because the process of assimilation involved\nso resembles animal digestion; but, as a point of fact, the opening of\npetals to receive the air and sun is as much a search for food as the\nopening of leaves to receive insect prey.\n\nSchneider adds to the passage above quoted, \"A further difference\nbetween psychical and physiological movements is this, that the latter\nalways remain the same, however the excitation changes, while the former\nhave, now the character of attraction, now that of repulsion.\" It may be\nquestioned whether this difference either can be demonstrated to be a\ndistinctive mark. We have only to go into a dark cellar where the\npotatoes have begun to sprout, in order to see how plants that\nordinarily grow upward will take every curve and angle in order to reach\ntowards the light of some distant window. And if we turn one of the\ntubers about, we may watch the pallid sprout again turn to grow towards\nthe far-away sunlight. Thomas A. Knight relates experiments in which\nplants of the Virginia creeper (_Ampelopsis quinquefolia_) were removed\nfrom one side of the house to the other, being, in each case, screened\nfrom perpendicular rays of the sun, and records that, in all cases, the\ntendrils turned in a few hours in a direction pointing to the centre of\nthe house. One plant after being thus experimented with, was \"removed to\nthe centre of the house and fully exposed to the perpendicular light of\nthe sun; and a piece of dark-colored paper was placed upon one side of\nit, just within reach of its tendrils; and to this substance they soon\nappeared to be strongly attracted. The paper was then placed upon the\nopposite side, under similar circumstances, and a piece of plate glass\nwas substituted; but to this substance the tendrils did not indicate any\ndisposition to approach. The position of the glass was then changed, and\ncare was taken to adjust its surface to the varying position of the sun,\nso that the light reflected might continue to strike the tendrils; which\nthen receded from the glass, and appeared to be strongly repulsed by\nit.\"[117] Darwin writes of the insectivorous _Drosera rotundifolia_: \"If\nyoung and active leaves are selected, inorganic particles not larger\nthan the head of a small pin, placed on the central glands, sometimes\ncause the outer tentacles to bend inwards. But this follows much more\nsurely and quickly, if the object contains nitrogenous matter which can\nbe dissolved by the secretion. On one occasion, I observed the following\nunusual circumstance. Small bits of raw meat (which acts more\nenergetically than any other substance), of paper, dried moss, and of\nthe quill of a pen, were placed on several leaves, and they were all\nembraced equally well in about two hours. On other occasions the\nabove-named substances, or more commonly particles of glass, coal-cinder\n(taken from the fire), stone, gold-leaf, dried grass, cork, blotting\npaper, cotton-wool, and hair rolled into little balls, were used, and\nthese substances, though they were sometimes well embraced, often caused\nno movement whatever in the outer tentacles, or an extremely slight and\nslow movement. Yet these same leaves were proved to be in an active\ncondition, as they were excited to movement by substances yielding\nnitrogenous matter, such as bits of raw or roast meat, the yolk or white\nof boiled eggs, fragments of insects of all orders, spiders, etc. I will\ngive only two instances.\n\n\"Minute flies were placed on the discs of several leaves, and on others\nballs of paper, bits of moss and quill of about the same size as the\nflies, and the latter were well embraced in a few hours; whereas after\ntwenty-five hours only a very few tentacles were inflected over the\nother objects. The bits of paper, moss, and quill were then removed from\nthese leaves, and bits of raw meat placed on them; and now all the\ntentacles were soon energetically inflected.\n\n\"Again, particles of coal-cinder (weighing rather more than the flies\nused in the last experiment) were placed on the centres of three leaves:\nafter an interval of nineteen hours, one of the particles was tolerably\nwell embraced; a second by a very few tentacles; and a third by none. I\nthen removed the particles from the two latter leaves, and put on them\nrecently killed flies. These were fairly well embraced in seven and\none-half hours, and thoroughly after twenty and one-half hours; the\ntentacles remaining inflected for many subsequent days. On the other\nhand, the one leaf which had in the course of nineteen hours embraced\nthe bit of cinder moderately well, and to which no fly was given, after\nan additional thirty-three hours (_i.e._ in fifty-two hours from the\ntime when the cinder was put on) was completely reexpanded and ready to\nact again.\"[118]\n\nFrom these and many other experiments Darwin concludes that inorganic\nand some organic substances not attacked by the secretion of the leaf\nact much less quickly and efficiently than organic substances yielding\nsoluble matter, which is absorbed.\n\nHe also writes of the curvature of radicles which come in contact with\nobstacles at right angles:--\n\n\"The first and most obvious explanation of the curvature is that it\nresults merely from the mechanical resistance to the growth in its\noriginal direction. Nevertheless, this explanation did not seem to us\nsatisfactory. The radicles did not present the appearance of having been\nsubjected to a sufficient pressure to account for their curvature. Sachs\nhas shown that the growing part is more rigid than the part immediately\nabove, which has ceased to grow, so that the latter might have been\nexpected to yield and become curved as soon as the apex encountered an\nunyielding object; whereas it was the stiff, growing part which became\ncurved. Moreover, an object which yields with the greatest ease will\ndeflect a radicle: thus, as we have seen, when the apex of the radicle\nof the bean encountered the polished surface of extremely thin tin-foil\non soft sand, no impression was left on it, yet the radicle became\ndeflected at right angles. A second explanation occurred to us, namely,\nthat even the gentlest pressure might check the growth of the apex, and\nin this case growth could continue only on one side, and thus the\nradicle would assume a rectangular form; but this view leaves wholly\nunexplained the curvature of the upper part, extending for a length of\n8-10 mm.\n\n\"We were therefore led to suspect that the apex was sensitive to\ncontact, and that the effect was transmitted from it to the upper part\nof the radicle, which was excited to bend away from the touching object.\nAs a little loop of fine thread, hung on a tendril or on the petiole of\na leaf-climbing plant, causes it to bend, we thought that any hard\nobject affixed to the tip of a radicle, freely suspended and growing in\ndamp air, might cause it to bend if it were sensitive, and yet would not\noffer any mechanical resistance to its growth.... Sachs discovered that\nthe radicle a little above the apex is sensitive and bends like a\ntendril _towards_ the touching object. But when one side of the apex is\npressed by any object, the growing part bends _away_ from the\nobject.\"[119]\n\nActing on this idea, Darwin found, in many experiments, that the\nradicles of plants freely suspended in bottles, when brought into\ncontact with the most yielding substances, bits of paper, etc., were\ndeflected, in a very few hours, from their original course, and often at\nright angles to this. He says, further:--\n\n\"As the apex of a radicle in penetrating the ground must be pressed on\nall sides, we wished to learn whether it could distinguish between\nharder, or more resisting, and softer substances. A square of sanded\npaper almost as stiff as card, and a square of extremely thin paper (too\nthin for writing on) of exactly the same size (about one-twentieth of an\ninch), were fixed with shellac on opposite sides of the apices of twelve\nsuspended radicles.... In eight out of the twelve cases, there could be\nno doubt that the radicle was deflected from the side to which the\ncard-like paper was attached and towards the opposite side bearing the\nvery thin paper.\n\n\"This occurred, in some instances, in nine hours, but in others not\nuntil twenty-four hours had elapsed. Moreover, some of the four failures\ncan hardly be considered as really failures: thus, in one of them in\nwhich the radicle remained quite straight, the square of thin paper was\nfound, when both were removed from the apex, to have been so thickly\ncoated with shellac that it was almost as stiff as the card; in the\nsecond case, the radicle was bent upward into a semicircle, but the\ndeflection was not directly from the side bearing the card, and this was\nexplained by the two squares having become cemented laterally together,\nforming a sort of stiff gable from which the radicle was deflected; in\nthe third case, the square of card had been fixed by mistake in front,\nand though there was deflection, this might have been due to Sachs's\ncurvature; in the fourth case alone, no reason could be assigned why the\nradicle had not been at all deflected.\"\n\nDarwin found, moreover, by experiment, that, when the tip of a radicle\nis burnt or cut, \"it transmits an influence to the upper adjoining part,\ncausing it to bend away from the affected side.\" This deflection\nresembles, in a very striking manner, the avoidance of sources of injury\nand pain on the part of animals.\n\nAnd at the end of his book on the Movements of Plants, which contains\nvery many other experiments bearing on the question of sensitivity in\nplants, the author writes, \"It is hardly an exaggeration to say that the\ntip of the radicle thus endowed, and having the power of directing the\nmovements of the adjoining parts, acts like the brain of one of the\nlower animals.\"\n\nIt is true that the plant does not react with the rapidity which\ncharacterizes the animal; Darwin found that radicles are not sensitive\nto temporary contact, but only to long, though to slight pressure. It is\nalso true that the physical basis of the movement is more simple, and so\nmore easily traceable in the plant than in the animal organism; yet why\nlay such especial stress upon this side of plant-life, since it is\nacknowledged that the physical basis is by no means peculiar to it, but\nthat, on the contrary, all life-processes, in the animal as well as in\nthe plant, have their physical side, although greater complexity of\norganization may make this more difficult to follow in the one case than\nin the other?\n\nBut we may begin at the other end of the scale and examine the facts\npresented from the opposite point of view. The physicist demonstrates\nthat force is indestructible; that is, that the sum of the motion and\nresistance to motion residing in indestructible matter is also\nimperishable, that all present motion must be regarded as the resultant\nof previous conditions of motion and resistance, as far back as we may\ngo, until we reach some assumed primal state (which is only assumed and\ncannot be proved to have existed) in which the matter composing the\nuniverse is supposed to have been at complete rest; and that every\nresultant bears relations to its component factors of force that are\nconstant, every component finding its full value in the resultant. What\nevidence has the present state of our solar system and the other systems\nof heavenly bodies revealed to us by the telescope to offer us in proof\nof their consciousness or sentience? How are the whirl and concentration\nof nebular mists, the crash and collision of elemental bodies, from\nwhich, by simple action and reaction, after ages of disharmony, only a\ncomparative harmony is arrived at as inevitable result, evidence of aim,\nintention, will, consciousness, in the matter subject to this evolution?\nDo we find anything here except blind law? The movements of plants,\noften directly favorable to self-preservation, may be explained by the\narrangement of the cells and their chemical action. Or, if sentience\nmust be assumed to be the cause of movement attaining ends of\nself-preservation in plants, how are we to account for organic and\ninstinctive action in animals? How is it, for instance, that the\nnew-born infant sucks, and the chicken but a few hours old, even though\nit has been hatched in an incubator apart from its kind, picks at the\nfood strewn before it, aiming, too, with considerable precision?[120]\nHow does it happen that the process of breathing and digestion, the\nbeating of the heart and the circulation of the blood, all so necessary\nto life, go on with regularity, though not directed by reason? Has the\nnewly hatched chicken any experience to teach it what food is, and how\nit is to be seized; or does the caterpillar, which spins itself a\ncocoon, do this with the understanding that it is about to enter a new\nphase of existence? Or, if such important and, at first view, seemingly\nintelligent action can be explained as unreasoning instinct, why cannot\nmany other actions of the lower animals be thus explained? Why may not\nnearly all, if not all of them, be thus explained, and consciousness be\nregarded as the exclusive property of man?\n\nBut how much of the action we term automatic, instinctive, or organic,\nreflex or \"merely functional,\" can be positively asserted to have no\nadmixture of consciousness? If we examine our own action closely we\nshall often find that we were, in fact, conscious of much that seems,\nat first glance, purely automatic. It may appear to us, for instance,\nthat reflection on the notes of a musical composition which we have\nknown for a long time \"by heart\" hinders rather than helps us, even\ncausing us sometimes to fail completely in our performance. But if we\nexamine our condition at the time of such a failure, do we not usually\nfind that, when we began to think about what we were playing, we were\nsuddenly seized with a fear of failing and that the fear confused us? Or\ndo we not find, at least, that withdrawal of our attention from the\nmusic by conversation that requires any concentration of thought is as\nlikely to confuse us as too great attention to it? A friend of mine one\nday related to me the following experience: Having a felon upon his\nfinger, he submitted to a surgical operation, for which the operator\npreferred to administer an anaesthetic. When he awoke to consciousness\nagain, he was pleased to find the painful operation completely finished\nand the hand newly dressed. Asked whether he had experienced any pain,\nhe answered, \"Not a twinge,\" whereat the surgeon remarked that he had\nscreamed and groaned during the operation. To this he replied that his\naction must have been merely reflex. An hour or so later, however, as he\nwas at work, a sudden recollection of the whole operation came to him.\nPersons undergoing dental operations under the influence of laughing-gas\noften scream and make convulsive movements as if in pain, though they\ndeclare, afterwards, in like manner, that they have felt nothing; but\nmay not this be due, as in the case just cited, to a mere lapse of\nmemory? Why, indeed, should the patient scream if not in pain? Again,\nthere is a poison--curarine, the Indian arrow poison--which has power to\ndeprive its victim of all motion, while leaving him, as has been\nascertained in cases in which it has been used as a medicine, a\nconsciousness that is more or less dimmed. May not the seeming dimness,\nhowever, be due to the incomplete function of memory when turned to\nevents that transpired under its influence? And may not the action of\nso-called anaesthetics of all sorts involve simply a paralysis of action\nsimilar to that caused by the Indian arrow poison, together with a more\ncomplete lapse of memory than that ensuing upon the latter? To answer\nthat anaesthetics affect the brain, and that therefore consciousness is\nnot possible, is begging the question, for it is by just such\nexperiments and experience of the apparent mental effects of\nanaesthetics in connection with peculiar brain conditions that theories\nof non-sensibility under these conditions have been arrived at. States\nof somnambulism generally used to be classed as outside the sphere of\nmemory and were therefore sometimes called unconscious; but recent\nexperiments in hypnotism have shown that similar states to these may be\nremembered or not remembered according to the individual case, and that\npersons who, when awakened, ordinarily recall nothing of that which has\npassed in the hypnotic state may be made to recall all the events of\nthat state if commanded to do so before awakening. Pflueger has attempted\nto demonstrate, by many experiments, that consciousness is not confined\nto the brain but is also connected with the spinal cord;[121] why,\nhowever, draw a line at the spinal cord? Is not nerve substance the same\nwith that from which the spinal cord and the brain develop, are not all\nnerve cells primarily mere modifications of cells of the outer skin?\n\nOf unconsciousness in ourselves we can have no more an immediate and\ndirect knowledge than of unconsciousness outside ourselves, since, in\norder to be immediately known, it would have to be present in\nconsciousness; and a conscious unconsciousness is a self-contradiction.\nWe can only witness to a failure of memory at certain points (which\nfailure has already been shown to be untrustworthy as evidence) or to\nmovements of our body to which we can supply no corresponding conscious\nstates as premeditation. But our inability to testify to such is merely\nnegative. A great deal has been made, in one way and another, of the\nfact that there are links in premeditated action which do not come into\nconsciousness, there being no knowledge, for instance, of the processes\nin nerve and muscle between the movement of the arm in writing and the\npremeditation of such movement. As a fact, however, none of the\nphysiological processes which accompany the psychical are present to our\nconsciousness except as given through the senses or through\nnerve-transmission similar to that of sense-perception. The conscious\nelements of any present state of thought do not include the changes in\nbrain-matter concomitant with them. But the question may be raised, as\nHaeckel raises it,--though perhaps somewhat differently,--in his essay\non Soul-cells and Cell-souls, as to whether the brain-cells themselves\nare not endowed with consciousness; and any answer in the negative is,\nevidently, an assumption, of which we can give no proof. Indeed, the\nquestion may be asked, and has been asked, whether the remarkable white\nblood corpuscles which traverse our body, and are so similar to certain\nlower forms of life, are not to be regarded as distinct beings, or\nwhether, in fact, all the cells whose combined life and movement make up\nour own are not endowed with distinct being and consciousness. Again an\nanswer in the negative is evidently a mere assumption. And why stop, in\nthis case, exactly with the cells of animal life; why not apply our\nquestion to those of plant life also? Why not, indeed, suppose all forms\nto be endowed with consciousness, all harmonious motion to be\naccompanied by pleasure, all dissolution and conflict by pain? From\nanalogy we may conclude something, but from mere non-analogy nothing.\nOur experience may entitle us to the assertion that all beings\npossessing a nervous system are endowed with consciousness, but we\ncannot conclude, therefore, that all beings not possessing a nervous\nsystem are not endowed with consciousness. We have associated\nconsciousness with acts peculiar to man, and hence inferred its presence\nin similar movements of animals similarly constructed. But if we could\nexamine the physiological accompaniments of our own thought and feeling\nand their issue in action, if we could look on at all the details, the\nchemical and mechanical changes of the physiological processes, what\nhint should we find in these more than in any other physical processes,\nfrom which to infer consciousness? They are not the less rigidly in\naccordance with natural law than any other. But our observation of all\nother processes than those of our own organism is a mere extraneous one,\nlike this we have imagined of the processes of our own body; if there\nwere consciousness in other forms we could not enter into it; and how\ncan we prove extraneously its non-existence? Our own \"stability\" of\nfunction and the stability of all life-motion has been developed in a\nperfectly similar manner to that by which the stability of the heavenly\nbodies has been developed, the physical side of the process being just\nas fully a matter of action and reaction, and our action towards ends\nthe slowly progressive result of this course of action and reaction,\njust as is the case with the harmonious movements of the systems of the\nheavens. It would, moreover, be perfectly easy to formulate a purely\nphysical and mechanical explanation of our action, as Carneri does of\nthe action of ants and other species,--to explain the plucking of a\nrose, for instance, as mere reaction upon the sense of smell and sight,\nor as the mere mechanical action of cell-matter.\n\nBut, again, on the other hand: If it is true that the nervous system is\ndeveloped from cells of the outer covering of the body, it is,\nnevertheless, not true that those primary cells are the nervous system,\nany more than it is true that the lowest forms of life, from which man\nhas developed, are human beings. Rudimentary eyes exist in some animals\nin the form of mere pigment spots, but we do not suppose these pigment\nspots to endow the animal with sight as we understand it. Sight is not a\nfunction of all forms of life, neither is hearing, and these powers have\ndeveloped out of forms of animal life in which they did not exist; why\nthen is it necessary to suppose consciousness to be a property of all\nforms of life because we know it to appear in some higher developments\nof life? Why may it not arise, as do sight and hearing, by gradual\nevolution, as a function of special organisms? Have we any direct\nknowledge of consciousness except in connection with certain normal\nconditions of our own brain? And, this being said, have we any means\nleft by which we can prove the existence of consciousness, except in\nconnection with a brain similar to our own?\n\nWhat grounds have we for assuming the existence of consciousness where\nthe analogy of our own organization does not furnish us with an\nargument? If we argue from the analogy of our own experience to the\nexistence of consciousness in animals whose organization is similar to\nour own, and then, following down the scale of life, find no pause or\ngap at which to draw an exact line, we must not the less forget that\nwith the diminishing analogy the force of our inference diminishes in\nlike degree. Or where is the logical necessity of inferring that\nconsciousness must exist in the inorganic either because the organic\noriginally developed from the inorganic, or because it suffers\ncontinually a renewal by nourishment, which is, in effect, as much a\ndevelopment from the inorganic as the supposed primal one? The pigment\nspot from which the eye arises is not the eye, simple protoplasm is not\nthe organized human being; whence does the physical organization arise?\nAre we to suppose it, too, as preexistent, \"in a weaker form,\" or in\nany form, in the inorganic? Whence have we any grounds for assuming that\nthat which we know only in connection with a certain peculiar\norganization exists elsewhere? Are we to suppose the color blue to be\npresent in certain chemical elements because their chemical compound is\nblue? Or how is it that even isomeric compounds may exhibit different\nqualities? Shall we regard the color as not essentially connected with\nthe chemical constitution of the supposed compound? As a matter of fact,\ncolor is one of the chemist's means of recognition. Or shall we\n\"explain\" the color by the length of light-waves or the construction of\nthe eye, correcting, thus, one part of our experience by another, and\nassuming one as fundamental and essential, the other as non-essential?\nWe \"explain\" sound as wave-movement in some outer medium and in the ear,\ncorrecting, thus, the hearing by sight or touch; does this mean that\nthat part of our experience given us through the eye or hand alone is\ntruth, and to be relied on and recognized as such, while the experience\ngiven us through the other senses is non-essential and not to be\naccepted or relied on? But if the eye gives us the truth, then why do\nwe, in the case of color, correct it again by another phase of our\nexperience? How are we to decide which is essential, the wave-movement\nthat is (or may be made) perceptible to our eye, or the sound heard by\nour ear, the color directly seen or the length of the light-wave\nconcluded from experiment? As a matter of fact, we emphasize one or the\nother according to the end we have in view in our experiment. Is it the\nlength of the wave which causes the color, or the color which causes the\nparticular wave-length? If we analyze brain-action as chemical action,\ndo we prove thereby that the consciousness concomitant with this\npeculiar chemical action under these peculiar conditions must exist\nelsewhere under other conditions? Are the characteristics of one\nchemical compound the same as those of another because both compounds\nare matter and motion? If we prove that the brain contains cells similar\nto cells in other parts of the nervous system, that the whole nervous\nsystem arises, in the first instance, from epithelium cells, that the\nwhole animal is descended from some primal protoplasmic cell, and that\nthe cells of plants are similar, in many ways, to those of animals, do\nwe thereby prove that consciousness exists except as cooerdinate with the\npeculiar cells and arrangements of cells in the brain? We have no\nprecedent from which to argue, since consciousness is to us a unique\nfeature of the universe; we know it immediately only as existent in\nourselves, and in order to obtain any precedent must be guilty of\nassuming it in order to prove it.\n\nThe dilemma seems, thus, as we analyse and inquire into it more closely,\nto increase rather than decrease in significance. How is any solution to\nbe arrived at?\n\nIf we return to the beginning of our considerations on this point, we\nshall find that, in coming at the question from either side, we have\nmade an assumption. Our first premises were as follows: Assuming that\nconsciousness is the cause of movement by which man attempts to arrive\nat his ends, what reason have we for supposing consciousness to exist\noutside man? and, on the other hand: Assuming mechanical action and\nreaction to be the cause of movement in inorganic nature, what reason\nhave we for assuming this to be the cause of action in organic\nexistence? Let us examine these assumptions more closely.\n\nWe may return to the theory of the gradual development of stable out of\nunstable conditions as stated in different ways by Zoellner, Fechner, and\nDu Prel. As has been shown, the principle applies to organic as well as\nto inorganic nature, and is only a broader principle including that of\nthe Survival of the Fittest. There is a physical side to all psychical\nfunctions, and everywhere our investigation shows us the physical\nfollowing unchanging laws. The development of the Stable from the\nUnstable explains to us the evolution of function in the direction of\nthe preservation of the organic forms of which it is the function, as\nwell as the evolution of harmonious movement in the heavenly bodies. The\nexplanation of the natural and necessary elimination of the inharmonious\ncovers the whole ground, and seems to assign a cause for every form of\npreservative action, for the harmonious conduct which preserves the\nstate or the family as a collection of individuals, as well as for the\nharmony of function that preserves the individual. As long as reason can\nchange no smallest detail in the workings of the laws of nature, as long\nas it can never render any motion other than the exact resultant of the\nforces represented in it, what room remains for reason as a cause? Ought\nwe not rather, though from a much broader and therefore more convincing,\nin fact from the broadest and hence most convincing view of the matter,\nto regard consciousness, as do many physiologists on narrower grounds,\nas the mere accompaniment of material processes?\n\nBut this brings us again to a consideration of the concept of cause.\nWhat do we mean by cause? Above, we spoke of the \"cause of motion\"; do\nwe designate by this term those factors of preceding motion which,\ncontinued, produce it as composite resultant? If so, why not substitute\nfor the term \"cause of motion,\" \"component factors of motion\"? But is\nthis, in fact, all we meant by cause? Was there not, in our mind, as we\nmade use of the term, a vague half-conception of some additional force\nbeyond those so exactly summed up in the resultant, which, in some\nindefinable manner, guided the process? As has been sufficiently\ndemonstrated, no such additional force can be shown to exist, or be\nlogically assumed in theory, except in some transcendental sense; nature\ngives us only perfect equivalence of forces. A cause of motion except as\nthe mere sum of its preceding components is, therefore, a natural\nimpossibility. Hence the reason or consciousness cannot be assumed to be\nsuch a cause. But if consciousness cannot be regarded as such a cause\nadditional to the component factors of motion, neither can anything\noutside consciousness be regarded as such a cause. Natural laws are\noften treated as if they constituted a cause; but they are not entities\nwhich control nature: they are merely forms by which we express nature's\nconstancy, uniformity. Neither is constancy or uniformity a controlling\nentity: it is simply a generalization, if a universal one, whether we\nregard it as _a priori_ or as _a posteriori_. It appears, then, that we\nhave no greater reason for regarding the constancy of nature or natural\nlaw as cause than we have for asserting reason to be such.\n\nIn this connection the question may be in order, as to why the student\nof the natural sciences, who is in the habit of proclaiming, so loudly,\nthe necessity or at least the constancy of everything in nature, should\nyet elect to assign to consciousness the character of the non-essential,\nthat is the accidental. Action and reaction are, according to him,\nessential inherent properties of brain matter as such, but consciousness\nis merely a dependent. But who shall decide what part or form of force,\nwhat factors of the universe are accidental and what essential? If our\nassertion of constancy in natural phenomena means anything at all, it\nmeans that nothing is accidental, but that all factors of phenomena are\nessential. Is the bell the less silver to my eye because it appeals to\nmy ear with sound, or the ball the less round to touch because my field\nof vision is flat? Even if we suppose forms of matter, and organic\nforms, to exist without consciousness, can we therefore assert\nconsciousness to be any the less essential, any the less inherent in the\nnature of things, any the less existent and actual, where it appears? If\nso, what physiological function can we call inherent and essential,\nsince these all also arise with evolution? Heat may exist without light,\nbut is light therefore less essential than heat, where it arises? The\nvery constancy which psychical phenomena exhibit would show their\nessential character as factors of the universe. Perhaps it is the\nattempt of the spiritualist to assign to consciousness something more\nthan such a character which has led his adversary into the opposite\nerror of asserting it to be something less; but the two extremes of\ndoctrine are quite equally far from that scientific method which holds\nto given phenomena. Materialism is as much metaphysics as Spiritualism\nis; and the materialist who condemns metaphysics condemns himself.\nConsciousness belongs to the Actual; and the Materialism which assigns\nit a place subordinate to that of other actual phenomena is as much\ndogmatism as is any theory which subordinates the other phases of the\nActual to it. The fact that consciousness bears constant relation to\ncertain physiological phenomena is no ground for pronouncing it the\neffect and the physiological phenomena the cause, it the dependent and\nthe physiological phenomena the independent factors; the relations of\nall forms of force to each other are constant. Heat is constant in its\naccompaniment of light; and yet who shall say the one is dependent, the\nother independent, the one cause, the other merely effect?\n\nWe have only to regard the theories of specialists in order to discover\nhow easily habitual occupation with one particular side, form, factor,\nor phase of phenomena inclines one to regard that side as the only\nessential one, and all others as non-essential, dependent upon it, mere\neffect of which it is the cause. The physicist tends to interpret\neverything by mechanical action and reaction; the chemist lays more\nparticular stress on the chemical properties of organic as of inorganic\nmatter; the physiologist emphasizes cellular structure and combination,\nand makes much of brain cells, the spinal cord, the _nervus\nsympathicus_, and the special sense-organs; the biologist often regards\nthe attraction and repulsion involved in the so-called sensibility of\nall forms of living matter as the cause of all life phenomena; the\nanatomist calls attention to the arrangement of organs with respect to\neach other, the mechanical adjustment of parts for function, the size\nand shape of bones as caused by weight and the angle of its incidence,\netc., etc.; while the psychologist on the other hand refers everything\nto mental causality. For complete science, however, we need the aid of\nevery special science,--of Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Physiology,\nAnatomy, Psychology, and all the other branches which can contribute to\nany side of our knowledge of nature. The desire within us for unity is\nstrong, the impulse to simplify by referring everything to a single\nprinciple almost irresistible; and in so far as we do this through a\nconviction of the oneness of the universe as consisting of\ninterdependent parts we are in a certain sense justified; but until we\ncan grasp this unity in its totality, our one-sided reductions must\nremain false in so far as they make claim to include the whole of truth.\nIt may be most useful to choose out that side or phase of phenomena for\nany particular investigation which is most accessible to such\ninvestigation; where the links of the psychical fail, it may be\nnecessary to scientific completeness or clearness to complete the chain\nwith the aid of the physical, but it should be borne in mind that this\nis a device of reason for convenience' sake. It may be possible to\nimagine two worlds, one in which the physical evolution alone takes\nplace and all phenomena peculiar to organic function arise through the\naction and reaction of organic matter;[122] but the question is not what\nwe can imagine but what is: we can imagine many things which do not\nexist and are impossible to nature. The human reason has also found it\npossible to conceive of spirit unconnected with body.\n\nThe materialist calls triumphant attention to the constancy of material\nphenomena, and proves, by careful comparison with cooerdinate psychical\nphenomena, the uniformities in the latter. Disease of every kind, but\nparticularly those forms of disease which attack especially the nervous\nsystem--brain and spinal cord and the nerve endings--furnish the strong\npoints of his argument, which is thus based on facts no lover of truth\ndesires to gainsay; but when the materialist has shown us all these\nfacts, has he not proved, with regard to the psychical, exactly that\nconstancy which entitles it to consideration as a part of the actual\nuniverse subject to natural law?\n\nThe materialist objects that if the physical side of nature is the\nessential one, the psychical cannot be essential. On what grounds is\nthis claim based? Is the color of an object not essential to it because\nits shape is essential, or do the actual existence and change of color\naccording to natural law interfere with the actual existence and change\nof shape according also to natural law? Does only one of our senses give\nus truth?\n\nLogic is very ready with its definitions of \"things\" and their\n\"properties\" and \"accidents,\" as Physics is very ready with its analyses\nof light and color and sound, and Physiology with its analyses of the\nsense organs and their relations to color and sound. But shall we accept\nonly the physiological analysis of cell form and action, and reject the\nsense-synthesis of sight or hearing as less important, less actual? Or\nare we to believe that the sense-function alone is essential and not\nalso some actuality in its object, as of this or that color? Are we to\nbelieve that any property or accident of a thing may change, and the\nthing remain yet actually the same thing? What are our essences as\nseparated from their properties and accidents? As a matter of fact, we\nknow nothing except we know it as some particular thing, every change in\nwhich leaves it something different from what it was before. Changes of\nparticular form or color are changes to some other particular form or\ncolor, unless they are such changes as withdraw the object from the\nreach of the special sense of sight before appealed to, as for instance\nin the case of evaporation. That one form of force may accompany or pass\ninto another makes neither one of the concomitants and neither the\npreceding nor the succeeding form less real. As a fact, however, much\nsuperstition still remains with us as unconscious result of just such\nwithdrawals from the perception of one sense and analogous new appeals\nto some hitherto unaffected sense, although we are accustomed to flatter\nourselves that science has long overcome this superstition. There is no\nchange that is not a particular change, that is not according to\nconstant laws of nature, and, as such, essential to nature. There is no\nphase of nature that exact science can consistently regard as\nnon-essential. So that, even if reason does not exist in combination\nwith all matter, we have no ground for regarding it as non-essential\nwhere it does exist, and no more reason for defining it as effect than\nwe have for defining it as cause. Result it may be, as physiological\nfunction is result,--that is, an end-form of processes of change which\nwe call evolution.\n\nBut we have found our disproof and also our proof of the existence of\nreason outside the human species fail us wherever the direct evidence of\nextreme analogy is wanting, as soon as we cease to regard reason as a\ncause of physiological change. Perhaps it will be well for us to define\nmore closely the province of reason, before we proceed further in our\nconsiderations. An exhaustive analysis is not necessary to our purpose\nand it would be useless to attempt it at this point of our argument. The\nrelation of reason to action is what chiefly concerns us here, and in\nthis connection Mr. Leslie Stephen's definition of it as that faculty\nwhich enables us to act with regard to the distant and future might seem\nto designate its important function.[123] Simple reaction on the present\naction of force belongs to all matter. However, when we consider\nfurther, a certain doubt may rise as to the exact correctness of this\ndefinition or description, for does not that which we call instinct\noften perform the same office for the animal as that which we have\ndesignated as the office of reason? Let us look into this question a\nlittle more closely. We may take, for instance, the case of those\ninsects and other animals which, though never caring for or indeed\nseeing their offspring after the hatching of the latter, make provision\nat the laying of the eggs for their nourishment during the helplessness\nof the first period of their life; are we to suppose that these animals\nhave any means of knowing that they are providing for their offspring?\nCan they have learned the fact from their own parent whom they never\nsaw, or from others of their own species who are in the same predicament\nas themselves? As Schneider points out,[124] the human infant must have\nsucked before it could have had any ideas, as individual, of the act of\nsucking. The newly hatched chickens of Eimer's experiments above\nreferred to could scarcely have had any conception of the act of eating\nbefore they picked at their food. How happens it that the young of many\nof the lower animals which give no care to eggs or offspring yet know\nhow to care for themselves after the peculiar manner of their kind? Once\nit is admitted that any acts which attain results that constitute\ndesirable ends for the acting subject need not be regarded as caused by\nknowledge of the ends, there is no reason to suppose that the principle\nmay not hold of many acts in which a distinct knowledge of the end seems\nto play a part. But what do we mean by end?\n\nLet us take, for instance, the act of eating. The biologist and the\nphysiologist tell us that the end which eating serves is the\npreservation of life; and the biologist may further add--not the life of\nthe individual, alone, but that of the species. The very consistent\nphysiologist may principally have in view, in eating, the preservation\nof his own health, and may even take into consideration, in a degree,\nhis possible future offspring, guarding his own health with a view to\ntheirs. With a minority of other men these more general and distant\nresults may to some extent be kept in view as ends. But it is evident\nthat, with the majority of people, they are, where ends at all,\nsubordinate ones, the immediate satisfaction of hunger, the pleasure of\neating, or the relief of physical depression, appearing oftener as chief\nend. And what is to be said of the new-born infant, which sucks when the\nbreast is placed between its lips? what is the end which it has in view\nin taking nourishment? Shall we suppose it, as individual, to have any\ndefinite conception of the contrast between states of hunger and states\nof satisfaction, and to possess the knowledge that the act of sucking is\nthe proper means to the attainment of satisfaction as an end? As the\ninfant becomes the boy seating himself at table with a distinct\nconception of pleasure to be attained by the gratification of a vigorous\nappetite, so the boy may become the physiologist eating with a view\nchiefly to his own health and to the further end of health in his\noffspring. How does it happen that, thus, the same act, the significance\nof which remains the same, may be performed and by the same individual\nyet with quite different ends, or perhaps in some cases (that of the\ninfant) no end at all, in view?\n\nWhen we perceive the sphex providing its eggs, as is its wont, with\nliving and yet motionless and helpless insects, we can scarcely refrain\nfrom believing that it is inspired by parental affection thus to provide\nfor its future young; and yet we might, with quite equal reason,\nsuppose that the act of copulation, in the case of the sphex, must have\nin view the propagation of offspring and the preservation of the\nspecies, since this is its result also; we refrain from so supposing,\nsimply because a common experience furnishes us with the knowledge that\nthe act of copulation, most necessary to the propagation of offspring\nand the preservation of the species, may yet be performed with no direct\nview to either of these ends, the birth of offspring being even\nregarded, in many cases, as something to be avoided if possible. With\nrespect to all manner of acts, we continually fall into error by\nimputing what would be our own end, in case we performed the act, to\nanother individual of our own species performing it; and the danger of\nerror is doubtless increased when we attempt to judge the ends of an\nentirely different species by ends in a degree common to our own\nspecies. There is no reason why we should not suppose that some less\nultimate end than that of the preservation of offspring may be present\nto the consciousness of the sphex placing food about its eggs, just as\nsome nearer end than preservation of the species, health of offspring,\nor even individual health may be present to the human individual in the\nacts of copulation or of food-taking. And there remains still the\nfurther question as to whether the care of the sphex for its eggs may\nnot be, and continue forever, on the plane of the first act of\nfood-taking in the human infant; and then the question again arises as\nto what the nature of that plane of action may be.\n\nThese questions must remain, I believe, in great part unanswered,\nconsiderations such as those noticed above making the inference even of\nlike ends from like acts very untrustworthy, the inference of similar\nends from similar acts still more so, and the inference of the existence\nof no end or consciousness at all a logical impossibility. However, a\ncertain general clew is given us in the constant cooerdination of our own\nnervous system with psychical processes, from which we may infer\npsychical processes in some manner and degree similar to our own in\nspecies whose nervous system greatly resembles our own; the similarity\nneed not be that of ends, however. The decreasing similarity of nervous\norganization as we descend the animal scale may be supposed to be\ncooerdinate with some decrease of psychical similarity. _Wherein_ this\nincreasing dissimilarity consists, however, we have yet to inquire.\n\nIf we return to the act of food-taking in the individual, we perceive\nthat, avoiding any exact assumption as to the definite nature of the act\nin its first appearance in the infant, we may make the general assertion\nthat, as in the case of the supposed physiologist who finally comes to\neat with a direct view to the preservation of health in his offspring as\nwell as his own preservation and health, the act itself, while remaining\nunchanged in nature, connects itself, in the process of development,\nwith various ends. As the individual becomes conscious of farther and\nfarther reaching and more and more complicated results of the act, he\npostulates these as ends, not forgetting, however, important ends\nearlier postulated. He may eat, as a boy, for the pleasure of eating,\nlater with his health and the capacity for useful work in view, and\nfinally to the end also, or perhaps primarily, of securing healthy\noffspring; but he eats, in all these cases; and it is even supposable\nthat he may eat the same kinds of food, healthful food being, from the\nbeginning, agreeable to him. The widening of knowledge by experience, in\nthe case of the human individual, furnishes him with more distant and\nmore complex ends, which were earlier impossible to him, since he knew\nnothing of them.\n\nSomething similar appears to be the truth in the case of the mental\nprogress of the human species as a whole. The growth of knowledge is, in\nfact, a growth of consciousness of the constant connection of particular\nprocesses with particular results, and of human acts as affecting these;\nwith which increase of knowledge a further cooerdinate development in the\nsense of a postulation of further and further and more and more complex\nends keeps pace. We are continually making \"discoveries,\"--performing or\nobserving operations some or all of the observed results of which are\nunforeseen by us, though these very results may be later sought as ends.\nWe are often able to predict the results even of entirely new\nexperiments; but we foresee, and can therefore assume as end, no results\nthe elements of which in their connection with their conditions have not\nfirst come, in some way, within our knowledge. Nothing is a discovery\nwhich does not involve some new element or new combination of elements.\nThe growth of knowledge, in individual and species, and the increase in\ndistance and complexity of ends never attain completeness, not all\nresults become known; new discoveries are constantly being made which\nshow us that we have hitherto been blind to results continually before\nour eyes, action in accordance with which would have been most\nadvantageous to us.\n\nWith all these facts before us, how are we to decide as to the end in\nview in any non-human act? How can we be sure whether the bird which\ncovers its eggs is acting with a view to the production of offspring or\nmerely, as some authors have assumed, to the more immediate end of\ncooling its own breast.[125] How do we know whether any feeling which we\nmight term mother-love is active in the sphex's care for her eggs,\nwhether they are, as some authors have suggested, a part of her own ego\nand therefore cared for, or whether the act of caring for them has not\nfinally come to have some immediate pleasure connected with it, such as\naccompanies the satisfaction of hunger or the sexual instinct, the\npleasure itself being sought as an end? How do we know even whether the\nimpaled butterfly is endeavoring to escape pain or merely attempting to\ncontinue its flight?\n\nThere appear to be some general lines that we may draw. Thus, for\ninstance, all facts seem to justify the assumption that the possession\nof a nervous system involves sensibility and susceptibility to pain and\npleasure; and thus it is hardly consistent to suppose that the struggle\nof the impaled butterfly can be without pain. It might be at times more\nagreeable to our selfishness to suppose animals insusceptible of pain,\nbut I think we can scarcely lay that flattering unction to our soul, and\nmust face the assumption of their sensibility and feeling. The question\nas to whether the butterfly has any distinct idea of escape as an end to\nbe striven for is a different one and not so easily solved. Yet as\nregards conscious ends, too, we may be able to arrive at some general\nconclusions with respect to the acts of animals, even of those low in\nthe scale. Some such conclusions have already been reached in our\nconsiderations. But it is to be noted that all these are purely\nnegative--exclusions not inclusions. We may be able to say, for\ninstance, after careful experiment and observation, that this or that\nact takes place where there is no possibility of previous knowledge, on\nthe part of the animal performing it, of this or that result (which we\nmay, however, regard as an end that should especially be desired by the\nanimal), and that this particular result cannot, therefore, be an end\npresent to the animal mind, as such, in performing the act. Lubbock\nbelieves that the passive state of the caterpillar in its cocoon during\nits transformation to a butterfly is a necessary condition of its\npreservation, since the mouth while undergoing change to an organ\nadapted to sucking, and the digestive organs during their preparation\nfor the assimilation of honey, must be useless, and therefore the animal\nin an active state must perish of starvation. It is scarcely to be\nsupposed, however, that the insect is aware of these ends of\nself-preservation involved in the state of passivity in the cocoon and\nknowingly seeks them as ends. Since the metamorphosis takes place but\nonce in the individual life, the insect has no means of learning\nanything about it beforehand from his individual experience (though,\neven if this were not true, there would still remain the first instance\nof cocoon-spinning to be explained); and it is both difficult to suppose\nthat the caterpillar has always had opportunity to be instructed in some\nway by butterflies of his kind, as well as unnecessary to suppose this,\nsince we see, in other cases, that acts useful to the individual may\ntake place without previous instruction or experience. In the case of\nthe sphex, too, as in that of many other lower species that provide for\noffspring they will never see, it is not to be supposed that the welfare\nof the offspring but rather some result nearer than this is the end in\nview, if any end be present to consciousness.\n\nWith regard to primary acts of instinct such as those of the newly\nhatched chicken, and the new-born infant, it would seem as if an\nargument like the following might hold; it is, in fact, often made use\nof in a somewhat different form. We have seen that not only the progress\nof the individual but also that of the human species as a whole has\ninvolved an ever increasing knowledge of the connection of processes\nwith their results and the cooerdinate assumption of these increasingly\ndistant and complex results as ends. The ends which animals with a less\nextensive knowledge of natural processes may postulate, must be nearer\nand less complex than our own, the ends of those whose experience\naffords them least extensive knowledge being nearest and simplest, until\nwe arrive thus at those lowest forms of animal life which cannot be\nsupposed to have any knowledge that may be termed such, whose action and\nreaction, in its psychical aspect, can be figured only as vague\nsensation.\n\nBut first as to this vague sensation. Among our own acts, in which\n\"blind instinct\" seems to play a rather larger part than reason, there\nare those in which the gratification of the instinct involved is\nattended with a peculiar pleasure, while the denial of gratification to\na sufficient degree is correspondingly painful; these are the acts\nconnected with the gratification of the primary appetites of hunger,\nthirst, and sex. The strength of the appetites, the degree of emotion\ninvolved in them, seems to be directly cooerdinate with their character\nas connected with primary functions. This being the case, why may we not\nsuppose the functions of the simplest forms of life, which we believe to\nhave been passed on from generation to generation almost unchanged, for\nthe whole period of time occupied in the evolution of the human race, to\nbe connected with feelings equally as strong as any of our own, or even\nstronger since function has been exercised on these few lines only?\nFeeling changes direction with the growth of man's knowledge, with the\ndevelopment of reason; it may be connected with new and more complex\nprocesses; but it would be difficult to prove that strength of feeling\nhas increased except as connected with increased exercise of\n_particular_ function--that is, it would be difficult to prove that the\nwhole sum of feeling has increased. And if we may assume that it has not\nincreased, then we must suppose as great a degree of feeling to be\npossible in the lowest animals as in man; and no reason appears why we\nshould not suppose it to exist also in as great a degree in the plants\nand in the inorganic matter from which both these forms of the organic\nhave sprung.[126]\n\nAnd we have to notice a second fact: If the ends present to human reason\nare nearer ones according as the knowledge of the individual performing\nthem is narrower, these nearer ends and the means of their attainment\nmay yet be very clearly and thoroughly known, the narrower knowledge\nincluding the minute, often the minutest particulars, as far as it goes;\nand why may we not suppose the so-called \"instinctive\" movements of\nanimals very low in the scale of being, which exhibit a most perfect\nadaptation as far as it reaches, to be connected with a like perfect, if\nvery narrow, action of reason? Or why should we draw a line here between\nthe movements of animals and all other movements?\n\nWe are thus brought face to face with a dilemma to which there appears\nto be no solution. If the solution is impossible, however, why attempt\nit? In this case, anything we may term solution can be only dogmatic\nassertion or else mere speculation. If the question is unanswerable, it\nis unanswerable, and there is no use in further endeavor in this\ndirection. But, in reviewing our arguments, we shall find, I think, that\nthat which led us astray at every turn and induced us to hope for an\nanswer, now on this side, now on that, was the tendency to look for some\nindependent cause, some essence, effecting change rather than being\neffected, or of which phenomena were only the properties. It was this\nwhich made us believe that we had found the means to an answer in reason\nas the cause of action towards ends, as also, again, that we had found\nit in the development of the higher organism from the lower, and of the\norganic from the inorganic. We know no such independent cause, no such\nessence. We know only variables, preceding conditions and succeeding\nconditions, all of which preceding and succeeding conditions we must\nregard as equally essential since they are equally actual; and we know\nin all variation a certain constancy of relations, which we, by\nabstraction, term law.\n\nThe argument which starts with the dependence of \"ends\" upon reason,\nand so infers a necessary intervention of reason where motion is such as\nto attain results regarded by the onlooker as ends to be desired, is\noften applied in a still wider form in Theology. Of course if we start\nwith a definition of ends as results actually desired and premeditated,\nthen we may infer reason from the assumed existence of \"ends\" in any\ncase; but such a form of argument is evidently a gross case of _petitio\nprincipii_; we assume that which is to be proved,--namely, the desire\nand premeditation of the results attained. This fallacy ordinarily\nescapes the eye through the double significance of the word \"end\" as it\nis generally used; in the premises of the argument the use of the word\nis justifiable if no implications of reason and will are associated with\nit; but, with such a non-committal definition of the word, the\nconclusion noticed could never be reached, we should find ourselves at\nthe end of the argument no nearer it than we were at the beginning.\n\nThe gradual development of stability from instability, harmony from\ndisharmony, a state where collision is at a minimum from one where it\nwas at a maximum, may be regarded as furnishing the best phase possible\nof a teleological argument. Even the dissolution of any system is part,\naccording to the theory, of the evolution of some higher system of\nstability, that is, of one including more elements. This leads us,\nhowever, to the question of the definition of \"higher\"; the friends of\ntheological Teleology are very ready to define the development of life\nup to man as the development of higher from lower forms, but are they\nwilling to regard a succeeding stage of still greater stability, a state\nof barren and lifeless rest like that of the moon's surface, which our\nearth will probably one day attain, as a yet higher stage of\ndevelopment, the destruction of man and of the earth as part of a higher\nevolution? We have to consider, further, that, unless we assume some\nfinal state of absolute stability for the universe, we can suppose only\nan asymptotic evolution towards it, in which higher and higher systems\nof stability are developed only to be again destroyed. We know nature\nonly as involving such processes of evolution and dissolution; we know\nno enduring stability. If we regard merely the side of evolution in\nthese processes, we may seem to have a strong argument for design; but\nif we give attention to the dissolution succeeding every evolution, the\nargument loses its force. And, again, if we assume the continual order\nof destruction, reconstruction, and re-destruction finally to give place\nto a condition of absolute stability, the question may be recurred to\nwhether this state could be one of motion, whether it must not rather be\nconceived as one of absolute rest, some frozen peace of which the moon's\nis but an imperfect type. We may ask, then, whether the friends of the\nteleological argument would agree to designate this state, which is\nhighest from a mathematical point of view since it includes all the\nelements of the universe, as highest in any point of view favoring a\ntheological theory of design. The teleological argument is accustomed to\ntake into consideration only the evolution side of natural process; the\npessimistic argument lays emphasis, on the other hand, on all forms of\ndissolution,--both views corresponding thus, as a matter of fact, to but\nhalf the truth. Even if we do not look beyond the evolution upon the\nearth, it is evident that each step in advance is marked by wide-spread\ndestruction, each survival of the few bought at the expense of the\nslaughter of the many. We may overlook the slaughter, but it does not\nthe less exist; we may egoistically shut our eyes to the pain, when it\nis not our pain, but it is not the less a fact.\n\nBut further than this: Our previous investigations have shown us\ndifficulties on every side, when we have attempted to assume reason in\nmatter as the cause of stability or harmony, preservative action, or the\nsurvival of the fittest. We may argue that mere matter and motion cannot\nhave produced such results as these; but how do we know this? How have\nwe such an intimate acquaintance with the nature of matter and motion\nthat we can assert this? Where were we at the origin of the universe (if\nwe suppose such) or where were we at the origin of life, that we should\nbe able to be assured of this? Or how do we know in any case, from an\norigin, what might evolve with time? We obviously cannot argue from the\nanalogy of man's action, since he is a part of the problem itself,\nincluded in the question, and such an analogy is a _petitio principii_.\nIf we have found it impossible to assume reason as cause in his case,\nhow can we, by the analogy of his action and by a universal\ngeneralization, assume it as a Universal Cause? We have, in fact,\nabsolutely no precedent from which to argue, and may answer,--when\nWallace asserts that combinations of chemical compounds might produce\nprotoplasm, but that no such combinations could produce living or\nconscious protoplasm,[127]--How do you know that they could not? We\nhave, indeed, no evidence to the contrary: we do not know. If we assume\nthe creation of protoplasm or the creation of the world to have been\nanalogous to any of the phenomena of our experience, in which we find\nonly certain constant results of the forces resident in matter, then\ncertainly we have no precedent for asserting the necessity of divine\ncreation; and if we assume the creation to have been essentially\ndifferent from any of the phenomena of our experience, then certainly we\nhave no data upon which to base any theory whatever concerning it. But\nthe assumption that the creation of protoplasm, of the earth, or of the\nuniverse, was essentially different from any of the processes that we\nknow, is a mere assumption, without basis: we have no data from which to\nargue in this direction; any hypothesis of such sort is made purely and\nabsolutely _a priori_. A first appearance of protoplasm upon the earth\nwe must infer from the facts furnished us by Geology and Astronomy; but\na creation of either matter or motion is a mere assumption. As we know\nmatter, it can neither be created nor destroyed. We cannot draw any\ninference from man's will, for man creates nothing; his action is itself\na part of nature. Advanced theological doctrine tends more and more to\nlimit the creation to the first communication of motion to matter or to\nassume some transcendental government of the universe, known, according\nto the assumption, transcendentally, or inferred from the existence of\nmoral tendency or from desire for the transcendental in man. With\nTranscendentalism we have, as yet, nothing to do; and with moral\nprinciple in its bearings on this matter we cannot deal until later. But\nas for the hypothesis of a first communication of motion to \"dead\"\nmatter, we may remark, as before, that this is a mere hypothesis with no\nfacts to support it. We know nothing of motion apart from matter, or of\nmatter except through motion; the two cannot be separated in fact, and\nthere is no reason for their separation in hypothesis or theory. Du Prel\nsays: \"Whether causeless motion is scientifically conceivable, depends\non whether we have to regard rest or motion as the natural condition of\nmatter; for a motion that is not primary must, as newly appearing\nchange, be preceded by a cause. But though experience might incline us\nto regard rest as the original condition of matter, and therefore to\nseek a cause for every motion, this is, nevertheless, only the result\nof an incomplete induction. For if it is true that we never see a\nmotionless body pass into a state of motion without a cause, on the\nother hand, it is just as certain that a moving body can never pass into\na state of rest without cause; and if this axiom can never be directly\nproved in processes on the earth, we can, nevertheless, show reason for\nit: motion on the earth cannot be imagined without resistance from\nobstacles, since the attraction of the earth and the moments of friction\ncan never be removed. But the axiom is indeed indirectly proved by the\nfact that we see the velocity of a body decrease in proportion to the\nresistance of obstacles; the body can only then attain to a condition of\nrest when the moving force is consumed to the last remnant. Hence, if we\nsubtract the whole sum of resistance to the motion, we have again the\nformer condition, the motion with its original velocity.... Which\ncondition of matter is the original one, rest or motion, experience\ncannot inform us. We have as good reason for regarding rest as arrested\nmotion, as for regarding motion as disturbed rest. The requirement of an\nouter cause for the first impulsion of matter therefore has meaning only\nin so far as rest is claimed to be the original, natural condition of\nmatter; but this claim cannot be substantiated, and the opposite is just\nas conceivable, namely, that rest is only arrested motion, and that all\ncosmic matter had motion from the beginning.\"[128]\n\nWallace practically abandons his own ground, not only in his later works\nin ascribing much to natural selection which he was at first inclined to\nbelieve the effect of some supernatural cause, and omitting from his\nchapters on the application of the conception of evolution to man\nseveral arguments for supernatural intercession employed in his earlier\nwork, but even in his first book, by admitting that natural selection\ntakes advantage of mental superiority just as it does of physical\nsuperiority. We may notice at this point, however, a consistent\ninconsistency of his, in that, though he denies the existence of\nconsciousness in matter, he leaves no logical room for the opposite\ntheory of a gradual development of consciousness, since he asserts that\nall instinctive actions were at first self-conscious. This position is\nheld by others also.\n\nWe may note here an objection of Wallace's that \"because man's physical\nstructure has been developed from an animal form by natural selection,\nit does not necessarily follow that his mental nature, even though\ndeveloped _pari passu_ with it, has been developed by the same causes\nonly.\" The question may be again repeated as to what is meant by cause;\nand it will be well to keep distinct, in our thought, transcendental\ncause and cosmic conditions. We must admit that we have no proof of the\nabsence of transcendental causes. Neither the constancy of nature nor\nthe inseparability and indestructibility of matter and motion can prove\nthe absence of such causes, which might be entirely consistent with\nthese things; we have no data from which to argue that they are not so.\n\nBut though the law of Excluded Middle must hold good here as elsewhere,\nit is also to be noticed that the absence of proof in the natural order\nof things, with respect to the non-existence of transcendental causes,\nis not equivalent to the presence of proof of the opposite. We cannot\ninfer, from the fact that no proof can be given of the non-existence of\ntranscendental causes, that therefore proof can be given of the\nexistence of such causes; or, from the fact that transcendental causes\nmay be, that therefore transcendental causes are; they may also not be.\nThere is, in fact, absence of proof for either view. Of the\ntranscendental, if it exists, we can know by definition absolutely\nnothing. The man who endeavors to prove its existence generally bases\nhis argument on this very fact in order to disprove the validity of any\nargument of his opponent from natural facts; when he, therefore, after\nlegitimately silencing his opponent, goes on himself to prove the\ntranscendental, he is guilty of self-contradiction. When Fiske asserts\nthat there is no problem \"in the simplest and most exact departments of\nscience which does not speedily lead us to a transcendental problem that\nwe can neither solve nor elude,\"[129] we may admit the point, but surely\nit does not follow, because we cannot solve it, that therefore we must\nsolve it, far less that we must solve it in one particular way. If we\ncannot solve it, we cannot solve it, and there is an end to the matter,\nunless we find new proof. We may not be able, as Fiske says, to elude\nthe problem, but we certainly are able to elude the answering of it, and\nmust do so perforce if the first part of the assertion,--namely, that we\ncannot answer it,--be correct. When Fiske urges us to accept one view\nbecause \"the alternative view contains difficulties at least as great,\"\nwe fail to perceive any grounds in this position for such acceptance. To\nFiske's question as to whether we are to regard the work of the Creator\nas like that of the child, who builds houses just for the pleasure of\nknocking them down again, we may answer that the existence of a Creator\nmust first be proved before we, from a scientific basis, may make any\ninference as to his purpose; and that we certainly cannot use an\nassumption of his existence in order to protest against a theory of\nDisteleology,--as Fiske seems to do,--if we use the teleological\nargument to prove his existence.\n\nWe may furthermore protest against the elevation of any negative term,\nas, for instance, Spencer's \"Unknowable,\" to a term signifying a\npositive existence. We do not know whether there is any positive\nTranscendental that is to us unknowable; this mere negative term is\nadmissible only on the assumption that it expresses such an absence of\nknowledge. The Unknowable assumed as existent entity is the Unknowable\nknown,--a self-contradiction.\n\nA similar criticism may be applied to Spencer's use in his \"First\nPrinciples\" of the word \"Force,\" spelled with a capital, and defined as\ndesignating \"Absolute Force,\" an \"Absolute, Unconditioned Reality,\"\n\"Unconditioned Cause,\"[130] etc. The attribution of reality to a mere\nmental abstraction is a survival of old conceptions repudiated by\nSpencer in their older form. Of forces we know much, but of abstract\nForce nothing,--except as an abstraction from reality; and the dangers\nin the use of such a term are made manifest by Spencer's elevation of\nthis concept to the character assigned it by the other terms quoted.\n\nTo sum up. We have found in nature only variables, no constant and\ninvariable factor, no independent one according to which the others\nvary; we have found no cause that was not also an effect; that is, we\nhave discovered nothing but a chain of phenomena bearing constant\nrelations to each other, no causes except in this sense. We have no\nprecedent or data from which to assert that chemical combinations could\nnot have resulted in protoplasm and in living protoplasm, no data from\nwhich to assert that mere evolution could not have produced\nconsciousness. As a matter of fact, however, we find the relations of\nconsciousness and physiological process as constant as those of the\ndifferent forms of material force, and while discovering no grounds upon\nwhich to pronounce either consciousness or physiological process the\nmore essential, find none, either, for pronouncing one more than the\nother independent of what we call natural law. The logic of all our\nexperience leads us to believe that neither protoplasm, nor the earth,\nnor any of the parts of the universe, could have originated otherwise\nthan under natural law, that is, as the result of preceding natural\nconditions which must have contained all the factors united in the\nresult, and would thus explain to us, if we knew them, in as far as any\nprocess is explained by analysis, the results arising from them. We know\nmatter and motion only as united; we know no state of absolute rest, and\nwe have no grounds for supposing any initial state of such absolute\nrest, or any state in which motion not previously existent in the\nuniverse entered. On the other hand, we have no proof of the absence of\nconsciousness outside animal life, and no proof of the non-existence of\ntranscendental causes, though likewise no proof of their existence.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[112] \"Origin of Species,\" 6th ed., Vol. I. p. 320.\n\n[113] \"Lecture on Cell-souls and Soul-cells,\" 1878.\n\n[114] \"Entwicklungsgeschichte des Weltalls,\" p. 349 _et seq._\n\n[115] See Part I. p. 161.\n\n[116] \"Der menschliche Wille,\" p. 13.\n\n[117] On the Motions of the Tendrils of Plants; among the essays of\nKnight published under the title, \"A Selection from Physiological and\nHorticultural Papers,\" 1841.\n\n[118] See \"Insectivorous Plants,\" Chaps. I. and II.\n\n[119] \"The Movements of Plants,\" Chap. III.\n\n[120] See experiments made by Eimer: \"Entstehung der Arten,\" etc., p.\n263 _et seq._\n\n[121] E. Pflueger: \"Die sensorischen Functionen des Rueckenmarks der\nWirbelthiere,\" 1853.\n\n[122] See Lange: \"Geschichte des Materialismus,\" II. Theil, p. 486.\n\n[123] \"The Science of Ethics,\" p. 60.\n\n[124] \"Der thierische Wille,\" p. 161.\n\n[125] See, for instance, Eimer: \"Entstehung der Arten,\" p. 283.\n\n[126] Carneri's instance, cited in support of his theory of the\npossibility of sensation without pleasure or pain, that certain nerves\nconnected with fine sense-perception, may yet be cut without special\npain to the owner, is a poor one, first, because highly developed\nnerves, the media of fine perceptions, are especially inapt examples for\ncitation in support of any theory of primitive sensation in lower\norganisms, and, second, because the problem of pain and pleasure in such\ncases is very different from the problem of pain and pleasure in\nconnection with ordinary excitation of nerve endings or the outer\ncovering of the organism from which the nervous system has developed.\nThe fact that, in highly developed organisms, some parts are less\nsusceptible of pleasure and pain might as easily be construed into an\nargument that corresponding parts of lower organisms differ, in the same\nmanner, in susceptibility. Furthermore, sensation being admitted, as\nCarneri admits it, or rather asserts it, of all forms of animal life, it\nis difficult to conceive how he can interpret the phenomena of\nappetition and repulsion as devoid of feeling. Most authors have argued,\nwith much more reason, that pleasure and pain are primordial. Carneri's\nfurther argument that he who conceives the lower species as feeling\npleasure and pain introduces an immense amount of pain into the world\n(p. 113, \"Grundlegung der Ethik\") is quite aside from the question as to\nthe facts of the case. Nor can man create pain by his conception of its\nexistence, or destroy it, if it exists, by a refusal to acknowledge its\nexistence.\n\n[127] See Part I. pp. 19, 22.\n\n[128] \"Die Entwicklungsgeschichte des Weltalls\", p. 350 _et seq._\n\n[129] See Part I. p. 80.\n\n[130] Pp. 170, 192d.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE WILL\n\n\nIn any discussion of the will, we are met at the outset by the\ndifficulties of definition, on which whole chapters might be, and have\nbeen, written. But one great difficulty has already been considered in\nthe discussions of the previous chapter, in the questions as to the\nexistence of consciousness in inorganic nature, in organisms which\ndiffer from our own in not possessing a centralized nervous system, and\nin connection with actions of our own body known to our centralized\nconsciousness only as results. Leaving these questions open, as we have\nfound it necessary to do, and confining ourselves, in speaking of\nconsciousness, to consciousness as we immediately know it, or as we may,\nwith some degree of probability, infer it in animals constituted\nsimilarly to ourselves, we find one obstacle to our definition removed.\nFor by will is generally meant a psychical faculty; and to speak of\n\"unconscious will\" is either a self-contradiction or a mere figure of\nspeech.\n\nWe shall also find, I think, that the most essential characteristic of\nthe will as a psychical faculty is that it is connected with action\nwhich has in view some end consciously sought; action to which there\ncorresponds no conscious end, whether a long premeditated end or an end\ninstantaneously comprehended and assumed in the moment of need, we term\nreflex. The question may arise as to whether there are not acts which we\nname merely \"involuntary,\" which must be classified, from a\npyschological standpoint, as midway between the voluntary and the\nreflex. But it may be answered that here, as everywhere in connection\nwith the organic, there is difficulty in drawing distinct lines; there\nare psychical conditions in which some strong emotion, for instance,\nterror, so takes possession of the mind as almost to exclude plan of\naction, and the individual appears to act, as we say, \"unconsciously\";\nbut I think this very adverb solves, for us, to all practical purposes,\nthe question we have put. When we analyze such psychical conditions, we\noften find that, besides emotion, there was some degree of preconception\nof action, though the emotion so absorbed our attention at the time that\nthe other appeared subordinate and was easily forgotten; but the fact\nthat we term action of this sort, where we fail to discover\npreconception, \"unconsciously\" performed, would go to confirm the\ndefinition with which we began, though we may have difficulty in\ndeciding whether or not a particular action comes under the head of\nwilled action, that is, action to a preconceived end.\n\nAnother question which has been frequently asked, in analyses of the\nwill, is whether mere abstinence from action, the negation of action,\ncan be classed as an instance of willing, willing being, by definition,\nan active, not a passive state. It may be answered that, from the\nphysiological point of view, a point of view not to be wholly\ndisregarded even by the conservative psychologist, the arresting action\nof the will as the control of lower by higher centres, is its most\nimportant function. And to this physiological fact corresponds the\npsychological fact that no stronger exertion of will-power is known to\nus than that sometimes necessary to the attainment of mere passivity. A\ndefinition that would exclude such passive states from the province of\nthe will must exclude, on the same principle, all other willing not\nissuing in muscular action, and so all voluntary control of thought. The\nchoice between activity and passivity may be as real and as difficult as\nbetween two different forms of activity.\n\nWe have here introduced the concept of choice, and it may be well to\ndefine this, and its significance in our definition of will, more\nexactly. Voluntary action is, we say, often preceded by long\ndeliberation and severe struggle, ending finally in the choice of one of\nthe many modes of action deliberated. We can conceive of this struggle\nas not so long, as shorter and shorter, until it occupies so little time\nand attention as to be scarcely perceptible. But we can conceive, also,\nof a premeditation which includes no struggle, in which one motive\nappears so strong as to exclude consideration of any but the one end,\nand the deliberation has reference only to the best means of attaining\nthat end. The murderer, inspired by a desire for revenge, may seek his\nend with the same directness, if not the same instantaneousness, or with\nthe same directness and instantaneousness, as the dog who snaps at a\npiece of meat; yet we call his action voluntary, whatever we may think\nof the dog's action, our conception of which may be rendered indistinct\nby our uncertainty as to the nature of instinct and the part it plays in\nthe action of other species. We call the action of the murderer\nvoluntary because we conceive that he consciously sought the end\ninvolved. We are even inclined to call it voluntary in cases where the\ncriminal is moved by momentary passion, since we conceive that he might\nhave exerted self-control.\n\nOur conception of will is, therefore, closely bound up with the\nconception of conscious end, distant or near. Our association of choice\nwith the act is not always exact; we may conceive of the choice as\nactually taking place between one of several ends deliberated upon, or\nas involved in the conscious determination of any end, even though no\nother was deliberated upon, even though all others were excluded from\nconsciousness by passion; since we conceive that as all definition is,\nin fact, exclusion, so the determination of one end is in effect the\nnegation of others that might have been sought, if only in the form of\nthe contrary of action, inaction.\n\nWe are thus brought, first of all, to a consideration of the meaning of\nthe term \"end.\" As we have seen in the last chapter, an end is that part\nof the results of an action which consciousness especially holds in view\nin the performance of an act. The end in view has sometimes been called\nthe cause of the act, but it is evident, as both Gizycki and Stephen\nhave shown, that a future state, that is, something which at the time of\nwilling does not exist, cannot move the will; though the representation\nof a hoped-for end is concerned in action,--in just what capacity we\nhave yet to determine. It has also been urged that nothing external can\nact upon the will, but only internal states of consciousness. All\ndepends, here, upon the definition of external and internal. The\ndistinction between the two is a legitimate one where it calls attention\nto the difference between that which is at present perceived and that\nwhich is only remembered, or imagined from the elements given by memory.\nBut what _is_ an object, as present to me, beyond what it is to my\nconsciousness? My knowledge of a thing is made up of various elements\ncontributed through the different senses; and this assertion is exactly\nthe same as the statement that a thing is the sum of its qualities. My\nidea of the fire, the lamp, or any other object as external, arises\nfrom the fact that it appeals to more of my senses than one, that, if\nwithdrawn from one or from all but one, it may still be perceived by the\nother or others, or that, if withdrawn from all of them for a time by\nsome obstacle, it may be perceived again when this obstacle is removed;\nbut beyond perception or memory of perception, in any case, I have no\nconsciousness of the object. The perception is not, however, something\ndistinct from consciousness, but _is_ consciousness. The error above\nnoticed arises from the conception of consciousness as a sort of place,\nanother space into which we cannot get objects from external space; the\nconception is a crude one, yet it often enters into psychological\nspeculation. The perceived, that is the external, does, as a matter of\nfact, affect our will.\n\nThere may thus be two definitions of the term \"internal\" and two of\n\"external,\" as the words are generally used. Internal may mean either\nwithin the body or within consciousness, external may mean external to\nthe body or external to consciousness. The two meanings are, in both\ncases, commonly confused,--that is, consciousness is looked upon, as has\nbeen said, as a sort of internal space within the body to which external\nthings cannot get admission. \"External to consciousness\" should refer\nsimply to that which the individual or individuals considered do not\nperceive, of which they are unconscious. That of which we are conscious\nis in consciousness. But all manner of ingenious jugglery is played with\nthe help of the metaphysical dualism implied in the other definition of\nthe terms. The objection of a possibility of this duality of meaning\napplies to Barratt's use of the term \"external\" at the opening of his\nbook on Ethics, and the objection of a possibility of a similar duality\napplies to many other expressions in the propositions and definitions\nwith which he begins,--to such expressions, for instance, as \"relative\nto our faculties,\" \"state of consciousness,\" etc.[131] Objection may\nalso be taken to such quantification of the predicate as is found in\nCor. 1 of Prop. I.\n\nTo return to the question of the will. The thought-image, memory or\nperception, with its associations, has been termed the excitation or the\nmotive and said to move or determine the will to some end. Thus the\nperception of the burning house is said to be that which leads me to\ngive an alarm, or the perception of the smoking lamp that which moves me\nto turn it down. To this form of statement is often objected that mere\nthought or perception can never move the will, but that feeling is\nrequired to do this. A further discussion may arise as to whether it is\nfeeling in the form of pleasure or of pain which moves the will. Many\nauthors regard anticipated pleasure as a constant motive; Rolph, on the\ncontrary, as we have seen, inclines to the view that it is always some\npresent pain by which we are moved to action. And it is argued that,\nsince the direction of the will is determined by pleasure or by pain,\nthat is by motives, the will is not free.\n\nAgain, the physiologist calls attention to the fact that the so-called\nfree action of the will has for its basis physiological processes, all\nof which are in accordance with the strict uniformity of nature, all\nsubject to law, and all, as we must believe, capable of exact prediction\nfrom the conditions which produce them, if we but comprehended these\nconditions. There is no gap in these processes where free will might\ninterpose; the whole thought-process, the deliberation preceding\ndecision, the moral struggle if there is one, the decision itself, and\nits realization in action, have for their foundation physiological\nfunction, which is as much determined by necessity as any of the\nprocesses in inorganic nature. The results of past experience, not of\nthe experience of the individual only but of that of the whole species\ninherited as inborn tendency and capacity and modified by individual\ncircumstances, are stored up in the organism, the point of\ncentralization being the brain; any single excitation sets this whole\ncomplicated machinery in motion and the result is the act. The\nindividual, not understanding this complicated process of reaction, not\nbeing able to trace the results of experience to their source, to\ndescend the whole scale of being to the beginnings of life and note the\ngradual development of tendency, and seeing the inadequacy of the\nexcitation in itself to account for the action following, attributes to\nthis a peculiar character, regarding that which is really result as\nabsolute beginning, independent cause.\n\nWe may consider the matter from still another point of view. We may\ninquire whether the freedom predicated of the human will is predicated\nof that alone, or of will in the whole range of animal life. And if it\nbe predicated of the human will alone, we may ask at just what point of\nthe evolution this is supposed to arise, whether, in the gradual\ndevelopment, any particular point can be found or assumed to exist, of\nwhich we can say: Here the animal ceases and man begins. Or if freedom\nis asserted of the whole range of animal will, not, however, of plant\nmovement or the motions of the inorganic, we may again inquire as to the\npoint of exact division between the animal and the plant. Evolution is,\nby definition, a gradual process, a growth in which there are no gaps,\nand of which our finest and most minute calculations by infinitesimals\ncan give us only a faint conception. Where is there any point of such a\nprocess at which we can suppose the entrance of a totally new principle\nthat cannot be regarded as another expression of force or merely a new\nform of animal function, but as directly opposed to developed function\nand to the force that is subject to natural law?\n\nThe Evolutionist may state the problem in still a new form, as follows:\nThe survival of any organism at a given period is determined by the\nfitness of that organism for the conditions of the environment at that\nperiod. The form and function of the animal are thus, at each moment,\ndetermined by the environment. And since only functions in harmony with\nthe environment render the organism capable of survival under that\nenvironment, the functions of surviving organisms are in a direction\nfavorable to the preservation of the form of which they are the\nfunctions. Since, moreover, self-preservation in some form, whether as\npreservation of the whole organism or as preservation of a part through\nsatisfaction of its function (rendered possible only through harmony\nbetween the function and the environment), always constitutes the end\nsought by the will, the individual appears to himself to will ends,\nwhereas these are all determined for him by the survival of the fittest,\nwhose function he inherits and carries out subject only to the\nmodification of the peculiar elements of his own environment. If we\nsuppose, at any point of development, an action not in accord with that\nwhich the laws of nature necessitate decided upon by the will, such an\naction cannot be carried out. But even a decision is impossible contrary\nto natural law, since in preceding evolution there has been no point at\nwhich nature has not in like manner determined action, and the present\ndecision, being the expression of function attained as the result of\nevolution, must be as much determined as the action which follows.\n\nOr if we return to our conception of the development of stable from\nunstable conditions, we may consider all evolution of higher function as\nincreased adaptation, that is, as harmony with an ever wider circle of\nnature, the reason appearing as corresponding concomitant knowledge of\nthis widening circle, to which the function of the organism is adjusted.\nThe reflection preceding decision on an end consists in the imagination,\nby aid of the memory of past experience, of some of the constant results\nof particular function, to which function, however, the organism is\nirresistibly moved. Thus that which is generally regarded as the\ngreatest independence of nature is, in reality, the greatest subjection\nto nature considered as a whole, although this wider subjection means an\nincreasing independence of the mere excitation of the moment. The\nability to weigh all sides of a question, sometimes termed Freedom, is\nrather the widest adaptation, which means the widest determination by\nnature. The lower organisms may be, as Rolph and Alexander assert, as\nwell adapted to their particular environment as the higher; but the\nhigher are adapted to a wider environment, to more of the variations of\nthe conditions on the earth's surface. Man is the most widely adapted of\nall animals. This is a fact which we express when we say that man's\npower of adaptation is greatest,--that is, that there are latent\ntendencies in him, the result of former adaptations, which may\ncorrespond sufficiently to new environment, _i.e._ to environment\ninvolving many new elements, to enable him to survive. This wider\nadaptation expresses itself especially in the higher development of the\nnervous centres, to which man's higher reason corresponds; it is through\nthe reason especially that his adaptiveness comes to light.\n\nThe statistician often has considerable to say against a doctrine of\nfreedom of the will. He calls attention to the necessary character of\nhuman action as evidenced by its uniformities under uniform\ncircumstances, in the various important relations of life. These\nuniformities are not less than those which statistics reveal in disease\nand death and other events classed as not under the control of the will.\n\nAnd to all this evidence we may add that of the history of the mental\nlife of the species, derived from the combined labors of the geologist,\nthe ethnologist, the philologist, and the historian. Everything goes to\nprove an evolution in the mental life of man, as gradual, and as much\nsubject to the influence of the environment, as his physical evolution\nhas been. Carneri says, \"The eternal laws of mind point out the way upon\nwhich man has to proceed; it is the same way by which man has become\nman, and by which mankind must go forward even if it does not will thus\nto proceed.\"[132]\n\nAnd again, the authorities on mental disease demonstrate the constant\nrelations, not only of general health of brain to health of mind, and of\ndisease of brain to mental unsoundness, but also of particular physical\nsymptoms to particular mental symptoms. This constancy of relations is\nrevealed with more certainty and distinctness by every step in the\nprogress of medical knowledge. The specialist in mental disease inquires\nwith reason how we can acknowledge the physical processes of the body to\nbe governed by natural law, yet assert the emancipation from law of the\npsychical processes which vary concomitantly with these in a manner that\nscience shows to be perfectly constant. To the testimony of Psychiatry\nmay be added that of the comparatively new science of Criminology.\n\nAnd, finally, Evolutional Ethics demonstrates the constancy of\ncharacter, the persistence of habit, and the uniformity of its change\nunder the influence of environment. If there is no persistence of\ncharacter and uniformity in its action, we have no reason, as various\nauthors have shown, for trust or distrust, for praise or blame; and, I\nthink we may add, none for love or dislike, reverence or contempt,\nenthusiasm or coldness, in the contemplation of character or conduct. If\nthe fact that a man acts honorably, kindly, nobly, in one instance is\nnot a warranty that we may with reason expect him to act similarly again\nunder similar circumstances, allowance being made for error in our\ninterpretation of motive (which may have been merely self-interested\nwhere we thought it disinterested) and for changes produced in character\nby the environment between the first act and the opportunity of the\nsecond, then character is merely a jumbled chaos of chance, and the name\n\"habit\" a contradiction in terms. We may, perhaps, respect the single\nact, but we have no reason for respecting the individual performing it,\nsince the \"individual\" cannot be regarded as coextensive with a single\nact of his life, and least of all when the act gives no clew to a\npermanent basis issuing in uniform action of which law can be\npredicated. In this case, the noble deed, or any number of noble deeds,\nafford us no security that the next act of the person performing them,\nor all the rest of the acts of his life, may not be wholly ignoble,\nbase, and vile.\n\nIn the face of all the considerations thus offered us, we cannot well\nfind reason for accrediting the will with a peculiar position in the\nuniverse, as emancipated from the natural law which we discover in all\nother phenomena. But it behooves us, in this connection, to inquire as\nto just what is the significance of the term \"natural law.\" It has\nalready been implicitly defined in our previous considerations. Lewes\nand several other modern philosophical writers have given excellent\ndefinitions of the expression. Lewes writes as follows: \"Law is only one\nof two conceptions, (1) a notation of the process observed in phenomena,\nwhich process we mentally detach and generalize by extending it to all\nsimilar phenomena; (2) an abstract Type, which, though originally\nconstructed from the observed Process, does nevertheless depart from\nwhat is really observed, and substitutes an Ideal Process, constructing\nwhat _would be_ the course of the process were the conditions different\nfrom those actually present. The first conception is so far real that it\nexpresses the _observed series of positions_. It is the process of\nphenomena, not an agent apart from them, not an agency _determining\nthem_, but simply the ideal _summation of their positions_....\nPhenomena, in so far as they are ruled, regulated, determined in this\ndirection rather than in that, and necessarily determined in the\ndirection taken,... are determined by no external agent corresponding to\nLaw, but by their cooeperant factors internal and external; alter one of\nthese factors and the product will be differently determined. It is\nowing to the very general misconception of the nature of Law, that there\narises the misconception of Necessity; the fact that events arrive\nirresistibly when their conditions are present is confounded with the\nconception that the events must arrive whether the conditions be present\nor not, being fatally predetermined. Necessity simply says that whatever\nis, is, and will vary with varying conditions.\"[133] Neither Natural Law\nnor Necessity is an entity extraneous to phenomena which governs or\ncompels them; the two are generalizations merely by which we express a\ncertain uniformity that we find universal.\n\nLet us return to our analysis of the organic as matter and of function\nas its motion. Go as far as we like in our analysis, and we still have\nleft positive entities of matter and force, or matter, motion, and the\nequivalent of motion in resistance; moreover, we cannot suppose either\nmatter or force to decrease by our analysis. Here, therefore, we have\nindestructible entities, and these, not Law and Necessity, are the\npositive factors. But if the final divisions of matter leave us still\npositive factors, then the combinations of these must be positive also;\nnot only the theoretical atoms of the chemist, or the organic cells with\ntheir motions and functions, but the combinations of these in organisms,\nmust be positive.\n\nIt is said that the organism answers to its environment \"as the clay to\nthe mould\"; that it is formed by the environment and adjusted to it.\nHere we may inquire whether the adjustment referred to is present\nadjustment or that of the whole development of the organism. If present\naction of the environment is all that is had in view, it may be objected\nthat not anything in the environment, and not the whole environment, is\nmore positive than the organism. The one of the two factors cannot be\nregarded as positive, the other as merely negative, the environment as\nthe active and formative, the organism as the passive and formed, the\nenvironment as determining, the organism as determined.\n\nBut we may also consider the organism in the process of development. In\nthis case, we seem to find reason for regarding it as purely the product\nof the environment in which it has arisen. The product it certainly is\nin one sense; that is, it is the end-form of a series of changes which\nwe may suppose originally inorganic matter, or (if we prefer to begin\nwith the lowest form of life) simplest forms of organic matter, to have\nundergone. But the present forms of matter everywhere are, in like\nmanner, the products of the past changes of matter; if we trace these\nchanges which have produced present forms, in the case of the inorganic\nas well as that of the organic, back to any point of time which we may\nchoose as a beginning, we shall find in neither case more matter or a\ngreater amount of force than at the present period; we shall find the\nsame matter in different combinations, the same force in other forms.\nPresent forms are not greater or less than past ones, but their exact\nequivalents; the beginning was not greater than the end; the producing\nforms and forces were not greater than are their products. By a backward\ncourse of thought comprehending evolution we may bring unity into our\nconception of the organic, but we find no new factors of force, and need\nto avoid laying stress upon the process to the depreciation of the\nimportance of the product. We may be led to suspect that our search\nafter new and more important factors was only another form of the search\nafter an independent cause according to which all other phenomena may be\nsaid to vary. Our mathematical habit of selecting some one side of\nnatural process as independent, in order to trace, by its variation, the\nvariation of the others, leads us to regard the one side, phase, or\nportion, of phenomena as actually thus independent; although we forget,\nin this assumption, that we may select any phase for our mathematical\nindependent, and are not confined to any particular one. The organism is\nitself a part of the environment regarded as conditioning, when we\nconsider the development of other organisms, or change in inorganic\nmatter, with which it is in contact. Our minds are unable to comprehend\nthe whole of nature as variation only, and we fasten on some one part of\nthe process as independent of the general change or as holding a unique\nposition in it, from which to consider the variation of the rest. And\nthe conception of some one part of phenomena as cause disappointing us,\non closer investigation, as far as merely present phenomena are\nconcerned, we remove the conception farther back into a dim past which\nwe fail to analyze in thought with the same completeness with which we\nanalyze the present. We are not, however, in the habit of tracing back\nany other than just the organic forms to an arbitrary point which we\ncall the beginning, and emphasizing this in distinction from present\nconditions; in considering the inorganic, we simply notice present\nconditions and mark the result of action and reaction between this and\nthat other form of matter with which it comes in contact.\n\nThe action of the animal at any moment may be said to be determined by\nthe tendency or potential energy inherent in it at the moment, and the\ninfluence exerted by a particular excitation; this is a matter of action\nand reaction; but the force represented by both sides, by that of\norganism and by that of environment, is equally positive and equally\nrepresented again in the result. Particular emphasis has been laid, now\non the positive activity of the organism by one school of writers, now\non the activity of the environment as moving the organism to action by\nanother school; but both sides contribute to the result. Where action\nand reaction in inorganic matter are considered, we do not regard either\nof two incident forces as alone positive; nor do we regard one as\novercome by the other in the sense that it is not fully represented in\nthe result.\n\nAgain, if we return to the dispute as to the importance of the\nphysiological \"basis\" of action, the remark may be repeated, that it is\nmere dogmatism to select some one phase of phenomena as the only\nessential phase, while all other phases are regarded as non-essential or\nsubordinate. The materialist who derides the idea of a \"Ding-an-sich\" is\nhimself assuming something very like it, when he endeavors to prove\nmatter to be the cause, essence, or independent, of which consciousness\nis the mere effect, property, or dependent.\n\nEven if it could be said with truth that the brain secretes thought as\nthe liver secretes bile (and the analogy does not hold), it should be\nborne in mind that the bile is no mere dependent creation of the liver,\nbut that, before it became bile, it existed in another form, was, in\nfact, a part of the liver of which it is regarded as the dependent\ncreation. Matter and force have simply changed form; that is all. The\nlater form is not rendered secondary in importance or less positive by\nthe fact of its sequence upon the other form. The conditions equal the\nresult; they are not greater than it. Where is there, on closer\nanalysis, passivity as distinguished from activity? All force is, by\ndefinition, active; and all matter represents force. We find simple\nequivalence, that is, a uniformity of relation between preceding\nconditions and succeeding conditions. Our \"Natural Law\" and \"Necessity\"\nresolve themselves into this. Yet the conception of law as something\nextraneous to things, something without them not included in their\nprimary nature but controlling them, is a very common conception. Thus\nDu Prel, though rejecting other forms of teleological argument, bases a\nwhole course of teleological reasoning upon the mere fact of law.[134]\nHowever, we know of natural law merely as an expression of\nuniformities, a generalization from the relations of things; we have no\nreason for treating it as extraneous to the nature of things themselves;\nand nature itself furnishes us with no reason for supposing the\nrelations of things to be of more significance than things themselves;\nrelations are not entities.\n\nIf man be part of nature, it is strange that the force within him should\nbe regarded as so shaped and compelled, the force without him, on the\nother hand, as so compelling and mighty. No part of nature is, as a\nmatter of fact, compelled. All things act and react spontaneously from\ntheir own nature, and man in the same manner acts from his. Law cannot\nbe defined as determining action and reaction, nor can Necessity; they\nare not entities. Force is sometimes called the determining factor, but\nan abstract Force we do not know; we know force only as motion or the\nequivalent of motion in resistance, or as the conceived potentiality of\nmotion. The concept of potentiality of motion is, however, again only a\ndevice of reason for bringing unity into our conception of things by\naccounting for the appearance of motion where before it was not.\nPotentiality is no existence, no reality; actual potentiality is a\ncontradiction in terms. Nature contains only actualities. Force is the\nabstract term by which we include motion, resistance, and the conceived\npotentiality of motion, under one head. Motion again is often defined as\nthe cause of movement; but such a conception makes the abstract notion\nof a thing the cause of the thing itself, unless by motion as the cause\nwe understand the preceding motion, and by movement as the effect we\nmean the succeeding motion, in which case we have to bear in mind the\nequivalence of conditions and results. Nor do we know motion as\nsomething apart from matter, moving it; we know no abstract motion; we\nknow only things as moving, changing, and resisting motion. There is no\noutside cause given us in our experience as the mover, from which things\nare to be distinguished as the passive moved. Things move. And in\ncorrespondence with the activity of things is doubtless the sense of\nfreedom in the exertion of the will. Outer compulsion, resistance to the\ncarrying out of a course decided upon or desired, has sometimes been\ninterpreted as the negation of freedom of the will; but it has with\nreason been objected to this definition that the very strongest sense of\ninner freedom may exist in connection with such compulsion. It may be\nsupposed that, as long as there is action in the brain, the\ncorresponding sense of freedom will exist; or, lest this statement be\ninterpreted as materialistic, we may say instead: As long as\nconsciousness exists, it must by definition exist as activity, with\nwhich the sense of freedom is indissolubly connected.\n\nBut we may look at the matter from the more purely psychological side.\nThe opponents of a theory of freedom make much of the determination of\nthe will by motives. In their argument, the will is treated as if it\nwere some separate material thing, the motive another equally separate\nthing which, when brought into contact with the will, sets it in motion\nin somewhat the same manner as the powder in the gun drives the ball.\nBut the motive is not something external to consciousness, something\nforeign, that, introduced, impels the will to action; nor can the will\nbe compared to an organ of the body, the motion of which is given us\nthrough our senses as the motion of a part, not of the whole body. The\nfunctions of the body are, in this sense, a part of the material world\nto us. But the will is no material thing, no separate organ of\nconsciousness in this sense. In the will, consciousness expresses\nitself; and we cannot say that it is only a part of consciousness that\nthus expresses itself. The motive, as conscious, belongs to that\nconsciousness which finds expression in the will.\n\nA similar form of theory to that just noticed regards the will as\ndetermined especially by feeling. But feeling belongs as evidently to\nconsciousness as does will, nor can we say that one part of\nconsciousness feels and another wills, the one part being the active\nmover, the other the passive moved; the division into parts is a\nmaterial one applicable to things occupying space, but not to\nconsciousness. The notion here of mover and moved is very similar to\nthat noticed above, of motion as cause, movement as effect.\n\nIt is sometimes said that the desirability of an object moves or\ndetermines the will. Here arises the question as to whether the\ndesirability of an object lies in the object or is only dependent upon\nconsciousness as a quality of feeling. Thus we come, by closer analysis,\nto the fundamental problem of the connection of consciousness with the\nexternal world. It is often said that desirability is a mere predication\nof consciousness and does not lie in the object or end itself. That\ndesirability is a predication of consciousness is true in a sense. And\nyet it is evident that this predication corresponds to actualities\nexisting in the thing or end, on account of which it is pronounced\ndesirable or, under proper conditions, desired. When we analyze the\nstate of consciousness itself, we find it impossible to separate the\ndesirability as predicated by consciousness and the desirability as\npredicated of the end, the excited feeling and the feeling as excited by\nthe object. From one point of view, excitation and consciousness are the\ntwo sides of the conditions, both of which are essential to the result;\nbut, from another point of view, it is equally true that the desire of\nthe end is always a part of consciousness, which expresses itself in the\nwill according to its own inherent nature.\n\nThe act of the will, as following excitation, is sometimes treated as\nits mere result, hence subject to it, subordinate and passive; on this\nprinciple, we could also define brain-action as subject to nerve-action\nand passive in comparison, wherever it follows. The mere conception of\nthe conservation of force would make it impossible to suppose a result\nof force to be less than preceding force of which it is the result. We\ndo not call the evolution of organic life on the earth subject or\nsubordinate to the motion of the nebular mists, or passive with respect\nto them. The mere sequence of one event upon another in time does not\njustify our pronouncing the one subordinate to the other or passive with\nrespect to it, the whole sum of matter and force remaining always the\nsame, and a resultant in any particular instance exactly representing\nits factors.\n\nFrom our examination of the above arguments, we perceive that the\nmaterialist uses both the concomitance of consciousness with material\nprocesses, and, again, the sequence of particular conscious states upon\nmaterial processes, as proof of the subordination and passivity or\ndependence of consciousness, as proof that the latter is effect of the\nmaterial as cause; indeed, we are not at all sure that he does not often\nconfuse the two arguments from sequence and from concomitance. On the\nother hand, the argument of sequence is often used to prove the greater\nimportance and activity of consciousness in contrast to matter,\nconsciousness being regarded as antecedent to excitation in general or\nto some particular excitation. But consciousness is not the \"prius\" of\nits excitation in time, since its very definition includes activity and\nthis is not possible without excitation; consciousness is always the\nconsciousness of something. To regard consciousness as the \"logical\nprius\" of matter or of excitation by matter may be possible, but the\nstandpoint is either a purely fanciful or a purely dogmatic one. With\nregard to its priority in respect to a particular excitation, the\nremarks made above hold good, that mere sequence does not prove\nsubordination or passivity as distinguished from activity. The fact of\nconcomitance is also sometimes treated as a part of theories of the\ncausal nature of consciousness, the brain being regarded as the mere\norgan of mind, the passive instrument upon which it acts. In this case,\nhowever, as in the opposite argument that consciousness is dependent\nupon brain-action, there is probably some indistinct idea of sequence at\nwork. The argument applies equally well, indeed, in either direction,\nthe materialistic or its opposite, and merely this fact would lead us to\nsuspect that it can be conclusive in neither.\n\nThus, in hunting for some cause and effect in the activity of the will,\nwe bring to light, in the end, only a certain concomitance and sequence.\nThat which we call \"explanation\" of natural process is, in fact, in all\ncases, merely a finer analysis of concomitance or sequence, or the\nanalysis of some new phase of it. We have only the finer elements of the\nprocess analyzed before us in any case, although we are often inclined\nto treat these elements as if they were the essence and cause of the\nprocess to which they belong. We explain, for instance, the green color\nof the leaf by the continually renewed presence of a certain chemical\ncombination; yet the green color is not less real and essential than the\nchemical composition which constantly accompanies it. The musical note\nis not the less real to our ear because we can make the vibrations of\nthe string and the air perceptible to our eye, or because we can observe\nto some extent, and infer further, vibrations of parts of the ear that\nare the physiological accompaniment of the note heard. The light of the\nfire is not the less real because of the heat that I feel from it, nor\nis either less actual because I can analyze the process of combustion in\nthe case. The shape of the leaf to my touch does not make its greenness\nof color the less real to my eye, nor does change of form prevent change\nof color or prove it less essential in any case. The smell of the rose\ndoes not render its color less real and essential, and, _vice versa_,\nthe color does not render the smell less an essential part of reality.\nNeither does the activity of the brain render the activity of\nconsciousness less real, or interfere with its freedom, any more than\nthe activity of the consciousness renders that of the brain less actual\nor interferes with its free action and reaction. My knowledge of a thing\ngiven me through one sense is totally different from the knowledge of it\ngiven me through other senses; yet I do not find this various knowledge\ncontradictory or irreconcilable. Why, then, do I find such great\ndifficulty in reconciling the simple facts of consciousness and\nbrain-activity? And why should there be such an inclination to give\ngreater prominence to physiological process than to mental process, to\nregard the only method of reconciling the two that of proclaiming the\ndependence of consciousness?\n\nThe solution of the question is not so difficult to find. In the first\nplace, our knowledge of the concomitance of brain-process and\nconsciousness, or at least of the constant uniformity of this\nconcomitance, is only comparatively recent. Further, this knowledge is\nnot given us immediately, but is the conclusion of a process of\nreasoning. While such concomitance as we immediately perceive--the\nconcomitance of certain impressions on one sense with certain other\nimpressions upon other senses--appears to us so natural as to need no\ncomment, the newness and mediate nature of our knowledge of this other\nconcomitance incline us to regard it as strange and needing some\nespecial \"explanation.\" While the concomitant impressions upon the\nsenses, wherever they are constant, become united in our conception to a\nsingle whole, we fail to unite the elements of this mediately known\nconcomitance to such a whole; doubtless, however, if a perception of all\nthe details of our own brain-activity were the invariable accompaniment\nof thought, we should thus unite them. We can no more \"explain\" why the\ntwo activities are concomitant, except as we show it to be a fact and\nanalyze it into its elements, than we can show why just Prussian blue\nshould be the characteristic of one chemical compound and the green of\nplant-life of another, why the connection of the colors should not be\nthe reverse. The importance we accord the physiological accompaniments\nof mental process is partly accounted for by the significance which\nattaches to more recent knowledge as constituting scientific progress;\nin the effort to bring together in our conception the two elements of\nconsciousness and brain-action, to whose association we are not\naccustomed by immediate perception, we are led to lay especial weight\nupon the facts of recent discovery, which are connected with so great\nadvance in science and have done away with so many superstitions. And,\nfinally, in the rebound from the old superstitions, the tendency is to\nexaggerated views in the opposite direction. The attempt to correct\nspiritualistic ideas of a soul superior to the rest of nature and no\npart of it has resulted in materialism. And by the physiological basis\nwe now think to \"explain\" the facts of psychology. \"Notable enough,\"\nsays Carlyle, \"wilt thou find the potency of Names; Witchcraft, and all\nmanner of Spectre-work and Demonology, we have now named Madness, and\nDiseases of the Nerves. Seldom reflecting that still the new question\ncomes upon us: What is Madness, what are Nerves? Ever, as before, does\nMadness remain a mysterious-terrific, altogether infernal boiling-up of\nthe Nether Chaotic Deep, through this fair-painted Vision of Creation,\nwhich swims thereon, which we name the Real. Was Luther's Picture of the\nDevil less a Reality, whether it were formed within the bodily eye or\nwithout it?\"\n\nIf the connection of physiological and psychological processes requires\n\"explanation,\" beyond that of analysis, why should we not feel ourselves\nequally required to explain, in like manner, the connection of light\nwith heat and sound, and form with color? Why is it more comprehensible\nthat the ball can be at the same time round to my touch and red or gray\nto my eye, and that the rose can both smell sweet and be yellow in tint?\nWhy should we, in this particular instance, make such a strenuous effort\nto find reasons which can never be given in this case any more than in\nthe others, and which we do not, moreover, demand in the others? Why\ncannot we accept the simple fact of concomitance in this case also? Our\nattempts to show the reason of brain-activity by means of mind-activity,\nor, _vice versa_, to explain mental activity as caused by, and dependent\nupon, physiological activity, must end equally in failure, in a\none-sided dogmatism. It is the concomitance of the two, to the thought\nof which we are not yet used, that thwarts us. And yet Zeno, the\nsceptic, found as great difficulties in sequence, and proved, to his\nsatisfaction and that of his followers, the utter impossibility of many\nthings which we accept as simple facts without troubling ourselves to\nsolve his problems.\n\nWe have seen that any explanation of facts beyond analysis, except as we\nassume some transcendental intuition, is impossible. The search for some\nfurther explanation embodies the last remnant of the idea of some\nspecial separate agent behind each single event and process, with which\nearly superstition was animated. Driven by the gradual spread of\nknowledge to more and more obscure details in concomitance, and to ever\ngreater distance of time in sequence, it has reached the final shadows\nof the one, and the furthest ends of evolution, whither thought seldom\ntravels, in the other. That we expect other explanation than analysis,\nor read into analysis more than its real worth, is the result of an\nindistinctness and confusion in our thought, which has not yet lost the\nhabit of infusing into generalizations and abstractions a vitality of\ntheir own apart from reality. We continually hope and strive for some\nexplanation that shall give us more than nature, and yet, strange to\nsay, we endeavor to found our theories in and on nature. We acknowledge\nthe scientific truth of the indestructibility of matter and force, the\nconstancy of their sum, and yet we nevertheless continue to construct\nour many-storied theories of causes and essences, failing to notice that\nwe are bringing all our concepts from a time when the equivalence of\nresults and conditions, of results and their factors, was not yet\ncomprehended.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[131] See Part I. p. 107 _et seq._\n\n[132] \"Sittlichkeit und Darwinismus,\" p. 363. See also, however, the\n\"Grundlegung der Ethik,\" p. 289.\n\n[133] \"Problems of Life and Mind,\" Ser. I. Vol. I. pp. 308, 309.\n\n[134] \"Die Entwicklungsgeschichte des Weltalls,\" pp. 352 _et seq._\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE MUTUAL RELATIONS OF THOUGHT, FEELING, AND WILL IN EVOLUTION\n\n\nHume, in his essay on the Passions, writes: \"What is commonly, in a\npopular sense, called reason, and is so much recommended in moral\ndiscourses, is nothing but a general and calm passion which takes a\ncomprehensive and a distant view of its object, and actuates the will,\nwithout exciting any sensible emotion. A man, we say, is diligent in his\nprofession from reason; that is, from a calm desire of riches and\nfortune. A man adheres to justice from reason; that is, from a calm\nregard to public good, or to a character with himself and others. The\nsame objects which recommend themselves to reason in this sense of the\nword, are also the objects of passion, when they are brought near to us,\nand acquire some other advantages, either of external situation, or\ncongruity to our internal temper; and by that means excite a turbulent\nand sensible emotion. Evil at a great distance is avoided we say from\nreason; evil near at hand produces aversion, horror, fear, and is the\nobject of passion.\" We know no state of consciousness from which\nelements of thought are excluded; consciousness is not a state of rest,\nbut a continual passage from percept to concept, or from concept to\npercept, or if from percept to percept even then with the intervention\nof concepts. Judgment, exclusion and inclusion, has part in all\nconsciousness; and thus pleasure and pain must be regarded as always\naccompanied by thought-elements, though the thought-factors may escape\nnotice because of the prominence of violent emotion, just as, in like\nmanner, feeling may draw less attention when of a less turbulent nature.\nThis is not equivalent to saying that emotion must always be accompanied\nby a representation of its object. To this last statement might be\nobjected that emotion may not be, at first, connected with its proper\nobject, just as so-called purely physical pain may not be, in the\nbeginning, combined with any perception of the object producing it, may\nnot even be localized, in fact. But to this objection may be answered\nthat our conception of \"its\" object, in the case of emotion, is similar\nto our conception of \"the\" end of any particular act; that which we\nregard as \"the\" object of the emotion may be entirely different from the\nobject in the consciousness of the being subject to the emotion. That is\nto say, emotion speedily connects itself with _some_ object, or even if\nfelt for some time as vague want is yet combined with thought, in that\nwe make mental search for its object or, where it is too faint to induce\nthis action, tend to turn to memories or imaginations sad or joyful,\naccording as the feeling tinges our mood with exhilaration or sadness;\nbut the objects with which it connects itself in thought may be quite\nother than those which onlookers regard as its proper object. Into many\nan emotion of childhood and growing adolescence, for instance, the adult\nreads a meaning and object of which he is aware the individual subject\nto the emotion has no thought. Physical feeling may not be connected\nwith any distinct perception of the object producing it (as, for\ninstance, when one bruises oneself in the dark), but it is never\nunconnected with thought-images. The intermediate links between this\noutwardly stimulated physical feeling and so-called purely mental\nemotion are represented by localized organic feelings, passing by\nimperceptible degrees into non-localized feeling experienced as mood.\nBut feeling on any plane is not, as conscious, uncombined with thought.\n\nIt follows that, as connected with the human will, emotion is never\nuncombined with thought. This fact is implied in the definition of will\nas the conscious determination on some definite course of conduct which,\nas definite, is an exclusion of other courses, and thus involves\njudgment. Where action takes place without conscious predetermination,\nwe call it \"organic,\" \"automatic,\" \"reflex,\" or \"involuntary,\" the pain\nor pleasure connected with the act rising into our individual,\ncentralized consciousness when the action has already taken place or\nduring its progress. In the latter case, part of the act rises into\nconsciousness as result, as already performed, and the will may then\ninterpose to check and prevent the elements not yet performed.\n\nThe question as to whether thought is always accompanied by feeling, at\nleast by feeling as pleasure or pain, may appear more difficult than the\nprevious one. That thought is not always connected with violent emotion\nas pleasure or pain is evident. But, as Hoeffding says, \"feeling may be\nstrong and deep without being violent.\" If we examine carefully any\ntrain even of abstract and apparently, at first glance, wholly\nunemotional reasoning, we can generally trace a distinct vein of varying\nfeeling accompanying the thought,--perhaps extreme interest in the\nproblem involved and pleasure in its solution, hope as we seem to be on\nthe point of finding the key to it, disappointment when the hope proves\na delusive one, shame or impatience at our failure, or pride in our\nreadiness, and exultation when we have finished our work. All these\nfeelings may relate to the mere solution of the problem as end, or may\npass beyond it to ends more or less distant and complicated, to which\nthe solution of the problem then appears as means. Even if we could\nsuppose all other feeling to be excluded, we cannot conceive of a train\nof thought untinged with mood,--interest or weariness, exhilaration or\ndepression,--the dim complex of perhaps many elements, but admitting of\ngeneral classification on the side of either the pleasurable or the\npainful, the agreeable or the disagreeable.\n\nIs feeling the result of thought, or thought the result of feeling?\nwhich of the two is to be accorded the greater importance with regard to\nthe will? and what is the significance of feeling as pleasure and of\nfeeling as pain with respect to the will? These are some of the\nquestions generally considered in one form or another in the discussion\nof the relations of mental functions. The first question may be\ninterpreted in any one of several different ways. It may be regarded as\nreferring to particular excitations, objects, or ends, or to precedence\nat the earliest beginning of consciousness in general, or to the initial\nstate of consciousness in the case of the individual organism. Since we\nare not able to determine as to where consciousness does begin, either\nabsolutely in nature as a whole or relatively in the individual, whether\nthere is, indeed, any such thing as an initial state, and since we can\npredicate nothing certainly as to the nature of such a state if there be\none, the interpretation of the question which has reference to this\nrelative or absolute beginning of consciousness cannot be answered. If\nwe regard the question, however, as having reference to particular\nexcitations, objects, or ends, it is evident that sometimes one,\nsometimes the other of the two functions appears more prominent in the\nbeginning; pain or pleasurable excitation sometimes makes itself felt\nbefore it is connected in consciousness with any distinct object, and\nagain perception may give us thought-images which only consideration\nrenders painful or pleasurable. But there is no real beginning in either\ncase; in consciousness as we know it, thought and feeling are\ncontinually intermingled, and only their direction varies with varying\nexcitation, now thought, now feeling, assuming the greater prominence.\n\nThis last consideration has important bearings on a question which we\nhave previously discussed and to which we may, at this point, revert for\na moment. The fact alone that we know nothing of a beginning of\nconsciousness, but only its variation, is sufficient to make us doubt\nwhether we are in possession of any data from which to pronounce\ndogmatically on the absence of consciousness in the case of organisms\ndiffering from our own, or even in the case of inorganic matter. Why may\nwe not equally well suppose merely a difference in the direction of\nconsciousness corresponding to differing organization and function in\nthe one case and differing composition or constitution and corresponding\nmotion in the other? Our error begins in assuming no ends possible in\naction except such as we ourselves would set, and so in assuming no end\nto be present in cases where no end would exist for the human being, or\nwhere the end which would be involved for us cannot have come within the\nexperience of the organism performing the act. In the latter case, we\nspeak of \"blind instinct\" or of \"automatism.\" We forget that an \"end\" is\nmerely some one of such constant results of function as are brought\nwithin the circle of our experience; which end may come to lie farther\nand farther away, for the same act, as the circle of experience widens\nand varies in direction, even in beings as similar as individuals of the\nhuman species. With the attainment of manhood and womanhood, whole\nregions of thought and feeling, whole classes of motives, are opened up\nwhich are wholly unknown to the child and would be incomprehensible to\nhim; the ends of the scientist, the man of letters, the idealist in\nmorals, the sensualist, and the boor, may differ radically in performing\nthe same or very similar acts. However, there is a certain community of\nends in human beings, due to common organization and experience, which\nenables them to judge to some extent of each other's ends. But these\ndata of organization and experience fail us when we come to judge of\nbeings not human, and hence we are liable to error in their case. A\nsuperior being of an entirely different species from our own might be\ngreatly puzzled to discern the motives which could govern some of our\nacts,--those, for instance, which incite the miser to starve in misery\nwith a fortune hidden in the cellar. A superior being of another species\ngifted with pessimistic views, if we can suppose such, regarding our\naction externally as we regard brute-action and plant-function, might\nimagine our whole action to be directed to the attainment of our own\ndeath, since that is what we finally achieve as the result of action,\nand sometimes with most purposeful rapidity; and he might suppose the\nsuicide, and the miser, and the opium-eater, and the drunkard, and the\nglutton, to be only the more intelligent members of the species, the\nothers to be led chiefly by blind instinct. It is a fundamental mistake\nto suppose that there can be no \"ends\" but those of which we are\nconscious.\n\nThe question as to the existence of any causal relations in the old\nsense between thought and feeling has already been answered in previous\nconsiderations; all we can assert is sequence or simultaneity. Indeed,\nas psychology has rarely troubled itself with any direct question of\nthis sort, its introduction may appear foolish. Yet feeling is\nsometimes, by imputation, treated as a mere attribute of thought, while\nagain, as we shall see, it is often considered as an independent,\ndirecting, if not perception, at least the subsumption of percepts in\nthought. And, indeed, it is difficult to perceive why, if feeling and\nthought be regarded as two quite distinct yet simultaneous activities,\nthe same problem as to precedence might not arise, under the concepts of\ncause and effect, as in the case of physiological process and\nconsciousness as a whole.\n\nBut a question with which Psychology and Ethics have occupied themselves\nas a most important one is that of the relation of pleasure and pain to\nthe will. A point around which strife particularly rages is the problem\nas to whether it is the pleasurableness of the end which moves the will\nto seek it; and on the view taken as to the truth on this point theories\nof freedom or determination of the will are often based, the advocate of\nfree will arguing that the power of choosing the painful proves his\ntheory, the determinist declaring that the invariable might of the\npleasurable over the will shows the subordination of the latter. But I\ncannot, for my own part, see how the demonstration of the fact that the\nwill may be moved by the imagination of a painful end rather than, or\nas well as, by that of a pleasurable one is a proof of its freedom; as I\nalso fail to perceive how it is proved that the will is determined\nbecause it invariably chooses the pleasurable rather than the painful\nend. In either case, choice may be said equally to depend on motive, and\nin either case the will may be said equally to choose. It is true in\neither case that the strongest motive moves; it is true in either case\nthat the will decides upon the act with a feeling of its own spontaneity\nand freedom, and guides the movement of the body in the performance of\nthe act. That which is shown in an invariable connection of the will\nwith pleasurable motives is a constancy which we find elsewhere in\nnature and which forbids us to regard will as something outside and\nabove the rest of nature. As we have seen, however, the theory of a\ncompulsion of nature anywhere by constancy or law, or of the compulsion\nof one particular part by the rest, is untenable.\n\nIn speaking of the pleasurable and painful, we have introduced the\nconception of ends into our considerations, and may emphasize, in\nanother form, the fact that we cannot consider indefinite feeling alone\nas the mover of the will to an end. The pleasurableness or painfulness\nis predicated of some definite object or event, and corresponds to\ndefinite actualities perceived in the object or imagined with the help\nof former experience. Thought and feeling are thus inextricably\ncommingled in the state of consciousness leading to choice, and the\nnature of the acting individual and that of the external objects\nconcerned are equally essential to the result.\n\nWe have hitherto treated thought, feeling, and will, as separate parts\nof consciousness, defining each, by implication, much as we would define\nwheel, tongue, and whiffletree, as parts of a wagon. But the three are\nindissolubly connected in the act of the will, and thought and feeling\nare not, as we have seen, ever disconnected. Nor can we say that it is\none part of consciousness that feels, another that thinks, and still\nanother that wills. Further, a closer analysis may render it doubtful\nwhether that which we call will is only an occasional act of\nconsciousness, or whether it is not rather involved in all operations of\nconsciousness as we have seen thought and feeling to be. The identity of\nwill and that which is often called involuntary attention has already\nbeen asserted by some authors, and not the identity of will and outward\nattention alone, but also of will and attention to the inner process of\nconsciousness. Here, however, the dividing line generally sought between\nwilled and unwilled, involuntary, or, as we say, drifting thought,\nbecomes dim and uncertain. But it is evident that attention is given to\nthat which interests us for one reason or another; and the question\nlogically presents itself as to whether thought ever follows a direction\nwholly uninteresting to us, or whether it does not the rather always\nturn from such direction to one which has for us at least some degree of\ninterest, whether, in short, the will does not in this manner, as the\ninnervation of attention, accompany and direct all mental process. The\nsense of effort involved in choice, in the struggle of interfering\nimpulses, may bring into prominence mental activity at points where such\nobstacles and interferences occur; but is not the mental force which we,\nin this case, especially notice the same with that involved in all\nprocesses of consciousness? Just as the physiological process in nerve\nand muscle with which the limbs are moved in action, or eye or ear\ninnervated in the effort of attention, is only the outcome of the\nprocesses which are constantly going on in the brain, so the concomitant\nprocess of will or attention is but the expression, in another form, of\nthe activity involved in all consciousness.\n\nThe division of consciousness into separate entities or parts has often\nbeen carried much further than this threefold one; the division has\nvaried with the particular theory and fancy of the student, until some\none has suggested that we might, on the principle used, assume a\ndistinct faculty for dancing, for eating, sleeping, dressing, reading,\nwriting, and so on, _ad infinitum_,--the faculty, in each case, being\ndefined as the special activity that discharges the particular function\nassigned to it by the name. Only by abstraction and by the investiture\nof our abstractions with a life of their own do we arrive at a theory of\nthought, feeling, and will, as separate entities, or parts; in the\nmental process itself, they are indissolubly united.\n\nWe have seen that thought acquires new directions with the evolution of\nthe individual, that pleasure and pain attach themselves to new objects,\nand that will is directed to new ends. If we can discover in these\nchanges any uniformities of relation everywhere manifest as far as\nexperience extends, the constancy of nature may admit of our conclusion\nthat the relation is fundamental, and we may be able to formulate thus\na general law of evolution with respect to the mental processes. Such a\nlaw must, of course, be interpreted, not as governing the changes which\nit regards, but simply as the expression of general facts of their\ndevelopment. Our considerations on this point are in a line with those\nof Chapter I; indeed, they are only a more special application and more\ncareful derivation and expansion of points there noticed.\n\nIf we begin with our own experience, and study the growth of this or\nthat particular habit gradually acquired, we notice that it not only\nbecomes stronger with time, acquiring an intensity less and less easy to\ncheck, but also that this increasing strength of tendency is accompanied\nwith a corresponding increase of pleasure in the performance of the act.\nThe drunkard may have derived no especial pleasure from his first glass;\nhe may, indeed, have found the taste little to his liking, and the\nslight succeeding dizziness disagreeable; but, with habituation, both\ngradually become agreeable. The first fit of intoxication may be felt as\nunpleasant, not only in the succeeding shame and physical depression,\nbut in itself; though it is also conceivable that the state of thorough\nintoxication may have been led up to so slowly, by such imperceptible\ndegrees, that it may be combined, even in the first instance, with a\ncertain degree of pleasure. It is, however, evident that this pleasure\nincreases with further lapse of time. If we study the habits of\nindividuals, we shall find a thousand little peculiarities of habit in\nwhich others than their performers would be puzzled to discover anything\nattractive, and in which, indeed, the latter themselves would find\ndifficulty in pointing out the source of the gratification that they\nnevertheless experience. Our habits are things we are loth to break\nwith; and we grow more loth as time passes, until finally no\nconsideration, no shame of scorn or pain of punishment in any form, can\nsuffice to counterbalance the craving of desire and the fierce pleasure\nof satisfaction, or the less turbulent but not less strong impulse that\ncarries us steadily in the course which past custom has worn for us.\nCustomary acts are themselves agreeable to us, though their results may\nbring with them disagreeable factors.\n\nAgain, this same principle is directly traceable in heredity. We say,\nfor instance, of the drunkard whose father and grandfather were\ndrunkards before him, that he has inherited a \"taste\" for intoxicants,\nmeaning, not that he can feel their attraction before he has tasted them\nand experienced their influence, but that the habit of drunkenness is\none more easily formed in him than in the average individual,\nconstitutional peculiarities corresponding to a pleasure derived from\nthe alcohol. We often notice striking resemblances, not only in general\nappearance but also in mental characteristics and habits, extending even\nto attitude and gesture, between children and parents deceased when the\nchildren were yet infants. I have known very peculiar physical habits to\nappear, in one instance in three, in another in four, generations, with\nthe avowal of satisfaction in their practice on the part of the persons\nsubject to them, although neither they could explain, nor onlookers\ncomprehend, the pleasure derived from them. Imitation is not always\npossible in such cases; in one case of these two just cited, it was, in\nthe third generation at least, impossible; and even where there is\nimitation, it is by no means proved that an innate tendency does not\nlend readiness to the formation of the habit. It may here be objected\nthat we are venturing on too uncertain ground in endeavoring to\nformulate any general law of the growth of habit in relation to\nheredity, opinions differing so much as to the relative importance to be\naccorded to environment and innate tendency in the formation of\ncharacter, and especially as to the possibility of the inheritance, by\nsucceeding generations, of new peculiarities not common to the species\nas a whole but acquired by individual parents. As far as the former\nquestion is concerned, it may be said that the whole development of\nplant or animal in organization and corresponding functions must be\nregarded as directly dependent upon present environment, never\nindependent of it; but that, while it must be conceded that the\nenvironment is greatly concerned in the development of habit, and that\nno innate tendency can manifest itself unless the complementary\nconditions of its appearance are presented by circumstance, it may\nlikewise be claimed that the influence of environment no more excludes\nheredity than heredity excludes the influence of the individual\nenvironment. We tend, generally, to emphasize heredity in the case of\nthe plant and the animal, and environment in the case of the human\nbeing. This is because our knowledge of species other than our own is\nmerely an outward one, while the ideas of heredity in our own case are\nconfused by our consciousness of the influence that even minute\ncircumstances may have upon our inner life and character. And yet just\nthose who are inclined to lay most stress upon the power of good\ninfluences are generally, strange to say, the very ones who would most\nprotest at the assertion of the superiority of outer conditions over\ninner ones. It can scarcely be supposed that any law of heredity which\napplies to the rest of the animal kingdom does not apply to man also.\nWith respect to the second of the two questions noticed above, something\nhas already been said from one point of view, and more will be said\nlater from another. At present it will be sufficient for our purpose to\nnotice some generally admitted facts. Darwin uses a certain caution when\nhe comes to the consideration of the conditions of inheritance, and\nmakes the general statement that the tendency to inheritance of any\nfunction is increased by the continuation of the action of the inducing\nconditions of environment for several generations. But it may be\nquestioned whether an innate tendency may not have favored and assisted\nthe action of the environment in the later of these generations,\nwhether, indeed, the continuity everywhere supposed in evolution does\nnot compel us to assume, between the first appearance of any function,\ntrait, or habit, and its attainment, after several generations, of\nsufficient strength to render its hereditary character noticeable,\nintermediate degrees of strength in the intermediate generations. On the\nsame principle on which we accept the theory of evolution as a logical\nnecessity, despite the gaps in the proof, we must also, I believe,\nconsider development of any sort to be continuous increase.\n\nBut even the theory of the increased probability of the inheritance of\nany mark, function, trait, or habit, after several generations of\ninducing environment, is sufficient for our present purpose. It still\nremains true, if we regard the development of function or habit in its\nbroad features, that the tendency to inheritance, the organic\nsignificance of any function or habit is increased with increased\nexercise. Merely in the one case we regard the increments of increase as\ninfinitesimal, while, in the other case, we regard them as of much\ngreater than infinitesimal value. Even the theory of Weismann, which\nregards everything as present in the germ, must formulate some such\ntheory as this of the environment as the condition of the development of\ngerminal possibilities.\n\nNot only are the strongest and most infallibly recurring functions those\nwhich have been most strongly and longest exercised, but these strongest\nfunctions, those to which, as we say, the tendency is strongest, are\nconnected with the strongest pleasures of gratification and the most\nextreme pain of denial. The sexual appetite is an example of such a\nfunction fundamental to all the higher forms of animal life. Hunger and\nthirst, if long unsatisfied, are connected with intensest suffering and,\nif not dulled by general ill-health or too great satiety, involve a keen\npleasure of satisfaction. Muscular exercise is a source of keen\nenjoyment, and physical inaction results in general depression that may\nbecome extreme if the inaction be long continued.\n\nIn this pain of inaction, a new conception has been introduced into our\nconsiderations. The converse of this pain is that involved in the\nover-exercise of any function. We thus perceive that the pleasure\ninvolved in the exercise of function lies between two extremes, beyond\neither of which is pain, discomfort. Such pain is connected with the\nvacillations in the relations of food-assimilation to the use of\naccumulated energy. These two general processes or functions of all\norganic matter are reciprocal or complementary, and the too much or too\nlittle on either side which involves pain may be looked upon as a\ndisturbance of equilibrium. Excess on either side means want on the\nother.[135]\n\nAnd this brings us again to the conception of normal function as a\nstable form of motion. Long-exercised function, fundamental functions of\nanimal or plant life are forms of motion that for a very long period\nhave found their sufficient complementary conditions in the environment,\nhave met with but little interference in this environment. And thus we\nattain a conception of pleasure as that form of feeling accompanying\nforms of physiological motion with which there is a minimum of\ninterference. Pleasure appears as the accompaniment of unimpaired and\nunimpeded function everywhere as far as our knowledge extends. Function\nand habit are essentially the same; habit is merely function. The\nfunctions of the species furnish the foundation of the habits of the\nindividual, which vary according to individual surroundings and the\nfamily peculiarities acquired through peculiar circumstances. The degree\nof pleasure in the exercise of any function or habit bears constant\nrelations to the strength of the acquired function, while this again\nbears constant relations to degree of exercise, in which the time\nrelation plays a prominent part. Here we have, too, by implication, the\nexplanation of the disagreeable character of the strange and new except\nas it corresponds to some tendency of the organism, some capability not\nyet exercised, in which case it appears as nothing strictly new but only\nas pleasing variety. From a physiological point of view, the new appears\nas that which demands a readjustment involving the fresh action of\nnatural selection, and the possible destruction of the organism in case\nthe readjustment demanded is too great. From the physical and mechanical\nview, the new may be regarded as a disturber of equilibrium.\n\nTo this analysis the objection may possibly be urged that obstacles\noften increase pleasure. If, however, a definition of obstacle be\ndemanded, it will soon appear that what is meant by an obstacle that\nincreases pleasure is not anything that interferes with function but\nrather that which is exactly its occasion and opportunity. To a man in\nhealth and vigor who sets off for a walk through the fields, a hedge or\nfence in the way is no real obstacle, but furnishes rather an agreeable\ndiversion, a new method of trying his strength and getting rid of\nsuperfluous muscular secretions; it adds but the spice of some slight\nvariety to his exercise. That which is an interruption of one function,\nmay be the opportunity of another; and if the demands of the first\nfunction for satisfaction are not too imperative, the interruption of\ntoo great duration, the obstacle may not be felt to be disagreeable. But\npain and pleasure are often mixed, since the satisfaction of one\nfunction may be the prevention of another. If, in this case, the\nfunction which is satisfied is a fundamental one, the function which is\nprevented a subordinate one, the pleasure exceeds the pain. If, on the\nother hand, the function prevented is a fundamental one, the function\nsatisfied a merely subordinate one, the pain exceeds the pleasure.\n\nWith the ideas of unimpaired and unimpeded function as pleasurable, and\nof the new as demanding readjustment, we arrive at the consideration of\nhealth and disease. The free performance of any particular function is\nthe first condition of the health of the organ of which it is the\nfunction, the regular performance of all physical functions according to\nthe mutual adjustment of the organs of the body the condition of the\nhealth of the organism as a whole. And thus again we come round to the\nconception of pleasure as connected with the action that accords with\nthe health of the organism. And this leads us to some remarks concerning\nthe act of food-taking which may answer a possible objection to the\nstatements made above with regard to the pleasure involved in the act.\nThe moralist and idealist are wont to protest against any theory that\nmay seem to give prominence to \"the purely animal\" side of human life.\nBut first, we have to do, at present, merely with facts on which ethical\ntheory may be founded, not as yet with such theory itself. Furthermore,\nthe selection of the appetites of hunger, thirst, and sex, as\nillustrating the general theory of the relations of pleasure and pain to\nfunction is not made in order to lay special stress upon these appetites\nbut because they afford, as fundamental, especially good examples. And,\nfinally, it may be noticed that the pleasure connected with the stilling\nof hunger and thirst is not that of taste alone, though doubtless there\nare many with whom this pleasure is one of the most important of life;\non the taking of sufficient and proper nourishment depends the pleasure\ninvolved in the general health of the body; the pain of non-satisfaction\nin this case is not simply that of a single organ but that of the whole\norganism. Even the deferment of a single meal beyond the usual hour\noften lowers the \"tone\" of the whole body, and the variations of too\nmuch or too little strongly influence the mood and general happiness of\nthe individual. On the right use of nourishment depend, in great\nmeasure, the ability to cope with circumstances and the moral power of\ncheerfulness.\n\nIn connection with the idea of a certain equilibrium between exercise\nand nourishment, waste and repair, as normal, healthful, and\npleasurable, Rolph's principle of the Insatiability of life may be\nconsidered. Evidently the facts of evolution demonstrate the power of\nthe organism to advance by slow degrees beyond its original normal. But\nthe progress is an exceedingly slow one, and the power of advance in the\nindividual organism, at any particular point, by no means limitless, but\nvery definitely limited. The limitations of the power of assimilation\nare evidenced by the evil results of over-eating, of over-satiety of\nfunction in any direction. Even at an early period of life, when growth\nis most marked, the capacity for assimilation is by no means limitless.\nThe idea of insatiability is advanced by Lewes[136] in a somewhat\ndifferent form. It may possibly be an aid to the comprehension of the\nprocess of growth to regard one factor, namely the organism, as the\nactive side of the development tending to indefinite growth in all\ndirections, and the other factor, the environment, as the regulating,\nresisting factor, limiting such growth; the conception may, perhaps, be\nlegitimately resorted to as we resort to various other devices which\nbring into prominence some one side of a process to the neglect of\nothers but to the simplification of our concepts and calculations. A\nsimilar device is used by Zoellner in his consideration of\nsun-spots.[137] But these representations should not be mistaken for\nactuality. The limitless expansion of the organism is as much a fiction\nas a theory of the limitless coercion of the environment resisted by the\norganism would be. The latter fiction is involved in one interpretation\nof the Struggle for Existence. Either view is one-sided; environment and\norganism both alike represent active forces, of both which combined,\ngrowth is, at each moment, the exactly conditioned resultant.\n\nWe may notice another assertion of Rolph's, namely, that growth is\nproduced by increase of nourishment rather than that it demands[138]\nincrease of nourishment as the Darwinians state. I do not know how the\nDarwinians come to be accredited with this statement in the sense which\nis evidently criticised by Rolph. In so far as the statement may be\ninterpreted as meaning that growth takes place first, and without\nnourishment, and that the demand for nourishment then ensues on this\ngrowth, the criticism is evidently valid. But the word \"demands\" may be\ninterpreted in quite a different way as designating the need of growth\nfor its conditions, or rather (for this is the ultimate significance of\nthe word in this sense) the logical demand of the reason, which cannot\nsuppose anything to take place in the absence of its conditions. Any\nother signification of the word is contrary to the whole spirit of\nDarwinism, and would accord much better with a theory of Insatiability\nor with other forms of theory that imply a special vital principle of\nsome sort. If, when Rolph makes the assertion that increase of\nnourishment produces growth, he refers, by \"increase of nourishment,\"\nto the mere act of mastication, it is true that growth must be regarded\nas following upon this as its condition; but growth and the assimilation\nof nourishment are identical. And, in fact, assimilation begins in the\naction of the saliva in the act of mastication. Analysis of assimilation\ngives us sequence in one sense, since the parts of the act follow upon\none another; but any interpretation which tends to draw a distinct line\nat any point in the physiological process, or to distinguish between\nassimilation as active, performed, and growth as passive, suffered,\nshould be avoided.\n\nWe may return to the consideration of pleasure and pain as connected\nwith function in general, with a view to a solution, if possible, of the\nproblem of its especial connection with the will. The brain may be\ndefined, from the point of view of the theory of evolution, as the organ\nof centralization through which the unity of the organism is\nestablished, and the adaptation of parts or the development of special\nfunction becomes the adaptation or function of the whole. With this\nphysiological adaptation, an increasing breadth of knowledge by\nexperience, the deviation of feeling from old into new channels, and the\nattainment of new ends of action, are associated. Just as past\nadaptations must have their physiological representation in\nbrain-organization, so psychical experience is stored up to be\nremembered on sufficient suggestion, and finds, thus, its expression in\nconscious will, just as its physiological concomitants must be supposed\nto find their expression in nervous and muscular action. As we have\nseen, pleasure follows the line of evolution of function, strongest\npleasure appearing in the direction of most strongly developed function,\nso that, just as any conflict of tendencies to function in the brain\nmust result in conquest by the strongest tendency, the line of action\nmust always correspond with that of the greatest pleasure. And just as\nthe most strongly inherent function is combined with the greatest\npleasure, so the representation of the performance of this most strongly\ninherent function is, in the conflict of tendencies before action,\ncombined with the greatest pleasure of anticipation. This statement\ncoincides with Stephen's remark that it is not the representation of the\ngreatest pleasure, but the pleasantest representation, which furnishes\nthe decisive motive to will. Contingent circumstances may introduce into\nthe actual carrying out of the act determined upon an element of pain\nnot before experienced, in which the wish may arise that the act had not\nbeen performed; and the strength of the tendency to action in this\ndirection is thus diminished.\n\nWith regard to this analysis, several things are to be noted. (1) It is\nno more claimed that the strongest pleasure of anticipation is\nunmitigated pleasure than that the pleasure involved in the attainment\nof the end is necessarily unmitigated. Wherever there is interference,\nthere is also pain. Where any struggle is involved, where any conflict\nof tendencies and wishes precedes choice, the struggle itself and the\nrelinquishment of one or more courses in favor of the one chosen involve\ndisagreeable elements, and the fiercer the struggle the greater the\npain. Where two extremely strong tendencies thus come into collision,\nthe pain involved may amount to agony. Our statement that the more\npleasurable end or rather the one the imagination of which is the more\npleasurable is the one sought by will needs therefore to be put into a\nsomewhat different form, since, among all the methods of action open to\nchoice in any case, there may be none the thought of which involves any\npositive pleasure, though there is in all or most cases some one which\npromises at least a negative excess of pleasure, that is, least pain.\n(2) No assumption is made as to the particular kind of representation or\nthe particular kind of end with which the greatest pleasure of\nanticipation or of realization is combined, whether these are \"higher\"\nor \"lower,\" sensual or intellectual, moral or immoral. It is not by any\nmeans asserted that the most moral end may not be that which is chosen.\n(3) It is not asserted that any direct calculation of the pleasure to\nself involved in any course of action necessarily contributes to choice.\n(4) The pleasure or pain connected with the imagination of a future\nevent is not to be confused with the actual pleasure or pain of the\nevent itself. The feeling experienced in the event may be wholly\ndifferent from that of anticipation.\n\nIn connection with the second point, reference may be made to an\nassertion of Sidgwick's in his attack upon Hedonism. He writes as\nfollows, \"We have to observe that men may and do judge remote as well as\nimmediate results to be in themselves desirable, without considering\nthem in relation to the feelings of sentient beings.\"[139] The question\nfor us here is, first, whether the emphasis of the assertion is on the\nword \"considering,\"--a question the context does not answer. It is\ncertainly true that decisions are reached, judgments pronounced, without\nintrospection and self-analysis, and without long reflection of any\nsort. It is true that, even where reflection does take place, there is\nnot necessarily any distinct attachment of the concept \"pleasurable\" to\nresults considered, whether with relation to self or to others. The dog\nwho snatches at a piece of meat does not probably waste any time in\nreflecting on the pleasure he will experience in eating it; and yet we\ndo not the less believe that if the act were not pleasurable to him he\nwould not perform it. It may also be true that a man often pronounces\nresults to be desirable without noting or caring for their relations to\nother sentient beings; but if these results are regarded by him as\ndesirable, then they must be in some way desirable to himself, that is,\nmust have a pleasurable relation to his own feelings. Desire appertains\nto sentient beings and to sentient beings as such; a thing which is\ndesirable must be desirable to a sentient being; the desirable which is\nnot desirable to a sentient being is the desirable which is\nnot-desirable, a self-contradiction.\n\nIn connection with the third of the points above noticed, Rolph's\nassertion that not pleasure but pain is the motive to action, may be\nconsidered. The author does not mean anything else than that action is\nin the direction from \"want,\" \"hunger,\" \"pain,\" to ends involving\npleasure, so that this theory does not, when analyzed, differ\nfundamentally from theories which assume the motive to will to be\nfurnished by the most pleasurable end or by the most pleasurable\nrepresentation of an end. The chief point of difference is the\nconception of the state of consciousness preceding will as invariably\none of pain, the want of the end willed as invariably painful. Now it is\nevident that the satisfaction of a function may be so long deferred as\nto involve the severest pain; hunger, thirst, may reach a degree of\nintensity that is frenzy, muscular inaction, in an ordinarily active\nindividual, if long persevered in, may be combined with extreme\ndiscomfort and depression. And it is also true that all desire involves\nwant in the sense that an end is sought because its absence is felt as\nundesirable. But want in this sense means merely desire, and is not\nnecessarily combined with any real pain of deprivation. The state of\nconsciousness preceding action may be, on the contrary, one of\nexhilaration, of exceeding joy of anticipation; the gratification of a\ndesire may take place so soon after the first appearance of the desire,\nor the gratification of the desire become so certain so soon after the\ndesire is first felt, that no pain of want is felt at all. Rolph,\nindeed, finds great difficulty in demonstrating his theory, and finally\nresorts to the definition of the pain which, as he asserts, furnishes\nthe motive to action as \"the pain of the absence of pleasure.\" He says,\nmoreover, that not all pain is felt as such, since much feeling is below\nthe threshold of consciousness.[140] But \"unconscious pain\" and \"feeling\nbelow consciousness\" are mere self-contradictions. Specification of that\nof which, as unconscious, we know nothing is a very easy way of\ndelivering oneself from the necessity of positive proof, but it is a\nvery unscientific one. With respect to Rolph's assertion that pain can\nnot be dispensed with, since it is everywhere the motive to action, it\nmay be remarked that this statement seems to accord ill with Rolph's\nother theory that never the struggle for existence but always states of\nplenty and comfort are the conditions of growth, and the lengthy\ndemonstration that periods of want must condition decline,\nretrogression, and finally the extinction of the species suffering the\nwant. From the standpoint of Darwin, the struggle for existence is not\ninconsistent with the possession of plenty on the part of favored\nindividuals and species, but Rolph expressly denies the compatibility of\nthe two principles.\n\nIn his theory of want as the universal motive to action, Rolph cites\nsuicide as an extreme case of this want. Our analysis has already taken\ninto consideration some of the cases of mental struggle and postponement\nof the satisfaction of desire involving pain. But where one end greatly\ndesired is unattainable, choice may yet be possible of another end\naffording partial satisfaction of the function corresponding to the\ndesire, and, in cases where choice is necessary between two or more\nconflicting ends, the gratification of one may be attended with a\nsufficient degree of pleasure to cause partial forgetfulness of the\ndisappointment in the necessary relinquishment of the other ends. Where,\nhowever, the function denied is one of the most fundamental of the\norganism, its denial may be combined with intensest pain and a gradual\nphysical degeneration, or even a sudden collapse of the organism, ending\nin death; or it may induce an act that secures this end through the\nmediation of self-conscious will. What is true, in this case, of the\ndenial of some one fundamental function, is true also of an accumulation\nof coincident denials of a number of lesser ones. Our desires are,\nindeed, in all cases, more or less complex, and involve the fulfilment\nof various functions; but we can easily imagine such an accumulation of\nsmall ills as to lead to desperation. Where no choice of action seems\nleft us by which we may attain some one end deeply desired, or where a\ncoincidence of obstacles makes it appear as if there were no choice of\naction towards any desirable ends, death may be chosen as a lesser evil\nthan life, the equivalent of a lesser pain in the absence of feeling\naltogether. It may be noted, however, that where suicide is prevented in\nthe first moment of desperation, the individual planning it may not only\nnever again attempt it, but may afterwards even find much pleasure in\nlife. As there is a high degree of pleasure connected with the\nperformance of deeply rooted function or habit, so the performance of\nall function is attended with some modicum of pleasure, except in such\nisolated moments as render suicide possible. Every end desired is one of\nfunction, and all function furnishes ends to the will. The pessimist\nlays emphasis upon the fact of the speedy loss of pleasure in ends\nattained. But herein lies the higher pleasure of life, that it is not\nrest but progress. The pleasures we attain may be continually renewed if\nrightly sought, but they cannot be unintermittently sustained. We cannot\nrest at ends attained and find unlessened rapture in them. Rest is not\nan attribute of life; life is essentially motion, that phase of it which\nwe term rest being mere change of function for a time. The intimate\nrelation, between pleasure and an equilibrium of waste and repair\nrenders it impossible to obtain pleasure except as occupation is varied\nin order to afford opportunity of recuperation to organs and cells\nbefore used. Proper variation, however, may enable us to return to old\npleasures with ever renewed and even increased enjoyment. But it is\nconceivable that the pleasures of gratification and the pains of\ndisappointment may be so nearly balanced as to make life possible and\nyet endow it, at least for a period, with but little joy. It is to be\nnoticed, however, that intense pain cannot endure, unmodified, for any\ngreat length of time. As pleasure follows the line of customary action,\nso pain diminishes with long-continued lack in any direction, unless\nthis direction be that of too fundamental function, in which case the\norganism succumbs entirely and perishes. Either we grow gradually used\nto our disappointment and forget it to a great degree in other\ngratification, or we die under it. Certainly there are losses the pain\nof which is never entirely forgotten, after which life is never quite\nthe same again; but the first agony of such losses is materially\nmodified with time; and many of the losses which have seemed worst to us\nat the time they occurred are later looked back upon without regret. We\nprogress to another stage, and the ends we desire to gain are changed.\nThe habitual misanthrope, indeed, generally derives a great deal of\nsatisfaction from his own misery; and this leads us to the apparently\nanomalous remark that even pain as function may come to be combined with\npleasure; we feel a satisfaction in our own capacity of emotion. The\nsensitivity of the poet to pain as well as his sensitivity to pleasure\nis a source of often very keen gratification and pride to him. Of the\nweak and aged who have no especial pleasure in life, it may be said that\nthey have also, in general, no fierce pains, at least seldom such as\nbring desperation in youth. Having learned from experience, they are not\nsubject to such exaggerated expectations, and hence disappointments, as\naccompany youth, vigor, and ignorance of the realities of life; and\noften they derive enjoyment from things which would have no attraction\nfor the young.\n\nThe old question as to the relation between health and happiness may be\nanswered by the statement that the two coincide. The statement is not\nmeant, however, in the sense that the happiness which we at present\nattain is coincident with health in an absolute sense or that, _vice\nversa_, perfect happiness is, or can be, coincident with that which we\nordinarily term health. The two terms are generally very ill-defined;\nsometimes the one, sometimes the other, is used in an absolute sense in\nconnection with the discussion of the parallel term in a comparative\nsense. Perfect happiness must coincide with perfect health; for perfect\nhealth must coincide with perfect fulfilment of all function, and this\ncoincides with the gratification of all desire. At present desires\nconflict, and the gratification of one is bought at the expense of\nothers. This partial gratification corresponds to a partial health; but\nwe too often forget, in the discussion of health and happiness, that\nhealth is no more perfect than is happiness. The individual is not yet\nin harmony with himself. But this means that he also is not in harmony\nwith the environment.\n\nIn the development of thought, feeling, and will, we have noticed a\ncertain parallelism, the attainment of new knowledge, the deviation of\nfeeling into new channels, and the direction of will to new ends;\nindeed, our analysis must bring us to regard this development as\nsomething more than a parallelism, since, as we have seen, thought,\nfeeling, and will, cannot be defined as separate organs of mind. And we\nare here led to notice a theory sometimes advanced, that the feelings of\none individual can never be changed by another. You may present a man\nwith arguments, say the advocates of this theory, but this is all; you\ncannot bring him to act on the arguments unless his feeling is already\nof the right sort before you present your arguments; if it is not, you\ncannot in any way alter it. Now a certain general foundation of\ncharacter, of fundamental feeling, must always be conceded; but this is\nnot what these theorists mean when they say that arguments can never\nalter feeling. \"Of what use would it be to argue with my child and tell\nher that this or that act of hers is selfish,\" said a man to me not long\nago of his three-year-old daughter; \"if she is selfish, arguing with her\nwill not make her less so; showing her that she is selfish will never\nhave any effect upon her selfishness; you may change opinions by\nargument, but not feelings.\" The theory reminds us of the old idea of\nthe will as something above other phases of nature and so supreme above\ntheir influence; it replaces this theory of the uncaused nature of the\nwill by one of the like absolute independence of feeling. And yet,\nstrange to say, this theory is oftenest advanced by just those who\nassert the variability of will in accordance with law, under the\ninfluence of the environment, and unite with these already incongruous\ntheories the wholly contradictory one that it is feeling which furnishes\nthe motive to will. To appeal to any one except through the medium of\nthought is certainly impossible; the feelings cannot be influenced\nexcept by representation and argument. Feeling cannot be taken by itself\nand so influenced. But the person endeavoring to convince does not\ndesire to arouse indefinite feeling; he invariably wishes to excite it\nwith regard to some definite end. To change opinion is also to change\nfeeling in some degree. Whether an appeal to another is successful or\nnot depends on the nature of the appeal and upon the consciousness of\nthe individual to whom the appeal is made; but this means that not the\nnature of consciousness alone decides the result. In any excitation by\nthe environment, the result is conditioned, not by the one factor alone\nbut by both; and no excitation can leave the individual entirely\nunchanged; the multiplication of infinitesimal single excitations\nconstitutes the whole of evolution. A first appeal or argument may be\nfelt only as disagreeable interference; but an accumulation of appeals\nat first disagreeable and met only with rebuffs may eventually result in\ntotal change of both ends and feelings. The amount of appeal necessary\ndiffers with the person appealed to; it may be large or small,\nexcessively large or excessively small, but the general fact remains,\nthat feelings vary as thought widens, and that an accompanying change of\nends takes place. Thought and feeling are not two separate and\nindependent things, but are, on the contrary, vitally united.\n\nWe may put our old familiar question with regard to cause and effect in\na new form in respect to the development of thought, feeling, and will.\nIn considering the process of evolution, will, and, therefore, the\nconscious exercise of function, is ordinarily treated as the effect of\npleasure; but our course of analysis identifies function and its\nexercise and rather brings function into the foreground, though the\nassertion of precedence in importance has been avoided. The course was\nchosen partly because it affords an opportunity of propounding the\nfollowing questions: Is lapse of time, amount of exercise, or pleasure,\nthe cause of habit? Or is habit the cause of function? Or is pleasure\nthe cause of continued exercise of function? Or is function the cause of\npleasure? Or is a minimum of interference the cause of pleasure and of\nfunction in a particular direction? Or is not, rather, continued\nexercise of function the cause of the absence of interference wherever\nand as far as it exists? We find all these various suggested theories\nadvocated, by direct statement or by implication, in the treatment of\nthe evolution of function by different authors, and indeed we frequently\nfind several of the theories included, by implication, in the work of\nthe same author. The vital connection of unimpeded function and pleasure\nis apparent, and the necessity of the time element in the development of\nfunction may also be asserted; but there is not, according to our\ntheory, any reason for introducing the concept of cause into the\nrelations.\n\nOur analysis of the development of thought, feeling, and will, has an\nimportant bearing on the teleological argument. If all habit comes, in\ntime, to be pleasurable, if pleasure merely follows the line of\nexercise of function, _whatever that line may be_, and ends are thus\nmere matters of habit, and habit, exercise, is a matter of the action\nand reaction of all conditions, then it is evident that the force of the\nteleological argument is at once destroyed. We cannot pass beyond\nnature, by this route, to the inference of a transcendental cause. Man's\naction being a part of nature and the result of all conditions as much\nas is the motion of the wind or the waves, the results he produces, like\ntheirs, only change and never creation, the only inference we could make\nfrom his will to other will must be an inference to will that is a part\nof nature, a result if also a condition, a link in the chain of nature,\nits ends cooerdinate with habit but not the cause of it, and no more\ndetermining than determined.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[135] See Avenarius' formulae of \"complete vital maintenance\":\nf(R) = -f(S); f(R) + f(S) = o, \"Kritik der reinen Erfahrung.\"\n\n[136] \"Problems of Life and Mind,\" Ser. II. p. 103.\n\n[137] See essay by Petzoldt above considered.\n\n[138] \"Biologische Probleme,\" p. 96; \"erfordern.\"\n\n[139] \"Methods of Ethics,\" 4th ed. p. 97.\n\n[140] \"Biologische Probleme,\" p. 177 _et seq._\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nEGOISM AND ALTRUISM IN EVOLUTION\n\n\nCarneri, in consistency with his scepticism as to feeling in animals,\nremarks that, with man, the struggle for happiness is added to the\nstruggle for existence. Wallace and others regard man as comparatively\nwithdrawn from the struggle for existence and the operation of natural\nselection. Much depends on definition in any statement; but it may be\nrepeated that the analogy of nervous organization does not permit us to\nsuppose the absence of pleasure and pain in many species, and that man\nis no exception to the rule that the disharmonious is the unstable, and\ndoomed, by its nature, to destruction.\n\nHowever, analogy does not, as we have seen, carry us far in deciding\nupon the presence or absence of consciousness, or in determining the\nexact nature of the ends it posits even where we may suppose it to be\npresent and conscious of ends. If, then, we apply the terms \"egoism\" and\n\"altruism\" to the action of plants or even of other animal species,\nmeaning, by these terms, that, in the action referred to, such ends are\nsought and willed as render human conduct what we call altruistic, we\nmay be falling into error. However, in considering egoism and altruism\nin their relations to human development, it may be useful to note their\nprototypes, as far as external form is concerned, in life on lower\nplanes, without making any assumption as to the internal meaning of\nthese prototypes, except in so far as, in special instances, we may be\nwarranted by further particular examination of facts.\n\nIt is evident that the action of animals is of a sort that has as its\nimmediate and most prominent result their own protection and\npreservation, and that they show themselves generally hostile to other\nkinds and even, in many cases, if not hostile, at least indifferent,\nunder most circumstances, to their own kind. Yet a certain amount of\nmutual support may occasionally be observed even among lower species.\nOne of the forms of such aid most common in the whole range of animal\nspecies is the care of the parent animal for its offspring. This care is\nmore usual on the part of the female than on that of the male, and where\nit is exercised it is not the exception, but rather the rule, that the\nmother will sacrifice life itself in the defence of her young. Such care\nand self-sacrifice, especially marked in mammals and birds, are too well\nknown to need illustration here.\n\nMutual aid between the sexes is not so common or so strongly marked as\nthe care of parent animals for their young. There is often no\ncompanionship at all between the sexes, and even at the time of mating\nmale and female may show themselves hostile to each other. It often\nhappens with certain _Epeiridae_ the males of whom are smaller than the\nfemales, that, after copulation or sometimes even before, the female\nseizes upon the male and makes a meal of him. Sometimes, also, during\nthe battle of two males for the possession of a female, the latter\nthrows her web about both and devours them.[141] Female deer wandering\nin the company of a male have been observed to watch with indifference\nthe contest of the latter with some newly arrived male, and on his death\nto lick the wounds of their new suitor and follow him as they before\nfollowed his predecessor. The relations of male and female among the\nbirds, especially among some sorts of birds, have, on the other hand,\noften been made the theme of the poet.\n\nBut mutual aid among the animals is not confined to the relations of\nparents and offspring, and male and female. Whether or not we explain\nthe societies of animals as merely huge families, as some authors are\ninclined to do, the fact of the association remains, and it continues to\nbe true that, in this association, much mutual assistance is given. In\nthis connection, however, may be cited the experiments of Lubbock,\nshowing the exceeding irregularity and apparent caprice with which such\nassistance is rendered among even such creatures as the ants, with whom\norganization is generally regarded as having arrived at an unusual\ndegree of development. Lubbock found that, wherever a regular battle was\nin progress, the ants gave aid to each other, but that where a single\nant was attacked by an enemy, the others of the nest generally took no\npart in the matter. In many cases, they passed by wounded or helpless\nmembers of their own colony, leaving them to perish where a very small\namount of help would have saved them. In some cases, they cared for the\nslightly wounded; but those who were severely wounded they threw from\nthe nest. In their hostility to their enemies, they were merciless and\nmore persistent than in their help of friends.[142] Lubbock, arguing\nfrom such facts as these, differs in opinion from Grote, who regards it\nas necessary to the maintenance of any society that some moral feeling\nshould exist. Indeed, that which Carneri asserts with regard to the care\nof offspring might be claimed in this case, namely, that the assistance\nreaches exactly so far as is necessary for the preservation of species.\nThe implication is that all this apparent altruism is mere automatism.\n\nIn support of a view similar to this, Benno Scheitz quotes the following\ncase,[143] \"which Dr. Altum relates from his own experience\": \"'In the\nGens d'Armes Market in Berlin, I saw several larks and a robin in a\ncage; the former cowered sorrowfully, with somewhat roughened feathers,\nin a corner, but the robin was in full activity. It ran to the food-cup,\nseized as many ant-larvae as it could grasp in its bill, and hastened\nwith these to the nearest lark. The latter, however, did not honor the\nsolicitous robin and its food with as much as a look. But scarcely had\nthe robin offered its disdained food than it let this fall and hastened\nafter fresh food, offered this, let it fall, fetched fresh again,--only\nto begin the same performance anew. As long as I watched this\ninteresting spectacle, the robin was thus employed, and very soon the\ngreater portion of the ant-larvae had been carried from the food-vessel\nand lay scattered before the different larks. And what was here the\nmotive of the redbreast in permitting itself no nourishment (I did not\nsee that it ate a single one of the ant-larvae itself), but carrying it\nall to its fellow-prisoners,--sympathy and love for the larks, who\ndisdained all food, and who could have taken the same food for\nthemselves, in the same manner, and with exactly the same amount of\ntrouble? The redbreast had been caught and carried away from its young;\nthe impulse to feed was strongly awakened and had before been strongly\nactive, but not satisfied; the bird was obliged, therefore, to continue\nto bring food, although there was no longer anything to feed.'\" The care\nwhich female animals of many species, when deprived of their young,\noften show for the young of other animals of the same or other species\nthat come in their way is well known. Among domestic animals, the cat\nappears particularly susceptible in this respect, though comparisons\nhere are perhaps scarcely fair, since, of all domestic animals that are\nhabitually deprived of their young, the cat is about the only one that\nhas the chance of coming in contact with young animals near the size of\nits own kind. The cat has been known to adopt young rats, chickens,\npuppies, ducks, and will generally, during the time of suckling, take up\nreadily with kittens of another litter. Galton, in his \"Inquiry into\nHuman Faculty,\" mentions that the records of many nations have legends\nlike that of Romulus and Remus, these being surprisingly confirmed by\nGeneral Sleeman's narrative of six cases where children were nurtured\nfor many years by wolves, in Oude. The working ants of certain species\nshow as great care for the slave-larvae robbed from other nests as do\nmany parent animals for their own offspring. Again, the care for their\neggs shown by many animals who give no care to their young may be cited\nas evidence in favor of the theory of automatism. In the vegetable world\nalso, similar protection is afforded flower and fruit, the most\nwonderful instances of such protection being, perhaps, those of the\ninsectivorous plants.\n\nBut to all these arguments in favor of automatism may be answered: (1)\nthat functions which are preserved and inherited must evidently be, not\nonly in animals and plants, but also and equally in man, such as favor\nthe preservation of the species; those which do not so favor it must\nperish with the individuals or species to which they belong; (2) that it\ncannot, indeed, be assumed that a result which has never come within the\nexperience of the species can be willed as an end, although, with the\nspecies, function securing results which, from a human point of view,\nmight be regarded as ends, may be preserved; but (3) that, as far as we\nassume the existence of consciousness at all in any species or\nindividual, we must assume pleasure and pain, pleasure in customary\nfunction, pain in its hindrance; and (4) that, as far as we can assume\nmemory, we may also feel authorized to assume that a remembered action\nmay be associated with remembered results that come within the\nexperience of the animal, some phases of which may thus become, as\ncombined with pleasure or pain, ends to seek or consequences to avoid.\nThere is no reason to be given why care for the young should be more\npleasurable than care for eggs; the one may be as pleasurable to some\nspecies as the other is to other species. If we assume consciousness in\nDr. Altum's robin, we may assume pleasure in the care of its young and\nalso, as a possibility, pleasure in the results of such care, the\npreservation and prosperity of the young; whether the consciousness of\nthe robin includes abstract concepts of preservation and prosperity, is\nanother question. The human mother, too, is wont to be peculiarly tender\nto children in general, but we do not for that reason infer that her\nkindness towards them is mere automatism. There is no necessary\nopposition between reason and instinct, and certainly none between\nemotion and instinct. To the very functions from which we derive the\nmost pleasure we are impelled by an irresistible innate tendency. In any\nparticular case, it may be very difficult to determine the amount of\nreasoning power possessed by the animal, the exact relation of ends to\nmeans in its consciousness; but it may be remarked that there are human\nmothers who reason little with regard to the preservation of the species\nor other so-called ends secured by the care they give their offspring;\nthe care is spontaneous, but may not be the less a matter of warm\naffection. It appears strange, therefore, that exactly that constancy\nand strength of tendency, with need of satisfaction by other channels if\nthe usual ones fail, which we use as proof of extreme mother-tenderness\nin the case of human beings should, in the case of other species, be\nturned into an argument to disprove the existence of this feeling.\n\nIt is sometimes argued that the feeling of the parent animal in the care\nof its young is, in any case, merely one of pleasure in the activity,\nand has no connection with the good of the offspring. In such a case as\nthat of the robin, where the effects of the care come within the\nexperience of the mother, this is a mere arbitrary assumption, although\ndirect proof of the contrary may be impossible. Naturally, in the case\nof an animal which cares for its eggs, but never comes in contact with\nthe offspring that are hatched from them, it would be impossible to\nsuppose any affection for the offspring as such; their existence does\nnot come within the range of the animal's experience. With regard to an\nanimal whose connection with its young is constant, the theory that\npleasure in their care has no reference to their welfare, has no\nevidence to support it and is unjustifiable. If we cannot directly\ndisprove it, we have, at least, the evidence of many facts unfavorable\nto it. The distress manifested not only by many mammals (who might be\nsupposed to find physical discomfort merely in the absence of the means\nof relief of the milk-glands), but also by other animals and notably\nbirds, in the loss of their young and even in any danger that threatens\nthem,--the indescribably mournful sounds at deprivation, the after\ndepression, and the capacity for self-sacrifice in their defence, would\nlead us naturally, from an unprejudiced standpoint, to a belief in\nsomething very like what we term mother-love in human beings. From\nLetourneau's \"Sociology based upon Ethnography,\"[144] I quote the\nfollowing: \"A female wren, observed by Montagu, spent sixteen hours a\nday in looking for food for her little ones. At Delft, when there was a\nfire raging, a female white stork, not being able to carry away her\nyoung ones, allowed herself to be burnt with them.... J. J. Hayes tells\nus of a female white bear forgetting the Esquimaux dogs, the huntsmen,\nand her own wounds, in order to hide her own little bear with her body,\nto lick her and to protect her. In Central Africa, a female elephant,\nall covered and pierced with javelins, hurled at her by the escort of\nblack men attending upon Livingstone, was all the while protecting her\nyoung one with her trunk which her own large body enabled her to\ncover.... In Sumatra, a female orang-outang, pursued with her little one\nby Captain Hall and wounded by a gunshot, threw her infant on to the\nhighest branches of the tree on to which she had climbed, and continued,\nuntil she died, exhorting her young one to escape. In Brazil, Sphix saw\na female of the stentor niger who, wounded by a gunshot, collected her\nlast remaining strength to throw her young one on to one of the branches\nclose by; when she had performed this last act of duty, she fell from\nthe tree and died.\" In Romanes' \"Animal Intelligence,\" occurs the\nfollowing quotation from Dr. Franklin:[145] \"'I have known two parrots,'\nsaid he, 'which had lived together four years, when the female became\nweak and her legs swelled. These were symptoms of gout, a disease to\nwhich all birds of this family are very subject in England. It became\nimpossible for her to descend from the perch, or to take her food as\nformerly, but the male was most assiduous in carrying it to her in his\nbeak. He continued feeding her in this manner during four months, but\nthe infirmities of his companion increased from day to day, so that at\nlast she was unable to support herself on the perch. She remained at the\nbottom of the cage, making, from time to time, ineffectual efforts to\nregain the perch. The male was always near her, and with all his\nstrength aided the attempts of his dear better half. Seizing the poor\ninvalid by the beak or the upper part of the wing, he tried to raise\nher, and renewed his efforts several times. His constancy, his gestures,\nand his continued solicitude, all showed in this affectionate bird the\nmost ardent desire to relieve the sufferings and assist the weakness of\nhis companion. But the scene became still more interesting when the\nfemale was dying. Her unhappy spouse moved around her incessantly, his\nattention and tender cares redoubled. He even tried to open her beak to\ngive her some nourishment. He ran to her, then returned with a troubled\nand agitated look. At intervals, he uttered the most plaintive cries;\nthen, with his eyes fixed on her, kept a mournful silence. At length his\ncompanion breathed her last; from that moment he pined away, and died in\nthe course of a few weeks.'\"\n\nMoreover, care of animals for other animals shows itself often where\nneither the relation of parent to offspring, nor the relation of sex,\nnor even that of species, furnishes the basis. Aside from the friendship\nand self-sacrifice of domestic animals for man, friendships, under\ndomestication, between individuals of all manner of ordinarily most\nhostile species are reported. Such friendship is not at all infrequent\nbetween dog and cat. In the family of a relative of my own were once a\nquail and cat who were most devoted to each other. They would spend\nhours playing together, and were often left alone together for long\nperiods. The cat never manifested any tendency to regard the bird in the\nlight of food; she seemed, however, well aware of the danger it might be\nunder from other cats, and invariably drove these away when they\nendeavored to approach the house. This cat was also friendly to a tame\nrobin which preceded the quail as pet in the same family.\n\nAnd furthermore, assistance is frequently given spontaneously where\nthere has been no association before the act. There are a number of\ninstances on record, and supported by good authority, where dogs have\nbrought suffering individuals of their own kind to places where they had\nthemselves received aid. Romanes cites from Mr. Oswald Fitch the story\nof a domestic cat who \"was observed to take out some fish-bones from the\nhouse to the garden, and, being followed, was seen to have placed them\nin front of a miserably thin and evidently hungry stranger cat, who was\ndevouring them; not satisfied with that, our cat returned, procured a\nfresh supply, and repeated its charitable offer, which was apparently as\ngratefully accepted. This act of benevolence over, our cat returned to\nits customary dining-place, the scullery, and ate its own dinner off the\nremainder of the bones.\"[146] Romanes says further: \"An almost precisely\nsimilar case has been independently communicated to me by Dr. Allen\nThomson, F.R.S. The only difference was that Dr. Thomson's cat drew the\nattention of the cook to the famishing stranger outside by pulling her\ndress and leading her to the place. When the cook supplied the hungry\ncat with some food, the other one paraded round and round while the meal\nwas being discussed, purring loudly.\" \"Mr. H. A. Macpherson writes me\nthat in 1876 he had an old male cat and a kitten aged a few months. The\ncat, who had long been a favorite, was jealous of the kitten and 'showed\nconsiderable aversion to it.' One day the floor of a room in the\nbasement of the house was taken up in order to repair some pipes. The\nday after the boards had been replaced, the cat 'entered the kitchen (he\nlived almost wholly on the drawing-room floor above), rubbed against the\ncook, and mewed without ceasing until he had engaged her attention. He\nthen, by running to and fro, drew her to the room in which the work had\ntaken place. The servant was puzzled until she heard a faint mew from\nbeneath her feet. On the boards being lifted, the kitten emerged safe\nand sound, though half-starved. The cat watched the proceedings with the\ngreatest interest until the kitten was released; but, on ascertaining\nthat it was safe, he at once left the room, without evincing any\npleasure at its return. Nor did he subsequently become really friendly\nwith it.'\"\n\nI cite still one other instance of animal affection from Romanes: \"One\nof a shooting-party under a banian tree killed a female monkey, and\ncarried it to his tent, which was soon surrounded by forty or fifty of\nthe tribe, who made a great noise and seemed disposed to attack the\naggressor. They retreated when he presented his fowling-piece, the\ndreadful effect of which they had witnessed, and appeared perfectly to\nunderstand. The head of the troop, however, stood his ground, chattering\nfuriously; the sportsman, who perhaps felt some little degree of\ncompunction for having killed one of the family, did not like to fire at\nthe creature, and nothing short of firing would suffice to drive him\noff. At length he came to the door of the tent, and finding threats of\nno avail, began a lamentable moaning and by the most expressive gesture\nseemed to beg for the dead body. It was given him; he took it\nsorrowfully in his arms and bore it away to his expecting companions.\nThey who were witnesses of this extraordinary scene resolved never again\nto fire at one of the monkey race.\"[147]\n\nAs to the changeable and capricious appearance of the assistance\nrendered in animal associations, by one member to another, it may be\nsaid that any being of a different species who could look into our towns\nand cities might easily find as great problems of caprice here as among\nthe ants and bees. We, too, leave our fellows to perish unaided; we,\ntoo, kill off, by neglect and hard usage, often not only or chiefly our\ndrones, but even some of our most industrious, useful members of\nsociety. With us, too, there is very often greater hostility towards\nenemies than kindness towards friends. Many savage tribes, that we\ncertainly concede to be endowed with intelligence, could learn of the\nants, rather than teach them, with regard to the duties of mutual aid.\nWith regard to other species than his own, even so-called civilized man\nis often eminently selfish and cruel. Among the savages the most extreme\ncruelty is often shown. Bain, in an essay entitled \"Is there Such a\nThing as Pure Malevolence?\" cites from a book, \"Siberian Pictures,\"\ntogether with mention of the pleasure shown by onlookers in the drowning\nof a man, an instance where boys seemed to find a genuine and peculiar\ndelight in slowly roasting a dog to death.[148] And Bruce describes in\nhis travels the feasts of the Abyssinians, where the flesh was cut from\nan ox alive and bellowing with pain. But our police courts frequently\nbear witness to the possibility of the most wanton cruelty performed by\npeople within our own most enlightened societies, although we may claim\nthat cruelty is not so general in civilized societies. I personally have\nknown of a case where, a horse becoming suddenly ill and falling upon\nthe road, it was prodded by its owner with a pitchfork until it died of\nits wounds; and of another case where a man fastened to a tree a\nharmless kitten that had wandered into his yard, and deliberately stoned\nit to death. Surely we have very little right to criticise the slaughter\nof animals by other species, while we ourselves name the taking of life\n\"sport.\" Our criticism of the play of the cat with the mouse as \"cruel\"\nis humorous--if there can be any humor connected with cruelty--as long\nas we ourselves find delight in the prolonged struggle of the trout and\nthe torture of the fox-chase. Perhaps the cat may be under the\nimpression that the mouse takes pleasure in being played with; certainly\nwe can believe that this is possible, when beings who claim to possess\nso much higher intelligence can gravely assert that the fox enjoys the\nchase.\n\nAmongst so-called civilized human beings, too, the care of parents for\noffspring is by no means universal, and mothers are known whom not even\nthe fear of the law can hinder from sacrificing their children by the\nslow torture of starvation for the gain of a few pounds or for even\nsimple relief from the trouble of their rearing. The reports of the\nSociety for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children show that not\nstrangers but parents are the most frequent sinners against the child.\nNor is infanticide and neglect confined to the poorer classes. I repeat,\nif a being of some other species enabled to obtain only such external\nknowledge of us as we have of other species, some being beholding us,\nfor instance, from distant planets, should endeavor to form a theory of\nour inner egoism and altruism, of sentiment and motive, he might be as\npuzzled as we are when we study the conduct of bees and ants. Even the\nhelplessness of the ant species, _Polyergus rufescens_, at which we\noften wonder as stupidity, has its parallel in some of the former\nslave-owners of the southern states of North America, who live in the\nutmost poverty and ignorance because they have lost the habits of\nindustry and consider work beneath them. Mother-love is certainly the\nrule amongst us; but it is not more constant or self-sacrificing than\nwith some other species, though it, in general, accompanies the child\nfarther in his career. This rule is not, however, universal. Human\nmothers of a lower type, who show fondness for their children when they\nare little, often exhibit little or none for them after they have grown\nout of arms.\n\nIt is claimed that altruism was, in its origin, egoism. Everything\ndepends, in theory on this point, on our definition of the terms\n\"origin\" and \"altruism.\" If we regard the life of animals in general or\nthe life of any particular species as having been non-social before it\nwas social, and as having become social through increase of numbers, the\n\"chance\" association which arose naturally in this way being favored by\nnatural selection, we must assume function fundamentally advantageous to\nself without regard to the results to other beings to have been primary,\nwhether or not we call this function egoism. With regard to animal life\nin general, we cannot avoid adopting some such view as this, since we\nfind few species forming lasting bonds of association, a large number\nforming only exceedingly short ones, and some forming none at all, and\nsince we must furthermore suppose a scarcity of living individuals to\nhave preceded their multiplicity. Moreover, we cannot suppose\nconsciousness to have been absent, in the case of many of the animal\nspecies, during the whole of this development. And where there is\nconsciousness, pleasure must be a concomitant along the line of\ndevelopment, and customary forms of action come to present ends, whether\nor not the individual has the abstract concept of \"ends.\"\n\nBut we need to remember that even the human race has not yet arrived at\nperfection, and that even moral altruism (for not all altruism is\nnecessarily moral) is not yet absolutely attained in any species. Our\nordinary use of the term is progressive; that which is altruistic at one\nperiod of history is often looked upon, at a later period, as merely a\nhigher form of egoism. This fact should be borne in mind when, in Ethics\nor Political Economy, we inquire whether man was, in the beginning,\naltruistic. What do we mean here by \"altruism,\" and what by \"beginning\"?\nA similar criticism may be made on the rather more usual question as to\nwhether man was, in the beginning, social; what is the beginning of our\nspecies, and what degree of association is necessary in order that the\nindividuals associating may be termed \"social\"? The question is a\ndifficult one to answer from any point of view. While the majority of\nhuman beings, even the most savage, show some degree of gregariousness,\nthere appear to be some tribes that are even less social in their habits\nthan the most of our ape-cousins. Mr. Dalton says of the savages of\nInner Borneo that they live in the most perfect state of nature, do not\ncultivate the earth or live in huts, do not eat either rice or salt, and\ndo not associate with each other, but wander like wild animals in the\nforest. \"The sexes meet in the jungle, or the man carries away a woman\nfrom some campong. When the children are old enough to shift for\nthemselves, they usually separate, neither one afterwards thinking of\nthe other.\"[149]\n\nAs to just what form the development of altruism from egoism may have\nassumed in the case of any particular species, or how the individuals of\nthe species may first have been led to association, the state of science\ndoes not, at present, enable us to say. Most authors, indeed, incline to\nclass all social development as having its origin in some one form of\nfamily relation. Rolph, for instance, refers it to the necessary\nassociation of the sexes, at certain times, for the purpose of\ncopulation. Others regard the care of the female for its young as the\nprimary form from which all social organization has developed. Inasmuch,\nhowever, as the line of ascent from primitive protoplasm to man cannot\nbe regarded as straight, but has very many branches, it is quite\nconceivable that the development may have taken place in different ways\nin different branches or different species; and the very various forms\nwhich social organization shows in different species is direct evidence\nin favor of such a supposition. Thus it is not, for instance, in some\nspecies, the mother animal, but the male, who cares for the young, and\nagain, in other cases, affectionate relations of the sexes are not a\nprominent feature of the social structure. The attitude of a swarm of\nbees towards the queen, her progeny, and the drones, presents aspects\nentirely different from those of ant-nests or human tribal or state\norganization. In some species where the female exhibits considerable\ncare and concern for her eggs or offspring, there is no especial\nfriendliness between the sexes, and in other cases, where no care is\ngiven to offspring, there is still apparently some degree of\nfriendliness, or at least of physical attraction, between male and\nfemale. It is not only conceivable that the habit of association may\nhave been developed by different means in different species, but it is\nalso conceivable that, in some cases, several forms of family relation\nmay have assisted equally, and in other cases have united, even if not\nin equal measure, in producing the result. The association of parent\nwith offspring, for instance, is in most cases impossible without some\ndegree of association between the offspring.\n\nHowever we may suppose social relations to have originated in the case\nof any particular species, whether through the sexual or the parental\nrelations or through both combined, and whether we trace these relations\nthemselves back, in the one instance, to the original union of the sexes\nin the individual, and propagation as self-division, in the other to the\nunity of mother and offspring before the individual life commences, or\nwhether we simply begin with some non-hostile contact of individuals as\nalready existent, it is evident that, with increasing competition,\ncooeperation must be to the advantage of those cooeperating. Those\nindividuals whose single strength is supplemented by the aid of others\nmust succeed best in the struggle for existence. Moreover, with the\nexercise of altruistic forms of action, we must suppose pleasure in its\nexercise to increase, in so far as we suppose any consciousness at all\nin the animal performing the action. The greater the degree of exercise,\nthe greater the pleasure connected with the action, and the more readily\nthe organism will respond to conditions permitting its accomplishment;\nwhile repetition, again, must increase tendency to repetition. This is\ntrue not only of exactly the same form of action, but also of similar\nforms, that is, of forms having some like elements. The conditions of\naction are never exactly the same; the environment is continually\nchanging; but the animal tends to choose, among possible forms of\naction, that which corresponds most nearly to most exercised and\npleasurable forms.\n\nAt just what period we are to regard the altruistic forms of action as\nbecoming in spirit altruistic depends, as has already been said, on our\ndefinition of the degree of disinterested feeling necessary to altruism\nproper, aside from our theories of the existence and form of\nconsciousness in the case of any particular species at any particular\npoint of development. In the case of even disinterested human action,\nthe altruism is not generally, or at least in very many cases, wholly\nunmixed with _any_ thought of self, though this thought may not hold\nfirst place. If self-sacrifice be the test of altruistic feeling, then\nwe must suppose the latter to exist, in some relations, even far down in\nthe scale of being. In this case, just as in other cases where choice is\nnecessary, the stronger tendency conquers even with the result of pain\nof disappointment in some other direction. The case of altruistic action\nis hence not unique in this respect, and it might perhaps be argued that\nsuch self-sacrifice would therefore be possible without any\nconsideration or consciousness of the good accruing to others through\nits performance. But if we analyze the development of any habit, we find\nthat the pleasure of the act speedily connects itself with all the\nconstant results of the act that come within the experience of the\nperformer of the act and are recognized as its results. Any result at\nfirst unpleasant must, if it is constant, either lead to the\ndiscontinuance of the act or else, with time, lose much of its quality\nof unpleasantness. Either the expected pain of this one factor is\nsufficient to counterbalance the pleasure awaited in the act, and a\nrepetition of the act is thus avoided, or, as in all other cases of\nhabitual experience, the pain or discomfort gradually diminishes, until,\nif the habit be long enough continued, pleasure takes its place. The\npleasure of others must be a constant result of action that secures\ntheir welfare, and if this result comes within the conscious experience\nof the performer of the action, we can scarcely avoid supposing that,\neven if his action is in the beginning purely selfish, the pleasure of\nthose benefited must come in time to play a part in the pleasure of the\nperformer. The part it plays will not be, in the beginning, naturally, a\nvery important one, but its importance will increase with time. If this\nis true in a measure even of the individual, it is doubly true of the\nspecies. Wherever, therefore, we may suppose the existence of sufficient\nintelligence for the inference of pleasure from its outer signs in\nothers, it must be admitted to be possible and even probable that\nconstant habits of self-sacrifice and helpfulness to others will be\naccompanied by some measure of altruistic feeling. And even if we\nsuppose an insufficiency of intelligence for such inference, it is still\npossible and even probable that the constant symptoms of pleasure in\nothers will come to be a part of the conditions of the pleasure of the\nindividual or the species in whom habits of self-sacrifice have become\nconstant, although their inner significance is not recognized. It may be\nobjected that, if actual altruistic feeling were present in animals\nwhich show a certain amount of helpfulness towards others of their\nkind, this altruism would not desert these others at the very time of\ntheir greatest need or when any great peril to self is involved, or that\nit would show itself in many other acts than just those which, as in the\ncase of the ants, secure the preservation of a society, or in that of\nsome other species give a certain protection to the female during\nbreeding time. The argument is wholly inconclusive, and has already been\nanswered. The action of natural selection in the preservation of those\nforms of tendency that secure the preservation of the species does not\nannul the action of the will or render the presence of strong emotion in\nthe direction of the tendency thus preserved impossible; on the\ncontrary, we must suppose all tendency, in man equally with other animal\nspecies, to be the result of natural selection. And in man, too,\naltruism that is sufficient for some degree of sacrifice is insufficient\nfor a greater. In man, as in other species, altruistic feeling and\naltruistic action vary according to the particular directions in which\nhabit in the species and in the individual has been cultivated. Men and\nwomen who are not kind to each other will frequently be kind to little\nchildren. The average Englishman is kind to his dog in spite of his\ntotal indifference to the pain inflicted on the very nearly if not quite\nas intelligent fox; and he will grow indignant to the verge of tears\nover abuse of a horse, while he will regard the like abuse with little\nor no emotion when it is inflicted on a miserable donkey. I doubt if the\naverage Englishman would shoot horses or dogs, even if they were good\nfor food and useless otherwise, and abounded wild in Great Britain. But\nthis is merely because association and habit have made him acquainted\nwith the capacity of feeling in the horse and dog, and have accustomed\nhim to humane treatment of them.\n\nAn argument sometimes advanced against the theory of a derivation of\naltruism from egoism is that such altruism has no premises or reasons;\nif, say the advocates of this argument, a man performs an apparently\naltruistic act to-day from selfish motives, and performs the same act\nto-morrow without calculation of the benefit to self to be gained from\nit,--if such a change were possible,--then this man must simply have\nforgotten his motives for the act. But this is not altruism proper. Such\naction is the result of a logical confusion, but it can never be\naltruism. Altruism proper has a motive, and this motive is the desire to\ndo good to others. With regard to this argument it may simply be said\nthat it is wholly untenable from any evolutionist standpoint; it\ndestroys at once the possibility of any moral progress. Intended to\ndefend altruism and moral principle in general from what is designated\nas degradation, it is itself degrading in its denial of the\ncompatibility of natural and moral advance. It posits the assertion that\nnothing can ever become that which it was not from the beginning, an\nassertion utterly inconsistent with any theory of growth, whether\nevolutional or otherwise. It is contradictory, too, of the directly\nobserved every-day facts of individual experience. The ends with which\nwe perform our acts, and the same acts, certainly change from day to\nday. The adult would have reason for shame were the ends with which he\nperforms certain acts the same with those with which he performed those\nsame acts when he was a child. The emotions with which we regard life\nand its various relations alter every day. If the change from egoism to\naltruism could be pronounced logical confusion, then all mental\nevolution must constitute an increase of intellectual disorder, a\ncontinuous progress towards less instead of greater intelligence. Where\nis the beginning of feeling and what was feeling in the beginning? Of\nwhat nature were the motives of our ape-like progenitors, and of what\nnature the first motive that appeared in the universe? and how have we\never arrived at the possession of other motives than these? What a\nconfusion worse confounded must be our present motives, and of what a\nchaos of thought and emotion must the human intellect consist! The\norigin of any such argument as this, intended to disprove the theory of\na derivation of altruism from egoism, is probably in the failure to\ndistinguish the fact that both altruism and egoism, as we know them, are\ncomparative, not absolute. Naturally, absolute altruism could not\ndevelop immediately from absolute egoism, that is, the one could not\nchange immediately into the other. But there are very few human beings\nin whom some degree of altruism does not exist; and all we may note\ndirectly of change of motive in ourselves, as well as all we ever could\nnote of change in external action in other species, is gradual increase\nin this direction. In the individual case it is quite possible for\nchange to take place in the opposite direction of the development of\ngreater egoism.\n\nIn connection with the discussion of the development of motives, we may\ninquire what is the final end of action; I refer not to the ideal end\nbut the actual end, although the two are not always distinguished in the\nanswer to this question. The confusion of the two generally arises from\nforgetfulness of the fact that an end is the part of the result of an\nact particularly willed by the performer. The concept is again a\nteleological one, although often advanced, in some form, by persons of\nmaterialistic views. Thus some authors, looking at the process of\nevolution as continual survival of the fittest, and observing that\nnatural selection thus tends continually towards health, so that the\naction of existing species is, in a large and ever increasing measure,\nfavorable to health, assert that the latter is the end of action.\nOthers, in like manner and from similar premises, argue that the\npreservation of the species is the end of action; or sometimes the\nlogical inaccuracy involved in making health or the preservation of\nspecies the universal end of action is partly concealed by giving the\nassertion the form that one or the other of these is \"the end attained\"\nby action. To these statements may be answered: The health of the\nindividual, although it sometimes appears as the end willed, is by no\nmeans the constant and universal end, but, on the contrary, rather an\ninfrequent end. As to the preservation of the species, the concept has\nnever been heard of by a majority of human beings, and a thing cannot be\nan end to those who have not heard of it. It is doubtful, moreover,\nwhether even those to whom it is familiar often, if ever, make it the\nend of action. With regard to pleasure, it has already been said that\nspecial calculation of the pleasure to accrue to self is by no means a\nnecessary part of the motive to action. Attention may again be called to\nthe fact that it is not the future pleasure that decides the will to\naction in the case of struggle of conflicting tendencies, but that it is\nthe more pleasurable representation, and that it is present pleasure\nwhich decides in any case. Or, rather, it is not the pleasure, the\nfeeling alone, that decides, for feeling is never found alone; it is\nalways combined with thought-images. The strength of pleasurable feeling\nis the \"tone\" in which the intensity of the function manifests itself,\nand according to which it tends to further expression in action. In the\nimagination of action and its results, or the thought of it, reflection\nmay linger especially on any one of its elements,--on any part of the\naction or its results as inferred from the analogy of past experience;\nthe pleasure to self is not necessarily the element on which the mind\nlays stress, and the pleasure to others may be the element with which\nthought is particularly occupied and which turns the scale of choice;\njust as, also, in the actual action and its results, the pleasure in\npleasure or benefit accruing to others may more than counterbalance the\npain which some other inevitable phase of the action or its results\nbrings with it.\n\nMuch that has been said of the development of egoism from altruism still\nholds true of the individual, even if the idea of a progress in altruism\nthrough heredity be surrendered. The consideration of the question of\nheredity is, however, necessary to any complete or wide-reaching theory\nof moral progress. Hitherto, the actuality of the inheritance of\naltruistic tendency has been assumed on the strength of previous\nconsiderations with regard to heredity in general, according to which we\ncould not conceive all the multifarious differences which appear in all\nthe species and varieties of animal nature to have been present in\nsimplest primal organisms, or all the differences of the different\nspecies and varieties which have arisen through sexual propagation from\ncommon ancestors to have been present as inherent potentialities in the\ngerm-plasm, as such, of their common ancestors, and so cannot consider\nthe lesser variations which go to make up the larger ones as due merely\nto the germ-plasm. It remains for us to examine the facts more\nparticularly with respect to this special form of tendency. Stephen\nsays: \"An unreasoning animal can only adapt itself to new circumstances,\nexcept within a very narrow range, by acquiring a new organization; or,\nin other words, by becoming a different animal. Its habits and instincts\nmay therefore remain fixed through countless generations. But man, by\naccumulating experiences, can virtually alter both his faculties and his\nsurroundings without altering his organization. When this accumulation\nextends beyond the individual, it implies a social development, and\nexplains the enormous changes wrought within historical times, and which\ndefine the difference between the savage and the civilized man.\"[150]\n\"Briefly, society exists as it exists in virtue of this organization,\nwhich is as real as the organization of any material instrument, though\nit depends upon habits and instincts instead of arrangements of tangible\nand visible objects.\"[151] \"Children, no doubt, start with infinitely\nvarying aptitudes for moral culture, as they start with stomachs of\nvarying strength of digestion; but, in every case, the action of the\nsocial medium is an essential factor of the result.\"[152] Now, in the\nfirst place, objection may be made to the term \"unreasoning animal,\" in\nthat, whatever we may think with regard to inorganic matter and\nplant-life or even with regard to the lower forms of animal-life, the\nwhole theory of evolution is opposed to the supposition that reason\nsuddenly arises in man; and in that we have, moreover, in the case of\nmany of the higher species, very conclusive evidence of the presence of\nsome degree of reason. Mr. Stephen does not elsewhere make any positive\nassertion of the entire absence of reason in animals; yet to his remark\nthat \"It may be that germs of this capacity [_i.e._ the capacity to\nlearn by experience and impart this knowledge to others] are to be found\nin the lower animals\" he adds, \"but we shall make no sensible error if\nwe regard it, as it has always been regarded, as the exclusive\nprerogative of humanity.\"[153] That is, we make no sensible error if we\nregard the progress of other animal species than our own to be wholly\n\"organic,\" that of our own species, on the other hand, to be wholly an\naccumulation of common knowledge. The division between man and the rest\nof the animal kingdom is thus made a very distinct and absolute line. It\nmay be noticed, second, that the third quotation of the three cited\nconsecutively above contains a very different statement from that of the\nfirst quotation. And it may be said, third, that the second quotation,\nwhile seeming to bear out the first, is in reality a contradiction of\nit, since it makes social organization dependent upon \"habits\" and\n\"instincts.\"\n\nExactly what is it that is meant by the alteration of organization which\nis pronounced unnecessary to the \"virtual\" alteration of human\nfaculties? From the modern spiritualistic, the materialistic, the\npositivistic, or any modern standpoint at all, it is difficult to\nperceive how mental alteration can be supposed without the assumption of\nan exactly corresponding physiological change. In view of the\nexceedingly minute structure of the nervous system, which is chiefly\naffected by such change, we may suppose this change to be so fine as to\nbe imperceptible to sense-perception, but, since it must, in any case,\nbe exactly cooerdinate with the psychical change, I fail to see how we\ncan scientifically regard the one and at the same time ignore the other\nand pronounce it of no significance. And if we suppose any fixation of\npsychical alteration, we cannot avoid likewise supposing an exactly\ncooerdinate fixation of physiological alteration. Of course the question\nremains as to the extent to which fixation takes place in either case,\nand this question we have yet to consider. The weakness of Mr. Stephen's\nposition lies in his assumption of fixation on the one side and his\ndenial of it on the other.\n\nHow far are the moral qualities acquired in one generation inherited by\nthe next? Inasmuch as all development is by inappreciable increments,\nall change of organization gradual, or, in psychical terms, inasmuch as\ncharacter varies only slowly from the grooves of established habit,\nthere is a general truth in the statement that all habit prominent\nenough to be noticed as such can generally be traced farther back than\nthe next generation only. Nevertheless, here are a few cases for the\nWeismannites:--\n\n\"Gall speaks of a Russian family in which the father and grandfather had\ndied prematurely, the victims of taste for strong drink. The grandson,\nat the age of five, manifested the same liking in the highest degree.\"\n\n\"Trelat, in his work 'Folie Lucide,' states that a lady of regular life\nand economical habits was subject to fits of uncontrollable dipsomania.\nLoathing her state, she called herself a miserable drunkard, and mixed\nthe most disgusting substances with her wine, but all in vain; the\npassion was stronger than her will. The mother and the uncle of this\nlady had also been subject to dipsomania.\"\n\n\"Charles X----, son of an eccentric and intemperate father, manifested\ninstincts of great cruelty from infancy. He was sent at an early age to\nvarious schools, but was expelled from them all. Being forced to enlist\nin the army, he sold his uniform for drink and only escaped a sentence\nof death on the testimony of physicians, who declared that he was the\nvictim of an irresistible appetite. He was placed under restraint, and\ndied of general paralysis.\"\n\n\"A man belonging to the educated class, and charged with important\nfunctions, succeeded for a long time in concealing his alcoholic habits\nfrom the eyes of the public; his family were the only sufferers by it.\nHe had five children, only one of whom lived to maturity. Instincts of\ncruelty were manifested in this child, and from an early age its sole\ndelight was to torture animals in every conceivable way. He was sent to\nschool, but could not learn. In the proportions of the head he\npresented the character of microcephalism, and in the field of\nintellectual acquisition he could only reach a certain low stage, beyond\nwhich further progress was impossible. At the age of nineteen he had to\nbe sent to an asylum for the insane.\"\n\n\"A man of an excellent family of laboring people was early addicted to\ndrink, and died of chronic alcoholism, leaving seven children. The first\ntwo of these died, at an early age, of convulsions. The third became\ninsane at twenty-two, and died an idiot. The fourth, after various\nattempts at suicide, fell into the lowest grade of idiocy. The fifth, of\npassionate and misanthropic temper, broke off all relations with his\nfamily. His sister suffers from nervous disorder, which chiefly takes\nthe form of hysteria, with intermittent attacks of insanity. The\nseventh, a very intelligent workman, but of nervous temperament, freely\ngives expression to the gloomiest forebodings as to his intellectual\nfuture.\"\n\n\"Dr. Morel gives the history of a family living in the Vosges, in which\nthe great-grandfather was a drunkard, and died from the effects of\nintoxication; and the grandfather, subject to the same passion, died a\nmaniac. He had a son far more sober than himself, but subject to\nhypochondria and of homicidal tendencies; the son of this latter was\nstupid, idiotic. Here we see, in the first generation, alcoholic excess;\nin the second, hereditary dipsomania; in the third, hypochondria; and in\nthe fourth, idiocy and probable extinction of the race.\"[154]\n\nIt is the general testimony of authorities that mental disease may thus\nappear in one generation as general tendency to excess, in another as\nhomicidal mania, in another as microcephalism, etc. Here we have\nexamples of the hereditary character of what we recognize as nervous\ndisease, which yet has its moral as well as its intellectual side. There\nare few who do not recognize the power of the parent, through injury to\nhis own health, to affect the health of his children; and yet that which\nwe call disease is not more physical than that which we call moral\ncharacteristic. However, the physical side of that which we call normal\nmoral characteristic is more withdrawn from observation; that which is\nrecognized as mental disease forms, in this respect, a link between what\nwe term ill-health and mental characteristic. The physical features of\nwhat we term ill-health attract our attention especially because of the\nweakness and incapacity or the distinct physical pain involved; the\nphysical side of insanity comes also more or less distinctly to our\nnotice, but the physical accompaniments of normal characteristic attract\nless attention. And yet all these three conditions have each a psychical\nand each a physiological side. It is therefore difficult to understand\nhow the possibility of the inheritance of ill-health from want or excess\ncan be acknowledged and yet the possibility of the inheritance of\npsychical characteristic acquired by the parent be doubted; the latter\nhas its organic side as much as the former. And no better illustration\nof this fact can be found than in just such cases as those above cited,\nwhere that which appears in the first place as mere excess, that is,\nmoral characteristic as we ordinarily term it, takes finally the form of\nmicrocephalism, idiocy, or insanity.\n\nMan's early existence as an individual is distinguished by the length of\nduration of a condition of helplessness, at the beginning of which,\nbeyond the fundamental so-called organic action, only a few simple\nactivities manifest themselves. The human being is born with almost\neverything to acquire, and the earlier years, during which habits are\nslowly accumulating, appear peculiarly adaptive or formative. The human\nchild is peculiarly susceptible, as regards mental and moral\nacquirements, to the nature of his surroundings. But this fact does not\nnecessarily mean any more than what Stephen asserts in the last of the\nthree quotations above cited, namely, that the social medium is an\nessential factor of the result; it does not necessarily exclude the\ninheritance of moral or immoral tendency acquired under civilization or\neven by near ancestors. Even in cases of the inheritance of the most\nextreme passion for alcohol, we cannot suppose that the taste would ever\nhave manifested itself, had alcohol never come within the reach of the\ninheriting individual. The young kitten that has never tasted meat will\nsnatch at a piece as soon as it scents it; but we cannot suppose that\nthe evidently inherited taste for flesh would ever appear, did flesh\nnever come within the range of its sense-perception. Since a suitable\nenvironment must always be conceived as essential to the development\neven of the most inveterate inherited qualities, and since man's mental\nand especially his moral superiority has been developed in connection\nwith social conditions, it is conceivable that, these conditions\nfailing, his mental and moral development may show a lack cooerdinate\nwith the degree of such failure. And here is an answer to those who, in\ncontesting the theory of any moral inheritance, state their views in the\nfinal form that if any inheritance at all can be claimed, it can only be\nas a certain degree of readiness in responding to the conditions of\ncivilization; _no_ inheritance can ever be anything more than this; the\nexistence, to a sufficient degree, of complementary conditions in the\nenvironment is always necessary to the development of tendency. It is,\ntherefore, conceivable that the child of civilized parents of a higher\ntype of morality, if carried off, in infancy, by savages, might fail to\nexhibit the high character of its parents, just as it is conceivable and\nmore than probable that it would fail to exhibit their higher\nintellectual gifts. It is also conceivable that the child of moral\nparentage may inherit the capacity of high moral development and yet\nfall into crime, if circumstances afford him no education save that of\nassociation with hardened criminals. We might only with reason expect to\nfind, in the case of the supposed child abducted by savages, a certain\nmental acuteness applied to savage affairs and some greater degree of\nhumane feeling, dominated, however, by savage conceptions; as also\ngreater ease in the acquirement of civilized ideas and customs in case\nof a return to higher surroundings before maturity; and we might only\nexpect to find, in the case of the child brought up among criminals, a\ngreater degree of that primitive honor and faithfulness which may exist\namong criminals. Modern reformatories have testified to the possibility\nof the redemption of a large number of criminals from their evil life,\nbut they have shown, nevertheless, that there is a lust of cupidity, a\nlove of meanness, and an animality from which rescue is almost if not\nquite impossible. The reaction of men whose past opportunities have been\nabout equal, upon effort for their reform, exhibits also very different\ndegrees of readiness. The testimony of reformatories for the young is\nespecially of worth on this point; and I once heard Mrs. Mary A.\nLivermore, whose interest in reformatories and prisons is well known,\ndescribe the faces of many of the children to be found in a certain\ninstitution of this sort, as bearing fearful witness to the fact that\nthey had been \"mortgaged to the devil before they were born.\" I remember\na number of cases cited by the matron of a certain orphan asylum showing\nthat children taken from their home at too early an age to have learned\nthe sins of their parents by imitation may yet repeat those sins. Out of\nthree children of the same parents, the one of whom was a drunkard and\nprostitute, the other a thief, one developed, at a very early age, a\ntendency to dishonesty, another an extreme morbid eroticism, and the\nthird child appeared to have escaped the evil inheritance; but he was\nstill very young when I last heard of him. The two children did not\nexhibit these evil traits at their entrance to the home, but developed\nthem later.\n\nAnd here it may be noticed that the fact of the unformed character of\nthe infant does not prove that the tendencies which make their\nappearance in later life are wholly the result of the environment. It\nhas been remarked by biologists and pathologists that inherited\ncharacteristics tend to appear at an age corresponding to that at which\nthey appeared in the progenitor. The caterpillar does not undergo\nmetamorphosis with a less regularity because it is not, in the\nbeginning, a butterfly, and the beard does not the less appear in the\nadult human male because he was not born bearded. Diseases of the brain\noften develop, for several generations, at nearly the same age, and\nthere seems to be no reason why we should not suppose the like to be\ntrue in the case of many normal characteristics. Ribot cites from\nVoltaire the following case: \"'I have with my own eyes,' he writes,\n'seen a suicide that is worthy of the attention of physicians. A\nthoughtful professional man, of mature age, of regular habits, having no\nstrong passions, and beyond the reach of want, committed suicide on the\n17th of October, 1769, leaving behind him, addressed to the council of\nhis native city, an apology for his voluntary death, which it was not\nthought advisable to publish, lest men should be encouraged to quit a\nlife whereof so much evil is spoken. So far there is nothing\nextraordinary, since instances of this kind are everywhere to be found;\nbut here is the astonishing feature of the case: his father and his\nbrother had committed suicide at the same age as himself. What hidden\ndisposition of mind, what sympathy, what concurrence of physical laws,\ncaused this father and his two sons to perish by their own hand and by\nthe same form of death, just when they had acquired the same year of\ntheir age?'\"[155] Ribot continues:--\n\n\"Since Voltaire's day, the history of mental disease has registered a\ngreat number of similar facts. They abound in Gall, Esquirol, Moreau of\nTours, and in all the writers on insanity. Esquirol knew a family in\nwhich the grandmother, mother, daughter, and grandson, committed\nsuicide. 'A father of taciturn disposition,' says Falret, 'had five\nsons. The eldest, at the age of forty, threw himself out of a\nthird-story window; the second strangled himself at the age of\nthirty-five; the third threw himself out of a window; the fourth shot\nhimself; a cousin of theirs drowned himself for a trifling cause. In the\nOroten family, the oldest in Teneriffe, two sisters were affected with\nsuicidal mania, and their brother, grandfather, and two uncles, put an\nend to their own lives.'... The point which excited Voltaire's surprise,\nviz. the heredity of suicide at a definite age, has been often noticed:\n'M. L----, a monomaniac,' says Moreau of Tours, 'put an end to his life\nat the age of thirty. His son had hardly attained the same age when he\nwas attacked with the same monomania, and made two attempts at suicide.\nAnother man, in the prime of life, fell into a melancholy state and\ndrowned himself; his son, of good constitution, wealthy, and the father\nof two gifted children, drowned himself at the same age. A wine-taster\nwho had made a mistake as to the quality of a wine threw himself into\nthe water in a fit of desperation. He was rescued, but afterwards\naccomplished his purpose. The physician who had attended him ascertained\nthat this man's father and one of his brothers had committed suicide at\nthe same age and in the same way.'...\n\n\"A woman named Olhaven fell ill of a serious disorder, which obliged her\nto wean her daughter, six weeks old. This complaint of the mother began\nby an irresistible desire to kill her child. This purpose was discovered\nin season to prevent it. She was next seized with a violent fever which\nutterly blotted the fact from her memory, and she afterwards proved a\nmost devoted mother to her daughter. This daughter, become a mother in\nher turn, took two children to nurse. For some days she had suffered\nfrom fatigue and from 'movements in the stomach,' when one evening as\nshe was in her room with the infants, one of them on her lap, she was\nsuddenly seized by a strong desire to cut its throat. Alarmed by the\nhorrible temptation, she ran from the spot with the knife in her hand,\nand sought in singing, dancing, and sleep, a refuge from the thoughts\nthat haunted her. Hardly had she fallen asleep when she started up, her\nmind filled with the same idea, which now was irresistible. She was,\nhowever, controlled, and in a measure calmed. The homicidal delirium\nrecurred, and finally gave way, only after many remedies had been\nemployed.\"\n\nThese are only a few out of the many instances that might be given of\nrecurrence, at the same age or under the stimulation of similar\nconditions, of so-called pathological states. Science has hitherto given\nmore study to such cases than to the inheritance of healthful\nconditions, though the line between healthful mental conditions and\nmental disease is very difficult to draw, and the assumption that all\nsuicides are more insane than many of the people who are regarded as\nsane is unwarranted; of course if one starts with the premise that\nsuicide is always a symptom of insanity, then the conclusion follows\nnaturally that all suicides are insane; but this is a mere argument in a\ncircle. As far as the inheritance of healthy or normal mental\ncharacteristics is concerned, we do know at least, from general\nobservation, that a child often exhibits, as it develops, more and more\nrather than less and less the characteristics of some progenitor; and\nthis, moreover, in many cases where the possibility of imitation is\nexcluded. Observations might possibly be made here in a line with former\nreflections on man's adaptability and Haeckel's theory of the prenatal\nexistence of the individual as repeating the history of his species. In\nthe case of postnatal as well as in that of prenatal existence, the\naction of the environment can no more be left out of account than can\nthat of heredity; and the influence of favorable or of unfavorable\nconditions at corresponding periods of development may explain the\nexaggerated growth or, on the other hand, the dwarfed character or\nnon-appearance of tendencies associated in their development with these\nperiods. But at present such observations can be little more than\nspeculation. We may at least say, however, that Mr. Leslie Stephen's\nstatement of the case, namely, that children \"start with infinitely\nvarying capacities\" but that the environment of civilization is that\nwhich finally makes them what they become morally and mentally, should\nrather be reversed; for it is rather true that children are born into\nthe world on about the same level mentally and morally (for we observe\nbut little difference in the faculties of new-born babes), but that they\nby no means react, in development, upon the same or a similar\nenvironment in a similar manner. The case of the Athenian baby, whose\nprobable equality with the modern infant is used by Mr. Stephen as an\nargument that the human race has made no progress as far as innate\nqualities are concerned, would therefore scarcely be a case in point,\neven if it were capable of proof,--as it is not. But it cannot be called\na case in point in any sense, the English baby with which Mr. Stephen\ncompares the Athenian infant not being of Athenian descent. Any\ncomparison of this sort, to be of worth in the discussion of the element\nof heredity in human progress, must be between the baby of the primitive\nsavage Briton and the modern British infant. The Athenians arrived at a\nhigh degree of social development; but the very fact that neither their\ncivilization nor even that of Rome was acquired by the less civilized\nraces who were their conquerors is rather testimony in favor of the\ntheory of the hereditary, organic character of the habits and capacities\nacquired in the course of civilization. Nor have the Athenians\ntransmitted their type unmixed; there is no pure Athenian or Greek race\nat the present day with which we could compare the ancient Greeks, even\nif we desired to affirm so great an independence of circumstances as\nwould assure to such a race the unimpaired faculties of their ancestors\nin spite of all the changes in their environment which history records.\nNot only the environment was changed and mixed; the stock, also, of that\nrace which once regarded all strangers as barbarians became equally\nimpure. And assuredly the comparison of the \"average child of to-day\"\nwith an Archimedes or a Themistocles is anything but a fair one.[156]\nTaken with the qualification of the predicate which Mr. Stephen\ncautiously introduces in asserting that the innate qualities of the\naverage modern child are not \"radically\" superior to those of the\ngreatest ancients, it leads us to suspect that Mr. Stephen is not,\nhimself, very thoroughly convinced of what he attempts to prove. We may\nagree with Mr. Stephen that \"If Homer or Plato had been born amongst the\nHottentots, they could no more have composed the 'Iliad' or the\n'Dialogues' than Beethoven could have composed his music, however fine\nhis ear or delicate his organization, in the days when the only musical\ninstrument was the tom-tom\"[157]; for certainly no one can reach the\nsame heights under an unfavorable environment that he might have\nattained under a favorable one; and that Homer could have expressed, in\nthe ruder poetry which he might still have composed among Hottentots,\nthe sentiments of the \"Iliad,\" or Beethoven have produced his sonatas\nwith the assistance of the tom-tom (provided that remained the only\ninstrument after the appearance of an individual of such musical\ncapacity as a Beethoven), cannot be conceived. But it is also\ninconceivable that a Beethoven, a Homer, or a Plato, could be born among\nthe Hottentots, if \"to be born among them\" means to be born of their\nstock.\n\nIn order to make any direct comparison between the capacities of the\ndescendants of civilized parents and those of uncivilized progenitors,\nwe ought to be able to compare average results obtained in savage\ninfants removed, in earliest infancy, to the advantages of civilization,\nwith the average mental and moral acquirements of individuals born under\nthose influences. We need to compare averages, I say, and not one or two\nindividual cases alone; for, in order to assert the organic and\nhereditary character of human progress up to and under civilization, we\nare by no means compelled to prove a like advance in all parts of a\nnation or people, or even advance at all in every part. It is\nconceivable, and wholly in accordance with the general course of\nevolution, that types should remain stationary while other types are\nadvancing, that lower types should continue to exist side by side with\nhigher ones that have developed out of them, and even that, in some\nlines of descent, retrogression should take place while the species or a\nsociety as a whole is progressing. But our data for comparison of\naverages are not, by any means, as satisfactory as could be wished; for\nnowhere are the direct descendants of uncivilized races given equal\nadvantages with those of the descendants of peoples already civilized.\nGalton's comparison of the negro with the white man is, for this reason,\ntoo extreme in its conclusions as to the hereditary character of\nintellect. Yet some general facts may be noted. And perhaps no better\nfield for comparison is afforded us than the United States, where the\nwhite population is not the mere offshoot and tributary of a nation the\ngreat majority of whose better representatives inhabit a distant land,\nbut an independent and successful nation, and where the negro race,\nwhile yet untutored, was suddenly endowed with a liberty nominally as\ngreat as that of the white man, together with a part in the government\nand a right to state education. This liberty may be, indeed is, in many\nparts of the South, a mere pretence, though even there toleration is\ngradually being acquired; but in the North the negro is treated on very\nnearly the same footing with the white man, the indignities offered him\nhaving their origin, for the most part, with former slave-holders, not\nwith the born and bred Northerner. Negro children have free access to\nthe northern schools, where they may often be seen sitting side by side\nwith white children; and the best of American universities are open to\nnegro students. If, then, the average of opinion, even in the North,\nmaintains a certain amount of condescension towards the African, this\ncondescension is no greater in degree than that maintained by the\naristocracy of Europe towards the so-called lower (not the lowest)\nclasses, and in spite of which many have risen to prominence from those\nclasses. Indeed, the measure of condescension is rather less than the\naverage manifested by master to underling in many European countries not\nso democratic as England; it would compare favorably with the attitude\nof the petty German officials to the ordinary citizen of the less\nwell-to-do classes. It may mean discouragement, but there is no reason\nwhy it should, in all cases, mean failure. Yet, as a fact, very few of\npure negro blood have risen to any prominence whatever, and the average\nof intelligence appears comparatively low; the large majority of those\nwho have risen to eminence have had some admixture of the blood of the\nwhite race. The American Indian appears to be more capable of\ncultivation; but he has enjoyed fewer advantages than the negro. The\nIndian children at the schools provided for them do not, however, appear\nto exhibit the degree of intelligence possessed by white children. On\nthe other hand, the mixture of white and Indian blood seems to produce,\nsometimes, rather more than the average of intelligence. The writer is\nacquainted with two cases of this kind. The first was that of the\ndaughter of an ignorant Indian father, who lived entirely by hunting and\nfishing, and of an almost as ignorant white mother. The child, who had\nat first no advantages save those afforded by a primitive district\nschool, nevertheless early developed an insatiable love of study,\ngained access to a higher school, and finally to what was, in her time,\nthe highest school for women in the country. Here she did housework,\nduring a course of four years, in order partly to pay her expenses,\nsupplying the remaining sum for tuition afterwards out of her earnings\nas a teacher. By clothing herself, summer and winter, in cheap prints,\nshe also saved enough to buy the time of a sister who had been bound\nout, assisted in the education of the rest of the family, and taught a\nschool whose excellence is remembered and praised to this day. But the\nIndian is commonly supposed to be of higher stock than the African\nnegro; he certainly exhibits, even in his uncivilized state, a cunning,\na courage, and a persistence, of a higher type than that of the African;\nand the superiority of a mixture between this alert type and the\nintelligence of the white man is thus explained. I repeat, though the\nsubtle results of many minute accumulating influences of individual\nenvironment must undoubtedly be taken into consideration in our judgment\nof different races, the difference of opportunity does not seem to\naccount fully for the great difference of attainment.\n\nIt must be noticed, too, that, in comparing the negro with the white man\nin the United States, we have not compared a wholly savage people with a\ncivilized one; for the negro has been, for several generations, in\ncontact with civilization, and must have gained something from this\ncontact. It is to be greatly doubted whether the infants of those\nSiberians of whose pleasure in the suffering of other beings an instance\nwas given above would, even under the best of influences, develop into\nindividuals of much real benevolence. The average child of civilized\nsociety is somewhat callous to the sufferings of animals, partly because\nhe does not realize the reality of those sufferings; yet I have seen\nlost kittens tenderly cared for by ragged little street urchins; and I\nhave more than once heard small boys, playing in the gutter, exclaim at\nthe beating of a donkey or a horse. The child repeats, perhaps, to some\nextent, the history of his race's origin in savagery. Yet it is to be\nseriously doubted whether the children of the savages described as\ndelighting in cutting their meat from living animals would attain, even\nunder the most careful training, the average spontaneous humanity of the\nlad of civilized progenitors, or would ever become truly humane men and\nwomen. It is conceivable that superior mental and moral capacity may\nremain comparatively undeveloped, proper environment lacking, but we\nbegin to see the fallacy of concluding, from such cases, the\nnon-hereditary character of capacity when we suppose such cases as those\nabove, of the rearing of savage infants under civilization. It must be\nadded of the very isolated cases--of which much is often made--in which\nthe children of civilized parents have been stolen by savages, at an\nearly age, (1) that it is not, and cannot be, maintained that all the\ndescendants of civilized progenitors are endowed with superior mental\nand moral tendency; and (2) that such instances are too few in number to\nfurnish, alone, the basis of any theory. The evidence furnished us by\nthe general results of neglect in the midst of civilization is more to\nthe point; but, even in these cases, it must be shown that the children\ncame of good parentage in order that the evidence may be admitted as\ntelling against the theory of heredity. Every breeder of animals counts\nwith the greatest confidence upon the action of the laws of heredity;\nand no reason can be given why these laws should not work in the case of\nman, why he should be the one species exempt from them. It is impossible\nto cross the dog with the wolf without perceiving the result of the\ncrossing, in the mental as well as the physical characteristics of the\noffspring; and the dog does not differ more from the wolf than does\ncivilized man, in the most advanced nations, from the savage. Even his\nphysical characteristics, the contour of the head and face especially,\nthe form of the features as well as the expression, are different and\nimply a higher type.\n\nAnd, in discussing lower types in the midst of civilization, we cannot\ndo better than give some consideration to Dugdale's remarkable book on\nthe Jukes, which has already been mentioned. In this book is traced the\nhistory of five hundred and forty persons belonging to seven generations\nof descendants of five sisters, there being much intermarrying among\nthem. Out of two hundred and fifty-two Juke women, whose history is\ntraced, thirty-three were illegitimate, eighteen were mothers of\nbastards before marriage, twelve the mothers of bastards after marriage,\nfifty-three were prostitutes (the cases of eight being unascertained),\nthirteen were barren, eleven kept brothels, thirty-seven had syphilis,\nforty-five received, at some time, outdoor relief, the total number of\nyears amounting to two hundred and forty-two, twenty-four received\nalmshouse relief, the time reaching a total of thirty-five years, and\nsixteen were committed for crimes for a total of one and three-fourths\nyears, the number of offences being twenty-four. Out of two hundred and\ntwenty-five Juke men, forty-nine were illegitimate, twenty were\nprostitutes, one kept a brothel, fourteen were afflicted with syphilis,\nfifty received outdoor relief, the time being, in total, two hundred and\nseventy years, twenty-nine were in the almshouse for a total of\nforty-six years, and thirty-three were committed for crime for a total\nof eighty-nine and a half years, the number of offences being\nfifty-nine. The lines with which the Jukes cohabited or intermarried\nwere naturally of a low moral type, but they do not show nearly as high\na percentage of crime and pauperism; thus among the marriageable women\nof the Jukes, we find the percentage of harlotry to be 52.40, among\nthose of the intermarrying or cohabiting lines only 41.76. Of the stock\nof Ada Juke, known to the police as \"Margaret, the mother of criminals,\"\nnine offenders were sent to prison for a total of sixty years, their\ncrimes constituting fifty-four per cent of all the crimes against\nproperty recorded of the Jukes, and including burglary, grand larceny,\nand highway robbery; besides one murder and three attempts at rape.\nDugdale thus describes his first acquaintance with the \"Jukes.\" \"In\nJuly, 1874, the New York Prison Association having deputed me to visit\nthirteen of the county jails of this state and report thereupon, I made\na tour of inspection in pursuance of that appointment. No specially\nstriking cases of criminal careers, traceable through several\ngenerations, presented themselves till ---- County was reached. Here,\nhowever, were found six persons, under four family names, who turned out\nto be blood relations in some degree. The oldest, a man of forty-five,\nwas waiting trial for receiving stolen goods; his daughter, aged\neighteen, held as witness against him; her uncle, aged forty-two,\nburglary in the first degree; the illegitimate daughter of the latter's\nwife, aged twelve years, upon which child the latter had attempted rape,\nto be sent to the reformatory for vagrancy; and two brothers in another\nbranch of the family, aged respectively nineteen and fourteen, accused\nof an assault with intent to kill, they having maliciously pushed a\nchild over a high cliff and nearly killed him. Upon trial, the oldest\nwas acquitted, though the goods stolen were found in his house, his\nprevious good character saving him; the guilt belonged to his\nbrother-in-law, the man aged forty-two above-mentioned, who was living\nin the house. This brother-in-law is an illegitimate child, an habitual\ncriminal, and the son of an unpunished and cautious thief. He had two\nbrothers and one sister, all of whom are thieves, the sister being the\ncontriver of crime, they its executors. The daughter of this woman, the\ngirl aged eighteen above-mentioned, testified, at the trial which\nresulted in convicting her uncle and procuring his sentence for twenty\nyears to state prison, that she was forced to join him in his last\nforay, that he had loaded her with the booty and beat her on the journey\nhome, over two miles, because she lagged under the load. When this girl\nwas released, her family in jail, and thus left without a home, she was\nforced to make her lodging in a brothel on the outskirts of the city.\nNext morning she applied to the judge to be recommitted to prison 'for\nprotection' against certain specified carnal outrages required of her\nand submitted to. She has since been sent to the house of refuge. Of the\ntwo boys, one was discharged by the grand jury; the other was tried and\nreceived five years' imprisonment in Sing Sing.\n\n\"These six persons belonged to a long lineage, reaching back to the\nearly colonists, and had intermarried so slightly with the emigrant\npopulation of the Old World that they may be called a strictly American\nfamily. They had lived in the same locality for generations, and were so\ndespised by the respectable community that their family name _had come\nto be used generically as a term of reproach_.\n\n\"That this was deserved became manifest on slight inquiry. It was found\nthat out of twenty-nine males, in ages ranging from fifteen to\nseventy-five, the immediate blood-relations of these six persons,\nseventeen of them were criminals, or fifty-eight per cent; while fifteen\nwere convicted of some degree of offence, and received seventy-one years\nof sentence.... The crimes and misdemeanors they committed were assault\nand battery, assault with intent to kill, murder, attempt at rape, petit\nlarceny, grand larceny, burglary, forgery, cruelty to animals.\"\n\nBut this book of Dugdale's, which traces so clearly and thoroughly long\nlines of criminal descent, makes manifest, also, the influence of\nenvironment. We find, for instance, in the line of the illegitimate\nposterity of Ada Juke, generation five, the case of a male descendant,\nwho was sentenced to Sing Sing for three years at the age of twenty-two,\nbut who, leaving prison at the expiration of his sentence, abandoned\ncrime and settled down to steady employment. A second case is that of\nanother male descendant of Ada, who assisted his brother in burglary at\nthe age of twelve, and served probably some thirteen or fourteen years\nin prison, but later reformed and took to stone-quarrying, having\nlearned, says Dugdale, industrious habits in prison. A brother of this\nman, who had also served sentences in jail for assault and battery, and\na term of two years at Sing Sing for burglary (the term beginning at the\nage of twenty-two), moved at the age of thirty-one into the same county\nas his brother, and went into the business of quarrying. A female\ndescendant in the illegitimate line of Ada, generation five, who seems\nto have followed a dissolute life up to the age of fifteen, at this\npoint married a German, a \"steady, industrious, plodding man,\" and\nsettled down into a reputable woman. In the legitimate line of Ada,\nagain, generation five, we find the case of a girl \"said to have been\nborn in the poorhouse,\" who \"was adopted out from there into a wealthy\nfamily, and is doing well.\" In all these cases, the reform was the\nresult of contact, during the earlier period of life, with new elements\ninducing industry and sobriety. Such cases might lead us to doubt the\nconclusions we should otherwise feel justified in drawing with regard to\nthe action of heredity, and must certainly render us cautious not to\nimpute the whole character of the individual to heredity alone. But the\ncomplicated nature of _all_ social relations should restrain us from\nlaying all stress upon any one element in those relations, in any case.\nHere, again, we recur to the conception of conditions and results in\ndistinction from that of cause and effect. If statistics such as these\nof the Jukes included minute and careful statements as to mental and\nphysical characteristics and resemblances, they would undeniably be much\nmore reliable basis for conclusions as to the hereditary nature of\ncharacter. Nevertheless, incomplete though this evidence be, it is by no\nmeans such that it can be logically disregarded. It is to be said of\nsuch cases of reform and respectability as those noticed under favorable\ninfluences (1) that we are not informed as to its exact extent and\nmotive and have no means of knowing what these were; (2) that, if\nreversion to ancestral types is possible in the sense of deterioration,\nthere is no reason why it should not be possible in the opposite sense\nalso,--no reason why better characters should not, through, perhaps,\nsome favorable prenatal influence at exactly the right period of\ndevelopment, occasionally crop out in a line of general baseness;[158]\nand (3) that the admixture of a strain of somewhat better blood may\nproduce, or some especial crossing be favorable to, the development of\nhigher character in a part, though not necessarily all, of the\noffspring. \"When the domestic pig and the wild boar or the wolf and the\ndog are crossed,\" says Ribot,[159] \"some of the progeny inherit the\nsavage, and others the domestic instincts. Similar facts have been\nobserved by Girou in the crossing of different races of dogs and cats.\"\nWe know quite well that the same law governs the transmission of\ncharacter in human beings. In a family of children, some will inherit\nthe characteristics of the father, some those of the mother. Mr. Jenkins\nof the Bureau of Police of Brooklyn, N.Y., related to me a case that had\ncome under his notice. Of a family consisting of father, mother, two\nsons, and a daughter, the mother was a hard-working, honest washerwoman,\nwhile the father was depraved in his tendencies; and of the three\nchildren the daughter resembled the mother in character, the sons, on\nthe other hand, their father. One of the sons was sentenced to prison\nfor a bad case of burglary, and was shot while attempting to escape; and\non the same day on which his picture was removed from the rogues'\ngallery, his brother's was hung in its place, the latter having, with\ncalm deliberation and preparation, murdered a girl with whom he had some\nrelation. A similar case is recorded by Gall, where the mother\nrepresented the good, the father the evil stock, and of five children\nthree were condemned to severe penalties for thieving, the other two\nlived correct lives. It is to be noticed that, of the three cases of\nbetter character among the Jukes cited above, the two reformed\ncharacters were brothers. It is by no means proved by these cases that\nall or a majority of the Jukes were capable, even under the best of\ninfluences, of a like betterment of character. On the contrary: the\ngeneral characteristics of extreme licentiousness attaching to the whole\nfamily, on which Dugdale lays special stress,--a licentiousness\nextending even to cohabitation and marriage with the negroes at a time\nwhen the latter were yet in slavery and regarded as little more than\nanimals,--as well as the exceeding viciousness and inhumanity exhibited\nin some of the crimes (witness the attempted rape on the niece of twelve\nand the pushing of the child over the cliff), show a tendency of\ncharacter much below the average. Nor was the prison discipline which\naccomplished the reform of the two brothers the only opportunity of\nsteady industry, or the prison the only reformatory environment\nafforded. Dugdale mentions an \"extensive employer of labor, located near\nthe original settlement of the Jukes,\" who \"employs several members of\nit,\" treating them \"with firmness and unvaryingly scrupulous fairness,\"\ninterposing his authority and checking them in incipient crime. He acts\nas their banker and, as school trustee, arranges, \"where widows depend\nupon their boys for support, that they shall work for him and go to\nschool alternate weeks.\" If, indeed, the family is located, as it seems\nto be, in the rather sparsely settled districts of northern New York, it\nis scarcely likely to suffer great isolation, as it might in the midst\nof a city, or to be excluded from means of honest livelihood. Dugdale\nmentions, indeed, that this employer \"has not taken up this work as a\n'mission,' but strictly as a business man, who, finding himself placed\nwhere he must employ the rude laborers of his locality, deals with them\non the sound and healthy basis of commercial contract, honestly carried\nout and rigidly enforced.\" Unfortunately, Dugdale does not furnish us\nwith any exact information as to the result of this very humane course\nof treatment. We can only revert to his remark that, though the Jukes\nhad lived in this neighborhood for generations where work was evidently\nnot lacking nor kind and judicious treatment absent, their name was used\ngenerically, by the reputable community, as a term of reproach.\n\nWe have already noticed some inconsistencies in Stephen's theory of\nhuman progress as merely that of an accumulation of knowledge. But he\npractically contradicts, elsewhere in his work, this view of\nadvancement. On page 201 of the \"Science of Ethics,\" he says distinctly:\n\"As men become more intellectual, sympathetic, and so forth, they gain\nfresh sensibilities, which are not simple judgments of consequences\nhitherto improved, but as direct, imperative, and substantial as any of\nthe primitive sensibilities.\" Even if this statement were meant to apply\nto the individual alone, a great difficulty must lie in the way of any\ntheory that sensibilities so inherent, sensibilities \"as direct,\nimperative, and substantial as any of the primitive sensibilities,\" will\nnot affect the character of descendants through inheritance, in the same\nmanner as these primitive sensibilities are acknowledged to affect it.\nBut elsewhere Stephen remarks: \"An instinct grows and decays not on\naccount of its effects on the individual, but on account of its effects\nupon the race. The animal which, on the whole, is better adapted for\ncontinuing its species, will have an advantage in the struggle, even\nthough it may not be so well adapted for pursuing its own happiness.\" He\nis careful to use the word \"happiness\" here, but the division under\nwhich the sentence appears is headed, \"Social and Individual Utility,\"\nand he distinctly states, on the preceding page, that the social\ninstincts may be a disadvantage to the individual in the struggle for\nexistence. He writes, in this connection: \"The process by which the\ncorrelation of pernicious and painful states is worked out is one which,\nby its very nature, must take a number of generations. Races survive in\nvirtue of the completeness of this correlation.\"[160] This is Darwinism\napplied to humanity; and, surely, since the human race has existed in\nthe social state for very many generations, we must suppose, according\nto the theory thus stated, continuous organic advance, even if we did\nnot consider the passage in connection with the assertion of the gain,\nwith increasing intelligence and sympathy, of sensibilities as direct,\nimperative, and substantial as any primitive ones. Again Mr. Stephen\nwrites: \"It is true, generally, that each man has certain capacities for\nmoral as for every other kind of development, and capacities which vary\nfrom the top to the bottom of the scale. No process of education or\ndiscipline _whatever_ would convert a Judas Iscariot into a Paul or\nJohn.\"[161] Then education, the environment of civilization, is not the\nonly factor in the production of character. Nor is it, according to Mr.\nStephen's own words, the only important factor. If capacities vary from\nthe top to the bottom of the scale, then surely this variation cannot be\nan unimportant element of development. As a matter of fact, Mr. Stephen\nhimself lays especial stress upon inherited characteristic as the basis\nof character. He says, for example: \"The character is determined for\neach individual by its original constitution, though the character is\nmodified as the reason acts.... But, after all, we start with a certain\nbalance of feeling, with certain fixed relations between our various\ninstincts; and, however these may change afterwards, our character is so\nfar determined from the start. Again, it is plain that this varies\ngreatly with different peoples and gives rise to different types.\"[162]\nSurely the formation of types at least cannot be a matter of the\nindividual alone. Furthermore, Mr. Stephen distinctly asserts a growth\nof intelligence in the savage--which we cannot suppose to stop short\nwith the beginning of civilization--while he especially emphasizes the\nfact that the emotions develop concomitantly with the intellect. He says\nalso: \"We assume an organic change to occur--no matter how--in certain\nindividuals of a species, and that change to be inherited by their\ndescendants; and thus two competing varieties to arise, one of which may\nbe supplanted by the other, or each of which may supplant the other in a\ncertain part of the common domain. Some such process is clearly\noccurring in the case of human variations. Everywhere we see a\ncompetition between different races, and the more savage vanishing under\nthe approach of the more civilized. Certain races seem to possess\nenormous expansive powers, whilst others remain limited within fixed\nregions or are slowly passing out of existence. So far as human\ndevelopment supposes an organic change in the individual [?], we may\nsuppose that this process is actually going on and that, for example,\nthe white man may be slowly pushing savage races out of existence. I do\nnot ask whether this is the fact, because for my purpose it is\nirrelevant. We are considering the changes which take place without such\norganic development, not as denying the existence of organic\ndevelopments, but simply because they are so slow and their influence so\ngradual that they do not come within our sphere. They belong, as\nastronomers say, to the secular, not to the periodic changes. Confining\nourselves, therefore, to the changes which are, in my phrase, products\nof the 'social factor,' and which assume the constancy of the individual\norganism,\"[163] etc. The passage is of importance as acknowledging the\nreality of organic progress; but it is full of the self-contradictions\nwhich we have already noticed. It starts with the Darwinian assumption\nthat organic change occurring in _individuals_ is directly inheritable\nby their descendants; this assumption, having done its office, however,\nis discarded, and we are told that any organic change cannot be that of\nindividuals but must be that of societies, or at least that it must be\nof such sort that we have not only no need to consider it with regard to\nthe individual life, but even no need to consider it in the study of the\nwhole development of a society under civilization, or rather that we\nhave no need to study it at all as soon as we have the \"social medium\"\nto fall back upon for an explanation of progress; and finally, in direct\ncontradiction to the assumption first made, a constancy of the\nindividual organism is asserted. This assertion is also in direct\ncontradiction to the assertion before noticed that character is\ndetermined by original constitution and that original capacity differs\n\"infinitely\"[164] in different individuals. We are indebted to Mr.\nStephen for a very minute analysis of the influence of even smallest\ndetails of circumstance upon character; surely, while we are thus\nemphasizing the delicacy of nervous organization that answers, with the\nsensibility of a gold-leaf electroscope, to the slightest variations in\nthe environment, we cannot logically leave out of account the results of\nsuch variation in inheritance because these, too, are minute. And surely\nwe cannot conceive that an organism so sensitive to the influence of\nenvironment is yet so inflexible and unalterable as far as the\ntransmission of its changes to offspring is concerned. On any sound\nphysiological theory, we cannot avoid supposing that all these minute\nchanges in character which Stephen refers to the action of the social\nenvironment are accompanied by exact physiological equivalents. Then\neither these changes of organization are not inheritable,--in which case\nthe organism does not propagate itself but something different from\nitself, and we have no alternative but to resort to some such theory as\nthat of Weismann,--or else these changes are inheritable (subject, of\ncourse, to all the variations which individual circumstances of\ndevelopment must induce), in which case their inheritance must be of\nquite as much importance as their origin to any theory of social\nprogress. As we have said, Weismann has gradually come to admit _some_\ninfluence of the environment on the germ-plasm. We can indeed conceive\nof the representation of all previous development of the species in the\nindividual, and of the determination of the degree of importance\nassumed, in the organism, by any particular acquirement or tendency by\nthe coincidence of circumstance, but we can scarcely conceive logically\nof a propagation of organization that does not represent all the\ninfluences which have made that organization what it is. Even from\nStephen's standpoint, it is difficult to understand how the organization\nof society, which he admits to be no organization on the plane of the\nhigher animal, but of a much lower type, can be of so much importance in\nthe advance of mankind, its variations the condition of progress, and\nyet the much more interdependent organization of the animal body be\nsupposed to remain constant and take no part in this progress. It is\ndifficult to comprehend how so much stress can be laid on the mere\nexternal influence of the units of society on each other, and, at the\nsame time, the far more intimate and direct influence of parents on\ntheir offspring can be deemed of so little importance as to warrant our\ndisregarding it altogether. It is especially difficult to understand how\nit is that heredity can be disregarded, not merely in its influence on\nthe individual or even on the generation, but in all its manifold,\nintricate, and prolonged workings since man first extended family life\nto tribal organization; and this, too, in spite of the acknowledgment\nthat progress through heredity is real if slow. It is strange that there\nshould always be a tendency to draw a distinct line between social man\nand all the rest of the animal kingdom, as if, when society began, all\nformer laws ceased from operation. Thus it is sometimes said that\nnatural selection no longer acts on the individual because it acts on\nsocieties as wholes also; as well say that it cannot act on inner\norganization because it acts on the organism as a whole. As a matter of\nfact, it affects society through individuals, and the individual\nthrough, or rather in, his organization. If it is true, as Stephen\nasserts, that change of social tissue is primary and fundamental to all\nexternal social change, it is not the less true that change of\nindividual organization is fundamental to all change of external action.\nNo theory of development which goes beyond the individual life and\nconsiders the progress of society as a whole can scientifically\ndisregard the element of heredity in this progress.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[141] I am indebted for these facts to Dr. Auguste Forel.\n\n[142] \"Ants, Wasps, and Bees,\" Chap. V.\n\n[143] \"Zur psychologischen Wuerdigung der darwin'schen Theorie.\"\n\n[144] Pp. 141, 142, translation by Henry M. Trollope.\n\n[145] Eng. ed. Internat. Scientific Ser., p. 276; quoted from \"The\nZooelogist.\"\n\n[146] \"Mental Evolution in Animals,\" p. 345; cited from an article in\n\"Nature,\" 1883.\n\n[147] \"Animal Intelligence,\" p. 472.\n\n[148] \"Mind,\" Vol. VIII.\n\n[149] Lubbock: \"The Origin of Civilisation,\" pp. 9, 10.\n\n[150] \"The Science of Ethics,\" pp. 103, 104.\n\n[151] Ibid. p. 109.\n\n[152] \"The Science of Ethics,\" p. 419.\n\n[153] Ibid. p. 103.\n\n[154] Ribot: \"Heredity.\" Here we have examples which show that disease,\nas well as healthful organization and function, are subject to\nvariation; and it may occur to us to wonder that no one has thought of\nreferring these variations to some supernatural interference or special\ninner spontaneity; that theories which assume some transcendental agency\nor some spontaneously acting vital principle as the cause of normal,\nhealthful variation have yet either left the variations of disease out\nof consideration or else simply referred them to influence of the\nenvironment. The reason for this, as far as transcendental interference\nis concerned, is evident; any theory of teleology in such cases must\npoint to malevolent not benevolent design.\n\n[155] \"Heredity,\" pp. 124, 125. Quoted from the \"Dictionnaire\nPhilosophique,\" article \"Caton.\"\n\n[156] \"The Science of Ethics,\" pp. 102, 103.\n\n[157] \"The Science of Ethics,\" p. 107.\n\n[158] See previous observations on this subject, p. 408.\n\n[159] \"Heredity,\" Engl. trans., p. 84.\n\n[160] \"The Science of Ethics,\" pp. 91, 92.\n\n[161] Ibid., p. 432. The italics are mine.\n\n[162] Ibid., pp. 72, 73.\n\n[163] P. 121.\n\n[164] See above, p. 400.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nCONSCIENCE\n\n\nThe exact circumstances which led, in any particular line of descent, to\nthe final production of self-conscious altruism we cannot know. We may,\nperhaps, as has been hinted, trace the whole development to the original\nunion of the sexes in lower, asexual species, and of mother and\noffspring; and we may suppose the final self-conscious altruism to have\nbeen led up to gradually by habit, in any case, the history of all\nfunction being gradual evolution. Thus we may suppose it possible that,\nin some cases, the care of offspring may have been preceded by a habit\nof care, on the part of the female animal, for her eggs, which, as\nhabit, was pleasurable, but was connected with no consciousness of the\noffspring produced from the eggs until some new circumstance of\nenvironment brought them within ken. Of the development of habit in\ngeneral and of pleasure in it, we have plenty of illustrations in our\nown individual experience, and we can even watch, in our own case, the\nprocess of the increase of altruism along old lines as well as its\ngrowth in new directions; and we may thus gain a conception of what must\nhave been the general nature of its earliest development, in any case.\n\nIn Volume III of \"Mind,\" Paul Friedmann has an interesting essay on \"The\nGenesis of Disinterested Benevolence,\" in which he relates the\nfollowing: \"A man had to throw away some water and, stepping out of his\nhouse, threw it upon a heap of rubbish, where some faded plants were\nnearly dying. At that moment, he paid no attention to them, took no\ninterest in their pitiable state. The next day, having again some water\nto throw away, the man stepped out at the same place, when he remarked\nthat the plants had raised their stems and regained some life. He\nunderstood that this was the result of his act of the day before, his\ninterest was awakened, and as he held a jar with water in his hand, he\nagain threw its contents over the plants. On the following day the same\ntook place; the benevolent feeling, the interest in the recovery and\nwelfare of the plants augmented, and the man tended the plants with\nincreasing care. When he found, one day, that the rubbish and plants had\nbeen carted away, he felt a real annoyance. The feeling of the man was\nin this case real disinterested benevolence. The plants were neither\nfine nor useful, and the place where they stood was ugly and out of the\nway, so that the man had no advantage from their growth. Nor had the man\na general wish to rear plants, for there were a number of other plants\nsorely in want of care, but to which the man did not transfer his\naffections. He had loved these individual plants.\" Friedmann says\nfurther: \"Formerly rather hostile to dogs, now that I have a dog myself,\nI feel well inclined towards the whole canine species, but most to that\npart of it which has some characteristic feature in common with my\nfavorite.\" Features of the first quotation may remind us of some former\nconsiderations of ours in which attention and interest were found to run\nparallel. We may take exception, however, to Friedmann's definition of\nthe extension of benevolent feeling from an individual of a class to the\nwhole of the class or to beings resembling them in any way as \"a sort of\nlogical confusion.\" This view has already been criticised. The adult\nbeing at least does not confuse individuals, or even if he may\noccasionally do so, such confusion is not at all the distinguishing\nfeature of progress in altruism; it is merely an accident, not anything\nthat is characteristic. The recognition of old features in new objects\nis the opposite of confusion; it would rather indicate a logical\nconfusion, a lack of intelligence, if we failed to remember that which\nhas formerly given us pleasure, and to find, in similar objects, some\nrenewal of that pleasure. It would have been just as logical, for\ninstance, and more truly benevolent, if the man who tended the plants\nhad cared also for the other plants mentioned as \"sorely in want of\ncare,\" and which he seems to have left to perish.\n\nWe may often notice the growth of altruistic from egoistic as well as of\negoistic from altruistic motives, in ourselves; for retrogression as\nwell as progression in altruism is possible with the individual. If we\nfeel bitterly towards some human being, for instance, the best and\nsurest remedy is to perform some act of kindness towards him. We may\ncontemplate and carry out the deed with merely a sense of gratification\nand egoistic elation at our own generosity, but we are more than likely\nto experience some degree of change of feeling before we have finished.\nOn the other hand, our heart often seems to harden and fill with greater\nanimosity towards those we have injured, the longer we continue this\ncourse of injurious action and the more positive the injury inflicted. A\ncertain degree of generosity must, it is true, already exist in order\nthat we may be able to show kindness to an enemy, just as hostility must\nalso be present in order that we may be able to commence a course of\ninjury or unkindness; but both kindly feeling and animosity increase\nconstantly with their exercise. We are never exactly the same after our\ndeeds that we are before them.\n\nSays George Eliot: \"It would be a poor result of all our anguish and our\nwrestling if we won nothing but our old selves at the end of it--if we\ncould return to the same blind loves, the same self-confident blame, the\nsame light thoughts of human suffering, the same frivolous gossip over\nblighted human lives.\"[165] And again: \"The creature we help to save,\nthough only a half-reared linnet, bruised and lost by the wayside--how\nwe watch and fence it, and dote on its signs of recovery.\"[166]\n\nWhatever the particular circumstances that led, in the particular line\nof animal descent by which the species we distinctively term human\nfinally came into existence, to the extension of temporary to life-long\nassociation, and whether this life-long association began only with man,\nor earlier with his ape-like progenitors, certain it is that increase of\nnumbers must finally condition society. The internal, like the external\nprocess, is a gradual one, an evolution; and we cannot, therefore,\nsuppose society as life-long association to have begun with the\nexistence of no altruistic feeling whatever. In so far, Darwin's\nassertion that the social instinct led men to society contains a measure\nof truth; but it is to be remembered that the social instinct at the\nbeginning of social life cannot have been the same with the social\ninstinct of present civilization, which is the product of long\ndevelopment; pleasure in function, its ends, and objects, increases\n_concomitantly with_ exercise. Darwin's statement is, hence, liable to\nmisconstruction. There is a similar truth in Rolph's criticism of\nSpencer's theory that men adopted social life because they found it\nadvantageous, on the ground that men must first have had experience of\nthe advantages of association before they could have been aware of them.\nBut the experience which continually leads to a step in advance may not\nbe, at every point, for every step, the experience of the individual or\nindividuals taking the step; it is quite possible that some steps may be\ntaken from the observance of the experience of others; at least this is\npossible if we suppose any degree of intelligence and reason in the\nindividuals taking the step. The introduction of the idea of a\ncalculation of advantages is, furthermore, exceedingly useful. For,\nwhile the \"social instinct,\" the desire for and pleasure in all the\nvarious function connected with association with other beings, may be of\nassistance in bringing about any advance in association, the selfish\ninstinct, already in existence before the evolution of any considerable\ndegree of altruistic impulse, may influence and induce the advance,\nwhere the social instinct is not, alone, of sufficient strength. At the\nbeginning of social life, as at every later point of advancement,\nmotives are mixed, and selfishness may prepare the way for\nunselfishness.\n\nAt any point of evolution, there must be, among contending species or\nindividuals, some who are stronger or who have, through some\ncircumstance, the advantage over the others; given even a moderate\nnumber of individuals, and it is hardly possible that all should be\ndefeated and destroyed in any struggle, like the famous cats of\nKilkenny. This being the case, and change of organization being\ncontinually conditioned by contact with new elements of environment,\nadvancement, evolution, becomes a necessity, no natural catastrophe\noccurring to destroy all life. There is no mystery about evolution in\nthis sense. Advancement in society is still more comprehensible to us by\nthe fact of the element of reason involved in it; from the beginning of\nlife-association among human beings or their immediate progenitors, the\nexistence of some more intelligent individuals than the rest, who will\nperceive the advantages of association, may be assumed. And thus at each\nstep, as the growing density of population continually renders\nincreasing cooeperation increasingly advantageous, we may suppose the\nvanguard to be composed of the more intelligent and the more social.\n\nSympathy prompts not only to the conferring of pleasure, it prompts also\nto the prevention of injurious conduct, on the part of others, towards\nthe being or beings with whom sympathy is felt. A conception of the\nadvantage of mutual aid may assist as a motive in this. The earliest\nmutual aid was, to a great extent, one of cooeperation against enemies.\nIn one way and another, this mutual defence must have extended to the\ncompulsion of positive beneficial conduct, on the part of others,\ntowards the being or beings with whom sympathy was felt. Such compulsion\nmay be exerted by different tribes, or by different members of the same\ntribe, on each other; the means of compulsion are revenges of different\nsorts, benefit, assistance of some sort, being, on the other hand, often\nthe reward of ready compliance. This compulsion may be felt as greater\nor less according to the degree of reluctance to perform any form of\naction required under pain of the penalty. If the thoughts are occupied\nwith the possible reward, and not with the punishment, then no outer\ncompulsion is felt, but a choice of advantage is made. This choice again\nmay not be wholly one of selfish calculation; some altruistic feeling\nmay be involved. A form of action at first chosen with reluctance, and\nmerely because of the fear of punishment or revenge, may come to be\nperformed later without hesitation, and more under the hope of reward\nthan the fear of punishment; and this same form of action may come to be\nperformed finally with sympathy as the prominent feeling, the hope of\nreward becoming more and more secondary. Each increase of sympathy,\nagain, reacts upon the environment as represented by other individuals,\nand thus the relations and influence of men on each other become more\nand more complicated. Any habit of cruelty or hostility which has been,\nat former stages, united with prosperity may thus become, through the\naction and reaction of increasing altruism, a disadvantage to the\nindividual member of any society; or it is also conceivable that a\nformerly advantageous egoistic form of action may become disadvantageous\nthrough the advent of some new influence from outside the particular\nsociety in which it is practised. Father Phil, in Lover's story of\n\"Handy Andy,\" relates an anecdote of an engagement in Spain, in which\nthe dragoons of a regiment, retreating under hot fire, paused at the\ncrossing of a river to take up behind them some women of the\ncamp-followers, who had difficulty in crossing, and thereupon found\nthemselves followed by cheers, instead of shots, from their French foes.\nI do not intend to intimate that the motive for the deed was\nself-interest; but it is easy to conceive similar instances in which\nhumanity might become an advantage and be practised at first from\nself-interest, not by individuals merely but by a whole tribe; this must\nbe frequently the case when less civilized peoples come in contact with\nmore civilized peoples. And this leads us to remark that habits of\nsympathy and justice exercised within a people will be likely to\nmanifest themselves in relations with other peoples also, in degree as\nthe sympathy is real and the benevolence inward. But the attitudes of\ndifferent peoples towards each other remain long hostile, since the\npartial surrender of tribal or national interests necessary to compact\noften involves too great sacrifices to be acquiesced in at an early\nstage of development. And the individual is necessarily influenced, to a\ngreat extent, by the feelings of those among whom he is born, with\nregard to the hostile nation. But this is retracing our analysis.\n\nAltruism is thus increased directly by the perception and choice of\ncooeperation as advantageous, by the spread of altruistic feeling and the\ncompulsion of the social environment, as well as by the higher means of\npersuasion and affection, in which altruism itself affects the increase\nof altruism; and it is also increased indirectly by the aid of natural\nselection between individuals, families, neighborhoods, and groups of\nall sorts, cooeperation becoming more and more advantageous with the\nincreased density of population.\n\nIt is scarcely necessary to remark that natural selection acts also with\nregard to the egoistic or personal virtues; for these have regard,\nprimarily, to the preservation of the individual in the best condition\nfor labor and cheerfulness. It is evident that in this direction also\nthe moral must continually gain the advantage. Either the injurious is\nperceived and avoided, or the individual failing to perceive and avoid\nit suffers physical injury and deterioration, and, unless a different\ncourse is adopted in time, brings at last destruction to himself or to\nhis stock. But our analysis goes further; for the egoistic virtues are\nevidently not purely egoistic; and society will come with time to insist\non this fact, and to render these virtues still more advantageous and\ntheir neglect still more disadvantageous; while the growth of the\naltruistic feelings will infuse the individual with the desire to\nperform his duty to others in this respect also. The purely egoistic\ncharacter of so-called personal virtues, for the assertion of which so\nmuch has been written, is a myth. No man can make a sot of himself or\nindeed injure himself in any way without reducing his power to benefit\nsociety and harming those nearest to him. Self-preservation and the\npreservation of one's own health may conflict with altruistic virtues at\ntimes; that is to say, virtues both of which are altruistic, though the\naltruistic character of one is more direct than the other, may conflict;\nin which case, choice is necessary. And it is strange to note, at this\npoint, that just those systems which lay most stress on individual\nwelfare, that is, emphasize the fact that the preservation of individual\nhealth and the development of individual capacity are advantageous to\nsociety, are the very ones that also defend the freedom of the\nindividual to practise so-called personal vice. The two theories do not\nwell accord; surely, if the individual is of so much importance to\nsociety, his vice cannot be without injurious results to it. Only when\negoistic care for health has become infused with the higher altruism,\ndoes it become truly virtue; then care for self ceases to be the mere\nmeans to isolated pleasure, and becomes the means to the happiness of\nothers where it was often, before, the means to their misery, and even\ntheir destruction.\n\nIn the evolution of higher animal forms from lower, the lower do not\nnecessarily pass out of existence with the development of the higher; in\nsociety, however, the contact is close and continuous, and the\ncompetition unremitting; there is, therefore, some elimination, though a\nvery gradual one, of lower types. The lower forms may exist for a long\ntime beside the higher; in other words, society as a whole progresses\nslowly on account of the immense complication of relations within it. We\nfind it including many grades of altruistic and egoistic virtue, and can\ntestify only to a progress that renders the extremes of vice and cruelty\nless and less the rule and more and more the exception.\n\nAnd this brings us to the further consideration of a point not long ago\ntouched upon, namely, the high degree of civilization attained by\ncertain ancient peoples. Not the whole race of man, it is evident,\nadvances together to higher grades of civilization, as not all\nindividuals or all lines of descent in the same society fall under the\nsame influences and advance at a like rate. At the present date, the\ngreater part of Africa as well as portions of other countries are\ninhabited by rude and savage tribes, the rest of the world, not classed\nas savage, representing very many different grades and phases of\nprogress. After the conquest of Greece by Rome and of Rome by the tribes\nfrom the North, the higher degree of civilization of the conquered\nnations was partly lost by them and partly acquired by their conquerors;\nthat is, nothing was really lost, but two different forces met and\npartly neutralized each other; the resultant represented, in this case\nas in all others, the complication, the algebraic sum, of the two. In\nthe essay before referred to, Dr. Petzoldt calls attention to the\nextremely unique character of the productions of Inner-African tribes\nbefore they have come in contact with white men, and cites Bastian's\ntestimony that even one short visit from a white man is often enough to\ndestroy the peculiarity of the type. \"New tendencies are introduced, and\nthe stability is immediately diminished, though only to progress\ngradually to a newer, higher form.\" The comparative sparsity of the\nhuman race in ancient times rendered it possible for single isolated\npeoples to attain to a high degree of culture while the greater part of\nthe earth was inhabited by the uncivilized; and the increase of the\nspecies since that time, though necessitating wider contact and closer\nrelations, and so rendering the newer civilization necessarily a wider\none, has yet not been sufficient to make isolated savagery in lands not\nreached by the spreading circle, impossible. The ancient civilization\nwas lost, but not lost in the sense that its force ever perished; it\nfound its full representation--but no more--in the result that arose\nfrom blending with a lower grade. The same process is being repeated\nwherever civilized man, on the borders of civilization, comes in contact\nwith savage or half-civilized man. The two races may dwell side by side,\nseparated from intimate association, but their contiguity is yet marked\nby a certain amount of change on both sides,--a change the greater the\ngreater the degree of association and the greater the isolation of those\non the border-lands from the rest of the civilized world, and the longer\nthis state of things persists. We are here reminded particularly of\nFechner's formula of the process of evolution, in which the concepts of\nisolation as favoring the steady advancement of the process on its own\npeculiar lines, and of new contact as new disturbance from which issues\nnew development, are most prominent. If we regard especially the ethical\nfeatures of this contact at the borders, it may be remarked both that\nsavages gain gradually more humanity from contact with civilized\nnations, and that white men, on the other hand, lose, in constant\ncontact with savages, some of the humanity which they have displayed in\nthe midst of their own nation. They grow used to sights of cruelty, much\nof which it is impossible for them to prevent; they are roused to anger,\nhatred, and retaliation by acts of deception, treachery, and cruelty,\nand they find, moreover, that kindness is often mistaken for weakness by\nthe bloody and revengeful people with whom they have to do, who are\noften used to respect only or chiefly the brute force which can compel\nobedience. I do not intend here to represent the white man as the\nincarnation of sympathy and humanity; even in the midst of society, as\nwe have already sufficiently noticed, his apparent altruism may be, to a\nlarge degree, the outcome of selfish motives, natural tendency being\nrestrained through fear of punishment or hope of gain of some sort.\nThere are grades within societies as well as grades represented by\nsocieties as wholes. But several things are to be taken into account in\nthe comparison of the white man with the savage under circumstances of\ncontact. In the first place, we have to remember that, while the white\nman is, to a great extent, withdrawn from the control of the society to\nwhich he belongs, secure from their judgment for the time being and with\nthe prospect, often, of probable security from it for all time, since\nreports of his actions may never reach the ears of more civilized\nsocieties, the individual savage is still restrained by whatever of law\nand moral sentiment exists in his own tribe; his vengeance, whatever it\nis, is to a great extent under the control of his chiefs. Again, the\npower of the savage to inflict injury is not so great as that of the\nwhite man, who has all the implements of advanced cooeperation at his\ndisposal. The mere love of power always presents a temptation, and\npleasure in demonstrating superiority is a common human emotion.\nFurthermore, it must be considered that the opportunities for\nselfishness afforded on the borders of civilization are likely to\nattract, in the majority, just those men whose social ties and social\ninstinct are weakest, whose greed perceives here the opportunity of\nunscrupulous gratification, and is drawn by it. And lastly, it is to be\nnoticed that not by any means all the individuals belonging to more\nadvanced societies who come in contact with savages use them with\ninhumanity, or even retaliate on treachery and injury. The great\ndifferences exhibited, under such circumstances, by persons whose\nopportunities have been very similar is a strong argument in favor of\ninherent, innate grades of altruism, and so of hereditary character. The\nsame is true of the fact that the Greeks and Romans did retain much of\ntheir culture even in contact with lower grades of civilization, handing\nit down, in a degree, to this day; and that their conquerors only in the\nlapse of many generations pulled themselves up to this level, which was\nattained, at last, rather in countries removed from direct contact with\nit and so, we may argue, to a great extent, through their own natural\nevolution. The general analysis of the amalgamation at the borders of\ncivilization still remains true in the long run, however individual\nsavages and individual white men may represent exceptions to it.\n\nMr. Stephen's analysis of the development of altruism from egoism, while\nin the main true and one of the most minute analyses on this subject\nthat we possess, opens, through its ambiguity of terms, the way to\ninaccuracy of thought and to errors of theory into which I am not at all\nsure that the author does not himself fall at some points. Starting with\nan implied definition of sympathy as actual \"feeling with\" other\nsentient beings through the intellectual comprehension of their\nemotions, and acknowledging that sympathy in this sense may not lead\ndirectly to altruism, he uses the same word also, later in the analysis,\nin the higher sense, and at some points appears to confound the two\nmeanings; so that, as there is a similar ambiguity in the use of the\nword \"idiot,\" or \"moral idiot,\" in the same connection, his theory seems\nto fall into the mistake of asserting the normal association of\nintellectual comprehension with altruism. He writes:--\n\n\"It is not more true that to think of a fire is to revive the sensations\nof warmth than it is true that to think of a man is to revive the\nemotions and thoughts which we attribute to him. To think of him in any\nother sense is to think of the mere doll or statue, the outside\nframework, not of the organized mass of consciousness which determines\nall the relations in which he is most deeply interesting to us.\" \"The\nprimary sympathy is, of course, modified in a thousand ways--by the ease\nor difficulty with which we can adopt his feelings; by the\nattractiveness or repulsiveness of the feelings revealed; by the degree\nin which circumstances force us into cooeperation or antagonism; and by\ninnumerable incidental associations which make it pleasant or painful to\nshare his feelings. _If by sympathy we mean this power of vicarious\nemotion, it may give rise to antipathy, to hatred, rivalry, and\njealousy, and even to the diabolical perversion of pleasure in\nanother's pain._\"[167] \"The pain given by your pain may simply induce me\nto shut my eyes. The Pharisee who passed by on the other side may have\ndisliked the sight of the wounded traveller as much as the good\nSamaritan. Indeed, the sight of suffering often directs irritation\nagainst the sufferer. Dives is often angry with Lazarus for exposing his\nsores before a respectable mansion, and sometimes goes so far as to\nthink, illogically perhaps, that the beggar must have cultivated his\nmisery in order to irritate the nerves of his neighbors. To give the\norder: 'Take away that damned Lazarus,' may be as natural an impulse as\nto say: 'Give him the means of curing his ailments.'\"[168] \"To believe\nin the existence of a sentient being is to believe that it has feelings\nwhich may persist when I am not aware of them. A real belief, again,\nimplies that, at the moment of belief, I have representative sensations\nor emotions corresponding to those which imply the actual presence of\nthe object. Again, a material object has an interest only so far as it\nis a condition of some kind of feeling, and, when the sympathies are not\nconcerned, of some feeling of my own, whether implying or not implying\nany foretaste of the future. To take any interest in any material\nobject, except in this relation, is unreasonable, as it is unreasonable\nto desire food which cannot nourish or fire which cannot warm. I want\nsomething which has by hypothesis no relation to my wants. The same is\ntrue of the sentient object so long, and only so long, as I do not take\nits sentience into account. But to take the sentience into account is to\nsympathize, or at least the sympathy is implied in the normal _or only\npossible_ case. The only condition necessary for the sympathy to exist\nand to be capable therefore of becoming a motive, is that I should\nreally believe in the object, and have, therefore, representative\nfeelings. To believe in it is to feel for it, to have sympathies which\ncorrespond to my representations, less vivid as the object is more\ndistant and further from the sphere of my possible influence, but still\nreal and therefore effective motives. Systematically to ignore these\nrelations, then, is to act as if I were an egoist in the extremest\nsense, and held that there was no consciousness in the world except my\nown. But really to carry out this principle is to be an idiot, for an\nessential part of the world as interesting to me is constituted by the\nfeelings of other conscious agents, and I can only ignore their\nexistence at the cost of losing all the intelligence which distinguishes\nme from the lower animal.\"[169] A similar use of the word \"idiot\" occurs\nin the following passage with regard to the relations of moral action to\nconviction: \"It is a simple 'objective' fact that a man acts rightly or\nwrongly in a given case, and a fact which may be proved to him; and,\nfurther, though the proof will be thrown away if he is a moral idiot,\nthat is, entirely without the capacities upon which morality is founded,\nthe proof is one which must always affect his character if we suppose\nthe truth to be assimilated, and not the verbal formula to be merely\nlearned by rote.\"[170] \"_To learn really to appreciate the general\nbearings of moral conduct is to learn to be moral in the normally\nconstituted man._\" Here the author adds, however, \"though we must always\nmake the condition that a certain aptitude of character exists.\"[171]\nAgain he writes: \"But it remains to be admitted that there is apparently\nsuch a thing as pleasure in the pain of others--pure malignity--which we\ncall 'devilish' _to mark that it is abnormal and significant of a\nperverted nature_.\"[172] And in the same connection--where he is, at\nfirst, seemingly intent on proving only the normal connection of pain\nwith the sight of suffering, admitting that this sympathetic pain may\nlead to brutality instead of altruistic action towards the sufferer--he\nsays: \"Sympathy is the natural and fundamental fact. Even the most\nbrutal of mankind are generally sympathetic so far as to feel rather\npain than pleasure at the sight of suffering. The scum of a civilized\npopulation gathered to pick pockets on a race-course would be pained at\nthe sight of a child in danger of being run over or brutally assaulted\nby a ruffian, and would be disposed to rescue it, or at least to cheer a\nrescuer, unless their spontaneous emotion were overpowered by some\nextrinsic sentiment.\"[173] And finally: \"_The direct and normal case is\nthat in which sympathy leads to genuine altruism, or feeling in\naccordance with that which it reflects_.\"[174]\n\nThe terms in these passages are thus evidently very loosely used, and\nthe charge above made is, I think, substantiated,--that the author\nhimself finally falls into the error following upon a confusion of the\nvarious meanings, and comes to assert what he elsewhere distinctly\ndenies, namely, the normal connection of intellect and morality, of the\ncomprehension of suffering with that form of sympathy which issues in\naltruistic action. The problem is an interesting one, and it may be well\nfor us to look into it a little further.\n\nDuring the last few years a number of books have been written in which\nthe attempt has been made to prove the general physical, and especially\nthe cerebral, and so the intellectual inferiority of a large number of\ncriminals. There may be a difference of opinion as to the value of exact\nweights and measures except in so far as they demonstrate an actual\nnervous deformity of some sort; and it may be said that the cases\nexamined for distinctly cerebral defect are too few to admit of the\nformation of any universal, definite, theory or law. But some degree of\nimportance must assuredly be attached, by the unprejudiced reader, to\nthe more purely psychological evidence obtained in many cases, as well\nas to the evidence of the tendency to brain-disease often found in the\ndirect line of descent. Indeed, in the case of some of the photographs\nissued with Lombroso's \"L'Homme Criminel,\" not more than a glance is\nneeded to convince one that the possessors of such heads and faces\ncannot be normal men and women. To this testimony from the\ncriminologists may be added that of many eminent specialists in mental\ndiseases, whose evidence goes to show the degeneration of the moral\nsense in cases of brain-disease. Maudesley says, for instance, of moral\nfeeling: \"Whoever is destitute of it is, to that extent, a defective\nbeing; he marks the beginning of race-degeneracy; and if propitious\ninfluence do not chance to check or to neutralize the morbid tendency,\nhis children will exhibit a further degree of degeneracy, and be actual\nmorbid varieties. Whether the particular outcome of the morbid strain\nshall be vice, or madness, or crime, will depend much on the\ncircumstances of life.\" \"When we make a scientific study of the\nfundamental meaning of those deviations from the sound type which issue\nin insanity and crime, by searching inquiry into the laws of their\ngenesis, it appears that these forms of human degeneracy do not lie so\nfar asunder as they are commonly supposed to do. Moreover, theory is\nhere confirmed by observation; for it has been pointed out by those who\nhave made criminals their study, that they oftentimes spring from\nfamilies in which insanity, epilepsy, or some allied neurosis exists,\nthat many of them are weak-minded, epileptic, or actually insane, and\nthat they are apt to die from diseases of the nervous system and from\ntubercular diseases.\"[175] To the history proper of the Jukes, Dugdale\nhas appended a series of tables giving further information as to the\nstock, environment, and present condition of some two hundred and\nthirty-three criminals committed for various crimes, each of which\ncrimes heads a separate list. These lists are decidedly interesting,\nparticularly as affording us some considerable information with regard\nto psychological characteristics and environment, under the headings:\n\"Neglected Children,\" \"Orphans,\" \"Habitual Criminals,\" \"First\nOffenders,\" \"Reformable,\" \"Hopeless,\" etc. From the table of percentages\nwe remark that, in the \"Neurotic Stock,\" the highest percentage (40.47)\nis reached in arson and the crimes against persons, or crimes of\nimpulse, as Dugdale terms them, while 23.03 is the percentage of\nneurotic stock in the whole number of criminals examined. \"This close\nrelationship between nervous disorders and crime,\" says Dugdale, \"runs\nparallel with the experience of England, where 'the ratio of insane to\nsane criminals is thirty-four times as great as the ratio of lunatics to\nthe whole population of England, or, if we take half the population to\nrepresent the adults which supply the convict prisons, we shall have the\ncriminal lunatics in excess in the high proportion of seventeen to\none.'\" Dugdale further quotes from Dr. Bruce Thomson, surgeon to the\nGeneral Prison of Scotland, the following words: \"On a close\nacquaintance with criminals, of eighteen years' standing, I consider\nthat nine in ten are of inferior intellect, but that all are excessively\ncunning.\" Dr. Thomson says also: \"In all my experience, I have never\nseen such an accumulation of morbid appearances as I witness in the\npost-mortem examinations of the prisoners who die here. Scarcely one of\nthem can be said to die of one disease, for almost every organ of the\nbody is more or less diseased; and the wonder to me is that life could\nhave been supported in such a diseased frame.\"\n\nBut with regard to this last quotation, it may be remarked that,\nalthough many modern students of crime tend to look upon the general\ndiseased condition of body among criminals as the cause of their\ncriminality, it is generally, as a matter of fact, a cumulative growth,\nvicious acts appearing now as condition, now as result, in its increase.\nVice is directly connected with disease, and crime against others, even\nwhere it does not itself directly involve vice, is still likely to be\nconnected with it, since the man who is immoral in one direction is not\nlikely to be restrained from immorality in what is ordinarily considered\na direction of lesser wrong; and the self-gratification of vice always\npresents a temptation to the man of coarser fibre. Dugdale notices that\npauperism often appears in the younger members of a family where crime\nappears in the elder branches, his explanation being that crime is a\nsign of comparative vigor, pauperism of greater physical weakness.\n\nWe have found some connection between intellectual incapacity and moral\nlack in the shape of crime, but the cases are extreme ones. The question\nis not: Are the extremes of criminality connected with mental\nincapacity? but, Is the power of intellectual comprehension, is\nintelligence, always associated with sympathy and altruism? Is the\nconnection of these two general? Or, conversely: Is lack of sympathy and\naltruism in general a sign of mental incapacity, of the power of\ncomprehension for another's suffering?\n\nThe individual may be supposed to be naturally endowed with a certain\nbasis of tendency, which, as cooerdinate with a nervous organization\nthat, as organization, is of definite nature, is also definite. I do not\nintend, here or elsewhere, to lay especial stress on the physical, as\ndistinguished from the psychical; merely, it is convenient for\nreference. The individual character and life must be the continual\nprogressive issue of this basis of tendency or capacity and the\ndeveloping and modifying factors of environment. Individuals will,\ntherefore, _but in very different degrees and manners_, reflect the\nmoral standard of the society as organization, the class, and the\nfamily, to which they belong, the importance assumed by the class or\nfamily relations being according to the closeness and duration of\nassociation, and the natural aptitude of the individual for one or\nanother sort of influence. Aside from altruistic considerations, the\nindividual will find it to his advantage to conform to the standards of\nthese environments, at least in a considerable degree. The standards\nmay, however, conflict, so that there is also a conflict of advantages.\nMoreover, circumstances may arise such that conformity to all or any of\nthese standards presents much greater disadvantage than advantage,\ninvolving great sacrifice, which may reach even to personal destruction.\nBut while a single anti-social act to avert personal destruction may\ninvolve greater advantage to the individual, as life represents an\nadvantage over death, and while such an act is more an advantage and\nless a disadvantage as it involves less conflict with social standards\n(if it is the theft of food, for instance, rather than murder), any\ncontinued course of crime in so-called civilized society must be\nattended with many risks to the evil-doer, and present gain may mean\nfuture loss of a much higher degree. Deeds conflicting with general\nsocial standards are punished by penalties which are larger as the\nconflict is greater in the eye of the state. The individual who lays\nhimself liable to legal punishment or social ostracism is foolish as\nwell as, in very many cases, bad; of course, it is possible that his\nconduct may rise above the moral standards as well as that it may fall\nbelow them. But we are now considering cases where it is, by the\nassumption, supposed to fall below them. It is easy to perceive, from\nthis standpoint, that great and persistent criminals are likely to be of\ninferior intellect, as well as wanting in moral aptitude, although,\nwhatever reasoning capacity they possess being developed in the line of\ntheir own interest in their accustomed occupation, they may appear to\nthe more moral, who are not practised in this direction, to possess a\nhigh degree of cunning.\n\nThe honest man has generally a better chance than the habitual criminal,\nhowever small his chance may be. Further, education of any sort, which\nis also intellectual elevation, gives the individual better chances of\nearning his own living honestly, and so renders the advantages on this\nside greater, and also endows with the power of perceiving these\nadvantages. But these are only general truths, applying, again, to\nextreme cases. There may be cases in which there seems, at least, to be\nno choice left between crime and a life continually on the verge of\nstarvation; and though the crime means also continual risk, and higher\nrisk as the crime is greater and so, in general, more lucrative, the\nadvantage may still be reckoned by the individual as on its side. In\nthis case, the individual may discover, in the end, that his calculation\nwas mistaken; but the mistake may not be so great, the balance of\ndisadvantage on the side of conformity with social standards so\nexcessive, as to prove him below the average of intellect in his\nmistaking. The wisest men make many mistakes in calculating the results\nof their action. Again, the cleverer a man is, the greater is his power\nto cope with the risk of detection and to avoid it. It may be objected\nthat the single individual cannot hope to compete continually with the\norganized action of all society, and that the criminal must, at times,\nsubmit to some degree of punishment, even if escaping its worst phases.\nBut if he feels no shame at the disgrace of the punishment, it may not\nmean to him the greater disadvantage.\n\nBut here we come round to the altruistic and moral emotions, for shame\nis present only where the individual has a desire to please, and is\npained at the disapproval of others; that is, shame implies and\nrequires, in the degree in which it exists, social and altruistic\ncapacity. Furthermore, when we come to examine the concept of\n\"advantage,\" we find that it is as relative as that of \"end,\" and will\nbe judged according to the individual predilections; to the\nnon-sympathetic, shameless man it is an advantage to \"get on\" at\nwhatever cost to others; to the moral man no gain appears an advantage\nat the expense of principle. And, as there are all degrees of altruism\nin the bases of character of different individuals, so the advantage, in\nany particular case, will lie at very different points according to the\nindividual mind reflecting on it. Only the general truths may be\nasserted, that, even to the man of less than the average moral aptitude,\ngreat punishment must appear a disadvantage, while even to the man of\nconsiderable moral principle death for the sake of his convictions is a\nthing to be hesitated at.\n\nWe may return to view the question in the light of the general facts of\nsocial evolution. We found that only the general assertion could be\nmade, that the advantages of cooeperation, the disadvantages of strife\nand discord, increase with the closer relations of men, and that the\nadoption of cooeperation follows this line of advantage by individual\nchoice, and by the disadvantage under which the less social as the less\nfit, labor, the latter tending gradually to disappear leaving the field\nto the more social. Thus the whole progress is the result of the will of\nthe human being, as well as of the other forces of nature; it is only as\nthe individual chooses, that progress is possible. But lower types\nsurvive long beside the more progressive, higher ones. The individual is\nnot so reasonable that he always perceives his own more enduring\nadvantage, or always chooses it even when he perceives it; he may choose\nmomentary gratification at the acknowledged risk, and even with the\ncertainty, of great future loss. Nor can it be averred that the\nindividual always suffers seriously from action at variance with even\nthe average standard; simply, the line of survival gradually changes in\nfavor of altruism, so that escape is less frequent and less probable;\nand the lines of greatest deviation from the altruism demanded at any\nperiod by the line of advance tend to disappear; but the altruism\ndemanded by any line of advance is not, up to the present time, an\nabsolute altruism, nor do all deviations from it result in destruction\nto the individual even in extreme cases. The fact of the growing\ndisadvantage of selfishness, and its destructive tendency, remains,\nnevertheless. It may be expressed in another form in the statement that\npower of all sorts is increased by civilization, and where a cooerdinate\nincrease of self-restraint does not accompany the increased power, it\nmust lead to destruction, either in the case of the individual, or if\nnot so abruptly, then in the case of his descendants. The closer contact\nof human beings and increased knowledge and cooeperation mean growing\nopportunity of good or evil, to self and others. The destructive forces\nlie as well in the workings of social organization, in the will of man,\nas in nature outside man. Legal justice, public opinion, and the opinion\nof the smaller circle of personal friends and acquaintances, all have\ntheir part. Any degree of social instinct developed in the course of\nsocial evolution only assists in rendering social punishments of all\nsorts the more felt; and thus each increment of advance assists in\nfurther advance. Men who persist in action antagonistic to social\ndemands, action which they themselves acknowledge to be immoral, may yet\nfeel the condemnation of society so much, that, even while yet\npersisting, they destroy their vitality by alcoholism or other excesses\nto drown regret and remorse; habit chains them, in many cases, where the\ncondemnation of others reaches them only late. But the whole process of\nsocial evolution is one of very gradual assimilation, and neither in the\nworld as a whole, in the nation or race, or in the tribe, clan, family,\nlocality, or class, is it one of equal advance on all sides. The\ncooeperation adopted may be, at different points, that of individuals\nagainst individuals, of tribes against tribes, of nations against\nnations, or of classes against classes.\n\nFrom still another point of view, we may look upon the evolution of man\nas an intellectual as well as a moral one. We may count the continual\ngain of new experience, and the variation of thought, feeling, and will\nin accordance with knowledge, as adjustment to new elements of the\nenvironment, and so, as organic progress. Since, indeed, knowledge and\nthe application of knowledge to more and more distant and more and more\ncomplex and general ends is just what we designate as higher reason in\nman as compared with other animal species, we cannot logically regard\nthe further progress of this same sort in the human species itself as\nother than an increase of reason. Here, again, it is strange that an\nexact line of division between the human species and the rest of life\nshould so often be drawn; that, although we acknowledge the necessity of\nan intellectual evolution having taken place from the lower species up\nto man, and recognize this intellectual evolution as the concomitant of\nwider adaptation, and although we recognize also man's continuing\nadaptation or experience as cooerdinate with progress in knowledge, we\nyet should be able to regard the human race as stationary as far as\nreason, intellect, is concerned. Evolution no more stands still in man\nthan it did before his \"advent\" (if we may still use a word denoting a\ndefinite beginning, of the evolution of a species). And the reality of\nan intellectual evolution at the same time with the moral evolution\nbeing acknowledged, it follows that the two must to some extent\ncoincide.[176] But we have again to remember that the evolution is not\non exactly the same lines in all individuals or parts of society, that\nnot all lines of descent may be called also those of progress. Sympathy\nis a progressive term; there are numberless degrees of it represented by\nthe different individuals who form society, at their different periods\nof development and in their different moods. Nor can we distinguish\nbetween natural sympathy and \"extrinsic sentiment\" which may interfere\nwith it; since feelings are no separate entities, all sentiment that\nbears on a subject is intrinsic, and the final sympathy or\nnon-sympathetic feeling is a fusion and not a mere mixture of the\nvarious emotions which go to make it. We cannot assert that \"genuine\naltruism\" is the normal case, even of the present period of social\ndevelopment, and certainly not when we are considering morality as an\nevolution. We may hope that the standard of future generations will come\nto be as much superior to our present standard as that standard is\nsuperior to the savage standard; but it is scarcely to be expected that\nthe men of that better time, although they may look back at this age\nwith as much horror as that with which we regard the savage children\nroasting their dog for sport, will pronounce it one of general idiocy or\neven of \"moral idiocy.\" The virtue of Stephen's analysis lies in the\nespecial notice it takes of the different degrees and phases of that\nwhich we term \"sympathy\"; its fault lies in not sufficiently\ndistinguishing between these phases, by definition, throughout the\nargument; and this fault leads, as we have seen, to a final confusion of\nthe different meanings, the substitution of the one for the other, and\nso the proving of the higher meaning by the lower. It is scarcely true,\neven in civilized society, that a comprehension of the feelings of\nothers is naturally associated with a \"feeling with\" them, even in the\nlower sense; and it is certainly not true that it is naturally\nassociated with genuine altruism.\n\nThe assertion that, in ignoring the sentience of living beings in\nthought about them, a man is ignoring a thing of importance to himself,\nis cooerdinate with the assertion that, in so doing, he is ignoring \"an\nessential part of the world as interesting\" to him; for that which\nappears of importance to a man is that which interests him; and it is\ntrue that interest and attention are cooerdinate. But one thing may\nappear to one man important, another to another. We generally consider a\nthing in the relations and phases which interest us, but not all its\nrelations or phases always interest us. We do not follow out all the\npossible lines of thought connected with a thing, we do not regard it in\nall its aspects every time we think about it; we think more or less by\nsymbols or parts; and Stephen says that we feel by symbols also.[177] It\nis by no means true of all men, or true of any man at all times, that\nothers are most deeply interesting to him in their relations of thought\nand feeling; there are many cases where they would be quite as\ninteresting if they were mere automata, provided only that they could be\ndepended on to perform the same actions. And it is perfectly possible to\nregard them in the light of their actions and the significance of these\nfor us, leaving quite out of account the psychical meaning of the\nactions, and this also without at all \"losing all the intelligence which\ndistinguishes one from the lower animal.\" Nor is sympathy cooerdinate\nwith interest in the thoughts and emotions of others; revenge is very\nnormal, yet it rejoices in just the fact that the living being can be\nmade to suffer.\n\nThe irritation noticed by Stephen, as sometimes directed against others\nwhose suffering is a source of pain, is of especial interest as bearing\non the habit of some animals--wild cattle, for instance--of setting with\nfury on a wounded comrade, and putting him to a violent death. A recent\nwriter has attempted to explain this habit as a frantic and\nunintelligent endeavor to render some assistance to a suffering friend;\nbut the explanation seems improbable, especially as we find a\ncorresponding impulse to cruelty even in human society of a higher type.\nIn the action of the animal, there is the possibility and even the\nprobability of still another impulse--that excitement and exhilaration\nwhich seems to possess many species at the sight and smell of blood, and\nwhich finds its counterpart in the peculiar pleasure that many men of\ncoarser sensibilities derive from bull-fights, prize-fights,\ncock-fights, etc., and that doubtless comes down to us from a time when\nthe struggle for existence was continually a bloody one. Just how the\ntwo instincts may be related in the animal, it is difficult, from a\nhuman standpoint, to say.\n\nOur analysis has hitherto omitted all definition of morality and\nconscience. The words should properly, for some reasons, have been\ndefined before this. But any definition must have assumed that which\ncould logically be asserted only at the end of the preceding\nconsiderations. The definitions are involved in these considerations. It\nis evident that morality, as we ordinarily define it, has a very\nintimate connection with the relations of individuals to each other; and\nthough we may conceive of a morality of the individual passing an entire\nexistence in solitude on a desert island devoid of animal-life, we\nbecome aware, when we reflect on the condition of such an imaginary\npersonage, that many of the ordinary grounds of moral action, and moral\njudgment of action, are wanting in his case. Such a person cannot, by\nour assumption, beget others who may inherit his psychical and physical\nqualities, and cannot injure man or beast directly or indirectly. He has\nonly his own welfare to consider, and if he chooses rather an animal\nindulgence in such pleasures as may be within his reach, we may possibly\ndisapprove of his conduct, but we cannot find especial grounds for\nasserting that he has not a right to his choice. It may be said that\nthis case is only imaginary, and that, in all actual cases of such\nisolation there is no certainty that the individual may not, at some\nfuture time, come in contact with other living animals or with human\nbeings. But this being admitted, we immediately come back again to the\nconception of morality as dependent upon our relations to others. In\nspite of all that has been said in favor of egoistic morality, of duties\nto self as the source and reason of morality, it becomes evident that\naltruism is a most important element of even that which we term egoistic\nor personal morality. In fact, we find difficulty in distinguishing, on\na higher plane, between the duties of egoism and those of altruism; in\nboth we have to consider others as well as ourselves. And we begin to\nsuspect that we are making a mistake in separating, in a definition,\nthings which must be indissolubly united in actual practice; and we\nsurmise that such a mistake may lie at the root of the many\ndisagreements as to whether the preference is to be given to egoism or\nto altruism in Ethics. In all evolution, the results of former\nadaptation are not lost in new; merely the old assumes a higher form. So\negoism is not lost in altruism, but assumes a higher form; the care for\nself becomes identical, according to the degree of altruism, with the\ncare for others. This fact has been utilized for the assertion that all\naltruism is merely egoism. The argument commits the fallacy of using the\nword \"egoism\" in two senses, the one of which, the higher sense, is used\nto prove the other. We need to remember that the fact of development\nimplies degrees, and that neither egoism nor altruism is an absolute\nterm. A certain care of self, physically and mentally, is necessary to\ncheerfulness, health, sympathy, and the due performance of labor and\nkindnesses; just as, conversely, in society, the health and happiness of\nthe individual are dependent upon the aid of others. The antagonistic\ncharacter of the two principles is gradually modified in evolution and\ndisappears altogether in some cases of action; in the contemplation of\nthe ideal, it vanishes completely. Care for self gains a new\nsignificance in the light of love or affection for any other being, and\nin the action and reaction of character in human society, this newer\nsignificance gradually spreads, leavening the whole of mankind. Our\nanalysis is unable to trace its workings and significance in all the\ncomplicated relations of men. In like manner it is difficult to decide,\nin any particular case, what the exact course is, which, in view of the\nfar-reaching results of an act through the action and reaction of these\nrelations, is the right one. The moral decision must be reached through\na consideration which should be nearer the ideal, the nearer it comes to\na consideration of all results, a due allowance being made for the\nuncertainty of distant results. This uncertainty must, other things\nbeing equal, diminish the influence of considerations of the far future\non the decision, and should properly do so; although relative importance\nmay, again, render the mere possibility of some one result a sufficient\nreason for choosing or abstaining from an act in the face of all other\ncertainties and probabilities. Again, the power of calculating distant\nresults is increased with the growth of knowledge, and man comes, thus,\nto obtain greater and greater power to shape the world about him and\nmould his own life to the attainment of his ends. With this power\nresponsibility is also increased; the adult thief who rears children to\ntheft bears the chief responsibility in the beginning of their career,\nand a very large share of it later on; the experienced man of the world,\nwho understands whither he is tending, is much more responsible than the\nignorant girl whom he seduces.\n\nThe highest morality demands, therefore, careful judgment. The factors\nto be considered are the complicated relations of men in the society of\nwhich the judge and actor himself is a member; morality may thus be\nidentified with justice in the highest sense of the word. The decision\nis always a difficult one on account of the great complexity of the\nfactors concerned; this every man perceives who endeavors, with\nunbiassed mind, to discover exactly what the most moral course is in any\nparticular case. Some one course may be evidently immoral; but that does\nnot necessarily decide what the moral course is, for there may be very\nmany courses open to choice, or there may be at least more than one\nother as alternative to the manifestly immoral one. Moreover, the\nnecessity for action forbids that we spend all our time in reflection\nand choice. Moral responsibility demands, however, that we never cease\nfrom the endeavor to discover where justice lies.\n\nA certain constancy in the constitution of society, and the necessity\nfor constancy or consistency in the action of the individual, give rise\nto certain general rules of conduct that develop and change somewhat as\nsociety changes; special rules of conduct which supplement these general\nrules change constantly. In the societies of a primitive sort, held\ntogether by only the loosest of bonds, personal retaliation is in vogue\nand is considered moral. Revenge is a duty. In societies of a higher\nsort retaliation is taken from the hands of the individual in all\nmatters of importance, at least as far as the revenge consists in\ndefinite action, the motive of which can be demonstrated. The Englishman\nmay still knock down the man who insults him, but he may not avenge a\nmurder. Not only the negative morality of abstinence from violence is\ndemanded of the citizen of a so-called civilized society, a certain\nreliability in the relations of cooeperation is also necessary for the\ngeneral welfare, and thus honesty comes to be encouraged and dishonesty\nto be discouraged by legal punishment and social contempt. Dishonesty in\nword is not so often punished directly by law as dishonesty of act, but\nthere are many cases where it is impossible to distinguish between the\ntwo, and other cases where the lie is directly punishable because of the\nconsequences which it involves. Beyond this, society begins early to\ndiscourage lying in some sort, though the love of and respect for truth\nobviously grows with social development. Cooerdinately with the\ndevelopment of cooeperation and mutual dependence, constancy in all the\nmultifarious directions and complex relations of that cooeperation and\ndependence, becomes more and more desirable.\n\nBut constancy is not to be secured as an outward fact except as it\nbecomes a part of the inward character of men, a constant habit. The man\nwho lies occasionally is in at least some danger of developing a habit\nin the direction of lying, as he is also in danger of destroying the\nconfidence of others if they discover that he sometimes lies; for they\nhave no means of knowing to exactly what extent untruthfulness is, or is\nbecoming, a habit in his case, or in what instances it may manifest\nitself, in what not. Moreover, the distrust so engendered may lead to\nanticipatory deception on their side, and so the circle of distrust and\nuntruthfulness spreads until it is met somewhere by determined truth\nthat demands truth in return. Thus, in spite of all that is said in\nfavor of the occasional lie, we instinctively feel the danger of it,\nthough we may not be able, until after much consideration, to assign\nthe exact reason for our feeling. We may admit that there are occasions\nwhen the lie may be justifiable; but we feel that these occasions must,\nthen, be very exceptional. In general, it is desirable to discipline\nourselves to as close an approach to the truth as possible. If I lie in\na dozen instances, in what I consider a good cause, I am very likely to\nlie again when the temptation of some merely personal gain presents\nitself. The habit of truth or falsehood is, further than this, one of\nthe most subtle and intricate relations in our character: nothing is\nmore difficult than the facing of the exact truth with regard to\nourselves; cowardice and self-deception with regard to our own traits\nand motives are very common, and only the most earnest and constant\neffort can enable us to gain that moral courage that is the first\nrequisite of self-knowledge and so self-control. Any weakening of the\nwill in the contrary direction is dangerous. Truth is not an easy thing;\nit is as difficult as justice; in fact, that which is justice in action\nand the judgment which leads to action, is truth in the premises of\nwhich the judgment is the issue. We have most of us known persons who\nhad so accustomed themselves to lying that they seemed no longer able to\ndistinguish between truth and falsehood, facts and mere impressions.\nCertainly where matters of high importance which deeply concern the\npublic welfare are at stake, we cannot admit falsehood to be desirable\nfor the sake of any personal gain; and even though we may find excuses\nfor the failure of human courage in the face of mortal danger, there are\nthose of us who will still continue to think a Bruno's defiance of death\nfor the sake of his conviction the nobler and better choice. I have\nheard it argued that this philosopher might have contributed more to the\nworld through a continuation of his life than he did through his death.\nBut surely it was one of the highest services that he could do mankind\nto show a superstitious and dogmatic age that high moral purpose and\nsteadfastness were not necessarily associated with this or that\nreligious dogma. His death drew the attention of thoughtful and good men\nas nothing else could have drawn it. But beyond this consideration, and\neven leaving out of account the desirability of the habit of truth and\nthe necessity of its action in the single instance, it is doubtful\nwhether there is any other benefit we can confer on our fellow-men so\ngreat as just the assurance that they can rely on us. The bitter cry of\nhuman nature everywhere repeats the faithlessness of those on whom\ntrust has been staked; and the rescue of many a man from despair and\nwaste of life has been through the discovery of some one soul whose\ntruth and constancy were steadfast and unchangeable. Belief in others is\nbelief in our own possibilities; and distrust of others is distrust of\nself, at least for the most thoughtful and introspective men. The\nexamples of such men as Socrates and Bruno stand to the world as pledges\nof the power of faithfulness in humanity. They are the rocks on which\npessimism must shatter, and the betrayed and sorrowful may build their\nfaith. This is, I believe, the secret of our veneration for such men as\nthese, who died, not in an ecstasy of religious emotion or under the\nhope of especial glory as a reward for martyrdom, but faithful to a calm\nconviction, and sustained only by the love of truth and their\nfellow-men.\n\nAnd this brings us to a consideration of the sacrifice of the\nindividual. The cases may be few where the highest standard can demand\nof a man such entire and final sacrifice as the instances we have just\nnoted, even though it may look upon this sacrifice as the highest. But\nit is evident that some degree of self-sacrifice is often necessary to\nthe welfare of society, and however important we may consider the\nwelfare of the individual, it cannot be regarded as more important than\nthe welfare of the whole of society as an aggregate of many individuals,\nor even as more important than the welfare of a large number of other\nindividuals, a considerable portion of society. The legitimate degree of\nsacrifice, where interests conflict and choice is necessary between the\nsacrifice of the single individual and the sacrifice of many, is a\nquestion that can be decided only according to the particular\ncircumstances of the case. Everything depends upon the number of\nindividuals on both sides, whose interests conflict, on the nature of\nthe sacrifices necessary, and the results of these sacrifices to the\nsociety as a whole, as well as, in some cases, on the character of the\nindividuals concerned. It is often denied that the nature of the\nindividuals whose interests conflict, between whom choice must be made,\ncan ever affect that choice if it is made under principles of justice.\nAnd in general, doubtless, there is danger of injustice in distinctions\nbetween individuals; but it is scarcely to be doubted that, if it were\nnecessary to choose between the life of a great philanthropist and that\nof a persistent and hardened criminal, if, for instance, both were\ndrowning and it were possible to save only one, the choice of most\nwould fall, and fall rightly, on the philanthropist. The fact that moral\nchoice must take different directions under different circumstances is\nsometimes construed into an argument against any fixity of moral\ncommandments, an argument for a narrow expediency. It certainly\nestablishes the rule that obedience to any rule of action should never\nbe blind. Nevertheless, if our preceding considerations be correct, the\nuniformities in social relations admit of the establishment of certain\ngeneral rules which the moral man will follow under most circumstances.\n\nWe come finally to the definition of conscience. In humanity as a whole,\nand in the single societies of which it is composed, a certain moral\nevolution may be perceived which we have found reasons for believing to\nbe internal as well as external, a matter of heredity as well as of\ninstruction. In this internal sense, conscience, as innate capacity, or\ntendency, may be said to be an instinct. We may not be able to explain\nhow the inheritance takes place in this case any more than we are able\nto explain how it is possible that the chicken just from the shell may\npick at his food without instruction, and just what psychical process,\nif any, accompanies the first performance of the act; or to explain how\nit is that the sexual instinct appears in later life as an inheritance\nof species, and why it acts uniformly. We can only say that, the proper\nconditions of stimulation (which are always necessary in the case of any\ninstinct) being present, the action takes place. We are unable to\nanalyze the earliest appearance of sympathy, benevolence, and the sense\nof obligation, in our individual experience, the power of self-analysis\nappearing much later in life. That which, when we become capable of\nreflection, we term conscience, consists in pleasure in forms of action\nfurthering the welfare of society--forms gradually moulded to habit with\nthe development of social relations,--and in a corresponding pain at the\nrealization of having failed of such action; the knowledge of the\ndemand, by society as a whole or by a part of society, of action in\naccord with the general welfare, and the sense of the justice of this\ndemand, constituting the feeling of obligation and duty. This feeling is\nearly nourished in the family, the obligation we acknowledge being\ntowards our parents first and foremost. We have found motives to be\noften of a mixed character; and this is often also the case with\nremorse, the pain we experience at having failed in our duty. It may\ncontain an egoistic element of regret or dread at having rendered\nourselves liable to punishment or loss of some sort.\n\nOur whole analysis of the course by which conscience is developed tends\nto show the truth of that which Darwin claimed, namely, that the moral\ninstinct is a development and organization of many special instincts.\nBut there are those who claim conscience to be a special sense, and who\ngenerally mean much more than merely that it is, at present, an\norganization of subordinate instincts. A dim analogy of the special\nsense organs generally has part in their conception, and religious\nreference is often made to \"the original constitution of man.\" But\nevolution knows nothing of an original constitution of man; it knows\nonly of a gradual development of the human. And it must be remembered\nthat, in evolution, that may become inherent which was not so before.\nAny theory which regards even an organization of special instincts as a\nspecial sense may, moreover, be objected to on the same grounds on which\nthe old idea of special faculties of thought, feeling, and will was\ncriticized. The old argument, used to prop the belief in conscience as\nan original, higher gift, and so, in the original creation of fixed\nspecies,--the argument that the same fundamental rules of moral conduct\nare to be found in all societies,--has already been answered in the\ndemonstration that uniformities of human nature and necessary\nsimilarities in all social constitution render the fundamental rules of\nforbearance, aid, honesty, and truth necessary to all societies alike;\nwhile our analysis of the course of development by which social\norganization grows more and more complex, shows the necessity as well as\nthe reality of progress in outward and inward observance of these rules.\nDu Prel argues that even life on any of the heavenly bodies, supposing\nsuch to exist, must have some points of resemblance to our own, although\nthe differences due to different planetary conditions may be great; but\nresemblances must assuredly be considerable where there is a common\nbasis of species.\n\nThe Utilitarians are doubtless right in asserting that all rules of\nmorality may be traced to utility. However, there is considerable\nambiguity about the word \"utility.\" Mr. Spencer's earlier objections to\nUtilitarianism, given in \"Social Statics,\"--namely, that we cannot make\nthe greatest good of the greatest number our object because it is\nimpossible to perceive, without omniscience, where the greatest good\nlies, and because the standard of utility is a changing one, cannot be\nregarded as apposite, for we might as well say that a man cannot\nendeavor to secure his own health, or that it is not well for him to do\nso, because he does not possess a knowledge of all the intricate\nworkings of the organs of his body and so may make mistakes, or that he\ncannot seek it to-day because the conditions necessary to secure it will\nhave changed by to-morrow; but Mr. Spencer's later objections to\nUtilitarianism touch an important truth. He says, for instance, in his\n\"Recent Discussions in Science, Philosophy, and Morals\": \"Utility,\nconvenient a word as it is from its comprehensiveness, has very\ninconvenient and misleading implications. It vividly suggests uses and\nmeans and proximate ends; but very faintly suggests the pleasures,\npositive or negative, which are the ultimate ends, and which, in the\nethical meaning of the word, are alone considered.\" Stephen has another\npertinent criticism of Utilitarianism, namely that the utilitarian, in\nhis anxiety to have his feet on solid earth, and to assign definite and\ntangible grounds for every conclusion, is likely to favor the prosaic\nrather than the poetical, and to leave out of account, or rank as of\nlittle importance, finer sorts of pleasure.[178] The utilitarian is, in\nfact, liable to fall into a similar error to that already noticed on the\npart of those who claim that egoism is the foundation of all morality,\npresent as past. While accepting the theory of evolution, the\nutilitarian fails to perceive, in many cases, that this lends to his\nterms a progressive and increasingly complex meaning. The error has its\nsource, doubtless, in the fact that the utilitarian school represents a\nrecoil from the older, superstitious Intuitionalism, which not only\ndefended a doctrine of conscience as a sort of supernatural or\nhalf-supernatural instinct, on a plane above ordinary instinct, but,\nrelying upon it as of such character, practically denied to reason any\nauthority in matters of morality. In the strong reaction from these\nideas, and under the fear of ceding any ground of advantage to the\nenemy, Utilitarianism has gone to an equally inadmissible extreme of\ndisregarding \"mere impulses\" of sympathy, and has tended to reject all\nconceptions of morality where it was not possible to unravel, beyond the\ncriticism of opponents, the intricate web of social conditions. It is\nfor this reason also that Utilitarianism is often egoistic; in the\nendeavor to analyze back to tangible grounds of action, it was much\neasier to adopt the evidently original basis of sympathy and\naltruism--that is, egoism--as the present basis also, than to trace out\nlater developments in the many-sided organization of society. In\nrejecting instinct, it was but consistent and natural to overlook also\nthe significance of habit in matters of morality; and thus the poet, the\nmoral enthusiast, the martyr, and the rigid adherent of truth, came to\nbe looked at askance. I do not mean to aver that all Utilitarianism has\nfallen into these errors, though the tendency is distinctly in this\ndirection; neither the connection of a theory of utility with a\ndisregard of the finer sorts of happiness, and the more distant and\ncomplex workings of social forces, nor the connection of a theory of\nmoral instinct with superstition, is a necessary one.\n\nA re-reaction against this bald Utilitarianism has set in; but some of\nthe forms which it takes on can no more be indorsed by the consistent\nevolutionist than can the system from which it is a revolt. When\nSidgwick defends Intuitionalism with the argument that the rightness of\nsome kinds of action is known without consideration of ulterior\nconsequences, we may answer that it is true that tradition furnishes us\nwith many rules that we may follow without consideration of the\nconsequences of our acts, but that it is very doubtful whether we act\nwith the highest degree of morality in so doing. As to the \"knowing\" of\nthe rightness of the acts, this is surely a matter of judgment, must,\ntherefore, involve the considerations of consequences in some form,\nthough the course of reasoning followed to the attainment of what is\noften termed \"knowledge\" in this sense may not be elaborate, and may,\nindeed, go no farther than a reflection on the approval and disapproval\nof society.\n\nThe terms \"higher\" and \"lower\" have been used in our previous\nconsiderations with regard to pleasures. The legitimacy of their use in\nthis connection has often been questioned. From an evolutional\nstandpoint, however, either they are legitimate here, or else objection\nmay be made, on similar grounds, to their application to man as\ndistinguished from the brutes or even from the original protoplasmic\ncell with which evolution began. The later developments of the desires,\nthe newer social ends, are as much higher as the human species is higher\nthan the species from which it has been evolved through continued\nadaptation. As, in the attainment of altruism, egoism is not lost in\nthe sense that the individual no longer seeks that which is most\npleasurable to him, but simply reaches a higher plane, so the\nfundamental animal desires and instincts still move us, but in a quite\ndifferent form, being closely interwoven, in their later development,\nwith all the ideals and aspirations with which social life has supplied\nus. The advocates of a \"return to nature\" make, therefore, a fundamental\nmistake in theory. Human development is also natural. The same mistake\nis made when we are told that we must be animals in practice because we\nare animals by nature, or that we must \"copy nature\" because we are a\npart of it. The former assertion ordinarily commits the fallacy of using\nthe word \"animal\" in two senses. The latter assertion involves the\nfallacy of first making man a part of the nature, which he is to copy,\nin order, then, to prove that he must regard himself as something\noutside nature and must, therefore, slavishly follow. But if man is\nhimself a part of the nature he must copy, one may question why he may\nnot simply copy himself rather than any other part; for obviously he is\nunable to copy all parts, there being many antagonisms in nature. I have\nheard the argument used in defence of cruelty to animals; nature is\ncruel, therefore man must be cruel. But as a matter of fact, there is no\nmore reason why man should copy any other part of nature, than there is\nreason why the horse should imitate the habits of the hog, or\nturtle-doves take example by the tiger. Necessity may sometime compel a\nchoice between two cruelties, to which there is no third alternative;\nbut this is a different argument; let us say, in this case, that we are\nso compelled (if, indeed, there is no other alternative; for this\nargument, like the other, is often used as a convenient excuse for mere\nselfishness, where there are alternatives); let us not employ a wholly\nfallacious and misleading argument which opens the way to the free\nexercise of selfish disposition.\n\nObjections are often made to theories of the development of higher moral\nqualities from egoism, on the ground that such a derivation is degrading\nto that which is best in man. Some color is lent to this view by\narguments like that just noticed. But we may question whether facts can\nbe logically chosen or rejected according to their agreeableness, or\neven their moral utility, in any case. And, again, some of us may fail\nto discover any degradation in this theory of evolution. The flower may\ngrow from carrion, but we do not find it the less beautiful, the less\npleasing to our various senses. And we should have exactly as good\nreason to regard the carrion as elevated by its office as to regard the\nflower as degraded by the source of its life. As a matter of fact, we\nmerely find the flower pleasing and the carrion abhorrent. We are used\nto this particular connection of the pleasing with the abhorrent, and\naccept it as we accept much that may be to us disagreeable in our own\nphysical organization; but we have not yet accustomed ourselves to the\nideas of mental and moral evolution, and our recoil from them is an\nillustration of the displeasing character of the wholly New. The same\nargument of degradation was at first brought forward also against the\ntheory of an evolution of the human form from that of lower species, and\nof the \"purely intellectual faculties\" from the animal mind.\n\nThe question as to whether struggle is an essential element of virtue\nhas been so thoroughly answered by Gizycki, Stephen, and others, that it\nwould be superfluous to say much about it here; however, our analysis\nwould not be complete without some consideration of it. \"The man is the\nstrongest,\" writes Stephen, \"who can lift the heaviest weight or who can\nlift a given weight with the greatest ease. But (and it is a proof of\nthe loose argument which has often been accepted in ethical disputes)\nthe two cases have sometimes been confounded. It would plainly be absurd\nto say, 'The man is strongest who lifts the greatest weight, therefore\nthe man who makes the greatest effort; therefore the man who makes the\ngreatest struggle to lift a given weight.' But it has occasionally been\nsaid that a man is most virtuous who resists the greatest temptation;\ntherefore the man who has the greatest struggle; therefore the man who\nhas the greatest difficulty in resisting a given temptation. Though the\nfallacy does not occur in this bare form, it is not infrequently implied\nin the assumption that the effort, taken absolutely, is the measure of\nmerit.... We are thus led to excuse a man for the very qualities which\nmake him wicked. True, he committed a murder, but he was so spiteful\nthat he could not help it; or he was exceedingly kind, but he is so\ngood-natured that it cost him no effort.\"[179]\n\nThe difficulty lies in the fact that the struggle arising in any\nparticular case may result from any one of several general conditions of\ncharacter, between which it is often difficult to distinguish. An\nabsence of struggle may mean simply a general weakness of character\nwhich makes a man ready to yield to any and almost all momentary\ninfluences, good or evil; the agreement with another's argument may\nsignify absence of the power to reason for oneself; but, on the other\nhand, it may mean the highest intellectual power of unbiassed judgment;\nthe act that follows such agreement as its result may mean will-power,\nor it may mean vacillating weakness that, if led by a good influence at\nthe present moment, will be as easily or nearly as easily swayed by an\nevil one, the next. We are all acquainted with persons who invariably\nagree with all sides, and shilly-shally in a corresponding manner in\ntheir action, accomplishing little or no positive good in any direction,\nthough often positive evil. For the reason of this frequent weakness of\ncharacter in what we call the \"good-natured\" person, the term\n\"good-natured\" has come to have a certain idea of mental and moral\ninferiority connected with it. In a similar manner, some men who are\ngenerally called \"good\" are swayed to a greater extent by tradition and\nlack of courage to act for themselves than by strong desire to know and\ndo the right, and thus, very unfortunately, the excellent word \"good\"\neven comes to be looked upon with a certain degree of disdain. On the\nother hand, a man may find much difficulty in doing right in a certain\ninstance, because of the strength of emotions that would be, under\nordinary circumstances, morally desirable and are, in themselves,\nadmirable even in the moment of his temptation, although a yielding to\nthis temptation would, nevertheless, involve great wrong. No one could\nblame the agony and struggle of the switchman who, in the moment when he\nis about to rescue a passenger-train from imminent collision by\nswitching it to another track, suddenly perceives his baby-girl seated\nupon the rails. Strong and ennobling love between man and woman may\ninvolve, under certain conditions, temptation and struggle; even the\nbest of our impulses may not always be followed, if we desire to act\nmorally. Few, if any persons could refuse admiration and respect to the\nlove between Phillip Tredennis and Mrs. Amory in Mrs. Burnett's \"Through\none Administration.\" But not all strong feeling is of an admirable\nnature; the revengefulness of the murderer, the vicious lust of a Joseph\nPhillippe, the impatience of the constitutionally belligerent man, are\nnot to be praised, but condemned. Stephen's argument, therefore, that\nstruggle is adjudged an element of virtuous character in many cases\nbecause its absence would show \"a defect in some faculty of enjoyment,\"\nincludes too much; for Jack the Ripper, and others who especially\ndelight in crime, possess faculties of enjoyment the entire absence of\nwhich in other men we do not look upon as a defect.[180] Stephen\nrestates his position in another form, saying that \"If a man resists any\ninducement because it has no charms for him, his act does not prove\nvirtue unless the inducement be such as to appeal only to the wicked.\"\nIt is only because, incidentally, those qualities moulded in human\nsociety, and therefore fundamentally good, may come into conflict with\neach other, that we fall into the habit of connecting the idea of\nstruggle with morality; in face of the fact that readier response to\nmoral stimulus must constitute all moral advancement.\n\nAnd these reflections lead us to remark on the common fallacy that\nstrength of emotion means necessarily a lack of the moral direction of\nemotion, and that conversely moral self-direction argues weakness of\nemotional capacity. The direction of emotion is changed with evolution,\nas we have seen, but this does not mean that emotion is lessened in\nforce. In the man of highest morality, the emotions are merely moulded\nto a greater harmony with social needs, a harmony that is not weakness\nbut strength, not mere narrow reaction upon momentary impulse or\none-sided sympathy with a few to the exclusion of the many, but, in\ncontrast to this lower impulsiveness, an all-sidedness that is the\nresult of reflection and choice. I say this all-sidedness is \"the\nresult\" of reflection; for I do not mean to intimate that the moral man\nis less impulsive than the immoral man, or that he is obliged to\nconsider long before every act. Merely his impulsiveness is of a higher\nsort; in it both racial and individual adjustments to social needs find\nexpression; and reason always stands, figuratively speaking, in the\nbackground, ready to suppress the spontaneity where the conditions are\nsuch that it ceases to be moral. It has been part of our whole analysis\nto show that reason and instinct, thought and feeling, are by no means\nantagonistic. Simply, feeling may take one direction in one man, another\nin another; in the criminal, it is developed in the direction of\nanti-social acts; in the profligate, it takes the same direction, but in\na less degree; the original savage is stronger in him than in the moral\nman, who belongs to a later and higher type, and finds his pleasure in\nacts in accordance with the welfare of his fellow-men and fellow-women.\nAs the human being is a higher development than other species because he\nis adapted to a wider circle of nature, so just as truly the moral man\nis a higher human development, because function is, in him, adjusted to\na wider circle of conditions--to complex social requirements which\nrepresent the happiness of his fellow-men. Altruism is not, because a\nlater development, \"artificial,\" as Barratt calls it, any more than man\nis artificial in comparison with the ape, or the ape is artificial in\ncomparison with original protoplasm. Nor can virtue consist, as Barratt\nconceives, in a yielding to all emotions,[181] as long as man has not\nyet attained the highest summit of morality where all emotions follow\nmoral directions, without conflicts and without constraint. But neither\ncan morality be distinguished as \"a constraining power opposed to\ninstinct and emotion in general,\"[182] as Stephen at one point defines\nit. Struggle and constraint are not necessarily elements of moral\naction; kind and moral action often follows upon impulse with no effort\nwhatever; and, on the other hand, the basest characters may know\nstruggle of an extreme nature when the directions of self-interest\nconflict.\n\nWe have already noticed the origin of punishment in revenge, which is\nthe outcome of a fundamental, egoistic instinct of self-defence; and we\nhave traced its development up to the monopolization of its extremer\nforms by society as a whole through state organization. It is impossible\nfor analysis to give any adequate representation of the workings of\nReward and Punishment in society, except as we draw an exact line\nbetween legal and other forms. But such a distinction, however\nconvenient for particular purposes, is obviously scientifically\ninjustifiable in a general theory of social morals. The constraint of\nfamily disinheritance and social ostracism, of threats of all sorts, of\nvituperation, of disapproval and coldness, are only higher forms of\nrevenge or punishment, by which men influence each other's action, as\nsavages influence each other through physical suffering and the fear of\nit, in a more primitive and less humane manner; and state reward for\nservices, praise, and approval, are all forms of encouragement, by which\nmen similarly incite each other not merely to a negative abstention from\nundesirable acts, but to a positive performance of desirable acts. With\nthe development of sympathy, punishment tends to become less brutal on\nthe one side, while, on the other, the less brutal forms come to have as\ngreat influence as the more brutal ones formerly had. Furthermore, the\ndistinct calculation of the attainment of egoistic ends gives place to\nthe impulsive reaction of the sense of justice on the one hand, and, on\nthe other, to the readier response to disapproval and to the desires of\nothers, through social predispositions and affections which are more\naltruistic than egoistic.\n\nBut there are two diametrically opposed schools, neither of which\nperfectly agrees with the theory of will as stated in a preceding\nchapter of this work, and both of which may therefore take exception to\nthe theory of recompense which follows naturally upon that theory. The\none, the school which asserts Free Will not in a natural, but in a\nsupernatural, or half supernatural sense, may object to the grounds for\npunishment assumed in our analysis; this school is answered by the\ndemonstration of the actual course of development taken by reward and\npunishment. The other school maintains, on the ground that man is a part\nof nature, that there is no merit in conscientiousness, and that\nevil-doing, being as much dependent upon organization and social\nenvironment as disease, cannot, on scientific grounds, be punishable. It\nis to be noticed, however, that many of the advocates of the theory that\nstate punishment is injustifiable yet inflict punishment upon their own\nchildren; and we may remind them, in this connection, that they can\nscarcely claim the will of the child to be freer or less the result of\ngeneral social conditions than that of the adult, and that, moreover,\nthey themselves are the most immediate links in the chain of conditions\nproducing this will. Furthermore, they are inconsistent in their\npractice if they visit any blame on evil-doers or criminals; they are\nlogically restricted to, at most, an \"I differ with you in opinion,\" to\nJack-the-Ripper, to the cruelest of slave hunters, or to the Chinese who\nare said to have regarded with indifference the burning of their\nfellow-men on the ship \"Shanghai,\" while they exerted themselves to\nsecure the wreckage. Nor, if punishment and blame are inadmissible, on\nthe ground of the determination of the will, can they consistently show\ngreater consideration to benevolent than to malevolent men, no matter\nhow great the public benefits these men have conferred, or what aid they\nhave given to the advancement of society? If it is unjust to punish\ncriminals because their acts are determined, then it is also wholly\nunjust to the rest of mankind to praise a Bruno, or a dying Sir Philip\nSidney giving the cup of water offered him to another. If good men might\nbe criminals, had they the criminal organization, it is equally true\nthat ordinary and selfish men might be Brunos and Sir Philip Sidneys if\nthey had the organization of Brunos and Sir Philip Sidneys; why then do\nordinary men the injustice of praising and admiring such nobility of\ncharacter? Nor can a theory of determinism which refuses to blame the\nindividual consistently lay the blame of crime and badness on society as\na whole, as it often does; for society as a whole is composed of\nindividuals, all of whom are equally determined in their action. Or, if\nwe choose to regard society as a unit, then it may be said that it is as\nmuch the product of nature as a whole as the individual is its product.\nIf it be objected that we do not blame nature as a whole because it is\nsoulless, we may inquire what is meant by soulless; society has no\ncomposite soul, no soul except in its individuals. The real significance\nof the objection is that we cannot influence nature, by our blame, to\nthe production of better characters; but it is also true that we cannot\ninfluence society except through the individuals composing it; and here\nwe have, again, in a nutshell, the real reason and justification of\npunishment and blame.\n\nThe Socialists have been prominent of late in disclaiming the right of\nthe state to punish, on the ground that society as a whole is\nresponsible for the evil of individual characters. But it is not\nnoticeable that all Socialists refrain from blaming non-socialistic and\nconservative individuals, although it is obviously true that these are\nquite as much determined, and as irresponsible from a deterministic\npoint of view, as are the criminals. Moreover, even the mildest\nSocialists advocate the measure of denying food to the man who can work\nbut will not do so. By what right do these determinists make use of the\nexpression \"can but will not\"? And what right have they, on their own\nshowing, to administer this chastisement to the lazy man? Surely sloth\ncannot be interpreted as preeminently a power of will, which no other\nman possesses; and surely sloth is, as much as criminality, the product\nof social conditions. If it be objected that this denial of food is no\npunishment but merely a letting alone, we may inquire whether the\nstarvation which used to be inflicted on prisoners for some offences was\nnot a positive form of punishment. And if it be said that the slothful\nman has it in his power, at any time, to escape starvation by beginning\nto work, we may answer that the state says to the criminal, also, that\nhe has nothing to do with its penalties as long as he abstains from the\nacts for which they are imposed. Why should the vindictive man, the\nJoseph Phillippes, the Jukes, and Eyrauds of the future receive\nsustenance, care, and kindness, in homes set apart for their especial\nuse, while the man who is merely indolent is driven to solitude and the\nroots and herbs of the forest for the support of existence? Perhaps, in\nsuch case, the indolent man may claim society's greater indulgence by\ntaking to crime.\n\nThese determinists are sometimes heard to make the assertion that the\npunishment of criminals is wrong, but that punishment of children must\nstill be resorted to for their own sake as well as for that of society,\nsince their character can be disciplined and bettered by it. When we\narrive at this inconsistency, we get at the root of the whole objection\nto state punishment of criminals. There is a growing dissatisfaction\nwith present methods of punishment, and this dissatisfaction,\ninsufficiently analyzed, takes the form of objection to punishment\naltogether. Benevolence is progressing beyond present laws, and demands\ntheir change; that is the gist of the whole matter.\n\nIn the light of our analysis of the evolution of morality, we may repeat\nthe inquiry, left unanswered at the beginning of this work, as to\nwhether, in the province of morals more than in other provinces, we find\na supernatural element or an element which, in any way, gives us an\nintimation of the supernatural or transcendental. The question must be\nreplied to in the negative. If it be objected that we must not expect to\nfind the supernatural in the natural, we may reply that that is just\nwhat we have not expected to do. The fallacy of such an expectation does\nnot lie with us. Nature gives us no intimation of a supernature, when we\ncease to see it with the uncomprehending eye of the untutored savage.\nNor can the gross, cruel, and superstitious savage be regarded as, in\ncontrast to more social and humane man, better fitted to be the medium\nof spiritual truth.\n\nAnd this brings us to the discussion of the presence or absence of\nconscience in lower animal species. We have found that some species have\nsocial organization quite as elaborate as that of many savage tribes,\nand even more elaborate than that of some tribes. We are able to view\nthese organizations only in their external features; we cannot, however,\nin most cases, suppose the species to be devoid of consciousness of some\nsort, and consciousness involves, in any case, pleasure in accustomed\nfunction and in its constantly experienced results; the two, action and\nexperience of its results, are, in fact, both functional. The argument\nof inconstancy, and of inconstancy at points at which it is not found\namong men, has been shown to be absolutely valueless as directed against\nany theory of the existence of sympathy and \"social instinct\" among\nother animal species. We too are inconstant in our altruism; and habits\nof altruistic action do not necessarily take the same course with other\nspecies that they do with us, differences in social organization\nrendering differences of habit necessary. If other species fall below us\nin self-sacrifice for the community in some respects, they often surpass\nus in others. We may conclude, then, that habits of mutual assistance,\nhabits which we perceive to be externally altruistic, must also be\nsupposed to be connected in many cases with some internal corresponding\nfeelings of the same nature as those which we term, in man, altruistic\nand social. I do not see how we can avoid this conclusion unless we deny\nall consciousness to other species; for consciousness must involve, on\nany plane, feeling as pleasure and pain. And on the supposition of\nmemory, and of the connection in memory of those things and events which\nare constantly connected in experience, we must suppose the seeking of\nends, also, though they are, probably, in most cases, much nearer ends\nthan our human ones. It may be true, as Professor Morgan thinks, that\nanimals have no general concept of ends and means; but a general concept\nof ends and means is not necessary to the recognition of the fact that\nthis or that particular form of action will have this or that particular\nresult. It is not necessary to apply the terms \"ends\" and \"means\" to\nevents in order to understand their connection as following upon each\nother with constancy. Moreover, we are accustomed to count only our own\nends as ends proper, and so, only our own wisdom as wisdom; and thus we\nterm other species stupid for not understanding just our wisdom and\nacting on a line with us; but certainly there are plenty of human beings\nwhom we do not term wanting in reasoning powers who seek their own\ndestruction or harm much more stupidly than many animals; and, on the\nother hand, there are many animals who act much more consistently for\ntheir own and others' welfare than a large number of mankind do. If the\nfailure of other species to comprehend our language and understand our\naction is to be termed stupid, then what shall we term our failure to\nunderstand their methods of communication and motives of action? It is\ntime for us to emancipate ourselves from this narrow anthropomorphism in\nwhich we are accustomed to live, and to realize and acknowledge that\nthere may be other consciousness than our own, with quite other\nthoughts, feelings, habits, ends, and motives. It is a part of our\ncustomary egoism that we prefer to exalt ourselves; it is more\ngratifying to our vanity, as well as more convenient to our conscience,\nto regard other species as half-automatic and beneath our sympathy; we\nthus have excuse for using them as we like. So we call the tiger cruel\nbecause he is carnivorous as we ourselves are; we call the fox cunning\nand sly for lying in ambush for his prey; but when we go out to take, by\nsimilar means, our special prey, we call our action a triumph of\nsuperior reason. We term the fox a thief, too, when he takes again from\nus what we are continually taking, and what we took originally, from the\nbeasts. What we regard as right and justifiable and even admirable in\nourselves we regard as wrong, cruel, mean, selfish, underhanded,\nabhorrent, and worthy of all punishment in the animals. As for the\nfaithfulness unto death displayed by many animals, we do not regard that\nas heroism or worthy our admiration, although we might often take\npattern from it. How should we understand other species? We are not\naccustomed to associate this or that feeling of pleasure in ourselves\nwith a pricking up of ears or a wagging of tail, or our deepest\ndespondency and pain at repulse with this or that peculiar posture or\nanimal cry. A faint trembling of the human hand from fear or pain will\nstir us with the most profound sympathy; but the sensitive quiver of the\nwhole body in some helpless, hopeless animal, that cannot speak its fear\nor crave for mercy in the human tongue, touches but seldom an answering\nchord in our hearts. Shame on our vanity and our hard-heartedness!\n\nThe whole of our analysis has tended to lay emphasis on habit. And this\nleads us to comment on a certain disdain and contempt for habit and\ncustom which is continually arising in some quarters. The whole history\nof mankind is the history of the formation, gradual change, and spread\nof the change, of habit, and of custom as the social form of the latter.\nWith the progress of society, habits and customs grow old and must be\ndiscarded; but only careful consideration can show us when change is\ndesirable. It is, therefore, both stupid and foolish to inveigh against\na habit merely because it is habit or because it is of long standing.\nOriginality, intellectual superiority, does not consist in a contempt\nfor custom merely as custom, but in the power to weigh all sides, to\nview a matter in all lights, without regard to its age or newness, and\nto decide on its worth according to its inherent merits or defects. In\nthe rebellion from the slavery to tradition as such, the opposite,\nequally unreasonable extreme of denunciation of all existing custom is\noften reached. Thus, some followers of Socrates, adhering slavishly to\nthe word of their master but failing to comprehend its inner meaning,\ndispensed with all the social usages of their nation, and despised its\nlaws. Of late patriotism is denounced as mere race-prejudice founded on\nhabit and association. But all our affections are matters of habit and\nassociation. Doubtless, patriotism may often involve narrowness and\ninjustice; so also may a mother's love for her child, or any other of\nthe forms of the preference of affection. However, it does not follow,\ntherefore, that mother-love is to be denounced and rejected; what we\nneed is not less mother-love, or father-love, but a counterbalancing\nsympathy for other human beings outside the family, also. And so too we\ndo not want less love of country, but the infusion of it with a broader\nhumanity and justice. The love of a mother need not render her less, but\nmay, on the contrary, render her more, sympathetic; and the love of\ncountry may be combined with a wide-reaching regard for the welfare of\nother men outside the nation to which the patriot belongs. In fact, the\nmother who is incapable of peculiar love for her own child is not likely\nto be capable of deep sympathy with other human beings; and I am\ninclined to believe that there must be something lacking in a man's\ngeneral moral constitution when he feels no peculiar regard for the land\nto which he belongs. If it is foolish, as is sometimes asserted, to love\none country more than another, simply because we happen to have been\nborn in it, then it is also equally foolish to love our mother simply\nbecause she happens to be our mother. There may be other lands as good\nas ours, and possibly there may be other mothers as good as ours; but\naffection does not reason thus.\n\nIs social development the cause of an increase in sympathy, or is the\nincrease of sympathy the cause of social progress and prosperity? Or is\nincrease of population the cause of both by forcing men to\ncompanionship? Or is not, rather, increase of population the effect of\nprosperity? In his work on \"Recent Discussions in Science, Philosophy,\nand Morals,\" Herbert Spencer writes of the altruistic sentiments: \"The\ndevelopment of these has gone on only as fast as society has advanced to\na state in which the activities are mainly peaceful. The root of all the\naltruistic sentiments is sympathy, and sympathy could have become\ndominant only when the mode of life, instead of being one that\nhabitually inflicted direct pain, became one which conferred direct and\nindirect benefits; the pains inflicted being mainly incidental and\nindirect;\" and in an essay on \"Progress,\" the author writes: \"Social\nprogress is supposed to consist in the produce of a greater quantity and\nvariety of the articles required for satisfying men's wants; in the\nincreasing security of person and property; in widening freedom of\naction; whereas, rightly understood, social progress consists in those\nchanges of structure in the social organism which have entailed these\nconsequences.\" The two paragraphs appear contradictory of each other,\nthe first laying emphasis upon outer conditions as cause of inner\nchange, the second seeming to emphasize inner conditions as cause; but\nthe terms of the second quotation are somewhat ambiguous. As to the\nfirst, to do Mr. Spencer full justice, he corrects this a little farther\ndown, where he says that \"sympathy is the concomitant of gregariousness,\nthe two having all along increased by reciprocal aid.\"\n\nThe root of the whole difficulty, with regard to our theories of cause\nand effect in social development, as with regard to our theories of\ncause and effect in other parts of nature, lies in our desire for unity\nand simplicity. Instead of attempting to unravel the intricate web of\nthe conditions, we fix our attention on some one feature or side of the\nprocess, and regard the whole development as revolving round this pivot.\n\nIt is easy to find examples, in the history of science and opinion, of\nthe errors into which the concepts of cause and effect have led men,\nand of the repeated recurrence of uncertainty to which the unveiling of\nthese errors in the further march of knowledge, has led. For instance,\nwe find some writers on nervous diseases adhering to the view that\ninsanity is sometimes the effect of a weak yielding to a violent\ndisposition; more contending that the violence is itself the effect of\nincipient insanity; and still others opining that both violence of\ndisposition and insanity are the effect of a general diseased state of\nthe system. Ancient schools of medicine traced all diseases to the\nblood, and so drained off the fluid; and the patent medicines of to-day\ngenerally select some one organ as the source of all disease. I once\nheard the assertion that a certain woman had died with grief contested\nby a physician on the ground that the cause of her death was\nconsumption; he added that deaths from sudden mental shock were known to\nmedicine, but the cases were rare; another medical man suggested that\nthe system might not have been in a perfectly healthy condition at the\ntime of the shock, in those cases; and the first man seemed a little\npuzzled when a third person suggested that there was doubtless a\nphysical basis in every case.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[165] \"Adam Bede.\"\n\n[166] \"Daniel Deronda.\"\n\n[167] \"The Science of Ethics,\" pp. 238, 239. The italics are mine.\n\n[168] Ibid. pp. 242, 243.\n\n[169] As above, pp. 255, 256. The italics are mine.\n\n[170] Ibid. p. 443.\n\n[171] Ibid. p. 441. The italics are mine.\n\n[172] Ibid. p. 236. The italics are mine.\n\n[173] Ibid. p. 237.\n\n[174] Ibid. p. 239. The italics are here also mine.\n\n[175] \"The Pathology of Mind,\" 102 _et seq._\n\n[176] In this general and limited sense, but only in this general and\nlimited sense, does Spencer's assertion that more moral conduct shows a\ngreater adjustment of means to ends, correspond to the facts.\n\n[177] See \"The Science of Ethics,\" p. 62.\n\n[178] \"The Science of Ethics,\" pp. 375, 376.\n\n[179] \"The Science of Ethics,\" p. 300.\n\n[180] \"The Science of Ethics,\" p. 301.\n\n[181] See Part I, this book, p. 117.\n\n[182] \"The Science of Ethics,\" p. 310.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE MORAL PROGRESS OF THE RACE AS SHOWN BY HISTORY\n\n\nThe necessity of the constant assimilation of savage tribes, of the\npeopling of thinly inhabited areas, renders social evolution as a whole\nexceedingly slow. Nor can there be, even in isolated peoples, any sudden\nleap from savagery to civilization; in other words the term\n\"civilization\" is not of absolute but of comparative, progressive,\nimport. Nor can we suppose the social evolution to have been only\noutward; we cannot suppose that our cave-dwelling, man-eating, rude\nancestors, if they could have been suddenly transported, in infancy\neven, into the midst of modern civilization by means of a Carlylean\nwishing-cap, or by some method of projection in time similar to that by\nwhich men promise to \"knock each other into the middle of next week,\"\nwould have been able to equal modern men in mental and moral attainment.\nWe may gain some idea of the gentle manners and moral character of our\nearly progenitors from the customs of savage peoples of the present day;\nalthough a very large number of these stand upon a higher plane than did\nthe ancient savages known to geology. I insert a few extracts from\nLubbock:--\n\n\"Mr. Galbraith, who lived for many years, as Indian agent, among the\nSioux (North America), thus describes them: 'They are bigoted,\nbarbarous, and exceedingly superstitious. They regard most of the vices\nas virtues. Theft, arson, rape, and murder, are among them regarded as\nthe means of distinction; and the young Indian from childhood is taught\nto regard killing as the highest of virtues. In their dances and at\ntheir feasts, the warriors recite their deeds of theft, pillage, and\nslaughter, as precious things; and the highest, indeed the only,\nambition of a young brave is to secure \"the feather,\" which is but a\nrecord of his having murdered or participated in the murder, of some\nhuman being--whether man, woman, or child, it is immaterial; and after\nhe has secured his first \"feather,\" appetite is whetted to increase the\nnumber in his cap, as an Indian brave is estimated by the number of his\nfeathers.'\"[183]\n\n\"'Conscience,' says Burton, 'does not exist in Eastern Africa, and\n\"repentance\" expresses regret for missed opportunities of mortal crime.\nRobbery constitutes an honorable man; murder--the more atrocious the\nmidnight crime the better--makes the hero.'\"[184]\n\n\"In Tahiti, the missionaries considered that 'not less than two-thirds\nof the children were murdered by their parents.' Mr. Ellis adds, 'I do\nnot recollect having met with a female in the islands, during the whole\nperiod of my residence there, who had been a mother while idolatry\nprevailed, who had not imbrued her hands in the blood of her offspring.'\nMr. Nott also makes the same assertion. Girls were more often killed\nthan boys, because they were of less use in fishing and in war.\"[185]\n\n\"Williams tells us that 'offences, in Fijian estimation, are light or\ngrave according to the rank of the offender. Murder by a chief is less\nheinous than a petty larceny committed by a man of low rank.'\"[186]\n\n\"Among the Khonds of Central India, human sacrifices prevailed until\nquite lately. 'A stout stake is driven into the soil and to it the\nvictim is fastened, seated, and anointed with ghee, oil, and turmeric,\ndecorated with flowers, and _worshipped_ during the day by the assembly.\nAt nightfall the licentious revelry is resumed, and on the third morning\nthe victim gets some milk to drink, when the presiding priest implores\nthe goddess to shower her blessings on the people. After the mock\nceremony, nevertheless, the victim is taken to the grove where the\nsacrifice is to be carried out; and to prevent resistance, the bones of\nthe arms and legs are broken, or the victim drugged with opium or\ndatura, when the janni wounds his victim with the axe. This act is\nfollowed up by the crowd. A number now press forward to obtain a piece\nof his flesh, and in a moment he is stripped to the bones.'\n\n\"An almost identical custom prevails among the Marimos, a tribe of South\nAfrica much resembling the Bechuanas.... Schoolcraft mentions a...\nsacrifice to the 'Spirit of Corn' among the Pawnees. The victim was\nfirst tortured by being suspended over a fire. 'At a given signal, a\nhundred arrows were let fly, and her whole body was pierced. These were\nimmediately withdrawn, and her flesh cut from her bones in small pieces\nwhich were put into baskets and carried into the cornfield, where the\ngrain was being planted, and the blood squeezed out on each hill.'\"[187]\n\"Human sacrifices occurred in Guinea, and Burton saw 'at Benin City a\nyoung woman lashed to a scaffolding upon the summit of a tall blasted\ntree, and being devoured by the turkey-buzzards. The people declared it\nto be a \"fetich\" or charm for bringing rain.'...\n\n\"Captain Cook describes human sacrifices as prevalent among the\nislanders of the Pacific, and especially in the Sandwich group.... War\ncaptives were frequently sacrificed in Brazil.\"[188]\n\n\"The lowest races have no institution of marriage. True love is almost\nunknown among them, and marriage in its lowest phases is by no means a\nmatter of affection and companionship.... In North America, the Tinne\nIndians had no word for 'dear' and 'beloved'; and the Algonquin language\nis stated to have contained no verb meaning 'to love,' so that when the\nBible was translated by the missionaries into that language it was\nnecessary to invent a word for the purpose.\"[189]\n\n\"The position of women in Australia seems, indeed, to be wretched in the\nextreme. They are treated with the utmost brutality, beaten and speared\nin the limbs on the most trivial provocation. 'Few women,' says Eyre,\n'will be found, upon examination, to be free from frightful scars upon\nthe head or the marks of spear-wounds upon the body. I have seen a young\nwoman who, from the number of these marks, appeared to have been almost\nriddled with spear-wounds.'\"[190]\n\n\"Collins thus describes the manner in which the natives about Sydney\nused to procure wives: 'The poor wretch is stolen upon in the absence of\nher protectors. Being first stupefied with blows, inflicted with clubs\nor wooden swords, on the head, back, and shoulders, every one of which\nis followed by a stream of blood, she is then dragged through the woods\nby one arm, with a perseverance and violence that it might be supposed\nwould displace it from its socket. This outrage is not resented by the\nrelations of the female, who only retaliate by a similar outrage when\nthey find an opportunity.'\"[191]\n\n\"Indeed,\" says Lubbock, \"I do not remember a single instance in which a\nsavage is recorded as having shown any symptoms of remorse; and almost\nthe only case I can call to mind, in which a man belonging to one of the\nlower races has accounted for an act by saying explicitly that it was\nright, was when Mr. Hunt asked a young Fijian why he had killed his\nmother.\"[192]\n\nWe have direct evidence, in many present or recent customs, of so-called\ncivilized or half-civilized nations, that the barbarous customs\ndescribed in \"The Origin of Civilization,\" and in the books of many\ntravellers, are not the original and special inventions of modern\nsavages merely, but that similar customs prevailed among our\nprogenitors. Lubbock notices many of these. The marriage ceremonies of\nmany peoples are particularly suggestive of a time when violent capture\nwas the means of obtaining a wife, and cruelty of treatment was her\nusual portion.[193] Human sacrifices were common among many peoples of\nancient Europe; and the cancellation of responsibility for murder with\nfines (often nominal in the case of the murder of a man of lower rank)\nwas a widely spread custom. \"In Russia,\" writes Lubbock, \"as in\nScandinavia, human sacrifices continued down to the introduction of\nChristianity. In Mexico and Peru they seem to have been peculiarly\nnumerous. Mueller has suggested that this may have partly arisen from the\nfact that these nations were not softened by the possession of domestic\nanimals.[194] Various estimates have been made of the number of human\nvictims annually sacrificed in the Mexican temples. Mueller thinks 2500\nis a moderate estimate; and in one year it appears to have exceeded\n100,000.\" \"In Northern Europe, human sacrifices were not uncommon. The\nYarl of the Orkneys is recorded to have sacrificed the son of the King\nof Norway to Odin in the year 893. In 993, Hakon Yarl sacrificed his own\nson to the gods. Donald, King of Sweden, was burnt by his people as a\nsacrifice to Odin, in consequence of a severe famine. At Upsala was a\ncelebrated temple, round which an eye-witness assured Adam of Bremen\nthat he had seen the corpses of seventy-two victims hanging up at one\ntime.\"[195]\n\nA peculiar confusion as to the definition of morality sometimes gives\nrise to such vagaries of theory as the defence of murder committed by\nsavages, and other cruelties practised, on the ground that these things\nare not considered sins in the moral code of the peoples among which\nthey are practised; murder is thus excused on the plea that _wrecking is\nalso looked upon as permissible_;[196] and Wallace thinks that savages\nlive up to their \"simple moral code\" as well as civilized human beings\nto their elaborate one, so that they are, in reality, as moral as these\nlatter. It should not be forgotten, however, that the moral code is\nitself the product of the tribe and represents its moral sentiment.\nLubbock remarks that if a man's simple moral code permits him to rob and\nmurder, the code is at least an unfortunate one for the victims.[197] On\nthe other hand, Lubbock himself defends human sacrifice as the result of\n\"deep and earnest religious feeling.\"[198] But if sympathy were strong,\nsuch sacrifices would be impossible, and the religious code would be\naltered just as the religious code of Christians is altered to keep up\nwith social progress. Opinion and feeling are not two separable things,\none of which may advance while the other remains behind; when feeling\nbecomes strong enough, the opinion arises that this or that custom\nbefore practised is wrong. As long as man is cruel by nature, however,\nconscience will not torment him for cruelty, and it is possible for him\nto regard it as wholly justifiable.\n\nBut I am of the opinion that moral progress has been made not only since\nthe time of our savage ancestors, but even also since the time of the\ngreat ancients, in spite of the obstacles to such advancement presented\nin the necessity of the moral assimilation of immense races of\nsavages,--the leavening of the whole of Europe. I believe that modern\ncivilization has caught up to and surpassed the ancient. The knowledge\nwe have of ancient peoples is necessarily most imperfect; nevertheless,\nwe may, I believe, discover considerable evidence of general moral\ninferiority to the present day. Any advance that has been made will be\nlikely to be most observable in those general virtues which lie at the\nfoundation of all social cooeperation--truthfulness in word and honesty\nin act, and the gradual widening of concepts of justice from individual\nand class privilege and race prejudice, to the inclusion of mankind as a\nwhole. And the growth of sympathy will be most noticeable in the\ntreatment of those classes of beings which possess least physical means\nof compelling respect for their rights--animals, children, women, the\npoor, and ignorant, and sick, and aged.\n\nWe may begin with the children. The Lacedemonian custom of giving over\nthe weak and defective children to destruction is familiar to us all.\nBefore Solon, children were often sold by Athenian parents for debt; and\neven during the ages of greatest culture, the exposure of children seems\nto have been a common Athenian practice, regarded with little or no\ndisapproval by the general public. Mahaffy writes: \"The cool way in\nwhich Plato in his Republic speaks of exposing children, shows that, as\nwe should expect, with the increase of luxury, and the decay of the\nmeans of satisfying it, the destruction of infants came more and more\ninto the fashion. What can be more painfully affecting than the practice\nimplied by Socrates, when he is comparing himself to a midwife (Theaet.\n151 B.). 'And if I abstract and expose your first-born, because I\ndiscover that the conception you have formed is a vain shadow, do not\nquarrel with me, _as the manner of women is, when their first children\nare taken from them_. For I have actually known some men ready to bite\nme when first I have deprived them of a darling folly.'\"[199] That the\nexposure of children is generally mentioned only incidentally by Greek\nwriters, is perhaps the strongest argument of all that the custom was\nregarded with indifference by the majority. A considerable number of the\nexposed children seem to have been rescued to be brought up as\nprostitutes, but many must have perished miserably. We have reason for\ndoubting whether the average Greek would have shown an equal sympathy to\nthat of Mr. Stephen's modern pickpockets, in the supposed case of danger\nto a child on the race-course;[200]--unless, indeed, the child were an\nespecially fine bit of animal flesh.\n\nThe same narrow sort of expediency in morals which permitted the\nexposure of children is exhibited, again, in the lack of regard for the\naged shown by the Athenians at all periods of their history;--in Sparta\nthe old men were treated with some considerable respect. Says Mahaffy:\n\"The strongest case against the Periclean Greeks, and one which marks\ntheir parentage most clearly from their Homeric ancestors, is the\ntreatment of their old men. For here it is no inferior class, but their\nequals, nay even those to whom they directly owed their greatness, whom\nthey cast aside with contempt when their days of usefulness had passed\nby.... The Greek lawgivers were accordingly most explicit in enjoining\nupon children the nurture and support of aged parents who could\notherwise expect little from the younger generation. The Attic law alone\nadded a qualification, that the children were to be without\nresponsibility if their parents had neglected to educate them.\"\nAristophanes describes the treatment of the aged in his \"Wasps,\"--\"where\nhe declares that the only chance of respect or even safety is to retain\nthe power of acting as a juryman, so extorting homage from the accused\nand supporting himself by his pay without depending on his children.\nWhen he comes home with his fee, they are glad to see him, in fact he is\nable to support a second wife and younger children, as the passage\nplainly implies, whereas otherwise the father must look towards his son\nand his son's steward to give him his daily bread, 'uttering\nimprecations and mutterings lest he knead me a deadly cake,' a dark\ninsinuation which opens to us terrible suspicions.\"[201]\n\nThe women of Greece were comparatively well cared for, as might be\nexpected in a nation and country peculiarly susceptible to the influence\nof grace and beauty; they were consequently of a comparatively admirable\ntype. However, we are fond, I think, of indulging in this respect, our\npreference for believing the romantic; so that we usually select\ncarefully the best instances and infer that the standard of all Greece\nwas on this plane. The reasons for this are manifold. We have the habit\nof imagining, from Greek art, that all Greek women were beautiful; and\nit is unpleasant to associate moral inferiority with great beauty, or to\nimagine its being treated with unkindness or disrespect. Again, we are\npleased at discovering examples of love and faithfulness even in the\nfar-away ages, and the pleasure of the discovery exalts the few\ninstances with which Greek literature provides us to a disproportionate\nimportance and significance. Disappointed at not finding their perfect\nideal in their own age and nation, men have pleased themselves with the\nimagination of perfection in an object belonging to another age, with\nregard to which no sordid reality of every-day relation and common,\nvulgar needs could intervene to check enthusiasm. Furthermore, it is\nsafer to admire those distant from us in time and place, since we are\nsecure from any demand of faithfulness and self-sacrifice from their\nside. Poets and artists have assisted us in this license of agreeable\nfancy. So we dwell, with special emphasis, on the beauty of Penelope's\ncharacter, which is not at all exceptionally faithful as measured by\nmodern standards; we warm over the story of Antigone while we pass by,\nwithout special enthusiasm, a thousand instances as admirable in our own\nday and within our own observation; and we read, with delight, the tale\nof the Greek who encouraged his ignorant child-wife by gentle treatment\nuntil she overcame her timidity, became \"tame and docile,\" and was\npersuaded to discard cosmetics and high-heeled shoes and devote herself\nto her household duties; though the most of us would regard the forced\nmarriage of such a child, if it occurred in our own day, as no more than\nchild-barter, and the conduct of the husband (doubtless not worsened by\nhis representation of it) as but a moderate exhibition of common\ndecency. Mahaffy says of the Greeks of the Homeric age: \"There is ample\nevidence that the lower-class women, the slaves and even the free\nservants, were subjected to the hardest and most distressing sorts of\nwork, the carrying of water, and the grinding of hand-mills; in fact we\nsee them standing to men-servants nearly in the same relation that the\nNorth-American squaw stands to her husband--over-taxed, slave-driven,\nworn out even with field-work, while he is idling, or smoking, or\nsleeping.\"[202] The wives of Athens of all periods were little more than\na higher class of household servants, with almost no share, by\neducation, in either the science or the art that was the delight of\ntheir nation and made its superiority. The position of the hetairai was\nbetter in some respects; but the apparently widely spread preference of\nthe Greeks of the cultured classes for what we term unnatural crime\nargues against any considerable degree of education even in their case.\nWomen were sometimes found in the Greek schools of philosophy, but these\nwere evidently isolated cases. The passage from the Theaetetus above\nquoted shows us the unhappy and subservient position of Athenian women\nin one respect; and many other passages of Plato throw an unfavorable\nlight upon their lot; though we have, perhaps, to remember that the\ncentral figure of the Dialogues had some personal reason for being a\nwoman-hater. \"The outcasts from society as we call them were not the\nimmoral and the profligate, but the honorable and virtuous.\nAccordingly, when we consult the literature of the day, we find women\ntreated either with contemptuous ridicule in comedy, or with still more\ncontemptuous silence in history.\"[203]\n\nHuman sacrifices were not unknown to the earlier Greeks. Of the later\ndays, of Athenian culture, Mahaffy says: \"Plutarch tells us that\nThemistocles was forced by the acclamations of the army to sacrifice\nthree Persian prisoners of distinction brought in just before the battle\nof Salamis, though he was greatly affected at the terrible nature of the\nsacrifice, so that it appears to have been then unusual. But\nAristophanes, long after, makes allusions to what he calls [Greek:\npharmakoi], as still remembered at Athens, if not still in use (Ran.\n732), and which the scholiasts explain, chiefly from Hipponax, as a sort\nof human scapegoat, chosen for ugliness or deformity (a very Greek\nstandpoint) and sacrificed for the expiation of the state in days of\nfamine and pestilence, or of other public disaster. I think that\nAristophanes alludes to the custom as bygone, though the scholiasts do\nnot think so; but its very familiarity to his audience shows a disregard\nof human life strange enough in so advanced a legal system as that of\ndemocratic Athens.\"[204]\n\nMahaffy calls attention to the exceeding cruelty practised by the Greeks\nin the Peloponnesian war, and adds: \"It was not merely among Corcyreans,\nor among Thracian mercenaries, but among the leaders of Greece that we\nfind this disgusting feature. The Spartans put to death in cold blood\n225 prisoners whom they took in Plataea after a long and heroic\ndefence.... But this is a mere trifle when we hear from Plutarch that\nLysander, after the battle of AEgospotami, put to death 3000 prisoners\n(_Alcib._ c. 37 cp. the details in his _Lysander_, c. 13),... Athenians,\nmen of education and of culture.... The unfortunate Athenian general,\naccording to Theophrastus (Plut. _Lys._ 13), submits with dignified\nresignation to a fate which he confesses would have attended the\nLacedemonians had they been vanquished.\n\n\"For the Athenians, with their boasted clemency and culture, were very\nnearly as cruel as their enemies. In the celebrated affair of the\nMitylenaeans, which Thucydides tells at length in his third book, the\nfirst decree of the Athenians was to massacre the whole male population\nof the captured city. They repented of this decree, because Diodotus\nproved to them, not that it was inhuman, but that it was inexpedient.\"\nMahaffy argues, in opposition to Grote, that there was no real sentiment\nof sympathy in the repentance of the Athenians in this affair, for \"how\ncould the _imagined details_ of the massacre of 6000 men in _Lesbos_\nhave been a motive, when the Athenians did, at the same time, have the\nringleaders executed _at Athens_, and _they were more than 1000 men_\n(Thuc. III. 30).\" These were \"_executed together, by the hands of\nAthenians_, not with fire-arms but with swords and knives. A few years\nafter, the inhabitants of Melos, many hundreds in number, were put to\nthe sword, when conquered after a brave resistance (Thuc. V. 116), and\nhere, I fear, merely for the purpose of making way for a colony of\nAthenian citizens, who went out to occupy the houses and lands of their\nvictims.\"[205]\n\nThe practice of torturing witnesses in court was common in Periclean\nAthens. On this point, Mahaffy writes: \"Our best authorities on this\nquestion are, of course, the early orators, especially Antiphon, in\nwhose speeches on cases of homicide this feature constantly recurs. It\nis well known that in such cases the accused might offer his own slaves\nto be tortured, in order to challenge evidence against himself; and it\nwas thought a weak point in his case if he refused to do so when\nchallenged. It is also well known that the accusers were bound to make\ngood any permanent injury, such as maiming, done to these slaves.\n\n\"But there were both restrictions and extensions of this practice as yet\nbut little noticed. It was not the custom to torture slaves who gave\nevidence to a fact, but only if they denied any knowledge, or appeared\nto suppress it in the interest of their master (Antiphon, Tetral. A,\n[Greek: g]). On the other hand, _it was common enough to torture female\nslaves and also free men_....\n\n... \"Almost all the orators speak of it as an infallible means of\nascertaining the truth. Demosthenes says it has never been known to\nfail.\"[206] The restrictions on certain extremities of torture in court\ndiminish in importance when we consider that the poor slave stood, in\nreality, in all cases, between two alternatives of suffering, that\ninflicted by the court and that likely to be inflicted by his master in\ncase his evidence displeased the latter. That he was a piece of\nproperty of some value was doubtless no more a safeguard to the Greek\nslave under the hands of his master than it has been in any modern\nslave-holding country; the Greek was doubtless at least as liable as the\nman of to-day to forget ultimate loss in the rage of present anger and\nthe malevolent pleasure of revenge.\n\nThe condition of slaves among the Greeks furnishes us, indeed, with one\nof our strongest arguments against their moral code. We do not need to\nmention the Helots, whose name has become a synonym of degradation and\nmisery. Slaves formed the greater part of the working population of\nAthens, and were much more numerous than the freemen. Nor were they\nnecessarily even of inferior race or education. Not only did all\nprisoners taken in war become slaves, with their descendants forever,\nexcept as their masters chose to emancipate them (and the possession of\nsuch a superfluity sometimes rendered the Athenians generous in this\nrespect), but, until the time of Solon, freemen might be sold into\nbondage for debt,--and not alone for a large debt, but also for a small\none, and not merely until the debt was paid, but for all time. Nor have\nwe reason to suppose that freemen were treated, even in the days of\nAthens' greatest culture, with great humanity. \"At the opening of the\nEuthryphro there is a story told which is not intended to be anything\nexceptional, and which shows that the free laborer, or dependent, had\nnot bettered his position since the days when Achilles cited him as the\nmost miserable creature upon earth. 'Now the man who is dead,' says\nEuthryphro, 'was a poor dependent of mine who worked for us as a [free]\nfield-laborer at Naxos, and one day, in a fit of drunken passion, he got\ninto a quarrel with one of our domestic servants [slaves] and slew him.\nMy father bound him hand and foot and threw him into a ditch, and then\nsent to Athens to ask of a diviner what he should do with him. Meantime,\nhe had no care or thought of him, deeming him a murderer, and that even\nif he did die, there would be no great harm. And this was just what\nhappened. _For such was the effect of cold and hunger and chains upon\nhim_ that before the messenger returned from the diviner he was dead.\nAnd my father and family are angry with me for taking the part of the\nmurderer and prosecuting my father.'\"[207]\n\nWe have not much evidence as to the treatment of animals in ancient\nGreece. Race-horses are likely to have been well cared for,--as long as\nthey were young and swift or beautiful. But it does not appear probable,\nfrom what we know of the Greek attitude towards slaves and dependents,\nwomen and children, that a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to\nAnimals would have flourished in Greece.\n\nWhen we come to inquire as to the moral status of the Greeks with regard\nto honesty, truthfulness, and reliability in general, we find them\nparticularly lacking. Their failure to come up with modern standards in\nthis respect \"every schoolboy knows.\" Ulysses is called the \"man of many\nwiles,\" with evident intent to compliment. In the poems of Theognis,\nfavorites with the Greek nobility, \"it was openly recommended to fawn\nupon your enemy, to deceive him till he was in your power, and then\nwreak vengeance upon him. It is usual, among critics, to speak of this\nas the attitude of Theognis, and of the special aristocracy to which he\nbelonged. They forget that we find the same attitude in the moral Pindar\n(_Pyth._ ii. 84). It is expounded by Hesiod as proximate (*[Greek: Erg].\n165 sqq.), by Thucydides as universal, at a later epoch.\"[208] Mahaffy\nsays of the Greeks up to the time of Thucydides, that they \"had been\noften treacherous and cruel, generally dishonest and selfish; but,\nwithal, often generous and gentlemanly, always clever and agreeable, and\nalways carried away by a love of beauty more than by a respect for\ntruth.\"[209] At the time of Darius, the Milesians, who had involved that\nking in a bloody and expensive war, and burned his Lydian capital, were\nyet treated kindly by him when taken prisoners, and settled in his own\ncountry. In return they were always trying to beg or embezzle the\ntreasure of the king at Susa. \"There was, indeed, a single exception,\nScythes, tyrant of Zancle--who asked leave to visit Sicily, and returned\nto die in Persia. 'Him Darius considered to be the most righteous of all\nthose who had gone up to him from Greece, in that he kept his promise to\nthe great king.'\"\n\n\"What an evidence of Greek dishonesty. We can well fancy the Aryan\nbarons of Darius' court speaking in the tone of the Roman Juvenal. To\nthem, too, the _Graeculus esuriens_ was but too well known,--with his\nfascination, his cleverness, and, withal, his mean and selfish knavery.\nI need hardly remind the Greek scholar,\" continues Mahaffy, \"that all\nthrough the Ionic revolt, and through the Persian wars, this treachery\nand this selfishness were the mainstays of the Persians; in fact, had\nthey depended upon these more completely, the subjugation of Greece\nwould have been a mere question of time.\"[210]\n\n\"There was a certain Glaucus at Sparta, celebrated for justice, as well\nas in other respects, to whom a Milesian, who had heard of his fame,\ncame and entrusted a treasure, wishing as he said, to get the benefit of\nhis justice, since Ionia was disturbed. Of course, such a temptation was\ntoo much even for this paragon of Greek honesty. When the heirs of the\nMilesian came with their tokens and claimed the treasure, he professed\nto know nothing of the affair,\" though when they had gone away, he\nconsulted the oracle as to whether he might spend the money, and was so\nstrongly rebuked, that he finally gave it back.[211] This Mahaffy\nmentions as an instance where the influence of the oracle was a moral\none.\n\nThere remains one general and especially significant criticism to be\nmade on Greek morals as a whole; the great mass of the people were\nlittle cared for and in a state of unfreedom. Professor Robiou of Rennes\naptly remarks that the democracy of ancient times, and that of Athens in\nparticular, had little in common with modern democracy. \"The very large\nmajority of the working population were slaves, and had, consequently,\nno rights of any sort, so that the 'laborers,' at whose political rights\nXenophon and Aristophanes jest, were generally what we call\n_patrons_....\n\n\"As for the laborers and the inhabitants of the environs and villages,\nsince political rights could be exercised only at the Athenian Pnyx and\nthere was no idea of a representative system, it is clear that the\npresence of many of them in the assembly could be only an exception, in\nspite of the modest indemnity which was offered them; among the country\npeople the large and middle-class proprietors alone were in a condition\nto take part regularly. That is to say, one has no difficulty in\nconcluding that, in comparison with other times and other countries,\n_the Athenian democracy was an aristocracy_.\"[212] And we may add that,\nall things considered, the great mass of the people had less of liberty\nand privilege, were far more subject to the despotism and caprice of\nthe few, than in most modern monarchies. In what modern country not\ninhabited by savages would a man be permitted, at the present day, to\nthrow even a murderer into a ditch and leave him to perish of hunger and\ncold? The carelessness of the Greeks in regard to the inner spirit of\nmorals is often excused on the ground that it was at least combined with\na large degree of tolerance; but this tolerance appears to be, to a\ngreat extent, mythical. The politics of Athens ostracized men whose\nopinion was feared by the state, or rather by a certain number of\ncitizens, and the Greek religion stained its records with the death of\nSocrates and the persecution of other philosophers. Stilpo was exiled\nfor doubting whether the Athene of Phidias was a goddess and the books\nof Anaxagoras and Protagoras were publicly burned. There was, moreover,\nan inquisitorial bureau at Athens.[213] However, it is true that the\nGreeks were, as a people, too little in earnest and too superstitious to\nfall into doubt of the national mythology.\n\nWe have less difficulty in showing the superiority of modern to Roman\ncivilization, and for the reason, partly, that we know more about Roman,\nthan we do about Greek civilization.\n\nThe Romans were, from the beginning, a robust and warlike people, and\nthe military discipline which made them conquerors extended into their\nsocial relations and even into their family life. The exposure of\nchildren appears to have been a common practice, and looked upon\nleniently even after direct infanticide was visited with some degree of\ngeneral disapproval. Parents were the absolute masters of their\nchildren, having the power to put them to death, or to sell them as\nslaves; and this was not only true of children in their younger years,\nbut during the whole life of the father. Livy and Valerius Maximus give\nnumerous instances of parents who had put their children to death. It is\nrecorded, however, that Hadrian banished a man who had killed his son,\nand decreed that whatever a son might earn in military service should\nbelong to himself; while Alexander Severus forbade the killing of adult\nsons, and Diocletian rendered the sale of children illegal.[214] Lecky\nhowever remarks that \"the sale of children in case of great necessity,\nthough denounced by the Fathers, continued long after the time of\nTheodosius, nor does any Christian emperor appear to have enforced the\nhumane enactments of Diocletian.\"[215]\n\nHuman sacrifices occurred among the Romans far more frequently than\namong the Greeks, and continued even down to a late date, says Mahaffy.\n\"In the year 46 B.C., Caesar sacrificed two soldiers on the altar in the\nCampus Martius. Augustus is said to have sacrificed a maiden named\nGregoria. Even Trajan, when Antioch was rebuilt, sacrificed Calliope,\nand placed her statue in the theatre. Under Commodus, and later\nemperors, human sacrifices appear to have been more common; and a\ngladiator appears to have been sacrificed to Jupiter Latialis even in\nthe time of Constantine. Yet these awful rites had been expressly\nforbidden B.C. 95; and Pliny asserts that in his time they were never\nopenly solemnized.\"[216]\n\nIf, however, the direct sacrifice of human victims came in time to be\nforbidden, there grew out of it, at a comparatively early period, a\ncustom very nearly if not quite as barbarous, which was practised on an\nimmense scale and down to a late date; namely, the gladiatorial\ncontests. The men who took part in these contests were either slaves,\ncriminals, military captives, or men especially trained for the\n\"profession.\" Many of these last were exposed children who had been\nrescued for the purpose; their number being also recruited from other\nranks. Lecky seems to excuse the condemnation of military captives to\nthese shows, saying that their fate \"could not strike the early Romans\nwith the horror it would now inspire, for the right of the conquerors to\nmassacre their prisoners was almost universally admitted.\"[217] The\nargument is similar to that noticed and criticised above--one bad\nprinciple cannot be an excuse for another, though the two are,\ndoubtless, in this case, cooerdinate. Every criminal can give us a reason\nfor his crime out of the uniformity of his own character. The question\nis, simply, whether we are considering the facts from a purely\nindifferent standpoint, as historical, or from an ethical standpoint;\nand if from the latter, then we must have some standard of measurement.\nWe may choose to make this, in all cases, the average of the period and\nnation; though there will be, in that case, considerable difficulty in\ndetermining the average. Or we may use some ideal standard, which, as\nideal, does not vary with all variations of the society considered, but\nis constant. But we have no logical right, having assumed the one\nstandard, to confuse it with the other, treating the two as\ninterchangeable. The standard of any age by which men judged their deeds\nis also part of the morality of the age, by which we may judge it. As\nfor the criminals who fought in the arena, they were sometimes pardoned,\nwhen victorious, so that society received back again its most muscular,\nor skilful and alert criminals. Of all Roman authors and rulers, Lecky\nmentions only Seneca, Plutarch, Petronius, Junius Mauricus, and Marcus\nAurelius, who condemn the games.[218] Cicero is undecided on the\nsubject; rather in favor of them. The great satirist, Juvenal, though he\nrepeatedly mentions, does not condemn them. And \"of all the great\nhistorians who recorded them not one seems to have been conscious that\nhe was recording a barbarity, not one appears to have seen in them any\ngreater evils than an increasing tendency to pleasure and an excessive\nmultiplication of a dangerous class.\" On the other hand, the attempt to\nintroduce them into Athens was unsuccessful.[219]\n\nAn immense increase of gladiators and gladiatorial shows took place in\nthe earlier days of the empire, when the increase of slavery freed a\nlarge portion of the Roman population from the necessity of labor, and\nmen came to occupy themselves with amusements, on the one hand as a\nprofession, on the other as means of passing the time. In the days of\nthe Republic, the slaves were comparatively few in number and probably\ntreated with more care, though scarcely with much consideration; all\nthings were permitted the master by law, says Lecky, though probably the\ncensor might interfere in extreme cases. \"The elder Cato speaks of\nslaves simply as instruments for obtaining wealth, and he encouraged\nmasters, both by his precept and his example, to sell them as useless\nwhen aged and infirm.\"[220] Under Titus and Trajan probably occurred the\ngreatest number of shows that \"were compressed into a short time,... and\nno Roman seems to have imagined that the fact of 3000 men having been\ncompelled to fight under the one, and 10,000 under the other, cast the\nfaintest shadow upon their characters.\"[221] Moreover, \"the mere desire\nfor novelty impelled the people to every excess or refinement of\nbarbarity. The simple combat became at last insipid, and every variety\nof atrocity was devised to stimulate the flagging interest. At one time\na bear and a bull, chained together, rolled in fierce contest along the\nsand; at another, criminals dressed in the skins of wild beasts were\nthrown to bulls, which were maddened by red-hot irons, or by darts\ntipped with burning pitch. Four hundred bears were killed on a single\nday under Caligula; three hundred on another day under Claudius. Under\nNero, four hundred tigers fought with bulls and elephants; four hundred\nbears and three hundred lions were slaughtered by his soldiers. In a\nsingle day, at the dedication of the Colosseum by Titus, five thousand\nanimals perished.... Lions, tigers, elephants, rhinoceroses,\nhippopotami, giraffes, bulls, stags, even crocodiles and serpents, were\nemployed to give novelty to the spectacle. Nor was any form of human\nsuffering wanting. The first Gordian, when edile, gave twelve\nspectacles, in each of which from one hundred and fifty to five hundred\npair of gladiators appeared. Eight hundred pair fought at the triumph of\nAurelian. Ten thousand men fought during the games of Trajan.... Under\nDomitian, an army of feeble dwarfs was compelled to fight, and more than\nonce female gladiators descended to fight in the arena. A criminal\npersonating a fictitious character was nailed to a cross, and there torn\nby a bear. Another, representing Scaevola, was compelled to hold his hand\nin a real flame. A third, as Hercules, was burnt alive upon the pile. So\nintense was the craving for blood, that a prince was less unpopular if\nhe neglected the distribution of corn than if he neglected the games;\nand Nero himself, on account of his munificence in this respect, was\nprobably the sovereign who was most beloved by the Roman multitude.\nHeliogabalus and Galerius are reported, when dining, to have regaled\nthemselves with the sight of criminals torn by wild beasts. It was said\nof the latter that 'he never supped without human blood.'\" Moreover, the\nprince was most popular who, at the show of thumbs, \"permitted no\nconsideration of economy to make him hesitate to sanction the popular\naward.\"[222] \"Even in the closing years of the fourth century, the\nprefect Symmachus, who was regarded as one of the most estimable pagans\nof his age, collected some Saxon prisoners to fight in honor of his son.\nThey strangled themselves in prison, and Symmachus lamented the\nmisfortune that had befallen him from their 'impious hands,' but\nendeavored to calm his feelings by recalling the patience of Socrates\nand the precepts of philosophy.\"[223]\n\nThe conquest of Greece is alleged to have bettered somewhat the position\nof Roman slaves, since it involved the introduction of many slaves who\nwere the intellectual superiors of their masters. But whatever good this\nmay have effected seems to have been counteracted by the increase in\nnumber of the slaves and the consequent diminution in value of the\nindividual slave as a piece of property. On the whole, the position of\nthe slaves of North America, before the war of emancipation, bad as it\nwas in some cases, seems to have been, on the average, quite\nparadisiacal when compared with that of their Roman forerunners. It has\nalready been mentioned that Cato urged his compatriots to sell their\naged slaves. Old and infirm slaves were constantly exposed to perish on\nan island in the Tiber. It was also customary, in case of the murder of\nthe master, to put all the slaves of the household to death who were not\nin chains or helpless at the time of the murder. The testimony of the\nslave was generally received only under torture; he might be tortured in\nthe attempt to compel evidence against his master; but, if he, of his\nown free will, accused his master of any crime, except treason, he was\ncondemned to the arena. There were different punishments for slaves and\nfor men of rank. \"Numerous acts of the most odious barbarity were\ncommitted. The well-known anecdotes of Flaminius ordering a slave to be\nkilled to gratify, by the spectacle, the curiosity of a guest; of Vedius\nPollio feeding his fish on the flesh of slaves; and of Augustus\nsentencing a slave who had killed and eaten a favorite quail, to\ncrucifixion, are the extreme examples that are recorded; for we need [!]\nnot regard as an historical fact the famous picture in Juvenal of a\nRoman lady in a moment of caprice, ordering her unoffending servant to\nbe crucified. We have, however, many other very horrible glimpses of\nslave life at the close of the Republic and in the early days of the\nEmpire. The marriage of slaves was entirely unrecognized by law, and, in\ntheir case, the words adultery, incest, or polygamy had no legal\nmeaning.... When executed for a crime, their deaths were of a most\nhideous kind. The ergastula, or private prisons of the masters, were\nfrequently their only sleeping places.... We read of slaves chained as\nporters to the doors, and cultivating the fields in chains. Ovid and\nJuvenal describe the fierce Roman ladies tearing their servants' faces,\nand thrusting the long pins of their brooches into their flesh. The\nmaster, at the close of the Republic, had full power to sell his slave\nas a gladiator or as a combatant with wild beasts.\"[224]\n\nLecky admonishes us that we should not judge the whole institution of\nRoman slavery by this one side of the picture. He calls attention to the\nrespect in which learned Greek slaves were often held, as showing a\nbetter phase of the system; but it is quite possible that certain slaves\nor classes of slaves should be held in respect and that the rest of the\nslaves should be treated, nevertheless, with anything but respect or\nkindness. The great wonder to the modern mind is that the Romans felt at\nliberty to hold learned Greeks slaves at all. Lecky points out that\nslaves were emancipated in great numbers; but we must remember, first,\nthat slaves were very plentiful, further, that freedmen and their\ndescendants remained bound, by a sort of feudal tie, to their former\nmasters until the third generation, and moreover that it was considered\nan honor to have many freedmen in one's following; so that the advantage\nof manumission was often, as Lecky himself says, on the side of the\nmaster. Slaves were sometimes emancipated to prevent their revealing\ncrimes of their masters under torture, and many slaves were given their\nliberty especially in order that they might make a show in the funeral\ntrain. Augustus, indeed, found it necessary to restrict emancipation by\nwill to _one hundred slaves_.[225] Seneca mentions that masters who\nill-treated their slaves were the object of public odium; but then it\nmay occur to us to inquire what the Romans considered ill-treatment;\nsome of the laws which Lecky cites in evidence of the improvement of the\nslave's position in the third or last of the periods under which he\nconsiders this position may appear to his readers as much evidence\nagainst, as in favor of, kindness on the part of the masters. \"The\nPetronian law,\" he says, \"which was issued by Augustus, or more probably\nby Nero, forbade the master to condemn his slave to combat with wild\nbeasts without a sentence from a judge.\" We may inquire as to how\ndifficult it was to obtain such a sentence. \"Under Claudius some\ncitizens exposed their sick slaves on the island of AEsculapius in the\nTiber to avoid the trouble of tending them, and the emperor decreed that\nif [!] the slave so exposed recovered from his sickness, he should\nbecome free, and also that masters who killed their slaves _instead of\nexposing them_ should be punished as murderers.... Under Nero, a judge\nwas appointed to hear their complaints, and was instructed to punish\nmasters who treated them with barbarity, made them the instruments of\nlust, or withheld from them a sufficient quantity of the necessaries of\nlife.... Domitian made a law, which was afterwards reiterated,\nforbidding the Oriental custom of mutilating slaves for sensual\npurposes, and the reforms were renewed with great energy in the period\nof the Antonines.[226] Hadrian and his two successors formally deprived\nmasters of the right of killing their slaves; forbade them to sell\nslaves to the lanistae or speculators in gladiators; destroyed the\nergastula or private prisons; ordered that, when a master was murdered,\nthose slaves only should be tortured who were within hearing; appointed\nofficers through all the provinces to hear the complaints of slaves;\nenjoined that no master should treat slaves with excessive [?] severity;\nand commanded that, when such severity was proved, the master should be\ncompelled to sell the slave he had ill-treated.\"[227] The humanity of\nthe last law is open to dispute. Moreover, Lecky does not notice, here,\nthat Constantine nevertheless felt it necessary to limit the punishment\nof slaves by prohibiting its administration with a cudgel, though not\nwith the lash, and forbidding poison, mortal wounds, various kinds of\ntorture, stoning, hanging, mutilation, or throwing from a height.[228]\nBut he mentions two facts which indicate some degree of humanity in\ncertain directions, and namely: that, though the law did not recognize\nthe marriage of a slave, \"it appears not to have been common to separate\nhis family;\" also, that the private property of slaves was recognized by\ntheir masters, though part or all of it usually reverted to the master\non the death of the slave. The great mass of evidence goes to show,\nhowever, that what the Romans termed humanity to slaves would have been,\nin the eyes of modern \"civilized\" peoples, extreme barbarity.\n\nWomen, among the Romans, were, like their children, under the control of\nthe head of the family--father or husband. \"The father disposed\nabsolutely of the hand of his daughter and sometimes even possessed the\npower of breaking off marriages that had been actually contracted. In\nthe forms of marriage, however, which were usual in the earlier periods\nof Rome, the absolute power passed into the hands of the husband, and he\nhad the right, in some cases, of putting her to death.\" \"The power\nappears to have become quite obsolete during the Empire; but the first\nlegal act (which was rather of the nature of an exhortation than of a\ncommand) against it was issued by Antoninus Pius, and it was only\ndefinitely abolished under Diocletian.\"[229] Roman women had, at first,\nno share by law in the heritage of their fathers; but public opinion\nrevolted, in some cases, from the law, and gradually this was\nconsiderably altered. When marriage became, under the Empire, a mere\nmatter of mutual consent, divorce a mere matter of repudiation, the\ndaughter, though married, often remained in her father's house, having\nfull control over her own property. Practically, if not always legally,\nthe position of women among the Romans seems to have been considerably\nbetter than among the Greeks; Roman wives became, gradually, far more\nnearly the equals of their husbands than Greek wives ever were, and\nappear to have received a proportionately greater degree of love. Their\nposition, however, falls far behind that of even German women at the\npresent day, and certainly much behind that of every other civilized\nnation.\n\nAfter recording the use of animals in the public games, there is little\nneed of considering the subject of their treatment specially; there can\nbe no doubt as to its probable nature; though certain famous Romans had\ntheir brute favorites.\n\nIt is sometimes argued that, though we are morally superior to the\nGreeks and Romans in some respects, we fall short of their standard in\nother respects. Doubtless new forms of evil may arise in later periods,\nwhich were impossible under old forms of government and the social\nrelations of earlier peoples. Each period and nation will, according to\nits circumstances, have its own peculiar forms of vice and misery. But\nthe question which we are considering is not whether or not we have some\nforms of evil which the ancients did not possess, but whether the\nparticular forms which prevail among us are or are not worse than those\nwhich prevailed in Greece and Rome, and, in general, whether the average\nof sympathy and altruistic action in modern times and among the foremost\npeoples is greater than the average among the Greeks and Romans. And it\nmust be recollected, moreover, in considering the question, that while\nthe evil in our midst is brought very vividly before our eyes through\nthe medium of our many methods of news-carrying and of wide personal\nobservation,--through our railways, our telegraphs, our many newspapers\nand periodicals,--we have, in reality, when all is told, very scanty\nknowledge of the daily life of the common people, of the ordinary,\nevery-day miseries and sufferings, among the Greeks and Romans. But\nthere are some features of these facts that tell in favor of modern\ntimes; for the ancients were but little impressed by the miseries of the\npoorer classes; and just the spirit that notes and makes much of our\nmodern inhumanity is evidence of a broader sympathy peculiar to our\nlater times.\n\nOf Europe as a whole in the centuries after Rome's decline and its loss\nof power, it is not necessary to say much, in order to prove the moral\nsuperiority of modern times. We are all acquainted with the fierce\ncontests between Christianity and its opponents, with the mutual\npersecutions, the martyrdoms of Christians and the retaliation of\nChristians upon \"heretics,\" with the license and bigotry of the clergy,\nthe robbery and oppression of the poor and dependent by these as well as\nby the titled castle-owners, the burning of \"witches,\" the general\nintellectual and moral darkness which spread and covered even the lands\nof former comparative civilization and was lifted only as Europe as a\nwhole advanced to a higher stage.\n\nBut without entering into any extended discussion of this complicated\nprocess of development as a whole, after the disturbance of the old\nequilibrium, it may not be undesirable to note the general course of\nevents in some one country as typical, not in its special features, but\nin its general moral import, of the course of development in the other\ncountries of Europe also.\n\nThe manner of the growth of state and social recompense for evil out of\nindividual and tribal vengeance has already been touched upon. The enemy\nwithin, and the enemy without the tribe, the foe of the battle-field and\nthe criminal were regarded, at many stages, with much the same feeling\nof animosity, the advantage being rather in favor of the criminal. To\nthe Greek all those who were not Greeks were barbarians, against whom\nbut little justice or mercy was necessary; and, as we have seen, the\nRomans condemned to the arena their war-captives equally with their\ncriminals, together with slaves who were also, originally, war-captives.\nCrime is, in ruder societies, hardly distinguished from other forms of\naggression that are, later, not included under this head. The definition\nof crime differs greatly in different periods of a people's history,\nchanging as the conceptions of morality as duty to society as a whole\nemerge from the crude conceptions of individual and tribal constraint\nthrough revenge. It is for this reason that the history of criminal law\nand the administration of \"justice\" constitute, in reality, a history of\nmoral evolution. There is nothing that is a clearer index of the moral\nstatus of a people than its treatment of those considered to be\nmalefactors.\n\nCaesar and Tacitus both mention human sacrifices as taking place in\nEngland before the Roman conquest; but little is known certainly on the\nsubject. The Romans, of course, introduced their own laws and customs,\nwhich existed side by side with many ancient ones not wholly abolished.\nThe torture and burning of slaves for various offences was customary.\nThese penalties were gradually mitigated. But the invasion of the\nTeutonic tribes seems to have introduced many new barbarities. In the\nfirst half of the tenth century, for instance, appears a law which\ncondemned to the stake female slaves who had stolen from any but their\nmasters, the wood to be piled about them by eighty other slaves of their\nown sex; this last office being designed, doubtless, to impress the\nlesson upon the minds of the eighty attendants. Later, many heretics\nwere burned, and the writ for the burning of heretics was not abolished\nuntil the reign of Charles II., though it was practically annulled by\nthe laws of 1648. However, in 1649, a number of women were burned for\nwitchcraft in Berwickshire, and burning continued to be practised, much\nlater, in cases of heresy and witchcraft; still later in cases of high\nand petty treason, and up to the time of George III., for murder. In the\nthirtieth year of the latter's reign, a statute was passed substituting\nhanging for burning. In 1784, a woman was burnt at Portsmouth for the\nmurder of her husband. During the last years, however, in which the\nsentence was carried out, it seems to have been customary for the\nexecutioner to wring the malefactor's neck before the burning. But\ncomparatively trivial offences, among these false coining, were classed\nas treason, and it is noticeable also that the stake seems to have been\na favorite punishment in the case of women-offenders, even in later\ndays.[230] In the year 1530, two persons of the household of the Bishop\nof Rochester having died from poison thrown into some porridge by the\ncook, an \"Act of Poisoning\" was passed, according to which offenders\ncoming under its definition were to be boiled to death. The statute was\nshortly afterwards repealed, but the bishop's cook was publicly executed\nin accordance with its provision.[231]\n\nBut simple burning or hanging was, for the most part, considered much\ntoo good for the man who had committed high treason; he was given the\nmere mockery of a trial, and, if convicted, was hanged, was taken down\nwhile yet alive, disembowelled, and his entrails burnt, was beheaded,\nand quartered. Law modifying this penalty first comes into prominence in\nthe reign of William III.[232] When Richard I. sailed with his army for\nthe Holy Land, it was ordained that whoever killed a man on board ship\nwas to be tied to the corpse and thrown into the sea, whosoever killed a\nman on shore was to be burnt alive with the corpse, while simply drawing\nblood with a knife was to be punished with the loss of a hand, and a\nthief was to be shaved, treated to a head-bath of boiling pitch and\nfeathers, and put ashore at the first place the vessel touched at.[233]\n\nThe payment of blood-money was a common custom among the Teutons, and\nso little distinction was made between greater and lesser crime that,\nwhile a murderer could commonly buy off the relatives of his victim, the\npetty thief often suffered death or mutilation for his offence. Pike\nsays of these punishments in the early history of Britain: \"It was for\nthe free man of low estate, for the slave, and for women, that the\ngreatest atrocities were reserved. Men branded on the forehead, without\nhands, without feet, without tongues, lived as an example of the danger\nwhich attended the commission of petty crimes, and as a warning to all\nwho had the misfortune of holding no higher position than that of a\nchurl. The horrors of the Danish invasions had no tendency to mitigate\nthese severities; and those who were chastised with whips before were\nchastised with scorpions afterwards. New ingenuity was brought to bear\nupon the art of mutilation, which was practised in every form. The eyes\nwere plucked out; the nose, the ears, and the upper lip were cut off;\nthe scalp was torn away; and sometimes even, there is reason to believe,\nthe whole body was flayed alive.\"[234] The law of the tenth century,\naccording to which a female slave who had committed theft was burnt\nalive by eighty women-executioners, has already been mentioned; parallel\nto this law was the law that a male slave who was a thief was to be\nstoned to death by eighty slaves, any one of whom, who missed the mark\nthree times, was to be whipped three times. \"If a thief was a free\nwoman, she was to be thrown down a precipice or drowned.\"[235] The law\ndid not favor women.\n\nThe dividing line between mutilation and torture is a difficult one to\ndraw. One of the earlier forms of \"trial\" was by ordeal. The accused,\nwith his hand bound in cloth, was compelled to snatch a stone from elbow\nor wrist-depth in a caldron of boiling water, or to lift a weight of\nheated metal. If, at the end of three days, when the cloth which bound\nthe arm was removed, no scald or burn was visible, the accused was\npronounced innocent. These ordeals took place in the church with much\nsprinkling of holy water and other ceremony. The clergy themselves seem\nto have had less trying substitutes for these ordeals, often being\ncompelled only to take oath on the sacrament, or to partake of\nconsecrated bread or cheese which was supposed to produce evil results\nin case of guilt. As Pike suggests, it is quite possible that, as\npriests had the preparing of this bread or cheese, it may sometimes have\ncome up to expectations in this respect; as it is also possible that the\ncloths bound on the arm of the layman who was to undergo the ordeal of\nfire or water may have been differently arranged in different\ncases.[236] As late as the reign of King John, trial was made by ordeal,\nand mention is also made of it in the reign of Henry II. It was not\nformally abolished until the year 1219.[237] For remaining mute before\naccusers in court, the dire penalty of imprisonment with starvation was\ninflicted, in the reign of Edward I., and to this punishment was added,\nabout the time of Henry IV., torture by the press.[238] In 1570, a man\nfound guilty of forging warrants for the arrest of two persons was\nsentenced to the pillory for two days, on the first of which one ear, on\nthe second the other, was to be nailed to the pillory in such a manner\nthat he must \"by his own proper motion\" tear it away.[239] The rack is\nsupposed to have been introduced into England in the reign of Henry VI.,\nand in the reign of Henry VIII. was added \"Skevington's Daughter,\" an\ninstrument by which offenders were compressed rather than extended until\n\"the miserable human being lost all form but that of a globe.\" Blood was\nforced from fingers, toes, nostrils, and mouth, and ribs and breast-bone\nwere commonly broken in. The thumb-screw was also in use, and there was\na \"Dungeon among Rats,\" and a chamber in the Tower called \"Little Ease,\"\nin which it was impossible either to stand upright or to lie at full\nlength.[240] The press was not abolished until the reign of George\nIII.[241] It is recorded of the case of Burnworth, tried for murder in\n1726, that he bore pressure of nearly four hundred weight, for an hour\nand three-quarters, before begging for mercy and pleading Not Guilty. He\nwas, however, found guilty and hanged.[242] In 1630, Alexander Leighton\nwas punished for \"framing, publishing, and dispensing a scandalous book\nagainst kings, peers, and prelates,\" in the following manner: he was\nwhipped, put in the pillory, had one of his ears cut off and one side of\nhis nose slit, was branded on one cheek with a red-hot iron, was\nafterwards returned to the Fleet to be kept in close custody, and seven\ndays later was whipped again at the pillory, had the other ear cut off,\nhis other nostril slit, and his other cheek branded.[243] As late as\n1734, John Durant, who \"either was, or pretended to be, deaf and unable\nto read,\" had his thumbs tied and the knot drawn hard because he did not\nanswer the accusation of the court; he was also threatened with the\npress.[244] Excepting in cases where the press was used, torture was\nnot, according to Pike, practised in England after the first part of the\nseventeenth century; but the case just cited is a contradiction of so\nbroad an assertion.\n\nThe introductions of customs of penance did much towards rendering the\ndifferences in the punishment and general treatment of the poor and\nrich, the humble and noble, more conspicuous. As for the clergy, they\nhad special benefits given them, and were accustomed, in the early days\nof Britain, to murder, rob, and indulge their passions very nearly as\nthey chose, without interference from the state.[245] But the Benefit of\nClergy, which rendered any one subject to it, \"practically exempt from\nthe ordinary punishments for most of the greater crimes,\" was\napplicable, in later centuries, not only to clergymen proper, but also\nto all clerks, the term including every one who had been married and\ncould read.[246] The position of the slave after the Teutonic invasion\nhas been noticed. The position of the churl was nearly as bad. \"The\ninfliction of a penalty which he could not pay, and which none would pay\nfor him, rendered him utterly bankrupt in freedom.... If he left the\nplace assigned to him it was held that he had stolen his own body. He\ncould be summarily hanged when caught, and his life was worth nothing to\nhis lord, or even to his kindred, unless they redeemed him. This was the\nfate which was continually impending over the free man of low estate if\nhe had the misfortune to make enemies among those who had the power to\nsave or condemn him.\"[247] In the reign of Edward I., \"a statute was\npassed which made it a grave offence to devise or tell any false news of\nprelates, dukes, earls, barons, or nobles of the realm. Others, too,\nwere enumerated as being within the meaning of the act--the Chancellor,\nthe Justices of either Bench, and all the great officers of state.\"\nUnder Richard II., the statute was reenacted and made more\nstringent.[248]\n\nFor most trivial offences of all sorts, extreme punishment was meted\nout. Mutilation was often inflicted merely for the killing of game\nbelonging to the King's forests, and though the Forest Charter of Henry\nIII. provided that no one should, in future, lose life or limb for the\nsake of the King's deer, the penalty does not seem to have gone out of\nuse at this period, for other offences. In the reign of Edward III., a\ntailor was sentenced, for brawling in court, to imprisonment in the\nTower of London for life and the loss of his right hand; \"and the rolls\nof Gaol Delivery of this period show conclusively that the ordinary\npunishments were hanging, the pillory, and the tumbrel or\ndung-cart.\"[249] Late in the reign of Henry VIII., an act was passed\ncondemning any person who struck another so that blood was drawn, within\nthe limits of the King's house, to the loss of his right hand. The\npillory was in use up to the reign of Queen Victoria; \"it could be\napplied to perjurers and suborners of perjury until the year 1837. It\nwas even applied to women for no greater crime than fortune-telling,\nlate in the eighteenth century.\"[250] \"Of the other punishments\nassociated with the old spirit of violence, and inflicted in public, the\nchief was whipping. It was commonly awarded to men guilty of petty\nthefts.... Instances in which women were whipped were by no means\nuncommon at the very end of the eighteenth century.\" Until 1808,\npocket-picking, until 1811, stealing from bleaching-grounds, were\npunished with death. In 1813, 1816, and 1818, a bill was introduced to\nabolish capital punishment for a theft of five shillings from shops; but\nit was defeated in the House of Lords. In 1820, the amount necessary to\nthe death-sentence was raised to L15. Until 1832, horse, cattle, and\nsheep stealing, theft from a dwelling-house, and forgery, were capital\noffences. In 1833, house-breaking; in 1834, returning from\ntransportation before expiration of the sentence; and, in 1835,\nsacrilege and letter-stealing ceased to be punished with death. But it\nwas not until 1861 that hanging was limited by law to cases of murder\nand treason.[251]\n\nThe worst element of the punishment by pillory or in any manner in\npublic did not lie so much in the punishment itself, as in the violence\nof the mob, which appears to have been regarded as a legitimate part of\nthe ceremony, and against which the criminal seldom received any\nprotection. Sometimes, the man or woman sentenced to the pillory for a\npetty offence died of stoning at the hands of the onlookers; and Pike\nwrites of the burning of a woman in 1721, for coining: \"Her last wish\nwas that she might say a prayer in peace. But the mob which had come out\nto take its ease and its pleasure had no mind to sacrifice its rights\nfor the comfort of a criminal. A woman at the stake was a good butt for\nfilthy missiles and ribald jests; the yelling rabble would not permit\nthe poor wretch to collect her thoughts, or to hear her own words, and\ninstead of sympathy they gave her stones. When the fire was kindled,\neven the consuming flames must have seemed less cruel than the men and\nwomen standing around.\"[252]\n\nWe all know the condition in which Howard found the prisons of his day;\nand if we possess strong powers of imagination, we may perchance be able\npartly to conceive what must have been their state in days when the\npeople knew but very little of what passed within prison-walls, and the\nkeepers wielded an almost absolute power over the prisoners. If the\nabuses which were common even two centuries ago were to occur in only a\nfew instances to-day, the whole English nation would flame with\nindignation. In the fourteenth century, jail-breaking was frequent in\ncases where the prisoner could afford to pay for his escape; judges were\noften bribed; a \"clerk\" who was delivered over to the bishop before or\nafter sentence, according to the Benefit of Clergy, could still be\nacquitted by the bishop in case the requisite number of compurgators\nwere found to swear to belief in his innocence; and, moreover, clerks\nwho had been convicted could not afterwards be tried for any offence\ncommitted before their conviction. On the other hand, if a woman\nattempted to obtain sentence against the murderer of a relative, she had\nnot only to fear the revenge of the man's allies, who seem to have had\nthings very much their own way; but in case courage deserted her at the\nlast, and she failed to appear against the accused, she was \"waived\" or\noutlawed; again it may be remarked that the laws of England did not\nfavor women.[253] Writs were forged, juries were packed, judges,\njustices, and sheriffs bribed. In the reign of James I., the young\ncountess of Essex, who, having fallen in love with Lord Rochester during\nthe absence of her husband, had obtained a divorce to marry him, became\nangry with a friend of her lover who counselled him against the\nmarriage, caused him to be imprisoned in the Tower, had the Lieutenant\nand under-keeper of the Tower replaced by friends of hers, and through\nthe aid of these administered poison to him. The countess and her\nhusband were arrested on charge of causing the death, and the former\npleaded, the latter was proved, guilty. Yet the two were pardoned,\n_though some of their accomplices were executed_.[254]\n\nIt is impossible that such customs should exist, in legal relations, in\nconnection with great justice and sympathy in other relations. Some\nallowance may be made for idiosyncrasy, for individual and national\npeculiarities; it is possible that a bloody-minded and cruel ruler may\nfind pleasure in petting pigeons, but his pleasure will be likely to be\nrather of an egoistic order, and his apparent kindness easily turned to\ncruelty if anger comes upon him. So, too, the cruel potentate may prove\na kind husband and friend, as long as his own interests coincide, and do\nnot conflict, with those of his friends or his family. But the man who\nis consistently treacherous and unfeeling in any one relation will not,\nas a rule, show consideration and tenderness in other relations, except\nin so far as these other relations subserve his own ends of gain or\nvanity; the point where they part company with such ends is the point\nwhere he will resort to another mode of action. The same is true of\nnations. Accordingly, we find brigandage and open robbery common even\ndown to the end of the last century, and not only on the part of the\npoorer classes, or rather not so much on their part as on that of\nprinces, nobles, and even the clergy; we find pirating and wreckage\ncommon on the sea; we find intrigue upon intrigue at court, nobles and\nmembers of the royal family continually plotting each other's murder,\nbut nevertheless escaping punishment and received with adulation; we\nfind the much-praised heroes of the Crusades devasting the lands through\nwhich they passed, violating wives and daughters of their hosts, and\ndeserting to the enemy for bribes; we find wholesale massacres of\nunoffending Jews; we find perjury a profession, station an excuse for\nnearly every crime, religion a cloak for extortion and vice, and\noppression of the poor and lowly universal. And yet we weep over modern\ndeterioration!\n\nWe forget, when we read--perhaps with an exclamation that man is as much\na savage as ever--how the onlookers at the burning of the Shanghai made\nno effort to save lives but only to secure spoil, that it is only a\nshort time since such scenes must have been common enough on all the\nshores of Europe; we forget, when we shudder with horror at an\nexceptional case of unjust or brutal punishment on the borders of our\ncivilization, that it is not long since torture and mutilation,\nbarbarities of every sort, were practised among the foremost nations of\nthe world, and for the most trivial offences. Nor do we always remember,\nwhen we grow indignant at the hard case of our poor, that there was a\ntime when the excess of indigent population was prevented only by\nfamines and pestilences which killed their thousands upon thousands, and\nof which we very seldom see the like in modern times; we forget that\nthere was a time when the desperate rising of the continental peasantry\nagainst the bitter oppression of the landowners drew from even the\nreformer Luther the exclamation that the revolters ought to be throttled\ncollectively. I have no intention to underrate present evils or to\nexcuse them by past ones. I see no reason for believing that the present\nage should rest upon its laurels; on the contrary, I believe that we are\nonly at the beginning of civilization; but I see no need for denying\npast evolution in order to make this assertion. Starvation is not easier\nto a man to-day, because it is proved to him that many more men died of\nhunger in the past than die of it in the present century. But just for\nthis reason, I fail to understand why there should be so much effort\nexpended by certain reformers in the attempt to disprove what history\nand observation yet so plainly show,--namely, that the condition of the\nmasses at present, taken for all in all, is much better than it has ever\nbeen before; that misery is not so extreme or proportionately so widely\nspread; that the worst sorts of crime are decreasing; that justice is\nmore general, and that sympathy is warmer, than in any previous age. It\nis true that we have new methods of exploiting the poor; but we need to\nconsider how our ancestors would have used those opportunities had they\npossessed them; and we need also to remember, with regard to a\nparticular form of evil, that some time is necessary for society as a\nwhole to grow to a comprehension of its increase and importance, and to\nreach unanimity of opinion as to action for its removal. As forms of\nevil change, some one particular form may increase for a time,\nswallowing up in itself, as the larger wave accumulates several small\nones, various other forms, until the slowly gathered resistance of\npublic opinion brings the reaction.\n\nWe may gather valuable evidence as to our progress, even in comparison\nwith recent times, by reference to our artistic literature. True, the\ngreat writers have often been far ahead of their times. But if we regard\nthe average, we shall soon perceive the signs to which I refer. The\nstilted mannerisms of the ancient novel mark the absence of democratic\nfeeling, and witness to the less general diffusion of true kindness,\nwhich, wherever it appears, tends to simplicity, having no need of\nmannerisms. Nothing, too, is more indicative of our advancement than the\nchange in conceptions of humor; for to know what a nation laughs about\nis to know what are its ideals and shortcomings. Earlier humor is often\nmere vulgarity or brutality, or a mixture of the two; obscenity, vice,\nand the heartless torture of the weak and helpless are its favorite\nthemes, and appear in the characters of its heroes and ideals. The\ntruthfulness of Victor Hugo's description of earlier British \"fun,\" in\nhis \"L'Homme qui rit,\" is borne witness to by English literature.\n\nAll modern literature marks the progress of the democratic idea. Our\nhistory and our art are full of the people. The very unrest and\ndissatisfaction of the time are signs of a more general and a better\neducation, an increase of sympathy in degree and extent, and, I believe,\nof better nourishment and a more energetic physique. The higher ideals\nwhich were once the property of the few are become the property of the\nmany. Our institutions are grown more democratic and humane. We have our\nfree hospitals and dispensaries, our soup-kitchens and cheap\nlodging-houses, our asylums for the deaf, the dumb, the blind, old\npeople and orphans, the weak and afflicted of all kinds, our guilds,\n\"Settlements,\" and \"Open-air\" charities, our creches, our refuges and\nreformatories, our societies for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children\nand to Animals, our \"Open Doors,\" and \"Midnight Missions,\" our trade and\nindustrial schools, and our free schools and scholarships and free\nlibraries. In times of famine, disease, and disaster, we band together\nto aid, and funds for the distressed pour in from every side, and not\nonly from people of the nation to which the sufferers belong, but often\nalso from those of distant parts of the world. Fancy the Greeks\nsubscribing to a fund in aid of cholera-stricken barbarians; imagine the\nRomans, even, clubbing together, in every part of the world to which\nthey had wandered, to succour the sufferers by a Johnstown flood; or\nconceive of the wealthy classes of the Middle Ages furnishing fires and\nfood as did the Parisians during the unusual winter cold of 1890-91!\n\nNot only has sympathy become more wildly diffused within the state; it\nhas spread outside it also. National narrowness is slowly disappearing.\nThe federation of the states of Europe and of the civilized world is no\nlonger looked upon as a mad-man's fancy but as a sober possibility or\neven a probability. It is now agreed that war between the\nEnglish-speaking nations of the earth,--between England and her\ncolonies, or England and the United States, is very nearly, if not\nquite, an impossibility. The union of three of the most powerful nations\nof Europe, not for war but for peace, is assuredly of great political\nimportance in itself; but of even more importance in the influence\ninsensibly exerted by its continuance upon the opinions of the world.\nThe masses of the people themselves are becoming more and more\ncosmopolitan, and we have an ever-increasing number of international\nunions and congresses, political, scientific, artistic, and ethical.\n\nOn the whole, it is, perhaps, as much a lack of imagination as anything\nwhich makes us fall into the mistake of underestimating our own age and\noverestimating all others. The crimes and abuses far away in times\ndifferent from our own are difficult to conceive, and stir our blood\neven less than those distant in space; the sufferings of the Middle\nAges, or even of one or two centuries ago, are more difficult to realize\nand move us less than a famine or flood in China or a murder in the\nheart of Africa. The things immediately before our eyes affect us most;\nand it is well, for many reasons, that this is so. Nevertheless,\nidealization of the past is evil in its consequences. For, if present\nprogress is to some men an excuse for easy-going inactivity, the extent\nof existing evil is even more often an excuse for the same selfish\ncourse.\n\nMan has had, in all periods, the tendency, in his discontent with the\npresent, to invest with ideal attributes of every sort some past period\nin which the special evils he deplores did not, perhaps, exist; the\ndissatisfied of all times have imagined a golden age somewhere in the\npast. The old, who look on the innovations of a younger generation with\ndistrust, and are likely to mistake, in remembrance, the gold of their\nown life's morning for an outer radiance independent of their youth, add\nto our delusion; while the young confuse their increasing knowledge of\nthe evil of the world with an increase of the evil itself. But the more\nscience progresses, and the greater our acquaintance with the facts of\nhistory becomes, the more these delusions tend to disappear. The\nmuch-praised simplicity of our ancestors was, in truth, a half-savagery,\nwhere the higher forms of justice were not practised, that finer tact\nand consideration which makes life best worth living was unknown, and\nmany of the faults which we most deplore in our own day were considered\nrather virtues than otherwise. It is a moral pity that poets and\nphilosophers have lent the beauty of their verse and the dignity of\ntheir eloquence to the idealization of the past. Indeed,\n\n    \"I do distrust the poet who discerns\n    No character or glory in his times,\n    And trundles back his soul five hundred years,\n    Past moat and drawbridge, into a castle-court,\n    To sing--oh, not of lizard or of toad\n    Alive i' the ditch there,--'twere excusable,\n    But of some black chief, half knight, half sheep-lifter,\n    Some beauteous dame, half chattel and half queen,\n    As dead as must be, for the greater part,\n    The poems made on their chivalric bones.\"[255]\n\nIt is an especial pity that the reformer should ever devote his effort\nto the upholding of the old idea of the inferiority of the present to\nthe past. Not in the past, but in the future, lies the Golden Age of\nman.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[183] \"The Origin of Civilization,\" pp. 397, 398.\n\n[184] Ibid. pp. 402, 403.\n\n[185] Ibid. p. 398.\n\n[186] Ibid. p. 407.\n\n[187] See, as above, pp. 368, 369.\n\n[188] Ibid. p. 371.\n\n[189] Ibid. p. 69.\n\n[190] Ibid. p. 72.\n\n[191] Ibid. pp. 112, 113.\n\n[192] See, as above, p. 405.\n\n[193] See Lubbock, \"Prehistoric Times,\" also especially Chaps. III. and\nIV. of \"The Origin of Civilization.\"\n\n[194] Cause or effect, which? Mexico is not a country poor in animal\nlife.\n\n[195] \"The Origin of Civilization,\" pp. 372, 373.\n\n[196] See \"The Origin of Civilization,\" p. 396.\n\n[197] Ibid. p. 398.\n\n[198] Ibid. p. 371.\n\n[199] \"Social Life in Greece,\" 3d ed. p. 272.\n\n[200] \"The Science of Ethics,\" p. 237.\n\n[201] \"Social Life in Greece,\" p. 243 _et seq._\n\n[202] \"Lectures on Primitive Civilization,\" p. 219 _et seq._\n\n[203] Mahaffy: \"Three Epochs in the Social Development of the Ancient\nGreeks,\" pp. 31, 32.\n\n[204] \"Social Life in Greece,\" p. 238.\n\n[205] \"Social Life in Greece,\" p. 234 _et seq._\n\n[206] Ibid. p. 239 _et seq._ The italics are mine.\n\n[207] \"Social Life in Greece,\" p. 272 _et seq._\n\n[208] \"Social Life in Greece,\" p. 97 _et seq._\n\n[209] Ibid. p. 157.\n\n[210] \"Social Life in Greece,\" p. 160 _et seq._\n\n[211] Ibid. p. 162 _et seq._\n\n[212] \"Les Institutions de la Grece,\" p. 47 _et seq._\n\n[213] Lecky, \"History of European Morals,\" I. p. 398.\n\n[214] Ibid. p. 299 _et seq._\n\n[215] Lecky, \"History of European Morals,\" II. p. 31.\n\n[216] \"The Origin of Civilization,\" p. 372.\n\n[217] \"History of European Morals,\" I. p. 285.\n\n[218] \"History of European Morals,\" I. p. 286 _et seq._\n\n[219] Ibid. p. 276.\n\n[220] Ibid. p. 301.\n\n[221] \"History of European Morals,\" I. p. 287 _et seq._\n\n[222] Ibid. p. 280 _et seq._\n\n[223] \"History of European Morals,\" I. p. 287.\n\n[224] \"History of European Morals,\" I. p. 302 _et seq._\n\n[225] Ibid. p. 236.\n\n[226] Compare, however, \"History of European Morals,\" I. p. 263: \"Ionian\nslaves of a surpassing beauty, Alexandrian slaves, famous for their\nsubtle skill in stimulating the jaded senses of the confirmed and sated\nlibertine, became the ornaments of every patrician house, the companions\nand instructors of the young.... The slave population was itself a\nhotbed of vice, and it contaminated all with which it came in contact.\"\n\n[227] \"History of European Morals,\" I. p. 303 _et seq._ The italics are\nmine.\n\n[228] L. O. Pike, \"Crime in England,\" I. p. 20.\n\n[229] \"History of European Morals,\" II. p. 299.\n\n[230] L. O. Pike, \"A History of Crime in England,\" I. pp. 51, 344 _et\nseq._; II. pp. 138, 176, 177, 287, 379 _et seq._\n\n[231] Ibid. II. pp. 81, 82.\n\n[232] Ibid. I. p. 226; II. pp. 85, 86, 174 _et seq._, 324 _et seq._\n\n[233] Ibid. I. pp. 168, 169.\n\n[234] \"History of Crime,\" I. p. 50.\n\n[235] Ibid. p. 51.\n\n[236] \"History of Crime,\" I. p. 52 _et seq._\n\n[237] Ibid. I. pp. 204, 210.\n\n[238] Ibid. I. p. 210 _et seq._\n\n[239] Ibid. II. p. 85.\n\n[240] Ibid. II. pp. 87-89.\n\n[241] Ibid. II. p. 346.\n\n[242] Ibid. II. p. 283.\n\n[243] \"History of Crime,\" II. pp. 162, 163.\n\n[244] Ibid. II. p. 284.\n\n[245] Ibid. I. p. 52 _et seq._, p. 146 _et seq._\n\n[246] Ibid. I. p. 297 _et seq._\n\n[247] Ibid I. p. 89 _et seq._\n\n[248] \"History of Crime,\" II. p. 398 _et seq._\n\n[249] Ibid. I. p. 213.\n\n[250] Ibid. II. pp. 82, 83, 377 _et seq._\n\n[251] Ibid. II. p. 450 _et seq._\n\n[252] See as above, II. p. 288.\n\n[253] As above, I. p. 270 _et seq._\n\n[254] Ibid. II. p. 145 _et seq._\n\n[255] Mrs. Browning, \"Aurora Leigh.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE RESULTS OF ETHICAL INQUIRY ON AN EVOLUTIONAL BASIS\n\n\nIn Professor Alexander's statement that \"the good man of former days was\nas good as the good man of to-day,\"[256] the standard applied to the two\ncases compared is not the same; the comparison is not a direct one\nbetween the two men, according to some common rule, but resembles a\nmathematical statement of proportion, or comparison of ratios; the man\nnamed good according to the standard of one age stands to the social\nconditions of that age as the man named good by the standard of a later\nage to the social conditions of his age. The implication of this double\nstandard is, however, easily overlooked, so that the statement stands in\ndanger of the reproach of misleading as a begging of the question; in\n\"the good man of former days,\" the moral verdict is already delivered. A\nquestion of moral expediency arises here. How are we to define \"the good\nman of former days\"? Shall we declare, for instance, that that cannibal\nwho fulfilled the ideal of pity in his society by sparing his conquered\nfoe to abject and miserable slavery, instead of cooking him for dinner,\nwas good, and as good as the man of highest benevolence of the present\nday? Or suppose an Australian savage who varies the tribal custom of\nwooing by carefully carrying home his victim after reducing her to\nunconsciousness, instead of dragging her over the ground at risk of life\nand limb, thus fulfilling a high tribal ideal; shall we compare such a\nman with lovers like Mill or Browning and pronounce him as good as the\nlatter? Or, to take less extreme cases, shall we compare the Spartan of\none period, with his ideal of successful theft, with a Socrates or a\nBruno dying for sake of what they believed to be the truth, and\npronounce one no better than the other? No one denies the right of the\nindividual to fix the significance of his own terms, provided he adheres\nto this significance consistently; but mankind thinks slowly and\npainfully, and the double purpose of language, in the communication of\nthought to others and the registration of it as a stepping-stone to our\nown further reasoning, is likely to be frustrated by a too peculiar use\nof terms. In Ethics, this question of expediency takes on a moral\naspect; and Alexander's definition of absolute right and wrong as action\nin accordance with, or opposition to, a standard fixed by the age and\nnation is likely to lead to moral as well as intellectual confusion--to\nthe excuse of wrong-doing because of circumstances, on the one hand, and\nthe dogmatic assertion of infallibility on the other, or at least to the\nconfusion of the ideal standard with the easy-going standard of the\naverage man of his age.\n\nBut it is true that this criticism is scarcely conclusive alone. For the\ndefinitions criticised are on a line with the idea of progress as at\neach moment establishing the equilibrium of the society, and fulfil the\ndemand for self-consistency. A criticism of the use, in ethical theory,\nof a continually changing standard of moral judgment, must concern the\nmore fundamental idea of a continually established equilibrium.\n\nTo the practical considerations of the possible confusion of the ideal\nwith the average standard through Alexander's idea of the judgment of an\nage by its own standard, it might be objected that the moral standard\nimplied in his theory is not at all the average standard, but the\nstandard as represented by the ideal in the mind of the good man of his\nage.[257]\n\nTo this may be answered that he whom we regard as the good man of his\nage is by no means necessarily in harmony with his age, as is proved by\nthe persecution that many good men endure; and the statement that the\ngood man is not in harmony with his age means that he does not represent\nthe character of his society as a whole, and cannot, therefore, be said\nto express an attained equilibrium of the society. His sentiments and\nideal are not the sentiments and ideal of the society as a whole\nconsidered as an adjustment of sentiments and ideals. If it be replied,\nto this, that the good men of their age who undergo persecution must be\nregarded, according to Alexander's theory, as only prospectively\ngood,--as representing an ideal that has not yet been proved to be the\nvictorious variety,[258] then we are driven to return to the conclusion\nthat, by the good man of his age who represents the social equilibrium,\nAlexander designates, not the man who leads the moral van, or he who\nplans an advance, but he who is carried on by it, the man who represents\nthe preponderating mass of opinion, the ideal of the majority or the\naverage ideal; and the practical criticisms above made hold good.\nWhatever may be said of our judgment of a past age by present standards,\nthe standard by which we judge present action is not at all the average\nstandard, but the highest moral ideal we can discover; and in this fact\nlies the whole significance of Ethics.\n\nOr there is another form in which Alexander combines his idea of the\ngood man and that of a social equilibrium. According to this\ninterpretation, the equilibrium the good man represents is not an\nactually attained equilibrium, but merely one that would be secured were\nhis ideal universally carried out,--an equilibrium realized only in so\nfar as men are good.[259] In this case, indeed, the ideal may be rescued\nfrom the reproach of representing only the average, easy-going morality;\nbut, at the same time, all the remarks that make present morality\nabsolute because it represents and maintains a present social\nequilibrium, and the argument in a line with such remarks that all\nmaintenance of existence means adjustment to the conditions, or\nequilibrium, become inapplicable. It might be contended that the whole\ndilemma is avoided by Alexander in the assertion that wickedness has but\nlittle share in the life of society[260]--that is, that goodness\nprevails; but such a statement may be disputed, except as morality is\njudged by the average standard; and, in this case, the argument begs the\nquestion, and the old problem recurs. It may further be added that the\naction of the good man in any other sense cannot represent the course\nthat would be followed by every man, were all men good like himself, for\nhis action takes into consideration the fact that all men are not good\nlike himself and is a compromise with inideal conditions.\n\nThere is, in fact, and has been up to the present time, no \"full\"\nequilibrium of any society as a whole, and certainly no absolute\nequilibrium such as must coexist with an absolute right, which would be\nits expression. Du Prel, to illustrate his conception of the evolution\nof the systems of the heavens, imagines a group of dancers, each of\nwhom sets out to dance a figure of her own without reference to the\nmovements of the others; and he points out that if, in all cases of\ncollision, the colliding parties either withdraw from the group or else\nmove from this point together, a harmony of movement must finally be\nattained.[261] We may conceive of momentary equilibrium of small\nportions of a society, just as, in the case of such a group of dancers,\nwe may conceive of any moment as possibly representing an absence of\ncollision in some one part of the company, although, in other parts,\nmany collisions are taking place. But there is, at present, no general\nequilibrium of ideals, no common ideal for any society as a whole, but,\non the contrary, a mass of conflicting ideals continually at war with\none another; although, of course, there may be calculated an average\nideal made up from all extremes, and there may be discerned a\npreponderating ideal in smaller portions of a society that form a body\nby themselves. The isolation of such portions is, however, only\nrelative, and any equilibrium that can be spoken of as attained by them\nis most imperfect. The \"good man,\" in so far as we regard his goodness\nas inherited, may be said to represent an equilibrium; but it is only\nthe equilibrium of some one favored line of descent, and not an\nabsolute, but a relative, equilibrium. In so far as we regard the \"good\nman's\" goodness as the further result of especial association with good\nmen, it may be, to a large extent, in harmony with their ideals, and may\nhence represent a certain equilibrium among men who preserve themselves\nfrom intimacy with individuals of low ideals or only average morality,\nthus forming a partly isolated body; but this equilibrium, again, is\nonly a relative equilibrium, just as the isolation of the group is only\npartial. If our definition of morality is progressive and not statical,\nthe good man must be he who leads the advance. But such a man is not\nrepresentative of his society as a whole.\n\nAlexander regards the infliction of incidental pains as of little\nconsequence for the absolute rightness of conduct. But the necessity of\nthese pains has a reactive influence on character. That, in order to do\nthe work which I can do best and which, therefore, I ought to do for\nsociety, I must pass many beggars in the street without inquiry into\ntheir cases, and much misery of all sorts without materially lessening\nit, has a certain detrimental result to myself. All pain, the sight of\nwhich is endured without the taking of active measures for its\nalleviation, vitiates the sympathies; and, on the other hand, a certain\nhardness of heart is necessary to the endurance of mere existence, at\nthe present time; a certain selfishness to the enjoyment even of a life\nspent in moral effort; for perfect sympathy would make life unbearable\nin sight and hearing of the suffering of many of our fellow-creatures.\nThe need for self-defence has been felt at all stages of the world's\nprogress--in olden times for self-defence of a brutal sort, in modern\ndays for a less and less brutal self-defence; such self-defence is at\npresent imperative, lest the yielding to one person result not only in a\nlack of fulfilment of our own duties to others than the one, but also in\nthe strengthening, in that one, of a selfishness and dogmatism which may\nissue in further evil to others. And yet all resistance, where and in so\nfar as carried out, vitiates temper and benevolence.\n\nAlexander's position is positivistic in that it aims not to go beyond\nthe facts; and this position might seem to lead naturally to the\njudgment of each age by a standard possible to the individuals of that\nage, that is, existent, in some form, in the society judged; and it\nmight seem to lead, also, to the assertion of an absolute right where\nthe existence of wrong is unfelt. But to this might be answered that, as\nsoon as the higher standard does exist, the wrong may be judged by it;\nand that the judgment of a right as yet including elements of wrong\nimplies the existence of another and higher standard as one of the\nfacts. If Du Prel's company of dancers were automata, incapable of\nforecasting collisions, we might regard a momentary absence of collision\nin some one part of the company, from the standpoint of the automata\nconcerned, as absolute equilibrium, since our judgment would have no\nregard to the rest of the company or the next move of the figures at\npresent in equilibrium. But human beings are not automata, and the\ntheory which regards the moral evolution from the standpoint of the\nideals actually existent in society must take into consideration the\nactual realization which enters into the practical ideals of a large\npart of society, of the contrast of those ideals with a conceived higher\nstandard at present impracticable. It is true that the consciousness of\npast ages, not comprehending in so great a degree the complexity of\nhuman interests, or looking so far into the future to distant results\nas does present mankind, had not so strong a sense of this contrast. But\nthe contrast has arisen, was vaguely conceived even in far-distant\ntimes, and has continually grown more definite and pronounced in human\nthought. So far from its being true, as Professor Alexander conceives,\nthat conscience always asserts the possibility of an absolutely right\ncourse,[262] it may be said that, although doubtless the mind always\nconceives, amongst the courses open to choice, some best course, there\nis a growing realization of the evil to conduct and character, of self\nand others, involved in any course possible under present conditions.\nThe assertion of an absolute right, with an exact boundary-line dividing\nit from wrong, belongs to past Ethics; the appreciation of present evil\ndoubtless differs in degree in different persons; but it is increasing\nboth in extent and in intent, and is the explanation of the tendency to\nbelieve the present age worse than all past ages. It is not the sign of\ngrowing evil, but is, on the contrary, a part of a growing good;\nnevertheless, it registers the existence of present evil. There are few\nmen of the present date, excepting the very young and exceptionally\nhealthy and happy, who would agree with Alexander, that \"it is\nridiculous to suppose that wickedness occupies a considerable space in\nthe life of a society.\"\n\nProfessor Alexander himself acknowledges the progress of society towards\na state of good that shall be good not for a part of the human race\nmerely but for the whole; and he recognizes also the fact that this\nextension of the ideal to the whole race means a progress in intent\nalso. Such an ultimate state is certainly not ultimate in the sense that\nit is eternal; but it may be considered permanent in the same sense as\nthe equilibrium of the solar system is permanent--in the sense that it\nremains practically the same for a period long to human thought. It\nexpresses a perfect, though not an absolute, equilibrium. As such, it\ndoes not involve absolute happiness any more than absolute preservation\nof existence, immortality: it implies only the reduction of pain to a\nminimum through increasing wisdom and sympathy; through the endeavor, on\nthe one hand, of a far-seeing and sympathetic society to protect the\nindividual from disappointment, and through such increase, on the other,\nof the ethical pleasures that what Alexander terms \"incidental pains\"\nbecome inappreciable by contrast.\n\nThe evolution of human society is not an evolution of one state or\ncountry alone but of the habitable globe; a condition of full\nequilibrium can be reached only when, in one way or another, all\ncountries are gathered into the circle of civilization and sympathy.\nUntil this happens, the isolation of single societies must be repeatedly\nbroken in upon and the process of equilibration disturbed by the\nintroduction of new elements to which adjustment must take place; the\nnew adjustment being in the sense of progress towards a higher system of\nequilibrium, that is, one of more elements, and the whole process\nconstituting a continual progress in the direction of a full stability\nof Life upon the earth. While despotisms exist to pour into other, freer\ncountries their hunted and miserable subjects, unused to the\nresponsibilities of self-government, and often as unfit for peace as is\nthe dog who has been always chained and tormented, democracy must feel\nthe evils of tyranny even in her own system. While uncivilized, or\nmentally, morally, and physically degraded human beings exist in one\ncountry, men in other parts of the world are not secure from contact\neither directly with these lowest orders, or, at least, with those who\nhave been rendered less honorable or more callous to suffering by their\ninfluence or habituation to their suffering. And while war rouses\nhatred, and hatred results in war, there will also be, in societies,\ninternal fluctuations, jealousies, hatreds. Lack of sympathy, violence,\nor indifference to suffering in one respect or direction is likely to be\naccompanied by lack of sympathy, violence, indifference, in other\nrespects: while, again, violence is likely to beget violence,\nindifference indifference, between individuals, classes, parties, or\nnations. Different degrees of progress may be visible in different\ncountries; but the more facilities of communication increase, the more\ninevitable it will become that the evils existing in any one nation will\naffect all, as also that the progress of any one nation will affect all;\nin other words, progress must tend, more and more, to equalization in\nall countries. Fechner's ideas of the Tendency to Stability thus explain\nthe loss of Greek and Roman civilization, as well as the insoluble\nmystery which Wallace finds in the fact of the attainment of greatness\namong earlier peoples, there being \"no agency at work, then or now,[263]\ncalculated to do more than weed out the lower types.\"[264]\n\nIncreasing sympathy is a continual accompaniment of the increasingly\nclose relations of men to each other through the gradual peopling of all\nparts of the earth, but especially through the increasing facilities of\ncommunication by which the distant is brought into contact with us; but\nthe sympathy is of gradual growth, and the continual renewal of the\nstruggle for existence induces renewed evils, so that it might seem, at\nfirst glance, as if the evil must continue indefinitely and\nundiminished, only changing its form. As long as no absolute equilibrium\nhas been attained, doubtless evil of some sort must exist; change is\ninevitably accompanied by disadvantages as well as advantages,\neverywhere. But several facts are to be noticed. First: The statement\nwhich has often been made, that the severity of the struggle for\nexistence is increased in the social state and grows with the growth of\nsociety, is erroneous. That is to say, more is doubtless continually\ndemanded of the individual, but it is no abstract \"principle\" or \"law\"\noutside man which makes this demand: it is the increased power of the\naverage of society which makes it; or, that is, the increased\nrequirements of the age are met with increased capacity, and this would\nstill remain true if we reckoned capacity as merely dependent upon the\ninheritance of knowledge and implements. Cooeperation increases\nresources; and the average length of life is shown to increase with the\nprogress of civilization. There is a lagging minority who suffer, for\none reason or another, in the advance; these represent the inherently\ninferior types, or the types which suffer temporarily from outer\ndisadvantage. The evils of competition in human society are not greater,\nthey are simply more evident to human beings than the evils elsewhere in\nnature. The tragedies of the woods are bloody but short; death puts a\nspeedy end to sufferings, and the earth quickly hides the victims. In\nsociety, on the other hand, cooeperation preserves not only the aged and\nfeeble, the deformed and idiotic, of the more privileged classes; it\neven suffices to enable the most miserable to drag out a forlorn\nexistence somewhat longer. It forbids the mother who finds her child a\nburden simply to leave it by the roadside as the savage mother does, and\nit will give a penny or two against starvation where it will not bestow\nenough for comfort. This prolongation of suffering is thus the sign of\nan increased but not yet sufficient sympathy; in other words, evil not\nonly changes its form with social evolution; it also gradually loses\nits force. To suppose, indeed, that renewed progress must always be\nattended with as great evils as to-day attend it, is to make the\nerroneous supposition that character has no constancy, and the sympathy\nfor one's fellow-men gained in one relation will wholly fail to act in\nothers.\n\nAgain, it might possibly be thought that increase in density of\npopulation, even as condition of the closer contact necessary to\nincrease of sympathy, must go on _ad infinitum_, with ever-increasing,\nor at least ever-renewed, misery, until the individual be left with\nbarely standing-room; indeed, the picture of such a _denouement_ has\noccasionally been drawn. But it is to be remembered that the conditions\nof mutual comprehension, dependence, and sympathy, come to lie, in later\nsocial stages, less and less in mere density of population and more and\nmore in those many devices of modern life which we have termed means of\ncommunication. The increase of the human species must tend, in time, to\nself-correction; the only alternative is the extinction of the race\nthrough growing unhealthfulness of conditions. But this alternative is\nan impossibility; the human species cannot be annihilated as a whole\nexcept through some catastrophic event which interferes with the present\ncourse of evolution by the destruction of the earth--or through that\nfinal gradual decay which must accompany the earth's decline in power of\nnourishment. From internal causes we cannot expect the species to\nperish; for again in this case it is impossible that a struggle should\nbe continued until the last individuals are destroyed. Indeed, the idea\nof destruction through insanitary crowding gives us at once a\ncontradiction of the supposition of limitless increase, and a partial\nsolution of the question. But the later and higher solution of the\nquestion is another. The fittest will survive; and the fittest will be\nthose who perceive the evils of overcrowding and take active measures to\navoid it. The fittest will be those who perceive that they are acting\nfor the good of their children, and that of society as a whole, if they\ndo not bring into the world more offspring than they can furnish with a\nhealthy constitution, good moral training, and a sufficient education\nfor self-support and comfort under conditions of normal labor. The term\n\"health\" is not an absolute one; but if we once suppose a start made in\nthe direction of the decrease of pressure, we must suppose, other things\nbeing equal, that those lines of descent and parts of society in which\nit arises will be favored in the struggle for existence, and will come\nto supplant other parts. To suppose that the increase of pressure can go\non _ad infinitum_ is, indeed, to reckon--if we look at the matter from\nthe purely psychological side--without man's reason. Social development\nand moral theory have not favored any limitation of progeny as long as\npopulation was sparse. But certain facts are beginning to be recognized:\n(1) that the propagation of their kind by the criminally constituted and\nby the hopelessly diseased is immoral; (2) that the propagation of\noffspring to such poverty and ignorance as stunts them physically, and\nmakes their entrance into the criminal or pauper classes a probability,\nis also immoral; and (3) that duty does not demand of men and women that\nthey shall sacrifice health and happiness, and drag out a miserable,\noverworked, joyless existence in illy rearing an over-large and probably\nweakly family. The greatest favor, privilege, and luxury that parents\ncan confer upon children is that of health, and the next greatest is\nthat of healthy parents, neither ill-tempered with care nor morbid and\ndull with overwork, but alert to perceive and ready to sympathize in all\ntheir trials and aspirations, and endowed with sufficient leisure\nto give some attention to that quite as important duty as\nchild-bearing--the character-training of children. Selfishness is, of\ncourse, possible in the direction of limitation of increase as in every\nother direction, and in this case it must defeat the end to a great\nextent; but such selfishness must tend to correct itself as sympathy\ndevelops and society, in its approval, recognizes and demands more and\nmore what is for the good of all.\n\nThe course of our reasoning does not pretend to predict an absolute\nsocial equilibrium, which must include the immortality of man on the\nearth, together with the prevention of every accident and of every\ndisappointment whatsoever. A word has already been said as to the\nprobable necessity of the death of the individual; and with death are\ngiven also disease and age and their attendant mental evils. We may\nsuppose, however, under an increased healthfulness of general\nconditions, an increase of vitality which shall make death, in an ever\ngreater proportion of cases, rather the issue of a gradual failure of\nthe powers than the result of violent illness. That the tendency is in\nthis direction is demonstrated by the gradual increase of the length of\nlife. A high degree of mental, moral, and physical harmony in human\nsociety is no more \"wonderful\" or inconceivable than the high degree of\nharmony already attained in the movements of our own solar system. On\nthe one hand, social progress means the attainment of results which call\nless and less for reform; and, on the other hand, we are accustoming\nourselves to social change; reforms, the like of which would once have\nconvulsed the world are now accomplished with little inconvenience, and\nwe are able to go forward with a rapidity of which no former age was\ncapable.\n\nWe may look at social development from still another point of view, as a\nprocess by which the preservation of the individual gradually becomes\ncooerdinate with the preservation and welfare of the species. Darwin\nsurmises that the work of the benevolent or intellectually great man for\nhis people may be as important for its welfare and the determination of\nits conquest in the struggle for existence as is the propagation of\noffspring. As social organization progresses, and the relations of men\nbecome more intimate and complex, all the acts of the individual grow to\nbe of greater and greater significance for his kind, while,\nreciprocally, the health and happiness of the individual increase in\nimportance for his kind. And thus, from both sides, virtue and health,\nvirtue and happiness, also tend towards coincidence in the individual\nlife, and environment comes more and more to favor the virtuous.\nSympathy, which is for the general good in many relations, increases in\nstrength as inward characteristic and acts with more and more certainty\nand universality, so that the society which has been merciful and\nhelpful in a degree towards many individuals comes to show mercy and\nhelpfulness in a greater degree, and with more uniformity, towards more\nand more individuals; while, at the same time, the welfare and the\nhappiness of the individual become more and more cooerdinate with the\nwelfare of society as a whole, and the latter is accordingly more\nuniversally sought. This does not necessarily mean that it is sought\nfrom motives of self-interest; on the contrary, as society progresses,\nthe individual is more and more moulded to such harmony with its needs\nthat he finds his happiness in seeking its welfare.\n\nThe earlier punishments of offenders were extreme and cruel; the\nmajority, in endeavoring to protect itself, had little regard for the\nindividual, as the individual also had little regard for the welfare of\nthe majority. With social progress, however, the majority become more\nhumane even towards their enemy, the criminal. The checks which the fear\nof extreme physical punishment alone could impose at an earlier period\nare gradually succeeded by the checks furnished in the approval and\ndisapproval of society as a whole, and of those to whom the individual\nis bound by ties of affection and of respect. That is, in the\nsympathetic feelings themselves a dependence on others is developed\nwhich acts as an effectual preventive and stimulus, and must become more\nand more effectual as society advances and the range of sympathy widens.\nThis increasingly altruistic form of even the checks to evil is taken no\naccount of by the pessimist. As the necessity for severity decreases,\nseverity even in social disapproval must lessen; as the individual comes\nto yield more readily and promptly to a slight spur, extremer methods\nwill be discarded. Thus fear will be, by degrees, replaced by hope. This\ndevelopment is seen not only in sectarian matters but also in the\nhistory of religious thought; nearly every religion has had its heaven\nand its hell, but with social progress and the broadening of sympathy,\nthe hell falls more and more into disrepute, the motive of heavenly\nreward being rather emphasized.\n\nAs sympathy broadens, we come to feel, not alone pain at the pain of\nothers, but in an increased degree and with regard to ever wider\ncircles, pleasure also in their pleasure. The altruistic pleasure\nafforded by the relief of pain, as the more necessary to the\npreservation of existence, has been the earliest developed. A great good\nin its province, it may contain, nevertheless, an element of vanity that\nopposes itself to a further evolution. There is no doubt that a certain\nkind of benevolence would greatly miss the gratification and\nself-aggrandizement experienced in the relief of poverty and suffering.\nThe higher but not yet so universal capacity is that of rejoicing in\nothers' good and happiness as well as sympathizing in their sorrow. This\ncapacity shows itself as yet chiefly in the more intimate relations of\nlove and friendship. In these, too, the influence of approval and\ndisapproval is powerful, and the pleasure we give a friend in being\nworthy of his esteem may make our best happiness. Here we have a hint of\nan increasing union of love for the individual and love for the ideal\nwhich must tend to raise friendship itself to the highest plane.\n\nAs a result of our considerations, we may deny the truth of Rolph's\nassertion that the stimulus of want will be forever necessary in order\nto secure exertion--that is, if by want is meant misery or great pain of\nany sort; if merely desire is meant, which the anticipation and early\naccomplishment of satisfaction may prevent from becoming pain, we may\nadmit the statement. In this case, however, the argument which Rolph\ndeduces against the possibility of a final state of social harmony is\ninvalid.\n\nBut it is not the intention of our argument to assert that all desires\nwithout exception will be fulfilled in any future condition of society.\nWhat may be said is that, in an increasing degree, sympathy will\nendeavor to satisfy the wants of the individual, while, on the other\nhand, the approval and fellow-feeling of society, and the consciousness\nof having performed his duty, will come to represent to the individual,\nin a greater and greater degree, recompense for personal loss. This\nchange of direction in desire and gratification is no weakening of it:\nit is no more necessarily true that the man of perfect principle is\npoorer in emotion than the man whose passions lead him to sacrifice his\nfellow men than it is true that the average man of civilized society is\npoorer in emotion than the brutal savage. Merely, human evolution is a\ncontinual development of higher and more complex emotions, which rise\ninto force on the proper occasion to modify the more primitive ones, or,\nmore accurately speaking, the lower emotions of the savage themselves\ntake on a higher form through organization with later ones.\n\nSpencer, in criticising theories of altruistic morals, endeavors to show\nthat time and energy are lost in the distribution, through others, of\nthe happiness or means of happiness which might with more profit,\nbecause a better understanding of need, be sought by the individual\nhimself; and he remarks, that it is a question how much of the happiness\nwhich means also vitality the individual may rightly sacrifice to\nsociety. But the refusal of individuals to sacrifice anything of\npersonal gratification must lead, under present conditions of desire, to\nextreme sacrifice on the part of other individuals; so that the\nprinciple of the illegitimacy of sacrifice logically contradicts itself.\nIt is not perfectly clear what is meant by a \"division and\nredistribution\" of happiness, or the means of happiness, against which\nSpencer directs his argument. It is probable that the author has in\nmind, and is especially opposing, a particular school of theorists whose\nideas we will consider later on. Suffice it to say, at this point, that\nsocial harmony can never be reached by the stubborn continuance of each\nin his line of inharmonious conduct, but can only be attained by such\ngradual moulding of habit and desire that by natural organization\nindividuals will come to be in harmony with each other. It is the\nhistory of social evolution that the individual, though always\ndetermining what are his own needs, as it is obvious that he can best\ndo, is increasingly aided in satisfying them by cooeperation, while he\nalso gives increasing aid in return. Against the list of the advantages\nof egoism enumerated by Spencer and others, I would muster the\nadvantages of altruism, for by cooeperation alone can the individual\nattain the pleasures which now so often lie beyond his reach; by it\nalone can society attain a higher plane; and the pleasures of altruism\nare the highest and the most unfailing. The selfish man will suffer\ndisappointment and loss as well as the benevolent man, and he will lack\nthe refuge of sympathy and of the power to find happiness in the\nhappiness of others. What man who has felt the joys of sympathy would\nexchange even the hardships it brings for the brutal liberty and unmoved\nselfishness of the savage! what man who has known the joys of the\nhigher, the more unselfish love, would exchange them for the ungoverned\nand quickly-palling pleasures of the profligate! These joys first lend\nlife worth and meaning; through association and altruism, cooeperation in\naction and feeling, man first becomes a power in the world. Yet the man\nwho is capable of the higher sympathy is incapable of a selfish\ncalculation of its personal advantages to him.\n\nWundt has an objection to Evolutional Ethics as it is understood by this\ntreatise, on the score of the assumptions with regard to moral\ninheritance involved. \"How, out of tendencies stored up in the nervous\nsystem, moral conceptions arise, is, and remains, a mystery,\" he\nsays.[265] The problem is nothing more or less than that of the\nconnection of brain-function and psychical process, in inheritance; and\nwe may say again that we no more perceive the necessity of explaining\nthe \"how\" of this before accepting the evident facts, than we see the\nnecessity of explaining, in the same sense, the connection between light\nand heat, or between the seen vibrations and the heard note. Moreover,\nthe \"mystery\" belongs as much to the conservation of character in the\nindividual life as to its conservation in the race; if an explanation be\nnecessary before acceptance of the facts in the one case, it is\nassuredly necessary in the other also; and its necessity must be fatal\nto Physiological Psychology. It is time that that ancient scarecrow of\nsuperstition, \"a mystery,\" were removed from the field of science. When\nWundt further proceeds to interpret Spencer's theory of heredity as one\nof the inheritance of distinct and definite ideas in their original\nform, he reads into the theory what Spencer himself, with his\nconceptions of instinct and reflex action, never put there, and what,\nmoreover, no modern writer on philosophy has distinctly asserted. This\npresent treatise is much more open to Wundt's criticism than is\nSpencer's work, though it makes no positive assertion as to the nature\nof \"instinct\" and so-called \"automatism,\" but leaves the question as to\ntheir unconscious character open. The appearance of common psychical\nphenomena at the period of puberty, and with characteristics peculiar,\nmoreover, to the particular lines of descent, would be enough to\nestablish the fact of heredity, if no other testimony were forthcoming;\nand yet no one can \"explain\" the sudden appearance of these phenomena at\na certain age.\n\nBut the most of the objections to Evolutional Ethics are not on such\nscore as this. A while ago, the conservatives in Ethics declared that\nthe theory of Evolution, even if true, had nothing to do with morals,\nwhich occupied a region far above the plane of science. Now, the most of\nthe conservative schools content themselves with merely asserting that\nevolution may be true even in application to Ethics, but that it is\nuseless in this province, since it adds nothing of value to theory or\npractice. It may be well to examine into this assertion. _A priori_, we\ncould scarcely suppose that increased knowledge in any branch could fail\nto be of importance to that branch and to affect it in some manner.\nKnowledge is power, and we should presume not less so in Ethics than in\nany other science.\n\nThe assertion that Evolution adds nothing to theory would indeed be as\njust with regard to other sciences as with regard to Ethics; or, rather,\nit would be more just with regard to the natural sciences. For they at\nleast recognized, before the appearance of the theory of Evolution, the\nelement of constancy ordinarily called law, and attempted to formulate\nthis constancy as a basis of thought and action. To these concepts of\nconstancy and the predictions founded upon them, the theory of Evolution\nmerely added greater certainty and a more extended range, supplying the\nbond of union between various branches, and showing the inner relation\nof many before disconnected theories; its whole force was one of\nclarification. But the work of Evolution for Ethics, though of a similar\nnature, has been of even greater degree and significance; it has unified\nand clarified the attempts made to discover a basis for moral principles\nand has rendered that foundation for the first time secure; it has\ncleared away, with one sweep, the rubbish of ancient superstition, made\nexact methods possible, and raised Ethics to the plane of a Science. If\nit had added anything absolutely new and entirely unconnected with\nprevious theory, it would be as unintelligible to us as Calculus to a\nFiji-Islander; if it had no intimate and vital connection with foregoing\nideas, it would meet with no comprehension or acceptance. Science, too,\nis an evolution, not a creation. The value of the theory of Evolution\nlies in the very fact that it is simply an addition, though a large one,\nto previous thought, a higher phase of conception which rises naturally\nout of the old. But the cavillers say on the one hand: \"It teaches a\ntheory of conscience as instinct, therefore we may still cling to the\nold and unaltered doctrine of the veiled and sacred 'mystery of\nFeeling'\"; and on the other hand: \"We already accepted a basis of reason\nand Utility, therefore our theory, not being overthrown, needs no\nalteration.\" Both schools forget that, in science as elsewhere, the new\ndevelops from the old, but evolution brings with it, nevertheless, a\ndifference of degree that finally issues in difference of kind. It has\nbeen said even by one belonging to the advanced school of Ethics, that,\nif the course of Evolution could be shown to prescribe immoral conduct,\nthe duty of the moral man would be to oppose evolution even if he\nperished in the attempt. The conception which lies at the basis of this\nassertion is as erroneous as that which asserts that man must go forward\non the path taken by evolution whether he will or no.[266] To suppose\nthe will of society opposing the course of Evolution is to suppose a\nself-contradiction. Nature and man's will are not two different things\nin this process; man _is_ the part of nature which is involved in the\nevolution considered. Our prediction of the direction of social\ndevelopment is a prediction of his will; he _will_ will in certain ways\nconstant in the broad sense in which all nature is constant, constant as\ncharacter and reason are constant. The individual has assuredly the\npower to oppose himself to all other individuals, if he so wills; and\nhis influence will not be lost; _but it is exactly this willing and the\nmutual influence of individuals upon each other which the theory of\nEvolution, as applied to Ethics, endeavors to take into account_. The\nresult in prediction cannot be properly likened, as it is likened by\nStephen,[267] to the inference of the future of an organic whole from\nits present parts. It does not define the progress in society as a whole\nfrom a study of the individual; it is, on the contrary, an inference of\nthe future of the whole from its past and present considered in the\nlight of general natural laws, and is as legitimate as the computation\nof the future position of heavenly bodies from their observed past\nmovements and present position; though we can doubtless make only\ngeneral predictions from general observations. Or, if we approach the\nquestion from another side, we may say that the science of Ethics\nendeavors to ascertain the ideal by which the welfare of all may be\nattained, and that the solution of this problem cannot be given\notherwise than through rules for the attainment of the general health in\nthe broadest sense of the word; for this corresponds to a final harmony\nof desires through survival of the fittest.\n\nThe power of prediction is, thus, evidently not to be interpreted as if\nthe evolution of morality would go on except through the human will, and\nthrough this will in individuals. In any assertion to the contrary, the\nsame old contradictory division is assumed, of nature as active opposed\nto nature as passive; man is first regarded as a part of nature and then\nagain as outside nature and compelled by it. We divide him into two\nparts: the one necessarily coincident with the nature in himself, the\nother antagonistic to it; the one absolutely passive, the other active;\nand yet these two are the same, and we regard them as the same from\nother points of view. Nor does prediction impose any \"laws\" upon the\nwill from without; it is simply inference from the observed relations in\nthe action of individuals: it does not create or alter those relations.\nIt reckons, not from man as compelled by \"Necessity,\" but from man as\npossessing will and acting from reason. If man is reasonable, he will\nperceive that it is for the good of himself as well as for that of the\nrest of his race to attain a state of harmony; as he is reasonable, he\nwill perceive that social progress is for his benefit as well as for\nthat of others. The increasing solidarity of society continually\nrendering progress desirable, and the line of the fittest, that is, of\nthose who will in a manner that best fits them for social conditions,\ncontinually tending to coincidence with the line of moral progress, the\nfinal triumph of the moral is assured. It is not in any way denied that\nman chooses this course of advancement. On the contrary, wherever we\nbegin in our analysis, we come round finally to the variation of reason,\nemotion, and will.\n\nAs above noticed, the false interpretation of the significance of\nEvolutional Ethics on the subject of man's will in relation to progress\nsometimes gives rise to the opposite erroneous impression to that just\nnoticed, to the impression, namely, that progress will go on whether men\nstrive for it or not, and that it is of no particular consequence what\nthe individual does, or at least that Evolutional Ethics can furnish\nnothing but statistics and predictions, never motives to right-doing.\nThis confusion has caused much self-contradiction, has given rise to the\nmost of the discussion on the subject of Absolute and Relative Ethics,\nand has impelled certain authors to close their books with something\nvery like a half doubt of the efficacy of their own method except as one\nof observation. But the value of Evolutional Ethics lies not only in the\nfact that it goes deeper than any other system and analyzes more clearly\nthe ground of moral conduct,--thus removing doubt with those who are\nopen to conviction, and furnishing a less fallible criterion to those\nwho desire to perceive where right lies in order to perform it,--but in\nthat it also renders obvious the fact that conduct opposed to the\nwelfare of society becomes, with time, more and more disadvantageous.\nThe individual may escape punishment for his misdeeds: but the chances\nagainst him are greater, the greater these misdeeds and the longer they\nare persisted in; it is the \"average of the line of moral progress\" that\nis favored by natural selection. A system of Ethics is a part of the\nenvironment which acts on the individual; its force is no more lost than\nis that of any other part of the environment, although the result in the\nparticular case will depend, also, on the character of the individual\nappealed to. But if Evolutional Ethics cannot bring any such force to\nbear on the individual as will change his character in an instant,\nrendering him apt and ready to act according to the ideal, whatever may\nhave been his previous character, there is neither any other system of\nEthics which can do this, and there has seldom been one so sanguine as\nto hope to do it. Theological Ethics, or rather, Theology, has asserted\nthe possibility of such instant transformation, and the doctrine of\nSocrates that the knowledge of right will secure its performance is a\nmuch less extreme instance of a similar idea. But Evolutional Ethics,\nwhile rendering manifest the necessity of unceasing endeavor, affords us\nencouragement by its assurance of the possibility of progress, and its\ndemonstration of the fact that the force of endeavor can no more be lost\nthan any other force. It adds dignity to the smallest acts, and lends\nearnestness and worth to life. It neither contains any excuses for\ninaction nor leaves any reason open to pessimism except a selfish one;\nto the man to whom his own selfish gratification is all in all, the\nknowledge of social evolution is not a matter of encouragement and\nrejoicing; but to the lover of his kind it must be. Evolutional Ethics\nadmonishes us to labor, yet teaches us the necessity of patience, since,\nhowever the individual will, nothing arises all at once, and the\nevolution of morals in society as a whole must, like all other\nevolutions, be a gradual, because a many-sided one. It admonishes us,\ntoo,--and this is well,--that we cannot sin without leaving ineffaceable\nstains upon our own character. The past is never dead, either in its\nresults outside ourselves or in our habit; and it is not the drunkard\nonly who one day awakens to find himself irrevocably moulded, by steps\nof habit so slight as to have been almost imperceptible, to that which\nhe once loathed and detested. \"Our deeds are like children that are born\nto us; they live and act apart from our own will. Nay, children may be\nstrangled, but deeds never; they have an indestructible life both in and\nout of our consciousness.\"[268] We may not be a mere spectator of the\nstruggle for existence even if we will; the dead weight of inaction is\nitself a force opposed to other force. Willy, nilly, so long as we live\nwe must bear the responsibility of taking a part for or against the\nprogress and welfare of the world.\n\nBut there is, as I have said, a system which asserts the possibility of\ninstant entire change of character, as well as of the forgiveness and\nobliteration of past sins. What manner of obliteration is this? Not the\nobliteration of the consequences of the acts, since that is impossible,\nbut an obliteration of responsibility for them such that the doer may\nerase them from his conscience. The innocent on whom the evil results\nfall are, then, according to this view, the only ones who shall suffer\nfor them. The doctrine of the Atonement takes away that sense of\npersonal responsibility which is most essential to morality, and this\nremoval of responsibility explains the ease with which Christians of all\nages have combined a fervid religiosity with vice and crime. Christian\ntheories of morals of the present day forbid the issue of indulgences;\nbut the consciousness that full and free forgiveness is always waiting\nto receive the offender whenever he gets ready to repent, even if it is\nnot until his death-bed, is most pernicious in its results. So we learn,\nfor instance, that the \"Mollie Maguires,\" a league formed in the mines\nof Pennsylvania a few years ago, for the express purpose of murder by\ncooeperation, were in the habit of opening their meetings with prayer,\nand of withdrawing regularly from the society, for one quarter of the\nyear, to attend church, in order then to murder with an easy conscience\nfor the other three quarters. The senior member of Conan Doyle's \"Firm\nof Girdlestone\" is no mere fiction of the imagination. I have no desire\nto join with those who pronounce all Christians, or everything in\nChristian doctrine, morally unsound; I only maintain that the doctrine\nof the Atonement is in itself pernicious, and is shown to be so by its\neasy reconciliation with evil action.\n\nTheological Ethics is defective in other respects also. A system which\nrepresents God as accomplishing his own will in the world in \"mysterious\nways,\" to question which is sacrilege, has necessarily led to the\nexcusing of much evil as punishment or discipline, and so to inaction\nagainst it. \"Men can do so little themselves to make the world better,\"\nsaid a fervent Christian to me not long since; \"we must leave these\nthings to God.\" So, poverty has been held to be a mysterious\ndispensation of Providence which it was not necessary to do away with\neven if its abolishment were possible, but the slight alleviation of\nwhich was counted among the means of atonement for other sin. Thus it\nhas been in other ways than in itself a curse to mankind, furnishing a\nsort of indulgence for the immoralities of the rich. Poverty has even\nbeen represented as a blessing, since it was to be compensated with\ndouble joy in the hereafter. The Christian, pointing the miserable and\nstarving to Heaven as a recompense for pain, experienced, without\nlargely inconveniencing himself, a sense of his own piety and desert,\nand exerting himself to no radical cure but only to a meagre dole of\ncharity, shifted all responsibility of the cure or its omission, by\nprayer, to God. So Salter is led to exclaim: \"If we must pray, let us\npray to men; for there all the trouble lies. Could you, O churches, but\nopen the hearts of your worshippers as you seek to move the heart of\nGod, the need for all other prayer would soon be gone.\"[269]\n\nAgain, Theology has continually taught that man's first duty was to save\nhis own soul from hell, and in this doctrine, ideas of repentance and\nredemption, faith and worship, have played a larger part than \"mere\nmorality.\" The tendency has, therefore, been towards an\n\"other-worldliness,\" an egoism of the Hereafter, rather than a\nfulfilment of the commandment of love. Faith has been exalted above love\nof Truth, and blind obedience above reasoning morality. Thus it was that\nChristians entered, with such zeal, into the persecution of heretics.\nHad the commandment of justice: \"do unto others as ye would that they\nshould do unto you,\" been followed, the Inquisition could never have\ntaken place. But Christians forget, when they point to this commandment\nin evidence of the superiority of Christian Ethics, that it is not the\nonly command or doctrine that the Bible contains. Nor is this conception\nof love to others, which Christians have continually cited as testimony\nof the divine origin of their religion, confined to Christianity or even\noriginal with it. Many other religions contain it. The Buddhist religion\nenjoins towards all creatures such love as that with which a mother\n\"watches over her own child, her only child.\"\n\nIt is true that the majority of the objectionable points of Christian\nEthics are found in the Old Testament. This testament is, however,\naccepted as the exponent of divine truth, though the authority it now\npossesses is slight in comparison with that which it formerly held. Yet\nChrist himself says: \"Think not I am come to destroy the Law (_i.e._,\nthe Pentateuch),[270] or the Prophets, I come not to destroy, but to\nfulfil. For, verily, I say unto you, Till heaven and earth pass, one jot\nor one tittle shall in no wise pass from the Law till all be fulfilled.\nWhosoever, therefore, shall break one of these least commandments and\nshall teach men so, he shall be called the least in the kingdom of\nheaven; but whosoever shall do and teach them, the same shall be called\ngreat in the kingdom of heaven.\" Repeatedly, Christ shows himself a\nstrict conformant to the Jewish code. But if we examine the Pentateuch,\nthe Jewish Law, we shall easily find on what grounds the burning of\nheretics and witches, and all the other cruelties of the Middle Ages\nwere committed in the name of Christianity. Lubbock writes, for\ninstance:[271] \"Among the Jews, we find a system of animal sacrifice on\na great scale, and symbols of human sacrifice which can, I think, only\nbe understood on the hypothesis that the latter were once usual. The\ncase of Jephthah's daughter is generally looked upon as exceptional; but\nthe twenty-eighth and twenty-ninth verses of the twenty-seventh chapter\nof Leviticus appear to indicate that human sacrifices were at one time\nhabitual, among the Jews.\" See also 2 Sam. xxi. 1, 5-9, 14. In Lev. xx.\n27; Ex. xxii. 18, the stoning of witches is commanded. In Ex. xxii. 20;\nDeut. xiii. 1-5, 6-10, 14, 15; xvii. 1-5; xviii. 20, it was commanded\nthat men be put to death for idolatry or heresy or for \"dreaming dreams\"\nin the service of another god, and that idolatrous cities should be\nutterly destroyed even to the cattle within them. Superstition and\ninsanity must have fared ill among the Jews. Ex. xxxi. 14, 15; xxxv. 2,\n3; sentence of death is pronounced on any who shall perform even so much\nlabor as the kindling of a fire on the Sabbath; and Num. xv. 32-36,\ndescribe how a man was put to death, by God's command to Moses, for\ngathering sticks on that day. Death was also commanded for murmuring and\nfor all sorts of ceremonial offences; see, for instance, Ex. xii. 15,\n19; xxx. 33-38; Lev. vii. 20-27; xvii. 8-10, 13-16; xix. 5-8; xxiii. 29,\n30; xxiv. 10-16, 23; Num. i. 51; iii. 10, 38; iv. 15, 18-20; xi. 1;\nxvii. 13; xviii. 3, 7, 22; see also especially Deut. xxviii. 15-68;\nxxxii. 22-42. Command of subjection to the priesthood on pain of death\nis found in Deut. xvii. 8-12, and examples of fearful punishment for\nprotest against its supremacy are given in Num. xvi. 3-15, 20, 21,\n26-35, 41-47, 49. It may be noticed, that here the children are\nrepresented as perishing with the parents by God's express command and\nmiracle. Many instances of the stoning and putting to death of whole\nfamilies for the sins of some member or members of the family are\nrecorded in the Old Testament, and prove that the expression \"visiting\nthe sins of the fathers upon the children, and upon the children's\nchildren, unto the third and to the fourth generation,\" is not to be\ninterpreted as a mere reference to heredity, as many have endeavored to\nprove it to be. See on this point Is. xiv. 21; also Ps. cix. 7-20;\ncxxxvii. 9. The origin of ordeals may be traced to Num. v. 11-31.\n\nThe Old Testament also sanctions slavery, and makes no protest against\nthe selling of children into slavery; see Ex. xxi. 2-6, 7; Lev. xxv.\n44-47; although the Israelites were to treat slaves and servants of\ntheir own nation with much greater kindness than that used towards those\nof other nations. Ex. xxi. 20, 21, prescribes that a man shall not be\npunished for beating his servant to death, provided the servant does not\ndie directly under his hand, but linger a day or two; \"for he is his\nmoney.\" Christians have often protested that their religion cannot be\nheld responsible for the sins of the prophets,--for David's murder of\nUriah in order to obtain the wife with whom he had already committed\nadultery; for his torture of the Ammonites with saws and axes and\nharrows and fire, and his houghing of the horses of a thousand Moabitish\nchariots; for Solomon's concubinage and his slaughter of Joab according\nto David's last orders; for Elijah's wholesale slaughter of the priests\nof Baal; or for the thousand other vices, crimes, and atrocities\ndescribed in the Old Testament as committed by God's chosen men,\ngenerally without punishment or protest from him. However, the case is\nnot so easily dismissed when we find just as great cruelties and\natrocities directly ascribed to God's express command or miraculous\ninterposition. A large number of such are included in the passages\nalready noticed; and we further find descriptions of a destruction from\nGod for the crime of census-taking[272]--1 Chron. xxi. 1, 11-15--for\ntouching the ark in the endeavor to save it from a fall--2 Sam. vi. 6,\n7,--and for many other trifling offences. God is always represented as\nfavoring the Israelites in their wars and massacres, and often as\ncommanding the slaughter of thousands; so that we can easily understand\nhow it happened that the cowardly murderers of the Duke of Gloucester,\nin the time of Richard II., swore \"upon the Body of Christ before a\ncertain chaplain of St. George in the church of Our Lady of Calais, that\nthey would not disclose the murder they were about to perpetrate,\"[273]\nas also, on what precedent Russia, at the present day, has her\nwar-engines blessed by priests of the \"God of Battles.\" Deut. xx. 10-15,\ncommands the slaughter of males captured in a siege, but the sparing\nalive of women and children as booty; and Num. xxxi. describes a case in\nwhich the command was carried out, with the reservation of a certain\nportion of young girls for the priests. See also Deut. xxi. 10-14.\nFurthermore, a religion that makes man absolute ruler of the earth and\nall living things, and sanctions animal sacrifice, cannot conduce to a\nsense of the duty of self-restraint towards other species, and is, in\nfact, often used as an excuse for the autocracy and cruelty of man.\n\nIt is, indeed, strange to see civilized peoples of the nineteenth\ncentury proclaiming the divine origin of laws and beliefs like\nthese--laws and beliefs at least as barbarous as those of the Greeks and\nRomans whose gods the Christians deride, and far behind the Ethics of\nsome philosophical systems produced among those \"heathen\" peoples. As\nhas been said, various attempts have been made to explain away these\nbarbarities, or to withdraw all responsibility for them from God, to\nwhom the Old Testament often directly ascribes them. But in the light of\nwhat we know of other primitive peoples the customs of the Jews are only\ntoo easily comprehensible; the same barbarities of human and animal\nsacrifice, slavery, murder without pity, and unscrupulous cruelty of\nevery sort, were to be found, as we have seen, among many other ancient\npeoples. As for withdrawing the responsibility from the God of the Jews,\nChristians forget that, in denying the divine origin of the cruel,\nbrutal, and obscene laws ascribed to God together with other laws of\nless barbarity but of organic growth with these, they are forever\ndestroying the grounds of belief in any assertion of divine supervision,\nand throwing doubt, by implication, on the New Testament as well, since\nChrist and his followers were believers in the Law and the Prophets,\nand often refer to their assertions and accounts of divine direction.\nBut most religions have claimed, and do claim, the divine origin and\nratification of their laws, as a means of enforcing them.\n\nThe God of the Jews, Jehovah, was originally a nature-god, the god of\nthe heavens, like Zeus, Jupiter, and many other of the greatest gods of\nother peoples. Science has exploded ancient ideas of the sky; but the\nChristians still cling to the old terms brought into use at a time when\nmen believed in a flat earth and a region of spirits above floored by an\nopaque heaven. The God of the Jews was, like the gods of all primitive\npeoples, a \"jealous\" and revengeful god, rather to be \"feared\" than\nloved; for to such peoples, possessing few resources against the powers\nof nature and ignorant of their character, the destructive forces of the\nelements appeared at first rather evil than good, and therefore to be\nconciliated and appeased; the gods take on their friendly character only\nas man comes to learn how the forces of nature may be employed for his\nbenefit, and as he slowly attains, in himself, to sympathetic and moral\nfeeling. Accordingly, the Jews were continually occupied with all manner\nof propitiatory offerings of their most valuable possessions--their\nherds and the fruits of the earth; and these were burnt under the\nimpression common to nearly all primitive and savage tribes, that they\nsuffered by fire a sort of death and entered the spiritual world.\nGradually, the Jews became more civilized, and took on the higher ideals\nof Eastern religions with which they came in contact; but even to very\nrecent date, the \"fear\" of God was regarded as the chief essential\nemotion on the part of the worshipper. Of late, as social ideals have\nbecome higher, and sympathy more general, the idea of love, lost for a\ntime through the mixture of Eastern peoples with more barbaric ones, has\ncome to the fore. That a doctrine of polytheism is clearly taught in\nGen. iii. 22; vi. 1-4, Christians do not generally even notice. The idea\nof demigods, found in the latter verse, is called by them, when they\nmeet with it in the Greek or Roman religion, a \"myth\"; and the idea of\nsexual intercourse between men and gods, also taught in these verses, is\nheld worthy of all abhorrence, when these \"heathen\" religions are under\nconsideration. The fact is, that exegesis, forced to advance by\nprogressing civilization, has left far behind the simple original\nmeaning of bible-texts,--such obvious meaning as Christians find in the\nBuddhist, Persian, or Egyptian Scriptures, when they peruse them. This\nis true of the New Testament as well as of the Old. The Christian\nreligion has indeed developed into a system of Christian philosophy as\ndifferent from the Christianity warranted by the Old and New Testaments\nas were the later Buddhist philosophies from original Buddhism.\n\nWhen Christ conferred upon his Apostles the power to forgive sins, he\nlaid the foundation for papal authority, and confirmed the ancient\nauthority of the priesthood, preparing the way for that organization of\npriestcraft which figured so prominently in all the sorrowful history of\nthe Middle Ages. Moreover, the vein of sadness and the subordination of\nnatural modes of life which mark his teaching as they mark only in a\ngreater degree those of the Buddha, easily led to the celibacy and\nmortification of the flesh which so long condemned the most aspiring\nfrom a moral point of view, the most gentle and conscientious, to a life\nof loneliness, and peopled the world with the progeny of the less moral.\nIndeed, if we read Matt. xix. 12 correctly, Christ distinctly taught\nemasculation as a high religious virtue.\n\nThe New Testament tolerated the slavery upheld by the Old Testament, and\nwe not only find no protest whatever against it, but we even find Paul\nreturning a runaway slave to his master. Not only Paul, but John also,\ntaught both predestination and hell-fire for idolaters and unbelievers,\nas well as for the fearful and doubtful, equally with murderers,\nwhoremongers, and liars: Rev. xvii. 8; xx. 15. Christ himself plainly\nproclaims the damnation of unbelievers--Matt. xxii. 13, 14; xxiii. 14,\n33; Mark xvi. 16; etc.--and he at the same time asserts a very positive\ndoctrine of predestination, avowing that he himself takes special pains\nthat many of those to whom he preaches shall not be able to understand\nhim, believe, and be saved: Mark iv. 11, 12; John xii. 39, 40. His\nlanguage on these subjects is very clear, and bears no sign of being\nintended as figurative, though modern Christians prefer to regard it as\nsuch rather than to relinquish a religion the morals of which would, by\nother interpretation, be proved inadequate to the demands of the\nstandards of higher civilization; the same method of exegesis applied to\nthe sacred books of Confucianism or of Buddhism, from which it now\nappears probable that very many of the Christian ideas were derived,\nwould suit them ill. But even if Christ's language were figurative, it\nmust have some meaning; the wrath and vengeance of God are continually\nspoken of in the New Testament as well as in the Old. Such expressions\nwere not looked upon, until of late, as figurative, and they doubtless\ndid much to justify, to the minds of earlier Christians, the burning of\nheretics. The justification of all sin in God's elect, a permanent\nindulgence, is plainly taught by Paul, Rom. viii. 33; iv. 5-8; 1 Cor.\nvi. 12. Let us take the Buddhist Scriptures, and, in the light of the\nbetter passages, or in the light of Siddhartha's devotion to truth and\nto his fellow men, interpret the passages which, morally, we find\nwanting, and we shall find this religion as beautiful as the Christian.\n\nA chief reason often advanced by Christians for continued faith in their\nreligion, is the comfort conferred by a belief in immortality and the\nforgiveness of sins through Christ; that is, the rescue of men from the\n\"wrath of God\" through the offering of an innocent being, a \"human\nsacrifice,\" which was to bear this wrath, and appease it, according to\nthe old Jewish idea of the scapegoat. The morality of the last doctrine\nwe have already condemned; there is no real making atonement in this\nworld; we should recognize this fact, bear the responsibility of our\ndeeds, and in the light of past experience, avoid the repetition of our\nold sins. And the moral question as to mortality or immortality is not:\n\"What is the pleasanter to believe?\" but \"What is the truth?\" In this\nrecommendation of the pleasant in belief, we have but an illustration of\none of the chief defects of Christian theory, which lays most stress\nupon faith and far less upon a love of the Truth at all costs. The peace\nof the Christian's death-bed is often made one of the chief arguments in\nfavor of the Christian religion. But the mind in which there exists the\nnoble love of truth will seek this only at the cost of all peace and\nblind content.\n\nOn the general connection of faith and morals, Clifford writes: \"Belief\nin God and in a future life is a source of refined and elevated pleasure\nto those who can hold it. But the foregoing of a refined and elevated\npleasure, because it appears that we have no right to indulge in it, is\nnot in itself, and cannot produce as its consequences, a decline of\nmorality.\"[274] Indeed, Christianity, as has been already remarked, and\nas is conclusively shown by any conscientious and unprejudiced\nexamination of the Bible itself, leaves room for an ease of conscience\nand a self-excuse in even very great sins, which no high standard of\nmorals can tolerate. How many of those who attend church regularly, on\nSunday, are restrained by their religion from practising vice and\ninjustice on week-days, under the consolation, if their conscience\ntroubles them at all, that their prayers for forgiveness and the\nbestowal of charity, or even, in extremity, a death-bed \"repentance\"\nwill make their peace with God? In place of an attempt at reparation\ntowards men, against whom sin is really done, Christians are taught to\nseek the \"forgiveness\" of God. Some there are, indeed, who remember only\nthe law of love and endeavor to follow it. All honor to them. But they\nare adherents of a modern Christian Philosophy, the product of many good\nmen who have winnowed out the wheat of their religion and left the\nchaff; they are not followers of the Bible, or even of the New\nTestament, as a whole. Many there are who are perceiving this, and the\nold system needs replacement with a newer and higher--with a system\nwhich affords clear and evident grounds for moral action, leaves no room\nfor mysticism, self-justification, or inaction, offers no opiate to\nconscience. Such a system must be founded on the solid rock of\nscientific Truth; not on any doctrine of blind obedience to traditions;\nit must take into account man's evolution, that it may progress with his\nprogress.\n\nMany term the Ethics of science dry and uninspiring, and turn, with\npreference, to religions which, if they give us mysticism or pessimism,\ngive us poetry also; for man is an emotional as well as an intellectual\nbeing; and there may be much poetry in pessimism. But again, it may be\nsaid that the Truth is that which we should first seek. And especially\nlet it be remembered that, if poetry is lacking, it may be that the\ndeficiency is in ourselves. It is a history many times repeated, that\nmen call their age and its ideas dry and uninteresting, and seek their\nideals and inspirations in the past, until the master-mind arises, who\nboldly faces and interprets the realities about him; and then men\nexclaim and wonder, and find that their own blindness, and not the age,\nwas at fault. We cling by habit to the old and fear the new; and so we\nhave yet to inspire these new ideals with the beauty gained by\nassociation and habit; in themselves, they do not lack beauty. In\ntruth, as I believe that there is more of poetry in the gray wires\nstrung across our streets and guiding the swift, silent, fearful forces\nin which lies power to light a city or destroy a life, than ever was in\nany feeble-flamed Grecian lamp, so I believe also that, in the dry,\nhard, cold-seeming facts of modern science there lurks more poetry than\nall the ages gone have known; though we may need the poet to interpret\nit to us. The highest poetry is that of love; and it is the realization\nof this poetry that the Ethics of Evolution teaches, promises, and\nenjoins. Certainly the superficial Utilitarianism which looks only at\nexternal forms of government and customs and the arithmetically\ncalculated relations of men, not at their inner character and the\norganic complexity of moral questions, cannot satisfy in the long run.\nNor can the bald Materialism satisfy which, standing by its analysis in\nphysical terms like the physiologist in the dissecting-room with his\nchemicals about him and the dead nerves and muscles in his hand,\nexclaims with a triumph that is half a sneer: \"This is all.\" It is not\nall. The synthesis of nature and of life cannot be represented by its\nparts merely; the bond of organization wanting, all is wanting. Nor is\nthe action in the brain more real, more forceful, more spontaneous, or\nfreer, than the love for a friend, the thought of him, or the will to do\nhim a kindness.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[256] \"Moral Order and Progress,\" p. 292; Part I., this book, pp. 250,\n251.\n\n[257] \"Moral Order and Progress,\" p. 287, etc.; Part I. p. 249, this\nbook.\n\n[258] \"Moral Order and Progress,\" pp. 307, 312; Part I. pp. 250, 252,\n253, this book.\n\n[259] \"Moral Order and Progress,\" Book I. Chap. II.; Part I. pp. 231,\n232, this book.\n\n[260] \"Moral Order and Progress,\" p. 332.\n\n[261] See \"Die Entwicklungsgeschichte des Weltalls.\"\n\n[262] \"Moral Order and Progress,\" p. 270; Part I., this book, p. 247.\n\n[263] On the theory of Weismann.\n\n[264] \"Human Progress, Past and Present,\" \"The Arena\" for Jan., 1892.\n\n[265] \"Ethik,\" p. 344.\n\n[266] See Part I. p. 147.\n\n[267] \"The Science of Ethics,\" pp. 32-34.\n\n[268] George Eliot, \"Romola.\"\n\n[269] Salter, \"Ethical Religion.\"\n\n[270] It is strange that even enlightened Christians often, without\nthinking, interpret the \"Scriptures\" referred to by Christ as if they,\nin some way, included the New Testament, which was not written till long\nafter his death.\n\n[271] \"The Origin of Civilization,\" p. 373.\n\n[272] Superstitious fears are often awakened in savage tribes, and among\nthe ignorant of our own more advanced societies, by attempts at\ncensus-taking.\n\n[273] Pike, \"History of Crime,\" I. p. 405.\n\n[274] Essays and Lectures, \"The Influence upon Morality of a Decline in\nReligious Belief.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE IDEAL AND THE WAY OF ITS ATTAINMENT\n\n\nMr. Stephen questions the possibility of our determining at all what a\nstate of ideal morality should be. I should contend, on the contrary,\nthat there would be little disagreement in opinions as to what the ideal\nshould be, but that rather our chief difficulties must lie in the\ndetermination of the course to be pursued in order to attain to the\nideal. The profligate, it is true, will not be likely to acknowledge\nthat self-control and faithfulness are parts of an ideal condition if he\nthinks that the acknowledgment binds him in any way to faithfulness and\nself-control in his own conduct; and the dishonest man will be chary of\nadmitting that honesty is desirable if his consciousness suggests that\nhe ought therefore to practise unvarying honesty himself. But the\ndishonest man is generally very thoroughly convinced of the desirability\nof honor and uprightness in every one else; and the profligate also is\ngenerally both among the loudest in his denunciation of unfaithfulness\nin those he feels should be true to him, and sufficiently ready to\nacknowledge the social advantages of principles opposite to his own, if\nyou can but convince him that it is only a matter of pure theory you are\ndiscussing, which will doubtless never be put in practice by society as\na whole, and which in no way interferes with your thorough approval of\nhis own action. So, too, the cruel, the rough, and the rude, will easily\nconfess that unselfishness, unfailing kindness, tact, and consideration\nin the rest of society, are what the world needs. Did these virtues\nexist, there would be no need of the choice between evils now necessary.\nThat which really troubles us is this choice, the difficulty of\nascertaining just what course is the best, which brings us nearest to\nour ideal, assists most effectually in hastening development towards\nthat goal. For there is no course, under existing conditions, which is\nwholly advantageous to society, none which does not involve some evil.\nIt follows, from this, that it is insufficient to show that any\nparticular course involves some advantage to some one in order to\ndemonstrate that it is the right one, as also that it is insufficient to\nshow that a course involves evil to some one in order to demonstrate\nthat it is wrong. It is not proved that, because the restraint of any\nparticular desire or passion is attended with pain to the individual, it\nis wrong. The argument has often been, and is still, advanced--seemingly\nwith the idea that it is conclusive--that the indulgence of physical\npassion in youth tends to sobriety and steadiness in later years; and,\nwith a similar idea apparently, a dramatic critic falls into a rhapsody\nover the manner in which the characters in a recent play come out\n\"purified by the evil\" they have wrought or endured.[275] But even if\nthis argument were scientifically sound, it would not prove the\ndesirability of self-indulgence, since not the individual alone is to be\nconsidered. The argument is, however, erroneous. With advancing years\ncomes in general, in any case, a diminution of passion, or at least a\ngreater admixture of reason; but apart from this, indulgence tends to\nincrease desire and tendency, except as excess may lead to morbid\nconditions, or the disregard of higher instincts to disappointment and\ncynicism. When we are told, in another play than the one mentioned\nabove, and apparently with the idea that the statement is an excuse,\nthat the hero could find no other outlet for the exuberance of his youth\nthan the seduction of an innocent girl, we may see no reason to doubt\nthe assertion, but we may question whether society has not a right,\nnevertheless, to suppress a little of such exuberance or turn it into\nother channels. The man born with fierce and ungovernable fury in his\ndisposition may likewise feel a strong propensity to express the\nexuberance of his youth in a murder or two; but I see no reason why\nsociety should permit him to do so. The passion of anger is also a\nperfectly natural one, and the ungovernable fury which led to murder was\nnot an exception with our ancestors of the savage plane, but the rule.\nNot all natural passion is to be indulged simply because it is natural;\nand even the fact that a tendency is good in moderation and under\ncertain restrictions is no proof that it is good or to be indulged in\nimmoderation, or without these restrictions. It can have been only by\nrestriction of the natural savage fury that this fury grew less\nprominent in character. The cannibal transported into civilized society\nmay still have a strong and perfectly natural hunger for my spareribs,\nbut that is no sufficient reason why he should get them. Jack the Ripper\nis endowed, evidently, with a very passionate love for his human\nvivisection, and finds it an outlet for an exuberance which also bubbles\nout otherwise in many ways; yet I think society will be justified in\nputting a peremptory end to that exuberance, when it gets the\nopportunity.\n\nMorality is indeed a matter of welfare, and so, of the gratification of\ndesire and tendency; but neither the present alone, nor the single\nindividual in preference to all the rest of society, is to be\nconsidered. Effort should be exerted continually for the reduction of\npain to a minimum, in every respect possible, with regard to the\nindividual and the minority as well as with regard to the majority,\nthough the greater good and the greater number must always take\nprecedence. The rule of the majority may be asserted to be moral in that\nit is the best possible expedient where there is disagreement of\ndesires. The necessity for choice between evils is the origin of the\nprinciple of the Greatest Good to the Greatest Number, and this, as has\nbeen said, covers all the ground, _if rightly applied_. But it offers a\ntemptation to stop with the mere comparison of two sums of individuals\nand degrees of happiness for the time being, without taking into the\nproblem the wider results of a particular choice to society as a whole,\nthrough habit and personal influence. The consideration of these last\nimportant factors has led, on the other hand, to such rules as that of\nKant,--\"Act so that the maxims of thy will might be taken as the\nprinciple of universal action\"; and this rule, because it goes deeper,\nis less likely to lead to error. The moral requirement of continual\neffort to find the best method of reducing the evil still remaining, of\nrecompensing the individual and the minority for the good of which they\nare necessarily deprived, needs especial emphasis; for the continual\ndirection of attention to effort for progress, even where no outward\nchange is, for the moment, possible, constitutes an inward progress in\ncharacter which is ever ready to issue in external progress the instant\nopportunity presents itself. Present pain to individuals is the sign of\nimperfection in those permitting it and those suffering it, and must\nresult in increase of tendency in this direction of imperfection unless\nit takes place only in spite of the most vigorous effort for its\nprevention. Even the reformer must choose that to which he would chiefly\napply his endeavor, with some necessary withdrawal of effort from other\ndirections. Yet the neglect of any present opportunity of reform or\nbenefit, though it may sometimes be necessitated for the gain of some\nmore important future good, is still an outer, and also, especially, an\ninner evil, which can be compensated only by a high degree of\nsuperiority in the future good to be obtained. As the man who, perhaps\nfrom the fear of failing in thoroughness, leaves all original work until\nmiddle age, is likely to find his power of originality much deteriorated\nby that time, so the man who is cruel to-day, in order to be kind in\nsome wider respect later on, is likely to find, on the final arrival of\nopportunity, if the period through which the unkindness is exercised be\na long one, that his capacity for kindness has diminished. Every neglect\nof present opportunity is a loss to character as well as an external\nloss. When the present good passed over for the sake of the future\nincludes the welfare of whole lives, the question of choice and the\npostponement of good becomes still graver; when it includes generations,\nwe need to consider earnestly before we take on ourselves the\nresponsibility of a choice that shall prefer the future. I cannot agree\nwith those who believe or practically live out the idea that the present\ngeneration is only or chiefly for the sake of the future generation, the\nparents only for the sake of their children, or the individual only for\nthe sake of society as a whole. We need to remember that the race\nincludes present and future, and parents and children, and has no\nexistence outside the individuals that compose it. It is difficult to\nreconcile the many conflicting principles; and thus it appears that\nmorality is not easy, even where earnest desire for it exists, and that\ndifferent views with regard to it may be conscientiously held. The\ndifficulty only increases the duty of continual endeavor to reconcile\nthe many different conditions of happiness and welfare.\n\nWe come thus naturally to a question of the day,--the contest between\nthe Individualist and the Socialist.\n\nWhat has already been said makes it sufficiently evident that, if\nIndividualism is to be maintained at all, it cannot be upheld on the\nground that the doings of the individual are of no importance to\nsociety, and his sins may therefore not be interfered with by society.\nIn \"Social Statics,\" Mr. Spencer secures freedom for \"personal vice\" by\nturning his principle that a man has a right to seek his own ends as\nlong as he does not prevent others from the pursuit of their ends, into\nthe entirely different one, that a man has a right to seek a certain end\nif he does not prevent others from seeking the same end.[276] The\nargument in this form is applied to drunkenness, but it could as well be\nused to prove the moral rightness of murder or any other crime, the sole\ncondition being that the murderer did not prevent others from committing\nthe crime also.\n\nNor is the Individualism less self-contradictory which bases its theory\non the principle that it is the office of civil law to guard the rights\nof the individual. What individual? All individuals? If so, then\nassuredly it is the duty of the State to see that the laborer is paid a\nfair price for his work.\n\nNor can it be shown, as Hoeffding asserts, that intellectual labor\nbenefits the whole of society, while manual labor is less valuable\nbecause it is for a few. The intellectual laborer knows well of what\nvalue to him and his ilk is the manual labor which feeds him, clothes\nhim, and manufactures the thousand and one things necessary for his\ncomfort, leaving him leisure to pursue his studies with all material\nwants provided for. The satisfaction of our material wants is the very\nfirst requisite of life, without which intellectual labor would be an\nimpossibility.\n\nThere are, however, many degrees and shades of Individualism. As\nHoeffding says, Individualism may be identical with Egoism, but it need\nnot be so. And, moreover, as has been noticed, the adherents of theories\nof Egoistic Morals are not necessarily adherents of any theory of\nselfishness.\n\nThe theories bearing the name of Socialism are also very various,--quite\nas much so as those included under the head of Individualism. It is,\ntherefore, both confusing to consider Socialism without some notice of\nthe distinction between these various phases of theory, and is likely to\nlead to protest from one side or the other. But no single party of\nSocialists can be treated exclusively as \"the\" Socialists; a minority of\nthe party cannot expect to be regarded as anything but a minority.\n\nOf the tendency to represent the whole of the present order of society\nas utterly bad,--a tendency not confined to the Socialist party, but\nnevertheless strongly developed in many parts of it,--considerable has\nalready been said. As Hoeffding remarks, it is difficult to perceive how,\nin an utterly corrupt society, any foundation may be found on which to\nbuild the almost flawless society the Socialist proposes to institute.\nIf the course of evolution has hitherto been propitious to the increase\nof evil, it is difficult to find any scientific grounds for a belief\nthat evolution will now proceed to favor the good. If man, as a being\npossessing reason, has hitherto chosen, in increasing degree, injustice\ntowards his fellow-man, it is scarcely possible for any one who proceeds\nupon the supposition of constancy in the action of man as a part of\nnature to hope that future events will exhibit exactly opposite\ncharacters. Assuredly, we are far enough from the goal yet, but in order\nto demonstrate this fact it is not necessary to prove that we are worse\nthan any previous age has been. The tendency to lay stress, by every\nmeans, on present evil, in the endeavor to impress its reality and\nundesirability upon the mind of society, is comprehensible; and\ndoubtless, too, as the troubles of the individual are likely to appear\nto himself among the hardest possible, so to those on whom the evils of\nthe age press most severely these are likely to seem greater than the\nevils of any other times. But this method of regarding history is not\nthe less erroneous. \"In the age of chivalry men had at least a common\nideal,\" said a Socialist to me, not long since. But what an ideal! And\nunity of purpose is not by any means necessarily a sign of a high plane.\nIt may, on the contrary, signify stupidity, lack of the power of\nindependent thought. The first result of thought on any particular\nsubject is sure to be a division of opinion, although mutual criticism\ngradually evolves harmony from the strife, and brings about a degree of\nunity again, on a higher plane; for the mutual criticism is sure to have\nbeen of intellectual use. The Socialists themselves have demonstrated\nthe fact that division of opinion necessarily arises when men begin to\nthink upon any question, for with the development of their party many\ndifferent phases of socialistic theory have appeared. The history of the\ndivision of the Church into sects, and of the mutual criticism of these\nsects, has been the history of religious progress.\n\nWith some Socialists, again, the already criticised idea of a \"return to\nnature\" plays a conspicuous part. But we have never departed from\nnature; we are as much a part of nature, as natural, as we ever were.\nOr, if we are to return, who shall tell us at just what point we leave\nthe \"artificial\" and arrive at the \"natural\"? There are no\nstopping-places, no stations or pauses, in the scale of evolution. There\nis only continual change by inappreciable increments. The theory of\nevolution carries with it no significance which could authorize us to\nconsider that we had arrived at our goal at one point rather than at\nanother. And, again, if we are to give up the artificial customs of\nlater development and return to earlier habits, then customs of\naltruistic action, as the most distinctive and characteristic of later\nforms of conduct, must be chiefly affected. If, however, by a return to\nnature is meant the adoption of a simpler mode of life in some classes\nin order that a less simple but more healthful one may become possible\nin other classes, the question of the desirability of such a change is,\nof course, open to discussion; but let us consider it under these terms\nthen. To designate the proposed mode of life as a return to the natural,\nthus making present modes of life artificial, is to smuggle in an\nillegitimate assumption against the latter.\n\nIt is the habit of a portion of the Socialist party to represent the\nlaborer as the epitome of all the virtues, the capitalist as his moral\nopposite. This view cannot be other than erroneous, considered from any\nstandpoint. Moral evil cannot affect one part of a closely united\nsociety without affecting the other parts also, though it may assume\ndifferent forms in different parts. This should be, in reality, the\nSocialist's strongest argument, and is, indeed, one which he constantly\nmakes use of in other connections. If the steady labor of one class is\noften associated with certain virtues, there are many elements of its\nsurroundings which tend to develop and encourage certain vices also; and\nif, on the other hand, excessive wealth is often the condition, as well\nas the result, of selfishness, still the relief from material anxieties\nmay be used, on the other hand, as opportunity for other useful labor,\nand leaves room, indeed, for a development of finer intellectual and\nmoral qualities. To reply that much greater good would accompany other\nconditions is irrelevant; for we are not now comparing actualities with\nideals, but one class of people with another under existing\ncircumstances.\n\nA somewhat similar phase of idea to that just considered is found in the\nagitation against machinery. This agitation is not of recent date,\nhowever; it began over two centuries ago, and would, if it had\nsucceeded, have deprived the world of nearly all the comforts and\nconveniences which have, since then, become possible. Doubtless the\nabolishment of machinery would temporarily furnish labor to all the\nunemployed. Indeed, it has been computed, from facts supplied by the\nstatistical bureau of Berlin, that it would require about double the\nnumber of inhabitants now on the face of the globe to perform the labor\naccomplished by the steam works of the principal civilized lands. But\nthe increase of the earth's inhabitants depends, to a great extent, on\nthe favorable or unfavorable circumstances of the environment; and we\ncannot suppose otherwise than that the sudden accession of abundant\nmeans of livelihood would cause a very great acceleration of the rate of\nincrease and so a speedy return of the old problem. Even supposing that\na certain recklessness of sexual indulgence would be done away with\nunder better circumstances which afforded access to other means of\npleasure than the purely physical, this over-indulgence leads quite as\noften to sterility and disease as to excess of offspring. Habit and\nopinion not being matters of instantaneous or even rapid change, the new\norder of society would very largely depend upon the character and ideas\nacquired under the old order, and population must increase with a\nrapidity fostered by an immense multiplication of regular marriages, and\nby more healthful surroundings for offspring at all ages. Unchecked, as\nhitherto, by the excessive mortality due to famine, filth, and neglect,\nit must soon arrive at a point where the questions of competition again\npresent themselves. But machinery is a relative term. Every tool and\ndevice for lightening labor is, in fact, a machine, and takes, by\ndefinition, from the labor of the world. When, therefore, we should find\nourselves face to face with the former conditions, I do not see that any\nconsistent course would lie before us but the doing away with our more\ncomplicated tools, and, later, with our less complicated ones, and so\non, as the increase of the world's inhabitants brought again and again\nthe recurrence of questions of competition, until we should arrive, at\nlength, at that ancient state of things where all transport would be\nmade by porters, land ploughed by the pointed stick, and clothes--if we\nconsented to withdraw labor from the cultivation of the earth for the\nmanufacture of such luxuries--would require for the preparation of each\ngarment several weeks, months, or even years of work. I do not see where\nelse the theory of the abolishment of machinery for the sake of\nsupplying labor to the unemployed can logically and practically lead,\nespecially as the withdrawal of machinery must mean, in the end, the\nwithdrawal of those opportunities for cultivating the arts and sciences\nwhich the leisure from merely mechanical pursuits alone can give. Under\nmore primitive conditions of labor, the ignorance of the masses must\nspread more and more, until its widening circle must take in the great\nmajority of men, as was the case when these primitive conditions\nprevailed. In other words, the abolishment of machinery means social\nretrogression, and, if affording temporary relief, leaves the race, in\nthe end, on a lower plane of evolution, with the work of advancement to\nits former plane all to do over again.\n\nAnd this brings us to the consideration of another point, namely, the\nagitation against luxury,--an agitation carried on not, like that\nagainst machinery, by only a portion, if a considerable portion, of the\nSocialist party, but by that party as a whole. We may inquire, then, as\nto what luxury is. The Socialists find considerable trouble in defining\nit; they generally content themselves with the word alone, leaving it\nundefined or referring, with a general indefiniteness, to \"velvets,\njewels, and laces,\" or \"diamonds and silks\"; the German Socialists have\nsometimes shown particular antipathy to the glace glove; and a society\nof English Socialists listened, not long ago, to a lecture in which, as\nan example of the reforms proposed by Socialism, it was prophesied that\nthe evening-dresses of the future would be made of more lasting though\nnot less delicate and beautiful material. This last would assuredly be\ndesirable, if it could be carried out; but it remains to be seen in how\nfar it is practicable. The things which are the most delicate, whether\nthey be clothing or other articles, are ordinarily likewise the most\nperishable; the union of delicacy of texture with endurance is a problem\nthat can be solved only by gradual improvement if at all; and it is\nprobable that it can be solved only relatively in some cases and not at\nall in others; yet there are few people who will not find delicacy an\nattribute of beauty. Few will disagree with M. de Laveleye that beauty\nof costume must consist rather in harmony of colors and purity of line\nthan in the mere costliness of the goods; however, in a large number of\ncases, excess of price corresponds to some actual superiority of color,\ndurability, or texture, in the goods. Doubtless it is true that some\nthings (M. de Laveleye instances opium) may cost much money and yet be\nuseless or even harmful; but this very limited assertion cannot, by any\nlogical method, be converted into an assertion that the price of an\narticle is an argument against it. Even the extra price demanded and\npaid for novelties corresponds to an actual, general desire for variety,\nand if this is often carried too far, the fact still remains that the\nwant is inherent in all human nature, indeed, in all life, and cannot be\nentirely disregarded. The proposal of M. de Laveleye to reinstitute a\nnational dress is, for this reason, a foolish and inartistic one. No two\npeople are suited to exactly the same costume; and the more society\ndevelops the more the individual shows a desire for individuality in\ndress. No nation with a sense of beauty will ever consent to eternal\nsameness.\n\nLuxury is relative, as M. de Laveleye himself acknowledges. We might\ndefine it, as he does at one point,[277] by excess of price or labor\nexpended. In that case, such articles as those African dresses which it\ntakes several years to manufacture would assuredly come under the head\nof luxuries, and must, as such, be condemned from the standpoint of the\ntribal plane of advancement; though they are not equal in texture or\ntaste of ornamentation to many of the cheapest of English goods, within\nthe reach of all but the very poorest. What are, with Europeans, the\nbare necessities, or comforts of lowest grade, represent the extreme of\nluxury to the Africans on whose plane our ancestors once stood. Many of\nthe things which are regarded by the average individual of to-day as\nindispensable--every-day comforts--were within the reach of only the\nwealthy few, a century ago, and could be had only as rare and choice\narticles, to be preserved with the greatest care. The comforts of a\ncentury ago represent, again, the luxuries of a preceding age, and so\non. Almost all products of labor are costly and rare before they can\nbecome cheap and abundant. Had our ancestors entertained a socialistic\nprejudice against the luxuries of their age, and resolved, with one\naccord, to forego their manufacture as supplying only artificial needs,\nwe should not have had them to-day; but it is doubtful whether the\nsocial problem would be any nearer solution than it is. The agitation\nagainst machinery, at least, is ill combined with an agitation against\nluxury; for every removal of machinery must make luxuries out of what\nwere, before, mere comforts, and advance the things now regarded as\nnecessities to the plane of the present comforts, as far as expenditure\nof labor is regarded. M. de Laveleye distinguishes between rational and\nprimitive needs and irrational, \"superfluous,\" or \"spurious,\" ones; and\nhe defines the rational ones as those which reason asserts and hygiene\ndetermines.[278] But from the merely hygienic point of view, every need\nbears with it, by its very existence, a title to some consideration,\nhealth and the gratification of desires being most intimately connected.\nCertainly luxury is not necessarily inconsistent with the most healthy\nphysique, or the longest life. Many of the things ordinarily looked upon\nas luxuries present unusually favorable conditions for health. Nor can\nthe question be decided by arbitrarily pronouncing all desires for\nluxury \"spurious.\" To M. de Laveleye and a minority of others they may\nappear so; but what right has the individual to the assumption that all\nneeds beyond his own are spurious? Even the poorer classes of society\nwould, for the most part, be very glad to possess the luxuries of the\nrich, and find them desirable; in other words, those desires which M. de\nLaveleye pronounces spurious appertain to very nearly all human beings\nwho have at all formed a conception of their possibility. The savage\ndoes not desire what we term luxury in as far as he knows nothing of it.\nThe argument that luxury is wrong or irrational simply because men once\nwere able to do without it is by no means conclusive. The conditions of\nlife, the employments of human beings, are far different now from those\nof the time when men \"lived in houses of osier.\" \"Primitive\" the desire\nfor luxury may not be; but if we attempt to determine what is primitive\nin man, we shall meet with excessive difficulties. And again, if we\ndecide the question on the basis of any assumption against the\nnon-primitive, we must, in all consistency, exclude, as has already been\nsaid, all higher ethical emotion and the love of art and science; none\nof these can be pronounced primitive. Possibly we might define hunger,\nthirst, sexual appetite, and the desire for a comfortable degree of\nwarmth, as the most primitive human needs; and these, indeed, are soon\nsatisfied; but the man who has no needs beyond these can not represent\nthe social ideal. The whole history of civilization from century to\ncentury is the history of the formation of new needs and the gradual\nsatisfaction of these in larger and larger circles, until their objects,\nfrom costly and hardly obtainable rarities, have become articles of\ncommon use. With this course of development, coarseness has decreased,\nrefinement and taste have become more general. Nor can we, as has before\nbeen stated, divide the human being into his separate desires and\nfunctions, and assume that he can get rid of this or that one without\ninfluencing all. The desires of the human being are of organic growth,\nand the desire for luxury has an organic connection with the taste and\nrefinement with which it has grown. It is impossible that the love of\nbeauty in general should develop without the appearance of a desire for\nbeauty in the details of every-day life,--in utensils, clothing,\nsurroundings of every sort; as it is impossible, also, that this desire\nfor beauty in particulars should be dispensed with without a\ncorresponding retrogression in refinement and love of beauty in general.\nOne of the chief expenses of American entertainments is the profusion of\nflowers used in decoration, and often most artistically arranged; and\nwhatever else may be said on the subject, the pleasure derived from them\ncan scarcely be termed spurious or irrational. Not all large sums spent\nby the rich are given for mere display or for sensuality; they may be\nspent for scientific experiments on a large scale, like those of Edison,\nfor travel, for books, for statuary and fine pictures, for fine\narchitecture, for rich tapestries and carpets, and even in great measure\nfor appliances and methods that secure greater cleanliness and more\nhealthful ways of living altogether. Nor are the appliances of art and\nculture as desirable in huge museums or draughty and ill-ventilated\nlibraries, or anywhere else where the individual is forced into the\nnoise and numerous other annoyances of a promiscuous crowd, as in his\nown home, arranged according to his own peculiarities of taste, and\nassociated with all the joys of love and domestic freedom. When sympathy\nhas become so general and so strong that not only men but women also can\nfind their best intellectual enjoyment in public places, these reasons\nwill cease to be of any force, but at present they have even moral\nforce; and since inherent character is a matter of evolution, a\ncondition of general sympathy and mutual consideration, and even of\nuniversal common decency, must be of slow growth. It may further be\nsaid, in particular, that there is no material more used by artists than\nthe so-much-decried velvet; again, many people of taste, who otherwise\nspend money for little more than the necessities of life, find a\npeculiar delight in the delicacy of fine laces, and are willing to\nforego many other pleasures in order to possess them. George Eliot's\nDorothea, otherwise simple of habit, content with her plain wool gown,\nfound a peculiar fascination in the colors of an emerald bracelet, and\nnumerous persons confess to a similar pleasure in the changing rainbow\nof the diamond, or the clear blue of the sapphire. These desires and\npleasures exist; they exist in people of comparative taste; they exist\nas the result of human progress; they are not confined to a few\nindividuals; and they cannot be dismissed with a mere arbitrary\ndefinition of them as \"artificial,\" \"superfluous,\" \"irrational,\" or\n\"spurious.\"\n\nThe more cultivated Socialist complains of the lack of taste in society;\nand an artist who is also a Socialist not long ago expressed his regret\nthat art was at present \"unable to prevent\" the wearing of unbecoming\nforms of dress, etc. But we trust that this is not a hint that\nsocialistic government would undertake to decree what forms of dress\nshould be adopted; and we scarcely think that it could supply taste\nitself to all people, or render differences of taste impossible. Taste\nis, like everything else, a matter of evolution; it must make its\nexperiments, and undergo many failures for every step in advance. The\nmodern average of taste is as much in advance upon the average of our\nsavage ancestors as the modern average of morals is an advance upon\nsavage morals. The ideal of taste is, by definition, above the average;\nand it may be doubted whether the time will ever come when there will\nnot be both degrees and differences of taste, and also an aesthetic\nsuperiority of taste among those who devote their lives to art that will\nrender the average \"poor\" to them.\n\nIf, then, we are to condemn luxury on any tenable scientific grounds, we\nmust face the fact that it is an organic feature of the progress of\nhuman society in intellectual and moral character, and a part of human\nhappiness; and we must show, over against these undeniable facts,\noutweighing reasons for condemning it. The matter is more difficult than\na superficial Utilitarianism perceives.\n\nThe question seems to be one of the relinquishment of certain things on\nthe part of one class, in order that another may be elevated to a higher\nplane. Certainly, no one can deny that the present misery and\ndegradation in society is a moral wrong, and that it is our duty to\nseek some method by which it may be removed as speedily as possible. But\nwhat is the degree of relinquishment which will suffice to raise all the\npoor to a plane of comfort? Without defining the tastes for the\nrefinements or elegancies of life as \"spurious,\" or, except as they are\npersonally injurious or associated with idleness, as in themselves bad,\nwe must admit that there are many exaggerations of expenditure for the\nmere pleasure of the moment to a very small minority of individuals,\nwhich, in view of the joys the same sums might secure for multitudes,\ncannot be justified. But suppose that we do away with the spending of\nimmense sums for the entertainment of princes and potentates, with the\nlavishing of wealth on a single dinner, on a single reception, on\ncarriages built for the mere purpose of carrying a single millionaire\nbride to the church-door, and with the other expenses of this order;\nshall we be able, as a result, to supply all the destitute with\ncomforts? Or to what length must we go, to what grade of luxury must we\ndescend in our reforms, in order to secure this? It would certainly not\nbe for the general good that society as a whole should relinquish all\nthe refinements that it has won in its evolution and be reduced to a\nmere bread-and-butter level in the equalizing process. Beyond the\nsuperficial utilitarian comparison of the two classes we have to\nconsider also the welfare of society as a whole. If we cannot morally\ndefend the sacrifice of the general good to one class, neither can we\ndefend its sacrifice to another class.\n\nAnd here we come again to the population question. It is foolish to\nsuppose that character, as already formed, at any period, in adults, as\ninherited correlative with physical organization, and as further\ninfluenced by the contact of children with parents, husbands with wives,\nfriends with friends, and classes with classes, could be changed in the\ntwinkling of an eye. It is foolish to suppose that men would become all\nat once, with the accession of comfort, wise, prudent, self-controlled,\nand unselfish. On the contrary, those unused to prosperity are generally\nthe ones who use it least well when their lot is suddenly changed. Many\nwould not perceive or realize what results their action would have on\nthe condition of future generations, and many would not care as long as\nthey themselves escaped those results. We cannot, therefore, conceive\notherwise than that the rate of increase of population would suffer an\nimmense acceleration, were prosperity to be all at once secured to all\nclasses. Supposing, then, that the equalization of wealth, or that even\ncomfort to the poorer classes, were possible without a return to too\nprimitive a standard of life for all society, would the reform be a\npermanent one?\n\nThe population question is one that the majority of Socialists\nsystematically avoid. But however avoided theoretically, it cannot be\navoided when we come to practice; and for this reason practical men are\nlikely to steer clear of theories that take no account of it. There is a\nreason for this almost universal avoidance of the population question by\nSocialists; it is, in fact, a question which stands in the way of the\nvery large majority of socialistic projects. But even the more advanced\nof Socialists take but little notice of its importance. At a recent\nmeeting of the London Fabian Society, a large number present seemed to\nagree with a member who argued that population might be left to take its\nown course since \"there is only a tendency\" to too rapid increase.\nNaturally, there is only a tendency to increase beyond the food supply,\nsince beyond this limit comes--death from privation and disease; and\nsince even beyond the limit of comfort come morbid conditions which\ngradually bring death. If the theory of the Fabian in question is not\n_laisser faire_, then I do not know what is. But the population question\nnever has solved itself and never will; it can only be solved by\ndefinite intention.\n\nAt the same discussion mentioned above, another debater objected to any\ndecrease in the size of the families of laborers, on the ground that\nsuch decrease would tend to lower wages and so also to lower the\nstandard of life. But the payment of higher wages, either on an average\nto correspond with an actual average of larger families, or in\nparticular cases in view of the size of family in these cases, can never\nconstitute a raising of the standard of life; on the contrary, the wages\nwould be paid on the old standard for the individual, and competition\nwould be increased by the actual increase of population. The standard of\nlife is, and can be, raised only as a higher standard for the individual\nis demanded and obtained.\n\nBut to these various arguments may be objected by the Socialists that\nunder socialistic government the whole environment of human society\nwould be changed, and so the old rules would be of no force. And this\nbrings us to another point.\n\nA word continually in the mouth of certain of the Socialists is\n\"environment.\" Man is what he is, say they, by virtue of his\nenvironment. Change the environment, and he must change. The present bad\ncondition of things is due to the environment; crime is the effect of\npoverty, selfishness of competition; therefore, we have but to introduce\nthe socialistic form of government in order to do away with poverty and\ncrime at the same time with competition. The argument is attractive and\nseems to solve the question as easily and indisputably as if it were a\nmere elementary problem in Geometry. But the solution does not at all\nharmonize with the course of analysis followed in this essay. From the\nidea of an individual introduced into social conditions where poverty is\nabsent, it generalizes to the whole of society introduced to a new set\nof laws. It forgets, in its definition of environment, that _men\nthemselves are the most important factor of the environment_, and that,\n_in order to_ change the environment, one must change the moral\ncharacter of men with respect to each other. The whole argument makes\nthe mistake of choosing the one of two concomitants as alone cause and\nregarding the other as alone effect. It is perfectly true that, if you\ncan abolish poverty, you will also have abolished crime and sin; and,\nwithout looking farther, the Socialist regards this as conclusive\nevidence that the system he proposes is logically demonstrated to be the\nright and sure cure for present evil; but it may be added that _it is\nquite equally true_ that, if you can abolish crime and sin, you will\nhave abolished poverty, also; and then it may be further said that\nneither can be abolished, as a whole, first, in order that the other may\nbe gotten rid of through its disappearance. Competition is no more the\ncause of selfishness, than selfishness is the cause of competition; the\npresent legal system, the present form of government is no more the\ncause of the evils in society than the other evils in society are the\ncause of the defects in the present form of government. Man's nature is\nno more the effect of the social environment than the social conditions\nare the effect of his nature. Extreme poverty and crime or vice work\nreciprocally for each other's increase, or they increase and decrease\nwith what may be termed oscillations; poverty results in vice and vice\nin poverty, or vice in poverty, and poverty again in vice; in the\nindividual, either may be primary, may precede the other. It is as true\nthat you must change men's characters in order to change all the outer\nevils of the environment as it is that you must change the outer evils\nin order to change men's characters. It is as true that you must get rid\nof crime and vice in order to get rid of poverty as it is that you must\nget rid of poverty in order to get rid of crime and vice. Here is the\nnew version of the serpent with its tail in its mouth; but here it is\nnot a symbol of eternity, but of evolution. _There is no one cause of\nthe evils in society, but all existing things are interdependent\nconditions._ There is, therefore, no possibility of getting rid of any\none of them at one stroke, its abolishment to be followed by the\ndisappearance of the others; as they increase, so they must\ndecrease,--by reciprocal action, or complex action and reaction.\n\nIf we imagine, for a moment, a whole society of savages suddenly\nintroduced to a set of ideal laws by--we will say--some one individual\nfrom out an ideal society, who proclaims these laws and then returns to\nhis own land, we shall not be able to imagine such laws remaining in\nforce for any great length of time. If we suppose our own ancestors of\nthe stone age introduced to our own laws by some one from out the\npresent century returning to them as Mark Twain's Yankee returned to the\ncourt of King Arthur, we shall not imagine those laws as very long\nbinding; and nothing could be truer to facts of psychology than the\ngigantic tragedy with which Mr. Clemens' book closes. No set of ideal\nlaws introduced to an inideal society can be regarded as the\n\"environment\" of that society, which shall render it ideal. The more\ndemocratic a country, the more the passing, even, of a law or measure\ndepends on the general sentiment; but many laws have been passed and\nmany measures of government projected which have failed completely in\nadministration because they were too far in advance of the general moral\nstatus. External morality of institutions and internal morality of\ncharacter in society as a union of many individuals can only increase\ntogether, and gradually, by reciprocal action. In other words, the\nevolution necessary to the attainment of any ideal condition where\npoverty and crime are eliminated must be internal as well as external;\nand this is a fact that few Socialists recognize, at least practically,\nand that even the Fabians, accepting as they do the theory of evolution,\ncontinually fail to take account of in the application of their\ntheories. They have indeed received the theory of evolution as regards\nexternal institutions; but, with perhaps a few exceptions, they have not\nregarded it in its inner, psychical significance. This is made evident\nby the continual recurrence of such references and remarks as we have\ncriticised, which trace all evil to our \"artificial system,\" refer to\ncharacter as bad because \"saturated with immoral principles by our\ncommercial system,\"[279] and reckon upon a change in this \"artificial\nsystem\" which, first accomplished, will cause a revolution in character.\nThe acknowledgment of the necessity of evolution is, for the most part,\nforgotten in practical discussion; and the reason of this forgetfulness\nis easily understood from just the fact noticed--that the evolution, the\nnecessity of which is recognized, is the mere external one of state\ninstitutions. Character is regarded in any case as a dependent, an\neffect; and this is in accordance with the old theory of the will as\npassive and as determined by the rest of nature, never as the active and\nindependent factor determining and instituting. Thus, even a Fabian is\nlikely to look with only half-approval at institutions like the Society\nfor Ethical Culture, which has for its first object the cultivation of\ncharacter; and many Socialists, until very lately the great majority,\nhave regarded all improvements which did not bear directly towards\nSocialism as mere temporizing. The socialistic government was to be\nfirst established, and this would perform all the reforms necessary; or,\nrather, evils would disappear of themselves when once it was\nestablished. Fortunately, Socialism is itself undergoing an evolution.\n\nBut again, even those Socialists who talk of an evolution up to\n\"socialistic forms\" are continually found representing the ease with\nwhich government might, at present, take over the business of the\nnation. This is the natural result of the fact that the evolution\nrecognized as necessary is only that of institutions, not that of\ncharacter. The perception, on the other hand, that character is not, at\npresent, capable of receiving or administering a socialistic form of\ngovernment, is the reason of much of the resistance opposed to a party\nwhich, whatever a very small minority may claim as to theory, is\npractically endeavoring to force a system of government upon peoples not\nprepared for carrying it out with success. There are few governments, as\nyet, where even the democratic idea has sufficiently taken root to\nrender the people at all used to self-government; and where they exist,\nthe good they confer is not unmixed. I am not advancing an argument\nagainst democracy; but the defects of human nature which render its\nbenefits of a mixed character must hinder in an incomparably greater\nmeasure a scheme which would place all power, even to the control of all\nwealth, in the hands of the administration; in other words, Socialism,\nif introduced to-day, could no more get rid of poverty and crime than\ndemocracy can get rid of them; and the gulf between the old and the new\norder being so great a one, the danger attending the new institutions\nwould be particularly great. As Hoeffding remarks, it is not proved,\nbecause we intrust many things to state-government (with mixed good and\nevil) that it would be well to intrust the management of _all_ matters\nto it. The Socialists propose to secure the perfection of system by\nmaking the government responsible to the people and the executive\nresponsible to the government; but in democratic governments this\nprinciple is already carried out. Are we to suppose that the possession\nof still greater power and so still larger opportunities for fraud would\nafford the people greater security? Or how could the responsibility of\nthe legislative and administrative functions to the people be still\nbetter secured than it is anywhere at present? The power of the people\nmight be extended to include interference with both functions. But the\nsocialistic government must, in any case, be excessively complicated;\neven Bellamy, whose government is much simplified by the supposition of\nthe immediate attainment of an ideal character through the action of the\nsocial \"environment,\" designates the scheme as \"very elaborate.\" The\ndifficulties of direct interference with the legislative functions in\ncountries larger than Switzerland (where the referendum is occasionally\nresorted to), the difficulties of deciding on evidence before the court\nof the whole country in cases where the power of deposition might be\nused, the labor of arriving at a general verdict about which there\nshould be no dispute, the strife and party feeling which must be thus\ncontinually engendered in the contest of opinions as long as men have\nnot attained to an ideal character, would be likely, if such powers of\nnational interference were often exercised, to keep the country in a\nstate of continual uproar; while, on the other hand, if peace were\npurchased at the sacrifice of the power of direct interference, the\nmachinery of state would no more than at present secure the nation from\nfraud, which must be greater as the power in the hands of a socialistic\ngovernment would be larger. To the man of principle, it would doubtless\nappear foolish as well as wrong to sacrifice position, comparative\ncomfort, and the esteem of fellow-citizens, for mere gain in wealth by\ndishonest means; but as long as there are many men by whom temporary\ngratification is often preferred even at the sacrifice of more lasting\npleasure, and selfish pleasure is of more account than public esteem, as\nlong as there are men to whom the element of excitement in crime is an\nattraction, as long as women are often unscrupulous and men the slaves\nof passion, as long as there are those who find the power to command by\nmeans of wealth more desirable than security in moderation, and as long\nas there remain others who will bow down to wealth fraudulently\nacquired, as long, too, as there are countries anywhere upon the earth\nin which malefactors may find refuge, the chances of fraud under a\nsocialistic government are large. They must be particularly large where\n\"inordinate luxury and the hope of it\" are abolished; for, leaving out\nof account all question as to the morality of luxury, there are\nundoubtedly many men who desire as much of it as they can obtain.\nBellamy discreetly supposes his ideal government to be adopted at once\nby all nations, thus paying no attention to the obviously very different\ndegrees of social development represented by those different nations.\nBut as long as any communication of trade whatever existed with nations\nstill under the old regime, ingenuity could devise ways of theft, and\nforeign lands would constitute a goal for the enjoyment of the spoil.\nThere are, and will be for very many years yet, plenty of places of\nrefuge for the clever thief. Moreover, communication and commerce with\nother lands not only being necessary but becoming daily more and more\ndesirable, a law excluding all foreigners would be difficult to\nestablish; and this being the case, the social equilibrium must be\ncontinually disturbed, and inner character affected by the influx from\nother nations.\n\nThere is another general objection to socialistic schemes which bears on\nthe point of their application to present conditions, namely, their\narbitrary nature, the manner in which they would decide summarily many\nquestions on which society is at present most at variance and different\nindividuals entertain the most conflicting opinions, the comparative\nvalue of which can be tested only by experiment. This feature of\nSocialism is inseparable from the general condition of things. Many\nfeel, therefore, and feel with reason, that sympathy is not yet\nsufficiently general and strong to warrant the entrusting of all\ninterests of the individual to a majority of his fellow-men. It is even\na question whether free scientific investigation would not be imperilled\nif some Socialists had their way. It is not long since that I heard an\n\"evolutionary\" Socialist expressing his opinion emphatically that the\nwaste of time and energy in the pursuit of ambitions never to be\nrealized was so undesirable that he questioned whether the individual\nought to be permitted to choose a vocation in which it is believed he\nwill fail. But the element of interest that causes a man to choose a\ngiven occupation is the very factor which most often results in\nefficient labor; and it is the testimony of many that the perseverance\npossible through love of their work has prevailed in direct opposition\nto the predictions of onlookers. Thousands of men have succeeded against\nall expectations. It is by no means those who apparently possess most\nability who succeed best or profit the world most by their work. There\nare projects of arbitrariness very similar in sort and nearly as great\nin degree in all the Socialistic schemes in which the questions of the\nday are furnished with cut and dried answers. It is strange, for\ninstance, that American advocates of women's right to a free choice of a\nvocation have failed to discover with what dexterity Bellamy avoids the\nwhole question of women's capacity, by the discreetly blind remark that\nthey are not only inferior to men in strength, but \"further disqualified\nin special ways\" (a formula which the author finds so successful that he\nrepeats the words in a subsequent essay), while he appears practically\nto side with the Conservatives in thought on the matter. The government\nof Bellamy provides, furthermore, that one can change his vocation only\nup to the age of thirty-five, and even to this date only \"under proper\nrestrictions\"; the experience of mankind has shown, however, that a\nman's best inspirations may come to him after this age, and lead to a\ndevelopment of talents heretofore unsuspected even by himself. The \"aids\nto choice\" in a state may be as numerous as you like; but they can never\ngive a man of thirty the experience and mental development of the man of\nthirty-five, thirty-seven, or forty. The assistance which the judgment\nof others can give in the choice of a vocation is, for the most part, of\nlittle use to the adult; and whatever the minor advantages of an\nelimination of the certain amount of disturbance consequent on changes\nof occupation, the harm to society of restriction on efforts in any\ndirection of useful labor must more than counterbalance these.\n\nThe method of newspaper-editing in Bellamy's state is also peculiar. The\npeople who desire any special interest to be brought before the public\nchoose an editor, establish a newspaper \"reflecting their opinions and\ndevoted especially to their locality, trade, or profession,\" and when\nthe editor fails to give satisfaction in his publications, simply\n\"remove him.\" This method would, I fear, scarcely meet the desires of\nany editor possessed with a brain, and to whom his profession was\nsomething more than a matter of mere automatism.\n\nIndeed, the whole order of Bellamy's state is of too military and\nautomatic a character; though it is easy, in a work of fiction, to\nrepresent the members of his industrial army as universally content and\nuniversally virtuous.\n\nIt is in consequence of the more or less distinct perception that, for\nall these reasons, human nature of the present time is unsuited to the\nabsolute cooeperation involved in Socialism, that many Individualists\nadvocate a continuation of the system of competition. From ancient\nsavagery up to our present half-civilization has been a gradual\nevolution, not of government with character as its effect, but of\ngovernment and character as cooerdinates, or (if we view them in another\nlight) as advancing by mutual action and reaction; and our future must\nconstitute a like gradual evolution (though with continual acceleration\nof velocity) of character and government as cooerdinates; the attempt of\nindividuals or parties to force one of these cooerdinates before the\nother must always result in failure. It is true, as Mr. Grant Allen\nstated in a lecture before the London Fabians--designed as refutation of\nthe Individualistic theory that competition is necessary for the best\nsocial evolution--that natural selection favors cooeperation,[280] that\nis, that those societies in which the efforts of individuals are most\nsupplemented by the aid of others, have the best chance of life and\nhealth both as wholes and in their individual units; but this fact does\nnot do away with the necessity of the evolution of cooeperation\n_cooerdinate with character_. \"We know now,\" says another Fabian, \"that\nin natural selection at the stage of development where the existence of\ncivilized man is at stake, the units selected from are not individuals\nbut societies.\"[281] This, however, we do not know. Natural selection\nacts on cell, on individual, and on all the various social units to\nwhich men combine, in their multiplicity of relations. It does not cease\nto act on individuals because it acts also on social organizations, any\nmore than it ceases to act on cells in acting on organisms as wholes; it\nis only true that the line of the preservation of the individual and\nthat of the preservation of the whole of society approach each other\nmore and more nearly with social progress. The tendency of the whole of\nsocial evolution has been one of increasing cooeperation cooerdinate with\nincreasing social instinct or sympathy in all its complex relations and\ndependences; and with the attainment of the maximum of sympathy we can\nnot well imagine or suppose anything else than the maximum of\ncooeperation. On the other hand, the gradual nature of social evolution\nup to this maximum, and the contest of differing opinions, secures a\nsufficient experiment, and so the protection of the people from tyranny\nunder another name; for it is not the emotional nature of man alone\nwhich must grow to greater harmony, it is also his intellectual nature;\nas opinions are brought nearer and nearer to each other by mutual\ncriticism, men become more capable of cooeperation; and this intellectual\nagreement represents the line of adjustment or natural selection, since\nit is the conclusion reached by means of experience--the common\nknowledge bought through the practical application of various\nprinciples. A tribe of savages would be incapable of administration of\nthe government of our so-called civilized states, as also of obedience\nto it:--both because the individual would rebel in opinion and in\nemotion at the barriers imposed by it, and because the functions of\nadministration in the hands of savages would tend to injustice that\nwould be greater as the sphere of government exceeded that to which the\ntribe had been used; and for similar reasons, the present age is\nincapable of that maximum of cooeperation in all relations which is\ninvolved in Socialism. Even the aesthetic use of wealth, moderation and\ntaste in enjoyment, must be learned by degrees; it cannot be infused by\nany government. The savage envies, in our more civilized states, chiefly\nthe opportunities for the gorging of good things and for self-adornment\nwhich they afford; and the savage lack of self-control where alcohol is\nconcerned, is proverbial; the average of more civilized societies shows\na much greater self-control and moderation in the face of opportunities\nof purely sensual gratification, and a much greater love of more\naesthetic and more moral pleasures. Or rather, we should perhaps say, as\nbefore, the sensuality becomes more refined, and is gratified in more\nmoral ways, through its organization with higher instincts. It is not\namong the wealthier classes, who have had the use of wealth, that taste\nis poorest; on the contrary, the average of taste is smaller, the outlay\nfor foolish ornament of all sorts larger in proportion to means, in the\npoorer classes; and were these classes to come without change of\ncharacter into possession of considerable means of enjoyment, it is to\nbe suspected that expenditure for tasteless adornments would, in many\ncases, and especially among the women, precede and exceed expenditure\nfor higher things.\n\nAnd this brings me to a more especial consideration of that very large\nportion of the Socialist party who acknowledge no necessity for an\nevolution up to Socialism in any sense, but desire a revolution. Bellamy\ndistinctly denies the necessity of an evolution, and many of his\nfollowers agree with him on this point; but the revolution he believes\nin and hopes for is a bloodless and peaceful one. To this conception the\npreceding objections sufficiently apply.\n\nA revolution in the ordinary sense of the word is always, however, the\nsign of powerful opposition between two parties, of which one may gain\nthe immediate ascendancy by force; but will surely be exposed,\nafterwards, to the long-enduring hatred, opposition, and revenge of a\nstrong minority, that will make itself felt with an energy greatly\nincreased by the vindictiveness which naturally follows on war and\ndefeat. France is still suffering from her revolutions even at this\nlength of time after their occurrence. Where the people have no vote and\nreal influence upon the government, and even the expression of opinion\nis restricted by law, so that to gain an influence is practically\nimpossible, a political revolution may take place; but its results, both\nimmediate and remote, must contain a very large modicum of evil even if\nsome advance is accomplished by it. A revolution to obtain the\nestablishment of absolute cooeperation would be self-contradictory, and\nthe self-contradiction of character implied in it would result in its\nfailure; it could not happen in a country at all prepared for absolute\ncooeperation, or even for a very high degree of cooeperation. A revolution\nin any country at the present time would have to reckon with all sorts\nof depraved tastes and vicious characters, matters of organization and\ninheritance which neither in the individual, nor in the line of descent,\ncould be gotten rid of in a day; which must, indeed, affect society for\nmany generations, and before they could be eradicated would do away with\nSocialism or destroy its success. Poverty and crime cannot be banished\nby any device of mere legislation; only with time and by gradual means\ncan they be gotten rid of.\n\nSocialism is, then, as a whole, too impetuous, if Individualism is, as a\nwhole, too reluctant. But Socialism is undergoing an evolution, as has\nbeen said. Arising as the voice of the poor, the oppressed, the\nmiserable, the hungry, it has made itself heard and has materially\nmodified public opinion, while it has, at the same time, been itself\nmodified, according to the universal law of the equilibration of forces.\nForced by necessity practically, and gradually altered by criticism as\nto theory, it is coming to give its energies less and less to a\nconsideration of the final socialistic government which should do away\nwith the necessity of further reforms because accomplishing an immediate\nand universal one, and devoting them more and more to present measures\nof reform, many of which are simply liberal measures proposed by\nnon-Socialists and such as would have had no meaning to the majority of\nSocialists of a few years past, or would have been regarded by them as\nuseless temporizing. In its mutual action and reaction with\nIndividualism, it will doubtless still more modify and be modified, so\nthat more and more ground for united action will be won. The cause of\nthe laborer is the most urgent of our times; but increase of wages will\nbe of very little use except as it is steadily accompanied by aids to\nknowledge and self-direction, aids in the formation of character, in the\nuse of self and of the means of enjoyment; otherwise, the laborer must\ncontinually defeat his own cause, and renew the old problems.\n\nThe education of self-control must begin with the child. The education\nof the child is never to be considered by itself; the child is not one\nindividual and the adult another, neither is there any dividing line\nbetween childhood and maturity; and that which the individual is to\nbecome in later life he must grow towards as a child. The habits which\nthe man would exercise the child must learn. In Germany, where the\nmilitary spirit prevails, implicit obedience to authority is ranked\namong the highest virtues, and habits of strict military discipline are\ncarried into the family as well as exercised in all public relations. In\ncountries where more democratic ideas are strong, the older methods are\ngiving way to milder ones. These sometimes degenerate into the opposite\nextreme of careless indulgence, with bad results; but taken on the\naverage, their beneficial influence is seen in the greater alertness,\noriginality, and openness of the children brought up under them.\nFrankness and originality are on the average incompatible with harsh or\nstern treatment; the latter is more likely to generate craftiness,\nfawning hypocrisy, or an unloving and unlovable rigidity of character;\nand any of these qualities is compatible with secret self-indulgence in\nany form, wherever this is possible. Only an education in freedom can\nteach the use of freedom. The old, hard, religious idea of \"breaking the\nwill\" (the natural outcome of a religion based on blind faith, \"fear,\"\nand unquestioning obedience) was a sad blunder; what we need is not less\nbut more will, with better direction of it. True, the wisdom of\nexperience must always guide the young; but its guidance, to attain the\nbest results, should make itself as little felt as authority as\npossible, and should withdraw into the background as early as possible.\nNot that it should degenerate into slipshod yielding to importunities,\nbut that it should endeavor to give reasons rather than mere rules of\nconduct, to instil principles and ideas rather than laws, and so to\ndevelop the power of self-direction. It is often objected that the young\nchild is incapable of comprehending principles; but so is the infant\nincapable of comprehending speech, and yet it is through the use of\nspeech to the infant that comprehension is gradually attained; as sounds\nare fixed in the receptive memory of the infant, and slowly acquire\nmeaning, so ethical principles, simply stated, may be communicated, and\nwill be better and better understood as the child develops. This method\nof instruction is, rightly understood, as far from weakness as it is\nfrom tyranny and dogmatism; indeed, no method demands in the instructor\nso much care, thought, and patience. It must be judicious and\nconsistent, never capricious, and its fundamental principle must be the\ncultivation of justice through justice, and so of kindness through\nkindness. Especially should the young be prepared in the home, by\nself-knowledge, for the trials and temptations which menace in the world\noutside, through the passions of maturity. To the earnest man or woman,\nnothing appears more trivial than the false shame which hinders, even in\nthe home and between parents and children, the moral discussion of some\nof the most important of human relations for good or evil. To the pure\nall things are pure; but, unfortunately, it is also true that to the\nimpure all things are impure. Nothing is more injurious to children than\nthe morbid curiosity stimulated through the secrecy and deception which\nare ordinarily practised, and which inspires them with the sense of a\nmystery that is half criminal, half sacred. Curiosity grows under such\ntuition, a disproportionate interest is awakened and often comes to be\nsatisfied from sources outside the home, with an admixture of deplorable\nvulgarity, the influence of which is not soon lost. Such a tuition\ntends, not to purity of thought, but to impurity, and often directly to\nvice. The mystery with which natural, and what may be perfectly moral,\nrelations is thus invested, is often the source of a fatal attraction to\nignorant youth. What we need to make out of our children is not puppets\nof which the world as well as ourselves may pull the wires, but earnest\nand self-comprehending men and women, self-reliant and fearless because\nlife is no strange country filled with unknown shadows and pitfalls, but\na pleasant land, whose dangers, known, may be avoided, and the road\nthrough which leads to a comprehended and desirable goal.\n\nParental power was once held sacred and beyond interference;\nnevertheless the use made of it does not seem to have been always a\nsacred one. The Roman law allowed parents to put their children to\ndeath. The modern state has tended, on the other hand, to take away more\nand more power from the parents, extending its protection to the\nhelpless child. And this is well; the child, as well as the adult,\nshould have the right of protection against abuse. Nevertheless, the\ntheories which would relegate the whole education and care of the child\nto the state must be regarded as too extreme. Whatever disadvantages\nthere may be in the government of parents, especially at the present day\nwhen the education of women is still so inadequate, there is yet nothing\nwhich the child cannot better miss out of his education than the\ninfluence of parental love, the lack of which no state institution can\never supply. Granted that parental government is of a most mistaken sort\nin some cases, and that it is not perfect in any case, it still remains\ntrue that family affection furnishes one of mankind's greatest joys,\nand that the love of the parent should, and even does, on the average,\nmake the best protection and educator weak and clinging childhood can\nhave. No one who has at all studied the condition of children in orphan\nasylums and other institutions under the care of the state, can have\nfailed to notice, even in those institutions managed with the greatest\nkindness, the immense difference in happiness and attractiveness between\ntheir inmates and the children used to family love and mother's\ncaresses. The lack of love makes the child unlovable. The fundamental\nmethod of reform lies, not in the withdrawal of all power from parents,\nbut rather in the better preparation of men, and especially of women, to\nfulfil the duties of parentage. Such a preparation must consist,\nhowever, less in any particular study than in such general physical,\nintellectual, and moral discipline and education as shall expand all the\npowers in health and harmony, thus securing to children a good physical\ninheritance and an early guidance both wise and moral. A higher morality\nmust particularly emphasize the fact that not self alone or even merely\nthe two parties to a marriage are to be considered; that the welfare of\npossible offspring must be regarded; and that, therefore, marriage with\nthe morally unfit is a crime against future generations as well as\nagainst self, and marriage of the physically unfit, where offspring are\npermitted, is equally a wrong. The old idea, encouraged in women, that\nit was a good and noble use of life to \"marry a man in order to reform\nhim,\" is beginning to go out of vogue; and future standards will not\ntolerate the present social dogma that, however much of a profligate a\nman may have been, whatever associates he may have affected, however he\nmay have betrayed the innocent and debauched his own moral sense, he is\nstill fit to mate with any pure and good woman.\n\nThe necessity of a better physical and intellectual education for the\nmothers of the race, as a preparation for the adequate performance of\ntheir duties, must be, at the present time, especially emphasized. The\ntask of the mother in the early training of children is one that\nrequires practical knowledge of the world, broad views, and that power\nof judgment which is possible only through mental discipline.\nSuperstition, narrowness, subjection to tradition and dogma, are\nincompatible with efficient motherhood. The education must, then, be\nreal, no cramming with stale facts and staler theories; it must advance\nwith the science of the day, and deal with its vital questions.\n\nBut the standpoint which regards women only as means to ends outside\nthemselves, which calculates all the advantages to be permitted them by\nthe measure alone of their usefulness to husbands or children, is a poor\none. To afford to all individuals the full and free development of\ncapacity must be the ideal of society. The ancient conceptions which\nlaid little emphasis practically, whatever they might do theoretically,\nupon the woman's right to opportunities for her own sake, which made\nmeekness and self-abnegation her chief virtues, and fixed its regard\nalways upon future generations in her case, is one that cannot be\ndefended from a higher ethical standpoint. If no man lives unto himself\nalone, neither should any man, or woman either, be expected to spend his\nlife merely as a means to others and having no end in himself. Every\nhuman being has a right to a share in the general privileges and\npleasures. For their own sake, and that of society as a whole, as well\nas for that of their immediate friends and family, women should share\nequally with men the benefits of mental culture, its aesthetic\nenjoyments, its consolations and distractions, and the calm and\nself-poise bestowed by its broad outlook. To women as well as to men\napplies what has already been said of the folly and sin of ignorance of\nthe world. We have only to look at France in order to perceive the evils\nof a system which brings girls to maturity in a condition of seclusion,\nignorance, and dependence, and then suddenly launches them upon society\nwholly unprepared to withstand the temptations it presents. The evil\nresults of a less degree of the same system are visible all over the\nworld. On the other hand, it is in just that country--America--where\nwomen have had the most freedom, that they are also most capable of\nenduring freedom, and that their civilizing influence is most visible.\nThey are not the less womanly for this liberty, and society is very much\nthe better for it. Indeed, their attractiveness and the power they wield\nthrough it is not equalled in any other country. \"I wonder,\" writes\nGeorge Eliot, \"whether the subtle measuring of forces will ever come to\nmeasure the force there would be in one beautiful woman whose mind was\nas noble as her face was beautiful--who made a man's passion for her\nrush in one current with all the great aims of his life.\" \"It is\nterrible--the keen, bright eye of a woman when it has once been turned\nwith admiration on what is severely true; but then the severely true\nrarely comes within its range of vision.\"\n\nThe questions of marriage and prostitution may be reduced to the single\nquestion of the desirability of monogamy. No one can well deny the evils\nattending the existence of a class of prostitutes isolated from moral\nassociations, despised and ill-treated, daily sinking lower and lower\nthrough this isolation, and contaminating, by their influence, those who\ncome in contact with them. The practical question is, then, would it be\nwell for society as a whole to assume another attitude, of open\napproval, towards prostitution, to admit those who are now outcasts to a\nposition on a par with faithful wives and pure maidens. This was the\nposition of Athenian prostitutes, and it existed together with, we may\nsuppose, comparative chastity on the part of maidens and faithfulness on\nthe part of wives. These, however, did not take part in the social life\nof the men, but lived in seclusion in their homes; it would be\nimpossible to accord a similar position to prostitutes in modern society\nunless with the practical surrender of any demand or expectancy of\nfaithfulness on the part of wives, or of chastity on the part of\nmaidens. Even in France, where the position of prostitutes most nearly\napproximates the Athenian, a very distinct dividing-line is drawn\nbetween the _demi-monde_ and the rest of society; and, indeed, special\nprecautions are taken to secure the chastity of girls. In like manner,\npurity might perhaps still be secured in girls, after the admission of\nprostitutes to a position of equality with other women, by a convent\neducation and the greatest watchfulness; but the lack of self-dependence\nwould be likely to be followed, as it now so often is in France, only in\nfar greater degree, by excesses after the attainment of comparative\nself-direction with marriage. The profligate soon tires of the\nprostitute, and desires higher game; unbridled license begets morbid\npassion; the sense of honor is blunted; the pure cease to be safe except\nas far as they are able, by self-control and self-defence, to protect\nthemselves; and for such self-poise only an education of freedom, of\nknowledge of the world and of self, can prepare. Nor could even such a\nsystem of seclusion as we have imagined exist for any length of time\nside by side with the full acceptance of prostitution as perfectly\nhonorable and right; the two things are self-contradictory and\nincompatible; in France, faithfulness is not less desired of wives than\nin other countries. Indeed, the majority of men in civilized countries\nwould never consent to a system of general promiscuity; they desire\nwomen, that is, a large number of women, a sufficient number to supply\nthem with wives, to remain pure, whatever liberty they demand for\nthemselves. The whole progress of society has been in the direction of\nmonogamy, and the reason of this is obvious: as reason and taste\ndevelop, man ceases to be satisfied with the mere enjoyments of the\nanimal; he develops higher powers and instincts which also demand their\nsatisfaction; these powers, too, are not separate entities, but are\norganized with the more primitive capacities and the whole organization\nbecomes another through their appearance. As the social instinct grows,\nand intellect comes to take a higher place, the mere or chiefly physical\npassion felt between the sexes of lower species becomes the higher human\nlove, an organized instinct in which all the moral and intellectual\ndesires, the highest aims and emotions of the individual are fused to a\nwhole. Moreover, momentary pleasure becomes, with social progress,\nindeed with all evolution, less and less the ruling power; man, above\nall creatures, comes to demand enduring sources of satisfaction.\nFaithfulness in love is as necessary to perfect satisfaction as is\nfaithfulness in friendship; and the long as well as the close\ncompanionship of congenial natures is now, and must more and more\nbecome, the spring of our highest human joys. Disappointment in marriage\nmay incline the individual to doubt, by a universalization from his own\ncase,--to which disappointment is prone,--whether life-long love and\nfaithfulness are possible; but he still must feel that this is the\nideal. It has been said that men are naturally polygamous, women\nmonogamous; but this statement is obviously erroneous, since men by no\nmeans favor general polygamy; even the savage is capable of jealousy,\nand men have continually used the superior power they have possessed in\nlaw and public opinion to emphasize the exclusive claim they have upon\nthe women they take to wife. It is only true that, having also had the\npower in their hands of refusing a like faithfulness to that which they\ndemand from women, they have used this power to their own advantage.\nWomen desire faithful love on the part of men quite as much as men\ndesire it on the part of women; and women are quite as capable of\nphysical excesses and of fickleness as are men, when the restraints of\npublic opinion and social law are once broken over.\n\nA condition of promiscuity is impossible in an ideal society, and can\nnever be the goal towards which we tend. Men would not submit to it in\nthe women they loved; and if it is not possible for wives, then we have\nleft us only the alternative of prostitution in its present form,\nincreasingly worse in character as the ideal of faithfulness is more\nuniversally demanded and more completely carried out in wives, and the\nnecessary cooerdinate social ostracism and disgrace of the prostitute\nincreases. But this also cannot assuredly be our ideal; the increasing\nmisery of the class of prostitutes is not a thing to be sought. The\nwhole theory which tolerates prostitution is, in fact, illogical and\nonly devised as a prop for the selfishness of men, who are content to\ntake their pleasure at the expense of so much misery. The same thing\ncannot be, as some one has said, at once right for the man to demand and\ninfamous for the woman to permit. Where the act is one to which both\nsexes are necessary, it must, if it be right at all, be right for both,\nand if it is wrong, then wrong for both. And this would remain true even\nif it were proved that, because of greater strength or for any other\nreason, the sexual passion of men ought not to be restrained; for, the\nresponsibility of the prostitute's misery is thus laid at the door of\nmen; if the women who ply this traffic are prompted by no passion, but\nonly compelled by destitution, then the blame of their unhappy\ncompulsion to such a traffic rests more than ever on the heads of those\nwho furnish the demand to which their supply answers. In any case, the\nman is an accessory before the fact to a thing which he acknowledges\nwrong on the part of its performer.\n\nBut the plea that passion is stronger in the man for an act which dates\nback to the point in evolution where sexual propagation first began, and\nwhich has been performed equally by both sexes through all the range of\nspecies up to man, and even equally by both sexes of the human species\nexcept during the comparatively short period of higher civilization, is\nabsurd. The difference between the sexes in degree of sexual\ngratification is, _among those who transmit their instincts to\noffspring_, not great even under civilization. There is probably more\nexcess in marriage than outside it. But apart from this fact, the fact\nof cross-heredity is to be taken into consideration. The sexual is no\nmore than any other instinct a separate part of the individual\ncharacter; it is organically interwoven with all other instincts and\ntendencies; and it is scarcely supposable that thus fused with the rest\nof character, it would not be subject, as all other traits, to\ncross-inheritance from father to daughter as well as from mother to\nson,--that the father's life would not, in many cases, affect his\ndaughter's propensities, and the mother's life her son's. This _a\npriori_ reasoning is supported by facts of observation, among which\nthose of pathology and criminology are naturally the most marked. Man is\nan animal; but, as we have said before, he is not a beast, nor does he\nneed to imitate the beasts. He has his own social organization and must\ndetermine his own moral laws. The old theory, that any restraint at all\nof sexual passion is a crime against nature, and likely to result in\ngreat physical evil, is now exploded. Even if it were true that some\nevil to the individual was always the result of any restraint, the good\nof the individual is not the absolute criterion of right, and cannot\nstand against the claim of society as a whole; the unrestrained\nindulgence of sexual passion could no more be justified on this ground,\nand because of the fact that it is a natural instinct, than the absolute\nindulgence of anger can be justified because anger is a natural passion,\nand its expression doubtless a great satisfaction and relief to the\nindividual. But very many medical men, and among them such men as\nProfessor Krafft-Ebbing, the German authority on nervous diseases, are\nnow denying that self-restraint has such evil results as have been\nattributed to it. Krafft-Ebbing says, on the contrary, that while\nphysical excess is very often the precursor of harm, self-restraint is\nseldom so, except in cases of abnormal and morbid appetite.[282]\n\nIn other countries than the United States and England, the plea of\n\"poetry\" or \"romance\" is often heard in defence of prostitution, and as\nan excuse for the seduction of pure women. But if this is poetry, which\nmust so end in the bitter misery, the shame, degradation, despair, and\neven often the utter destruction of its heroines, then, in the name of\npity, let us have less of poetry and more of common humanity. To a man\nof anything but selfish instincts, \"poetry\" or \"romance\" could never be\nan excuse for connivance at such misery, either by direct act or in any\nway by influence. Nor is the poetry or romance of the highest order, in\nany case. There is no romance so powerful, no poetry so thrilling, nor\nany passion so strong, as that to which all the springs of intellectual\naspiration and moral aim converge, and which draws its sweetness and\nforce from a purity tainted by no degradation of ideals, galled by no\nbitter and humiliating recollections, checked by no self-consciousness\nof concealment and deceit. Compared with such a feeling, the romance of\nthe \"man of the world\" is tame and flat, his poetry but the doggerel\njingle of the third-rate variety-show. Physical passion the human being\nshares with every dog and other brute down to nearly the lowest forms of\nanimal life; love is as truly of higher species as the aesthetic sense of\nthe artist is of higher nature than the delight of the savage in gauds.\nThe old idea that strong emotion of any kind was incompatible with\nperfect morality has already been sufficiently discussed. But this\ndelusion has been the excuse of many a life of profound selfishness. It\nhas led to the theory that the artistic nature must necessarily be\nunrestrained in the gratification of its impulses, and has furnished the\nlibertine with a fine sense of kinship with the poet through the\nimitation of his sins. Perhaps the poetry of the lives of Robert and\nElizabeth Barrett Browning has been to the world as great a\ngratification and of as high worth as any that they ever wrote on paper.\nIt has dispelled once and forever the false theory of the necessities of\nthe artistic temperament, and has enabled us to perceive the higher\nbeauty of enduring love.\n\nIt is often urged in defence of the sexual sins of the poet or the\nmusician, that they are natural to his temperament and that, moreover,\nhe must be acquainted with all phases of life. But why is it not also\nurged, then, that he ought to be at liberty to give way to ungoverned\nfury, if he has inherited a tendency in that direction, or that he is\njustified in committing murder, arson, and all the other crimes in the\ncatalogue for the sake of the experience and the greater power of\nportrayal thus gained? If the excuse suffices for one crime against the\nwelfare of human beings, it should suffice also for others. Dickens\nmight possibly have been able to draw the character of Bill Sykes, to\ndepict his crime and the succeeding emotions with greater power and\nfaithfulness, had he himself experienced all that which he wished to\nportray; nevertheless, society cannot concede that he would have been\njustified in killing for the sake of his art; and neither can it\nconcede, from a higher ethical standpoint, that any other act in direct\nopposition to the general welfare is justifiable for the sake of art. It\nmay be possible for the artist, by torturing a slave to death, to paint\na more realistic picture of dying agony; but however glorious the art,\nthe man of finer sense and stronger sympathies must be revolted by it.\nSociety can even better miss a little of its art than take it at the\nprice of human misery.\n\nBut it is to be questioned whether the artist does not lose as much as\nhe gains, or even more, by an immoral license of any sort. True, the\nartist must know human nature; but the best portrayers of criminal\ncharacters have not themselves been criminals; and if ever we should\nhave a murderer-poet, we should in all probability feel the lack, in his\nverse, of various things, among these of the higher realism which\ncomprehends higher as well as lower types. It is impossible to be merely\nthe spectator of one's own life even if one is an artist; and especially\nis this true where passion is concerned. The emotions one feels, the\nacts one performs, must mould one's character, one's thought, opinion,\nthe mental world in which one lives, and so one's creative genius.\nNature is by no means all dunghill or reptile-haunted swamp, or even\ncommon kitchen; she has also her seas and mountains, and skies, her\nfields and woods, and even her sunny gardens and dainty parlors. The\nsnow-mountain glowing under the flush of dawn is as real as the reeking\ndunghill; but the power to appreciate and portray the one may be lost by\ntoo close association with the other, as the fine sense of smell is\ndulled by sojourning in foul odors. To the rake, the character of the\nself-controlled and virtuous becomes incomprehensible and chimerical;\nand his attempts to represent it are likely to be tinged with an\natmosphere of unreality. Of this we have much evidence in literature. To\nraise oneself to the higher standard in practice and comprehension\nrequires an effort; but it is comparatively easy to allow oneself to\nsink to a level for which generations of one's ancestors has prepared\ninnate if latent tendencies. On the other hand, though we desire to know\nmen and things through art, we desire to keep with us through its aid,\nabove all, that which most pleases us in the actual world--the beautiful\nin form, coloring, and idea, in nature outside man and in man himself;\nthe good, if it is the truly good, and not cant or hypocrisy, is also\nthe beautiful, and the loss of the power to portray it is a large one.\nAnd beyond the more easily definable loss which we have noticed, there\nis a still further one, felt in a subtle tone, a shade, an atmosphere;\nand which, if closely knit with our moral perceptions, is still an\naesthetic as well as a moral one. The evolution of morality, could,\nindeed, no more take place without leaving its impress on art than\nwithout leaving it on humor. The higher sense of humor, in very\nproportion to its keenness, experiences a revulsion at the grotesque and\ngross vulgarity which passes for humor among the savage and\nhalf-civilized; and with time, the immoral comes to revolt too much to\npermit of aesthetic enjoyment. Had Dickens been a murderer himself,\ninstead of the tender-hearted man he was, the world would doubtless have\nlost in every way aesthetically as well as morally by the fact. The old\ntheory of the total emancipation of art from all claims of morality\ncannot be maintained from even the aesthetic standpoint, and certainly\nnot from the ethical standpoint. Art has every right to be non-moral (if\nthat which delights innocently is ever anything but positively moral),\nbut it has none to be immoral,--to use the mighty power it possesses in\nthe cause of evil of any sort.\n\nNor is it even true that all nature belongs to art. In all its history,\nsculpture has never, except in a few isolated cases, reproduced the\nforms of the withered and decrepit. The painter of the extreme realistic\nschool may occasionally portray the scenes of the dissecting-room, but\npictures of sores and ulcers are left to adorn the pages of medical\nworks or patent-medicine advertisements. There are moral sores and\nulcers as little suited to artistic literature, and belonging properly\nto works on social healing alone. The depiction of evil in due\nproportion and with such limitations belongs to the accurate\nrepresentation of human character. But let its portrayal include no sin\nagainst man; let not the artist dip his hands in the dunghill, for\nhumanity's sake and also for his art's sake; lest his picture reek of\nit, and we find the offal mixed with the colors.\n\nThe cant and superstition with which marriage has often been invested\nhas doubtless been the source of the rebellion of many vigorous and\noriginal minds from the old morality; the morality founded on tradition\nand not on reason and sympathy has always this disadvantage.\nUndoubtedly, the sale of human flesh for gold or any other sordid\nconsideration, is evil, whether done under the sanction of the\nmarriage-law or without it. Undoubtedly also, the marriage-rite performs\nno miracle or magic spell, as the superstition of the past has imagined.\nNevertheless, it is of importance as a civil contract, a public\nacknowledgment, which furnishes data to the state, and places it in a\nposition to protect any injured party, and to fix the responsibility for\nthe maintenance and education of offspring. Considering the number of\nindividuals whose welfare is seriously concerned in these most intimate\nrelations of life, with all their passions, the state cannot relinquish\nthis right of arbitration, which should especially be employed for the\nprotection of the weaker individuals concerned--the wife and children.\nUnfortunately, it has, as yet, too often been used rather in securing\nthe power of tyranny and abuse than in protecting. This fact is\nperceptible even in modern law, as, for instance, in the unequal\ndivorce-laws of England, and in the fact that wife-beaters are often\ntreated with great leniency by English magistrates, while the man who\nabuses his mistress is liable to relatively severe punishment as having\nno especial power over the latter. It is, undoubtedly, the result of\nsuch laws, together with other evils incidental to the average of\nmarriages under the present conditions of human character, that on some\nsides a theory has grown up in favor of the total abolition of marriage.\nBut neither in its general application, nor in this particular instance,\nis the Anarchistic conception which finds the source of all evil in law,\nscientifically justifiable. The conditions of the evil lie in human\nnature itself, in the incompleteness of its evolution; of the present\nstage the injustice of present law is a part. The remedy lies,\ntherefore, as far as the law is concerned, in its correction, not in its\nabolishment.\n\nThe ideal of love is enduring faithfulness. But when that ideal is not\nonly unfulfilled, but marriage brings, instead of happiness, only\nmisery, shall the bond be indissoluble, difficult, or easy to loose?\n\nIn countries where women are wholly dependent upon men, perfect facility\nof divorce means substantially the power of repudiation on the part of\nmen. As long as women are incapable of efficient self-support, the\nadvantage of very easy divorce lies largely on the side of the husband.\nMarriage concerns, in any case, the welfare, not of one person alone but\nthat of husband, wife, and children, and society as a whole must place\nsome restrictions on the selfish action of the individual which may be\nto the lasting disadvantage of all others concerned. But as society\nadvances, as the education and social independence of women increase,\ntoo great stringency becomes undesirable, its advantages continually\ndiminish in comparison with its disadvantages. Forced family relations\nwhere all the affection that might render them for the good of those\nthus related is lacking, are obviously in themselves undesirable, and in\nmost cases where wife and children can be provided for independently of\nsuch relations, an evil to be avoided. Assuredly, it is undesirable that\nthe moral should be tied indissolubly, or practically so, to the\nimmoral,--that a mother, for instance, should not only be forced to\nbring forth children to a father whose evil qualities they may inherit,\nbut be compelled to endure the further ruin of their character through\nhis influence, besides bearing the personal agony of the enforced\ncompanionship with a man whose principles she can but despise. But all\ncharacter is at present faulty; and a desire for perfection in husband\nor wife therefore certain to disappointment; hence, the relinquishment\nof all divorce-restrictions whatsoever is too likely to lead to\npromiscuity; and unless such appears desirable to society, neither\npublic opinion nor state-law can place the power of repudiation in the\nhands of individuals. It is a choice of evils; the state must take human\nnature as it finds it, and deal with it on this basis. It has sometimes\nbeen proposed to make some substitution for the old form of marriage,\nas, for instance, by the adoption of a period of probation, of two,\nthree, or five years' marriage before the signing of the final\nlife-contract; by this method, it was proposed to obviate the necessity\nfor divorce. As far as this last proposal is concerned, it may be\nremarked that applications for divorce are by no means always made in\nthe earlier period of married life, and that, furthermore, any such\narrangement would offer the very best opportunities for the unscrupulous\nlibertine.\n\nBut beyond this, it may be repeated that, as Hoeffding has said, it is\nnot in the nature of love worthy the name to calculate the possibility\nof its own ending, and that the highest form of love is enduring.\nEnduring relation must, then, form the ideal on which we must fix our\neyes, even while failing to attain it; divorce, while given in cases\nwhere union seems no longer desirable, must be looked upon as indicating\na failure of marriage to fulfil its end. The influence of an ideal held\nin mind is the continual moulding of reality to a form more nearly\nresembling it. But to descend to a form of contract which starts with\nthe assumption of separation as possible or probable is to lose sight of\nthe ideal, to relinquish it from imagination, and to do away with its\ninfluence upon public opinion, and so upon the evolution of institutions\nand habits. We certainly need better divorce-laws and the wider\nrecognition of the desirability of divorce in many cases, but not the\npractical acceptance of an ideal of promiscuity.\n\nThe plan of such short contracts could never be carried out practically\nfor any length of time, in any modern civilized society. Even if adopted\nfor a time, it would speedily be abolished. Man naturally desires and\ntakes means of enforcing, at first with the lower means of compulsion,\nthen with the higher through the sympathies themselves, faithfulness in\nwoman; woman also, and equally, desires faithfulness in man, but is not\nable to secure it. The gradual growth of woman's social independence\nmust, however, place her more and more in a position to know of the life\nof men and to enforce the faithfulness she desires; that is, to punish\nunfaithfulness with the same penalties of disability for marriage by\nwhich men have hitherto enforced faithfulness in women. We may easily\nperceive that this is the direction of development. In countries where\nwomen are wholly dependent upon men, the character of a suitor in any\nrespect is a thing little inquired into, the chief object of the\nparents, who ordinarily have the most to say about the matter, being to\nsecure a husband for the girl at any cost. With the progress of society,\nwomen become less and less ready to accept the known drunkard or the\nconfessed libertine, and it is only the seclusion of women and their\nconsequent ignorance of the lives of men that makes marriage, at\npresent, still comparatively easy to the discreet and clever profligate.\nThe cooerdinate increase of regard for purity in wives with the\naggravation of the character of prostitution, supposed above for the\nsake of the discussion, is possible only up to a certain point, as an\noscillation in one direction resistance to which is continually\naccumulating, and must result in reaction in the opposite direction. The\ntwo principles are mutually contradictory, incompatible, and impossible\nas enduring factors in the same society. The growth of a more widely\ndiffused and stronger sentiment against prostitution and in favor of\nfaithfulness has, indeed, as yet led chiefly to the greater exclusion of\nprostitutes from association with the rest of society, and made\nprofligacy more and more secret; but, at the same time, the gradually\nincreasing sympathy has formed an accumulating resistance which is\nrapidly taking shape in the realization that the prostitute is not more\nguilty in furnishing the supply than is the man whose demand makes\nself-profanation a source of income, that the misery of prostitution is\nimmoral, and that the only remedy is prevention. There is no alternative\nto this remedy that progress can realize except, as has been shown,\ngeneral promiscuity. It is best, then, that we should make up our minds\nbetween these two and act accordingly; for the action of every\nindividual tells, for good or ill, upon society as a whole. What is the\nideal? I think the answer is plain; no man who has any conception of the\nhigher joys of love which is also friendship, intellectual\ncompanionship, can hesitate; and if this is so, then duty is plain also.\nNo man has a right to deplore the evil by word who encourages it in any\nway by his act.\n\nIt is sometimes averred by those who oppose the economic independence\nand educational equality of women with men, that women can mingle with\nthe world on a plane of equality with men only at the sacrifice of all\nthe chivalry and admiration which men now give to women. But this\nobjection opposes every step of women's progress, from the harem\nupwards, and every step has proved its falseness. True, in the lands\nwhere women are freest, they are less favored with insincere and fulsome\ncompliments, with vows and protestations which, when put to the test,\nmean nothing, or worse than nothing. The case is, however, far otherwise\nwith the attentions which mark sincere regard, and the consideration\npaid by physical strength to comparative weakness. It would, indeed, be\npeculiar if higher intellectual powers, a clearer insight into the\n\"severely true,\" the cultivation of that nobility of character which\nresults from self-knowledge through knowledge of others and the habit of\nself-reliance, should render women less attractive. The pioneers in any\ncause need to be the hardier individuals, and so are often those who\nplease little aesthetically; and the kicks and scoffs of the world may\ntake from the disposition what little grace it at first possessed; but\nthis does not prove the moral rightness of the kicks and scoffs, or the\nmoral culpability of those who dare to adhere to their purpose in spite\nof them. In the countries where excessive difficulties are placed in the\nway of women's work in the higher professions (there are very few placed\nin the way of her overwork in other directions), these have resulted\nnaturally in the suppression of effort on the part of the majority of\nthe more finely constituted and more sensitive, and have left the field\nto the hardier and less fine; but in the United States, where women are\nfreest in every way, they have lost neither in natural grace nor in the\nattention and regard of men; on the contrary, they have gained in both,\nand they have, furthermore, left the mark of their refining influence on\nthe whole civilization of the country. As long as women are weaker than\nmen physically, a higher moral standard must have regard for this\nweakness. When, through a more healthful life, women become more nearly\nequal to men in endurance, certain forms of attention will be less\nnecessary, and will, doubtless, fall off somewhat, only to make room for\na higher plane of mutual helpfulness. Yet I doubt whether the time will\never come when the grace and beauty of women, the associations of love\nand the memories of family affection, will not stir men of finer fibre\nto peculiar kindness, repaid as the appreciation of women can well\nrepay.\n\nThere is another protest--which comes especially from the party that\nmost exclaims against the evils of competition--against the\n\"superstitious\" respect for age. The reason is, obviously, that age\ntends by nature to conservatism. But the evils of the struggle for\nexistence are not those alone of outward conditions; these are often far\nless hard than the bitter spirit of mental antagonism that sears and\nsaddens the heart. Youth is daring and originative; middle age is less\nventuresome, but it possesses, on the other hand, a wider range of\nexperience. Between youth and youth, or youth and middle age, the battle\nis more equal. But age no longer possesses the power to cope with the\nworld physically or mentally; it is fixed in habit, and apt to follow\none accustomed round of thought; we are certainly not likely to convince\nit by violence. It has borne its share of violence and has done its part\nin the battle. It has advanced with its generation, though it may not be\nable to advance any longer with ours. Our ideal should certainly be that\nof forbearance, not of intolerance towards it.\n\nModern opinion is becoming dissatisfied with the old methods of dealing\nwith criminals--with the methods which continually return the criminal\nto society not bettered by incarceration, and ready to commit all manner\nof crimes again. Both the protection of society and the welfare of the\ncriminal would be better served by a course of discipline that should\nonly then give him back to society when he is fitted to live in harmony\nwith it and to enjoy the advantages conferred by such harmony. Recent\nexperiments in reformatories have demonstrated the immense advantage of\nmethods which attempt something like this. Among the improved\nreformatories for children, many of them without walls, bolts, or bars,\nsome have sent out cured from eighty to eighty-five per cent of the\noffenders committed to them. The Elmira reformatory deals especially\nwith offenders sentenced for their first state's prison offence, and its\nmethod is at once eminently humane and remarkably successful. Offenders\nmay be sent to it at the discretion of the judges. It contains three\ngrades. Members of the first of these wear better clothing, eat better\nfood, enjoy various special privileges, and are used, to some extent, as\nofficers and monitors for the other grades. Members of the second grade\nare less well provided for and honored than those of the first; and\nmembers of the third grade are worst clothed and fed, and have the\nfewest privileges. Every man who enters the prison is submitted to a\nminute examination as to his antecedents, his mental, moral, and\nphysical condition and capabilities. He is then placed in the second\ngrade, from which he may go up or down, according to his work and\nconduct. Eight hours' work a day are required, and compulsory school is\nheld in the evening, at which the common English branches are taught,\nand elementary instruction given in Law, Political Economy, Ethics, etc.\nDiscussion and thought on the subjects taught are encouraged, and\neverything possible is done to awaken interest. \"Perfect\" work and\nconduct for six months--the standard of \"perfection\" is high--and a mark\nof 75 in a scale of 100 in the school secure a man advance into the next\nhigher grade; and the same standard maintained for six months in the\nhighest grade entitle a man to release on parole; so that the term of\nimprisonment need not exceed a year. The man must be willing,\nindustrious, good-tempered, obedient, energetic, who gets release in\nthis time. Work is found for every man released; he is closely watched\nfor six months more, and if his conduct does not keep up the standard\nrequired, he is returned to the reformatory and must begin over again;\nif, on the other hand, his conduct and work, an attested report of which\nmust be handed in each month, is satisfactory for these six months, he\nis honorably discharged. The obdurate malefactors serve out their full\nsentence, as they would in state's prison. Of those who go out from the\ninstitution, eighty per cent return to society reformed; and the\nsuperintendent is of the opinion that this percentage could still be\nraised were the time of detention made indeterminate and wholly\ndependent upon reform. All prison reformers are coming to recognize the\ndesirability of such indeterminate sentences. The work of the men at\nElmira pays over two-thirds of the expenses of the institution, and even\nif we consider only dollars and cents, this method of dealing with crime\nis evidently the cheapest; for under the old method we have to take into\naccount the expenses of the later crimes of the men released without\nimprovement of character. The method of parole of first offenders, newly\nintroduced into France, and in use to some extent in other countries\nalso, seems to have rather less to recommend it, except in special\ncases; since the moral, intellectual, and industrial discipline of the\nreformatory are lacking.\n\nIn all such reformatory work it may be remarked that hard labor and\nstringent discipline, as well as consistent kindness, are found\nabsolutely necessary; and it is to be noted that the disinclination of\ncriminals for labor and regularity of life is one of the greatest\nobstacles in the way of their reform.[283] Judge Green quotes from Mr.\nHough on this point: \"Those who are in control of penal institutions\nmeet with no more pernicious influence than that exerted by certain\nwell-meaning but mistaken philanthropists who are impelled by kindly\nhearts to slop over with sentiment. No criminal is so hard to reach as\nthe one who fancies himself injured or has a grievance against society.\nAside from treatment that compels him to feel resentment, there is no\none thing that will so quickly bring this feeling as to have some\ntender-hearted, benevolent person tell him that they think his penalty\nis far more severe than his offence warrants, especially now that he has\npromised to pray regularly and abandon his wicked ways.\"[284] In\nconnection with this point, we may notice Bellamy's theory of crime as\nAtavism, to be treated in the hospitals. Whether or not we regard crime\nas disease, a distinction must be drawn between the disease that may be\nregarded as physical weakness and that which does not necessarily imply\nsuch weakness, though it may imply some physical defect in the sense\nthat the psychical characteristic has always its physical cooerdinate.\nWe may call the places where our criminals are treated prisons, or we\nmay call them hospitals; but the name will not alter the fact that\ncrime, and even the crime the tendency to which manifests itself early\nin life and is most incorrigible, needs, for the most part, a wholly\ndifferent treatment from that pursued with the sick or the insane.\nDiscipline and labor may come into play in the insane asylum, and\nmedicine and hygiene in the prison; but the methods are, nevertheless,\nwidely separated, and need to be so in order to attain any success.\nBellamy's conception of the character of the criminal by nature--such as\nhe imagines as alone existing under the conditions of his ideal\nstate--as rarely untruthful, does not at all accord with the facts of\nPsychology and Criminology. Total unreliability is one of the chief\ncharacteristics of the criminal by nature. He lies even where there is\nnothing to be gained by lying and often much to be lost; he lies\napparently for the mere pleasure of lying; or he is crafty and cunning,\nand the smallest gain suffices to furnish him with a motive for\nfalsehood. In mankind, as a whole, the love of truth, one of the latest\ndevelopments of the moral sense, is likewise one of those earliest lost\nin any moral deterioration; and to suppose men, as a rule, strictly\ntruthful and yet capable of committing crimes of any sort, especially in\na general ideal state of society and morals, is to suppose a\npsychological contradiction. Moreover, the antipathy of the criminal to\nundergoing the penalty of his crime would still remain as long as the\ndiscipline and labor of the places for criminal treatment were not\nabolished; and even the restrictions of incarceration would render the\npenalty disagreeable, since liberty is always preferable to confinement.\nAnd if we consider the indefinite sentence, which all prison reformers\nnow regard as the first condition of the successful treatment of crime,\nto be introduced, the reasons for pleading \"Not Guilty\" would by no\nmeans be removed. But I doubt whether a society of high moral\ndevelopment would sanction the doubling of the penalty which Bellamy\nconceives, as the punishment of simply a lie to escape it.\n\nThe question of capital punishment is more difficult than at first\nglance appears. One of the arguments often advanced in opposition to\nthis form of punishment is that the fear of it is no preventive of the\ncrime of murder (for which alone, in times of peace, it is still imposed\nin civilized countries), since murder still takes place. But the\nargument in this form is practically worthless; we might as well say\nthat art exhibitions do nothing to form taste, since many people who\nvisit them are still lacking in aesthetic feeling. The fact that men have\ngone away from public executions and committed murder is more to the\npurpose, as an indication that the influence of the spectacle is\nprobably a bad one. As to the private execution within prison-walls, it\nis difficult to suppose that the mere knowledge of it could arouse a\ndesire for blood, as the sight of it may be imagined to do. If we\nabandon capital punishment on this ground merely, ought we not, in\nconsistency, to do away with all representations of violent death on the\nstage and all description of it in fiction, since these things must\naffect the imagination full as vividly. The gladiatorial shows of Rome\nwere doubtless undesirable from a humanitarian point of view, not only\nin themselves, but also in their results; and it might be undesirable\nfor most individuals to accustom themselves to the spectacle of the\nbutchering of their meat; but, whether or not we agree with the\nvegetarians as to the social significance and influence of the use of\nanimal-food (necessarily, of course, we must concede that every fact has\nan influence of some sort, and in some degree, upon the mind), it can\nscarcely be claimed that the mere knowledge that beeves are slaughtered\nsomewhere is likely to influence the mind to such an extent as to lead\nto a morbid desire to imitate the deed; nor, the stimulating excitement\nof the actual spectacle of execution lacking, is it likely that the mere\nknowledge of its actuality should incite to the taking of human life. On\nthe contrary, it appears far more likely that the would-be murderer\nshould connect the thought of it with the possibilities of his own\nfuture in case of detection and arrest, and that he should, thus, be\nrather deterred from crime by it.\n\nThe vital questions appear to be whether we have a right thus to\nsacrifice life, and whether the evil which the murderer brings upon\nsociety may not be better prevented in some other way. Leaving out of\nconsideration, for a moment, a point which will be considered later, the\ntwo questions will be seen to resolve themselves into one. If I should\nperceive an innocent man about to be murdered by a villain, who was on\nthe point of plunging his knife into his victim's heart, and I had in my\nhand at the time a loaded revolver, my duty would be plain. I should\nhave no choice as to the responsibility for one man's life; only the\nchoice would be left me as to which life I would be responsible for;\nand to spare the murderer would be to make myself an accomplice in the\nmurder. The responsibility lies with every society to do the utmost in\nits power to prevent the murder of citizens who are, in the majority of\ncases, better men than their murderer; and the life, even, of the\nmurderer cannot stand out against the life of better men. If, then, the\ndeath sentence is the best preventive of murder, and society refuses to\ninflict it nevertheless, it makes itself the accomplice of the murderer\nas much as is the man who stands by and permits the knife to be plunged\ninto the victim's heart, rather than shoot down its wielder. It is not\nmercy that spares the guilty to sacrifice the innocent. If, then, we\nmust be responsible for the death of any man, let it be for that of the\nmurderer rather than for that of his victims. It is easy enough to say,\nas do some on this point, that it should never become a principle of\nsociety to do evil in order that good may come; but as long as there are\nconflicting conditions in society, there can be no choice of absolute\ngood; the only choice is between lesser and greater evils. Forgetting\nthis, and looking only on the one side of the question on which their\nsympathy has especially been excited, reformers are sometimes guilty of\nchoosing the greater evil in order that a lesser good may come. It is,\ntherefore, not sufficient to brand capital punishment \"a relic of\nbarbarism,\" in order to prove that it should be abolished.\n\nThe problem of prevention of murder includes various elements: it\nincludes the question of the possible repetition of the crime by the\nindividual on trial, the question of his influence by precept and\nexample, and that of his possible propagation of offspring who may\ninherit his evil propensities; and it also includes the question of the\ncheck of fear in other would-be murderers.\n\nIt has been claimed that imprisonment for life would act as an effectual\npreventive in all these respects. There may be, however, various\nobjections to this penalty. In the first place, an unconditional\nlife-sentence without hope of pardon is difficult to establish,\nespecially in democratic countries; and its justice is doubtful, in case\nit were possible. Even if sentences of this sort were to be passed, pity\nwould be likely to interfere later with their execution. And then the\nmomentous question arises as to whether it would always be well-directed\npity. The men in whom the right of pardon is vested are not always wise\nin their use of it, and in democratic countries they are guided to a\nconsiderable extent by the will of importunate portions of society which\nis often still less wise. The sentimentality which now vents itself in\nloading down violent criminals with flowers, fruit, gifts of all sorts,\nletters, photographs, commiserations for their \"misfortune,\" and even\noffers of marriage, is likely to stand in the way of the safety of\nsociety in case the murderer lives. This sentimentality, which in many\ncountries exalts the criminal into a hero, and in France turns the\npolice court into a fashionable place of amusement, were it not to be\nfollowed by the dread ending which the sterner members of society exact,\nand were the hope of pardon still open, might invest arrest with even\nsome attractions to the murderer, who is frequently a hero in his own\neyes. The prominence of a desire for notoriety is evident in criminals\nof the Jack-the-Ripper and other types. The sentimentality which is\nunable to distinguish between a legitimate mercy, and the mercy to the\nindividual which amounts to the worst of cruelty to many others, is,\nindeed, a continual danger to society and a hindrance to useful reforms.\n\nAgain, if the criminal be condemned to life-imprisonment, there is\nalways the possibility of his escape to be considered, and the fact that\nhe will probably stick at nothing to accomplish his escape. The dangers\nof ultimate success may not be so large; our prisons are nowadays\nstrongly built, the warders and other officers are very seldom open to\nbribes, and the proportion of escapes is extremely small. Nevertheless,\nthe hopelessness of a life-sentence must constitute a strong motive for\nthe stimulation of effort and ingenuity; and it can scarcely be hoped\nthat a man who has not before hesitated at murder, and who has no\ngreater penalty to fear in case of any number of repetitions of the\ncrime, will hesitate when his liberty and all it means to him of freedom\nfrom irksome discipline and restraint of vice, is at stake. And in case\nof escape society has to fear, not only repetitions of the crime, but\nalso the numberless and complex workings of the criminal's influence on\nothers, and the propagation of offspring who may inherit his evil\npropensities.\n\nAnd, furthermore, if the sentence of life-imprisonment is carried out,\nthe murderer's influence on the other tenants of the prison is to be\nconsidered, in case he is not kept in solitary confinement. The\npreservation of a large number of desperate criminals, in contact with\nthe less corrupt ones whose reform is being attempted, has many\nobjections. Criminals have more than once stated that they learned their\nworst principles from companions in prison, and many of our prisons and\nmany of our reformatories have been called mere schools of vice.\nMoreover, in maintaining our desperate criminals, we are spending large\nsums for their comfort while hundreds of better men are left to starve,\nand thousands are more poorly clothed and fed.\n\nThe fact that murder has not increased in some countries where the\ndeath-sentence has been abolished may be admitted as evidence in the\nmatter, but cannot be regarded, alone, as conclusive. For, first, that\nwhich is for the general good in one country may not be so in another,\nthe national temperament, form of government, and general habits of\nwhich are different. And, furthermore, it may be said that, although\nstatistics undoubtedly must have some meaning in all cases, the\ncomplication of social conditions renders it often difficult to say just\nwhat the significance may be in the particular case. In the diminution\nof murders, other circumstances may have been at work which would have\nlessened the number even if the death-sentence had not been abolished.\nAt least, experiments with regard to the abolition of the death-penalty\nhave been too few to render any categorical assertion on the subject\npossible.\n\nBut some of the above-stated objections to the abolition of capital\npunishment might be removed by the provision of separate prisons for\nmalefactors condemned to life-imprisonment, with separate wards\naccording to the moral condition of the prisoners, little communication\nbeing allowed between even those in the same ward, or communication only\nunder supervision, and such instruction being given as would enable the\nindividual to occupy the hours not devoted to labor in study, reading,\nor other mental recreation.\n\nGreen, in his book on crime, calls attention to the very undesirable\nvindictiveness sometimes aroused, by sentence of death, in the minds of\nthe condemned and of his friends, and notices the general evil of the\nfeeling in the minds of criminals that the state is their deadly foe,\ndefiance of the laws being thus raised to the plane of legitimate\nwarfare upon an enemy. The Hon. John J. Wheeler, in a paper quoted by\nGreen, lays especial stress on the desirability of convincing the\ncriminal that not revenge but the protection of society is aimed at in\nstate-punishment.\n\nAgain, the question may be asked whether the sentimental\ntendency to regard the criminal as a hero is not fostered by the\ndeath-sentence--whether the pity aroused at so extreme a fate would not\nbe inclined to take a less harmful form if the treatment of the criminal\nwere at once firm and humane but less sensational. Doubtless, the glory\nof crime and half its attractiveness for a large class of morbid\ncriminals would be departed, if we could come to regard the latter with\ncommiseration as of a lower and abnormal type of humanity and to treat\nthem as such. But it must be remembered that society, as a whole, is yet\nfar from so scientific a conception; and that combined firmness and\nkindness of treatment is difficult to secure, both in prison-officials\nand in those officers who have the power of pardon at present placed in\ntheir hands. We need obviously many reforms in our system of sentence\nand pardon, as well as in the management of our prisons. We need more\nmen like Mr. Brockway of Elmira, Mr. Wardwell of Virginia, and those\nother modern reformers of prison-life whose office is to them a matter\nof humanity and not merely of business. And especially, we need more\nfirmness in society as a whole; sympathy and mercy may be evils in the\npath of human progress when they deteriorate into a weakness which\nsacrifices the innocent in a mistaken humanity towards the guilty. In\norder to be well directed, sympathy must consider all men, and not the\nindividual alone; only then is it an unmitigated good.\n\nBut as for the argument noticed above with regard to the employment of\nlarge sums of money for the maintenance of the criminal classes while\nthe class of honest laborers is yet in destitution, it cannot be\nconsidered, on close inspection, as of great weight. Certainly it would\nnot be well to maintain the criminal in luxury while other reforms were\nwaiting. But if we act on the principle of deferring all less important\nreforms until all the more important ones are accomplished, we shall be\nin danger of not reforming at all. Any reform that is well-timed and\npossible is important; for the complication of social relations makes\nall reforms of weight in their wider significance. No reforms can or\nshould be made in a lump; improvement must come from all sides and\nlittle by little; sympathy must be consistent and influence social\nconditions in every direction gradually as it gradually increases. It is\nthe superficial Utilitarianism which bids us wait such a reform as this,\nthough possible, for another,--the same sort of Utilitarianism which\nadvocates the introduction of the Spartan custom of preserving only\nwell-formed and vigorous infants, and advises the administration of\npainless poisons to those hopelessly ill and suffering. All these things\nhave their relation to character, and, therefore, to other social evils,\nor reforms.\n\nAnd here we are brought finally to the consideration of the point\nhitherto left out of account,--a point which bears, however, a strong\nargument; namely, the fact of the possible condemnation of innocent men\nto death. Even since the limitation of capital punishment to cases of\nmurder the innocent have been hung or guillotined in mistake for the\nguilty. And for such mistakes there is no reparation; the grave never\ngives up its dead. Men have sometimes been discovered to be innocent in\nspite of the strongest evidence against them; human observation is\ndefective, human memory fallible, human character--especially such as\noften appears in evidence against the murderer--by no means always\nstrictly honorable and honest. Even confessions of guilt have sometimes\nbeen proved false. As with regard to other propositions to place the\npower of the life or death of individuals in the hands of their fellow\nmen, the question presents itself as to whether the use of so great\npower is not dangerous. And this appears to me the decisive point of our\ninquiry.\n\nSocieties are being formed for the abolition of capital punishment, and\nfeeling is growing strong in its favor. Let us hope, however, that the\nreformers will adopt a policy stringent and judicious as well as\nmerciful;--that they will not forget that, in order to render the\npreservation of the murderer harmless to society we need other reforms\nin law and prison management.\n\nIn general, it may be said of all questions, that the conflict between\nthe principles of justice and mercy, known to theological Ethics,\nresolves itself, from a higher point of view, into the question of\njustice only. The mercy which is not justice, is either mercy to one at\nthe expense of others, or mercy that spares the offender in one respect\nto his own greater disadvantage in another. The ideal character is thus\nat once gentle and strong.\n\nWe have followed the development of altruism from egoism up to the point\nwhere the thought of punishment ensuing upon the non-performance of duty\nceases to play a large part in the motive to action, the reward of the\npleasure of others and of their gratitude and love forming a complex\nmotive. But beyond even the incentives of love there lies still a higher\nmotive which, in cases of conflict, must figure as the highest morally.\nIn an ideal state, the social sanction could not conflict with duty; but\nuntil we reach such a state, the independence of moral motive must be\nobserved, the moral man must do what appears to him right, in spite of\npublic opinion. The course has its dangers, and the principle must be\ncarried out with caution, the questions involving such a course be\ncarefully considered from all sides and in all lights. But when this has\nbeen done, the sense of duty remains supreme. In the ideal man, the\nconsciousness of duty performed should constitute the strongest\npleasure, the consciousness of failure in duty the severest pain. This\nis the solution of the problem Ibsen gives us in \"Rosmersholm\"; society\nhas not advanced from savagery by permitting all pleasures which the\nindividual desires; nor can it advance further towards the ideal by\npermitting the individual to choose those pleasures which the future\nshall regard as evidence of our present semi-barbarous state, since they\nare pleasures inimical to the peace of others and the general good of\nsociety; as in the past, so in the present and future, the harmony\nbetween pleasure and duty (that is between the conflicting pleasures of\nindividuals) can be attained only by habit which shall bring the desires\nof the individual into harmony with duty. Thus only can all desires, the\nhappiness of all individuals, attain to harmony,--to \"full\" equilibrium.\n\nAnd this leads me to remark that we have reason to doubt the moral\nconviction of very many who protest against the \"immoral\" and\n\"superstitious\" restriction of personal pleasure in certain directions.\nWere such individuals morally convinced, were duty to their fellow men\nreally uppermost in their minds, they would not choose darkness and\nsecrecy for their deeds, but after careful and thorough statement of\ntheir opinions and reasons would show the earnestness of their belief by\nopen act. The man whose moral conviction is to him the highest duty does\nnot fear public opinion, but dares to follow that which seems to him\nright, in the face of slander; therefore, we suspect the man who hides\nhis deeds, of seeking his own pleasure and not that of society as a\nwhole.\n\n    \"Conscience is harder than our enemies,\n    Knows more, accuses with more nicety,\n    Nor needs to question Rumor if we fall\n    Below the perfect level of our thought.\n    I fear no outward arbiter,\"\n\nsays Don Silva in \"The Spanish Gypsy.\"\n\nBut for our encouragement, let us contemplate the heroic characters\nwhich progress has developed. From these we may take hope and courage,\nin these we may find the best results of the moral evolution of our\nrace, and the promise of the better future which man alone can work out\nby ever-renewed effort. The love of such characters, and even the\nknowledge that they exist, is the highest joy of human association, a\njoy which the present age may feel in a degree that no former age has\nknown; and herein lies the greater beauty of the present time over all\nothers. The thought of such characters can sustain us even in our own\nself-doubt. What man has done, man can do. Nay, he shall do more, much\nmore.\n\nThe question as to the final destruction of the human race, whether by\nsudden catastrophe or slow decay, can little affect happiness, at\npresent, or for very many ages to come. As yet, evolution is in the\ndirection of a greater harmony that means continually greater pleasure\nto life. We have not reached our maximum, we are evolving upwards\ntowards it. The pessimist is fond of making much of the final end of our\nplanet; but the healthy and successful will be happy in spite of future\nages, and the extent and degree of happiness will continue to increase\nfor such an immense period of time that there is no reason for\nconsidering the destruction of our race as exerting any important\ninfluence on ethical theory. The loss of our faith in individual\nimmortality is a far greater source of present pain. It leaves death a\nharder sorrow;--but it lends life new meaning. The good we strive for\nlies no longer in a world of dreams on the other side the grave; it is\nbrought down to earth and waits to be realized by human hands, through\nhuman labor. We are called on to forsake the finer egoism that centred\nall its care on self-salvation, for a love of our own kind that shall\ntriumph over death, and leave its impress on the joy of generations to\ncome. There is something lost in the dissolution of the old faith to us\nwho were reared in it. The hope of restitution, to the individual, from\nsupernatural cause, here or hereafter, is forever done away with. There\nis no restitution. In our favorite novel, when the doors are closed and\nthe lights extinguished, that some unspeakable sorrow may hide itself in\ndarkness and silence, we can always turn back the leaves till we are\nagain in the midst of light and music and dancing, and the heart for\nwhich the tragic knife is pitilessly sharpening in the hand of Destiny,\nis yet untouched. But in the book of Reality, there is no turning back;\nthe pages are burned before our eyes as we read. Sooner or later, we all\nof us reach the point where that which made life most worth living has\npassed away from us forever. There is no help save the knowledge of the\nfact, that shall make us all draw closer in sympathy and by mutual\nkindness render loss less bitter. As we accept the Truth, and bow our\nhead to the Inevitable, we may learn a less narrow happiness for this\nlife and for the Hereafter, from the great pioneers of Scientific Doubt\nand pure Humanitarianism, one of whom has written:--\n\n    \"Oh, may I join the choir invisible\n    Of those immortal dead who live again\n    In minds made better by their presence; live\n    In pulses stirred to generosity,\n    In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn\n    For miserable aims that end with self,\n    In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,\n    And with their mild persistence urge man's search\n    To vaster issues.\n                  So to live is heaven:\n    To make undying music in the world,\n    Breathing as beauteous order that controls\n    With growing sway the growing life of man.\n\n    *....*....*....*\n\n                    This is life to come,\n    Which martyred men have made more glorious\n    For us who strive to follow. May I reach\n    That purest heaven, be to other souls\n    The cup of strength in some great agony,\n    Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love,\n    Beget the smiles that have no cruelty,--\n    Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,\n    And in diffusion ever more intense.\n    So shall I join the choir invisible,\n    Whose music is the gladness of the world.\"\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[275] It should be said, in justice to the play in question, that the\nidea of purification by evil was evidently not present to its author.\n\n[276] See Part I. p. 33, this book; \"Social Statics,\" 87-89.\n\n[277] \"Le Luxe,\" p. 2.\n\n[278] \"Le Luxe,\" p. 12.\n\n[279] \"Fabian Essays in Socialism,\" pp. 27, 145, etc.\n\n[280] I have used the word here as elsewhere in its more general, not in\nits specific, technical sense.\n\n[281] \"Fabian Essays,\" p. 57.\n\n[282] See \"Jahrbuecher fuer Psychiatrie,\" 1889, \"Ueber Neurosen und\nPsychosen durch sexuelle Abstinenz.\"\n\n[283] See essay by Charles Dudley Warner in the \"North American Review\"\nfor April, 1885.\n\n[284] S. 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