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diff --git a/36957-h/36957-h.htm b/36957-h/36957-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7cb3d0c --- /dev/null +++ b/36957-h/36957-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5974 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Social Rights and Duties, Vol. II., by Leslie Stephen. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + + p.bold2 {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + h1 span, h2 span { display: block; text-align: center; } + #id1 { font-size: smaller } + + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 5px; border: none; text-align: right;} + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + text-indent: 0px; + } /* page numbers */ + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .smaller {font-size: smaller;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .gothleft {text-decoration: underline; + font-size: 140%; + font-style: italic;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .left {text-align: left;} + .tbrk {margin-bottom: 2em;} + .fnanchor { font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + .block {margin: auto; text-align: center; width: 27em;} + .block2 {margin: auto; text-align: center; width: 40em;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem div {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem div.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 1em;} + .poem div.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem div.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Social Rights And Duties, by Leslie Stephen + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Social Rights And Duties + Addresses to Ethical Societies Vol II + +Author: Leslie Stephen + +Release Date: August 3, 2011 [EBook #36957] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOCIAL RIGHTS AND DUTIES *** + + + + +Produced by Thierry Alberto, Henry Craig, Martin Pettit +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images +generously made available by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<p class="bold2">SOCIAL RIGHTS AND DUTIES</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="block bbox"><p class="center"><i>The Volumes of the Series already Published are</i>:—</p> + +<p><b>Civilisation of Christendom, and other Studies.</b> By <span class="smcap">Bernard +Bosanquet</span>, M.A. (Oxon.), Hon. LL.D. (Glasgow). 4<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p> + +<p><b>Short Studies in Character.</b> By <span class="smcap">Sophie Bryant</span>, D.Sc. (Lond.). 4<i>s.</i> +6<i>d.</i></p> + +<p><b>Social Rights and Duties.</b> By <span class="smcap">Leslie Stephen</span>. 2 vols., 9<i>s.</i></p> + +<p class="center">Other Volumes to follow by—</p> + +<p class="center">Professor <span class="smcap">A. Sidgwick</span>, Professor <span class="smcap">D. G. Ritchie</span>, and<br /> +<span class="smcap">J. H. Muirhead</span>, Esq. (the Editor).</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<div class="block2"><p class="gothleft">The Ethical Library</p> + +<h1><span>SOCIAL RIGHTS AND DUTIES<br /><br /><span class="smaller">ADDRESSES TO ETHICAL<br />SOCIETIES</span></span><br /> +<br /><span>LESLIE STEPHEN</span></h1> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center">IN TWO VOLUMES</p> + +<p class="center">VOL. II.</p> + +<div class="center"><img src="images/logo.jpg" width='100' height='133' alt="logo" /></div> + +<p class="center">LONDON<br />SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO., <span class="smcap">Limited</span><br /> +NEW YORK: MACMILLAN & CO.<br />1896</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center">ABERDEEN UNIVERSITY PRESS.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>NOTE.</span></h2> + +<p>The following chapters are chiefly a republication of addresses +delivered to the Ethical Societies of London. Some have previously +appeared in the <i>International Journal of Ethics</i>, the <i>National +Review</i>, and the <i>Contemporary Review</i>. The author has to thank the +proprietors of these periodicals for their consent to the republication.</p> + +<p class="right">L. S.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CONTENTS.</span></h2> + +<table summary="CONTENTS"> + <tr> + <td></td> + <td><span class="smaller">PAGE</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Heredity,</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Punishment,</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Luxury,</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Duties of Authors,</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Vanity of Philosophising,</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Forgotten Benefactors,</span></td> + <td><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>HEREDITY.</span></h2> + +<p>I found, the other day, that an address upon Heredity had been +announced, of which I was to be the deliverer. I admit that I was fully +responsible for the statement, although, for reasons with which I need +not trouble you, I was not quite prepared for it in this form. I mention +this fact in order simply to say that the title may possibly give rise +to false expectations. I am quite incompetent to express any opinion of +the slightest scientific value upon certain problems suggested by that +rather ugly word "heredity". The question as to the precise relationship +between any organism and its parents or remoter ancestors, is one of the +highest interest. The solution, for example, of the problem, whether is +it possible for a living being to transmit to its descendants qualities +which have only been acquired during its own lifetime, has an important +bearing upon the general theory of evolution. But I have nothing +whatever to suggest in regard to that problem. I simply take it for +granted that there is some relation between parents and children: and a +relation, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>speaking in the most general way, such that the qualities +with which we start in life, resemble more or less closely those of our +ancestors. I may also assume that, in some form or other, the doctrine +of evolution must be accepted: and that all living things now in the +world are the descendants, more or less modified, of the population +which preceded them. I proceed to ask whether, as some people appear to +believe, the acceptance of this doctrine in the most unqualified form, +would introduce any difficulty into our primary ethical conceptions. I +will also at once give my answer. I do not believe that it introduces +any difficulty whatever. I do believe that the general theory of +evolution tends in very important ways to give additional distinctness +to certain ethical doctrines; although, to go at all fully into the how +and the why would take me beyond my present purpose. All that I have to +argue to-day is, that a belief in "heredity" need not be a +stumbling-block to any reasonable person.</p> + +<p>I cannot doubt that the popular mind is vaguely alarmed by the doctrine. +I read, the other day, a novel by a well-known author, of which, so far +as I can remember, the main substance was as follows: A virtuous doctor +(his virtue had some limitations) studied the problem of heredity, and +had read Darwin, and Herbert Spencer, and Weissmann, and all the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> proper +authorities. His own researches are carefully described, with the +apparent assumption that they were both profound and of tremendous +significance. He had, it appears, accumulated a vast amount of material; +and his method was to cut out slips from newspapers, whenever they +recorded any events in his own family history, and to preserve them in a +mysterious cabinet. These investigations proved that there was a decided +family likeness running through the descendants of a common ancestor. As +a general rule, they had all belonged to the class "blackguard". From +this result he inferred that there was no God and no soul. His relations +were dreadfully scandalised: one was converted to his views; but the +others contrived diabolical plots for setting fire to these marvellous +collections and so stopping the contagion of these dreadful doctrines at +their source. It struck me, I confess, that instead of burning the +collections, they would have done better to ask him what was the +connection between his premisses and his conclusions. What was this +terrible, heart-paralysing truth which the poor man had discovered? Has +any human being ever doubted, since mothers were invented, that children +are apt to resemble their parents? I do not personally remember the +fact, but I should be prepared to bet, if the point could be settled, +that, before I was a month<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> old,—and in those days neither Darwin nor +Weissmann had published a line,—my nurse and my mother had affirmed +that the baby was like his papa. That, at any rate, is a remark, the +omission of which would show more originality than the assertion. If I +desired, again, to produce classical authority for the importance of +race, I should not have to extend my researches beyond the Latin +Grammar. If, once more, we look into the writings of famous theologians, +we meet it everywhere. I take the first that comes to hand. "Good men," +says Calvin, "and beyond all others, Augustine, have laboured to +demonstrate, that we are not corrupted by any adventitious means but +that we derive an innate depravity from our very birth." The denial of +this was an instance of consummate impudence—reserved, as Calvin shows, +for such wicked heretics as Pelagius. The doctrine of heredity, in +short, in a theological version, is essentially involved in the dogmatic +foundations of the orthodox creed. I have no doubt that an investigation +of the reasonings of Augustine and others would exhibit much affinity to +modern controversy, though in a very different terminology. Whatever we +may think of its merits, the doctrine of original sin implies that a +depraved nature may have been transmitted to the whole human race; and, +if the commonly alleged cause of the original depravity strikes us as +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>insufficient, it is, at least, a very familiar argument of divines, +that the doctrine corresponds to undeniable facts. Why should it startle +us in a scientific dress? If we can transmit depravity, why not genius +and bodily health? In one respect, modern theories tend rather to limit +than to extend the applicability of the principle. No one ever doubted, +nor could doubt, that the child of a monkey is always a monkey; and that +the child of a negro, or even of a Mongol, has certain characteristics +which distinguish it from the child of a European. But the difference is +that, whereas it used to be held that there was an impassable barrier +between the monkey and the man, it is now widely believed that both may +be descendants from a common ancestor. Should this belief establish +itself, we shall have to admit that, in spite of heredity, organic forms +are capable of much wider variation than was believed by our fathers to +be even conceivable.</p> + +<p>Let us try, then, to discover some more plausible explanation of the +fear excited by the doctrine. Now, I wish to give as wide a berth as +possible to that freewill controversy which perplexes so many minds, and +is apt to intrude at this point. I will try to assume,—though it is not +my own position,—the doctrine of the freedom of the will in the widest +sense that any reasonable person can devise. No such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> person will deny +that there is a close connection—the terms of which have not yet been +defined—between the physical constitution and the moral or intellectual +character. The man plainly grows out of the baby. If the baby's skull +has a certain conformation it can only be an idiot; with another skull +and brain it may be developed into a Shakespeare or a Dante. The +possibilities ranging between those limits are immovably fixed at birth. +And what determines the constitution with which the child is born? +Surely it can be nothing but the constitution and circumstances of its +parents. Whether I can be a great man, or cannot be more than a +commonplace man, or a fool,—nay, whether I shall be man or monkey or an +oak,—is settled before I have had any power of volition at all. Now, it +is curious how, even at this early period, we are led to use delusive +language. The difficulty is quaintly indicated in a remark by Jonathan +Swift. The dean "hath often been heard to say" (says a fragment of +autobiography) "that he felt the consequences of his parents' marriage, +not only through the whole course of his education, but during the +greater part of his life". If they had not married, he apparently +implies, he would have been born of other parents, and certainly would +have felt it for life. What the word "he" means in that connection, is a +puzzle for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> logicians. I fell into the difficulty myself, the other day, +when I had occasion to say that a man's character had been influenced, +both by his inheritance of certain qualities and by the later +circumstances of his education. Having said this, which, I think, aimed +at a real meaning, it occurred to me that the phrase was grossly +illogical, and I shall be still obliged if any one will put it straight +for me. The difficulty was, that I had used the same form of words to +indicate the influence of a separable accident, and to describe one +aspect of the essential character. To say that a man is influenced by +his education is to say that he would have been different had he gone, +for example, to another school. That is intelligible. But to say that +"he" would have been different if he had been born of other parents is +absurd, for "he" would not have been "he". He would not have existed at +all. "He" means the man who has grown out of the baby with all its +innate qualities; and not some, but all those qualities, the very +essence of the man himself, is, of course, the product of his +progenitors. Such phrases, in short, suggest the fancy that a man had a +pre-existence somewhere, and went about like Er the Pamphylian in +Plato's myth, selecting the conditions of his next stay upon earth. In +that case, no doubt, there might be some meaning in the doctrine. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +character of the future incarnation would depend upon the soul's choice +of position. But as we know nothing about any pre-existent soul, we must +agree that each of us starts as the little lump of humanity, every +characteristic of which is determined by the characteristics of the +parents, however much its later career may be affected by the +independent powers of thought and volition which it develops. So much, +it seems to me, must be granted on all hands, and is perhaps implicitly +denied by no one.</p> + +<p>But granting this very obvious remark, what harm does "heredity" do us? +It is the most familiar of all remarks that you and I and all of us +depend upon our brains in some sense. If they are pierced, we die; if +they are inflamed, we go mad; and their constitution determines the +whole of our career. A grain of sand in the wrong place, as the old +epigrams have told us,—in Cæsar's eye, for example,—may change the +course of history. That unlucky fly, which, as Fuller remarks, could +find no other place to creep into in the whole patrimony of St. Peter +except the Pope's throat, choked the unlucky man, and, for the time at +least, altered the ecclesiastical order of Christendom. In other words, +we are dependent at every instant upon elements in the outside +world,—bacteria, for instance,—and the working of our own physical +organism. But, that being so, what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> conceivable difference does it make +whether the brain, which we certainly did not ourselves make, has a +fixed resemblance to that of our parents, or be, if it be possible, the +product of some other series of processes? It is important, no doubt, to +recognise the fact; it would be of the highest importance if we could +define the exact nature of the fact; but the influence upon any general +ethical doctrine of the recognition of the bare fact itself seems to be +precisely nothing at all. It is part of the necessary data of all +psychological speculation, and has been recognised with more or less +precision from the very first attempts to speculate.</p> + +<p>Trying, once more, to discover what it is that alarms, or is said to +alarm, some people, we are reminded of certain facts, which again are of +profound interest in some respects. I take a special instance,—not, +unfortunately, a rare or at all a strange instance,—to illustrate the +point. Many years ago I knew a clergyman, a man of most amiable +character and refined tastes. One morning he shocked his friends by +performing the Church service in a state of intoxication, and within a +few months had drunk himself to death. The case was explained,—that is, +a proper name for it was found,—when we learnt that more than one of +his nearest relations had developed similar propensities, and died in +much the same way.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> Then we called it an instance of "hereditary +dipsomania," and were more or less consoled by the classification. We +were not, I think, unreasonable. The discovery proved apparently that +the man whom we had respected and admired was not a vulgar debauchee, +who had been hypocritically concealing his vices; but that he had really +possessed the excellent qualities attributed to him, only combined with +an unfortunate constitutional tendency, which was as much a part of his +original nature as a tendency to gout or consumption. Now this, as I +think, suggests the problem which puzzles us at times. A man develops +some vicious propensity, for which we were quite unprepared. In some +cases, perhaps, he may show homicidal mania or kleptomania, or some of +the other manias which physicians have discovered in late years. They +say, though the lawyers are rather recalcitrant, that a man suffering +from such a mania is not "responsible"; and if asked, why not? they +reply, because he was the victim of a disease which made him unable to +resist the morbid impulse. But then, we say, are not all our actions +dependent upon our physical constitution? If a man develops homicidal +mania, may not a murderer of the average type excuse himself upon the +same ground? You have committed an action, we say, which shows you to be +a man of abnormal wickedness. You are a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>bloodthirsty, ferocious, +inhuman villain. Certainly, he may reply; but if you could examine my +brain you would see that I could not be anything else. There is +something wrong about its molecular construction, or about the shape of +the skull into which it was fitted, which makes bloodthirstiness quite +as inevitable in me as a tendency to drink is in others, or perhaps as +the most ardent philanthropy may be in some. In short, I am a murderer; +but wickedness is so natural to me that you must in all fairness excuse me.</p> + +<p>This is, of course, a kind of excuse which would not free a man from the +gallows. It would simply suggest that punishment should not be +considered from the moral, but, if I may say so, from the sanitary point +of view. We should hang the murderer—not to satisfy our sense of +justice, but to get rid of a nuisance. I will not now inquire what may +be said upon that undoubtedly difficult problem; but I must touch upon +the previous question which is raised by the argument. Would our +supposed murderer make out a good case for himself? Is there no +difference between him and the maniac; or, rather, what is the nature of +the difference which we clearly recognise in practice? In the extreme +case which our ancestors took as the typical case, the madman kills +because he is under some complete illusion: he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> supposes that he is only +breaking a glass when he is really taking a life, and so forth. He is +therefore not wicked, but accidentally mischievous. We have now come to +recognise the existence of many states of mind intervening between this +and complete sanity. Among them, for example, is the state of mind of +the homicidal monomaniac, whose propensity is considered to be the cause +of his actions, and which may be consistent with his being in many other +respects capable of acting upon the ordinary motives and judging +reasonably in most of the affairs of life. What, then, is the meaning of +the statement that he is a madman, and therefore excusable? The +contention must, of course, be, in the first place, that his character +is in some way abnormal. He is not governable by the ordinary motives +which determine human action. But, beyond this, it is evident that the +abnormality is taken to mean something more than the mere deviation from +the average. A man may be abominably wicked, and yet not in the least +abnormal in the sense here required. He may be deficient in the higher +motives, and the more brutal passions may be unusually developed; and +yet we do not hold that he therefore deviates from the type. So, in a +different sphere, we may have one man possessing enormous strength and +another exceedingly feeble, one very active and another very clumsy; +and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> yet they may all be perfectly normal, they are free from physical +disease, and all their physical functions may be performed according to +the normal system. Entire freedom from disease, in short, is perfectly +compatible with exceedingly wide deviations from the average, with +capacity for walking a thousand miles in a thousand hours, or with +inability to walk a single mile; and yet such deviations do not imply a +departure from a certain common type. To say precisely what symptoms +indicate mere differences within the normal type, and what imply an +actual deviation from the type, is exceedingly difficult, if not +impossible; and yet that such a distinction exists has to be constantly +recognised. "So-and-so is delicate, but not diseased; feeble, but not +deformed," has a definite meaning, though we may be unable to define the +precise meaning of our words, or to decide which statement is true in +particular cases.</p> + +<p>The great difficulty in the case of insanity corresponds to this. The +physician tells us that the madman's mind works abnormally, but not +abnormally in the sense merely of having some faculties weaker and +others stronger than is common; but in such a way as to indicate +disease, and, moreover, a particular kind of disease, or one, perhaps, +of several particular kinds of diseases. The vagueness of this statement +provokes lawyers, who have a natural love<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> of definite external tests to +govern their decisions; and it has led to a number of delicate +discussions, upon which I need not enter. The legal problem seems +essentially to be, what tests should guide us in determining whether a +man should be regarded as a normal human being, or as a being so far +differing from the normal type that he should be treated exceptionally, +and especially put under the guidance of other persons, and excused from +legal responsibility, that is, liability to punishment.</p> + +<p>I have to do with the moral problem alone. It is a still more difficult +problem; but it has this advantage, that we do not require so definite +an answer. We have not, happily, to decide whether our fellows shall go +to heaven or to hell, though we have to decide whether they shall be +hanged or locked up; and we must be content as a rule with very vague +estimates as to their moral character. What we practically have to take, +more or less roughly, into account is simply this: that our inference +from conduct to character has often to be modified by the existence of +these abnormal cases. A man is drunk on an important occasion; I infer, +as a rule, that he has all the qualities which go with low sensuality; +but in some cases the inference is wrong; the man may be really a person +of most admirable feelings; but one of his instincts has suddenly taken +an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> abnormal development, owing to a set of causes entirely different +from the usual causes. Another man suddenly and causelessly kills a +friend. The natural inference that he must be a bloodthirsty brute is +erroneous, if it turns out that he has acted from impulses not generated +by any habitual want of benevolence, but from some special defect in the +constitution of his brain. In other words, our moral judgment must vary +in the two cases, and may vary so much that the same action may rightly +suggest only pity in one case and abhorrence in the other; although, in +many cases, where it may be very difficult to say what is the precise +implication as to character, the judgment must, if we are properly +diffident, remain obscure. The moral problem always depends ultimately +upon this: What is the character implied by this conduct? If the moral +conduct shows malignity within the normal type, it justifies +condemnation; if it shows only a blind instinctive impulse, due to a +deflection from the type, it may justify no other feelings than those +which we have for the poor maniac who fancies himself a king, and takes +his limbs to be made of glass.</p> + +<p>If we hold that such responsibility implies free will we shall argue +that the madman is deprived of free will, or that his freedom of will is +more or less restricted, and that he is therefore irresponsible. In<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> my +own opinion, that proposition would be by no means an easy one to +establish. I fancy that a man may be insane and yet capable, within very +wide limits, of being good or bad, and that therefore we must at any +rate hold that he has still some power of free will. The bearing of this +upon the question of moral responsibility brings us within sight of some +delicate problems. But, however this may be, the criterion by which we +shall have to judge whether we are believers in free will or +determinists will be the same. The problem is essentially, is this man +accessible to the motives by which normal men regulate their conduct? or +does he so far deflect from the typical constitution, however that +constitution may be precisely defined, that his conscience or his +affections or his intellectual powers are unable to act according to the +general laws of human nature?</p> + +<p>Having said so much, I think that I may proceed to this conclusion, that +the theory of heredity can make no real difference whatever to our +problem. There is a difficulty for the metaphysician—the difficulty +which is involved in discussions between materialists and idealists, +determinists and believers in free will. I do not deny the existence of +that difficulty. I only say that the question of heredity is altogether +irrelevant to the difficulty. The desire to treat ethical problems by +the methods of science may<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> predispose a thinker to materialism, and may +at the same time lead him to attach particular importance to the +doctrine of heredity. But that doctrine only takes note of facts which +every theory has to state in its own phraseology, and do not alter the +ultimate problem.</p> + +<p>Let us, in fact, go back to our murderer. I am not responsible, he says, +because I am determined by the processes in my brain. I am a mere +machine, grinding out one set of actions or another as external +accidents set my wheels and pulleys in motion. If that argument be fatal +to moral responsibility, or to the belief that any truly moral action +exists (a point which I do not argue), it will no doubt remove the moral +element from the treatment both of murderers and madmen. They might +still require different measures, just as we treat a machine differently +when we consider that it is not of the normal construction, or that its +various parts have somehow got out of gear, so that we can no longer, +for example, expect that the mainspring will transmit its motion to the +wheels. But, in any case, if the dependence upon the body be a fatal +objection to morality in the highest sense, the circumstance that the +body is made upon the plan of previously existing bodies makes no +additional difficulty. If we could suppose every brain to be started +afresh by a fortuitous <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>concourse of atoms, the difficulty would be +neither increased nor diminished. The problem, are we automatic? and the +validity of the inference, is morality meaningless? are questions +altogether independent of the question, what particular kind of automata +are we? and do we or do we not resemble a previous generation of automata?</p> + +<p>If, however, we reply to the criminal that he is not a machine or an +automaton, but a responsible, reasoning, and thinking being, we do not +get away from the facts. We then assert that he is responsible because +he possesses a certain moral constitution. But whatever words we may use +to express the facts correctly, we must still allow that there is such a +correlation between soul and body (if those old-fashioned words be +admissible) that the health of his moral constitution depends at every +instant upon the health of his nervous system and his brain. It may be +shattered or destroyed by an injury; and, if this be so, what does it +matter whether the injury—say the defective shape of the skull, which +causes pressure on the brain—is due to some accident or to a connate +malformation due to his parents? The difficulty, if it be difficulty, is +that the want of responsibility is due to some cause, accidental +relatively to him; and it matters not whether that cause be in his +parents' constitution or in some other <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>combination of circumstances. In +any case, we have to suppose, whatever the relation of mind and body, we +must at least assume that a man is born with some character. Like +everything that exists, he has certain definite qualities which he did +not make for himself, and upon which his subsequent development depends. +And, if that be once admitted, the whole difficulty still occurs, and +the question as to whether the origin of these innate qualities be +derived from his parents or from a something else is a mere matter of detail.</p> + +<p>In fact, the confusion seems to me to arise from the vague phraseology +which induces us to accept, virtually at least, the mental attitude of +Dean Swift in Er the Pamphylian. We speak as if the man were an +independent entity, lying somehow outside the chain of cause and effect, +and arbitrarily plunged into it; nay, as if even his inner constitution +were something superinduced upon his nature. It is really an absurd +abstraction to distinguish between the man and his character, as though +he meant a something existing without a character, and afterwards run +into a mould by fate. The character is the man in certain relations, and +he can never exist without it, any more than a piece of matter can be +outside of all particular times and places. If the doctrine of free will +and moral responsibility be so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> interpreted as to imply our acceptance +of such fallacies, I can only say that it appears to me to be +irreconcilable with the most undeniable facts. But I am very far from +supposing that any intelligent supporter of the doctrine would state it +in such a form. He would admit as fully as I do the facts, and, if they +can be admitted and reconciled to the doctrine of moral responsibility, +certainly the doctrine of heredity can be so reconciled. The only +peculiarity of the doctrine is, that it has called attention to an order +of facts which must in any case be recognised by every philosopher; and +that it helps, therefore, to disperse a fallacy which only requires +articulate statement to show its radical want of logic or even +conceivability. We are, beyond all doubt, affected somehow, and affected +profoundly, by our environment; and this particular form of relation to +other beings has no more bearing upon the problem than the other forces +which have been recognised ever since speculation began.</p> + +<p>There is, however, another side from which I must briefly consider the +question of heredity; and it is a side which, I think, is really more +important, because it involves issues of facts, and has suggested some +more reasonable prejudices. It is, undoubtedly, very common that when a +theory has obtained a certain currency it should be applied rashly +beyond its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> proper limits. When the speculations of Darwin encouraged us +to believe that the natural selection might be analogous to artificial +selection, that different species of animals have been produced as +varieties of dogs and pigeons have been produced by breeders, it was, at +least, tempting to apply the same formula directly to other cases. Some +men of science have endeavoured to show that genius or criminality is +hereditary; and that, if one man writes a great poem and another picks a +pocket, it is always in virtue of their hereditary endowment. Within +certain limits, this statement is not surprising, and I shall be very +glad when men of science can tell us what those limits may be. Without +being a man of science, I fully believe that our congenital +characteristics form, as I have said, certain impassable limits to our +development. One baby is a potential Shakespeare, and, probably, only +one in a million. The qualities with which he starts, again, are, no +doubt, derived from his parents, though we do not, as yet, understand in +what way; whether, for example, we should infer that Shakespeare's +parents had more than usual capacity, or were especially healthy, or had +some peculiar form of one-sided development which generated the disease +called poetical genius; or whether he may have inherited qualities from +a remote ancestor, which had remained latent for several<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> generations. +In any case, he was at birth only a potential Shakespeare. He might have +died of the measles, or been made stupid by a sunstroke, or have taken +to drink in bad company, or have run away to sea, or been sent to the +University and become a mere bishop or professor of casuistry; in short, +though he could not easily have done very much better work than he did, +he might have done inconceivably less. That is to say, his congenital +qualities implied certain powers; but what he would do with them +remained to be partly determined by an indefinite variety of external +circumstances acting upon him in various ways. Hence, we have always the +complex problem, what, given certain raw material in the shape of +new-born babies, will be the characteristics of the finished product in +the shape of a grown-up population? If the social state is determined +from the inherited qualities directly, we should be able, for example, +to infer from a given proportion of criminals, that a certain number of +children were born with a corresponding physical constitution, with +"foreheads villainous low," and prognathous jaws, and with the other +peculiar signs which mark the felon from his birth. In that case, again, +we should infer, I suppose, that the only possible means of improving +the social state would be by somehow improving the breed; perhaps, by +appointing some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> of the inspectors who play so great a part in modern +society, to examine infants, and get rid of those who were thus +distinguished, by the means now adopted in the case of superfluous +puppies. One objection to this system is, of course, that men of science +have not yet shown that they are qualified for exercising such a +supervision; and there are other difficulties upon which I need not +dwell. This much, indeed, we may grant without any scientific +prepossessions whatever. It is clearly very desirable that every +generation should raise up for its successors as many children with +sturdy bodies and vigorous brains as possible; and it is to be hoped +that the objection to transmitting disease and imbecility may be more +generally recognised, and, in some shape or other, have an influence +even upon the strongest passions. But I am only concerned with the +general theory, which, if I understand it rightly, would appear to imply +that the characteristics of a society are irrevocably fixed by the +characteristics of the children born into it; and, whether this theory +be true or false, we must admit that it has a considerable bearing upon +morality. If, in fact, we hold it to be rigidly true, we should have to +suppose that no serious improvement can be produced in society at large, +except by breeding a superior race of men. This, again, is a +discouraging prospect. Let me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> quote what has been said by an authority +who expresses, I believe, the accepted scientific view. "There can be no +doubt," says Professor Huxley, "that vast changes have taken place in +English civilisation since the days of the Tudors. But I am not aware +that there is a single particle of evidence in favour of the conclusion +that this evolutionary process has been accompanied by any modification +of the physical or the mental characters of the men who have been the +subjects of it. I have not met with any grounds for suspecting that the +average Englishmen of to-day are sensibly different from those that +Shakespeare knew and drew." The statement, I imagine, might be very much +extended. I do not suppose that the average cockney of to-day is a +superior animal, physically or morally, to the average Athenian of the +days of Pericles, or even, it may be, to the pre-historic savages who +made flint implements for the amusement of our antiquaries. Briefly, +whatever change has taken place, within historical period, has been a +social change, not a change in the structure of the individual. This is +surely conceivable. We need only consider, for example, how vast a +change has been made in all the conditions of life by the modern +applications of practical science. Whether, in other respects, we are +better or worse than our forefathers, we have an enormously greater<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +aggregate of wealth now than we had, say, two centuries ago; we can +support four times the population, though the condition of the lowest +stratum may not be better. And this amazing advance of wealth is not due +to the fact that Englishmen of to-day have better brains for mathematics +than the Englishmen of Newton's time; but to the accumulation of +capital, the improvement of the natural conditions of the soil, the +turning to account of vast masses of material, previously neglected; to +the invention of machinery, and so forth; all of which imply, not +necessarily the very slightest improvement of natural capacity, but +simply the growth of knowledge, and the fact that each generation has +preserved more than it has consumed. What we call progress or +civilisation, which means, whatever else it may or may not mean, a +gigantic increase in the power of man over nature, is due, therefore, to +the one fact that man can accumulate. He can modify the earth in such a +way as to facilitate the labours of the coming generations; he can make +tools which last beyond his own time, and which themselves become, as it +were, the ancestors of incomparably superior tools; he can, moreover, +accumulate and transmit knowledge, not merely the knowledge of facts, +but the knowledge of scientific laws and of useful inventions, and of +the right methods of investigating facts. When Newton made<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> a discovery, +he made it for all the following generations; and, though it may well be +that no superior or even equal intellect has since arisen to carry on +his work, the dwarf now stands on the shoulders of the giant. It is not +simply that we know more facts. The modes of mathematical inquiry differ +as much from those which Newton could employ, as the latest steam engine +from the crude fire machine before the time of Watt; and an average +undergraduate can solve with ease problems which once puzzled the +greatest intellects that ever appeared among men. Man, then, can +accumulate; and that simple fact enables every generation enormously to +surpass its predecessors. Accumulation, again, is, of course, a form of +inheritance. We are born heirs to the intellectual as well as to the +material fortunes of our ancestors. But, it is obvious, this is +something very different from heredity. It supposes an alteration, not +in the man, but in his surroundings or his education in the widest +sense; not in his intellectual capacity, but in the knowledge which it +can attain and the rules which it has worked out. In order that a man +may be capable either of bequeathing or inheriting, he must have certain +faculties; he must be an observing, remembering, reasoning animal; but +he may become indefinitely richer, not from any improvement in his +powers of observing and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>remembering and using, but simply from the +change in his position. People's memories, it is sometimes suggested, +have been weakened by the invention of printing. But, weakened or not, +we have an incomparably greater knowledge of the past than was formerly +possible, because we can now keep our memories upon our bookshelves, in +the form of histories and encyclopædias, and know every fact that we +want to know when we want it, without troubling ourselves to fill our +minds with all the knowledge that may ever be possibly useful. A library +is an external and materialised memory. But without illustrating so +plain a point any further, I simply take note of what it implies: that +is, that, as Professor Huxley has pointed out, all that distinguishes +the present state of things from the state of things in the time of +Elizabeth, or, perhaps, at the time of remote Egyptian dynasties, may be +due, not to any change in the individual, but to what is called the +social factor. The inference from the individual to the society, or from +the society to the individual, is, therefore, rigidly impossible, +because, given the man, the position in which he is placed and the stage +of development of the society to which he belongs, are relevant facts +which exercise an incalculably great influence.</p> + +<p>If this be true, what follows? We remark, in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> first place, that the +evolution of which we speak in regard to natural history, the process by +which the present population of the globe has gradually grown out of the +population of remote geological epochs, is slow. The changes which it +may produce are not sensible within a generation—for, indeed, the very +nature of the case implies that they must take many generations—not +perhaps even within such a period as is covered by all authentic +history. It is not, of course, on that account to be overlooked for +scientific purposes. Monkeys must have grown into men before they could +begin to accumulate capital, either material or spiritual. The faculty +of accumulating must itself have been developed. Only when once it was +developed, another process would begin, the process of social evolution, +which, however it may resemble the other, or possibly be in some sense +its continuation, proceeds, at least, at a totally different rate. The +difference is comparable, one may say roughly, to the difference between +the speed of an express train and the speed of a four-wheeled waggon. +Beneath the surface, it may be, the slower process is still continuing; +men, for anything I can say to the contrary, may be acquiring larger +brains and more sensitive bodies; and it is further possible, or rather +obvious, that if we can do anything to facilitate this proceeding, to +behave so as to give nature a better chance of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> turning out better work, +we ought to do so. Only nature is pretty sure to take her time about it. +How far, again, one process is to be considered as a continuation of the +other, or as a modification, or even as in opposition to it, is a point +which I cannot now touch. What I have to say is simply this: that if we +take any two periods of society, the present, for example, and that of a +thousand or five thousand years ago, we shall find enormous or +incalculably great differences in the social structure, in the amount of +knowledge, in the character of the ethical, religious, and philosophical +beliefs, and in the relations between the individuals of which the +society is constructed; but between the individuals at the two periods +we may find hardly any definable difference whatever. For anything we +can say, we should be able, if we could move people about in time as +well as in space, to exchange a thousand infants of the nineteenth +century <span class="smaller">A.D.</span>, for a thousand of the nineteenth century <span class="smaller">B.C.</span>, and nobody +would be able to detect the difference which would result.</p> + +<p>Hence it follows, in my opinion, that the evolutionary process with +which moralists and political philosophers have practically to deal, is +what I have called the social, and not the individual process. We +inherit thoughts as we inherit wealth; we inherit customs and laws and +forms of worship, and indeed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> our whole mental furniture; we can add +enormously to our inheritance, and can transmit the augmented fund to +our descendants. But the other process of inheritance, to which the word +"heredity" is taken to apply, is not, immediately at least, cumulative. +We inherit the old faculties, bodily and mental, unaltered, or with +infinitesimal alterations, though we live in a different environment, +and are ourselves as much altered as our environment. The modern social +organism is built up, if I may say so, of cells almost identical in +their properties with those of the old organism, although the mode of +combination gives entirely new properties to the whole, and brings out +new actions and reactions among the constituent cells themselves.</p> + +<p>I have been touching the edge of certain problems of great interest but +enormous complexity, and I shall venture to indicate the difference +between these views and some which have recently attracted much +attention. Mr. Kidd's work upon "Social Evolution" has made the phrase +popular; but, instead of using it in my sense, he speaks as though +"social evolution" involved what I have called individual evolution. In +order to keep within limits, I will confine myself to one case upon +which he lays great stress. It will show sufficiently why I hold his +mode of reasoning to be inconclusive. Mr. Kidd has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> achieved success by +very excellent qualities, by remarkable literary ability, and by his +uniformly high tone of moral feeling. I should, therefore, be very sorry +to speak of him otherwise than respectfully. Mr. Kidd, however, chooses +to maintain a thesis in which he has certainly no personal +interest,—the thesis, namely, that a little stupidity may be a very +good thing. This view is, perhaps, intelligible when we observe that he +also maintains that the progress of the race depends upon its holding +"ultra-rational," which I think he would find it hard to distinguish +from "irrational," beliefs. In support of this view he writes a chapter +to prove that "progress is not primarily intellectual". The argument of +which I have spoken is part of this proof. The Greeks, he tells us, were +a race intellectually superior to ourselves. They were, so Mr. Galton +informs him, two degrees above modern Englishmen in the scale of +intelligence, and as superior to us as we are to the negro. And yet, +says Mr. Kidd, this marvellous race died out, and no trace of its blood +is now to be found in the present population of the world. Let us look +shortly into the logic of this argument, and consider how far it is +entitled to be regarded as scientific reasoning.</p> + +<p>First of all, I should ask, what precisely is meant by "the Greeks"? The +argument is founded partly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> on the number of great thinkers, poets, and +artists, in proportion to the population. Now, it is obviously essential +to a scientific statement that we should know what is the population +indicated. If we compare the number of great men at Athens in its best +period with the number of free Athenians, we shall get one ratio; if we +admit the Athenian slaves, or add Bœotia and other Greek States to +our population, we get quite a different ratio. And the difference is of +immense importance. The smaller the population, the higher the +excellence indicated by a given number of great men; but, also, the +smaller the population, the less is the wonder that it should have died +out or been swallowed up in the whirlpools of political, religious, and +social convulsions. A similar remark applies in regard to the period +during which this race flourished. When did they begin and when did they +cease to be superior to other people? Till the statement is more precise +we do not even know what are the phenomena to be explained; and the case +is susceptible of any number of explanations. Did the superior race +cease to be prolific; or was it prolific, but of inferior descendants; +and, if so, was it because it was mixed with races of an inferior stamp; +or was it because its position exposed it to the attacks of more +numerous enemies; or because its energy led it to attempt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> impossible +feats? Has it died out, or has it been swamped by other races? To answer +such questions is absolutely necessary before we can say positively that +the higher organisation was the cause of the decay, or that it did not +cause the decay by some indirect process due to the special combination +of circumstances. But to answer such questions, if they be answerable at +all, would require the investigations of a lifetime, and a mastery of a +whole series of studies, historical, statistical, ethnological, and so +forth, in which I am an absolute ignoramus. But I cannot perceive that +Mr. Kidd claims more than second-hand information.</p> + +<p>But, secondly, there is another obvious question to which an answer is +necessary. Mr. Kidd and Mr. Galton deduce their view about Greek +intellect, first, from the proportion of great men. Does, then, the +occurrence of a group of great men at a certain period prove a superior +organisation in the race? That leads to a very familiar problem: What +were the causes of what we may call the flowering times of arts and +sciences? We are all familiar with the phenomenon; with the sudden +display of astonishing excellence at Athens, at Florence, or in the +England of Elizabeth. It seems to be the rule that processes which may +have been going on quietly for centuries suddenly culminate; that +artistic, poetic, or philosophic excellence becomes unprecedentedly +common<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> for a generation or two, and that the impulse then dies away as +rapidly. It is the kind of problem which is satisfactorily solved by the +authors of university prize essays, which somehow fail to convince the +world or to be republished by their writers. Are we, then, entitled to +argue from the great works an organic superiority in the race? Must we +suppose, for example, that Englishmen at the time of Shakespeare and +Bacon and Spenser and Raleigh were an abler race than their descendants, +because, when there was a very much smaller number of educated men, they +produced more first-rate authors than have been produced by generations +much more numerous and more generally cultivated? This seems to me at +least to be a very rash hypothesis; and some of the obvious remarks made +in our university essays seem to me to indicate considerations which, +though not conclusive, cannot be neglected. It is clear, for example, +that particular stages of intellectual progress are abnormally +stimulating; that, as the last step to a pass in the mountains suddenly +reveals vast prospects, while a hundred equally difficult steps before +made no appreciable change, so there are mental advances which, as at +the time of Bacon, seemed suddenly to disclose boundless prospects of +knowledge. It is the Pisgah sight of the promised land which causes a +burst of energy. Or, again, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> certain social condition is obviously +required; philosophers and poets may exist potentially among barbarous +tribes, but they cannot get a chance to speak, and they have no +opportunity of communication with other thinkers. The intellect may be +impelled in various directions, some of which leave no trace of a +tangible kind. The amount of intellectual power implied in building up +the Roman Empire may have been as great as that implied in developing +Greek art; and in America, as we are often told, intellect turns to +dollar-making, instead of book-writing. So, conversely, the outburst of +power may indicate, not greater faculties, but special opportunities, or +special stimulus, applied to already existing faculties. Everybody who +has written an æsthetic treatise has pointed to all manner of conditions +which were in this sense favourable to the Greeks. How far such +conditions were sufficient I cannot even guess; but at least an +allowance must be made for them before we can argue from the +achievements to the intrinsic power of the race which achieved. I do not +see that it is even "proved" that the average Athenian was in the least +superior in this sense to the average Englishman. It would require a +lifetime of study to pronounce any opinion worth having. I fully confess +that, so far as a vague impression is worth anything, it is the most +obvious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> impression, after looking at the Elgin marbles, that the Greeks +were possessed of a finer organisation than ourselves. Still, I cannot +accept as certain the quasi-mathematical formula that the Greek is to +the Englishman as the Englishman to the negro.</p> + +<p>This, however, suggests another and very difficult series of problems. +Mr. Kidd is arguing against intellectual superiority. He, of course, +does not argue that the general superiority of a race leads to its +disappearance; but that a one-sided superiority—an improvement of one +set of faculties at the expense of others—may have that result. This at +once suggests a whole series of psychological problems. The intellect +and the emotional nature are not two separate organs, each capable of +independent development. Every mental process involves both, and neither +faculty can be developed without reference to the other. Mr. Kidd +accepts the conclusion that certain primitive races were as clever as +ourselves, because their brains were as large. If the argument be sound, +it proves equally that their emotional nature was as well developed as +ours; for no one can doubt that the brain is the physical condition of +feeling as well as of thought. Even the most abstract thought, as he +elsewhere notices, implies certain moral qualities. Newton remarked that +he was superior to other men, not because his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> intellect was clearer, +but because he attended more persistently to his problems. The +statement, I think, involves a fallacy. Newton himself, no doubt, did +better the longer he kept a problem before him. He inferred, +unjustifiably, that of two different men, the one who could keep up his +attention longest would be the best. That does not follow. The +difference may indeed be moral as well as intellectual; and it is quite +true that a power of sustained attention is of the highest importance in +mathematics, and that that power supposes a moral quality; but, +conversely, the power of attention probably implies also the power of +clear intellectual vision. A muddle-headed man would find attention +useless. This is, of course, still clearer in the case where the mind is +exercised upon questions of human interest. The statesman and the +dramatist both depend upon their power of sympathy and the strength of +their emotions, as much as upon their logical capacity. To feel for +others I must imagine their position: if I imagine it, I can hardly +avoid feeling for them. "Altruism" is the product, in other words, of a +process both intellectual and moral.</p> + +<p>Now, remembering this, we see the difficulty of pronouncing upon the +nature of the Greek organisation. Perhaps the commonest of all remarks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +upon Greek work is the symmetry and harmony, the "all-roundness," if I +may say so, of the development implied. Poetry and philosophy, art and +science seem to be so blended in their work that we cannot tell which +faculty is predominant. What, then, is the inequality of development +which is essential to Mr. Kidd's argument? They were wanting, he seems +to answer, in "altruism". What does this mean? The astonishing power of +the Greeks was certainly as conspicuous in poetry and art as in anything +else; and that power surely implies development of the emotional as well +as of the intellectual nature. By a defect of "altruism," I take him to +mean that these emotions did not flow along the channel of general +philanthropy. They were wanting then, as I should put it, rather in +cosmopolitanism than in altruism. If altruism means care for something +outside yourself, where could we find better examples of altruism than +at Thermopylæ or Marathon? Was it not due to Greek altruism in this form +(some historians would say) that Mr. Kidd is not now living under the +rule of a Persian Satrap? The altruism, no doubt, meant an intense and +patriotic devotion to a small State, or an interest in Greek as against +barbarian, and was compatible with much brutality to individuals and +acquiescence in slavery. But this does<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> not indicate an absence of the +emotions themselves, but simply their confinement within narrow limits, +by the conditions under which they were placed. Slavery, for example, is +abominable; but I see no reason for supposing that the slave-holders in +America were worse men by innate constitution than their opponents. They +were corrupted by their position.</p> + +<p>This, in any case, leads to another problem. Were the Greeks more or +less altruistic than other races? If you could show that altruistic +races had survived while the Greeks perished, there might be a +presumption that the want of altruism was the cause of their decay. But +this again does not seem to be the case. Hardly one of the ancient +races, indeed, has survived unvaried. The Romans were at least as brutal +as the Greeks, and, one would say, as far from "altruistic". Yet they +overpowered the Greeks. How, then, can it be inferred that the Greeks +perished because of defective altruism? The struggle for existence was +between races equally defective to all appearance in that quality; and +it must be a sophistry to signalise its absence in one as the cause of +its disappearance. There is, indeed, one race to which every one would +turn as the most prominent example of survival, namely, the Jews. The +Jews<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> have enormous merits and great intellectual endowments; but can +anybody say that they were altruistic in the sense of being +cosmopolitan? Are they not conspicuous, beyond any race, for the +narrower forms of altruism, rejection of a cosmopolitan creed, even when +it arose among them, and exclusive devotion to the welfare of their own +people? I think that it would be perfectly easy to argue that the Greeks +died out just because of their cosmopolitan and therefore dispersive +tendencies, and that the Jews have held out from a judicious adherence +to narrower views of self-preservation. But personally I regard all such +"arguments" as really belonging to the extra-scientific regions of +rhetorical illustration.</p> + +<p>This suggests one other point which requires consideration. Mr. Kidd +regards it as proved that progress has been due to the Christian +religion, which revealed the new moral doctrine. The Christian religion +introduced, it seems, that belief in the supernatural which is essential +to altruism. It seems to me to be inconsistent with his own principles, +that he should attribute progress to what is essentially, on his own +showing, an intellectual change: that is, to a change in belief and even +to a change which, in comparison with the old polytheism, was distinctly +sceptical and rationalistic. But one point<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> is clear. The introduction +of Christianity may be interpreted more consistently in a totally +different way. The Greek who became a Christian was not provided with a +new set of emotions, but his emotions were directed into new channels. +He ceased to care for Athens, because Athens had ceased to be an +independent State; he began to be cosmopolitan when he was forced to be +part of a cosmopolitan empire. The important distinction was no longer +the distinction between Athenian and Spartan, but between the different +classes in the world-wide system. That is to say, the "altruism" which +came in with Christianity was not the product of a new dogma suddenly +dropped from heaven; but of the new social condition, which made it +inevitable that the forces which previously stimulated a local +patriotism should now exert themselves nearer a cosmopolitan +organisation. This is, of course, a commonplace; but, for that reason, +it should not be simply ignored. It suggests one other consequence of +Mr. Kidd's theory. It is proved, he says, that the progress of the +Western world is due to Christianity. His "proof," as I suppose, is that +the States which have sprung out of the old Empire of the West have been +Christian and have progressed. How, then, about the Empire of the East? +If the great Kingdoms of the West are the unique example of progress, +what is the unique<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> example of decay? Surely, the regions where +Christian dogmatic theology was defended by Athanasius and Chrysostom. +If you wish to point out a region where the race has actually gone +backwards, you would refer to the Turkish Empire. Why, if Christianity +was the sole cause of progress in one quarter, was it comparable with +complete decay in the other? Does the Eastern theory about the +<i>filioque</i> explain it? Or were the Mohammedans more "altruistic" than +the Christians? Or is it that it is absurd, especially upon Mr. Kidd's +own doctrine, to assign the dogmatic creed of a race as the sole cause +of its character and its success in the struggle for existence?</p> + +<p>I do not lay any stress upon the argument, except in a negative sense. I +do not see, that is, how Mr. Kidd can make his theory fit the facts. But +I infer one other remark. It is impossible to divine the causes of the +rise and fall of empires, the success or decay of a race, from any of +these sweeping generalisations about ill-defined qualities. If we ask +why the Greeks died out, we should have to take into account another and +a totally different set of considerations: what I may call the accidents +of their position. We should have to consider all the arguments by which +historians have tried to explain the events; the facts of physical +geography, for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> example, which account for the division into small +separate States; the relations of the Greeks to the Eastern races on the +one side, and to the Romans on the other; and, briefly, to all the +material conditions, those different from the intrinsic character of the +race, by which the whole course of political development and of the +conflict between different peoples, is moulded and directed into +particular courses. I do not say, for I cannot guess, what would be the +result of such an inquiry; but I think it just as possible that it would +lead us to wonder at the persistence of the Greek States for so long a +period, as that it would lead us to wonder at their disappearance. Our +conclusion might be, that nothing but the astonishing intellectual +powers of the Greeks enabled them to play so great a part in the world's +history, not that their intellectual superiority was the cause of their decay.</p> + +<p>I consider, therefore, that the alleged fact is stated so vaguely that +we have no distinct problem set before us; that we don't know what is +the process to be explained; that the suggested intellectual superiority +is doubtful, at least in degree: that the excess of intellectual above +other development, which the superiority is supposed to have created, is +not proved, and, still less, that such excess was more conspicuous among +the Greeks than among their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> rivals; that, even if it existed, it is not +proved that it would have produced the effect ascribed to it; and, +finally, that the other causes which undoubtedly operated, are simply +overlooked. I confess, therefore, that the whole argument seems to me to +illustrate the danger of rashly applying certain scientific +formulæ,—themselves, perhaps, still doubtful,—to new and exceedingly +complex questions. If Darwin had reasoned in this light-hearted way, no +one would have been moved by his conclusions.</p> + +<p>But I must still add, what brings me back to my point, that even if the +proposition were proved, it would not establish the conclusion. It may +be, that races of abnormal intellectual development are at a +disadvantage in the struggle for existence. That does not prove that +"progress is not primarily intellectual". Buckle, who argued that +progress was due to intellectual causes exclusively, always assumed that +human nature was constant, or that the faculties did not change. Though +I do not accept his view, any more than Mr. Kidd's, I do not see that he +was inconsistent. I take the most obvious case to illustrate the point. +No one can doubt that one of the most important influences in modern +social evolution was the set of mechanical contrivances devised by +Arkwright and Watt and their contemporaries. Without them, the enormous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +development of great cities, of a population of artisans, and of the +bringing together of all quarters of the globe, would have been +impossible. The inventions, again, were due to no moral purpose in the +inventors. They wanted to make money, and represented what is called (I +do not say justly) the most egoistic impulse of modern times. One +condition, then, of the great social change was essentially +intellectual. This does not mean that Watt was a cleverer man than +Archimedes. I don't know whether he was or not; but it does mean that +the mechanical sciences had improved; and, consequently, that Watt, +though not possessed of intrinsically greater powers, was, in this +direction, a more intellectual person. He had inherited the truths +discovered by Archimedes and many generations of successors. That +science should be efficient, it is not required that men should be +greater geniuses than their predecessors; but simply that they should +know more of the facts and laws of nature, and have, so to speak, better +intellectual tools. Mr. Kidd thinks that the inability of a savage to +count three does not prove him to be stupid, only to be without certain +rules discovered by the higher races. Yet, he will not deny that by the +help of arithmetic we can work out sums inconceivable to the savage; and +that our power affects our whole social position. Does not the existence +of a currency<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> affect mankind; and if we could not count, could we make +use of it?</p> + +<p>I therefore hold that in many cases the causes of progress are +"primarily intellectual". The mechanical discoveries of which I have +spoken have revolutionised the whole world. I agree, indeed, fully, that +the causes are not exclusively intellectual. A certain social +condition—the existence, to say nothing more, of peace and order over +wide regions—was as necessary as the intellectual condition to the +development of commerce and manufactures. This, of course, implies the +growth of corresponding sentiments, including, no doubt, what Mr. Kidd +means by altruism. But the change may, and, I fancy, generally does, +originate in intellectual movements. The new ideas shake the world. +Reason, says Mr. Kidd, is the great disintegrating and egoistic force. I +should say that reasoning is essentially altruistic: my discoveries are +mentally discoveries for you; I cannot keep a truth for my private +consumption, as I can keep a material product. But it is true, to use +eulogistic instead of dyslogistic language, that reason is the great +force of movement, and breaks up the old social conditions, not only by +getting rid of the ultra-rational, but by spreading the power of the +rational; and therefore it inevitably brings about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> a state of things in +which the old moral impulses have to run in new channels; a narrow +patriotism, to widen into a regard for the interests of other races; and +the class distinctions which repose upon no reasonable ground, to +disappear in favour of a wider humanity. When we are arguing about an +organism, it is surely a mistake to fix our minds upon one aspect of the +problem: to deny with Buckle the moral evolution, and with Mr. Kidd to +disparage the intellectual evolution.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kidd's doctrine appears to me, though, of course, not to him, to be +eminently discouraging. If he worked it out logically, his argument, I +think, would come to this: that the progress of mankind has resulted +from the accidental, that is, inexplicable, appearance of a quality +called altruism, which gave to those who possessed it an advantage in +the struggle for existence. It would be far more consistent to say that +the religious dogma was determined by this new element, than that it was +the cause. Altruism, again, was only produced in effect on this +hypothesis by the slow results of a process necessarily lasting through +many generations; and our only hope must be in a slow organic change of +the primary characteristics of mankind. Now, it is, of course, true that +those characteristics, whatever they may be, impose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> definite limits +upon our progress. The raw material limits the product; and the new-born +baby is the raw material of society, as wool is of cloth: you cannot +convert it into tissue of gold. So much is undeniable. We, it is said, +have been developed out of an arboreal animal, and I have sometimes +regretted that we were not developed out of a flying animal. The course +of civilisation would have been very different if we had not been forced +to come into contact by crawling and swimming, instead of the much freer +methods of aerial travelling. However, as things were, the choice was +apparently between wings and hands; and if we could not have both, +perhaps hands were preferable, and may in time lead to flying machines. +The speculation, it may be, borders upon the fanciful. I mention it only +by way of illustrating the unevitable conditions imposed upon us by +"heredity". We have to be content with walking instead of flying; and +similarly we have to be content with having only the five senses of our +forefathers, and the various old-fashioned apparatuses for eating, +drinking, digesting, and so forth, which they unconsciously elaborated. +No material change can possibly be made in this system within any period +to which we can look forward. To regret these limitations is just as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +idle as to regret that we cannot fly, or that we cannot extend our +voyages to the moon. They are part of the primary data of the problem +with which we have to deal; and to regret that that problem was not +differently contrived is to propose to set about reconstructing the +universe. But when we go on to ask how far this limits any possibilities +of achieving really desirable, because distinctly conceivable results, I +say that we have ample room for hopes large enough to animate our +loftiest desires. We inherit, it is true, certain faculties which +scarcely alter, or do not perceptibly alter, for the better. We do not +see or smell or hear better than the savage, and in some of these +faculties we are surpassed by the dog. We inherit also certain +intellectual powers, and, if they improve, the improvement is so slow as +to be perceptible only after many generations. But then this intellect +carries with it another power,—the power of inheriting thoughts, +beliefs, methods of reasoning and rules of conduct. And, therefore, to +the organic evolution is added the social evolution, which enables us to +accumulate our vast spiritual inheritance. The inheritance is +everything, or almost everything, that makes the distinctions between +the civilised races of to-day and the wandering savages who roamed the +fens and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> forests which were supplanted by fields and towns. And +this, I think, makes room enough for all reasonable aspirations, though +it certainly does not open any prospect that we shall ever become gods or angels.</p> + +<p>Thus, for example, we look with sorrow, sometimes with something like +despair, upon the masses of the criminal or degraded population which +grovels at the base of modern society. If we were bound to say, the +crime and the stupidity are the necessary expression of the shape of the +skull and the organisation of the brain; if we had therefore to infer +that the only possible remedy is by so modifying the struggle for +existence that the inferior forms may be killed off and a better breed +of humanity take the place of the present; we should certainly feel that +we were confined within very narrow limits. I do not for a moment say, +that such considerations may not point to important practical +conclusions. I should be very glad to hear of any practical suggestions +for so applying these doctrines as to increase the probability that the +next generation may be stronger, healthier, and more intelligent than +the present. But I also assert that the most obvious facts also show +that there are enormous possibilities of progress without supposing any +such organic transformation. If all that makes the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> difference between +the England of to-day and the England of two or three centuries back is +the presence of the social factor, not of the organic change, it shows +in the most striking way the vast educability of mankind, even without +any ultimate change of human nature. We must all, I think, have been +impressed lately by one of the most singular phenomena which have ever +taken place in history. We have ourselves seen the transformation of the +Japanese—whom we so recently regarded as semi-barbarians—acquire +almost at a bound all the arts of Western civilisation, and able not +only to use with singular effect that most complex and delicate piece of +machinery which forms a modern warship, but to adopt systems of military +organisation and the strategy of a Moltke. That is not because the +Japanese have changed any one of their physical characteristics, for +they are the very same men who the other day were chiefly known to us as +performing the "happy despatch". They have changed simply because they +were able to assimilate European results. Now, if that be a perfectly +possible result, consistently with all the so-called laws of heredity, +the same laws cannot be inconsistent with changes of a similar character +within ourselves. You take a thorough ruffian,—a drinking, rowdy, +fighting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> brute, who has stamped his wife or his friend into a jelly. +You say that he is an illustration of slavism, or the reproduction of an +ancient type which once had its place among his ancestors. The fact may +be quite true; that he is, for example, acting-still in the spirit of +those ancient Vikings who have been idealised by our romantic writers; +but who, when they landed in an old British village, behaved pretty much +as the modern roughs or some of those noble blackguards who are +described in Mr. Rudyard Kipling's novels. But if you mean that he is +divided from civilised beings by an impassable gulf, and is doomed to be +a scoundrel by the shape of his skull, I venture to dispute the +assumption. The Viking in a generation or two became the Norman knight, +capable of the highest cultivation of his time; and even the rough, +according to Mr. Rudyard Kipling, is capable, under judicious +discipline, of developing some very fine qualities, chiefly, it is true, +in the shape of devotion to his colours. To wean him from some of his +weaknesses it is probably necessary to catch him rather younger. All, +however, that I desire to say, for the present, is this—as it seems to +me—very undeniable fact: that the difference between a civilised man +and a barbarian, between the highest types of modern life and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +apparently irreclaimable brutes who are exhibited in our police-courts, +is not dependent upon the mark of the beast irreclaimably fixed upon +them at their birth; but to certain later influences, which may or may +not be brought to bear upon them effectually. There is nothing, for +example, in the doctrine of heredity inconsistent with the belief that +if such influences could be properly directed, the standard, say, of +sobriety and prudence among the lowest classes might be improved, as +much as the standard of the same virtues has been improved in classes +above them. The consequences of such a change would, I suspect, be +incomparably greater than the consequences of whole systems of laws +regulating the hours of labour and whole armies of official inspectors.</p> + +<p>But into this I need not go; and I have only one thing to say in +conclusion. I have spoken of the enormous results of what we call +progress and civilisation. That they are in one sense enormous is, I +suppose, undeniable. That the power which we generally describe as the +command of man over nature has been immensely increased is too palpable +a fact to be denied; that there has been a corresponding change in many +political and social respects is a fact which I only mention without +seeking to say how far it has been in all respects<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> a change for the +better. Further, I urge that this change, whatever it is, has not been +due to a change in the individual constitution, but to a change in the +social factor. And, this being so, I simply suggest that, considering +how vast is the total change thus effected, we may reasonably hope, or, +at the very least, we may reasonably endeavour to justify the hope, that +a change of great magnitude may be brought about in those directions +where we all have to regret the survival or even the development of so +much that is melancholy: of regeneration going on alongside of +amelioration. I think that the doctrine of heredity is sometimes +interpreted in such a way as to suggest the hopelessness or at least the +extreme difficulty of introducing any sensible improvement within any +limited time; and what I have tried to urge is that, if properly +understood, it does not in the least degree tend to justify such +forebodings, or to imply that we are to abandon ourselves to ademoralising fatalism.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>PUNISHMENT.</span></h2> + +<p>I invite you to consider a rather dry problem. I ventured to select this +topic because it has lately been my duty to occupy myself with certain +legal writings, which, perhaps, took me a little beyond my depth. They +touched, however, problems which are common to the lawyer and to the +moralist. Although not a lawyer, I am interested in some moral problems +which have also a legal aspect: What I propose to do this evening is, to +consider certain questions which lie in the region common to both +provinces of inquiry, and especially this question: What is the true +ethical theory of punishments inflicted by the criminal law? How, and in +what sense, are they to be regarded as just? There is, obviously, a +relation between the two codes—moral and legal. Murder is both a sin +and a crime: a breach of the moral law, and of the laws of every +civilised country. Yet, there is one broad and deep distinction between +the two systems of law. The moral law is essentially concerned with a +man's motives. To say that a man's conduct is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> wicked, is necessarily +also to say that it is the action of a bad man, or due to evil passions. +Murder is wicked, as it is the manifestation of the murderer's hatred of +his neighbour. The criminal law, on the other hand, has to deal, in the +first instance, with the external facts. It contemplates, primarily, +what a man does, not what he is. It does not attempt to punish every man +who hates his neighbour, but every man who has, in fact, killed, whether +the action springs from hatred or some other motive. Every one who +deliberately kills, unless the act falls under certain definite +exceptions, is guilty of murder. This, of course, does not imply that +the moral aspect is of no account. The exceptions are so arranged that +the legal classification corresponds roughly to the moral +classification. Under certain exceptions, killing is regarded as +justifiable homicide, and under others, it is only manslaughter, and, +therefore, receives none, or a slighter penalty. The coincidence between +the codes may thus be very close. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred +the action condemned by the criminal law will be condemned by the +moralist. The man who is legally guilty of murder is also, almost +invariably, guilty of a great moral offence. Although, again, the moral +law applies to large classes of conduct, which are not within the +cognisance of the criminal law, it is, at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> least, plainly desirable that +the criminal law should condemn nothing which is not also morally wrong. +The sway of the moral law is universal; it applies to all conduct, and, +of course, to the conduct of legislators and judges: they and the law +which they define and apply should be consistent with the general law of +right and wrong. They and all of us are bound not to make virtue more +difficult nor vice easier.</p> + +<p>But, further, the questions as to the relations between the two codes +arise in various directions. It is obvious that the criminal law has to +employ very rough and ready methods. It cannot estimate, with any +accuracy, the degree of immorality implied by any given action. It +cannot, and it does not attempt to, look closely into the secrets of a +man's heart. It cannot inquire, as a rule, how far a man's crime is the +result of bad education or bad surroundings; how far it implies thorough +corruption or only superficial faults of temper, or a misunderstanding +of some fact or doctrine. It cannot take into account a number of +metaphysical or psychological considerations which are connected with +the theory of moral responsibility. To settle such points you would have +to empanel a jury of philosophers, and the only thing of which you could +be certain would be, that such a jury would never agree upon a verdict. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>Again, there are whole classes of virtues and vices with which the +criminal law is not concerned. Ingratitude, to take the common example, +is a grave vice, but one which it would be absurd to punish legally. Not +only would such an attempt involve impossible inquiries, but the attempt +would be self-defeating. If the duty of gratitude to a benefactor were +turned into a legal obligation, gratitude proper would cease to exist. +To confer a benefit would be the same thing as to acquire a right to +repayment. A man who allows his best friend to starve, or to go to the +workhouse, may be, morally, far worse than a thief; but you could not +punish him legally, without adopting a principle which, even if +practicable, would, so far as it operated, be destructive of all +disinterested friendship. The law, again, can deal only with criminals +who are found out. What proportion they may bear to the whole class of +moral offenders is not discoverable; but it is, at least, safe to say +that, for every man whom you convict of a crime, you must leave +unpunished, because undetected, another sinner who is equally deserving +of punishment. And, finally, it is apparently impossible to say, upon +any intelligible grounds, what should be the proportion between crime +and punishment. How many years' imprisonment does a man deserve for +putting out his neighbour's eye? I do not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> see how such a rule of three +can be stated. The good old theory of an eye for an eye and a tooth for +a tooth, seems to suggest a possible criterion. But it was difficult to +carry out. Deloraine, in the <i>Lay of the Last Minstrel</i>, has, as he +points out, killed Musgrove's brother; but, on the other hand, Musgrove +has killed Deloraine's nephew, and, besides, got a thousand marks ransom +out of Deloraine himself. Is the account to be regarded as accurately +balanced? Is one brother just equal to a nephew plus a thousand marks? +The theory, of course, is an application of an inappropriate analogy. If +we regard crime simply as a case of private injury, we may say that it +is fair that the wrong-doer should restore the thing that he has taken, +and so put matters where they were before. But this is obviously to take +a view which is quite inapplicable in most cases, and in all cases +becomes inadequate when we take the moral view, and regard crime as an +offence against society—not simply as a wrong to another individual.</p> + +<p>For such reasons, it is apparently impossible to say that a legal +punishment can be just, in the full sense in which the moralist would +use the words. No doubt we may say,—and we wish that we could always +say,—that a man "deserves" what he has got; and that implies that we +recognise as desirable some satisfaction to our sense of justice. And, +of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> course, too, we demand that justice should be done in another sense +of the word; that the case, for example, should be impartially +investigated; that a man should not be punished severely because he is +poor, or because he is unpopular, or let off easily because he is a +private friend of the judge. Such demands mean that justice should not +be perverted by applying irrelevant considerations; but they leave our +previous questions untouched. The criminal law, from its nature, cannot +impose equal penalties upon all men who are equally wicked; but only +upon those who have made themselves liable: and that always involves +elements of accident; it cannot take into account at all some of the +elements upon which the depth of moral depravity essentially depends; +and it is, at least, very difficult to say what specific meaning can be +given to the proportion between crime and the suffering imposed upon the criminal.</p> + +<p>If, then, the legislative action must, of necessity, be very imperfect +from the moral point of view, we may try what will be the effect of +dismissing the moral question altogether, or, at least, reducing it to a +secondary place. We may, that is, consider crime not in so far as +immoral, but in so far as mischievous. Here we have the doctrine worked +out very consistently by Bentham and his followers. Pain, they said, is +an evil, the only evil; pleasure, a good,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> and the only good. To inflict +needless pain—pain which does not cause a balance of pleasure—upon any +one, be he a good man or be he a bad man, is, so far, wrong. For the +same reason, it is justifiable, and, indeed, right, to inflict pain, so +far as it prevents some greater evil. Hence, you should punish criminals +just so far as the pain which you inflict is less than the pain which +you prevent. It is wrong to give a single useless pang even to the worst +of men. If (according to a sentiment attributed to Bentham) a fine of +five shillings would prevent a man from committing murder, it would be +wrong to fine him seven shillings and sixpence. This gives a +justification of punishment, in so far as deterrent. It is obviously +connected with another doctrine. A man is the best judge of his own +pleasures and pains. Therefore, in so far as a man's actions affect +himself alone, they are not to be forbidden by the law. We may think +them bad or degrading; but so long as they do not affect others, the +fact that a man chooses them is a proof that they give him pleasure; and +we shall, therefore, only diminish the sum of happiness by interfering. +Now, it is plain that this distinction does not draw the line between +what is morally bad or good. Every habit which affects a man's own +character, affects, also, his capacity to fulfil his duties to others. +But this theory overlooks immorality, except<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> so far as it happens to +involve certain extraneous consequences. We are, upon this showing, to +punish a criminal precisely in the same spirit as we are to abate a +nuisance. The thief is to be suppressed, as we are to extirpate a +mischievous weed, and to be suppressed by just as much severity as is +required for the purpose. The drunkard, so long as he confines himself +to making a beast of himself in his own room, does his neighbours no +direct injury, and must be left to enjoy the pleasure which is shown, +because he chooses it, to be a pleasure to him. Of this theory, it may, +I think, be said that, however imperfect, it is tolerably consistent, +and, moreover, that it undoubtedly does express one legitimate end of +punishment. There can be no doubt, that is, that the punishment of +murderers may be rightly defended, among other grounds, at any rate, on +the ground that it discourages the practice; though we may not fully +agree with the famous saying of the judge, "You are not hanged for +stealing sheep, but hanged in order that sheep may not be stolen". And, +further, though there are various difficulties about the distinction +between "self-regarding" and "extra-regarding" conduct, we must also, I +think, allow, in general terms, that the fact that a man's conduct has a +direct and assignable influence upon his neighbour's happiness, must +always be one reason,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> and, frequently, the only sufficient reason, for +suppressing it by legal penalties.</p> + +<p>This doctrine of simple deterrence, however, seems, to most critics, to +be insufficient. It omits the moral element too completely. When a man +is punished for some revolting offence, we are not simply providing him +and his like with reasons for abstaining in future. We are, as a fact, +exposing him to infamy, sometimes more painful to bear than the +immediate penalty, and are thus, in fact, invoking the sanction of the +moral sentiment. Therefore, it is urged, we must still, whether we like +it or not, be moralists. The purely utilitarian argument has omitted one +element of the calculation. The punishment not only deters offenders, +but gratifies the feeling of resentment to moral indignation, which has +been approved by many moralists. Hence, it is urged, besides the +deterrent theory, we must make room for the vindictive theory. It is +legitimate and right to hate crime, and, therefore, to hate criminals; +and legal punishments are defensible, not merely as adding to the +motives for refraining from crime, but as gratifying the desire for +revenge, which, in early ages, was assumed in the rude modes of putting +down violence, and which, even now, should be not eradicated but +confined within legal channels and directed towards the desirable ends.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p><p>Postponing, for the present, a consideration of this proposed +emendation, let us consider, a little more closely, the objection made +to the theory of deterrence. In what way does it come into direct +conflict with a moral theory of punishment? It looks upon immorality as +mischievous, or as diminishing happiness; and upon the utilitarian view +immorality means the diminution of happiness. Now, without discussing +ultimate moral questions, I may assume that, for practical purposes, +this seems to be a sufficiently tenable position. After all, we admit, +to whatever school we belong, that crime is mischievous, and, whatever +deeper meaning may be assigned to it, may be considered in that light by +the legislator. He cannot—certainly he ought not to—forbid actions +which do no harm to anybody, or which nobody, at the time and place, +feels to be injurious to happiness. Even, therefore, if utilitarianism +be unsatisfactory as an ultimate theory, it may represent adequately the +point of view of the practical legislator. He tries to suppress violence +and fraud because, as a fact, they cause what their victims unanimously +agree to be painful consequences; and he need not look any further for a +reason. People, it is said, have very different standards of pleasure. +Still, we all dislike having our throats cut or our pockets picked; and +that fact supplies a sufficient ground upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> which to base the whole +criminal law. When we go a little further, a point of divergence may be +noticed, a short consideration of which may help to clear the case. Let +us assume the legitimate end of all punishment to be deterrence. It will +follow, that we must annex as a consequence to crimes an adequate +counterpoise, and a counterpoise not more than adequate to the +criminal's motives. The fine to be paid must be just sufficient to +prevent the transgression. Now, it has been urged, this necessarily +implies a conflict with morality. The degree of moral guilt implied in a +given crime varies inversely as the temptation. The greater the +inducement to the offence, the less the wickedness shown in committing +the offence. A man may have enough virtue to refrain from a gratuitous +injustice, although he has not virtue enough to resist a large bribe, or +the threats of a man in power. But, if the legislator is to provide +simply a counterpoise, he will have to follow the opposite rule. The +greater the temptation, the greater must be the force of the motive +which must be added to counterbalance the temptation. If there be a +crime by which a man might make a million of money, you must, if you +would prevent it, hold out the prospect of such pains as would, in his +estimation, be cheaply avoided at the sacrifice of a million; or, making +allowance for the uncertainty of detection,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> by the sacrifice of more +than a million. But if, by the same crime, he only got a five-pound +note, the prospect of paying a hundred pounds in case of detection might +be a sufficient preservative of his honesty. Yet, the man who is tempted +by the million gives less proof of dishonesty than the man who commits +the same crime for a paltry five pounds. Therefore the punishment must +be increased, as the wickedness is less.</p> + +<p>I must first set aside one ambiguity which perplexes this argument. When +we speak of a temptation as varying, we may mean one of two very +different things. To say that I am more "tempted" than you to commit a +given crime, may mean that the gain expected by me is itself greater; +or, it may mean that I am more predisposed to the crime. I may be more +tempted, let us say, to poison my uncle than you are to poison yours. +That may mean that my uncle is a rich old sinner and I am his heir, +whereas your uncle is a poor saint and you will get nothing by his +death. Or it may mean that I am more tempted because, our uncles being +alike, I am spiteful, and you affectionate, by nature. In the first +case, to say that I am under the stronger temptation would, perhaps, +tend to alleviate the gravity of my crime; in the second, it would +simply be another way of saying that I was the greater brute. In both<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +cases, of course, it is true that the greater temptation would require +the greater counterpoise. In one case, this only means that the worse +the man, the stronger the restraints which he requires; and, if you +could make different laws for bad men and good, it would follow that the +bad would require the heaviest penalties. But this does not conflict +with the moral view. It is no excuse for a murderer to say, "I am so +bloodthirsty that I really could not help murdering". No contradiction +to morality arises from punishing his crime more severely. In the other +case alone,—the case in which we made distinctions founded upon the +difference of surrounding circumstances,—it is true that we should, +from the point of view of simple deterrence, require heavier penalties +where the temptations were greater, and, therefore, the intrinsic +malevolence proved to exist less.</p> + +<p>For most purposes, this argument seems to have very little practical +application. The law is made for people in general; we cannot have one +law for bad men and another for good; partly because good and bad people +do not carry about tangible marks of their quality written upon their +faces. No doubt, indeed, the atrocity of a crime is recognised, if not +by the general law, by the nature of the sentence. An assault may show +unnatural ferocity or merely a rather excessive warmth of temper; and, +though<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> the offence may be forbidden under the same clause of the +criminal law, the judge may be empowered to give sentences of varying +severity, varying more or less according to the moral depravity implied. +So far, the worst offences (in a moral sense) get the heaviest +punishment; and the deterring influence is rightly exerted by +proportioning the penalty to the temptation, that is, to the +predisposition to crime. The other case, again, requires some +qualification. It is not true, as an absolute proposition, that the +criminality is always, or generally, diminished, in proportion to the +greatness of the temptation; for we must remember that both the +temptation and the crime will generally be greater in proportion to the +amount of mischief inflicted. It is more tempting, no doubt, to +appropriate a thousand pounds than a shilling; but we cannot infer that +the man who takes the larger sum is, therefore, less wicked; that he has +a conscience which would have kept him honest under the smaller +temptation, and has only yielded to the greater. Compare, for example, +the case of the petty pilferer who appropriates my watch, with the case +of the man of business who appropriates securities worth many thousand +pounds and ruins widows and orphans by the dozen. We should all agree, I +imagine, that the perpetrator of the more gigantic fraud would require +the stronger deterring<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> motive to be kept straight. He is playing for +heavy stakes, and we cannot hold out too strong a threat of infamy and +suffering, if our aim is simply to prevent the crime. But neither, if we +consider him from the purely moral point of view, would it be fair to +argue that he was a better man than the pickpocket, because the plunder +which tempted him was greater. The opposite, I fancy, would be true. He +shows a callousness to human suffering, and an amount of deliberate +hypocrisy and treachery which proves him to be not only the more +dangerous, but the more thoroughly corrupt of the two. The two ends of +providing a sufficient counterpoise and of punishing the worst men most +severely, would, therefore, coincide in this case also; and the argument +that the greater temptation implies less wickedness is plainly inapplicable.</p> + +<p>Without going further into this, which may briefly indicate some of the +perplexities involved, I may mention certain cases in which there seems +to be a real divergence of the two principles. There are cases in which +the temptation may be fairly held to lessen guilt, and in which +punishment has, notwithstanding, been made severer in consequence. The +criminal law of the last century, for example, imposed a penalty of +death upon persons who stole certain kinds of property left in specially +exposed positions. The ease<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> of taking it would very possibly tempt to +theft men who would elsewhere be honest; and it was sought to compensate +for the strength of the temptation by more savage punishment of those +who yielded to it. Or, again, there are certain problems of a similar +kind connected with political offences. A man who gets up a rebellion +from sincere political motives is generally far better morally than the +man who gets up a rebellion for the sake, say, of simple plunder. Ought +the motive to be allowed as an extenuation of the offence? It ought, it +may be said, from a moral point of view; but, from the point of view of +simple deterrence, we might rather consider that the patriotic rebel is +the more dangerous person of the two, and, therefore, requires the +prospect of at least as heavy a punishment to keep him quiet. So, again, +it has been asked, whether it should be admitted as an excuse for a +rioter, that he has joined in violent courses under threats from the +riotous mob. This is, of course, an excuse from the moralist's point of +view; the man is only attacking the police in order to save his own +house from being burnt, not from a disorderly or disaffected spirit. But +it is replied, from the deterring point of view, that, if such an excuse +be allowed, you are ceasing to threaten at the precise moment when the +threats are most required. If the law is not to press from one side,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +all the pressure will come from the other, and every argument will be in +favour of joining the side of disorder. Hence, it is argued, we ought to +proportion the punishment, not to the offence, but to the temptation.</p> + +<p>Now, I may say, very briefly, that such a divergence of the two +principles appears to me to be possible; and, further, that cases may be +put in which it might be necessary to deter, at all hazards, even to the +neglect of moral considerations. A general who is defending a town must +sometimes burn the houses of innocent people, without stopping to +consider whether they can ever be compensated; and I think that there +may be analogous cases even in regard to law, where the consideration of +the absolute necessity of putting down mischievous conduct may override +the normal moral considerations. But the general answer is, I think, +different, and may help to clear the principle. The law to which I have +referred, for the protection of exposed property, obviously suggests one +remark. The true remedy for the evil would have been not to increase the +penalty, but to increase the protection. You ought to have provided more +watchmen, or to have forbidden owners to put temptation in the way of +their neighbours, and not to have tried to make the hangman do the work +of the policeman. So our ancestors erred when they protected their +fields, not by putting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> up fences, but by setting mantraps to mutilate +occasional trespassers. In that, as in other cases, the mistake is to +confuse between the deterring influence of punishment and the preventive +influence of protective measures. Arguments, questionable when used on +behalf of punishment considered as deterring, are perfectly applicable +to the preventive measures. It is obviously right that such measures +should be proportioned to the temptation. When a starving man steals a +loaf, he is not so bad as a man who steals when he is not starving. We +should, therefore, think it morally wrong to punish him as severely. +But, if we thought that he ought not to have the loaf, we should take +stronger precautions in proportion to the probable temptation. If, for +example, we were sending supplies to relieve a starving district, it +would be clearly right to send such a force with them as might prevent +their appropriation by the strongest, or the first comers. But, at the +same time, we should also think it right to save the men from +temptation, by providing as much as possible against the danger of +starvation. So, again, it would be monstrous to punish a poor man more +severely than a duke, for stealing a watch; but, as a matter of +prudence, I should take more precautions if I were dining in a poor +public-house, than if I were dining in a ducal palace.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p><p>This suggests the true application of another doctrine, about the +responsibility of society. Society, it is sometimes said, has no right +to punish, because it ought to have suppressed the causes of crime. This +doctrine is often stated very illogically, and would sanction a great +deal of false sentimentalism. If society includes many corrupt and +dangerous elements, that is no reason at all for not suppressing them by +all available means. But, no doubt, it is a very good and sufficient +reason for trying, as far as possible, to remove the cause as well as +the effects; for getting rid of the temptations to crime, and training +people so as to make them less disposed to crime, instead of simply +punishing more severely those who have yielded to temptation and given +play to instincts which have not been properly disciplined. This applies +conspicuously to the case of the political criminal. It is generally +essential to the welfare of a nation, that order should be preserved by +a settled government. It is the duty of every government, not only to +crush resistance, but to take such precautions as will make resistance +hopeless. But a correlative duty is suggested when a rebellion actually +occurs, and especially a rebellion which excites the sympathy of +otherwise moral people. Such a case, that is, affords the strongest +presumption that there are real grievances to be redressed, and that the +rebel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> should not be confounded with the vulgar criminal. It may be, and +often is, quite necessary to shoot him down, so long as he is actively +attacking authority; but, when he is disarmed, he cannot be regarded +simply as a thief or murderer, but as a man who has given a useful, +though a disagreeable, hint that the times are out of joint.</p> + +<p>I have gone so far into these questions—which might lead to a great +many other problems of legal casuistry—with the desire of bringing out +one essential part of the question. The difficulties which have arisen +point, I think, to the impossibility of treating the problem +exclusively, from a simple consideration of the deterring influence of +punishment. That, however, remains an essential element. If the sole +reason for punishing a sheep-stealer be not the prevention of +sheep-stealing, that is, at least, a very excellent reason as far as it +goes. But it seems to me an insufficient reason from the moral point of +view, and, in particular, to fail in assigning a sufficiently distinct +ground for determining the desirable degree of punishment. The principle +was advocated as limiting the severity of the old laws; but it is not +quite easy to define the limit suggested. There is a necessary +clumsiness about the method. A punishment only becomes operative in the +cases in which the threat has failed to deter. The fact that a man has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +committed a crime demonstrates the inadequacy of the system in his case; +we have not given him a sufficient motive for abstaining. When Bentham +says, that if a fine of five shillings would prevent a murder, you ought +not to fine the murderer seven and sixpence, he says what is, in a +sense, obviously true. If I could prevent a murder, or, indeed, achieve +any other desirable object, for a given sum, why should I throw away +another penny? But the fine is not inflicted till somebody has committed +a murder, and, in that case, the threat of fining has obviously failed. +The question arises, therefore, how far am I to go? Am I to go on +raising the tariff till murder becomes altogether obsolete? But we have +already got as far as capital punishment, without achieving that result. +And, if we consider the case upon this method, we begin to find a +difficulty in the method of calculation. We are to compare the pain +inflicted upon the criminal with the pain saved to the victim. But the +greater the pain inflicted, the smaller, according to the assumption +made, will be the number of criminals, and the greater the number of +victims saved. If we could adopt the Draconic system, and be sure of +punishing every crime with death, crime ought to disappear; for hardly +anybody would break the law if he were quite certain of the gallows. +But, in that case, the pain, both of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> criminal and the victim, would +disappear, for there would be no one in either class. The result, +therefore, would be a pure gain: no crime and no punishment. Against +this practical conclusion, indeed, Bentham was one of the first to +protest; and he uses one very sound argument. Punish all crime equally, +he says, and you put a premium on the worst crimes. If both robber and +murderer are to be hanged, the robber will have a good reason for +destroying evidence, by adding the murder to the plunder of his victims. +But, though the argument is very much to the purpose, it seems to make +our calculations rather difficult. We cannot look simply to the +deterring influence of a given punishment, but have to consider its +place in the general tariff, and its influence in inducing people to +prefer one variety of crime to another. And if we try to find our way +out of this difficulty, we shall have, I think, to find that the mode of +reasoning requires some modification.</p> + +<p>The theory on which the calculation goes may, perhaps, be represented +thus: It is supposed that by hanging a murderer, you prevent, say, ten +murders which would otherwise happen. The suffering saved to the ten +victims is greater than the actual suffering of the single criminal. +Therefore, the infliction of the penalty gives a balance on the side of +happiness. The argument seems to me to be sound as far as it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> goes, and, +in some cases, it would, I think, be sufficient. If, for example, it +were proved that the use of a certain remedy, such as inoculation, +caused a certain number of deaths, while, on the other hand, it +prevented ten times as many, we should consider that a good case had +been made out for its adoption. And, similarly, if we attended simply to +the number of executions and to the number of crimes, and could make the +necessary arithmetical comparison, we should be able to estimate the +balance of good or evil in terms of pain and pleasure. But this mode of +considering the case is obviously inadequate; and, indeed, Bentham +(though I cannot now go into his teaching) feels and makes allowance for +its inadequacy. For, to say nothing else, the mere deterrence of a +certain number of crimes is an entirely insufficient measure of the +effect of the law. The one obvious remark is that, by suppressing +violence, you not only save a certain number of lives, but you secure an +essential condition of all civilised life. I came here to-night without +a revolver in my pocket; and I am not aware that I showed any particular +courage by doing so. But it would have been foolhardy to have shown the +same negligence, a few years ago, in some of the Western States of +America. If I had lived in such conditions, I should not only have taken +a revolver, but have, very possibly, thought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> it a duty to join a +vigilance committee, with a view to the suppression of crimes of +violence. There are still regions where the fact that a man lives in a +neighbouring village is a sufficient justification for shooting him down +as soon as he comes in sight, for the simple reason that, otherwise, he +would shoot you. So, when private war was still part of the regular +custom, there was an obstacle which had to be crushed before any +progress could be made in industrial development, which presupposes +peaceful intercourse and mutual confidence. The formation of all that is +meant by social order, the bringing about of a state of things in which +men can meet habitually without fear or precaution, counting with +complete confidence upon the absence of any hostile intention, is, +obviously, an essential condition of everything that makes life worth +living in a civilised country. The fact is too obvious to require much +illustration; but it requires notice, for it is very imperfectly +recognised when you regard murder, for example, simply as a kind of +sporadic disease, which breaks out here and there, and can be kept +within limits by killing some murderers, and so frightening other +would-be murderers. The criminal law, no doubt, includes that +consideration; but it includes infinitely more. It is a necessary +corollary of that state of social relations which alone gives a secure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +base for every conceivable kind of satisfactory social relation. It +might, perhaps, serve as a sufficient defence of the old system, when, +in the absence of any settled order, the system of private vengeance, of +blood-feuds, and so forth, served to restrain the prevalence of actual +violence. But it is a totally insufficient measure of the real advantage +gained by enforcing order. We have to compare, not only the number of +murders and the number of victims which would exist in a given social +order, supposing the penalty to be inflicted or not inflicted; but to +compare two radically different social states, and to ask, whether it is +better to live in a society where peace is the almost invariable rule, +and violence the rare exception, or in one in which there is a chaos of +little societies, each of them being in constant fear of all its +neighbours. The construction of a central authority which will keep the +peace is a necessary part of the process of civilisation, and the +criminal law is involved in the process. For, of course, it follows +that, so long as anti-social elements exist within the borders of +society, and some people resort to the old methods of the knife or the +bludgeon, they must be put down; and the hangman and the jailer, clumsy +as the action may be, represent the only kind of machinery which has +hitherto been invented for the purpose.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p><p>It follows that we must understand "deterrence" in a wider sense than +we have hitherto given to it. When we speak of punishment as deterring +from crime, we must consider, not merely the effect upon the individual +of the prospect of punishment following detection, but the total effect +of a systematic adherence to the law upon the preservation of a peaceful +state of society at large. We do not simply wish to provide a sufficient +motive to decide the individual who is asking himself, shall I steal or +not steal? but to maintain an organisation under which property shall be +normally respected, and stealing become as exceptional as we can make +it. This, in turn, involves much more than a simple execution of the +criminal law; it involves the support of agencies for prevention, +education, and reformation; though it does, also, involve an inflexible +adherence to the criminal law. The law has to use rough means, and +cannot possibly affect to adhere precisely to the moral deserts of +individual cases. But it is justified by the simple ground that the only +alternative is a chaos of barbarism. If you ask, therefore, in what +sense is a criminal law just? we must confess that, in certain respects, +it is impossible that it should be strictly just; it must deal with the +found-out exclusively and with those who are found out in certain +definite cases of criminality, and it must, therefore,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> impose penalties +which do not precisely correspond to the degree of criminality implied. +But the relation to morality is, nevertheless, intimate. For the growth +of the social order depends upon the growth of the corresponding social +instincts; or rather, the two processes are correlative. If I love my +neighbour I shall not wish to cut his throat; and, in order that I may +love him, I must be pretty sure that he does not mean to cut mine. The +external framework provides a protection under which the primary moral +instincts can expand; and the expansion of the instincts supposes a +correlative modification of the external framework. The moral +requirement in regard to the criminal law is, therefore, essentially, +that it should be such a law as is favourable, when considered in +connection with the whole order, to the strength and development of the +existing morality. If the criminal asks, How do you justify yourself for +punishing me? the reply must be, Because the inflexible administration +of the law is an essential precondition of the whole system, under which +alone progress is possible. A society in which peace and order are +preserved is superior, in morals as in other respects, to a society in +which peace and order are made impossible by violence; and the +suppression by punishment of offenders is involved in the system. The +advantage of belonging to such a society is not to be measured<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> by +counting up the working of individual cases; but by the whole +characteristics of the social state, taken as a whole, and including, as +one essential part, the administration of criminal law in such a way as +to be in conformity with the conditions of healthy social development. +The difficulty, I think, though I can only indicate the argument +briefly, results from a common illusion, which is illustrated by the +once famous social contract theory. You suppose a number of independent +individuals, agreeing to join and expecting to receive a precise +equivalent for every sacrifice that they make in consequence. The reply +is, that the individual is the product of the society, and it is a mere +fiction to consider him as possessing any antecedent rights whatever. +His rights are to be deduced from, not to supply the premisses for +deducing, the social order. The only considerations which are relevant +are those which affect the welfare of the social organism, taken as a +whole; and we must regard them as determined, before we come to the +distribution of benefits and burdens among its constituent facts. +Otherwise, we should be falling into the same fallacy as if we argued +about the health of separate bodily organs, legs, and arms, and +stomachs, as though they were independent things, fastened together to +make a single machine. Since the leg implies the stomach, any +consideration<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> of the leg's separate rights would be absurd. So the +individual member of a political society cannot be regarded as though he +had existed outside society somewhere, and was entitled to a precise +equivalent for the sacrifice of his independence. The doctrine involves +impossible considerations. I have to contribute to certain sanitary +regulations, though I may be stronger or weaker than my neighbours, and +therefore less or more in need of them. Or, I have to pay a school-rate, +whether I have a dozen children or none at all. Do those facts give me a +right to complain if I am taxed equally with my neighbours? If so, every +benefit which I receive from society must be set down as a separate item +in an account to be balanced by itself. Obviously, the advantage which I +receive in such cases is the whole advantage received from living in a +healthy place or among educated people; and it is essentially impossible +to cut that up into a number of different bits of happiness conferred in +return for separate payments on account. If I use the contract formula, +I must interpret it to mean that amenability to various regulations, +including the criminal law, is part of the whole bargain, which would +have been made, if it had ever been real, when I decided, if I ever had +decided, to join the society. The instinct for punishing criminals +guilty of violence is one of the fundamental instincts of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> civilisation, +and we must accept it just as we accept any other fundamental instinct.</p> + +<p>The question of justice, however, is not a whit the less essential +because it presupposes this social characteristic instead of supplying +the primary axioms from which it is to be deduced. It is undoubtedly of +the highest importance that every difference in our method of treating +different classes should have its sufficient reason, to be assigned as +clearly as possible. The preservation of the peace is essential; but +that does not settle the methods by which it is to be preserved.</p> + +<p>On what ground, then, are we to deal with the problem of justice as +regards different classes of crime? If the calculation of pain and +pleasure, as already stated, seems to be unsatisfactory, what is the +right principle of proportioning punishment to offence? I have noticed +one argument which Bentham applied, and, as I think, with very good +reason. To punish crimes equally, he said, is virtually to put a premium +upon the worst. The "in for a penny in for a pound" maxim becomes at +once applicable. Moreover, as every one now admits, the old brutal +system is condemned by experience. To punish a great number of offences +with death led to a mixture of excessive brutality with excessive +uncertainty. The cruel punishment of some criminals was balanced<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> by the +complete escape of others. But this practical failure clearly resulted, +in great measure, from an obscure sense of justice. It was grossly +unjust, it seemed, to hang a man for stealing a loaf, when you could +only hang another for the brutal murder of his wife. The penalty in the +first case, was, it was felt, altogether out of proportion to the +offence. This instinctive sentiment was, as I think we all feel, +substantially right. In any case, it would have to be taken into account +by the legislator, for the obvious reason that punishments which outrun +public opinion, tend to make martyrs of criminals. They are either not +inflicted, or they set the sympathy of the people on the side of the +offender. But to say this, is not to prove the sentiment to be just, +only to take account of its existence. And the question, therefore, +remains, how it is to be logically justified, for it may seem to imply +the theory to which I have objected—the hypothesis of a sort of debtor +and creditor account—of the old "eye for an eye" doctrine, which, as I +have argued, involves a misconception of the true doctrine. My reply +would be, in general terms, that the doctrine requires restatement, and, +if properly stated, will not lose but acquire new forces.</p> + +<p>Let us consider the consequences of my previous statements. The +essential condition of social <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>development is enforcement, where +necessary, of peace and order by adequate means. The criminal law +corresponds to one part of this process. The whole social system +includes machinery for prevention, for reformation and for education, as +well as for punishment; and it is only when taken in its relation to +other parts of the system, that we can give the full justification. Its +methods are, as I have said, obviously full of imperfections, from the +purely moral point of view. If we consider it as an isolated fact, +comparably to the interference of a quasi-supernatural power, which +clutches an offender here and there, and punishes him simply to frighten +others, the arbitrary and unequal nature of the proceeding assumes an +air of injustice. In fact, if you take the extreme individualist view, +according to which each man is an independent unit, while society +represents a force impinging upon him from without, it always becomes +difficult to introduce the conception of justice without ending in the +approval of anarchy. When, however, we consider the social organisation +as including all the means of civilising society, of strengthening the +general spirit of order, as well as acting upon the fears of the +disorderly, we have to take wider considerations into account. We become +sensible, in the first place, of the importance of the principle that +punishment should never be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>substituted for prevention. Wherever it is +possible to remove temptations, or take precautions which make crime +impossible, we can have no excuse for adopting the blundering and +unsatisfactory system of punishing those who have committed it. We +admit, that is, that the criminal law, though absolutely necessary, is +an essentially clumsy contrivance, to be used only when other methods +fail. When certain punishments have been condemned as brutalising, it +has been replied that the persons punished were already so brutal that +it is impossible to make them worse. But the brutalising influence is +even more objectionable as it applies to the legislator than as it +applies to the criminal. To make up for neglect of appropriate +precautions by severity against the offender, is to adopt the +necessarily arbitrary method in which chance must always play a part in +place of more effective and civilising methods. Frugality in applying +punishment is desirable as a guarantee that we are acting in the proper +spirit. An Indian official was asked why the native police were disposed +to use torture for the detection of crime. The cause was, he said, +mainly from laziness: it was so much easier to sit in the shade, rubbing +red pepper in a poor devil's eyes, than to go about in a hot sun +collecting evidence. So, it would be very much easier to inflict cruel +punishment than to try to remove the causes of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> crime; and a resolution +never to use the more brutal methods is not, as I think, to be regarded +as a proof of weak sentimentalism, but as a judicious self-denying +ordinance, imposed upon society by itself, as binding it always to +adopt, as far as it possibly can, what is at once the more humane and +the more scientific method. The same principle involves the careful +graduation of punishment. There are, indeed, as I believe, though I +cannot give reasons, cases in which crimes ought to be punished with +death. There are persons of whom we may say that it would have been +better, especially for their neighbours, if they had never been born. "I +am worth inconceivably more for hanging than for any other purpose," +said the heroic John Brown; and the words may be applied, in a very +different sense, to some of the wretches who occasionally make their +appearance in the courts. To hang such a man is to act upon the +assumption that murderers represent elements which are entirely and +radically anti-social. The only remedy for them is extirpation. But, if +this be admitted, it suggests a sufficient reason for not applying it to +the cases of less gravity, in which such radical incompatibility has not +been demonstrated. Punishment by death, even if necessary, is certainly +a confession of impotence. We are admitting that we can do nothing +better with the man than convert<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> him into a scarecrow for the benefit +of his like. What more, it may be asked, can we do with a criminal? The +obvious reply would be, reform him. Although no one can doubt that +reformation would be an extremely good thing, wherever practicable, it +may be urged that the enterprise is exceedingly difficult; that, in many +cases, it is hopeless; and that we might spend our money and our efforts +to better purpose upon more hopeful materials. And yet, I think that the +answer is the true one, if properly understood, and will suggest the +right meaning to be given to the word "deterrence". So long as we +consider the individual case alone, and merely mean that we are giving +motives to bad men for refraining from particular lines of conduct, the +results, however desirable, are of limited value. But if we consider +deterrence as including or coinciding with reformation, as indicating a +part of the general system of moral pressure by which the classes +exposed to temptation may be gradually raised in the scale of +civilisation, we recognise an acceptable meaning. In fact, if we ask +what is the deterring influence of punishment, we must observe that at +one extreme it will always fail, or only induce a bad man to take +precautions against detection; and that, at the other end of the scale, +there are a great many cases in which it does not come into active<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +operation at all. You and I, I hope, are not in the least disposed to +assault each other, even though no policeman is present. The bare +thought of resorting to violence, pelting me, say, with rotten eggs, has +not even suggested itself to you, even though I may be making a very +provoking use of my tongue. But there is also an intermediate class of +people upon whom the possibility of having to appear in a police court, +and the strong sense of shame attached to such appearances, is an active +restraining force, tending to limit, and, in cases where the proper +conditions exist, gradually to narrow, the sphere of violence. We, the +peaceable and law-abiding citizens, have gained a right to those +epithets, because we have lived in a sphere where the law has been +habitually enforced. We have ceased to carry deadly weapons about us, +and have established a general condition of good order. The deterring +influence of the criminal law acts, or ought to act, by gradually +spreading that state of mind through a steadily widening circle. The +classes which are still in need of such a support to their moral +instincts are clearly capable of reformation, whatever may be the case +of some of the individuals who break the law. A fighting tribe, which +has been in the habit of resenting every injury by the use of the knife, +may learn, in a very short time, that a court of law settles disputes +more <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>agreeably than a free fight; and may become a most admirable and +efficient part of the society to which it belongs. And the same may be +said of large classes in our own society, which are perfectly capable of +being converted into good citizens, though they may retain certain +propensities developed under a rougher and more brutal system. To employ +excessive and brutalising punishments in order to suppress small +offences, is, therefore, to abandon the aim of civilising, to declare +internecine war against the class, and to regard them simply as a +nuisance to be abated. The effect might be, if the law could be carried +out, to prevent a certain number of crimes; but it must also be to +generate a more dangerous spirit in the class which you regard simply as +dangerous, instead of regarding it as the possible raw materials of a +more civilised and orderly society. Without attempting to dwell upon a +familiar argument, I merely say that this view of the case implies that +the governing power should be regarded, not simply as a machinery for +catching and killing noxious criminals, but as a great civilising +influence, suppressing all temptations to crime, where possible; +preferring prevention, in every practicable case, to punishment, and +making use of the clumsy, though necessary, weapons in the last resort; +and acting by a steady and regulated pressure upon all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> anti-social +elements. It is only possible to give a satisfactory theory of the jail +and the gallows, when you take them as a subordinate part of the system +which includes reformatories and schools, and due precautions for the +regular preservation of order. The ultimate criterion of justice is not +to be found in any attempt to form a debtor and creditor account between +the government and the individual; but in the civilising influence of +the system, taken as a whole.</p> + +<p>And, finally, I come back to the other theory which I have noticed. To +supply the defects of the simply deterrent theory, it has been found +necessary, as I said, to invoke the vindictive theory. We should go, it +was suggested, upon the theory that a criminal is hateful, and, +therefore, that it should be a pleasure to punish him. The feelings of +resentment and moral indignation are parts of our nature, to which the +punishment of the offender affords them a legitimate gratification. Now, +to this, I should reply that, in the first place, I do not admit that +the desire for revenge, as usually understood, can ever be legitimate. +Revenge, as I understand the word, implies a personal feeling. It is +taking pleasure in giving pain to a man because he has given pain to me. +According to my view of morals, any pleasure in causing pain is, so far, +wrong; and the public <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>punishment should be free from all personal +motive. I quite agree with Bentham that we ought not to take a positive +pleasure in the sufferings, even of the worst criminal; and to admit the +legitimacy of such pleasure is to admit an element of pure sentiment to +which it is difficult to assign any precise limits. If you allow +yourself to hate a man so as to take pleasure in his sufferings, you +might justify the infliction of superfluous torture and the old methods +of hanging, drawing, and quartering. To do so is precisely to approve +the ferocious old treatment, to which, as I conceive, the theory of +simple deterrence was an excellent corrective, in so far as it at least +implied a definite limit to the indulgence of fiercer passions. There +is, however, I think, an element of truth in the doctrine. I admit, that +is, that the punishment of a criminal should carry a moral approval, and +not be regarded purely as a measure of convenience. Successful crime +should be regarded with abhorrence. If a man convicted of a grave +offence should be allowed to go without punishment, we should be rightly +aggrieved. It is not, however, that we should take pleasure in his +suffering, but that we should be pained by an example of the practical +impunity of anti-social conduct. The escape of a murderer would, as we +should feel, be a blow to the security of all innocent people. In that +sense, we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> may take pleasure in his punishment, not in the sense of +positive enjoyment, but, certainly, in the sense of relief from positive +sense of evil. It is, and should be, painful to see the rogues flourish +and honest men droop, and to observe "captive good attending captain +ill". But the pleasure of seeing the necessary equilibrium restored is +different from the pleasure of dwelling upon the sufferings of the +disturber. The practical difference is that, while we regard the +infliction of suffering as necessary, we admit it to be a necessary +evil, and are keenly alive to the inability of keeping it within the +limits fixed by the general necessities of the law.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>LUXURY.</span></h2> + +<p>Professor Sidgwick has been discussing the ethics of luxury, and, +according to his wont, has been giving fresh interest to a well-worn +topic. I do not wish to dispute anything that he has said, nor do I hope +to clear up problems which he professedly left unsolved. In one sense, +they obviously cannot be solved precisely. Luxury is a relative term, +which cannot be defined in absolute terms. A luxury, in the first place, +is distinguished from a necessary. But, then, one man's necessary may be +another man's luxury. My very existence depends upon conditions with +which another man can dispense. If, again, we admit that there are many +things which, though not absolutely necessary, may rightly be used, if +they can be used without injuring others, we see that we must also take +into account the varying social conditions. If we use luxury, in what +Bentham called the dyslogistic sense, we must distinguish between +necessaries and superfluities, and then divide superfluities into +comforts which may be rightfully enjoyed, and luxuries which cannot be +enjoyed without <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>incurring some degree of moral censure. But the +dividing lines are always shifting. Scott tells somewhere of a +Highlander sleeping on the open moor in a winter night. When he tried to +roll the snow into a pillow his companion kicked it away, as a proof of +disgraceful effeminacy. Most of us would come to a speedy end if we +lived in a social state where such a standard of hardiness was rigidly +enforced. We admit that some kind of pillow may be permitted, if not as +absolutely necessary, as, at least, a pardonable comfort. We shall +probably agree, also, that nobody is to be blamed for using clean sheets +and securing a certain amount of warmth and softness—as much, at least, +as is desirable for sanitary reasons. But if we endeavour to prescribe +precisely how much may be allowed in excess of the necessary, how often +we are to send our sheets to the wash, whether it is right to have lace +upon our pillows, and so forth, we get into problems where any attempt +at precision is obviously illusory. We are the more perplexed by the +question, whether the provision of a bed for ourselves causes other +people to go without a bed, and, perhaps, without supper, or how far we +are bound to take such consequences into account. Without aiming, +therefore, at an impossible precision, I shall try to consider—not what +objects should be called luxuries, or comforts, or necessaries, but what +are the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> really relevant considerations by which we should endeavour to +guide our judgments.</p> + +<p>Luxury is, as I have said, a well-worn topic. Saints and philosophers in +all ages, have denounced the excessive love of material enjoyments, and +set examples of a more or less thorough-going asceticism. It was—to go +no further back—one of the favourite topics of our ancestors, in such +papers as the <i>Spectator</i> and the <i>Rambler</i>. Addison, in his <i>Cato</i>, +described the simple Numidian, whose standard appears to have resembled +that of Scott's Highlander. The Numidian, he says, rests his head upon a +rock at night, and, if next day he chances to find a new repast or an +untasted spring, "blesses his stars and calls it luxury". General +Oglethorpe quoted this passage, in an argument about luxury, to Johnson, +and added, "let us have <i>that</i> kind of luxury, sir, if you will". +Johnson himself put down all this declamation as part of the cant from +which we ought to clear our minds. No nation, he said to Goldsmith, was +ever hurt by luxury. "Let us take a walk from Charing Cross to +Whitechapel, through the greatest series of shops in the world: what is +there in any of these shops (if you except gin-shops) that can do any +human being any harm?" "I accept your challenge," said Goldsmith. "The +next shop to Northumberland House is a pickle-shop." To which the +excellent Johnson<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> replied, first, that five pickle-shops could serve +the whole kingdom; secondly, that no harm was done to anybody either by +making pickles or by eating pickles. I will not go into the ethics of +pickles. I only quote this to remind you that this was one of the stock +questions of the period; and not without reason. The denunciation of +luxury was, in fact, the mark of a very significant tendency. Goldsmith +had expressed the prevalent sentiment in the <i>Deserted Village</i>, as in +the familiar passage beginning:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,</div> +<div>Where wealth accumulates and men decay.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>And Goldsmith, like many contemporaries, was only versifying the +sentiments uttered most powerfully by Rousseau in his famous exaltation +of the ideal man of nature above the man of a corrupt civilisation. The +theory has some affinity to the ancient doctrine already expounded by +classical writers, according to which each form of government includes a +principle of decay as well as of life. One stage in the process of +corruption of Plato's ideal republic is marked by the appearance of the +drones, people who take a surfeit of unnecessary pleasures, and, to +obtain satisfaction, associate themselves with the fierce and rapacious. +In Rousseau's time, this view became connected with the growing belief +in progress and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> "perfectibility". It was a symptom of warning to the +drones of his day. It showed that the thoughtful classes were becoming +dimly sensible that something was wrong in the social organisation; and +that a selfish and indolent aristocracy should be called upon to put its +house in order. The denunciation of luxury meant, in short, that the +rich and powerful were accused of indulgence in pleasures which they had +not earned by services, but by the rigid enforcement of class +privileges. Considered from this point of view, as the muttering of a +coming storm, as the expression of a vague foreboding that the world was +somehow out of joint, we may see more meaning than appears at first +sight, in the old-fashioned commonplaces of our great-grandfathers. The +language has changed its form; but the discontent at the misuse of +wealth in various forms has certainly not diminished since that time.</p> + +<p>Obviously, then, the question of luxury is connected with very wide and +deep problems as to what is the proper use of wealth, and might lead us +into ultimate questions as to the justification of the right to private +property at all. I shall try, however, to keep as closely as may be to +the particular aspect of such problems, which is immediately relevant to +this particular question. And for this purpose, I think it will be +convenient to take two points separately.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> The objections to luxury may +be stated either with reference to the individual or with reference to +the society. That is to say, that if we consider a man by himself, we +may ask with Johnson, whether expenditure upon pickles is injurious to +the constitution, or at what point it becomes injurious. And, in the +next place, we may ask whether, if we see our way to decide that pickles +are wholesome as well as agreeable, some of us may not be getting more +than our fair share of pickles, and so diminishing the total sum of +pleasure, by inordinate consumption. First, then, I discard, for the +moment, all social considerations. I take for granted, for the sake of +argument, that my indulgence does no harm to any one else; that I am not +depriving others of a means of enjoyment, but simply adding to my own; +or, at any rate, that I am not, for the moment, to take into account +that set of consequences. How far, on this hypothesis, or, say, setting +aside all question of duty to my neighbour, should I be prudent in +accumulating wealth? I sometimes amuse myself with the problem, How rich +should I like to be, supposing that I were perfectly wise in that sense +in which wisdom is compatible with thorough-going egoism, or with what +is called enlightened self-interest? The obvious answer is that, in that +case, there would be no limits to my desires. An imaginative American, +we are told, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>defined competence as "a million a minute and all your +expenses paid". The suggestion is fascinating, but not, to my mind, +quite satisfactory. It recalls a doctrine which used to be put forward +by the old political economists. They had to meet the theory—a +preposterous theory enough—of the danger of a universal glut; the +danger, that is, that a nation might produce so much that nothing would +have any value, and, therefore, that we should all be ruined by all +becoming enormously rich. To meet this, it was often urged—along with +more satisfactory arguments—that human desires were illimitable; and, +therefore, that however rich a man might become he would always wish to +become a little richer.</p> + +<p>According to this doctrine, the desire for wealth cannot be satiated. +The millionaire would still choose an extra half-crown rather than +refuse it, although the half-crown brings him incomparably less +additional pleasure than it brought him when his pockets were empty. But +it is also true that long before we were millionaires, the pleasure +obtainable by additional wealth may be infinitesimal, or absolutely +non-existent. The simple desires may be easily saturated. Pope asks, +"What riches give us, let us then inquire". And he replies, "Meat, fire, +and clothes—what more? Meat, clothes, and fire." This is, in fact, a +pithy summary of our most <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>elementary and necessary wants. Now, our +demand for meat is obviously strictly limited. As soon as we have eaten, +say, a pound of beefsteak, we do not want more; by the time we have +eaten, say, three pounds we do not only not want more, we loathe the +very thought of eating. So, when we are clothed sufficiently for comfort +and decency, more clothing is simply a burden; and we wish only for so +much fire as will keep our thermometer within certain limits; a heat +above or below would mean death either by burning or by freezing. Our +ultimate aim, therefore, in regard to desires of this class, is not to +increase the stimulus indefinitely, but to preserve a certain balance or +equilibrium. If we want more food after our appetites are satisfied, it +must either be with a view to our future consumption, which is still +strictly finite, or else with a view to exchanging the food for +something else, in which case it is desired, not as food, but as the +means of satisfying some other desire. If, then, Pope's doctrine were +really sound, which actually amounts to saying, if our desires were +really limited to the physical conditions necessary to life, we should +very soon reach the state in which they would be completely glutted or +saturated. It may be worth while to note the circumstance which rather +obscures our recognition of this fact. We may distinguish <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>between the +wealth which a man actually uses and that which remains, as I may say, +only potential. A man may desire an indefinite quantity of wealth, +because he may wish to have rights which he may yet never turn to actual +account. There is a certain satisfaction, no doubt, in knowing that I +have a vast balance at my banker's, though I have no desire to use it. I +may want it some time or other; and, even if I never want it, I may +enjoy the sense of having a disproportionate barrier of money-bags piled +up between me and the yawning gulf of actual poverty. Therefore, though +a very limited amount may be enough to satiate all our existing desires, +we may like to know that there is more at our disposal. If possession +carried with it the necessity of using our property, if we could not +have potential as distinguished from actual wealth, we should be so far +from desiring an indefinite increase of wealth that we should regard the +increase beyond a certain limit as only one of two intolerable alternatives.</p> + +<p>The question, therefore, How rich should I wish to be? requires an +answer to the previous question, How rich can I be? A man, even if on +the intellectual level of a savage, can be indefinitely rich in +potential wealth: he may, that is, have a right to millions of pounds or +be the owner of thousands of acres; but in order to use them he must +have certain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> capacities and sensibilities. It is a curious question, +for example, how much of the wealth of a country would cease to be +wealth at all if the intelligence of the possessors were lowered certain +degrees in the scale? A large part of the wealth of England consists, I +suppose, of machinery. If nobody knew more of machines than I do—and my +whole notion of a machine is that it is something that goes round +somehow if you happen to turn the right handle—all this wealth would +become as useless as an electric telegraph in the possession of a hairy +Ainu. And if nobody had any better artistic perception than mine, and we +were therefore unable to see the difference between a Raphael and the +daub in an advertising placard, the pictures in the National Gallery +would have an average value, say, of eighteen-pence. A man, therefore, +who is at the lower levels of intelligence is simply unable to be +actually rich, beyond a narrow limit. The fact is occasionally forced +upon us by striking examples. I heard the other day a story—I am afraid +we all hear such stories too often—of a man who had become enormously +rich by a freak of fortune. His only idea of enjoyment happened to be +gin. He could, therefore, only use his wealth by drinking himself to +death; a proceeding which he accordingly felt to be only a proper +tribute to his improved social position. A similar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> result happens +whenever a sudden rise of wages to an insufficiently civilised class +leads to the enrichment of publicans, instead of increased indulgence in +refined and innocent pleasures. The man, in short, whose idea of +pleasure is simply the gratification of the physical appetites in their +coarser forms is incapable of becoming actually rich, because a small +amount of wealth will enable him to saturate his desires by providing a +superfluity of the material means of gratification. It is, perhaps, here +that we may take into account the remark so often made by moralists, by +Adam Smith among others, as Professor Sidgwick reminds us, that +happiness is more evenly distributed among different classes than we +suppose. The king, according to Shakespeare, cannot—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div class="i8">With all the tide of pomp</div> +<div>That beats upon the high shore of this world ...</div> +<div>Sleep so soundly as the wretched slave</div> +<div>Who with a body filled and vacant mind</div> +<div>Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>The "body filled" and the "vacant mind" make up for the "distressful +bread". It is as well, that is, to have no wants except the want of mere +physical comfort, as to have higher wants and the means of gratifying +them, and yet to be saddled with the anxieties and responsibilities +which the higher position involves. The doctrine, "I am not really +better<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> off than you," is, indeed, not a very graceful one from those +who are actually better off. There was some excuse for the fox who said +the grapes were sour when he could not get them; it argued a judicious +desire to make the best of things: but if he made the remark while he +was comfortably chewing them, by way of pacifying the grapeless foxes, +we should have thought him a more objectionable hypocrite. The pauper +may fairly reply, "If you really mean that your wealth brings no +happiness, why don't you change places with me?" I will, therefore, not +defend the statement, considered as an exhortation to content; but I +accept it as a recognition of the obvious fact, that if happiness means +a satisfaction of all our desires, a man of small means may be as happy +as the man of the greatest means, if his desires are limited in +proportion. But is it for our happiness to increase them?</p> + +<p>Does our principle hold when we suppose a man to have the necessary +sensibilities for the actual enjoyment of wealth? If he acquires the +tastes which imply greater intellectual cultivation, a power, therefore, +of taking into account sources of pleasure more complex and more distant +in time and space, does it then become true that his power of using +wealth will be indefinite? I should reply, in the first place, that we +must still admit the same psychological<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> truth. Any desire whatever, +that is, is capable of yielding only a strictly finite amount of +enjoyment; the pleasure which we can derive from it must be limited both +by the necessity of gratifying other desires and by the fact that no +desire whatever is capable of an indefinite increase by increased +stimulation. After a certain point of excitement is reached, we cannot +get more pleasure by any accumulation of internal conditions. We assume +for the present that our aim is simply to extract the greatest possible +amount of gratification out of life. We must then take for our data our +actual constitution, capacities, sensibilities, and so forth, and +calculate how much wealth could be actually applied in order to keep us +moving always along the line of maximum enjoyment. This would be to +study the art of life on purely hedonistic principles. We should ask, +what career will on the whole be fullest of enjoyment? and then, what +material conditions can enable us to follow that career? I imagine that +the amount requisite would vary indefinitely according to our +characters. Suppose, for example, that a man has strong intellectual +tastes, a love of art or science or literature. He will require, of +course, enough wealth to enable him to devote himself without anxiety to +his favourite pursuits, and enough, moreover, to train himself in all +requisite knowledge. But granting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> this, the material conditions of +happiness will be sufficiently fulfilled. I think it was Agassiz who +observed when he was devoting himself to science that he had not time to +get rich. Wealth to him would have been rather an impediment than an +advantage. A man like Faraday, who placed his whole happiness in the +extension of scientific knowledge, and who was not less honoured because +he lived upon a modest income, would not have had a greater amount of +that kind of happiness had he possessed the wealth of a Rothschild. A +man whose pleasure is in reading books, or contemplating works of art, +or listening to music, can obtain the highest enjoyment at a very +moderate price, and could get very little more if he had the most +unbounded wealth at his disposal. If we inquired what men possessing +such tastes had derived from them the greatest happiness, we should, I +fancy, find ourselves mentioning men comparatively poor, whose +enjoyments were even comparatively keen, because they had to devote a +certain amount of care and contrivance to obtaining full play for their +capacities. Charles Lamb, plotting and contriving to get an old volume +from a bookstall, possibly got more pleasure from his taste than if he +had been the possessor of a gigantic library. The sociable man, again, +the man whose pleasure in society is the genuine delight in a real +interchange of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> thought and sympathy, who does not desire magnificent +entertainment, but the stimulus of intimate association with congenial +friends, would probably find the highest pleasure in comparatively +simple social strata, where the display of wealth was no object, and men +met, as Johnson met his friends at the club, to put mind fairly to mind, +and to stimulate intellectual activity, instead of consuming the maximum +of luxury. Milton's sonnet to Lawrence gives perhaps a rather severe but +a very fascinating ideal of refined luxury:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,</div> +<div>Of Attic taste with wine, whence we may rise</div> +<div>To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice</div> +<div>Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?</div> +<div>He who of these delights can judge, and spare</div> +<div>To interpose them oft, is not unwise.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Nor need we be accused of inordinate boasting if we should say that we +would rather have made a third at such a feast than have joined a dozen +rowdy courtiers at the table of Charles II.</p> + +<p>There are, however, pleasures which undoubtedly suppose an indefinite +capacity for using wealth. There is, for example, such a thing as the +pure love of splendour, which is represented so curiously in some of +Disraeli's novels. One of his heroes, if I remember rightly, proposed to +follow the precedent actually set by Beckford, who built at Fonthill a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +tower 300 feet high—not because it was wanted for any other purpose, +but simply for the sake of building a tower. Of course, if one has a +taste for towers 300 feet high, there is no particular limit to the +quantity of wealth which may be found convenient. One of the gentlest +and most delicate satirists of modern society, Mr. Du Maurier, has given +us admirable illustrations of a more vulgar form of the same tendency in +his portraits of Sir Gorgius Midas. When that worthy denounces his +servants because there are only three footmen sitting up till two +o'clock to save him the trouble of using a latch-key, we may admit that +his pleasures, such as they were, were capable of finding gratification +in any quantity of expenditure. It might be a question, indeed, if we +had time to ask it, whether the pleasure derived from such expenses by +the millionaire be really so great as the pleasure which he had when he +first turned the proverbial half-crown, with which he must have come to +London, into his first five shillings; and it is certainly also a +question whether his expenditure was ethically right. But at present we +are only considering facts, and we may admit that there would be no +filling such a gulf of desire by any dribble of bullion; and, further, +that there are pleasures—not, on the face of them, immoral—in +procuring which any quantity of money may be spent. If a man is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> simply +desirous of obtaining influence, or, in some cases, political power; or +if he decides to muddle away his money upon charity, there are no limits +to the sums he may spend, especially if he has no objection to +corrupting his neighbours.</p> + +<p>Before saying anything upon this, however, I must pause to deduce a +conclusion. Keeping still to the purely hedonistic point of view, I ask, +At what point does expenditure become luxurious in a culpable sense? +meaning by "culpable" not morally culpable, but simply injudicious from +the point of view of enlightened self-interest. To this I think that one +answer is already suggested, that is to say, that since, on the one +hand, a certain finite quantity of wealth will enable us to keep to the +happiest or most philosophic career; and since, on the other hand, a man +may possess a quantity of superfluous wealth which he can only use on +penalty of deviating from that career, he becomes foolish, if not +immoral—upon which I say nothing—when he tries to use more. That +people frequently commit this folly is undeniable. Wealth ought to be (I +mean would be by a judiciously selfish person) regarded as a means of +enjoyment. Therefore the superfluous wealth should be left in the +potential stage—as a balance at his banker's or accumulating in the +funds. But though the possession does not imply a necessity of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> using, +it does generally imply a sort of tacit feeling of +responsibility—responsibility, that is, to a man's self. I have got so +much money; surely it is a duty to myself to use it for my pleasure. So +far as a man yields to such an argument, he becomes the slave instead of +the master of his wealth. What ought to be machinery for furthering an +end, becomes an end in itself: and, at that point of conduct, I think +that we are disposed to call a man's life luxurious in a distinctly bad +sense. The error, as I have suggested, is perhaps at bottom much the +same as that which leads a poor man to spend an increase of wages at a +gin-shop. But we do not call the gin-drinker luxurious, but simply +vicious. For luxury seems to apply less to conduct which we can +distinctly call bad in itself, than to conduct which only becomes bad or +foolish as implying a disproportion between the end attained and the +expense of attaining it. It applies when a man has, as we say, so much +money that he does not know what to do with it. We speak of luxuries in +the case of Sir Gorgius, where the prominent fact is that the man has +been gorged with excessive wealth, and is yet too dull to use it in any +manner which would increase the happiness of a reasonable or refined +being. So it is generally regarded as characteristic rather of the +upstart or newly-made millionaire than of the man born to higher<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +position, whose life is perhaps as selfish and hardly superior morally. +But the nobleman by birth has inherited a certain art of life; he has +acquired traditional modes of arranging his pleasures, which give him +the appearance, at least, of possessing more judicious and refined +tastes; and we are less shocked than by the man who has obviously wealth +which he knows not how to use, and which he, therefore, deliberately +devotes to coarse and vulgar ostentation. The upstart may not be more +selfish at bottom; but he dashes in your face the evidence of his +selfishness, and appeals for admiration on the simple ground that he has +a larger income than his neighbours. Luxury means, on this showing, all +such expenditure as is objectionable, not because the pleasure obtained +is intrinsically bad, but because we are spending for the sake of +spending, and could get more real enjoyment at a lower sum. I need not +dwell upon the fact that men of moderate means may fall into the same +error. The fault of exaggerating the importance of machinery is not +confined to those whom we call rich. Thackeray's discourses upon Snobs +are full expositions of the same weakness in the middle classes. When we +read, for example, of Colonel Ponto being miserable because he tries to +make an income of a thousand a year support the pomp accessible to +persons with ten thousand, we see that he has as false a view as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> Sir +Gorgius of the true ends of life. And I refer to the same great satirist +for abundant illustrations of the weaknesses which too often make +society a machinery for wasting money on display, and entirely oblivious +that it should be a machinery for the promotion of intellectual and refined pleasures.</p> + +<p>Now, if I have given a fair account of luxury as considered simply from +the point of view of an enlightened selfishness, I may proceed to the +ethical question. So far, I have only asked, in substance, at what point +our expenditure upon pickles becomes foolish. But, of course, the more +important question arises, at what point it becomes selfish. A man may +be silly for spending money upon erecting towers; but if he does no harm +to his neighbours we hardly call him wicked. We cannot say that it is +unconditionally wrong to build a tower. We must inquire, therefore, how +far luxury necessarily involves a wrong to others. Here we must begin by +listening to all the philosophers and divines of whom I spoke at +starting. Any number of wise and good men will tell us, in various +dialects, that pleasure is in itself bad, or, at least, that all the +pleasures obtainable by wealth are bad, or, at any rate, beneath the +notice of the higher spirits. There are the thorough-going ascetics, who +strive, not to regulate, but to suppress all except the absolutely +necessary physical instincts, and think<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> that even those desires savour +of evil; who consider the best man to be the man who lives upon bread +and water, and, if possible, upon mouldy bread and ditch-water. There +are, again, spiritually-minded people, who consider all happiness to be +worthless, except such happiness as results from aspirations to another +world; who regard all riches as chains binding the soul to earth; who +take the words "Blessed are the poor" in the most literal sense, as +defining the true aim of life. We should seek, they say, for happiness +elsewhere than in this transitory stage of existence, remember that the +world is a mere screen hiding the awful realities of heaven and hell; +and despise even such pleasures as are generally called intellectual +pleasures, the pleasures, for example, of art or science, for they, too, +belong really to the sphere of illusion, and are simply more subtle +temptations than those of the flesh. And, besides these, we have the +philosophers, who would have us live in the world of pure intellect, and +tell us that the true moral of life is to make ourselves independent of +external circumstances by suppressing all the corresponding desires. +Renunciation, therefore, is the first lesson to be learned by the wise +man; and the practical rule, as has been said, is that we should +endeavour not to increase our numerator but to lessen our denominator. I +cannot now discuss such doctrines. I am content<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> to say that I regard +them not as simply false, but as distorted views of truth. For my part, +I am content to say that, even as a moralist, I wish to see people as +happy as possible; that being, after all, a poor utilitarian after my +own fashion, I desire—however erroneously—the greatest happiness of +the greatest number; and, in particular, that I should like to see, not +a feebler, but a much keener appreciation of all the pleasures derivable +from art, or science, or literature, or rational society, even, if I may +say so, from good cookery and athletic sports. Briefly, the ideal +society seems to me to be one in which even our lower instincts should +not be suppressed, but regulated; and the typical man of the future to +be one whose whole faculties and their corresponding sensibilities +should be cultivated to the utmost possible degree. What is the +application of this to our special question? I do not know that I can do +better than refer to the writings of Bernard Mandeville, who in his +<i>Fable of the Bees</i>—one of the cleverest books in the +language—succeeded by the help of much paradox, and under a cloak of +cynicism, in stating the problem with singular vivacity. Private vices, +that was his way of putting it, are public benefits. His meaning, put +less paradoxically, was this: accept, on the one hand, the ascetic +doctrine that pursuit of pleasure is intrinsically vicious, and you +condemn all the impulses<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> by which the structure of society, especially +the industrial structure, has been built up. Accept, on the other hand, +the doctrine that civilisation is, on the whole, a good thing, and you +admit that the instincts, which, upon this hypothesis, correspond to +private vices, are the only means of producing a public benefit. In +other words, if we took the language of theologians in its natural +sense, and really regarded the world as worthless, we should have no +industry, no trade or commerce, and be still living in swamps and +forests, digging up roots with our nails, living upon acorns and +shell-fish, and scarcely even painting ourselves blue, for to the savage +blue paint was a luxury. Now, apart from any question as to the fairness +of this version of theological doctrine, we may ask, What is the real +underlying difficulty—or that aspect of it which is still worth +considering? We may grant, in the first place, to Mandeville, that, in +point of fact, the construction of a civilised society presupposes the +development of numerous desires, many of which are more or less +condemned by severe moralists. If the savage comes to value blue paint, +he may take to planting something to exchange for it, instead of simply +lying on his back to digest his last handful of acorns; and, in so +doing, he makes the first step towards the development of an industrial +system. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> desire for wealth is, of course, implied in all stages of +progress if men are to create wealth; and we can partly answer +Mandeville's paradox by throwing over the ascetic and declaring that a +desire for good meat, and fire, and clothes, even for pictures, and +books, and music, or for such comforts as most of us enjoy, is not in +itself immoral; and that, on the contrary, the more there is of such +enjoyment the better for men's bodies and minds, and therefore, on the +whole, the better for their morality. But the moral difficulty returns +in a new shape. The desire for wealth, let us say, is not in itself bad; +it is simply natural—it is a desire for one essential condition of a +tolerably happy life. But is it not bad, in so far as it is selfish? Do +not the desires which have been the mainspring of all modern development +imply a desire of each man to get rich at the expense of others? Have +they not been the source of all that division between rich and poor +which makes one side luxurious and the other miserable? Has not Dives +become rich and bloated by force of the very same process which has made +Lazarus a mass of sores and misery? Suppress the desire for wealth, and +we should still be savages "running wild in woods". But was not even the +noble savage better than the pauper who now hangs on to the fringes of +society? and is his existence compensated by the existence of other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +classes who have more wealth than they can use? And so the old problem +comes back; and we have, as of old, the most contradictory answers to the problem.</p> + +<p>I am, I confess it, one of those old-fashioned people who believe in +progress, and hold that their own century is distinctly better than any +which preceded it; who would on no account go back, if they could, to +the days of the noble savages or even to the brutalities and +superstitions of the ages of faith. But I do not think that I need argue +that question for our present purpose. We have got to this century +somehow, and we can only get out of it by living till the twentieth. +Meanwhile, we should make the best of the interval. I will, therefore, +only permit myself one remark. If we suppose, with Mandeville, that the +instincts which have developed modern society have been, to a great +extent, selfish desires, that is, for the personal comfort of the agent, +irrespectively of consequences to others, it does not follow that the +corresponding development has been mischievous. Good commonplace +moralists have been much in the habit of condemning the selfish passions +of kings and conquerors. What can be an easier mark for denunciation +than such a man, for example, as Louis XI. of France, and the wily and +cruel rulers of past ages, whose only aim was to enlarge their own +powers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> and wealth? And yet, if we consider the matter historically, we +must admit that such men have rendered enormous services to mankind. A +ruler, let us say, had for his only object the extension and +concentration of his own authority. Still, it was by the conflicts of +rulers that the great nations have been formed out of a chaos of +struggling clans; that peace and order, therefore, have been substituted +for violence, throughout broad territories; that law has taken the place +of private war; moreover, that the privileges of selfish orders have +been suppressed through the development of a larger and more civilised +national organisation; and that, although the immediate victory was won +by the selfish ruler, the ultimate benefit has accrued to the people +upon whom he was forced to rely for support against the oppressive +subordinate powers. The ruler, perhaps, did not look beyond his own +interests; but his own interest forced him to find allies among the mass +of the population, and so gradually led to the formation of central +organs, representing not the personal interest of the king, but the +interest of the whole nation in which they had arisen. We may make a +similar remark upon industrial development. The great merchant and +capitalist and inventor of new methods and machinery has not looked, it +may be, beyond his own interest; but, intentionally or not,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> he was +helping to construct a vast organisation, which, whether it has, on the +whole, improved the world or not, has, at least, made it enormously +richer. Perhaps Watt, when he was improving the steam-engine, thought +only of the profits to be derived from his invention. But the profit +which he gained after a laborious life was but an infinitesimal fraction +of the enormous increase of efficiency which resulted to the national +industry. We cannot doubt that the whole gigantic system which at least +maintains a population several times multiplied, which maintains part of +it in wealth and a large proportion in reasonable comfort, has been due +to the labours of many men, each working for his own interest and +animated chiefly by the desire of wealth. So much remains true of the +economist's doctrine of the natural harmony between individual and +public interest. In this case, as in the case of governments, we may, +perhaps, say that men acted from motives which must be called selfish, +in this sense at least, that they thought of little but their own +interests; but that, at the same time, their own interests compelled +them to work in a direction which promoted, more or less, the interests +of others. I add, briefly, that these are only instances of what we may +call the general rule: namely, that morality begins from an external or +unrecognised conformity of interests, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> ends by recognising and +adopting, as motives, the consequences which, in the earlier stage, +seemed to be internal or accidental consequences. I begin by helping a +man because circumstances make it useful to myself, and I end—and only +become truly moral when I end—by doing what is useful to him, because +it is useful to him. When, indeed, I have reached that point, my end +itself is profoundly modified; it becomes much wider, and yet only +regulates and directs to new channels a great deal of the corresponding conduct.</p> + +<p>The consideration of this modification—of the change which should take +place when a man not only pursues such conduct as is beneficial on the +whole to a country, but pursues it with a view to the beneficial +consequences—brings us back to the question of luxury. The bare pursuit +of wealth as the end of existence implies, of course, indifference to +the means by which it is produced; an equal readiness, for example, to +grow rich by cheating my neighbour, or by actually producing a greater +quantity of useful produce. It is consistent with a simple desire to +enlarge my business without reference to the effect upon the persons I +employ, as when manufacturers enriched themselves by cruel exploitation +of the labour of infants. But if we hope for a state of things in which +an employer should consider himself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> as essentially part of the national +organism, as increasing his own wealth only by such means as would be +also advantageous to the comfort of the nation generally, the pursuit of +wealth would become moralised.</p> + +<p>Here, in fact, we must once more consider Mandeville's paradox. Desire +for wealth, he substantially says, must be good because it stimulates +industry. When your lazy barbarian, who has no pleasure but gorging +himself with food, comes also to desire fine clothes, he is not only a +degree more refined in his tastes, but his increased industry leads him +to produce enough food to support his tailor, and provision is made for +two men instead of one. But desire for wealth, it is replied, is bad, +because it leads our barbarian not only to consume the product of his +own labour, but to consume that of somebody else. Mandeville gained +piquancy for his argument by confusing the two cases. Since the desire +is good, all its manifestations must be good. Extravagance, for example, +is good, and, as he put it, the fire of London was a benefit to industry +because it set up a greater demand for the services of carpenters and +bricklayers. I need not say how frequently an argument substantially the +same has been adopted by good writers, and simple extravagance been +praised because it was supposed to be "good for trade".<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> Political +economists have been forced to labour the point that extravagant +consumption does not increase wealth; but the only curious thing is that +such a point should ever have required demonstration. The conclusion, +which is sufficient for our purpose, is simply that an absolute +denunciation or an absolute exaltation of the desire for wealth is +equally impossible; for the desire may have contrary effects. In one +shape it may stimulate to enjoyments which actually diminish wealth in +general, or, at any rate, to those which lead to the actual exploitation +of the many for the benefit of the few; and, on the other hand, to +denounce it, simply would be to denounce all the springs of action which +raise men above the barbarous state of society. When we look at the +contrasts between the rich and the poor, we must rightfully desire a +greater equality of distribution; but we may be tempted to approve too +easily any means which may lead to such equality. It is, indeed, obvious +that if all the national resources which are now applied to producing +superfluities could be turned to the production of necessaries, we could +support the same population in a greater comfort, or support a much +greater population at a point just above starvation level. But it does +not at all follow that a society in which every man's labour was devoted +entirely to the task of providing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>necessaries would in fact be either +more comfortable or more numerous. Historically speaking, the fact is +the very reverse. The only societies in which there is such an equality +are societies in which the level is one of uniform misery, and whose +total industrial efficiency is incomparably smaller than that of the +more civilised races. It has been only in so far as a nation has been +able to support classes with sufficient means to devote themselves to +science and art, and the cultivation of the higher faculties generally, +that it has acquired the vast powers of production which enable some to +be disproportionately rich, but which also enable numerous masses to +support themselves in tolerable comfort where there were once a few +wandering barbarians. That the more cultivated classes have sought only +their own advantage instead of the general benefit, may be too true; but +the conclusion is, not that they should cease to have the desires which +entitle a man to be called a civilised being, but that these desires +should be so regulated and moralised as to subserve directly and +necessarily the ends which they have only promoted indirectly and +accidentally. A society which has grown rich by mechanical discoveries +and industrious organisation has acquired the power of greatly raising +the average level of comfort. If, in point of fact, its power has been +greatly misused, if a great development of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> poverty has taken place side +by side with a great development of industrial efficiency, the proper +inference is not that we should denounce the desires from which the +efficiency is derived, but that we should direct them into such channels +as may lead to the more universal distribution of the advantages which they create.</p> + +<p>It is, I think, from this point of view that we can best judge of the +moral objection to luxury. For, as I previously suggested, luxury begins +when a man becomes the slave instead of the master of his wealth; when +that which ought to be a mere machinery becomes an end in itself; and +when, therefore, there is a tendency to cultivate and stimulate to +excess those lower passions which, though necessary within limits, may +beyond those limits distort and lower the whole character, and make the +pursuit of worthy objects impossible. We know that the king who had the +reputation of being the wisest of mankind, after building a splendid +temple and a gorgeous palace, and filling them with vessels of gold, and +importing ivory and apes and peacocks, could find nothing better to do +with the rest than to take 700 wives and 300 concubines—a measure which +hardly increased his domestic felicity, but no doubt got rid of a good +deal of money. Although few men have Solomon's opportunities of +affording a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> typical instance of luxury, many of us show ourselves +capable of weakness similar at least in kind. I need not multiply +examples. The great mystery of fashion is perhaps a trifling but a +significant example. When people, instead of considering dress as a +means of displaying the beauty of the human frame, consider their bodies +as mere pegs upon which to display clothes, and are ready to distort +their own forms to fill arbitrary shapes, changed at short intervals to +increase the cost, they are clearly exemplifying the confusion between +means and ends. When a young gentleman spends a fortune upon the turf, +or upon gambling, he shows that he has no more conception than the poor +boy who plays pitch-and-toss with halfpence of the ways in which wealth +might be made conducive to undertakings worthy of absorbing human +energy. When, on pretence of cultivating society, we invent a whole +cumbrous social apparatus which makes all rational conversation +impossible, we know that the display of wealth has become an end to +which we are ready to sacrifice our ostensible purpose. Now, I suggest +that such luxury, such exaltation of the machinery above the ultimate +good, corresponds pretty nearly to the distinction between the desires +which lead to the rightful use and those which lead to the shameful +misuse of wealth in a social sense. Human nature,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> indeed, is singularly +complex, and it is impossible to deny that the hope of acquiring such +luxuries may incidentally lead to that increase of industry and +development of national resources which, as we have seen, is the ground +upon which it is defended. The industrious apprentice may have been +stimulated to become Lord Mayor by the odours from his master's +turtle-soup; Arkwright, perhaps, was induced to invent the machinery +which revolutionised the cotton manufactures by the hope of becoming Sir +Richard, and rivalling the coarse luxury of some stupid Squire Western. +But we cannot doubt that upon a large scale the love of the grosser +indulgences is bad, even from its purely economical point of view. If, +incidentally, it encourages industry, it far more directly and +necessarily encourages wasteful expenditure. If a rich man can only +spend his thousands at a gambling-table, the poorer man cannot be blamed +for gambling with a thimble-rigger. When Solomon set up his domestic +establishment, every shopkeeper in Jerusalem might be encouraged to +marry an extra wife. If a rich man, who has enough to saturate a healthy +appetite, tries how much money he can spend, like the old classical +epicures, upon new dishes of nightingales' tongues, you can hardly +expect the poorer man to refrain from an extra glass of gin. Briefly, so +far as the resources<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> of a nation are spent upon the mere +ostentation—which we call vulgar, to imply that it is spending for the +sake of expense, foolishly trying to get more pleasure for an appetite +already gorged to excess, by simply increasing the stimulus—it is +encouraging all the forces which make rather for waste than increased +productiveness, and justifying the natural jealousy of the poorer. So +far, that is, as a desire for wealth means a desire to consume as much +as possible on supersaturating the lower appetites, the commonest +argument against private property in general is not only plausible but +justified. I should say, then, that luxury in a bad sense begins +wherever in expenditure it indicates an insufficient sense of the +responsibility which attaches to all wealth. This does not condemn an +expenditure which may seem, from some points of view, luxurious; though, +as I have said, I cannot profess to draw any distinct line in what is +essentially a question of degree and of actual possibilities, I can only +suggest in general that a man is <i>primâ facie</i> justified in all such +expenditure as tends to the highest possible cultivation of his +faculties and of the faculties of those dependent upon him. I hold it to +be a matter of the highest importance that there should be a thoroughly +civilised class—a class capable of all intellectual pleasures; loving +the beauties of art and nature; studying every possible<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> department of +knowledge, scientific and historical; maintaining all such modes of +recreation and social enjoyment as are naturally appropriate to such a +class. And I do not call any man luxurious for maintaining his position +in such a sphere, or for enabling his children to follow in his steps. I +believe that, as things are, the existence of such a class is a +necessary condition of national welfare and of the preservation and +extension of the whole body of cultivation which we have received from +our ancestors. What is requisite is, that the class should be not only +capable of refined enjoyment, but of discharging its functions +relatively to the nation at large, and spreading a higher standard of +enjoyment through the whole community. So far as the richer class +maintains certain traditions, moral and intellectual—traditions of +personal honour and public spirit, of artistic and literary +cultivation—it may be discharging an invaluable function, and its +existence may be a necessary means of diffusing a higher civilisation +through the masses who have not the same advantage. Whatever employments +of wealth contribute to make a man more efficient as an individual +member of society, to strengthen his understanding and his perceptions, +to widen his intellectual horizon and interest his sympathies, and the +enjoyments which correspond to them, are not to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> be condemned as +luxurious. They are, at present, only within the reach of the richer +classes, ardently as we may hope that the power of partaking them may be +extended as rapidly and widely as possible. But the growth of luxury, in +the bad sense, is the indication that the class which should act as the +brain of the social organism is ceasing to discharge its functions, and +becoming what we call a survival. It is a kind of moral gout—an +aristocratic disease, showing that the secretions are becoming +disordered for want of a proper application of the energies. It was in +that sense, as I said before, that our grandfathers denounced the luxury +which proved that the ruling classes, especially in France, had retained +their privileges while abandoning the corresponding duties. If in +England we escaped so violent a catastrophe, it was because, with all +their luxuries and levities and shortsightedness, the aristocratic +classes were still playing an active part, and, if not governing well, +doing whatever was done in the way of governing. But every class, and +every member of a class, should always remember that he may be asked +whether, on the whole, he and his like can give any sufficient reason +for his or their existence, and that he ought to be prepared with a +satisfactory answer. When he has to admit that his indulgences are in +the main what may be called luxuries in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> bad sense, he may consider +that he is receiving notice to quit.</p> + +<p>This may suggest the last remark that I need make. It is impossible, I +have said, to say definitely this is, and that is not, a luxury: and, in +general, that is not the way in which the question presents itself. We +have rather to decide upon our general standard of life, and to adopt a +certain scale of living more or less fixed for us by our social +surroundings. We can all do something towards rationalising the habitual +modes of expenditure, and adapting the machinery to such ends as are +worthy of intelligent and cultivated beings. So far as inclination is in +the direction of vulgarity, of ostentatious habits, of multiplying idle +ceremonies and cumbrous pomposities, we can protest by our own conduct, +at least, in favour of plain living and high thinking. But so far as +social life is really adapted to the advancement of intellect, the +humanising and refinement of our sympathies, it promotes an improvement +which cannot but spread beyond the immediate circle. Even such pursuits, +it is true, may incidentally become provocative of an objectionable +luxury. A man who is a lover of art, for example, occasionally shuts +himself out all the more from the average sympathies, and indulges in +pleasures, less gross but, perhaps, even more enervating than some which +we should call distinctly sensual.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> The art, whether literary or +plastic, which is only appreciable by the connoisseur, is an art which +is luxurious because it is on the way to corruption. Nothing is clearer +in the vague set of guesses which pass for æsthetic theory, than this: +that to be healthy and vigorous, art must spread beyond cliques and +studios, and express the strongest instincts and emotions of the society +in which it is developed. This, I think, is significant of a general +principle. Luxury is characteristic of a class with narrow outlook, and +devoted to such enjoyments as are, by their nature, incapable of +communication. Whenever the enjoyments are such as have an intrinsic +tendency to raise the general standard, as well as to heighten the +pleasure of a few, they cannot be simply stigmatised as luxurious. The +old view of the responsibilities of wealth was chiefly confined to the +doctrine that the rich man should give away as many of his superfluities +as possible, to be scrambled for by the poor, in order to appease the +Fates. We have come to see that charity, though at present a necessary, +should be regarded as a degrading necessity; and, therefore, not in the +long run a possible alternative to luxury. Too often it is itself a kind +of luxury as mischievous as selfish disregard to the natural +consequences of our expenditure. The true direction of our wishes should +rather be to direct social energies into such channels<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> as have a +natural affinity to public spirit. A man who really loves art because he +has a keen sense of beauty, not because he wishes to have the reputation +of a skilful collector, would surely try to beautify the world in which +we all live, to get rid of the hideous deformities which meet us at +every turn, and not simply to make a little corner into which he may +retire for simple self-indulgence. A lover of truth should not be +content, as some philosophers were forced to be content, with discussion +in an esoteric circle, but should endeavour, now that thought is free, +to stimulate the intellectual activity of all men, confident that the +greater the number of investigators, the more rapid will be the advance +of truth. I do not venture to suggest what special direction should be +taken by those who have the privileges and responsibilities of great +wealth. I have never had to consider that problem in any practical +reference. Still, considering how vast a part they actually play in +social development, how great is their influence, and how many people +and enterprises seem to be in want of a little money, I cannot help +fancying that a rich man may find modes of expenditure other than +reckless charity or elaborate pampering of his personal wants, which +would be not only more useful to the world, but more interesting to +himself than many of the ordinary forms of indulgence. But I am<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> only +speaking of general tendencies, and have disavowed any capacity for +laying down precise regulations. If I have stated rightly what is the +evil properly attacked when we speak of luxury as vicious, it will, I +think, come mainly to this: that the direction in which we should look +for improvement is not so much in directly prescribing any Spartan or +ascetic system of life, as in cultivating in every one who possesses +superfluities, the sense of his implicit responsibility to his fellows, +which should go with every increase of wealth, and the conviction, not +that he should regard pleasure as in itself bad, but that he should +train himself to find pleasures in such conduct as makes him a more +efficient member of the body corporate of Society. If, indeed, there +should be any man who feels that he has no right to superfluities at +all, while so many are wanting necessaries, and should resolve to devote +himself to the improvement of their elevation, I should say, in the +first place, I fully and heartily recognise him to be one of the very +large class which I regard as my superiors in morality; although, in the +next place, I should insinuate that he is one of those heroes who, while +they deserve all honour, cannot be taken as models for universal +imitation, inasmuch as I cannot help thinking that the ultimate end is +not the renunciation but the multiplication of all innocent happiness.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>THE DUTIES OF AUTHORS.</span></h2> + +<p>I propose to speak to you to-day upon a subject which, though I may +perhaps be tempted to exaggerate its importance, possesses some real +importance. I have undertaken to speak upon the duties of the class to +which I belong. I make, however, no claims to the position of censor. I +have no such claim, except, indeed, the claim of possessing some +experience. There are two ways, I may observe, in which a man may +acquire a sense of the importance of any moral law. One is by keeping +the law, and the other is by breaking it. In some ways, perhaps, the +systematic offender has acquired the most valuable experience. No one +can speak more feelingly about the evils of intemperance than the +reformed drunkard, unless it be the drunkard who has not reformed. The +sober gentleman who has never exceeded can realise neither the force of +the temptation nor the severity of the penalty. On the other hand, I +must admit that some writers upon ethical questions have been men of +fair moral character. I only make the statement by way of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> explaining +that, in speaking of the duties of authors, I do not assert, even by the +most indirect implication, that I personally have either observed or +disregarded the principles which I shall discuss. Whether I am a model +for imitation or an example of the evils to be avoided, matters nothing +to this discourse; though the question to which of these classes I +belong has a certain interest for myself.</p> + +<p>There is one other matter which I can deal with very briefly. I have +said that the subject has a certain importance. Upon that it is needless +to dilate; for, in the first place, authors have been engaged for +generations, and never more industriously than in this generation, in +preaching the vast importance of authors to mankind. I could not hope to +add anything to their eloquence upon a topic with which they are so +familiar. We may, however, assume that the enormous mass of literature +which is daily produced, whether its abundance be a matter of regret or +exultation, is at least a proof that a vast number of people read +something, and are, we may suppose, more or less affected by what they +read. It cannot be indifferent to inquire what are the duties of those +who undertake to provide for this ever-growing demand.</p> + +<p>One matter has been lately discussed which may serve as a starting-point +for what I have to say. A<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> French author who came the other day to +observe our manners and customs, was impressed by the fact that so much +of our writing is anonymous. The public, that is, reads without knowing +who are its instructors, and the instructors write without incurring any +definite personal responsibility. The problem is naturally suggested, +whether such a system be not morally objectionable. Ought not a man who +undertakes to speak as an authority let us know who he is, and therefore +with what authority he speaks? The question could hardly be answered +satisfactorily without some study of the facts; and especially of the +way in which the system has grown up. I can only notice one or two +obvious reflections. A century ago we boasted—and we had reason to +boast—that the English Press was the freest in Europe. It was already a +very important factor in political life. But at that period the +profession of letters was still regarded as more or less disreputable. +The great author—the poet, divine, or historian—was indeed fully as +much respected as he is now; but to write for money or to write in +periodicals was held to be not quite worthy of a gentleman. Byron, for +example, refused to take money for his poetry, and taunted others for +taking money, until so much money was offered to him that he swallowed +his scruples. Burns, though as much in need of money,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> had shortly +before refused to write for money; and Wordsworth held that his high +calling imposed upon him the duty of rather repelling than seeking the +popularity by which money is to be won. We have changed all this, and +the greatest modern authors are less apt to disavow a desire for pay, +than to complain that their pay is insufficient. The employment—it can +hardly be called the profession—of periodical writing, again—the only +kind of writing which could make literature a source of a regular +income—was long regarded as a kind of poor relation of the respectable +or so-called learned professions, clerical, legal, and medical. Jeffrey, +whose fame now rests upon his position as the editor of <i>The Edinburgh +Review</i>, was for a long time anxious to conceal his employment as not +exactly creditable. In the year 1809 the benchers of Lincoln's Inn +passed a resolution that no one should be called to the Bar who had +written for money in a newspaper. Writers in newspapers since that time +have frequently risen to the Bench, and have been not the least honoured +of Cabinet Ministers. Yet the sentiment which involved a certain stigma +has only disappeared in this generation. And the historical cause seems +to be obvious. The newspaper Press had gradually grown up in spite of +authority. It had first been persecuted, and writers had escaped +persecution by consenting to be spies or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> dependants upon great men. +Half the hack-authors aspired to subsidies from the secret-service +money, and the other half were looking for a reward when their patrons +should have a turn in the distribution of good things. The Press was +freer than elsewhere, for the English system of government gave +importance to public discussion. Both Ministers and Opposition wished to +influence voters through the papers. But the authors were in the +position of dependent auxiliaries, prosecuted for libel if they went too +far, and recompensed by pensions for the risks they had to run; they +were despised, even by those who used them, as a set of mercenary +guerillas, employed to do dirty work and insinuate charges which could +not be made by responsible people, and ready, as was supposed, to serve +on whichever side would pay them best. According to a well-known +anecdote, two writers of the eighteenth century decided by the toss of a +halfpenny which should write for Walpole and which should write for his +adversary Pulteney; but the choice was generally decided by less +reputable motives. Now, so long as the Press meant such a class it was +of course natural that the trade should be regarded as discreditable, +and should be carried on by men who had less care for their character +than for their pockets. In England, where our development has been +continuous and traditions linger long,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> the sentiment long survived; and +the practice which corresponded to it—the practice, that is, of +anonymity—has itself survived the sentiment which gave it birth.</p> + +<p>I do not, indeed, mean to insinuate that the practice may not have +better reasons than that which led to its first adoption. The mask was +formerly worn by men who were ashamed of their employment, and who had +the same reasons for anonymity as a thief or an anarchist may have for a +disguise. It may now be worn even by men who are proud of their +profession, because the mask has a different significance. When a +journalist calls himself "we" instead of "I," the word really represents +a fact: the fact that he speaks not simply as an individual, but as the +mouthpiece of a corporation, which itself claims to be the organ of a +party. The plural covers whatever additional weight may be due to this +representative character. To consider the value of this justification +would take me too far. I have spoken of this historical fact because I +think that it illustrates a more general problem.</p> + +<p>For, in the first place, I think that there were some elements in the +older sentiment which deserved respect. When an author was as anxious to +disavow the charge of writing for money as an author at the present day +is to claim his reward, I cannot, for my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> part, simply set him down as +silly. "My songs," said Burns, "are either above price or below price, +and, therefore, I will accept nothing." I respect his feelings. He may +not have been quite logical; but he was surely right in the belief that +the poet whose inspiration should come from his breeches-pocket would +never write true songs or embody the very spirit of a nation. I do not +doubt that authors ought to be paid; but I certainly agree that a money +reward never ought to be the chief aim of their writing. And I confess +that some utterances about copyrights in these days have jarred upon me, +because they seem to imply that the doctrine is not disavowed so +unequivocally as it should be by our leaders. I am, indeed, happy to +believe, as I fully believe, that there has never been a time at which +more good work has been done for pure love of the work, independently, +and even in defiance, of pecuniary considerations. But I cannot help +thinking that in their desire to establish a right to the profits of +their work, authors have condescended at moments to speak as if that +reward constituted their sole motive to work, instead of being +desired—as it may most properly be desired—simply as the means of +enabling them to work. The old contempt was aristocratic, and in these +days we have come to use aristocratic as a term of abuse. My own +impression<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> is that we ought to be just even to aristocrats; and in that +contempt for all such work, I think that there was a genuine element of +self-respect. The noble despised the poor scribe who had to get his +living by his pen. We, my lords, as Chesterfield put it, may thank +Providence that we do not depend upon our brains. It is wrong, no doubt, +to despise anybody; and especially mean to despise a man for poverty. +But the sentiment also included the belief—surely not so wrong—that +the adventurer who joined the ranks of a party for the sake of the pay +was so far contemptible, and likely to join the party which paid best. +The misfortune, no doubt, was that the political state involved such +dependence; and the desirable solution that every one should become +independent. Till that solution was more or less reached, the +corresponding sentiment was inevitable, and not without meaning.</p> + +<p>Well, the literary class has had its declaration of independence. An +author has long ceased to need a patron, and he is in little danger of +the law of libel. The question occurs: What are the qualities by which +we should justify our independence? Have we not still a certain stoop of +the shoulders, a kind of traditional shamefacedness, an awkwardness of +manner, and a tendency to blush and stammer, which shows that we are not +quite at ease in our new<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> position? Or have we not—it is a more serious +question—exchanged dependence upon the great for dependence upon the +public, rather than learnt to stand upon our own feet? Have we made +ourselves, and, if we have not, how can we make ourselves, worthy of our +position as free men? We boast that the Press does part of what used to +be done by the priesthood, that we enlighten and encourage and purify +public opinion. There is a whole class which depends upon us for +intellectual culture; which reads nothing that is not in newspapers and +magazines. Do we give them a wholesome training, provide them with sound +knowledge, and stimulate them to real thought? Are we such a priesthood +as is really raising the standard of human life; or such a priesthood as +is clinging to power by echoing the superstitions of its congregations? +Nature is ruled by obeying her; and what is called ruling public opinion +is too often servilely following its dictates. There is an old story +which tells how a certain newspaper used to send out an emissary to +discover what was the common remark that every one was making in +omnibuses and club smoking-rooms, and to fashion it into next morning's +article for the instruction of mankind. The echo affected to set the +tune which it really repeated. Now, there is nothing more flattering +than an echo. "This must be an inspired<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> teacher, for he says exactly +what I thought myself," is a very common and effective argument. To +reproduce the opinions of the average reader; to dress them so skilfully +that he will be pleased to see what keen intelligence is implied in +holding such opinions; to say just what everybody wishes to have said a +little more neatly than everybody could say it, or, at the outside, to +say to-day what every one will be saying to-morrow, is one path to +success in journalism. There is, I am afraid, much so-called education +which tends to nothing better than a development of this art. I was +consulted the other day by a young gentleman who was proposing to put +himself under a professor of journalism. So far as I could gather from +his account, the professor did not suggest that the pupil should study +any branch of serious knowledge: that he should become, for example, a +good political economist, or read ancient or modern history, or make +himself familiar with continental affairs or bimetallism, or other +thorny and complex subjects. The aim was precisely to enable him to +dispense with all study, and to spin words out of absolute mental +vacuity. If such an art can really be acquired, it is scarcely an art to +be recommended to ingenuous youth. And yet, as I understand, it is an +art which is more or less countenanced even at our universities. A +distinguished classman learns<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> much, but the last thing he learns is the +depth of his own ignorance. He is too often practised in the power of +beating out his gold or his tinsel to cover the largest possible +surface; he becomes an adept in adopting the very last new fashion of +thought; he can pronounce dogmatically upon all previous thinkers after +reading not their own works, but the summary given in the last +text-book. Success in the art of passing examinations requires the same +qualities which enable a man to write off-hand a brilliant leading +article upon any side of any subject. I have often heard remarks upon +the modern diffusion of literary skill. Ten people, it is said, can +write well now for one who could write well fifty years ago. No doubt +the demand for facile writing has enormously increased the supply. But I +do not think that first-rate writing—the writing which speaks of a full +mind and strong convictions, which is clear because it is thorough, not +because it is shallow—has increased in the same proportion, if, indeed, +we can be sure that it has increased at all. Perhaps there are ten times +as many people who can put other men's thoughts into fluent phrases; but +are there ten times as many, are there even as many, who think for +themselves and speak at first hand? The practice of anonymous writing +affords, of course, obvious conveniences to a superficial omniscience. +The young gentleman who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> dogmatises so early might blush if he had to +sign his name to his audacious utterances. His tone of infallibility +would be absurd if we knew who was the pope that was promulgating +dogmas. The man in a mask professes to detect at a glance the absurd +sophistries which impose upon the keenest contemporary intellects; but +if he doffed the mask and appeared as young Mr. Smith, or Jones, who +took his degree last year, we might doubt whether he had a right to +assume so calmly that the sophistry is all on the other side. I am, +however, quite aware that this is only one side of the question of +anonymity. Were the practice abolished, the journalist who was forced to +appear in his own character might abandon not his superficiality, but +whatever power of blushing he retains. The more fluent phrase-monger +might take himself even more seriously than he now does, and might +persuade other people to take him seriously too. The charlatan, in +short, might have a better chance, and use his notoriety as a +stepping-stone to more mischievous ambition.</p> + +<p>I refrain from discussing this question: the rather because it is +obvious that such changes must work themselves out gradually, and that +we may assume, for the present, that the position will not be materially +changed. I am, therefore, content to infer that the journalist should at +least bear in mind one obvious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> criterion. He should never say anything +anonymously to which he would be ashamed to sign his name. I do not mean +merely that he should not be libellous or spiteful—I hope and believe +that the underhand assassin of reputations, who at one period was common +enough, has almost ceased to exist,—but rather that he should refrain +from that pompous assumption of omniscience which would he ludicrous in +a simple individual. He should say nothing when he speaks in the plural +which would make him look silly if he used the first person singular. +Now, this modest requirement involves, I think, a good deal. I will try +to say what it involves by an example, of which I frequently think. I +remember a young gentleman, who, in my hearing, confessed, in answer to +a question from Carlyle, that he did a certain amount of journalistic +work. The great man thereupon said, with his usual candour, and, I must +add, without any personal discourtesy, that, in his opinion, the +journalism of the period was just so much ditch-water. What should be a +well of English undefiled poured forth streams little better than a +public sewer. The phrase, like some other prophetic utterances, sounded +a trifle harsh, but was all the more calculated to set me thinking. My +thinking naturally led me to reflect upon Carlyle's own example. I was +invited some time afterwards to sign a little testimonial<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> presented to +him upon his eightieth birthday, in imitation of the gift which he had +himself forwarded to Goethe. In this it was said, and said, I think, +most truly, that Carlyle was himself an example of the heroic life in +literature. And why? A good many epigrams have been levelled at Carlyle, +and he has more than once been ridiculed as the philosopher who preached +the virtues of silence in thirty volumes. Now, Carlyle's utterances +about silence may not have been unimpeachable; but I think that, stated +in a commonplace way, they substantially come to this: that idle talk, a +mere spinning of phrases, is a very demoralising habit, and one great +mischief of the present day; but that the serious and careful utterance +of real thought and genuine knowledge must be considered rather as a +mode of action than of talk, and deserves the cordial welcome of all +men. A Goethe affects action as much as a Napoleon. Carlyle did not +really mean to draw the line between an active and a literary life; for +he knew as well as any man that literature may at once require the most +strenuous activity, and be the source of life and vigour in active men; +but between frivolity and earnestness, between the mere waste and +dissipation of energy and its concentration upon some worthy purpose. +Judged by such a standard, Carlyle's words were also deeds. He wrote a +good deal, for he lived a long time, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> had for many years to live by +his pen. I could, I think, mention several professional authors who +habitually provide as much copy in a month as Carlyle ever achieved in a +year. But, luckily for them, their works are not collected. Carlyle +appears to be voluminous because he never wrote anything which was not +worth preservation, and that because he never wrote an essay without +making it as good as his abilities permitted. He did so, although he was +till middle life hard pressed for money, and helping to support his +family out of his narrow earnings. He stuck indomitably to his own ideal +of what was best, though he had slowly to form a public which could +appreciate him. And through long years of struggle and hardship he never +condescended to make easy gains at the price of inferior workmanship, or +to lower his standard of excellence in order to meet the immediate +demands of editors. In that sense, if in no other, I call Carlyle a +worthy hero of literature, and I reverence his example a great deal +more, I fear, than I have imitated it.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, indeed, a man must have an unusually, even unreasonably, strong +conviction of the truth and importance of his mission before he can make +such sacrifices in order to discharge it worthily. To most of us the +question occurs whether it can possibly be worth while to do so. +Perhaps, if I devoted <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>myself exclusively to delivering my message to +mankind as forcibly as I could, and to making all necessary +preparations, it might be rather more effective than the second-hand +twaddle which I actually produce. But would the game be worth the +candle? I have, it may be, a family to support. Should I not, as an +honest man, think first of my butcher and my baker and of paying the +collector of rates, before I undertake to become an immortal author? +Probably, at the best, my immortality would be a very short one, for +there is not one author in a thousand who can make his voice audible at +the distance of a generation. Is it not better and wiser to earn an +honest living by innocent small talk, than to aim at a great success and +let my children go barefoot and lose their schooling? That low man, says +Browning's Grammarian—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>That low man goes on adding one to one,</div> +<div class="i1">His hundred's soon hit:</div> +<div>This high man, aiming at a million,</div> +<div class="i1">Misses an unit.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Is it not better to hit your hundred than to aim at your million and +miss it? That is a problem which I do not think it possible to answer by +a general rule. We rightly honour the Carlyle or the Wordsworth who has +forced the public to admire him in spite of critical gibes and long +obscurity; but we must not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> forget that even success does not +necessarily justify the audacity which has won it, and that a good many +people who fancied themselves to be capable of enlightening the world +have been empty-headed impostors who would have done better to take the +critic's advice: drop their pens and mind their gallipots. Devotion to +an ideal, like other high qualities, may be misplaced or counterfeited +by mere personal vanity. But leaving each man to decide by the concrete +circumstances of his own case, I still hold that at least we should try +in this respect to act in Carlyle's spirit. I cannot blame the author +who, under certain conditions, feels that his first duty is to pay his +weekly bills, so long, of course, as he does not earn the money by +pandering to the bad passions of his readers; for there are modes of +making a livelihood by the pen to which starvation or the workhouse +would be preferred by any high-minded man. But we will not judge harshly +of the author who lives by supplying innocent, if rather insipid, food +for public amusement. He might be capable of better things; but, then, +he might certainly be doing much worse. Yet in any case, I say that, to +have a tolerably comfortable conscience, an author should try to look a +little farther than this. The great mass of mankind has to devote most +of its energies to employments which require nothing more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> than honest +work; and yet even the humblest can do something to maintain and elevate +the moral standard of his surroundings. The author, so far as he is +simply a journeyman, a reporter of ordinary events and speeches, for +example, does his duty so far as he reports them honestly; and we have +no more to say to him. But the author who takes part in political and +social or religious discussions has a responsibility which involves +something more. Probably he feels—I am sure enough that I feel—that +his performance makes remarkably little difference to mankind in +general; and that he is playing only an infinitesimal part in the great +processes by which the huge world blunders along, struggling into some +approximation to a more tolerable order. He may compare himself to one +of the myriads of insects building up one square yard on the coral reef +which stretches for hundreds of leagues. Yet even the coral reef depends +on the units, and if the insect's powers are small it concerns him to +make the best of them. Now, to make the best of them implies some +genuine interest in his work; something that makes the reader perceive +that he is being addressed by a human being, not a mere machine for +vamping up old materials. I have been struck in reading newspaper +articles, even my own, by the curious loss of individuality which a man +seems to suffer as a writer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> Unconsciously the author takes the colour +of his organ; he adopts not only its sentiment but its style, and seems +to become a mere transmitter of messages, with whose substance he has no +more to do than the wires of the electric telegraph which carries them. +But now and then we suddenly come across something fresh and original; +we know by instinct that we are being addressed by another man, and are +in a living relation to a separate human being, not to a mere drilled +characterless unit of a disciplined army; we find actually thoughts, +convictions, arguments, which, though all arguments are old, have +evidently struck the writer's mind, and not merely been transmitted into +his pen; and then we may know that we are in the presence of a real +force, and meeting with a man who is doing his duty. I refrain from +mentioning, though I easily could mention, living modern instances. But +on looking to the history of the past, it is curious to notice how rare +the phenomenon is, and how important it is when it occurs. Think for a +moment, for example, of old Cobbett, agricultural labourer and soldier, +with nothing to help him but his shrewd mother-wit and his burly English +strength. He wrote much that was poor and clumsy enough; much, too, that +was pure claptrap, and much that was dictated by personal motives and +desire for notoriety. But in spite of this the untaught<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> peasant became +one of the great political forces, more effective than the ninety and +nine elegant <i>Edinburgh</i> and <i>Quarterly</i> reviewers, who had all the +advantages which he lacked. Why? Partly, no doubt, because he was a +really strong man; but also because he had at least one genuine and +deeply-rooted conviction, springing out of his profound desire for the +welfare of the class which was both the largest and the most helpless of +the England of his day. He is, therefore, one example, and there are +many others, of the singular power which is exercised in journalism by a +man, under whatever disadvantages, who possesses, or rather who is +possessed by, some master-thought, and utters it in season and out of +season with perhaps disproportionate intensity, but with perfect +sincerity. Now, though Cobbett would be in some respects a bad model, I +only refer to him in this sense. When my young friends consult me as to +the conditions of successful journalism, my first bit of advice comes to +this: know something really; at any rate, try to know something; be the +slaves of some genuine idea, or you will be the slaves of a newspaper—a +bit of mechanism instead of a man. You can carry on the business with +self-respect—whatever your success—if it is also something more than a +business; if, for example, you can honestly feel that you are helping on +the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>propaganda of sound principle, denouncing real grievances, and +speaking from genuine belief. No man has a right to lay down the law to +statesmen as though he were in possession of absolute knowledge, or as +though he were a man of science talking to a class of ignorant +schoolboys. But every man ought to believe that truth is attainable, and +to endeavour with all his power to attain it. He should study the great +problems of the day historically: for he must know how they have arisen; +what previous attempts have been made to solve them; how far recent +suggestions are mere reproductions of exploded fallacies; and so qualify +himself to see things in their true relations as facts of a great +process of evolution. He should endeavour to be philosophical in spirit, +so far, at least, as to seek to base his opinions upon general +principles, and to look at the events of the day from a higher point of +view than that of personal or party expediency. And he must, though upon +this it is hardly necessary to insist, be familiar with the affairs of +the day: for no one can apply principles to politics effectively without +a genuine first-hand knowledge of the actual currents of political life. +Unless a man can take up his calling in some such spirit, he can be but +a mere retailer of popular commonplaces, and must live from hand to +mouth or upon the chance utterances of people as thoughtless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> as +himself, increasing the volume of mere noise which threatens to drown +sense. But if he seriously cultivates his powers, and enriches his mind, +he may feel sure that even in journalism he may be discharging one of +the most important functions which a man can undertake. He may be right +or wrong in the particular doctrines which he supports. Indeed, the +first and most obvious result of any attempt to take wider views of +politics is the admission that wisdom (and as certainly, nonsense) is +not the exclusive possession of any party in politics, literature, or +philosophy. But something is done whenever a man of trained intellect +and genuine conviction lifts popular discussion to a higher plane. At +such times it rises above the region of personal invective or pure +platitude, and involves a conscious reference to great principles and to +the remote conditions of the little bit of history which we are actually +transacting. When John Stuart Mill became a member of the House of +Commons, and was accepted as a philosopher coming among practical men, +he said much that displeased his hearers; but it was observed by +competent judges at the time, that the tone of parliamentary debates was +perceptibly raised. Members of Parliament were forced to reflect for the +moment, not only how their speeches would tell in next day's reports, +and what traps they were setting for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>opponents, but also for a brief +instant, how their arguments would stand the test of impartial logic. +Mill tells a significant story in his autobiography, which, perhaps, +indicates one source of his influence. When he appeared upon the +hustings he was asked whether he had not said that the English +working-classes were generally liars. He replied simply, "I did," and +the reply was, he says, received with "vehement applause". The incident, +he adds, convinced him that the working-classes valued nothing more than +thorough straightforwardness, and honoured a man for daring to tell them +of their faults. I hope that it is so: I believe, in point of fact, that +no quality is more heartily honoured than unflinching political honesty. +And I confess that I have often wondered why it is that where the reward +is so clear, so few people take the plain road which leads to it. It +seems equally clear that moral courage pays better than any other +quality in politics, and that it is the rarest of all qualities even to +be simulated. We are all anxious to show how profound is our affection +for the masses; but how many candidates for their favour dare to give +Mr. Mill's proof of genuine respect? No doubt you must make it clear +that you possess some other qualities before you can hope to conciliate +the respect of a class by accusing it openly of habitual lying. Indeed, +this might be taken as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> test of genuine independence. Till you can +tell men of their faults without being suspected of spite or bad +temper—till you can praise them without being suspected of unworthy +flattery—you are not really in a position worthy to be called +independent. How many journalists—I say nothing of statesmen—stand +firmly enough on their own legs to speak out without giving offence? We +are often told of a great revolution of opinion, and especially of the +abandonment of the old prejudice against government interference. That a +great change has taken place in the opinions which men profess is +undeniable; though how far that change has been due to unbiassed +scientific reflection, and how far to a change in the conditions of +popularity, is a very different question. I see, for example, a +statement by an honourable gentleman that he approves of the Eight Hours +Bill because the principle of non-interference with adult labour is +obsolete. It is too late to avow it. If the honourable gentleman means +to say that experience has proved the principle to be erroneous, he is, +of course, justified in abandoning it. But, if his meaning be simply +that the principle has gone out of fashion, what is this but to admit +that you will abandon any doctrine as soon as it ceases to be popular? +Do we really mean to assert that a fallacious doctrine can never get the +upper hand;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> that the beliefs of to-day are always better than the +beliefs of yesterday; that every man who has dared to stick to an +opinion condemned by a majority must necessarily be a fool for his +pains? That really seems to be a common opinion. We hear a great deal at +the present day about "mandates," and a mandate seems to be regarded not +simply as a declaration of the will of a majority which must, in point +of fact, be obeyed, but as the official utterance of an infallible +church which cannot in point of logic be erroneous. Now, I confess that +I have always had a weakness for the faithful Abdiel. I believe that a +man is often doing invaluable services who resists the dominant current +of opinion, who denounces fallacies when they are growing and +flourishing, and points out that a revolution in belief, even though it +be inevitable for the time, and even though it contain an element of +right reason, may yet contain errors and hasty judgments and deviations +from the true line of progress, which require exposure the more +unsparing in proportion to their temporary popularity. Is not the +ordinary journalist's frame of mind singularly unfavourable to his +discharge of this function? and is it not inevitable that it should be +so as long as the journalist's only aim is to gain a hearing somehow? It +matters not which side he takes. He denounces some new doctrine, but +only in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> the name of the current prejudices which it happens to shock. +He advocates it, but only because it is the last new fashion of the day. +In either case he falls into the ordinary party vice of imagining that +his opponents must be fools or knaves, that their opinions are directly +inspired by the devil or a judicial blindness inflicted by Providence, +simply because he will not take the trouble to understand them. The man +who would try to raise himself above the position of the mere pander to +passing antipathies must widen his intellectual horizon. He must qualify +himself to take broad views; he must learn that his little list of +commonplaces does not represent real thought, but is often the +embodiment of mere prejudice, or perhaps the deposit of words left by +thinkers of past generations; he must learn to do more than merely dish +them up with a new sauce; he must concentrate his abilities upon +definite problems, consider how they have arisen, and what is their +relation to the past and the future. To do so requires some +disinterestedness: some love of truth for its own sake; and a capacity +for answering your opponent by explaining him, instead of a mere +quickness for taunting him personally. It requires, no doubt, serious +and prolonged application. Even such a training will not enable a man to +unlock all the puzzles of the day; but it may help towards the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +desirable consummation in which a solution is at least sought in +connection with established principles, and with a constant reference to +the organised experience which also can be a safe guide to more +reasonable conclusions. Even the attempt to do so may strengthen a man +against the temptation to take short cuts to notoriety, and seek a +momentary sensation at the sacrifice of permanent effect. We owe +gratitude to all who have acted upon such principles and won the +influence which comes at last, though it comes slowly, to honest work, +bestowed even upon such shifting materials as political and moral philosophy.</p> + +<p>I have dwelt so far chiefly upon political journalism, because it is so +characteristic a part of modern literature, and illustrates so clearly +some obvious tendencies of the time. I must say something, however, of +another department of literature, which is sometimes said to have +nothing at all to do with morality. The poet or the novelist, it is +suggested, has no duties except that duty which Scheherazade discharged +at the risk of her neck,—the duty of keeping her master amused. If, +instead of telling him stories about genii, she had read him every +morning an orthodox sermon or an ethical discourse, the one thousand and +one nights would have been diminished by one thousand. Am I to tell our +modern <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>Scheherazades to forget the <i>Arabian Nights</i>, and adopt for our +use passages from the homilies of Tillotson? Some religious persons have +taken that horn of the dilemma, and perhaps with some plausibility. When +the world is heaving with the throes of a social earthquake, what right +have you or I to be lounging on sofas, telling silly stories about young +ladies' and gentlemen's billings and cooings? Perhaps the condemnation +should be extended to recreations less obviously frivolous. Your +philosopher who tries to distinguish or to identify "is" and "is not," +and to draw the true line between object and subject, has a very +fascinating plaything, but is perhaps as far from influencing the world. +Judging from the history of past philosophical cobwebs, he might as well +be framing conundrums, or learning how to throw grain through the eye of a needle.</p> + +<p>I only refer to this to say that I am not in favour of suppressing +either art or philosophy. I have a kind of hankering after them in some +forms myself. I assume, without further argument, that Shakespeare, and +Milton, and Wordsworth, and Fielding, and Scott, and Dickens, did well +in devoting themselves to literature, and probably did more to make the +world happier and better than if they had composed sermons or systems of +philosophy. I must, as I said, refrain from pronouncing any set eulogy +upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> the services rendered by authors. This only I take for granted. No +one, I think, of any intellectual capacity can remember the early days +when his faculties were ripening, when he wandered, for the pure delight +of wandering, in the enchanted world of the great imaginative writers, +saw through their eyes, and unconsciously caught the contagion of their +sympathies, without feeling a deep gratitude to the men who not only +gave him so much innocent pleasure, but who incidentally refined his +taste and roused his enthusiasm, and quickened his perception of +whatever is beautiful, or heroic, or pathetic, in the moral or the +natural world. The highest literature embodies the instincts by which a +cultivated people differs from the barbarous, and the classes are in a +true sense civilised, which enjoy and appreciate the ennobling as +distinguished from the coarser pleasures, and rise above the merely +brutal life. One who aspires to be a leader, or to follow the steps of +the leaders, in this band of crusaders against barbarism, must surely +have some corresponding duties. I am here upon the edge of certain +troublesome controversies which I shall refrain from discussing at +length. This only I need say. Some great authors explicitly accept the +function of preaching. Milton, and, in later days, Wordsworth, +identified the offices of the prophet and the poet, and set themselves<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +deliberately to expound an ideal of life, and justify the ways of God to +man. And Milton gave the principle in his famous saying, that he who +would write well hereafter of laudable things must be himself a true +poem. Yet men equally great have impressed readers by their apparent +indifference to such considerations. They accept the new commandment +which, as Emerson tells us, the Muse gave to her darling son, "Thou +shalt not preach". Shakespeare and Scott did not consciously and +deliberately write to set forth any ideal; they even wrote, more or +less, to make money; they were magnificent opulent geniuses, who poured +out their imaginative wealth liberally and spontaneously, without a +thought of any particular moral, simply because their minds were full to +overflowing of great thoughts and vivid images, which they diffused as +liberally as the rose gives its scent. Are we to say that they were +wrong or morally inferior, even if artistically superior, to those who +wrote, like Milton or Dante, with a more definite aim? Must I condemn +Scott because he did not write, like the excellent Miss Edgeworth, or +even like Dickens in some of his stories, to preach consciously that +honesty is the best policy, or that selfishness is a vice; and, if so, +must I not condemn a man from whom I have not only received an +incalculable amount of innocent enjoyment, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> imbibed—it is my own +fault if I have not imbibed—many thoughts that have strengthened and +stimulated the best elements of my nature? If I insist upon the moral +influences, am I not confounding the poet and the preacher, and falling +under the lash of I know not how many critical connoisseurs? If I +renounce the preachers, I am renouncing some of the greatest artists, +and indirectly sanctioning even such art as is worthy only of Holywell +Street, and panders to the worst passions.</p> + +<p>I will say what I think. Great writers, it seems to me, may be great in +two ways; and the greatest is he who combines them most thoroughly. The +first-rate writer, in the first place, must—to use a frequently +misapplied word—be a thorough realist. He is great in proportion to the +width and depth of the truths which he grasps, and to which he gives the +most perfect expression. When we read Shakespeare at his best, what +strikes us is that he has expressed once for all some home-truth about +human nature and the world, round which all inferior writers seem to +have been blundering without ever achieving a complete utterance. More +generally, every great period of our literature has been marked in one +shape or other by a fresh realism, or what is called the desire to +return to Nature: to get rid of the phrases which have become +conventional and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> unreal, and express the real living ultimate truth. +Shakespeare and the great men of his time were inspired by such a +passion; they were animated by the desire to "hold the mirror up to +Nature" and to portray real vivid human passion, for they had burst +through the old mediæval chains of theological dogma, and were aroused +to a sudden fresh perception of the beauties which had been unrecognised +and misconceived by ascetic monks. The men of Pope's time, again, +believed in what they, too, called the "religion of Nature," and tried +to hasten the day when enlightened reason should finally crush what +Berkeley called the "pedantry of courts and schools". Wordsworth and his +followers inaugurated a new era by proposing a return to "Nature," +because the language, which with Pope expressed a real meaning, had +again become the conventional language of a narrow class of critics and +the town. It is in all ages one great function of the imaginative +writers to get rid of mere survivals; to forego the spectacles used by +their ancestors as helps, which have now become encumbrances; to destroy +the formulas employed only to save the trouble of thinking, and make us +see facts directly, instead of being befooled by words. In that sense it +is their great service that they break up the old frost of dreary +commonplace, and give life and power, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> place of an acceptance of mere +ossified or fossilised remnants of what once was thought. Briefly, they +teach us to see what is before us. So far the function of the poet +resembles that of the scientific and philosophic observer. He differs +radically in method, because he proceeds by intuition instead of +analysis; shows us the type, instead of cataloguing the attributes of a +class; and gives us a real living man—a Falstaff or a Hamlet—instead +of propounding a psychological theory as to the relations of the will, +the intellect, and the emotions.</p> + +<p>I take it, therefore, that realism in this sense is one essential +characteristic of great imaginative power. I hold it to be more than +ever necessary; more necessary because scientific methods of thought are +more developed. It is less possible for a serious writer to make use of +the merely fanciful symbols which were perfectly legitimate as long as +they represented real beliefs, but are now fitter for only the lighter +moods. The greatest writers have to dispense with fairies and fighting +gods and goddesses, and the muses, and to show us a direct portraiture +of the forces by which society is actually moved. But the functions of +the great writer, though they involve a perception of truth, are not +adequately defined by the simple condition of truthfulness. He has to +be—may I say it?—a preacher; he cannot help<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> it; and, so far as he +cannot help it, his preaching will be elevating in proportion as it is +truthful. He does not preach in the sense in which a moralist preaches, +by arguing in favour of this or that doctrine, or expounding the +consequences of opinions. It is not his business to prove, but to see, +and to make you see. But, in another sense, he cannot help preaching, +because his power over you is founded upon sympathy, upon his personal +charms, upon the clearness with which he sees and the vividness with +which he portrays the real nature of the instincts which make men +lovable or hateful. What are really the most fascinating books in the +language? I was impressed the other day by discovering that perhaps the +most popular of all English books, judging by the number of editions, is +Goldsmith's <i>Vicar of Wakefield</i>. To what does it owe its popularity? +Obviously to the exquisite keenness of Goldsmith's perception of the +moral beauty of a simple character, which is always saved from the +charge of being unctuous or sentimental by the constant play of gentle +and yet penetrative humour. Do we not love Charles Lamb for a similar +reason? Why, again, do we love Scott, as all men ought to love him? Is +it not because his Jeanie Deans and his Dandie Dinmont, and a hundred +more characters, show the geniality, the manliness as well as the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +shrewd common-sense of their creator, and his vivid perception of the +elements which ennoble the national character which he loved so well? +Why does the British public love Dickens so well? For his incomparable +fun, no doubt; but also because the fun is always associated with a keen +perception of certain moral qualities which they regard with, it may be, +excessive admiration. But to give no more examples, I am content to say +that the enduring power of every great writer depends not merely on his +intellectual forces, but upon the charm of his character—the clear +recognition of what it really is that makes life beautiful and +desirable, and of what are the baser elements that fight against the +elevating forces. We are under intellectual obligations to the man of +science who will tell us, for example, how mountain chains have been +raised and carved into their present shape. But we are grateful to the +great poets and prose writers, to Wordsworth and Mr. Ruskin, for +interpreting and stimulating the emotions which make the vision of the +great peaks a source of pure delight. We may, in the same way, thank the +psychologist who can make more intelligible the principle of association +of ideas, or trace the development of the moral sense or the social +affections. But we love the man who, like Goldsmith, and Lamb, and +Scott, and Wordsworth, has revealed to us by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> actual portraits of +typical characters, the sweetness and tenderness and truthfulness which +may be embodied in humble characters. Love, says Wordsworth, of his +shepherd lord—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Love had he found in huts where poor men lie,</div> +<div class="i1">His daily teachers had been woods and rills;</div> +<div>The silence that is in the starry sky,</div> +<div class="i1">The sleep that is among the comely hills.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>The power of discovering and of making us discover such thoughts in the +huts of poor men and in natural scenery is the true prerogative of the +poet, and it is to that power that he owes his enduring place in our hearts.</p> + +<p>I have said this much because I think that it is in a perversion of +these principles that we shall find some of the temptations to which the +author is in these days most liable. I can only glance at them briefly. +One perversion, for example, is indicated by the common use of the +phrase "realism". This word has various meanings; but the commonest, +perhaps, would not be misrepresented by saying that it involves a +confusion between the functions of the man of science and the poet. In a +scientific sense, it is a sufficient reason for setting forth any theory +that you believe it to be true. The facts which you describe may be +hideous and revolting: it is not the less desirable that they should be +accurately known. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> poet and novelist may be equally justified in +taking hideous and revolting facts into account. That, for example, is +the duty of a satirist; and I am not at all concerned to say that satire +is illegitimate—I think it perfectly legitimate. I should be the last +to assert that a writer should confine himself to such facts as can be +discussed with decency in presence of a young ladies' school. On the +contrary, I think that, if not the most enviable privilege, it is +sometimes a duty of the novelist to set forth vice and crime, and even, +it may be, to set them forth in impressive and startling shapes. It is +his duty to represent them truly and to make them intelligible; to show +how they may be natural, and not to misrepresent even a villain. All I +say is, that he should also recognise the fact that they are hideous and +revolting. And, therefore, this is no excuse for the man who really +dwells upon such facts, not because they are facts, but because he knows +that such descriptions are the easiest way of attracting morbid tastes; +and that he can get a readier market by being irreverent and indecent +than by other expedients. To defend such work on the excuse of realism +is simply to indulge in a bit of contemptible humbug, too transparent to +need exposure. The purpose of an artist, you say, is to give pleasure, +not to preach. That is perfectly true; but to give pleasure to whom?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> If +it is to give pleasure to the prurient, to the cynical, to the +debauchee, to give the kind of pleasure which, to a pure-minded man, is +pain, and of which even the blackguard is ashamed, then I will not +quarrel over words, and ask whether it can be truly artistic, but I will +simply reply that I should have a greater respect for a man who lived by +picking pockets. But, you reply, it requires a great deal of skill. So +does picking pockets, and so do some other kinds of human energy which I +need not particularise. If the ethical judgment be really irrelevant +æsthetically, the æsthetic judgment must be irrelevant ethically. If +that doctrine be true, we are, therefore, quite at liberty to say that a +thing may be beautiful and at the same time blackguardly and beastly. I +will, however, express my own conviction, that what is disgusting to a +right-minded man cannot be really beautiful, and that the sentiments +which it offends cannot be put out of court simply because they are +called moral. They have as good a right to be considered as any others.</p> + +<p>There is a temptation of the opposite kind: the temptation to what I may +briefly call sentimentalism. The virtue of idealism is as necessary as +the virtue of realism; and every great writer shows his greatness by +combining the two. The contradictory of the real is not properly the +ideal, but the unreal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>—which is a very different thing. For idealism +means properly, as I take it, that quality in virtue of which a poem or +a fiction does not represent merely the scientific or photographic +reproduction of matters of fact, but incarnates an idea and expresses a +sentiment. A great work imparts to us the impression made upon a mind of +unusual power, reflectiveness, and emotional sensibility by some aspect +of the world in which we all live, but which he can see more vividly +than others. To be really impressive, therefore, it must correspond to +facts and be the genuine product of experience. The erroneous idealism +is that which perverts the truth in order to gain apparent emphasis; +which deals in the impossible, the absurd, and the exaggerated; and +supposes a world which cannot even be better than the actual, because it +cannot exist; which, therefore, has the defect of being arbitrary and +inconceivable. So political Utopias are interesting in proportion as +they suggest a legitimate construction, based upon actual facts and +observed laws of human nature. As soon as we see that they presuppose a +world of monstrosities, of impossible combinations of incompatible +qualities, they become mere playthings. And the same is true of every +work of imagination; as soon as it ceases to have a foundation in +truth—to be other than realistic—it loses its real hold upon our +sympathies. You solve<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> no problem when you call in a god to cut the +knot. This is the tendency of the sentimentalist, who refuses to be +bound by the actual conditions. His creations are ephemeral because only +plausible, even to the imagination, so long as the illusions to which +they are congenial survive. And he probably falls into the further error +that the emotion which he utters becomes as factitious as the laws which +he invents. The man who weeps because he is melted at the sight of +misery, touches us; but when he weeps because he finds it pleasant, or +because he wishes to make a public exhibition of his tenderness of +heart, we find him out by degrees and call him a humbug and a +sentimentalist. Sham feelings and moral facts are the staple of the +sentimentalist and the cause of his inevitable decay.</p> + +<p>These remarks may serve to suggest the temptations which most beset the +author in our days, though peculiar to our day only in the degree in +which authorship has become more professional. For the ideal author is +the man who, having discovered truth, desires to reveal it to his +fellows, or, being full of perceptions of beauty, cannot resist the +impulse to embody them in words or outward symbols. But when he desires +also to live by his powers, he is at once in a position of which all +authors know the peril. He becomes self-conscious; for he has a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>perpetual poultice of public favour or enmity applied to soften his +fibres, and to make him feel, even in his study, that an eye is upon him +and that he must so act as always to preserve attention. He is tempted +to produce sensation at any cost—to shock and startle by horrors if he +cannot move the sympathies by gentle arts: for a man who cannot command +the pathetic, can, at least, always be disgusting. He can turn our +stomachs if he cannot move our hearts. He is tempted, at least, to +caricature—to show how keen is his perception by crude and glaring +colours, and to indulge in the grotesque as an easy substitute for the +really graphic; he can affect a facile cynicism to show how profound is +his penetration, and display that marvellous knowledge of the world and +the human heart, and that power of discovering the emptiness of all +apparent virtues which is so common an endowment of young gentlemen upon +their first initiation into real experience of life. There is nothing +which the author affects so easily at his first start as the world +weariness which comes from long experience and years of disappointed +hope. And when a man has once gained applause for his sentiment, he +finds himself his own covert rival, and is forced to substitute for the +first "sprightly runnings" a fanciful pumping up of the last dregs of +his old feelings. Nothing, unfortunately, is more common,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> or could be +more easily illustrated by examples of good writers, than the spectacle +of the veteran trying to reproduce in cold blood the effects which he +struck out spontaneously and unconsciously in youth. And, then, at every +instant the poor author feels that he must keep up with the fashion; he +lives in fear of that verdict which will come some day, that he is an +old fogey, and that he is transgressing those eternal principles which +were discovered by some ingenuous youth a fortnight ago.</p> + +<p>Some such danger is, indeed, shared by others than the author. It is the +misfortune of his calling that success with him is intrinsically +associated with notoriety. A man may do good work in many departments of +life, of which no one will ever hear beyond a narrow circle. I hold, for +my part, that the greatest part of the good work which is done in the +world is actually of that kind, and that the best is done for the pure +love of work. The world knows nothing of its greatest men, and as +little, perhaps, of its best. But what would be the good of writing even +a <i>Hamlet</i> or a <i>Divine Comedy</i> if nobody was to read it? Some great +writers, I know, have prided themselves on finding fit audience and few; +and I fully agree that a man who could really influence a few seminal +minds might be well content with such a result of his labours. But, +after all, the genuine aim of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> great author must be, directly or +indirectly, to affect the world in which he lives, whether by changing +its beliefs or stimulating its emotions. And, as a rule, he cannot do so +without becoming known, and even known to vast numbers of readers. Some +religious writers, the author, for example, of the <i>Imitation of +Christ</i>, have influenced many generations, while absolutely concealing +their identity. Even they must, at least, have desired that their works +should be known; and the case is a rare one. For the author generally, +success of the worthiest kind, success in enlightening, encouraging, and +stimulating his fellow-men, is inextricably connected with success of a +lower kind, the success measured by fame and popularity. That, of +course, is equally the case with statesmanship: a statesman has to +appeal to crowds, and is too apt to be fascinated by thunders of +applause; public oratory, even in the pulpit, is a terrible stimulant to +unworthy vanity. The author only differs in this, that his very function +presupposes a temperament of more than average sensibility; that he does +not get that case-hardening which is administered to the statesman by +the opposition orator; and that publicity has a specially intoxicating +effect upon the man whose proper home is in his study, and who, perhaps, +leaves it only to mix with a circle of reverent admirers.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p><p>I have tried to indicate some of the obvious temptations of authors, +especially so far as they are strengthened by the practice of authorship +as a profession. They may be summed up by saying that they tend to +degrade the profession into a trade, and a trade which has as many +tricks as the least elevating kind of business. It would be, perhaps, +desirable to end by deducing some definite moral. But, in the first +place, I think that any such moral as I could give is sufficiently +indicated by the statement of the dangers. And, in the second place, I +do not think that there is any moral that can be regarded as peculiar to +authors. For an author, after all, is a man, and, as all men ought to +be, a workman. His power comes to this, that he is a man with a special +capacity for exciting sympathy. That he should be a good workman, +therefore, goes without saying; and it follows that he should have a +sense of responsibility in whatever department he undertakes; that he +should not bestow his advice upon us without qualifying himself to be a +competent adviser; nor write philosophical speculation without serious +study of philosophy; nor, if possible, produce poetry or even fiction +without filling his mind by observation or training it by sympathy with +the great movements of thought which are shaping the world in which we +live. It is a sort of paradox which cannot be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> avoided, that we must +warn a man that one condition of all good work is that it should be +spontaneous, and yet tell him that it should be directed to make men +better and happier. It seems to be saying that the conscious pursuit of +a given end would be inconsistent with the attainment of the end. Yet I +believe that this is a paradox which can be achieved in practice on the +simple condition of a reasonable modesty. The author, that is, should +not listen to those who would exaggerate the importance of his work. The +world can get on very well without it; and even the greatest men are far +more the product than the producers of the intellectual surroundings. +The acceptance of that truth—I hold it to be a truth—will help to keep +in check the exaggerated estimate of the importance of making a noise in +the world, which is our besetting sin, and help to make a regulating +principle of what is a theoretical belief, that a man who is doing +honestly good work in any department, whether under the eyes of a +multitude or of a few, will be happiest if he can learn to take pleasure +in doing it thoroughly rather than in advertising it widely. And, +finally, with that conviction we shall be less liable to the common +error of an author who grumbles at his want of success, and becomes +morbid and irritable and inclined to lower his standard, when in reality +he ought to remember<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> that he is as unreasonable as a marksman who +should complain of the target for keeping out of the line of fire. "It +is my own fault" is often a bitter reflection, but a bitter may be a +very wholesome tonic.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>THE VANITY OF PHILOSOPHISING.</span></h2> + +<p>When the Preacher exclaimed, "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity," he did +not exclude his own wisdom. "I communed with my own heart, saying, Lo, I +am come to great estate, and have gotten more wisdom than all that have +gone before me in Jerusalem: yea, my heart hath great experience of +wisdom and knowledge. And I gave my heart to know wisdom and to know +madness and folly: I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit. For +in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge +increaseth sorrow." The Preacher, whoever he may have been, has uttered +thoughts upon which many eloquent followers have expatiated. More than +two thousand years have passed since the words were written; +philosophies have risen and spread and decayed; and yet, in this year +1895, can we say that they have brought more than a multiplication of +doubt? Has the increase of knowledge as yet diminished sorrow, or +established any firm standing ground from which we may look upon the +universe and say that the eternal riddle is, I will not say solved, but +brought a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> step nearer to solution? A great poet—I can't tell whether +he lived in the twelfth or the nineteenth century, for the phrase is +equally characteristic of either Omar Khayyām or Edward +Fitzgerald—gives the same thought:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Myself, when young, did eagerly frequent</div> +<div>Doctor and saint, and heard great argument</div> +<div>About it and about: but evermore</div> +<div>Came out by the same door as in I went.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>What, indeed, are eight or twenty centuries in the life even of this +planet? There are moments at which we all have suddenly felt by flashes +the sensation of being suspended in vast abysses of space and time: when +we see, for example, a chart of the heavens which has been recently +revealed to us by astronomers, and find that spaces between the stars +shown to us by ordinary eyesight are filled in every direction with +world beyond world, vast systems of worlds, worlds in every stage of +evolution, growing out of nebulous vapour or sinking into eternal +coldness: while the imagination is staggered and bewildered by the +inconceivable vastness of the spaces indicated, and its own +infinitesimal pettiness. If we stroll into a museum and look at the +petrified bones of some grotesque monster, and after rejoicing, perhaps, +that there is an end of him, we are struck by the thought of the vast +lapse of ages during which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> he was being slowly hammered out of some +mere primitive form, and then slowly decayed, and was gradually elbowed +out of existence by monsters a degree less preposterous than himself, +and gain a new measure of the portentous lapse of time. The greatest of +poets has summed up the impression in the phrase which Carlyle was fond +of quoting: "we are such stuff as dreams are made of": and our little +speck of existence a vanishing quantity in comparison of the infinite +above and below and around us, which we dimly infer though we cannot +distinctly realise it. If in such a mood, common at times to all who can +think or feel, we take up some philosophical work, and find the writer +complacently setting forth a cosmogony or a theory of the Universe; +explaining how things came into being; what is the reason why they are +not better or worse; what is the end of the whole drama: are we not +justified in exclaiming with Carlyle:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>The builder of this Universe was wise,</div> +<div>He planned all souls, all systems, planets, particles:</div> +<div>The plan he shaped all worlds and æons by</div> +<div>Was—Heavens!—was thy small nine-and-thirty articles!</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Carlyle has been, to some of us, the most stimulating of writers, just +because he succeeded in expressing, with unsurpassed power, the emotion +which I must be content with indicating—the emotion which is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> roused by +sudden revelations of the infinitudes, the silences and eternities that +surround us. We cannot keep it permanently before us; the present +absorbs us, and its little interests seem to be all that is important. +It is only at moments when, for example, we reflect that our action of a +minute ago is already a part of the mysterious past, sinking downwards, +and rapidly becoming invisible in the depths of the infinite ocean, that +we are startled by a momentary pang, and feel as though to live with a +constant sense of our insignificance would be to risk the paralysis of +all our powers of thought and action. That way, we are inclined to say, +lies madness. We shall lose our heads if we gaze too long into such +tremendous depths. Possibly we may restore our equilibrium by meditating +upon the infinitesimal, though possibly too we may rather feel that such +meditations only reveal another infinite. I intended to make a few +reflections suggested by such thoughts, when I found a guide, and, to a +great extent, an ally, in a writer who has lately taken up the ancient +parable. Mr. Balfour, in a book rather quaintly entitled <i>Foundations of +Belief</i> has dwelt upon the vanity of all known philosophy, and has +shown, or appears to some of his readers to have endeavoured to show, +that it is hopeless to lay any sound foundations on the little film of +knowledge beneath which lie the great <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>unknown abysses. He tries to +indicate some other basis, though, so far as I can understand him, the +foundations of his edifice are ingeniously supported by the +superstructure; and that is a kind of architecture which, to my mind, +lacks stability. Through a large part of his argument, however, I find +myself in the pleasanter position of an ally. He asserts, and I doubt +whether any competent thinker would materially differ from him, that +there does not, as a matter of fact, exist any established system of +philosophic truth—any system upon which we can rely, as we do, in fact, +rightly or wrongly rely, upon certain scientific doctrines. We no more +doubt the truth of the Newtonian system of astronomy than we doubt that +fire burns or that bread nourishes. But the briefest glance at the old +systems of philosophy shows us, as Mr. Balfour says, nothing but +imperishable ruins—imperishable æsthetically—but, logically, mere +crumbling fragments. We can still read Plato with delight; but the +delight is due to the beauty of style and exposition, not, certainly, to +the conviction produced by his reasoning. Aristotle's philosophy is a +marvel—for his time: but his theory of the Universe is no more tenable +than his Natural Science. The luxuriant growths of later Greek +philosophy are interesting only to the curious investigators of the +pathology of the human intellect. The vast <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>development of scholastic +philosophy in the middle ages showed only how far unlimited ingenuity +and subtlety may lead in the wrong direction, if it starts with mistaken +principles. It ended by upsetting the doctrines which it attempted to +prove, and had finally to commit suicide, or fall before the +insurrection of living thought. The great men who revolted against its +tyranny in its later stages constructed new systems, which, to them, +seemed demonstrable, but which, to us, are already untenable. We cannot +accept Descartes, or Spinoza, or Leibnitz, or Bacon, or Hobbes, or +Locke, as giving satisfactory or even coherent systems, or as having +done more than lead to the thorough scepticism of Hume. If Kant +presented one solution of the difficulties in which philosophy was +landed, we have still to ask what precisely Kant meant; whether his +criticism was simply all-destructive, or really left anything standing, +and, if so, what it left standing; and who represents the proper line of +development. Shall we, with Schopenhauer, pronounce Hegel to be a +thorough impostor? and, if so, can we seriously accept Schopenhauer's +own system? If, here and there, some people accept his theories for +literary purposes, nobody will maintain that they rest upon any +permanently settled foundation. If, again, we believe in Hegel, we have +to make out what we mean by believing in Hegel, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> to which school of +his followers we are to attach ourselves. I need not consider the +polemic which Mr. Balfour has directed against the writers who have +given a version of Hegelian principles in England. Personally, I agree +with his criticisms in a general way; but I fancy that even the +adherents of those principles would defend themselves mainly by +declaring that they do not make such pretensions as he ascribes to them. +They try, at most, to indicate a way of approaching, not of solving the +problems. But, at least, they would claim to have done one thing: +namely, to have proved the inadequacy of the rival system of empirical +philosophy, accepted by the English followers of Locke, and now mainly +represented for us by Mr. Herbert Spencer. I only add to this, that it +is not a question of the convictions of any individual thinker, however +eminent. Philosophies of every different variety have been not merely +accepted by those who first devised them, but have been taken up in good +faith by whole schools of disciples; they have been tested, on a large +scale, by systematic application to all relevant questions, and one +after the other has become bankrupt; has lost its hold on the world, and +confessed that it leaves the riddle as dark as it was before. All that +can be claimed for the greatest philosophers is, that they have, at +least, proved that certain paths which seemed to lead<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> through the +labyrinth, end in a deadlock; that they have exposed certain fallacies +by the process of provisionally believing in them; and that they have +buoyed certain shoals, and demonstrated that no channel leads in what +seemed to be a promising direction. Is there any channel open?</p> + +<p>Once more, I might follow—I might even, if I had time, expand Mr. +Balfour's argument in another direction. He has pointed out—not for the +first time certainly—how men's beliefs are due not to reasoning, but to +countless causes which prevent them from reasoning. The argument is too +familiar, indeed, to require much emphasis. Some one, arguing in the +days of the old orthodoxy upon the necessity of the true faith to +salvation, put the case of a couple of infants deserted by their +parents. One of them is carried off by a Mohammedan and the other by a +Christian. Each will, of course, adopt the faith of the party into whose +hands it has fallen; and the problem was, whether the infant seized by +the Mohammedan would be eternally damned, and the one taken by the +Christian go straight to heaven; and whether, on the whole, that would +satisfy our sense of justice. The argument implies the inevitableness of +error. Men not only do, but ought to hold, contradictory opinions. Take +a Scottish Davie Deans, brought up in the shadow of John Knox's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> pulpit; +a Tyrolese peasant, educated in the Catholic Church; and a Mohammedan, +living at Mecca; and, of course, it is plain, not only that each will +accept the creed which pervades what is for him the whole world known to +him, but that as a reasoning being each is probably in the right. That +is to say, the accessible evidence is in each case overwhelmingly in +favour of the doctrine, inasmuch as the supposed reasoner is entirely +unaware of the evidence which might be produced on the other side. But +what is true of the peasant is true of the philosopher. Measured on a +sufficient scale, the difference vanishes. This intellectual horizon is +just as much limited, though not so narrowly limited. No one but a bigot +would deny that a mediæval philosopher might accept on perfectly +reasonable grounds the dogmas of the Catholic Church. The historical +difficulties had not even been presented to his mind. He had no reason +for doubting innumerable assumptions as to fact which have since turned +out to be erroneous; and if the method of his reasoning was itself +fundamentally vicious, the fact only came to light gradually in the +process of working out the results. We—including in the "we" the +philosophers—have to approach truth by the help of assumptions, and by +trying how in point of fact they will work; it is so hard to remember +that they are only assumptions<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> that we generally call them self-evident +truths. Considering how many assumptions are involved even in the very +structure of language itself; how we are led into all kinds of +difficulties by the essential instrument of thought, which has been +fashioned by the unconscious logic of our ancestors; it is not strange +that the best that can be said of philosophies is, that they represent +convenient working hypotheses. That, at least, seems to be a liberal +view of their logical value. In another sense they are really to be +considered as poetry, rather than as logic. They are modes of presenting +certain conceptions of the world by apparently logical formulæ, instead +of by concrete imagery; but, substantially, they represent the emotions +with which men regard their dwelling place, and are radically imperfect +if we insist upon considering them as providing us with correct plans +and drawings of its various arrangements.</p> + +<p>Let us look for a moment at another set of reflections upon which Mr. +Balfour touches. What has been the influence of these systems upon men's +lives? Have these provisional constructions, these fluctuating, +conflicting, unstable combinations of pretentious formulæ, really +decided or directed the course of human history? It would seem so, if +you read certain histories of philosophy. They seem to suggest that the +hinge upon which all the course of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> human affairs ultimately turns is +the growth of certain metaphysical conceptions. There is a preliminary +difficulty in seeing how such pretensions can be established. The +philosopher in his study or his lecture room discusses problems in which +the enormously preponderating majority of the race has so little +interest, that it is not even aware that there are any such problems to +be discussed. He lays down dogmas so vague and unsatisfactory that half +his hearers give up the attempt to understand, or understand them in a +sense which the more intelligent half would utterly repudiate; and that +intelligent half is itself divided into different schools, interpreting +the dogmas in radically contradictory ways. Is it not hard to believe +that speculation leads to vast results, when for ninety-nine men out of +a hundred it is practically non-existent, and with the small minority it +amounts to providing new weapons for endless controversy? We must, of +course, admit that men's conduct is in some sense determined by their +thoughts. Change the radical beliefs, and you will certainly change the +whole constitution of society. And, again, it is obvious that in one +sphere of thought the progress of inquiry is of vast importance. Nobody +can deny that scientific and mechanical discoveries have, for good or +evil, materially affected our lives. The great inventions<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> of modern +times, from gunpowder and printing to the steam-engine and electricity, +have changed things as much as if they had altered the physical +constitution of the world. They have indeed altered it for us, for they +have given us the means of applying forces previously dormant, and +therefore for practical purposes non-existent. Such beliefs have an +immediate bearing upon the practices of ordinary human beings. But if we +are to set down all philosophies as at once untenable and as absolutely +unknown to the enormous majority of mankind, it becomes difficult to +understand by what process they come to influence, or apparently to +influence, the position of the race. A philosopher frames his scheme of +the universe to his own satisfaction; but you and I hear nothing about +it, and do not trouble ourselves to understand it, and go on working +with our good old common-sense conceptions of things, leaving it to the +philosopher to construct or destroy the fanciful system which he somehow +supposes to lie beneath them. One answer is of course obvious. Religious +and ethical systems, it is said, presuppose a philosophy: no one denies +that men are profoundly affected by the gods whom they worship and the +rules of conduct which they adopt; and therefore the sceptic who is +burrowing at the base may be ruining the whole superstructure, although +his operations are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> no more obvious upon the surface than those of some +minute parasite. Accordingly, we are often told that revolutions are +ultimately produced by speculation; and that old systems fall with a +crash because some shrewd witness has been boring into the foundations +upon which they really repose. The French Revolution, according to one +familiar statement, was due to the freethinkers who had set about prying +into the ultimate grounds of the old faith, and had succeeded in shaking +the convictions necessary to social welfare.</p> + +<p>That this argument expresses a truth is what I am so far from denying +that I should be most anxious to give it emphasis. But what is precisely +the truth expressed? Destroy the belief in a church as a social system, +and the organisation will crumble. But what is the real cause of the +loss of belief? Is it the logical argument that is effective? Does the +philosophical revolution underlie the political or religious revolution, +or is that to invert cause and effect? Let me take an example to +illustrate my meaning. The doctrine of the "rights of man," proclaimed +by the whole revolutionary school, was, it is said, the cause of the +revolution. The destruction of the old order was caused by the sudden +conviction which spread through Europe of the truth of this theory, and +the consequent decay of the old authority.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> Now we may proceed, if we +please, to trace the origin of this doctrine back through certain +speculations to the days of the Roman jurists, themselves influenced by +the Stoical philosophy. The view suggested is that the doctrine was a +kind of germ, a something which preserved its vitality through +centuries, like the bacteria of modern physiologists, and which, +somehow, developed a baleful or a beneficial activity about a century +ago, and changed all the conditions of social equilibrium. But, if this +be true, we naturally remark that the potency of the doctrine must have +been due, not to the doctrine itself, which lay dormant so long, but to +the conditions which suddenly made it effective. The doctrine, indeed, +is so obvious, in a sense, that it is not to be doubted that anybody who +once began to philosophise about laws and political constitutions, after +they had reached a certain stage, would hit upon it in one shape or +another. It is not comparable to those scientific discoveries which +require patient thought and a dexterous combination of arguments: but +one of the primary axioms which present themselves on the very threshold +of inquiry. The mediæval peasant who put the question:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>When Adam delved, and Eve span,</div> +<div>Who was then the gentleman?</div> +</div></div> + +<p>was, probably, no great philosopher; but he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> giving the essential +pith of the doctrine of liberty, fraternity, and equality. It may be +regarded as an obvious logical canon, converted by an illegitimate +process into a statement of fact. If I make any general statement +whatever about men or beasts or stones, I, of course, assume that there +is a corresponding class of things in respect of each of which the +proposition is equally true. As soon as I say anything, therefore, about +morality or politics, which is intended to be true of men in general, I +assume, in this sense, that men are so far equal that something may be +predicated, indifferently, of every member of the class man. It is very +natural and easy to convert this into the proposition that the concrete +men of whom I am speaking are, in some sense, actually equal. In doing +so, however, I am either making a false statement, or begging the +question. As a matter of fact, men are, in many respects, as far as +possible from being equal. The real question, therefore, is whether the +inequalities which undoubtedly exist are or are not relevant to the +political inequalities which I have to consider. As a matter of fact, +the inequalities which were challenged by the revolutionary writers +were, as I think, and as most of us think, entirely unjustifiable. At +any rate, they had, as a matter of fact, produced widespread discontent +and bitter antipathies between classes. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> was the existence of these +antipathies to which the outbreak was due. The peasant, for example, +felt that he was forced to give up the fruit of his labour to the noble, +and that the noble was discharging no duty to justify his demands. The +peasant, probably, could not read; he was unaware that Rousseau or +Voltaire was laying down principles which would cover his case; he had +never even heard of philosopher or philosophy; only, when the time was +ripe, when the upper orders had become useless, and the lower classes +had accumulated a sufficient quantity of passion, of indignant or +vindictive feeling, an outraged sense of justice, the crash came, and +any formula which would cover the particular case was acceptable. The +doctrine then made its fortune; not because it was true, or because it +was demonstrable, but because it gave the shortest and simplest +expression to the prevailing sentiment. The philosophical dogma, which +had been lying idle for generations, doing no particular harm or good, +was, suddenly, converted into a war-cry, the more effective because the +real vagueness and uncertainty of its application enabled those who used +it to save themselves the trouble of thinking or arguing. Instead of +substituting particular grievances, and showing that this or that +inequality in general was useless and objectionable, they could, in half +a dozen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> words, denounce all inequality, and be perfectly satisfied with +a formula which was imposing for its generality, though true only in its +particular application.</p> + +<p>I take this familiar case, not only as familiar, but because it seems to +me to be typical. Similar general remarks might, I fancy, be made about +any of the great religious movements which have, undoubtedly, most +profoundly affected human society. They are not due to the philosophers; +to the abstract meditations of refined thinkers upon ultimate +principles; but to great underlying social changes. Our Christian +apologists of the last century held the quaint belief that a new creed +was caused by the occurrence of certain miraculous facts, susceptible of +legal proof. It is sufficiently obvious to us that this is to invert the +process. Given the faith, and there is never any difficulty in supplying +the miracles. No quantity of assertions as to miraculous events would +have the slightest effect, unless there were a predisposition to accept +them. The same answer applies to the theory that a new religion owes its +success to the discovery of new moral truths. In the first place, there +are, properly speaking, no sudden discoveries in morality; and in the +next place, the mere statement of a moral doctrine, and even the +presentation of a lofty moral type, can have little importance unless +the soil is already<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> prepared, and the doctrine is but the overt +utterance of the sentiments which are seeking for expression. The only +explanation that we can give of such events is the social explanation. +There are periods, that is in history, when the old order is out of +joint; when society has outgrown the institutions which were adequate at +a previous stage, and when, therefore, the beliefs associated with them +become oppressive, and can no longer pass without challenge; when +different races and nations have been brought into collision or +combination, and crushed together into new forms by conquest and +commerce; when, therefore, the several creeds are no longer supported by +the patriotism which has ceased to have a meaning; when a vast amalgam +of different faiths and modes of life has been formed out of many +heterogeneous elements; and thus a need is created for some wider and +more comprehensive system of belief corresponding to the general needs +of society. In that case the influence of the philosopher may be of some +importance, because he can do something towards suggesting the most +workable compromise, and of exposing superstitions which have lost their +old support, and the instinctive loyalty of their adherents. Even then +his voice will not be predominant. The creed will survive which is most +suited to the state of the average intellect; it will include a large +element<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> of the ancient modes of thought, which still insist upon +finding some satisfaction, and which, indeed, have a strange vitality +beneath the surface, even when explicitly disavowed by the official +interpreters of the faith.</p> + +<p>Now, if this be accepted as a rough sketch of the actual course of the +development of belief, what is the conclusion as to the philosopher's +function? Does it go to suggest that philosophy is but a vanity and +vexation of spirit, and does it reduce the philosopher to a humbler +position than is sometimes claimed for him? My answer would be, in the +first place, that the case against philosophy would have to be frankly +admitted if the criterion sometimes tacitly suggested be the true one. +Nothing could be more hopeless than the claim of any philosophy whatever +to have laid down a definitively satisfactory plan of things in general. +When Mr. Balfour observes that an Aristotle or Aquinas or Descartes has +not laid down a tenable theory of the universe, I can only add that the +very phrase—theory of the universe—conveys a sufficient refutation. It +is idle, or worse than idle, to imagine that we can lay down, or even +hope to lay down, anything of the kind. It needs only one of those +glances into the surrounding infinities which I have suggested, or the +briefest survey of the history of philosophy, to reveal the sheer +impossibility of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> attempt. No one, perhaps, ever quite imagined that +his speculation could really lay bare the ultimate ground plan of things +in general. But, certainly, philosophers have, at times, thought, or +spoken as if they thought, that they could construct a body of first +principles which should be to knowledge in general what a science is to +some particular application,—the general theory of physics, for +example, to astronomy. Philosophy would then be a system of such +ultimate principles. The day for such systems has, I think, passed. We +have learnt that it is for ever impossible to spin real knowledge out of +pure logic. What the universe, or the little bit of it that we know, +actually is, can only be learnt by experience; and if experience +presupposes categories or forms of intuition, still, without experience, +they remain empty; as incapable of producing truth as a mill of grinding +flour without corn. Philosophers must admit that on such terms we get +only "brain cobwebs"; ingenious feats of intellectual legerdemain, where +the operator shows his skill by dexterously hiding away his assumptions, +and bringing them out at the end as triumphantly demonstrated +conclusions. The more modest ideal, which is now presented to us, is +what is called the unification of knowledge. That means, no doubt, that +we have to bring our theories into harmony and consistency; to get rid +of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> hypothetical and conjectural elements which have intruded +themselves from earlier and cruder speculation; and so to analyse the +primary factors of thought and the most general conceptions, that we may +not have to assume in one relation what we dispute in another. Even this +process is, no doubt, exceedingly difficult; it is difficult partly +because the human mind has, generally speaking, to begin at the wrong +end; to proceed upon postulates which break down here and there and +leave inconvenient fragments remaining elsewhere; partly because some +philosophers are still open to the charge that they raise a dust and +then complain that they cannot see; and, briefly, because, in one way or +other, what with the dulness of the ordinary mind and what with the +over-subtlety of the acute, our thoughts and beliefs have got into +intricate tangles, which will require enormous patience and judgment to +wind off and weave into a satisfactory tissue. Genuine philosophers, +doubtless, will learn in time how to set about the work. It will +probably strike them that instead of evolving pretentious systems of +theology, and ethics, and politics, and art, each purporting to give an +exhaustive theory of the subject, and each destined to melt away, +leaving some infinitesimal residuum of real suggestion, they will have +to follow a slower method of gradual and tentative <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>investigation. If +so, we must undoubtedly assign to philosophy a more modest position than +has sometimes been claimed for it. It must resign its claim to a vision +of transcendental realities, to a knowledge of things in themselves, and +of the ultimate groundwork of the universe. It has not, I hold, a +subject-matter peculiar to itself; it reveals no principles belonging to +a separate sphere of thought; it corresponds simply to the attempt to +correct and harmonise the cruder thoughts of the average human being, +and to state explicitly in their purity the principles which have been +all along implicitly involved in his ordinary observations. It is, +therefore, not a substantive, but an adjective; philosophy is not a +distinct department of thought, and cannot be defined by itself. All we +can say is, that we think philosophically in so far as we think rightly. +When our mode of conceiving the world includes no heterogeneous or +conflicting element, we shall be philosophers; but we shall not, in that +capacity, have a separate dominion of our own.</p> + +<p>Now, it will probably do no harm to philosophers more than to other men, +to be impressed with a sense of modesty and a right appreciation of the +necessary limitations of their enterprise. You have been trying to soar +beyond the atmosphere, and you will make the better use of your wings +when you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> learn that they won't support you in a vacuum. Your failure is +not due to the want of aquiline powers of flight, but to the melancholy +truth that even an eagle can't do much in an air-pump. Is not that a +rather consoling reflection? But here the philosopher begins to be +recalcitrant. You are not lowering my pretensions, he says, but +attacking the power of man to attain truth upon any terms. All that is +given to us in experience is the effect of underlying causes; if the +causes vary the effects would vary; and, unless, therefore, you can get +back to the cause, your knowledge must remain empirical and radically +uncertain. Destroy all transcendental truths, and the phenomenal world +itself becomes a mere shifting phantasmagoria, on which we can trace +only coincidences and sequences, but are entirely unable to say that +they will ever recur again. The argument, of course, raises the +recollection of library upon library of controversy. I can only touch +one point. Practically, we do not trouble ourselves about this +difficulty. We are quite convinced that we know a great many things: we +are sure that the sun will rise and set to-morrow; we have no doubt as +to the properties of the ordinary objects, of trees and stones and +steam-engines; every action of our lives implies a certain confidence in +what is called the uniformity of nature; and it is plain enough that +even if our knowledge be,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> in some sense, only a knowledge of +probabilities, yet, from its effect upon conduct, it may be exactly the +same as a knowledge of certainties. There may be an indefinite distance +between the "necessary truth" that two and two make four and the +empirical truth that a stone will fall; but if all the evidence +attainable goes to prove that the stone will fall, I should be as +foolish not to act upon that hypothesis as not to assume the truth of +the arithmetical formula. Now, it is, of course, the growth within +recent generations of vast systems of such truths which has alarmed the +philosopher. He contrasts his own fluctuating and conflicting dogmas +with the steady growth and assured results and mutual confirmation of +the established physical sciences. He fears that they will obtain a +prestige which will enable them to crush him and sweep his pretended +knowledge into the limbo of alchemy and astrology and scholastic +logomachy. Here comes in the argument which is really the keystone of +Mr. Balfour's whole theory; and, as I cannot accept it, I must dwell +upon its true nature. It looks, at first sight, like a retort upon the +men of science. Your knowledge, he seems to say, is as vain as your +antagonist's. Your physics, and astronomy, and chemistry, and physiology +are mere empty shows, like the metaphysical theories that have gone to +their long home in histories of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>philosophy. But to say this would be to +accept complete scepticism, and a kind of scepticism which Mr. Balfour +would, I am sure, disavow. He believes, of course, just as strongly as +any one of us believes, in the astronomical theories of Newton and +Laplace; or in the mathematical theories of the great physical sciences. +That in which he disbelieves is a kind of bastard science called +"naturalism," which, as he tells us, leads to contradictory or +incoherent results. The naturalist, it appears, proposes to confine +himself to the evidence of the senses, and ends by accepting a view of +the world entirely inconsistent with the sensible perceptions. I see a +green field: an object which has visual and other properties recognised +by my organs of sense. No, says this misguided naturalist, you do not +see what you suppose; what really happens is, that there is a vast +whirlpool of atoms impinging upon each other and setting up vibrations, +the last set of which is communicated to another set of atoms, called my +optic nerve. These atoms, by their very nature imperceptible to the +senses, are the only realities. We thus start from the senses and we get +a world beyond the senses, a world which is a mere dance of infinite +multitudes of bits of matter performing all manner of extraordinary +gyrations and evolutions. The sensible impressions of colour, sound, and +so forth, are mere illusions,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> somehow arising in a figment called the +mind. This mind is a mere phantom—an unreal spectator of things and +events, among which it has no place, and upon which it exercises no influence.</p> + +<p>Now, let me say first that I agree with Mr. Balfour that the doctrine +thus imputed to the "naturalist" is absurd. I do not believe, for I +cannot believe, that I am only a dance of atoms. I "cannot" believe, I +say, for the words are to me meaningless. My sensations and emotions are +to me the typical realities. I cannot doubt the real existence of pain +and pleasure, grief and joy, whatever else I may doubt. I believe, for +example, that my toothache is a reality; and nobody will ever persuade +me that it is merely a set of molecular changes in my tooth. That it, in +some way, is dependent upon such changes I fully believe; but that is +quite a different statement. And, secondly, I agree with Mr. Balfour (or +with what I take to be Mr. Balfour's belief) that the scientific +doctrines which are reached by help of these atoms are established +truths. I believe those doctrines, not because I am convinced by the +arguments, which I may not have examined or be capable of examining; nor +simply because I trust, though I do trust, in the ability and the +candour of the scientific reasoners; but because the doctrines can be +and have been independently verified. I believe, that is,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> in modern +astronomy because it has enabled modern astronomers to predict eclipses, +and enabled Adams and Leverrier to discover Neptune. That is the +conclusive proof; for it is impossible to suppose that the power of +prediction should be a result of erroneous belief, and such proofs are +verifiable by anybody who can observe the phenomena.</p> + +<p>Here, then, we have the difficulty, the difficulty upon which the whole +of Mr. Balfour's argument depends. Solve it, and the whole sceptical +argument crumbles. The naturalistic theory, we both say, is incredible. +The scientific doctrines based upon it are, as we both admit, +unassailable. How is this? I reply, first, because the atoms represent +nothing more than a logical scaffolding which enables us to infer one +set of sensible phenomena from another. We start from phenomena and we +end with phenomena. When we have discovered the so-called "law"—the +connecting formula—we can remove the hypothesis as the engineer can +remove the provisional supports when he has once got the keystone into +his arch. That this is so appears, I think, from the whole scientific +procedure. How is the atomic theory obtained? Not by any direct +observation of atoms themselves. They are, as Mr. Balfour says, not only +not objects of observation, but incapable by their nature of ever being +directly observed. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> man of science begins by saying, <i>if</i> the +phenomena of light correspond in some way to a vibration of atoms, the +atoms must vibrate in such and such ways. He finds, again, that the laws +so discovered will give the law of other phenomena of light; and he +argues quite correctly that his hypothesis is for his purpose verified. +That is, it has enabled him to discover a verifiable and verified +formula. In order to do this he has assumed from the very first the +theory which of course appears in his conclusions. All physical science +consists ultimately in giving definite formulæ in terms of space and +time. It is therefore assumed that the atoms are to have no qualities +except those which are definable in terms of space. We exclude any other +quality because our whole purpose is to obtain purely geometrical +measurements. We have asked how those atoms, infinitesimal bits, so to +speak, of solid space, arranged in certain positions, must move in order +to correspond to the law given by observation, and we have therefore, of +course, predetermined that our answer must come out in terms of atoms.</p> + +<p>But, now, what is the error of the "naturalist"? Simply that he has +converted the scientific doctrine into an ontological doctrine. He +really knows nothing, and cannot possibly know anything, about his +atoms, except just this, that they give the law of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> the phenomena. He +has nothing whatever to say to them in any other relation. If he +proceeds, as Mr. Balfour says that he proceeds, to declare that nothing +exists except atoms, that they are the ultimate realities, that they are +"things in themselves," or objects independent of any subject, he is +going beyond his tether, passing from science to transcendental +metaphysics, and getting into hopeless confusion. In fact, after he has +done his worst we may still follow Berkeley and deny the existence of +matter, or declare with Clifford that atoms are only bits of mindstuff, +or adopt any other metaphysical theory we please. The atoms at most are +things which we judge from the analogy of the senses; and it is a pure +illusion to suppose that they can ever take us into an extra-sensible +world. They represent not only a convenient but an indispensable +contrivance for enabling us to formulate scientific laws, such as those +of light and heat; but they take us no further.</p> + +<p>In a remarkable passage, Mr. Balfour sketches an analogy, which gives +the application of this to philosophical or theological questions; and I +will venture to give my own interpretation of the argument because it +seems to lead to the real point. We believe, he says, in a scientific +theory of heat, although our view of the "realities" has changed. People +once thought that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> heat was a substance. They now hold it to be a mode +of motion. Yet our "scientific faith" (our faith, I suppose, that things +are hot, and that their heat varies according to certain assigned laws) +remains unaffected. On the other hand, he says, if we cease to believe +in the Christian doctrine of the atonement, we cease also to have that +"sense of reconciliation" between God and man which the doctrine was +intended to explain. This he seems to regard as a kind of melancholy +paradox. Why is the scepticism harmless in science and fatal in +theology? First, what are the admitted facts? A man of science propounds +a theory of heat. If his theory does not give us the observed laws, we +reject it and adopt a more successful theory. In any case, we, of +course, continue to believe in heat. We may know facts without knowing +their causes; as, for example, the fact of gravitation, which is not the +less certain because it is at present an ultimate fact. Otherwise our +knowledge would be limited indeed; for even if the cause (in the +scientific sense) were given, we should still have to ask, what is the +cause of that cause? If heat is due to certain systems of atoms, we +might still inquire how the atoms came to occupy their places, and +possess the properties which they actually have. An effect "depends +upon" a cause, as we naturally say; but it does not follow that the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +knowledge of the effect depends upon the knowledge of the cause. Now, +what are the facts which correspond to the facts of heat in the theory +of the atonement? If we believe in a certain being, an anthropomorphic +deity, who will punish us or reward us, it is, of course, obvious that +if we cease to believe in him we shall cease to desire to be reconciled +to him. So if I believed that the warmth of my house depended upon a +fire next door, and then discovered that no such fire existed, I should +of course cease to care about lighting it. In this there is nothing +which wants explanation. I suppose, therefore, that what Mr. Balfour +means is, that if men have certain emotions,—remorse, for example, or +what is called a conviction of sin,—and then learn to reject the theory +by which these emotions were explained, they cease also to feel the +emotions. In fact, he emphatically accepts the view that, if we cease to +accept theology, we shall cease to be moral. The perversity of a few +wretched "naturalists" in continuing to be moral is explained as a case +of survival; the moral naturalist is the parasite who draws his +sustenance from the organism which he infests. Let us consider the +scientific analogy. I believe in heat, and I accept a scientific theory +just as far as it gives me verified laws of heat. I believe, too, in the +existence of conscience; that is,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> I believe that people have real +emotions, such as remorse and shame, which correspond to the name. I +hold that to be a fact of experience. It would have to be explained, +again, so far as explanation is possible, by psychology in the first +instance, as heat must be explained by scientific theories. Remorse is a +fact, as heat is a fact; and an explanation would consist in giving +accurately its place in the moral organism and the laws of its +operation. The explanation furnished by any given psychology, by +"association," for example, must be accepted or rejected in so far as it +explains or fails to explain the facts. If some theory about spiritual +"monads" enabled us to show what the conscience is, and how it is, in +fact, stimulated or suppressed, we should accept it in the same way as +we accept the physical theory of heat. As yet, I need hardly say, no +such result has been achieved; and psychology is still far too vague to +offer any definite laws of the emotional nature. But in any case, how +can a theory about facts make the facts themselves vanish? Would not +grief be real just as pain would be real if we could clearly explain how +and why it occurred? Why should the "sense of reconciliation" vanish +because we show the conditions of its existence? The reason of Mr. +Balfour's difficulty, I think, appears from what I have said. In the +physical theory we can<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> draw the line clearly between the scientific and +the philosophical spheres. Mr. Balfour can accept the scientific truth, +though he does not accept the doctrine which results from translating it +into ontology. But the boundary between psychology and philosophy is far +less distinct. We constantly confound questions about the constitution +of man, as known to us by experience, with questions about supposed +intuitions of ultimate truth. The fact that sin causes remorse is +interpreted as meaning that remorse actually is a knowledge of an +avenging deity; and when the emotion is thus identified with the belief, +it becomes easy to suppose that to destroy the belief is also to destroy +the emotion. I think, indeed, that fallacies of that kind are among the +commonest in philosophical writings. Now, of course, psychology has +something to say in this matter. It may help, and I think that it has +helped us to explain how men come to believe in anthropomorphic deities, +and to invest them with the attributes of human rulers. But in that way +it tends to show not that the conscience is caused by the belief, but to +show how, under certain conditions, it has given rise to a belief by +other than logical grounds. It suggests no probability that the +conscience will disappear with the fallacy, but only that it will act +differently when enlightened by a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> different logic. Conscience +disappears no more than heat disappears, when both are explained; though +the conduct which the emotions or the sensations determine will, of course, be affected.</p> + +<p>And now, I can say what I take to be the difficulty, and the escape. Mr. +Balfour draws a kind of parallel between the scientific creed, which is, +as he would put it, "based upon" a metaphysical doctrine, and the +theological creed, which has a similar foundation. If the metaphysical +foundation is so uncertain in both cases, must not the scientific be as +uncertain as the theological? If we know nothing about atoms, or, on the +other hand, about souls, we must be either sceptical in both cases, or +credulous in both. There are the same underlying difficulties, and if we +manage to overlook them in the case of science, why not overlook them in +the case of theology? Conversely, if we elect to be sceptics in +theology, how can we escape from scepticism in science? And, as a +thorough-going scepticism is, doubtless, an impossible state of mind in +practice, the conclusion of many people will be to accept belief in +spite of certain gaps in our logical foundations. This, no doubt, is +eminently convenient for the "constructive" process adumbrated by Mr. +Balfour, which I certainly regard as extra-logical. But is any such +dilemma really offered to us? The obvious answer is, that scientific +truth,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> as Mr. Balfour admits, is not "based upon" metaphysical theory. +The astronomical doctrine of a Newton remains equally valid, whatever is +the ultimate nature of space or laws or atoms; whether we are +materialists or empiricists or idealists. The philosophical "basis" is +not really a set of truths which we must know before we can know the +astronomical theory; but simply a set of hypotheses which have to +conform to the truths given by experience. The unassailable truths are +just the facts which we observe, and which science enables us to +describe accurately and state systematically. If a metaphysical doctrine +has any bearing upon these facts, which seems to be doubtful, it must +conform to the facts, and not the facts to it. So long as no such theory +is proved, we can afford to remain metaphysically sceptical without +losing our hold upon the scientific truth. Now, I should say, what is +true of the physical sciences is true of all our knowledge. We may study +the moral sciences as we can study the physical sciences. We can observe +and colligate the facts of emotion and volition, as we can observe the +position of the stars and the laws of heat. Therefore, in so far as +theology is an attempt to give a theory of the universe in general, we +must accept or deny the doctrines just in so far as they serve to +explain or fail to explain the facts.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> But, in any case, the facts will +remain unaltered, and will not vanish because we may be unable to +understand them. But theology corresponds, also, not to the scientific +method, but to the ontological inquiries which are represented by Mr. +Balfour's "naturalism". Both doctrines, as I should say, lead to +incoherence, to contradictions covered by ambiguous language, and to +hopeless difficulties, which, in theology, are described as inscrutable +mysteries. I am, therefore, quite ready, with Mr. Balfour, to reject +naturalism, but, on the same grounds, I also reject the transcendental +theology. Attainable truth is equally independent of all such theories; +and were it otherwise, we should be doomed to hopeless scepticism. Mr. +Balfour's analogy, therefore, apparently upsets his conclusion. I +believe in heat, and I believe in the conscience. I reject the atoms, +and I reject the doctrine of atonement. I reject it, if it be meant for +science, because, so far from explaining the facts, the facts explain +how the false doctrine was generated. I reject it, if it is meant for +philosophy, because, like other transcendental theories, it leads to +hopeless controversies, and appears to me to be incredible as soon as +any such theology as is tenable by a philosopher is substituted for the +crude theology of a savage.</p> + +<p>We are driven to scepticism, then, if we first <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>declare that scientific +knowledge depends upon metaphysical theory; and then that all +metaphysical theory is moonshine. I do not accept the first principle; +and I hold that the danger to morals from metaphysical difficulties is +pretty much the same as the danger that the stars will leave their +courses if we adopt a wrong theory of an astronomy. We fancy that when +we are explaining facts, we are, somehow, creating them; as the +meteorologist in <i>Rasselas</i> observed the clouds till he came to think +that he caused the rain. The facts upon which morality depends are the +facts that men have certain emotions; that mothers love their children; +that there are such things as pity, and sympathy, and public spirit; and +that there are social instincts upon the growth of which depends the +vitality of the race. We may, of course, ask how more precisely these +emotions act, and what functions they discharge. We may make historical +and psychological and metaphysical inquiries; and we may end, if ever we +reach such a consummation, by establishing what we may call a science of +ethics. But the facts do not depend upon the explanation. The illusion +of their dependence is easily produced. You make your theory of +morality, and then you define morality as a belief in the object +required by your theory. It follows, of course, that morality will +disappear with the belief—or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> else that your theory is wrong. Morality, +said some people, is a belief in future rewards and punishments. If that +belief disappears, morality—that is, their morality—must disappear +too. But that morality—taken as the actual sentiment which they have +erroneously defined—should disappear also, no more follows than it +follows that heat will disappear when we discover that there is no such +thing as the old imaginary substance of heat. The doctrine is now more +generally urged in a different form. Theology, it is said, is essential +to morality. Such bold assertions may be best met by a dogmatic +assertion of the inverse case. Theology, as I hold, is not the source of +the moral instincts, but, under certain conditions, derives its real +power from them. Theology, in the first place, is a word including not +only heterogeneous but contradictory meanings,—Baal and Jehovah, the +Mumbo-jumbo of the negro and Spinoza's "ens absolute infinitum". To the +enormous majority of the human race, the more metaphysical conception is +hopelessly unintelligible. When a savage expresses his crude sense of +duties to the tribe under the form of belief in an ancestral ghost, is +the morality made by the belief, or the belief generated by the +incipient moral emotion? Does he believe in God or really in a man like +himself, and respected precisely because he is like himself? Is not the +truth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> tacitly acknowledged by the more philosophical religions? Their +adherents admit that the God of philosophy is too abstract a Being to +excite any emotion; he fades into Nature or the Unknowable, and it is +impossible to love one whom, by his very definition, you can neither +benefit nor injure and whose omnipotence makes even justice a mockery. +Therefore, they make a God out of a man, and by boldly combining in +words two contradictory sets of attributes, make what in theology is +called a mystery, and in common sense called by a different name. Does +not that amount to confessing that the true source of morality is in the +human affections of like for like, and not in that sentiment towards a +transcendental object of which you have chosen to make your definition? +And, finally, if we ask what is the relation of theology to morality, +from a historical point of view, we see the same result. Undoubtedly, +theology has been a bulwark of morality in one way. It has expressed the +veneration of mankind for the most deeply-seated customs of the race. It +has been the form through which, though not the cause owing to which, +men have expressed the importance of adhering to certain established +institutions of the highest importance to mankind. Briefly, therefore, +it represents the conservative instincts. But, for that reason, it has +naturally lagged behind an <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>advancing morality. The newer religions have +been precisely protests against the objectionable conduct of the +old-fashioned deities who retained the manners and customs of a more +barbarous period; and have, therefore, been regarded by the older faith, +sometimes with justice, as atheistic. Without referring to the familiar +cases, I am content to appeal to the present day. What are the relative +positions of the theologian and his opponent during the modern phase of +evolution? The theologian has, in the main, maintained the sanctity of +old institutions and customs; and I do not doubt that he has rendered a +useful service. But the demand for justice, for the abolition of +slavery, of the hardships of the poor and oppressed, the desire to +construct society upon a wholesomer ideal, has been generated, not by +theological speculation, but by the new relations into which men have +been brought and the new sentiments developed. It has been accepted most +fully by men hostile to all theology, by the free-thinker, the atheist, +and the materialist, whom the orthodox denounces as criminal. Doubtless +the denouncer has excuses: the reformer may err in the direction of +excessive demolition; but the very survival of the older creeds depends, +as we all see, upon their capacity for assimilating and finding +utterance for the moral convictions which have arisen outside of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> their +limits, and, generally, in defiance of their authority. To say, +therefore, that the morality depends upon the survival of the +metaphysical theory, seems to me to be inverting the true relation.</p> + +<p>I end by suggesting what is to my mind the true moral of these +speculations. The vanity of philosophising means the vanity of certain +philosophical pretensions; of the chimerical belief that the philosopher +lays down the first principles of belief in ethics or in other +departments of life, in such a sense that the destinies of the race or +of knowledge depend upon accepting and applying his principles. His +function is a humbler one, though one of vast importance. The great +philosophical systems have vanished, though they have cleared the air. +They were primitive attempts at construction; results of the fact that +we have to act before we can think; and to assume postulates which can +only be verified or falsified by the slow experience of ages. But the +process by which truth is advanced is not confined to the philosopher; +or perhaps we should rather say that some sort of crude philosophy is +embedded even in the feeblest and earliest speculations of mankind. Our +thoughts are guided by an implicit logic long before we have even a +conception of logic in the abstract, or have the least thought of +codifying and tabulating its formulæ. So<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> every savage who begins to +make a tool is exemplifying some mechanical principle which will not be +put into accurate and abstract language till countless generations have +passed. Every one at the present day who is using his wits is +philosophising after a fashion, and is contributing towards the +advancement of philosophy. He is increasing the mass of still more or +less chaotic knowledge, the whole of which is to that philosopher what +the particular set of facts is to the student of physical science. The +philosopher has not to evolve first principles out of himself, so much +as to discover what are the principles which have been unconsciously +applied; to eliminate the obsolete elements; to bring the new into +harmony; to verify them, or describe how they may be verified; and so to +work towards the unification and systematisation of knowledge in +general. Probably he will make a great many blunders in his task; but it +may be some comfort to reflect that even blunders are often useful, and +that he is not in the terribly responsible position of really framing +laws for the universe or for man, but only of clearing up or codifying +the laws which are already in operation.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>FORGOTTEN BENEFACTORS.</span></h2> + +<p>I was reading not long ago some remarks<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> which impressed me at the +time, and upon which, as it came to pass, I have had reason to reflect +more seriously. The writer dwelt upon the vast services which have been +rendered to the race by men of whom all memory has long since faded +away. Compare, he said, the England of Alfred with the England of +Victoria; think of the enormous differences which have been brought +about in thirty generations; and then try to estimate how large a share +of all that has been done in the interval should be put to the credit of +thousands who have long sunk into oblivion, and whose achievements, by +the very necessity of the case, can never be properly estimated. A few +great names mark every period; the great statesmen, the great churchmen +and warriors, are commemorated in our official histories; they are +placed upon exalted pedestals; and to them is attributed everything that +was done in their time, though, but for the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>co-operation of innumerable +nameless fellow-labourers, they would not have been provided even with +the foundations upon which their work was necessarily based.</p> + +<p>This remark recalls the familiar discussion about the importance of the +individual. Is the hero whom we are invited to worship everything, or is +he next to nothing? Is it true, as some writers put it, that had +Cleopatra broken her nose, or had a cannon ball gone a hair's breadth +further to the right or left when Napoleon was directing the siege of +Toulon, "the whole course of history would have been changed"? Or is it +rather true that, as some philosophers would say, no man is +indispensable, nor even any man very important: that, if any even of the +greatest of men had died of the measles in his infancy, we should have +carved a different set of letters upon the pedestals of our statues, but +the course of affairs would have run in much the same channel? I will +not seek to discuss that old theme, to which it is evident that no very +precise answer can be given. It is clearly a question of degree. Nobody +can deny that a great man has an influence in the spheres of action and +of thought; but to attempt to say how great an influence he has, how far +he depends upon others or could be replaced by others, involves +considerations lying in the unprofitable region of vague conjecture. +This only I wish to note. It seems<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> often to be suggested that there is +something degrading or ungenerous in taking a side against the +importance of the hero. It raises a suspicion that you are a valet, +capable of supposing that men are distinguished by the quantity of lace +on their coats, and not by the intensity of the fire in their souls. +And, moreover, the view is fatalistic: it supposes that the destinies of +the race are determined by what are denounced as blind "laws," and not +by the passions and aspirations which guide their energies. To me it +seems that it would be easy enough to retort these imputations. I cannot +feel that a man of generous sympathies should be therefore inclined to a +doctrine which would tend to make the future of the race a matter of +chance. The more you believe in the importance of the great men, the +more you have to admit that our progress depends upon the innumerable +accidents which may stifle the greatest as easily as the smallest +career. If some great social change was so absolutely dependent upon the +leader who first put into words the demand upon which it is based, or +who led the first forlorn hope which made victory possible, that his +loss would have been the loss of his cause, it follows that the cause +might have been lost if a crust of bread had gone the wrong way. It +ought surely to be pleasanter if we are entitled to hold that we have a +stronger<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> ground of confidence; that the great victories of thought and +action prove the diffusion of enthusiasm and courage through a wide +circle; and that the fall of the chief is sure to make room for a worthy +successor. The wider and deeper the causes of progress, the more +confidently we can derive hope from the past, and accept with +comparative equanimity even the most painful catastrophes.</p> + +<p>Nor can I agree that such a view implies any want of susceptibility to +the claims of the hero. I do not think that we can pay homage too +cheerfully to the great men who form landmarks in history. I admit, most +gladly, that the admiration which we feel for such men; the thrill which +stirs us in reading of the great patriots and martyrs of the past; the +reverence which we are now and then able to pay to a contemporary—to a +Lincoln, proving that political action may represent real faiths, not +party formulæ; to a Gordon, impersonating the sense of duty; or a Father +Damien, sacrificing his life for the lepers—is one of the invaluable +elements of moral cultivation. But I do not see the connection between +this and the desire to exalt the glory of the great man by ignoring the +unknown who followed in his steps, and often made them possible. I have +not so far attained to the cosmopolitan point of view that my blood is +not stirred by the very name of Nelson. Nay, however<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> cosmopolitan I +might become, I hope that my sympathies would never blind me to the +greatness of the qualities implied in his patriotic devotion. My +cosmopolitanism would rather, I hope, lead me to appreciate more +generously the similar qualities in his antagonists, and, also, the +similar qualities in the "band of brothers" whom he was proud to lead. I +should be sorry so to admire Nelson as to forget the sturdy old race of +sea dogs who did their duty, and helped him to do his in a memorable +way, some ninety years ago. I would rather believe than not that, had +Nelson been killed at the Nile, there were many among his followers who, +had the chance come to them, would have led the <i>Victory</i> at Trafalgar, +and have made England impregnable. "I trust we have within this realm +five hundred good as he" is surely the more heroic tone. But, to drop +the old-fashioned appeal to patriotic spirit, is it not true that, in +every department of life, it is more congenial to our generous feelings +to remember the existence and the importance of those who have never won +a general reputation? This has come to be a commonplace in the sphere of +scientific discovery. We find, over and over again, that the great +discoverer has been all but anticipated by his rivals; that his fame, if +not his real greatness, depends upon the circumstance that he has just +anticipated by a year, or,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> perhaps, in extreme cases, by a generation, +results to which a comparatively second-rate thinker would have been +competent a few years later. The winner of the race is apt to monopolise +the glory, though he wins only by a hair's breadth. The familiar +instance of Darwin and Mr. Wallace is remarkable, not because the +relation of the two thinkers was unique, but because, unfortunately, the +generosity with which each acknowledged the merit of the other was +exceptional. A great discovery is made when the fertile thought is +already going through the process of incubation in a whole circle of +intelligent minds; and that in which it first comes to the birth, +claims, or, at least, receives, the whole merit, by a right of +intellectual primogeniture not much more justifiable than the legal +right. Admitting, again, in the fullest sense, the value and the +difficulty of that last step which has to be made in order to reach the +crowning triumph, it would surely be ungenerous to forget the long +series of previous explorations by which alone it was made possible. +There must have been countless forgotten Newtons and Descartes', who, in +their day, had to exert equal powers in order to discover what are now +the most familiar truths; to invent the simplest systems of arithmetical +notation, or solve the earliest geometrical problems, without which +neither a Newton nor a Descartes would have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> been possible. And what is +true in science is, surely, equally true of activities which touch most +of us more nearly. Of all undeniable claims to greatness I suppose the +most undeniable to be the claim of the founders of religions. Their +disciples are so much impressed by their greatness that they regard them +as supernatural beings, or, in other words, as beings who are the sole +and indispensable causes of all the consequences attributed to the +prevalence of their doctrines. We are told, constantly, and often as +though it were too obvious to need proof, that every moral improvement +which has taken place in the world since the origin of Christianity, is +due to Christianity, and that Christianity itself is entirely due to its +founder. Human nature was utterly corrupt until the Deity became +incarnate in the form of a Jewish peasant; and every social or moral +step which has since been made in advance—and not one of the +unfortunate backslidings by which the advance has since been +trammelled—is a direct consequence of that stupendous event. This is +the theory of the importance of the individual, raised, so to speak, to +its very highest potence. We not only attribute the most important and +far-reaching of all changes to a single agent, but declare that that +agent cannot have been human, and indeed cannot have been less than the +first cause of all changes. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> shall not, of course, discuss the +plausibility of a doctrine which, if accepted, breaks the whole chain of +cause and effect, and makes the later history of the world not an +evolution of previously operative process, but the result of an abrupt, +mysterious interference from without, incommensurable with any other set +of spiritual forces. I am content to say that to my mind the doctrine +becomes daily more impossible to any one who thinks seriously and tries +to picture to himself distinctly the true nature of the great world +processes. What is to my purpose is, that it seems to me to be not only +infinitely more credible, but also more satisfactory and more +generous—if there be properly a question of generosity—to do justice +to the disciples as well as to the master—to believe that the creed was +fermenting in the hearts and minds of millions of human beings; and +that, although the imperfect and superstitious elements by which it was +alloyed were due to the medium in which it was propagated, yet, on the +other hand, it succeeded so far as it corresponded to the better +instincts of great masses of men, struggling blindly and through many +errors to discover rules of conduct and modes of conceiving the universe +more congenial than the old to their better nature, and prepared to form +a society by crystallising round the nucleus which best corresponded to +their aspirations.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> When so regarded, it seems to me, and only when so +regarded, we can see in the phenomenon something which may give us solid +ground for hopes of humanity, and enable us to do justice to countless +obscure benefactors. The corruption of human nature, as theologians +sometimes tell us, expresses a simple fact. Undoubtedly, it expresses a +fact which nobody, so far as I know, ever thought of denying—the fact +that there are bad instincts in human nature; that many men are cruel, +sensual, and false; and that every man is more or less liable to succumb +to temptation. But the essential meaning of the old theological dogma +was, I take it, something different. It meant that man was so corrupt +that he could only be made good by a miracle; that even his apparent +virtues are splendid sins unless they come from divine grace; and, in +short, that men cannot be really elevated without supernatural +interference. If all that is good in men comes from their religions, and +if religions are only explicable as inspirations from without, that, no +doubt, logically follows. I prefer, myself, to believe that, though all +men are weak, and a good many utter scoundrels; yet human nature does +contain good principles; that those principles tend, however slow and +imperfect may be the process, gradually to obtain the mastery; and that +the great religions of the races, while<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> indicating the intellectual and +moral shortcomings of mankind, indicate also the gradual advance of +ethical ideals, worked out by the natural and essential tendencies of +the race. And thus, as it seems to me, this conception of the mode of +growth of religions and of morality, which gathers strength as we come +to take a more reasonable view of the world's history, is closely +connected with the doctrine that, instead of ascribing all good +achievement to the hero who drops from heaven, or springs spontaneously +from the earth, we should steadily remember that he is only possible, +and his work can only be successfully secured, by the tacit co-operation +of the innumerable unknown persons in whose hearts his words find an +echo because they are already feeling after the same ideal which is in +him more completely embodied.</p> + +<p>In our judgment of such cases there is, then, an injustice so far as we +make a false estimate of the right distribution of praise and gratitude. +It would be an injustice, in a stricter sense, to the persons ignored, +if we regarded such gratitude as the appropriate and main reward of a +noble life. I need not repeat the commonplaces of moralists as to the +real value of posthumous fame, nor inquire whether it implies an +illusion, nor how far the desire for such fame is, in point of fact, a +strong motive with many people. This only I will note—that obscurity is +a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> condition, and by no means an altogether unpleasant condition, of +much of the very best work that is done. The general or the statesman is +conspicuous in connection with successful enterprise in which his +subordinates necessarily do a great part of the labour. It is impossible +for the outside world to form a correct judgment in such cases; and, +therefore, there is no hardship to the particular persons concerned, if +they are simply ignored where they would, certainly, be misjudged; and +if they, therefore, work in obscurity, content with the approval of the +very few who can estimate their merits. There is a compensation, as we +see, when we reflect upon the moral disadvantages of conspicuous +station. Literary people, for example, must be very unobservant if they +do not notice how demoralising is the influence of public applause, and +the constant inducement to court notoriety. It is unwholesome to live in +an atmosphere which constantly stimulates and incites the weaknesses to +which we are most liable. And many of our first writers must, I should +fancy, feel pangs of self-humiliation when they contrast the credit +which they have got for popular work with the very scanty recognition +which comes to many who have applied equal talents to the discharge of +duties often far more beneficial to mankind, but, from their nature, +performed in the shade. "I," such a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> man, I fancy, must sometimes say to +himself, "am quoted in every newspaper; I am puffed, and praised, and +denounced; not to know me is to write yourself down a dunce; and, yet, +have I done as much for the good of my kind as this or that humble +friend, who would be astonished were his name ever to be uttered in +public?" Some such thought, for example, is inspired by Johnson's most +pathetic verses, when the great lexicographer, the acknowledged dictator +of English literature, thought of the poor dependant, the little humble +quack doctor, Levett, who was content, literally, to be fed with the +crumbs from his tables. But the obscure dependant, as the patron felt, +had done all that he could to alleviate the sum of human misery.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>His virtues walked their narrow round,</div> +<div class="i1">Nor made a pause, nor left a void;</div> +<div>And, sure, the Eternal Master found</div> +<div class="i1">The single talent well employed.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Have I not, Johnson seems to have felt, really done less to soothe +misery by my <i>Dictionary</i> and my <i>Ramblers</i> than this obscure labourer +in the back lanes of London, of whom, but for my verses, no one would +have heard even the name?</p> + +<p>A full answer to questions suggested by these thoughts would, perhaps, +require an estimate of the relative value of different aims and +different functions<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> in life; and, for such an estimate, there are no +adequate grounds. In one of Browning's noblest poems, Rabbi Ben Ezra—of +whom I must say that he strikes me as being a little too +self-complacent—puts a relevant question. "Who," he asks, "shall arbitrate?"</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div class="i1">Ten men love what I hate;</div> +<div>Shun what I follow, slight what I receive;</div> +<div class="i1">Ten who, in ears and eyes,</div> +<div class="i1">Match me; we all surmise,</div> +<div>They this thing and I that: whom shall my soul believe?</div> +</div></div> + +<p>And he answers or suggests one condition of a satisfactory answer, by +saying that we are not to take the coarse judgment of the world, which +goes by the work achieved. We must remember—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div class="i1">All instincts immature,</div> +<div class="i1">All purposes unsure,</div> +<div>That, weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's account;</div> +<div class="i1">Thoughts hardly to be packed</div> +<div class="i1">Into a narrow act;</div> +<div>Fancies that broke through language and escaped;</div> +<div class="i1">All I would never be,</div> +<div class="i1">All men ignored in me,</div> +<div>That I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>If it were proper to treat a poetical utterance of this kind like a +deliberate philosophical theory, I might wish to argue the point a +little with the rabbi. But, at any rate, he points to considerations +which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> show how little any one can judge of merit by any tangible and +generally accessible test. I am content to say that this sentiment gives +one—and a very impressive—answer to a problem which presses upon us +the more as we grow older. It is natural for a man who feels that he has +done most of his work, that the night is coming, and, as it seems, +coming with accelerated speed; who feels, too, that whatever he has done +or may do, he can no longer have the approval of those whose approval +was dear to him as his breath;—it is natural for such a man to look +back, to take stock more or less of his own performances perhaps, and at +any rate to endeavour to estimate at their true worth the services which +he has received from others. What, he may ask, has he done with his +talents? what little fragment has he achieved of what might once have +been in his power? The answer is pretty sure to have a very melancholy +side to it; and it will lead to the question, what part of that fragment +was really worth doing? What were the few really solid services which he +may set off as some satisfaction to his self-esteem, against his +countless errors and his wanderings in wrong directions, and his +attempts to achieve the impossible, and the waste of energy upon the +trifling and the worthless in which he is pretty sure to have spent a +very large proportion of his time? When we try to return a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> verdict upon +such issues, we feel painfully to how many illusions we are subject. +When we are young we naturally accept the commonplaces, and do not +question the ideals amid which we happen to have grown up; we are not +conscious of the movement which we share. As long as we are floating +with the current, we are not even aware that any current exists. We take +our own little world to be the fixed base, quite unconscious that it is +all the time whirling and spinning along a most complex course. And so +it is difficult, even if the thought of making the attempt ever occurs +to us, to try to occupy the position of a bystander looking on at life +from outside, and endeavouring to pronounce some general opinion as to +its merits or defects—its happiness or misery as a whole. "What a queer +place this is!" I remember a man once saying to me abruptly; and I +thought that he was referring to the steamboat on which we were +fellow-passengers. I found that he had been suddenly struck by the +oddity of the universe in general; and it seemed to me that there was a +great deal to be said for a remark which seldom occurs to those people +who take things for granted. We are roused sometimes by a philosopher +who professes pessimism or optimism, to ask and to try to answer such +questions. The answers, we know, are apt to be painfully discordant.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> Is +the world on the whole a scene of misery, of restless desires, proving +that we are miserable now, and doomed never to obtain satisfaction? is +it our only wisdom to give up the will to live; to hope that all this +visible and tangible scenery is so much illusion, and to aspire to sink +into Nirvana? Shall we try to conquer all earthly appetites by a +thorough-going asceticism, and cultivate those spiritual emotions which +can only find full satisfaction in another and a better world? Or shall +we agree that, after all, the love of the true and the beautiful, or, it +may be, the physically pleasurable, gives a real solid comfort for the +time, which it would be idle to drop for a shadow? Is the world a scene +of probation, in which we are to be fitted for higher spheres beyond +human ken by the hearty and strenuous exertion of every faculty that we +possess? or shall we say that such action is a good in itself, which +requires to be supplemented by no vision of any ulterior end? Shall we +say that this is the best of all possible worlds because the fittest +always tends to prevail, or that it is the worst because even the +greatest wretchedness which is compatible with bare existence can still survive?</p> + +<p>Philosophers, no doubt, contradict each other, because even philosophers +are not exempt from the universal weakness. The explanation that +pessimism means a disordered liver, and the counter remark that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +optimism means a cold heart and a good digestion, are too familiar to +need exposition. Each man's macrocosm is apt to be related to his +microcosm, as the convex to the concave of a curve. To say the world is +disagreeable, means that I find it disagreeable; and that may be either +my own fault or the world's. Nor is it easy to correct the personal +error by observation, for the observer carries himself and his illusions +with him. Has such-and-such a life been a happy one? How are we to +decide? We are often subject to what may be called the dramatic +illusion. We judge by the catastrophe, by the success or failure of the +assumed end. We see a noble young man struck down by some accident, and +we think of his career sadly, because the promise has not been +fulfilled. Is it not equally reasonable to say that the promise was +itself a blessing? that the man we regret had his twenty or thirty years +of hopefulness, confidence, and happiness, and that that was a clear +gain even if we lose the result which we might have anticipated? Or we +are impressed by the more exciting incidents of a life, the blows which +crushed a man at intervals; and we forget all the monotonous years of +tranquil happiness which, if we apply an arithmetical test, may have +occupied by far the greater part of his existence. Southey, for example, +argues that although we remember Cowper chiefly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> for his terrible mental +suffering, we shall find, if we add up the moments of happiness and +misery, that he probably had, on the balance, a life of much more +enjoyment than torture. So, when we speak of the misery of a nation at +the time of some great trouble—the French Revolution, for example—it +is difficult to remember how small was the proportion of actual +sufferers; how many thousands or millions of children were enjoying +their little sports, utterly ignorant of the distant storm; how many +mothers were absorbed in watching their children; and how many quiet +commonplace people were going about their daily peaceful labour, pretty +much as usual, and with only a vague—and possibly +pleasurable—excitement at the news, which occasionally drifted to them, +of the catastrophes in a different sphere. Carlyle, in one of his most +vivid and famous passages, has incidentally drawn the contrast. Or, if +we try to form an estimate of the balance of happiness and misery +through any portion of the race, and appeal to experience for an answer, +we must certainly remember how limited is the field of observation, even +of the best informed, and the most impartial; how rigidly they are +confined for their direct knowledge to one little section of one part of +the race; and how the vast majority—the thousand millions or so who are +altogether beyond their ken—are known to them only by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> statistical +tables or the casual reports of superficial observers.</p> + +<p>As there are so many difficulties in forming an estimate, as we are not +agreed as to the true ends of human life, nor as to the degrees in which +those ends are actually attained, nor as to the efficacy of the various +causes which determine the success or failure of the means employed, it +becomes any one to put forward his own opinion upon the topics to which +such considerations apply, with all modesty. And, yet, I think that I +may dwell upon some truths which may be admitted by those who differ +upon these difficult problems, and, as I fancy, deserve more weight than +they generally receive, even though they have become commonplaces. The +main condition of human happiness, say some people, is physical health. +A man whose organs are all working satisfactorily cannot fail to be +happy under any but very abnormal conditions; as, conversely, a grain of +sand in the wrong place will make any life a burden. No one will dispute +the truth contained in such <i>dicta</i>; and, perhaps, as we realise more +distinctly the importance of sound health to our neighbours and to our +descendants, as well as to ourselves, we shall lay greater stress upon +the conduct which is conducive to its preservation. We shall see that +what is, apparently, a mere dictate of personal prudence, has,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> also, +its ethical aspect. But, without dwelling upon this view, we may apply +the analogy to society. Whatever morality precisely means, and whatever +happiness means, it clearly indicates what we call—and I think that it +is no mere metaphor—a healthy state of society. This, again, implies, +first of all, the health of those domestic relations which are as the +ultimate molecular forces which bind together the social tissue. The +society, we may say without hesitation, in which the reciprocal duties +of husbands and wives, parents and children, are instinctively +recognised and habitually observed, has, so far, secured the most +deeply-seated and essential condition of happiness and virtue; the +society in which the union of married people normally produces harmony, +and the absolute identity of interests and affections, in which children +are brought up in a pure home atmosphere, with an embodiment of the +beauty of domestic love always before their eyes, imbibing unconsciously +the tradition of a high moral standard, and so prepared to repay, in due +time, to others the services lavishly and ungrudgingly bestowed upon +them by their elders,—so far represents perfectly sound health. The +degree in which any ethical theory recognises and reveals the essential +importance of the family relation is, I think, the best test of its +approximation to the truth. An unworthy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> view of domestic happiness may +lead to the ascetic view which sets up a sham and Quixotic ideal; or to +the cynical view which regards it as a mere case of selfish indulgence. +I do not deny that the relation, like all other human relations, may +require modification as circumstances change. Difficulties arise, as +when we notice the great social changes which have broken up ancient +ties, and have tended to weaken the family bond by facilitating +desertion, and increasing the floating population. And many socialist +schemes appear at first sight to be, and sometimes are, consciously +designed to weaken the sense of responsibility of parents. I, of course, +cannot now discuss a point which is, undoubtedly, of the highest +importance; but I am certainly convinced that the merits of any change +must be tested by its tendency to preserve, and, if possible, intensify +the strength of this underlying bond upon which the welfare of society +depends far more intimately than upon any other human relation.</p> + +<p>If this be true, it follows also that to those activities which knit +families together, which help to enlarge the highest ideal of domestic +life, we owe a greater debt than to any other kind of conduct. And to +this I add that, as I believe, the highest services of this kind are +rendered by persons condemned, or perhaps I should say privileged, to +live<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> in obscurity; whose very names will soon be forgotten, and who are +entirely eclipsed by people whose services, though not equally valuable, +are by their nature more public. To prove such an assertion is, of +course, impossible. I give it only as my personal impression—for what +it is worth, after any deductions you may please to make upon the score +of the great fallibility of such impressions; and only because, correct +or otherwise, it may serve to bring out aspects of the truth which we +are apt to neglect. I have lived long enough to have had opportunities +of seeing many eminent men and women. I have insensibly formed some kind +of estimate of the services which they have rendered to me and my like; +and I record, as far as I can, the result upon my own convictions. I +will put aside for the moment the half-dozen men of really first-rate +eminence,—the men whose names are written upon all the great +intellectual and social movements of the century. I will think for the +present only of those who may be placed in the second rank; of those who +do not profess to have originated, but only to have diffused, important +thoughts; who have acted as lieutenants to the great leaders, and become +known to their contemporaries, with little prospect of filling any +important place in the memory of their successors. Yet even such men +bulk far more largely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> in our eyes than multitudes of men and women +whose names will never be known outside their own little parish, or even +their family circles. And then I ask myself, how far the estimate thus +formed corresponds to the real value of the services performed. I think +that I can speak most easily by deserting the line of abstract argument, +and endeavouring to draw a portrait or two, which you need not assume to +correspond too closely to particular facts. I mean to suggest +reflections which will really apply in many representative cases, and to +refer to typical instances of general truths. I will first mention one +such case which happened to strike me forcibly at the time, and which no +one here, I am quite certain, will be able to identify. Long years ago I +knew a young man at college; he was so far from being intellectually +eminent that he had great difficulty in passing his examinations; he +died from the effects of an accident within a very short time after +leaving the university, and hardly any one would now remember his name. +He had not the smallest impression that there was anything remarkable +about himself, and looked up to his teachers and his more brilliant +companions with a loyal admiration which would have made him wonder that +they should ever take notice of him. And yet I often thought then, and I +believe, in looking back, that I thought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> rightly, that he was of more +real use to his contemporaries than any one of the persons to whose +influence they would most naturally refer as having affected their +development. The secret was a very simple one. Without any special +intellectual capacity, he somehow represented with singular completeness +a beautiful moral type. He possessed the "simple faith miscalled +simplicity," and was so absolutely unselfish, so conspicuously pure in +his whole life and conduct, so unsuspicious of evil in others, so sweet +and loyal in his nature, that to know him was to have before one's eyes +an embodiment of some of the most lovable and really admirable qualities +that a human being can possess. He was a living exemplification of the +truth which some great humorists have embodied in their writings, the +truth that simplicity at which fools laugh may be venerable to wise +observers. Young men were not always immaculate in those days: I don't +know that they are now; some of them probably were vicious in conduct, +and might be cynical in the views which they openly expressed. But +whatever might be their failings, they were at the age when all but the +depraved—that is, I hope and fully believe, all but a very small +minority—were capable of being deeply impressed by this concrete +example. They might affect to ridicule, but it was impossible that even +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> ridicule should not be of the kindly sort; blended and tempered +with something that was more like awe—profound respect, at least, for +the beauty of soul that underlay the humble exterior. The direct moral +addresses which took the form of eloquent sermons or of good advice +naturally gained an incomparably higher reputation for those who uttered +them. But, considering the facility with which the impressions so made +evaporate from the minds of the hearers, I often thought that this +obscure influence, the more impressive when one felt it because of its +entire unconsciousness, probably did far more to stimulate good feelings +and higher aspirations among his companions than all the official +exhortations to which they ever listened. He would have been unfeignedly +surprised to hear, what I most sincerely believe to be the truth, that +his tutor owed incomparably more to his living exemplification of what +is meant by a character of unblemished purity and simplicity, than he +owed to the tutor whose respectable platitudes he received with unaffected humility.</p> + +<p>The case—for various reasons—impressed me deeply; and I have often +thought of it and of the principle which it illustrates in later years. +I once knew, for example, a woman whose whole life was devoted to +domestic duties, and who confessed to me that she had sometimes felt a +touch of humiliation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> when she thought how narrow was her own sphere of +action, while her husband was daily deciding upon great questions of +high political importance. Some women would have drawn the conclusion, +that the exclusion of women from political activity was a grievance to +be abated; and such people might receive with scorn the suggestion that +the discharge of the domestic duty might possibly be as important as the +discharge of the more conspicuous function. The argument about the +proper sphere of women is now generally treated with contempt; and I am +perfectly ready to admit that it begs the question, and is often a mere +utterance of blind prejudice. No one, I hope, could assert more +willingly than I, that the faculties of women should be cultivated as +fully as possible, and that every sphere in which their faculties can be +effectively applied should be thrown open to them. But the doctrine +sometimes tacitly confounded with this, that the sphere generally +assigned to women is necessarily lower or less important than others, is +not to be admitted, because the contradictory may be misapplied. The +domestic influence is, no doubt, confined within narrower limits; but +then, within those limits it is incomparably stronger and more certain +of effect. The man or woman can really mould the character of a little +circle, and determine the whole life of one little section of the next +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>generation; when it may be very difficult to say whether the influence +which they can bring to bear upon a class or a nation is really +perceptible at all, or does not even operate in the direction opposite +to that intended. And I could not help thinking that a woman who was +bringing up sons and daughters ready to quit themselves like brave men +and women in the great struggle of life, might be doing something more +really important than her conspicuous husband, who was, after all, only +part of a vast and complicated machinery, nominally directed by him, +but, in reality, controlling all his energy, and, not impossibly, +working out the very results which he most disapproved.</p> + +<p>It is, therefore, with no reference to any of the political theories of +women's rights, and so forth, that I venture to insist upon this topic. +I think that we habitually under-estimate the enormous value of the +services, whether of man or woman, done in the shade, and confined +within a very limited area. Let me attempt, again, to draw a portrait, +not all imaginary, which may explain, at least, what I often feel—the +contrast between the real worth of such lives and the recognition which +they can ever receive. Wordsworth, in one of those poems which show best +how true and tender were his moral instincts, has described one who was—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span><div>A perfect woman, nobly planned</div> +<div>To warn, to comfort, and command;</div> +<div>And yet a spirit too, and bright</div> +<div>With something of an angel light.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>The words have often come to me of late, till I fancy that I could +supply a commentary. The woman of whom Wordsworth speaks was, when he +first saw her, a "phantom of delight," an embodiment of feminine beauty, +and, as such, possessing a characteristic perhaps superfluous from a +moral point of view. I have known and know women, not exactly beautiful, +before whom I would gladly bow as deeply as I would if they were +beautiful as Helen of Troy. But a poet must be allowed to take pleasure +in beauty, and we may grant to it a certain place that it deserves among +higher qualities. For it does so when the possessor is absolutely—not +unaware of the fact, for that is hardly possible, nor, perhaps, +desirable—but absolutely untouched by any vanity or self-consciousness. +The beauty, one may say, gives, at least, an opportunity for displaying +a quality which otherwise would not have so good an occasion of +manifestation. And, moreover, there is a beauty of the rarest and most +exquisite, which, if not the product, is, or at least seems to be, the +spontaneous accompaniment of nobility of mind and character. Some +persons, by a singular felicity, possess beauty as one of their +essential attributes; it seems to be not an accident<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> or an addition, +but a part of their essence, which must mould every detail, which shines +through body as well as soul, and is but the outward and visible sign of +all that is sweet and elevated. Wordsworth's ideal woman is—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Not too bright or good</div> +<div>For human nature's daily food,</div> +<div>For transient sorrows, simple wiles,</div> +<div>Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles:</div> +</div></div> + +<p>and yet displays equally—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>The reason firm, the temperate will,</div> +<div>Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>We cannot, even in our thoughts, separate the artistic homage which we +pay to the external appearance, and that which we pay to the inner +qualities, of which they are apparently the inevitable and predestined +symbol. We have before us the ideal—the type which reconciles all the +conditions of human life, physical and moral—the "perfect woman," who +is also the fitting vehicle of the angel light.</p> + +<p>But it is, of course, upon the qualities symbolised and not upon the +outward symbols that we must insist. I will, therefore, say, that the +inward beauty, whether fully represented or not by the outward form, +implies, in the first place, the absence of all those qualities which +tend to lower and vulgarise life. What we call the worldly view,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> for +example, of love and marriage, is simply unintelligible to such a +nature. Love means, to it, an absolute self-surrender, and the complete +fusion of its own life with the life of the beloved object. It can only +be granted in return for a reciprocal surrender; and becomes the mutual +passion by which fear and distrust are utterly cast out; and the +intensity proves not liability to weak illusions, but the sure insight +of the lofty instincts which cannot fail to recognise corresponding +instincts in others. To the lower mind, such a character appears to be +too highly strung, too impassioned, romantic, and careless of the solid +advantages which secure at least comfort. To those of more or less +congenial sentiment, it will rather appear to imply a spirit which, +because it breathes a higher element than that at which men habitually +live, perceives also more distinctly what are the truest and deepest +sources of all that deserves to be called real happiness. To live in an +atmosphere of the strongest and most unqualified affection, to have the +very substance of life woven out of the unreserved love of a worthy +object, is its ideal; and that ideal represents, I am convinced, the +highest and purest happiness that can be enjoyed in this world.</p> + +<p>Suppose, now, that one so endowed is struck by one of those terrible +blows which shiver the very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> foundations of life; which make the outside +world a mere discordant nightmare, and seem to leave for the only +reality a perpetual and gnawing pain, which lulls for an instant only to +be revived by every contact with facts. Sorrow becomes the element in +which one lives and moves. Consolation, according to the familiar +phrase, is idle; for the vulgar notion of consoling is that which Sir +Walter Scott attributes to one of his characters: it is to try to prove +that the very thing for which we offer consolation has not happened—in +other words, to undertake an enterprise which is obviously hopeless and +illusory. Yet the greatest test of true nobility of character is its +power of turning even the bitterest grief to account. The lofty and +simple nature sorrows; it does not attempt to shut its eyes to the full +extent of the calamity, nor seek to distract itself by a forgetfulness +which might obscure its most sacred visions of the past; nor, on the +other hand, to make a parade of its sensibility, or try to foster or +stimulate enervating emotions. It knows instinctively that grief, +terrible as it is, is yet, in another sense, an invaluable possession. +The sufferer who has eaten his bread with herbs learns, as the poet puts +it, to know the heavenly powers. For he or she acquires a deeper and +keener sympathy with all who are desolate and afflicted; and the natural +affections become blended,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> if with a certain melancholy, yet with that +quick and delicate perception of the suffering of others which gives the +only consolation worthy of the name—the sense of something soothing and +softening and inspiring in the midst of the bitterest agony. Grief, so +taken, may be stunning and deadening for the time; it may make life a +heavy burden, from which hope and eager interest have disappeared: +"weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable"; but by slow degrees it undergoes +a transmutation into more steady and profound love of whatsoever may +still be left. The broken and mangled fibres imperceptibly find new +attachments; and the only solution of the terrible dilemma is reached +when time, which heals the actual laceration, enables the sufferer to +feel that the new ties do not imply infidelity to the objects still +beloved, but are a continuous development of the indelible emotions, and +that the later activities are but a carrying on of the old duties, made +more sacred and solemn by the old grief and its associations.</p> + +<p>A lofty nature which has profited by passing through the furnace +acquires claims not only upon our love but upon our reverence. It +becomes perhaps within the little circle with which it is familiar the +obvious and immediate resort whenever some blow of sorrow or sickness +has fallen upon one of its fellows. The figure which I attempt truly to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> +describe is happily not unfamiliar. We have all, I hope, known some one +who is instinctively called to mind whenever there is need of the loving +kindness which seems so obvious and spontaneous that it does not even +occur to the bestower to connect the conduct with self-sacrifice. Such +persons appear to be formed by nature for ministering angels, and move +among us unconscious of their claims to our devotion, and bringing light +into darkness by their simple presence with as little thought that they +deserve our gratitude as that they ought to emerge from obscurity. +Happiness, peaceful and contented at least, if not the old bright and +confident happiness, may come in time; and new spheres be bound together +by the attractive force of a character which, if it is not more +intrinsically lovable, has gained a more pathetic charm from its +experience. The desire to relieve suffering has become a settled +instinct; and, even when there is no special appeal to it, is +incessantly overflowing in those "little, nameless, unremembered acts of +kindness and of love" which, according to Wordsworth again, are the +"best portion of a good man's life". Whether that be quite true I know +not; but in so far as such acts seem to testify most unequivocally to +the constant flow of a current of sympathetic tenderness, always ready +to seize upon every occasion of giving happiness, on a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> child's birthday +as on the parent's deathbed, they perhaps speak to us most convincingly +of an all-pervading sweetness of character. An assiduous and watchful +desire to show kindness, which makes a perpetual succession of such +little attentions a part of the practical religion of the doer, may +generate a corresponding love even more forcibly than the sacrifices +made in obedience to a more conspicuous appeal for help.</p> + +<p>The value of such a life as I have tried imperfectly to indicate is not +to be estimated by the number of good actions performed, or by any +definite list of the particular consequences achieved. It may be hard to +say how many pangs have been soothed, how much happiness has been added +in special cases, by one who goes through life absorbed in such +activities. But above and beyond all the separate instances, such a +person,—the object only to a few, perhaps, of love and reverence, but +to those few the object of those feelings in the most unreserved and +unequivocal form,—is something far more than a source of any number of +particular benefits. To reckon up and estimate the value of such +benefits is a conceivable undertaking; but we cannot attempt to +calculate the value of a spiritual force which has moulded our lives, +which has helped by a simple consciousness of its existence to make us +gentler, nobler, and purer in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> our thoughts of the world; which has +constantly set before us a loftier ideal than we could frame for +ourselves; which has bestowed upon us an ever-present criterion of the +goodness or badness of our own motives by our perception of the light in +which they appear to a simple and elevated character; which has made +every cowardly and worldly thought shrink away abashed in the presence +of noble instincts; which has given us a sympathy so close and constant +that, as with the light of the sun, we are apt to be unconscious of its +essential importance to us until some accident makes us realise the +effect of its eclipse; and which, therefore, has in some sense become a +part of ourselves, a restraining and elevating and softening impulse, to +which we cling as to the worthiest and most indispensable of our possessions.</p> + +<p>I am not speaking from imagination. I am trying to utter convictions +springing from my personal experience, and which I feel—most +painfully—that I cannot adequately express. I could not say more, even +if by saying more I could express myself adequately, without a sense of +a kind of profanity for uttering what should be kept for a few. But +though I speak for myself, I hope and I entirely believe that I am +therefore speaking for many others also. There are few who have the eyes +to see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> who have not recognised some such light shining upon their +lives, and as one main source of what they have done or said if least +unworthy. I fancy that the thought which naturally occurs to us when we +reflect upon such an influence will be: was I, could I, be worthy of it? +what am I that such goodness should have come to me? or, what, if +anything, have I done to transmit to others the blessings conferred upon +me? Such questions have various aspects, and I do not quite see how they +could be reduced to a form admitting of a bare logical answer. It now +seems to me almost unbecoming to dwell upon the comparison which I +contemplated at starting. I imagined a man who has made some such +impression upon the world as is recognised by public reputation, to +compare his own achievement with such achievements as these, which are +absolutely private, and neither seek nor desire any public reward. In +truth, the two things are, perhaps, strictly incommensurable. They must +be measured by different standards, and are of importance in different +spheres. And yet I must try to say this much. The achievements to which +I have referred as in their nature public and recognisable, should +certainly be considered with gratitude. Yet, when we attempt to estimate +their worth we are sensible of terrible drawbacks. I have passed, let us +say, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> measure admirably useful, or written a book which has made a +mark. Certainly I have done a good action. But what if I had not done +it? Were there not hundreds of people who would have been only too glad +to take my place? I have been successful because I happen to have been +in the front rank, which was impelled by thousands of eager supporters. +I have said just a little better than my rivals what they were all +striving to say; and my highest reward will be that my name will be +attached in my own generation, and possibly even in the next, to some +particular opinion which yet would have come to the birth without me. I +have made a certain commotion on the surface for a moment or two, but +the ripple will die away in a few years; and, important as I may seem to +myself, I have only to look back for a generation to recognise the plain +fact that there have not been at any period more than one or two +conspicuous workers the products of whose activity can be distinctly +recognised at the present day. Even in regard to them, it is often +doubtful whether they did more harm or good; whether they did not direct +human energy along the wrong paths, and do as much in giving currency to +fallacies as in extending permanent truths.</p> + +<p>Now, after making such deductions, which to me, at least, seem to be +essentially necessary, we can, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> think, do justice to the truth which +is contained in Browning's poem. You are not, he seems to say, to +measure the worth of life by the amount of work done in it, by the +tangible and obvious results which can be tested by the world's coarse +finger and thumb. Rather, he suggests, the value depends upon the +excellence of the soul which is fashioned into "heaven's consummate cup" +by the stress of the potter's wheel; by the joys and sorrows, the trials +and triumphs, which have affected it in its passage through life. I +should prefer to say that the kind of dilemma so suggested is not really +to the purpose. The rabbi may seem to speak, as I said, with a little +too much complacency, if he be interpreted as sharing the feeling which +is often, however unjustly, attributed to Goethe—that his supreme end +was the cultivation of his own nature, and that he regarded himself as a +work of art, to be elaborated for its own sake, and enriched by +experience even at the cost of others. But in a better interpretation +this does not apply: for the very process by which the noble nature is +developed and cultivated, implies the closest and most active sympathy +with suffering, and an invariable reference to the highest aims of life. +It becomes perfect, that is, by constantly rendering invaluable services +to others; and there is, therefore, no meaning in drawing a distinction +between the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> services and the influence upon the soul itself. They are +parts of the same indivisible process. What is true and noble, as I +think, in the rabbi's doctrine, is that which I have already tried to +indicate: namely, that the worth of such a life is not exhausted by a +catalogue of the good deeds done, but that, beyond and above all them, +remains the inestimable value within its own circle of the very +existence of a natural symbol of the good and holy—by the "holy" I +understand that which is not only moral, but beautiful by reason of its +morality—and the incalculable benefits to it of the pure fountain of +all good influences which descend upon all within its reach. The +stimulus which is given to the beholders of such a life—by the clear +perception that morality does not mean a string of judicious +commonplaces, but can be embodied as the spring of a harmonious life, +and reveal itself as a concrete flesh-and-blood human being—is +something which transcends in value all the particular results which we +can tabulate and reckon up. We must think of it, not as the cause of so +many external benefits, but as the manifestation of a spiritual force +which modifies and raises the characters of all its surroundings. If the +sphere within which it distinctly operates is far narrower than that of +political or literary achievement, it is also incomparably purer, and +works without a single<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> drawback. Every religion has its saints, and +honours them in various ways, not always altogether edifying. But that +man is unfortunate who has not a saint of his own—some one in whose +presence, or in the very thought of whom, he does not recognise a +superior, before whom it becomes him to bow with reverence and +gratitude, and who has purified the atmosphere and strengthened the +affections in a little circle from which the influence may be +transmitted to others. The saint will be forgotten all too soon—long +before less valuable, but accidentally more conspicuous, services have +passed out of mind—but the moral elevation, even of a small circle, is +a benefit which may be propagated indefinitely.</p> + +<p>If we cannot hope to preserve the name, we can try to carry on the good +work; to maintain the ties which have been formed and propagate the +goodwill through widening circles. That, I think, is what every one +feels under the stress of the most terrible trials of life. We are +shocked by the sense of the inevitable oblivion that will hide all that +we loved so well. There is, according to my experience, only one thought +which is inspiring, and—if not in the vulgar sense consoling, for it +admits the existence of an unspeakable calamity—points, at least, to +the direction in which we may gradually achieve something like peace and +hopefulness without the slightest disloyalty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> to the objects of our +love. It is the thought which I can only express by saying that we may +learn to feel as if those who had left us had yet become part of +ourselves; that we have become so permeated by their influence, that we +can still think of their approval and sympathy as a stimulating and +elevating power, and be conscious that we are more or less carrying on +their work, in their spirit. We find, as Lowell says in his noble ode—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>We find in our dull road their shining track;</div> +<div class="i2">In every nobler mood</div> +<div>We feel the orient of their spirit glow,</div> +<div>Part of our life's unalterable good,</div> +<div>Of all our saintlier aspiration;</div> +<div class="i2">They come transfigured back,</div> +<div>Secure from change in their high-hearted ways,</div> +<div>Beautiful evermore, and with the rays</div> +<div>Of morn on their white shields of expectation.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Alas, he adds, even the best deeds will be hidden before long by "the +thoughtless drift of the deciduous years". Yes; they will be forgotten +before long, as we too shall be forgotten—the incalculable majority +within a generation or two. The thought may be painful, but the +reasonable conclusion is, I think, not that we should fret over the +inevitable; rather that we should purify our minds from this as from +other illusions, and feel ashamed of the selfish desire that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> our own +names should be preserved when we know that so many who were far better +and nobler than ourselves will inevitably be forgotten, and were better +and nobler without the stimulus of any such paltry desire. Gratitude to +the obscure is, in this sense, I take it, a duty, which we cannot +practise without a proportional moral benefit. It enables us to rise +above the constant temptation to seek for notoriety at any price, and to +make our ultimate aim the achievement of good work, not the chorus of +popular applause which may be aroused. Thoroughly to conquer that +temptation is, I take it, one of the objects which every man should set +before himself. And nothing, I think, helps one more than a vivid and +enduring consciousness of the enormous debt which we owe to men and +women who lived in obscurity, who never had a thought of emerging out of +obscurity, and whose ennobling influence has yet become a part of every +higher principle of action in ourselves. I may or I may not have formed +too low an estimate of the services of the few heroes who stand +conspicuously above the ordinary level; but I am certain that nothing +that I can say would exaggerate the importance of many who have no +claims to such a position. To cherish and preserve that influence by +every faculty we possess seems to me to be our plainest duty; and we may +comfort ourselves,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> if comfort be needed, by the reflection that, though +the memory may be transitory, the good done by a noble life and +character may last far beyond any horizon which can be realised by our +imaginations.</p> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center">THE END.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> See the "Wealth of Nature," in <i>Essays by a Barrister</i> [Sir +James Fitzjames Stephen].</p></div> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center">ABERDEEN UNIVERSITY PRESS.</p> + +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Social Rights And Duties, by Leslie Stephen + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOCIAL RIGHTS AND DUTIES *** + +***** This file should be named 36957-h.htm or 36957-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/9/5/36957/ + +Produced by Thierry Alberto, Henry Craig, Martin Pettit +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images +generously made available by The Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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