A HANDBOOK OF ETHICAL THEORY

BY GEORGE STUART FULLERTON

To

MY WIFE

PREFACE

We are all amply provided, with moral maxims, which we hold with more orless confidence, but an insight into their significance is not attainedwithout reflection and some serious effort. Yet, surely, in a field inwhich there are so many differences of opinion, clearness of insight andbreadth of view are eminently desirable. 

It is with a view to helping students of ethics in our universities andoutside of them to a clearer comprehension of the significance of moralsand the end of ethical endeavor, that this book has been written. 

I have, in the Notes appended to it, taken the liberty of making a fewsuggestions to teachers, some of whom have fewer years of teaching behindthem than I have. I make no apology for writing in a clear anduntechnical style, nor for reducing to a minimum references toliteratures in other tongues than our own. These things are in accordwith the aim of the volume. 

I take this opportunity of thanking Professor Margaret F. Washburn, ofVassar College, and Professor F. J. E. Woodbridge, of ColumbiaUniversity, for kind assistance, which I have found helpful. 

G. S. F. New York, 1921. 

CONTENTS

PART I

_THE ACCEPTED CONTENT OF MORALS_

CHAPTER I. IS THERE AN ACCEPTED CONTENT?1. The Point in Dispute. 2. What Constitutes Substantial Agreement?3. Dogmatic Assumption. 

CHAPTER II. THE CODES OF COMMUNITIES4. The Codes of Communities: Justice. 5. The Codes of Communities: Veracity. 6. The Codes of Communities: the Common Good. 

CHAPTER III. THE CODES OF THE MORALISTS7. The Moralists. 8. Epicurean and Stoic. 9. Plato; Aristotle; the Church. 10. Later Lists of the Virtues. 11. The Stretching of Moral Concepts. 12. The Reflective Mind and the Moral Codes. 

PART II

_ETHICS AS SCIENCE_

CHAPTER IV. THE AWAKENING TO REFLECTION13. The Dogmatism of the Natural Man. 14. The Awakening. 

CHAPTER V. ETHICAL METHOD15. Inductive and Deductive Method. 16 The Authority of the "Given. "

CHAPTER VI. THE MATERIALS OF ETHICS17. How the Moralist should Proceed. 18. The Philosopher as Moralist. 

CHAPTER VII. THE AIM OF ETHICS AS SCIENCE19. The Appeal to Reason. 20. The Appeal to Reason Justified. 

PART III

_MAN AND HIS ENVIRONMENT_

CHAPTER VIII. MAN'S NATURE21. The Background of Actions. 22. Man's Nature. 23. How Discover Man's Nature?

CHAPTER IX. MAN'S MATERIAL ENVIRONMENT24. The Struggle with Nature. 25. The Conquests of the Mind. 26. The Conquest of Nature and the Well-being of Man. 

CHAPTER X. MAN'S SOCIAL ENVIRONMENT27. Man is Assigned his Place. 28. Varieties of the Social Order. 29. Social Organization. 30. Social Order and Human Will. 

PART IV

_THE REALM OF ENDS_

CHAPTER XI. IMPULSE, DESIRE, AND WILL31. Impulse. 32. Desire. 33. Desire of the Unattainable. 34. Will. 35. Desire and Will not Identical. 36. The Will and Deferred Action. 

CHAPTER XII. THE PERMANENT WILL37. Consciously Chosen Ends. 38. Ends not Consciously Chosen. 39. The Choice of Ideals. 

CHAPTER XIII. THE OBJECT IN DESIRE AND WILL40. The Object as End to be Realized. 41. Human Nature and the Objects Chosen. 42. The Instincts and Impulses of Man. 43. The Study of Man's Instincts Important. 44. The Bewildering Multiplicity of the Objects of Desire, and the Effort to Find an Underlying Unity. 

CHAPTER XIV. INTENTION AND MOTIVE45. Complex Ends. 46. Intention. 47. Motive. 48. Ethical Significance of Intention and Motive. 

CHAPTER XV. FEELING AS MOTIVE49. Feeling. 50. Feeling and Action. 51. Feeling as Object. 52. Freedom as Object. 

CHAPTER XVI. RATIONALITY AND WILL53. The Irrational Will. 54. One View of Reason. 55. Dominant and Subordinate Desires. 56. The Harmonization of Desires. 57. Varieties of Dominant Ends. 58. An Objection Answered. 59. This View of Reason Misconceived. 60. Another View of Reason. 

PART V

_THE SOCIAL WILL_

CHAPTER XVII. CHARACTERISTICS OF THE SOCIAL WILL61. What is the Social Will?62. Social Will and Social Habits. 63. Social Will and Social Organization. 64. The Social Will and Ideal Ends. 65. The Permanent Social Will. 

CHAPTER XVIII. EXPRESSIONS OF THE SOCIAL WILL66. Custom. 67. The Ground for the Authority of Custom. 68. The Origin and the Persistence of Customs. 69. Law. 70. Public Opinion. 

CHAPTER XIX. THE SHARERS IN THE SOCIAL WILL71. The Community. 72. The Community and the Dead. 73. The Community and the Supernatural. 74. Religion and the Community. 75. The Spread of the Community. 

PART VI

_THE REAL SOCIAL WILL_

CHAPTER XX. THE IMPERFECT SOCIAL WILL76. The Apparent and the Real Social Will. 77. The Will of the Majority. 78. Ignorance and Error and the Social Will. 79. Heedlessness and the Social Will. 80. Rational Elements in the Irrational Will. 81. The Social Will and the Selfishness of the Individual. 

CHAPTER XXI. THE RATIONAL SOCIAL WILL82. Reasonable Ends. 83. An Objection Answered. 84. Reasonable Social Ends. 85. The Ethics of Reason. 86. The Development of Civilization. 

CHAPTER XXII. THE INDIVIDUAL AND THE SOCIAL WILL87. Man's Multiple Allegiance. 88. The Appeal to Reason. 89. The Ethics of Reason and the Varying Moral Codes. 

PART VII

_THE SCHOOLS OF THE MORALISTS_

CHAPTER XXIII. INTUITIONISM90. What is it?91. Varieties of Intuitionism. 92. Arguments for Intuitionism. 93. Arguments against Intuitionism. 94. The Value of Moral Intuitions. 

CHAPTER XXIV. EGOISM95. What is Egoism?96. Crass Egoisms. 97. Equivocal Egoism?98. What is Meant by the Self?99. Egoism and the Broader Self. 100. Egoism not Unavoidable. 101. Varieties of Egoism. 102. The Arguments for Egoism. 103. The Argument against Egoism. 104. The Moralist's Interest in Egoism. 

CHAPTER XXV. UTILITARIANISM105. What is Utilitarianism?106. Bentham's Doctrine. 107. The Doctrine of J. S. Mill. 108. The Argument for Utilitarianism. 109. The Distribution of Happiness. 110. The Calculus of Pleasures. 111. The Difficulties of Other Schools. 112. Summary of Arguments for Utilitarianism. 113. Arguments against Utilitarianism. 114. Transfigured Utilitarianism. 

CHAPTER XXVI. NATURE, PERFECTION, SELF-REALIZATIONI. _Nature_115. Human Nature as Accepted Standard. 116. Human Nature and the Law of Nature. 117. Vagueness of the Law of Nature. 118. The Appeal to Nature and Intuitionism. 

II. _Perfection_119. Perfection and Type. 120. More and Less Perfect Types. 121. Perfectionism and Intuitionism. 

III. _Self-realization_122. The Self-realization Doctrine. 123. The Doctrine Akin to that of Following Nature. 124. Is the Doctrine More Egoistic?125. Why Aim to Realize Capacities?126. The Problem of Self-sacrifice. 127. Self-satisfaction and Self-sacrifice. 128. Can Moral Self-sacrifice be a Duty?129. Self-sacrifice and the Identity of Selves. 130. Questions which Seem to be Left Open. 

CHAPTER XXVII. THE ETHICS OF EVOLUTION131. The Significance of the Title. 132. Evolution and the Schools of the Moralists. 133. The Ethics of Individual Evolutionists. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. PESSIMISM134. The Philosophy of the Pessimist. 135. Comment on the Ethics of Pessimism. 

CHAPTER XXIX. KANT, HEGEL AND NIETZSCHE136. Kant. 137. Hegel. 138. Nietzsche. 

PART VIII

_THE ETHICS OF THE SOCIAL WILL_

CHAPTER XXX. ASPECTS OF THE ETHICS OF REASON139. The Doctrine Supported by the Other Schools. 140. Its Method of Approach to Problems. 141. Its Solution of Certain Difficulties. 142. The Cultivation of Our Capacities. 

CHAPTER XXXI. THE MORAL LAW AND MORAL IDEALS143. Duties and Virtues. 144. The Negative Aspect of the Moral Law. 145. How Can One Know the Moral Law?

CHAPTER XXXII. THE MORAL CONCEPTS146. Good and Bad; Right and Wrong. 147. Duty and Obligation. 148. Reward and Punishment. 149. Virtues and Vices. 150. Conscience. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. THE ETHICS OF THE INDIVIDUAL. 151. What is Meant by the Term?152. The Virtues of the Individual. 153. Conventional Morality. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. THE ETHICS OF THE STATE154. The Aim of the State. 155. Its Origin and Authority. 156. Forms of Organization. 157. The Laws of the State. 158. The Rights and Duties of the State. 

CHAPTER XXXV. INTERNATIONAL ETHICS159. What is Meant by the Term. 160. Our Method of Approach to the Subject. 161. Some Problems of International Ethics. 162. The Other Side of the Shield. 163. The Solution. 164. The Necessity for Caution. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. ETHICS AND OTHER DISCIPLINES165. Sciences that Concern the Moralist. 166. Ethics and Philosophy. 167. Ethics and Religion. 168. Ethics and Belief. 169. The Last Word. 

NOTES

INDEX

PART I

THE ACCEPTED CONTENT OF MORALS

CHAPTER I

IS THERE AN ACCEPTED CONTENT?

1. THE POINT IN DISPUTE. --Is there an accepted content of morals? Can weuse the expression without going on to ask: Accepted where, when, and bywhom?

To be sure, certain eminent moralists have inclined to maintain that menare in substantial agreement in regard to their moral judgments. JosephButler, writing in the first half of the eighteenth century, came to theconclusion that, however men may dispute about particulars, there is anuniversally acknowledged standard of virtue, professed in public in allages and all countries, made a show of by all men, enforced by theprimary and fundamental laws of all civil constitutions: namely, justice, veracity, and regard to common good. [Footnote: _Dissertation on theNature of Virtue. _] Sir Leslie Stephen, writing in the latter half ofthe nineteenth, tells us that "in one sense moralists are almostunanimous; in another they are hopelessly discordant. They are unanimousin pronouncing certain classes of conduct to be right and the oppositewrong. No moralist denies that cruelty, falsity and intemperance arevicious, or that mercy, truth and temperance are virtuous. " [Footnote:_The Science of Ethics_, chapter i, Sec. 1. ]

In other words, these writers would teach us that men are, on the whole, agreed in approving, explicitly or implicitly, some standard of conductsufficiently definite to serve as a code of morals. But that there issuch a substantial agreement among men has not impressed all observers tothe same degree. Locke, who wrote before Butler, based his argumentsagainst the existence of innate moral maxims upon the wide divergenciesfound among various classes of men touching what is right and what iswrong. [Footnote: _Essay Concerning Human Understanding_, Book I, chapter iii. ] The historian, the anthropologist and the sociologistreinforce his reasonings with a wealth of illustration not open to themen of an earlier time. They present us with codes, not a code; withmultitudinous standards, not a single standard; with what has beenaccepted here or there, at this time or at that; and we may well askourselves where, amid this profusion, we are to find the one andacceptable code. 

2. WHAT CONSTITUTES SUBSTANTIAL AGREEMENT?--To be sure, we may be verygenerous in our interpretation of what constitutes substantial agreement;we may deny significance to all sorts of discrepancies by relegating themto the unimpressive class of "disputes about particulars. " Such animpressionistic indifference to detail may leave us with something on ourhands as little serviceable as a composite photograph made fromindividual objects which have little in common, a blur lacking alldefinite outline and not recognizable as any object at all. No man canguide his conduct by the common core of many or of all moral codes. Takenin its bald abstraction, it is not a code or anything like a code. Whocan walk, without walking in some particular way, in some direction, atsome time? Who can mind his manners without being mannerly in accordancewith the usages of some race or people?

Those who content themselves with enunciating very general moralprinciples may, it is true, be of no little service to their fellow-men;but that is only because their fellow-men are able to supply the detailsthat convert the blur into a picture. Some twenty-four hundred years agoHeraclitus told his contemporaries "to act according to nature withunderstanding"; we are often told today that the rule of our lives shouldbe "to do good. " Had the ancient Greek not possessed his own notions ofwhat might properly be meant by nature and by understanding, did we notourselves have some rather definite conception of what actions mayproperly fall under the caption of doing good, such admonitions could notlead to the stirring of a finger. Who would appeal to his physician foradvice as to diet, if he expected from him no more than the counsel toeat, at the proper hours, enough, but not too much, of suitable food?

If, then, we confine our admonitions to the group of abstractions whichconstitute the universally acknowledged standard of virtue when all theindividual differences which characterize different codes have beenignored, we preach what, taken alone, no man can live by, and nocommunity of men has ever attempted to live by. If we leave it to ourhearers to drape our naked abstractions with concrete details, each willset to work in a different way. The method of the composite photographseems unprofitable in attempting to solve the problem of morals. 

3. DOGMATIC ASSUMPTION. --There is, however, a second way by which thevariations which characterize different codes may come to be relegated toa position of relative insignificance. We may assume that our own code isthe ultimate standard by which all others are to be judged, and we mayset down deviations from it to the account of the ignorance or theperversity of our fellowmen. So regarded, they are aberrations from thenormal, and only true code of conduct; interesting, perhaps, but littleenlightening, for they can have little bearing upon our conception ofwhat we ought to do. 

A presumption against this arbitrary assumption that we have the one andonly desirable code is suggested the unthinking acceptance of thetraditional by those who are lacking in enlightenment and in the capacityreflection. Is it not significant that a contact with new ways ofthinking has a tendency, at least, to make men broaden their horizon andto revise some of their views?

In other fields, we hope to attain to a capacity for self-criticism. Weexpect to learn from other men. Why should we, in the sphere of morals, lay claim to the possession of the truth, the whole truth, and nothingbut the truth? Why should we refuse to learn from anyone? Such a positionseems unreasoning. It puts moral judgments beyond the pale of argumentand intelligent discussion. It is an assumption of infallibility littlein harmony with the spirit of science. The fact that a given standard ofconduct is in harmony with our traditions, habits of thought, andemotional responses, does not prove to other men that it is, not one of anumber of accepted codes, but in a quite peculiar sense acceptable, athing to put in a class by itself--the class into which each mother putsher own child, as over against other children. 

Moreover, such an unreasoned assumption of superiority must make onelittle sympathetic in one's attitude toward the moral life of otherpeoples. Into the significance of their social organization, of theircustoms, their laws, one can gain no insight. Their hopes, their fears, their strivings, their successes and their failures, their approval anddisapproval of their fellows, their peace of conscience and theirremorse, must leave us cold and aloof. 

It is not profitable for us to assume at the outset that the differencesexhibited in the moral judgments of individuals or of peoples are ofminor significance. They are facts to be dealt with in the light of sometheory. An ethical theory which ignores them must rest upon a narrow andinsecure foundation. It is exposed to assault from many quarters. It may, in default of better means of defence, be compelled to take refuge behindthe blind wall of dogmatic assertion. On the other hand, a theory whichgives them frank recognition, and strives to exhibit their realsignificance in the life of the individual and of the race, may be ableto show lying among them the golden cord of reason which saves them fromthe charge of being incoherent facts. It may even lead us back to aconservatism no longer unreasoning, but rationally defensible andconscious of its proper limits. The blindly conservative man seems to befaced with the alternative of stagnation or revolution. The rationallyconservative may regard the development of the moral life as a Pilgrim'sProgress, not without its untoward accidents, but, in spite of them, agradual advance toward a desirable goal. 

CHAPTER II

THE CODES OF COMMUNITIES

4. THE CODES OF COMMUNITIES: JUSTICE. --In view of the existing tendencyin the average man, and even in some philosophers, to pass lightly overthe diversities exhibited by different codes, it is well to cast a briefpreliminary glance at the content of morals as accepted, both bycommunities of men, and by their more reflective spokesmen, themoralists. Let us first take a look at the codes of communities. 

We have seen that Butler viewed justice, veracity and regard to commongood as virtues accepted among men everywhere. But we may also see, if welook into his pages, that he neglected to point out that there may be thewidest divergencies in men's notions of what constitutes justice, veracity and common good. And men differ widely on the score of thedegree of emphasis to be laid upon their observance. 

Take justice. Where men possess a code, written or unwritten, that mayproperly be called moral, we expect of them the judgment that guiltshould be punished. But what shall be accounted guilt? What shall be themeasure of retribution? Who shall be fixed upon as guilty?

As to what constitutes guilt. We have only to remind ourselves that theDyak head-hunter is not condemned by his fellows, but is admired;[Footnote: WESTERMARCK, _The Origin and Development of the MoralIdeas_, London, 1906, I, chapter xiv. ] that the fattening and eatingof a slave may, in a given primitive community, be accounted no crime;[Footnote: WESTERMARCK, _op. Cit. _ II, chapter xlvi. ] thatinfanticide has been most widely approved, and that not merely inprimitive communities, for Greece and Rome, when they were far fromprimitive, practiced certain forms of it with a view to the good of thestate; [Footnote: _Ibid. _, I, chapter xvii. ] that the holding of afellow-creature in bondage, and exploiting him for one's own advantage, even under the lash, was, until recently, not a crime in the eye of thelaw even in the most civilized states. On the other hand, it may be acrime to eat a female opossum. [Footnote: _Ibid. _, I, chapter iv, p. 124. ] The impressive imperative: Thou shalt not! appears to bearunmistakable reference to time and circumstance. 

And what is the natural and proper measure of punishment? The ancient andprimitive rule of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth suggests thefigure of the scales, the impartially meting out to each man of his due. It is obviously a rule that cannot be applied in all cases. One cannottake the tooth of a toothless man, or compel a thievish beggar to restorefruit which he has eaten. We should be horrified were any serious attemptmade to make the rule the basis of legislation in any civilized statetoday, but men have not always been so fastidious. Approximations to ithave been incorporated into the laws of various peoples. 

But all have modified it to some degree, and the modifications have takenmany forms--the punishment of someone not the criminal, compensation inmoney or in goods, incarceration, and what not. Nor have themodifications been made solely on account of the difficulty of applyingthe rule baldly stated. Other influences have been at work. 

Thus, in the famous Babylonian code, the man who struck out the eye of apatrician lost his own eye in return, and his tooth answered for thetooth of an equal--but the rule was not made general. [Footnote: 5HOBHOUSE, _Morals in Evolution, _ I, chapter iii, Sec 3; New York, 1906. ] In state after state it has been found just to treat differentlythe patrician, the plebeian, the slave, the man, the woman, the priest. In the very state to which Butler belonged, benefit of clergy could beclaimed, up to relatively recent times, by those who could read. Theeducated criminal escaped hanging for offences for which his illiterateneighbor had to swing. [Footnote: _Ibid. , _ Sec. 11. ]

Nor is there any clear concensus of opinion touching the question of whoshall be selected as the bearer of punishment. If a man has injuredanother unintentionally, shall he be held to make amends? It has seemedjust to men that he should. [Footnote: WESTERMARCK, chapter ix. ] That oneman should be made responsible for the misdeeds of another, under theprinciple of collective responsibility, has commended itself as just to amultitude of minds. Not merely the sins of the fathers, but those of themost distant relations, those of neighbors, of fellow-tribesmen, offellow-citizens, have been visited upon those whose sole guilt lay insuch a connection with the directly guilty parties. This is not asporadic phenomenon. Among the ancient Hebrews, in Babylonia, in Greece, in the later legislation of Rome, in medieval and even in modern Europe, the principle of collective responsibility has been accepted and hasseemed acceptable. Asia, Africa and Oceania have cast votes for it. Sohave the Americas. [Footnote: WESTERMARCK, I, chapter ii; DEWEY ANDTUFTS, _Ethics_, New York, 1919, Part I, chapter ii. ]

5. THE CODES OF COMMUNITES: VERACITY. --As to veracity: It has undoubtedlybeen valued to some degree, and with certain limitations, by tribes andnations the most diverse in their degrees of culture. Did men never speakthe truth they might well never speak at all. But to maintain thatabsolute veracity has at all times been greatly valued would be anexaggeration. The lie of courtesy, the clever lie, the lie to thestranger, have been and still are, in many communities both uncivilizedand more advanced, not merely condoned, but approved. With the defencewhich has been made of the doctrines of mental reservation and piousfraud students of church history are familiar. In diplomacy and in wartoday highly civilized nations find deceptions of many sorts profitableto them, nor are such generally condemned. [Footnote: WESTERMARCK, II, chapters xxx and xxxi. ]

What modern government does not employ secret service agents, and valuethem in proportion to the degree of skill with which they manage todeceive their fellows, while limiting the exercise of professional goodfaith to their intercourse with their paymaster? The secret service agentof transparent frankness, who could not bear to deceive his neighbor, would not hold his post for a day. He would be a subject for Homericlaughter. 

Moreover, if the question may be raised: what constitutes justice? mayone not equally well ask: what constitutes veracity or its opposite?Where does the silence of indifference shade into purposed concealment, and the latter into what is unequivocally deception? At what point doesdeception blossom out into the unmistakable lie? One may take advantageof an accidental misunderstanding of what one has said; one may useambiguous language; one may point instead of speaking. Between goingabout with a head of glass, with all one's thoughts displayed as in ashow-case to every comer, and the settled purpose to deceive by thedirect verbal falsification, there is a long series of intermediatepositions. The commercial maxim that one is not bound to teach the manwith whom one is dealing how to conduct his business, and the lawyer'sdictum that the advocate is under no obligation to put himself in theposition of the judge, obviously, will bear much stretching. 

6. THE CODES OF COMMUNITIES: THE COMMON GOOD. --Nor are the facts whichconfront us less perplexing when we turn to that "regard to the commongood" which Butler finds to be acknowledged and enforced by the primaryand fundamental laws of all civil constitutions. Whether we look at thepast or view the present, whether we study primitive communities orconfine ourselves to civilized nations, we see that common good is not, apparently, conceived as the good of all men, however much the words"justice" and "humanity" may be upon men's lips. 

Has any modern state as yet succeeded in incorporating in its civilconstitution such provisions as will ensure to all classes of itssubjects any considerable share in the common good? Slaves and animals, said Aristotle, have no share in happiness, nor do they live after theirown choice. [Footnote: _Politics_, iii, 9. ] The pervading unrest ofthe modern economic community is due to the widespread conviction thatthe existing organization of society does not sufficiently make for thehappiness of all. Some states with a high degree of culture have not evenmade a pretence of having any such aim. They have deliberately legislatedfor the few. [Footnote: The "citizens" of the ancient Greek state were aprivileged class who legislated in their own interest. Let the readerlook into Plato's _Laws_ and Aristotle's _Politics_ and see howinconceivable the cultivated Greek found what is now the ideal of amodern democracy. "Citizens" should own landed property, and work it byslaves, barbarians and servants. They should not be "ignoble" mechanicsor petty traders. Compare the spirit of Froissart's _Chronicles_, inthe Middle Ages. See what Bryce (_South America_, New York, 1918, chapters xi and xv) says about the position of the Negro in our Southernstates, and of the Indians in South American republics. ]

Even where the avowed aim is the common good of all, states have assumedthat some must be sacrificed for others. Certain individuals are selectedto die in the trenches in the face of the enemy, that others may beguaranteed liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Grotius, the famousjurist of the seventeenth century, has been criticized for holding that abeleaguered town might justly deliver up to the enemy a small number ofits citizens in order to purchase immunity for the rest. How far do thecases differ in principle? "Among persons variously endowed, " wroteHegel, "inequality must occur, and equality would be wrong. " [Footnote:Hegel, _The Philosophy of Right_, translated by Dyde, London, 1896, p. 56. ] Commonwealths of many degrees of development have recognizedinequalities of many sorts, and have treated their subjects accordingly. 

"For diet, " said Bentham with repellent frankness, "nothing but self-regarding affection will serve. " Benevolence he considered a valuableaddition "for a dessert. " He had in mind the individual, and he didinjustice to individuals in certain of their relations. But how do thingslook when we turn our attention to the relations between states? Does anystate actually make it a practice to treat its neighbor as itself? Wouldits citizens approve of its doing so?

The Roman was compelled to formulate a _jus gentium_, a law ofnations, to deal with those who held, to him, a place beyond the pale oflaw as he knew it. [Footnote: See SIR HENRY MAINE, _Ancient Law_, chapter iii. ] Many centuries have elapsed since pagan philosophers taughtthe brotherhood of man, and since Christian divines began to preach itwith passionate fervor. Yet civilized nations today are still seeking tofind a _modus vivendi_, which may put an end to strife and enablethem to live together. The _jus gentium_, or its modern equivalent, is, alas! still in its rudiments. 

To obviate misunderstanding at this point, it is well to state that, inadducing all the above facts, I do not mean to argue that it is abnormaland an undesirable thing that the scales of justice should, at times, beweighted in divers ways. I am not maintaining that the distribution ofcommon good should proceed upon the principle of strict impartiality. What is possible and is desirable in this field is not something to bedecided off-hand. But the facts suffice to illustrate the truth that thediscrepancies to be found in the codes of different communities canscarcely be dismissed as unimportant details. They are something far toosignificant for that. 

CHAPTER III

THE CODES OF THE MORALISTS

7. THE MORALISTS. --If, from the codes, or the more or less vague bodiesof opinion, which have characterized different communities, we turn tothe moralists, we find similar food for thought. 

But who are the moralists? Can we put into one class those who preach ashort-sighted selfishness or a calculating egoism and those who urge uponus the law of love? Those who recommend a contempt of mankind, and thosewho inculcate a reverence for humanity? Those who incline to leave us toour own devices, telling us to listen to conscience, and those who drawup for us elaborate sets of rules to guide conduct? The histories ofethics are rather tolerant in herding together sheep and goats. And notwithout reason. Those whom they include have been in a sense thespokesmen of their fellows. Their words have found an echo in the soulsof many. They are concerned with a rule of life, and their rule of life, such as it is, rests upon some principle which has impressed men as beingnot wholly unreasonable. 

In taking a glance at what they have to offer us, I shall not go farafield, and shall exercise a brevity compatible with the purpose of mereillustration. To the moralists of ancient Greece, and, to a lesserdegree, to those of the Roman Empire, to the Christian teachers whosucceeded to their heritage in the centuries which followed, and to themore or less independent thinkers who made their appearance after theReformation, we can trace our ethical pedigree. For our purpose we needseek no wider field. Here we may find sufficiently notable contrasts ofopinion to disturb the dogmatic slumber of even an inert mind. The mostcursory glance makes us inclined to accept with some reserve Stephen'sclaim that "the difference between different systems is chiefly in thedetails and special application of generally admitted principles. "

8. EPICUREAN AND STOIC. --Thus, Aristippus of Cyrene advised men to graspthe pleasure of the moment rather than to await the more uncertainpleasure of the future; but he also counselled, for prudential reasons, the avoidance of a conflict with the laws. Such advice takes cognizanceof the self-love of the individual, and is not self-love reasonable?Nevertheless, such advice might be given by a discouraged criminal of areflective turn of mind, on his release from prison, to a comrade not yetchastened by incarceration. Epicurus praises temperance and fortitude, but only as measures of prudence. He praises justice, but only in so faras it enables us to escape harm, and frees us from that dread ofdiscovery that haunts the steps of the evil-doer. His more specificmaxims, do not fall in love with a woman, become the father of a family, or, generally, go into politics, smack strongly of the rule of liferecommended to Feuillet's hero, Monsieur de Camors, by his worldly-wiseand cynical father. 

Contrast with these men the Stoics, whose rule of life was to followNature, and to eschew the pursuit of pleasure. Man's nature, saidEpictetus, is social; wrongdoing is antisocial; affection is natural. [Footnote: _Discourses_, Book I, chapter xxiii--a clever answer toEpicurus. ] Said Marcus Aurelius, it is characteristic of the rationalsoul for a man to love his neighbor. The cautious bachelor imbued withEpicurean principles would find strange and disconcerting the Stoicposition touching citizenship: "My nature is rational and social; and mycity and country, so far as I am Antoninus, is Rome, but so far as I ama man, it is the world. The things then which are useful to these citiesare alone useful to me. " [Footnote: _Thoughts_, Book VI, 44;translated by GEORGE LONG. ]

9. PLATO; ARISTOTLE; THE CHURCH. --No more famous classification of thevirtues--those qualities of character which it is desirable for a man tohave, and which determine his doing what it is desirable that he shoulddo--has ever been drawn up than that offered us by Plato: Wisdom, Courage, Temperance and Justice. [Footnote: For PLATO's account of thevirtues see the _Republic_, Book IV, and the _Laws_, Book I. ]It is interesting to lay beside it the longer list drawn up by Aristotle, and to compare both with that which commended itself to the mind of themediaeval churchman. 

With Aristotle, the virtues are made to include: [Footnote:_Ethics_; I refer the reader to the admirable exposition andcriticism by SIDGWICK, _History of Ethics_, London, 1896, chapterii, Sec 10-12; compare ZELLER, _Aristotle and the EarlierPeripatetics_, English translation London, 1897, Volume II, chapterxii. ]

 Wisdom High-mindedness Justice Ambition Courage Gentleness Temperance Friendliness Liberality Truthfulness Magnificence Decorous Wit

and it is suggested that, although scarcely a virtue, a sense of shame isbecoming in youth. 

We find the Christian teachers especially recommending: [Footnote: SeeSIDGWICK'S sympathetic account of the Churchman's view of the virtues, _loc_. _cit_. , chapter iii. ]

 Obedience Patience Benevolence Purity Humility Alienation from the "World" Alienation from the "Flesh"

and their lists of the "deadly sins" they select from the following:

 Pride Arrogance Anger Gluttony Unchastity Envy Vain-Glory Gloominess Languid Indifference. 

Could there be a more striking contrast than that between the mediaevalcode and those of the great Greek thinkers? Plato recommended as virtuescertain general characteristics of character much admired by the Greek ofhis day. Aristotle accepted them and added to them. He has painted muchmore in detail the gifts and graces of a well-born and well-situatedGreek gentleman as he conceived him. The personage would cut a sorryfigure in the role of a mediaeval saint; the mediaeval saint would wear atarnished halo if endowed with the Aristotelian virtues. 

The one ideal, the Greek, breathes an air of self-assertion; the otherone of self-abnegation. Benevolence, Purity, Humility and Unworldlinessare not to be found in the former; Justice, Courage and Veracity appearto be missing in the latter. Wisdom, insight, has given place to theObedience appropriate to a man clearly conscious of a Law, not man-made, to which man feels himself to be subject. 

Indeed, the discrepancy between the ideals is such that Aristotle'svirtuously high-minded man would have been conceived by the mediaevalchurchman to be living in deadly sin, as the very embodiment of pride andarrogance. We find him portrayed as neither seeking nor avoiding danger, for there are few things about which he cares; as ashamed to acceptfavors, since that implies inferiority; as sluggish and indifferentexcept when stimulated by some great honor to be gained or some greatwork to be performed; as frank, for this is characteristic of the man whodespises others; as admiring little, for nothing is great to him. Hispride prevents him from harboring resentment, from seeking praise, andfrom praising others. This Nietzschean hero would attract attention uponany stage: "The step of the high-minded man is slow, his voice deep, andhis language stately, for he who feels anxiety about few things is notapt to be in a hurry; and he who thinks highly of nothing is notvehement. " [Footnote: _Ethics_, Book IV, chapter in, 19, translationby R. W. BROWNE, London, 1865. ]

To be sure, virtues not on a given list may be found in, or read into, some of the writings of the man who presents it. It would be absurd tomaintain that the mediaeval churchman had no regard for justice, courageand veracity, as he would define them, or that Plato and Aristotle werewholly deaf to the claims of benevolence. Nevertheless, the variations inthe emphasis laid on this virtue or on that, or in the conception of whatconstitutes this virtue or that, may yield ideals of character and ofconduct which bear but a slight family resemblance. Imagine St. Francisof Assisi lowering his voice, slowing his step, and cultivating "high-mindedness, " or striving to make himself a pattern of decorous wit. 

10. LATER LISTS OF THE VIRTUES. --The codes proposed by the moralists of alater time are numerous and widely scattering. It is impossible to dojustice to them in any brief compass. A very few instances, selected fromamong those most familiar to English readers, must suffice to indicatethe diversity of their nature. 

Hobbes [Footnote: _Leviathan_, chapter xv. ], deeply concerned todiscover some _modus vivendi_ which should put a check upon strifebetween man and his fellow-man, and save us from a life "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short, " recommends among other virtues:

 Justice Equity Requital of benefits Sociability A moderate degree of forgiveness The avoidance of pride and arrogance. 

Locke [Footnote: _Essay_, Book IV, chapter iii, Sec. 18; _Of CivilGovernment_, Book II, chapter ii. ], who believes that moral principlesmust be intuitively evident to one who contemplates the nature of God andthe relations of men to Him and to each other, thinks it worth while toset down such random maxims as:

 No government allows absolute liberty. Where there is no property there is no injustice. All men are originally equal. Men ought not to harm one another. Parents have a right to control their children. 

Hume, [Footnote: An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals, Sec 6, Part I] whose two classes of virtues comprise the qualities immediatelyagreeable or useful to ourselves and those immediately agreeable oruseful to others, offers us an extended list. He puts into the firstclass:

 Discretion Caution Enterprise Industry Frugality Economy Good Sense, etc. Temperance Sobriety Patience Perseverance Considerateness Secrecy Order, etc. 

In the second class he includes:

 Benevolence Justice Veracity Fidelity Politeness Wit Modesty Cleanliness. 

Manifestly, the lists may be indefinitely prolonged. Why not add to thefirst class the pachydermatous indifference to rebuffs which is of suchservice to the social climber, and, to the second, taste in dress and thehabit of not repeating stories?

Thomas Reid lays stress upon the deliverances of the individualconscience, when consulted in a quiet hour. Nevertheless he proposes fivefundamental maxims: [Footnote: _On the Active Powers of Man_, EssayV, chapter i. ]

 We ought to exercise a rational self-love, and prefer a greater to a lesser good. We should follow nature, as revealed in the constitution of man. We should exercise benevolence. Right and wrong are the same for all in the same circumstances. We should venerate and obey God. 

With such writers we may contrast the Utilitarians and the adherents ofthe doctrine of Self-realization, [Footnote: These will be discussedbelow, chapters xxv and xxvi. ] who lay little stress upon lists ofvirtues or duties, but aim, respectively, at the greatest happiness ofthe greatest number, and at the harmonious development of the facultiesof man, regarding as virtues such qualities of character as make for theattainment, in the long run, of the one or the other of these ends. 

11. THE STRETCHING OF MORAL CONCEPTS. --The instances given suffice toshow that the moralists speak with a variety of tongues. The code of oneage is apt to seem strange and foreign to the men of another. Even wherethere is apparent agreement, a closer scrutiny often reveals that it hasbeen attained by a process of stretching conceptions. Take for examplethe so-called "cardinal" virtues [Footnote: From _cardo_, a hinge. These virtues were supposed to be fundamental. The name given to them wasfirst used by AMBROSE in the fourth century A. D. See SIDGWICK, _Historyof Ethics_, chap, ii, p. 44. ] dwelt upon by Plato. The Stoics, whomade use of his list, changed its spirit. Cicero stretches justice so asto make it cover a watery benevolence. St. Augustine finds the cardinalvirtues to be different aspects of Love to God. The great scholasticphilosopher of the thirteenth century, St. Thomas, places in the firstrank the Christian graces of Faith, Hope and Charity, but still finds itconvenient to use the Platonic scheme in ordering a list of the self-regarding virtues taken from Aristotle. Thus may the pillars of a pagantemple be utilized as structural units in, or embellishments of, aChristian church. 

Our own age reveals the same tendency. Thomas Hill Green, the Oxfordprofessor, follows Plato. But with him we find wisdom stretched to coverartistic creation; we see that courage and temperance have taken on newfaces; and justice appears to be able to gather under its wings bothbenevolence and veracity. [Footnote: _Prolegomena to Ethics_, BookIII, chapter iii, and Book IV, chapter v. ] A still wider divergence fromthe original understanding of the cardinal virtues is that of Dewey, whoconceives of them as "traits essential to all morality. " He treats, undertemperance, of purity and reverence; he makes courage synonymous withpersistent vigor; he extends justice so as to include love and sympathy;he transforms wisdom into conscientiousness. [Footnote: DEWEY AND TUFTS, _Ethics_, pp. 404-423. ]

This variation in the content of moral concepts may be illustrated fromany quarter in the field of ethics. Cicero's circumspect "benevolence"advances the doctrine that "whatever one can give without suffering lossshould be given even to an entire stranger. " Among such obligations hereckons: to prohibit no one from drinking at a stream of running water;to permit anyone who wishes to light fire from fire; to give faithfuladvice to one who is in doubt; which things, as he naively remarks, "areuseful to the receiver and do no harm to the giver. " [Footnote: DeOfficiis, Book I, chapter xvi. ]

Compare with this the admonition to love one's neighbor as oneself;Sidgwick's "self-evident" proposition that "I ought not to prefer my ownlesser good to the greater good of another;" [Footnote: The Methods ofEthics, Book III, chapter xiii, Sec 3. ] Bentham's utilitarian formula, "everybody to count for one, and nobody for more than one. " Theadmonition, "be benevolent, " may mean many things. 

12. THE REFLECTIVE MIND AND THE MORAL CODES. --Even the cursory glance wehave given above to the moral codes of different communities and thoseproposed by individual moralists must suffice to bring any thoughtful manto the consciousness that they differ widely among themselves, and thatthe differences can scarcely be dismissed as insignificant. A littlereflection will suffice to convince him, furthermore, that to treat allother codes as if they were mere pathological variations from his own isindefensibly dogmatic. 

On the other hand, the differences between codes should not be undulyemphasized. The core of identity is there, and, although in its baldabstractness it is not enough to live by, it is vastly significant, nevertheless. If there were not some congruity in the materials, theywould never be brought together as the subject of one science. Unless"good, " "right, " "obligation, " "approval, " etc. , or the rudimentaryconceptions which foreshadow them in the mind of the most primitive humanbeings, had a core of identity which could be traced in societies themost diverse, there would be no significance in speaking of theenlightened morality of one people and the degraded and undevelopedmorality of another. There could be no history of the development of themoral ideas. Collections of disparate and disconnected facts do notconstitute a science, nor are they the proper subject of a history. 

As a matter of fact, we all do speak of degraded moral conceptions, of aperverted conscience, of a lofty morality, of a fine sense of duty; we donot hesitate to compare, i. E. , to treat as similar and yet dissimilar, the customs, laws and ethical maxims of different ages and of differentraces. This means that we have in our minds some standard, perhapsconsciously formulated, perhaps dimly apprehended, according to which werate them. The unreflective man is in danger of taking as this standardhis own actual code, such as it is; of accepting, together with suchelements of reason as it may contain, the whole mass of his inherited oracquired prejudices; the more reflective man will strive to be morerationally critical. 

PART II

ETHICS AS SCIENCE

CHAPTER IV

THE AWAKENING TO REFLECTION

 13. THE DOGMATISM OF THE NATURAL MAN. --In morals and in politics itseems natural for man to be dogmatic, to take a position withouthesitation, to defend it vehemently, to maintain that others are in thewrong. 

This is not surprising. We are born into a moral environment as into anall-embracing atmosphere. From the cradle to the grave, we walk with ourheads in a cloud of exhortations and prohibitions. From our earliestyears we have been urged to make decisions and to act, and we have beenfurnished with general maxims to guide our action. When, therefore, weapproach the solution of a moral problem, we do not, as a rule, acutelyfeel our fitness to solve it, even though we may be judged quite unfit byothers. 

This unruffled confidence in one's possession of an adequate supply ofindubitable moral truth may be found in men who differ widely in theirdegree of intelligence and in the extent of their information. Someindividuals seem born to it. We may come upon it in the ethicalphilosopher; we may meet it in the man of science, who knows that it hastaken him a quarter of a century to fit himself to be an authority inmatters chemical or physical, but who wanders in his hours of leisureinto the field of ethics and has no hesitation in proposing radicalreforms. But it is more natural to look for the unwavering confidencewhich knows no questionings among persons of restricted outlook, who havebeen brought into contact with but one set of opinions. It ischaracteristic of the child, of the uncultivated classes in allcommunities, of whole communities primitive in their culture andrelatively unenlightened. 

14. THE AWAKENING. --Manifestly, even the beginnings of ethical scienceare an impossibility where such a spirit prevails. Where there are nodoubts, no questionings, there can be no attempt at rationalconstruction. 

Fortunately for the cause of human enlightenment there are forces at workwhich tend to arouse men from this state of lethargy. Horizons arebroadened, new ideas make their appearance, there is a conflict ofauthorities, the birth of a doubt, and, finally, a more or lessarticulate appeal to Reason. 

Even a child is capable of seeing that paternal and maternal injunctionsand reactions are not wholly alike, and it sets them off against eachother. Nor have all the children in the home precisely the same nature. One is temperamentally frank and open, but unsympathetic; another isaffectionate, and prone to lying as the sparks fly upward. The virtuesand vices are not spontaneously arranged in the same order of importanceby children, and differences of opinion may arise. Nor does it take thechild long to discover that the law of its own home is not identical withthat of the house next door. At school the experience is repeated on alarger scale; many homes are represented, and, besides that, two codes oflaw claim allegiance, the code of the schoolboy and that of the master. They may be by no means in accord. 

And when, in college, the student for the first time seriously addresseshimself to the task of the study of ethics as science, he comes to it byno means wholly unprepared. He has had rather a broad experience of thecontrasts which obtain between different codes. He is familiar with thecode of the home, of the school, of the social class, of the religiouscommunity, of the civil community. There sit on the same benches with himthe sensitively conscientious student who doubts whether it is apermissible deception of one's neighbor to apply a patch to an oldgarment so skillfully that it will escape detection; the sportingcharacter who takes it to be the mutual understanding among men thattruth shall not be demanded of those who deal in horses and dogs; theyouth from Texas who claims that the French philosopher, Janet, cannot bean authority on morals, since he asserts that he who cheats at cards mustfeel a burning shame. With the ethics of the ancient Hebrews, of theGreeks, of the Romans, our young moralist has had the opportunity toacquire some familiarity, and he can compare them, if he will, with theChristian ethics of his own day. He knows something of history andbiography; he has read books of travel, and has some acquaintance withthe manners and customs of other peoples. Were he given to reflection, itought not to surprise him to find a Portuguese sea-cook maintaining thatit is wrong to steal, except from the rich; or to learn that a Wahabeesaint rated the smoking of tobacco as the worst possible sin next toidolatry, while maintaining that murder, robbery, and such like, werepeccadilloes which a merciful God might properly overlook. 

Material for reflection he has in abundance--and he often remainsrelatively dogmatic and unplagued by doubt. But only relatively so; andonly so long as the claims of conflicting authorities are not forced uponhis attention, rendered importunate in the light of discussion, made sofamiliar as to seem real and substantial. It is the tendency of thewidening of the horizon to arouse men to reflection, to stimulate tocriticism. From such criticism the science of ethics has its birth. 

What is true of the individual is true of men in the mass. The blind lifeof social classes long laid in chains by custom and tradition may come tobe illuminated by new ideas, and passive acquiescence may give way toactive participation in social endeavor. Nor can primitive peoples remainwholly primitive except in isolation. With the increased intercoursebetween races and peoples, men are brought to a clear consciousness thatthe accepted in morals is manifold and diverse; the next step is toquestion whether it is, in any given instance, of unquestionableauthority; thus do men become ripe for the search for the_acceptable_. 

CHAPTER V

ETHICAL METHOD

15. INDUCTIVE AND DEDUCTIVE METHOD. --Professor Henry Sidgwick has defineda method of ethics as "any rational procedure by which we determine whatis right for individual human beings to do, or to seek to realize byvoluntary action. " [Footnote: _The Methods of Ethics_, Book I, chapter i, Sec I. ]

He points out that many methods are natural and are habitually used, butclaims that only one can be rational. By which he means that the severalmethods of determining right conduct urged by the different schools ofthe moralists must be reconciled, or all but one must be rejected. [Footnote: _Ibid_. , chapter i, Sec 3. ]

In this chapter I shall not discuss in detail the schools of themoralists and the specific methods which characterize them. I am hereconcerned only with the general distinction between the scientificmethods of deduction and induction, and its bearing upon ethicalinvestigations. 

How do we discover that, in an isosceles triangle, the sides whichsubtend the equal angles are equal? We do not go about collecting theopinions of individuals upon the subject, nor do we consult the recordsof other peoples, past or present. We do not measure a great number oftriangles and arrive at our conclusion after a calculation of theprobable error of our measurements. The appeal to authorities does notinterest us; that measurements are always more or less inaccurate, andthat all actual triangles are more or less irregular, we freely admit, but we do not regard such facts as significant. We use a single triangleas an illustration, and from what is given in, or along with, thatindividual instance, we deduce certain consequences in which we have thehighest confidence. Here we follow the method of deduction. We accept a"given, " with its validity we do not concern ourselves; our aim is thediscovery of what may be gotten out of it. 

In the inductive sciences the individual instance has an importance ofquite a different sort. It is not a mere illustration, unequivocallyembodying a general truth to which we may appeal directly, treating theinstance as a mere vehicle, in itself of little significance. Individualinstances are observed and compared; uniformities are searched for; it issought to establish general truths, not directly evident, but whoseauthority rests upon the particular facts that have been observed andclassified. 

It is a commonplace of logic that both induction and deduction may beemployed in many fields of science. We may attain by inductive inquiry tomore or less general truths, which we no longer care to call in question, and which we accept as a "given, " to be exploited and carried out in itsconsequences. Indeed, we need not betake ourselves to science to have anillustration of this method of procedure. In everyday life men havemaxims by which they judge of the probable actions of their fellow-menand in the light of which they direct their dealings with them. Suchmaxims as that men may be counted upon to consult their own interestshave certainly not been adopted independently of an experience of what, on particular occasions, men have shown themselves to be. But, onceadopted, they may be treated as, for practical purposes, unquestionable;men are concerned to apply them, not to substantiate them. In so far, menreason from them deductively and pass from the general rule to theparticular instance. 

16. THE AUTHORITY OF THE "GIVEN. "--Obviously the "given, " in the senseindicated, may possess, in certain cases, a very high degree ofauthority, and, in others, a very low degree. 

In the case of the mathematical truth referred to above, men do not, infact, find it necessary to call in question the "given, " though they maybe divided in their notions touching the general nature of mathematicalevidence and whence it draws its apparently indisputable authority. Incertain of the inductive sciences, as in mechanics, physics andchemistry, generalizations have been attained in which even the criticalrepose much confidence. In other fields men are constantly making generalstatements which are promptly contradicted by their fellows, and aredrawing from them inferences the justice of which is in many quartersdisallowed. There are axioms and axioms, maxims and maxims. Theconfidence felt by a given individual in a particular "given" does notguarantee its acceptance by all men of equal intelligence. Where, however, the evidence upon which a disputed "given" is based isforthcoming, there is, at least, ground for rational discussion. 

Not a few famous writers have treated moral truths as analogous tomathematical. [Footnote: See the chapter on "Intuitionism, " Sec 90, note. ]To take here a single instance. Sidgwick, in his truly admirable work on"The Methods of Ethics, " maintains [Footnote: Book III, chapter xiii, Sec3. ] that "the propositions, 'I ought not to prefer a present lesser goodto a future greater good, ' and 'I ought not to prefer my own lesser goodto the greater good of another, ' do present themselves as self-evident;as much (_e. G. _) as the mathematical axiom that 'if equals be addedto equals the wholes are equals. '"

But it is one thing to claim that we are in possession of a "given" withultimate and indisputable authority; it is another to convince men thatwe really do possess it. Locke's efforts at deduction fall lamentablyshort of the model set by Euclid. "Professor Sidgwick's well-known moralaxiom, 'I ought not to prefer my own lesser good to the greater good ofanother, ' would, " writes Westermarck, [Footnote: _Op_. _cit. , _Volume I, chapter i, p. 12. ] "if explained to a Fuegian or a Hottentot, be regarded by him, not as self-evident, but as simply absurd; nor can itclaim general acceptance even among ourselves. Who is that 'Another' towhose greater good I ought not to prefer my own lesser good? A fellow-countryman, a savage, a criminal, a bird, a fish--all withoutdistinction?" To Bentham's "everybody to count for one and nobody formore than one" may be opposed Hartley's preference of benevolent andreligious persons to the rest of mankind. [Footnote: _Observations onMan_, Part II, chapter iii, 6. ]

The fact that men eminent for their intellectual ability and for thebreadth of their information are, in morals, inclined to accept, asultimate, principles not identical, and thus to found different schools, would seem to indicate that, to one who aims at treating ethics as ascience, principles, as well as the deductions from them, should beobjects of closest scrutiny. They should not be taken for granted. Thehistory of ethical theory appears to make it clear that the "given" ofthe moralist is not of the same nature as that of the geometer. 

The ethical philosopher cannot, hence, confine himself to developingdeductively the implications of some principle or principles assumedwithout critical examination. He must establish the validity even of hisprinciples. This we should bear in mind when we approach the study of thedifferent ethical schools. 

CHAPTER VI

THE MATERIALS OF ETHICS

17. HOW THE MORALIST SHOULD PROCEED. --The above reflections on methodsuggest the materials of which the moralist should avail himself inrearing the edifice of his science. 

(1) Evidently he should reflect upon the moral judgments which he findsin himself, the moral being with whom he is best acquainted. He shouldendeavor to render consistent and luminous moral judgments which, as hefinds, have too often been inconsistent and more or less blind. 

(2) He should take cognizance of his own setting--of the socialconscience embodied in the community in which he lives. 

(3) And since, as we have seen, the significance, either of theindividual conscience, or of the social conscience revealed in custom, law and public opinion, can hardly become apparent to one who does notbring within his horizon many consciences individual and social, heshould enlarge his view so as to include such. The moralists, in our day, show an increasing tendency to pay serious attention to this mass ofmaterials. They do not confine their attention to the moral standardwhich this man or that has accepted as authoritative for him, nor to thataccepted as authoritative in a given community. They study _man_--man in all stages of his development and in material and social settingsthe most diverse. 

(4) Nor should the student of ethics overlook the work which has beendone by those moralists who have gone before him. He who has studieddescriptive anatomy is aware of the immense service which has been donehim by the unwearied observations of his predecessors; observations whichhave been put on record, and which draw his attention to numberlessdetails of structure that would, without such aid, certainly escape hisattention. Ethics is an ancient discipline. It has fixed the attention ofacute minds for many centuries. He who approaches the subject naively, without an acquaintance with the many ethical theories which have beenadvanced and the acute criticisms to which they have been subjected, willalmost certainly say what someone has said before, and said, perhaps, much better. The valor of ignorance will involve him in ignominiousdefeat. 

(5) It is evident that the moralist must make use of materials offeredhim by workers in many other fields of science. The biologist may havevaluable suggestions to make touching the impulses and instincts of man. The psychologist treats of the same, and exhibits the work of theintellect in ordering and organizing the impulses. He studies thephenomena of desire, will, habit, the formation of character. Theanthropologist and the sociologist are concerned with the codes ofcommunities and with the laws of social development. The fields ofeconomics, politics and comparative jurisprudence obviously march withthat cultivated by the student of ethics. 

18. THE PHILOSOPHER AS MORALIST. --In all these sciences at once it is notpossible for the moralist to be an adept. The mass of the material theyfurnish is so vast that the ethical writer who starts out to master it inall its details may well dread that he may be overcome by senility beforehe is ready to undertake the formulation of an ethical theory. 

It does not follow, however, that he should leave to those who occupythemselves professionally with any of these fields the task of framing atheory of morals. He must have sufficient information to be able toselect with intelligence what has some important bearing upon the problemof conduct, but there are many details into which he need not go. It iswell to note the following points:

(1) A multitude of details may be illustrative of a comparatively smallnumber of general principles. It is with these general principles thatthe moralist is concerned. The anthropologist may regard it as his dutyto spend much labor in the attempt to discover why this or that act, thisor that article of food, happens in a given community to be taboo tocertain persons. The student of ethics is not bound to take up thedetailed investigation of such matters. Human nature, in its generalconstitution, is much the same in different races and peoples. Theinfluence of environment is everywhere apparent. There are significantuniformities to be discovered even by one who has a limited amount ofdetailed information. "Those who come after us will see nothing new, "said Antoninus, "nor have those before us seen anything more, but in amanner he who is forty years old; if he has any understanding at all, hasseen by virtue of the uniformity which prevails all things which havebeen and all that will be. " [Footnote: _Thoughts_, XI, 1. London, 1891, translated by GEORGE LONG. ] Which is, to be sure, an overstatementof the case, but one containing a germ of truth. 

(2) We find, by looking into their books, that men most intimatelyacquainted with the facts of the moral life as revealed in differentraces and peoples may differ widely in the ethical doctrine which theyare inclined to base upon them. Not all men, even when endowed with nolittle learning, are gifted with the clearness of vision which can detectthe significance of given facts; nor are all equally capable of weavingrelevant facts into a consistent and reasonable theory. The keenness andthe constructive genius of the individual count for much. And breadth ofview counts for much also. We have seen that ethics touches many fieldsof investigation, and the philosopher is supposed, at least, to let hisvision range over a broad realm, and to grasp the relations of thedifferent sciences to each other. He is, moreover, supposed to be trainedin reflective analysis, and of this ethical theory appears to stand in nolittle need. 

(3) Finally, the mere fact that ethics has for so many centuries beenregarded as one of the disciplines falling within the domain of thephilosopher is not without its significance. One may deplore the tendencyto base ethics upon this or that metaphysical doctrine, and desire to seeit made an independent science; and yet one may be compelled to admitthat it is not easy to comprehend and to estimate the value of many ofthe ethical theories which have been evolved in the past, without havingrather an intimate acquaintance with the history of philosophy. Theethical teachings of Plato, of Aristotle, of St. Thomas, of Kant, ofHegel, of Green, lose much of their meaning when taken out of theirsetting. The history of ethical theory is blind when divorced from thehistory of philosophy, and with the history of ethical theory themoralist should be acquainted. 

The philosopher has no prescriptive right to preempt the field of ethics. Many men may cultivate it with profit. Nevertheless, he, too, shouldcultivate it, not independently and with a disregard of what has beendone by others, but in a spirit of hearty cooperation, thankfullyaccepting such help as is offered him by his neighbors. 

CHAPTER VII

THE AIM OF ETHICS AS SCIENCE

19. THE APPEAL TO REASON. --The proper aim of the scientific study ofethics appears to be suggested with sufficient clearness by what has beensaid in the chapters on the accepted content of morals. 

Where individuals take up unreflectively the maxims which are to controltheir conduct, human life can scarcely be said to be under the guidanceof reason. Where, moreover, the codes of individuals clash with eachother or with the social conscience of their community, and where thecodes of different communities are disconcertingly diverse, planfulconcerted action with a view to the control of conduct appears to beimpracticable. Historical accident, blind impulse and caprice, cannotserve as guides for a rational creature seeking to live, along withothers, a rational life. 

"The aim of ethics, " says Sidgwick, [Footnote: _The Methods ofEthics_, Book I, chapter vi, Sec 1. ] "is to render scientific--i. E. , true, and as far as possible systematic--the apparent cognitions thatmost men have of the rightness or reasonableness of conduct, whether theconduct be considered as right in itself, or as the means to some endconceived as ultimately reasonable. " The use here of the word"cognitions" calls our attention to the fact that, when men say, "this isright, that is wrong, " they mean no more than, "this I like, that I donot like"; and the use of the word "apparent" indicates that thejudgments expressed may be approved by the man who makes them, and yet beerroneous. The appeal is to an objective standard; there is a demand forproof. 

That most men recognize, in some cases dimly, in some cases clearly andexplicitly, that the appeal to such a standard is justifiable, canscarcely be denied. Between "I choose" and "I ought to choose, " between"the community demands, " and "the community ought to demand, " mengenerally recognize a distinction when they have attained to a capacityfor reflection. 

It has, however, been denied that the appeal is justifiable, and deniedby no mean authority. "The presumed objectivity of moral judgments, "writes Westermarck, [Footnote: 2 _The Origin and Development of theMoral Ideas_, chapter i, p. 17. ] "being a chimera, there can be nomoral truth in the sense in which this term is generally understood. Theultimate reason for this is, that the moral concepts are based uponemotions, and that the contents of an emotion fall entirely outside thecategory of truth. But it may be true or not that we have a certainemotion, it may be true or not that a given mode of conduct has atendency to evoke in us moral indignation or moral approval. Hence amoral judgment is true or false according as its subject has or has notthat tendency which the predicate attributes to it. If I say that it iswrong to resist evil, and yet resistance to evil has no tendency whateverto call forth in me an emotion of moral disapproval, then my judgment isfalse. " The conclusion drawn from this is that there are no general moraltruths, and that "the object of scientific ethics cannot be to fix rulesfor human conduct"; it can only be "to study the moral consciousness as afact. "

20. THE APPEAL TO REASON JUSTIFIED. --The words of so high an authorityshould not be passed over lightly. One is impelled to seek for theirproper appreciation and their reconciliation with the judgment of othermoralists. Such can be found, I think, by turning to two truths dweltupon in what has preceded: the truth that the moralist should not assumethat he is possessed of a "given" analogous to that of the geometer--astandard in no need of criticism; and the equally important truth thatthe moralist cannot hope to frame a code which will simply replace thecodes of individual communities and will prescribe the details of humanconduct while ignoring such codes altogether. 

But it does not seem to follow that, because the moralist may not set upan arbitrary code of this sort, he is also forbidden to criticize andcompare moral judgments, to arrange existing codes in a certain order aslower and higher, to frame some notion of what constitutes progress. Hemay hold before himself, in outline, at least, an ideal of conduct, andnot one taken up arbitrarily but based upon the phenomena of the moralconsciousness as he has observed them. And in the light of this ideal hemay judge of conduct; his appeal is to an objective standard. 

Thus, he who says that it is false that it is right to reduce to slaveryprisoners taken in war may, if he be sufficiently unreflective, have nobetter reason for his judgment than a feeling of repugnance to suchconduct. But, if he has risen to the point of taking broad views of menand their moral codes, he may very well assert the falsity of thestatement even when he feels no personal repugnance to the holding ofcertain persons as slaves. His appeal is, in fact, to such a standard asis above indicated, and his condemnation of certain forms of conduct isbased upon their incompatibility with it. 

Hence, a man may significantly assert that certain conduct is objectivelydesirable, although it may not be desired by himself or by his community. He may judge a thing to be wrong without _feeling_ it to be wrong. Whether anything would actually be judged to be wrong, if no one ever hadany emotions, is a different question. With it we may class the questionwhether anything would be judged to be wrong if no one were possessed ofeven a spark of reason. There is small choice between having nothing tosee and not being able to see anything. [Footnote: That, in the citationabove given, WESTERMARCK'S attention was concentrated upon the extremeposition taken by some moralists touching the function of the reason inmoral judgments seems to me evident. He is far too able an observer tooverlook the significance of the diversity of moral codes and the meaningof progress. He writes: "Though rooted in the emotional side of ournature, our moral opinions are in a large measure amenable to reason. Nowin every society the traditional notions as to what is good or bad, obligatory or indifferent, are commonly accepted by the majority ofpeople without further reflection. By tracing them to their source itwill be found that not a few of these notions have their origin insentimental likings and antipathies, to which a scrutinizing andenlightened judge can attach little importance; whilst, on the otherhand, he must account blamable many an act and omission which publicopinion, out of thoughtlessness, treats with indifference. " Vol. I, pp. 2-3. See also his appeals to reason where it is a question of theattitude of the community toward legal responsibility on the part of theyoung, toward drunkenness, and toward the heedless production ofoffspring doomed to misery and disease, pp. 269 and 310. ]

An appeal, thus, from the actual to the ideal appears to be possible. And, since the natural man, unenlightened and unreflective, is not moreinclined to show himself to be a reasonable being in the sphere of moralsthan elsewhere, it seems that there is no little need of ethical science. Its aim is to bring about the needed enlightenment. Its value can only belogically denied by those who maintain seriously that it is easy to knowwhat it is right to do. Do men really hold this, if they are thoughtful?

PART III

MAN AND HIS ENVIRONMENT

CHAPTER VIII

MAN'S NATURE

21. THE BACKGROUND OF ACTIONS. --In estimating human actions we take intoconsideration both the doer and the circumstances under which the deedwas done. Actions may be desirable or undesirable, good or bad, accordingto their setting. How shall we judge of the blow that takes away humanlife? It may be the involuntary reaction of a man startled by a shock; itmay be a motion of justifiable self-defence; it may be one struck at thecommand of a superior and in the defence of one's country; it may be thehorrid outcome of cruel rapacity or base malevolence. 

Nor are the emotions, torn out of their context, more significant thanactions without a background. They are mental phenomena to be observedand described by the psychologist; to the moralist they are, taken alone, as unmeaning as the letters of the alphabet, but, like them, capable incombination of carrying many meanings. Anger, fear, wonder, and all therest are, as natural emotions, neither good nor bad; they are colors, which may enter into a picture and in it acquire various values. 

In morals, when men have attained to the stage of enlightenment at whichmoral estimation is a possible process, they always consider emotions, intentions, and actions in the light of their background. We do notdemand a moral life of the brutes; we do not look for it in theintellectually defective and the emotionally insane; nor do we expect asavage caught in the bush to harbor the same emotions, or to have thesame ethical outlook, as the missionary with whom we may confront him. The concepts of moral responsibility, of desert, of guilt, are emptied ofall significance, when we lose sight of the nature, inborn or acquired, of the creature haled before the bar of our judgment, and of theenvironment, which on the one hand, impels him to action, and, on theother, furnishes the stage upon which the drama of his life must beplayed out to the end. 

Hence, he who would not act as the creature of blind impulse or as theunthinking slave of tradition, but would exercise a conscious andintelligent control over his conduct, seems compelled to look at his lifeand its setting in a broad way, to scrutinize with care both the natureof man and the environment without which that nature could find noexpression. When he does this, he only does more intelligently what mengenerally do instinctively and somewhat at haphazard. He seeks a rationalestimate of the significance of conduct, and a standard by which it maybe measured. 

22. MAN'S NATURE. --Moralists ancient and modern have had a good deal tosay about the nature of man. To some of them it has seemed rather asimple thing to describe it. Its constitution, as they have conceived it, has furnished them with certain principles which should guide humanaction. Aristotle, who assumed that every man seeks his own good, conceived of his good or "well-being" as largely identical with "well-doing. " This "well-doing" meant to him "fulfilling the proper functionsof man, " or in other words acting as the nature of man prescribes. [Footnote: _Politics_, i, 2. See, further, on _Man's Nature_, chapter xxvi. ] To the Stoic man's duty was action in accordance with hisnature. [Footnote: MARCUS AURELIUS, _Thoughts_, v, 1. ] Butler, [Footnote: _Sermons on Human Nature_, ii] many centuries later, found in man's nature a certain "constitution, " with conscience naturallysupreme and the passions in a position of subordination. This"constitution" plainly indicated to him the conduct appropriate to ahuman being. 

Such appeals to man's nature we are apt to listen to with a good deal ofsympathy. Manifestly, man differs from the brutes, and they differ, intheir kind, from each other. To each kind, a life of a certain sort seemsappropriate. The rational being is expected to act rationally, to somedegree, at least. In our dealings with creatures on a lower plane, wepitch our expectations much lower. 

And the behavior we expect from each is that appropriate to its kind. Thebee and the ant follow unswervingly their own law, and live their owncomplicated community life. However the behavior of the brute may vary inthe presence of varying conditions, the degree of the variation seems tobe determined by rather narrow limits. These we recognize as the limitsof the nature of the creature. It dictates to itself, unconsciously, itsown law of action, and it follows that law simply and without revolt. 

When we turn to man, "the crown and glory of the universe, " as Darwincalls him, we find him, too, endowed with a certain nature in ananalogous sense of the word. He has capacities for which we look in vainelsewhere. The type of conduct we expect of him has its root in thesecapacities. Human nature can definitely be expected to express itself ina human life, --one lower or higher, but, in every case, distinguishablefrom the life of the brute. It means something to speak of the physicaland mental constitution of man, that mysterious reservoir from which hisemotions and actions are supposed to flow. We feel that we have a rightto use the expression, even while admitting that the brain of man is, asfar as psychology is concerned, almost unexplored territory, and that therelation of mind to brain is, and is long likely to remain, a subject ofdispute with philosophers and psychologists. 

23. HOW DISCOVER MAN'S NATURE?--Nevertheless, in speaking of the natureof any living creature, we are forced to remind ourselves that theoriginal endowment of the creature studied can never be isolated andsubjected to inspection independently of the setting in which the subjectof our study is found. Who, by an examination of the brain of a bee or ofan ant, could foresee the intricate organized industry of the hive or theanthill? The seven ages of man are not stored ready-made in the littlebody of the infant. At any rate, they are beyond the reach of the mostpenetrating vision. In the case of the simple mechanisms which can beconstructed by man a forecast of future function is possible on the basisof a general knowledge of mechanics. But there is no living being ofwhose internal constitution we have a similar knowledge. From thebehavior of the creature we gather a knowledge of its nature; we do notstart with its nature as directly revealed and infer its behavior. Thatthere are differences in the internal constitution of beings which reactto the same environment in different ways, we have every reason tobelieve. What those differences are in detail we cannot know. And ourknowledge of the capacities inherent in this or that constitution will belimited by what we can observe of its reaction to environment. 

Sometimes the reaction to environment is relatively simple and uniform. In this case we feel that we can attain without great difficulty to whatmay be regarded as a satisfactory knowledge of the nature of the creaturestudied. The conception of that nature appears to be rather definite andunequivocal. When it is once attained, we speak with some assurance ofthe way in which the creature will act in this situation or in that. If, however, the capacities are vastly more ample, and the environment towhich this creature is adjusted is greatly extended, the difficulty ofdescribing in any unequivocal way the nature of the creature becomesindefinitely greater. 

Is it possible to contemplate man without being struck with the breadthand depth of the gulf which separates the primitive human being from thefinished product of civilization? What a difference in range of emotion, in reach of intellect, in stored information, in freedom of action, between man at his lowest and man at his highest! Can we describe in thesame terms what is natural to man everywhere and always?

For the filthy and ignorant savage, absorbed in satisfying his immediatebodily needs, standing in the simplest of social relations, takingliterally no thought for the morrow, profoundly ignorant of the world inwhich he finds himself, possessing over nature no control worthy of thename, the sport and slave of his environment, it is natural to act in oneway. For enlightened humanity, acquainted with the past and forecastingthe future, developed in intellect and refined in feeling, rich in thepossession of arts and sciences, intelligently controlling and directingthe forces of nature, socially organized in highly complicated ways, itis natural to act in another way. And to each of the intermediate stagesin the evolution of civilization some type of conduct appears to beappropriate and natural. 

Whither, then, shall we turn for our conception of man's nature? Shall wemerely draw up a list of the instincts and impulses which may beobservable in all men? Shall we say no more than that man is gifted withan intelligence superior to that of the brutes? To do this is, to besure, to give some vague indication of man's original endowment. But itcan give us little indication of what it is possible for man, with suchan endowment, and in such an environment as makes his setting, to become. And what man becomes, that he is. 

If man's nature can be revealed only through the development of hiscapacities, it is futile to seek it in a return to undeveloped man. Thenature of the chicken is not best revealed in the egg. And, as man candevelop only in interaction with his environment, we must, to understandhim, study his environment also. 

CHAPTER IX

MAN'S MATERIAL ENVIRONMENT

24. THE STRUGGLE WITH NATURE. --It is not possible to disentangle fromeach other and to consider quite separately the diverse elements whichenter into the environment of man and which influence his development. His environment is two-fold, material and social; but his materialsetting may affect his social relations, and it is social man, not theindividual as such, that achieves a conquest over nature. However, it ispossible, and it is convenient, to direct attention successively upon theone and the other aspect of his environment. 

At every stage of his development, man must have food, shelter, somemeans of defense. If they are not easily obtainable, he must strain everynerve to attain them. Are his powers feeble and his intelligenceundeveloped, it may tax all his efforts to keep himself alive and tocontinue the race in any fashion. The rules which determine his conductseem rather the dictates of a stern necessity than the products ofanything resembling free choice. 

He who is lashed by hunger and haunted by fear, who cannot provide forthe remote future, but must accept good or ill fortune as the accident ofthe day precipitates his lot upon him, lives and must live a life at butone remove from that of the brute. In such a life the instincts of manattain to a certain expression, but intelligence plays a feeble part. Theman remains a slave, under dictation, and moved by the dread of immediatedisaster. For an interest in what is remote in time and place, for theextension of knowledge for its own sake, for the development ofactivities which have no direct bearing upon the problem of keeping himalive and fed, there can be little place. One must be assured that onecan live, and live in reasonable security and physical well-being, beforethe problem of enriching and embellishing life can fairly present itselfas an important problem. One must be set free before one can deliberatelyset out to shape one's life after an ideal. 

Not that a severe struggle with physical nature is necessarily and ofitself a curse. It may call out man's powers, stimulate to action, andresult in growth and development. Where a prodigal nature amply providesfor man's bodily necessities without much effort on his part, the resultmay be, in the absence of other stimulating influences giving rise to newwants, a paralyzing slothfulness, an animal passivity and content. Thismay be observed in whole peoples highly favored by soil and climate, andprotected by their situation from external dangers. It may be observed incertain favored classes even in communities which, by long and strenuouseffort, have conquered nature and raised themselves high in the scale ofcivilization. The idle sons of the rich, relieved from the spur ofnecessity, may undergo the degeneration appropriate to parasitic life. Inthe midst of a strenuous activity adapted to call out the bestintellectual and moral powers of man, they may remain unaffected by it, incapable of effort, unintelligent, slothful, the weak and passiverecipients of what is brought to them by the labor of others. 

But the struggle with physical nature, sometimes a spur to progress andissuing in triumph, may also issue in defeat. Nature may be too strongfor man, or, at least, for man at an early stage of his development. Shemay thwart his efforts and dwarf his life. It was through no accidentthat the Athenian state rose and flourished upon the shores of theAegean; no such efflorescence of civilization could be looked for amongthe Esquimaux of the frozen North. 

25. THE CONQUESTS OF THE MIND. --Physical environment counts for much, butthe physical environment of man is the same as that of the creaturesbelow him who seem incapable of progress. It is as an intelligent beingthat he succeeds in bringing about ever new and more complicatedadjustments to his environment. 

From the point of view of his animal life in many respects inferior toother creatures--less strong, less swift, less adequately provided withnatural means of defense, less protected by nature against cold, heat andthe inclemencies of the weather, endowed with instincts less unerring, less prolific, through a long period of infancy helpless and dependent--man nevertheless survives and prospers. 

He has conquered the strong, overtaken the swift, called upon hisingenuity to furnish him with means of defence. He has defied cold andheat, and we find him, with appliances of his own devising, successfullycombating the rigors of Arctic frosts and the torrid sun of the tropics. Intelligence has supplemented instinct and has guaranteed the survival ofthe individual and of the race. 

It has even protected man against himself, against the very dangersarising out of his immunity from other dangers. A gregarious creature, increasing and multiplying, he would be threatened with starvation didnot his intelligent control over nature furnish him with a food-supplywhich makes it possible for vast numbers of human beings to live andthrive on a territory of limited extent. Moreover, he has compassed thosecomplicated forms of social organization which reveal themselves incities and states, solving problems of production, transportation anddistribution before which undeveloped man would stand helpless. 

And from the problem of living at all he has passed to that of livingwell. He has created new wants and has satisfied them. He has built upfor himself a rich and diversified life, many of the activities of whichappear to have the remotest of bearings upon the mere struggle forexistence, but the exercise of which gives him satisfaction. Thus, theprimitive instinct of curiosity, once relatively aimless andinsignificant, has developed into the passion for systematic knowledgeand the persistent search for truth; the rudimentary aesthetic feelingwhich is revealed in primitive man, and traces of which are recognizablein creatures far lower in the scale, has blossomed out in those elaboratecreations, which, at an enormous expense of labor and ingenuity, havecome to enrich the domains of literature, music, painting, sculpture, architecture. Civilized man is to a great extent occupied with theproduction of what he does not need, if need be measured by what hiswants are at a lower stage of his development. But these same things heneeds imperatively, if we measure his need by his desires when they havebeen multiplied and their scope indefinitely widened. 

26. THE CONQUEST OF NATURE AND THE WELL-BEING OF MAN. --It is evident thatthe successful exploitation of the resources of material nature is ofenormous significance to the life of man. It may bring emancipation; itoffers opportunity. One is tempted to affirm, without stopping toreflect, that the development of the arts and sciences, the increase ofwealth and of knowledge, must in the nature of things increase humanhappiness. 

One is tempted, further, to maintain that an advance in civilization mustimply an advance in moralization. Man has a moral nature which exhibitsitself to some degree at every stage of his development. What morenatural to conclude than that, with the progressive unfolding of hisintelligence, with increase in knowledge, with some relaxation of thestruggle for existence which pits man against his fellow-man, andsubordinates all other considerations to the inexorable law of self-preservation, his moral nature would have the opportunity to show itselfin a fuller measure?

When we compare man at his very lowest with man at his highest suchjudgments appear to be justified. But man is to be found at all sorts ofintermediate stages. 

His knowledge may be limited, the development of the arts not faradvanced, his control over nature far from complete, and yet he may livein comparative security and with such wants as he has reasonably wellsatisfied. His competition with his fellows may not be bitter andabsorbing. The simple life is not necessarily an unhappy life, if thesimplicity which characterizes it be not too extreme. In judging broadlyof the significance for human life of the control over nature which isimplied in the advance of civilization, one must take into considerationseveral points of capital importance:

(1) The multiplication of man's wants results, not in happiness, but inunhappiness, unless the satisfaction of those wants can be adequatelyprovided for. 

(2) The effort to satisfy the new wants which have been called into beingmay be accompanied by an enormous expenditure of effort. Where the effortis excessive man becomes again the slave of his environment. His task isset for him, and he fulfills it under the lash of an imperious necessity. The higher standard may become as inexorable a task-master as was thelower. 

(3) It does not follow that, because a given community is set free fromthe bondage of the daily anxiety touching the problem of living at all, and may address itself deliberately to the problem of living well, itwill necessarily take up into its ideal of what constitutes living wellall those goods upon which developed man is apt to set a value. Acivilization may be a grossly material one, even when endowed with nolittle wealth. With wealth comes the opportunity for the development ofthe arts which embellish life, but that opportunity may not be embraced. Man may be materially rich and spiritually poor; he may allow some of hisfaculties to lie dormant, and may lose the enjoyments which would havebeen his had they been developed. The Athenian citizen two millenniumsago had no such mastery over the forces of nature as we possess today. Nevertheless, he was enabled to live a many-sided life beside which thelife of the modern man may appear poor and bare. It is by no means self-evident that the good of man consists in the multitude of the materialthings which he can compel to his service. 

(4) Moreover, it does not follow that, because the sum of man'sactivities, his behavior, broadly taken, is vastly altered, by anincrease in his control over his material environment, the result is anadvance in moralization. An advance in civilization--in knowledge, in thecontrol over nature's resources, in the evolution of the industrial andeven of the fine arts--does not necessarily imply a corresponding ethicaladvance on the part of a given community. New conditions, brought aboutby an increase of knowledge, of wealth, of power, may result in ethicaldegeneration. 

What constitutes the moral in human behavior, what marks out right orwrong conduct from conduct ethically indifferent, we have not yetconsidered. But no man is wholly without information in the field ofmorals, and we may here fall back upon such conceptions as men generallypossess before they have evolved a science of morals. In the light ofsuch conceptions a simple and comparatively undeveloped culture maycompare very favorably with one much higher in the scale of civilization. 

In the simplest groups of human beings, justice, veracity and a regard tocommon good may be conspicuous; the claim of each man upon his fellow-manmay be generally acknowledged. In communities more advanced, the growthof class distinctions and the inequalities due to the amassing of wealthon the part of individuals may go far to nullify the advantage to theindividual of any advance made by the community as a whole. The socialbonds which have obtained between members of the same group may berelaxed; the devotion to the common good may be replaced by the selfishcalculation of profit to the individual; the exploitation of man by hisfellow-man may be accepted as natural and normal. It is not without itssignificance that the most highly civilized of states have, under thepressure of economic advance, come to adopt the institution of slavery inits most degraded forms; that the problem of property and poverty maypresent itself as most pressing and most difficult of solution wherenational wealth has grown to enormous proportions. The body politic maybe most prosperous from a material point of view, and at the same time, considered from the point of view of the moralist, thoroughly rotten inits constitution. 

It is well to remember that, even in the most advanced of moderncivilizations, whatever the degree of enlightenment and the power enjoyedby the community as a whole, it is quite possible for the individual tobe condemned to a life little different in essentials from that of thelowest savage. He whose feverish existence is devoted to the nerve-racking occupation of gambling in stocks, who goes to his bed at nightscheming how he may with impunity exploit his fellow-man, and who risesin the morning with a strained consciousness of possible fluctuations inthe market which may overwhelm him in irretrievable disaster, lives inperils which easily bear comparison with those which threaten theprecarious existence of primitive man. To masses of men in civilizedcommunities the problem of the food supply is all-absorbing, and mayexclude all other and broader interests. The factory-worker, with a mindstupefied by the mechanical repetition of some few simple physicalmovements of no possible interest to him except as resulting in the wagethat keeps him alive, has no share in such light as may be scatteredabout him. 

The control of the forces of nature brings about great changes in humansocieties, but it may leave the individual, whether rich or poor, a preyto dangers and anxieties, engaged in an unequal combat with hisenvironment, absorbed in the satisfaction of material needs, undeveloped, unreflective and most restricted in his outlook. Of emancipation therecan here be no question. 

And a civilization in which the control of the forces of nature has beencarried to the highest pitch of development may furnish a background tothe darkest of passions. It may serve as a stage upon which callousindifference, greed, rapacity, gross sensuality, play their parts nakedand unashamed. That some men sunk in ignorance and subject to suchpassions live in huts and have their noses pierced, and others have takenup from their environment the habit of dining in evening dress, is to themoralist a relatively insignificant detail. He looks at the man, and hefinds him in each case essentially the same--a primitive and undevelopedcreature who has not come into his rightful heritage. 

CHAPTER X

MAN'S SOCIAL ENVIRONMENT

27. MAN IS ASSIGNED HIS PLACE. --The old fable of a social contract, byvirtue of which man becomes a member of a society, agreeing to renouncecertain rights he might exercise if wholly independent, and to receive inexchange legal rights which guarantee to the individual the protection oflife and property and the manifold advantages to be derived fromcooperative effort, points a moral, like other fables. 

The contract in question never had an existence, but neither did theconversation between the grasshopper and the ant. In each case, a truthis illustrated by a play of the imagination. Contracts there have been inplenty, between individuals, between families, between social classes, between nations; but they have all been contracts between men already ina social state of some sort, capable of choice and merely desirous ofmodifying in some particular some aspect of that social state. The notionof an original contract, lying at the base of all association of man withman, is no more than a fiction which serves to illustrate the truth thatthe desires and wills of men are a significant factor in determining theparticular forms under which that association reveals itself. 

No man enters into a contract to be born, or to be born a Kaffir, aMalay, a Hindoo, an Englishman or an American. He enters the worldwithout his own consent, and without his own connivance he is assigned aplace in a social state of some sort. The reception which is accorded tohim is of the utmost moment to him. He may be rejected utterly by thesocial forces presiding over his birth. In which case he does not startlife independently, but is snuffed out as is a candle-flame by the wind. And if accepted, as he usually is in civilized communities, he takes hisplace in the definite social order into which he is born, and becomes thesubject of education and training as a member of that particularcommunity. 

28. VARIETIES OF THE SOCIAL ORDER. --The social order into which he isthus ushered may be most varied in character. He may find himself amember of a small and primitive group of human beings, a family standingin more or less loose relations to a limited number of other families; hemay belong to a clan in which family relationship still serves as a realor fictive bond; his clan may have its place in a confederation; or thebody politic in which he is a unit may be a nation, or an empireincluding many nationalities. 

His relations to his fellow-man will naturally present themselves to himin a different light according to the different nature of the socialenvironment in which he finds himself. The community of feeling and ofinterests which defines rights, determines expectations, and prescribesduties, cannot be the same under differing conditions. Social lifeimplies cooperation, but the limits of possible cooperation are verydifferently estimated by man at different stages of his development. To afew human beings each man is bound closely at every stage of hisevolution. The family bond is everywhere recognized. But, beyond that, there are wider and looser relationships recognized in very diversedegrees, as intelligence expands, as economic advance and politicalenlightenment make possible a community life on a larger scale, assympathy becomes less narrow and exclusive. 

It is not easy for a member of a community at a given stage of itsdevelopment even to conceive the possibility of such communities as maycome into existence under widely different conditions. The simple, communistic savage, limited in his outlook, thinks in terms of smallnumbers. A handful of individuals enjoy membership in his group; herecognizes certain relations, more or less loose, to other groups, withwhich his group comes into contact; beyond is the stranger, the naturalenemy, upon whom he has no claim and to whom he owes no duty. 

At a higher level there comes into being the state, including a greaternumber of individuals and internally organized as the simpler society isnot. But even in a highly civilized state much the same attitude towardsdifferent classes of human beings may seem natural and inevitable. ToPlato there remained the strongly marked distinctions between theAthenian, the citizen of another Hellenic community, and the barbarian. War, when waged against the last, might justifiably be merciless; not so, when it was war between Greek states. [Footnote: Republic, Book V. ] Intosuch conceptions of rights and duties men are born; they take them upwith the very air that they breathe, and they may never feel impelled tosubject them to the test of criticism. 

It is instructive to remark that neither the speculative genius of aPlato nor the acute intelligence of an Aristotle could rise to theconception of an organized, self-governing community on a great scale. Toeach it seemed evident that the group proper must remain a comparativelysmall one. Plato finds it necessary to provide in his "Laws" that thenumber of households in the State shall be limited to five thousand andforty. Aristotle, less arbitrarily exact, allows a variation withinrather broad limits, holding that a political community should notcomprise a number of citizens smaller than ten, nor one greater than onehundred thousand. [FOOTNOTE: PLATO, _Laws_, v. ARISTOTLE, _Ethics_, ix, 10. ] That a highly organized state, a state notcomposed of a horde of subjects under autocratic control, but one inwhich the citizens are, in theory, self-governing, should spread overhalf a continent and include a hundred millions of souls, would haveseemed to these men of genius the wildest of dreams. Yet such a dream hasbeen realized. 

29. SOCIAL ORGANIZATION. --The social body of which man becomes, by theaccident of birth, an involuntary member, may stand at any point in thescale of economic evolution. It may be a primitive group living from handto mouth by the chase, by fishing or by gathering such food as naturespontaneously produces. It may be a pastoral people, more or lessnomadic, occupied with the care of flocks and herds. It may be anagricultural community, rooted to the soil, looking forward from seed-time to harvest, capable of foresight in storing and distributing thefruits of its labors. It may combine some of the above activities; andmay, in addition, have arrived at the stage at which the arts and craftshave attained to a considerable development. In its life commerce mayhave come to play an important role, bringing it into peaceful relationswith other communities and broadening the circle of its interests. Thathuman societies at such different stages of their development shoulddiffer greatly in their internal organization, in their relations toother communities, and in the demands which they make upon theindividuals who compose them, is to be expected. Some manner of life, appropriate to the status of the community, comes to be prescribed. Theideal of conduct, whether unconsciously admitted or consciously embracedand inculcated, is not the same in different societies. The virtues whichcome to be prized, the defects which are disapproved, vary with theirsetting. 

Moreover, the process of inner development results in differentiation offunction. Clearly marked social classes come into existence, standing inmore or less sharply defined relations to other social classes, endowedwith special rights and called to the performance of peculiar duties. 

Man is not merely born into this or that community; he is born into aplace in the community. In very primitive societies that place may differlittle from other places, save as such are determined by age or sex. Butin more highly differentiated societies it may differ enormously, entailthe performance of widely different functions, and prescribe distinctvarieties of conduct. 

"What will be the manner of life, " said Plato, [Footnote: Laws, vii. ]"among men who may be supposed to have their food and clothing providedfor them in moderation, and who have entrusted the practice of the artsto others, and whose husbandry, committed to slaves paying a part of theproduce, brings them a return sufficient for living temperately?"

His ideal leisure class is patterned after what he saw before him inAthens. He conceives those who belong to it to be set free from sordidcares and physical labors, in order that they may devote themselves tothe perfecting of their own minds and bodies and to preparation for theserious work of supervising and controlling the state. Their membershipin the class defined their duties and prescribed the course of educationwhich should fit them to fulfill them. It is not conceived that thefunctions natural and proper to one human being are also natural andproper to another in the same community. 

The flat monotony which obtains in those simplest human societies, resembling extended families, where there is scarcely a demarcation ofclasses, a distinction of occupations and a recognition of privateproperty in any developed sense, has given place in such a state to sharpcontrasts in the status of man and man. Such contrasts obtain in allmodern civilized communities. Man is not merely a subject or citizen; heis a subject or citizen of this class or of that, and the environmentwhich molds him varies accordingly. 

30. SOCIAL ORDER AND HUMAN WILL. --We have seen that the materialenvironment of a man, the extent of his mastery over nature and of hisemancipation from the dictation of pressing bodily needs, is a factor ofenormous importance in determining what he shall become and what sort ofa life he shall lead. That his social setting is equally significant isobvious. What he shall know, what habits he shall form, what emotions heshall experience in this situation and in that, what tasks he shall findset before him, and what ideals he shall strive to attain, are largelydetermined for him independently of his choice. 

To be sure, it remains true that man is man, endowed with certaininstincts and impulses and gifted with human intelligence. Nor are allmen alike in their impulses or in the degree of their intelligence. Within limits the individual may exercise choice, reacting upon andmodifying his environment and himself. But a moment's reflection revealsto us that the new departure is but a step taken from a vantage-groundwhich has not been won by independent effort. The information in thelight of which he chooses, the situation in the face of which he acts, the emotional nature which impels him to effort, the habits of thoughtand action which have become part of his being--these are largely due tothe larger whole of which he finds himself a part. He did not build thestage upon which he is to act. His lines have been learned from others. He may recite them imperfectly; he may modify them in this or in thatparticular. But the drama from which, and from which alone, he gains hissignificance, is not his own creation. 

The independence of the individual in the face of his material and socialenvironment makes itself more apparent with the progressive developmentof man. But man attains his development as a member of society, and inthe course of a historical evolution. It was pointed out many centuriesago that a hand cut off from the human body cannot properly be called ahand, for it can perform none of the functions of one. And man, torn fromhis setting, can no longer be considered man as the proper subject ofmoral science. 

It is as a thinking and willing creature in a social setting that manbecomes a moral agent. To understand him we must make a study of theindividual and of the social will. 

PART IV

THE REALM OF ENDS

CHAPTER XI

IMPULSE, DESIRE, AND WILL

31. IMPULSE. --Commands and prohibitions address themselves to man as avoluntary agent. But it seems right to treat as willed by man much morethan falls under the head of conscious and deliberate volition. We do nothesitate to make him responsible for vastly more; and yet common sensedoes not, when enlightened, regard men as responsible for what isrecognized as falling wholly beyond the direct and indirect control oftheir wills. 

Motions due to even the blindest of impulses are not to be confoundedwith those brought about by external compulsion. They may have theappearance of being vaguely purposive, although we would never attributepurpose to the creature making them. The infant that cries and struggles, when tormented by the intrusive pin, the worm writhing in the beak of abird, --these act blindly, but it does not appear meaningless to say thatthey act. The impulse is from within. 

Some impulses result in actions very nicely adjusted to definite ends. Such are winking, sneezing, swallowing. These reflexes may occur as themechanical response to a given stimulus. They may occur without our beingconscious of them and without our having willed them. 

Yet such responses to stimuli are not necessarily unconscious and cut offfrom voluntary control. He who winks involuntarily when a hand is passedbefore his eyes may become conscious that he has done so, and may, if hechooses, even acquire some facility in controlling the reflex. One mayresist the tendency to swallow when the throat is dry, may hold back asneeze, or may keep rigid the hand that is pricked by a pin. That is tosay, actions in their origin mechanical and independent of choice may beraised out of their low estate, made the objects of attention, andbrought within the domain of deliberate choice. 

Furthermore, many actions which, at the outset, claimed consciousattention and were deliberately willed may become so habitual that thedoer lapses into unconsciousness or semi-unconsciousness of his deed. They take on the nature of acquired reflexes. The habit of acting appearsto have been acquired by the mind and then turned over to the body, thatthe mind may be free to occupy itself with other activities. The man hasbecome less the doer than the spectator of his acts; perhaps he is evenless than that, he is the stage upon which the action makes itsappearance, while the spectator is his neighbor. The complicated bodilymovements called into play when one bites one's nails had to be learned. It requires no little ingenuity to accomplish the act when the nails areshort. Yet one may come to the stage of perfection at which one bitesone's nails when one is absorbed in thought about other things. And onemay learn to slander one's neighbor almost as mechanically andunthinkingly as one swallows when the throat is dry. 

When we speak of man's impulses, we are using a vague word. There areimpulses which will never be anything more. There are impulses which maybecome something more. There are impulses which are no longer anythingmore. Impulses have their psychic aspect. At its lower limit, impulse mayappear very mechanical; at its upper, one may hesitate to say that desireand will are wholly absent. It is not wise to regard impulse as lyingwholly beyond the sphere of will. 

32. DESIRE. --At its lower limit, desire is not distinguished by any sharpline from mere impulse. Is the infant that stretches out its hands towarda bright object conscious of a desire to possess it? Or does the motionmade follow the visual sensation as the wail follows the wound made bythe pin? At a certain stage of development the phenomena of desire becomeunmistakable. The idea of something to be attained, the notion of meansto the attainment of an end, the consciousness of tension, may stand outclearly. The analysis of the psychologist, which finds in desire aconsciousness of the present state of the self, an idea of a futurestate, and a feeling of tension towards the realization of the latter, may represent faithfully the elements present in desire in the higherstages of its development, but it would be difficult to find thoseelements clearly marked in desire which has just begun to differentiateitself from impulse. There may be a desire where there can scarcely besaid to be a self as an object of consciousness; one may desire wherethere is no clear consciousness of a future state as distinct from apresent one. 

Moreover, the consciousness of desire may be faint and fugitive, as itmay be intense and persistent. Desire is the step between the firstconsciousness of the object and the voluntary release of energy whichworks toward its attainment. This step may be passed over almostunnoticed. The thought of shifting my position when I feel uncomfortablemay be followed by the act with no clear consciousness of a tension andits voluntary release. The mere thought, itself but faintly andmomentarily in consciousness, appears to be followed at once by the act, and desire and will to be eliminated. It does not follow that they areactually eliminated; they may be present as fleeting shadows which failto attract attention. 

If, however, the desire fails to find its immediate fruition, if it isfrustrated, consciousness of it may become exceedingly intense. There isthe constant thought of the object, a vivid feeling of tension, of astriving to attain the object. Desire may become an obsession, a tormentfilling the horizon, and the volition in which it finds its fruitionstands forth as a marked relief. This condition of things may be broughtabout by the inhibition occasioned by the physical impossibility ofattaining the object; but it may also be brought about by the struggle ofincompatible desires among themselves. The man is drawn in differentdirections, he is subject to various tensions, and he becomes acutelyconscious that he is impelled to move in several ways and is moving innone. 

I have used the word "tension" to describe the psychic fact present indesire. I have done so for want of a better word. Of the physical basisof desire, of what takes place in the brain, we know nothing. With thepsychic fact, the feeling of agitation and unrest, we are all familiar. Of the tendency of desire to discharge itself in action we are aware. Adesire appears to be an inchoate volition--that which, if ripenedsuccessfully and not nipped in the bud, would become a volition. It maybe looked upon as the first step toward action--a step which may or maynot be followed by others. It does not seem out of place to call it astate of tension, of strain, of inclination. In speaking, thus, we usephysical metaphors, but they do not appear out of place. 

33. DESIRE OF THE UNATTAINABLE. --But if a desire may be regarded as anunripe act of will, an inchoate volition, how is it that we can desirethe unattainable, a sufficiently common experience? I may bitterly regretsome act of my own in the past; I may earnestly wish that I had notperformed it. But the past is irrevocable. Hence, the desire for theattainment of what is in this case the object, a different past, canhardly be regarded as even a preparatory step toward attainment. 

In this case it can not, and were all desires directed upon what is inthe nature of the case wholly unattainable by effort, it would occur tono one to speak of desire as a first step toward action. But normally andusually desires are not of this nature. They usually do constitute a linkin the chain of occurrences which end in action. Did they not, they wouldhave little significance in the life-history of the creature desiring. With the appearance of free ideas, with an extension of the range ofmemory and imagination, objects may be held before the mind which are notproperly objects to be attained. Yet such objects are of the kind whichattract or repel, i. E. , of the kind which men endeavor to realize inaction. They cannot be realized; we do not will to realize them; but weshould will to do so were they realizable. The psychic factor, thestrain, the tension, is unmistakably present. Real desire is revealed, and common speech, as well as the language of science, recognizes thefact. 

This general attraction or repulsion exercised by objects, in spite ofthe fact that the objects may not appear to be realizable, is not withoutsignificance. The hindrance to realization may be an accidental one; itmay not be wholly insuperable. The presence of a persistent desire mayresult in persistent effort, which may ultimately be crowned by success. Or it may show itself as a permanent readiness for effort. Were everyfrustrated desire at once dismissed from consciousness, the result wouldshow itself in a passivity detrimental to action in general. Where theobject is intrinsically an impossible one, persistent desire is, ofcourse, futile. The dog baying at the cat in the tree is the prey of sucha desire, but he does not realize it, or he might discontinue hisinefficacious leaps. The man tormented by his unworthy act in the past isquite aware of the futility of his longings. His condition ispsychologically explicable, but to a rational being, in so far asrational, it is not normal. 

Normally, desire is the intermediate step between the recognition of anobject and the will to attain it. The most futile of desires may beharbored. The imaginative mind may range over a limitless field, and giveitself up to desires the most extravagant. But indulgence in this habitserves as a check to action serviceable to the individual and to therace. As a matter of fact, desire is usually for what seems conceivablywithin the limit of possible attainment. The man desires to catch atrain, to run that he may attain that end; his mind is little occupiedwith the desire to fly, nor does his longing center upon the carpet ofSolomon. To the desirability of dismissing from the mind futile desirescurrent moral maxims bear witness. 

34. WILL. --The natural fruition of a desire is, then, an act of will; thetension is normally followed by that release of energy which makes forthe attainment of the object or end of the desire. 

The question suggests itself, may there not be present, even in blindlyimpulsive action, something faintly corresponding to desire and will?That there should be an object in the sense of something aimed at, heldin view as an idea to be realized, appears to be out of the question. Butmay there not be a more or less vague and evanescent sense of tension, and some psychic fact which may be regarded as the shadowy forerunner ofthe consciousness of the release of tension which, on a higher plane, reveals itself as the consciousness of will? There may be: introspectionis not capable of answering the question, and one is forced to fall backupon an argument from analogy. Blindly impulsive action and action inwhich will indubitably and consciously plays a part are not whollyunlike, but they differ by a very wide interval. The interval is not anempty gap, however, for, as we have seen, all volitions do not stand outupon the background of our consciousness with the same unmistakabledistinctness. There are volitions no one would hesitate to call such. Andthere are phenomena resembling volition which we more and more doubtfullyinclude under that caption as we pass own on the descending scale. 

Naturally, in describing desire and volition we do not turn to thetwilight region where all outlines are blurred and indistinct. We fix ourattention upon those instances in which the phenomena are clearly andstrongly marked. They are most clearly marked where desire does not, atonce and unimpeded, discharge itself in action, but where action isdeferred, and a struggle takes place between desires. 

The man is subject to various tensions, he is impelled in diversdirections, he hesitates, deliberates, and he finally makes a decision. During this period of deliberation he is apt to be vividly conscious ofdesire as such--as a tension not yet relieved, as an alternation oftensions as the attention occupies itself, first with one desirableobject, then with another. And the decision, which puts an end to thestrife, is clearly distinguished from the desires as such. 

In the reflective mind, which turns its attention upon itself and its ownprocesses, the distinction between desire and will seems to be a markedone. But it is not merely the developed and reflective mind which is theseat of deliberation. The child deliberates between satisfying itsappetite and avoiding possible punishment; it reaches for the forbiddenfruit, and withdraws its hand; it wavers, it is moved in one direction asone desire becomes predominant, and its action is checked as the othergains in ascendency. Deliberation this unmistakably is. And deliberationwe may observe in creatures below the level of man; in the sparrow, hopping as close as it dares to the hand that sprinkles crumbs before it;in the dog, ready to dart away in pursuance of his private desires, butrestrained by the warning voice of his master. This is deliberation. Suchdeliberation as we find in the developed and enlightened human being itis not. That, however, there is present even in these humble instances, some psychic fact corresponding to what in the higher mind reveals itselfas desire and volition, we have no reason to doubt. 

35. DESIRE AND WILL NOT IDENTICAL. --I have had occasion to remark thatthe modern psychologist draws no such sharp line between desire andvolition as the psychologist of an earlier time. That some distinctionshould be drawn seems palpable. It is not without significance thatimmemorial usage sanctions this distinction. The ancient Stoic's quarrelwas with the desires, not with the will. The will was treated as a masterendowed with rightful authority; the desires were subjects, often inrebellion, but justly to be held in subjection. And from the days of theStoic down almost to our own, the will has been treated much as though itwere an especial and distinct faculty of man, not uninfluenced by desire, but in no sense to be identified with it, --above it, its law-giver, detached, independent, supreme. This tendency finds its culmination inthat impressive modern Stoic, Immanuel Kant, who desires to isolate thewill, and to emancipate it altogether from the influence of desire. 

Recently the pendulum has swung in the other direction. It has beenrecognized that will is the natural outcome of desire, and that withoutdesire there would be no will at all. It has even been maintained thatwill _is_ desire, the desire "with which the self identifiesitself. " [Footnote: See, for example, GREEN, _Prolegomena toEthics_, Sec 144-149. ]

To this last form of expression objection may be made on the score of itsvagueness. What does it mean for the self to "identify" itself with adesire? And if such an identification is necessary to will, can there bevolition or anything resembling volition where self-consciousness has notyet been developed? It is very imperfectly developed in young children, and in the lower animals still less developed, if at all; and yet we seein them the struggle of desires and the resultant decision emerging inaction. If we call a volition in which consciousness of the self hasplayed its part "volition proper, " it still remains to inquire howvolitions on a lower plane are to be distinguished from mere desires. 

What happens in a typical case of deliberation and decision? Two or moreobjects are before the mind and the attention occupies itself with themsuccessively. Tensions alternate, wax strong and die away, only torecover their strength again. Finally the attention fixes upon one objectto the exclusion of others, the strife of desires come to an end, andthere is an inception of action in the direction of the realization ofthat particular desire. The desire itself is not to be confounded withthe decision; the tension, with its release. The psychic fact is in thetwo cases different. The decision brings relief from the strain. Itcannot properly be called a desire, not even a triumphant desire, although in it a desire attains a victory and its realization has begun. 

Such a victory not all desires, even when most intense and prolonged, areable to attain. We have seen that the desire for the unattainable mayamount to an obsession, and yet it will not ripen into an act ofvolition. The release of the tension in incipient action does not come. The bent bow remains bent. From the sense of strain in such a case onemay be freed, as one is freed from the desires which succumb during theprocess of deliberation, by the occupation of the attention with otherthings. But the desire has been forgotten, not satisfied. It may at anytime recur in all its strength. 

We cannot more nearly describe the psychic fact called decision. Just aswe cannot more nearly describe the psychic fact to which we have giventhe name "tension. " Although the nervous basis of the phenomena of desireand will are unknown, we can easily conceive that, during desire, andbefore desire has resulted in the release of energy which is theimmediate forerunner of action, the cerebral occurrence should bedifferent from that which is present when that release takes place. Norshould it be surprising that the psychical fact corresponding to eachshould be different. 

The view here set forth does not confuse desire and will, making willindistinguishable from desire, or, at least, from certain desires. On theother hand, it does not separate them, as though they could not bebrought within the one series of occurrences which may properly beregarded as a unit. It has the advantage of making comprehensible themutual relations of impulse, desire, and will. Blind impulse dischargesitself in action seemingly without the psychic accompaniments whichdistinguish desire and will. But all impulse is not blind impulse, anddesiring and willing admit of many degrees of development. To deny willto creatures lower than man, as some writers have done, is to misconceivethe nature of the process that issues in action. We are tempted to do itonly when we compare will in its highest manifestations with thoserudimentary foreshadowings of it which stand at the lower end of thescale. But even in man we can discern blind impulse, dimly consciousdesires which ripen into as dimly recognized decisions, and, at the verytop of the scale, conscious decisions which follow deliberation, and arethe resultant of a struggle between many desires. 

For ethical science it is of no little importance to apprehend clearlythe relation of decision to desire. Moral rules aim to control humanconduct, and conduct is the expression of the whole man. If we have noclear conception of the desires which struggle for the mastery withinhim, and of the relation of his decisions to those desires, in vain willwe endeavor to influence him in the direction in which we wish him tomove. 

36. THE WILL AND DEFERRED ACTION. --It remains to speak briefly of onepoint touching the nature of will. It has been suggested that thedecision is the psychic fact corresponding to the release of nervousenergy which relieves the tension of desire. It is the beginning ofaction, of realization. But what shall we say of resolves which cannot atonce be carried out in action? Of decisions the realization of which isdeferred? I may long debate the matter and then determine to pay a billwhen it comes due next month. The decision is made; but, for a time, atleast, nothing happens. How can I here speak of the beginning of action?

The action does not at once begin, yet it is, in a sense, initiated. Thestruggle of conflicting considerations has ceased; the man is "set" foraction in a certain direction. For the time being the matter is settled, and only an external circumstance prevents the resolve from being carriedout. The psychic factor is widely different from that of mere desire, andis not recognized to be different from that present in volition which atonce issues in action. 

CHAPTER XII

THE PERMANENT WILL

37. CONSCIOUSLY CHOSEN ENDS. --Our volitions, deliberate, less deliberate, and those verging upon what scarcely deserves the name of volition, weavethemselves into complicated patterns, which find their expression in longseries of the most varied activities. The nature of the pattern as awhole may be determined by the deliberate selection of an end, and tothat the other choices which enter into the complex may be subordinate. 

Thus, a man may decide that he can afford to give himself the pleasure ofa long walk through the country before taking the train at the next town. During the course of the ramble he may make a number of more or lessconscious decisions not incompatible with the purpose he originallyembraced--to take this bit of road or that, to loiter in the shade, toclimb a hill that he may enjoy a view, to hasten lest he find himself toolate in arriving at his destination. These decisions may require littledeliberation; they spring into being at the call of the moment, are notpreceded by deliberation, and leave little trace in the memory. They maybe made semi-consciously, and while the mind is largely occupied withother things, with thoughts of the past or the future, with other scenessuggested by the landscape, or with the flowers which skirt the road. Nevertheless, we would not hesitate to call them decisions. 

May we apply the word in speaking of the single steps made by thetraveler as he advances? His feet seem to move of themselves and to makeno demands at all upon his attention. 

Yet it is not strictly true to say that they move of themselves. They areunder control, and the successive steps follow upon each other notwithout direction. They serve as expressions of the will to take thewalk, and they are adjusted to the end consciously held in view. Thatattention is not fixed upon the individual steps does not remove themfrom the sphere of the voluntary, in a proper sense of the words. Theyare expressions of the man's will, even if they be not the result of aconscious series of deliberations and decisions. Whether we shall use theterm decision in connection with the single step is rather a question ofverbal usage than of the determination of fact. We have seen thatdecisions shade down gradually, from those quite unmistakable andcharacteristic, to occurrences far less characteristic and moredisputable. The consciousness of deliberation and decision does notdisappear abruptly at some point in the series. It fades away, as thelight of day gradually passes, through twilight, into the shades ofnight. And actions not directly recognizable as consciously voluntary maybe obviously under voluntary control. They weave themselves, with actionsmore palpably voluntary and higher in the scale, into those complicatedpatterns determined by the conscious selection of an end. As long as theyserve their purpose, and require no effort, they may remain inconspicuousand unconsidered. But, as soon as a check is met with, attention isdirected upon them and they become the subject of conscious voluntarycontrol. 

38. ENDS NOT CONSCIOUSLY CHOSEN. --In the above illustration the endwhich determines the character of a long chain of actions has beendeliberately chosen. It is a consciously selected end. When, however, wecontemplate critically the lives of our fellow-men, we seem to becomeaware of the fact that many of them act in unconsciousness of theultimate end upon which their actions converge. The attention is taken upwith minor decisions, and takes no note of the permanent trend of thewill. 

Thus, the selfish man may be unaware of the significance of the wholeseries of choices which he makes in a day; the malicious man may notrealize that he is animated by the settled purpose to injure hisneighbors; one may be law-abiding without ever having resolved to obeythe laws through the course of a life. If called upon to account for thisor that subordinate decision, each may exhaust his ingenuity in assigningfalse causes, while ignoring the permanent attitude of the will revealedin the series of decisions as a whole and giving them what consistencythey possess. 

Hence, the choice of ends, as well as the adoption of means to theattainment of ends, may reveal itself either in conscious deliberatedecisions, or in the working of obscure impulses which do not emerge intothe light. Even in the latter case, we have not to do with what is whollybeyond the sphere of intelligent voluntary control. The selfish man maybe made aware that he is selfish; the malicious man, that he ismalicious; and each may deliberately take steps to remedy the defectrevealed. 

When we understand the word "will" in the broad sense indicated in thepreceding pages, we see that a man's habits may justly be regarded asexpressions of the man's will. That, through repetition, his actions havebecome almost automatic does not remove them from the sphere of thevolitional. That he does not clearly see, or that he misconceives, thesignificance of his habits, and may acquiesce in them even though they beinjurious to him, does not make them the less willed, so long as hefollows them. It is only when he actively endeavors to control or modifya habit that he may be said to will its opposite. 

39. THE CHOICE OF IDEALS. --Nor is it too much to bring under the head ofwilling the attitudes of approval and disapproval taken by man incontemplating certain occurrences, actual or possible, which lie beyondthe confines of the field within which he can exercise control. The fieldof control, direct and indirect, is as we have seen a broad one, but ithas its limits, and many of the things he would like to see accomplishedor prevented lie without it. 

A man's will may be set upon the preservation of his health, he maystrive to attain that end, and circumstances may condemn him to a life ofinvalidism. He would be healthy if he could, but his strivings areoverruled. Or he may earnestly pursue the attainment of wealth, and mayend in bankruptcy. He has the will to be rich, but that will isfrustrated. 

It is the same when we consider his attitude toward the decisions andactions of other men. By mere willing he cannot condition another'schoice. But by willing he can often influence indirectly the volitions ofhis fellows. He can enlighten or misinform, persuade or threaten, rewardor punish. In many ways he can weight the scale of his neighbor's mind. But such influences are not all-powerful, and only within limits can webend other wills to follow a course prescribed for them by our own. 

Nevertheless, even beyond those limits, the attitude of a man's mindtoward the actions of his neighbor may be a volitional one. His will maybe for them or against them; he may approve or disapprove, command orprohibit. We know quite well that commands and prohibitions laid uponchildren and servants will not always be effective, yet we issue generalcommands and prohibitions, as though assuming unlimited control. It isquite in accordance with usage to speak of a man as willing an end, evenwhere it is clearly recognized that the will to attain does not guaranteeattainment. The man does what he can; could he do more he would do so; inhis helplessness the attitude of the will persists unchanged. 

It is obvious that, in this large sense of the word "will, " we may speakof a man as continuing to will or to approve a given end, even when he isnot willing or approving anything, in a narrower sense of the words, atthis or that moment. We speak of a man as inspired by the permanent willto be rich, although at many times during the day, and certainly duringhis hours of sleep, no act of volition with such an end in view has anactual existence. 

No man always thinks of the permanent ends which he has selected ascontrols to his actions. They are selected, they pass from his mind, and, when they recur to it again, the selection is reaffirmed. But, whether heis actually thinking about the ends in question or not, the settled trendof his will is expressed in them. 

This settled trend of the will, even when scarcely recognized by the manhimself, may be vastly more significant than the passing individualdecision, although the latter be accompanied by clear consciousness. Incertain cases the latter is a true exponent of character, but notinfrequently it is not. It may be the result of a whim, of an irrationalimpulse little congruous with a man's nature. It may be the outcome ofsome misconception and in contradiction with what the man would will, ifenlightened. The individual volition appears only to disappear; it mayleave no apparent trace. The permanent will indicates a habit of mind, away of acting, which may be expected to make its influence felt with thepersistency of that which exerts a steady pressure. To refuse it the nameof will seems arbitrary and unjustifiable. 

In the permanent will is expressed the _character_ of the man. Thischaracter is reflected in his _ideals_. Sometimes ideals are clearlyrecognized and deliberately chosen. Sometimes a man is little aware ofthe nature of the ideals which control his strivings. He may be said tochoose, but to choose more or less blindly. But, whether he chooses withclear vision or without it, he may choose well or ill. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE OBJECT IN DESIRE AND WILL

40. THE OBJECT AS END TO BE REALIZED. --The expression "the object beforethe mind in desiring and willing" is not free from ambiguity. It may beused in referring to the idea, the psychic fact, which is present whenone desires or wills. Or it may be used to indicate the future fact whichis the realization of the idea, that which the idea points to as its end. 

The idea and the end are, of course, not identical, but they are related. The idea mirrors the end, foreshadows it. In the attempt to explain avoluntary act we may turn either to the one or to the other; we mayregard the idea as the efficient cause which has resulted in the act, orwe may account for the act by pointing out the end it was purposed toattain. There is no reason why we should not recognize both the efficientcause and the final cause, or end. 

The latter has been the subject of more or less mystification. How, ithas been asked, can an end, which does not, as yet, exist, be a causewhich sets in motion the apparatus that brings about its own existence?[Footnote: See JANET, _Les Causes Finales_, Paris, 1901, p. 1, ff. ]

The difficulty is a gratuitous one. It lies in the confusion of the finalcause or end, with the efficient cause. When we realize that theexpression "final cause" means simply that which is purposed, or acceptedas an end, objections to it fall away. That, in desire and will, in alltheir higher manifestations, at least, there is consciousness of an end, there can be no question. 

If we attempt to give more than a vague physical explanation of actionsdue to blind impulse, we are compelled to refer to the idea, the psychicfact present, as efficient cause. Not so when we are concerned withactions of a higher order. We constantly refer such actions to the endsthey have in view. We regard them as satisfactorily explained when wehave pointed out the end upon which they are directed. 

To the moralist it is of the utmost importance to know what ends menactually choose, and what they may be induced to choose. He is concernedwith conduct, which is intelligent and purposive action. Conduct may bestudied without entering upon an investigation of the efficient causes, whether physical or mental, which are the antecedents of action of anykind. Such matters one may leave to the physiologist and thepsychologist. 

Accordingly, when I speak of "the object" in desiring and willing, Ishall use the word to indicate the end held in view, that toward whichthe creature desiring or willing strives. 

41. HUMAN NATURE AND THE OBJECTS CHOSEN. --What objects do men actuallydesire and will to attain? To give a detailed account of them appears tobe a hopeless and profitless task. 

I take up my pen, I write, I turn to a book; I look at my watch, changemy position, stretch, walk up and down, speak to some one who is present, smile or give vent to irritation; I sit down to a meal, eat of this dishrather than of that, go out to visit a place of amusement, respond to theappeal of the beggar in the street--in short, I fill my day with athousand actions the most diverse, which follow each other withoutintermission. 

Each of these actions may be the object of desire and will. No novel, however realistic, however prolix in its descriptions, can give us morethan the barest outlines of the course of life followed by the personagesit attempts to portray. A touch here, a touch there, and a character isindicated. No more, for more would be intolerable. 

It is significant, however, that the few points touched upon can serve togive an idea of a character. Not-withstanding their diversity, volitionsfall into classes; it is quite possible to indicate in a general way thekind of choices a given creature may be impelled to make. They are arevelation of the nature of the creature choosing. That beings differingin their nature should be impelled to different courses of action cansurprise no one. Cats have no temptation to wander in herds; theexhibition of pugnacity in a sheep would strike us with wonder. 

To every kind of creature its nature: and, although individuals within akind differ more or less from one another, we look for approximation to atype. So it is with man. The expression "human nature, " so much in themouths of certain moralists ancient and modern, although somewhat vague, is not without its significance. To it we refer in passing a judgmentupon individual human beings, and we regard as abnormal those who varywidely from the type. 

42. THE INSTINCTS AND IMPULSES OF MAN. --In sketching for us the outlinesof this distinctively human nature, the psychologist proceeds to anenumeration of the fundamental instincts and general innate tendencies ofman, and he draws up a list of the emotions which correspond to them. Hementions the instincts of flight, repulsion, curiosity, pugnacity, self-abasement, self-assertion, the parental instinct, the instinct of sex, the instinct for food, that for acquisition, etc. He points out that manis by nature open to sympathy, is suggestible, and has the impulse toplay. In such instincts and inborn general tendencies, blending andreinforcing or opposing and inhibiting one another, he sees the forceswhich give their direction to desire and will; which select, out of allpossible objects, those which are to become objects for man. 

It is not necessary here to discuss the nature of instinct, todistinguish between an instinct and a more general inborn tendency, or toattempt a complete list of the instincts and inborn tendencies of man. Nor need I ask whether every choice made by a human being can be traced, directly or indirectly, to one or more of the instincts and othertendencies given in the above or in any similar list. In explaining theindividual choices which men make, or the desires to which they aresubject, there is much scope for the ingenuity of the psychologist. 

But of the significance for human life of the impulses mentioned therecan be no question. What would the life of a man be if he could feel nofear or repulsion? Could there be a development of knowledge in theabsence of curiosity? How long would the race endure if the parentalinstinct were wholly lacking? What would become of a man who neverdesired food? Could a human society of any sort exist if there were nosympathy or tender feeling, no impulse to seek the company of other men?It is men, such as they are, endowed with the qualities which distinguishman, who associate themselves into communities, and the customs and lawsof such reflect the fundamental impulses in which they had their origin. 

43. THE STUDY OF MAN'S INSTINCTS IMPORTANT. --That a careful study ofhuman nature is of the utmost importance to the moralist is palpable. Hemust not prescribe for man a rule of conduct which it is not in man tofollow. He must not set before him, as inducements to actions, objectswhich it is impossible for him to desire and, hence, to choose. 

To be sure, the main traits of human nature were pretty well recognizedmany centuries before the modern science of psychology had its birth. Hadthey not been, man could not have had rational dealings with his fellow-man; could not effectively have persuaded and threatened, rewarded andpunished, and, in short, set in motion all the machinery which is at theservice of one man when he wants to influence the conduct of another. Butmoralists ancient and modern have made serious blunders through animperfect understanding of the impulses natural to man; and the modernpsychologist, without claiming to be a wholly original or an infallibleguide, may be of no little service in helping us to detect them. 

Thus, it was possible for as shrewd an observer of man as Aristotle toexplain the affection of a man for his child by regarding it as anextension of self-love, the child being, in a sense, a part of theparent. [Footnote: _Ethics_, Book VIII, chapter xii. ] Aristotle'squaint explanation of the fact that maternal affection is apt to bestronger than paternal is an error of a kindred nature. [Footnote:_Ibid_. , Book IX, chapter vii. ] And the ancient egoists, [Footnote:See the answer to Epicurus in the _Discourses of Epictetus_, translated by LONG, London, 1890, pp. 69-70. ] in setting before man theirselfish and anti-social ideal of human conduct, made their appeal, not tothe whole man, but only to a part of him. The normal man, whether savageor civilized, whether ancient or modern, cannot desire a life filled onlywith the objects which they set before him. Nor is the modern moralist, or as he prefers to style himself, "immoralist, " Nietzsche, [Footnote: Asketch of Nietzsche's doctrine is given later, see chapter xxix. ] guiltyof less gross a blunder. He rails at morality as commonly understood, calling it "the morality of the herd, " and he recommends isolation, therepression of sympathy, and a contempt for one's fellows. To be sure, the"herd" is a scornful, rhetorical expression, --what Bentham would havecalled a "question-begging epithet, "--for men do not, properly speaking, live in herds; but they do normally live in human societies of some sort, and they have the instincts and impulses which fit them to do so. Therepression of such instincts and impulses does violence to their nature, and he who advocates other than a social morality should advocate it forsome creature other than man. Man is a social creature, and, among theobjects of his desire and will, he must give a prominent place to somewhich are distinctively social. 

44. THE BEWILDERING MULTIPLICITY OF THE OBJECTS OF DESIRE, AND THE EFFORTTO FIND AN UNDERLYING UNITY. --The mere enumeration of the characteristicswhich have been adduced as instincts or fundamental innate tendencies ofman is enough to reveal the truth that man is not merely the subject of_desire_, but of _desires_; that is to say, his impulses aredirected upon objects widely different from each other. 

And when we call to mind that the concepts of the instincts andfundamental tendencies of human nature, as thus enumerated, are productsof abstraction and generalization--are general notions gathered from thenumberless concrete instances of desire and will furnished by ourobservation--we are forced to realize that the objects which individualmen set before themselves in desiring and willing are really endlesslyvaried. 

All men are not equally moved by fear, anger, repulsion, tender emotion, or sympathy. Nor do all men find the same things the objects of theirfear, anger, repulsion, and the rest. The desire for food is anabstraction; in the concrete, this man eagerly accepts an oyster, andthat one turns from it in disgust. In order to deal successfully with ourfellow-man, we must not merely know man. We must know men. 

Furthermore, not only do individuals set their affections upon differentobjects, but the same person at different stages of his developmentdesires widely different things. What is a temptation to the boy has noattraction for the man. What fills the savage with longings may inspirein the product of a high civilization no other feeling than repulsion. 

And what is true of the individual is true of men in the mass. Theobjects of desire and of endeavor are not the same in communities of allorders. Each kind of man has its own nature, which differs in somerespects from that of each other kind, and dictates what shall be, forthis or that man, an object of desire and will. No two men desireprecisely the same thing in all particulars. Yet each is a man, and isendowed with the usual complement of human instincts. 

The process of abstraction and generalization which resulted in theabove-mentioned list of the elements which enter into the constitution ofhuman nature is, nevertheless, not without its uses. It serves to order, to some extent, at least, the bewildering variety of the phenomenapresented to us when we view the broad field of the desires and volitionsof all sorts and conditions of men. Men's choices fall into _kinds_;there is similiarity in difference. We do not approach an unknown manwith the feeling that he is a wholly unknown quantity. He is, at least, aman, and we know something of men. We have _some_ notion how to goat him. 

But the ordering of the motley multiplicity of men's desires by areference to the fundamental instincts of man stops far short of acomplete unification. We are left with a number of distinct andapparently irreducible impulses and tendencies on our hands. If it isuseful to go so far, may it not be much more useful to go still farther?

Aristotle divided things eligible into those eligible in themselves andthose eligible for the sake of something else. How it would illuminatethe field of action, if it were discovered that men ultimately desire butone thing, and choose all other things on account of it! Would thediscovery not facilitate immensely our dealings with our fellows, suggesting new possibilities of control? A notorious instance of theattempt to conjure away the bewildering diversity in men's desires andchoices lies in the selection of pleasure as the one thing eligible initself, the unique ultimate object of human action. Of this object wehave, so far, taken no account. 

CHAPTER XIV

INTENTION AND MOTIVE

45. COMPLEX ENDS. --I may desire to clear my throat and may do so. Theaction is a trivial one, is over in a moment, and is forgotten. On theother hand, I may desire to spend my summer on the sea-coast, to growrich in business, to attain to high social position, or to satisfypolitical ambition. 

When the object is of this complicated description, there may easily beelements in it which, considered alone, I should not desire at all. 

The summer on the New Jersey coast may make for health. But it may entailmosquitoes, uncomfortable rooms, unaccustomed food, the lack of wontedoccupations, and a distasteful association at close quarters withneighbors not of one's choosing. The road to wealth is an arduous one. The envied social station may imply the swallowing of many rebuffs. Theway of the politician is hard. 

One may desire, _on the whole_, one of these objects, or a thousandlike them; but there are, obviously, many things comprised in the whole, or unavoidably bound up with it, that cannot attract, and are noteligible for their own sake. 

46. INTENTION. --An object chosen and realized may bring in its train anindefinite series of consequences foreseen or unforeseen. 

The striking of a match to light a candle may result in an unforeseen anddisastrous conflagration. The overmastering desire to grow rich may haveits fruit in an excessive application to business, the neglect of thefamily and of the duties of citizenship, and in hard and, perhaps, unscrupulous dealings. These things may be foreseen and accepted asnatural accompaniments of the end chosen. But there may also be entailedshattered health, overwhelming anxieties, and the distress of seeingone's sons, brought up in luxury and without incentive to effort, victimsto the dangers which menace the idle rich. 

Whether such consequences might have been foreseen and provided againstor not, it is true that they are frequently not foreseen with clearness. They certainly form no part of the intention of the man who bends hisenergies to the attainment of wealth. He does not deliberately intend toinjure his health, to lose the affection of his family, to leave behindhim degenerate children. He does intend to get rich, if he can. 

How many of the elements contained in the object chosen, or so bound upwith it that they must be accepted along with it, may fairly be said tofall within the intention of the chooser? There may easily be disputetouching the latitude with which the word intention may be used. Somethings a man sees clearly to be inseparably connected with the object ofhis choice; some he is less conscious of; some he overlooks altogether. It does not seem unwarranted to maintain that the first of the threeclasses of things, at least, may be said to be intended. When Dr. Katzenberger, in his desire to get across the road without sinking in themire, used as a stepping-stone his old servant Flex, who had fallen down, his complete intention was not simply to cross the road unmuddied. It wasto cross the road unmuddied by stepping on Flex. 

Evidently the intention--the whole object--gives some revelation of thecharacter of a man. Many men may will to avoid the mud; but not all ofthese can will to avoid it by stepping upon a fellow-man. 

47. MOTIVE. --The stepping upon a fellow-man with whom one is on goodterms can scarcely be regarded as a thing desirable in itself. If it isdesired, it is because of the complex in which it is an element. Someother element or elements may exert the whole attractive force whichmoves desire and will. In other words, some things are chosen for thesake of others. 

When we have discovered that for the sake of which any object is chosen, we have come upon the _Motive_. The intention may be said to embracethe whole object as foreseen. The motive embraces only a part of it, butthe vital part, the part without which the object would not be desiredand willed. 

48. ETHICAL SIGNIFICANCE OF INTENTION AND MOTIVE. --There has been muchdispute among moralists as to the ethical significance of intention andmotive. Bentham maintains that "from one and the same motive, and fromevery kind of motive, may proceed actions that are good, others that arebad, and others that are indifferent. " He gives the followingillustration: [Footnote: _Principles of Morals and Legislation_, chapter x, Sec 3. ]

"1. A boy, in order to divert himself, reads an inspiring book; themotive is accounted, perhaps, a good one; at any rate, not a bad one. 2. He sets his top a-spinning: the motive is deemed at any rate not a badone. 3. He sets loose a mad ox among a crowd: his motive is now, perhaps, termed an abominable one. Yet in all three cases the motive may be thevery same: it may be neither more nor less than curiosity. "

In criticizing this citation I must point out that curiosity is not, properly speaking, an object of choice at all. I have used the word"object" to indicate what is chosen, not to indicate the psychic factpresent at the time of the choice. And I have said that the motive is thevital part of the object. 

Hence curiosity should not be called the motive. No man chooses curiosityas an object, either in the abstract or in the concrete. Curiosity is afundamental impulse of human nature; we may elect to satisfy the impulsein any given instance; in other words, we may choose the appropriateobject. 

In the case of the boy letting loose the bull in the crowd, the object isto see what will happen under the given circumstances. This is whatappeals to the boy. Something else might have appealed to him inperforming the action. He might have had the deliberate wish to injurecertain persons present against whom he harbored resentment. Or hissympathies might have been with the bull, which had been the victim ofbad treatment, and to which he wished to grant its liberty. Were thecrowd in question a band of ruffians intent upon lynching, he might havebeen moved by the desire to assist, in a somewhat irregular way, in there-establishment of law and order. But even if his real object is only tosee what will happen, there is no reason to put it on a par with theobject in view when a boy spins a top. "To see what will happen" is thevaguest of phrases, and covers a multitude of disparate objects. He whodoes things to see what will happen has, at least, a very generalknowledge of the kind of thing likely to happen, if a given experiment ismade. A boy does not hold his finger in the candle-flame to see what willhappen. He who does things to see what will happen, in really completeignorance of what is likely to happen, may be set down as too much of afool to be the subject of moral judgments. 

It is obvious that an act may be done with many different objects inview--I mean real objects, motives. I give money to a beggar whose caseis one to inspire pity. My motive, my "vital" object, may be to relievethe man. But it may equally well be to get rid of him, to gratify myself-feeling by becoming the dispenser of bounty, or to inspireadmiration in the onlooker. The intention, as I have used the word above, is to relieve the beggar, with such consequences of the act as may beforeseen at the time. Within the limits of this intention, the motive mayvary widely, and may, in a given instance, be either admirable orcontemptible. 

It may be claimed, in answer to this, that the real intention is, inevery case, what I have called the motive; that, in the first case, itwas to relieve suffering; in the second, to get rid of an annoyance; inthe third to satisfy vanity; in the fourth, to be admired. 

The word "intention, " thus used, is equivalent to "motive. " Popular usagegives some sanction to this confusion of the words. We say of a man whohas done a questionable act: "His intentions were good, " or, "His motiveswere good. " Still, popular usage does not always regard the twoexpressions as equivalent. To revert to the case of the unhappy Flex. Itdoes not seem inappropriate to say that the use of a man as a stepping-stone was a part of his master's intention. It does appear inappropriateto call it the motive or a part of the motive of the whole transaction. 

Intention and motive are convenient words to designate the whole objectchosen and the part of the object which accounts for the choice of thewhole. That it is important to distinguish between the two is palpable. 

The intention gives some indication of character. We know something abouta man when we know what kinds of objects he will probably set beforehimself as aims. But we know more when we know why he chooses theseobjects rather than others; when we can analyze the complex and candiscover just what elements in it attract him. 

With an increase of our knowledge comes an increased power of control. Until we know a man's motives, we do not really know the man; and untilwe know the man, our efforts to influence him must be rather blind. 

The search for motives appears to carry us in the direction of thesystematization and simplification of the embarrassing wealth of objectswhich are actually the goal of human desires and volitions. Man maydesire a boundless variety of objects. His motives in desiring them may, conceivably, be comparatively few. 

It should be apparent that both intention and motive have ethicalsignificance. We have our opinion of men capable of harboring certainintentions. But we recognize that some men may harbor them with bettermotives than others. And we can see that a man's intention may be bad, and yet his motive, considered in itself, be good. How we are to rate theman, morally, becomes rather a nice question. 

CHAPTER XV

FEELING AS MOTIVE

49. FEELING. [Footnote: See the notes on this chapter at the end of thisvolume. ]--Two men may recognize with equal clearness the presence of adanger. That recognition may evoke in the one a violent emotion of fear, and in the other little or no emotion. Two men may be treated withindignity. The one fumes with rage; the other remains calm. It is wellrecognized that men may be susceptible to emotion in general, or tocertain specific emotions, in varying degrees. Knowledge is not alwaysaccompanied by a marked manifestation of emotion. Thoughts may be clear, but cold. There are, however, natures whose intellectual processes aresteeped in emotion. Such men live in an atmosphere of agitation. 

Lists of the emotions which correspond to the instincts and fundamentalimpulses of man have been drawn up. In them we find mentioned fear, disgust, wonder, anger, elation, tender feeling, and so forth; phenomenawhich, by earlier writers, were classified as "passions, " and to which wemay conveniently give the name "feeling. " We constantly speak of ouremotions as our "feelings, " and we contrast the man of feeling with thecoldly intellectual mind in which emotion is at a minimum. 

But it is not alone to such specific emotions as those above-mentionedthat we apply the term feeling. Thoughts are agreeable or disagreeable, pleasurable or painful. So are emotions. The agreeableness ordisagreeableness, pleasantness or painfulness, which are theaccompaniments of thoughts and emotions, have been called by modernpsychologists their feeling-tone. It is not out of harmony with commonusage to give them the name of feelings. In so doing we contrast themwith knowledge and assimilate them to emotion. 

Whether every sensation and every thought gives rise to an emotion ofsome sort is matter for dispute, as is also the question whether everysensation, thought and emotion is tinged with some degree of pleasurableor painful feeling. In the absence of conclusive evidence, it is open tous to assume that some feeling is always present where there is mentalactivity of any kind. The feeling may be so faint and evanescent as toescape detection, but this does not prove that it is absent. 

50. FEELING AND ACTION. --Emotions and feelings of pleasure and pain arethe normal accompaniments of the exercise of the instincts and impulsesof creatures that desire and will. Within limits, we appear to be able totake them as an index of the strength of the desire and the vigor of theeffort at attainment. 

An act of cruelty is perpetrated. I see it, and it leaves me, perhaps, cold and unmoved. In such case, it is hardly expected of me that I shouldtake energetic measures to have the evil-doer punished. The man whoseface flushes, whose brows descend, whose teeth come together, whose fistsclench, whose heart beats thickly, at the recognition of an insult, is, as a rule, the man from whom we look for vigorous efforts at retaliation. The apathetic creature who _feels_ no resentment is usually expectedto swallow the indignity. The child who jumps for joy at the sight of anew doll is supposed to desire it eagerly, and to be ready to makeefforts to obtain it. 

But it is only within limits that this relation between feeling andaction holds. Men of little emotion may be resolute and prompt to action. Their desires, as evinced by their actions, may be persistent andeffective. Nor need the individual fix his choice upon the particularobject that arouses in him the most feeling. A man may see his fellow-creature destitute, and may shed tears over his pitiable lot. But he willnot bequeath his money to him. He will leave it to his son, for whom, perhaps, he has no respect and has come to have little affection. And hemay leave it to him with regret, knowing that it will be dissipated inways which he cannot approve. It has been pointed out with justice thatthe exercise of many instincts may be accompanied with little feeling;and we are all aware of the fact that, as action becomes habitual, emotion tends to evaporate and the pleasure of effort and attainment isapt to be reduced to a minimum. 

51. FEELING AS OBJECT. --It is well to keep in mind the distinctionbetween feeling as a psychic fact present in the mind of the creaturedesiring and willing, and feeling as the object of desire and will. A manin a rage is the victim of a storm of feeling. The thought of the injuryhe has received and the desire for retaliation by no means exhaust thecontents of his mind. But the passion which shakes him is not his_object_; that object is revengeful action. 

Nevertheless, feeling may be made the object of desire and will. One mayattend a religious or political meeting with the deliberate view ofarousing in one's self certain complex emotions. Poe's gruesome tales areread for the sake of the thrill which is produced by the perusal. Probably the desire for excitement, for the experiencing of certain vividemotions, has no little to do with the attraction exercised by certaincriminal professions. The burglar desires the booty, but he may desiresomething more. 

Emotions have, as we have seen, their "tone" of pleasure or pain. Theyare agreeable or the reverse, and it is palpable that men do not, as arule, deliberately make them the object of desire and will inindifference to the fact that they are pleasant or are painful. We do notnormally wish to attain to states of mind in which remorse plays aprominent part; we do not aim to revel in shame; we do not seek to behaunted with fear. Pleasurable emotions are desired, where desire is seton emotions at all; and painful emotions are regarded by the mind asunwelcome guests. At any rate, this appears to be the rule, and tocharacterize the man whom we regard as normal. 

This being the case, it seems natural to ask whether, when we embrace the_intention_ of producing in ourselves a given emotion, our_motive_ may not be narrower in scope, namely, the attainment ofpleasure? and, when we wish to rid the mind of any emotion, our_motive_ may not be the avoidance of pain?

The adoption of this view would give to the feelings of pleasure and paina unique importance. They would be accepted as the only ultimate objectsof desire and will. By many they have been thus accepted. It has beeninsisted that objects of every description are chosen only as they arousesome feeling; and that those which promise pleasant feeling are soughtand those which entail pain are avoided. The general recognition of theprimacy of pleasure and pain over our other feelings, over the specificemotions mentioned above, is indicated by the fact that ethical writersof eminence sometimes make pleasure and pain synonymous with feeling ingeneral, passing over other feelings, as though it were not important forthe moralist to take them into consideration. The dispute whether theproper course for human action to take is prescribed by reason or isdictated by feeling often resolves itself into the problem whether weshould be guided by reason, or by a consideration of pleasure to beattained or pain to be avoided. 

52. FREEDOM AS OBJECT. --The acceptance of pleasure and pain as theultimate motives of human action seems, at first sight, to be ofinestimable assistance to us in threading our way through the labyrinthof diverse choices made by creatures that desire and will. 

But only at first sight. Even if it be true that every creature seeksonly to attain pleasure and to avoid pain, and uses the means it finds tohand in the attainment of these ends, the endless diversity of the meansremains as a thing to reckon with. The knowledge that all men desirepleasure does not help us a whit in dealing with men, unless we know whatthings will give pleasure to this man or to that. All men may desirepleasure; but it remains true that what gives pleasure to the spendthriftgives pain to the miser; what appeals to the glutton disgusts a man ofrefined tastes. If all men were alike and precisely alike, and if theirnatures were very simple and remained unchanged, the problem of thedistribution of pleasures would be vastly simplified. 

Whether the pursuit of pleasure and the avoidance of pain may be regardedas the only ultimate ends proper to man will be discussed later. [Footnote: See chapter xxv. ] Here, it is important to insist that sogeneral a formula gives us little useful information touching the set ofthe will either of classes of men or of individuals. This we can attainto only as a result of the study of the complex nature of man as revealedin the choices which he actually makes. The ends of man are many andvarious; some of these ends are accidental, palpably means for theattainment of other ends more fundamental, and for them other means ofattaining the same ends may be substituted. But other ends, and they areby no means to be reduced to a single class, appear to belong to the verynature of man. In seeking them he is giving expression to the impulseswhich make him what he is. 

In so far as these impulses find an unimpeded expression the man is free;otherwise he is under restraint. Without rendering here a final decisionupon the importance of the role played in human life by pleasure andpain, one feels impelled to ask the question whether the goal of a man'sendeavors may not best be described as _freedom_? Not freedom in theabstract, freedom to do anything and everything, but freedom to live thelife appropriate to him as man, and as a man of a given type. That thisfreedom is limited in a variety of ways, by his material environment, bythe clashing of impulses within himself, by the conflict of his desireswith the will of the social organism in which he finds his place, issufficiently palpable. 

CHAPTER XVI

RATIONALITY AND WILL

53. THE IRRATIONAL WILL. --As dreams do not consist of an insignificantmedley of elements drawn from the experiences of waking life, but, inspite of their fantastic character, bear some semblance of orderedreality, so the impulses of even the most unintelligent and inconsequentof human beings are not wholly chaotic, but differ only in the degree oftheir organization from those of the most rational and far-seeing. 

Where there is even a glimmer of intelligence, ends are recognized andmeans to their attainment are chosen. Ends are compared, and thepreference is given to some over others. But, with all this, there may bemuch incoherence and planlessness. Men can live somehow without lookingfar into the future, or keeping well in mind the lessons to be learnedfrom the past. They can manage to exist in the face of no little short-sighted impulsiveness and inconsistency. But it is palpable that theycannot, under such circumstances, live as they might live were they moretruly rational. 

The individual deficient in foresight and control may, it is true, becarried along and defended from disaster by the presence of thesequalities in the greater organism of which he is a part. The infant is aparasite upon society; it is provided for independently of its ownefforts. The child would soon come to grief were its ends not chosen byothers and its conduct kept under control. And a vast number of personsnot children are in much the same position. There is foresight andrational purpose somewhere; they profit by it; but of foresight andrational purpose they themselves possess but a modicum. 

Where breadth of view is lacking, where the future is unforeseen orignored and the past is forgotten, where desires arise and impel toaction in relative independence of one another, the man seeks today whattomorrow he rejects. We can scarcely say that the man chooses. He is thescene of independent choices, varied and inconsistent. He is the victimof caprice, and appears to us largely the creature of accident, a prey tothe impulse which happens to be in his mind at the moment. From such aman we cannot look for an adherence to distant aims, and the marshallingof the proper means to their attainment. He cannot count upon himself, and he cannot be counted upon. That he can play no significant role insuch stable organizations as the state and church is obvious. His desiresmay be many and varied, but they converge upon no one end. We set himdown as irrational. 

54. ONE VIEW OF REASON. --Concerning the part played by reason orintelligence in the active life of man there has been no little dispute. 

It has been maintained, on the one hand, that reason or intelligenceserves its whole purpose in holding before the mind all its impulses anddesires, revealing their interrelations, and making possible anenlightened and deliberate choice from among them. Where the horizon isthus extended and mental clarity reigns, the attention can roam unimpededover the whole field, consider the objects of desire in their truerelations and compare them with one another. Congruous desires canreinforce each other; conflicting desires can be brought face to face, and the one or the other can deliberately be dismissed; fundamental anddominant desires may assert their supremacy, and give their stamp to far-reaching decisions which exercise a control over minor decisions andfavor or repress a multitude of desires and volitions. 

The attainment of perfect rationality in this sense is an ideal nevercompletely realized. No man can hold before his mind all his impulses anddesires, see them in their true relations to each other, and come to adecision which will do complete justice to all. But the ideal may beapproached. 

The reason, in this case, resembles the presiding officer of adeliberative assembly, who insists that all the members shall be heardfrom, all proposals seriously considered, and that the ultimate decisionshall justly represent the true will of the deliberative body as a whole. The specious but fallacious argument is, in the debate, revealed in itstrue nature; the obstinate insistence of the individual is not allowed toprevail; the loud voice is recognized to be a loud voice and nothingmore; fugitive gusts of passion exhaust themselves; the permanent andfundamental will of the assembly is revealed in the final vote. It isclaimed that, in such a mind, the result is a harmonization andunification of the multiplicity of the desires and purposes which, in amind less rational, jostle one another without control, and refuse tofall into an ordered system. That the decisions of a rational mind revealboth a unity and a harmony not evinced by a mind short-sighted andimpulsive cannot be denied. But it is well to understand clearly what ismeant by such unity and harmony. 

55. DOMINANT AND SUBORDINATE DESIRES. --Wherever a group of desires fallinto a system and work together toward a common end, we have unity. Sucha system may be short-lived, comparatively poor in content, and of nogreat significance for a man's life as a whole. It may come intocompetition with another similar system, and be displaced by it. Aninterest that has dominated our minds for a time, and controlled ourdesires and volitions, may readily give place to different choices. I maysuccessively bend all my energies upon the winning of a game, the doingof a successful stroke of business, the defeat of a social rival, thesuccess of a philanthropic undertaking. There is no normal human beingwho does not exhibit such limited volitional units. The most idle andpurposeless of vagrants, the most scatter-brained school-boy, the mostvolatile coquette, may, for a time, be dominated by some desire whichcalls into its service other desires and thus realizes some chosen end. 

Such volitional units do not, however, go far toward unifying the effortsof a life. It is only when some dominant and deep-seated desire, oftrecurring, not easily displaced by others, sweeps into its train theother desires of a man, establishing a sovereignty and exactingsubservience, that such an effect is accomplished. Then the lesser unitsfall into a significant relation to each other as constituent elements inthe greater unit. The life, as such, may be said to have a purpose; itstrives toward a single goal. 

Whatever bears upon the attainment of such a dominant purpose may, however trivial in itself, acquire a vital importance and be eagerlydesired. To a man of mature mind there can be little interest in hittinga small ball with a stick, abstractly considered. Nor is the dropping ofa bit of paper into a box with a slit in it an action in itselfcalculated to stir profound emotion. But if the hitting of the ball inthe right way marks the critical point in winning an eagerly contestedgame of golf, the interest in it may be absorbing. And if the bit ofpaper is an offer of marriage committed to the post, the hand may trembleand the heart leap in the breast. A dominant desire may create orreinforce other desires to a degree to which it is not easy to setlimits. 

56. THE HARMONIZATION OF DESIRES. --And it may actively repress otherdesires or cause them to dwindle and disappear. A man possessed by adevouring ambition may resolutely scorn delights to which he wouldotherwise be keenly susceptible, or he may simply ignore them withouteffort. The attention, fixed upon some chosen end, and busied with themeans to its attainment, may leave them unheeded. Finding no place in thevolitional pattern that occupies the mind, they are cast aside and soonforgotten. 

In so far, hence, as the desires of a man tend to fall thus into groupsconverging upon a single end, we find not merely unity but harmony. Thevolitional pattern is of a given kind, and the colors which enter into itare selected. 

When, however, we speak of the desires of a rational mind as harmonized, we do not mean that incompatible desires are reconciled. One cannot laughand drink at the same time, nor can the desire for luxurious ease be madeto fall upon the neck of the desire for attainment through strenuouseffort. The final harmony attained resembles in some respects the peaceenforced by the violent character depicted by Mark Twain, who would havepeace at any price, and was willing to sacrifice to it the life and limbof the opposing party. The cessation of strife does not imply thesatisfaction of all parties to a contest; nor does the fact that a lifeis controlled by a ruling motive, which reinforces or calls into beingcertain desires and robs others of their insistence, imply that by anydevice all the desires which man has, still less all that he, as a humanbeing, might have, can find their satisfaction. Harmony is obtained atthe price of the suppression of many desires; but, where a mind isstrongly dominated by a comprehensive volitional unit, the price may bepaid without much regret. 

57. VARIETIES OF DOMINANT ENDS. --Obviously, the comprehensive andharmonious volitional complexes which may come to characterize differentminds may be of very different complexion. Peace of mind, the bubblereputation, the amassing of a fortune, a happy domestic life, humanitarian effort, the perfecting of one's character--each may becomethe controlling end which furthers or inhibits individual desires andemotions. Or the ends may be such as to appear to most men far moreinsignificant. To the collection of first editions or the heapingtogether of bric-a-brac a man may sacrifice his financial security andthe welfare of his family. Naturally, the moralist cannot put all suchends upon the same level; but, from the point of view of thepsychologist, the processes which take place in the minds thus unifiedand harmonized are essentially the same. 

58. AN OBJECTION ANSWERED. --To the position that it is reason orintelligence that brings about this unity and harmony an objection may bebrought. It may be claimed that breadth of information and clarity ofvision are quite compatible with highly inconsistent action revealing thetemporary dominance of a succession of incongruous desires. 

_Video meliora proboque, deteriora sequor_, confessed the Latinpoet. Have we not seen men of the highest intelligence, gifted withforesight, quite capable of grasping the relation of means to ends, nevertheless subject to the baleful influence of momentary desires whichdrive them hither and thither like a rudderless bark at the mercy of thewind and tide? How does it happen that their intelligence does not helpthem?

To this we may answer that it is not the same thing to possessintelligence and to use it. One may be supplied with information andquite capable of taking long views and embracing inclusive ends--and theattention may be so preoccupied with the desire of the moment, that thevoices of others are stifled. In so far as this is the case, the man cannot, at the time, be said to be reasonable or intelligent. He hasinformation, and acts as if he were ignorant; his choices do not issue asa resultant of his desires as a whole; there is no resultant; the singledesires make their influence felt separately. 

To be sure, an insistent and oft-recurring desire may introduce a gooddeal of unity and harmony into life, even where long views are not takenand there is little intelligence. The stupid egoist may become rather aconsistent egoist, and increasingly so as he grows older. His desires andvolitions may converge upon an end of which he is very imperfectlyconscious; incompatible desires may come to be repressed. But this doesnot refute the position that, when reason or intelligence is supreme, theattention is directed upon a wide range of desires, they are weighed inthe light of each other, and the ultimate decision is no longer blind, but fairly expresses the permanent push of the man's nature. Even where adesire or group of desires, unilluminated by intelligence, seems soinsistent as to take on something of this character, complete unity andharmony of action may be lacking, due to the short-sightedness of themethods employed to attain to the chosen goal. Blind desires may easilydefeat their own ends; wealth does not necessarily accumulate inproportion to a man's miserliness; the ardent but unenlightenedphilanthropist may do his fellow-man more harm than good. Long views areof no little service in weeding out inconsistent actions and introducingorder and unity into life. 

59. THIS VIEW OF REASON MISCONCEIVED. --In the above view of the functionof reason or intelligence it has not been represented as issuing commandsto perform certain actions rather than others, nor as furnishing motivesnot in some way related to the impulses and desires of man. It has beentreated, literally, as the presiding officer of a public assembly, whoinsists that every voice shall be heard; that all proposals shall beweighed and compared with one another; that the consequences of all shallbe clearly foreseen. Its function is enlightenment; the driving forcewhich impels to action of any sort has been found in the impulses and thedesires. 

It is possible to set this view forth in terms which make it highlyunpalatable. 

Thus Hume, who has a weakness for shocking the susceptibilities of theconservative and the sober-minded, startles us with the remark that"Reason is, and ought only to be, the slave of the passions. " [Footnote:A Treatise of Human Nature, iv, Sec 3. ] This doctrine, taken as the averagereader is almost inevitably impelled to take it, seems worthy of instantreprobation. It appears to degrade the rational in man and to exalt theblind and irrational. 

But it is not fair to the doctrine to set it forth in such terms. Thereis no small difference between random and fugitive desires and those morefundamental desires that express truly the nature of a man. Desiresorganized and harmonized gain great strength, and are enabled to overcomeand expel from the mind erratic impulses, the obedience to which mayeasily be followed by regret. Action taken without a clear foresight ofconsequences, with an imperfect conception of the relation of means toends, is blind and irrational action. Reason, as bringing enlightenment, as making possible deliberation, as turning the incoherent clamors of amob of inconsistent desires into the authoritative voice of an orderlydeliberative assembly, is not a faculty to be lightly regarded. 

Nor should it be forgotten that, neither to the plain man, nor to themoralist, do desires all stand upon the same level. He who bends hisintellectual energies to the satisfaction of his greed, his avarice, hislonging for revenge, may fairly be said to be prostituting his mind tothe service of passion. But is it a proper use of language to describe asthe slave of his passions the man whose thought is set upon theenlightenment of mankind, the alleviation of suffering, the service of astate, the attainment of a noble character? Were Socrates, St. Francis, Abraham Lincoln, Wilberforce, Thomas Hill Green, the slaves of theirpassions? Yet these men were moved by certain dominant desires, and theirunswerving pursuit of their goal was made possible only by the reasonthat harmonized their lives and substituted deliberate purpose for randomimpulse. 

The doctrine, then, that the reason is to be likened rather to thepresiding officer of a deliberative assembly, concerned only to giveevery voice a fair hearing, than to a legislator issuing commandsindependently, may be so stated as not to shock the sober-minded. 

And the doctrine recommends itself in showing that reason and inclinationor desire are not enemies. The possession of reason must lead to thesuppression of some desires--those incompatible with a comprehensivepurpose deliberately embraced; but the desires and the reason orintelligence work together to a common end. On this view, it is not therational man who is divided against himself; it is the short-sighted, theimpulsive, the inconsistent, the irrational man. He is the prey ofwarring desires whose strife leads to no permanent peace under theguidance of reason. 

60. ANOTHER VIEW OF REASON. --To certain minds this view of reason as thearbiter and reconciler of man's impulses and desires does not appeal. 

Thus, Kant, whose doctrine will be more fully considered later, [Footnote: Chapter xxix. ] holds that man's reason promulgates a law whichtakes no account of the impulses and desires of man. Thus, also, HenrySidgwick, who differs from Kant in making the attainment of happiness thegoal of human endeavor, and who, consequently, is not tempted todisregard the desires of man, yet refers to the reason independentlycertain maxims, which he regards as self-evident, touching our own goodand the good of our neighbor. [Footnote: _The Methods of Ethics_, chapter iii. ]

There are certain considerations which appear to favor the view that thereason is a faculty which may be regarded as an independent law-giver. Aman may be possessed of great intelligence; he may be well-informed, acute in his reasonings, and consistent in his strivings to attain somecomprehensive end, which, on the whole, appears congruous to his nature, such as it is. Yet we may regard him as highly unreasonable. Judged bysome higher standard which we look upon as approved by reason, he isfound to fall short. Is reason, then, synonymous with intelligence? Or isit something more--the source of an ultimate standard of action, intuitively known, and by which all man's actions must be judged? Uponthis question light will be thrown in the pages following. 

PART V

THE SOCIAL WILL

CHAPTER XVII

CHARACTERISTICS OF THE SOCIAL WILL

61. WHAT IS THE SOCIAL WILL?--The social will is not a mysterious entity, separate and distinct from all individual wills. It is their resultant. The resultant of two or more physical forces is a force; it has acharacter and may be described. The resultant of individual wills ininteraction is a will with a given character which it is of no smallimportance for the moralist to comprehend. This will presents aspectsclosely analogous to those presented by the will of the individual. 

Thus, to begin with, a community of men may be said to will a vast numberof things which have never been made by the members of the community theobject of conscious reflection. It may unthinkingly move along the groovemade for it by tradition. It may be intellectually upon so low a planethat even the possibility of acting in other ways does not occur to it. Nevertheless, ways of action thus unthinkingly pursued cannot properly besaid to be beyond the voluntary control of the community. A new situationmay draw attention to the fact that they are unsatisfactory, lead tocritical examination, to inhibition, to deliberate change. Between thepassive acceptance of actions prescribed by tradition and deliberateconscious choice in the presence of recognized alternatives there is noclear line of demarcation. 

Under the pressure of circumstances or with the gradual increase ofinformation and intelligence the traditional may undergo slightmodifications which scarcely rank as conscious departures from what hasbeen passively accepted. The algebraic sum of such departures may, withthe lapse of time, come to be by no means insignificant, yet noindividual may have exercised in any considerable degree consciousreflection or shown in any large measure freedom of choice. 

On the other hand, the social will may, at times, reveal itself indeliberate decisions, preceded by much conscious deliberation, andinitiating wide departures from established usage. The presence of newenemies or a diminution of the food-supply may awake a primitivecommunity from its lethargy, leading it to modify its habits and adjustitself to new conditions. A barbarous horde may set out upon a career ofconquest, and may introduce revolutionary changes into its manner oflife. A civilized nation may come to the conclusion that, in the courseof human events, it has become necessary for it to dissolve the bandswhich have held it to another nation; it may frame for itself anindependent constitution, embodying new ideals and prescribing a new formof corporate life. 

But, as in the case of the individual, so in that of the community, thetendency to fall again into a rut is always apparent. Laws, once enacted, lend a passive resistance to change, even when they no longer serve wellthe ends they were intended to serve. The independence of thought andaction revealed in the adoption of new constitutions are not conspicuousin their maintenance. Man collective, as well as man individual, fallsinto habits, and he commits to his unthinking self what was wrought outby himself as thinking and consciously choosing. Passive acceptance ofthe traditional again wins the day and becomes a ruling factor in action. [Footnote: "It is indisputable that much the greatest part of mankind hasnever shown a particle of desire that its civil institutions should beimproved since the moment when external completeness was first given tothem by their embodiment in some permanent record. " MAINE, _AncientLaw_, chapter ii. ]

This tendency to mechanization should not surprise us, for we meet withthe phenomenon everywhere. The man who says, "Good-by" today does notmean "God be with thee, " and the "Gruss Dich Gott" of the Bavarianpeasant is very properly translated by the American child as "Hallo. " Thetraditional tends to lose or to alter its meaning, but it continues toserve a purpose. A community without traditions, without settled ways ofacting, followed, for the most part, without much reflection, would be inthe position of a man without habits either good or bad. Human life as weknow it could not go on upon such a basis. The rule has, at times, itsinconveniences; but it leads somewhere, at least; whereas he who plungesinto the unexplored forest may find every step a problem, and may comeeven to doubt whether any step is a step in advance. 

62. SOCIAL WILL AND SOCIAL HABITS. --Within the province of the socialwill fall what may not inaptly be called the habits of a community--waysof acting acquired largely without premeditation and followed to a greatextent through mere inertia. The province of the social will is a broadone. Deliberate choices; those half-conscious choices analogous to theunheeded expressions of preference which fill the days of the individual;impulses and tendencies which scarcely emerge into the light--all areexpressions of the social will. 

In the next chapter I shall distinguish between customs proper and socialhabits in a broader sense. But, in discussing the general problem of therelation of habit to will, it is not necessary to mark the distinction. 

Some habits rest upon us lightly; some are inveterate. Of some we arewell aware; others have to be pointed out to us before we recognize thatwe have them. Some we approve, some we disapprove, to some we areindulgent or indifferent. All these peculiarities are found in therelation of the social will to social habits. It may recognize them, approve of them, encourage them. It may pay them little attention. It maydisapprove them and strive to repress them. Will has brought them intobeing; it is will that maintains them; it is will that must modify orsuppress them. 

As a matter of fact, all communities do tend to change their habits, somemore slowly, some more rapidly. And for its habits we hold a communityresponsible. Common sense refers them to its will, and exercises approvalor disapproval. This it would not do were the practices upon whichjudgment is passed recognized as beyond the control of will altogether. 

63. SOCIAL WILL AND SOCIAL ORGANIZATION. --Under the general heading ofthe habits of a society it is not out of place to discuss its social andpolitical organization. 

The fact that there never was an original social contract, made with eachother by men solitary and unrelated, with the deliberate intent ofputting an end to the war of all against all, does not signify that thesocial state in which men find themselves is a something with which thehuman will has had, and has, nothing to do. 

Social and political organization are the result of a secular process, but behind that process, as moving and directing forces, stand the willand the intelligence of man. The social and political organization of acommunity is not the creation of any single generation of men. Eachgeneration is born into a given social setting, as the individual is borninto the setting furnished by the community. This social setting, theheritage of the community from the past, may be compared to a greatestate brought together by the efforts of a man's ancestors, andtransmitted to him to hold intact, to add to, to squander, as he may beinclined. It is a product attained by man's nature in its struggle withenvironment, and that product may be modified by the same forces thatmade it what it is. 

Into this heritage the generation of men who compose a community at anygiven time may enter with little thought of its significance, with noinformation, or with false information, touching the manner of its cominginto being, and with small inclination to do anything save to leaveunchanged the institutions of which it finds itself possessed. Nevertheless, the forms under which societies are organized are subjectto the social will, and, if disapproved, are modified or abolished. Somechange is taking place even where there is apparent immobility, asbecomes evident when the history of institutions is followed through longperiods of time. The utmost that can be said is that, where intelligenceis little developed and energy at a low ebb, the social will may bear thestamp of passive acceptance of the inherited, rather than exhibit atendency to innovation. _Will_ it remains, but we may hesitate todescribe it as a _free will_. 

It is at times forced upon our attention with unmistakable emphasis thatthe forms of social and political organization are under voluntarycontrol. Momentous changes may be made deliberately, and with fullconsciousness of their significance. Among the more progressive nationsin our day the duty of introducing innovations appears to be generallyrecognized: constitutions are amended; the status of social classes ismade the object of legislation; even the domain of the family is invaded, as in legislation touching marriage and divorce. Men appear to feelthemselves free to will deliberately the end that shall be served by themechanism of the state, and to adapt that mechanism to the attainment ofthe end chosen. 

64. THE SOCIAL WILL AND IDEAL ENDS. --The social will, like the wall ofthe individual, may manifest itself in decisions which it is obviouslyimpossible to carry out to a completely successful issue. A community hasa power of control over its members, but that control has its limits. Even a man's actions cannot be completely controlled by the community ofwhich he is a part. There are always individuals who violate rules, andto whom, as it would seem, no motive can be presented which is adequateto keep them in the rut prescribed by society. 

Still less can the social will exercise full control over men's thoughtsand feelings. Influenced to some degree they may be. A man may be kept inignorance, or furnished with information calculated to determine histhought in a given direction. His emotions may be played upon; he may beexhorted, rewarded, punished. But thoughts and feelings are not open todirect inspection; they may be concealed or simulated. Much more readilythan actions can they withdraw themselves from control. 

Nevertheless, the social will may, and does, ignore all such limitationsto its powers. Laws are not passed to regulate the changes of theweather, which palpably fall outside the province of the law; but theyare passed to regulate the actions of men, which normally fall within it;that is, which can, to a very significant degree, be influenced by theattitude of the social will. For the same reason laws may even takecognizance of men's thoughts. Of the accidental limitations of its powerof control within the general sphere in which it has a meaning to speakof control, the social will is not compelled to take cognizance. It mayset itself to encourage or repress certain types of character andconduct, and take measures to attain the end it has selected. That themeasures taken should sometimes prove inadequate does not alter the factof the choice of an end, nor does it obscure the revelation of the trendof the social will. 

Thus, a community may be said to will that its members shall not beguilty of violence; it may will to live at peace with other communities;it may will to conquer and subjugate. Whether, in each case, the willshall be completely realized or not, may not be determined by the merefact of its willing. Nevertheless, the permanent volitional attitude maybe unmistakably present, and may reveal itself in strivings toward thechosen goal. To describe this attitude as no more than wishing ismanifestly to do it an injustice. 

65. THE PERMANENT SOCIAL WILL. --The social will may be regarded assomething permanent. Its existence is not confined to those moments inwhich collective decisions are being made. The will to be one whichconstitutes a group of human beings a nation is not at all times activelyexercised, but the settled disposition to action looking toward that endmay be always present and ready to be called into action. An autocracyremains such when its irresponsible head is making no decisions; and ademocracy is not such only while elections are being held or thelegislature is sitting. The organization of a society, the whole body ofthe usages which it accepts and approves, are revelations of the socialwill. That will does, it is true, give expression to itself in a seriesof actual decisions more or less conscious and deliberate, but it is farmore than any such series of decisions. It is a disposition, rooted inthe past and reaching into the future. It is a guarantee of decisions tocome, of whose nature we may make some forecast. 

The permanent social will constitutes the _character_ of acommunity. Our study of the will of the individual prepares us for therecognition of the fact that communities may be but dimly aware of theirown character, and may be quite unable to give an unbiased account of theideals which animate them. 

CHAPTER XVIII

EXPRESSIONS OF THE SOCIAL WILL

66. CUSTOM. --We have seen above that even the forms of political andsocial organization may justly be regarded as an expression of the socialwill. Such forms are the result of past choices, and their acceptance inthe present is evidence of present choice. 

Between the organization of a society and its customs proper we maydistinguish by comparing the former to structure and the latter tofunction in the case of any organism. But we must bear in mind that, here, structure has been built up by, and is in process of modificationby, the same forces that exhibit themselves in function. It would not bewholly out of place to describe a people as having the custom of beingruled by hereditary chiefs, of choosing their monarchs, or of governingthemselves through elected representatives. Forms of organization arehanded down to successive generations by the same social tradition thattransmits customs of every description. 

Customs are public habits which are, on the whole, approved by acommunity. They are ways of acting which are regarded as normal andproper. Where the authority of custom is evoked, pressure is brought tobear upon the individual to adjust himself to the will of the community. 

A community, like an individual, may have habits which it does notapprove. Such may be tolerated, although disapproved; or active effortsmay be made to set them aside. Some habits may be regarded withcomparative indifference, although professedly held in condemnation. Theindividual, in following such habits, may claim that they are notunequivocally condemned by the community, and he is not conscious of theweight of displeasure which visits the violation of the will of thecommunity when unequivocally expressed. 

In simple and primitive societies custom prescribes to the individual hiscourse of life in the minutest detail. It possesses the authority of thedictator. In societies upon a higher level it may leave to him somediscretion in deciding upon the details of his daily life, while stillexercising a paramount control over the general trend of his actions. 

Thus the will of the community, expressed in custom, determines what themembers of the community _ought_ to do, and it takes measures toenforce obedience to its decisions. Is it surprising that the names whichhave been given to the science which treats of man's rights and duties, _morals, ethics_ (_mores, ethica, Sitten_), should reflect thistruth? It would be an inadequate statement to maintain that the scienceof morals is no more than a systematic exposition of the customary inhuman societies. It is not an inadequate statement to assert that, inmany societies, custom has, in fact, furnished the ultimate and completestandard of obligation, and that in all societies it is of enormoussignificance in moulding men's notions of right and wrong. 

67. THE GROUND FOR THE AUTHORITY OF CUSTOM. --Habits are as essential to asociety as they are to an individual human being. Without them, societycould not live. In any social state--and no man can live except in asocial state--there must be cooperation. How can there be cooperation ifthere are no social habits upon which men may count in their dealingswith one another?

Try to conceive all the tacit mutual conventions, the unconsciousadaptations to custom, which guide our daily lives, suspended for twenty-four hours. When should one rise in the morning? How should one dress?What and how should one eat? Of business there could be no question, norcould there be cooperation in pleasures. Public order there could not be, for there would be no public worthy of the name. Protection of life andlimb would be the creature of accident. Between civility and insult therewould be no recognizable distinction. In short, men could not behaveeither well or ill, for there would be no rule to follow or to violate, nothing to expect, and, hence, no ground for disappointment. 

In such a chaotic condition no society of men has ever lived. No actualstate of anarchy has ever been complete, nor could it be, and endure. A"reign of terror" is a reign of law in comparison with such a dissolutionof all the bonds which knit man to man. When we pass from one communityto another, we find one set of public habits exchanged for another. Somesets impress us as better, some as worse. But there is no set which isnot better than none. It makes it possible for men to live, if not tolive well. 

Customs are, then, a necessity. It is equally necessary that they should, in general, have binding force for the individual. But there are customsgood and bad. The individual may fall into habits which he, uponreflection, concludes to be injurious to him, and which others seeclearly to be injurious. A community sufficiently enlightened tocriticize itself at all, may come to disapprove some of its customs andmay endeavor to abolish them. 

This means that a new act of the social will may set itself in oppositionto the social will already crystallized into custom. In a given instance, and where there are differences of opinion, it may be a nice questionwhether the new or the old should be regarded as the authoritativeexpression of the social will. 

68. THE ORIGIN AND THE PERSISTENCE OF CUSTOMS. --From the fact thatcustoms are, in general, to be regarded as expressions of the socialwill, it might be assumed that their purposive character and socialutility should be a sufficient explanation of their coming into being. But the matter is not so simple. A man may fall into habits which are noindication of what he regards as useful to him. Such habits have not beenformed independently of his will, and yet they may appear to bepurposeless, or even detrimental. Who wishes to have the inveterate habitof cracking the joints of his fingers or of biting his finger-nails? Whatpurpose do such habits serve?

Although the social utility of customs, taken generally, is easilyapparent, yet there are many customs which seem inexplicable upon such aprinciple. Why, for example, should the king of a primitive community beprohibited from sleeping lying down? or why should it be forbidden thathe gaze upon the sea? [Footnote: _Encyclopedia Britannica_, Eleventhedition, article "Taboo. "] The origin of such customs is hidden inobscurity. That their adoption was not without its reason, we may assume. That the reason was a reasonable one cannot be maintained. It seemsprobable, however, that it at some time seemed reasonable to some one. The persistence of habit, social as well as individual, would account forthe perpetuation of the custom long after the occasion which gave rise toit had been forgotten. 

69. LAW. --Between custom and law, taken generally, it is by no means easyto draw a sharp distinction, although, in some instances, thedistinction, may be clearly marked. In primitive communities, lawsreduced to writing, and administered by persons deliberately chosen forthat end, may be wholly lacking; and yet who would say that suchcommunities do not live under the reign of law in a broad sense of theterm? A course of life is prescribed to the individual; failure to comeup to the standard meets with punishment. 

Nevertheless, as social life rises in the scale and as communities becomedeveloped, custom and law become differentiated. The latter stands outupon the background of the former as something more sharply defined. Penalties and the method of their infliction are more exactly fixed. Notall violations of what is customary are taken up into the legal code aspunishable offences, although they meet with that indefinite measure ofpunishment entailed by social disapproval. 

Those public habits which it seems to a community it is of especialimportance to preserve and enforce come to be embodied in laws. Theselection is a matter of more or less deliberate choice, and is anexpression of will. The choice is not, normally, an arbitrary one. Thelaws of a people are, unless accident has intervened, the outcome andexpression of its corporate life. For their ultimate authority they restupon the acquiescence of the social will. Laws contrary to deep-seatedand widely accepted custom are not apt to be regarded as of bindingforce. They are felt to be tyrannous, and are obeyed, if at all, unwillingly, and because of pressure from without. 

In a later chapter [Footnote: Chapter XX. ] I shall dwell upon the factthat the accidental may play a very significant role in law. In giveninstances the laws of a community may be, not the outcome of its will inany sense, but something imposed upon it. Such laws cannot but be felt tobe oppressive and a restriction of freedom. 

Laws, like customs, may cease to have a significance, and they may bemodified or allowed to fall into desuetude. There is, however, muchconservatism, as all who are familiar with legal usage know. And laws mayfail of their purpose. They may aim to diminish crime, and theirundiscriminating severity may foster crime. So may the individual selectan end, fall into error in his choice of means, and, as a result ofexperience, resolve to substitute for such means others which are betteradapted to carry out his purpose. 

70. PUBLIC OPINION. --Public opinion is manifestly a force broader andmore vague than established custom, and still broader than law. Publicopinion may approve or condemn what no law touches, and it makes itsinfluence felt beyond the sphere of what is customary. 

Where customs and laws come to be imperfect expressions of the socialwill, they may stand condemned by public opinion. In such a case theirauthority is undermined and violations of them are condoned. Where publicopinion is strongly against a law; the law becomes ineffective. Theconservatism of law is such that a law may be allowed to stand unchanged, and yet may fail to be carried into effect. Juries may refuse to convict, or the unpalatable infliction of punishment may be avoided by granting tothe judge a wide discretion in pronouncing sentence. 

The gradual development of a strong public sentiment may lead to thepassage of new laws, not based upon previously established customs, butdeliberately framed with a view to the public weal. Old customs may bemodified and new customs may be introduced. That the recommendations ofpublic opinion extend beyond the sphere of the customary is manifest. Itis not the custom of most men to leave any large part of their estate topublic charity. Except in the case of the very rich, the failure to do sois not, as a rule, expressly condemned. Yet such bequests are approved, the testators are praised, and the attitude of public opinion has nosmall influence upon the conduct of individuals. Again, extreme self-sacrifice is not customary; it is exceptional; and yet shining examplesof unselfishness excite a warm sympathy. The expression of this sympathyis not without its influence. 

Public opinion is more palpably an expression of the actual social willthan are custom and law. We have seen that the last two may represent, ingiven instances, rather the inherited will of the past than the livingwill of the present. But when we call public opinion an expression of thesocial will we cannot mean that it necessarily reflects the sentiment ofall the members of a given community. 

In primitive communities custom may be a public habit which embraces all, or nearly all, individuals. Public opinion may scarcely have a separateexistence. In communities more developed, some individuals may disapproveand refuse to follow many customs which are characteristic of the societyto which they belong. Laws are not approved by all, and, in progressivestates, there is usually some agitation which has as its object therepeal of old laws or the passage of new ones. In communities where thereis independence of thought, public opinion is usually divided. 

Furthermore, the communities to which civilized men belong are nothomogeneous aggregations of units. There is the public opinion whichobtains within single groups within the state. The adherents of areligious sect may have notions peculiar to themselves of the conductproper to the individual, and such notions may extend far beyond what isactually prescribed by the tenets of the sect. The several trades andprofessions, the social classes, neighborhoods, even lesser voluntaryassociations of men, such as clubs, may be pervaded by a public sentimentwhich varies with each group. When we speak of public opinion generallywe have in mind something broader, a resultant. But the public sentimentof the lesser groups cannot be ignored. The individual feels himselfespecially influenced by the opinions of those most nearly associatedwith him. 

Under the head of public opinion it is convenient to speak of theopinions of moral teachers who have influenced the race. Such a thinkermay enunciate truths far in advance of the opinions of his fellows. Histeachings are not, hence, fairly representative of the social will as itreveals itself in his time. But the sentiments of the more enlightenednever are completely in accord with those of the mass of their fellows. They are not mere aberrations from the social will; they are itsforerunners. The moralist and the religious teacher initiate new choices, which may become the choices of large bodies of men. From them proceedinfluences which have their issue in new expressions of the social will, characterizing whole societies, and giving birth to new customs, newlaws, and a new form of public opinion. One can scarcely imagine whatChina would be without her Confucius; or the Arabic world, with Mahometabstracted. 

CHAPTER XIX

THE SHARERS IN THE SOCIAL WILL

71. THE COMMUNITY. --It is difficult to state with absolute exactness whatconstitutes a community. 

We may define it as a group of human beings associated in a common life, depending upon and cooperating with each other. This definition willapply, to be sure, to lesser groups within a tribe or state; and even toa collection of tribes or states in so far as such enter into alliancesand cooperate to their mutual advantage. As, however, the bond of unionis, in the former case, subordinate to the higher authority of a largergroup (for the family is subject to the tribe or state); and as, in thelatter case, the bond of union is a relatively loose one, and evidentlysubordinate to that which binds the citizens of individual states, thecommunity proper may be regarded as that group which is characterized bya relatively great degree of inner coherence and by relative externalindependence. 

The type of such communities is, among the more primitive peoples, thetribe, and among the more developed, the state. The authority of suchgroups over their own members is, theoretically, paramount, although itmay be suspended or abolished by the exertion of force from without. 

Such a community may be said to be inspired by a social will expressed inits customs, its laws and the public opinion prevalent in it. Its membersmay be said to be sharers in the social will of the community. Theirparticipation in it is marked by their being endowed with rights andcharged with duties. 

It has not been characteristic of communities generally that all who findtheir place in them should be like sharers in the social will. Thedistinction has been made between the citizen, who enjoys the fullestrights and may, perhaps, directly take part in the government of thestate, and those who, while _in_ the state, are not _of_ it, asthey do not enjoy citizenship. Where slavery, in any of its forms, hasprevailed, the distinction between those who are significant factors indetermining the social will, and those who have not this prerogative, hasbeen very marked. Social classes have often enjoyed, even before the law, privileges of great moment. Women have, as a rule, not been treated ascitizens, and have been refused a share in the government of thecommunity. Children are cared for and are protected, but political rightsare denied them. Their status before the law is a peculiar one. Thementally defective, both in primitive communities and in developed ones, stand in a relation to the community peculiar to themselves. They are notexcluded from it; they are accorded rights; but they are assigned in thecommunity a place of their own. Wherever we look, we find inequality. Thesharers in the social will do not share equally, nor do they share in thesame way. This is true of communities of every description, but thedifferences are more marked in some than in others. 

72. THE COMMUNITY AND THE DEAD. --It is not merely of the living humanbeings which compose a community that the social will takes cognizance. Other wills are made participants in the body of rights and dutiespeculiar to the community. 

In many communities the dead are still counted among its members. Theyare conceived as affecting its welfare, and as demanding services fromthe living. Duties towards the dead are a well-recognized division of thesum of a man's obligations in communities the most diverse in theircharacter. In some, they occupy a very prominent place; in no communityare they wholly overlooked. A striking illustration of the recognition bythe social will of the rights of the dead is to be found in the wholemodern law of testamentary succession. The will expressed by a man whilehe is alive is given effect as though he were still in the flesh andinsisted upon the fulfillment of his desire. It appears to work as apermanent factor in the community life, making its influence felt forgenerations. Witness its influence in charitable foundations, in the lawof entail, and the like. 

73. THE COMMUNITY AND THE SUPERNATURAL. --Nor is it merely in recognizingthe wills of the dead that the social will extends its sphere beyond thecommunity of living human beings. To primitive man, and to man far fromprimitive, his social environment has not seemed to be limited to theliving and the dead who have, or who have had, an undeniable andunequivocal place in the community. 

The part played in the life of man by supernatural beings of variousorders has been a most significant one. Demons and gods, spirits of alower or of a higher order, have occupied his mind and have influencedhis actions. Such beings have been conceived to be, sometimes, malevolentand needing to be placated, sometimes, benevolent and fit objects ofgratitude. Their wills man has regarded as forces to be taken intoaccount, a something to which the individual and the community mustadjust themselves. 

Man's relation, or supposed relation, to such beings has been a source ofclasses of duties upon which great stress has been laid. The influence ofthis admission of supernatural beings into the circle of those directlyconcerned in the community life has found its expression in theorganization of the state, in custom, in law, in public opinion. We knowlittle of a community when we overlook this factor. 

Between magic and religion it is not easy to draw a sharp line, especially when we view religion in the lower stages of its development. In both we have to do with what may be called the supernatural. Magic hasbeen defined as the employment of mechanical means to attain the desiredend. In religion, when it so far develops that its specific characterseems clearly revealed, we have left the sphere of the mechanical. 

The distinction between the mechanical and the spiritual is familiar tous in our dealings with our fellow-men. In such dealings we may employphysical force. On the other hand, we may appeal to their intelligenceand their emotions, and thus influence their action. In so far as we donot make such an appeal, we deal with our fellows, not as though theybelonged to our social environment, but to our physical. 

At the lowest stages of his development, man does not distinguish clearlybetween persons and things. This means that he cannot distinguish clearlybetween his material environment and his social. But the distinctionbecomes gradually clearer, and it is, in the end, a marked one. Religionbecomes differentiated from magic. To confound religion, in its higherdevelopments, with magic is an inexcusable confusion. 

74. RELIGION AND THE COMMUNITY. --The denotation of the term religion is abroad one, and there will probably always be dispute as to the justice ofits extension to this or to that particular form of faith. But it seemsclear that it is typical of religion to extend what may not unjustly becalled the social environment of man. 

Will is recognized other than the wills of the human beings constitutingthe community. To the part played by such wills a very great prominencemay be given. 

States may be theocratic, as among the ancient Hebrews; or church andstate may share the dominion, or struggle between themselves for thesupremacy, as in Europe in the Middle Ages; or the state may betheoretically supreme in authority and yet maintain and lend authority toa church. Even where church and state are, in theory, quite divorced--amodern conception--the church with its ordinances and prescriptions, itssacred days, its ceremonial, its educational institutions, remains a verysignificant factor in the social environment of man. Religious dutieshave at all times and in all sorts of societies been regarded asconstituting an important aspect of conduct. They color strongly the_mores_ of the community. Whole codes of morals may be referred tothe teachings of certain religious leaders. They claim their authority onreligious grounds. 

The great significance of the role played by religion in the sphere ofmorals is impressed upon one who glances over the works of those writerswho have approached the subject of ethics from the side of anthropologyor sociology. A review of the facts has even tempted one of the mostlearned to seek the origin of morals almost wholly in religion. [Footnote: WUNDT, _Ethics_, Vol. I. "The Facts of the Moral Life";see chapters ii and iii. English Translation, London, 1897. ]

That religion should play an important part in giving birth to ormodifying moral codes is not surprising. Man adjusts himself to hissocial environment as he conceives it. If the community of wills which herecognizes includes the wills of supernatural beings, it is natural thatthe social will which finds its expression in the organization of thestate, in custom, in law and in public opinion, should be modified bysuch inclusion. 

Nor is it surprising that the supernatural element should, at times, dwarf and render insignificant the other elements which enter into thesocial will. It may seem to man the all-important factor in his life. 

Within the human community some individuals count for much more than doothers. There are those who scarcely seem to have any voice incontributing to the character and direction of the social will. Othersare influential; and, in extreme cases, the wills of the few, or eventhat of a single individual, may be the source of law for the many. Ifmen come to the conclusion that the weal and woe of the community aredependent upon the will of the gods, or of God, they will unavoidablygive frank recognition to that will above others, and such recognitionwill dictate conduct. The gods of Epicurus, leading a lazy existence inthe interstellar spaces, indifferent to man and in no wise affecting hislife, could scarcely become the objects of a cult. But the God of theMahometan, of the Jew, or of the Christian, is a ruler to be feared, loved, obeyed. His will is law, and is determinative of conduct. 

75. THE SPREAD OF THE COMMUNITY. --So far I have been speaking of thecommunity properly so called, of the single group of human beings livingits corporate life. But such groups do not normally remain in isolation. As the isolation of the group diminishes, as contacts between it andothers become more numerous and more important, the necessity ofconventions controlling the relations of groups becomes more pressing. 

This implies the development of a broader social will, inclusive of thesocial wills of the several communities. This social will may be veryfeeble, and the bond between men belonging to different communities maybe a weak one; or it may be vigorous, and furnish an intimate bond. Thesavage, to whom those beyond the pale of his tribe or small confederationare mere strangers, and probably enemies, stands at the lower limit ofthe scale; the trader, to whom the stranger is co-partner in a mutuallyprofitable transaction, stands higher; the Stoic philosopher, cosmopolitan in thought and feeling, rating the claims of kindred andcountry as less significant than the bonds which unite all men in virtueof their common humanity, marks the other extreme. The spread of thesocial will grows marked as man rises in the scale of civilization. Barriers are broken down and limits are transcended. 

This broader social will, like the narrower, reveals itself in theorganization of society. We find confederations of tribes or states;alliances temporary or relatively permanent. And the broader social willmodifies customs, gives birth to systems of law, and encourages thedevelopment of an inclusive humanitarian sentiment. 

It does not necessarily obliterate old distinctions. The family, neighborhood, kindred, have their claims even under the most firmlyorganized of states; but those claims are limited and controlled. Evenso, the broader social will may come to regard states as answerable fortheir decisions. International law remains to the present day what hasaptly been called a pious wish. But public opinion prepares the way forlaw; and all states, whatever be their real aims, now attempt to justifytheir actions by an appeal to the more or less nebulous tribunal ofinternational public opinion. In this they recognize its claim to act asarbiter. Within the jurisdiction of a state, the motto, "my family, rightor wrong, " would not be a maxim approved in a court of justice. International law is made a mock of by the frank enunciation of themaxim, "my country, right or wrong. " Hence, such frankness is, ininternational relations, not encouraged. 

The more or less skillfully made appeal to the moral sense of mankind--tothe broader social will as public opinion--implies a certain recognitionof its authority, or, at least, of its influence. Whether this is adefinite step toward the granting of a real authority to the broadersocial will, an authority which will curb impartially the selfishness ofindividual states, it remains for the future to decide. 

PART VI

THE REAL SOCIAL WILL

CHAPTER XX

THE IMPERFECT SOCIAL WILL

76. THE APPARENT AND THE REAL SOCIAL WILL. --It is important todistinguish between the apparent and the real social will. We may beginby pointing out that the question "apparent to whom?" is a pertinent one. 

The social will is brought to bear upon the individual through a varietyof agencies. The family, the neighborhood, the church, the trade orprofession, the political party, the social class--all these have theirhabits and maxims. They tend to mold to their type those whom they countamong their members. The pressure which they bring to bear is felt as asense of moral obligation. Naturally, individuals with differentaffiliations will be sensible of the pressure in different ways, and maydiffer widely in their conceptions of the obligations actually laid uponthe individual by the will of the greater organism of which he is a part. 

But even he who rises above minor distinctions and takes a broad view ofsociety is forced to recognize that the distinction between the apparentand the real social will may be a most significant one. 

We have found the expression of the social will in custom, law and publicopinion. This is just; but the statement must be accepted withreservations. 

There are instances in which neither the organization of the state, northe laws according to which it is governed, can be considered as in anysense an expression of the social will. An autocracy, established byforce, and ruling without the free consent of the governed, is anexternal and overruling power. It may be obeyed, but it is not consentedto. Nor is any body of law or system of government imposed upon a subjectpeople by an alien and dominant race a fair exponent of the social willof the people thus governed. Custom and public opinion are at variancewith law. However just and enlightened the government, as judged from thestandpoint of some other race or nation, its control must be felt asoppressive by those upon whom it is imposed. Traditions felt to be themost sacred may be violated; moral laws, as understood by those thusunder dictation, may be transgressed by obedience to the law of the land. 

Where custom, law and public opinion are more nearly the spontaneousoutcome of the life of a community, they may with more justice be takenas expressions of the social will of that community as it is at the time. Yet, even here, we must make reservations. 

The organization of a state represents rather the crystallized will ofthe past than the free choice of the present. To be sure, it is acceptedin the present; but this is little more than the acquiescence of inertia. And public opinion may be at variance both with custom and with law longbefore it succeeds in modifying either. What is the actual social will ofa community during the interval?

The past may be felt as exercising a certain tyranny over the present. That the present cannot be cut wholly loose from it is manifest, but howfar should its dependence be accepted? In the past there have beenhistorical causes for the rise of dictatorships, of oligarchies, ofdominant social classes. The men of a later time inherit such socialinstitutions, may accept them as desirable, or may feel them asinstruments of tyranny. Shall we say that they represent the actualsocial will of the community until such time as they are done away withby a successful revolution? Or shall we say that they are in harmony withthe apparent social will only, and really stand condemned?

77. THE WILL OF THE MAJORITY. --Our own democratic institutions rest uponthe theory that the social will is to be determined by the majority vote. To be sure, we seem to find it necessary to limit the application of thisdoctrine, and to seek stability of government by fixing, in certain casesrather arbitrarily, the size of the majority that shall count. [Footnote:See the Constitution of the United States, Article V. ] But the doctrine, taken generally, does seem in harmony with the test of rationalitydeveloped above. [Footnote: Chapter xvi. ] It aims at the satisfaction ofmany desires--at what may be termed satisfaction _on the whole_. 

Nevertheless, it is possible to question whether the vote of the majorityrepresents, in a given instance, the actual will of the community. 

No one knows better than the practical politician how the votes of themajority are obtained. No one knows better than he that, in the mostdemocratic of communities, it is the wills of the few that count. Theorganization of a party, clever leadership, the command of the press, thecatching phrases of the popular orator, the street procession, the brassband, the possession of the ability to cajole and to threaten--these playno mean role in the outcome, which may be the adoption of a state policyof which a large proportion of the majority voting may be quite unable tocomprehend the significance. Shall we say, in such a case, that the willof the majority was for the ultimate end? Or shall we say that the votewas in pursuance of a multitude of minor ends, many of which had but anaccidental connection with the ultimate end?

78. IGNORANCE AND ERROR AND THE SOCIAL WILL. --The apparent will of thecommunity appears to be, in large measure, an accidental thing. That isto say, men will what they would not will were they not hampered byignorance and error, and were they not incapable of taking long views oftheir own interests. 

The decisions of the social will may be the outcome of ignorance andsuperstition. 

Where it is thought necessary to punish the accidental homicide in orderto appease the ghost of the dead man, which might otherwise become acause of harm, the course of justice, if one may call it such, deviatesfrom what the enlightened man must regard as normal. The belief that sinis an infection, communicable by heredity or even by contact, must leadto similar aberrations of primitive justice. Animals, and even materialthings, have, and not by peoples the most primitive, been treated asrational, responsible and amenable to law. This seems to do the brutesmore than justice. On the other hand, the philosophical tenet of theCartesians, which denied a mind to the brutes, resulted in no littlecruelty. The treatment of drunkards, and of the mentally defective, has, at times, been based upon the notion that they are possessed by god ordemon, and, hence, have a right to peculiar consideration, or may betreated with extreme rigor. 

It is worth while to follow up the above reference to the Cartesians by areference to St. Augustine. Trains of reasoning based upon theological orphilosophical tenets have more than once given rise to aberrations of themoral judgment. 

The intellectual subtlety of Augustine betrays him into magnifying toenormous proportions the guilt of the boyish prank of stealing greenpears from the garden of a neighbor, inspired by the agreeable thought ofthe irritation which would be caused by the theft. The pears were notedible, and were thrown to the pigs, which circumstance seduces thisfather of the Church into the reflection that the sin must have beencommitted for no other end than for the sake of sinning. A greater crimethan this he cannot conceive. 

Many years after the event, in writing his Confessions, he expresses inunmeasured terms his horror of the deed, filling seven chapters[Footnote: _Confessions_, chapters iv-x. ] with his reflections andlamentations: "Behold my heart, O God, behold my heart, upon which thouhadst mercy when in the depths of this bottomless pit. " "O corruption! Omonster of life and depth of death! Is it possible that I liked to dowhat I might not, simply and for no other reason than because I mightnot?"

Saint as he was, Augustine would have made a sorry schoolmaster. It isevident that the enlightened mind cannot regard schoolboys as uniquemonsters of iniquity for making a raid on an orchard. 

The community whose decisions are made under the influence of erroneouspreconceptions undoubtedly wills, but its will is determined by theaccident of ignorance. It is to be likened to the man who, in unfamiliarsurroundings, takes the wrong road in his desire to get home. He chooses, but he does not choose what he would if he knew what he was about. 

79. HEEDLESSNESS AND THE SOCIAL WILL. --Numberless illustrations might begiven of the fact that, not merely ignorance and error, but also a short-sighted heedlessness plays no small part in introducing elements of theaccidental and irrational into the social will. The man who spends freelywith no thought for the morrow is not more irrational than the state thatpermits a squandering of its resources, and wakes up too late only todiscover that it has lost what cannot easily be replaced. 

The life of the community is a long one, and calls for long views of theinterests of the community. These are too often lacking. Heedlessness andindifference are a fertile source of abuses. In which case, the will ofthe community resembles that of the impulsive and erratic man, who hastoo little foresight and self-control to consult consistently his owninterests. We may say that he desires his own good on the whole, but wecannot say that he desires it at all times. Future goods disappear fromhis view. His choices clash. His actual will at any given moment appearsto be the creature of accident. So it may be with the community. 

80. RATIONAL ELEMENTS IN THE IRRATIONAL WILL. --The actual social will, asrevealed in custom, law and public opinion, often appears, thus, highlyirrational, and we may be justified in distinguishing between it and thereal will which we conceive of as struggling to get itself expressed. Nevertheless, in justice to custom, law and public opinion, we must lookbelow the surface of things. Even where the decisions of the communityseem most irrational, and where there appears to be little consciousnessof the ends pursued by the real will, the discriminating observer may seethat pure irrationality does not prevail. The individual may show by hisactions that he has comprehensive ends, and may yet not be distinctlyaware of them. So may a community of men. 

"The true meaning of ethical obligations, " says Hobhouse, [Footnote:_Morals in Evolution_, New York, 1906, p. 30. ] "--their bearing onhuman purposes, their function in social life--only emerges by slowdegrees. The onlooker, investigating a primitive custom, can see thatmoral elements have helped to build it up, so that it embodies somethingof moral truth. Yet these elements of moral truth were perhaps neverpresent to the minds of those who built it. Instead thereof we are likelyto find some obscure reference to magic or to the world of spirits. Thecustom which we can see, perhaps, to be excellently devised in theinterests of social order or for the promotion of mutual aid is by thosewho practice it based on some taboo, or preserved from violation fromfear of the resentment of somebody's ghost. " It is not wholly irrationalthat, in the laws of various peoples, an allowance should be made for thesudden resentment which flames up when wrong has been suffered, and thatan offence grown cold should be treated more leniently than one which isfresh and the smart caused by which has not had time to sufferdiminution. Society has to do with men as they are. It is its task tobend the will of the individual into conformity with the social will. That resentment for wrongs suffered is an important element in theestablishment of order in the community can scarcely be denied, nor is itwholly unreasonable, men being what they are, for the community to makesome concessions to the natural feeling of the individual. Moreover, theoffender caught in the act is indubitably the real offender; and settledanimosities are more injurious to the social order than are fugitivegusts of passion. 

And if it is true that the arbitrary laws of hospitality, as recognizedby some primitive and half-civilized communities, are reinforced by thesuperstitious fear of the stranger's curse, it is none the less true thatthey serve certain social needs. The fact that hospitality tends todecline when it becomes superfluous is sufficient to indicate its socialsignificance. 

Again, collective responsibility--the making of a man responsible for thedelinquencies of those connected with him, even when he could in no wayhave prevented the evils in question--appears to modern civilized man, inmost instances, [Footnote: Only under normal conditions. We have recentlyhad abundant opportunity to see that in time of war civilized nationshave no scruples in making the innocent suffer with the guilty, or evenfor the guilty. ] an irrational thing. Yet men are actually knit intogroups with common interests and accustomed to cooperation. To treat themas wholly independent units, responsible only to some higher organizationsuch as the state, is to overlook actual relationships which have nosmall influence in determining the course of their lives. Within eachlesser group the members can and do encourage or repress given types ofaction beneficial or the reverse. Is it irrational for the larger groupto set such influences to work by holding the lesser group responsible inits collective capacity? In China the principle has worked with somemeasure of success as an instrument of order for many centuries. In anenlightened society some better method of attaining order may obtain, butit would be a mistake to assume that there is nothing behind theprinciple of collective responsibility save the unintelligent attempt tosatisfy resentment by striking indirectly at the offender through thoseconnected with him, or the mental confusion that identifies the culprit, through mere association of ideas, with other members of the group towhich he belongs. 

81. THE SOCIAL WILL AND THE SELFISHNESS OF THE INDIVIDUAL. --There is, then, often some reason to be discovered even in what appears at firstsight to be wholly irrational. But no small part of the irrationality ofthe actual social will must be set down, in the last instance, to thatpeculiar form of irrationality in the individual or in groups ofindividuals which we call selfishness. 

That some degree of inequality should be necessary in communities of men, in view of the differentiation of function implied in cooperative effort, may be admitted. How far the inherited organization or the existingenvironment of a given community may make it necessary, in the interestsof all, to grant a large measure of power or prerogative to a singleindividual, or to the few, is fair matter for investigation. But the mostcursory glance at the pages of history, the most superficial survey ofthe present condition of mankind, must make it evident that a far-seeingand enlightened social will has not been the determining factor inbringing into existence many of the institutions which are accepted bythe actual social will of a given epoch. 

Neither Alexander the Great nor Napoleon can be regarded as trueexponents of the social will. The rule of the oligarchy is based uponselfish considerations. The institution of slavery overrides the will ofthe bondsman in the interests of his possessor. The perennial strugglebetween the "haves" and the "have nots"--the rich and the poor--is, unfortunately, carried on by those engaged in it with a view to their owninterests and not with a view to the good of society as a whole. 

That those to whom especial opportunities are, by the accident of theirposition, open, or by whom special rights are inherited, should acceptthe situation as right and proper is not to be wondered at. All rightsand duties have their roots in the past, and conceptions of what isfeasible and desirable are always influenced by tradition. While from thestandpoint of the real social will anomalous and accidental it isnevertheless psychologically explicable and natural that the mediaevalknight should be bound by the rules of chivalry only in his dealings withthose of his own rank; that the murder of a priest should be regarded asa crime of a special class; that benefit of clergy should be extended toa limited number of those guilty of the same offence; that the lists ofthe deadly sins should, in an age dominated by the monastic idea, smackso strongly of the cloister. 

Natural it is, and, perhaps, inevitable, that such expressions of thesocial will should make their appearance. They have their place in thehistoric evolution of society. But they betray the fact that man isimperfectly rational. They cannot be regarded as expressions of thepermanent rational will which belongs to man as man. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE RATIONAL SOCIAL WILL

82. REASONABLE ENDS. --We have seen in the chapter on "Rationality andWill, " that we cannot consider a man rational unless his choices areharmonized and converge upon some comprehensive end. It has been hinted, furthermore, that not all comprehensive ends can be described asreasonable or rational. 

A child may be consistently disobedient to its parents, and, givenparents of a certain kind, it may find its life highly satisfactory. Aman may consistently be a bad neighbor, and may harbor the convictionthat, on the whole, he gains by it. A miser may be consistent; he maycome to joy in denying himself luxuries and even comforts, repaid in theconsciousness of an increasing store. The philosophical egoist may reasonwith admirable consistency, and may habitually act in accordance with hisconvictions, leading, for him, a very endurable life. 

All these may be intelligent, even acutely intelligent, and may reasonclearly and well. Nevertheless, men generally refuse to consider theirbehavior reasonable. There are ends which we regard as rational, andothers which we condemn as irrational. 

It is not enough, hence, that a man's volitions should be intelligentlyharmonized and unified. His will must be adjusted to ends whichthemselves can be judged rational. 

And in deciding whether the ends he chooses are rational or not, weproceed just as we do in judging the rationality of his individualchoices. If the latter are made in the light of information, if theirsignificance is realized, if they converge upon some comprehensive endand do not merely clash and defeat one another, we have seen that theyare made under the guidance of reason or intelligence. The individualvolitions are congruous with the permanent set of the man's will. Theyare judged by their background, by their harmony with the "pattern" whichis revealed in the man's volitional life. 

Even so, each such volitional pattern, the harmonized and unified will ofthe individual as directed upon some comprehensive end, is judged to berational or not according as it does or does not accord with the endspursued by the social will. Individuals, whose wills are thoroughlyunified and harmonized by the dominant influence of given chosen ends, may be thoroughly out of harmony with the chosen ends of the largerorganism of which they are a part. They may be out of harmony with eachother. Considered alone, each may display an internal order and unity. Taken together they may be seen to be in open strife. 

We have found the social will to be something relatively permanent andmoving with more or less consistency toward certain comprehensive ends. That the ends chosen by given individuals may be very much out of harmonywith these is palpable. The deliberate idler, the whole-hearted epicure, the habitually untruthful man, the miser, the cold egoist--these and suchas these are condemned in enlightened communities. Their lives do nothelp to further, but serve to frustrate, the ends approved by the socialwill. In so far they may be regarded as consistently irrational. 

83. AN OBJECTION ANSWERED. --Consistently irrational! it may be exclaimed;how can that be? is not a far-sighted consistency the very mark ofrational choice?

The difficulty is only an apparent one. Many forms of consistency mayindicate a certain degree of rationality, and yet too slight a degree towin approval. There is such a thing as a narrow consistency. He whodevotes his life to the purpose of revenge, may live consistently, but heloses much. A bitter and angry life is not a desirable thing, even fromthe standpoint of the individual. 

But why should we limit ourselves to the standpoint of the individual, injudging of the rationality of ends? There are those to whom it appearsself-evident that this should be done; those to whom it does not seemreasonable for a man to do anything by which he, on the whole, loses;those who deny the reasonableness of self-sacrifice in any form. Thisdoctrine will be examined later. [Footnote: See Sec 102 and 128. ]

Here it is enough to point out that men do not actually limit the notionof rationality in this way. In every, even moderately, rational life somedesires must be suppressed. All desires cannot be satisfied. Why shouldit not be regarded as rational and reasonable that, to attain thecomprehensive ends of the social will, certain ends consistently chosenby certain kinds of individuals should deliberately be denied?

As a matter of fact, men generally do so regard it. They employ the termsrational and irrational, reasonable and unreasonable, to indicate theharmony or lack of harmony between the individual and the social will. Wecall the man unreasonable who insists upon having his own way regardlessof his fellows; and this, even in instances in which his fellows cannotpunish him for his selfish attitude. 

It is not a matter of accident that this should be so. The analogybetween the relation of separate volitions to the dominant ends whichcontrol action on the part of the individual, and the relation of theultimate choices of individuals to the ends pursued by the social will, is a close one. In the well-ordered mind the clash of conflicting desiresis reduced to a minimum. In a well-ordered community the conflict ofindividual wills is also reduced to a minimum. In each case, we areconcerned with the work of reason, and judgments as to rationality andirrationality are equally in place. 

84. REASONABLE SOCIAL ENDS. --The will of the individual, when affirmed tobe rational or irrational, is, therefore, referred to the background ofthe social will. But the social will is more or less different indifferent communities, and in the one community at different stages ofits development. Is there any measure of the degree of rationality of thesocial will itself? is there any standard to which its differentexpressions may be referred?

We may criticise a community as we criticise an individual man even whenhe is taken as abstracted from his social setting. The man's choices maybe blind, conflicting, wayward, and ill-adapted to serve his intereststaken as a whole. In the last chapter we saw that a community mayresemble such a man. It may be ignorant, superstitious, short-sighted, and in conflict with itself. The social will as actually revealed may bean imperfect and inconsistent thing. Here enlightenment and innerharmonization are called for, to set the social will free. 

But even where the will of a community is something more definite andconsistent than this, it may be condemned by the moral judgment of theenlightened. An appeal may be made from the will of the community in thenarrower sense to that of the larger community. The limits of nation, race and religion may be transcended, and we may appeal to humanity assuch, refusing to recognize the will of any lesser unit as reallyultimate. He who occupies the one standpoint is apt to speak of defendinghis legitimate rights, or of extending to subject races the blessings ofcivilization. He who takes his stand upon the other may talk of lust ofdominion, or desire for economic advantage. The one may use the termrighteous indignation; the other, the word anger. The moral judgmentpassed upon an act depends upon the concept under which men manage tobring it. What is approved by the tribal ethics may be abhorrent to theethics of humanity. 

But the larger social will, so far as it has gotten itself expressed atall, seems to remain something vague and indefinite. It is appealed to asrational; but how indicate clearly the end which it sets before itselfand the obligations which it lays upon mankind?

The difficulty of describing in detail the ultimate ends of the realsocial will has led some writers to speak in terms of exaggeratedvagueness. The mere idea in a man "of something, he knows not what, whichhe may and should become" can give little guidance to action; nor can oneaim with much confidence at a goal of which "we can only speak or thinkin negatives. " [Footnote: _Prolegomena to Ethics_, Sec Sec 192, 172, 180. But GREEN is not always so indefinite. He is on the right track. Hereverences the social will and the historical development of the socialorder. ]

But it is not necessary to speak in this way. We may form some conceptionof the real, rational social will, without being compelled to know allthat man is capable of becoming and without being able to forecast thedetails of his environment in the distant future. 

We may attain to our conception by determining clearly the nature of theaims man sets before himself in proportion to his growing rationality. Wecan see in what direction man moves as he develops and becomesenlightened. From this standpoint, the aims of the rational social willappear to be as follows:

(1) The harmonious satisfaction of the impulses and desires of man. 

(2) Such an unfolding of his powers as will increase their range andvariety, broaden man's horizon, and give him an increased control overerratic impulses. 

(3) The bringing about of a social state in which the will of eachindividual within a community counts for something, and not merely thewill of a chosen few. 

(4) The broadening of the conception of what constitutes a community, sothat ever increasing numbers are regarded as having claims that must berecognized. 

(5) The taking into consideration of the whole of life; the whole life ofindividuals and of communities, so that the insistent present shall notbe given undue weight, as against the future. 

85. THE ETHICS OF REASON. --The doctrine of the Rational Social Will mightvery properly be called the Ethics of Reason. It is not to be confoundedwith the so-called "tribal" or "group" ethics. To be sure, it has to dowith man as a social being; but this is characteristic of ethical systemsgenerally. Man is a social being; he is one essentially, and notaccidentally. That he should be a member of a tribe, or of any lessergroup than the whole body of sentient and reasonable beings, may notunjustly be regarded as an historical accident, as a function of hisposition in the scale of development. 

In judging the doctrine of the rational social will, bear in mind thefollowing:

(1) It rests upon the basis of the impulsive and volitional nature ofman. 

(2) It recognizes reason in the individual, and declares that only so faras he is rational is he the proper subject of ethics at all. Erratic anduncontrolled impulse knows no moral law. 

(3) It sees reason in the customs, laws and public opinion of the tribeor the state, while recognizing a higher tribunal before the bar of whichall these are summoned. 

(4) It appeals to the reason of the race--the reason appropriate to therace as enlightened and freed from the shackles of local prejudice andrestricted sympathy. 

(5) It recognizes that man can give expression to his nature, can satisfyhis desires and exercise his reason, only as aided by his physical andsocial environment. It emphasizes the necessity of a certain reverencefor the actual historical development of human societies, with theirinstitutions. Such institutions are the embodiment of reason--not purereason, but reason struggling to get itself expressed as it can. He whowould legislate for man independently of such institutions has left thesolid earth and man far behind. He is suspended in the void. 

86. THE DEVELOPMENT OF CIVILIZATION. --Civilizations differ; some are morematerial, laying stress upon man's conquest of his material environment. Others exhibit a greater appreciation of idealistic elements, the pursuitof knowledge for its own sake, the cultivation of the fine arts, thedevelopment of humanitarian sentiment. For civilization in general it isnot necessary to advance an argument. But there are elements in manycivilizations which the thoughtful man may feel called upon to defend. 

Civilization, taken generally, scarcely needs a labored justificationbecause it is only in a civilization of some kind or other that we canlook for a guarantee of the broad social will, for the reign of reason. Undeveloped man is at the mercy of nature; he is the sport of history. Where developed man can raise his voice, man possessed of power andcapable of taking broad views of things, the rule of reason may be setup. A deliberate attempt may be made to recognize many wills, harmonizediscords. Order may be brought out of chaos, and the limits of the realmwithin the borders of which order reigns may be indefinitely extended. 

Such is the general ethical justification for the rise of a civilization. It is an expression of, and an instrument for the realization of, thebroader social will. That a given civilization may be imperfect in bothrespects has been made clear in the last chapter. In the light of thegeneral justification for civilization many questions may be raisedtouching this or that element in civilizations as we observe them. 

Thus, it may be pointed out that as man progresses in civilization hecalls into being a multitude of new wants, many of which may have toremain unsatisfied. [Footnote: Compare chapter xxx, Sec 142. ] It may beasserted that literature, art and science are, in fact, cherished asthough they were ends in themselves, and not means called into existenceto serve the interests of man. Absorbing as it may be to him, how can thephilologist prove that his science is useful to humanity either presentor prospective? How shall the astronomer, who may frankly admit that hecannot conceive that nine tenths of the work with which he occupieshimself can ever be of any actual use to anyone, justify himself indevoting his life to it? Shall a curiosity, which seems to lead nowhere, be satisfied? And if so, on what ground?

Moreover, every civilization recognizes that some wills are to be given amore unequivocal recognition than others. Inequality is the rule. A mandoes not put his own children upon a level with those of his neighbor. Even in the most democratic of states men do not stand upon the samelevel. In dealing with our own fellows we do not employ the same weightsand measures as in dealing with foreigners. Who loses his appetite forhis breakfast when he reads that there have been inundations in China orthat an African tribe has come under the "protection" of a race ofanother color? The white man has added to his burden--the burden ofeconomic advantage present or prospective--and we find it as it shouldbe. Finally, when we bring within our horizon the "interests" of humblersentient creatures, we see that they are unhesitatingly subordinated toour own. Some attention is paid to them in civilized communities. Theyare recognized, not merely by custom and public opinion, but, to somedegree, even by law. Men are punished for treating certain animals incertain ways. But why? Have the animals rights? There is no topic withinthe sphere of morals upon which moralists speak with more wavering anduncertain accents. [Footnote: See chapter XXX, Sec 141. ]

I know of no way in which such problems as the above can be approachedother than by the appeal to reason, as reason has been understood in thepages preceding. The reign of reason implies the recognition of allwills, _so far as such a recognition is within the bounds ofpossibility_. The escape from chaos lies in the evolution of theenlightened social will. Man must be raised in the scale, in order thathe may have control; control over himself, over other men, over thebrutes. And he cannot rise except through the historical evolution of asocial order. This implies the development of the capacities latent inman. 

To decide that any of his capacities shall be allowed to remain dormantmay threaten future development. To cut off certain arts and sciences asnot palpably serving the interests of man is a dangerous thing. To ignorethe actual history of man's efforts to become a rational being, and toplace, hence, all wills upon the one level, is to frustrate the desiredend. It is not thus that the reign of reason can be established. 

CHAPTER XXII

THE INDIVIDUAL AND THE SOCIAL WILL

87. MAN'S MULTIPLE ALLEGIANCE. --We have seen that each man has his placein a social order. This order is the expression and the embodiment of thesocial will, which accepts him, protects him, gives him a share in thegoods the community has so far attained, recognizes his individual willin that it accords to him rights, and prescribes his course of conduct, that is, defines his duties or obligations. 

The social will is authoritative; it issues commands and enforcesobedience. With its commands the individual may be in sympathy or he maynot. But upon obedience the social will insists, and it compasses itsends by the bestowal of rewards or the infliction of punishment. Themoral law to which man thus finds himself subject is something not whollyforeign to the nature of the individual. It has come into being as anexpression of the nature of man. That nature the individual shares withhis fellows. 

Obedience to the social will would be a relatively simple matter werethat will always unequivocally and unmistakably expressed, and did allthe members of a community feel the pressure of the social will in thesame manner and to the same degree. But the whole matter is indefinitelycomplicated by what may be called man's multiple allegiance. 

Organized societies do not consist of undifferentiated units. They arenot mere aggregates, both are highly complex in their internalconstitution. A conscientious man may feel that he owes duties tohimself, to his immediate family, to his kindred, to his neighborhood, tohis social class, to his political party, to his church, to his country, to its allies, to humanity. The social will does not bring its pressureto bear upon the man who holds one place in the social order just as itdoes upon him who holds another. 

Nor are the injunctions laid upon a man always in harmony. The demands offamily may seem to conflict with those of neighborhood or of profession;duties to the church may seem to conflict with duties to the state;patriotism may appear to be more or less in conflict with an interest inhumanity taken broadly. That the individual should often approach indoubt and hesitation the decision as to what it is, on the whole, hisduty to do, is not surprising. Nor is it surprising that individuals themost conscientious should find it impossible to be at one on the subjectof rights and duties. Two men may agree perfectly that it is right to "dogood, " and be quite unable to agree just what good it is right to do now, or with whom one should make a beginning. 

88. THE APPEAL TO REASON. --Were there no appeal save to the social willas it happens to make its pressure felt upon this person or that, in thissituation or that, there could be no issue to dispute. Dispute would beuseless and sheer dogmatism would prevail. But there is such an appealand men do make it, where they are in any degree enlightened. It is theappeal to Reason. 

He who says: "I have especial rights, just because I am Smith, and so hasmy father, because he is my father, " has no ground of argument withJones, who says: "I have especial rights because I am Jones, and so hasmy father, because he is my father. " Upon such a basis, or lack of basis, all discussion becomes fatuous. But if Smith and Jones agree that dutiesto self should only within limits be recognized, and that duties tofamily have their place upon the larger background of the will of thestate, they may, at least, begin to talk. 

The multiple allegiance of the individual does not mean that a man issubject to a multitude of independent masters whose several claims haveno relation to one another. An appeal may be made from lower to higher. 

We have seen that, in the organization of a given society, the socialwill may be imperfectly expressed. It may come about that the place inthe social order assigned to a man cramps and pains him, or forces him toexertions which seem intolerable. He may passively accept it, or he mayset himself in opposition to the social will as it is, appealing to abetter social will. The fact that an individual finds himself out ofharmony with given aspects of the social will characteristic of his ageand country is no proof that he desires to set himself up in oppositionto the social will in general. 

In a given instance, he may be, from the standpoint of existing law, acriminal. Yet he may reverence the law above his fellows. His aberrationsneed not be arbitrary wanderings, prompted by selfish impulses. He mayleave the beaten track because he does not approve of it, which is a verydifferent thing from disliking it. Some will judge him to be a pestilentfellow; some will rate him as a reformer, a prophet, perhaps a martyr. Neither judgment is of the least value so long as it reflects merely thetastes or prejudices of the individual. Each must justify itself beforethe bar of reason, if it would have a respectful hearing. A reason mustbe given for conservatism and a reason must be given for reform. 

89. THE ETHICS OF REASON AND THE VARYING MORAL CODES. --Severaladvantages may be claimed for the ethical doctrine I have beenadvocating:

(1) It gives a relative justification to the varying moral codes ofcommunities of men in the past and in the present. A code may, even whenimperfect from some higher point of view, fit well a community at a givenstage of its development. It may be a man's duty to obey its injunctions, even where they are not seen to be the wisest possible. One reason forbowing to custom is that it _is_ custom; one reason for obeying lawsis that they _are_ laws. They embody the permanence and stability ofthe social will, and have a _prima facie_ claim to our reverence. 

(2) In recognizing the social will as something deeper and broader thanthe will of the individual, as having its roots in the remote past and asreaching into the distant future, it admits the futility of devisingutopian schemes which would bless humanity in defiance of the actualexpressions of the social will revealed in the development of humansocieties. The whim of the individual cannot well be substituted for thesettled purpose of the community--a purpose ripened by generations ofexperience, and adjusted to what is possible under existing conditions. 

(3) On the other hand, it distinguishes between lower and higher ethicalcodes, or codes lower or higher in certain of their aspects. It sets astandard of comparison; it recognizes progress towards a goal. 

(4) And, in all this, it does not appear to decide _arbitrarily_either what is the goal of man's moral efforts or what means must beadopted to attain to it. It rests upon a study of man; man as he hasbeen, man as he is, in all the manifold relations in which he stands tohis environment, physical and social. 

There are other ethical theories in the field, of course. Some of themare advocated by men of original genius and of no little learning. Somedeserve more attention than others, but all should have a hearing, atleast. A close scrutiny will often reveal that advocates of differenttheories are by no means so far apart as a hasty reading of their workswould suggest. Writers the most diverse may assist one to a comprehensionof one's own theory. Its implications may be developed, objections to itmay be suggested, its strong points may stand revealed. By no means theleast important part of a work on ethics is its treatment of the schoolsof the moralists. If it be written with any degree of fairness, it maycontain what will serve the reader with an antidote to erroneous opinionson the part of the writer. To a study of the most important schools ofthe moralists I shall now turn. 

PART VII

THE SCHOOLS OF THE MORALISTS

CHAPTER XXIII

INTUITIONISM

90. WHAT IS IT?--"We come into the world, " said Epictetus, "with nonatural notion of a right-angled triangle, or of a quarter-tone, or of ahalf-tone; but we learn each of these things by a certain transmissionaccording to art; and for this reason those who do not know them do notthink that they know them. But as to good and evil, and beautiful andugly, and becoming and unbecoming, and happiness and misfortune, andproper and improper, and what we ought to do and what we ought not to do, who ever came into the world without having an innate idea of them?"[Footnote: _Discourses_, Book II, chapter xi, translation by GEORGELONG. ] Seneca adds his testimony to the self-luminous character of moraltruth: "Whatever things tend to make us better or happier are eitherobvious or easily discovered. " [Footnote: _On Benefits_, Book VII, chapter i. ]

With the general spirit of these utterances the typical intuitionist isin sympathy, although he need not assent to the doctrine of innate ideas, nor need he hold that all moral truths are equally self-evident. Thereare intuitionists of various classes, and there are sufficiently notabledifferences of opinion. Still, all intuitionists believe that some moraltruth, at least, is revealed to the individual by direct inspection(_intueor_), and that we must be content with such evidence and mustnot seek for proof. It may be maintained that our moral judgments--orsome of them--are the result of "an immediate discernment of the naturesof things by the understanding. " and appeal may be made to the analogyfurnished by mathematical truths. [Footnote: This appeal has been made byfamous intuitionists from the seventeenth century to the nineteenth--Cudworth, More, Locke, Clarke, Price, Whewell. ]

91. VARIETIES OF INTUITIONISM. --Forms of intuitionism have beenconveniently classified as Perceptional, Dogmatic and Philosophical. [Footnote: SIDGWICK, The Methods of Ethics, Book I, chapter viii, Sec 4. ]To this nomenclature it may be objected that the term "dogmatic" carrieswith it a certain flavor of disapprobation, and predisposes one to theassumption of a critical attitude, while the term "philosophical" has thereverse suggestion, and smacks of special pleading. While admitting thatthere is something in the objection, I retain the convenient terms, merely warning the reader to be on his guard. 

(1) Perceptional Intuitionism falls back upon the analogy of perceptionin general. I seem to perceive by direct inspection that my blotter isgreen, and that my penholder is longer than my pencil. I do not seek forevidence; I do not have recourse to any chain of reasonings to establishthe fact. And I am concerned here with facts, not with some generalproposition applicable to many facts. Even so, I may maintain that, inspecific situations, the rightness or wrongness of given courses ofaction may be perceived immediately. 

He who accepts the spontaneous deliverances of his conscience, whenconfronted with the necessity of making a decision, as revelations ofmoral truth, may be called a perceptional intuitionist. The deliverancesmust, however, be spontaneous and immediate, not the result of reasoning. If a man reasons, if he falls back upon general considerations, if helooks into the future and weighs the consequences of his act, and, as aresult, decides what he ought to do, he is no longer a perceptionalintuitionist. 

The perceptional intuitionist, consistently and unreservedly such, israther an ideal construction than an actually existing person. Most men, on certain occasions, are inclined to say, "I feel this to be right, andwill do it, although I cannot support my decision by giving reasons. "Many men are, at times, tempted to maintain that a given course of actionis evidently right and should be followed irrespective of consequences. But this is not the habitual attitude even of men very little gifted withreflection, and it is highly unsatisfactory to those who have the habitof thinking. 

Primitive man supports his decisions by an appeal to custom. Civilizedman turns to custom, to law, or to general principles of some sort, whichhe accepts as authoritative, and which he regards as having a bearingupon the particular instance in question. That individual decisionsshould be capable of some sort of justification by the adduction of areason or reasons is generally admitted. No sane man would maintain thegeneral proposition that the consequences of acts should be whollydisregarded in determining whether they are or are not desirable. 

(2) Thus, Perceptional Intuitionism gives place to what has been calledDogmatic Intuitionism--to the doctrine that certain general moral rulescan be immediately perceived to be valid. The application of such generalrules to particular instances implies discrimination and the use ofreason. 

Here decisions are not wholly unsupported. Reasons may be asked for andgiven. In answer to the question: Why should I say this or that? it maybe said: Because the law of veracity demands it. In answer to thequestion: Why should I act thus? it may be said: Because it is just, oris in accordance with the dictates of benevolence. The general rule isaccepted as intuitively evident, but it is incumbent upon the individualto use his judgment in determining what may properly fall under thegeneral rule. 

But there are rules and rules. It is not easy to draw a sharp linebetween Perceptional Intuitionism and Dogmatic, just as it is not easy inother fields to distinguish sharply between knowledge given directly inperception, and knowledge in which more or less conscious processes ofinference play a part. Do I perceive the man whom I see, when I look intoa mirror, to be behind the mirror or in front of it? Do I perceive thewhereabouts of the coach which I hear rattling by my window, or doesreasoning play its part in giving me information? And if I follow myconscience in not withholding from the cabman the small customary fee inaddition to his fare, am I prompted by an unreasoned perception of therightness of my act, or am I influenced by general considerations--thethought of what is customary, the belief that gratuities should not bewithheld where services of a certain kind are rendered, etc. ?

Even so, it is difficult to draw a sharp line between DogmaticIntuitionists and Philosophical, or to regard Dogmatic Intuitionists as aclearly defined class of any sort. A man may accept it as self-evidentthat a waiter should receive ten per cent of the amount of his bill; awoman may find it obviously proper that an old lady should wear purple. Those little given to reflection may accept such maxims as these withoutattempting to justify them by falling back upon any more general rule. Weall find about us human beings who have their minds stored with amultitude of maxims not greatly different from those adduced, and whofind them serviceable in guiding their actions. But thoughtful men canscarcely be content with such a modicum of reason, and they distinguishbetween ultimate principles and minor maxims which stand in need ofjustification by their reference to principles. 

The intuitional moralists by profession draw this distinction. We findthem setting forth as ultimate a limited number of ethical principles ofa high degree of generality. It is obvious that, the more general theprinciple, the more room for conscious reasoning in its interpretationand application. The man to whom it appears as in the nature of thingssuitable that the waiter should receive his ten per cent is relieved frommany perplexities which may beset the man who feels assured only of thegeneral truth that it is right to be benevolent. 

A glance at a few of the moralists who are treated in the history ofethics as representative intuitionists reveals that they are little inharmony as touching the particular moral intuitions which they urge asthe foundation of ethics. 

Thus, John Locke maintains that from the idea of God, and of ourselves asrational beings, a science of morality may be deduced demonstratively; ascience: "wherein I doubt not but from self-evident propositions, bynecessary consequences, as incontestible as those in mathematics, themeasures of right and wrong might be made out to anyone that will applyhimself with the same indifferency and attention to the one, as he doesto the other of those sciences. " [Footnote: _Essay Concerning HumanUnderstanding_, Book IV, chapter iii, Sec 18. ]

Among Locke's self-evident propositions or moral axioms we find: wherethere is no property there is no injustice; no government allows absoluteliberty; all men are originally free and equal; parents have the power tocontrol their children till they come of age; the right of property isbased upon work, but is limited by the supply of property left for othersto enjoy. [Footnote: See above, chapter iii, Sec 10. ]

These axioms cannot be identified with Samuel Clarke's four chief rulesof righteousness, which inculcate: piety toward God, equity in ourdealings with men, benevolence, and sobriety. [Footnote: _A Discourseconcerning the Unalterable Relations of Natural Religion_, Prop. I. ]Richard Price gives us still another choice, in dwelling upon ourobligation as regards piety, prudence, beneficence, gratitude, veracity, the fulfillment of promises, and justice. [Footnote: _A Review of thePrincipal Questions and Difficulties in Morals_, chapter vii. ] AndWhewell, emulating the performance of Euclid, tried to build up a systemof morals upon axioms embodying the seven principles of benevolence, justice, truth, purity, order, earnestness, and moral purpose. [Footnote:_The Elements of Morality_, Book III, chapter iv. ]

These moralists press the analogy of mathematical truth. It must beconfessed, however, that a row of text-books on geometry, with soscattering and indefinite a collection of axioms, would do little tosupport one another; and little to convince us that they represented acoherent and consistent body of truth in which we might haveunquestioning faith. 

(3) It is not unnatural that some thoughtful intuitionists, dissatisfiedwith a considerable number of independent moral principles, should aim ata further simplification. Such a simplification Kant finds in theCategorical Imperative, or unconditional command of the Practical Reason:"Act only on that maxim whereby thou canst at the same time will that itshould become a universal law. " [Footnote: _Fundamental Principles ofthe Metaphysic of Morals_, Sec 2. ] And Henry Sidgwick, refusing toregard all intuitions as of equal authority, selects two only asultimately and independently valid--that which recommends a far-seeingprudence, and that which urges a rational benevolence. [Footnote: _TheMethods of Ethics_, Book III, chapter xiii, Sec 3. ] Those who make theirultimate moral rules so broad and inclusive base upon them the multitudeof minor maxims to which men are apt to have recourse in justifying theiractions. Whether their doctrine may be called philosophical in a senseimplying commendation is matter for discussion. 

92. ARGUMENTS FOR INTUITIONISM. --What may be said in favor ofintuitionism?

(1) It may be urged that it is the doctrine which appeals most directlyto common sense, and that it is found reasonably satisfactory in practiceby men generally. 

Intuition appears to be, in fact, man's guide in an overwhelming majorityof the situations in which he is called upon to act. In the face of theconcrete situation he _feels_ that he should say a kind word, help aneighbor, stand his ground courageously, speak the truth, and a thousandother things which a moralist might, upon reflection, approve. 

That he "feels" this does not mean merely that he is influenced by anemotion. We constantly employ the word to indicate the presence of ajudgment which presents itself spontaneously and for which men cannot ordo not seek support by having recourse to reasons. 

He who, without reflection, affirms, "this action is right, " has framed amoral judgment. He has in a given instance distinguished between rightand wrong, although he has not raised the general problem of whatconstitutes right and wrong. He has exercised the prerogative of a moralbeing, though not of a very thoughtful one. 

We have seen above, that perceptional intuitionism tends to pass overinto dogmatic intuitionism of some sort, even in the case of minds littledeveloped. The egoistic rustic may defend his selfishness by citing theproverb, "my shirt is closer to me than my coat. " If he does so, it meansthat a doubt has been suggested, a conflict of some sort called intobeing. Were such conflicts, causing hesitation and deliberation, of veryfrequent occurrence, life could scarcely go on at all. Conversation wouldbe impossible were no word placed and no inflection chosen withoutconscious reference to the rules of grammar. No man could conduct himselfproperly in a drawing-room or at a table, were his mind harking back atevery moment to the instructions contained in some volume on etiquette. He who must justify every act by reflection is condemned to the jerkiestand most hesitant of moral lives. Perceptional moral intuition must standour friend, if there is to be a flow of conduct worthy of the name. 

There are, however, occasions for checking the flow by reflection. Thenmen are forced to think, and we find them appealing to custom, citingproverbs, quoting maxims, taking their stand upon principles. Recoursemay be had to generalizations of a very low or of a very high degree ofgenerality. 

But low or high, it is upon intuitions that men actually fall back injustifying their actions. Benevolence, justice, honesty, truthfulness, purity, honor, modesty, courtesy, and what not, are intuitively perceivedto be right, and an effort is made to bring the individual act under someone of these headings. The mass of men, even in enlightened communities, do not feel impelled to justify these general moral maxims, to reducethem to a harmonious system, or to reconcile with each other thedifferent lists of them which have been drawn up. They find it possiblein practice to resolve most of their doubts by an appeal to this maxim orto that. From such doubts as refuse to be resolved they are apt to turnaway their attention. But the moral life goes on, and to intuitions itowes its guidance. 

As to the few who reduce the moral intuitions to a minimum, and, likeKant and Sidgwick, end with one or two ultimate intuitional moralprinciples, we may say that they, like other men, are compelled, in theactual conduct of life, to turn to intuitions of lower orders. All sortsof moral intuitions are actually found helpful by all sorts of men. 

(2) To the minds of men differing in their education and traditions, andat different stages of intellectual and moral development, very differentmoral judgments spontaneously present themselves. It is not a matter ofaccident that this man may "feel" an action to be right, and that man may"feel" it to be wrong. There is evident adaptation of the judgments tohistory and environment. They spring into being because the men are whatthey are and are situated as they are. 

It is this adaptation that renders the moral intuitions serviceable incarrying on the actual business of life. It is more complete, the lessabstract the moral intuitions which come into play. Plato, who in his"Laws" enters very minutely into the question of the permissible and theforbidden in the life of the citizens of his ideal state, finds itnecessary to leave some things to the judgment of the individual. Thus, he finds it impossible to determine exhaustively what things are, andwhat things are not, worthy of a freeman. He leaves it to the virtuous togive judgments "in accordance with their feelings of right and wrong. "[Footnote: Book XI; see the account of the occupations permissible to thelanded proprietor. ] The intuitions of the mediaeval saint, of the uprightmodern European, of the virtuous Chinaman, would have impressed him aswithout rhyme or reason. He appealed to the Greek gentleman, whose senseof propriety was Greek, and might be expected to be adjusted to thesituation. 

(3) The intuitive judgment of a sensitive moral nature may often be morenearly right than moral judgments based upon the most subtle ofreasonings. 

It is not hard to find, with a little ingenuity, apparent justificationfor actions which the consciences of the enlightened condemn at firstsight. Scarcely any action may not be brought under some moral rule, ifone deliberately sets out to do so. A narrow selfishness is defended ascaring for one's own; a refusal of aid to the needy is justified by areference to the evils of pauperization; patriotism becomes the excusefor hatred, wilful blindness and untruthful vilification. To thesophistries of those who would thus make the worse appear the better, theintuitive judgment of the moral man opposes its unreasoned conviction. That the conviction is not supported by arguments does not prove that itis not a just one. 

93. ARGUMENTS AGAINST INTUITIONISM. --What may be urged againstIntuitionism?

(1) It may be pointed out that such considerations as the aboveconstitute an argument to prove the value of moral intuitions, and notone to prove the value of intuitionism as an ethical theory. That moralintuitions are indispensable may be freely admitted even by one whodemurs to the doctrine that intuitionism in some one of its forms may beaccepted as a satisfactory theory of morals. 

(2) Perceptional Intuitionism, at least, cannot be regarded as embodyinga rational theory or furnishing a science of any sort. Its one and onlydogma must be that whatever actions reveal themselves to this man or thatas right, are right, and there is no going behind the judgment of theindividual. 

Shall we say to men: "In order to know what is right and what is wrong inhuman conduct, we need only to listen to the dictates of conscience whenthe mind is calm and unruffled"? [Footnote: THOMAS REID, _Essays on theActive Powers of Man_, v, Sec 4. ] As well say: "The right time is thetime indicated by your watch, when you are not shaking it. " If men are tokeep appointments with each other, they must have some other standard oftime than that carried by each man in his vest-pocket. 

Perceptional Intuitionism ignores the fact that consciences may sometimesdisagree, and that there may be a choice in consciences. The consistentperceptional intuitionist is, however, scarcely to be found, as has beensaid above; and we actually find those, some of whose utterances read asthough the authors ought to be adherents of such a school, dwelling uponthe desirability of the education of the conscience, i. E. , upon thedesirability of acquiring a capacity for having the right intuitions. Inother words, they tell us to follow our noses--but to make sure that theypoint in the right direction. [Footnote: See THOMAS REID, _Essays onthe Active Powers of Man_, iii, Part 3, Sec 8] In which case thedetermination of the right direction is not left to perceptionalintuition. 

(3) The Dogmatic Intuitionist has difficulties of his own with which tocope. It is not enough to possess a collection of valid and authoritativerules. The rules must be applied; there is room for the exercise ofjudgment and for the possibility of error. Error is not excluded evenwhen the rule appears to be at only one or two removes from theindividual instance; where the rule is one of great generality theproblem of its application becomes correspondingly difficult. Theinterpretation of the rule is not given intuitively with the rule. Thismeans that the rule must, in practice, be supplemented. 

Always and everywhere, a straight line appears to be the shortestdistance between two points. What is meant by shortness hardly seems tobe legitimate matter for dispute. But the man convinced that he ought topay his workman a fair wage, and that he ought to do his duty by his son, may be in no little perplexity when he attempts to define that fair wageor that parental duty. If he turns for advice to others, he will findthat history and tradition, time, place and circumstance, veryperceptibly color the advice they offer. 

The application of the general rule is, hence, quite as important as therule. There is no such thing as conduct in the abstract. Let us admitthat benevolence is morally obligatory. How shall we be benevolent? Shallwe follow Cicero, and give only that which costs us nothing? or shall weemulate St. Francis? The general rule may be a faultless skeleton, but itis, after all, only a skeleton, and it cannot walk of itself. 

Again. The dogmatic intuitionist has quite a collection of rules by whichhe must judge of his actions. They are severally independent andauthoritative. Suppose an act appears to be commanded by one rule andforbidden by another? Who shall decide between them? Prudence andbenevolence may urge him in opposite directions. Benevolence and justicemay not obviously be in harmony. The rule of veracity may seem, at times, to prescribe conduct which will entail much suffering on the part of theinnocent. To what court of appeal can we refer the conflicts which mayarise when ultimate authorities disagree? He who, in war time, canconscientiously shoot a sentry, but cannot conscientiously lie to him, may, later, have his misgivings, when the Golden Rule knocks at the gateof his mind. 

(4) Nor does he leave all difficulties behind him, who abandons DogmaticIntuitionism and takes refuge in Philosophical. 

Kant's maxim needs a vast amount of interpretation. As it stands, it islittle more than an empty formula. What I can wish to be the law of theuniverse must depend very much upon what I am. The lion and the lamb donot thirst for the same law. To the quarrelsome heroes of Walhalla aworld of perpetual fighting and feasting must seem a very good world, inspite of knocks received as well as given. Kant's fundamental maximscarcely appears to be a moral rule at all, unless we make it read: "Acton a maxim which a _wise and good man_ can will to be a universallaw. " But how decide who is the wise and good man?

The philosophical intuitionist who accepts more than one ultimate moralrule must face the possibility that he will meet with a conflict of thehigher intuitions to which he has had recourse. Shall his intuitions bethose recommending a rational self-interest and a rational benevolence?Can he be sure that the two are necessarily in accord? Can there be arational adjustment of the claims of each? Not if there be no court ofappeal to which both intuitions are subject. [Footnote: With his usualcandor, SIDGWICK admits this difficulty. He leaves it unresolved. See, _The Methods of Ethics_, in the concluding chapter. ]

Furthermore, between the philosophical and the dogmatic intuitionistserious differences of opinion may be expected to arise. He who makes, let us say, benevolence the supreme law naturally allows to otherintuitions, such as justice and veracity, but a derivative authority. Itappears, then, that there may be occasions on which they are not valid. To some famous intuitionists this has seemed to be a pernicious doctrine. 

"We are, " writes Bishop Butler, "constituted so as to condemn falsehood, unprovoked violence, injustice, and to approve of benevolence to somepreferably to others, abstracted from all consideration, which conduct islikeliest to produce an overbalance of happiness or misery. " [Footnote:Dissertations appended to the "Analogy, " II, _Of the Nature ofVirtue_. Cf. DUGALD STEWART, _Outlines of Moral Philosophy_, Part2, Sec 348. ]

Butler thought that justice should be done though the heavens fall; thephilosophical intuitionist must maintain that the danger of bringing downthe heavens is never to be lost sight of. But this doctrine that thereare intuitions and intuitions, some ultimately authoritative and othersnot so, raises the whole question of the validity of intuitions. How arewe to distinguish those that are always valid from others? By intuition?Intuition appears to be discredited. And if it is proper to demand proofthat justice should be done and the truth spoken, why may one not demandproof that men should be prudent and benevolent? One may talk of "animmediate discernment of the nature of things by the understanding" inthe one case as in the other. If error is possible there, why not here?

94. THE VALUE OF MORAL INTUITIONS. --It would not be fair to close thischapter on intuitionism, an ethical theory competing with others for ourapproval, without emphasizing the value of the role played by the moralintuitions. 

They are the very guide of life, and without them our reasonings would beof little service. They should be treated gently, gratefully, withreverence. To them human societies owe their stability, their capacityfor an orderly development, the smooth working of the machinery of dailylife. Their presence does not exclude the employment of reasoning, butthey furnish a basis upon which the reason can occupy itself with profit. They are a safeguard against those utopian schemes which would shatterour world and try experiments in creation out of nothing. 

Nevertheless, he who busies himself with ethics as science must studythem critically and strive to estimate justly their true significance. Hemay come to regard them, not as something fixed and changeless, but asliving and developing, coming into being, and modifying themselves, inthe service of life. Does he dishonor them who so views them?

CHAPTER XXIV

EGOISM

95. WHAT IS EGOISM?--Egoism has been defined as "any ethical system inwhich the happiness or good of the individual is made the main criterionof moral action, " [Footnote: _Encyclopedia Britannica_, 11thedition. ] or as "the doing or seeking of that which affords pleasure oradvantage to oneself, in distinction to that which affords pleasure oradvantage to others. " [Footnote: _Century Dictionary_. ]

It may strike the average reader as odd to be told that such definitionsbristle with ambiguities, and that it is by no means easy to draw a sharpline between doctrines which everyone would admit to be egoistic, andothers which seem more doubtfully to fall under that head. "Happiness, ""good, " "advantage, " "self, " all are terms which call for scrutiny, andwhich set pitfalls for the unwary. 

96. CRASS EGOISMS. --We may best approach the subject of what may properlybe regarded as constituting egoism, by turning first to one or two"terrible examples. "

No one would hesitate to call egoistic the doctrine of Aristippus, theCyrenaic, the errant disciple of Socrates. He made pleasure the end oflife, and taught that it might be sought without a greater regard tocustomary morality than was made prudent by the penalties to be feared asa consequence of its violation. Where the centre of gravity of the systemof the Cyrenaics falls is evident from their holding that "corporealpleasures are superior to mental ones, " and that "a friend is desirablefor the use which we can make of him. " [Footnote: Diogenes Laertius, _Lives of the Philosophers, _ "Aristippus, " viii. ]

The doctrine of the English philosopher, Thomas Hobbes, is asunequivocally egoistic. 

"Of the voluntary acts of every man, " he writes, [Footnote:_Leviathan, _ Part I, xiv. ] "the object is some good to himself;" andagain, [Footnote _Ibid_. Xv. ] "no man giveth, but with intention ofgood to himself; because gift is voluntary; and of all voluntary acts theobject is to every man his own good. "

He leaves us in no doubt as to the sort of good which he conceives men toseek when they practice what has the appearance of generosity. Contracthe calls a mutual transference of rights, and he distinguishes gift fromcontract as follows:

"When the transferring of right is not mutual, but one of the partiestransferreth, in hope to gain thereby friendship, or service fromanother, or from his friends, or in hope to gain the reputation ofcharity or magnanimity, _or to deliver his mind from the pain ofcompassion_, or in hope of reward in heaven, this is not contract butgift, free gift, grace, which words signify the same thing. " [Footnote:_Ibid_. I, xiv. The italics are mine. It was thus that Hobbesaccounted for his giving a sixpence to a beggar: "I was in pain toconsider the miserable condition of the old man; and now my alms, givinghim some relief, doth also ease me. " _Hobbes_, by G. C. ROBERTSON, Edinburgh, 1886, p. 206. ]

There is a passage from the pen of the British divine, Paley, whichappears to merit a place alongside of the citations from Hobbes, widelyas the men differ in many of their views. It reads:

"We can be obliged to nothing but what we ourselves are to gain or losesomething by; for nothing else can be a 'violent motion' to us. As weshould not be obliged to obey the laws, or the magistrate, unless rewardsor punishments, pleasure or pain, somehow or other, depended upon ourobedience; so neither should we, without the same reason, be obliged todo what is right, to practice virtue, or to obey the commandments ofGod. " [Footnote: _Moral Philosophy, _ Book II, chapter ii. ]

97. EQUIVOCAL EGOISM?--The above is unquestionably egoism. The man whoaccepts such a doctrine and consistently walks in the light must be setdown as self-seeking. But self-seeking, as understood by different men, appears to take on different aspects. Shall we class all those whofrankly accept it as man's only ultimate motive with Aristippus andEpicurus and Hobbes?

Thomas Hill Green writes: "Anything conceived as good in such a way thatthe agent acts for the sake of it, must be conceived as his own good. "[Footnote: _Prolegomena to Ethics, _ Sec 92. ] The motive to action is, he maintains, always "some idea of the man's personal good. " [Footnote: SecSec 95, 97. ] He does not hesitate to say that a man necessarily lives forhimself; [Footnote: Sec 138. ] and he calls "the human self or the man"[Footnote: Sec 99. ] a self-seeking ego, a self-seeking subject, and a self-seeking person. [Footnote: Sec Sec 98, 100, 145. ]

Were Green's book a lost work, only preserved to the memories of men bysuch citations as the above, the author would certainly be relegated to aclass of moralists with which he had, in fact, little sympathy. 

But the book is not lost, and by turning to it we find Green continuingthe first of the above citations with the words: "Though he may conceiveit as his own good only on account of his interest in others, and inspite of any amount of suffering on his own part incidental to itsattainment. " He is willing to grant the self-seeking ego an eye single toits own interests, but he is careful to explain that: "These are notmerely interests dependent on other persons for the means to theirgratification, but interests in the good of those other persons, interests which cannot be satisfied without the consciousness that thoseother persons are satisfied. " [Footnote: Sec 199. ]

When Hobbes gave an account of "the passions that incline men to peace, "[Footnote: _Leviathan, _ I, xiii. ] he made no mention of the socialnature of man. That nature Green conceives to be so essentially socialthat the individual cannot disentangle his own good from the good of hisfellows. To live "for himself, " since that self is a social self, meansto live for others. May this fairly be called egoistic doctrine?

98. WHAT IS MEANT BY THE SELF?--It is sufficiently clear that thehappiness, or good, or advantage, or interests of the individual or selfmay mean many things. It is equally clear that in our interpretation ofall such terms our notions of the nature of the self will play noinconsiderable role. What is the self?

In his famous chapter on the Consciousness of Self, [Footnote:_Psychology, _ New York, 1890, I, chapter x. ] William Jamesenumerates four senses of the word. With three of these we may profitablyoccupy ourselves here. He calls them the Material Self, the Social Selfand the Spiritual Self. 

The innermost part of the material self he makes our body, and next toit, in their order, he places our clothes, our family, our home, and ourproperty. They contribute to our being what we are in our own eyes, weidentify ourselves with them, and we experience "a sense of the shrinkageof our personality" when even the more outlying elements, such as ourpossessions, are lost. "Our immediate family, " he writes, "is a part ofourselves. Our father and mother, our wife and babes, are bone of ourbone and flesh of our flesh. When they die, a part of our very selves isgone. If they do anything wrong, it is our shame. If they are insulted, our anger flashes forth as readily as if we stood in their place. "

It is obvious that the limits of the material self, as above understood, may be indefinitely extended. There are men who feel about their countryas the average normal man feels about his home; and doubtless thesuffering of a stray beggar tugged at the heart of St. Francis as themisfortune of wife or child does in the case of other men. How far abroadour "interests" are to be found, and just what "interests" we shallregard as intimately and peculiarly our own, depends upon what we are. 

The Social Self James describes as the recognition a man gets from hismates: "We are not only gregarious animals, liking to be in the sight ofour fellows, but we have an innate propensity to get ourselves noticed, and noticed favorably, by our kind. " Men certainly regard their fame orhonor as to be included among their interests, and they may value andseek to obtain the good opinion of a very little clique or of a muchwider circle. 

By the Spiritual Self is meant our qualities of mind and character--"themost enduring and intimate part of the Self, that which we most verilyseem to be. " Our interest in these it is impossible to overlook, andtheir cultivation and development may become a ruling passion. 

James's illuminating pages make clear that he who speaks of the advantageor interest of the individual may have in mind predominantly any one ofthese aspects of the Self, or all of them conjointly. The Self as heconceives it may be a narrow one, or it may be a very broad one. 

99. EGOISM AND THE BROADER SELF. --It may with some plausibility bemaintained that he who lives for himself may not properly be regarded asan egoist and called selfish, if his Self is sufficiently expanded. Mayit not, theoretically, include as much of the universe as is known toman? And where can a man seek ends of any sort beyond this broad field?On this view, all men are, in a sense, self-seeking, but only those arereprehensibly self-seeking who have narrow and scanty selves. 

But common sense and the common usage of speech do not sanction suchstatements as that a man necessarily lives for himself and that all menare self-seeking. It is justly recognized that some men with broadinterests--of a sort--are self-seeking, and that some others with greatlimitations are not. 

He who has property scattered over four continents and watches withabsorbing interest all movements upon the political and economic stagemay nevertheless be a thorough-going egoist. The breadth of his horizonwill not redeem him. One may look far afield and live laborious days inthe pursuit of fame, and be egoistic to the back-bone, although one'sinterests, in this case, include even the contents of the minds ofgenerations yet unborn. One may forego many pleasures and concentrate allone's efforts upon the attainment of intellectual eminence or of avirtuous character, and yet seem to have a claim to the name of egoist. 

That even the pursuit of virtue may take an egoistic turn has frequentlybeen recognized: "Woe betides that man, " writes Dewey, "who havingentered upon a course of reflection which leads to a clearer conceptionof his own moral capacities and weaknesses, maintains that thought as adistinct mental end, and thereby makes his subsequent acts simply meansto improving or perfecting his moral nature. " [Footnote: _Ethics_, chapter xviii, Sec 3, p. 384. ] He characterizes this as one of the worstkinds of selfishness. The task set himself by the egoist who aims atoutshining his fellows in an unselfish self-forgetfulness would seem tobe a particularly difficult one; yet we have all met persons who appearto be animated by some such desire. 

100. Egoism not Unavoidable. --On such cases as the above the commonjudgment can hardly be in doubt. But there are cases more questionable. Was Hobbes really self-seeking when he gave the sixpence to the oldbeggar? Is it egoism that leads the young mother to give herself theexquisite pleasure of feeding and caring for her babes? or that inducesthe patriot to die for his country? To be sure, both the babes and thefatherland may fall within the limits of the self, as the psychologisthas broadly defined it. 

But they fall within it only in a sense. No doctrine of the mutualinclusion of selves can obliterate the distinction between self andneighbor, and make my neighbor _merely_ a part of myself. The commonopinion of mankind is not at fault in basing upon the distinction betweenselves the further distinction between egoism and altruism. Whateverinterests the egoist may have, his ultimate motive to action_cannot_ be the recognition of the desire or will of another. Suchcan be the motive of the altruist. 

Human motives are of many sorts, and just what they are it is not alwayseasy to discover. Cornelia, in exhibiting her "jewels, " may have beenpuffed up with pride. When Cyrano de Bergerac threw, with a noblegesture, his purse to the players, his "Mais quel geste!" reveals that hewas a player himself and was "showing off. " There may be spectacularpatriots, who are willing to suffer the extreme penalty for the sake of aplace in history. But all maternal affection is not identical with pride;all generous impulses cannot be traced to vanity; all patriotism is notspectacular; nor is the motive to the relief of suffering necessarily theremoval of one's own pain. It is one thing to hire Lazarus not to exhibithimself in his shocking plight on our front porch, and it is a distinctlydifferent thing to be concerned about the needs of Lazarus _per se_. 

It is obvious, then, that it is only by a straining of language that onecan say that man necessarily lives for himself, or is unavoidably self-seeking. He who makes such statements overlooks the fact that, even if istrue that, in a sense, a man's self may be regarded as coextensive withall that interests him, it is equally true that different selves aremutually exclusive and that the good of one may serve as the ultimatemotive in determining the action of another. The ethnologist is compelledto recognize altruistic impulses in men primitive and in men civilized:"Of the doctrine of self-interest as the primary and only genuine humanmotive, it is sufficient to say that it bears no relation to the facts ofhuman nature, and implies an incorrect view of the origin of instinct. "[Footnote: HOBHOUSE, _Morals in Evolution_, p. 16]

101. Varieties of Egoism. --The egoist may set his affections uponpleasure, and become a representative of Egoistic Hedonism, the varietyof egoism normally treated as typical and made the subject of criticismin ethical treatises. But there is nothing to prevent him from making hisaim, not so much pleasure, as self-preservation; or from taking as hisgoal wealth, power, reputation, intellectual or moral attainment, or whatnot. [Footnote: Thus, Hobbes made his end self-preservation; Spinozatakes much the same position; Nietzsche makes that which is aimed at, power. ]

So long as the motives which impel him to get, to avoid, to be, or to do, something, do not include, except as means to some ulterior end, thedesire or will of his fellow-man, there appears no reason to deny him thetitle of "Egoist. " Nor need we deny him the title because he may beunconscious of his egoism. There are unconscious egoists who are whollyabsorbed in the individual objects which are the end of their strivings. They may be quite unaware that they are ruled by self-interest, when itis clear to the spectator that such is the case. [Footnote: James, _Psychology_, Vol. I, chapter x, pp. 319-321; a baby ischaracterized as "the completest egoist. "] But the philosophical egoistmust rise to a higher plane of reflection. 

There are, thus, egoisms of many sorts, and they may urge men to verydifferent courses of conduct. Some of them may pass over more naturallythan others into forms of doctrine which are not egoistic at all. He whoaims at a maximum of pleasure for himself is likely to remain an egoist;he whose ambition is to be a patron of science or a philanthropist, may, it is true, remain within the circle of the self, but it is quitepossible that his ulterior aim may come to be forgotten and his realinterest be transferred to the enlightenment of mankind or to the reliefof suffering. 

It is especially worthy of remark that in judging a system of doctrine wemust take it as a whole, and not confine ourselves to a few utterances ofthe man who urges it, however unequivocal they may appear when taken inisolation. He whose motive to action is always some idea of his ownpersonal good is an egoist. But a philosopher may hold that human motivesare always of this sort, and yet reveal unmistakably, both in his lifeand in his writings, that he is not really an egoist at all. In whichcase, we may tax him with more or less inconsistency, but we should notmisconceive him. 

102. THE ARGUMENTS FOR EGOISM. --So much for the forms of egoism. Itremains to enquire what may be urged in favor of the doctrine, and whatmay be said against it. 

(1) It has been urged that egoism is inevitable. This, to be sure, canscarcely be regarded as an argument that a man _ought_ to be anegoist, for there seems little sense in telling a man that he ought to dowhat he cannot possibly help doing. But the argument may be used to deterus from advocating some other ethical doctrine. 

"On the occasion of every act that he exercises, " says Bentham, "everyhuman being is led to pursue that line of conduct which, according to hisview of the case, taken by him at the moment, will be in the highestdegree contributory to his own greatest happiness. " [Footnote: _TheConstitutional Code_. Introduction, Sec 2. ]

From this we might conclude, not only that every man is an egoist, butalso that every man is at all times a prudent and calculating egoist--which seems to flatter grossly the drunkard and the excited man layingabout him in blind fury. But one may hold that egoism is inevitablewithout going so far. [Footnote: Psychological Hedonism, the doctrinethat "volition is always determined by pleasures or pains actual orprospective, " need not be thus exaggerated. See SIDGWICK's _Methods ofEthics_, I, iv, Sec 1. ]

(2) The egoistic ideal may be urged upon us on the ground that itaddresses itself to man as natural and reasonable. 

Thus, the Cyrenaics saw in the fact that we are from our childhoodattracted to pleasure, and, when we have attained it, seek no further, aproof that pleasure is the chief good. [Footnote: _DiogenesLaertius_, II, "Aristippus, " Sec 8. ] Paley maintains that, when it hasbeen pointed out that private happiness has been the motive of an act, "no further question can reasonably be asked. " [Footnote: _MoralPhilosophy_, II, Sec 3. ] Our citations from Hobbes and Bentham and Greenreveal that these writers never think of giving reasons why a man shouldseek his own good. 

And various moralists, who do not make self-interest the one fundamentalprinciple which should rule human conduct, are evidently loath to make ofit a principle subordinate to some other. Bishop Butler, who maintainsthat virtue consists in the pursuit of right and good as such, yet holdsthat: "When we sit down in a cool hour, we can neither justify toourselves this nor any other pursuit till we are convinced that it willbe for our happiness, or at least not contrary to it. " [Footnote:_Sermon_ XI. ] Clarke, who dwells upon the eternal and immutableobligations of morality "incumbent on men from the very nature and reasonof things themselves" teaches that it is not reasonable for men to adhereto virtue if they receive no advantage from it. [Footnote: _BoyleLectures_, 1705, Prop. I. ]

The moral here seems to be that, whatever else a man ought to do, heought to seek his own advantage--real self-sacrifice cannot be his duty. This conviction of the unreasonableness of self-sacrifice reveals itselfin another form in the doctrine that morality cannot be made completelyrational unless a reconciliation between prudence and benevolence can befound; [Footnote: SIDGWICK, _The Methods of Ethics_, concludingchapter, Sec 5. ] and in the labored attempts to show that the good of theindividual must actually coincide with that of the community. [Footnote:_E. G. _ GREEN, _Prolegomena to Ethics_, Sec Sec 244-245. Aristotletries to prove that he who dies for his country is impelled by self-love. He does what is honorable, and thus "gives the greater good to himself. "_Ethics_, Book IX, chapter viii. ] It may be questioned whether thesame conviction did not lurk in the back of the mind of that sternest ofmoralists, Kant, who denied that happiness ought to be sought at all, andyet found so irrational the divorce of virtue and happiness that hepostulated a God to guarantee their union. [Footnote: _The Critique ofthe Practical Reason_, chapter ii. ]

Thus, moralists of widely different schools agree in recognizing thatself-interest is a principle that should not be placed second to anyother. The confessed egoist only goes a step further in recognizing it asa principle that has no rival. And that men generally are inclined toregard egoism as not unnatural seems evinced by the fact that forapparently altruistic actions they are very apt to seek ulterior egoisticmotives, while, if the action seems plainly egoistic, they seek nofurther. 

Does, then, anything seem more natural than egoism? and, if natural, mayit not be assumed to be proper and right?

(3) Finally, it may be urged that he who serves his own interests at allintelligently has, at least, a comprehensive aim, and does not live atrandom. In so far, egoism appears to be rational in a sense dwelt onabove; [Footnote: Sec Sec 55-56] it harmonizes and unifies the impulses anddesires of the man. 

103. THE ARGUMENT AGAINST EGOISM. --What may be said against egoism?

(1) Enough has been said above to show that egoism is not inevitable, butthat men actually are influenced by motives which cannot be regarded asegoistic. It is, hence, not necessary to dwell upon this point. 

(2) As to the naturalness of egoism. Both the professional moralist andthe man in the street may hesitate to admit that a man should neglect hisown interests, and may find it natural that he should cultivate themassiduously. But it is only the exceptional man who maintains that heshould have nothing else in view. 

There are individuals so constituted that self-interest makes to them apeculiarly strong appeal. Others, more social by nature, may be misled bypsychological theory to maintain that a man's chief and only end is hisown "satisfaction. " [Footnote: See below, chapter xxvi, 3. ] Still others, realizing that both one's own interests and the interests of one'sneighbor are natural and seemingly legitimate objects of regard, areperplexed as to the method of reconciling their apparently conflictingclaims, and are betrayed into inconsistent utterances. 

But it is too much to say that the professional moralist and the plainman normally regard pure egoism with favor and find it natural. In spiteof our cynical maxims and our inclination to seek for ulterior motivesfor apparently altruistic acts, we abhor the thorough-going egoist, andwe are not inclined to look upon the phenomena, let us say, of the familylife, as manifestations of self-seeking. 

It is worth while to remark that, even if the approach to the Cyrenaicideal were so common as not to seem wholly unnatural, that would notprove that it ought to be embraced; it is natural for men to err, butthat does not make error our duty. 

(3) By the moral conviction of organized humanity, as expressed incustom, law, and public opinion, egoism stands condemned. Neither insavage life nor among civilized peoples, neither in the dawn of humanhistory nor in its latest chapters, do we find these agencies encouragingevery man to live exclusively for himself. Egoistic impulses arerecognized, in that reward and punishment are allotted, but the end urgedupon the attention of the individual is the common good, not his ownparticular good. 

The social conscience has always demanded of the individual self-sacrifice, even to the extent of laying down his life, on occasion, forthe public weal. And the enlightened social conscience does not regard aman as truly moral whose outward conformity to moral laws rests solelyupon a basis of egoistic calculation. The very existence of the family, the tribe, the state, is a protest against pure egoism. Were all men asegoistic as Aristippus seems to have professed to be, a stable communitylife of any sort would be impossible. 

(4) The argument that egoism is rational at least in so far as itintroduces consistency into actions and unifies and harmonizes desiresand impulses deserves little consideration. Any comprehensive end will dothe same, and many comprehensive ends may be very trivial. One may makeit the aim of one's life to remain slender, or may devote all one'senergies to the amelioration of the social position of bald-headed men. He who counsels deliberate egoism does not recommend it merely on thescore that it leads to consistent action. He does it on the ground thatthe end itself appeals to him as one that ought to be selected and willbe selected if a man is wise. That the interest of the individual is inthis sense a matter of obligation, is something to be proved, notassumed. 

104. THE MORALIST'S INTEREST IN EGOISM--It has been worth while to treatat length of egoism because the doctrine takes on more or less subtleforms, and its fundamental principle, self-interest, has a significancefor various ethical schools which are not, or are not considered, egoistic. Men have been vastly puzzled by the moral claims of theprinciple of self-interest, both plain men and professional moralists. 

That prudence is not the only fundamental virtue, most men would be readyenough to admit; but is it properly speaking, a virtue at all?_Ought_ I, for example, to try to make myself happy? Suppose I donot want to be happy, what is the source of the obligation?

Butler tells me that interest, one's own happiness, is a manifestobligation; [Footnote: _Dissertation on the Nature of Virtue_, Sec 8;_Sermons_ III and XI. ] Bentham, a writer of a widely differentschool, informs me that "the constantly proper end of action on the partof any individual at the moment of action is his real greatest happinessfrom that moment to the end of his life. " [Footnote: BENTHAM, _Memoirs_, Vol. X of Bowring's Edition, Edinburgh, 1843, p. 560. ] Onthe other hand, Hutcheson teaches me that I am under no obligation to begood to myself, although I am under obligation to be good to others:"Actions which flow solely from self-love, and yet evidence no want ofbenevolence, having no hurtful effects upon others, seem perfectlyindifferent in a moral sense. " [Footnote: _An Enquiry concerning MoralGood and Evil_, Sec 3, 5. ] Which means that intemperance is blameworthyonly so far as it is against the public interest. 

May I, should I, on occasion, sacrifice myself? Thoughtful men generallyrecognize self-sacrifice, not only as possible, but as actual, andbelieve it to be at times a duty. But the moralist gives forth here anuncertain sound. 

Self-interest and benevolence have been left to fight out their quarrelin a court without a judge to decide upon their conflicting claims;[Footnote: See Sec 102, the citations from Butler and Clarke. ] self-sacrifice has been enjoined; [Footnote: KANT, see, later, chapter xxix. ]it has been declared impossible; [Footnote: See, above, the position ofGreen, Sec 97; cf. , below, Sec 126. ] it has been denied that it can everbe a duty; [Footnote: FITE, _An Introductory Study of Ethics_, chaptervii, Sec 5. ] the kind of self-sacrifice in question has been regarded assignificant. [Footnote: SIDGWICK, _The Methods of Ethics_, Introduction, Sec 4. ]

He who has rejected as unworthy of serious consideration the naive egoismof an Aristippus or an Epicurus is not on that account done with egoism, by any means. [Footnote: The question of self-sacrifice recurs again inchapter xxvi, 3. ]

CHAPTER XXV

UTILITARIANISM

105. WHAT IS UTILITARIANISM?--The division of things desirable into thosedesirable in themselves, and those desirable for the sake of somethingelse, is two thousand years old. Those things which we recognize asdesirable for the sake of something else, we call useful. 

What we shall regard as useful depends in each case upon the nature ofthe end at which we aim. If our aim is the attainment of pleasure, thepreservation of life, the harmonious development of our faculties, or anyother, we may term useful whatever makes for the realization of that end. 

Hence, we can, by stretching the application of the word, callutilitarian any ethical doctrine which sets an ultimate end to humanendeavor and judges actions as moral or the reverse, according to theirtendency to realize that end, or to frustrate its realization. As theends thus chosen may be very diverse, it is obvious that widely differentforms of utilitarian doctrine may come into being. 

It is, however, inconvenient to stretch the term, "utilitarianism" inthis fashion. Certain forms of doctrine which, in its wider sense, itwould include, have come to be known under names of their own; and, besides, the especial type of utilitarianism advocated by Bentham andJohn Stuart Mill appears to have a claim upon the appellation which theyset in circulation. Common usage has thus limited the significance of theword, and we naturally think of the doctrine of these men when we hear ituttered. It is in this sense that I shall use it. 

"The creed which accepts as the foundation of morals, Utility, or theGreatest Happiness Principle, " writes Mill, "holds that actions are rightin proportion as they tend to promote happiness, wrong as they tend toproduce the reverse of happiness. By happiness is intended pleasure, andthe absence of pain; by unhappiness, pain and the privation of pleasure. "This means, he adds, "that pleasure, and freedom from pain, are the onlythings desirable as ends; and that all desirable things . .. Are desirableeither for the pleasure inherent in themselves, or as means to thepromotion of pleasure and the prevention of pain. " [Footnote:_Utilitarianism_, chapter ii. In the pages following, when I leaveout a reference to pain in discussing the utilitarian doctrine, it willbe for convenience and for the sake of brevity. The intelligent readercan supply the omissions. ]

The pleasure here intended is not the selfish pleasure of the individual. Utilitarianism is not Cyrenaicism. The goal of the utilitarian'sendeavors is the general happiness, in which many individualsparticipate. The moral rules which control and direct the strivings ofthe individual derive their authority from their tendency to serve thisend. 

106. BENTHAM'S DOCTRINE. --Most uncompromising is the utilitarianism setforth in the writings of Mill's master, that most benevolent andphilanthropic of men, Jeremy Bentham. He is true to his principles and hemakes no concessions. 

He regards that as in the interest of the individual which tends to addto the sum total of his pleasures or to diminish the sum total of hispains. And he understands in the same sense the interest of thecommunity. [Footnote: _Principles of Morals and Legislation_, chapter i, Sec 5. ] That which serves that interest he sets down as"conformable to the principle of utility. " What is thus conformable hedeclares ought to be done, what is not conformable ought not to be done. Right and wrong he distinguishes in the same manner. "When thusinterpreted, " he insists, "the words _ought_, and _right_ and_wrong_, and others of that stamp, have a meaning; when otherwise, they have none" [Footnote: _Ibid_. , i, 10. ]

Of differences in quality between pleasures Bentham takes no account. Inhis curious and interesting chapter entitled "Value of a Lot of Pleasureor Pain, how to be Measured, " he enumerates the circumstances whichshould determine the value of a pleasure or a pain. They are as follows:[Footnote: _Ibid_. , chapter iv. ]

1. Its intensity. 2. Its duration. 3. Its certainty or uncertainty. 4. Its propinquity or remoteness. 5. Its fecundity. 6. Its purity. 7. Itsextent. 

The first four of these characteristics call for no comment. By thefecundity of a pleasure Bentham understands its likelihood of beingfollowed by other pleasures; by its purity, the likelihood that it willnot be followed by pains. The characteristic "extent" marks offutilitarianism from egoism, for it has reference to the number of personsaffected by the pleasure or the pain. The greater the number, the higherthe value in question. The greatest number of pleasures of the highestvalue, as free as possible from admixture with pains, is the goal of theendeavors of the utilitarian. Naturally, when the interests of manypersons are taken into account, the question of the principle accordingto which "lots" of pleasure are to be distributed becomes a pressing one. Bentham decides it as follows: "Everybody to count for one, and nobodyfor more than one. " [Footnote: See the discussion of Bentham's dictum inits bearings on justice, J. S. Mill, _Utilitarianism_, chapter v. ]In other words, the distribution should be an impartial one. 

At first sight, this account of the relative desirability of pleasuresand undesirability of pains seems sensible enough. Men do desirepleasure, and they undoubtedly approve the preference given to pleasuresmore intense, enduring, certain, immediate, fruitful in furtherpleasures, free from painful consequences, and shared by many, over thosewhich have not these characteristics:

 "_Intense, long, certain, speedy, fruitful, pure_-- Such marks in _pleasures_ and in _pains_ endure. Such pleasures seek, if _private_ be thy end: If it be _public_, wide let them _extend_. Such _pains_ avoid, whichever be thy view; If pains _must_ come, let them _extend_ to few. "

[Footnote: _Principles of Morals and Legislation_, chapter iv, i, Note. ]

These mnemonic lines may well strike many readers as embodying a verygood working rule of common-sense morality; as paying a proper regard toprudence and to benevolence as well. But there are passages in Benthamcalculated to shake such acquiescence. He writes:

"Now pleasure is in _itself_ a good; nay, even setting asideimmunity from pain, the only good: pain is in itself an evil, and, indeedwithout exception, the only evil; or else the words good and evil have nomeaning. And this is alike true of every sort of pain, and of every sortof pleasure. " [Footnote: _Ibid_. , chapter x, 10. ]

"Let a man's motive be ill-will; call it even malice, envy, cruelty; itis still a kind of pleasure that is his motive: the pleasure he takes atthe thought of the pain which he sees, or expects to see, his adversaryundergo. Now even this wretched pleasure, taken by itself, is good: itmay be faint; it may be short; it must at any rate be impure: yet, whileit lasts, and before any bad consequences arrive, it is as good as anyother that is not more intense. " [Footnote: _Ibid_, note. ]

Reflection upon such passages may well lead a man to ask himself:

(1) Is it, after all, the consensus of human opinion that pleasure is theonly good and pain the only evil?

(2) Are some pleasures actually regarded as more desirable than others, solely through the application of the standard given above?

(3) Can the pleasure of a malignant act properly be called _morally_good at all?

107. THE DOCTRINE OF JOHN STUART MILL. --Bentham's purely quantitativeestimate of the value of pleasures has aroused in many minds the feelingthat he puts morality upon a low level. [Footnote: In justice to Benthamit must be borne in mind that his prime interest was not in ethicaltheory, but in legislative reform. His doctrine, such as it was, andapplied as he applied it, was a tool of no mean efficacy. Bentham mustcount among the real benefactors of mankind. ] Mill attempts animprovement upon his doctrine. "It is quite compatible with the principleof utility, " he writes, "to recognize the fact that some _kinds_ ofpleasure are more desirable and more valuable than others. It would beabsurd that, while in estimating all other things quality is consideredas well as quantity, the estimation of pleasures should be supposed todepend on quantity alone. " [Footnote: _Utilitarianism_, chapter i. ]

Thus, Mill distinguishes between higher pleasures and lower, and he givesa criterion for distinguishing the former from the latter: "Of twopleasures, if there be one to which all or almost all who have experienceof both give a decided preference, irrespective of any feeling of moralobligation to prefer it, that is the more desirable pleasure. " He refersthe whole matter to the judgment of the "competent;" and, in accordancewith that judgment, decides that: "It is better to be a human beingdissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfiedthan a fool satisfied. And if the fool, or the pig, are of a differentopinion, it is because they only know their own side of the question. Theother party to the comparison knows both sides. " [Footnote: _Ibid_. ]

That some pleasures may properly be called higher than others moralistsof many schools will be ready to admit, but to Mill's criterion of whatproves them to be higher they may demur. Of the delight that a fool takesin his folly a wise man may be as incapable as a fool is of the enjoymentof wisdom. With mature years men cease to be competent judges of thepleasures of boyhood. To each nature, its appropriate choice ofpleasures. That human beings at a given level of intellectual andemotional development actually desire certain things rather than certainothers does not prove that those things are desirable in any generalsense. It does not prove that men _ought_ to desire them. For thatproof we must look in some other direction; and a critical scrutiny ofthe pleasures which moralists ancient and modern have generally acceptedas "higher" reveals a common characteristic which explains their beingthus classed together much better than the appeal to Mill's criterion. [Footnote: See chapter xxx, Sec 142. ]

As has often been pointed out, Mill, while defending Utilitarianism, really passes beyond it, and his doctrine tends to merge in one widelydifferent from that of Bentham. For the "Greatest Happiness Principle" hevirtually substitutes the "Highest Happiness Principle. " But he scarcelyrealizes the significance of his substitution, and he gives an inadequateaccount of the significance of higher and lower. 

108. THE ARGUMENT FOR UTILITARIANISM. --We have seen above that Benthammaintains that such words as "ought, " "right" and "wrong" have no meaningunless interpreted after the fashion of the utilitarian. He admits thathis "principle of utility" is not susceptible of direct proof, but claimsthat such a proof is needless. [Footnote: Principles of Morals andLegislation, chapter i, 11. ]

Accepting it as a fact revealed by observation that the actual end ofaction on the part of every individual is his own happiness as heconceives it, he appears to have passed on without question to thefurther positions, that the _proper_ end of action of the individualis his own greatest happiness, and, yet, his _proper_ end of action, as a member of a community, is the greatest happiness of the community. [Footnote: See the paper entitled "Logical Arrangements, Employed asInstruments in Legislation" etc. , _Memoirs_, Bowring's Edition, Volume X, page 560. ]

The second of these positions cannot be deduced from the first, nor canthe third be inferred from the other two. Bentham appears to have takenthe "principle of utility" for granted; but one coming after him andscrutinizing his work can scarcely avoid raising the question of thejustice of his assumption. That happiness is the only thing desirable, and that the happiness of all should be the object aimed at by each, arepropositions which seem to stand in need of proof. 

Such proof Mill attempted to furnish. [Footnote: He does not regard hisdoctrine as provable in the usual sense; but he adduces what he regardsas "equivalent to proof. " _Utilitarianism_, chapter i. ] He arguesas follows:

"The only proof capable of being given that an object is visible, is thatpeople actually see it. The only proof that a sound is audible, is thatpeople hear it; and so of the other sources of our experience. In likemanner, I apprehend, the sole evidence it is possible to produce thatanything is desirable, is that people do actually desire it. If the endwhich the utilitarian doctrine proposes to itself were not, in theory andpractice, acknowledged to be an end, nothing could ever convince anyperson that it was so. No reason can be given why the general happinessis desirable, except that each person, so far as he believes it to beattainable, desires his own happiness. This, however, being a fact, wehave not only all the proof the case admits of, but all which it ispossible to require, that happiness is a good: that each person'shappiness is a good to that person, and the general happiness, therefore, a good to the aggregate of all persons. Happiness has made out its titleas _one_ of the ends of conduct, and, consequently one of the endsof morality. " [Footnote: _Utilitarianism_, chapter iv. ]

That happiness is the _only ultimate_ end, Mill regards asestablished by the argument that other things, for example, virtue, though they come to be valued for themselves, do so only through the factthat, originally valued as means to the attainment of happiness, theybecome, through association, valued even out of this relation, and thustreated as a part of happiness. [Footnote: _Ibid. _]

The defects in Mill's argument have made themselves apparent, not merelyto the opponents of utilitarianism, but even to its advocates. [Footnote:SIDGWICK, _The Methods of Ethics_, Book III, chapter xiii, Sec 5] Wecannot say that things are desirable in any moral sense, simply becausethey are desired. In a loose sense of the word, everything that is or hasbeen desired by anyone is desirable--it evidently can be desired. When wesay no more than this, we say nothing. But when we call a course ofaction desirable we mean more than this; and we are compelled to admitthat a multitude of desirable things are not generally desired. This isthe burden of the lament of every reformer. 

Furthermore, it does not appear to follow that, because his own happinessis a good to each member of a community, the happiness of all mustlikewise be a good to each severally. A community in which every manstudies his own interest may conceivably be a community in which no manregards it as desirable to consult the public weal. That the generalhappiness is desirable, in a loose sense of the word, is palpable fact;it is obvious that it can be desired, for some persons do actually desireit. But that it is desirable in any sense cannot be inferred from thefact that all men desire something else, namely, their own individualhappiness. 

We must, then, look further for the proof of the utilitarian principle. Henry Sidgwick, that admirable scholar and most judicial mind, falls backupon certain intuitions which, he conceives, present themselves asultimate and unassailable. He writes:

"Let us reflect upon the clearest and most certain of our moralintuitions. I find that I undoubtedly seem to perceive, as clearly andcertainly as I see any axiom in Arithmetic or Geometry, that it is'right' and 'reasonable' for me to treat others as I should think that Imyself ought to be treated under similar conditions, and to do what Ibelieve to be ultimately conducive to universal Good or Happiness. "

And again: "The propositions, 'I ought not to prefer a present lessergood to a future greater good, ' and 'I ought not to prefer my own lessergood to the greater good of another, ' do present themselves as self-evident; as much (e. G. ) as the mathematical axiom that 'if equals beadded to equals the wholes are equal. '" [Footnote: _The Methods ofEthics_, concluding chapter, Sec 5, and Book III, chapter xiii, Sec 3. ]

Whether these intuitions will be accepted as furnishing an indisputablysound basis for utilitarianism will depend upon one's attitude towardintuitions in general and the list of intuitions one is inclined toaccept. It is significant that Sidgwick does not accept as self-evidentsuch subordinate propositions as, "I ought to speak the truth. " Heregards their authority as derived from the Greatest Happiness Principle. 

109. THE DISTRIBUTION OF HAPPINESS. --The man who accepts the GreatestHappiness Principle as the sole basis of his ethical doctrine is facedwith the problem of its application in detail. The "greatest good of thegreatest number" is a vague expression. What is properly understood by"the greatest number"? and upon what principle shall "lots" of happinessbe assigned to each? Very puzzling questions arise when we approach theproblem of the distribution of pleasures and the calculation of theirvalues. Let us look at them. 

I. Who should be considered in the Distribution?

(1) Shall we aim directly at the happiness of all men now living? orshall we content ourselves with a smaller number? Certainly, withincreasing intelligence and broadening sympathies, men tend toward a moreembracing benevolence. 

(2) Shall we admit to the circle generations yet unborn? and, if so, howfar into the future should we look?

(3) Should we make a deliberate attempt to increase the number of thosewho may share the common fund of happiness, by striving for an increasein the number of births? This end has been consciously sought for diversreasons. The ancestor-worship of China has made the Chinaman eagerlydesirous of leaving behind him those who would devote themselves to himafter he has departed this life. Nations ancient and modern haveendeavored to strengthen the state by providing for an increase in itspopulation. Shall a similar end be pursued for the ethical purpose ofwidening the circle of those who shall live and be happy? Most ethicalteachers do not appear to have regarded this as a corollary to thedoctrine of benevolence. 

(4) Shall we enlarge the circle so as to include the lower animals? AsBentham expressed it: The question is not, "Can they _reason_? nor, Can they _talk_? but, Can they _suffer_?" [Footnote: _Principles of Moralsand Legislation_, chapter xvii, Sec 4. ]

II. How should the "lots" of happiness be measured?

(1) Should everybody count as one, and nobody as more than one? in otherwords, should strict impartiality be aimed at?

Dr. Westermarck's striking reply to the argument for impartiality asurged by Professor Sidgwick has already been quoted. [Footnote: Seechapter v, Sec 16. ] Let the reader glance at it again. 

It must be confessed that to put one's parents, one's children, one'sneighbors, strangers, foreigners, the brutes, all upon the same level, iscontrary to the moral judgment of savage and civilized alike. It wouldseem contrary to the sentiments which lie at the root of the family, thecommunity, and the state. Nor have we reason to look forward to anyfuture state of human society in which such lesser groups within thebroad circle of humanity will be done away with, though they tend tobecome less exclusive in their demands upon human sympathy. 

(2) Suppose that the greatest sum of happiness on the whole could be bestattained by an unequal distribution--by making a limited number veryhappy at the expense of the rest. Would this be justifiable? It would bein harmony with the Greatest Happiness Principle, though not with theprinciple of the greatest happiness equally shared. 

III. The question of the distribution of happiness in the life of theindividual is not one to be ignored. If we are concerned only with thequantity of happiness, may we not take as the ethical precept "a shortlife and a merry one"--provided the brief span of years be merry enough, and there be no objection to the choice on the score of harm to others?

This problem is closely analogous to that of the distribution ofpleasures to those who compose the "greatest number" taken into account. There we were concerned with the shares allotted to individuals; here weare concerned with the shares assigned to the different parts of a singlelife. In the attempt to solve the problem, Bentham's criteria ofintensity, certainty, purity, etc. , might naturally be appealed to. 

110. THE CALCULUS OF PLEASURES. --Nor are the problems which meet us lessperplexing when we pass from questions of the distribution of pleasuresto that of the calculus of pleasures. How are delights and miseries to beweighed, and reasonably balanced?

(1) Men desire pleasure, and they desire to avoid pain. The two seem tobe opposed. But men constantly accept pleasures which entail somesuffering, and they avoid pains even at the expense of some pleasure. Are, however, pleasures and pains strictly commensurable? How muchadmixture of pain is called for to reduce the value of a pleasure tozero? and how much pleasure, added to a pain, will make the wholeemotional state predominantly a pleasurable one? A disagreeable taste andan agreeable odor may be experienced together, but they cannot be treatedas an algebraic sum. If we do so treat them, we seem to fall back uponthe assumption that the mere fact that the heterogeneous complex isaccepted or rejected is evidence that its ingredients have been measuredand compared. This is an ungrounded assumption. 

(2) Undoubtedly men prefer intense pleasures to mild ones, and thoselong-continued to those which are fleeting. But what degree of intensitywill overbalance what period of duration? Here, again, we appear to bewithout a unit of measure, both in the case of pleasures and of pains. 

(3) Obviously, he who would distribute pleasures with impartiality musttake into consideration the natures and capacities of the recipients. Allare not susceptible of pleasure in the same degree, nor are all capableof enjoying the same pleasures. It is small kindness to a cat to offer ithay; nor will the miser thank us for the opportunity to enjoy thepleasures of liberality. The gift which arouses deep emotion in one man, will leave another cold. The diversity of natures would make the calculusof pleasures, in any accurate sense of the expression, a most difficultproblem, even if such a calculus were admissible in the case of a singleindividual. [Footnote: This difficulty has not been overlooked by theUtilitarian, see BENTHAM, _Principles of Morals and Legislation_, chapter vi. ]

III. THE DIFFICULTIES OF OTHER SCHOOLS. --It would be unjust to theutilitarian not to point out that those who advocate other doctrines mustfind some way of coping with the difficulties which embarrass him. 

Thus, the egoist may ignore duties to others, but he cannot free himselffrom the problems of the distribution of happiness in his own life and ofthe calculus of pleasures. The intuitionist, who, among other precepts, accepts as ultimate those enjoining upon him justice and benevolence, maywell ask himself toward whom these virtues are to be exercised, andwhether the claims of all who belong to the class in question areidentical in kind and degree. If they are not, he must find some rule forestimating their relative importance. He who makes it his moral ideal toFollow Nature, to Strive for Perfection, or to Realize his Capacities, must determine in detail what conduct, self-regarding and other-regarding, the acceptance of such aims entails. Only the unreflective canregard the utilitarian as having a monopoly of the difficulties whichface the moralist. The vague general statement that we should strive torender others happy--a duty recognized by men of very different schools--never frees us from the perplexities which arise when it is asked: Whatothers? With what degree of impartiality? When? By what means? But thatsuch questions can be approached by a path more satisfactory than thatfollowed by the utilitarian, there is good reason to maintain. [Footnote:See, below, chapter xxx, Sec Sec 140-142. ]

112. SUMMARY OF ARGUMENTS FOR UTILITARIANISM. --It is worth while tosummarize what may be said for utilitarianism, and what may be saidagainst it. It may be argued in its favor:

(1) That it appears to set as the aim of human endeavor, an intelligibleend, and a fairly definite one. Everyone has some notion of whathappiness means, and is not without ideas touching the way to seek hisown happiness, or to contribute to that of others. 

(2) The end is one actually desired by men at all stages of intellectualand moral development. Men are impelled to seek their own happiness, andthere are few who do not feel impelled to take into consideration, tosome degree, at least, the happiness of some others. 

(3) The general happiness is not merely desired by some men, but it isfelt to be _desirable;_ that is, it is an end not out of harmonywith the moral judgments of mankind. It makes its appeal to the socialnature of man; it seems to furnish a basis for the exercise ofbenevolence and justice. 

(4) The utilitarian's clear recognition of the general happiness as theultimate end of human endeavor, and his insistence that institutions, laws and moral maxims must be judged solely by their fitness to serve asmeans to that end, have made him an energetic apostle of reform, andintolerant of old and passively accepted abuses. His insistence upon theprinciple of impartiality in the distribution of happiness has made him achampion of the inarticulate and the oppressed. Whatever one may think ofhis abstract principles, the general character of the specific measureshe has advocated must meet with the approval of enlightened moralists ofvery different schools. 

113. ARGUMENTS AGAINST UTILITARIANISM. --Against utilitarianism as anethical theory various objections have been brought or may be brought. 

(1) Objection may be taken to the utilitarian assumption that the onlyultimate object of desire is pleasure or happiness. 

It was pointed out forcibly by Bishop Butler in the eighteenth centurythat men desire many things besides pleasure. Man's desires are anoutcome of his nature, and that results in "particular movements towardsparticular external objects"--honor, power, the harm or good of another. [Footnote: _Sermons_, Preface, Sec 29; cf. Sermon XI. ] To be sure, "noone can act but from a desire, or choice, or preference of his own, " butthis is no evidence that what he seeks in acting is always pleasure. Particular passions or appetites are, Butler ingeniously argues, "necessarily presupposed by the very idea of an interested pursuit; sincethe very idea of interest or happiness consists in this, that an appetiteor affection enjoys its object. "

Here we find our attention called to a very important truth, thesignificance of which there is danger of our overlooking. Pleasure orhappiness is not something that can be parcelled up and handed aboutindependently of the nature of the recipient. It is not everyone who candesire everything and feel pleasure in its attainment. That the objectsof desire and will are many, and that the strivings of consciouscreatures have in view many ends, and vary according to the impulsive andinstinctive endowments of the creatures in question, has been wellbrought out in the admirable studies of instinct which we now have at ourdisposal. The most ardent devotee of pleasure must recognize, that onlycertain pleasures are open to him; that, such as they are, they are arevelation of his nature and capacities; that pleasures, if sought atall, cannot be secured directly, but only as the result of a successfulstriving for objects not pleasures, which bring pleasure as theiraccompaniment. He who would have the pleasure of eating must desire food;and neither food, nor the eating of food, can be regarded as, _perse_, pleasure. The pleasure of the brooding hen is beyond the reach ofman, who, however pleasure-loving, cannot desire to sit upon eggs, and somust forego the pleasure which, in the case of the bird, crowns thatexercise. 

Such considerations as the above have led some moralists to define, asthe end of desire, not pleasure, but self-satisfaction. Every desire, itis pointed out, strives to satisfy itself in the attainment of itsappropriate object. With the attainment of the object, the desire hasproduced its proper fruit and ceases to be. It is admitted that thesatisfaction of desire is accompanied by pleasure, but it is denied thatthe pleasure may be properly called the object of the desire, or regardedas calling it into being: "The appetite of hunger must precede andcondition the pleasure which consists in its satisfaction. It cannottherefore have that pleasure for its exciting object. " [Footnote: GREEN, _Prolegomena to Ethics_, Book III, chapter i, Sec 161. See also BookII, chapter ii, Sec 131; Book III, chapter i, Sec Sec 154-160. ]

At the same time it is conceded that the idea of a pleasure to beattained may "reinforce" the desire for an object, may "intensify theputting forth of energy, " and may tend "to sustain and prolong any modeof action. " [Footnote: _Prolegomena to Ethics_, Sec 161; DEWEY, _Ethics_, chapter xiv, Sec 1, p. 271; MCDOUGALL, _SocialPsychology_, London, 1916, p. 43. ] It is further conceded thatpleasures may be consciously aimed at, but it is urged that this does notresult in true self-satisfaction, and is evidence of the existence ofunhealthy desires. [Footnote: _Prolegomena to Ethics_, Sec 158; DEWEY, _Ethics_ p. 270. ]

The utilitarian is not wholly helpless in the face of such objections. Hemay argue that, if it is difficult to see how a pleasure which is theresult of a desire may cause the desire, it is equally difficult to seehow it may prolong, reinforce or intensify it. And he may maintain that, although the pursuit of pleasure, in certain forms, is calculated todefeat its own aim and is undoubtedly unhealthy, this need not be thecase if one's aim be the true utilitarian one--the happiness of all. Thedirect attack upon his Greatest Happiness Principle which consists in theobjection that, if pleasure is the only object of desire, a sum ofpleasures, as not being a pleasure, cannot be desired, [Footnote:_Prolegomena to Ethics_, Sec 221. ] he can put aside with the remarkthat no far-reaching and comprehensive aim can be realized at one stroke. I can desire a long and useful life; this cannot be had all at once. Ican desire a long life full of pleasures; this cannot be enjoyed all atonce either. But each can certainly be the object of desire. 

But, when all is said, it remains true that the contention of those, whodistinguish sharply between the satisfaction of desire and the attainmentof pleasure, is of no little importance. It calls our attention to thefollowing truths:

(a) We have definite instincts and impulses which tend to satisfythemselves with their appropriate objects. 

(b) At their first exercise, our aim could not have been the pleasureresulting from their satisfaction, for that could not have been foreseen. 

(c) Although, after experience, the attainment of pleasure may come to beour aim in the exercise of many activities, and may often, as far as wecan see, be a natural and not unwholesome aim; it is by no means evidentthat, even when we are experienced and reflective, the exercise of ourfaculties comes to be regarded _only_ as a means to the attainmentof pleasure. 

(d) The hedonist, in maintaining that pleasure is the only ultimateobject of desire, appears, thus, to be committed to the doctrine that thesatisfaction of all other desires is subordinated to the satisfaction ofthe desire for pleasure. For this position he can furnish no adequateproof. Self-evident the doctrine is not. 

(e) It is incumbent upon him, as a moralist, to prove, not merely thatall other satisfactions are, but also that they _ought_ to besubordinated to the satisfaction of the desire for pleasure. This heappears to assume without proof. 

(2) We have seen above [Footnote: See Sec 108. ] that the fundamentalprinciple of utilitarian hedonism, as against egoistic, namely, themaking the Greatest Happiness of the Greatest Number the object of theendeavors of each individual, has not been satisfactorily established byleading utilitarians. Bentham assumes the principle; Mill advances adoubtful argument; Sidgwick falls back upon intuitions which all will notadmit to be indubitable. To his assertion: "Reason shows me that if myhappiness is desirable and a good, the equal happiness of any otherperson must be equally desirable, " [Footnote: _The Methods ofEthics_, Book III, chapter xiv, Sec 5. ] the doubter may reply: Desirableto whom? to him or to me?

(3) Finally, it may be objected that the consistent utilitarian, inmaking pleasure, abstractly taken, the only ultimate good, and inregarding as the sole criterion of right actions their tendency toproduce pleasure, really tears pleasure out of its moral settingaltogether. 

Thus Bentham's contention [Footnote: Sec 106, above. ] that the pleasure aman may derive from the exercise of malice or cruelty is, "taken byitself, " good--while it lasts, and before any bad consequences have setin, as good as any other that is not more intense--derives whatplausibility it has, from an ambiguity in the word "good. " Pleasure, taken by itself, is undoubtedly pleasure, whatever be its source. Toaffirm this is mere tautology. And, if we chose to make "good" but asynonym for pleasure, we remain in the same tautology when we affirm thatevery pleasure is a good. But Bentham assumed that good in this sense andmoral good are the same thing. 

His assumption is not borne out by the moral judgments of mankind. Even acursory view of those moral judgments as revealed in customs, laws andpublic opinion makes it evident that, under certain circumstances, pleasure is regarded as, from a moral standpoint, a good, and, underother circumstances, an evil. Torn out of its setting, it is simplypleasure, a psychological phenomenon like any other, with no ethicalsignificance. 

Take the case of the pleasure enjoyed by the malignant man. It may beintense, if he be peculiarly susceptible to such pleasure. The painsuffered by his victim may conceivably be less intense. Both may diebefore the "bad consequences, " that is to say, other pains, arrive. Theremay be no spectators. Is, in such a case, the pleasure one to be called a"good"? Can it _be approved?_ No reflective moralist would maintainthat it can. Which means that the moralists, in all ages, have meant by"good" something more than pleasure, taken abstractly, and that Bentham'sassumption may be regarded as an aberration. 

114. TRANSFIGURED UTILITARIANISM. --It is possible to hold to autilitarianism more circumspect and less startling than Bentham's. It ispossible, while maintaining that pleasure is the only thing that anexperienced and reasonable being can regard as ultimately desirable, tomaintain at the same time that it is rash for any man to attempt to seekhis own happiness, or to strive to promote the general happiness, withouttaking into very careful consideration the instincts and impulses of manand the nature of the social organization which has resulted from man'sbeing what he is. One may argue that the experience of the race is, as arule, a safer guide than the independent judgment of the individual; andthat, in the secular endeavor to compass the general happiness, it hasdiscovered the paths to that goal which may most successfully befollowed. Thus, one may distrust Utopian schemes, recognizing thesignificance of custom, law, traditional moral maxims, and publicopinion, and yet remain a utilitarian. 

But he who does this must still answer the preceding objections. He mustprove: (1) That pleasure is the only thing ultimately desirable; (2) thateach is under obligation to promote the pleasure of all; (3) that itsmere conduciveness to the production of a preponderance of pleasure makesan action right, even though the pleasure be a malicious one, as in theillustration above given. 

Still, his doctrine has become less startling, and he has moved in thedirection of a greater harmony with the moral judgments of men generally. The conduct he recommends need not, as a rule, differ greatly from thatrecognized as right by moralists of quite different schools. 

Such a utilitarian may easily pass over to a form of doctrine which isnot utilitarian at all. Thus, Sidgwick asks whether there is a measurablequality of feeling expressed by the word "pleasure, " which is independentof its relation to volition, and strictly undefinable from itssimplicity--"like the quality of feeling expressed by 'sweet, ' of whichalso we are conscious in varying degrees of intensity;" and he answers:"For my own part, when the term (pleasure) is used in the more extendedsense which I have adopted, to include the most refined and subtleintellectual and emotional gratifications, no less than the coarser andmore definite sensual enjoyments, I can find no common quality in thefeelings so designated except some relation to desire or volition. "[Footnote: _The Methods of Ethics_, Book II, chapter ii, Sec 2, 4thEdition. SIDGWICK never appreciably modified this opinion, which is mostclearly expressed in the Edition quoted. ]

When we seek, then, to "give pleasure, " are we doing nothing else thangiving recognition to the desire and will of our neighbor? What hasbecome of the Greatest Happiness Principle? Has it not dissolved into thedoctrine of the Real Social Will?

CHAPTER XXVI

NATURE, PERFECTION, SELF-REALIZATION

I. NATURE

115. HUMAN NATURE AS ACCEPTED STANDARD. --The three doctrines, that thenorm of moral action is to follow nature, that it is to aim at theattainment of perfection, and that it is the realization of one'scapabilities, have much in common. They may conveniently be treated inthe same chapter. 

Early in the history of the ethics we find the moralist preaching that itis the duty of man to follow nature, and branding vice as unnatural and, hence, to be abhorred. 

The word "nature, " thus used, has had a fluctuating meaning. Sometimesthe thought has been predominantly of human nature, and sometimes theappeal has been to nature in a wider sense. 

Aristotle, who finds the "good" of man in happiness or "well-being, "points out that this is something relative to man's nature. The well-being of a man he conceives as, in large part, "well-doing, " and well-doing he defines as performing the proper functions of a man. [Footnote:_Nichomachean Ethics_, Book I, chapters iv, vii, viii. ] If we askhim what is proper or natural to man, he refers us to what man, whenfully developed, becomes: "What every being is in its completed state, that certainly is the nature of that thing, whether it be a man, a house, or a horse. " [Footnote: _Politics_, i, 2. ] He conceives man'snature, thus, as that which it is in man to become. Toward this end manstrives; and it is this which furnishes him with the law of his action. 

But, it may be asked, how shall this end be defined in detail? Individualmen, who arrive at mature years, are by no means alike. Some we approve;some we disapprove. We evidently appeal to a standard by which theindividual is judged. The appeal to the nature of man helps us littleunless we can agree upon what we may accept as a just revelation of thatnature--a pattern of some sort, divergence from which may be calledunnatural, and is to be reprobated. 

Neither Aristotle, nor those who, after him, took human nature as themoral norm, were without some conception of such a pattern. They kept inview certain things that men may become rather than certain others. Theyaccepted as their standard a type of human nature which tends, on thewhole, to realize itself more and more in the course of development ofhuman communities. But as different human societies differ more or lessin the characteristics which they tend to transmit to their members, inthe kind of man whom they tend to form, we find the ideal of humannature, with which we are presented, somewhat vague and fluctuating. Different traits are dwelt upon by different moralists. Still, theappeals to human nature have a good deal in common; upon man's rationaland social qualities especial stress is apt to be laid. 

116. HUMAN NATURE AND THE LAW OF NATURE. --"Every nature, " said MarcusAurelius, [Footnote: _Thoughts_, translated by George Long, viii, 7. ] "is contented with itself when it goes on its way well; and arational nature goes on its way well, when in its thoughts it assents tonothing false or uncertain, and when it directs its movements to socialacts only, and when it confines its desires and aversions to the thingswhich are in its power, and when it is satisfied with everything that isassigned to it by the common Nature. "

In the last clause the Stoic turns from the contemplation of man'snature, taken by itself, and dwells upon the nature of the universe, which he conceives to be controlled by reason. He thus gains an addedargument for the obligations laid upon man by his own nature. He writes:

"Every instrument, tool, vessel, if it does that for which it has beenmade, is well, and yet he who made it is not there. But in the thingswhich are held together by Nature there is within and there abides inthem the power which made them; wherefore the more is it fit to reverencethis power, and to think that, if thou dost live and act according to itswill, everything in thee is in conformity to intelligence. " [Footnote:_Ibid_ vi, 40. ]

The law of man's nature is, thus, regarded as a part of the law ofNature--"We are all working together to one end, some with knowledge anddesign, and others without knowing what they do. " [Footnote: _Ibid_, vi, 42. ] And, this being the case, man may take pattern, when he isinclined to fall below the standard of duty appropriate to him, byconsidering humbler creatures: "Dost thou not see the little plants, thelittle birds, the ants, the spiders, the bees working together to put inorder their several parts of the universe? And art thou unwilling to dothe work of a human being? And dost thou not make haste to do that whichis according to thy nature?" [Footnote: Ibid, v, 1. ] The delinquent is, hence, judged guilty, not merely of derogation from his high estate, butalso of impiety. [Footnote: Ibid, ix, 1. ]

117. VAGUENESS OF THE LAW OF NATURE. --The question of the influence ofreligious belief upon a theory of morals I shall discuss elsewhere. [Footnote: See chapter xxxvi. ] Here it is only necessary to point outthat, if there is vagueness in the appeal to human nature, it canscarcely be dissipated satisfactorily by simply turning to Nature in abroader sense. Shall we, when in doubt as to human behavior, copy that ofthe brutes? The industry of some humble creatures it seems edifying todwell upon; but from the fact that bees are stung to death by theirsisters in the hive, or that the spider is given to devouring her mate, we can hardly draw a moral lesson for man. 

The appeal to a Law of Nature so often made in the history of ethicalspeculation has furnished but a vague and elusive norm. He who makes itis apt to fall back upon the moral intuitions with which he is furnished, and to pack a greater or less number of them into his notion of NaturalLaw. [Footnote: See SIR HENRY MAINE'S fascinating chapters on the "Law ofNature, " Ancient Law, chapters in and iv. The innumerable appeals to theLaw of Nature contained in Grotius's famous work on the "Law of War andPeace" are very illuminating. ]

In Cicero, Nature becomes fairly garrulous to man on all matters ofdeportment: "Let us follow Nature, and refrain from whatever lacks theapproval of eye and ear. Let attitude, gait, mode of sitting, posture attable, countenance, eyes, movement of the hands, preserve thebecomingness of which I speak. " [Footnote: _De Officiis_, i, 35, translated by Peabody, ]

118. THE APPEAL TO NATURE AND INTUITIONISM. --The moralists who urge usto follow nature, whether human nature or Nature in a wider sense, wemay, hence, regard as intuitionists of a sort. Those who emphasize humannature evidently depend upon their moral intuitions to give theminformation as to its characteristics. It is intuition that paints forthem their pattern. They do not take man as they actually find him; theycall for the suppression of some traits, and the exaggeration of others. 

Nor are those who appeal to Nature in a wider sense less guided by moralintuitions. The appeal is never made without restrictions andlimitations. No one dreams that the bird, the ant, the spider, the bee, can be regarded as satisfactory teachers of morals to human beings. Eachmay be occupied in putting in order its corner of the universe; but theorder attained is not a human order, and there is in it much that isrevolting to the moral judgments of mankind. Man must have a standard ofhis own. He listens to Nature only when she tells him what he alreadyapproves. 

As a form of intuitionism the doctrine of following. . Nature may becriticised in much the same way as other forms. One great merit it has. It calls attention to the fact that ethics is a discipline which has nosignificance abstracted from the nature of man. It appears absurd to saythat man ought to do what it is not in man, under any conceivablecircumstances, to do. And, like other forms of intuitionism, it has themerit of avoiding that short-circuiting which may easily prove seductiveto the egoist or the utilitarian. He who accepts as his end either hisown happiness or that of men generally may easily be induced to takeshort cuts to that end, and pay little attention to moral maxims as such. He may treat lightly that great system of rules and observances by whichmen are guided in their relations with one another, and which preventhuman societies from relapsing into a chaos. 

On the other hand, the follower of nature, like other intuitionists, mayeasily be thrown into perplexity by the fact that what seems to himnatural, and, hence, right, may not be approved by other men. He cannot_prove_ that he is right and they are wrong. He appears condemned totake refuge in subjective conviction, that is, in mere dogmatism. 

II. PERFECTION

119. PERFECTION AND TYPE. --When we speak of a thing as more or lessperfect, we commonly mean that it is more or less perfect in its kind. Agood saw makes a poor razor; a good chair, a more than indifferent bed. Abee crushed by a blow, a bird with a broken wing, we regard as imperfect. But it scarcely occurs to us to ask ourselves whether the bee is more orless perfect than the bird, or the bird than the spider. Swift'sHouyhnhnms at their best could not be either perfect horses or perfectmen. They were creatures with a perfection of their own, and oneappropriate to their hybrid nature. 

To every creature its own perfection. This principle men seem to assumetacitly in their judgments. They set up a standard for each kind, andthey conceive the individual to attain or to fall short, according to thedegree of its approach to, or of its divergence from, the allottedstandard. 

If we take perfection in this sense--and we usually have no other sensein mind in our judgments of perfection--the doctrine that it is thewhole duty of man to strive to attain to perfection is none other thanthe doctrine that it is his duty to follow nature, his proper nature asman. And any difficulties which may legitimately be urged upon theattention of the moralist who recommends the following of nature may withequal justice be urged upon the attention of him who exhorts us to aim atperfection. 

Thus, if it is doubtful just what nature demands of us, it seems no lessdoubtful what obligations are laid upon us when we make perfection ourgoal. That goal cannot mean for each man simply the developing to theutmost of all the capacities which he possesses. There are men rich inthe possibilities of sloth, of indifference to future good, of egoism, even of malignant feeling. Nor does the average man furnish the patternof perfection. The perfectionist does not regard the average man as theembodiment of his ideal. He seeks to better him. 

That, in striving to attain perfection, a man should remain a man, withessentially human characteristics, seems evident. But what sort of a manhe should be is not as clear. Until we are in a position to give somereasoned account of what we mean by perfection as an ideal, and to showthat it is a desirable goal for man, we appear to be setting up but avague end for human endeavor, and to be assuming intuitively that it is adesirable end. 

120. MORE AND LESS PERFECT TYPES. --So much for perfection as synonymouswith the ideal human nature of which ancient and modern moralists havetreated. It appears, however, possible to use the word "perfection" in asomewhat different sense. 

Man is not merely man; he is a living being, and there are living beingsof many orders. The plants, the simpler forms of animal life, the bruteswhich we recognize as standing nearer to us, and man may, from this pointof view, be referred to the one series. Some members of this series wecharacterize as lower, and others we speak of as higher in the scale. 

Now, such designations as higher and lower cannot be appliedindiscriminately. There is little sense in the assertion that a bit ofstring is higher than a straight line, or a hat than a handkerchief. Somesignificant basis of comparison must be present. Things must berecognized as approximating to or diverging from an accepted standard invarying degrees. 

Such a basis of comparison is present when some objects possess the samequalities in a more marked degree than do others. But this is not theonly possible basis of comparison. We may assume that the possession ofcertain qualities marks a creature as higher, and that the creature whichhas them not, or has them imperfectly developed, thereby stamps itself asbeing of a lower order. 

Something like this appears to determine our judgments when we assign tovarious creatures their place in the scale of living beings. We do notmean that the higher possess to a greater degree all the capacitiespossessed by the lower. Many things which the plant does man cannot do atall; and, among the animals, those which we recognize as higher may belacking in many capacities present in a marked degree in the lower. Inranking one living creature as higher, and, thus, as more perfect, thananother, we assume that the "nature" of the one, with its variouscapacities and lacks of capacity, is, on the whole, of more _worth_than the "nature" of another. 

It might be maintained that, in his estimate of the worth of differentkinds of beings man is influenced by his partiality for the distinctivelyhuman, rating creatures as lower or higher in proportion to theirdivergence from or approximation to his own type. Undoubtedly this playsa part in men's judgments. We are partial to ourselves. And yet judgmentsof perfection and imperfection cannot wholly be explained on thisprinciple. 

"I think we must admit without proof, " writes Professor Janet, [Footnote:The Theory of Morals, Book I, chapter iii, English translation, New York, 1883, p. 48. ] a brilliant apostle of the doctrine of perfection, "thatthings are good, even independently of the pleasure which they give us, in themselves and by themselves, because of their intrinsic excellence. If anyone were to demand that I should prove that thought is worth morethan digestion, a tree more than a heap of stones, liberty than slavery, maternal love than luxury, I could only reply by asking him todemonstrate that the whole is greater than one of its parts. No sensibleperson denies that, in passing from the mineral kingdom to the vegetablekingdom, from this to the animal kingdom, from the animal to man, fromthe savage to the enlightened citizen of a free country, Nature has madea continual advance; that is to say, at each step has gained inexcellence and perfection. "

One is naturally impelled to ask from what point of view things sodisparate as the mineral, the plant, the brute, man, thought anddigestion, liberty and slavery, can be compared with one another at all, and referred to any sort of a series. What is, in its essence, thisexcellence or perfection of which we have more shining evidence as we goup in the scale? Janet identifies it with intensity of being, withactivity. The greater the activity, the greater the perfection. 

To the identification of perfection and activity we may hesitate toassent. It does not seem clear that there is greater activity manifestedin a snail than in a burning house, in maternal love than in furioushate, in quiet thought than in passion. Yet it seems significant thatjudgments of worth do not appear out of place in comparing such things. 

121. PERFECTIONISM AND INTUITIONISM. --Taking into consideration all thatis said above, it seems not unreasonable to conclude:

(1) That in speaking of the perfection of any creature we very oftenjudge it only by the standard set by its own type. We regard it as a goodspecimen of its kind. 

(2) But when we use perfection in a wider sense, we judge different typesafter the standard furnished by the distinctively human. 

(3) And we take as our standard of the human the "pattern" man held inview by those who urge us to follow nature. 

But why should this pattern man be assumed to be better or worthier thana man of a different sort? He who finds in him a greater exhibition ofactivity may with equal justice address to himself the question: Why isactivity, in itself, of value? The one question, like the other, looksfor its answer in the dictum of some intuition. What may be said for, andwhat against, intuitions, we have already considered. [Footnote: Seechapter xxiii]

III. SELF-REALIZATION

122. THE SELF-REALIZATION DOCTRINE. --The ethical school which makes therealization of the capacities of the self the aim of moral action has fora generation, especially in England and America, had the support of manyacute and scholarly minds. The doctrine, often spoken of as the Neo-Kantian or the Neo-Hegelian, may be said to be influenced by Kant, so faras concerns metaphysical theory, but its ethical character is moreproperly Hegelian and suggests in many particulars that great Germanphilosopher's "Philosophy of Right. "

We may conveniently take as the protagonist of the school the Oxfordscholar, Thomas Hill Green, whose "Prolegomena to Ethics" has had, directly and indirectly, a powerful influence upon the minds of the menof our generation. 

We find the doctrine of self-realization, as set forth by Green, to be asfollows:

(1) In all desire some object is presented to the mind as not yet real, and there is a striving to make it real, and thus to satisfy, orextinguish, the desire. [Footnote: Prolegomena to Ethics, Sec 131. ]

(2) Self-consciousness knits the desires into a system, and thus attainsto the conception of "well-being, " which implies the satisfaction ofdesire in general, and not merely of this or that desire. [Footnote:Prolegomena to Ethics, Sec 128. ]

(3) "Good" is that which satisfies some desire. Any good at which anagent aims must be his own good; and "true good" is nothing else than"permanent well-being. " [Footnote: Prolegomena to Ethics, Sec Sec 190, 92, 203. ]

(4) A desire is determined by the nature of the creature desiring; mancan attain satisfaction only in the realization of his capacities. Histrue good lies only in their complete realization--in his becoming allthat it is in him to become. [Footnote: Prolegomena to Ethics, SecSec 171-2, 180. ]

(5) But man is a social being, and has an interest in other persons thanhimself. Hence his complete self-satisfaction implies the satisfaction ofhis social as well as of his other impulses. That is, his true goodincludes the good of others. [Footnote: Prolegomena to Ethics, Sec Sec 199-205. ]

(6) We can only discover what our "capacities" are by observing them asso far realized, and thus gaining the idea of future progress. Theultimate end is unknown to us. [Footnote: Prolegomena to Ethics, Sec 172. ]

(7) But we see enough to recognize that man's capacities can be realized, his self-satisfaction intelligently sought, only in a social state basedupon the notion of the common good. The right reveals itself in theactual evolution of society. [Footnote: Ibid. , Sec Sec 172-76, 205. ]

123. THE DOCTRINE AKIN TO THAT OF FOLLOWING NATURE. --The self-realization doctrine has much in common with the doctrine of followingnature. Thus:

1. It evidently does not recommend the realization of all the capacitiesof the individual as such, but holds in view a "pattern" man. 

2. This is social man, the true representative of human nature asconceived by the ancient Stoic. Green holds before himself "the ideal ofa society in which everyone shall treat everyone else as his neighbor, inwhich to every rational agent the well-being or perfection of every othersuch agent shall be included in that perfection for which he lives. "[Footnote: Prolegomena to Ethics, Sec 205. ] The same thought was morepithily expressed by Marcus Aurelius in the aphorism that "what is goodfor the hive is good for the bee. "

3. We find, too, the analogue of that wider appeal to nature whichsuffused the Stoic doctrine with religious feeling. In the above briefrecapitulation of the steps in the self-realization doctrine I haveomitted this aspect, as I wished to confine myself to the ethicaldoctrine pure and simple. But Green conceives of the Divine Consciousnessas already having before it the consummation toward which man strives inhis efforts at self-realization; he regards man as working toward theattainment of a Divine Purpose. The self-realizationist may prefer, sometimes, to use language more abstract. He may say: "Man'sconsciousness of himself as a member of society involves a reference to acosmic order. " [Footnote: MUIRHEAD, The Elements of Ethics, Book I, chapter in, Sec 10. ] But the difference of language scarcely carries withit a substantial difference of thought. [Footnote: "Though thephilosopher as such may shun the term 'God' on account of itsanthropomorphic associations, and may prefer to speak of the 'consciousprinciple, ' or of the 'universal self, ' yet the latter has in substancethe same meaning as the former. " FITE, _An Introductory Study ofEthics_, chapter xiii, Sec 4. ]

4. As the appeal to human nature, or to nature in a broader sense, leftthe norm for the guidance of human actions somewhat vague, so the appealto the principle of self-realization seems to leave one without verydefinite guidance. There may easily arise disputes touching whatcapacities are to be realized, and in what degree. 

124. IS THE DOCTRINE MORE EGOISTIC?--One difference between theprinciples of following nature, striving to attain to perfection, andaiming at self-realization seems to force itself upon our notice. On thesurface, at least, the last doctrine appears to stand out as moredistinctly egoistic. The very name has an egoistic flavor; the doctrinebases itself upon the satisfaction of desire; nor do its advocateshesitate to emphasize that the satisfaction sought is the satisfaction ofthe agent desiring. In the chapter on Egoism [Footnote: Chapter xxiv. ] Ihave cited some utterances which sound egoistic, and such citations mightbe multiplied. 

Nevertheless, from this egoistic root springs a flower which disseminatesthe perfume of a saintly self-abnegation. How is this seeming miracleaccomplished?

The transition is brought about through a chain of reasoning which issubtle and ingenious in the extreme. Must we not admit that in allpurposive action--the only action with which the moralist need concernhimself--there is a striving to realize or satisfy desire in theattainment of some object? And if the desires of a mind or self convergeupon some object, does not its realization imply the satisfaction orrealization of the desires of that mind or self? Furthermore, if ourdesires have as their root our capacities--for we can desire nothing thatit is not in us to desire--is not the realization of desire therealization of capacity? Does it not follow, hence, that every mind orself, in all purposive action, is striving, either blunderingly or withfar-sighted intelligence, to attain to self-satisfaction, which means, tothe realization of its capacities? Finally, as men are by nature socialcreatures, how can a man fully realize his capacities without becoming atruly unselfish being? Unselfishness appears to be the inevitable goal ofthe strivings for self-satisfaction of an unselfish self. 

125. WHY AIM TO REALIZE CAPACITIES?--This reasoning appears highlysatisfactory in two very different ways. It seems, on the one hand, tostop the mouth of the egoist, who insists that his own advantage is hisonly proper aim. It assures him that he is throughout seeking his ownadvantage, when he aims at self-realization. On the other hand, itassures the man to whom egoism appears repellant and immoral, that self-realization implies that one must love one's neighbor as oneself. Theimmemorial quarrel between self-love and benevolence appears to beadjusted to the mutual satisfaction of both parties. 

Is the reasoning unassailable? There are two steps in it which appear todemand a closer scrutiny. One is the transition from desire to capacity;the other, the assumption that he who follows an unselfish impulse mayproperly be said to aim at self-satisfaction, and to exercise no self-denial. 

As to the first. Our desires may have their roots in our capacities, butdesires and capacities are, nevertheless, not the same thing. 

Men do actually strive to realize their desires--a desire is nothing elsethan such a striving for realization or satisfaction. But it cannot besaid that men generally strive to realize their capacities, except to thelimited degree in which their capacities may happen to be expressed inactual desires. Capacities may lie dormant, and the man in whom they liedormant need not on that account feel dissatisfied, as does the man whosedesires are not realized. Self-realization, as understood by the schoolof thinkers which advocates it, implies much more than the satisfactionof desire. It implies the multiplication of desires and theirsatisfaction. On what ground shall we persuade the contented egoist, whohas but a handful of commonplace desires and finds it possible to satisfymost of them, that it is better to call into being a multitude of wantsmany of which will probably remain unrealized? He may point out that thedivine discontent is apt to leave the idealist and the reformer as leanas Cassius. All of which does not prove that the self-realizationist isnot right in exhorting men to develop their capacities in the directionof the pattern which he holds in view; but it does seem to prove that thepath to self-realization, in this sense, is not necessarily the path toself-satisfaction. "The good" has come to mean more than that whichsatisfies desire. How shall we persuade men that it is their duty to makethis good their end?

126. THE PROBLEM OF SELF-SACRIFICE. --As for the second point. He whomakes his moral aim self-satisfaction can scarcely be expected toadvocate self-sacrifice. 

Accordingly, we find among self-realizationists, a tendency to repudiatealtogether what may properly be called self-denial. "Anything conceivedas good in such a way that the agent acts for the sake of it, " saidGreen, [Footnote: Prolegomena, Sec 92. ] "must be conceived as his owngood. " "A moment's consideration will show, " writes Professor Fite, inhis clear and attractive book, [Footnote: An Introductory Study ofEthics, chapter viii, Sec 5. ] "that, for self-sacrifice in any absolutesense, no ground of obligation is conceivable. Unless I am in some wayinterested in the object [Footnote: I. E. , unless I desire the object. ]whose attainment is set before me as a duty, it seems to bepsychologically impossible that I should ever strive for it. "

Now we do seem compelled to concede that, unless a man desires an end, hecannot will that end. Anything that is selected as an end, and strivenfor, must be desired. And the attainment of the end implies, of course, the satisfaction of that particular desire. But, admitting all this, isnot the question left open whether some desires may not be sacrificed toothers; and whether, indeed, a whole extensive system of desires may not, on occasion, be sacrificed to a single desire? In this case, may not thetransaction properly be called self-sacrifice? Suppose the desire toserve one's neighbor, if satisfied, prevents the realization of amultitude of other desires of the same agent. Is it certain that itssatisfaction does not imply self-denial?

127. SELF-SATISFACTION AND SELF-SACRIFICE. --The argument to prove that itis not really self-sacrifice may follow divers paths. 

Thus, it may be argued that, since the proper end of a rational being ishis own permanent good, the sacrifice of such goods as do not conduce tothis end is not self-sacrifice. Sensual pleasures, the satisfaction ofvanity or ambition, the accomplishment of a vengeful purpose, anexcessive preoccupation with one's own interests as contrasted with thoseof others--such things as these, it is claimed, do not permanentlysatisfy. That the so-called man of pleasure is a man upon whom pleasurespall, and that he who seeks too earnestly to save his own life is apt tolose it, has been reiterated by a long line of professional and laymoralists from Buddha to Tolstoi. The refuge from the discontent arisingout of the attempt to quench one's thirst by sipping at transientdelights has always been found in altruism under some guise. The self-realizationists may claim that certain things are given up in order thatother things more permanently satisfying to the self may be attained, andmay deny that this is any renunciation of self-satisfaction. [Footnote:GREEN, op. Cit. , Sec 176. ]

Again. It may be argued that men's interests do not conflict as widely asis commonly supposed. To be sure, two men may have to struggle with eachother for the pleasure of eating a given apple, of making a pecuniaryprofit, of obtaining a coveted post, of being the first authority in agiven science or art, of securing the affections of a particular woman. Here one man's loss seems to be another man's gain. But two men may enjoyseeing a child eat an apple, or a deserving man profit, or their commoncandidate win the election, or their favorite artist honored, or theirbeloved nephew accepted by the lady of his choice. If one desires certainthings, and certain things only, there seems no reason why one's desiresshould not be in harmony with those of others. 

The things best worth having, it is claimed, do not admit of beingcompeted for. [Footnote: GREEN, _Prolegomena to Ethics_, Sec Sec 244-245. ] If my aim is unselfish devotion to humanity, how can I lose if myneighbor attains in the same running? Do virtuous men, in so far as theyare virtuous, stand in each other's light? Are there not as many prizesas there are competitors? As long as I remain in this field I may seekself-satisfaction without scruple. I satisfy another's desire insatisfying my own. By benevolence I lose nothing. 

The list of things which one may forego without self-sacrifice has beenmade a long one. Even the realization of capacities highly valued bycultivated men has been brought into it:

"No conflict, " writes Professor Seth, [Footnote: _A Study of EthicalPrinciples_, Part II, chapter ii, Sec 4, Edinburgh, 1911, p. 286. ] "ispossible between the ends of the individual and those of society. Theindividual may be called upon to sacrifice, for example, his opportunityof esthetic or intellectual culture; but in that very sacrifice lies hisopportunity of moral culture, of true self-realization. "

128. CAN MORAL SELF-SACRIFICE BE A DUTY?--To this position one is temptedto demur until two questions have found a satisfactory answer:

1. Is it true that there is no sacrifice of self-realization or self-satisfaction, properly so called, where all other desires and impulsesare sacrificed to the one desire to do right?

2. Is it not conceivable, at least, that obedience to an unselfishimpulse may result even in the sacrifice of the opportunities of moralculture in general? Can it, then, be called self-realization?

Touching the first question it may plausibly be maintained that thedesires of the self are many and various, and that the satisfaction of analtruistic impulse may imply the sacrifice of so many of them that theself may very doubtfully be said to attain to permanent satisfaction whenthe impulse is realized. Aristotle's hero, who, in dying for his country, chooses the more "honorable" for himself, [Footnote: _Ethics_, BookIX, chapter viii, Sec 12. ] can hardly be said in that one act to haveaccomplished a state of permanent satisfaction or well-being for the selfwhose being was, in that act, brought to an abrupt termination. CertainStoics seem to have taught that virtue is its own adequate reward andthat nothing else matters; but this has not been the verdict of moralistsgenerally. Paley, who writes like an unblushing egoist, [Footnote: See Sec96. ] we may pass over; but even Kant, a thinker of a very differentcomplexion, appears to regard the mere doing of a right act as not asufficient reward for the doer. He looks for the act to be crowned withhappiness in a life to come, thus saving it from being mere self-sacrifice. 

The second question one approaches with some hesitation. "No moralist, "writes Professor Sidgwick, [Footnote: _The Methods of Ethics_, Introduction. ] "has ever directed an individual to promote the virtue ofothers except in so far as this promotion is compatible with, or ratherinvolved in, the complete realization of virtue in himself. " It appearsrash to admit to be a duty that which as high an authority as Sidgwickmaintains no moralist has ever ventured to advise. Still, it ispermissible to adduce an illustration taken from actual life, and to askthe reader to form his opinion independently. 

A girl, anxious to provide her younger sister with a better lot, enters afactory and gives up her life to labor of a monotonous and mind-destroying character, amid sordid and more or less degradingsurroundings. The act is a heroic one, but is it clear that it conducesto the self-realization, not of the sister, but of the agent herself? Theinfluence of surroundings counts for much. High impulses may, under suchpressure, come to be repressed. 

"Capacity for the nobler feelings, " writes Mill, [Footnote:_Utilitarianism_, chapter iii] "is in most natures a very tenderplant, easily killed, not only by hostile influences, but by mere want ofsustenance; and in the majority of young persons it speedily dies away ifthe occupations to which their position in life has devoted them, and thesociety into which it has thrown them, are not favorable to keeping thathigher capacity in exercise. Men lose their high aspirations as they losetheir intellectual tastes, because they have not time or opportunity forindulging them; and they addict themselves to inferior pleasures, notbecause they deliberately prefer them, but because they are either theonly ones to which they have access, or the only ones they are any longercapable of enjoying. "

In other words, one may put oneself into a situation in which self-realization appears to be made a most difficult and problematic goal. Nordoes it seem inconceivable that one should do this for the sake ofanother's good. Hence, even if we restrict the meaning of the word "self-sacrifice" to the sacrifice of the "real" or moral self, theimpossibility of self-sacrifice scarcely appears to have been proved; theimpossibility of a conflict between the ends of the individual and ofsociety does not appear to be indubitably established. 

129. SELF-SACRIFICE AND THE IDENTITY OF SELVES. --Can it be maintainedupon any other grounds than those adduced above? One line of argumentremains open to us. We may maintain that, while two bodies are twobecause they occupy two portions of space, two minds, as not in space, cannot thus be held apart, and we may conclude that "the many individualscomposing the race are not really many, but one. " [Footnote: Fite, _AnIntroductory Study of Ethics_, chapter xii. ] I suppose that he who cantake this position will find it natural to argue that any act whichserves the interests of any self must be regarded as serving theinterests of every self, and thus cannot be considered as sacrificing theinterests of any self. 

To these transcendental heights, however, comparatively few will be ableto climb. To men generally it will still appear that Peter's love to Paulis not identical with Peter's love to Peter; and that Peter may act insuch a way that, on the whole, he loses, while Paul gains. That theinterests of Peter and Paul, as developed social beings and members of acivilized community, are less likely to be in conflict than those oftheir primitive cave-dwelling forerunners may be freely conceded. Butfrom such relative harmony to a complete identity of interests seems afar cry. 

130. QUESTIONS WHICH SEEM TO BE LEFT OPEN. --Evidently, the self-realization doctrine is a great advance upon the doctrine of followingnature. The self-realizationist realizes that man's nature is in themaking, and he is not blind to the difficulty of the task of determiningjust what the real demands of human nature are. 

This leads to his laying much stress upon the gradual development ofsystems of rights and duties as they emerge under the actual conditionsto which human societies are subjected in the course of their evolution. He reads history with comprehending eyes, and reverences the human reasonas crystallized in social institutions. Hence, the divergence of themoral standards which obtain in different ages and among differentpeoples does not seem to him a baffling mystery. He can find a relativejustification for each, and yet hold to an ideal in the light of whicheach must be judged. 

It may be questioned, however, whether the edifice which he erects can bebased wholly upon the appeal to the self which ostensibly furnishes thegroundwork of the doctrine. We may ask whether such an appeal can:

(1) Prescribe to the individual in what measure his various capacitiesshould be realized. 

(2) Show that it is reasonable to awaken dormant capacities, and thusmultiply desires. 

(3) Justify social acts which certainly appear to be self-sacrificing, and which the moral judgments of men generally do not hesitate toapprove. 

CHAPTER XXVII

THE ETHICS OF EVOLUTION

131. THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE TITLE. --The title, "The Ethics ofEvolution, " seems to assume that the evolutionist, frankly acceptinghimself as such, must be prepared to join some school of the moralistsdifferent from other schools, and basing itself upon evolutionarydoctrine. 

That the ethical views of individuals and of communities of men mayundergo a process of evolution or development is palpable. The ethicalnotions of the child are not those of the man, nor are the moral ideas ofprimitive races identical with those of races more advancedintellectually and morally. 

But it is one thing to maintain that morals may be in evolution inindividuals and in communities, and quite another to hold that theacceptance of the doctrine of evolution, broadly taken, forces upon onesome new norm by which human actions may be judged. It was possible foras ardent an evolutionist as Huxley to hold that evolution and ethics arenot merely independent, but are actually at war with one another, thecompetitive struggle for existence characteristic of the one giving placein the other to a new principle in which the rights of the weak and thehelpless attain express recognition. [Footnote: HUXLEY, _Evolution andEthics_, New York, 1894. See, especially, the _Prolegomena_. ] AndSidgwick, that clearest of thinkers, maintains [Footnote: _The Methodsof Ethics_, Book I, chapter vi, Sec 2. ] that we have no reason to assumethat it is our duty as moral beings simply to accelerate the pace in thedirection already marked out by evolution. 

It should be remembered that the word evolution may be used equivocally. It is not evident that all evolution is in the direction of a life, bruteor human, that we commonly recognize as higher. There is retrogression, as well as progress, where such retrogression is favored by environment. We may call this, if we please, _devolution_. Were the conditions ofhis life very unfavorable, man could not live as he now lives; and, indeed, were they sufficiently unfavorable--for example, if the earthcooled off to a certain point--he could not live at all, but would haveto give place to a lowlier creature better fitted to the conditions. Mustthe man who foresees this end approaching strive to hasten its arrival, or should he oppose it? In a decadent society, to come nearer to theproblems which concern us in ethics, must a man strive to realize thesocial will expressed in progressive decadence? Should he hasten thedecline of the community?

That those who study man as a moral being, like those who study man inany of his other aspects, will be more or less influenced in theiroutlook by the broadening of the horizon which results from a study ofwhat the students of the evolutionary process have to tell us, may beconceded. But when we admit this, we do not necessarily have to look fora new norm by which to judge conduct. We seem, rather, forced to askourselves how this broadening of the horizon affects the norms which haveheretofore appealed to men as reasonable. To be sure, any evolutionisthas, in the capacity of a moralist, the right to suggest a new norm. But, in that case, he must, like any other moralist, convince us that it is areasonable one. 

132. EVOLUTION AND THE SCHOOLS OF THE MORALISTS. --Those who havesuggested the norms discussed above, no one would think of as greatlyinfluenced in their ethical teaching by the doctrine of evolution. Locke, Price, Butler and Sidgwick; Aristippus and Epicurus; Paley and Hobbes;Bentham and Mill; Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius; Janet, Green, and therest, no one would be inclined to class simply as evolutionary moralists. Some of them never thought of evolution at all. How would it affect theirstandards of right and wrong were evolution expressly taken into account?Would the standards have to be abandoned? Or would the men, as broadermen, merely have to revise some of their moral judgments?

(1) It might be supposed that the acceptance of evolutionary doctrinewould bring into being a grave problem for the intuitionist, at least. Ifthe body and mind of man are products of evolution, must we not admit asmuch of man's moral intuitions? Then why not admit that these may bereplaced some day by other moral intuitions to be evolved in an unknownfuture?

He who reasons thus should bear in mind that Sidgwick, who by no meansrepudiated the doctrine of evolution, was an intuitionist, and placed hisultimate moral intuitions on a par with such mathematical intuitions asthat two and two make four. If all intuitions are a product of evolution, Sidgwick might claim that the moral intuitions he accepts fare no worsethan those elementary mathematical truths which we accept withoutquestion and without reflection. And he might maintain that an appeal toevolution need cast no greater doubt upon ultimate moral truth than uponmathematical. If intuitionism in all its forms is to be rejected, itseems as though it must be done upon some other ground than an appeal toevolution. 

(2) As to the egoist. It is not easy to see how the appeal to evolutionneed disconcert him. Should he be so foolish as to maintain that egoismis always, in fact, necessary and unavoidable on the part of every livingcreature, he might easily be refuted by a reference to the actual life ofthe brutes, where altruism can be shown to play no insignificant role. But if he simply maintains that the only _reasonable_ principle fora man to adopt is egoism, he may continue to do so. He makes the self andits satisfactions his end. How can it concern him to learn how the selfcame to be what it is, or what it will be in the distant future? Hepanders to the present self; he may assume that it will be reasonable topander at the appropriate time to the self that is to be, whatever itsnature. 

(3) The utilitarian remains such whether he makes the greatest good ofthe greatest number to consist in pleasure or in some other end, such asself-preservation. Some utilitarians, who have been inclined to emphasizethe good of man, rather than to extend even to the brutes the goods to bedistributed, may be influenced to extend the sphere of duties, if theywill listen to the evolutionist, who cannot well leave out of viewhumbler creatures. [Footnote: "Thus we shall not go wrong in attributingto the higher animals in their simple social life, not only theelementary feelings, the loves and hates, sympathies and jealousies whichunderlie all forms of society, but also in a rudimentary stage theintelligence which enables those feelings to direct the operations of theanimal so as best to gratify them. " HOBHOUSE, _Ethics in Evolution_, chapter i, Sec 4. ]

He may broaden his sympathies. But this need not compel him to abandonhis fundamental doctrine. 

(4) A very similar conclusion may be drawn, when we consider theinfluence of an acceptance of the doctrine of evolution upon those whowould turn to man's nature, to perfection, or to self-realization, asfurnishing the norm of human conduct. 

A Marcus Aurelius could, with little reference to evolution, accept man'snature, or Nature in the wider sense, as marking out for man the round ofhis duties. A modern Darwinian might fall back upon much the samestandard, while clearly conscious of the fact that man's nature is notsomething unchangeable, and while inclined to view Nature in general withdifferent eyes from those of the Roman Stoic. No sensible evolutionistwould maintain that a creature of a given species should act in defianceof all the instincts of creatures of that type, merely on the ground thatspecies may be involved in a process of progressive development. 

Nor need the perfectionist abandon his perfectionism in view of any suchconsideration. He who measures perfection by the degree of activityexercised in action, may admit that the coming man will be more perfectthan it is possible for any man to be now; but that need not prevent himfrom holding that it is man's present duty to aim at the only perfectionpossible to him, he being what he is. Similar reasoning will apply to anyother conception of perfection likely to be adopted, consciously orunconsciously, by any adherent of the school in question. 

As for the self-realizationist, a very little reflection seems sufficientto reveal that the maxim that it is man's duty to become all that it isin him to become is in no wise refuted by the claim that man may, in theindefinitely distant future, become much more than many people havesupposed or now suppose. 

(5) There remains the doctrine of the Rational Social Will as furnishingthe norm of conduct. I have tried to show that this doctrine must restupon broad views of man and of man's environment. It is the very essenceof the rational will to take broad views, to consider the past, thepresent, and the future. Surely the adherent of this school may let theevolutionist work in peace, may thank him for any helpful suggestions hehas to offer, and may develop his own doctrine with little cause foruneasiness at the thought that information given him may refute hisfundamental principle. 

However, it is not out of place for him to point out, if revolutionarymeasures of any sort are suggested by this or that evolutionist, thatethics is a discipline which is concerned with what men have to do, hereand now. It must take into consideration what is advisable and feasible. Utopian schemes which break violently with the actual order of things andthe normal development of human societies may be suggested byevolutionists, as they have been suggested by men who were notevolutionists at all. They are not to be taken much more seriously in theone case than in the other. 

133. THE ETHICS OF INDIVIDUAL EVOLUTIONISTS. --Such considerations seem tomake it evident that the acceptance of the doctrine of evolution shouldhave no other influence upon us as moralists than that of making us takebroad views of man and of his environment. It still remains to find anorm of conduct, and evolutionists, like other men, may develop ethicalsystems which are not identical. It is worth while here to touch verybriefly upon the suggestions of one or two individual evolutionists. Those who speak of the ethics of evolution are very apt to have such inmind. 

Thus, Darwin, whose study of the lower animals led him to believe thatthe social instincts have been developed for the general good rather thanfor the general happiness of the species, defines the "good" as "therearing of the greatest number of individuals in full vigor and health, with all their faculties perfect, under the conditions to which they havebeen subjected. " The "greatest happiness principle" he regards as animportant secondary guide to conduct, while making social instinct andsympathy primary guides. [Footnote: _The Descent of Man_, chapteriv, concluding remarks. ]

Spencer maintains that the evolution of conduct becomes the highestpossible when the conduct "simultaneously achieves the greatest totalityof life in self, in offspring, and in fellow-men. " "The conduct calledgood, " he writes, "rises to the conduct conceived as best, when itfulfills all three classes of ends at the same time. " But life he doesnot regard as necessarily a good. He judges it to be good or bad"according as it has or has not a surplus of agreeable feeling. " Hence, "conduct is good or bad according as its total effects are pleasurable orpainful. " [Footnote: _The Data of Ethics, _ chapter in, Sec Sec 8 and 10. ]

To be sure, Spencer criticises the utilitarians, and thinks little of theBenthamic calculus of pleasures. He believes that we should substitutefor it something more scientific, a study of the processes of life. Inhis earlier writings he appears to be largely in accord with theintuitionists in judging of conduct, regarding intuitions as having theirorigin in the experiences of the race. Nor does he ever seem inclined tobreak with intuitionism completely. But, as we have seen above (Sec 108), there appears to be nothing to prevent a utilitarian from being anintuitionist of some sort, as well. 

Stephen, in his clear and beautifully written work on morals, alsoaccepts the general happiness as the ultimate end of reasonable conduct;and he, too, criticizes the current utilitarianism. He writes: "This, asit seems to me, represents the real difference between the utilitarianand the evolutionist criterion. The one lays down as a criterion thehappiness, the other the health of society. " [Footnote: _The Science ofEthics_, London, 1882, chapter ix, 12. ] By which, of course, he doesnot mean merely physical health, but such a condition of vigor andefficiency as carries with it a promise of continued existence and well-being in the future. 

It is not necessary to multiply instances. It can readily be seen thatall three of the writers cited are utilitarians, and the last two arewhat have been characterized as hedonistic utilitarians. That theysuggest this or that means of best attaining to the desired goal does notput them outside of a school which embraces men of many shades ofopinion. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

PESSIMISM

134. THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE PESSIMIST. --With philosophy in general thisvolume has little to do; but as pessimism is not the doctrine of normalmen generally, but is apt to be identified in our minds with theteachings of certain of its leading exponents, it may be well to give, inbriefest outline, the type of reasonings upon which the pessimist maytake his stand. 

Schopenhauer held that the one World-Will, which manifests itself in allnature, inorganic and organic, and is identical with the will of whicheach man is conscious in himself, is a "will to live. " When the World-Will becomes conscious, as it does in man, the will to live isconsciously asserted. But the will to live is essentially blind andunreasoning, or it would not do anything so stupid as to will life of anysort. He writes:

"Only a blind will, no seeing will, could place itself in the position inwhich we behold ourselves. A seeing will would rather have soon made thecalculation that the business did not cover the cost; for such a mightyeffort and struggle, with the straining of all the powers, under constantcare, anxiety and want, and with the inevitable destruction of everyindividual life, finds no compensation in the ephemeral existence itself, which is so obtained, and which passes into nothing in our hands. "[Footnote: _The World as Will and Idea_, translated by HALDANE andKEMP, London, 1896. _On the Vanity and Suffering of Life_. VolumeIII, p. 390. ]

The basis of all will, says Schopenhauer, is need, deficiency, and, hence, pain. He dwells at length upon the misery of life, and thedesirability of a release from life. The refuge of suicide at oncesuggests itself, but is rejected by Schopenhauer on the ground that thedestruction of the individual cannot prevent the One Will frommanifesting itself in other individuals. Curiously enough he appears toapprove of suicide by starvation, as indicating a renunciation of thewill to live. But his general recommendation is asceticism, renunciationof the striving for pleasure, the voluntary acceptance of pain. Throughthis the Will is to be taught to apprehend its own nature, and, thus, todeny itself. How a general asceticism on our part will rob the oneuniversal Will, revealed in the mineral, vegetable and animal worlds, ofits nature, and still its strivings, the great pessimist does notindicate. 

At this point, von Hartmann, who may fairly be called Schopenhauer'spupil, takes up the tale. He suggests that it is conceivable that auniversal negation of the will may be obtained, if the preponderatingpart of the actual World-Will should come to be contained in theconscious minds that resolve to will no more. This he thinks mayneutralize the whole, and put an end to existence, which is unavoidablyan evil, and implies a preponderance of pain. [Footnote: _Philosophy ofthe Unconscious_, "Metaphysic of the Unconscious, " chapter xiv. ]

135. COMMENT ON THE ETHICS OF PESSIMISM. --On the metaphysics of thepessimists I shall make no comment save that there appears to be heresufficient vagueness to satisfy the most poetical of minds. But thefollowing points in the ethics of pessimism should be noted:

(1) Pleasure and pain are made the measure of the desirability orundesirability of existence. 

(2) It is assumed that pleasure and pain are measurable; and that theymay be quantitatively balanced against one another in such a way thatthis or that mixture of them may be declared by an enlightened man to be, on the whole, desirable or the reverse. 

(3) It is claimed that the balance must necessarily incline to the sideof pain, and hence, that life is not worth living. 

(4) It follows from all this that it is our duty to aim, not necessarilydirectly, but in some manner, at least, at the destruction of lifeeverywhere. 

(5) I beg the reader to observe that the above doctrine rests uponassumptions which seem to be made without due consideration. Thus:

(a) It is by no means to be assumed without question that pleasure andpain alone are the measure of the desirable. They are not the only thingsactually desired; and, if we assert that they alone are desirable, wefall back upon a dubious intuition. 

(6) The quantitative relations of pleasures and pains are legitimatesubjects of dispute, as we have seen in earlier chapters in this volume. When is one pleasure twice as great as another? How can we know thatthree pleasures counterbalance a pain? Is it by the mere fact that we_will_ as we do, in a given instance? Then how prove that we will aswe do, because of the equivalence of the pleasure to the pain?

(c) Who shall decide for us whether life is--not desired, it isadmittedly that, as a rule, --but, also, _desirable_?

May the man who denies it rest his assertion upon such generalconsiderations as that satisfaction presupposes desire, and that desireimplies a lack, and, hence, pain? The famous author of "Utopia" pointedout long ago that the pains of hunger begin before the pleasure ofeating, and only die when it does. Shall we, then, regard a heartyappetite as a curse, to be mitigated but not wholly neutralized by aseries of good dinners?

To be sure, the pessimists do not depend wholly upon such generalarguments, but point out in great detail that there is much suffering inthe world, and that the fulfillment of desire, when it is attained, oftenresults in disillusionment. But the fact remains that life, such as itis, is desired by men and other creatures generally; desired not as anexception, and under a misapprehension, but, as a rule, even by theenlightened and the far-seeing. 

Is not the desirable what is desired by the rational will? We have seenthat the rational social will does not aim at the suppression of desiresgenerally, but only at the suppression of such desires as interfere withbroader satisfactions. Viewed from this stand-point, the pessimist's"denial of the will to live" appears as an expression of the accidentalor irrational will. It is not an expression of the nature of man, but ofthe nature of the pessimist. 

(6) It is, perhaps, worth while to point out that there is nothing toprevent a given pessimist from being an intuitionist, an egoist, autilitarian (of a sort), or an adherent of one of the other schools abovediscussed. He may assume intuitively that life is undesirable; in view ofits undesirability he may act, either taking himself alone intoconsideration, or including his neighbor; he may invoke the doctrine ofevolution; he may even, if he chooses, call it self-realization toannihilate himself, for he may argue that a will that comes to clearconsciousness must see that it must be its own undoing. It is hardlynecessary to point out, however, that the pessimist, as such, should notbe in any wise confounded with the moralists discussed in the fivechapters preceding. 

CHAPTER XXIX

KANT, HEGEL AND NIETZSCHE

136. KANT. ---It is impossible, in any brief compass, to treat of the manyindividual moralists, some of them men of genius and well worthy of ourstudy, who offer us ethical systems characterized by differences of moreor less importance. When we refer a man to this or that school and do nomore, we say comparatively little about him, as has become evident in thepreceding chapters. As we have seen, it has been necessary to classtogether those who differ rather widely in many of their opinions. Here, I shall devote a few pages to three men only, partly because of theirprominence, and partly because it is instructive to call attention to thecontrast between them in their fundamental positions. I shall begin withKant. 

Kant held that the human reason issues "categorial imperatives, " that isto say, unconditional commands to act in certain ways. The motive formoral action must not be the desire for pleasure, but solely the desireto do right. 

He makes his fundamental rule abstract and formal: "So act that you couldwish your maxim to be universal law. " As no man could wish to be himselfneglected when in distress, this law compels him to be benevolent, and anew form of the fundamental rule is developed: "Treat humanity, inyourself or any other, as an end always, and never as a means. " [Footnote:_Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals_, Sec 2. ]

Now Kant, although he maintains that it is not a man's duty to seek hisown happiness--a thing which natural inclination would prompt him to do--by no means overlooks happiness altogether. He thinks that virtue andhappiness together constitute the whole and perfect good desired byrational beings. The attainment of this good must be the supreme end of awill morally determined. [Footnote: _Dialectic of the Pure PracticalReason_, chapter ii. ] We are morally bound to strive to be virtuousourselves and to make others happy. 

Still, each man's happiness means much to him; and Kant, convinced thatvirtue _ought_ to be rewarded with happiness, holds that our worldis a moral world, where God will reward the virtuous. If we do not assumesuch a world, he claims, moral laws are reduced to idle dreams. [Footnote: Ibid. ]

Such utterances as the last may well lead the utilitarian to questionwhether Kant was quite whole-hearted in his doctrine of the unconditionalcommands of the practical reason of man. They appear to be notindependent of all consideration of human happiness. 

I shall not ask whether Kant was consistent. Great men, like lesser men, seldom are. But, in order that the contrast between his doctrine andthose of the two writers whom I shall next discuss may be brought outclearly, I shall ask that the following points be kept well in mind:

(1) Kant was an out-and-out intuitionist. He goes directly to thepractical reason of man for an enunciation of the moral law. 

(2) Moral rules of lesser generality, such as those touching benevolence, justice and veracity, he traces to the practical reason, making themindependent of all considerations of expediency. Thus he defends the bodyof moral truth accepted by so many of his fellow-moralists. 

(3) His "practical reason" speaks directly to the individual. Kant lookedwithin, not without. We may call him an ethical individualist. Socrates, when on trial for his life, listened for the voice of the divinity withinhim. He needed no other. 

137. HEGEL. --In strongest contrast to the individualism of Kant standsthe doctrine of Hegel. To the latter, duty consists in the realization ofthe free reasonable will--but this will is identical in all individuals, [Footnote: _The Philosophy of Right_, Sec 209] and its realizationreveals itself in the customs, laws and institutions of the state. Fromthis point of view the individual is an accidental thing; the ethicalorder revealed in society is permanent, and has absolute authority. It istrue, however, that it is not something foreign to the individual; he isconscious of it as his own being. In duty he finds his liberation. [Footnote: _Ibid_. , Sec Sec 145-149]

But what is a man's duty? "What a man ought to do, " says Hegel, [Footnote: _Ibid_. , Sec 150] "what duties he should fulfill in orderto be virtuous, is in an ethical community easy to say--the man has onlyto do what is presented, expressed and recognized in the establishedrelations in which he finds himself. "

In other words, he ought to do just what his community prescribes! Thisseems, taken quite literally, a startling doctrine. 

It would be a wrong to Hegel to take him quite literally, for heelsewhere [Footnote: _Ibid_. , Introduction. ] makes it plain that heby no means approves of all the laws and customs that have obtained invarious societies. Still, he exalts the law of the state and regards anyopposition to it on the authority of private conviction as "stupendouspresumption. " [Footnote: Op. _cit_. , Sec 138. ] This is a seriousrebuke to the reformer. The individual must, according to Hegel, look forthe moral law outside of himself--of himself as an individual, at least. He must find it in the State. 

138. NIETZSCHE. --Again a startling contrast: after Hegel, Nietzsche--thevoice of one crying in the wilderness, exquisitely, passionately, butscarcely with articulate scientific utterance. A prophet of revolt andemancipation; a cave-dweller, who would flee organized society and therefinements of civilization; the rabid individualist, to whom thecommunity is the "herd, " and common notions of right and wrong areabsurdities to be visited with scorn and denunciation. He makes a strongappeal to young men, even after the years during which the carrying ofone's own latch-key is a source of elation. He appeals also to thoseperennially young persons who never attain to the stature which befitsthose who are to take a responsible share in the organized efforts ofcommunities of men. 

With Nietzsche the man, his suffering life, and the melancholy eclipse ofhis brilliant intellect, ethics as science is little concerned. InNietzsche the marvellous literary artist it can have no interest. Thesethings are the affair of literature and biography. 

Here we are concerned only with his contribution to ethics. Just whatthat has been it is more difficult to determine than would be the case ina writer more systematic and scientific. But he makes it very clear thathe repudiates the morals which have been accepted heretofore by moralistsand communities of men generally. 

He confesses himself an "immoralist. " He despises man as he is, and hailsthe "Superman, " a creature inspired by the "will to have power" and freefrom all moral prejudices, including that of sympathy with the weak andthe helpless. 

"Full is the world of the superfluous, " he sings in his famous dithyramb, [Footnote: _Thus Spake Zarathustra, I, xi_. It is a pity to readNIETZSCHE in any translation. His diction is exquisite. But those who canonly read him in English may be referred to the translations of his worksedited by LEVY. New York, 1911. ] "marred is life by the many-too-many. ". .. "Many too many are born; for the superfluous ones was the Statedevised. ". .. "There, where the State ceaseth--there only commenceth theman who is not superfluous. "

Man, says Nietzsche, should regard himself as a "bridge" over which hecan pass to something higher. [Footnote: _Ibid. _, Prologue, and I, IV, XI, _et passim_. ] Upon the fact that the Superman may have thesame reason for regarding himself as a "bridge" as the most commonplaceof mortals, and may begin anew with loathing and self-contempt, he doesnot dwell. Yet, as long as progress is possible, man may always beregarded as a "bridge. " The reader of Nietzsche is tempted to believethat hatred and contempt must always be the predominant emotions in themind of the "superior" man. Darwin, who knew much more about man andnature than did our passionate poet, was still able to regard man as "thecrown and glory of the universe. " Not so, Nietzsche. 

Those who have read little in ethics are inclined to attribute toNietzsche a greater measure of originality than he can reasonably claim. More than two milleniums before him, Plato conceived an ideal Republic inwhich moral laws, as commonly accepted, were to be set aside. Marriagewas to be done away with; births were to be scientifically regulated;children were to be taken from their mothers; sickly infants were to bedestroyed. In Sparta the committee of the elders did not permit thepromptings of sympathy and the cries of wounded maternal love toinfluence the decision touching the life or death of the new-born. 

Here was an attempt at bridge-building, but it was conceived as ascientific matter, to be taken in hand by the State, and for the good ofthe State. But Nietzsche would destroy the State. His Superman appears asindividualistic as a "rogue" elephant, a few passages to the contrarynotwithstanding. Are we to regard him as a mere lawless egoist, or assomething more? We are left in the dark. [Footnote: See the volume, _Beyond Good and Evil, _ "What is Noble?" Sec 265. ] But we note thatNietzsche disagrees with most moralists, in that he refuses to regardCaesar Borgia as a morbid growth. [Footnote: _Ibid. , The NaturalHistory of Morals, _ Sec 197. DOSTOIEVSKY'S genius has portrayed for usan admirable Superman in the person of the Russian convict Orloff. Seehis _House of the Dead_, chapter v. ]

The Superman has always been with us, in somewhat varying types. FromAlexander the Great to Napoleon, and before and after, he adorns thepages of history. Attila, among others, may enter his claim toconsideration. It remains for the serious student of ethics to estimatescientifically his value as an ethical ideal, and to judge how far thistype of character may profitably be taken as a pattern. Nietzsche standsat the farthest possible remove from Hegel. Does he, as an individualist, stand within hail of Kant? It scarcely seems so. When we examine Kant's"practical reason, " in other words, the moral law as it revealed itselfto Kant, we find that it had taken up into itself the moral developmentof the ages preceding. Kant's practical reason, his conscience, to speakplain English, was not the practical reason of, for example, Aristotle. The latter could speak of a slave as an "animated tool, " and couldbelieve there were men intended by nature for slavery. Kant could not. Intheory an individualist, the Sage of Konigsberg stands, in reality, notfar from Hegel. He does not break with the past. But Nietzsche is revoltincarnate. 

PART VIII

THE ETHICS OF THE SOCIAL WILL

CHAPTER XXX

ASPECTS OF THE ETHICS OF REASON

139. THE DOCTRINE SUPPORTED BY THE OTHER SCHOOLS. --- I urge the moreconfidently the Ethics of Reason, or the Ethics of the Rational SocialWill, because there is so little in it that is really new. It only makesarticulate what we all know already, and strives to get rid of certainexaggerations into which many men who reason, and who reason well, haveunwittingly fallen. 

The fundamentals of the doctrine have been exhibited in Parts V and VI ofthis volume, and the exaggerations alluded to have been treated in PartVII. Hence, I may speak very briefly in indicating how the Ethics ofReason finds a many-sided support in schools which appear, on thesurface, to be in the opposition. 

It is evident, to begin with, that the Ethics of the Social Will cannotdispense with Moral Intuitions, but must regard them as indispensable;as, indeed, the very foundation of the moral life. That the individualmay, and if he is properly equipped for the task, ought, to examinecritically his own moral intuitions and those of the community in whichhe finds himself, and should, with becoming modesty and hesitation, nowand then suggest an innovation, means no more than that he and thecommunity are not dead, but are living, and that progress is apossibility, at least. 

As for the Egoist, unless he is an absurd extremist, we must admit thathe says much that is worth listening to. Was not Bentham quite right inmaintaining that if all A's interests were committed to B, and all B's toA, the world would get on very badly? A charity that begins at the planetMars would arrive nowhere. The Ethics of Reason has room for a verycareful consideration of the interests of the self. But it may object tothe position that the moral mathematician may regard as the onlyimportant number the number One. 

With the Utilitarian our doctrine need have, as we have seen, no quarrel. Did not that learned, enlightened, and most fair-minded of utilitarians, Sidgwick, ultimately resolve the happiness which men seek into anythingwhich may be the object of the mind in willing? Did not a criticalutilitarianism resolve itself into the doctrine of the Rational SocialWill? Why take less critical utilitarians as the only exponents of theschool? Besides, is there any reason why the social will should be blindto the fact that men generally do desire to gain pleasure and to avoidpain? It is only the exaggeration of this truth that we need to combat. 

To Nature, properly understood, we can enter no objection. Who objects toPerfection as a "counsel of perfection?" Can the Social Will object to aman's striving to Realize his Capacities--under proper control, and witha regard to others? The Pessimist is an unhealthy creature, and theSocial Will represents normal and healthy humanity. Here we havedisparity. But to Evolution our doctrine offers no opposition. It is onlyby a process of development that the Actual Social Will has come to bewhat it is; and the Rational Social Will looks to a further developmentunder the guidance of reason. 

The fact is that thoughtful men belonging to different schools tend tointroduce into their statement of their doctrines modifying clauses; andin the end we find them not as far apart as they seemed at the beginning. The tendency is, I think, in the direction of the recognition of theRational Social Will. This doctrine belongs to nobody in particular; itis the. Common property of us all. It contains little that is startling. 

140. ITS METHOD OF APPROACH TO PROBLEMS. ---He who looks to the RationalSocial Will for guidance is given a compass which may be of no smallservice to him. For example:

(1) He will see that moral phenomena are not to be isolated. He willaccept the historic order of society and judge man and his emotions andactions in the light of it. He will never feel tempted to say, withBentham, that the pleasure which has its roots in malice, envy, cruelty, "taken by itself, is good. " [Footnote: _Principles of Morals andLegislation, _ chapter x, Sec 10, note. ]

He will simply say, it is pleasure. That it is, of course; but he willmaintain that nothing "taken by itself" is either good or bad, from themoralist's point of view. The cruel man may will to see suffering, andmay enjoy it. The moral man may hold that the cruel man, his act of will, and his pleasure, should all be snuffed out, in the interest of humanity, as an unmitigated evil. 

(2) The advocate of the Rational Social Will recognizes, as do manyadherents of other schools, that the social will, as expressed at anygiven time, is only relatively rational; that men must live in their ownday and generation, although they can, to some degree, reach beyond them;and that some differences of opinion as to the relative values ofvirtues, and the goodness of characters, are to be expected. 

(3) Furthermore, he is in a position to explain how a man may be"subjectively" right and yet "objectively" wrong. The man's character maybe such that it is, on the whole, to be approved by the Rational SocialWill. He may be animated by the desire to adjust himself to that will. And yet, the accident of ignorance, the accident of prejudice notrecognized by himself as such, may lead him to do what he thinks rightand what those more enlightened recognize to be wrong. 

141. ITS SOLUTION OF CERTAIN DIFFICULTIES. --Perhaps it would be betterfor me to give this section a heading more nearly like the last. I aimonly to give the reader a point of view from which he can approach theproblem of a solution. 

Take the problem which has come up before in the form of the distributionof pleasures. [Footnote: See Sec 109. ] He who dwells, not so much uponpleasure, as upon the satisfaction of desire and will, must state itdifferently, but the problem is much the same. What degree of recognitionshould be given to the will of each individual, or to the separatevolitions and desires in the life of the individual? Should everybodycount for one? Should every desire or group of desires receiverecognition? Is no distinction to be made in the intensity of desires?And how many individuals shall we include in our reckoning?

Light seems to be shed upon this complicated problem or set of problemswhen we hold clearly before ourselves what the task of reason is inregulating the life of man individually and collectively. Its function isto bring order out of chaos and strife; to substitute harmony andplanfulness for accident; to introduce long views in the place ofmomentary impulses; to prevent the barter of permanent good for a mess ofpottage. 

Reason must accept the impulses and instincts of man as it finds them, and do what it can with them. It cannot ignore them. Slowly, civilizations, to some degree rational, have come into being. In so faras they are rational, they are justified. Keeping all this in view we maysay, tentatively:

(a) The principle, "everybody to count for one, and nobody for more thanone, " must be interpreted as an expression of the conviction that no willshould be _needlessly_ sacrificed. 

Reason is bodiless, except as incorporated in human societies, and thesemust have their historic development. Can we do away with the specialclaims of family, of neighborhood, of the state? They have their place inthe historic rational order. But the whispered "everybody to count forone" may help us to realize that such special claims cannot take theplace of all others. 

(b) Shall a deliberate attempt be made to enlarge the circle of those whoare to share in the social will, not merely by diminishing the number ofdeaths, but by promoting the number of births? States have attempted itoften enough. I can only say that, if this be attempted, it should not beattempted in ways that ignore the historical development of society, withits social and moral traditions. 

(c) Why not justify our attitude toward the brutes by maintaining thatthey have, theoretically, rights to recognition, in so far as suchrecognition does not interfere with the rights of man in the rationalsocial order? The brutes outnumber us, to be sure. We are in a hopelessminority. But were this minority sacrificed, there would be no rationalsocial order at all--no right, no wrong; nothing but the clash of willsor impulses which reason now strives to harmonize as it can. [Footnote:See chapter xxi]

(d) When we turn to the problem of the distribution of satisfactions inthe life of the individual, we find ready to hand a variety of unwisesaws--"A short life and a merry one, " and the like. 

How should the individual choose his satisfactions? Merely from thestandpoint of the individual? What is _desirable_? Not _desired_, by this man or by that, but _desirable, reasonable_?

It is an open secret that the house of mirth lacks every conveniencedemanded of a permanent residence, and that those who breathlessly pursuepleasure are seldom pleased. Nor do men, when they stop to think, wanttheir lives to be very short. 

And, in any case, this question of the distribution of satisfactions inthe life of the individual does not concern the individual alone. Is theman who wants a short life and a merry one an "undesirable" from thestandpoint of the Rational Social Will? Then he should be suppressed. Themanner of distribution of even his own personal satisfactions is not hisaffair exclusively. Every ordered society has its notions touching thetype of man which suits its ends. 

(e) But shall we, in making up our minds about the "satisfaction on thewhole" which busies the rational individual or the rational community, take no account at all of the intensity of pleasures and of pains, theeagerness with which some things are desired and the feebleness of theimpulsion toward others? May not the intense thrill of a moment more thancounterbalance "four lukewarm hours?" Are we not, if we take such thingsinto consideration, back again face to face with something very like thecalculus of pleasures--that bugbear of the egoist and of the utilitarian?

It would be foolish to maintain that man, either individually orcollectively, places all desires upon the same level. No man of senseholds that every desire should count as one. On the other hand, no man ofsense pretends to have any accurate unit of measurement by which he canmake unerring estimates of desirability. 

Fortunately, he is not compelled to fall back upon such a unit. Even ifhe was born yesterday, the race was not. He is born into a system ofvalues expressed in social organization and social institutions. It isthe resultant of innumerable expressions of preference on the part ofinnumerable men. It is a general guide to what, on the whole, man wants. 

It is, then, foolish for him to raise such questions as, whether it isnot better to aim at intense happiness on the part of the few, to theutter ignoring of the mass of mankind. Such questions the Rational SocialWill has already answered in the negative. 

142. THE CULTIVATION OF OUR CAPACITIES. --Finally, we may approach thequestion whether it is reasonable to awake dormant desires, to call intobeing new needs; which, satisfied, may be recognized as a good, butwhich, unsatisfied, may result in unhappiness. [Footnote: Compare chapterxxi, Sec 86. ]

A little cup may be filled with what leaves a big one half empty. It iseasy to find grounds upon which to congratulate the "average" man. Allthe world caters to him--ready-made clothing is measured to fit hisfigure, and it is sold cheap; the average restaurant consults his tasteand his pocket; the average woman just suits him as a help-mate; he ismuch at home with his neighbors, most of whom diverge little from theaverage. Why strive to rise above the average--and fall into a divinediscontent?

May one not say much the same of a community? Why should it strive toattain to new conquests, to awaken in its members new wants and strain tosatisfy them? Does it seem self-evident that it is reasonable, ingeneral, to multiply desires with no guarantee of their satisfaction?

I know no way of approaching the solution of this problem save from thestandpoint of the Rational Social Will. We are confronted with thegeneral problem of the desirability of civilization, with all that thatimplies. The life of man in some rather primitive societies has seemed incertain respects rather idyllic. The eating of the fruit of the tree, andthe consequent opening of the eyes, has, time and again, seemed to resultin disaster. 

But was the idyllic life not an accidental thing, due to a fortuitouscombination of circumstances, rather than to man's intelligent control ofa larger environment? Civilization of some sort seems inevitable. Have weany other guarantee that we can make it, in the long run, rational, thana many-sided development of man's capacities? And must we not exercise abroad faith in the value of enlightenment, increase of knowledge, farsightedness, the cultivation of complex emotions, even at the risk ofsome waste of effort and some suffering to certain individuals?

Perhaps this is as good a place as any to say a word about thesignificance of the terms "higher" and "lower, " when used in a moralsense. We have seen that John Stuart Mill made much of the distinction inhis utilitarianism. Bentham appears to sin against the enlightened moraljudgment in holding that, quantities of pleasure being the same, "push-pin is as good as poetry. "

When we realize that the worth of things may be determined from thestandpoint of the Rational Social Will, we can easily understand thatsome occupations and their accompanying pleasures should be rated higherthan others, however satisfactory the latter may seem to certainindividuals. It is not unreasonable to rate the pleasure of scientificdiscovery as higher than the pleasure of swallowing an oyster; and that, without following Bentham in falling back upon a quantitative standard, or following Mill in maintaining that pleasures, as pleasures, differ inkind. [Footnote: See chapter xxv, Sec 107. ]

CHAPTER XXXI

THE MORAL LAW AND MORAL IDEALS

143. DUTIES AND VIRTUES. --We saw, at the very beginning of this volume[Footnote: Chapter i, Sec 2. ] that a single moral law, so abstractly statedas to cover the whole sphere of conduct, must be something so vague andindeterminate as to be practically useless as a guide to action. Theadmonition, "do right, " does not mean anything in particular to the manwho is not already well instructed as to what, in detail, constitutesright action. Nor do we make ourselves more intelligible, when we say tohim "be good. "

It seems to mean something more when we say "act justly" or "be just";"speak the truth, " or "be truthful. " And the more we particularize, themore we help the individual confronted with concrete problems--the onlyproblems with which life actually confronts us. 

This is as it should be. Duties and virtues are expressions of theRational Social Will, and that will is a mere abstraction except as it isincorporated, with a wealth of detail, in human societies. It would behard for the small boy to classify, under any ten commandments, theinnumerable company of the "don'ts" which he hears from his mother duringthe course of a week. He can leave such work to the moralist. But he isreceiving an education in the moral law, as an expression of the socialwill, through the whole seven days. 

If we wish, we can emphasize the _moral law_, and dwell upon the_duties_ of man. On the other hand, we may lay stress upon the_virtues_, and point to _ideals_. The Greek made much of thevirtues; the Christian moralist had more to say of man's duties. In theend, there need be little discrepancy in the results. I make the samerecommendation, whether I say to a man, Speak the truth! or whether I sayto him, Be truthful!

It may be claimed that shades of difference make themselves apparent, where one emphasizes the law and another points to an ideal. Perhaps theydo, in most minds. It certainly sounds more conceited to say: "I amtrying to be virtuous, " than to say: "I am trying to do my duty. " On theother hand, the admonition, "Be truthful, " appears to leave one a littlelatitude. We take the truthful man, so to speak, in the lump. If he has astrong bias toward truth-speaking, and is felt to be reliable, on thewhole, it is not certain that we should rob him of his title on theground of one or two lapses for which weighty reasons could be urged. Theadmonition: "Speak the truth!" seems more uncompromising; and yet he whoprefers this legal form may maintain that it is a general admonitionaddressed to men of sense who are supposed to be able to exercise reason. 

144. THE NEGATIVE ASPECT OF THE MORAL LAW. --Why does the Moral Law, onthe surface at least, appear to be so largely negative? As we look backupon our early youth, our days appear to be punctuated with punishments. When we attain to years of discretion, this is not the case, with most ofus, at least. 

But when we turn to the law, in our own society or in others, we findprohibitions and penalties everywhere. Of rewards little is said. Is thesocial will meant to be chiefly inhibitory? Is it a check to the actionof the individual?

(1) The negative aspect of the moral law is, to a considerable degree, anillusion. The social will takes us up into itself and forms us. In ourearly youth we are acutely conscious of the process. A vast number of thethings a boy wants to do are things that do not suit the social will atall. He wants to break windows; he wants to fight other boys; he wants tobe idle; his delight is in adventures not normally within the reach of, or suited to the taste of, the citizens of an ordered state. It is littlewonder that the boy regards the moral law as a nuisance and the state asa suitable refuge for those suffering from senile decay. 

There are individuals who scarcely get beyond this stage. They remain, even in their later years, at war with the state. From time to time, weseize them and incarcerate them. That the law _forbids_ and_punishes_, they never forget. It is chiefly for such that thecriminal law exists. They are in the state, but they are not of it. Theyhave small share in the heritage of the civilized man. 

For most of us there comes a time when most prohibitions are littlethought of. It has been maintained, that the law is negative partly forthe reason that positive duties are too numerous to be formulated. Buthow numerous are the things that ought not to be done which normal mennever think of doing! At this moment, I could swallow a pen, taste theink in the ink-well, throw my papers from the window, hurl the porcelainjar on the chimney-piece at the cat next door, swing on the chandelier. Iam conscious of no constraint in not doing these things. Why? I havebecome to some degree adjusted to the type which the social will strivesto produce. 

(2) And, having become so far adjusted, I recognize that the social willis distributing rewards most lavishly. The whole organism of society isits instrument. Work is found for me, and I am paid for it. If I amindustrious and dependable, I am recompensed. If I am truthful, I ambelieved, which is no little convenience. If I am energetic andpersevering, I may grow rich or be elected to office. If I am courteous, I am liked and am treated with courtesy. 

Every day I am paid, in the ordinary course of things, according to mydeserts. Why should society work out an extraordinary system of rewardsfor those whom it is already rewarding automatically?

In some cases, recourse is had to extraordinary rewards. We give prizesto children in the schools; we give medals to soldiers for distinguishedservice; we confer honorary degrees upon men for a variety of reasons. Inmonarchical countries and in their colonies, the man who earns anextraordinary reward may even pass it on, in the shape of a title, to hisdescendants, as though it were original sin. But the giving ofextraordinary rewards to all ordinary, normal persons would be too much. 

The man who markedly offends against the moral law is not an ordinary, normal person. He is not adjusted to the social will. It is natural thathe should attract especial attention. Thus the "Thou shalt not!" is givenprominence. To this I might add, that punishments are cheaper and easierthan extraordinary rewards. Pains are sharper than pleasures, and areeasily inflicted. 

(3) It is worthy of remark that, with the evolution of morality, it tendsto become positive. The enlightened moral man recognizes, not merely theactual social will, but also the Rational Social Will. He may feel it hisduty to do much more than society formally demands of him. 

145. HOW CAN ONE KNOW THE MORAL LAW?--This question has already beenanswered in chapters preceding. Every man has three counsellors: (1) The"objective" morality of his community--custom, law, and public opinion, which certainly deserve to be taken very seriously; (2) his moralintuitions, which may be of the finest; and (3) his reason, whichprevents him from making decisions without reflection. 

Can a man who listens to these three counsellors be sure that he is rightin a given decision? The sooner a man learns that he is not infallibleand impeccable, the better it will be for him, for his neighbor, and forthe world at large. 

CHAPTER XXXII

THE MORAL CONCEPTS

146. GOOD AND BAD; RIGHT AND WRONG. --As a rule, men reflect littletouching the moral terms which are on their lips every day. It is wellworth while to take some of them up and to turn them over forexamination. 

We may use the terms "good" and "bad, " "right" and "wrong, " in a verybroad sense. A "good" trick may be a contemptible action; the "right" wayto crack a bank-safe may be the means to the successful commission of acrime. Evidently, the words, thus used, are not employed in a moralsense. 

When we pass judgments from the moral point of view, we concern ourselveswith men and with their actions, and measure them by the standard of thesocial will. Men and actions are "good, " when they can meet the test. Actions are "right" or "wrong, " when they are in accordance with thedictates of the moral law, or are at variance with them. That an act maybe both right and wrong, when viewed from different standpoints, even onmoral ground, we have seen in Chapter XXX. A man may mean to do right, and may, through ignorance or error, be guilty of an act that we condemn. To the intelligent, confusions are here unnecessary. But the history ofethics is full of confusions in just this field. 

147. DUTY AND OBLIGATION. --Verbal usage sometimes justifies the use ofone of these words, and sometimes that of the other. We say: I did myduty; we do not say: I did my obligation. But this is a mere matter ofverbal expression, and we are really concerned with two names for thesame thing. 

(1) There has been much dispute as to whether the sense of duty or moralobligation can or cannot be analyzed. It has been declared unanalyzableand unique. Some think this a point of much importance which imparts apeculiar sacredness to the sense of duty. 

There appears no reason why this position should be taken. No one hasbeen able to analyze into its ultimate sensational elements the peculiarfeeling one has when one is tickled. But this does not make the feelingsacred or awe-inspiring. The authority of the sense of duty must belooked for in another direction--and authority it has. 

(2) I have spoken of the "sense" of duty. We all recognize that, when weare faced with a duty, a feeling is normally present. But the wholeargument of this volume has maintained that man is not to be treated onlyas the subject of emotions. He is a rational being. In some personsfeeling is very prominent; in others it is less so. It is quiteconceivable that, in a given case, a man capable of reflection shouldrecognize that he is confronted with a duty, and yet that he should feelno impulse to perform it. Did no one ever feel any such impulse, thewhole system of duties, the whole rational order of society itself, woulddissolve and disappear. 

Fortunately, the normal man does feel an impulse to perform dutiesrecognized as such. And in the case of those exceptional persons who donot, society strives to supply surrogates, extraordinary impulses basedupon a system of rewards and punishments. This is a mere supplement, andcould never keep alive a society from which the sense of duty haddisappeared. 

Duty _is_ sacred. It is the very foundation of every rationalsociety. It does not greatly concern ethics whether the impulse, whichmakes itself felt in men who want to do their duty, can or cannot beanalyzed. But it is all-important that they should feel the impulse. 

(3) Can a man do more than his duty? Is it the duty of everyone to be, not merely a good, average, honest, faithful, law-abiding citizen, but togo far beyond this and be conspicuously a saint?

It should be remembered that we are concerned with the connotationproperly to be given to a word in common use. 

A certain amount of goodness the social will appears to demand of menrather peremptorily. Its demands seem to vary somewhat with theexigencies of the times--for example, in peace and in war. It does notmake the same demands of all men. From those to whom much has been given--wealth, education, social or political influence, --much is required. From certain persons it appears to be glad to get anything. If they keepout of the police-court, it is agreeably surprised. 

I have no desire to dissuade anyone from the arduous pursuit ofsainthood; but I submit that the word "duty, " as sanctioned by usage, implies but a limited demand, and takes cognizance of character andenvironment. He who comes up to this moderate standard is not condemned;but he is free to go farther and to become as great a saint as hepleases. In which case, we admire him. Those who, in the past, havespoken of "counsels of perfection, " have drawn upon a profound knowledgeof human nature and of human societies. 

148. REWARD AND PUNISHMENT. --We saw in the last chapter (Sec 144) that itis something of a criticism upon man and upon societies of men thatextraordinary rewards have to be given and that punishments must beinflicted. 

More attention has been paid to punishments than to rewards, and thequestion touching the proper aim of punishment in a civilized state hasreceived much discussion. The study of the history of the infliction ofpunishment is suggestive, but it does not shed a clear light. The socialwill has not always been a rational social will, and some of itsdecisions may be placed among the curiosities of literature. Still, theymay serve the purpose of the traditional "terrible example. "

Should we, in punishing, aim at the prevention of crime? Are punishmentsto be "deterrent"? Under this head we must consider, not merely thecriminal himself, but also those who are in more or less danger ofbecoming criminals, though they have, as yet, committed no known crime. 

Should the aim of punishment be the reformation of the criminal?

Should we punish merely that "justice" be done? He who steals and eatsfruit is visited with punishment, in the course of nature, if the fruitis unripe. But he suffers equally if he eats his own fruit, under likeconditions. This seems a blind punishment. Should we visit pain upon himfor the theft, merely because it is a theft, and without looking abroadfor any other reason?

Light appears to be thrown upon these problems when we reflect thatpunishment is an instrument, employed by the Rational Social Will, inpursuance of its ends. 

(1) It is desirable that men should be deterred from committing crime. Ifthis cannot be done save by the infliction of punishment, then let men bepunished. But be it remembered that punishment is a regrettablenecessity, and that the occasions for the infliction of penalties maygreatly be diminished by the amelioration of the organism of society. There is the born criminal, as there is the born inmate of an asylum forthe insane. But there is also the manufactured criminal; the product ofthe slum, the victim of ignorance, the prey of the walking-delegate, thesufferer from over-work and undernourishment, the inhabitant of thefilthy and overcrowded tenement, the man robbed of his self-respect, whohas no share in the sweetness and light of civilization. A society thatfirst manufactures criminals and then expends great sums in punishingthem is, in so far, not rational. 

(2) It is desirable that the criminal should be reformed and returned tosociety as a normal man. But this is not the one and only aim of thesocial will. The whole flock should not be sacrificed to the one blacksheep, as some sentimental persons appear to believe. There is room herefor the exercise of judgment and of some cool calculation. 

(3) As for the demand that a given pain shall be inflicted for a givenwrong done, irrespective of any gain to anybody, and irrespective ofconsequences, --it appears to carry one back to ancient and primitive law. 

Undoubtedly many punishments have been inflicted in the past to satisfythe sense of resentment. [Footnote: It may be objected that we are notconcerned here with resentment but with the satisfaction of "justice. "Men's notions of the "justice" of punishments have been touched upon inchapter ii, Sec 4. Plato suggests, in his Laws, that the slave who steals abunch of grapes should receive a blow for every grape in the bunch. Thishas an agreeably mathematical flavor of exactitude. But what shall bedone to the man who steals half of a ham or a third of a watermelon?]Undoubtedly the same is true of the present. Can anything be said infavor of this impulse? It plays no small part in the life of humanity. 

We feel that a bad man _ought_ to be punished. We harbor a certainresentment against him. The resentment of the individual for personalinjuries we recognize to be wrong. It is not impartial, and it is apt tobe excessive and unreasoning. Public order demands that it be refusedexpression. 

But is the--we must admit, somewhat more disinterested--resentment of thecommunity a rational thing? Have men, collectively, no whims, noprejudices? When a trial is deferred, and public indignation has cooledoff, how do the chances of the prisoner compare with those he enjoyedjust after the commission of the crime? And yet something may be said forpublic resentment. It has a certain driving-power. It may be questionedwhether either our desire to deter men from crime, or our benevolentinterest in the criminal, would be quite sufficient to enforce law, ifall sense of resentment against the law-breaker were lacking. Itsusefulness as an instrument of the social will appears to give it acertain justification. But it also suggests that even public resentmentshould not be given free rein. 

Before leaving the subject of reward and punishment, it may be well tosay a word touching our use of the terms _credit_ and _discredit_, _merit_and _demerit_. 

We do not give a man credit for an action, we do not think of him asmeritorious, merely because he has done right. Who thinks of praising theyoung mother for feeding and washing her first-born? Who shakes the handof the Sunday-school teacher and congratulates him upon having stolennothing for a week? But the waif from the gutter who wanders through adepartment-store and resolutely takes nothing, emerging exhausted withthe struggle, we slap upon the back and call a little man. 

Our notions of credit and merit are bound up with our notions ofextraordinary rewards. The creditable action, the meritorious man, have acertain claim upon us, if only the claim of special recognition. Any manwho makes a notable step forward deserves credit, whatever his actualposition upon the moral scale. He who only "marks time" upon a relativelyhigh level may be a good man, but we do not give him credit for the actnormally to be expected of him. The recognition of merit is a part of themachinery of moralization. 

149. VIRTUES AND VICES. --One swallow, said Aristotle, does not make aspring, nor does one happy day make a happy life. Elsewhere he draws ourattention to the fact that one good action does not constitute a virtue. 

We may define the virtues as those relatively permanent qualities ofcharacter which it is desirable, from the moral point of view, that a manshould have. The vices are the corresponding defects. I shall not attemptto draw up a list of the virtues. For a variety of lists, exhibitingcurious and interesting diversities, I refer the reader back to ChapterIII, Sec Sec 9-11. 

The Rational Social Will aims to build up a social order which shall dojustice to the fundamental impulses and desires of man, a social andrational creature. The stones which it must build into its edifice arehuman beings. If the human beings are mere lumps of soft clay, incapableof holding their shape or of bearing any weight, the walls cannot rise. And a human being may be satisfactory in one respect, and far fromsatisfactory in another. No one of us is wholly ignorant of the qualitiesdesirable in our building-material. Custom, law and public opinion arethere to indicate what qualities have, in fact, proved, on the whole, notdetrimental. Our intuitions help us in forming a judgment. Rationalreflection is of service. 

But one thing is very evident. Nowhere is it made clearer than in thestudy of the virtues and vices, that the moralist cannot consider thephenomena, with which he occupies himself, in a state of isolation. 

Is courage a virtue? Is, then, the man who is willing to take the risk ofbreaking a bank, or holding up a stage-coach, in so far virtuous? Isperseverance a virtue? Is, then, the woman, who holds out to the bitterend in her desire to have the last word, in so far virtuous? Is justice avirtue? Then why not be virtuous in demanding the pound of flesh, if itis the law--as it once was?

Certain qualities of character have been recognized as, _on thewhole_, and _generally_, serviceable to the social will. But aman is not a quality of character, and qualities of character aresometimes gathered into strange bundles. It is of men that the state iscomposed; of thinking, feeling men. We cannot isolate qualities ofcharacter, and assess their value in their isolation. 

150. CONSCIENCE. --We are all forced to recognize that conscience has itsdual aspect. It is characterized by _feeling_; and the feeling isseldom blind, or, at least, wholly blind; conscience implies a_judgment_ that something is right or wrong. 

(1) The feeling is, to be sure, very often in the foreground. Those whosay, "My conscience tells me that this is wrong, " often mean little morethan, "I feel that it is wrong. "

But the word "feeling" is an ambiguous one. It is used to cover all sortsof intuitive judgments as well as mere emotions. The man who takes thetime to reflect upon his feeling of the rightness or wrongness of anaction can often discover some, perhaps rather vague, reason for hisfeeling proper. 

(2) In other words, he may come upon an intuitive judgment. And thethoughtful man who talks about his conscience is rarely satisfied with ablind intuition; he wants to be sure he is right, and he thinks the wholematter over. 

(3) The feeling and the judgment are not necessarily in accord. Thefeeling may lag behind an enlightened judgment. On the other hand, thefeeling of repugnance to acting in certain ways may be a justifiableprotest against a bit of intellectual sophistry. 

(4) So much ought to be admitted by everyone who holds that consciencemay be blunted or may be enlightened. Consciences vary indefinitely. Somewe set down as hopelessly below the average; others we reverence asrefined and enlightened. The social worker makes it his aim to "awaken"conscience, to cultivate it, to bring it up to a high standard. Nopractical moralist regards the conscience of the individual as somethingwhich must simply be left to itself and treated as sacred, no matter whatits character. 

(5) The above sufficiently explains some of the puzzles which confrontthe man who reverences conscience and yet studies the consciences of hisfellow-men. He finds that the individual conscience is not an infallibleguide-post pointing to right action; that it is not a perfect time-keeper, in complete accord with the watches of other men. 

"It's a turrible thing to have killed the wrong man, " said theconscience-stricken illicit distiller in his mountain fastness. "I neverseen good come o' goodness yet; him as strikes first is my fancy, " saidthe dying pirate in "Treasure Island. " Augustine, passing over much worseoffences, exhausts himself in agonies of remorse over a boyish prank. [Footnote: See chapter xx, Sec 78. ] Seneca draws up a list of the mosthorrifying crimes, and decides that ingratitude exceeds them all inenormity. [Footnote: _On Benefits_, i, 10. ]

(6) It appears to be quite evident that consciences ought to bestandardized, and that the standard should be made a high one. The truestandard is the one set by the Rational Social Will. It is as much a dutyto have a good conscience as it is to obey the conscience one has. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE ETHICS OF THE INDIVIDUAL

151. WHAT IS MEANT BY THE TERM?--Men collected into groups and organizedin various ways we call states, and we treat a state as a unit. We lookupon it as having rights and as owing duties both to individuals and toother states. There are individuals whom we are apt to regard asrepresentatives of the state; as instruments, rather than as men--executive officers, legislators, official interpreters of its laws, whether good or bad. For states and their representatives we often haveespecial moral standards, differing more or less from those by which wejudge human beings merely as human beings. It is with the morality of thelatter that I am here concerned. 

To be sure, all human beings are to be found in states, or in thatrudimentary social something which foreshadows the state. To talk of themorality of the isolated individual is nonsense. Morality is theexpression of the social will; and if we think of even Robinson Crusoe asa good man, it means that we apply to him social standards. Had he notbeen moralized, he would have killed and eaten Friday, when the lattermade his appearance. 

We must, then, take the individual as we find him in the state, but it isconvenient to consider his morality separately from the ethics of thestate, its institutions and its instruments. 

152. THE VIRTUES OF THE INDIVIDUAL. --What moral traits have we a right tolook for in the individual man? What sort of a man is it his duty to be?

Evidently, men's duties must vary somewhat according to the type of thesociety to which they belong, and to their definite place in thatsociety. Still, certain general desirable traits of character unavoidablysuggest themselves. To attempt a complete list seems futile, but the mostsalient have been dwelt upon by the moralists of many schools, and forcenturies past. 

Does it not appear self-evident that a man should be law-abiding, honest, industrious, truthful, and capable of unselfishness? Should he not have aregard for his health and efficiency? Should he not aim to develop hiscapacities, and in so far to diminish the dead mass of ignorance and badtaste which weighs down society?

Of marital fidelity, with all that that implies--personal purity, thegood of one's children, a fine sense of loyalty--it is scarcely necessaryto speak. No man, betrothed or married, can be sure that he will not meettomorrow some woman whom the unprejudiced would judge to be moreattractive than the one to whom he has bound himself. Shall he remainunprejudiced--a floating mine, ready to explode at any accidentalcontact? Away with him! He has, in the eyes of the scientific moralist, "too much ego in his cosmos. " Those babble of "affinities" who knowlittle, and care less, about the long and arduous ascent up which mankindhas toiled, in the effort to attain to civilization. 

And what shall we say of such things as religious duties, ofcheerfulness, of good manners, of personal cleanliness? Of religiousduties I shall speak elsewhere. [Footnote: Chapter xxxvi. ] As tocheerfulness and good manners, it is only necessary to reflect upon thebaleful influence exercised upon the young--who have here my entiresympathy--by a bilious and depressing piety, or by those who are rudelyand superciliously moral. 

Cleanliness deserves some special attention, on account of the fact thatit has perplexed even thoughtful scholars to discover why society hascome to regard it as a duty at all. [Footnote: The chapter on cleanlinessby Epictetus is a homily, and not a philosophic argument. See, _Discourses_, Book IV, chapter xi. ] That, if society does regardcleanliness as important, it should be the duty of the individual to keephimself and his house clean presents no problem. He has no right to makehimself gratuitously offensive, and gratuitously offensive he will be, ifhe is a dirty fellow. But why does anyone object to his being a dirtyfellow? The prejudice in favor of cleanliness does not appear to beuniversal--witness the Eskimo and various other peoples. 

We have learned that the social will has its foundation in thefundamental impulses and instincts of man. An admirable scholar hassuggested that the ultimate root of the regard for cleanliness which moreor less characterizes civilized societies may be traced to some suchprimitive and inexplicable impulse to cleanliness as we observe, forexample, in the cat. [Footnote: WESTERMARCK, _Origin and Development ofthe Moral Ideas_, chapter xxxix. ] It must be admitted that it is farmore marked in the cat than in the human being. A kitten is much morefastidious than is a baby, and a grown cat would tolerate no powder orrouge. 

But, assuming that such an instinct exists, even in weak measure, itmight easily develop with the development of society. And, as man is arational being, capable of discovering a connection between cleanlinessand hygiene, the duty of cleanliness would acquire a new authority. Dirtbecomes no longer merely distasteful; it is recognized as a danger. 

153. CONVENTIONAL MORALITY. --There are virtues--taking the traits ofcharacter indicated by the names broadly and loosely, and makingallowance for all sorts of variations within wide limits--which appear tobe recognized as such very generally. Bishop Butler regarded justice, veracity and regard to common good as valued in all societies. Certainlythey have served as expressions of the social will in many societies, ancient and modern, primitive and highly civilized. 

We have seen that the forms under which they appear are not independentof the degree and kind of the development of the society we may happen tobe contemplating. [Footnote: See chapter ii. ] And we have realized thatman is born into a world of ready-made duties which are literally forcedupon his attention. He finds himself a member of a family, somebody'sneighbor, a resident in a town or village, allotted to a social class, anemployer or an employee, a citizen of a state. Justice, veracity and aregard for common good appear to have their value in all these relations;but the manner of their interpretation is not independent of therelations, and the relations with their appropriate demands arerelatively independent of the individual will. One cannot ignore thesedemands and fall back, independently, upon metaphysical theory. Aristotle's claim that a man cannot be unjust to his own child, becausethe child is a part of himself, and a man cannot be unjust to himself, [Footnote: _Ethics_, Book V, chapter vi, Sec 7. ] excites ourcuriosity. It does not elicit our approval. 

It is because the vast majority of our duties are so unequivocally thrustupon us that I have been able to touch so lightly, in the last section, upon the duties of the individual. Why dilate upon what everybody knows?Is it not enough to set him thinking about it?

And, in helping him to think, the reference to the virtue of cleanlinesshas its value. Cleanliness is prized by those who know little of hygiene. If a society cannot be happy without cleanliness, for whatever reason, isit not the duty of the individual to be clean? But _how_ cleanshould he be?

There are virtues--I use the word here broadly to cover approved habits--which seem to have a very direct reference to chronology and geography. They are _conventional virtues_; they suit a given society, andsatisfy its actual social will. A Vermont housekeeper in an _igloo_would be an intolerable nuisance. Imagine an unbroken succession of NewEngland house-cleanings with the inhabitants of the house sitting indespair in the snow outside. 

Those who live north of the Alps are sometimes criticized for dippingZwieback into their tea. Those who live south of the Alps eat macaroni inways revolting to other nations. A very pretty Frenchwoman, devouringsnails after the approved fashion of the locality, has driven me out ofan excellent restaurant. And the world opens its eyes in wonder when itsees the well-bred Anglo-Saxon dispose of his asparagus. 

There is a little-recognized virtue called toleration. St. Ambrose was awise man when he advised St. Augustine to do, when in Rome, as the Romansdo. Of course, he did not mean this to apply to robbery or to murder. Hewas giving an involuntary recognition to the doctrine that there areconventional virtues, worthy of our notice, as well as virtues of heaviercaliber and wider range. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE ETHICS OF THE STATE

154. THE AIM OF THE STATE. --He who has resolved to devote but a singlechapter to the Ethics of the State must deliberately sacrifice nine-tenths, at least, of the material--some of it very good material, andsome of it most curious and interesting--which has heaped itself togetheron his hands in the course of his reading and thinking. I have resolvedto write only the one chapter. The State is the background of theindividual, the scaffold which supports his moral life. Without it, hemay be a being; but he is scarcely recognizable as a _human_ being. It has made the individual what he is, and it is the medium in which hecan give expression to the nature which he now possesses. 

Plato maintains that the object of the constitution of the state is thehappiness of the whole, not of any part. [Footnote: _Republic_, II. It must be borne in mind that both Plato and Aristotle had the Greekprejudice touching citizenship. Their "citizenship" was enjoyed by astrictly limited class. ] Aristotle, in his "Politics, " maintains that itis the aim of the state to enable men to live well. Sidgwick definespolitics as "the theory of what ought to be (in human affairs) as far asthis depends on the common action of societies of men. " [Footnote: _TheMethods of Ethics_, chapter ii. ] We may agree with all three, and yetleave ourselves much latitude in determining the nature of theorganization of, and the limits properly to be set to the activities of, the State as such. Shall the State only strive to repress gravedisorders? or shall it take a paternal interest in its citizens, makingthem virtuous and happy in spite of themselves?

155. ITS ORIGIN AND AUTHORITY. --In Parts III to VI we have seen how andupon what basis the State has grown up. It is an organism, something thatlives and grows. It is not a machine, deliberately put together at adefinite time by some man or some group of men. The "social contract"fanatic may have read history, but he has not understood it. Ofpsychology he has no comprehension at all. 

Herodotus, at some of whose stories we smile, was a wiser man. He writes:"It appears certain to me, by a great variety of proofs, that Cambyseswas raving mad; he would not else have set himself to make a mock of holyrites and long-established usages. For, if one were to offer men tochoose out of all the customs in the world such as seemed to them thebest, they would examine the whole number, and end by preferring theirown; so convinced are they that their own usages far surpass those of allothers. " [Footnote: _The History of Herodotus_, Book III, chapterxxxviii, translated by GEORGE RAWLINSON, London, 1910. ]

This may be something of an over-statement, for men in one state haveshown themselves to be, within limits, capable of learning from men inanother. But only within limits. Those things which give a statestability--and without stability we are tossed upon the waves of mereanarchy--have their roots in the remote past. Strip a man of his past, and he is little better than an idiot; strip men within the State oftheir corporate institutions and ideals, of their loyalties and emotionalleanings, and we have on our hands a mob of savages, something much belowthe tribe proper, knit into unity of purpose by custom and tribal law. 

The State has its origin in man as a creature desiring and willing, andat the same time endowed with reason. Its authority is the authority ofreason. Not reason in the abstract, with no ground to stand upon, and nomaterial for its exercise; but reason as incorporate in institutions andsocial usages; reason which takes cognizance of the nature of man, andrecognizes what man has already succeeded in doing. 

Where shall we look for a limit to the authority of the State? Surely, only in the Reason which makes it possible for the State to be. The Statemust not defeat its own object. 

156. FORMS OF ORGANIZATION. --The special science of politics enters indetail into the forms of organization of the State. The ethicalphilosopher must content himself with certain general reflections. Everyone knows that States have been organized in divers ways; and thattheir citizens, under much the same form of political organization, havebeen here happy and contented, and there in a state of ferment. The formof government counts for something; but its suitability to the populationgoverned, and the degree of enlightenment and discipline characteristicof the population, count for much more. It is not every shoe that fitsevery foot, and there are feet that are little at home in shoes of anydescription. 

Monarchies of many sorts, aristocracies, oligarchies, democracies, evencommunisms, have been tried; and all, save the last, have managed to holdtheir own with some degree of success. 

It is easy to bring objections against each form of government, just asit is easy to say something specious in its favor. 

Are the eldest sons of a few families peculiarly fitted by nature to begovernors of the State? Look at history, and wake up to common sense. Ofthe divine right of kings I shall not speak, for the adherents of thedoctrine are in our day relegated to museums of antiquities. And have themembers of aristocracies been carefully bred with a view to theirintellectual and moral superiority, as we breed fine varieties of horsesand dogs? Have those who have had their share in oligarchies beenpeculiarly wise and peculiarly devoted to the common good? The communistmakes two fatal mistakes. He shuts his eyes to history, and he overlooksthe fact that there is such a thing as human nature. 

There remains democracy. Of this, Herodotus, already quoted as a man ofsense, has his opinion. He makes a shrewd Persian, in a political crisis, thus address his fellow-conspirators:

"There is nothing so void of understanding, nothing so full ofwantonness, as the unwieldy rabble. It were folly not to be borne, formen, while seeking to escape the wantonness of a tyrant, to givethemselves up to the wantonness of a rude unbridled mob. The tyrant, inall his doings, at least knows what he is about, but a mob is altogetherdevoid of knowledge; for how should there be any knowledge in a rabble, untaught, and with no natural sense of what is right and fit? It rusheswildly into state affairs with all the fury of a stream swollen in thewinter, and confuses everything. Let the enemies of the Persians be ruledby democracies; but let us choose out from the citizens a certain numberof the worthiest, and put the government into their hands. " [Footnote:_Op. Cit. _ Book III, chapter lxxxi. ]

To be sure, we, who belong to a modern, enlightened democracy, wouldresent being called "a rude unbridled mob, " and being likened to thepopulace of ancient Persia. But those of us who reflect recognize thedangers that lurk in the "psychology of the crowd"; and we are all awarethat, after a popular vote, it is quite possible to discover that few, except a handful of office-holders, have gotten anything that they reallywant. Democracy is not a panacea for all political evils, and there aredemocracies of many kinds. 

Still, when all is said, it seems as though the Rational Social Will, theultimate arbiter of every moral State, should give its authority to ademocratic form of government, rather than to another form. Everyindividual will has a _prima facie_ claim to recognition. 

But the Rational Social Will can never forget that human nature is inprocess of development, and that each nation, at a given time, is ahistorical phenomenon. The Rational Social Will is too enlightened todrape an infant in the raiment appropriate to a college graduate. It isonly an intemperate enthusiasm that is capable of that. 

157. THE LAWS OF THE STATE. --The State allots to individuals, and to thelesser groups of human beings, of which it is composed, _rights_, and it prescribes to them _duties_. Upon its activities in thissphere I can touch only by way of illustration, and for the sake ofmaking clear the nature of the functions of the State. 

(1) To whom shall the State grant a share in the formulation andexecution of its laws? Once, in communities very enlightened, in theirown peculiar way, women, children, slaves, mechanics, petty traders, andhired servants were deemed quite unfit to be entrusted with suchresponsibilities. [Footnote: See ARISTOTLE'S _Politics_. ]

With us, the position of woman has changed. Slavery, in a technicalsense, has been abolished. The mechanic and the petty trader are much inevidence at "primaries. " Hired servants are by some accused of beingtyrants. Children, and defectives who are grossly and palpably defective, we bar from elections, and we also reject some criminals. 

The times have changed, and our notions of the right of the individual toan active share in the State have changed with them. The expression ofthe social will has undergone modification, and I think we can say thatit is, on the whole, modification in the right direction. 

To be sure, the court of last resort is the _Rational_ Social Will. What is best for the State, and, hence, for those who compose it? What ispracticable in the actual condition in which a given state finds itselfat a given time? It seems too easy a solution of our problems to seekdogmatic answers to our questionings by having recourse to the "naturallight, " that ready oracle of the philosopher, Descartes. 

(2) There are certain classes of rights which civilized states generallyguarantee to their citizens with varying degrees of success. They make itthe duty of their citizens to respect these rights in others. 

(a) The laws protect life and limb. Much progress has been made in thisrespect in the last centuries past. I own no coat of mail; and, when Iwalk abroad, I neither carry a sword nor surround myself with armedretainers. 

(b) They protect private property. To be sure, the "promoter" may preyupon my simplicity; and the state itself does not recognize that I haveany absolute right to my property, any more than it recognizes that Ihave an absolute right to my life. 

It may send me into the trenches. It may take from me what it will in theform of taxes. It may even forbid me to increase my income by using myproperty in ways which will make me insupportable to my neighbors. But itwill not allow my neighbor, who is stronger than I, to take possession ofmy house without form of law. It will even allow me to dispose of myproperty by will, after my death. 

I suggest that those, to whom this right appears to be rooted in the verynature of things, and not to be a creation of the State, called intobeing at the behest of the social will in a certain stage of itsdevelopment, should read and re-read what Sir Henry Maine has to sayabout testamentary succession, in his wonderful little book on "AncientLaw. " [Footnote: See chapters vi and vii. ]

The State has not always treated a man as an individual, directly andpersonally responsible to the state. It has treated him as a member of afamily or some other group; a being endowed, by virtue of his position, with certain rights, and burdened with certain duties. A being who, whenhe drops out of being, is automatically replaced by someone else who isclothed upon with both his rights and his responsibilities. 

Our conceptions have changed. The lesser groups within the State have tosome degree lost their cohesion, and the bond between the individual, assuch, and the state has been correspondingly strengthened. But manytraces of the old conception make themselves apparent. The law compels meto provide for my wife and children; and, if I die intestate, the law byno means assumes that my property is left without a claimant. 

Have we been moving in the right direction, as judged by the standard ofthe Rational Social Will? We think so. But it is well to bear in mindwhat Herodotus said about the madness of Cambyses, and the prejudice menhave in favor of their own customs. No state is a mere aggregate ofunrelated individuals. Men are set in families, and the State seems to becomposed of groups within groups. How far the State should recognize thewill of the individual, as over against the claims of the lesser groupsto which he may belong, is a nice question for the Rational Social Willto settle. 

(c) The law must regulate marriage and divorce. Matters so vital to theinterests of society cannot be left at the mercy of the egoistic whims ofthe individual. But to what law shall we have recourse? It seems highlyirrational to have forty-eight independent authorities upon this subjectwithin the limits of a single nation. And, if we turn the matter over tothe churches, we discover that we have committed it to the care of onehundred and eighty, or more, sects. Add to this, that a state of any sortcannot be set upon its feet without some difficulty, while anyenterprising man or woman can call a sect into existence any day. Thereis a new adherent for sectarian eccentricities born every minute. Surely, here is a field for the activities of the Rational Social Will. 

(d) To paternalism of some sort the modern State, as law-giver, seemshopelessly pledged. If we ignore this we are simply closing our eyes. TheState seems to be justified in educating its citizens, in protectingchildren and women against exploitation, in protecting the workingclasses, in stamping out infectious diseases. We are not even allowed toexpectorate when and where we will, a privilege enjoyed by the merestsavage. 

(e) In one respect the paternalism of our own State has lagged behindthat of certain others. We do little to secure to a man a decent privacy, or to safeguard his personal dignity. The newspaper reporter is allowedto rage unchecked, to unearth scandals in private families, and to causegreat pain by printing the names of individuals. 

I have known, in Europe, a man, after a difference of opinion touchingthe ventilation of a railway carriage, to break a window with his elbowand to apply to his fellow-passenger an offensive epithet. The court madehim pay a dollar and a half for breaking the window and six dollars forgiving himself the pleasure of being insulting. 

Which was the greater offense? Herodotus would expect this question to beanswered in accordance with the prejudices of the person giving theanswer. 

158. THE RIGHTS AND DUTIES OF THE STATE. --The State evidently has rightsover its citizens, and may enforce these rights through the infliction ofpunishment. It as evidently has duties. A given state may not beanswerable to any actual given power. Our own State is in such a positionat the present time--there is no other state strong enough to call it toaccount. 

But this does not free it from duties. No state is anything more than abrute force, except as it incorporates, in some measure, the RationalSocial Will. And states that fall far short, as judged by this standard, may overstep their rights and ignore their duties, whether they aredealing with individuals or with other states. 

In punishing, the State should punish rationally. [Footnote: See chapterxxxii, Sec 148. ] And it should not demand of its subjects what will degradethem as moral beings. "We all recognize, " said a pure and candid soul, "that a rightful sovereign may command his subjects to do what is wrong, and that it is then their duty to disobey him. " [Footnote: Sidgwick, _Methods of Ethics_, III, vi. ]

But how discover what demands are just? It is the whole argument of thisvolume that no man should venture an opinion upon this subject withouthaving come to some appreciation of what is meant by the Rational SocialWill. Man, his instincts, the degree of his intelligence and self-control, the history of the development of human societies, cannot beignored. It is the weakness of good men, endowed with a high degree ofspeculative intelligence, to construct Utopias, and to tabulate the"rights of man, " or, as Bentham well expressed it, to make lists of"anarchical fallacies. " [Footnote: See _Works_, Bowring's Edition, Volume II. ] Thus, some may, with Plato and Aristotle, advocateinfanticide. The Greek city-state was a crowded little affair, and indanger of over-population. Some may propose radical measures to increasethe population. To France and Argentina, in our day, such an increaseappears highly desirable. May any and every method be embraced whichseems adapted to avert a given evil or to attain to a desired end? It isinstructive to note that Francis Galton, the father of "eugenics, "proposed to leave morals out of the question as "involving too manyhopeless difficulties. " [Footnote: Encyclopedia Britannica, 11th edition, article, "Sociology. "] But do men live well who leave morals out of thequestion?

The man who falls back upon intuition alone, in his advocacy of theabolition of capital punishment, may be expected to maintain next that astate, in going to war, should stop short at the point where the lives ofits citizens are put in jeopardy. Why kill a good man, when it is wrongto kill a bad one?

It must be admitted that the State and its representatives enjoy somerights and duties not accorded to individuals. The State may condemn mento death or to imprisonment; it may take over property; it may makeitself a compulsory arbiter between individuals. On the other hand, itsrepresentatives are not always as free as are private persons. Theindividual, if he is a generous soul, may freely forego some of hisadvantages and may seek only a fair fight with an opponent. It isdoubtful whether the duty the State owes to its citizens permits ofchivalry. Certainly strong states do not hesitate to attack weak ones;nor do many hesitate to combine against one, on the score of fair play. And a private man may temper justice with mercy in ways forbidden to ajudge. 

CHAPTER XXXV

INTERNATIONAL ETHICS

159. WHAT IS MEANT BY THE TERM. --I am almost tempted to avoid thediscussion of this thorny subject by simply referring the reader to whathas been said already on "The Spread of the Community, " and developed inthe chapters on "The Rational Social Will" and "The Individual and theSocial Will. " [Footnote: See Sec 75 and chapters xxi-xxii. ]

He who confines himself to generalities avoids many difficulties and canassure himself of the approval of many. Who, condemns justice andhumanity in the abstract? Who can wax eloquent in his condemnation offreedom? Who finds the Christian Church on his side, when he advocatesrapacity and the oppression of the helpless, without entering intodetails?

On the other hand, who wishes to view his country with a coldimpartiality, and to place its interests exactly on a par with theinterests of other lands? Who, save the Chinaman himself, thinks it asimportant that a Chinaman should have enough to eat as that an Americanor an Englishman should? Was not the turpitude, that excluded theChinaman from Australia, traced to the two deadly sins of undue diligenceand sobriety? [Footnote: Encyclopedia Britannica, 11th edition, article, "Australia. "] As for freedom, men of certain nations regard it as thehighest virtue to be willing to die for it--their own freedom, be itunderstood, --while they regard the same desire for freedom on the part oftheir colonists as a moral obliquity to be extirpated, root and branch. 

That the historian and the sociologist should find much to say touchingthe relation of nations to each other and to subject peoples goes withoutsaying. But the cynic may maintain with some plausibility that themoralist's chapter on International Ethics must be as void of content asthe traditional chapter on "Snakes in Ireland. " In this the cynic iswrong, as usual; but it is instructive to listen to him, if only that wemay intelligently refute him. 

It is not always easy for an individual to determine just what he owes tohis family, to his neighbors, or to his country. Is it surprising that itshould be difficult for men to determine just what one country, or whatone race, owes to another? This is the subject of international ethics. He who treads upon this ground should walk gingerly, and not feel toosure of himself. But there is no reason why the moralist should not putupon paper such reflections as occur to him. He cannot say anything moredevoid of reason than much that is said by others. 

The great Grotius, in writing on international law, in the seventeenthcentury, drew his illustrations chiefly from Greeks and Romans long dead. He had much more recent material ready to hand. But he well knew that he, who would induce another to give him calm and dispassionate attention, must not begin by treading on the toes of his listener. I shall strive toprofit by his example. It is best to say only what each man can apply tohis neighbor. We are all sensitive in this field. 

160. OUR METHOD OF APPROACH TO THE SUBJECT--We have seen (Sec 80) thatrational elements are to be found even in the irrational will, if onewill look below the surface. 

Is it rational for the mother to place before all else the interests ofthe hairless, toothless and, apparently, mindless little creature thatshe clasps to her breast? The very existence of society depends upon herhaving the feeling that prompts her to do it. Is it rational to favorone's neighbor, to be proud of one's native town, which may be a poorsort of a town? Is it rational to be patriotic, even when one's state isnot much of a state?

We have seen that the Rational Social Will incorporates itself insocieties very gradually, and that it draws into its service lessergroups of many descriptions. He who detaches himself from these lessergroups is not a man. He is the mere outline of a man--the "featherlessbiped" of the philosopher. It is not of such that a state can be made. 

It is the duty of the state to prevent a man from shrinking into beingthe mere member of some lesser group, but it is not its duty toobliterate what is human in him. And the Rational Social Will must see toit that he does not, on the other hand, forget, in a blind and irrationalpatriotism, that he is a human being with a capacity for humansympathies--sympathies extending far beyond the limits of any state. Except when they are under the influence of strong passion, I think wemay say that men in civilized states, at least, have already shownthemselves amenable to the influence of the Rational Social Will in thisdirection. It must be confessed that that influence has, as yet, beenlimited. 

The approach to the subject of international ethics must lie in therecognition that men are set in families, in neighborhoods, in towns orcities, in states; and are yet human beings with a capacity forrespecting and loving those who belong to none of these particularorganizations. My advice to the man who wishes to abuse his fellow-man isto do it quickly, and before he is acquainted with him. If he gets toknow him well, he will probably find something lovable in him, and hewill lose the pleasure of being malicious. 

161. SOME PROBLEMS OF INTERNATIONAL ETHICS. --The man who reads historyfinds, sometimes, things to inspire him; and sometimes, things that aredepressing. He sees that the family must expand into the clan, that theclan must come into contact with others, that the state must rise, andthat some interrelation of states is an inevitable necessity. He seesthat man's increase in insight, in diligence, in enterprise, must makehim reach out and trade with his fellow-man. 

He sees also conquest, with the subjugation of peoples; he sees tradeextended by force, and under the smoke of cannon; he sees a peacefuleconomic penetration, which ends in protectorates and annexations, indefiance of the will of those who do not want to be either protected orannexed. 

What is rational is real, and what is real is rational, said Hegel. [Footnote: _The Philosophy of Right_, Preface, and see Sec Sec 351 and347. ] He further maintained that civilized nations may treat asbarbarians peoples who are behind them in the "essential elements of thestate"; and also that, in a given epoch, a given nation is dominant, and"other existing nations are void of right. "

Hegel has long been dead, and is turned to dust. He always was as dry asdust, even when he was alive, but he was a great man. But the famousEnglishman, Sir Thomas More, wrote more engagingly; and does he not tellus, in his "Utopia, " that any nation's holding unused a piece of groundneeded for the nourishment of other people is a just cause of war?

Such doctrines should be most comforting to us Americans. They appear toteach us that we are, at present, the chosen people; that the rights ofother peoples are as the rights of the Hivites, the Hittites, and all therest; that we are justified in taking what we please, for who is there towithstand us?

Yet ethical Americans shake their heads over such philosophies, and someof them even speak slightingly of philosophers. This, in spite of thefact that great men seldom talk pure nonsense, except when carried awayby excitement, as all men may be, at times. If what they say sounds to uswholly unmeaning, it is probable that we have not fully understood thevoice that speaks within them. What can be said in their defense? andwhat can be said in, at least, partial defence of the actual historicalprocedure of the nations? They have not been wholly composed ofcriminals, and they must possess at least the rudiments of a moral sense. 

(1) We have seen that the state maintains its right as against those whobelong to it by controlling, not by destroying, the lesser groups whichexist within the state. Such a control appears to be demanded by theRational Social Will, but it often frustrates the will of the individual. 

(2) We have seen that the spread of the community is inevitable, andthat, in the interests of rationality, it is desirable. 

(3) We have seen that, even in the family, all the members are notequally free agents. The small boy is not consulted touching the amountof his punishment, nor can he dictate where it shall be laid on. And thestate does not give to all the individuals in it equal political rights, nor guarantee to them an equal share of influence. This is desirable, onthe whole, in the interests of the whole, but grave abuses may easilycome into being. 

(4) We have seen that the greater whole guarantees to individuals rights, and assigns to them duties. In so far as it is rational, it cannot dothis arbitrarily. To have recourse to metaphysical abstractions isfutile. Shall we say, without hedging, that a man has a right to thefruits of his labor, or that first occupation gives a right to the soil?Then, shall the man who is too weak to work be refused a right to theownership of a coat? Or must the discoverer of a continent prove a realoccupancy, by performing the ridiculous task of the abnormal center ofthe mythical mathematical infinite circle, by being everywhere at thesame time?

(5) We have seen that the human community, taking the words in a broadsense, will spread, and already has spread, beyond the limits of severalnationalities. It is in the interest of human society that it should doso. It is rational, in the sense of the word everywhere used in thisbook. But the nations continue to exist, and they often cultivateselfishly national interests. So do families cultivate selfishly familyinterests. So does the egoist selfishly dig about and fertilize thenumber One. 

(6) It requires little acuteness to see that some communities of men aremiserable exponents of the social will. They are deplorably governed. Read Slatin's fascinating book, "Fire and Sword in the Soudan, "--it isbetter than any novel, --and ask yourself what becomes of the social willor of rationality of any sort under the rule of a Mahdi. Is it not theduty of the nations to combine and to relieve suffering humanity?

(7) There are theorists who maintain that, in the nature of things, thesoil belongs to nobody. We find, in the actual state of things, itusually belongs to somebody, unless it is so poor that it is not worthowning at all. But it may belong to somebody who can make little more useof it than an infant can of a gold watch. A handful of Indians, wanderingover a great tract of country in which they chase game in the intervalsof time during which they chase and scalp one another, may have animmemorial, although unrecorded, title to the land. 

Shall they be permitted to keep back settlers from more or less civilizedand densely populated countries? Settlers eager to cultivate the land andto make it support many, where before it supported few, and supportedthose few miserably?

And shall the natural resources of great regions of the earth bepermitted to lie fallow merely because the actual inhabitants are tooignorant and too indolent to want to produce anything and to trade? Hewho finds his happiness in idleness, bananas, and black wives who can bebeaten with impunity, has little interest in international traffic, withsuch blessings as it is supposed to bring. 

The world is filling up. The losses due to war and pestilence, said noless an authority than Darwin, are soon made up. There is somethingterrifying in what the very modern science of geography has to tell usabout the rapidity with which the remaining part of the earth's surface, available for the nourishment of man, is being exhausted. What problemswill face the Rational Social Will in the none too distant future?

162. THE OTHER SIDE OF THE SHIELD. --We have seen that something can besaid for the philosopher. The Rational Social Will does not appear togive carte blanche to the man who wishes to remain ignorant, idle, cutoff from the family of the nations, the possessor of great tracts of landwhich he will not develop, the cruel oppressor of such as he finds withinhis power. It tends to deal with him, wherever it finds him, as anenlightened nation treats the idle, the vicious and the irresponsiblewithin its own borders. 

Undoubtedly civilization has made some advance in the course of thecenturies. When the world is at peace, the stranger is not normally anoutlaw. I have sojourned in the cities of many of the nations of Europeand have made excursions into Africa and Asia. Nowhere have I beencompelled to ask for the protection of an American consul. It has beenrecognized that I had rights, although an American. And the ability tosign my name has procured me a supply of money. 

Notwithstanding all this, it is depressing to read of the dealings of thenations with each other, and with backward peoples--who have been welldefined as peoples who possess gold-mines, but no efficient navy. Is itnot generally taken for granted that it is the duty of more powerful andmore enlightened nations to take the backward nations in hand, to exploittheir resources, and, incidentally, to exploit _them_?

Not that international law has not counted for something. To be sureHegel reduced it to the level of "a good intention, " [Footnote: _ThePhilosophy of Right_, Sec Sec 330-333. ] but it has counted for something. Descartes and Spinoza could, with impunity, be heretics in littleHolland. Switzerland has for centuries been the refuge of the oppressed. But we cannot forget that our highest authority, Captain Mahan, declared, in 1889, that certain rights of neutrals were "forever secured, "[Footnote: _The Influence of Sea Power upon History_, Boston, 1908, chapter ii, p. 84. ] and he has since stood revealed as a false prophet, amere man making a guess. International law is a capital thing--when it isnot put under a strain, and when no nation is too powerful. 

The depressing thing is that rapacity and oppression become glorified, when the cloak of patriotism is thrown over their shoulders. I drew myillustrations in the last section from wild Indians and from Africansavages. But there are nations in all stages of their development. How"backward" must a nation be to give us the right to rule over it byforce? No people were more ingenious than the ancient Romans in findingplausible reasons for the wars which it pleased them to wage. This hasnever been a lost art. Men's enemies are, like the absent, always in thewrong; and those are apt to become enemies, in whose defeat somesubstantial advantage is to be looked for. 

163. THE SOLUTION. --The very title seems a presumption. Who may dogmatizein matters so involved? I make no pretentions to giving a clear vision of"yonder shining light, " but I venture to hint at the general direction inwhich one is to seek the little wicket gate. 

The only ethical solution of our problem appears to lie in the frankrecognition of the fact that the groups of men, called nations, may be asbrutal egoists as are individual persons, and in the earnest attempt toavoid the baleful influence of such egoism. 

Man _is_ his brother's keeper. But that does not give him the rightto keep his brother in chains, nor to use him for selfish ends. This isas true of nations as it is of individuals, of families, of religiousorders, or of unions, whether of employers or of employees. 

It is certainly true of nations. It is only as having a place in, and asbeing an instrument of, the great organism of humanity aimed at by theRational Social Will, that the individual, the family, the tribe, thenation, have any ethical justification for being at all. Sometimes it isvery profitable for the individual, or for some group of human beings, todisallow this obligation to be moral. We treat the individual as arobber; why not admit that there are robber nations?

I feel like reiterating that it is a great thing to be young; to live inthat Golden Age in which one still believes what one sees in print, andstill is moved by the honeyed words of statesmen. When one is old, andhas enjoyed some breadth of culture, one has read the newspapers of manylands, and has met a certain number of statesmen, usually with a start ofsurprise. 

It is borne in upon one--a matter touched upon in the last chapter--thatit appears to be generally accepted that the state and itsrepresentatives may adopt a peculiar variety of ethics. Certainlystatesmen feel justified in doing for their country what they, asgentlemen, would never dream of doing for themselves. They talk ofjustice, when they would scoff at such justice within the borders oftheir own states; they talk of humanity, and they have in mind theeconomic advantage of their own peoples; they speak of protection andChristianization, when they mean economic exploitation or strategicsuperiority. As for truth, the less said about that subject the better. 

I know of only one way in which the determination of a nation to aid inthe general realization of the Rational Social Will can be tested. Doesit, in dealing with other nations, civilized or backward, propose what ispalpably to its own advantage, or is it evidently disinterested? It isthus that we judge a man, when we wish to fix his ethical status; it isthus that the Rational Social Will judges a nation. The language in whichthe proposals are made is a matter of no moment. It may fairly be calledprofessional slang, and can quickly be acquired, even by men of mediocreintelligence, in any diplomatic circle. 

164. THE NECESSITY FOR CAUTION. --Shall a man, then, eschew patriotism, and become a citizen of the world, as though he were a Stoic philosopher?By no means. As well eschew the family or the neighborhood. But let himnot, in his patriotism, forget that he is a man. Here, as everywhere, heis called upon to exercise judgment. This is a burden which he can neverthrow off. He must pay the penalty of being a rational human being. As aninstrument of the Rational Social Will the state must be kept up. It ishis duty to see that it is done. His cat has an easier task; she maysleep her life away in peace. 

We hear much of the brotherhood of man and of artificial barriers. Thebarriers are not all artificial, and they cannot be swept away with agesture. 

Races and peoples are formed upon the model of their own immemorial past. They have their institutions, their traditions, their loyalties, theirstandards of living. What is tolerable to one man is wholly intolerableto another. To compel men to live together in intimacy, when centuries oftraining have made them antipathetic, is sheer cruelty. 

Men may be brothers, but there are big brothers and little brothers. I donot refer to physical bulk. I refer to the development of intelligence, to the degree and kind of culture, which has been attained. There arelittle brothers still at the stage of development at which it is naturalfor human beings to drool. Shall we have them sit up to the table andserve them with the complete dinner, enlivening it with intellectualconversation?

Between incontinently doing this, and relegating the little brothers to anursery where they will be treated with cruelty and starved in ourinterests, some persons seem to think there is no middle course. In theirenthusiasm for humanity, they forget that the brotherhood of man may bemade as ridiculous as the eight-hour day. Between eight hours of thecreative work of a Milton and eight hours of the dawdling done by a lazyhousemaid, there is no relation save that both may be measured by aclock. 

These enthusiasts forget much. Men are not alike; they do not want to bealike; they do not want to live together in close intimacy, when theyhave little in common; they reverence different things; as a rule, theywould rather be somewhat unhappy after their own fashion, than be happyunder compulsion, after the fashion of someone else. 

We have, thus, on the one hand, the enthusiasts who would at once soundthe trump and announce the millenium, feeding the lion and the suckingcalf out of the same dish and on the same meat. We have, on the other, those who are eager to take on their shoulders the white man's burden--toenclose in a coop, as if they were chickens, the greater part of thehuman race, allaying the discontent of the imprisoned by pointing out tothem that, although their freedom of movement is limited, they aregrowing fat, and that they should show their gratitude by laying eggs. 

Surely, there must be some middle course. Patience and caution arevirtues. Surely, it is possible to accept the existing organism ofsociety, to love one's country, and yet to strive to respect the freedomof others. It is not easy for a true patriot to do this, but it seems tobe what the Rational Social Will demands of him. 

The moralist who reads history carefully is not wholly discouraged. Hemay look forward to some time, in the more or less distant future, whenthere may be a union of the nations in the interests of all men; when thegross egoism of the hypertrophied patriot may be curbed; when themellifluous language of the statesman may mean more than did the piousletter which Nero wrote to the Roman Senate, after he had murdered hismother. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

ETHICS AND OTHER DISCIPLINES

165. SCIENCES THAT CONCERN THE MORALIST. --There are certain sciences thatthe Moralist must lay under contribution very directly, and yet he seemsto be able to make little return to those who cultivate them, at least intheir professional capacity. 

He must ask aid from the biologist, the psychologist, the anthropologist. They help him to a comprehension of what man is; and, hence, of what itis desirable that man should strive to do. But these men seldom come tothe moralist for advice. They appear to be able to work without his help. 

There are, however, other sciences in which the moralist feels that hehas more of a right to meddle, however independent they may regardthemselves. 

Take, for example, politics or economics, or the very modern andrudimentary science of eugenics. The man who cultivates political sciencemay know much more than do most moralists about states and their forms oforganization; about legislative, executive and judicial functions; aboutthe probable effects of the centralization or decentralization ofauthority; about what may be expected, in a given case, from arestriction or extension of the franchise; about the creation andmaintenance of a military establishment and the building up of anefficient civil service. The economist may be a monster of learning and amaster in ingenuity on all problems touching the creation anddistribution of wealth. 

But the political scientist and the economist, however able, share ourcommon humanity. A man's outlook is more or less apt to be bounded by thelimits of the science of his predilection. The several sciences, broaderor more specialized, rest, in the minds of most men, upon foundationswhich are taken for granted. It is too much to expect that every sermonshould begin as far back as the Garden of Eden. "Practical" politics andeconomics do not, as a rule, go so far back. 

The transition from practical politics and economics to ethical problemsmay be made at any time. No man was shrewder than Machiavelli, and themoral sense of mankind has rebelled against him and made him a byword. Astate, desirous of maintaining itself, may palpably violate in itsinstitutions, inherited from the past, a social will grown more rational, more conscious of its rights and more articulate. Then the appeal is madeto right and justice in other than the traditional forms. It may, in agiven instance, be wrong to create wealth; existing forms of itsdistribution may be iniquitous. The ultimate arbiter in all such mattersmust be the Ethical Man. 

Human society is indefinitely complex. Many specialists must occupythemselves with its problems. A technical question in this field mayalways be carried over to moral ground. He who undertakes to make thistransition without having made a fairly thorough study of ethics appearsto be working in the dark. His assumptions have been questioned, or havebeen abandoned. Who shall furnish him with a new basis for his specialscience?

Ethics is a basal science. It justifies, or it refuses to justify, thosespecialists who concern themselves with men in societies. It is a veryold science and has interested men vastly. I have spoken above ofeugenics as a new science. Only in its modern form is it new. Platocultivated it intemperately when he wrote his "Republic"--but he saw thathis "Republic" would not do, and he wrote his "Laws. " He stood condemnedby Ethics. 

Usually men who occupy themselves seriously, and in a broad way, with manin society, have adopted, consciously or unconsciously, some ethicaldoctrine. But this is often done without due consideration, and without asufficient knowledge of what has been said by the great thinkers of thepast. It is for this reason that I have treated at such length in thisvolume of the schools of the moralists. 

166. ETHICS AND PHILOSOPHY. --It should be observed that in developing theEthics of the Rational Social Will, or the Ethics of Reason--the doctrineadvocated in this volume--I have not depended upon a particularphilosophy. 

I see no reason why a Realist or an Idealist, a Monist or a Dualist, onewho holds to an immediate perception of an external world or one whoregards our acquaintance with it as a matter of inference, should refuseto go with me so far. Nor do I see any reason why a believer in God, onewho bows at the shrine of Mind-Stuff, or one who refuses to commithimself at all upon such matters, should enter a demurrer. TheParallelist and the Interactionist, however widely they differ touchingthe relation of mind and body, may here fall upon one another's necks andshed tears of brotherly affection. 

That it is proper for the philosopher to interest himself in ethics, Ihave maintained. [Footnote: See chapter vi, Sec 18. ] He is supposed to be acritical and reflective man, and to take broad views of human affairs. Such views are needed when one comes to the study of ethics. 

I am forced to admit that some philosophers, when they have written onethical subjects, have said certain things to which the critical moralistcannot readily assent. He who maintains that certain human intuitions--which it may even appear impossible to reconcile with each other--areinexplicably and infallibly authoritative, seems to leave us without somuch as the hope of ever attaining to ultimate rationality. [Footnote:See chapter xxiii. ]

And there are philosophers who would persuade us that, unless we acceptall the religious or theological doctrines which have appeared to themacceptable, we rob man of every incentive for being moral at all. If Godis not going to repay him with interest for the pains which he giveshimself, does he not play the part of a dupe in being good? We have seenthat this was palpably the position of Paley. [Footnote: Chapter xxiv, Sec96. ] If God will not reconcile, ultimately, benevolence and self-interest, proclaimed Reid, man "is reduced to this miserable dilemma, whether it is best to be a fool or a knave. " [Footnote: _Essays on theActive Powers of Man_, Essay III, Part III, chapter viii. It would beabsurd to believe that either Paley or Reid lived down to the level ofhis doctrine. Both were very decent men, and capable ofdisinterestedness. ] Some of the utterances of Kant and of Green seem topoint in the same direction, but both have made it abundantly plain thatthey, personally, and whatever their intellectual perplexities, weremoved by something much higher than egoism. [Footnote: See chapters xxiv, Sec 97; xxvi, 3; and xxix. ]

I mean to say very little about philosophy in this volume. I wish to keepto ethics, a science old enough and strong enough to stand upon its ownfeet. But it would be wrong not to underline one or two points in thisconnection, if only to obviate misunderstanding:

(1) There is nothing wrong in a man's wishing to earn the heaven in whichhe believes. It is not wrong for him to wish to be happy on earth and inthe body. But if the desire for his own happiness, either here orhereafter, is the _only_ motive that can move him, he is not a goodman. Prudence may be a virtue, generally speaking; but it is nosubstitute for benevolence. The man who is _only_ prudent is no fitmember of any society of rational beings anywhere. 

(2) Men are often better than their words would indicate. Paley talks asif he were a cad; Reid flounders; Kant, noble as are many of hisutterances, sometimes gives forth an uncertain sound. Yet no one of thesemen was personally selfish. 

And yet all of these men assumed that morality is endangered unless thereis a God to repay men for being good. Why did they insist so strenuouslyupon this, and incorporate it into their philosophy? We must, I think, gobeneath the surface to find the real reason; and when we have discoveredit, we cannot regard them in an unfavorable light. 

They felt, I believe, that good men _ought_ to be made happy; thatthis is rational, if anything is. So far, they are quite in accord withthe doctrine of the Rational Social Will. And they saw no other way ofguaranteeing a complete rationality than in holding to a theisticphilosophy. 

(3) This means that their real motives were not selfish and personal. This is admirably brought out when we turn to Green. It is too much toexpect that many of my readers have read his "Prolegomena to Ethics, "which is repetitious, tedious, and rather vague, though it is inspired bya fine spirit and has the great merit of having influenced, directly orindirectly, a number of able writers to produce excellent works onethics. [Footnote: I need only to refer to the text-books by Muirhead, Mackenzie, Dewey and Fite. ]

Green dwells, with infinite repetition, upon the presence in man "of aprinciple not natural, " which is identical in all men, and which, insome way that he does not explain, holds the world of our experiencestogether, being itself not in time or in space. The disciple of Paley orReid or Kant will search his pages in vain for any indication that this"principle" performs or can perform any of the functions of the Godbelieved in by the above-mentioned philosophers. Nevertheless, it is thesource of an ardent inspiration to Green, who relieves the baldness ofthe appellation "principle, " by calling it, sometimes, "self-consciousness, " sometimes, "reason. " It does not appear to promise Greenanything, so his devotion to it may be regarded as disinterested. However, he owes to it inspiration. 

Philosophers find their inspiration in very different directions. Thephilosopher, as such, sometimes rather objects to the word, "God. "[Footnote: See chapter xxvi, Sec 123, note. ] But he may feel much as mengenerally feel toward God, when he contemplates his "ConsciousPrinciple, " or his "Idea, " or the "Substance" which he conceives as theidentity of thought and extension, or, for that matter, "Mind-Stuff" orthe "Unknowable. " That other men may not see that he has anything inparticular to be inspired about, or that he can hope for anything inparticular for himself or for other men, does not rob him of hisinspiration, and that may affect his life deeply. 

It is, hence, not a matter of no importance to ethics what manner ofphilosophy it pleases a man to elect. One's outlook upon the great worldmay repress or may stimulate ethical strivings, may narrow or may broadenthe ethical horizon. It is something to feel, even rather blindly, thatone has a Cause. For myself, I think it is better to have a Cause thatseems worth while, even when rather impartially looked at. But, of this, more in the next section. 

(4) Whatever one thinks of such matters, it is well to come back to thefact that, nevertheless, ethics stands upon its own feet. Even if Paley, and Reid, and Kant, and Green, and many others, are in the wrong, thedoctrine of the Rational Social Will stands sure. It is wrong to beselfish; it is wrong to be untruthful; it is wrong to be unjust. It iswrong for individuals, and it is wrong for nations. The man, or the groupof men, that does wrong, is irrational. It stands condemned. 

167. ETHICS AND RELIGION. --I regret having to speak, in this book, aboutreligion at all, just as I regret having to refer to the philosophers. But it would be folly to omit all reference to religious duties. Theyhave played quite too important a part in the life of the family, of thetribe, of the state; and that not merely here and there, but everywhere, in societies of all degrees of development, in recent centuries and intimes of a hoary antiquity. Those interested in the classics have readthe remarkable little book, "The Ancient City, " by Fustel de Coulanges. As schoolboys we were brought up on the pious Aeneas. All Christians havesome knowledge of the theocratic state of the Hebrews, and we knowsomething of the history of Christian Europe. The anthropologist gives usmasses of information touching the religious duties of all sorts andconditions of men. 

There are those who rid themselves easily of the problem of religiousduties. They simply deny that there are any. And there are those--theclasses overlap--who easily shuffle off duties to the family and to thestate. They regard it as their function to ignore and to destroy. 

(1) I cannot think the matter is so simple. There always have beenreligious duties generally recognized, as a matter of fact. The boldestand most gifted of thinkers, who have not hesitated to call into beingUtopian schemes for an ideal state, such men as Plato and More, havethought that the ideal state must have a religion. And the modernscientist has gravely raised the question whether the state can maintainitself, if all religious beliefs, with their inspirations and theirrestraints, die out. [Footnote: McDougall, _Social Psychology_, chapter xiii. ]

The moralist, who accepts religious duties, has a difficult task. It isnot enough for him to say that men have religious duties "in general, "just as it is not enough for him to say that they have political duties"in general. " On the other hand it would be the height of presumption forhim to endeavor to tell every man what he should do in detail. He doesnot feel it his duty to tell every man whom he should marry, or for whomhe should vote at each election. Still, it does seem as though themoralist ought to do more than tell a man vaguely that he has religiousduties. 

(2) Why not follow the analogy suggested by duties to the family, theneighborhood, the state?

States have their religions, sometimes unequivocally and unmistakably, and sometimes not so palpably. The religion of a people has, as a rule, its roots far back in the history of that people. Its religion hasinfluenced in many subtle ways its institutions, its emotions, itshabits, its whole outlook upon life. 

Even where, as with us, state and church have been, in theory, whollysundered, there has been no question, up to the present, of thedisappearance of a religion. The United States has been regarded as aChristian nation, inspired by ideals and addicted to customs onlyexplicable by a Christian past. 

The fact that it is so is somewhat obscured to us. For this there are twocauses. The first is, that the American, who is a freeman, possesses andexercises a fatal ingenuity in the creation of a multitude of sects outof practically nothing. Still, most of these sects have more in commonthan some of their adherents suppose. They spring, as a rule, from aChristian root. The second is, that our land has been the goal of thegreatest migration ever recorded in human history. Most of those who havecome to us have, so far, come from nations in some sense Christian, butthey have brought with them very diverse traditions, and some appear toobject to traditions altogether. 

Nevertheless, I think we may be called a Christian nation, and if wefollow the analogy above suggested--that of the relations of men to thestate and to lesser organisms within the state--it would appear that itis the duty of an American to recognize himself as a Christian ratherthan as a Mahometan or a Pagan. If he does recognize this, he will feelhimself under certain obligations which are independent of his personaltastes and proclivities. 

(3) For one thing, he will recognize that a religion is not a thing to bestripped off and drawn on as one changes a suit of clothes. 

A woman may regret that her infant has red hair. She will not, on thataccount, as a rule, exchange him surreptitiously for another. Men do notcommonly repudiate their fathers because they are not rich or are growingold. A good citizen may regret that his country has seen fit to enterinto a given war, but he will not, therefore, give aid or comfort to theenemy. 

He who is capable of lightly repudiating his religion resembles the manwho is capable of discarding his wife, when he sees the first grey hair. Those who do such things are apt to be men who fill their whole field ofvision with their rights, and can find no place there for their duties. Nor should it be overlooked that the man, who is capable of lightlydiscarding his wife, is the man as capable of supplying her place with aworse. Even so, he who easily throws off his religion is usually the manwho easily replaces it with some superstition, scientific or merelywhimsical, at which other men wonder. 

Men lament sometimes over the fact that the task of the foreignmissionary is a hard one. Were it really an easy one, there would be nostability in human societies, for there would be no stability in humannature. The man of light credulity is the man who easily takes on newfaiths; not the man to whom tradition and loyalty mean something. 

(4) It seems to follow, as a corollary, that the religion in which a manhas been brought up has the first claim upon him. I accept this withouthesitation. 

But this does not mean that the claim is in all cases final and valid. 

There may be cases in which it seems to be the duty of a man to leave hiswife, to disinherit a child, to transfer his allegiance from one state toanother. Such cases are recognized as justifiable by men who arethoughtful and disinterested. But the same men also recognize that, weresuch disruptions of the bonds which unite men in communities the rule andnot the exception, it would mean the destruction of the community. Similarly, it may become the duty of a man to transfer his allegiancefrom one church to another. 

Are not religions, rationally compared, of different values? Have therenot been religions indisputably on a moral level lower than that of thecommunity which they represent? Undoubtedly. 

And there have been governments so bad that the only refuge has seemed tolie in revolution. It should be remembered, however, that revolutions canbe resorted to too lightly; and that evolution, where possible, ispreferable to revolution, whether in things secular or in thingsreligious. It is always easier to tear down than it is to build up. Nordoes anyone, save the anarchist, tear down through wanton love ofdestruction. Even he is apt to feel called upon to give some sort of avague excuse for his violence. 

It will be observed that I have all along spoken, not merely of religion, but of the Church. I have done this because religion is a socialphenomenon. It has its institutions, and cannot live without them. 

It cannot be denied that individual philosophers have evolved religiousphilosophies; it cannot be denied that solitary individuals, as such, have felt religious emotions. How much of this is due to the fact thatthere have been religions and churches, I do not believe that theythemselves have realized. 

But, if religion is to be a vital force of any sort in a state, holdingup ideals and stimulating the emotion that helps to realize them, it mustbe incorporated in an institution or in institutions. You cannot removethe rose and keep the perfume. Even the memory of it tends to vanish. Areligious man without a church is like a citizen without a state. Acitizen without a state is a man who makes the effort to keep step, andto walk in single file, all alone. 

(5) Having said so much for Religion and for the Church, it is right thatI should refer to some things that may be said on the other side. 

It may be claimed that men of science have a tendency to turn away fromreligion and to grow indifferent to or to deny religious duties. In thisthere is some truth, although notable exceptions to the rule may becited. 

But I have known many men of learning in two hemispheres, in some casesrather intimately. With the utmost respect for their learning and fortheir mental ability, I am still bound to say that I have found themquite human. Some of them--among the greatest of them--have been soabsorbed in their special fields of investigation, that they have notmerely given scant attention to religion and to religious duties, buthave done scant justice even to their own family life or to the state. And all have not been equally broad men, capable of seeing clearly thepart which religion has played in the life of humanity. 

To this I must add that the impartial objectivity with which the scholaris supposed by the layman to view things is something of a chimera. Insaying this I criticize no one more severely than I criticize myself. This may be taken as my apology for the utterance. Have we not seen, notmany years since, that, in the feeling aroused by an internationalconflict, some scores of great scholars on the one side found it possibleto write and to sign a series of statements diametrically opposed to aseries drawn up and signed by some scores of equally famous scholars onthe other? Was either group walled in hopelessly by sheer ignorance? Itis easy to take lightly matters about which one does not particularlycare. 

There is another objection brought against religion and the church whichseems to be more significant. Is there not a danger that an interest inthese may hamper freedom of thought and encourage an undue conservatism?

It should be borne in mind that religion and the church are not the onlyforces that make for conservatism. Family affection is conservative; thelaw is conservatism itself, and men feel that it should not be lightlytampered with. How impartial and how ready to introduce innovationsshould men be in any field? Changes of certain kinds, though they mayhave no little bearing upon our comfort, do not threaten the existence ofeither state or church. Could someone devise a scheme by which theperiodical visits of the plumber could be avoided, we should all welcomeit, and have no fear of the consequences. 

Other innovations may bring in their train consequences more momentous. What men deeply care about, they cling to, and the question whichconfronts us is a very broad one. Does humanity, on the whole, gain orlose by a given degree of conservatism? An increase of knowledge is by nomeans the only thing that makes for civilization. Men may be highlyenlightened, and yet rotten to the very core. How much of the ballast ofconservatism and of loyalty to tradition is it well to throw overboard inthe interest of accelerated motion? Those who, in our judgment, throwoverboard much too much we have taken to deporting. 

(6) Here it will very likely be objected: In all this you are advocatingsheer Pragmatism! Are we to accept God and look for a life to come, extending the spread of the community after the fashion suggested inChapter XIX, and broadening the outlook for a future and more perfectrationality, for no better reason than that it is our whim? Shall we_believe_ and join ourselves with other _believers_, for nobetter reason than that something happens to tempt our will?

I beg the reader, if he will be just to my thought, to follow me herewith close attention. 

168. ETHICS AND BELIEF. --Under this heading I must call attention toseveral points. 

(1) I deny that I advocate Pragmatism at all. The views which I advocateare so many thousand years older than Pragmatism, that it seems unjust tothem, at this late date, to compel them to take on a new name, and to becarried about in swaddling clothes in the arms of the philosophers, afterthey have been functioning as adults in human communities from timeimmemorial. 

(a) That abounding genius and most lovable man, William James, realizing, as many lesser men did not realize, that the truth contained in suchviews was in danger of being lost sight of by many, wrote, withcharacteristic vivacity and unerring dramatic instinct, the little volumecalled "Pragmatism. " It is with no lack of appreciation of the serviceshe has rendered, that I venture to call attention to the fact that hehas, in certain respects, failed to do justice to those views. 

(b) Pragmatism has received attention partly on account of theexaggerations of which it has been guilty. These have repelled some menof sober mind. It appears to be maintained that we can play fast andloose with the world, and make it what we will. I have criticized thiselsewhere, 9 and shall not do so now. I shall only say here that I do notbelieve that so able a man of science as William James meant all that hesaid to be taken quite literally. He was gifted with a sense of humor. This, some lack. 

(c) Men of genius are apt to be strongly individualistic and impatient ofrestraints. We have seen that there is such a thing as a publicconscience and a private conscience. The latter is only too often awhimsical thing. Pragmatism appears to teach that any individual, assuch, has a moral right to adopt any hypothesis live enough to appeal tohis individual will. One has only to call to mind the extraordinaryassortment of guests collected by Signer Papini in his novel pragmatic"hotel. " [Footnote: _Ibid_. ] Can such, by any human ingenuity, bemoulded into anything resembling an orderly community?

(d) In a later work, Professor James, realizing that religion andtheology are not identical, and strongly desirous of promoting religion, deals severely with theology and the theologians. [Footnote: _Varietiesof Religious Experience_, Lecture xviii. ]

One truth has been seen, but has not another been treated with someinjustice? Is it not inevitable that reflective men, who cherish beliefs, should endeavor to give a more or less clear and reasoned account ofthem? What degree of success is to be looked for, and what emphasisshould be laid upon such attempts, are questions which will probablydivide men for a long time to come. 

(2) Hence, I do not advocate Pragmatism at all, but I agree with it in sofar, at least, as to recognize that belief is a phenomenon which concernsthe will. That it is so is a commonplace of psychology; and it wasrecognized dimly long before the psychologist, as such, came into being. 

That it is so is rather readily overlooked where the evidence for certainbeliefs is undeniable and overpowering. I seem forced to believe that Iam now writing. I do not seem forced in a similar manner to accept aparticular metaphysical doctrine or a given system of theological dogma. Intelligent men appear to be able to discuss such matters with each otherand to agree to disagree. If they are tolerant, they can do this good-temperedly. It is worth while to keep several points clearly in mind:

(a) Beliefs are not a matter of indifference. Some evidently lead topalpable and speedy disaster. If I elect to believe that I can fly, andleave my window-sill as lightly as does the sparrow I now see there, itis time for my friends to provide me with an attendant. 

Other beliefs are not of this character. And that they will lead toultimate disaster of any sort to myself or to others seems highlydisputable. 

(b) What may be called scientific evidence may be adduced for differentbeliefs with varying degrees of cogency. Hegel tries to distinguishbetween the authority of the state and that of the church by attributingto the former something like infallibility. He maintains that religion"believes, " but that the state "knows. " [Footnote: The Philosophy ofRight, Sec 270. ]

We have had abundant reason to see that the state does not _know_, but _believes_, and that it is very often mistaken in its beliefs. Nevertheless, it does its best to keep order, to be as rational as itcan, and to look a little way ahead. I think it ought to be admitted thatit concerns itself with matters more _terre-a-terre_ than does thechurch; and that it ought not to be taken as a general truth that thestate should take its orders from the church. It has to do with matterswhich, like our daily bread, must be assured, if certain other mattersare to be considered at all. In so far Hegel was right. There are thosewho forget this, and talk as if metaphysical systems and religiousbeliefs should be forced upon men in spite of themselves, either by sheerforce of windpower or with the aid of the police. 

To this it may be added that beliefs range from an unshakable andunthinking conviction to that degree of acquiescence which can scarcelybe distinguished from mere loyalty. It remains to be proved that thelatter may not come under the head of belief, and is something to becondemned. [Footnote: More than thirty years ago, while I was the guestof Henry Sidgwick at Cambridge, England, I asked him how it was that he, the President of the British Society for Psychical Research, had never, in his presidential addresses, expressed a belief in the phenomenainvestigated. He answered that if the word "belief" were taken broadlyenough to express a willingness to look into things, he might be said tobelieve. No more candid soul ever breathed. ]

(c) Beliefs, being phenomena which concern the will, are at the mercy ofmany influences. Is there any scientific evidence open to the parallelistin psychology which is not also open to the interactionist? Is theconviction that one's country is in the right a mere matter of scientificevidence? Are the enlightened adherents of a given sect wholly ignorantof the tenets and of the arguments of another?

I maintain that tradition and loyalty have their claims. They are not theonly claims that can be made, but they are worthy of seriousconsideration. Man is man, whether he is dealing with things secular orwith things religious. 

To see that such claims are recognized everywhere we have only to openour eyes. It is absurd to believe that all the adherents of a politicalparty are influenced only by the logical arguments published in thenewspapers. A newspaper that lived on logic alone would starve to death. It is ridiculous to believe that all the members of a church are inducedto become such only by the arguments of the theologians, many of whicharguments the mass of the members are not in a position to comprehend atall. 

And learned men are men, too. The philosopher who really kept himselffree from all prepossessions would, if he did much serious reading, probably epitomize in his own person a large part of the history ofphilosophy, falling out of one system and into another, like an acrobat. But he is usually caught young and influenced by some teacher, or he iscarried away by some book or by the spirit of the times. As he is not anabnormal creature, he acts like other men, becoming an adherent of aschool, or, if he is ambitious, starting one. 

(d) We have seen that the individual has duties toward the state. We havealso seen that the state has duties toward the individual. The stateshould not make it practically impossible for him to be a loyal citizen. A somewhat similar duty appears to be incumbent upon the church. 

A church that forces upon all of its members, as a condition ofmembership, intricate and abstract systems of metaphysics; a church thatdoes not teach good-will toward men, but makes walls of separation out ofslight differences of opinion; a church that lags behind the moral senseof the community in which it finds itself; a church that starves thereligious life; these, and such as these, must expect to lose adherents. It is not that men reject them; it is that they reject men. 

Those who read history have no reason to think that men, except here andthere and under exceptional circumstances, will cease to regard religiousduties as duties. I have not ventured to offer any detailed solution ofthe problem of loyalty to the church. But neither have I ventured tooffer any detailed solution of the problem of loyalty to the state. Inthe one case, as in the other, I suggest as guides tradition, intuitionand reflective reasoning. I can only counsel good sense and some degreeof patience. It may be said: You do not solve the difficulty for theindividual. I admit it. Such difficulties every thinking man must meetand solve for himself. 

169. THE LAST WORD. --Those persons, whether students, or teachers, whodislike this final chapter, may omit it, without detriment to the rest ofthe book. The doctrine of the Rational Social Will is not founded uponthis chapter. The latter is a mere appendix. 

I regret that, in a work in which I have wished to avoid disputation, Ihave felt compelled to touch upon religious duties at all. But they haveplayed, and still play, so significant a role in the history of mankind, that the omission could scarcely have been made. You are free to takethem or leave them; but you are not free to take or leave the RationalSocial Will as the Moral Arbiter of the Destinies of Man. 

NOTES

1. CHAPTERS I TO III. --The notes in a book of any sort are rarely read, except by a few specialists, and by them not seldom with a view torefuting the author. I shall make the following as brief as I may. But Ido wish to give some of my readers--all will not be equally learned--anopportunity to get acquainted with a few books better than this one. Thisfirst note is not addressed to the learned, and some will find itsuperfluous. 

I intend to mention here a handful of books which any cultivated man mayread with profit, and re-read with profit, if he has already read them. They can be collected gradually at a relatively slight expense, and it isa pleasure to have them in one's library. The list may easily bebettered, and may be indefinitely lengthened. I mention only books forthose who are accustomed to do their reading in English. 

It is hardly necessary to say that I do not advise all this reading inconnection with the first three chapters of this book. But, as thosechapters are concerned with the accepted content of morals as recognizedby individuals and communities, I have a good excuse for bringing thelist in here. Many other good books, not in the list, are referred tolater in the volume, in other chapters. 

It is very convenient to have within one's reach some such book asSidgwick's _History of Ethics_. The only fault to find with Sidgwickis that he has made his book too short, and has not given enoughreferences. But he is admirably fair and sympathetic, as well as clearand interesting. 

He, who would dip more deeply into the Greek moralists, can read theaccounts of the ancient egoists, Aristippus and Epicurus, in the _Livesof the Philosophers_ by that entertaining old gossip, DiogenesLaertius. The translation in Bohn's edition will serve the purpose. 

As for the greatest of the Greeks--a keen pleasure, intellectual andaesthetic, awaits the man who turns to Plato's _Republic_ and his_Laws_. Jowett's great translation is in every public library. Andwe must read Aristotle's _Nichomachean Ethics_ and his _Politics_. Here little attention is given to artistic form; but the preternaturalacuteness of the man is overpowering. If we would understand someof the reasons which induced Plato and Aristotle to write of the stateas they did, we can turn to chapter xiv of Grote's _Aristotle_. 

With certain later classical moralists most of us are more or lessfamiliar. Seneca, in his work _On Benefits_, gives a good picture ofthe moral emotions and judgments of an enlightened man of his time. Hewas a great favorite with Christian writers later. Cicero's work, _DeOfficiis--On Duties_--it is best known under the Latin title, is veryclear and very clever. It is, in its last half, full of "cases ofconscience. " I venture to suggest to the teacher of undergraduates whofind ethics a dry subject, that he give them a handful of Cicero's"cases" to quarrel over. Doing just this has brought about somethingresembling civil war in certain classes of my undergraduates. It has donethem good, and it has vastly entertained me. But each teacher must followhis own methods. We can none of us dictate. 

How many of us have drawn inspiration from the noble reflectionscontained in the _Thoughts_ of Marcus Aurelius and in the_Discourses_ of Epictetus, those great Stoics! The unadornedtranslations of George Long will serve to introduce us to these. 

To get a good idea of how the moral world revealed itself to a Father ofthe Church in the fifth century, we have only to turn to that mostfascinating of autobiographies, the _Confessions_ of St. Augustine. His _City of God_ is too long, though interesting. Augustine'sthought influenced the world for centuries. Then we may take a long jumpand come down to St. Thomas, the great Scholastic of the thirteenthcentury. To get acquainted with him, we may turn to the English versionsby Rickaby, _Aquinas Ethicus_. Those of us who are smugly satisfiedat belonging to the twentieth century must remind ourselves that therewere great men in the thirteenth, and that many among our contemporariesare still listening to them. We Protestant teachers of philosophy aresometimes in danger of forgetting this. A strictly fresh century and astrictly fresh egg cannot claim to be precisely on a par. 

I do not think that I shall add the modern moralists to this list. Thereare a great many of them, and many of them are very good. But they arediscussed at length in Part VII, which deals with the schools of themoralists. Citations and references are there given. I think, however, that I ought to add here that I should regard an ethical collectionincomplete that did not include at least one of the comprehensive workson morals lately offered us by certain sociologists. Westermarck'swonderful book--a mine of information--on _The Origin and Developmentof the Moral Ideas_, or the admirable book by Hobhouse, _Morals inEvolution_, will serve to fill the gap. 

Information regarding editions of all the books I have mentioned can behad in most public libraries, or from any good publisher and book-seller. 

As for the reading to accompany these Chapters, I-III, I suggest lookingover the chapters by Westermarck and Hobhouse, indicated in foot-notes. He who would realize how men have differed in their moral outlook on lifemight read the lives of Aristippus, Epicurus and Zeno, in DiogenesLaertius; or follow the account, in Sidgwick's _History of Ethics_, of Aristotle's teaching, as compared with the ethics of the Church. 

2. Chapters IV to VII. --These chapters on ethics as science and onethical method do not appear to me to call for extensive notes. Severalfoot-notes are given which might be followed up. I think it would be avery good thing for the student to read chapters i and vi in Sidgwick'sadmirable work, The _Methods of Ethics_. 

3. Chapters VIII to X. --To undertake to give any adequate list ofreferences on the chapters which treat of man's nature and of hismaterial and social environment would take us quite too far afield. Imerely suggest looking up the articles on "Anthropology" and "Sociology"in the _Encyclopedia Britannica. _ References are given there. Andone should not overlook Darwin's great book on _The Descent of Man_. It will never be rendered superfluous, although the men of our daycriticize it in detail. A recent work of value is "Heredity andEnvironment in the Development of Men, " by Professor Edwin Grant Conklin, 1918. 

4. Chapters XI to XVI. --Here my notes must be somewhat more detailed, forwe are on quite debatable ground. At any rate, there is much dispute, between men of unquestionable ability, on the one side and on the other. I may be pardoned for thinking that the general argument of thesechapters is reasonable and sound. 

In commenting upon Chapter XI, I suggest that the reader look up whatHobhouse has to say on impulse, desire and will, in his volume, _Moralsin Evolution_; also that he consult the same topics in James'_Psychology_. McDougall's _Social Psychology_ might be readwith much profit. 

Some admirable writers have a repugnance to using the word "volition" inspeaking of the brutes. I cannot help thinking that this is a disputetouching the proper use of a word, rather than that any importantdistinction in _kind_ is marked. Some human volitions stand out veryclearly as such. There are free ideas present, there is the tension ofdesires, there is deliberation, and there is clearly conscious choice, orthe final release of tension. But how many of the decisions--I see noobjection to the word, --which we make during the course of a day, are ofthis character! It would be difficult to set a lower limit to volition. 

Muirhead, who writes, in his _Elements of Ethics_, clearly and wellof desires, emphasizing the presence of "tensions, " follows the Neo-Hegelian tradition in speaking of will. He describes it as the act bywhich the attention is concentrated upon one object of desire, and hecalls the act of choice the _identifying of oneself_ with one objector line of action. 

Naturally, it is not easy to think of the bee or the ant or the spider, perhaps not even of the cat or dog, as "identifying itself" with someobject of desire. I suggest that the reader, after a perusal of Muirhead, reflect upon what Hobhouse has to say of the lower animals; or that helook up Miss Washburn's book on _The Animal Mind_, (second edition, 1918), where a really serious study of the brute is undertaken. 

On Chapter XII, I find no comment necessary. As to Chapter XIII, Irecommend to the reader a reading or re-reading of the fascinating pagesin which James treats of instinct in his _Psychology_. And let himlook up the same subject in McDougall's _Social Psychology_. At thesame time, I enter a note of warning against reading even such goodwriters uncritically. There is no little dispute in this field. Dr. H. R. Marshall's volume _Mind and Conduct_ gives an unusually thoughtfulaccount of instinct (N. Y. , 1919). 

Comment on Chapter XIV is not imperatively necessary. But I must speakwith detail of Chapter XV, for the best of men quarrel when they comeupon this ground:

Sec 49. The psychologist takes into his mouth no word more ambiguous than"feeling. " It may be used to indicate any mental content whatever--JohnStuart Mill could speak of consciousness as composed of a string offeelings. Herbert Spencer divided conscious processes into "feelings" and"relations between feelings. " James obliterates the distinction, andfinds it possible to speak of "a feeling of _and_, a feeling of_if_, a feeling of _but_, " etc. (_Psychology_ I, p. 154, ff. ). 

Some writers do not distinguish between emotions and feelings. Thus, Darwin, in his _Descent of Man_, calls pleasure and pain "emotions. "Marshall (_op. Cit. _, chapter ii) makes emotions, and evenintuitions, "instinct-feelings. " Dewey, in his _Ethics_ (p. 251), appears to treat emotions as synonymous with feelings. Gardiner, in hisinteresting and careful study, _Affective Psychology in Ancient Writersafter Aristotle_ (_Psychological Review_. May, 1919), treats of"what are popularly called the feelings, including emotions. "

On the other hand, in ethical writings the word, "feelings, " very oftenmeans no more than pleasure and pain. Thus, _Seth_ (_A Study ofEthical Principles_, p. 63), makes feelings synonymous with pleasureand pain. Muirhead (_Elements of Ethics_, p. 46), says, "by feelingis meant simply pleasure and pain"; and to have "interest" in, he definesas to have pleasure in (p. 46). 

This narrowing of the meaning of the word on the part of ethical writersis, perhaps, natural. The hedonistic moralists made pleasure and pain theonly ultimate reasonable stimulants to action. Many moralists opposedthem (see, later, Chapters XXIV and XXV). So pleasure and pain became"the feelings, " _par excellence_. Both Dewey and Alexander sometimesspeak as if, by the word "feeling, " we meant no more than pleasure andpain. So does Kant. 

The modern psychologist sometimes distinguishes pleasure and pain from"agreeableness" and "disagreeableness. " Marshall, a high authority onpleasure and pain, refuses to draw the distinction (_op. Cit. _, PartIII. Chapter vi). But he also refuses to call pleasure and painsensations, regarding them as "qualifications of our sensations, " likeintensity, duration, and the like. 

Are pleasures, as pleasures, alike? and are pains, as pains, alike?Jeremy Bentham refused to distinguish between kinds of pleasures. On theother hand, John Stuart Mill did so (see Chapter XXV in this volume); andS. Alexander, in his work entitled _Moral Order and Progress_, maintains that pleasures differ in kind, and cannot be compared merely intheir intensity (see page 202). 

The whole matter is complicated enough, and there is occupation for themost disputatious. But I do not think that these disputes very directlyaffect the argument of my chapter. 

Sec 50. That there is a relation between feeling and action, but that thetwo are by no means nicely adjusted to each other, has been recognized inmany quarters. 

Darwin, discussing the mental and moral qualities of man, points out thatthe satisfaction of some fundamental instincts gives little pleasure, although uneasiness is suffered if they are not satisfied. Seth (_op. Cit. _, p. 64) says that feelings "guide" action; and he claims thatthe energy of a moving idea lies in the feeling which it arouses (p. 70). On the quantity of emotion, and its relation to action, see Stephen, TheScience of Ethics, ii, iii, 25. 

Sec 51. It appears to be repugnant to Green to admit that feeling--pleasure--can be the direct object of action; and he denies roundly thata sum of pleasures can be made an object of desire and will at all(_Prolegomena to Ethics_, Sec 221; see Sec 113 of this book). Moreover, he maintains, and in this Dewey follows him, that the making of pleasurean object is evidence of the existence of unhealthy desires. I cannot butthink this, taken generally, an exaggeration. Of course, what is called"a man of pleasure" is a pretty poor sort of a thing. 

Sec 52. In this section I do not touch at all upon the immemorial disputeconcerning what has been called "the 'freedom' of the will. "

Indeed, I leave it out of this book altogether. The moralist must, Ithink, assume that man has natural impulses and is a rational creature. Those who are interested in the problem above mentioned, may turn to my_Introduction to Philosophy_, chapter xi, Sec 46, where the matter isdiscussed, and references (in the corresponding note) are given. 

Chapter XVI. --The matter of this chapter appears, clear enough, but itmay be well to give a few references touching the two conceptions of thefunctions of Reason. 

Men of quite varying views have inclined to the doctrine which appeals tome. I think it is to be gotten out of Hegel. Green, who is muchinfluenced by him, takes, as the rational end of conduct, a "satisfactionon the whole, " which implies a harmonization and unification of thedesires (see, in this book, Chapter XXVI, Sec 122). Spencer, in his_Study of Sociology_, defines the rational as the consistent. Stephen, in his _Science of Ethics_, chapter ii, Sec 3, says: "Reason, in short, whatever its nature, is the faculty which enables us to actwith a view to the distant and the future. " He claims that rationalitytends to bring about a certain unity or harmony. Hobhouse, _Morals inEvolution_, (pp. 572-581), says that reason harmonizes the impulses. 

The champions of the opposite view are the intuitionists proper--such menas Kant, Reid, Price, even Sidgwick. To judge of their doctrine--theywere great men, be it remembered, and worthy of all respect--I suggestthat the reader wait until he has read the chapter on _Intuitionism_in this volume, Chapter XXIII. 

5. CHAPTERS XVII TO XIX. --What is said in Chapter XVII seems tooobviously true to need comment. Indeed, it may be questioned whether thechapter is not full of platitudes. But even platitudes are overlooked bysome; and there is some merit in arranging them systematically. Besides, they may serve as a spring-board. 

As to Chapter XVIII, I suggest reading chapter vii, of Westermarck's bookon _The Origin and Development of the Moral Ideas_. It is entitled_Customs and Laws as Expressions of Moral Ideas_. 

For Chapter XIX, one may read Hobhouse, _Morals in Evolution_, PartI, chapter vi, where he shows how the mere "group morality" graduallygives place to a wider morality in which the concept of humanity plays apart. In the same work, Part II, chapters i and ii, the author treats ofreligious or sub-religious ideas as affecting conduct. CompareWestermarck, _op. Cit. _, chapter xl. See, also, _The AncientCity_, by Fustel de Coulanges. 

6. CHAPTERS XX TO XXII. --What is said in Chapter XX may be wellreinforced by turning to Hobhouse (_op. Cit. _), Part I, chapter iii, where he traces the gradual evolution of rational morality in the fieldof justice. See, also, Westermarck, (_op. Cit. _) chapters ix and x, i. E. , "The Will as the Subject of Moral Judgment and the Influence ofExternal Events, " and "Agents under Intellectual Disability. " In the lastchapter referred to, animals, drunkards, idiots, the insane, etc. , comeon the stage. The chapter is full of curious information. 

In Chapter XXI (Sec 86), I have spoken of the hesitating utterances ofmoralists touching any duties we may owe to the brutes. I suggest thatbefore anyone dogmatize in detail on this subject he read with some caresuch a comprehensive work as Miss Washburn's _The Animal Mind_. Thebook is admirable. Chapters x and xliv of Westermarck's work areinstructive and entertaining on this subject. Hegel disposes of theanimals rather summarily. See his _Philosophy of Right_, Sec 47. Sidgwick, _The Methods of Ethics_, Book III, chapter iv, 2, is wellworth consulting. See in my own volume, Chapter XXX, Sec 141. 

For Chapter XXII, I give no references. I appeal only to the common senseof my reader. 

7. Chapters XXIII to XXIX. --For the chapters on the Schools of theMoralists, XXIII to XXIX, I shall give briefer notes than I should havegiven, were the chapters not already so well provided with foot-notes. 

So far as the first four of these chapters are concerned, I shall assumethat enough has been said, drawing attention only to two points whichconcern Chapter XXIII. 

It is very interesting to note that one of our best critics ofintuitionism, Hemy Sidgwick, was himself an intuitionist. His _Methodsof Ethics_ deserves very close attention. Again Intuitions are oftenspoken of as if they had been shot out of a pistol, and had neitherfather nor mother. To understand them better it is only necessary to readchapter viii of Dr. H. R. Marshall's little book, _Mind andConduct_, which shows how difficult it is to mark intuitions offsharply, and to treat them as if they had nothing in common with reason. 

Those interested in the ethics of evolution, treated in Chapter XXVII, should not miss reading the fourth chapter of Darwin's _Descent ofMan_. Huxley's essay, _Evolution and Ethics_, might be read. The"Prolegomena" to the essay is, however, much more valuable than the essayitself. Spencer's general theory of conduct is best gathered from his_Data of Ethics_, which was reprinted as Part I of his _Principlesof Ethics_. The volume by C. M. Williams, entitled, _A Review ofEvolutionary Ethics_, gives a convenient account of a dozen or morewriters who have treated of ethics from the evolutionary standpoint. Itis well not to overlook what Sidgwick has to say of evolution and ethics;see _The Methods of Ethics_, Book I, chapter ii, Sec 2. 

As for Chapter XXVIII, on "Pessimism, " it is enough, I think, to referthe reader to Book IV, in Schopenhauer's work on _The World as Will andIdea_. The Book is entitled _The Assertion and Denial of the Will toLive, where Self-consciousness has been Attained_. See also hissupplementary chapters, xlvi, on "The Vanity and Suffering of Life, " andxlviii, "On the Doctrine of the Denial of the Will to Live. " For thedoctrine of von Hartmann, see chapters xiii to xv, in the part of hiswork entitled, _The Metaphysic of the Unconscious_. 

For the chapter on Kant, Hegel and Nietzsche, I shall give but a fewreferences, though the literature on these writers is enormous. TheEnglish reader will find T. K. Abbott's translation of Kant's ethicalwritings a very convenient volume (third edition, London, 1883). Thetranslation of Hegel's _Philosophy of Right_, by S. W. Dyde (1896), I have found good, where I have compared it with the original. The word"Right" in the title is unavoidably ambiguous, for the German word meansboth "right" and "law. " Hegel is dealing, in a sense, with both. I haveindicated, in a foot-note, that Nietzsche ought to be read in theoriginal. He is a marvellous artist. 

Perhaps I should add that Nietzsche will be read with most pleasure bythose who do not attempt to find in his works a system of ethics. Irecommend to the reader, especially, his three volumes: _The Genealogyof Morals_; _Beyond Good and Evil_; and _Thus Spake Zarathustra_;(New York, 1911). 

8. CHAPTERS XXX TO XXXVI. --I shall not comment on Chapter XXX. It issufficiently interpreted by what has been said earlier in this book. Nordo I think that Chapter XXXI needs to be discussed here. I need only saythat many moralists have commented upon the negative aspect of the morallaw. It will be remembered that the "demon" of Socrates--a dreadfultranslation--was a negative sign. I do not think that those who havedwelt upon the negative aspect of morality have reflected sufficientlyupon the moral organization of society. We are put to school unavoidablyas soon as we are born. 

I shall not dwell upon Chapters XXXII and XXXIII. Here I appeal merely tothe good sense of the reader. 

But Chapter XXXIV demands more attention. He who is ignorant of history, and has come into no close contact with the organization and functioningof any state other than his own, is as unfit to pass judgment upon statesgenerally, as is the man who has never been away from his native villageto pass judgment upon towns generally--towns inhabited by various peoplesand situated in different quarters of the globe. His lot may, it is true, happen to be cast in a good village; but how he is to tell that it isgood, I cannot conceive. He has no standard of comparison. 

Fortunately, his ignorance is not as harmful as it might be. The RationalSocial Will, which is penetrated through and through with traditionswiser than the whims of the individual, carries him along upon its broadbosom, and makes decisions for him. 

The sociologist and the political philosopher should be consulted, aswell as the historian, by one who would make a satisfactory list of bookstouching the subject of this chapter. But the moralist may be allowed tosuggest a few titles, some of them very old ones. Plato's _Republic_is fascinating, and Aristotle's _Politics_ is the shrewdest ofbooks. But compare the state as conceived by these men with our notionsof a modern democracy! More's _Utopia_ is a delight. To get back toearth and see what _history_ means to a state, and to itsconstitution and laws, read Sir Henry Maine's _Ancient Law_. Statesare not made in a day, although, under abnormal conditions, governmentsmay be upset, and new ones set up, within twenty-four hours. After suchunhistorical proceedings, one can scarcely expect "fast colors. " One ortwo washings will suffice to show what was there before. 

He who has a weakness for the operatic can peruse Rousseau's _SocialContract_ and the _Declaration of the Rights of Man_ published inthe great French Revolution. As an antidote, I suggest Bentham's essay on_Anarchical Fallacies_. 

But reading will do little good--even historical reading--unless onealso thinks. It is wonderful how much knowledge a man may escape, if heis born under the proper star. I once knew an undergraduate in anAmerican university, who attended compulsory chapel for more than threeyears, and who still thought that the Old Testament was a history of theAncient Romans. 

There is quite too much to say about Chapters XXXV and XXXVI. The onlything to do is to say nothing. I shall touch upon just one point in eachchapter. I venture to beg the teacher, when he treats of InternationalEthics, to read in class, with his students, those pages in which SirThomas More describes the principles upon which the Utopians conductedtheir wars. Remember that Sir Thomas was not merely a statesman, but, bycommon consent, a learned, a great, and a good man. Mark the reaction ofthe undergraduate mind. 

The one matter upon which I shall comment in Chapter XXXVI, is thequestion of belief as an object of approval or of censure. Westermarckstates (_The Origin and Development of the Moral Ideas_, Volume I, chapter viii, p. 216), that neither the Catholic nor the ProtestantChurch regarded _belief, as such_, as an object of censure. Yet eachwas willing to punish heresy. The point is most interesting, and I hazardan explanation. The churches were organizations with a definite object. They made use of reward and punishment. This was reasonable enough, abstractly considered. However, doctrine was the affair of thetheologian. Now the theologian, like the philosopher, is a man whoassumes that he is concerned with _proofs_, and with proofs only. Ifa thing is _proved_, how can a man _help_ believing it? Only ifhe _will_ not, which is sheer obstinacy or perversity. Let him, then, be punished on account of his defective character (see Westermarck, I, chapter xi, p. 283). 

I think the apparent quibbling here can be gotten rid of by recognizingthe truth emphasized in Sec Sec 167-168, namely, that logical proofs playbut a subordinate part in the adoption or rejection of beliefs touching avast number of matters both secular and religious. If we can influencemen's emotions, we can influence their beliefs. Both State and Churchhave this power. It is a power that can be abused. But it is, on thewhole, a good thing that men's beliefs can thus be influenced. Therewould be no stability in human society could they not. Every ignorantman--and many men are ignorant--would be at the mercy of every clevertalker; and he would change his beliefs every day. As men act on beliefs, this means that he would zig-zag through life to the detriment of allorderly development. I beg the reader, learned or unlearned, to put asideprepossessions, and to look at things as they are in this field.