diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/50189-8.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/50189-8.txt | 4089 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 4089 deletions
diff --git a/old/50189-8.txt b/old/50189-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 10ce234..0000000 --- a/old/50189-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4089 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Scientific Basis of Morals, and other -essays., by William Kingdon Clifford - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Scientific Basis of Morals, and other essays. - -Author: William Kingdon Clifford - -Release Date: October 12, 2015 [EBook #50189] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS *** - - - - -Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project -Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously -made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - HUMBOLDT LIBRARY - OF - POPULAR SCIENCE LITERATURE. - - - - THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS - OF - MORALS, - AND OTHER ESSAYS; - - - Viz.: Right and Wrong; The Ethics of Belief; The Ethics of Religion. - - - By WILLIAM KINGDON CLIFFORD, F.R.S. - - - - - - - -I. ON THE SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS. - - -By Morals or Ethic I mean the doctrine of a special kind of pleasure or -displeasure which is felt by the human mind in contemplating certain -courses of conduct, whereby they are felt to be right or wrong, -and of a special desire to do the right things and avoid the wrong -ones. The pleasure or displeasure is commonly called the moral sense; -the corresponding desire might be called the moral appetite. These -are facts, existing in the consciousness of every man who need be -considered in this discussion, and sufficiently marked out by these -names; they need no further definition. In the same way the sense -of taste is a feeling of pleasure or displeasure in things savory or -unsavory, and is associated with a desire for the one and a repulsion -from the other. We must assume that everybody knows what these words -mean; the feelings they describe may be analyzed or accounted for, -but they cannot be more exactly defined as feelings. - -The maxims of ethic are recommendations or commands of the form, -'Do this particular thing because it is right,' or 'Avoid this -particular thing because it is wrong.' They express the immediate -desire to do the right thing for itself, not for the sake of anything -else: on this account the mood of them is called the categorical -imperative. The particular things commanded or forbidden by such -maxims depend upon the character of the individual in whose mind they -arise. There is a certain general agreement in the ethical code of -persons belonging to the same race at a given time, but considerable -variations in different races and times. To the question 'What is -right?' can therefore only be answered in the first instance, 'That -which pleases your moral sense.' But it may be further asked 'What -is generally thought right?' and the reply will specify the ethic of -a particular race and period. But the ethical code of an individual, -like the standard of taste, may be modified by habit and education; -and accordingly the question may be asked, 'How shall I order my -moral desires so as to be able to satisfy them most completely and -continuously? What ought I to feel to be right?' The answer to this -question must be sought in the study of the conditions under which -the moral sense was produced and is preserved; in other words, in the -study of its functions as a property of the human organism. The maxims -derived from this study may be called maxims of abstract or absolute -right; they are not absolutely universal, 'eternal and immutable,' -but they are independent of the individual, and practically universal -for the present condition of the human species. - -I mean by Science the application of experience to new circumstances, -by the aid of an order of nature which has been observed in the -past, and on the assumption that such order will continue in the -future. The simplest use of experience as a guide to action is probably -not even conscious; it is the association by continually-repeated -selection of certain actions with certain circumstances, as in the -unconsciously-acquired craft of the maker of flint implements. I -still call this science, although it is only a beginning; because -the physiological process is a type of what takes place in all later -stages. The next step may be expressed in the form of a hypothetical -maxim,--'If you want to make brass, melt your copper along with this -blue stone.' To a maxim of this sort it may always be replied, 'I do -not want to make brass, and so I shall not do as you tell me.' This -reply is anticipated in the final form of science, when it is expressed -as a statement or proposition: brass is an alloy of copper and zinc, -and calamine is zinc carbonate. Belief in a general statement is -an artifice of our mental constitution, whereby infinitely various -sensations and groups of sensations are brought into connection with -infinitely various actions and groups of actions. On the phenomenal -side there corresponds a certain cerebral structure by which various -combinations of disturbances in the sensor tract are made to lead to -the appropriate combinations of disturbances in the motor tract. The -important point is that science, though apparently transformed into -pure knowledge, has yet never lost its character of being a craft; -and that it is not the knowledge itself which can rightly be called -science, but a special way of getting and of using knowledge. Namely, -science is the getting of knowledge from experience on the assumption -of uniformity in nature, and the use of such knowledge to guide the -actions of men. And the most abstract statements or propositions in -science are to be regarded as bundles of hypothetical maxims packed -into a portable shape and size. Every scientific fact is a shorthand -expression for a vast number of practical directions: if you want -so-and-so, do so-and-so. - -If with this meaning of the word 'Science,' there is such a thing as -a scientific basis of Morals, it must be true that,-- - -1. The maxims of Ethic are hypothetical maxims. - -2. Derived from experience. - -3. On the assumption of uniformity in nature. - -These propositions I shall now endeavor to prove; and in conclusion, -I shall indicate the direction in which we may look for those general -statements of fact whose organization will complete the likeness of -ethical and physical science. - -The Tribal Self.--In the metaphysical sense, the word 'self' is -taken to mean the conscious subject, das Ich, the whole stream of -feelings which make up a consciousness regarded as bound together by -association and memory. But, in the more common and more restricted -ethical sense, what we call self is a selected aggregate of feelings -and of objects related to them, which hangs together as a conception by -virtue of long and repeated association. My self does not include all -my feelings, because habitually separate off some of them, say they -do not properly belong to me, and treat them as my enemies. On the -other hand, it does in general include my body regarded as an object, -because of the feelings which occur simultaneously with events which -affect it. My foot is certainly part of myself, because I get hurt when -anybody treads on it. When we desire anything for its somewhat remote -consequences, it is not common for these to be represented to the mind -in the form of the actual feelings of pleasure which are ultimately to -flow from the satisfaction of the desire; instead of this, they are -replaced by a symbolic conception which represents the thing desired -as doing good to the complex abstraction self. This abstraction serves -thus to support and hold together those complex and remote motives -which make up by far the greater part of the life of the intelligent -races. When a thing is desired for no immediate pleasure that it -can bring, it is generally desired on account of a certain symbolic -substitute for pleasure, the feeling that this thing is suitable to -the self. And, as in many like cases, this feeling, which at first -derived its pleasurable nature from the faintly represented simple -pleasures of which it was a symbol, ceases after a time to recall -them and becomes a simple pleasure itself. In this way the self -becomes a sort of center about which our remoter motives revolve, -and to which they always have regard; in virtue of which, moreover, -they become immediate and simple, from having been complex and remote. - -If we consider now the simpler races of mankind, we shall find not -only that immediate desires play a far larger part in their lives, -and so that the conception of self is less used and less developed, -but also that it is less definite and more wide. The savage is not -only hurt when anybody treads on his foot, but when anybody treads on -his tribe. He may lose his hut, and his wife, and his opportunities -of getting food. In this way the tribe becomes naturally included in -that conception of self which renders remote desires possible by making -them immediate. The actual pains or pleasures which come from the woe -or weal of the tribe, and which were the source of this conception, -drop out of consciousness and are remembered no more; the symbol which -has replaced them becomes a center and goal of immediate desires, -powerful enough in many cases to override the strongest suggestions -of individual pleasure or pain. - -Here a helping cause comes in. The tribe, quâ tribe, has to exist, -and it can only exist by aid of such an organic artifice as the -conception of the tribal self in the minds of its members. Hence the -natural selection of those races in which this conception is the most -powerful and most habitually predominant as a motive over immediate -desires. To such an extent has this proceeded that we may fairly -doubt whether the selfhood of the tribe is not earlier in point of -development than that of the individual. In the process of time it -becomes a matter of hereditary transmission, and is thus fixed as -a specific character in the constitution of social man. With the -settlement of countries, and the aggregation of tribes into nations, -it takes a wider and more abstract form; and in the highest natures the -tribal self is incarnate in nothing less than humanity. Short of these -heights, it places itself in the family and in the city. I shall call -that quality or disposition of man which consists in the supremacy -of the family or tribal self as a mark of reference for motives by -its old name Piety. And I have now to consider certain feelings and -conceptions to which the existence of piety must necessarily give rise. - -Before going further, however, it will be advisable to fix as -precisely as may be the sense of the words just used. Self, then, in -the ethical sense, is a conception in the mind of the individual which -serves as a peg on which remote desires are hung and by which they are -rendered immediate. The individual self is such a peg for the hanging -of remote desires which affect the individual only. The tribal self -is a conception in the mind of the individual which serves as a peg -on which those remote desires are hung which were implanted in him -by the need of the tribe as a tribe. We must carefully distinguish -the tribal self from society, or the 'common consciousness;' it is -something in the mind of each individual man which binds together -his gregarious instincts. - -The word tribe is here used to mean a group of that size which in the -circumstances considered is selected for survival or destruction as -a group. Self-regarding excellences are brought out by the natural -selection of individuals; the tribal self is developed by the natural -selection of groups. The size of the groups must vary at different -times; and the extent of the tribal self must vary accordingly. - -Approbation and Conscience.--The tribe has to exist. Such tribes -as saw no necessity for it have ceased to live. To exist, it must -encourage piety; and there is a method which lies ready to hand. - -We do not like a man whose character is such that we may reasonably -expect injuries from him. This dislike of a man on account of his -character is a more complex feeling than the mere dislike of separate -injuries. A cat likes your hand and your lap, and the food you give -her; but I do not think she has any conception of you. A dog, however, -may like you even when you thrash him, though he does not like the -thrashing. Now such likes and dislikes may be felt by the tribal -self. If a man does anything generally regarded as good for the tribe, -my tribal self may say, in the first place, 'I like that thing that -you have done.' By such common approbation of individual acts the -influence of piety as a motive becomes defined; and natural selection -will in the long run preserve those tribes which have approved the -right things; namely, those things which at that time gave the tribe -an advantage in the struggle for existence. But in the second place, -a man may as a rule and constantly, being actuated by piety, do good -things for the tribe; and in that case the tribal self will say, -I like you. The feeling expressed by this statement on the part of -any individual, 'In the name of the tribe, I like you,' is what I -call approbation. It is the feeling produced in pious individuals by -that sort of character which seems to them beneficial to the community. - -Now suppose that a man has done something obviously harmful to the -community. Either some immediate desire, or his individual self, has -for once proved stronger than the tribal self. When the tribal self -wakes up, the man says, 'In the name of the tribe, I do not like this -thing that I, as an individual, have done.' This Self-judgment in the -name of the tribe is called Conscience. If the man goes further and -draws from this act and others an inference about his own character, -he may say, 'In the name of the tribe, I do not like my individual -self.' This is remorse. Mr. Darwin has well pointed out that immediate -desires are in general strong but of short duration, and cannot be -adequately represented to the mind after they have passed; while -the social forces, though less violent, have a steady and continuous -action. - -In a mind sufficiently developed to distinguish the individual from the -tribal self, conscience is thus a necessary result of the existence -of piety; it is ready to hand as a means for its increase. But to -account for the existence of piety and conscience in the elemental -form which we have hitherto considered is by no means to account for -the present moral nature of man. We shall be led many steps in that -direction if we consider the way in which society has used these -feelings of the individual as a means for its own preservation. - -Right and Responsibility.--A like or a dislike is one thing; the -expression of it is another. It is attached to the feeling by links of -association; and when this association has been selectively modified -by experience, whether consciously or unconsciously, the expression -serves a purpose of retaining or repeating the thing liked, and of -removing the thing disliked. Such a purpose is served by the expression -of tribal approbation or disapprobation, however little it may be the -conscious end of such expression to any individual. It is necessary to -the tribe that the pious character should be encouraged and preserved, -the impious character discouraged and removed. The process is of two -kinds; direct and reflex. In the direct process the tribal dislike of -the offender is precisely similar to the dislike of a noxious beast; -and it expresses itself in his speedy removal. But in the reflex -process we find the first trace of that singular and wonderful judgment -by analogy which ascribes to other men a consciousness similar to our -own. If the process were a conscious one, it might perhaps be described -in this way: the tribal self says, 'Put yourself in this man's place; -he also is pious, but he has offended, and that proves that he is not -pious enough. Still, he has some conscience, and the expression of -your tribal dislike to his character, awakening his conscience, will -tend to change him and make him more pious.' But the process is not a -conscious one: the social craft or art of living together is learned -by the tribe and not by the individual, and the purpose of improving -men's characters is provided for by complex social arrangements long -before it has been conceived by any conscious mind. The tribal self -learns to approve certain expressions of tribal liking or disliking; -the actions whose open approval is liked by the tribal self are called -right actions, and those whose open disapproval is liked are called -wrong actions. The corresponding characters are called good or bad, -virtuous or vicious. - -This introduces a further complication into the -conscience. Self-judgment in the name of the tribe becomes associated -with very definite and material judgment by the tribe itself. On the -one hand, this undoubtedly strengthens the motive-power of conscience -in an enormous degree. On the other hand, it tends to guide the -decisions of conscience; and since the expression of public approval or -disapproval is made in general by means of some organized machinery of -government, it becomes possible for conscience to be knowingly directed -by the wise or misdirected by the wicked, instead of being driven along -the right path by the slow selective process of experience. Now right -actions are not those which are publicly approved, but those whose -public approbation a well-instructed tribal self would like. Still, it -is impossible to avoid the guiding influence of expressed approbation -on the great mass of the people; and in those cases where the machinery -of government is approximately a means of expressing the true public -conscience, that influence becomes a most powerful help to improvement. - -Let us note now the very important difference between the direct and -the reflex process. To clear a man away as a noxious beast, and to -punish him for doing wrong, these are two very different things. The -purpose in the first case is merely to get rid of a nuisance; the -purpose in the second case is to improve the character either of the -man himself or of those who will observe this public expression of -disapprobation. The offense of which the man has been guilty leads -to an inference about his character, and it is supposed that the -community may contain other persons whose characters are similar to -his, or tend to become so. It has been found that the expression of -public disapprobation tends to awake the conscience of such people and -to improve their characters. If the improvement of the man himself is -aimed at, it is assumed that he has a conscience which can be worked -upon and made to deter him from similar offenses in future. - -The word purpose has here been used in a sense to which it is perhaps -worth while to call attention. Adaptation of means to an end may -be produced in two ways that we at present know of; by processes of -natural selection, and by the agency of an intelligence in which an -image or idea of the end preceded the use of the means. In both cases -the existence of the adaptation is accounted for by the necessity or -utility of the end. It seems to me convenient to use the word purpose -as meaning generally the end to which certain means are adapted, both -in these two cases, and in any other that may hereafter become known, -provided only that the adaptation is accounted for by the necessity -or utility of the end. And there seems no objection to the use of -the phrase 'final cause' in this wider sense, if it is to be kept -at all. The word 'design' might then be kept for the special case -of adaptation by an intelligence. And we may then say that since the -process of natural selection has been understood, purpose has ceased -to suggest design to instructed people, except in cases where the -agency of man is independently probable. - -When a man can be punished for doing wrong with approval of the -tribal self, he is said to be responsible. Responsibility implies -two things:--(1) The act was a product of the man's character and -of the circumstances, and his character may to a certain extent be -inferred from the act; (2) The man had a conscience which might have -been so worked upon as to prevent his doing the act. Unless the first -condition be fulfilled, we cannot reasonably take any action at all -in regard to the man, but only in regard to the offense. In the case -of crimes of violence, for example, we might carry a six-shooter to -protect ourselves against similar possibilities, but unless the fact -of a man's having once committed a murder made it probable that he -would do the like again, it would clearly be absurd and unreasonable to -lynch the man. That is to say, we assume an uniformity of connection -between character and actions, infer a man's character from his past -actions, and endeavor to provide against his future actions either by -destroying him or by changing his character. I think it will be found -that in all those cases where we not only deal with the offense but -treat it with moral reprobation, we imply the existence of a conscience -which might have been worked upon to improve the character. Why, for -example, do we not regard a lunatic as responsible? Because we are in -possession of information about his character derived not only from -his one offense but from other facts, whereby we know that even if he -had a conscience left, his mind is so diseased that it is impossible -by moral reprobation alone to change his character so that it may be -subsequently relied upon. With his cure from disease and the restored -validity of this condition, responsibility returns. There are, of -course, cases in which an irresponsible person is punished as if he -were responsible, pour encourager les autres who are responsible. The -question of the right or wrong of this procedure is the question of -its average effect on the character of men at any particular time. - -The Categorical Imperative.--May we now say that the maxims of Ethic -are hypothetical maxims? I think we may, and that in showing why we -shall explain the apparent difference between them and other maxims -belonging to an early stage of science. In the first place ethical -maxims are learned by the tribe and not by the individual. Those tribes -have on the whole survived in which conscience approved such actions as -tended to the improvement of men's characters as citizens and therefore -to the survival of the tribe. Hence it is that the moral sense of the -individual, though founded on the experience of the tribe, is purely -intuitive; conscience gives no reasons. Notwithstanding this, the -ethical maxims are presented to us as conditional; if you want to live -together in this complicated way, your ways must be straight and not -crooked, you must seek the truth and love no lie. Suppose we answer, 'I -don't want to live together with other men in this complicated way; and -so I shall not do as you tell me.' That is not the end of the matter, -as it might be with other scientific precepts. For obvious reasons it -is right in this case to reply, 'Then in the name of my people I do -not like you,' and to express this dislike by appropriate methods. And -the offender, being descended from a social race, is unable to escape -his conscience, the voice of his tribal self which says, 'In the name -of the tribe, I hate myself for this treason that I have done.' - -There are two reasons, then, why ethical maxims appear to be -unconditional. First, they are acquired from experience not directly -but by tribal selection, and therefore in the mind of the individual -they do not rest upon the true reasons for them. Secondly, although -they are conditional, the absence of the condition in one born of a -social race is rightly visited by moral reprobation. - -Ethics are based on Uniformity.--I have already observed that -to deal with men as a means of influencing their actions implies -that these actions are a product of character and circumstances; -and that moral reprobation and responsibility cannot exist unless -we assume the efficacy of certain special means of influencing -character. It is not necessary to point out that such considerations -involve that uniformity of nature which underlies the possibility -of even unconscious adaptations to experience, of language, and of -general conceptions and statements. It may be asked, 'Are you quite -sure that these observed uniformities between motive and action, -between character and motive, between social influence and change of -character, are absolutely exact in the form in which you state them, -or indeed that they are exact laws of any form? May there not be very -slight divergences from exact laws, which will allow of the action -of an "uncaused will," or of the interference of some "extra-mundane -force"?' I am sure I do not know. But this I do know: that our sense -of right and wrong is derived from such order as we can observe, and -not from such caprice of disorder as we may fancifully conjecture; and -that to whatever extent a divergence from exactness became sensible, -to that extent it would destroy the most widespread and worthy of -the acquisitions of mankind. - -The Final Standard.--By these views we are led to conclusions partly -negative, partly positive; of which, as might be expected, the negative -are the most definite. - -First, then, Ethic is a matter of the tribe or community, and therefore -there are no 'self-regarding virtues.' The qualities of courage, -prudence, etc., can only be rightly encouraged in so far as they are -shown to conduce to the efficiency of a citizen; that is, in so far -as they cease to be self-regarding. The duty of private judgment, -of searching after truth, the sacredness of belief which ought not -to be misused on unproved statements, follow only on showing of the -enormous importance to society of a true knowledge of things. And any -diversion of conscience from its sole allegiance to the community is -condemned à priori in the very nature of right and wrong. - -Next, the end of Ethic is not the greatest happiness of the greatest -number. Your happiness is of no use to the community, except in so -far as it tends to make you a more efficient citizen--that is to -say, happiness is not to be desired for its own sake, but for the -sake of something else. If any end is pointed to, it is the end of -increased efficiency in each man's special work, as well as in the -social functions which are common to all. A man must strive to be a -better citizen, a better workman, a better son, husband, or father. - -Again, Piety is not Altruism. It is not the doing good to others as -others, but the service of the community by a member of it, who loses -in that service the consciousness that he is anything different from -the community. - -The social organism, like the individual, may be healthy or -diseased. Health and disease are very difficult things to define -accurately: but for practical purposes, there are certain states about -which no mistake can be made. When we have even a very imperfect -catalogue and description of states that are clearly and certainly -diseases, we may form a rough preliminary definition of health -by saying that it means the absence of all these states. Now the -health of society involves among other things, that right is done by -the individuals composing it. And certain social diseases consist -in a wrong direction of the conscience. Hence the determination -of abstract right depends on the study of healthy and diseased -states of society. How much light can be got for this end from the -historical records we possess? A very great deal, if, as I believe, -for ethical purposes the nature of man and of society may be taken -as approximately constant during the few thousand years of which we -have distinct records. - -The matters of fact on which rational ethic must be founded are the -laws of modification of character, and the evidence of history as -to those kinds of character which have most aided the improvement of -the race. For although the moral sense is intuitive, it must for the -future be directed by our conscious discovery of the tribal purpose -which it serves. - - - - - - - -II. RIGHT AND WRONG: - -THE SCIENTIFIC GROUND OF THEIR DISTINCTION. [1] - - -The questions which are here to be considered are especially and -peculiarly everybody's questions. It is not everybody's business to -be an engineer, or a doctor, or a carpenter, or a soldier; but it -is everybody's business to be a citizen. The doctrines and precepts -which guide the practice of the good engineer are of interest to him -who uses them and to those whose business it is to investigate them by -mechanical science; the rest of us neither obey nor disobey them. But -the doctrines and precepts of morality, which guide the practice of -the good citizen, are of interest to all; they must be either obeyed -or disobeyed by every human being who is not hopelessly and forever -separated from the rest of mankind. No one can say, therefore, that in -this inquiry we are not minding our own business, that we are meddling -with other men's affairs. We are in fact studying the principles of -our profession, so far as we are able; a necessary thing for every -man who wishes to do good work in it. - -Along with the character of universal interest which belongs to -our subject there goes another. What is everybody's practical -business is also to a large extent what everybody knows; and it -may be reasonably expected that a discourse about Right and Wrong -will be full of platitudes and truisms. The expectation is a just -one. The considerations I have to offer are of the very oldest and -the very simplest commonplace and common sense; and no one can be -more astonished than I am that there should be any reason to speak of -them at all. But there is reason to speak of them, because platitudes -are not all of one kind. Some platitudes have a definite meaning -and a practical application, and are established by the uniform and -long-continued experience of all people. Other platitudes, having -no definite meaning and no practical application, seem not to be -worth anybody's while to test; and these are quite sufficiently -established by mere assertion, if it is audacious enough to begin -with and persistent enough afterward. It is in order to distinguish -these two kinds of platitude from one another, and to make sure that -those which we retain form a body of doctrine consistent with itself -and with the rest of our beliefs, that we undertake this examination -of obvious and widespread principles. - -First of all, then, what are the facts? - -We say that it is wrong to murder, to steal, to tell lies, and that it -is right to take care of our families. When we say in this sense that -one action is right and another wrong, we have a certain feeling toward -the action which is peculiar and not quite like any other feeling. It -is clearly a feeling toward the action and not toward the man who does -it; because we speak of hating the sin and loving the sinner. We might -reasonably dislike a man whom we knew or suspected to be a murderer, -because of the natural fear that he might murder us; and we might like -our own parents for taking care of us. But everybody knows that these -feelings are something quite different from the feeling which condemns -murder as a wrong thing, and approves parental care as a right thing. I -say nothing here about the possibility of analyzing this feeling, or -proving that it arises by combination of other feelings; all I want -to notice is that it is as distinct and recognizable as the feeling -of pleasure in a sweet taste or of displeasure at a toothache. In -speaking of right and wrong, we speak of qualities of action which -arouse definite feelings that everybody knows and recognizes. It is -not necessary, then, to give a definition at the outset; we are going -to use familiar terms which have a definite meaning in the same sense -in which everybody uses them. We may ultimately come to something -like a definition; but what we have to do first is to collect the -facts and see what can be made of them, just as if we were going to -talk about limestone, or parents and children, or fuel. - -It is easy to conceive that murder and theft and neglect of the young -might be considered wrong in a very simple state of society. But -we find at present that the condemnation of these actions does not -stand alone; it goes with the condemnation of a great number of other -actions which seem to be included with the obviously criminal action, -in a sort of general rule. The wrongness of murder, for example, -belongs in a less degree to any form of bodily injury that one man -may inflict on another; and it is even extended so as to include -injuries to his reputation or his feelings. I make these more refined -precepts follow in the train of the more obvious and rough ones, -because this appears to have been the traditional order of their -establishment. 'He that makes his neighbor blush in public,' says -the Mishna, 'is as if he had shed his blood.' In the same way the -rough condemnation of stealing carries with it a condemnation of -more refined forms of dishonesty: we do not hesitate to say that it -is wrong for a tradesman to adulterate his goods, or for a laborer -to scamp his work. We not only say that it is wrong to tell lies, -but that it is wrong to deceive in other more ingenious ways; wrong -to use words so that they shall have one sense to some people and -another sense to other people; wrong to suppress the truth when that -suppression leads to false belief in others. And again, the duty of -parents toward their children is seen to be a special case of a very -large and varied class of duties toward that great family to which we -belong--to the fatherland and them that dwell therein. The word duty -which I have here used, has as definite a sense to the general mind -as the words right and wrong; we say that it is right to do our duty, -and wrong to neglect it. These duties to the community serve in our -minds to explain and define our duties to individuals. It is wrong to -kill any one; unless we are an executioner, when it may be our duty -to kill a criminal; or a soldier, when it may be our duty to kill the -enemy of our country; and in general it is wrong to injure any man in -any way in our private capacity and for our own sakes. Thus if a man -injures us, it is only right to retaliate on behalf of other men. Of -two men in a desert island, if one takes away the other's cloak, it -may or may not be right for the other to let him have his coat also; -but if a man takes away my cloak while we both live in society, it -is my duty to use such means as I can to prevent him from taking away -other people's cloaks. Observe that I am endeavoring to describe the -facts of the moral feelings of Englishmen, such as they are now. - -The last remark leads us to another platitude of exceedingly ancient -date. We said that it was wrong to injure any man in our private -capacity and for our own sakes. A rule like this differs from all the -others that we have considered, because it not only deals with physical -acts, words and deeds which can be observed and known by others, but -also with thoughts which are known only to the man himself. Who can -tell whether a given act of punishment was done from a private or from -a public motive? Only the agent himself. And yet if the punishment -was just and within the law, we should condemn the man in the one -case and approve him in the other. This pursuit of the actions of -men to their very sources, in the feelings which they only can know, -is as ancient as any morality we know of, and extends to the whole -range of it. Injury to another man arises from anger, malice, hatred, -revenge; these feelings are condemned as wrong. But feelings are not -immediately under our control, in the same way that overt actions are: -I can shake anybody by the hand if I like, but I cannot always feel -friendly to him. Nevertheless we can pay attention to such aspects -of the circumstances, and we can put ourselves into such conditions, -that our feelings get gradually modified in one way or the other; we -form a habit of checking our anger by calling up certain images and -considerations, whereby in time the offending passion is brought into -subjection and control. Accordingly we say that it is right to acquire -and to exercise this control; and the control is supposed to exist -whenever we say that one feeling or disposition of mind is right and -another wrong. Thus, in connection with the precept against stealing, -we condemn envy and covetousness; we applaud a sensitive honesty which -shudders at anything underhand or dishonorable. In connection with the -rough precept against lying, we have built up and are still building -a great fabric of intellectual morality, whereby a man is forbidden -to tell lies to himself, and is commanded to practice candor and -fairness and open-mindedness in his judgments, and to labor zealously -in pursuit of the truth. In connection with the duty to our families, -we say that it is right to cultivate public spirit, a quick sense of -sympathy, and all that belongs to a social disposition. - -Two other words are used in this connection which it seems necessary -to mention. When we regard an action as right or wrong for ourselves, -this feeling about the action impels us to do it or not to do it, -as the case may be. We may say that the moral sense acts in this case -as a motive; meaning by moral sense only the feeling in regard to an -action which is considered as right or wrong, and by motive something -which impels us to act. Of course there may be other motives at work at -the same time, and it does not at all follow that we shall do the right -action or abstain from the wrong one. This we all know to our cost. But -still our feeling about the rightness or wrongness of an action does -operate as a motive when we think of the action as being done by us; -and when so operating it is called conscience. I have nothing to do -at present with the questions about conscience, whether it is a result -of education, whether it can be explained by self-love, and so forth; -I am only concerned in describing well-known facts, and in getting -as clear as I can about the meaning of well-known words. Conscience, -then, is the whole aggregate of our feelings about actions as being -right or wrong, regarded as tending to make us do the right actions and -avoid the wrong ones. We also say sometimes, in answer to the question, -'How do you know that this is right or wrong?' 'My conscience tells me -so.' And this way of speaking is quite analogous to other expressions -of the same form; thus if I put my hand into water, and you ask me how -I know that it is hot, I might say, 'My feeling of warmth tells me so.' - -When we consider a right or a wrong action as done by another -person, we think of that person as worthy of moral approbation or -reprobation. He may be punished or not; but in any case this feeling -toward him is quite different from the feeling of dislike toward a -person injurious to us, or of disappointment at a machine which will -not go. - -Whenever we can morally approve or disapprove a man for his action, we -say that he is morally responsible for it, and vice versâ. To say that -a man is not morally responsible for his actions is the same thing as -to say that it would be unreasonable to praise or blame him for them. - -The statement that we ourselves are morally responsible is somewhat -more complicated, but the meaning is very easily made out; namely, -that another person may reasonably regard our actions as right or -wrong, and may praise or blame us for them. - -We can now, I suppose, understand one another pretty clearly in using -the words right and wrong, conscience, responsibility; and we have -made a rapid survey of the facts of the case in our own country at -the present time. Of course I do not pretend that this survey in any -way approaches to completeness; but it will supply us at least with -enough facts to enable us to deal always with concrete examples instead -of remaining in generalities; and it may serve to show pretty fairly -what the moral sense of an Englishman is like. We must next consider -what account we can give of these facts by the scientific method. - -But first let us stop to note that we really have used the scientific -method in making this first step; and also that to the same extent -the method has been used by all serious moralists. Some would have -us define virtue, to begin with, in terms of some other thing which -is not virtue, and then work out from our definition all the details -of what we ought to do. So Plato said that virtue was knowledge, -Aristotle that it was the golden mean, and Bentham said that the -right action was that which conduced to the greatest happiness of the -greatest number. But so also, in physical speculations, Thales said -that everything was Water, and Heraclitus said it was All-becoming, -and Empedocles said it was made out of Four Elements, and Pythagoras -said it was Number. But we only began to know about things when people -looked straight at the facts, and made what they could out of them; -and that is the only way in which we can know anything about right -and wrong. Moreover, it is the way in which the great moralists have -set to work, when they came to treat of verifiable things and not of -theories all in the air. A great many people think of a prophet as a -man who, all by himself, or from some secret source, gets the belief -that this thing is right and that thing wrong. And then (they imagine) -he gets up and goes about persuading other people to feel as he does -about it; and so it becomes a part of their conscience, and a new duty -is created. This may be in some cases, but I have never met with any -example of it in history. When Socrates puzzled the Greeks by asking -them what they precisely meant by Goodness and Justice and Virtue, -the mere existence of the words shows that the people, as a whole, -possessed a moral sense, and felt that certain things were right and -others wrong. What the moralist did was to show the connection between -different virtues, the likeness of virtue to certain other things, -the implications which a thoughtful man could find in the common -language. Wherever the Greek moral sense had come from, it was there in -the people before it could be enforced by a prophet or discussed by a -philosopher. Again, we find a wonderful collection of moral aphorisms -in those shrewd sayings of the Jewish fathers which are preserved in -the Mishna or oral law. Some of this teaching is familiar to us all -from the popular exposition of it which is contained in the three -first Gospels. But the very plainness and homeliness of the precepts -shows that they are just acute statements of what was already felt -by the popular common sense; protesting, in many cases, against the -formalism of the ceremonial law with which they are curiously mixed -up. The Rabbis even show a jealousy of prophetic interference, as if -they knew well that it takes not one man, but many men, to feel what -is right. When a certain Rabbi Eliezer, being worsted in argument, -cried out, 'If I am right, let heaven pronounce in my favor!' there -was heard a Bath-kol or voice from the skies, saying, 'Do you venture -to dispute with Rabbi Eliezer, who is an authority on all religious -questions?' But Rabbi Joshua rose and said, 'Our law is not in heaven, -but in the book which dates from Sinai, and which teaches us that in -matters of discussion the majority makes the law.' [2] - -One of the most important expressions of the moral sense for all time -is that of the Stoic philosophy, especially after its reception among -the Romans. It is here that we find the enthusiasm of humanity--the -caritas generis humani--which is so large and important a feature in -all modern conceptions of morality, and whose widespread influence -upon Roman citizens may be traced in the Epistles of St. Paul. In -the Stoic emperors, also, we find probably the earliest example of -great moral principles consciously applied to legislation on a large -scale. But are we to attribute this to the individual insight of -the Stoic philosophers? It might seem at first sight that we must, -if we are to listen to that vulgar vituperation of the older culture -which has descended to us from those who had everything to gain by -its destruction. [3] We hear enough of the luxurious feasting of -the Roman capital, how it would almost have taxed the resources of a -modern pastry-cook; of the cruelty of gladiatorial shows, how they -were nearly as bad as autos-da-fé, except that a man had his fair -chance and was not tortured for torture's sake; of the oppression of -provincials by people like Verres, of whom it may even be said that if -they had been the East India Company they could not have been worse; -of the complaints of Tacitus against bad and mad emperors (as Sir -Henry Maine says); and of the still more serious complaints of the -modern historian against the excessive taxation [4] which was one great -cause of the fall of the empire. Of all this we are told a great deal; -but we are not told of the many thousands of honorable men who carried -civilization to the ends of the known world, and administered a mighty -empire so that it was loved and worshiped to the furthest corner of -it. It is to these men and their common action that we must attribute -the morality which found its organized expression in the writings of -the Stoic philosophers. From these three cases we may gather that -Right is a thing which must be done before it can be talked about, -although after that it may only too easily be talked about without -being done. Individual effort and energy may insist upon getting that -done which was already felt to be right; and individual insight and -acumen may point out consequences of an action which bring it under -previously known moral rules. There is another dispute of the Rabbis -that may serve to show what is meant by this. It was forbidden by -the law to have any dealings with the Sabæan idolaters during the -week preceding their idolatrous feasts. But the doctors discussed the -case in which one of these idolaters owes you a bill; are you to let -him pay it during that week or not? The school of Shammai said 'No; -for he will want all his money to enjoy himself at the feast.' But -the school of Hillel said, 'Yes, let him pay it; for how can he enjoy -his feast while his bills are unpaid?' The question here is about the -consequences of an action; but there is no dispute about the moral -principle, which is that consideration and kindness are to be shown -to idolaters, even in the matter of their idolatrous rites. - -It seems, then, that we are no worse off than anybody else who has -studied this subject, in finding our materials ready made for us; -sufficiently definite meanings given in the common speech to the -words right and wrong, good and bad, with which we have to deal; -a fair body of facts familiarly known, which we have to organize and -account for as best we can. But our special inquiry is, what account -can be given of these facts by the scientific method? to which end -we cannot do better than fix our ideas as well as we can upon the -character and scope of that method. - -Now the scientific method is a method of getting knowledge by -inference, and that of two different kinds. One kind of inference is -that which is used in the physical and natural sciences, and it enables -us to go from known phenomena to unknown phenomena. Because a stone is -heavy in the morning, I infer that it will be heavy in the afternoon; -and I infer this by assuming a certain uniformity of nature. The sort -of uniformity that I assume depends upon the extent of my scientific -education; the rules of inference become more and more definite as we -go on. At first I might assume that all things are always alike; this -would not be true, but it has to be assumed in a vague way, in order -that a thing may have the same name at different times. Afterward I -get the more definite belief that certain particular qualities, like -weight, have nothing to do with the time of day; and subsequently -I find that weight has nothing to do with the shape of the stone, -but only with the quantity of it. The uniformity which we assume, -then, is not that vague one that we started with, but a chastened -and corrected uniformity. I might go on to suppose, for example, -that the weight of the stone had nothing to do with the place where -it was; and a great deal might be said for this supposition. It would, -however, have to be corrected when it was found that the weight varies -slightly in different latitudes. On the other hand, I should find that -this variation was just the same for my stone as for a piece of iron -or wood; that it had nothing to do with the kind of matter. And so I -might be led to the conclusion that all matter is heavy, and that the -weight of it depends only on its quantity and its position relative to -the earth. You see here that I go on arriving at conclusions always -of this form; that some one circumstance or quality has nothing -to do with some other circumstance or quality. I begin by assuming -that it is independent of everything; I end by finding that it is -independent of some definite things. That is, I begin by assuming -a vague uniformity. I always use this assumption to infer from some -one fact a great number of other facts; but as my education proceeds, -I get to know what sort of things may be inferred and what may not. An -observer of scientific mind takes note of just those things from which -inferences may be drawn, and passes by the rest. If an astronomer, -observing the sun, were to record the fact that at the moment when -a sun-spot began to shrink there was a rap at his front door, we -should know that he was not up to his work. But if he records that -sun-spots are thickest every eleven years, and that this is also -the period of extra cloudiness in Jupiter, the observation may or -may not be confirmed, and it may or may not lead to inferences of -importance; but still it is the kind of thing from which inferences -may be drawn. There is always a certain instinct among instructed -people which tells them in this way what kinds of inferences may be -drawn; and this is the unconscious effect of the definite uniformity -which they have been led to assume in nature. It may subsequently be -organized into a law or general truth, and no doubt becomes a surer -guide by that process. Then it goes to form the more precise instinct -of the next generation. - -What we have said about this first kind of inference, which goes -from phenomena to phenomena, is shortly this. It proceeds upon an -assumption of uniformity in nature; and this assumption is not fixed -and made once for all, but is a changing and growing thing, becoming -more definite as we go on. - -If I were told to pick out some one character which especially colors -this guiding conception of uniformity in our present stage of science, -I should certainly reply, Atomism. The form of this with which we are -most familiar is the molecular theory of bodies; which represents -all bodies as made up of small elements of uniform character, each -practically having relations only with the adjacent ones, and these -relations the same all through--namely, some simple mechanical -action upon each other's motions. But this is only a particular -case. A palace, a cottage, the tunnel of the underground railway, -and a factory chimney, are all built of bricks; the bricks are alike -in all these cases, each brick is practically related only to the -adjacent ones, and the relation is throughout the same, namely, two -flat sides are stuck together with mortar. There is an atomism in the -sciences of number, of quantity, of space; the theorems of geometry -are groupings of individual points, each related only to the adjacent -ones by certain definite laws. But what concerns us chiefly at present -is the atomism of human physiology. Just as every solid is built up -of molecules, so the nervous system is built up of nerve-threads and -nerve-corpuscles. We owe to Mr. Lewes our very best thanks for the -stress which he has laid on the doctrine that nerve-fiber is uniform -in structure and function, and for the word neurility, which expresses -its common properties. And similar gratitude is due to Dr. Hughlings -Jackson for his long defense of the proposition that the element -of nervous structure and function is a sensori-motor process. In -structure, this is two fibers or bundles of fibers going to the same -gray corpuscle; in function it is a message traveling up one fiber or -bundle to the corpuscle, and then down the other fiber or bundle. Out -of this, as a brick, the house of our life is built. All these simple -elementary processes are alike, and each is practically related only -to the adjacent ones; the relation being in all cases of the same kind, -viz., the passage from a simple to a complex message, or vice versâ. - -The result of atomism in any form, dealing with any subject, is that -the principle of uniformity is hunted down into the elements of things; -it is resolved into the uniformity of these elements or atoms, and of -the relations of those which are next to each other. By an element or -an atom we do not here mean something absolutely simple or indivisible, -for a molecule, a brick, and a nerve-process are all very complex -things. We only mean that, for the purpose in hand, the properties of -the still more complex thing which is made of them have nothing to do -with the complexities or the differences of these elements. The solid -made of molecules, the house made of bricks, the nervous system made -of sensori-motor processes, are nothing more than collections of these -practically uniform elements, having certain relations of nextness, -and behavior uniformly depending on that nextness. - -The inference of phenomena from phenomena, then, is based upon an -assumption of uniformity, which in the present stage of science may -be called an atomic uniformity. - -The other mode of inference which belongs to the scientific method is -that which is used in what are called the mental and moral sciences; -and it enables us to go from phenomena to the facts which underlie -phenomena, and which are themselves not phenomena at all. If I pinch -your arm, and you draw it away and make a face, I infer that you have -felt pain. I infer this by assuming that you have a consciousness -similar to my own, and related to your perception of your body as -my consciousness is related to my perception of my body. Now is this -the same assumption as before, a mere assumption of the uniformity of -nature? It certainly seems like it at first; but if we think about it -we shall find that there is a very profound difference between them. In -physical inference I go from phenomena to phenomena; that is, from the -knowledge of certain appearances or representations actually present -to my mind I infer certain other appearances that might be present to -my mind. From the weight of a stone in the morning--that is, from my -feeling of its weight, or my perception of the process of weighing -it, I infer that the stone will be heavy in the afternoon--that is, -I infer the possibility of similar feelings and perceptions in me at -another time. The whole process relates to me and my perceptions, to -things contained in my mind. But when I infer that you are conscious -from what you say or do, I pass from that which is my feeling or -perception, which is in my mind and part of me, to that which is -not my feeling at all, which is outside me altogether, namely, your -feelings and perceptions. Now there is no possible physical inference, -no inference of phenomena from phenomena, that will help me over -that gulf. I am obliged to admit that this second kind of inference -depends upon another assumption, not included in the assumption of -the uniformity of phenomena. - -How does a dream differ from waking life? In a fairly coherent dream -everything seems quite real, and it is rare, I think, with most -people to know in a dream that they are dreaming. Now, if a dream is -sufficiently vivid and coherent, all physical inferences are just -as valid in it as they are in waking life. In a hazy or imperfect -dream, it is true, things melt into one another unexpectedly and -unaccountably; we fly, remove mountains, and stop runaway horses -with a finger. But there is nothing in the mere nature of a dream to -hinder it from being an exact copy of waking experience. If I find -a stone heavy in one part of my dream, and infer that it is heavy -at some subsequent part, the inference will be verified if the dream -is coherent enough; I shall go to the stone, lift it up, and find it -as heavy as before. And the same thing is true of all inferences of -phenomena from phenomena. For physical purposes a dream is just as -good as real life; the only difference is in vividness and coherence. - -What, then, hinders us from saying that life is all a dream? If the -phenomena we dream of are just as good and real phenomena as those -we see and feel when we are awake, what right have we to say that the -material universe has any more existence apart from our minds than the -things we see and feel in our dreams? The answer which Berkeley gave -to that question was, No right at all. The physical universe which -I see and feel, and infer, is just my dream and nothing else; that -which you see is your dream; only it so happens that all our dreams -agree in many respects. This doctrine of Berkeley's has now been so -far confirmed by the physiology of the senses, that it is no longer -a metaphysical speculation, but a scientifically established fact. - -But there is a difference between dreams and waking life, which is of -far too great importance for any of us to be in danger of neglecting -it. When I see a man in my dream, there is just as good a body as if I -were awake; muscles, nerves, circulation, capability of adapting means -to ends. If only the dream is coherent enough, no physical test can -establish that it is a dream. In both cases I see and feel the same -thing. In both cases I assume the existence of more than I can see and -feel, namely, the consciousness of this other man. But now here is a -great difference, and the only difference--in a dream this assumption -is wrong; in waking life it is right. The man I see in my dream is -a mere machine, a bundle of phenomena with no underlying reality; -there is no consciousness involved except my consciousness, no feeling -in the case except my feelings. The man I see in waking life is more -than a bundle of phenomena; his body and its actions are phenomena, -but these phenomena are merely the symbols and representatives in my -mind of a reality which is outside my mind, namely, the consciousness -of the man himself which is represented by the working of his brain, -and the simpler quasi-mental facts, not woven into his consciousness, -which are represented by the working of the rest of his body. What -makes life not to be a dream is the existence of those facts which we -arrive at by our second process of inference; the consciousness of men -and the higher animals, the sub-consciousness of lower organisms and -the quasi-mental facts which go along with the motions of inanimate -matter. In a book which is very largely and deservedly known by heart, -'Through the Looking-glass,' there is a very instructive discussion -upon this point. Alice has been taken to see the Red King as he -lies snoring; and Tweedledee asks, 'Do you know what he is dreaming -about?' 'Nobody can guess that,' replies Alice. 'Why, about you,' -he says triumphantly. 'And if he stopped dreaming about you, where do -you suppose you'd be?' 'Where I am now of course,' said Alice. 'Not -you,' said Tweedledee, 'you'd be nowhere. You are only a sort of thing -in his dream.' 'If that there King was to wake,' added Tweedledum, -'you'd go out, bang! just like a candle.' Alice was quite right in -regarding these remarks as unphilosophical. The fact that she could -see, think, and feel was proof positive that she was not a sort -of thing in anybody's dream. This is the meaning of that saying, -Cogito ergo sum, of Descartes. By him, and by Spinoza after him, -the verb cogito and the substantive cogitatio were used to denote -consciousness in general, any kind of feeling, even what we now call -sub-consciousness. The saying means that feeling exists in and for -itself, not as a quality or modification or state or manifestation -of anything else. - -We are obliged in every hour of our lives to act upon beliefs which -have been arrived at by inferences of these two kinds; inferences based -on the assumption of uniformity in nature, and inferences which add to -this the assumption of feelings which are not our own. By organizing -the 'common sense' which embodies the first class of inferences, we -build up the physical sciences; that is to say, all those sciences -which deal with the physical, material, or phenomenal universe, -whether animate or inanimate. And so by organizing the common sense -which embodies the second class of inferences, we build up various -sciences of mind. The description and classification of feelings, the -facts of their association with each other, and of their simultaneity -with phenomena of nerve-action,--all this belongs to psychology, -which may be historical and comparative. The doctrine of certain -special classes of feelings is organized into the special sciences -of those feelings; thus the facts about the feelings which we are now -considering, about the feelings of moral approbation and reprobation, -are organized into the science of ethics and the facts about the -feeling of beauty or ugliness are organized into the science of -æsthetics, or, as it is sometimes called, the philosophy of art. For -all of these the uniformity of nature has to be assumed as a basis -of inference; but over and above that it is necessary to assume -that other men are conscious in the same way that I am. Now in these -sciences of mind, just as in the physical sciences, the uniformity -which is assumed in the inferred mental facts is a growing thing which -becomes more definite as we go on, and each successive generation of -observers knows better what to observe and what sort of inferences -may be drawn from observed things. But, moreover, it is as true of -the mental sciences as of the physical ones that the uniformity is in -the present stage of science an atomic uniformity. We have learned to -regard our consciousness as made up of elements practically alike, -having relations of succession in time and of contiguity at each -instant, which relations are in all cases practically the same. The -element of consciousness is the transference of an impression into -the beginning of action. Our mental life is a structure made out of -such elements, just as the working of our nervous system is made out -of sensori-motor processes. And accordingly the interaction of the -two branches of science leads us to regard the mental facts as the -realities or things-in-themselves, of which the material phenomena are -mere pictures or symbols. The final result seems to be that atomism is -carried beyond phenomena into the realities which phenomena represent; -and that the observed uniformities of nature, in so far as they can -be expressed in the language of atomism, are actual uniformities of -things in themselves. - -So much for the two things which I have promised to bring together; the -facts of our moral feelings, and the scientific method. It may appear -that the latter has been expounded at more length than was necessary -for the treatment of this particular subject; but the justification for -this length is to be found in certain common objections to the claims -of science to be the sole judge of mental and moral questions. Some -of the chief of these objections I will now mention. - -It is sometimes said that science can only deal with what is, -but that art and morals deal with what ought to be. The saying is -perfectly true, but it is quite consistent with what is equally true, -that the facts of art and morals are fit subject-matter of science. I -may describe all that I have in my house, and I may state everything -that I want in my house; these are two very different things, but they -are equally statements of facts. One is a statement about phenomena, -about the objects which are actually in my possession; the other is -a statement about my feelings, about my wants and desires. There are -facts, to be got at by common sense, about the kind of thing that a -man of a certain character and occupation will like to have in his -house, and these facts may be organized into general statements on the -assumption of uniformity in nature. Now the organized results of common -sense dealing with facts are just science and nothing else. And in the -same way I may say what men do at the present day, how we live now, -or I may say what we ought to do, namely, what course of conduct, -if adopted, we should morally approve; and no doubt these would be -two very different things. But each of them would be a statement of -facts. One would belong to the sociology of our time; in so far as -men's deeds could not be adequately described to us without some -account of their feelings and intentions, it would involve facts -belonging to psychology as well as facts belonging to the physical -sciences. But the other would be an account of a particular class of -our feelings, namely, those which we feel toward an action when it is -regarded as right or wrong. These facts may be organized by common -sense on the assumption of uniformity in nature just as well as any -other facts. And we shall see farther on that not only in this sense, -but in a deeper and more abstract sense, 'what ought to be done' -is a question for scientific inquiry. - -The same objection is sometimes put into another form. It is said -that laws of chemistry, for example, are general statements about -what happens when bodies are treated in a certain way, and that such -laws are fit matter for science; but that moral laws are different, -because they tell us to do certain things, and we may or may not obey -them. The mood of the one is indicative, of the other imperative. Now -it is quite true that the word law in the expression 'law of nature,' -and in the expressions 'law of morals,' 'law of the land,' has two -totally different meanings, which no educated person will confound; and -I am not aware that any one has rested the claim of science to judge -moral questions on what is no better than a stale and unprofitable -pun. But two different things may be equally matters of scientific -investigation, even when their names are alike in sound. A telegraph -post is not the same thing as a post in the War Office, and yet the -same intelligence may be used to investigate the conditions of the -one and the other. That such and such things are right or wrong, -that such and such laws are laws of morals or laws of the land, -these are facts, just as the laws of chemistry are facts; and all -facts belong to science, and are her portion forever. - -Again, it is sometimes said that moral questions have been -authoritatively settled by other methods; that we ought to accept this -decision, and not to question it by any method of scientific inquiry; -and that reason should give way to revelation on such matters. I -hope before I have done to show just cause why we should pronounce on -such teaching as this no light sentence of moral condemnation: first, -because it is our duty to form those beliefs which are to guide our -actions by the two scientific modes of inference, and by these alone; -and, secondly, because the proposed mode of settling ethical questions -by authority is contrary to the very nature of right and wrong. - -Leaving this, then, for the present, I pass on to the most formidable -objection that has been made to a scientific treatment of ethics. The -objection is that the scientific method is not applicable to human -action, because the rule of uniformity does not hold good. Whenever -a man exercises his will, and makes a voluntary choice of one out of -various possible courses, an event occurs whose relation to contiguous -events cannot be included in a general statement applicable to all -similar cases. There is something wholly capricious and disorderly, -belonging to that moment only; and we have no right to conclude -that if the circumstances were exactly repeated, and the man himself -absolutely unaltered, he would choose the same course. - -It is clear that if the doctrine here stated is true, the ground is -really cut from under our feet, and we cannot deal with human action -by the scientific method. I shall endeavor to show, moreover, that in -this case, although we might still have a feeling of moral approbation -or reprobation toward actions, yet we could not reasonably praise or -blame men for their deeds, nor regard them as morally responsible. So -that, if my contention is just, to deprive us of the scientific method -is practically to deprive us of morals altogether. On both grounds, -therefore, it is of the greatest importance that we should define -our position in regard to this controversy; if, indeed, that can be -called a controversy in which the practical belief of all mankind -and the consent of nearly all serious writers are on one side. - -Let us in the first place consider a little more closely the connection -between conscience and responsibility. Words in common use, such as -these two, have their meanings practically fixed before difficult -controversies arise; but after the controversy has arisen each party -gives that slight tinge to the meaning which best suits its own view -of the question. Thus it appears to each that the common language -obviously supports their own view, that this is the natural and primary -view of the matter, and that the opponents are using words in a new -meaning and wrestling them from their proper sense. Now this is just -my position. I have endeavored so far to use all words in their common -every-day sense, only making this as precise as I can; and, with two -exceptions, of which due warning will be given, I shall do my best -to continue this practice in future. I seem to myself to be talking -the most obvious platitudes; but it must be remembered that those who -take the opposite view will think I am perverting the English language. - -There is a common meaning of the word 'responsible,' which though -not the same as that of the phrase 'morally responsible,' may throw -some light upon it. If we say of a book, 'A is responsible for the -preface and the first half, and B is responsible for the rest,' -we mean that A wrote the preface and the first half. If two people -go into a shop and choose a blue silk dress together, it might be -said that A was responsible for its being silk and B for its being -blue. Before they chose, the dress was undetermined both in color -and in material. A's choice fixed the material, and then it was -undetermined only in color. B's choice fixed the color; and if we -suppose that there were no more variable conditions (only one blue -silk dress in the shop), the dress was then completely determined. In -this sense of the word we say that a man is responsible for that part -of an event which was undetermined when he was left out of account, -and which became determined when he was taken account of. Suppose -two narrow streets, one lying north and south, one east and west, -and crossing one another. A man is put down where they cross, and -has to walk. Then he must walk either north, south, east, or west, -and he is not responsible for that; what he is responsible for is the -choice of one of these four directions. May we not say in the present -sense of the word that the external circumstances are responsible for -the restriction on his choice? We should mean only that the fact of -his going in one or other of the four directions was due to external -circumstances, and not to him. Again, suppose I have a number of -punches of various shapes, some square, some oblong, some oval, some -round, and that I am going to punch a hole in a piece of paper. Where -I shall punch the hole may be fixed by any kind of circumstances; -but the shape of the hole depends on the punch I take. May we not say -that the punch is responsible for the shape of the hole, but not for -the position of it? - -It may be said that this is not the whole of the meaning of the word -'responsible,' even in its loosest sense; that it ought never to be -used except of a conscious agent. Still this is part of its meaning; -if we regard an event as determined by a variety of circumstances, -a man's choice being among them, we say that he is responsible for -just that choice which is left him by the other circumstances. - -When we ask the practical question, 'Who is responsible for -so-and-so?' we want to find out who is to be got at in order that -so-and-so may be altered. If I want to change the shape of the hole -I make in my paper, I must change my punch; but this will be of -no use if I want to change the position of the hole. If I want the -color of the dress changed from blue to green, it is B, and not A, -that I must persuade. - -We mean something more than this when we say that a man is morally -responsible for an action. It seems to me that moral responsibility -and conscience go together, both in regard to the man and in regard -to the action. In order that a man may be morally responsible for an -action, the man must have a conscience, and the action must be one in -regard to which conscience is capable of acting as a motive, that is, -the action must be capable of being right or wrong. If a child were -left on a desert island and grew up wholly without a conscience, and -then were brought among men, he would not be morally responsible for -his actions until he had acquired a conscience by education. He would -of course be responsible, in the sense just explained, for that part -of them which was left undetermined by external circumstances, and -if we wanted to alter his actions in these respects we should have -to do it by altering him. But it would be useless and unreasonable -to attempt to do this by means of praise or blame, the expression of -moral approbation or disapprobation, until he had acquired a conscience -which could be worked upon by such means. - -It seems, then, that in order that a man may be morally responsible -for an action, three things are necessary:-- - -1. He might have done something else; that is to say, the action was -not wholly determined by external circumstances, and he is responsible -only for the choice which was left him. - -2. He had a conscience. - -3. The action was one in regard to the doing or not doing of which -conscience might be a sufficient motive. - -These three things are necessary, but it does not follow that they -are sufficient. It is very commonly said that the action must be a -voluntary one. It will be found, I think, that this is contained in my -third condition, and also that the form of statement I have adopted -exhibits more clearly the reason why the condition is necessary. We -may say that an action is involuntary either when it is instinctive, -or when one motive is so strong that there is no voluntary choice -between motives. An involuntary cough produced by irritation of -the glottis is no proper subject for blame or praise. A man is not -responsible for it, because it is done by a part of his body without -consulting him. What is meant by him in this case will require further -investigation. Again, when a dipsomaniac has so great and overmastering -an inclination to drink that we cannot conceive of conscience being -strong enough to conquer it, he is not responsible for that act, though -he may be responsible for having got himself into the state. But if -it is conceivable that a very strong conscience fully brought to bear -might succeed in conquering the inclination, we may take a lenient -view of the fall and say there was a very strong temptation, but we -shall still regard it as a fall, and say that the man is responsible -and a wrong has been done. - -But since it is just in this distinction between voluntary and -involuntary action that the whole crux of the matter lies, let -us examine more closely into it. I say that when I cough or sneeze -involuntarily, it is really not I that cough or sneeze, but a part of -my body which acts without consulting me. This action is determined -for me by the circumstances, and is not part of the choice that -is left to me, so that I am not responsible for it. The question -comes then to determining how much is to be called circumstances, -and how much is to be called me. Now I want to describe what happens -when I voluntarily do anything, and there are two courses open to -me. I may describe the things in themselves, my feelings and the -general course of my consciousness, trusting to the analogy between -my consciousness and yours to make me understood; or I may describe -these things as nature describes them to your senses, namely in terms -of the phenomena of my nervous system, appealing to your memory of -phenomena and your knowledge of physical action. I shall do both, -because in some respects our knowledge is more complete from the -one source, and in some respects from the other. When I look back -and reflect upon a voluntary action, I seem to find that it differs -from an involuntary action in the fact that a certain portion of my -character has been consulted. There is always a suggestion of some -sort, either the end of a train of thought or a new sensation; and -there is an action ensuing, either the movement of a muscle or set -of muscles, or the fixing of attention upon something. But between -these two there is a consultation, as it were, of my past history. The -suggestion is viewed in the light of everything bearing on it that I -think of at the time, and in virtue of this light it moves me to act in -one or more ways. Let us first suppose that no hesitation is involved, -that only one way of acting is suggested, and I yield to this impulse -and act in the particular way. This is the simplest kind of voluntary -action. It differs from involuntary or instinctive action in the fact -that with the latter there is no such conscious consultation of past -history. If we describe these facts in terms of the phenomena which -picture them to other minds, we shall say that in involuntary action a -message passes straight through from the sensory to the motor center, -and so on to the muscles, without consulting the cerebrum; while -involuntary action the message is passed on from the sensory center -to the cerebrum, there translated into appropriate motor stimuli, -carried down to the motor center, and so on to the muscles. There -may be other differences, but at least there is this difference. Now -on the physical side that which determines, what groups of cerebral -fibers shall be set at work by the given message, and what groups of -motor stimuli shall be set at work by these, is the mechanism of my -brain at the time; and on the mental side that which determines what -memories shall be called up by the given sensation, and what motives -these memories shall bring into action, is my mental character. We -may say, then, in this simplest case of voluntary action, that when -the suggestion is given it is the character of me which determines -the character of the ensuing action; and consequently that I am -responsible for choosing that particular course out of those which -were left open to me by the external circumstances. - -This is when I yield to the impulse. But suppose I do not; suppose -that the original suggestion, viewed in the light of memory, sets -various motives in action, each motive belonging to a certain class -of things which I remember. Then I choose which of these motives -shall prevail. Those who carefully watch themselves find out that a -particular motive is made to prevail by the fixing of the attention -upon that class of remembered things which calls up the motive. The -physical side of this is the sending of blood to a certain set of -nerves--namely, those whose action corresponds to the memories which -are to be attended to. The sending of blood is accomplished by the -pinching of arteries; and there are special nerves, called vaso-motor -nerves, whose business it is to carry messages to the walls of the -arteries and get them pinched. Now this act of directing the attention -may be voluntary or involuntary just like any other act. When the -transformed and re-enforced nerve-message gets to the vaso-motor -center, some part of it may be so predominant that a message goes -straight off to the arteries, and sends a quantity of blood to the -nerves supplying that part; or the call for blood may be sent back -for revision by the cerebrum, which is thus again consulted. To say -the same thing in terms of my feelings, a particular class of memories -roused by the original suggestion may seize upon my attention before I -have time to choose what I will attend to; or the appeal may be carried -to a deeper part of my character dealing with wider and more abstract -conceptions, which views the conflicting motives in the light of a -past experience of motives, and by that light is drawn to one or the -other of them. - -We thus get to a sort of motive of the second order or motive of -motives. Is there any reason why we should not go on to a motive of -the third order, and the fourth, and so on? None whatever that I know -of, except that no one has ever observed such a thing. There seems -plenty of room for the requisite mechanism on the physical side; -and no one can say, on the mental side, how complex is the working -of his consciousness. But we must carefully distinguish between the -intellectual deliberation about motives, which applies to the future -and the past, and the practical choice of motives in the moment of -will. The former may be a train of any length and complexity: we have -no reason to believe that the latter is more than engine and tender. - -We are now in a position to classify actions in respect of the kind -of responsibility which belongs to them; namely we have-- - -1. Involuntary or instinctive actions. - -2. Voluntary actions in which the choice of motives is involuntary. - -3. Voluntary actions in which the choice of motives is voluntary. - -In each of these cases what is responsible is that part of my character -which determines what the action shall be. For instinctive actions we -do not say that I am responsible, because the choice is made before -I know anything about it. For voluntary actions I am responsible, -because I make the choice; that is, the character of me is what -determines the character of the action. In me, then, for this purpose, -is included the aggregate of links of association which determines -what memories shall be called up by a given suggestion, and what -motives shall be set at work by these memories. But we distinguish -this mass of passions and pleasures, desire and knowledge and pain, -which makes up most of my character at the moment, from that inner -and deeper motive-choosing self which is called Reason, and the Will, -and the Ego; which is only responsible when motives are voluntarily -chosen by directing attention to them. It is responsible only for -the choice of one motive out of those presented to it, not for the -nature of the motives which are presented. - -But again, I may reasonably be blamed for what I did yesterday, -or a week ago, or last year. This is because I am permanent; in -so far as from my actions of that date an inference may be drawn -about my character now, it is reasonable that I should be treated as -praiseworthy or blamable. And within certain limits I am for the same -reason responsible for what I am now, because within certain limits -I have made myself. Even instinctive actions are dependent in many -cases upon habits which may be altered by proper attention and care; -and still more the nature of the connections between sensation and -action, the associations of memory and motive, may be voluntarily -modified if I choose to try. The habit of choosing among motives -is one which may be acquired and strengthened by practice, and the -strength of particular motives, by continually directing attention -to them, may be almost indefinitely increased or diminished. Thus, -if by me is meant not the instantaneous me of this moment, but the -aggregate me of my past life, or even of the last year, the range of -my responsibility is very largely increased. I am responsible for a -very large portion of the circumstances which are now external to me; -that is to say, I am responsible for certain of the restrictions on -my own freedom. As the eagle was shot with an arrow that flew on its -own feather, so I find myself bound with fetters of my proper forging. - -Let us now endeavor to conceive an action which is not determined in -any way by the character of the agent. If we ask, 'What makes it to be -that action and no other?' we are told, 'The man's Ego.' The words are -here used, it seems to me, in some non-natural sense, if in any sense -at all. One thing makes another to be what it is when the characters -of the two things are connected together by some general statement -or rule. But we have to suppose that the character of the action is -not connected with the character of the Ego by any general statement -or rule. With the same Ego and the same circumstances of all kinds, -anything within the limits imposed by the circumstances may happen -at any moment. I find myself unable to conceive any distinct sense -in which responsibility could apply in this case; nor do I see at -all how it would be reasonable to use praise or blame. If the action -does not depend on the character, what is the use of trying to alter -the character? Suppose, however, that this indeterminateness is only -partial; that the character does add some restrictions to those already -imposed by circumstances, but leaves the choice between certain actions -undetermined, and to be settled by chance or the transcendental Ego. Is -it not clear that the man would be responsible for precisely that part -of the character of the action which was determined by his character, -and not for what was left undetermined by it? For it is just that -part which was determined by his character which it is reasonable to -try to alter by altering him. - -We who believe in uniformity are not the only people unable to conceive -responsibility without it. These are the words of Sir W. Hamilton, -as quoted by Mr. J. S. Mill:-- [5] - -'Nay, were we even to admit as true what we cannot think as possible, -still the doctrine of a motiveless volition would be only casualism; -and the free acts of an indifferent are, morally and rationally, -as worthless as the pre-ordered passions of a determined will.' - -'That, though inconceivable, a motiveless volition would, if conceived, -be conceived as morally worthless, only shows our impotence more -clearly.' - -'Is the person an original undetermined cause of the determination -of his will? If he be not, then he is not a free agent, and the -scheme of Necessity is admitted. If he be, in the first place, it is -impossible to conceive the possibility of this; and in the second, -if the fact, though inconceivable, be allowed, it is impossible to -see how a cause, undetermined by any motive, can be a rational, moral, -and accountable cause.' - -It is true that Hamilton also says that the scheme of necessity is -inconceivable, because it leads to an infinite non-commencement; -and that 'the possibility of morality depends on the possibility of -liberty; for if a man be not a free agent, he is not the author of his -actions, and has, therefore, no responsibility--no moral personality -at all.' - -I know nothing about necessity; I only believe that nature is -practically uniform even in human action. I know nothing about -an infinitely distant past; I only know that I ought to base on -uniformity those inferences which are to guide my actions. But that -man is a free agent appears to me obvious, and that in the natural -sense of the words. We need ask for no better definition than Kant's:-- - -'Will is a kind of causality belonging to living agents, in so -far as they are rational; and freedom is such a property of that -causality as enables them to be efficient agents independently of -outside causes determining them; as, on the other hand, necessity -(Naturnothwendigkeit) is that property of all irrational beings which -consists in their being determined to activity by the influence of -outside causes.' ('Metaphysics of Ethics,' chap. iii.) - -I believe that I am a free agent when my actions are independent of -the control of circumstances outside me; and it seems a misuse of -language to call me a free agent if my actions are determined by a -transcendental Ego who is independent of the circumstances inside -me--that is to say, of my character. The expression 'free will' has -unfortunately been imported into mental science from a theological -controversy rather different from the one we are now considering. It -is surely too much to expect that good and serviceable English words -should be sacrificed to a phantom. - -In an admirable book, 'The Methods of Ethics,' Mr. Henry Sidgwick -has stated, with supreme fairness and impartiality, both sides -of this question. After setting forth the 'almost overwhelming -cumulative proof' of uniformity in human action, he says that it -seems 'more than balanced by a single argument on the other side: -the immediate affirmation of consciousness in the moment of deliberate -volition.' 'No amount of experience of the sway of motives ever tends -to make me distrust my intuitive consciousness that in resolving, -after deliberation, I exercise free choice as to which of the motives -acting upon me shall prevail.' - -The only answer to this argument is that it is not 'on the other -side.' There is no doubt about the deliverance of consciousness; and -even if our powers of self-observation had not been acute enough to -discover it, the existence of some choice between motives would be -proved by the existence of vaso-motor nerves. But perhaps the most -instructive way of meeting arguments of this kind is to inquire what -consciousness ought to say in order that its deliverances may be of -any use in the controversy. It is affirmed, on the side of uniformity, -that the feelings in my consciousness in the moment of voluntary choice -have been preceded by facts out of my consciousness which are related -to them in a uniform manner, so that if the previous facts had been -accurately known the voluntary choice might have been predicted. On -the other side this is denied. To be of any use in the controversy, -then, the immediate deliverance of my consciousness must be competent -to assure me of the non-existence of something which by hypothesis -is not in my consciousness. Given an absolutely dark room, can my -sense of sight assure me that there is no one but myself in it? Can -my sense of hearing assure me that nothing inaudible is going on? As -little can the immediate deliverance of my consciousness assure me -that the uniformity of nature does not apply to human actions. - -It is perhaps necessary, in connection with this question, to refer -to that singular Materialism of high authority and recent date which -makes consciousness a physical agent, 'correlates' it with Light -and Nerve-force, and so reduces it to an objective phenomenon. This -doctrine is founded on a common and very useful mode of speech, in -which we say, for example, that a good fire is a source of pleasure -on a cold day, and that a man's feeling of chill may make him run to -it. But so also we say that the sun rises and sets every morning and -night, although the man in the moon sees clearly that this is due -to the rotation of the earth. One cannot be pedantic all day. But -if we choose for once to be pedantic, the matter is after all very -simple. Suppose that I am made to run by feeling a chill. When I -begin to move my leg, I may observe if I like a double series of -facts. I have the feeling of effort, the sensation of motion in -my leg; I feel the pressure of my foot on the ground. Along with -this I may see with my eyes, or feel with my hands, the motion of -my leg as a material object. The first series of facts belongs to -me alone; the second may be equally observed by anybody else. The -mental series began first; I willed to move my leg before I saw it -move. But when I know more about the matter, I can trace the material -series further back, and find nerve-messages going to the muscles of -my leg to make it move. But I had a feeling of chill before I chose -to move my leg. Accordingly, I can find nerve-messages, excited by -the contraction due to the low temperature, going to my brain from -the chilled skin. Assuming the uniformity of nature, I carry forward -and backward both the mental and the material series. A uniformity -is observed in each, and a parallelism is observed between them, -whenever observations can be made. But sometimes one series is known -better, and sometimes the other; so that in telling a story we quite -naturally speak sometimes of mental facts and sometimes of material -facts. A feeling of chill made a man run; strictly speaking, the -nervous disturbance which co-existed with that feeling of chill made -him run, if we want to talk about material facts; or the feeling of -chill produced the form of sub-consciousness which co-exists with -the motion of legs, if we want to talk about mental facts. But we -know nothing about the special nervous disturbance which co-exists -with a feeling of chill, because it has not yet been localized in the -brain; and we know nothing about the form of sub-consciousness which -co-exists with the motion of legs; although there is very good reason -for believing in the existence of both. So we talk about the feeling -of chill and the running, because in one case we know the mental side, -and in the other the material side. A man might show me a picture of -the battle of Gravelotte, and say, 'You can't see the battle, because -it's all over, but there is a picture of it.' And then he might put -a chassepot into my hand, and say, 'We could not represent the whole -construction of a chassepot in the picture, but you can examine this -one, and find it out.' If I now insisted on mixing up the two modes -of communication of knowledge, if I expected that the chassepots -in the picture would go off, and said that the one in my hand was -painted on heavy canvas, I should be acting exactly in the spirit -of the new materialism. For the material facts are a representation -or symbol of the mental facts, just as a picture is a representation -or symbol of a battle. And my own mind is a reality from which I can -judge by analogy of the realities represented by other men's brains, -just as the chassepot in my hand is a reality from which I can judge by -analogy of the chassepots represented in the picture. When, therefore, -we ask, 'What is the physical link between the ingoing message from -chilled skin and the outgoing message which moves the leg?' and the -answer is, 'A man's Will,' we have as much right to be amused as -if we had asked our friend with the picture what pigment was used -in painting the cannon in the foreground, and received the answer, -'Wrought iron.' It will be found excellent practice in the mental -operations required by this doctrine to imagine a train, the fore part -of which is an engine and three carriages linked with iron couplings, -and the hind part three other carriages linked with iron couplings; -the bond between the two parts being made out of the sentiments of -amity subsisting between the stoker and the guard. - -To sum up: the uniformity of nature in human actions has been -denied on the ground that it takes away responsibility, that it is -contradicted by the testimony of consciousness, and that there is a -physical correlation between mind and matter. We have replied that -the uniformity of nature is necessary to responsibility, that it is -affirmed by the testimony of consciousness whenever consciousness is -competent to testify, and that matter is the phenomenon or symbol of -which mind or quasi-mind is the symbolized and represented thing. We -are now free to continue our inquiries on the supposition that nature -is uniform. - -We began by describing the moral sense of an Englishman. No doubt -the description would serve very well for the more civilized nations -of Europe; most closely for Germans and Dutch. But the fact that we -can speak in this way discloses that there is more than one moral -sense, and that what I feel to be right another man may feel to -be wrong. Thus we cannot help asking whether there is any reason -for preferring one moral sense to another; whether the question, -'What is right to do?' has in any one set of circumstances a single -answer which can be definitely known. - -Clearly, in the first rough sense of the word, this is not true. What -is right for me to do now, seeing that I am here with a certain -character, and a certain moral sense as part of it, is just what -I feel to be right. The individual conscience is, in the moment -of volition, the only possible judge of what is right; there is -no conflicting claim. But if we are deliberating about the future, -we know that we can modify our conscience gradually by associating -with people, reading certain books, and paying attention to certain -ideas and feelings; and we may ask ourselves, 'How shall we modify -our conscience, if at all? what kind of conscience shall we try to -get? what is the best conscience?' We may ask similar questions about -our sense of taste. There is no doubt at present that the nicest things -to me are the things I like; but I know that I can train myself to -like some things and dislike others, and that things which are very -nasty at one time may come to be great delicacies at another. I may -ask, 'How shall I train myself? What is the best taste?' And this -leads very naturally to putting the question in another form, namely, -'What is taste good for? What is the purpose or function of taste?' We -should probably find as the answer to that question that the purpose or -function of taste is to discriminate wholesome food from unwholesome; -that it is a matter of stomach and digestion. It will follow from -this that the best taste is that which prefers wholesome food, and -that by cultivating a preference for wholesome and nutritious things -I shall be training my palate in the way it should go. In just the -same way our question about the best conscience will resolve itself -into a question about the purpose or function of the conscience--why -we have got it, and what it is good for. - -Now to my mind the simplest and clearest and most profound philosophy -that was ever written upon this subject is to be found in the 2d and -3d chapters of Mr. Darwin's 'Descent of Man.' In these chapters it -appears that just as most physical characteristics of organisms have -been evolved and preserved because they were useful to the individual -in the struggle for existence against other individuals and other -species, so this particular feeling has been evolved and preserved -because it is useful to the tribe or community in the struggle for -existence against other tribes, and against the environment as a -whole. The function of conscience is the preservation of the tribe -as a tribe. And we shall rightly train our consciences if we learn -to approve those actions which tend to the advantage of the community -in the struggle for existence. - -There are here some words, however, which require careful -definition. And first the word purpose. A thing serves a purpose -when it is adapted to some end; thus a corkscrew is adapted to the -end of extracting corks from bottles, and our lungs are adapted to -the end of respiration. We may say that the extraction of corks is -the purpose of the corkscrew, and that respiration is the purpose -of the lungs. But here we shall have used the word in two different -senses. A man made the corkscrew with a purpose in his mind, and he -knew and intended that it should be used for pulling out corks. But -nobody made our lungs with a purpose in his mind, and intended that -they should be used for breathing. The respiratory apparatus was -adapted to its purpose by natural selection--namely, by the gradual -preservation of better and better adaptations, and the killing off of -the worse and imperfect adaptations. In using the word purpose for -the result of this unconscious process of adaptation by survival of -the fittest, I know that I am somewhat extending its ordinary sense, -which implies consciousness. But it seems to me that on the score -of convenience there is a great deal to be said for this extension -of meaning. We want a word to express the adaptation of means to an -end, whether involving consciousness or not; the word purpose will do -very well, and the adjective purposive has already been used in this -sense. But if the use is admitted, we must distinguish two kinds of -purpose. There is the unconscious purpose which is attained by natural -selection, in which no consciousness need be concerned; and there -is the conscious purpose of an intelligence which designs a thing -that it may serve to do something which he desires to be done. The -distinguishing mark of this second kind, design or conscious purpose, -is that in the consciousness of the agent there is an image or symbol -of the end which he desires, and this precedes and determines the use -of the means. Thus the man who first invented a corkscrew must have -previously known that corks were in bottles, and have desired to get -them out. We may describe this if we like in terms of matter, and say -that a purpose of the second kind implies a complex nervous system, -in which there can be formed an image or symbol of the end, and that -this symbol determines the use of the means. The nervous image or -symbol of anything is that mode of working of part of my brain which -goes on simultaneously and is correlated with my thinking of the thing. - -Aristotle defines an organism as that in which the part exists for the -sake of the whole. It is not that the existence of the part depends -on the existence of the whole, for every whole exists only as an -aggregate of parts related in a certain way; but that the shape and -nature of the part are determined by the wants of the whole. Thus -the shape and nature of my foot are what they are, not for the sake -of my foot itself, but for the sake of my whole body, and because it -wants to move about. That which the part has to do for the whole is -called its function. Thus the function of my foot is to support me, -and assist in locomotion. Not all the nature of the part is necessarily -for the sake of the whole: the comparative callosity of the skin of -my sole is for the protection of my foot itself. - -Society is an organism, and man in society is part of an organism -according to this definition, in so far as some portion of the -nature of man is what it is for the sake of the whole--society. Now -conscience is such a portion of the nature of man, and its function -is the preservation of society in the struggle for existence. We may -be able to define this function more closely when we know more about -the way in which conscience tends to preserve society. - -Next let us endeavor to make precise the meaning of the words community -and society. It is clear that at different times men may be divided -into groups of greater or less extent--tribes, clans, families, -nations, towns. If a certain number of clans are struggling for -existence, that portion of the conscience will be developed which -tends to the preservation of the clan; so, if towns or families are -struggling, we shall get a moral sense adapted to the advantage of the -town or the family. In this way different portions of the moral sense -may be developed at different stages of progress. Now it is clear that -for the purpose of the conscience the word community at any time will -mean a group of that size and nature which is being selected or not -selected for survival as a whole. Selection may be going on at the -same time among many different kinds of groups. And ultimately the -moral sense will be composed of various portions relating to various -groups, the function or purpose of each portion being the advantage -of that group to which it relates in the struggle for existence. Thus -we have a sense of family duty, of municipal duty, of national duty, -and of duties toward all mankind. - -It is to be noticed that part of the nature of a smaller group may -be what it is for the sake of a larger group to which it belongs; -and then we may speak of the function of the smaller group. Thus it -appears probable that the family, in the form in which it now exists -among us, is determined by the good of the nation; and we may say -that the function of the family is to promote the advantage of the -nation or larger society in some certain ways. But I do not think it -would be right to follow Auguste Comte in speaking of the function -of humanity; because humanity is obviously not a part of any larger -organism for whose sake it is what it is. - -Now that we have cleared up the meanings of some of our words, we -are still a great way from the definite solution of our question, -'What is the best conscience? or what ought I to think right?' For -we do not yet know what is for the advantage of the community in the -struggle for existence. If we choose to learn by the analogy of an -individual organism, we may see that no permanent or final answer can -be given, because the organism grows in consequence of the struggle, -and develops new wants while it is satisfying the old ones. But -at any given time it has quite enough to do to keep alive and to -avoid dangers and diseases. So we may expect that the wants and even -the necessities of the social organism will grow with its growth, -and that it is impossible to predict what may tend in the distant -future to its advantage in the struggle for existence. But still, -in this vague and general statement of the functions of conscience, -we shall find that we have already established a great deal. - -In the first place, right is an affair of the community, and must not -be referred to anything else. To go back to our analogy of taste: if -I tried to persuade you that the best palate was that which preferred -things pretty to look at, you might condemn me à priori without any -experience, by merely knowing that taste is an affair of stomach and -digestion--that its function is to select wholesome food. And so, -if any one tries to persuade us that the best conscience is that -which thinks it right to obey the will of some individual, as a deity -or a monarch, he is condemned à priori in the very nature of right -and wrong. In order that the worship of a deity may be consistent -with natural ethics, he must be regarded as the friend and helper of -humanity, and his character must be judged from his actions by a moral -standard which is independent of him. And this, it must be admitted, -is the position which has been taken by most English divines, as long -as they were Englishmen first and divines afterward. The worship of -a deity who is represented as unfair or unfriendly to any portion of -the community is a wrong thing, however great may be the threats and -promises by which it is commended. And still worse, the reference of -right and wrong to his arbitrary will as a standard, the diversion -of the allegiance of the moral sense from the community to him, is -the most insidious and fatal of social diseases. It was against this -that the Teutonic conscience protested in the Reformation. Again, in -monarchical countries, in order that allegiance to the sovereign may -be consistent with natural ethics, he must be regarded as the servant -and symbol of the national unity, capable of rebellion and punishable -for it. And this has been the theory of the English constitution from -time immemorial. - -The first principle of natural ethics, then, is the sole and supreme -allegiance of conscience to the community. I venture to call this piety -in accordance with the older meaning of the word. Even if it should -turn out impossible to sever it from the unfortunate associations which -have clung to its later meaning, still it seems worth while to try. - -An immediate deduction from our principle is that there are no -self-regarding virtues properly so called; those qualities which -tend to the advantage and preservation of the individual being only -morally right in so far as they make him a more useful citizen. And -this conclusion is in some cases of great practical importance. The -virtue of purity, for example, attains in this way a fairly exact -definition: purity in a man is that course of conduct which makes him -to be a good husband and father, in a woman that which makes her to be -a good wife and mother, or which helps other people so to prepare and -keep themselves. It is easy to see how many false ideas and pernicious -precepts are swept away by even so simple a definition as that. - -Next, we may fairly define our position in regard to that moral -system which has deservedly found favor with the great mass of our -countrymen. In the common statement of utilitarianism the end of -right action is defined to be the greatest happiness of the greatest -number. It seems to me that the reason and the ample justification -of the success of this system is that it explicitly sets forth the -community as the object of moral allegiance. But our determination -of the purpose of the conscience will oblige us to make a change in -the statement of it. Happiness is not the end of right action. My -happiness is of no use to the community except in so far as it makes -me a more efficient citizen; that is to say, it is rightly desired as -a means and not as an end. The end may be described as the greatest -efficiency of all citizens as such. No doubt happiness will in the -long run accrue to the community as a consequence of right conduct; -but the right is determined independently of the happiness, and, -as Plato says, it is better to suffer wrong than to do wrong. - -In conclusion, I would add some words on the relation of Veracity to -the first principle of Piety. It is clear that veracity is founded on -faith in man; you tell a man the truth when you can trust him with it -and are not afraid. This perhaps is made more evident by considering -the case of exception allowed by all moralists--namely, that if a man -asks you the way with a view to committing a murder, it is right to -tell a lie and misdirect him. The reason why he must not have the truth -told him is that he would make a bad use of it; he cannot be trusted -with it. About these cases of exception an important remark must be -made in passing. When we hear that a man has told a lie under such -circumstances, we are indeed ready to admit that for once it was right, -mensonge admirable; but we always have a sort of feeling that it must -not occur again. And the same thing applies to cases of conflicting -obligations, when for example the family conscience and the national -conscience disagree. In such cases no general rule can be laid down; we -have to choose the less of two evils; but this is not right altogether -in the same sense as it is right to speak the truth. There is something -wrong in the circumstances, that we should have to choose an evil at -all. The actual course to be pursued will vary with the progress of -society; that evil which at first was greater will become less, and -in a perfect society the conflict will be resolved into harmony. But -meanwhile these cases of exception must be carefully kept distinct -from the straightforward cases of right and wrong, and they always -imply an obligation to mend the circumstances if we can. - -Veracity to an individual is not only enjoined by piety in virtue of -the obvious advantage which attends a straightforward and mutually -trusting community as compared with others, but also because deception -is in all cases a personal injury. Still more is this true of veracity -to the community itself. The conception of the universe or aggregate -of beliefs which forms the link between sensation and action for -each individual is a public and not a private matter; it is formed -by society and for society. Of what enormous importance it is to the -community that this should be a true conception I need not attempt -to describe. Now to the attainment of this true conception two things -are necessary. - -First, if we study the history of those methods by which true beliefs -and false beliefs have been attained, we shall see that it is our duty -to guide our beliefs by inference from experience on the assumption -of uniformity of nature and consciousness in other men, and by this -only. Only upon this moral basis can the foundations of the empirical -method be justified. - -Secondly, veracity to the community depends upon faith in man. Surely -I ought to be talking platitudes when I say that it is not English to -tell a man a lie, or to suggest a lie by your silence or your actions, -because you are afraid that he is not prepared for the truth, because -you don't quite know what he will do when he knows it, because perhaps -after all this lie is a better thing for him than the truth would -be, this same man being all the time an honest fellow-citizen whom -you have every reason to trust. Surely I have heard that this craven -crookedness is the object of our national detestation. And yet it is -constantly whispered that it would be dangerous to divulge certain -truths to the masses. 'I know the whole thing is untrue: but then -it is so useful for the people; you don't know what harm you might -do by shaking their faith in it.' Crooked ways are none the less -crooked because they are meant to deceive great masses of people -instead of individuals. If a thing is true, let us all believe it, -rich and poor, men, women, and children. If a thing is untrue, let -us all disbelieve it, rich and poor, men, women, and children. Truth -is a thing to be shouted from the housetops, not to be whispered over -rose-water after dinner when the ladies are gone away. - -Even in those whom I would most reverence, who would shrink with -horror from such actual deception as I have just mentioned, I find -traces of a want of faith in man. Even that noble thinker, to whom -we of this generation owe more than I can tell, seemed to say in -one of his posthumous essays that in regard to questions of great -public importance we might encourage a hope in excess of the evidence -(which would infallibly grow into a belief and defy evidence) if -we found that life was made easier by it. As if we should not lose -infinitely more by nourishing a tendency to falsehood than we could -gain by the delusion of a pleasing fancy. Life must first of all be -made straight and true; it may get easier through the help this brings -to the commonwealth. And Lange, the great historian of materialism, -says that the amount of false belief necessary to morality in a given -society is a matter of taste. I cannot believe that any falsehood -whatever is necessary to morality. It cannot be true of my race and -yours that to keep ourselves from becoming scoundrels we must needs -believe a lie. The sense of right grew up among healthy men and was -fixed by the practice of comradeship. It has never had help from -phantoms and falsehoods, and it never can want any. By faith in man -and piety toward men we have taught each other the right hitherto; with -faith in man and piety toward men we shall never more depart from it. - - - - - - - -III. THE ETHICS OF BELIEF. - - -I. The Duty of Inquiry.--A shipowner was about to send to sea an -emigrant-ship. He knew that she was old, and not over-well built at the -first; that she had seen many seas and climes, and often had needed -repairs. Doubts had been suggested to him that possibly she was not -seaworthy. These doubts preyed upon his mind, and made him unhappy; -he thought that perhaps he ought to have her thoroughly overhauled -and refitted, even though this should put him to great expense. Before -the ship sailed, however, he succeeded in overcoming these melancholy -reflections. He said to himself that she had gone safely through -so many voyages and weathered so many storms that it was idle to -suppose she would not come safely home from this trip also. He would -put his trust in Providence, which could hardly fail to protect all -these unhappy families that were leaving their fatherland to seek for -better times elsewhere. He would dismiss from his mind all ungenerous -suspicions about the honesty of builders and contractors. In such ways -he acquired a sincere and comfortable conviction that his vessel was -thoroughly safe and seaworthy; he watched her departure with a light -heart, and benevolent wishes for the success of the exiles in their -strange new home that was to be; and he got his insurance-money when -she went down in mid-ocean and told no tales. - -What shall we say of him? Surely this, that he was verily guilty of -the death of those men. It is admitted that he did sincerely believe in -the soundness of his ship; but the sincerity of his conviction can in -no wise help him, because he had no right to believe on such evidence -as was before him. He had acquired his belief not by honestly earning -it in patient investigation, but by stifling his doubts. And although -in the end he may have felt so sure about it that he could not think -otherwise, yet inasmuch as he had knowingly and willingly worked -himself into that frame of mind, he must be held responsible for it. - -Let us alter the case a little, and suppose that the ship was not -unsound after all; that she made her voyage safely, and many others -after it. Will that diminish the guilt of her owner? Not one jot. When -an action is once done, it is right or wrong forever; no accidental -failure of its good or evil fruits can possibly alter that. The -man would not have been innocent, he would only have been not found -out. The question of right or wrong has to do with the origin of his -belief, not the matter of it; not what it was, but how he got it; -not whether it turned out to be true or false, but whether he had a -right to believe on such evidence as was before him. - -There was once an island in which some of the inhabitants professed -a religion teaching neither the doctrine of original sin nor that of -eternal punishment. A suspicion got abroad that the professors of this -religion had made use of unfair means to get their doctrines taught -to children. They were accused of wresting the laws of their country -in such a way as to remove children from the care of their natural -and legal guardians; and even of stealing them away and keeping them -concealed from their friends and relations. A certain number of men -formed themselves into a society for the purpose of agitating the -public about this matter. They published grave accusations against -individual citizens of the highest position and character, and did -all in their power to injure these citizens in the exercise of their -professions. So great was the noise they made, that a Commission -was appointed to investigate the facts; but after the Commission -had carefully inquired into all the evidence that could be got, -it appeared that the accused were innocent. Not only had they been -accused on insufficient evidence, but the evidence of their innocence -was such as the agitators might easily have obtained, if they had -attempted a fair inquiry. After these disclosures the inhabitants -of that country looked upon the members of the agitating society, -not only as persons whose judgment was to be distrusted, but also as -no longer to be counted honorable men. For although they had sincerely -and conscientiously believed in the charges they had made, yet they had -no right to believe on such evidence as was before them. Their sincere -convictions, instead of being honestly earned by patient inquiring, -were stolen by listening to the voice of prejudice and passion. - -Let us vary this case also, and suppose, other things remaining as -before, that a still more accurate investigation proved the accused -to have been really guilty. Would this make any difference in the -guilt of the accusers? Clearly not; the question is not whether their -belief was true or false, but whether they entertained it on wrong -grounds. They would no doubt say, 'Now you see that we were right -after all; next time perhaps you will believe us.' And they might be -believed, but they would not thereby become honorable men. They would -not be innocent, they would only be not found out. Every one of them, -if he chose to examine himself in foro conscientiæ, would know that he -had acquired and nourished a belief, when he had no right to believe -on such evidence as was before him; and therein he would know that -he had done a wrong thing. - -It may be said, however, that in both of these supposed cases it is -not the belief which is judged to be wrong, but the action following -upon it. The shipowner might say, 'I am perfectly certain that my -ship is sound, but still I feel it my duty to have her examined, -before trusting the lives of so many people to her.' And it might be -said to the agitator, 'However convinced you were of the justice of -your cause and the truth of your convictions, you ought not to have -made a public attack upon any man's character until you had examined -the evidence on both sides with the utmost patience and care.' - -In the first place, let us admit that, so far as it goes, this -view of the case is right and necessary; right, because even when -a man's belief is so fixed that he cannot think otherwise, he still -has a choice in regard to the action suggested by it, and so cannot -escape the duty of investigating on the ground of the strength of his -convictions; and necessary, because those who are not yet capable -of controlling their feelings and thoughts must have a plain rule -dealing with overt acts. - -But this being premised as necessary, it becomes clear that it is not -sufficient, and that our previous judgment is required to supplement -it. For it is not possible so to sever the belief from the action it -suggests as to condemn the one without condemning the other. No man -holding a strong belief on one side of a question, or even wishing -to hold a belief on one side, can investigate it with such fairness -and completeness as if he were really in doubt and unbiased; so that -the existence of a belief not founded on fair inquiry unfits a man -for the performance of this necessary duty. - -Nor is that truly a belief at all which has not some influence upon -the actions of him who holds it. He who truly believes that which -prompts him to an action has looked upon the action to lust after it, -he has committed it already in his heart. If a belief is not realized -immediately in open deeds, it is stored up for the guidance of the -future. It goes to make a part of that aggregate of beliefs which -is the link between sensation and action at every moment of all our -lives, and which is so organized and compacted together that no part -of it can be isolated from the rest, but every new addition modifies -the structure of the whole. No real belief, however trifling and -fragmentary it may seem, is ever truly insignificant; it prepares -us to receive more of its like, confirms those which resembled it -before, and weakens others; and so gradually it lays a stealthy train -in our inmost thoughts, which may some day explode into overt action, -and leave its stamp upon our character forever. - -And no one man's belief is in any case a private matter which concerns -himself alone. Our lives are guided by that general conception of -the course of things which has been created by society for social -purposes. Our words, our phrases, our forms and processes and modes -of thought, are common property, fashioned and perfected from age -to age; an heirloom which every succeeding generation inherits as a -precious deposit and a sacred trust to be handed on to the next one, -not unchanged but enlarged and purified, with some clear marks of its -proper handiwork. Into this, for good or ill, is woven every belief -of every man who has speech of his fellows. An awful privilege, and -an awful responsibility, that we should help to create the world in -which posterity will live. - -In the two supposed cases which have been considered, it has been -judged wrong to believe on insufficient evidence, or to nourish belief -by suppressing doubts and avoiding investigation. The reason of this -judgment is not far to seek: it is that in both these cases the belief -held by one man was of great importance to other men. But forasmuch -as no belief held by one man, however seemingly trivial the belief, -and however obscure the believer, is ever actually insignificant or -without its effect on the fate of mankind, we have no choice but to -extend our judgment to all cases of belief whatever. Belief, that -sacred faculty which prompts the decisions of our will, and knits -into harmonious working all the compacted energies of our being, -is ours not for ourselves, but for humanity. It is rightly used on -truths which have been established by long experience and waiting -toil, and which have stood in the fierce light of free and fearless -questioning. Then it helps to bind men together, and to strengthen and -direct their common action. It is desecrated when given to unproved -and unquestioned statements, for the solace and private pleasure of -the believer; to add a tinsel splendor to the plain straight road of -our life and display a bright mirage beyond it; or even to drown the -common sorrows of our kind by a self-deception which allows them not -only to cast down, but also to degrade us. Whoso would deserve well of -his fellows in this matter will guard the purity of his belief with -a very fanaticism of jealous care, lest at any time it should rest -on an unworthy object, and catch a stain which can never be wiped away. - -It is not only the leader of men, statesman, philosopher, or poet, -that owes this bounden duty to mankind. Every rustic who delivers -in the village alehouse his slow, infrequent sentences, may help to -kill or keep alive the fatal superstitions which clog his race. Every -hard-worked wife of an artisan may transmit to her children beliefs -which shall knit society together, or rend it in pieces. No simplicity -of mind, no obscurity of station, can escape the universal duty of -questioning all that we believe. - -It is true that this duty is a hard one, and the doubt which comes out -of it is often a very bitter thing. It leaves us bare and powerless -where we thought that we were safe and strong. To know all about -anything is to know how to deal with it under all circumstances. We -feel much happier and more secure when we think we know precisely -what to do, no matter what happens, than when we have lost our way and -do not know where to turn. And if we have supposed ourselves to know -all about anything, and to be capable of doing what is fit in regard -to it, we naturally do not like to find that we are really ignorant -and powerless, that we have to begin again at the beginning, and try -to learn what the thing is and how it is to be dealt with--if indeed -anything can be learnt about it. It is the sense of power attached -to a sense of knowledge that makes men desirous of believing, and -afraid of doubting. - -This sense of power is the highest and best of pleasures when the -belief on which it is founded is a true belief, and has been fairly -earned by investigation. For then we may justly feel that it is common -property, and holds good for others as well as for ourselves. Then -we may be glad, not that I have learned secrets by which I am safer -and stronger, but that we men have got mastery over more of the -world; and we shall be strong, not for ourselves, but in the name -of Man and in his strength. But if the belief has been accepted on -insufficient evidence, the pleasure is a stolen one. Not only does -it deceive ourselves by giving us a sense of power which we do not -really possess, but it is sinful, because it is stolen in defiance of -our duty to mankind. That duty is to guard ourselves from such beliefs -as from a pestilence, which may shortly master our own body and then -spread to the rest of the town. What would be thought of one who, -for the sake of a sweet fruit, should deliberately run the risk of -bringing a plague upon his family and his neighbors? - -And, as in other such cases, it is not the risk only which has to -be considered; for a bad action is always bad at the time when it is -done, no matter what happens afterward. Every time we let ourselves -believe for unworthy reasons, we weaken our powers of self-control, -of doubting, of judicially and fairly weighing evidence. We all suffer -severely enough from the maintenance and support of false beliefs -and the fatally wrong actions which they lead to, and the evil born -when one such belief is entertained is great and wide. But a greater -and wider evil arises when the credulous character is maintained -and supported, when a habit of believing for unworthy reasons is -fostered and made permanent. If I steal money from any person, -there may be no harm done by the mere transfer of possession; he -may not feel the loss, or it may prevent him from using the money -badly. But I cannot help doing this great wrong toward Man, that -I make myself dishonest. What hurts society is not that it should -lose its property, but that it should become a den of thieves; for -then it must cease to be society. This is why we ought not to do -evil that good may come; for at any rate this great evil has come, -that we have done evil and are made wicked thereby. In like manner, -if I let myself believe anything on insufficient evidence, there may -be no great harm done by the mere belief; it may be true after all, -or I may never have occasion to exhibit it in outward acts. But I -cannot help doing this great wrong toward Man, that I make myself -credulous. The danger to society is not merely that it should believe -wrong things, though that is great enough; but that it should become -credulous, and lose the habit of testing things and inquiring into -them; for then it must sink back into savagery. - -The harm which is done by credulity in a man is not confined to the -fostering of a credulous character in others, and consequent support -of false beliefs. Habitual want of care about what I believe leads to -habitual want of care in others about the truth of what is told to -me. Men speak the truth to one another when each reveres the truth -in his own mind and in the other's mind; but how shall my friend -revere the truth in my mind when I myself am careless about it, -when I believe things because I want to believe them, and because -they are comforting and pleasant? Will he not learn to cry, 'Peace,' -to me, when there is no peace? By such a course I shall surround -myself with a thick atmosphere of falsehood and fraud, and in that I -must live. It may matter little to me, in my cloud-castle of sweet -illusions and darling lies; but it matters much to Man that I have -made my neighbors ready to deceive. The credulous man is father to -the liar and the cheat; he lives in the bosom of this his family, -and it is no marvel if he should become even as they are. So closely -are our duties knit together, that whoso shall keep the whole law, -and yet offend in one point, he is guilty of all. - -To sum up: it is wrong always, everywhere and for any one, to believe -anything upon insufficient evidence. - -If a man, holding a belief which he was taught in childhood or -persuaded of afterward, keeps down and pushes away any doubts which -arise about it in his mind, purposely avoids the reading of books and -the company of men that call in question or discuss it, and regards -as impious those questions which cannot easily be asked without -disturbing it--the life of that man is one long sin against mankind. - -If this judgment seems harsh when applied to those simple souls who -have never known better, who have been brought up from the cradle -with a horror of doubt, and taught that their eternal welfare depends -on what they believe, then it leads to the very serious question, -Who hath made Israel to sin? - -It may be permitted me to fortify this judgment with the sentence -of Milton-- - -'A man may be a heretic in the truth; and if he believe things only -because his pastor says so, or the assembly so determine, without -knowing other reason, though his belief be true, yet the very truth -he holds becomes his heresy.' - -And with this famous aphorism of Coleridge-- - -'He who begins by loving Christianity better than Truth, will proceed -by loving his own sect or Church better than Christianity, and end -in loving himself better than all.' - -Inquiry into the evidence of a doctrine is not to be made once for -all, and then taken as finally settled. It is never lawful to stifle a -doubt; for either it can be honestly answered by means of the inquiry -already made, or else it proves that the inquiry was not complete. - -'But,' says one, 'I am a busy man; I have no time for the long course -of study which would be necessary to make me in any degree a competent -judge of certain questions, or even able to understand the nature of -the arguments.' Then he should have no time to believe. - -II. The Weight of Authority.--Are we then to become universal skeptics, -doubting everything, afraid always to put one foot before the other -until we have personally tested the firmness of the road? Are we -to deprive ourselves of the help and guidance of that vast body of -knowledge which is daily growing upon the world, because neither -we nor any other one person can possibly test a hundredth part of -it by immediate experiment or observation, and because it would not -be completely proved if we did? Shall we steal and tell lies because -we have had no personal experience wide enough to justify the belief -that it is wrong to do so? - -There is no practical danger that such consequences will ever follow -from scrupulous care and self-control in the matter of belief. Those -men who have most nearly done their duty in this respect have found -that certain great principles, and these most fitted for the guidance -of life, have stood out more and more clearly in proportion to the -care and honesty with which they were tested, and have acquired in -this way a practical certainty. The beliefs about right and wrong -which guide our actions in dealing with men in society, and the beliefs -about physical nature which guide our actions in dealing with animate -and inanimate bodies, these never suffer from investigation; they -can take care of themselves, without being propped up by 'acts of -faith,' the clamor of paid advocates, or the suppression of contrary -evidence. Moreover there are many cases in which it is our duty -to act upon probabilities, although the evidence is not such as to -justify present belief; because it is precisely by such action, and -by observation of its fruits, that evidence is got which may justify -future belief. So that we have no reason to fear lest a habit of -conscientious inquiry should paralyze the actions of our daily life. - -But because it is not enough to say, 'It is wrong to believe on -unworthy evidence,' without saying also what evidence is worthy, -we shall now go on to inquire under what circumstances it is lawful -to believe on the testimony of others; and then, further, we shall -inquire more generally when and why we may believe that which goes -beyond our own experience, or even beyond the experience of mankind. - -In what cases, then, let us ask in the first place, is the testimony -of a man unworthy of belief? He may say that which is untrue either -knowingly or unknowingly. In the first case he is lying, and his moral -character is to blame; in the second case he is ignorant or mistaken, -and it is only his knowledge or his judgment which is in fault. In -order that we may have the right to accept his testimony as ground for -believing what he says, we must have reasonable grounds for trusting -his veracity, that he is really trying to speak the truth so far as he -knows it; his knowledge, that he has had opportunities of knowing the -truth about this matter; and his judgment, that he has made proper use -of those opportunities in coming to the conclusion which he affirms. - -However plain and obvious these reasons may be, so that no man of -ordinary intelligence, reflecting upon the matter, could fail to -arrive at them, it is nevertheless true that a great many persons -do habitually disregard them in weighing testimony. Of the two -questions, equally important to the trustworthiness of a witness, -'Is he dishonest?' and 'May he be mistaken?' the majority of mankind -are perfectly satisfied if one can, with some show of probability, -be answered in the negative. The excellent moral character of a man -is alleged as ground for accepting his statements about things which -he cannot possibly have known. A Mohammedan, for example, will tell -us that the character of his Prophet was so noble and majestic that -it commands the reverence even of those who do not believe in his -mission. So admirable was his moral teaching, so wisely put together -the great social machine which he created, that his precepts have not -only been accepted by a great portion of mankind, but have actually -been obeyed. His institutions have on the one hand rescued the negro -from savagery, and on the other hand have taught civilization to the -advancing West; and although the races which held the highest forms -of his faith, and most fully embodied his mind and thought, have all -been conquered and swept away by barbaric tribes, yet the history -of their marvellous attainments remains as an imperishable glory to -Islam. Are we to doubt the word of a man so great and so good? Can we -suppose that this magnificent genius, this splendid moral hero, has -lied to us about the most solemn and sacred matters? The testimony of -Mohammed is clear, that there is but one God, and that he, Mohammed, -is his prophet; that if we believe in him we shall enjoy everlasting -felicity, but that if we do not we shall be damned. This testimony -rests on the most awful of foundations, the revelation of heaven -itself; for was he not visited by the angel Gabriel, as he fasted and -prayed in his desert cave, and allowed to enter into the blessed fields -of Paradise? Surely God is God and Mohammed is the Prophet of God. - -What should we answer to this Mussulman? First, no doubt, we should -be tempted to take exception against his view of the character -of the Prophet and the uniformly beneficial influence of Islam: -before we could go with him altogether in these matters it might seem -that we should have to forget many terrible things of which we have -heard or read. But if we chose to grant him all these assumptions, -for the sake of argument, and because it is difficult both for the -faithful and for infidels to discuss them fairly and without passion, -still we should have something to say which takes away the ground -of his belief, and therefore shows that it is wrong to entertain -it. Namely this: the character of Mohammed is excellent evidence -that he was honest and spoke the truth so far as he knew it; but it -is no evidence at all that he knew what the truth was. What means -could he have of knowing that the form which appeared to him to be -the angel Gabriel was not a hallucination, and that his apparent -visit to Paradise was not a dream? Grant that he himself was fully -persuaded and honestly believed that he had the guidance of heaven, -and was the vehicle of a supernatural revelation, how could he know -that this strong conviction was not a mistake? Let us put ourselves -in his place; we shall find that the more completely we endeavor -to realize what passed through his mind, the more clearly we shall -perceive that the Prophet could have had no adequate ground for the -belief in his own inspiration. It is most probable that he himself -never doubted of the matter, or thought of asking the question; but -we are in the position of those to whom the question has been asked, -and who are bound to answer it. It is known to medical observers that -solitude and want of food are powerful means of producing delusion -and of fostering a tendency to mental disease. Let us suppose, then, -that I, like Mohammed, go into desert places to fast and pray; what -things can happen to me which will give me the right to believe that I -am divinely inspired? Suppose that I get information, apparently from -a celestial visitor, which upon being tested is found to be correct. I -cannot be sure, in the first place, that the celestial visitor is not -a figment of my own mind, and that the information did not come to me, -unknown at the time to my consciousness, through some subtle channel of -sense. But if my visitor were a real visitor, and for a long time gave -me information which was found to be trustworthy, this would indeed -be good ground for trusting him in the future as to such matters as -fall within human powers of verification; but it would not be ground -for trusting his testimony as to any other matters. For although his -tested character would justify me in believing that he spoke the truth -so far as he knew, yet the same question would present itself--what -ground is there for supposing that he knows? - -Even if my supposed visitor had given me such information, subsequently -verified by me, as proved him to have means of knowledge about -verifiable matters far exceeding my own; this would not justify me in -believing what he said about matters that are not at present capable -of verification by man. It would be ground for interesting conjecture, -and for the hope that, as the fruit of our patient inquiry, we might -by and by attain to such a means of verification as should rightly -turn conjecture into belief. For belief belongs to man, and to the -guidance of human affairs: no belief is real unless it guide our -actions, and those very actions supply a test of its truth. - -But, it may be replied, the acceptance of Islam as a system is -just that action which is prompted by belief in the mission of the -Prophet, and which will serve for a test of its truth. Is it possible -to believe that a system which has succeeded so well is really founded -upon a delusion? Not only have individual saints found joy and peace in -believing, and verified those spiritual experiences which are promised -to the faithful, but nations also have been raised from savagery or -barbarism to a higher social state. Surely we are at liberty to say -that the belief has been acted upon, and that it has been verified. - -It requires, however, but little consideration to show that what -has really been verified is not at all the supernal character of the -Prophet's mission, or the trustworthiness of his authority in matters -which we ourselves cannot test, but only his practical wisdom in -certain very mundane things. The fact that believers have found joy -and peace in believing gives us the right to say that the doctrine -is a comfortable doctrine, and pleasant to the soul; but it does not -give us the right to say that it is true. And the question which our -conscience is always asking about that which we are tempted to believe -is not, 'Is it comfortable and pleasant?' but, 'Is it true?' That -the Prophet preached certain doctrines, and predicted that spiritual -comfort would be found in them, proves only his sympathy with human -nature and his knowledge of it; but it does not prove his superhuman -knowledge of theology. - -And if we admit for the sake of argument (for it seems that we cannot -do more) that the progress made by Moslem nations in certain cases -was really due to the system formed and sent forth into the the world -by Mohammed, we are not at liberty to conclude from this that he was -inspired to declare the truth about things which we cannot verify. We -are only at liberty to infer the excellence of his moral precepts, -or of the means which he devised for so working upon men as to get -them obeyed, or of the social and political machinery which he set -up. And it would require a great amount of careful examination into -the history of those nations to determine which of these things -had the greater share in the result. So that here again it is the -Prophet's knowledge of human nature, and his sympathy with it, that -are verified; not his divine inspiration, or his knowledge of theology. - -If there were only one Prophet, indeed, it might well seem a difficult -and even an ungracious task to decide upon what points we would -trust him, and on what we would doubt his authority; seeing what help -and furtherance all men have gained in all ages from those who saw -more clearly, who felt more strongly, and who sought the truth with -more single heart than their weaker brethren. But there is not only -one Prophet; and while the consent of many upon that which, as men, -they had real means of knowing and did know, has endured to the end, -and been honorably built into the great fabric of human knowledge, -the diverse witness of some about that which they did not and could -not know remains as a warning to us that to exaggerate the prophetic -authority is to misuse it, and to dishonor those who have sought -only to help and further us after their power. It is hardly in human -nature that a man should quite accurately gauge the limits of his own -insight; but it is the duty of those who profit by his work to consider -carefully where he may have been carried beyond it. If we must needs -embalm his possible errors along with his solid achievements, and use -his authority as an excuse for believing what he cannot have known, -we make of his goodness an occasion to sin. - -To consider only one other such witness: the followers of the Buddha -have at least as much right to appeal to individual and social -experience in support of the authority of the Eastern saviour. The -special mark of his religion, it is said, that in which it has never -been surpassed, is the comfort and consolation which it gives to -the sick and sorrowful, the tender sympathy with which it soothes and -assuages all the natural griefs of men. And surely no triumph of social -morality can be greater or nobler than that which has kept nearly half -the human race from persecuting in the name of religion. If we are to -trust the accounts of his early followers, he believed himself to have -come upon earth with a divine and cosmic mission to set rolling the -wheel of the law. Being a prince, he divested himself of his kingdom, -and of his free will became acquainted with misery, that he might -learn how to meet and subdue it. Could such a man speak falsely about -solemn things? And as for his knowledge, was he not a man miraculous -with powers more than man's? He was born of woman without the help -of man; he rose into the air and was transfigured before his kinsmen; -at last he went up bodily into heaven from the top of Adam's Peak. Is -not his word to be believed in when he testifies of heavenly things? - -If there were only he, and no other, with such claims! But there -is Mohammed with his testimony; we cannot choose but listen to them -both. The Prophet tells us that there is one God, and that we shall -live forever in joy or misery, according as we believe in the Prophet -or not. The Buddha says that there is no God, and that we shall be -annihilated by and by if we are good enough. Both cannot be infallibly -inspired; one or the other must have been the victim of a delusion, -and thought he knew that which he really did not know. Who shall dare -to say which? and how can we justify ourselves in believing that the -other was not also deluded? - -We are led, then, to these judgments following. The goodness and -greatness of a man do not justify us in accepting a belief upon the -warrant of his authority, unless there are reasonable grounds for -supposing that he knew the truth of what he was saying. And there -can be no grounds for supposing that a man knows that which we, -without ceasing to be men, could not be supposed to verify. - -If a chemist tells me, who am no chemist, that a certain substance can -be made by putting together other substances in certain proportions and -subjecting them to a known process, I am quite justified in believing -this upon his authority, unless I know anything against his character -or his judgment. For his professional training is one which tends to -encourage veracity and the honest pursuit of truth, and to produce a -dislike of hasty conclusions and slovenly investigation. And I have -reasonable ground for supposing that he knows the truth of what he -is saying, for although I am no chemist, I can be made to understand -so much of the methods and processes of the science as makes it -conceivable to me that, without ceasing to be man, I might verify the -statement. I may never actually verify it, or even see any experiment -which goes toward verifying it; but still I have quite reason enough -to justify me in believing that the verification is within the reach -of human appliances and powers, and in particular that it has been -actually performed by my informant. His result, the belief to which he -has been led by his inquiries, is valid not only for himself but for -others; it is watched and tested by those who are working in the same -ground and who know that no greater service can be rendered to science -than the purification of accepted results from the errors which may -have crept into them. It is in this way that the result becomes common -property, a right object of belief, which is a social affair and matter -of public business. Thus it is to be observed that his authority is -valid because there are those who question it and verify it; that it -is precisely this process of examining and purifying that keeps alive -among investigators the love of that which shall stand all possible -tests, the sense of public responsibility as of those whose work, -if well done, shall remain as the enduring heritage of mankind. - -But if my chemist tells me that an atom of oxygen has existed unaltered -in weight and rate of vibration throughout all time, I have no right -to believe this on his authority, for it is a thing which he cannot -know without ceasing to be man. He may quite honestly believe that -this statement is a fair inference from his experiments, but in that -case his judgment is at fault. A very simple consideration of the -character of experiments would show him that they never can lead to -results of such a kind; that being themselves only approximate and -limited, they cannot give us knowledge which is exact and universal. No -eminence of character and genius can give a man authority enough to -justify us in believing him when he makes statements implying exact -or universal knowledge. - -Again, an Arctic explorer may tell us that in a given latitude and -longitude he has experienced such and such a degree of cold, that the -sea was of such a depth, and the ice of such a character. We should -be quite right to believe him, in the absence of any stain upon his -veracity. It is conceivable that we might, without ceasing to be men, -go there and verify his statement; it can be tested by the witness of -his companions, and there is adequate ground for supposing that he -knows the truth of what he is saying. But if an old whaler tells us -that the ice is three hundred feet thick all the way up to the Pole, -we shall not be justified in believing him. For although the statement -may be capable of verification by man, it is certainly not capable -of verification by him, with any means and appliances which he has -possessed; and he must have persuaded himself of the truth of it by -some means which does not attach any credit to his testimony. Even if, -therefore, the matter affirmed is within the reach of human knowledge, -we have no right to accept it upon authority unless it is within the -reach of our informant's knowledge. - -What shall we say of that authority, more venerable and august than any -individual witness, the time-honored tradition of the human race? An -atmosphere of beliefs and conceptions has been formed by the labors -and struggles of our forefathers, which enables us to breathe amid the -various and complex circumstances of our life. It is around and about -us and within us; we cannot think except in the forms and processes -of thought which it supplies. Is it possible to doubt and to test -it? and if possible, is it right? - -We shall find reason to answer that it is not only possible and -right, but our bounden duty; that the main purpose of the tradition -itself is to supply us with the means of asking questions, of testing -and inquiring into things; that if we misuse it, and take it as a -collection of cut-and-dried statements, to be accepted without further -inquiry, we are not only injuring ourselves here, but by refusing -to do our part toward the building up of the fabric which shall be -inherited by our children, we are tending to cut off ourselves and -our race from the human line. - -Let us first take care to distinguish a kind of tradition which -especially requires to be examined and called in question, because -it especially shrinks from inquiry. Suppose that a medicine-man in -Central Africa tells his tribe that a certain powerful medicine in his -tent will be propitiated if they kill their cattle; and that the tribe -believe him. Whether the medicine was propitiated or not, there are -no means of verifying, but the cattle are gone. Still the belief may -be kept up in the tribe that propitiation has been effected in this -way; and in a later generation it will be all the easier for another -medicine-man to persuade them to a similar act. Here the only reason -for belief is that everybody has believed the thing for so long that -it must be true. And yet the belief was founded on fraud, and has -been propagated by credulity. That man will undoubtedly do right, -and be a friend of men who shall call it in question and see that -there is no evidence for it, help his neighbors to see as he does, -and even, if need be, go into the holy tent and break the medicine. - -The rule, which should guide us in such cases is simple and obvious -enough: that the aggregate testimony of our neighbors is subject -to the same conditions as the testimony of any one of them. Namely, -we have no right to believe a thing true because everybody says so, -unless there are good grounds for believing that some one person -at least has the means of knowing what is true, and is speaking the -truth so far as he knows it. However many nations and generations of -men are brought into the witness-box, they cannot testify to anything -which they do not know. Every man who has accepted the statement from -somebody else, without himself testing and verifying it, is out of -court; his word is worth nothing at all. And when we get back at last -to the true birth and beginning of the statement, two serious questions -must be disposed of in regard to him who first made it: was he mistaken -in thinking that he knew about this matter, or was he lying? - -This last question is unfortunately a very actual and practical one -even to us at this day and in this country. We have no occasion to -go to La Salette, or to Central Africa, or to Lourdes, for examples -of immoral and debasing superstition. It is only too possible for -a child to grow up in London surrounded by an atmosphere of beliefs -fit only for the savage, which have in our own time been founded in -fraud and propagated by credulity. - -Laying aside, then, such tradition as is handed on without testing -by successive generations, let us consider that which is truly built -up out of the common experience of mankind. This great fabric is for -the guidance of our thoughts, and through them of our actions, both in -the moral and in the material world. In the moral world, for example, -it gives us the conceptions of right in general, of justice, of truth, -of beneficence, and the like. These are given as conceptions, not as -statements or propositions; they answer to certain definite instincts, -which are certainly within us, however they came there. That it is -right to be beneficent is matter of immediate personal experience; -for when a man retires within himself and there finds something, -wider and more lasting than his solitary personality which says, -'I want to do right,' as well as, 'I want to do good to man,' he can -verify by direct observation that one instinct is founded upon and -agrees fully with the other. And it is his duty so to verify this -and all similar statements. - -The tradition says also, at a definite place and time, that such and -such actions are just, or true, or beneficent. For all such rules a -further inquiry is necessary, since they are sometimes established -by an authority other than that of the moral sense founded on -experience. Until recently, the moral tradition of our own country--and -indeed of all Europe--taught that it was beneficent to give money -indiscriminately to beggars. But the questioning of this rule, and -investigation into it, led men to see that true beneficence is that -which helps a man to do the work which he is most fitted for, not that -which keeps and encourages him in idleness; and that to neglect this -distinction in the present is to prepare pauperism and misery for -the future. By this testing and discussion, not only has practice -been purified and made more beneficent, but the very conception -of beneficence has been made wider and wiser. Now here the great -social heirloom consists of two parts: the instinct of beneficence, -which makes a certain side of our nature, when predominant, wish -to do good to men; and the intellectual conception of beneficence, -which we can compare with any proposed course of conduct and ask, -'Is this beneficent or not?' By the continual asking and answering -of such questions the conception grows in breadth and distinctness, -and the instinct becomes strengthened and purified. It appears then -that the great use of the conception, the intellectual part of the -heirloom, is to enable us to ask questions; that it grows and is kept -straight by means of these questions; and if we do not use it for that -purpose we shall gradually lose it altogether, and be left with a mere -code of regulations which cannot rightly be called morality at all. - -Such considerations apply even more obviously and clearly, if possible, -to the store of beliefs and conceptions which our fathers have amassed -for us in respect of the material world. We are ready to laugh at the -rule of thumb of the Australian, who continues to tie his hatchet to -the side of the handle, although the Birmingham fitter has made a -hole on purpose for him to put the handle in. His people have tied -up hatchets so for ages: who is he that he should set himself up -against their wisdom? He has sunk so low that he cannot do what some -of them must have done in the far distant past--call in question an -established usage, and invent or learn something better. Yet here, -in the dim beginning of knowledge, where science and art are one, -we find only the same simple rule which applies to the highest and -deepest growths of that cosmic Tree; to its loftiest flower-tipped -branches as well as to the profoundest of its hidden roots; the rule, -namely, that what is stored up and handed down to us is rightly used -by those who act as the makers acted, when they stored it up; those -who use it to ask further questions, to examine, to investigate; -who try honestly and solemnly to find out what is the right way of -looking at things and of dealing with them. - -A question rightly asked is already half answered, said Jacobi; we may -add that the method of solution is the other half of the answer, and -that the actual result counts for nothing by the side of these two. For -an example let us go to the telegraph, where theory and practice, -grown each to years of discretion, are marvelously wedded for the -fruitful service of men. Ohm found that the strength of an electric -current is directly proportional to the strength of the battery which -produces it, and inversely as the length of the wire along which it -has to travel. This is called Ohm's law; but the result, regarded -as a statement to be believed, is not the valuable part of it. The -first half is the question: what relation holds good between these -quantities? So put, the question involves already the conception of -strength of current, and of strength of battery, as quantities to be -measured and compared; it hints clearly that these are the things to -be attended to in the study of electric currents. The second half -is the method of investigation; how to measure these quantities, -what instruments are required for the experiment, and how are they -to be used? The student who begins to learn about electricity is not -asked to believe in Ohm's law: he is made to understand the question, -he is placed before the apparatus, and he is taught to verify it. He -learns to do things, not to think he knows things; to use instruments -and to ask questions, not to accept a traditional statement. The -question which required a genius to ask it rightly is answered by a -tyro. If Ohm's law were suddenly lost and forgotten by all men, while -the question and the method of solution remained, the result could -be rediscovered in an hour. But the result by itself, if known to a -people who could not comprehend the value of the question or the means -of solving it, would be like a watch in the hands of a savage who could -not wind it up, or an iron steam-ship worked by Spanish engineers. - -In regard, then, to the sacred tradition of humanity, we learn -that it consists, not in propositions or statements which are to -be accepted and believed on the authority of the tradition, but -in questions rightly asked, in conceptions which enable us to ask -further questions, and in methods of answering questions. The value -of all these things depends on their being tested day by day. The -very sacredness of the precious deposit imposes upon us the duty and -the responsibility of testing it, of purifying and enlarging it to -the utmost of our power. He who makes use of its results to stifle -his own doubts, or to hamper the inquiry of others, is guilty of a -sacrilege which centuries shall never be able to blot out. When the -labors and questionings of honest and brave men shall have built up -the fabric of known truth to a glory which we in this generation can -neither hope for nor imagine, in that pure and holy temple he shall -have no part nor lot, but his name and his works shall be cast out -into the darkness of oblivion forever. - -III. The Limits of Inference.--The question in what cases we may -believe that which goes beyond our experience, is a very large and -delicate one, extending to the whole range of scientific method, and -requiring a considerable increase in the application of it before it -can be answered with anything approaching to completeness. But one -rule, lying on the threshold of the subject, of extreme simplicity -and vast practical importance, may here be touched upon and shortly -laid down. - -A little reflection will show us that every belief, even the simplest -and most fundamental, goes beyond experience when regarded as a guide -to our actions. A burnt child dreads the fire, because it believes -that the fire will burn it to-day just as it did yesterday; but this -belief goes beyond experience, and assumes that the unknown fire -of to-day is like the known fire of yesterday. Even the belief that -the child was burnt yesterday goes beyond present experience, which -contains only the memory of a burning, and not the burning itself; -it assumes, therefore, that this memory is trustworthy, although we -know that a memory may often be mistaken. But if it is to be used as a -guide to action, as a hint of what the future is to be, it must assume -something about that future, namely, that it will be consistent with -the supposition that the burning really took place yesterday; which -is going beyond experience. Even the fundamental 'I am,' which cannot -be doubted, is no guide to action until it takes to itself 'I shall -be,' which goes beyond experience. The question is not, therefore, -'May we believe what goes beyond experience?' for this is involved -in the very nature of belief; but 'How far and in what manner may we -add to our experience in forming our beliefs?' - -And an answer, of utter simplicity and universality, is suggested by -the example we have taken: a burnt child dreads the fire. We may go -beyond experience by assuming that what we do not know is like what -we do know; or, in other words, we may add to our experience on the -assumption of a uniformity in nature. What this uniformity precisely -is, how we grow in the knowledge of it from generation to generation, -these are questions which for the present we lay aside, being content -to examine two instances which may serve to make plainer the nature -of the rule. - -From certain observations made with the spectroscope, we infer the -existence of hydrogen in the sun. By looking into the spectroscope when -the sun is shining on its slit, we see certain definite bright lines: -and experiments made upon bodies on the earth have taught us that when -these bright lines are seen hydrogen is the source of them. We assume, -then, that the unknown bright lines in the sun are like the known -bright lines of the laboratory, and that hydrogen in the sun behaves -as hydrogen under similar circumstances would behave on the earth. - -But are we not trusting our spectroscope too much? Surely, having found -it to be trustworthy for terrestrial substances, where its statements -can be verified by man, we are justified in accepting its testimony -in other like cases; but not when it gives us information about things -in the sun, where its testimony cannot be directly verified by man? - -Certainly, we want to know a little more before this inference can -be justified; and fortunately we do know this. The spectroscope -testifies to exactly the same thing in the two cases; namely, that -light-vibrations of a certain rate are being sent through it. Its -construction is such that if it were wrong about this in one case, -it would be wrong in the other. When we come to look into the matter, -we find that we have really assumed the matter of the sun to be like -the matter of the earth, made up of a certain number of distinct -substances; and that each of these, when very hot, has a distinct rate -of vibration, by which it may be recognized and singled out from the -rest. But this is the kind of assumption which we are justified in -using when we add to our experience. It is an assumption of uniformity -in nature, and can only be checked by comparison with many similar -assumptions which we have to make in other such cases. - -But is this a true belief, of the existence of hydrogen in the sun? Can -it help in the right guidance of human action? - -Certainly not, if it is accepted on unworthy grounds, and without -some understanding of the process by which it is got at. But when -this process is taken in as the ground of the belief, it becomes a -very serious and practical matter. For if there is no hydrogen in -the sun, the spectroscope--that is to say, the measurement of rates -of vibration--must be an uncertain guide in recognizing different -substances; and consequently it ought not to be used in chemical -analysis--in assaying, for example--to the great saving of time, -trouble, and money. Whereas the acceptance of the spectroscopic -method as trustworthy, has enriched us not only with new metals, -which is a great thing, but with new processes of investigation, -which is vastly greater. - -For another example, let us consider the way in which we infer -the truth of an historical event--say the siege of Syracuse in the -Peloponnesian war. Our experience is that manuscripts exist which -are said to be and which call themselves manuscripts of the history -of Thucydides; that in other manuscripts, stated to be by later -historians, he is described as living during the time of the war; and -that books, supposed to date from the revival of learning, tell us how -these manuscripts had been preserved and were then acquired. We find -also that men do not, as a rule, forge books and histories without a -special motive; we assume that in this respect men in the past were -like men in the present; and we observe that in this case no special -motive was present. That is, we add to our experience on the assumption -of a uniformity in the characters of men. Because our knowledge of -this uniformity is far less complete and exact than our knowledge of -that which obtains in physics, inferences of the historical kind are -more precarious and less exact than inferences in many other sciences. - -But if there is any special reason to suspect the character of the -persons who wrote or transmitted certain books, the case becomes -altered. If a group of documents give internal evidence that they -were produced among people who forged books in the names of others, -and who, in describing events, suppressed those things which did not -suit them, while they amplified such as did suit them; who not only -committed these crimes, but gloried in them as proofs of humility and -zeal; then we must say that upon such documents no true historical -inference can be founded, but only unsatisfactory conjecture. - -We may, then, add to our experience on the assumption of a uniformity -in nature; we may fill in our picture of what is and has been, as -experience gives it us, in such a way as to make the whole consistent -with this uniformity. And practically demonstrative inference--that -which gives us a right to believe in the result of it--is a clear -showing that in no other way than by the truth of this result can -the uniformity of nature be saved. - -No evidence, therefore, can justify us in believing the truth of -a statement which is contrary to, or outside of, the uniformity -of nature. If our experience is such that it cannot be filled up -consistently with uniformity, all we have a right to conclude is that -there is something wrong somewhere; but the possibility of inference -is taken away; we must rest in our experience, and not go beyond it at -all. If an event really happened which was not a part of the uniformity -of nature, it would have two properties: no evidence could give the -right to believe it to any except those whose actual experience it was; -and no inference worthy of belief could be founded upon it at all. - -Are we then bound to believe that nature is absolutely and universally -uniform? Certainly not; we have no right to believe anything of this -kind. The rule only tells us that in forming beliefs which go beyond -our experience, we may make the assumption that nature is practically -uniform so far as we are concerned. Within the range of human action -and verification, we may form, by help of this assumption, actual -beliefs; beyond it, only those hypotheses which serve for the more -accurate asking of questions. - -To sum up:-- - -We may believe what goes beyond our experience, only when it is -inferred from that experience by the assumption that what we do not -know is like what we know. - -We may believe the statement of another person, when there is -reasonable ground for supposing that he knows the matter of which he -speaks, and that he is speaking the truth so far as he knows it. - -It is wrong in all cases to believe on insufficient evidence; and -where it is presumption to doubt and to investigate, there it is -worse than presumption to believe. - - - - - - - -IV. THE ETHICS OF RELIGION. - - -The word religion is used in many different meanings, and there have -been not a few controversies in which the main difference between the -contending parties was only this, that they understood by religion -two different things. I will therefore begin by setting forth as -clearly as I can one or two of the meanings which the word appears -to have in popular speech. - -First, then, it may mean a body of doctrines, as in the common -phrase, 'The truth of the Christian religion;' or in this sentence, -'The religion of the Buddha teaches that the soul is not a distinct -substance.' Opinions differ upon the question what doctrines may -properly be called religious; some people holding that there can be no -religion without belief in a God and in a future life, so that in their -judgment the body of doctrines must necessarily include these two; -while others would insist upon other special dogmas being included, -before they could consent to call the system by this name. But the -number of such people is daily diminishing, by reason of the spread and -the increase of our knowledge about distant countries and races. To me, -indeed, it would seem rash to assert of any doctrine or its contrary -that it might not form part of a religion. But, fortunately, it is -not necessary to any part of the discussion on which I propose to -enter that this question should be settled. - -Secondly, religion may mean a ceremonial or cult, involving an -organized priesthood and a machinery of sacred things and places. In -this sense we speak of the clergy as ministers of religion, or of -a state as tolerating the practice of certain religions. There is -a somewhat wider meaning which it will be convenient to consider -together with this one, and as a mere extension of it, namely, that -in which religion stands for the influence of a certain priesthood. A -religion is sometimes said to have been successful when it has got its -priests into power; thus some writers speak of the wonderfully rapid -success of Christianity. A nation is said to have embraced a religion -when the authorities of that nation have granted privileges to the -clergy, have made them as far as possible the leaders of society, -and have given them a considerable share in the management of public -affairs. So the northern nations of Europe are said to have embraced -the Catholic religion at an early date. The reason why it seems to -me convenient to take these two meanings together is, that they are -both related to the priesthood. Although the priesthood itself is -not called religion, so far as I know, yet the word is used for the -general influence and professional acts of the priesthood. - -Thirdly, religion may mean a body of precepts or code of rules, -intended to guide human conduct, as in this sentence of the authorized -version of the New Testament: 'Pure religion and undefiled before -God and the Father is this, to visit the fatherless and widows in -their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world' -(James, i. 27). It is sometimes difficult to draw the line between -this meaning and the last, for it is a mark of the great majority of -religions that they confound ceremonial observances with duties having -real moral obligation. Thus in the Jewish decalogue the command to -do no work on Saturdays is found side by side with the prohibition of -murder and theft. It might seem to be the more correct as well as the -more philosophical course to follow in this matter the distinction -made by Butler between moral and positive commands, and to class all -those precepts which are not of universal moral obligation under -the head of ceremonial. And, in fact, when we come to examine the -matter from the point of view of morality, the distinction is of the -utmost importance. But from the point of view of religion there are -difficulties in making it. In the first place, the distinction is not -made, or is not understood, by religious folk in general. Innumerable -tracts and pretty stories impress upon us that Sabbath-breaking is -rather worse than stealing, and leads naturally on to materialism -and murder. Less than a hundred years ago sacrilege was punishable -by burning in France, and murder by simple decapitation. In the next -place, if we pick out a religion at haphazard, we shall find that it is -not at all easy to divide its precepts into those which are really of -moral obligation and those which are indifferent and of a ceremonial -character. We may find precepts unconnected with any ceremonial, and -yet positively immoral; and ceremonials may be immoral in themselves, -or constructively immoral on account of their known symbolism. On the -whole, it seems to me most convenient to draw the plain and obvious -distinction between those actions which a religion prescribes to all -its followers, whether the actions are ceremonial or not, and those -which are prescribed only as professional actions of a sacerdotal -class. The latter will come under what I have called the second -meaning of religion, the professional acts and the influence of a -priesthood. In the third meaning will be included all that practically -guides the life of a layman, in so far as this guidance is supplied -to him by his religion. - -Fourthly, and lastly, there is a meaning of the word religion which -has been coming more and more prominently forward of late years, -till it has even threatened to supersede all the others. Religion has -been defined as morality touched with emotion. I will not here adopt -this definition, because I wish to deal with the concrete in the first -place, and only to pass on to the abstract in so far as that previous -study appears to lead to it. I wish to consider the facts of religion -as we find them, and not ideal possibilities. 'Yes, but,' every one -will say, 'if you mean my own religion, it is already, as a matter -of fact, morality touched with emotion. It is the highest morality -touched with the purest emotion, an emotion directed toward the most -worthy of objects.' Unfortunately we do not mean your religion alone, -but all manner of heresies and heathenisms along with it: the religions -of the Thug, of the Jesuit, of the South Sea cannibal, of Confucius, -of the poor Indian with his untutored mind, of the Peculiar People, -of the Mormons, and of the old cat-worshiping Egyptian. It must be -clear that we shall restrict ourselves to a very narrow circle of -what are commonly called religious facts, unless we include in our -considerations not only morality touched with emotion, but also -immorality touched with emotion. In fact, what is really touched -with emotion in any case is that body of precepts for the guidance -of a layman's life which we have taken to be the third meaning of -religion. In that collection of precepts there may be some agreeable -to morality, and some repugnant to it, and some indifferent, but being -all enjoined by the religion they will all be touched by the same -religious emotion. Shall we then say that religion means a feeling, an -emotion, an habitual attitude of mind toward some object or objects, -or toward life in general, which has a bearing upon the way in which -men regard the rules of conduct? I think the last phrase should be -left out. An habitual attitude of mind, of a religious character, -does always have some bearing upon the way in which men regard the -rules of conduct; but it seems sometimes as if this were an accident, -and not the essence of the religious feeling. Some devout people prefer -to have their devotion pure and simple, without admixture of any such -application--they do not want to listen to 'cauld morality.' And it -seems as if the religious feeling of the Greeks, and partly also of -our own ancestors, was so far divorced from morality that it affected -it only, as it were, by a side-wind, through the influence of the -character and example of the Gods. So that it seems only likely to -create confusion if we mix up morality with this fourth meaning of -religion. Sometimes religion means a code of precepts, and sometimes -it means a devotional habit of mind; the two things are sometimes -connected, but also they are sometimes quite distinct. But that the -connection of these two things is more and more insisted on, that it -is the keynote of the apparent revival of religion which has taken -place in this century, is a very significant fact, about which there -is more to be said. - -As to the nature of this devotional habit of mind, there are no doubt -many who would like a closer definition. But I am not at all prepared -to say what attitude of mind may properly be called religious, -and what may not. Some will hold that religion must have a person -for its object; but the Buddha was filled with religious feeling, -and yet he had no personal object. Spinoza, the God-intoxicated man, -had no personal object for his devotion. It might be possible to -frame a definition which would fairly include all cases, but it would -require the expenditure of vast ingenuity and research, and would not, -I am inclined to think, be of much use when it was obtained. - -Nor is the difficulty to be got over by taking any definite and -well-organized sect, whose principles are settled in black and white; -for example, the Roman Catholic Church, whose seamless unity has just -been exhibited and protected by an OEcumenical Council. Shall we listen -to Mr. Mivart, who 'execrates without reserve Marian persecutions, the -Massacre of St. Bartholomew, and all similar acts'? or to the editor -of the Dublin Review, who thinks that a teacher of false doctrines -'should be visited by the law with just that amount of severity which -the public sentiment will bear'? For assuredly common-sense morality -will pass very different judgments on these two distinct religions, -although it appears that experts have found room for both of them -within the limits of the Vatican definitions. - -Moreover, there is very great good to be got by widening our view -of what may be contained in religion. If we go to a man and propose -to test his own religion by the canons of common-sense morality, he -will be, most likely, offended, for he will say that his religion is -far too sublime and exalted to be affected by considerations of that -sort. But he will have no such objection in the case of other people's -religion. And when he has found that in the name of religion other -people, in other circumstances, have believed in doctrines that were -false, have supported priesthoods that were social evils, have taken -wrong for right, and have even poisoned the very sources of morality, -he may be tempted to ask himself, 'Is there no trace of any of these -evils in my own religion, or at least in my own conception and practice -of it?' And that is just what we want him to do. Bring your doctrines, -your priesthoods, your precepts, yea, even the inner devotion of your -soul, before the tribunal of conscience; she is no man's and no God's -vicar, but the supreme judge of men and Gods. - -Let us inquire, then, what morality has to say in regard to religious -doctrines. It deals with the manner of religious belief directly, -and with the matter indirectly. Religious beliefs must be founded on -evidence; if they are not so founded, it is wrong to hold them. The -rule of right conduct in this matter is exactly the opposite of -that implied in the two famous texts: 'He that believeth not shall -be damned,' and 'Blessed are they that have not seen and yet have -believed.' For a man who clearly felt and recognized the duty of -intellectual honesty, of carefully testing every belief before he -received it, and especially before he recommended it to others, it -would be impossible to ascribe the profoundly immoral teaching of -these texts to a true prophet or worthy leader of humanity. It will -comfort those who wish to preserve their reverence for the character -of a great teacher to remember that one of these sayings is in the -well-known forged passage at the end of the second gospel, and that -the other occurs only in the late and legendary fourth gospel; both -being described as spoken under utterly impossible circumstances. These -precepts belong to the Church and not to the Gospel. But whoever wrote -either of them down as a deliverance of one whom he supposed to be -a divine teacher, has thereby written down himself as a man void of -intellectual honesty, as a man whose word cannot be trusted, as a -man who would accept and spread about any kind of baseless fiction -for fear of believing too little. - -So far as to the manner of religious belief. Let us now inquire -what bearing morality has upon its matter. We may see at once that -this can only be indirect; for the rightness or wrongness of belief -in a doctrine depends only upon the nature of the evidence for it, -and not upon what the doctrine is. But there is a very important -way in which religious doctrine may lead to morality or immorality, -and in which, therefore, morality has a bearing upon doctrine. It is -when that doctrine declares the character and actions of the Gods -who are regarded as objects of reverence and worship. If a God is -represented as doing that which is clearly wrong, and is still held -up to the reverence of men, they will be tempted to think that in -doing this wrong thing they are not so very wrong after all, but are -only following an example which all men respect. So says Plato:-- - -'We must not tell a youthful listener that he will be doing nothing -extraordinary if he commit the foulest crimes nor yet if he chastise -the crimes of a father in the most unscrupulous manner, but will -simply be doing what the first and greatest of the Gods have done -before him.... - -'Nor yet is it proper to say in any case--what is indeed untrue--that -Gods wage war against Gods, and intrigue and fight among themselves; -that is, if the future guardians of our state are to deem it a most -disgraceful thing to quarrel lightly with one another: far less ought -we to select as subjects for fiction and embroidery the battles of -the giants, and numerous other feuds of all sorts, in which Gods -and heroes fight against their own kith and kin. But if there is any -possibility of persuading them that to quarrel with one's fellow is a -sin of which no member of a state was ever guilty, such ought rather -to be the language held to our children from the first, by old men and -old women, and all elderly persons; and such is the strain in which -our poets must be compelled to write. But stories like the chaining -of Hera by her son, and the flinging of Hephaistos out of heaven for -trying to take his mother's part when his father was beating her, -and all those battles of the Gods which are to be found in Homer, -must be refused admittance into our state, whether they be allegorical -or not. For a child cannot discriminate between what is allegory and -what is not; and whatever at that age is adopted as a matter of belief -has a tendency to become fixed and indelible, and therefore, perhaps, -we ought to esteem it of the greatest importance that the fictions -which children first hear should be adapted in the most perfect manner -to the promotion of virtue.'--(Rep. ii. 378. Tr. Davies and Vaughan.) - -And Seneca says the same thing, with still more reason in his day -and country: 'What else is this appeal to the precedent of the Gods -for, but to inflame our lusts, and to furnish license and excuse -for the corrupt act under the divine protection?' And again, of the -character of Jupiter as described in the popular legends: 'This has -led to no other result than to deprive sin of its shame in man's eyes, -by showing him the God no better than himself.' In Imperial Rome, the -sink of all nations, it was not uncommon to find 'the intending sinner -addressing to the deified vice which he contemplated a prayer for the -success of his design; the adulteress imploring of Venus the favors of -her paramour; ... the thief praying to Hermes Dolios for aid in his -enterprise, or offering up to him the first fruits of his plunder; -... youths entreating Hercules to expedite the death of a rich uncle.' - -When we reflect that criminal deities were worshiped all over the -empire, we cannot but wonder that any good people were left; that -man could still be holy, although every God was vile. Yet this was -undoubtedly the case; the social forces worked steadily on wherever -there was peace and a settled government and municipal freedom; and -the wicked stories of theologians were somehow explained away and -disregarded. If men were no better than their religions, the world -would be a hell indeed. - -It is very important, however, to consider what really ought to be -done in the case of stories like these. When the poet sings that -Zeus kicked Hephaistos out of heaven for trying to help his mother, -Plato says that this fiction must be suppressed by law. We cannot -follow him there, for since his time we have had too much of trying -to suppress false doctrines by law. Plato thinks it quite obviously -clear that God cannot produce evil, and he would stop everybody's -mouth who ventured to say that he can. But in regard to the doctrine -itself, we can only ask, 'Is it true?' And that is a question to be -settled by evidence. Did Zeus commit this crime, or did he not? We -must ask the apologists, the reconcilers of religion and science, -what evidence they can produce to prove that Zeus kicked Hephaistos -out of heaven. That a doctrine may lead to immoral consequences is -no reason for disbelieving it. But whether the doctrine were true -or false, one thing does clearly follow from its moral character: -namely this, that if Zeus behaved as he is said to have behaved he -ought not to be worshiped. To those who complain of his violence and -injustice it is no answer to say that the divine attributes are far -above human comprehension; that the ways of Zeus are not our ways, -neither are his thoughts our thoughts. If he is to be worshiped, he -must do something vaster and nobler and greater than good men do, but -it must be like what they do in its goodness. His actions must not be -merely a magnified copy of what bad men do. So soon as they are thus -represented, morality has something to say. Not indeed about the fact; -for it is not conscience, but reason, that has to judge matters of -fact; but about the worship of a character so represented. If there -really is good evidence that Zeus kicked Hephaistos out of heaven, and -seduced Alkmene by a mean trick, say so by all means; but say also that -it is wrong to salute his priests or to make offerings in his temple. - -When men do their duty in this respect, morality has a very curious -indirect effect on the religious doctrine itself. As soon as the -offerings become less frequent, the evidence for the doctrine begins to -fade away; the process of theological interpretation gradually brings -out the true inner meaning of it, that Zeus did not kick Hephaistos -out of heaven, and did not seduce Alkmene. - -Is this a merely theoretical discussion about far-away things? Let us -come back for a moment to our own time and country, and think whether -there can be any lesson for us in this refusal of common-sense morality -to worship a deity whose actions are a magnified copy of what bad men -do. There are three doctrines which find very wide acceptance among -our countrymen at the present day: the doctrines of original sin, -of a vicarious sacrifice, and of eternal punishments. We are not -concerned with any refined evaporations of these doctrines which are -exhaled by courtly theologians, but with the naked statements which -are put into the minds of children and of ignorant people, which are -taught broadcast and without shame in denominational schools. Father -Faber, good soul, persuaded himself that after all only a very few -people would be really damned, and Father Oxenham gives one the -impression that it will not hurt even them very much. But one learns -the practical teaching of the Church from such books as 'A Glimpse -of Hell,' where a child is described as thrown between the bars upon -the burning coals, there to writhe forever. The masses do not get the -elegant emasculations of Father Faber and Father Oxenham; they get -'a Glimpse of Hell.' - -Now to condemn all mankind for the sin of Adam and Eve; to let the -innocent suffer for the guilty; to keep any one alive in torture -forever and ever; these actions are simply magnified copies of what -bad men do. No juggling with 'divine justice and mercy' can make them -anything else. This must be said to all kinds and conditions of men: -that if God holds all mankind guilty for the sin of Adam, if he has -visited upon the innocent the punishment of the guilty, if he is to -torture any single soul forever, then it is wrong to worship him. - -But there is something to be said also to those who think that -religious beliefs are not indeed true, but are useful for the masses; -who deprecate any open and public argument against them, and think -that all skeptical books should be published at a high price; who -go to church, not because they approve of it themselves, but to set -an example to the servants. Let us ask them to ponder the words of -Plato, who, like them, thought that all these tales of the Gods were -fables, but still fables which might be useful to amuse children with: -'We ought to esteem it of the greatest importance that the fictions -which children first hear should be adapted in the most perfect -manner to the promotion of virtue.' If we grant to you that it is -good for poor people and children to believe some of these fictions, -is it not better, at least, that they should believe those which are -adapted to the promotion of virtue? Now the stories which you send -your servants and children to hear are adapted to the promotion of -vice. So far as the remedy is in your own hands, you are bound to apply -it; stop your voluntary subscriptions and the moral support of your -presence from any place where the criminal doctrines are taught. You -will find more men and better men to preach that which is agreeable -to their conscience, than to thunder out doctrines under which their -minds are always uneasy, and which only a continual self-deception -can keep them from feeling to be wicked. - -Let us now go on to inquire what morality has to say in the matter of -religious ministrations, the official acts and the general influence -of a priesthood. This question seems to me a more difficult one than -the former; at any rate it is not so easy to find general principles -which are at once simple in their nature and clear to the conscience -of any man who honestly considers them. One such principle, indeed, -there is, which can hardly be stated in a Protestant country without -meeting with a cordial response; being indeed that characteristic -of our race which made the Reformation a necessity, and became the -soul of the Protestant movement. I mean the principle which forbids -the priest to come between a man and his conscience. If it be true, -as our daily experience teaches us, that the moral sense gains in -clearness and power by exercise, by the constant endeavor to find out -and to see for ourselves what is right and what is wrong, it must -be nothing short of a moral suicide to delegate our conscience to -another man. It is true that when we are in difficulties and do not -altogether see our way, we quite rightly seek counsel and advice of -some friend who has more experience, more wisdom begot by it, more -devotion to the right than ourselves, and who, not being involved in -the difficulties which encompass us, may more easily see the way out -of them. But such counsel does not and ought not to take the place of -our private judgment; on the contrary, among wise men it is asked and -given for the purpose of helping and supporting private judgment. I -should go to my friend, not that he may tell me what to do, but that -he may help me to see what is right. - -Now, as we all know, there is a priesthood whose influence is not to -be made light of, even in our own land, which claims to do two things: -to declare with infallible authority what is right and what is wrong, -and to take away the guilt of the sinner after confession has been -made to it. The second of these claims we shall come back upon in -connection with another part of the subject. But that claim is one -which, as it seems to me, ought to condemn the priesthood making it -in the eyes of every conscientious man. We must take care to keep -this question to itself, and not to let it be confused with quite -different ones. The priesthood in question, as we all know, has taught -that as right which is not right, and has condemned as wrong some -of the holiest duties of mankind. But this is not what we are here -concerned with. Let us put an ideal case of a priesthood which, as a -matter of fact, taught a morality agreeing with the healthy conscience -of all men at a given time; but which, nevertheless, taught this as -an infallible revelation. The tendency of such teaching, if really -accepted, would be to destroy morality altogether, for it is of the -very essence of the moral sense that it is a common perception by -men of what is good for man. It arises, not in one man's mind by a -flash of genius or a transport of ecstasy, but in all men's minds, -as the fruit of their necessary intercourse and united labor for a -common object. When an infallible authority is set up, the voice of -this natural human conscience must be hushed and schooled, and made -to speak the words of a formula. Obedience becomes the whole duty of -man; and the notion of right is attached to a lifeless code of rules, -instead of being the informing character of a nation. The natural -consequence is that it fades gradually out and ends by disappearing -altogether. I am not describing a purely conjectural state of things, -but an effect which has actually been produced at various times and in -considerable populations by the influence of the Catholic Church. It -is true that we cannot find an actually crucial instance of a pure -morality taught as an infallible revelation, and so in time ceasing -to be morality for that reason alone. There are two circumstances -which prevent this. One is that the Catholic priesthood has always -practically taught an imperfect morality, and that it is difficult -to distinguish between the effects of precepts which are wrong in -themselves, and precepts which are only wrong because of the manner in -which they are enforced. The other circumstance is that the priesthood -has very rarely found a population willing to place itself completely -and absolutely under priestly control. Men must live together and -work for common objects even in priest-ridden countries; and those -conditions which in the course of ages have been able to create the -moral sense cannot fail in some degree to recall it to men's minds -and gradually to re-enforce it. Thus it comes about that a great -and increasing portion of life breaks free from priestly influences, -and is governed upon right and rational grounds. The goodness of men -shows itself in time more powerful than the wickedness of some of -their religions. - -The practical inference is, then, that we ought to do all in our -power to restrain and diminish the influence of any priesthood which -claims to rule consciences. But when we attempt to go beyond this plain -Protestant principle, we find that the question is one of history and -politics. The question which we want to ask ourselves--'Is it right -to support this or that priesthood?'--can only be answered by this -other question, 'What has it done or got done?' - -In asking this question, we must bear in mind that the word priesthood, -as we have used it hitherto, has a very wide meaning--namely, it means -any body of men who perform special ceremonies in the name of religion; -a ceremony being an act which is prescribed by religion to that body -of men, but not on account of its intrinsic rightness or wrongness. It -includes, therefore, not only the priests of Catholicism, or of the Obi -rites, who lay claim to a magical character and powers, but the more -familiar clergymen or ministers of Protestant denominations, and the -members of monastic orders. But there is a considerable difference, -pointed out by Hume, between a priest who lays claim to a magical -character and powers, and a clergymen, in the English sense, as it -was understood in Hume's day, whose office was to remind people of -their duties every Sunday, and to represent a certain standard of -culture in remote country districts. It will, perhaps, conduce to -clearness if we use the word priest exclusively in the first sense. - -There is another confusion which we must endeavor to avoid, if we -would really get at the truth of this matter. When one ventures to -doubt whether the Catholic clergy has really been an unmixed blessing -to Europe, one is generally met by the reply, 'You cannot find any -fault with the Sermon on the Mount.' Now it would be too much to say -that this has nothing to do with the question we were proposing to -ask, for there is a sense in which the Sermon on the Mount and the -Catholic clergy have something to do with each other. The Sermon on the -Mount is admitted on all hands to be the best and most precious thing -that Christianity has offered to the world; and it cannot be doubted -that the Catholic clergy of East and West were the only spokesmen -of Christianity until the Reformation, and are the spokesmen of the -vast majority of Christians at this moment. But it must surely be -unnecessary to say in a Protestant country that the Catholic Church -and the Gospel are two very different things. The moral teaching of -Christ, as partly preserved in the three first gospels, or--which -is the same thing--the moral teaching of the great Rabbi Hillel, -as partly preserved in the Pirke Aboth, is the expression of the -conscience of a people who had fought long and heroically for their -national existence. In that terrible conflict they had learned the -supreme and overwhelming importance of conduct, the necessity for -those who would survive of fighting manfully for their lives and -making a stand against the hostile powers around; the weakness and -uselessness of solitary and selfish efforts, the necessity for a man -who would be a man to lose his poor single personality in the being of -a greater and nobler combatant--the nation. And they said all this, -after their fashion of short and potent sayings, perhaps better than -any other men have said it before or since. 'If I am not for myself,' -said the great Hillel, 'who is for me? And if I am only for myself, -where is the use of me? And if not now, when?' It would be hard to -find a more striking contrast than exists between the sturdy unselfish -independence of this saying, and the abject and selfish servility of -the priest-ridden claimant of the skies. It was this heroic people that -produced the morality of the Sermon on the Mount. But it was not they -who produced the priests and the dogmas of Catholicism. Shaven crowns, -linen vestments, and the claim to priestly rule over consciences, -these were dwellers on the banks of the Nile. The gospel indeed came -out of Judæa, but the Church and her dogmas came out of Egypt. Not, -as it is written, 'Out of Egypt have I called my son,' but 'Out of -Egypt have I called my daughter.' St. Gregory of Nazianzum remarked -with wonder that Egypt, having so lately worshiped bulls, goats, and -crocodiles, was now teaching the world the worship of the Trinity in -its truest form. Poor, simple St. Gregory! it was not that Egypt had -risen higher, but that the world had sunk lower. The empire, which -in the time of Augustus had dreaded, and with reason, the corrupting -influence of Egyptian superstitions, was now eaten up by them, and -rapidly rotting away. - -Then, when we ask what has been the influence of the Catholic clergy -upon European nations, we are not inquiring about the results of -accepting the morality of the Sermon on the Mount; we are inquiring -into the effect of attaching an Egyptian priesthood, which teaches -Egyptian dogmas, to the life and sayings of a Jewish prophet. - -In this inquiry, which requires the knowledge of facts beyond our -own immediate experience, we must make use of the great principle -of authority, which enables us to profit by the experience of other -men. The great civilized countries on the continent of Europe at the -present day--France, Germany, Austria, and Italy--have had an extensive -experience of the Catholic clergy for a great number of centuries, and -they are forced by strong practical reasons to form a judgment upon -the character and tendencies of an institution which is sufficiently -powerful to command the attention of all who are interested in public -affairs. We might add the experience of our forefathers three centuries -ago, and of Ireland at this moment; but home politics are apt to be -looked upon with other eyes than those of reason. Let us hear, then, -the judgment of the civilized people of Europe on this question. - -It is a matter of notoriety that an aider and abettor of clerical -pretensions is regarded in France as an enemy of France and of -Frenchmen; in Germany as an enemy of Germany and of Germans; in Austria -as an enemy of Austria and Hungary, of both Austrians and Magyars; and -in Italy as an enemy of Italy and the Italians. He is so regarded, not -by a few wild and revolutionary enthusiasts who have cast away all the -beliefs of their childhood and all bonds connecting them with the past, -but by a great and increasing majority of sober and conscientious men -of all creeds and persuasions, who are filled with a love for their -country, and whose hopes and aims for the future are animated and -guided by the examples of those who have gone before them, and by a -sense of the continuity of national life. The profound conviction and -determination of the people in all these countries, that the clergy -must be restricted to a purely ceremonial province, and must not be -allowed to interfere, as clergy, in public affairs--this conviction -and determination, I say, are not the effect of a rejection of the -Catholic dogmas. Such rejection has not in fact been made in Catholic -countries by the great majority. It involves many difficult speculative -questions, the profound disturbance of old habits of thought, and -the toilsome consideration of abstract ideas. But such is the happy -inconsistency of human nature, that men who would be shocked and pained -by a doubt about the central doctrines of their religions are far more -really and practically shocked and pained by the moral consequences -of clerical ascendency. About the dogmas they do not know; they were -taught them in childhood, and have not inquired into them since, and -therefore they are not competent witnesses to the truth of them. But -about the priesthood they do know, by daily and hourly experience; -and to its character they are competent witnesses. No man can express -his convictions more forcibly than by acting upon them in a great -and solemn matter of national importance. In all these countries -the conviction of the serious and sober majority of the people -is embodied, and is being daily embodied, in special legislation, -openly and avowedly intended to guard against clerical aggression. The -more closely the legislature of these countries reflects the popular -will, the more clear and pronounced does this tendency become. It -may be thwarted or evaded for the moment by constitutional devices -and parliamentary tricks, but sooner or later the nation will be -thoroughly represented in all of them: and as to what is then to be -expected, let the panic of the clerical parties make answer. - -This is a state of opinion and of feeling which we in our own -country find it hard to understand, although it is one of the most -persistent characters of our nation in past times. We have spoken -so plainly and struck so hard in the past, that we seem to have won -the right to let this matter alone. We think our enemies are dead, -and we forget that our neighbor's enemies are plainly alive: and -then we wonder that he does not sit down and be quiet as we are. We -are not much accustomed to be afraid, and we never know when we are -beaten. But those who are nearer to the danger feel a very real and, -it seems to me, well-grounded fear. The whole structure of modern -society, the fruit of long and painful efforts, the hopes of further -improvement, the triumphs of justice, of freedom, and of light, -the bonds of patriotism which make each nation one, the bonds of -humanity which bring different nations together--all these they see -to be menaced with a great and real and even pressing danger. For -myself I confess that I cannot help feeling as they feel. It seems to -me quite possible that the moral and intellectual culture of Europe, -the light and the right, what makes life worth having and men worthy -to have it, may be clean swept away by a revival of superstition. We -are, perhaps, ourselves not free from such a domestic danger; but -no one can doubt that the danger would speedily arise if all Europe -at our side should become again barbaric, not with the weakness and -docility of a barbarism which has never known better, but with the -strength of a past civilization perverted to the service of evil. - -Those who know best, then, about the Catholic priesthood at present, -regard it as a standing menace to the state and to the moral fabric -of society. - -Some would have us believe that this condition of things is quite new, -and has in fact been created by the Vatican Council. In the Middle -Ages, they say, the Church did incalculable service; or even if you -do not allow that, yet the ancient Egyptian priesthood invented many -useful arts; or if you have read anything which is not to their credit, -there were the Babylonians and Assyrians who had priests, thousands of -years ago; and in fact, the more you go back into prehistoric ages, -and the further you go away into distant countries, the less you can -find to say against the priesthoods of those times and places. This -statement, for which there is certainly much foundation, may be put -into another form: the more you come forward into modern times and -neighboring countries, where the facts can actually be got at, the -more complete is the evidence against the priesthoods of these times -and places. But the whole argument is founded upon what is at least a -doubtful view of human nature and of society. Just as an early school -of geologists were accustomed to explain the present state of the -earth's surface by supposing that in primitive ages the processes of -geologic change were far more violent and rapid than they are now--so -catastrophic, indeed, as to constitute a thoroughly different state of -things--so there is a school of historians who think that the intimate -structure of human nature, its capabilities of learning and of adapting -itself to society, have so far altered within the historic period as -to make the present processes of social change totally different in -character from those even of the moderately distant past. They think -that institutions and conditions which are plainly harmful to us now -have at other times and places done good and serviceable work. War, -pestilence, priestcraft, and slavery have been represented as positive -boons to an early state of society. They are not blessings to us, -it is true; but then times have altered very much. - -On the other hand, a later school of geologists have seen reason to -think that the processes of change have never, since the earth finally -solidified, been very different from what they are now. More rapid, -indeed, they must have been in early times, for many reasons; but -not so very much more rapid as to constitute an entirely different -state of things. And it does seem to me in like manner that a wider -and more rational view of history will recognize more and more of -the permanent, and less and less of the changeable, element in human -nature. No doubt our ancestors of a thousand generations back were very -different beings from ourselves; perhaps fifty thousand generations -back they were not men at all. But the historic period is hardly to -be stretched beyond two hundred generations; and it seems unreasonable -to expect that in such a tiny page of our biography we can trace with -clearness the growth and progress of a long life. Compare Egypt in -the time of King Menes, say six thousand years ago, with Spain in this -present century, before Englishmen made any railways there: I suppose -the main difference is that the Egyptians washed themselves. It seems -more analogous to what we find in other fields of inquiry to suppose -that there are certain great broad principles of human life which have -been true all along; that certain conditions have always been favorable -to the health of society, and certain other conditions always hurtful. - -Now, although I have many times asked for it from those who said -that somewhere and at some time mankind had derived benefits from a -priesthood laying claim to a magical character and powers, I have -never been able to get any evidence for their statement. Nobody -will give me a date, and a latitude and longitude, that I may -examine into the matter. 'In the Middle Ages the priests and monks -were the sole depositaries of learning.' Quite so; a man burns your -house to the ground, builds a wretched hovel on the ruins, and then -takes credit for whatever shelter there is about the place. In the -Middle Ages nearly all learned men were obliged to become priests and -monks. 'Then again, the bishops have sometimes acted as tribunes of -the people, to protect them against the tyranny of kings.' No doubt, -when Pope and Cæsar fall out, honest men may come by their own. If -two men rob you in a dark lane, and then quarrel over the plunder, -so that you get a chance to escape with your life, you will of course -be very grateful to each of them for having prevented the other from -killing you; but you would be much more grateful to a policeman who -locked them both up. Two powers have sought to enslave the people, -and have quarreled with each other; certainly we are very much obliged -to them for quarreling, but a condition of still greater happiness -and security would be the non-existence of both. - -I can find no evidence that seriously militates against the rule -that the priest is at all times and in all places the enemy of all -men--Sacerdos semper, ubique, et omnibus inimicus. I do not deny -that the priest is very often a most earnest and conscientious man, -doing the very best that he knows of as well as he can do it. Lord -Amberley is quite right in saying that the blame rests more with the -laity than with the priesthood; that it has insisted on magic and -mysteries, and has forced the priesthood to produce them. But then, -how dreadful is the system that puts good men to such uses! - -And although it is true that in its origin a priesthood is the effect -of an evil already existing, a symptom of social disease rather than -a cause of it, yet, once being created and made powerful, it tends in -many ways to prolong and increase the disease which gave it birth. One -of these ways is so marked and of such practical importance that we -are bound to consider it here: I mean the education of children. If -there is one lesson which history forces upon us in every page, it is -this: Keep your children away from the priest, or he will make them the -enemies of mankind. It is not the Catholic clergy and those like them -who are alone to be dreaded in this matter; even the representatives -of apparently harmless religions may do incalculable mischief if they -get education into their hands. To the early Mohammedans the mosque was -the one public building in every place where public business could be -transacted; and so it was naturally the place of primary education, -which they held to be a matter of supreme importance. By and by, -as the clergy grew up, the mosque was gradually usurped by them, -and primary education fell into their hands. Then ensued a 'revival -of religion;' religion became a fanaticism: books were burnt and -universities were closed; the empire rotted away in East and West, -until it was conquered by Turkish savages in Asia and by Christian -savages in Spain. - -The labors of students of the early history of institutions--notably -Sir Henry Maine and M. de Laveleye--have disclosed to us an element -of society which appears to have existed in all times and places, and -which is the basis of our own social structure. The village community, -or commune, or township, found in tribes of the most varied race and -time, has so modified itself as to get adapted in one place or another -to all the different conditions of human existence. This union of men -to work for a common object has transformed them from wild animals into -tame ones. Century by century the educating process of the social life -has been working at human nature; it has built itself into our inmost -soul. Such as we are--moral and rational beings--thinking and talking -in general conceptions about the facts that make up our life, feeling -a necessity to act, not for ourselves, but for Ourself, for the larger -life of Man in which we are elements; such moral and rational beings, -I say, Man has made us. By Man I mean men organized into a society, -which fights for its life, not only as a mere collection of men who -must separately be kept alive, but as a society. It must fight not -only against external enemies, but against treason and disruption -within it. Hence comes the unity of interest of all its members; -each of them has to feel that he is not himself only but a part of -all the rest. Conscience--the sense of right and wrong--springs out -of the habit of judging things from the point of view of all and not -of one. It is Ourself, not ourselves, that makes for righteousness. - -The codes of morality, then, which are adopted into various religions, -and afterward taught as parts of religious systems, are derived from -secular sources. The most ancient version of the Ten Commandments, -whatever the investigations of scholars may make it out to be, -originates, not in the thunders of Sinai, but in the peaceful life of -men on the plains of Chaldæa. Conscience is the voice of Man ingrained -into our hearts, commanding us to work for Man. - -Religions differ in the treatment which they give to this most -sacred heirloom of our past history. Sometimes they invert its -precepts--telling men to be submissive under oppression because the -powers that be are ordained of God; telling them to believe where they -have not seen, and to play with falsehood in order that a particular -doctrine may prevail, instead of seeking for truth whatever it may be; -telling them to betray their country for the sake of their church. But -there is one great distinction to which I wish, in conclusion, to -call special attention--a distinction between two kinds of religious -emotion which bear upon the conduct of men. - -We said that conscience is the voice of Man within us, commanding -us to work for Man. We do not know this immediately by our own -experience; we only know that something within us commands us to work -for Man. This fact men have tried to explain; and they have thought, -for the most part, that this voice was the voice of a God. But the -explanation takes two different forms: the God may speak in us for -Man's sake, or for his own sake. If he speaks for his own sake--and -this is what generally happens when he has priests who lay claim to -a magical character and powers--our allegiance is apt to be taken -away from Man, and transferred to the God. When we love our brother -for the sake of our brother, we help all men to grow in the right; -but when we love our brother for the sake of somebody else, who is -very likely to damn our brother, it very soon comes to burning him -alive for his soul's health. When men respect human life for the sake -of Man, tranquillity, order and progress go hand in hand; but those -who only respected human life because God had forbidden murder have -set their mark upon Europe in fifteen centuries of blood and fire. - -These are only two examples of a general rule. Wherever the allegiance -of men has been diverted from Man to some divinity who speaks to men -for his own sake and seeks his own glory, one thing has happened. The -right precepts might be enforced, but they were enforced upon wrong -grounds, and they were not obeyed. But right precepts are not always -enforced; the fact that the fountains of morality have been poisoned -makes it easy to substitute wrong precepts for right ones. - -To this same treason against humanity belongs the claim of the -priesthood to take away the guilt of a sinner after confession has -been made to it. The Catholic priest professes to act as an embassador -for his God, and to absolve the guilty man by conveying to him the -forgiveness of heaven. If his credentials were ever so sure, if he -were indeed the embassador of a superhuman power, the claim would be -treasonable. Can the favor of the Czar make guiltless the murderer of -old men and women and children in Circassian valleys? Can the pardon -of the Sultan make clean the bloody hands of a Pasha? As little can -any God forgive sins committed against man. When men think he can, -they compound for old sins which the God did not like by committing -new ones which he does like. Many a remorseful despot has atoned for -the levities of his youth by the persecution of heretics in his old -age. That frightful crime, the adulteration of food, could not possibly -be so common among us if men were not taught to regard it as merely -objectionable because it is remotely connected with stealing, of which -God has expressed his disapproval in the Decalogue; and therefore -as quite, naturally set right by a punctual attendance at church -on Sundays. When a Ritualist breaks his fast before celebrating the -Holy Communion, his deity can forgive him if he likes, for the matter -concerns nobody else; but no deity can forgive him for preventing his -parishioners from setting up a public library and reading-room for -fear they should read Mr. Darwin's works in it. That sin is committed -against the people, and a God cannot take it away. - -I call those religions which undermine the supreme allegiance of the -conscience to Man ultramontane religions, because they seek their -springs of action ultra montes, outside of the common experience and -daily life of man. And I remark about them that they are especially -apt to teach wrong precepts, and that even when they command men to -do the right things they put the command upon wrong motives, and do -not get the things done. - -But there are forms of religious emotion which do not thus undermine -the conscience. Far be it from me to under-value the help and strength -which many of the bravest of our brethren have drawn from the thought -of an unseen helper of men. He who, wearied or stricken in the fight -with the powers of darkness, asks himself in a solitary place, 'Is -it all for nothing? shall we indeed be overthrown?'--he does find -something which may justify that thought. In such a moment of utter -sincerity, when a man has bared his own soul before the immensities -and the eternities, a presence in which his own poor personality is -shriveled into nothingness arises within him, and says, as plainly -as words can say, 'I am with thee, and I am greater than thou.' Many -names of Gods, of many shapes, have men given to this presence; -seeking by names and pictures to know more clearly and to remember -more continually the guide and the helper of men. No such comradeship -with the Great Companion shall have anything but reverence from me, -who have known the divine gentleness of Denison Maurice, the strong -and healthy practical instinct of Charles Kingsley, and who now revere -with all my heart the teaching of James Martineau. They seem to me, -one and all, to be reaching forward with loving anticipation to a -clearer vision which is yet to come--tendentesque manus ripæ ulterioris -amore. For, after all, such a helper of men, outside of humanity, -the truth will not allow us to see. The dim and shadowy outlines of -the superhuman deity fade slowly away from before us; and as the mist -of his presence floats aside, we perceive with greater and greater -clearness the shape of a yet grander and nobler figure--of Him who -made all Gods and shall unmake them. From the dim dawn of history, -and from the inmost depth of every soul, the face of our father Man -looks out upon us with the fire of eternal youth in his eyes, and says, -'Before Jehovah was, I am!' - - - - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - - I. The Scientific Basis of Morals 1 - II. Right and Wrong 7 - III. The Ethics of Belief 25 - IV. The Ethics of Religion 36 - - - - - - - -NOTES - - -[1] Sunday Lecture Society, November 7, 1875. - -[2] Treatise Baba Bathra, 59 b. - -[3] Compare these passages from Merivale ('Romans under the Empire,' -vi.), to whom 'it seems a duty to protest against the common tendency -of Christian moralists to dwell only on the dark side of Pagan society, -in order to heighten by contrast the blessings of the Gospel':-- - -'Much candor and discrimination are required in comparing the sins -of one age with those of another ... the cruelty of our inquisitions -and sectarian persecutions, of our laws against sorcery, our serfdom -and our slavery; the petty fraudulence we tolerate in almost every -class and calling of the community; the bold front worn by our open -sensuality; the deeper degradation of that which is concealed; all -these leave us little room for boasting of our modern discipline, and -must deter the thoughtful inquirer from too confidently contrasting -the morals of the old world and the new.' - -'Even at Rome, in the worst of times ... all the relations of life -were adorned in turn with bright instances of devotion, and mankind -transacted their business with an ordinary confidence in the force of -conscience and right reason. The steady development of enlightened -legal principles conclusively proves the general dependence upon -law as a guide and corrector of manners. In the camp, however, -more especially, as the chief sphere of this purifying activity, -the great qualities of the Roman character continued to be plainly -manifested. This history of the Cæsars presents to us a constant -succession of brave, patient, resolute, and faithful soldiers, men -deeply impressed with a sense of duty, superior to vanity, despisers -of boasting, content to toil in obscurity and shed their blood at -the frontiers of the empire, unrepining at the cold mistrust of their -masters, not clamorous for the honors so sparingly awarded to them, -but satisfied in the daily work of their hands, and full of faith in -the national destiny which they were daily accomplishing.' - -[4] Finlay, 'Greece under the Romans.' - -[5] Examination, p. 495, 2d ed. - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Scientific Basis of Morals, and -other essays., by William Kingdon Clifford - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SCIENTIFIC BASIS OF MORALS *** - -***** This file should be named 50189-8.txt or 50189-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/1/8/50189/ - -Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project -Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously -made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - |