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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4fc11e7 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #63249 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63249) diff --git a/old/63249-0.txt b/old/63249-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2949846..0000000 --- a/old/63249-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10976 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Philosophical Theory of the State, by -Bernard Bosanquet - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Philosophical Theory of the State - -Author: Bernard Bosanquet - -Release Date: September 20, 2020 [EBook #63249] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PHILOSOPHICAL THEORY OF *** - - - - -Produced by gdurb - - - - -Transcriber’s Note: The text is that of the first edition, with the -errata incorporated. Because there are no page breaks, footnotes are -placed under the paragraphs or quotations to which they relate, and -renumbered accordingly. Page numbers have been inserted into the text -in braces. - -THE PHILOSOPHICAL THEORY OF THE STATE - -BY - -BERNARD BOSANQUET - -C’est le peuple qui compose le genre humain; ce qui n’est pas -peuple est si peu de chose que ce n’est pas la peine de le -compter. (Émile, livre 4.) - -LONDON MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED - -NEW YORK THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - -1899 - -All rights reserved - -GLASGOW: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS -BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO. - -To: CHARLES STEWART LOCH - - - - -{vii} - -PREFACE. - -The present work is an attempt to express what I take to be the -fundamental ideas of a true social philosophy. I have criticised -and interpreted the doctrines of certain well-known thinkers only -with the view of setting these ideas in the clearest light. This is -the whole purpose of the book; and I have intentionally abstained -from practical applications, except by way of illustration. It is -my conviction, indeed, that a better understanding of fundamental -principles would very greatly contribute to the more rational -handling of practical problems. But this better understanding is -only to be attained, as it seems to me, by a thorough examination -of ideas, apart from the associations of practical issues about -which a fierce party spirit has been aroused. And, moreover, it -is my belief that the influence of the ideas here maintained upon -practical discussion, would be, in a certain sense, to detach it from -philosophical theory. The principles which I advocate would destroy -so many party prejudices, would put the mind in possession of so many -clues to fact, that practical “social” issues would in consequence -be considered as problems of life and mind, to be treated only with -intimate experience, and by methods adequate to their subtlety. The -{viii} result would be that such discussions would be regarded, if -one may use the expression, more respectfully, and would acquire an -independence and completeness worthy of their importance. The work of -the social reformer should no more be regarded as a mere appendix to -social theory than that of the doctor is regarded as a mere appendix -to physiology. Such a division of labour is, of course, no hindrance -to the interchange of facts and ideas between theory and practice. -On the contrary, it tends to promote such an interchange, by -increasing the supply on either side, and improving the intellectual -communication between them. - -It will occur to philosophical readers that the essence of the -theory here presented is to be found not merely in Plato and in -Aristotle, but in very many modern writers, more especially in Hegel, -T.H. Green, Bradley, [1] and Wallace. [2] And they may be inclined -to doubt the justification for a further work on the same lines -by one who can hardly expect to improve upon the writings of such -predecessors. - -[1] See especially the chapter in _Ethical Studies_ entitled “My -Station and its Duties.” - -[2] See _Lectures and Essays_ by the late Professor Wallace, -especially p. 213, “Our Natural Rights,” and p. 427, “The Relation of -Fichte and Hegel to Socialism.” - -On this point I should like to make a brief explanation. To begin -with, it is a truism that every generation needs to be addressed -in its own language; and I might even plead that the greatness of -a tradition justifies some urgency in calling attention to it. But -further, as regards T.H. Green in particular, whom in many points -I follow very closely, I had two special reasons for desiring {ix} -to express myself independently. One of these is to be found in my -attempt to apply the conceptions of recent psychology to the theory -of State coercion and of the Real or General Will, and to explain the -relation of Social Philosophy to Sociological Psychology. For a short -discussion of the Imitation Theory, which the purpose of the present -work would not permit me to include in it, I may refer to a paper -which will shortly appear in _Mind_. - -My other reason lay in the conviction that the time has gone by for -the scrupulous caution which Green displayed in estimating the value -of the State to its members. I have referred to this subject in the -body of my work (ch. x.); but I desire to emphasise my belief that -our growing experience of all social “classes” proves the essentials -of happiness and character to be the same throughout the social -whole. Scepticism on this point is the product, I am convinced, of -defective social experience. Indeed, it seems worth while to observe -that the attention which is now rightly paid to such disadvantages, -affecting the poorer classes of citizens, as it may be possible -to remedy, has given rise to a serious confusion. The zeal of the -advocate has led him to slander his client. In proving that under -such and such conditions it would be no wonder if “the poor” were -bad, he forgets to observe that in fact they are generally just -as good as other people. The all-important distinction between a -poor home and a bad home is neglected. And yet it seems probable -that, omitting the definitely criminal quarters, there is no -larger proportion of bad homes among the poor than among the rich. -Such terms as “den” and “slum” {x} are too freely used, with an -affectation of intimacy, for homes in which thousands of respectable -citizens reside. Our democratic age will be remarkable to posterity -for having dimmed the time-honoured belief in the virtues of the -poor. There was cant, no doubt, in the older doctrine, but it was not -so far from the fact as the opposite cant of today, and it is time -that the truth in it should be revived. - -I must repeat that these remarks are not intended to be -controversial. There is nothing in them which serious men of all -schools may not accept. They are meant to defend my attitude in -treating the Real Will, and Freedom in the greater Self, as matters -of universal concern, and not merely as hopes and fancies cherished -by “educated” persons. Indeed, although it would be churlish for a -student to disparage literary education, it must never be forgotten -that, as things are today, the citizens who live by handicraft -possess a valuable element of brain-culture, which is on the whole -denied to the literary class. Whatever, therefore, may be wanting -in the following pages, it is not, I think, the relation of their -subject-matter to the general life of peoples. - -The social student should shun mere optimism; but he should not -be afraid to make the most of that which he studies. It is an -unfortunate result of the semi-practical aims which naturally -influence social philosophers, that they are apt throughout to take -up an indifferent, if not a hostile, attitude to their given object. -They hardly believe in actual society as a botanist believes in -plants, or a biologist believes in vital processes. And hence, social -theory comes off badly. No student can really appreciate an object -for which he is always apologising. There is a {xi} touch of this -attitude in all the principal writers, except Hegel and Bradley, -and therefore, as I venture to think, they partly fail to seize the -greatness and ideality of life in its commonest actual phases. It is -in no spirit of obscurantism, and with no thought of resisting the -march of a true social logic, that some take up a different position. -They are convinced that an actual living society is an infinitely -higher creature than a steam-engine, a plant or an animal; and that -the best of their ideas are not too good to be employed in analysing -it. Those who cannot be enthusiastic in the study of society as it -is, would not be so in the study of a better society if they had it. -“Here or nowhere is your America.” - -Bernard Bosanquet -Caterham, March, 1899. - - - - -{xiii} - -CONTENTS. - -CHAPTER I - -RISE AND CONDITIONS OF THE PHILOSOPHICAL THEORY OF THE STATE 1-16 - -1. Meaning of “Philosophical Theory” 1 - -2. Philosophy and the “State,” 3 - a. The Greek City-State 4 - b. Type of mind implied in it 5 - c. Type of political philosophy suggested by it 5 - -3. Transition from City-State to Nation-State. Law of Nature 9 - -4. Rise of Nation-States and of modern political philosophy. - Rousseau 11 - -CHAPTER II - -SOCIOLOGICAL COMPARED WITH PHILOSOPHICAL THEORY 17-52 - -1. Problems of Social Physics and of Idealism 17 - -2. Social Theory as influenced by special sciences 19 - (i) Mathematics 19 - (ii) Biology 21 - (iii) Economics 27 - (iv) Jurisprudence and the theory of Right 34 - _(a)_ Law as “ideal fact” 34 - _(b)_ Sociological analysis of Law 36 - (v) Idea of the “spirit of laws” or mind of peoples; - Anthropology in widest sense 39 - (vi) Psychology 42 - (vii) Connection of points of view and kinds of fact 47 - -3. Comparison of Psychological Sociology and Social Philosophy 48 - -CHAPTER III - -THE PARADOX OF POLITICAL OBLIGATION; SELF-GOVERNMENT 53-78 - -1. The conception of self-government 53 - -2. Law and Liberty in Bentham 56 - -3. Examination of Mill’s “Liberty” 60 - (i) Mill’s idea of Individuality 60 - (ii) His view of the authority of Society over the Individual 61 - (iii) His applications of his principle 66 - -4. Views of Herbert Spencer 69 - (i) Spencer and Bentham on Natural Right 70 - (ii) Liberty and restraint in Spencer and Huxley 71 - -5. Mill’s criticism of Self-Government 73 - -CHAPTER IV - -THE PROBLEM OF POLITICAL OBLIGATION MORE RADICALLY TREATED 79-102 - -1. Nature of above theories not expressed by term Individualism. - “Theories of the first look” 79 - -2. Rousseau’s earlier Essays 84 - -3. Problem of the _Contrat Social_ 87 - -4. Conflict of ideas in Rousseau’s statement 89 - -5. Nature of his solution 91 - -6. Reality of the “Moral Person” and conception of Civil Liberty 94 - -CHAPTER V. - -THE CONCEPTION OF A “REAL” WILL 103-123 - -1. The Supreme Will in Hobbes and Locke 103 - -2. Meaning of the General Will for Rousseau 107 - -3- The General Will contrasted with the Will of All 111 - -4- The General Will and the work of the Legislator 117 - -CHAPTER VI - -THE CONCEPTION OF LIBERTY AS ILLUSTRATED BY THE FOREGOING - SUGGESTIONS 118-154 - -1. Liberty as the condition of our being ourselves 118 - -2. Illustrated by the idea of Nature and Natural 128 - -3. Phases of idea of Liberty 133 - _(a)_ Juristic phase = “absence of restraint” 134 - _(b)_ Political phase = “rights of citizenship” 135 - _(c)_ Positive connection of _(a)_ and _(b)_ 136 - _(d)_ Philosophical phase = “being oneself in - fullest sense” 137 - _(e)_ Danger and justification of using same term - for _(a)_ and _(d)_ 142 - -4. Liberty as attribute of the will that wills itself 146 - -5. This “real” will identified with State 149 - _(a)_ State in this sense is social life as a whole 150 - _(b)_ How State is force as extension of “individual” mind 152 - -CHAPTER VII - -PSYCHOLOGICAL ILLUSTRATION OF THE IDEA OF A -REAL OR GENERAL WILL 155-179 - -1. Object of the Chapter 155 - -2. Connection between social and mental groupings 156 - (1) Analogy between them 156 - (i) Associations of persons and of ideas 156 - (ii) Organisation of social groups and of ideas 159 - (2) Identity of social and mental groupings 170 - (i) Social groups as an aspect of mental systems 170 - (ii) Individual minds as structures of - appercipient systems 173 - (iii) Social whole as a system of mental systems 175 - -CHAPTER VIII - -NATURE OF THE END OF THE STATE AND CONSEQUENT LIMIT OF STATE ACTION 180-234 - -1. Distinction between Individual and Society - irrelevant to question of Social Means and End 180 - -2. True contrast: Automatism and Consciousness 181 - -3. End of State, and Means at its disposal _qua_ State 184 - -4. State can only secure “external” actions 186 - -5. Principle of the hindrance of hindrances 190 - -6. State action as the maintenance of rights 201 - _(a)_ System of rights from standpoint of community 203 - _(b)_ From standpoint of individuals. “Position” 204 - (i) As Rights or recognised claims 206 - (ii) As Obligations or recognised debts 206 - _(c)_ Rights as implying Duties 208 - (i) When Duty = Obligation 208 - (ii) When Duty = Purpose, which is source of Right 209 - _(d)_ Rights, why _recognised_ claims? 210 - (i) A “Position” involves recognition 210 - (ii) No right based on individual caprice 212 - -7. State action as punishment 216 - (i) Punishment as reformatory 221 - (ii) Punishment as retributory 223 - (iii) Punishment as deterrent 228 - - Conclusion. State Action as exercise of a _General Will_ 232 - -CHAPTER IX - -ROUSSEAU’S THEORY AS APPLIED TO THE MODERN STATE: - KANT, FICHTE, HEGEL 235-255 - -1. Rousseau’s literary influence in Germany 235 - -2. Freedom and Social Contract in Kant 238 - -3. Freedom and Social Contract in Fichte 244 - -4. Freedom in Hegel’s _Philosophy of Right_ 247 - _(a)_ Supposed reactionary tendency in Hegel 248 - _(b)_ Relation of analysis and idealisation 290 - -5. The Philosophy of Right as a chapter in the - Philosophy of Mind 252 - -CHAPTER X - -THE ANALYSIS OF A MODERN STATE. HEGEL’S “PHILOSOPHY OF RIGHT” 256-295 - -1. Logic of Society as an _ideal fact_ 256 - -2. Sphere of Right or Law and its sub-divisions 258 - -3. The Letter of the Law 260 - -4. The Morality of Conscience 262 - -5. Social Ethics 266 - (i) Social Ethics as an actual world 266 - (ii) Social Ethics as the nature of self-consciousness 267 - -6. Sub-divisions of Social Ethics. The Family 269 - _(a)_ Depends on natural fact 269 - _(b)_ Is factor in the State 270 - _(c)_ Ethical and Monogamous Household 271 - _(d)_ Relation to Property 272 - -7. Bourgeois Society. Justice, State Regulation, and - Trade Societies 272 - -8. The State proper, or Political Constitution 280 - -9. Public discussion and public opinion 285 - -10. Criticism of such an analysis of the Modern State 287 - -CHAPTER XI - -INSTITUTIONS CONSIDERED AS ETHICAL IDEAS 296-334 - -1. The individual soul and the social mind 296 - -2. Institutions as common substance of minds 297 - -3. The Family and Property as elements of mind 299 - -4. The District or Neighbourhood as an element of mind 304 - -5. Class as an element of mind. “The Poor” as an ethical idea 310 - -6. The Nation-State as an element of mind 320 - -7. Morality of public and private action 322 - -8. Humanity as an element of mind 328 - _(a)_ Humanity not predicable of mankind as a whole 328 - _(b)_ Humanity does not = mankind as a true community 329 - _(c)_ Dichotomous expressions for humanity and mankind 330 - _(d)_ The self beyond any actual society; Art, - Philosophy, Religion 332 - -INDEX 335 - - - - -{1} - -CHAPTER I. - -RISE AND CONDITIONS OF THE PHILOSOPHICAL THEORY OF THE STATE - -1. First, it will be well to indicate, in a very few words, what is -implied in a “philosophical theory,” as distinguished from theories -which make no claim to be philosophical. The primary difference -is, that a philosophical treatment is the study of some thing as a -whole and for its own sake. In a certain sense it may be compared -to the gaze of a child or of an artist. It deals, that is, with the -total and unbroken effect of its object. It desires to ascertain -what a thing is, what is its full characteristic and being, its -achievement in the general act of the world. History, explanation, -analysis into cause and conditions, have value for it only in so -far as they contribute to the intelligent estimation of the fullest -nature and capabilities of the real individual whole which is under -investigation. We all know that a flower is one thing for the -geometrician, another for the chemist, another for {2} the botanist, -and another, again, for the artist. Now, philosophy can of course -make no pretension to cope with any one of the specialists on his -own ground. But the general nature of the task imposed upon it is -this: aiding itself, so far as possible, by the trained vision of all -specialists, to make some attempt to see the full significance of -the flower as a word or letter in the great book of the world. And -this we call studying it, as it is, and for its own sake, without -reservation or presupposition. It is assumed, then, for the purpose -of a philosophical treatment, that everything, and more particularly -in this case the political life of man, has a nature of its own, -which is worthy of investigation on its own merits and for its own -sake. How its phases come into being, or what causes or conditions -have played a part in its growth, are other questions well worthy of -investigation. But the philosophical problem is rather to see our -object as it is and to learn what it is, to estimate, so to speak, -its kind and degree of self-maintenance in the world, than to trace -its history or to analyse its causation. - -Yet such phrases as “what it is” and “for its own sake” must not -mislead us. They do not mean that the nature of any reality which we -experience can be appreciated in isolation from the general world of -life and knowledge. On the contrary, they imply that when fully and -fairly considered from the most thoroughly adequate point of view, -our subject matter will reveal its true position and relations with -reference to all else that man can do and can know. This position and -these relations constitute its rank or significance in the totality -{3} of experience, and this value or significance--in the present -case, what the form of life in question enables man to do and to -become--is just what we mean by its nature “in itself,” or its full -and complete nature, or its significance when thoroughly studied “for -its own sake” from an adequate point of view. Further illustrations -of the distinction between an adequate point of view and partial or -limited modes of consideration, and of the relations between the -former and the latter, will be found in the following chapter. - -2. In a certain sense it would be true to say that wherever men have -lived, there has always been a “State.” That is to say, there has -been some association or corporation, larger than the family, and -acknowledging no power superior to itself. But it is obvious that -the experience of a State in this general sense of the word is not -co-extensive with true political experience, and that something much -more definite than this is necessary to awaken curiosity as to the -nature and value of the community in which man finds himself to be a -member. - -Such curiosity has been awakened and sustained principally if not -exclusively by two kindred types of associated life--the City-state -of ancient Greece, and the Nation-state of the modern world. It will -throw light on the nature of our subject if we glance rapidly at the -characteristics to which it is due that political philosophy began in -connection with the former, and revived in connection with the latter. - -In considering the Greek city-states in connection with the birth of -political philosophy, there are three points which press upon our -attention:{4} - _a_. the type of experience which they presented; - _b_. the type of mind which that experience implied; and - _c_. the type of interpretation which such a mind elicited from - such an experience. - -_a_. A Greek city-state presented a marked contrast to the modes -of human association which prevailed in the non-Greek world. It -differed from them above all things by its distinct individuality. -No doubt there was a recognisable character in the life and conduct -of Egypt or of Assyria, of Phoenicia or of Israel. But the community -which has a youth, a maturity, and a decadence, as distinct as those -of a single human being, and very nearly as self-conscious; which -has a tone and spirit as recognisable in the words and bearing of -its members as those of a character in a play; and which expresses -its mind in the various regions of human action and endurance -much as an artist expresses his individuality in the creations of -his genius--such a community had existed, before the beginnings -of the modern world, in the Greek city-state, and in the Greek -city-state alone. A political consciousness in the strict sense -was a necessary factor in the experience of such a commonwealth. -The demand for “autonomy”--government by one’s own law,--and for -“isonomy”--government according to equal law--though far from -being always satisfied, was inherent in the Greek nature; and its -strenuousness was evinced by the throes of revolution and the labours -of legislation which were shaking the world of Greece at the dawn of -history. The very instrument of all political action was invented, -so far as we can see, by the Greeks. The simple device by which an -orderly vote is {5} taken, and the minority acquiesce in the will -of the majority as if it had been their own--an invention no less -definite than that of the lever or the wheel--is found for the first -time as an everyday method of decision in Greek political life. - -_b_. Such a type of experience implies a corresponding type of mind. -It is not surprising that science and philosophy should owe their -birth to the genius from which politics sprang. For politics is -the expression of reason in the relations that bind man to man, as -science and philosophy are the expression of it in the relations -which link together man’s whole experience. The mind which can -recognise itself practically in the order of the commonwealth, -can recognise itself theoretically in the order of nature. And -ultimately, though not at first (for curiosity is awakened by -objects perceived in space and time, before attention is turned to -the very hinge and centre of man’s own being), science passes into -philosophy; and mind, and conduct, and the political consciousness, -are themselves made objects of speculation. It has become a -commonplace that this transference of curiosity from the outer to the -inner--really, that is, from the partial to the total world--took -shape in the work of Socrates, who invested with the greatness of -his own intelligence and character a movement which the needs of -the age had rendered inevitable. And thus there arose the ethical -and political philosophy of Plato and Aristotle, the successors of -Socrates, just at the time when the distinctive political life of -Greece was beginning to decay. - -_c_. This philosophy, like all genuine philosophy, {6} was an -interpretation of the experience presented to it; and in this case -the interpretation was due to minds which were themselves a part -of the phenomena on which they reflected. Such minds, hostile as -they may feel themselves to the spirit of the age, and however -passionately they may cry out for reform or for revolution, are none -the less its representatives; and their interpretation, though it -may modify and even mutilate the phenomena, will nevertheless be -found to throw the central forces and principles of the time into -the clearest light. So Plato’s negative treatment of the family, and -of other elements which seem essential to Greek civilisation, was -no bar to his grasping, and representing with unequalled force, the -central principle of the life around him. The fundamental idea of -Greek political philosophy, as we find it in Plato and Aristotle, -is that the human mind can only attain its full and proper life in -a community of minds, or more strictly in a community pervaded by a -single mind, uttering itself consistently though differently in the -life and action of every member of the community. This conception -is otherwise expressed by such phrases as “the State is natural,” -_i.e._ is a growth or evolution, apart from which the end implied -in man’s origin cannot be attained; “the State is prior to the -individual,” _i.e._ there is a principle or condition underlying -the life of the human individual, which will not admit of that life -becoming what it has in it to be, unless the full sphere or arena -which is constituted by the life of the State is realised in fact. -The whole is summed up in the famous expression of Aristotle, “Man is -a creature formed for the life of the City-state.” The {7} working -out of this idea, as we find it in Plato’s commonwealth, is bizarre -to our minds; but its difficulty really lies in its simplicity and -directness; and there is no sound political philosophy which is not -an embodiment of Plato’s conception. The central idea is this: that -every class of persons in the community--the statesman, the soldier, -the workman--has a certain distinctive type of mind which fits its -members for their functions, and that the community essentially -consists in the working of these types of mind in their connection -with one another, which connection constitutes their subordination -to the common good. This working or adjustment obviously depends in -the last resort on the qualities present in the innermost souls of -the members of the community; and thus the outward organisation of -society is really as it were a body which at every point and in every -movement expresses the characteristics of a mind. We must not pause -here to follow up the consequences of such a conception; but it will -be seen at once, by those who reflect upon it, to imply that every -individual mind must have its qualities drawn out in various ways to -answer to--in fact, to constitute--the relations and functions which -make up the community; and that in this sense every mind is a mirror -or impression of the whole community from its own peculiar point of -view. The ethical assumption or principle of Plato’s conception is, -that a healthy organisation of the commonwealth will involve, by a -necessary connection, a healthy balance and adjustment of qualities -in the individual soul, and _vice versa_. An attempt will be made -to illustrate this principle further in the latter portion {8} of -the present work. The general nature of Plato’s conception--the -characteristic conception of Greek political philosophy--is all that -concerns us here. - -It is important to observe that during the very genesis of this -philosophical conception of society, an antagonistic view was -powerfully represented. The individual could not freely find himself -in the community unless he was capable of repudiating it; the -possibility of negation, as a logician might express it, is necessary -to a really significant affirmation. Thus we find in the very age of -Plato and Aristotle the most startling anticipations of those modern -ideas which seem diametrically opposed to theirs. We find the idea -of nature identified not with the mature fulness, but with the empty -starting point of life; we meet with the phenomena of vegetarianism, -water-drinking, the reduction of dress to its minimum, in short, the -familiar symptoms of the longing for the “return to nature,” with all -that it implies; we find law and political unity treated as a tissue -of artifice and convention, and the individual disdaining to identify -himself with the citizenship of a single state, but claiming to be a -stranger in the city and a citizen of the world. To prove that these -ideas were not without their justification, it is enough to point out -that in some instances they were accompanied by a polemic against -slavery, which, as a form of solidarity, was upheld in a qualified -sense at least by Aristotle. The existence of this negative criticism -is enough to show how distinctly the Greek intellect set before -itself the fundamental problem of the relation between the individual -and society, and of how high a quality was the bond of union which -{9} maintained this relation in such intimacy among minds of a temper -so analytic. - -3. Many writers have told the story of the change which came over the -mind of Greece when the independent sovereignty of its City-states -became a thing of the past. For our purpose it is enough to draw -attention to the fact that with this change the political or social -philosophy of the great Greek time not only lost its supremacy, -but almost ceased to be understood. From this period forward, till -the rise of the modern Nation-states, men’s thoughts about life -and conduct were cast in the mould of moral theory, of religious -mysticism and theology, or of jurisprudence. The individual demanded -in the sphere of ethics and religion to be shown a life sufficing -to himself apart from any determinate human society--a problem -which Plato and Aristotle had assumed to be insoluble. Stoicism -and Epicureanism, the earliest non-national creeds of the western -world, triumphantly developed the ideas which at first, as we saw, -were little more than a rebellion against the central Socratic -philosophy. Cosmopolitanism, the conception of humanity, the ideal -of a “Society of Friends”--the Epicurean league--from which women -were not excluded, and the precept of “not expecting from life more -than it has to give,” take the place of the highly individualised -commonwealth, with its strenuous masculine life of war and politics, -and its passionate temper which felt that nothing had been -accomplished so long as anything remained undone. - -With this change of temper in the civilised world there is brought -into prominence a great deal of {10} human nature which had not found -expression through the immediate successors of Socrates. In the -period between Aristotle and Cicero there is more than a whisper of -the sound which meets us like a trumpet blast in the New Testament, -“neither Jew nor Greek, barbarian nor Scythian, bond nor free.” But -the unworldliness which took final shape in Christianity was destined -to undergo a long transmigration through shapes of other-worldliness -before it should return in modern thought to the unity from which it -started; and the history of ethics and religion has little bearing -upon true political theory between the death of Aristotle and the -awakening of the modern consciousness in the Reformation. - -In so far as the political ideas of antiquity were preserved -to modern times otherwise than in the manuscripts of Plato and -Aristotle, the influence which preserved them was that of Roman -Jurisprudence. The Roman rule, though it stereotyped the state of -things in which genuine political function and the spur of freedom -were unknown, had one peculiar gift by which it handed to posterity -the germs of a great conception of human life. This is not the place -to describe at length the origin of that vast practical induction -from the working of the “foreigners’ court” at Rome which obtained -for itself the name of the Law of Nations, and which, as tinged with -ideal theory, was known as the Law of Nature. Whatever fallacies may -be near at hand when “natural right” is named, the conception that -there is in man, as such, something which must be respected, a law -of life which is his “nature,” being indeed another name {11} for -his reason, and in some sense or other a “freedom” and an “equality” -which are his birthright--this conception was not merely a legacy -from Stoic ideas, which had almost a religious inspiration, but was -solidly founded on the judicial experience of the most practical race -that the world has ever seen. - -4. In order that the forces which lay hidden in the conception -of Natural Right and Freedom, like the powers of vegetation in a -seed, might unfold themselves in the modern world, it was necessary -that conditions should recur analogous to those which had first -elicited them. And these earlier conditions were those of the Greek -City-state; for it was here, as we have seen, that the conception of -man’s nature had flourished, as the idea of a purposive evolution -into a full and many-sided social life, while in Stoic philosophy and -Roman juristic theory it had become more and more a shibboleth and -a formula which lost in depth of meaning what it gained in range of -application. - -To restore their ancient significance, expanded in conformity with -a larger order of things, to the traditional formulae, demanded -just the type of experience which was furnished by the modern -Nation-state. The growth of Nation-states in modern Europe was in -progress, we are told, from the ninth to the fifteenth century. And -it is towards and after the close of this period, and especially -in the seventeenth century when the national consciousness of the -English people, as of others, had become thoroughly awakened, that -political speculation in the strict sense begins again, {12} after -an interval extending back to the Politics of Aristotle. To let one -example serve for many; when we read John of Gaunt’s praises of -England in Shakespeare’s Richard II., we feel ourselves at once in -contact with the mind of a social unity, such as necessarily to raise -in any inquiring intelligence all those problems which were raised -for Plato and Aristotle by the individuality of Athens and Sparta. -And so we see the earliest political speculation of the modern world -groping, as it were, for ideas by help of which to explain the -experience of an individual self-governing sovereign society. And -for the most part the ideas that offer themselves are those of Roman -Jurisprudence, but distorted by political applications and by the -rhetoric of Protestant fanaticism. As Mr. Ritchie [1] points out, the -conception of natural right and a law of nature makes a strange but -effective coalition with the temper of the Wycliffite cry - - “When Adam dalf, and Eve span, - Who was then the gentleman?” - -The notions of contract, of force, of representation in a -single legal “person,” are now applied separately or together -to the phenomenon of the self-governing individual community. -But the solution remains imperfect, and the fundamental fact of -self-government refuses to be construed either as the association of -individuals, originally free and equal, for certain limited purposes, -or as the absolute absorption of their wills in the “person” of a -despotic sovereign. - -[1] _Natural Rights_, p. 8. - -The revival of a true philosophical meaning {13} within the abstract -terms of juristic tradition was the work of the eighteenth century -as a whole. For the sake of clearness, and with as much historical -justice as ever attaches to an attribution of the kind, we may -connect it with the name of a single man--Jean Jacques Rousseau. For -it is Rousseau who stands midway between Hobbes and Locke on the -one hand, and Kant and Hegel on the other, and in whose writings -the actual revival of the full idea of human nature may be watched -from paragraph to paragraph as it struggles to throw off the husk of -an effete tradition. Between Locke and Rousseau the genius of Vico -and of Montesquieu had given a new meaning to the dry formulae of -law by showing the sap of society circulating within them. Moreover -the revived experience of the Greeks came in the nick of time. It -was influential with Rousseau himself, and little as he grasped the -political possibilities of a modern society, in matters of sheer -principle this influence led him on the whole in the right direction. -His insight was just, when it showed him that every political whole -presented the same problem which had been presented by the Greek -City-state, and involved the same principles. And he bequeathed -to his successors the task of substituting for the mere words and -fictions of contract, nature, and original freedom, the idea of the -common life of an essentially social being, expressing and sustaining -the human will at its best. - -According to the view here indicated, the resurrection of true -political philosophy out of the dead body of juristic abstractions -was inaugurated by {14} Vico and Montesquieu, and decisively declared -itself in Jean Jacques Rousseau. The idea which most of us have -formed of “the new Evangel of a _Contrat Social_” is not in harmony -with this representation of the matter. Was it, we may be asked, -a genuine political philosophy which inspired the leaders of the -French Revolution? And the question cannot be evaded by denying all -connection between the theory and the practice of that age. The -phraseology of the revolutionary declarations [1]--which will strike -the reader accustomed to nineteenth century socialism as exceedingly -moderate and even conservative in tone--is undoubtedly to a great -extent borrowed from Rousseau’s writings. - -[1] See the very interesting collection of documents in the Appendix -to Professor Ritchie’s _Natural Rights_. - -Perhaps the truth of the matter may be approached as follows. The -popular rendering of a great man’s views is singularly liable to run -straight into the pit-falls against which he more particularly warned -the world. This could be proved true in an extraordinary degree of -such men as Plato and Spinoza, and still more astonishingly, perhaps, -of the founder of the Christian religion. The reason is obvious. A -great man works with the ideas of his age, and regenerates them. But -in as far as he regenerates them, he gets beyond the ordinary mind; -while in as far as he operates with them, he remains accessible to -it. And his own mind has its ordinary side; the regeneration of -ideas which he is able to effect is not complete, and the notions of -the day not only limit his entire range of achievement--where the -strongest runner will get to must depend on where he starts--but -float about unassimilated {15} within his living stream of thought. -Now all this ordinary side of his mind will partake of the strength -and splendour of his whole nature. And thus he will seem to have -preached the very superstitions which he combated. For in part he -has done so, being himself infected; in part the overwhelming bias -of his interpreters has reversed the meaning of his very warnings, -by transferring the importance, due to his central thought, to some -detail or metaphor which belongs to the lower level of his mind. It -is an old story how Spinoza, “the God-intoxicated man,” was held to -be an “atheist,” when in truth he was rather an “acosmist”; and in -the same way, on a lower plane, the writer who struggled through to -the idea that true sovereignty lay in the dominion of a common social -good as expressed through law and institutions, is held to have -ascribed absolute supremacy to that chance combination of individual -voices in a majority, which he expressly pointed out to have, in -itself, no authority at all. - -But there is something more to be said of cases, like that under -discussion, where a great man’s ideas touch the practical world. If -the complete and positive idea becomes narrow and negative as it -impinges upon every-day life, this may be not only a consequence -of its transmission through every-day minds, but a qualification -for the work it has to do. The narrower truth may be, so to speak, -the cutting edge of the more complete, as the negation is of the -affirmation. And the vulgar notion of popular sovereignty and of -natural right may have been necessary to do a work which a more -organic social theory would have been too delicate to achieve. {16} -Like the faith in a speedy second coming of Christ among the early -Christians, the gospel according to Jean Jacques may have taken for -the minds of Revolutionary France a form which was serviceable as -well as inevitable at the moment. If, as we said above, the great man -is always misunderstood, it seems to follow that when his germinal -ideas have been sown they must assert themselves first in lower -phases if they are ever to bear fruit at all. And therefore, while -not denying the influence of Rousseau on the Revolution, we shall -attempt to show that he had another and a later influence, more -adequate to the true reach of his genius. - - - - -{17} - -CHAPTER II. - -SOCIOLOGICAL COMPARED WITH PHILOSOPHICAL THEORY. - -1. There is no doubt that Sociology and Social Philosophy have -started, historically speaking, from different points of view. The -object of the present chapter is to ascertain the nature and estimate -the importance and probable permanence of the difference between -them. I propose first to explain the difference in general; then to -review the sources of social experience, which in other words are -facets or aspects of social life, by which social theory has been -influenced, and with which it has to deal; and, finally, to form some -idea of the distinctive services which may be rendered by sociology -and social philosophy respectively in view of the range of experience -which it is the function of social theory to organize. - -Beginning with Vico’s [1] _New Science_, there has been more than one -attempt in modern Europe to inaugurate the Science of Society as a -new departure. But the distinctive and modern spirit of what is known -as Sociology, and under that {18} name has had a continuous growth -of half a century at least, first found unmistakable expression in -Auguste Comte. The conception which he impressed upon the science to -which he first gave the name of sociology or social physics, was a -characteristically modern conception. Its essence was the inclusion -of human society among the objects of natural science; its watchwords -were law and cause in the sense in which alone Positivism allowed -causes to be thought of--and scientific prediction. [2] It is true -that the large conception of unity which Comte embodied in his -philosophy had very much in common with the principles insisted on -by the Greek social philosophers. The close interdependence of all -social phenomena among each other, the unity of man with nature, and -the consequent correlation of moral and political theory with the -organised hierarchy of mathematical and physical sciences, are ideas -which Comte might have borrowed directly from Plato and Aristotle. -Nevertheless the modern starting-point is wholly different from that -of antiquity. The modern enquirer--the sociologist as such--was -to ask himself, according to Comte, in the language of physical -science, what are the laws and causes operative among aggregations -of human beings, and what are their predictable effects? The ancient -philosopher--the ethical and metaphysical theorist--had before -him primarily the problem, “what is the completest and most real -life of the human soul?” The work of the latter has been revived -by modern idealist philosophy dating from Rousseau and Hegel, and -finding a second {19} home in Great Britain, as that of the former -has developed itself within the peculiar limits and traditions of -sociological research, flourishing more especially upon French and -American soil. The continuance of these two streams of thought in -independent courses, though not without signs of convergence, is a -remarkable phenomenon of nineteenth century culture; and it will be -one of the problems which the present chapter, and in a larger sense -the whole of the present work, must deal with, to consider how far it -is necessary or desirable that they should blend. - -[1] J. D. Rogers in Palgrave’s _Dict. of Pol. Econ._, art. “Social -Science.” - -[2] See Gidding’s _Sociology_, p. 6. - -2. Every science, no doubt, is to some extent, the playground -of analogies; but the complexity and the unmateriality of human -relations has forced this character upon social theory in an -extraordinary degree. It is impossible to account for the tendencies -of sociological as well as of philosophical thought without making -some attempt to pursue the line of investigation suggested by Mr. -Bagehot in his _Physics and Politics_. Predominant modes and types of -experience necessarily colour the whole activity of the mind, and, as -indicated above, this influence more especially affects a province of -research which is not _prima facie_ accessible to direct experiment -or sensuous observation. I must, therefore, endeavour to review, in -a brief outline, the principal branches of experience which have -furnished ideas for application to social theory, and to indicate -the leanings in speculation upon society, which have been due to -preoccupation with one or another special analogy. - -i. The Newtonian theory of gravitation is the entrance gate to the -modern world of science. {20} “When the Newton of this subject -shall be seated in his place” [1] is the aspiration of the modern -investigator in every matter capable of being known. It is not -surprising, therefore, that the inclusion of human society within -the range of matters capable of being definitely understood, should -have been symbolized by demanding for social science a completeness -of explanation and a power of prediction analogous to those displayed -by astronomy or by mathematical physics. Representative of this -conception is the title, Social Physics--for Comte the alternative -and equivalent to the name Sociology. It is easy to see both the -merits and the dangers of such an ideal, which, as the embodiment -of perfection in a natural science, is presupposed by the attitude -of sociology down to the present day. Is a science necessarily a -natural science, and is a natural science necessarily an exact -science?--these are the fundamental questions involved in the -adoption of a mathematical ideal for the study of society. No fault -can be found with it on the ground of its implying the highest degree -of harmony and precision; the only question is whether an adequate -type of comparison is afforded for, let us say, the growth of an -institution, by the law of a curve. The general conception, indeed, -of a continuity between human relations and the laws of the cosmic -order is thoroughly in the spirit of Plato, and betokens a scientific -enthusiasm worthy to be the parent of great things. And especially -in the sphere of economic science, where certain relatively simple -hypotheses have proved on the whole to be effective instruments {21} -of explanation, an analysis of intricate phenomena has been effected, -which in some degree justifies the aspiration after the ideal of an -exact science. - -[1] De Morgan, _Budget of Paradoxes_, p. 355. - -ii. But it has been recognised from the earliest days of political -speculation that, within the general ideal of a perfect natural -science, the more special analogy of the living organism had a -peculiar bearing upon social phenomena. Beginning in the ancient -world with the comparison between individuals as “members” of a -social whole, and the parts or organs of a living body, or even the -constituent elements of a mind, this analogy has been extended and -reinforced in modern times by what amounts to the new creation of -the biological and anthropological sciences. The sense of continuity -thus intensified and implying all that is understood by the modern -term evolution, has brought an immense material of suggestions to -sociological research, but has imposed upon it at the same time a -characteristic bias from which it is just, perhaps, beginning to -shake itself free. This characteristic may be roughly stated as the -explanation of the higher, by which I mean the more distinctly human -phenomena, by the lower, or those more readily observed, or inferred, -among savage nations, or in the animal world. Any one familiar with -logic will be aware that there is a subtle and natural prejudice -which tends to strengthen such a bias by claiming a higher degree of -reality for that which, as coming earlier in temporal succession, -I presents itself in the light of what is called a I “cause.” So -strong has been this bias among sociologists, that the student, -primarily interested in the features and achievements of civilised -society, is {22} tempted to say in his haste that the sociologist [1] -as such seldom deals seriously with true social phenomena at all; -but devotes his main attention to primitive man and to the lower -animals, occasionally illustrating his studies in these regions by -allusions, showing no great insight or mastery, to the facts of -civilized society. Such a complaint becomes less and less justified -as the years go by, and sociology recovers its balance as against the -overwhelming influence of the sciences of lower life. How far the -approach from this “lower” or more purely natural side will remain in -the end characteristic of sociological science, is an integral part -of the main problem concerning its nature and destiny with which we -have to deal in the present work. But it remains true to say and very -important to observe, that no such serious successes have as yet been -won in the name and by the special methods of sociology as have been -achieved by many investigators approaching their problems directly -and with an immediate interest; whether in the sphere of political -economy proper, or in dealing with various questions of social -and ethical importance, such as pauperism, charity, sanitation, -education, the condition of the people, the comparative study of -politics, or the analysis of material and geographical conditions in -their reaction upon social and artistic development. - -[1] By a “sociologist as such” I mean a writer who is professedly -dealing with sociology as such. Any independent researches, such as -Mr. and Mrs. Webb’s _Industrial Democracy_, may of course be ranked -under the heading “Sociology.” But works of this kind do not, as -a rule, attach themselves to the peculiar method and language of -sociological writers. - -On the other hand, there is no doubt that the {23} epoch and -influence of which we speak has bequeathed a legacy of imperishable -value to the theory of society. In a word, it has made us sensitive -to the continuity of things, and therefore also to their unity. It -has shown us the crowning achievements of the human race, their -States, their Religion, their Fine Art, and their Science, as the -high-water mark of tendencies that have their beginnings far back -in the primitive organic world, and in their original sources have -also a connection with each other--as in the practical aspects -of religion,--which too easily escapes notice in their highest -individual development. The “return to nature” and the “noble savage” -have been invested with a significance which can never be forgotten, -and which criticism can never set aside. This is the sum and -substance of the general contribution which the latter half of the -eighteenth century and the greater part of the nineteenth have made -to sociology through the science of life and of man. - -More particularly, it is necessary to notice the double operation of -biological influence on sociology, according to the unit from which -the analogy is drawn. - -a. The idea which still bulks most largely in the popular mind, as -contributed by biology to social theory, is unquestionably that of -the struggle for life or the survival of the fittest. It should be -noticed that the social application of this analogy rests entirely -on the comparison of a human society, not to the individual animal -organism, and still less to the individual mind; but to a whole -animal species or even to the aggregate of all animal species, so -far as they or their members are in competition with one another. -One whole side of the sociological {24} doctrine, which Mr. Spencer -has advocated with unwearied persistence, is founded upon this -application of the biological analogy, and the paradox which he -has made his principle professes to be borrowed directly from the -dealings of nature with the individuals of the animal species. This -paradox, that benefits should be assigned inversely as services -in infancy but directly as services among adults, is his ultimate -sociological basis; the modification of which, to suit human society, -by the introduction of benevolence or altruism, so to speak, on the -top of it, only serves to display its inadequacy. But we may take it -that the analogy of the struggle for life has made it clear that, in -any given position, life can be maintained only in virtue of definite -qualities adapted to that position. And formal as this principle is -when taken by itself, its application in human society can never be -unnecessary. - -b. A more recent school has insisted on the complementary analogy, -which might be taken as resting upon the comparison of a society -with an individual organism. Here, it must be remembered, lay the -resemblance which, in this region of ideas, first caught the eye -of social philosophers in antiquity. But it is alleged that the -aspect of co-operation can be traced as between individual members -of the animal world no less than between the parts of a single -organism, and it is affirmed that the view which sees nothing but -internecine competition in the animal kingdom has been too rough and -too superficial in its reading of the facts. And therefore it is -suggested that the phenomena of social fellowship, no less than those -of individual competition, have their source {25} and root in the -world of lower nature; and perhaps sociology is now not far from the -recognition that competition and co-operation are simply the negative -and positive aspect of the same general fact--the fact of the -division of labour, of essentiality of function, and of uniqueness -of true individual service. If it is suggested by the one organic -analogy that life depends upon qualities adequate to the position -which is to be filled, it is made obvious by the other that the -qualities which satisfy the claims of a certain position are those, -in general and in principle, by which a function is discharged in the -service of the whole. - -In Mr. Spencer’s doctrine the two sides above indicated have been -brought into very marked relation by a suggestive criticism, [1] -which he has taken special pains to answer. If human society -corresponds to an individual organism--as is, in many ways, Mr. -Spencer’s well-known doctrine--how is it that the absolute central -control in which the perfection of an organism consists is, for Mr. -Spencer, a note of imperfection when it appears in a human society? -And the answer is in effect that human society corresponds in many -of its features rather to a local variety of a species than to an -individual organism. It is essentially discrete, not individual, and -at this point, therefore, the analogy of the individual organism -gives way to that of the group or species. - -[1] _Sociology_, i. 586. - -But Mr. Spencer does not really mean that a human society has -no more intrinsic bond between its members than the local group -of an animal species. To indicate its true nature he {26} gives -us a good word--but a word only--the word “super-organic.” [1] -It is a significant term, and brings us perhaps to the limit of -what biological sociology is able to suggest with regard to the -unity of a human commonwealth, and points us to something beyond. -It is remarkable that when the facts of true human society are -more thoroughly realised than by Mr. Spencer, but the clue of the -individual organism and the co-operative side of animal life is not -followed up, there is a tendency to sever the links which unite man -to “lower” nature, and to represent the ethical and cosmic processes -as absolutely opposed. We see this point of view decidedly adopted -by Mr. Huxley, [2] and its adoption perhaps indicates the inception -of an epoch in which sociology will cut itself free from a good deal -of pseudo-scientific lumber. Nevertheless, a patient and careful -study will continue to recognise the elements both of competition -and of co-operation as ineradicable and inseparable moments in -human society as in the animal world; the essential meaning of -competition in its higher forms being the rejection and suppression -of members who are unable to meet the ever advancing demand for -co-operative character and capacity; and the study of parasitism -[3] and of regressive selection will continue to {27} be a warning -against the attempt to emancipate mankind from the sterner general -conditions of the cosmic order. It will be recognised that there -is an adaptation to conditions which consists in degradation; but -the failure will be understood by comparison with the only true -“survival of the fittest,” [4] being that which reveals the full -unity and significance of organism and environment. It is important -to observe that, at least in the two eminent biologists just alluded -to, the doctrine of the individual self--of the relation between -self-assertion and self-restraint--is altogether of an uncivilised -and anti-social type. Biological categories do not, in their case -at least, appear to have afforded any suggestion for the treatment -of the social self as more and greater, in a positive sense, than -the self which is less bound up with social obligations. As for the -denying spirits in Plato’s _Republic_, so for both Mr. Spencer and -Mr. Huxley, “nature” is essentially self-assertion, and “society” -self-restraint. [5] Here again we touch the same limitation which -met us in Mr. Spencer’s term “super-organic,” and we feel that a -different point of view must be brought to bear. - -[1] _Sociology_, vol. I., ch. i. - -[2] _Evolution and Ethics_, p. 82. - -[3] Geddes, in _Encyclo. Brit_., vol. xviii. 253a: “Further details -of the process of retrograde metamorphosis and of the enormously -important phenomena of degeneration cannot here be attempted; it must -suffice if the general dependence of such changes upon simplification -of environment--freedom from danger, abundant alimentation and -complete repose, etc. (in short, the conditions commonly considered -those of complete material well-being)--has been rendered clearer.” - -[4] Cf. _Sutherland, Origin and Growth of the Moral Instinct_, vol. -I., pp. 28, 29. - -[5] Huxley, _Evolution and Ethics_, p. 31; Spencer, _Man v. State_, -p. 98. - -iii. Political Economy existed before modern Sociology was born, and -is still the only part of it which is obviously and indisputably -successful as a science of explanation. The triumphant development -of this theory reacted even upon Hegel’s political philosophy, by -suggesting to him the distinction between “Bourgeois Society” and -“The {28} State.” _A fortiori_, it could not but have a serious -influence on the growing science of sociology itself, the ideal of -which might not unfairly be regarded as the extension to society as -a whole of that type of investigation which had proved so successful -in economic matter. From this influence has arisen the tendency -in sociological research which has been called by the name of the -economic or materialist view of history and consequently of society. -Primarily connected with the name of Marx, it may also be illustrated -by many contentions of Buckle and Le Play, and has become, indeed, -the formula of a school. In sum, the point of view amounts to this: -that the fundamental structure of civilisation, the type of the -family, for example, and the order relations and development of -classes in society, have been and must be determined by the primary -necessities of human existence, and the conditions of climate and -nutrition under which these necessities are met. Economic facts -alone, it is suggested, are real and causal; everything else is an -appearance and an effect. - -Before saying a word as to the true importance of this point of -view, we may profitably correct the commonplace idea of its nature. -Materialism, in a strict philosophical sense, means the conviction -that nothing is real but that which is solid, or, perhaps, which -gravitates. By a not very convincing analogy from this idea, all -those passions and necessities which we speak of in a quite loose and -popular way as connected with the body, may be and often are regarded -as “material” in opposition to energies which it seems pleasanter -{29} to ascribe to incorporeal mind. But it should be noted that -this secondary usage, especially in a time when no one denies the -physical correlation of all psychical activity, has no important -ethical implication. Like the “flesh” or the “body” of St. Paul’s -religious language, the “bodily” or “material” needs and appetites -of man are an element of mind, the rank and value of which must be -determined on other grounds than the notion that they are connected -in some peculiar degree with “physical” conditions. The economic -view of history has been called and has called itself materialist -partly because of the commonplace usage, which I have just described, -by which certain passions and necessities, which it takes to be -fundamental, are apt to be called material as opposed to ethical or -ideal--a wholly unjustified opposition--and partly from the notion, -which I referred to at the beginning of this chapter, that the -success of political economy was in some way analogous to that of the -mathematical science of abstract matter. - -Stripping off, then, the unjustified suggestion of philosophical -materialism, [1] what we have in the economic view of history, -amounts pretty much to what is expressed in the saying that while -statesmen are arguing, love and hunger are governing mankind. Climate -and natural resources make a {30} difference to history; occupations -determine the type of the family; an agricultural and an industrial -society will never exhibit the same relations between classes, and -very vast commercial operations cannot be carried on by the same -methods or by the same minds which sufficed for the retail trade of -a petty shop. But when it is clearly seen that economic needs and -devices are no detached, nor, so to speak, absolutely antecedent -department of human life [2]--a fact which the epithet “materialist” -has done something to obscure, for, in truth, in economics there is -no question of genuine material causation--then it becomes obvious -that we have not here any prior determining framework of social -existence, but simply certain important aspects of the operations -of the human mind, rather narrowly regarded in their isolation from -all others. If we seriously consider the import of such an economic -conception as the “standard of life,” it becomes plain that the -contrast too commonly accepted [3] between the mechanical pressure -of economic facts and the influence of ideas [4] stands in need of a -completely fresh criticism and of entire restatement. Discounting, -however, the exaggerations which have arisen from confused notions of -materialism, and from the genuine achievements of economic science, -we have remaining, in the point of view under consideration, a -thoroughly just assertion of man’s continuity with {31} the world -around him. Undoubtedly man lives the life of his planet, his -climate, and his locality, and is the utterance, so to speak, of the -conditions under which his race and his nation have evolved. The only -difficulty arises if, by some arbitrary line between man and his -environment, the conditions which are the very material of his life -come to be treated as alien influences upon it, with the result of -representing him as being the slave of his surroundings rather than -their concentrated idea and articulate expression. Do we think that -Homer, Dante, and Shakespeare would have been greater or more free in -their genius if one had not been the voice of Greece, another that of -Italy, and the third that of England? The world in which man lives -_is_ himself, but is constituted, of course, by presentation to a -mind and not by strictly physical causation; and even where strictly -physical causation plays a part, as in the bodily effects of a hot -climate or of a certain kind of nutrition, still it cannot determine -a type of human life except by passing into the world which a human -being presents to himself. - -[1] Quite probably there may be in the Marxian view an echo of true -materialism--the idea that will and consciousness are “epiphenomena” -_i.e._ are effects which are not causes generated by molecular -movements. Such a view cannot be criticised here, only it may be -pointed out that, on such a basis, the “bodily” passions, etc., -are in no way more “material” than, e.g., the moral “categorical -imperative,” and therefore no more causal. - -[2] See note 4. - -[2] Cf. _e.g._ Durkheim, _Annee Sociologique_, 1897, p. 159. - -[4] _I.e._ as if economic conditions were a sort of iron girders put -up to begin with and civilisation was the embellishment of them. It -is the old story of forgetting that the skeleton is later than the -body, and is deposited and moulded by it. - -The exclusive importance which has been attached to considerations -of this kind in recent social theory is partly due to an unfounded -opinion of their novelty. It is somewhat striking, though following -naturally enough from the sort of schism in the world of letters -which modern sociology and ancient social philosophy represent, -that the firm and well balanced handling of these problems which we -owe to Plato and Aristotle is for the most part ignored by modern -sociologists. - -{32} The entire social conception of those writers is a continued -application of the principle, fundamental in their whole philosophy, -that “form” is the inherent organising life of “matter,” so that -the better life of a commonwealth can be nothing but the flower and -crown of the possibilities inherent in its material conditions and -industrial and economic organisation. The law which is ultimately -to reveal itself as the spring of all righteousness in the State, -has its most obvious and external symbol--so Plato tells us--in -the economic exchange of services; and every circumstance of site, -and industry, and trade, and the racial type of the citizen, helps -to constitute, both for him and for Aristotle, the living organic -possibility from which, in some appropriate individual form, the -higher life is to spring. If we ask ourselves what then is the -difference between the ancient view of economic causation, and that -of the “materialist” historical school, we shall find the answer in -the absence, from the former, of that unreal isolation upon which we -observed above. The relation of “matter” or “conditions” to “form” -or “purpose” is not, for the Greek thinker, the pressure of an -alien necessity, of a hostile environment, but the upspringing of a -life, continuous in principle through all its phases. The thought -of the legislator fixes in the shape of distinct consciousness and -will, what the assemblage of conditions embodies as a physical or -instinctive tendency, as the artist, to use an ancient simile, finds -the statue in the marble. Working with this idea, the connection is -far more thoroughly, because more sympathetically, traced than it -can be when we think that our science is but laying bare the fetters -of humanity. And following {33} in the spirit of the Greek thinkers -themselves, modern students of antiquity have devoted themselves to -eliciting the positive connection of conditions with history, up to -a point of success of which the common run of modern sociologists -appear to have no conception. When we reflect how typical and, -comparatively speaking, how readily isolated and exhausted is the -history of Ancient Greece in the greatest age, it seems extraordinary -that the considerable and minute researches which have been bestowed -upon its geographical, commercial, and economic conditions should -not be commonly drawn into account with a view to the illustration -of the relations between natural resources, commercial and economic -development, and historical greatness. [1] - -[1] I have never, for example, seen the great work of Ernst -Curtius, on the geography of the Peloponnese in connection with its -historical development, referred to in any sociological treatise; -nor, again, Duncker, nor Büchsenschütz, nor Mr. Newman’s edition of -Aristotle’s _Politics_. Boeckh’s _Treatise on the Public Economy of -Athens_ receives only a word of contemptuous notice in M’Culloch’s -_Literature of Political Economy_. - -However this may be, here at any rate, in the analysis of economic -and quasi-economic conditions in their bearing upon the life of -peoples, we get a real subject-matter which is perhaps, so far as -can yet be seen, the territory least disputably belonging to the -pure sociologist. It is not really a sphere of natural causation, -but it is a sphere of certain simple and general conditions in -psychical life, corresponding to external facts which admit of -more or less precise statement, and, we may hope, of reduction to -fairly trustworthy uniformities. Such for instance are M. Durkheim’s -investigations on the effect of {34} density of population upon the -division of labour, [1] or Professor Gidding’s observations upon the -causes and limiting conditions of the aggregation of populations. [2] -We now proceed to a branch of experience which seriously strains the -working conceptions of the sociologist. - -[1] _De la Division du Travail Social_, Alcan, 1893. - -[2] _Principles of Sociology_, bk. II., ch. i. Few things are more -interesting in this respect than Mr. Poore’s observations in _Rural -Hygiene_ on the mechanical conditions of modern city life, as regards -drainage and water supply, with their results in encouraging an -overcrowded and insanitary mode of living. - -iv. A completely new vista reveals itself to the student of social -theory when he turns from biological analogies and economic -conditions to consider the wealth of experience and of ideas which -is furnished to him by Jurisprudence and the Science of Right. He -knows, indeed, by this time, that the obvious aspect of a province -of fact will not be the only one, and that a unity will certainly be -traceable between all the facets of social existence. But none the -less, he will be able to restrain the itch to explain things away, -and he will fairly and candidly give weight to the significance and -suggestiveness of the mass of history and of reflection which is now -brought before him. - -_a_. For here, as the plainest and most unmistakable data of -experience, we are confronted with _ideal facts_. The vast mass -of documents which form the basis of the Science of Right--a more -complete and comprehensive set of records, perhaps, than any other -branch of social science can boast--bears witness in every case to -one social phenomenon at least, to a formal act of mind and will, -aimed at maintaining some relative right or {35} hindering some -relative wrong, and stamped with what in some sense and in some -degree amounts to a social recognition. Theorists have said too -hastily, though with a sound meaning, that right is independent -of fact. It would be as true to say that reason is independent of -civilisation, or the soul independent of culture. Right is not -exhausted in the facts of past history; but it is at every moment -embodied in facts; and to comprehend that the social phenomena -which are among the most solid and unyielding of our experiences, -are nevertheless ideal in their nature, and consist of conscious -recognitions, by intelligent beings, of the relations in which -they stand, is to make a great step towards grasping the essential -task of science in dealing with society. From the beginning of -social theory the facts of law have been set in opposition to the -idea of a natural growth. It has been observed that, as a definite -institution maintained by formal acts of will, society is artificial, -conventional, contractual. We all know to-day that there is much -more than this to be said about the nature and principles of social -growth. Nevertheless, it remains true that the social whole has an -artificial aspect, an aspect of will and of design, of the agreement -and mutual recognition of free conscious beings. And in so far as the -history of law has resulted in the conception of natural right, this -in no way derogates from the artificial or ideal character of society -as above understood. For “natural” right belongs to a “nature” which -includes and does not exclude that action of intelligence in virtue -of which society may be termed artificial; and is {36} merely the -revelation of the principle towards which the social will is working, -and which in some degree it has always embodied. - -Therefore the facts of Jurisprudence and the Science of Right, or -of “Natural Right,” as the issue and outcome of Jurisprudence, -necessarily counterbalance the extreme ideas of continuous growth and -natural causation which social science derives from other analogies. -We are reminded that, after all, we are dealing with a self-conscious -purposive organism, which is aware of a better and a worse, and -has members bound together by conscious intelligence, though, it -may be, not by conscious intelligence alone. At one time the ideas -of Jurisprudence, such as Sovereignty or Contract, were considered -sufficient by themselves to equip a social theory. And if they are -now seen to need completion from both sides,--from the side of lower -nature, and from the side of the national spirit and culture,--this -should not make us neglectful of the important truths which the facts -of law and recognised obligation, more than any others, establish on -solid ground. - -_b_. It is of course the case that Law has been treated from the -standpoint of economic history in the same way as the other phenomena -of civilised life. It may be taken simply as the form into which -substantive relations crystallise, under the influence of economic -conditions or of other elementary social forces. And obviously such -a view has its truth. The social will, like the will of any one of -us from day to day, is formed not _in vacuo_, but as the focus of -all the influences which penetrate our being. It is a fair object of -{37} research to ascertain the economic or other social meaning of -the statutes which we find on the statute book; and it is because -they have so much meaning that they are excellent object-lessons in -the play of the social consciousness and sense of right. But this -focussing of social influences makes the laws not less acts of social -will, but more. To suppose the contrary would be like supposing -that nothing is a true act of will which embodies an individual’s -distinctive purposes in life. - -I will explain by an illustration the relative value of sociological -analysis in dealing with the facts of positive law. I am indebted -for it to M. Durkheim, whose writings appear to me among the most -original and suggestive works of modern sociology. I regret that my -immediate purpose does not justify me in stating and appreciating the -whole very interesting theory of repressive and contractual law from -which the point in question is selected. - -An act is a crime, [1] we are told, for the pure sociologist, when -it offends the strong and definite collective sentiments of society. -This is the strictly causal view of the matter. The act is a crime -because it offends; it does not offend because it is a crime. And the -corollaries are valuable. It is idle to distinguish, on such a basis, -between the reformatory, the retributive, and the deterrent views of -the reaction which is punishment. [2] An offensive act is in itself -at once an exhibition of character, an injury, and a menace. If a man -{38} assaults me in the street, and I knock him down; how futile to -ask if my action is meant to cure him of his insolence, to punish him -for having hit me, or to prevent him from hitting me again! The real -fact is that I am offended, and I react by way of injury and negation -against that which offends me. Now, this view, I think, illuminates -the subject. By going back to the simple operative cause, as it may -be supposed to exist especially in the mind of a tribe in an early -stage of development (M. Durkheim is chiefly referring to religious -offences), we have got a plain type of mental reaction, easy to -imagine and to understand. In this type we see at once the unity of -aspects which the forms of law, and legal or philosophical theory, -tend later to dissociate in a fictitious degree. And moreover we are -reminded that a law must have something behind it; some positive -sentiment or conviction, without which it would be unaccountable and -unmeaning. - -[1] Durkheim, _Op. cit_., livre I., ch. ii. - -[2] See ch. viii. below. - -But when all this is said, it must not be supposed that penal law -has been reduced to the level of a strong and definite collective -sentiment, or a crime to the level of an annoyance. The simplest -penal law of a self-existent social group is different from the -anger of a crowd or mob. There is in it some sense of permanence, -and permanence means responsibility and generality--a distinction of -right and wrong. The fact of formally constituting a crime, _i.e._ -of announcing a law, implies that mere distaste is no ground of -punishment. The law means that there is something worth maintaining, -and that this is recognised, and that to violate this recognition is -not merely to be unpopular, but to {39} sin against the common good, -and to break an obligation. With less than this there is no true -crime. - -Thus, if I am right, the relation of pure “sociological” causation -to juristic facts is the well-known relation of the more abstract -to the more concrete sciences, usually illustrated in logic by -the relation of the physical and the musical account of musical -sound. For the pure physicist, a harmony and a discord are only two -different combinations of shakings. For the musician they are not -only opposite effects, but are causes of divergent consequences. So -with the relation between a strong collective sentiment and a true -law. A strong sentiment, as such, is a mere fact, a mere force; and -as such the sociologist regards it. A law involves the pretension -to will what is just, and is therefore a sentiment and something -more, viz., the point of view of social good. It aims at a right and -implies a wrong, and demands to be apprehended and judged on this -ground. A mere force cannot by its reaction constitute a crime; for -that a law is necessary. The ideal aspect of law as recognition of -right is no less actual, no less solid and verifiable, than the facts -of sentiment or necessity which may have suggested and sustained it. -In this way the relation of sociological causation to the facts of -Jurisprudence is typical of the whole relation of Sociology conceived -as a natural science, to the larger facts with which social theory -has to deal. - -v. But the ideas involved in mere legality, though they bear -emphatic testimony to the conscious and artificial aspect of the -social whole, have always {40} been regarded with some justice as -the type of what is empty and formal. To treat a law as a command -with a penalty annexed, or to enunciate the tendency of social -progress as being from status to contract, may convey important -meanings, but is obviously very far short of the whole truth. And, -indeed, generalisations of this kind, though characteristic of a -certain class of reflective Jurisprudence, do not at all represent -the highest level which has been reached within the science of -right itself. But yet, as we pass beyond these everyday working -conceptions, we are beginning to leave the central ground of -Jurisprudence, and to move towards a point of view which deals -more completely with life and culture. The need and occasion for -such a point of view may be measured by that revival of national -individuality which was referred to in the last chapter as -constituting the true ground and occasion for the rebirth of genuine -political philosophy in modern times. Montesquieu’s investigation -into the “spirit of laws,” and his treatment of a law as something -deeper than a command, following upon the similar endeavours of -Vico, was in fact a recognition of the fundamental unity of a -national civilisation, which, on its political side, even Hobbes and -Locke had already attempted to explain by help of the inadequate -instruments furnished to them by legal theory. Montesquieu’s and -Vico’s conceptions were only the forerunners of the many-sided -study of civilisation which characterised the latter part of the -eighteenth century, following up the problem which was enunciated in -Rousseau’s paradox, that “law itself must be created by the social -spirit which it aims at creating.” To recognise the social spirit -{41} of a people, as the central unity behind its law and culture -and politics, was the principle of the various researches dealing -with formative art, poetry, language, religion, and the state, which -marked the close of the eighteenth century (compare Wolf’s theory of -Homer as the utterance of a racial mind), and laid the foundation of -nineteenth century idealism. - -The true Greek renaissance, initiated in the age of Winckelmann, -forcing modern minds into contact with Hellenic ideas in their -original form, and no longer through Latin intermediaries, furnished -a type and focus for these researches by bringing before the thoughts -of students the brilliant individuality of the ancient city-state, -the crude traditions of which had already exercised the most powerful -influence on Rousseau, and through him on the Revolution. At the -same time the organic sciences were full of activity. The life-work -of Goethe marks the parallelism of the two movements. It is plain -that the doctrines of Comte were no more than a very one-sided -attempt to formulate the significance of the fermentation around -him, and that deeply as he felt the unity of the social being, his -expression of it ignored half the lesson of the times. Thus the -generalities of Jurisprudence are vitalised and completed by the -work of the sciences of culture; and the conception of a national -mind and character takes its unquestioned place in modern social -theory. It may be well at this point also to call attention to the -researches which later historians have directed to what may be called -“Comparative Politics”; the relations, that is, of communities under -government with respect to the {42} mode in which they are governed. -[1] For this branch of inquiry once more, though narrow and empty by -itself, yet does aid in bringing to light the purposive and conscious -character of society, and in correcting the tendency to treat it -altogether as a “natural” phenomenon. - -[1] Freeman’s _Comparative Politics_, and Seeley’s _Introduction to -Political Science_. - -vi. “And so the whirligig of Time brings about his revenges.” French -Sociology to-day is a psychological science, though its founder -banished psychology from his sociological method. Nothing is more -instructive than to watch the gradual pressure of the various points -of view which are emphasised by the various departments of social -experience, as they reveal, under criticism, their tendency to -complete themselves and one another by suggesting the only category -which is adequate to them as a whole. As every serious student of -social matters knows by his own experience, it is impossible to touch -a physical fact, or a statistical datum, or a legal enactment, in -reference to its social bearing, without its at once, so to speak, -coming alive in his hands, and attaching itself to an underlying -relation of mind as the only unity which will make it intelligible, -and correlate it with other experiences, by themselves no less -fragmentary. In statistics, for example, you touch a moving creature, -as if through the holes in a wall, at this point and the other, and -write down where you have touched him. [1] But to see the creature -as he is, and combine your information of all kinds in a just and -complete idea, you {43} must get him into the open. And that, -when the question is of a life, you can only do by reconstructing -his mind, for even to see a social unit with your eyes gives you -a fragment only, and not a whole. On Fridays, we are told, the -passenger traffic returns of French railways, omnibuses, and steamers -show a decline. [2] What dumb fact is this? People do not like to -travel on Fridays, or prefer to travel upon other days. What is this -preference? The only unity that can really afford an explanation, -that can correlate this irregular fragment of fact with the whole -to which it belongs, is the living mind and will of the society in -which the phenomenon occurs. Explanation aims at referring things to -a whole; and there is no true whole but mind. Necessarily, therefore, -with widening experience and deepening criticism, mind has become the -centre of the experiences focussed by sociology. - -[1] Cf. _Aspects of the Social Problem_ (Macmillan, 1895), C.S. Loch -on “Returns in Social Science,” p. 287. - -[2] Tarde, _Les Lois de l’Imitation_, p. 115. - -We may note some significant points in this development, although, -indeed, the whole course of modern sociology is one single -illustration of what has just been said. Discussions of the problem -in what the differentia of society consists, no longer deal with -organic or economic conceptions, but with such ideas as the -“Consciousness of kind,” [1] the “Mind of a Crowd,” [2] “Imitation” -and “Invention,” [3] similarities and differences in the social -consciousness, [4] “Social logic” and society considered as a -syllogism, [5] and the imitative and {44} inventive person. [6] The -work of M. Tarde in particular is typical of the whole movement, -and his phrases have largely been adopted whether in agreement or -in controversy. For him the one fact coextensive with the social -character is “Imitation”--the means by which ideas and practices -spread throughout groups and masses of intelligent beings. For the -characteristic of knowable phenomena, in his view, is Repetition, -and Imitation is the means and vehicle of Repetition in social -matters. Here, however, we have accounted only for generalisation, -and differentiation needs a separate origin. This will be supplied -by the idea of “Invention;” Invention and Imitation, therefore, are -the general form of all social process, the matter on the other hand -being analysable as Belief and Desire. Every institution is a belief, -[7] every activity is a want or desire. In the _Logique Sociale_ -these conceptions of the general medium and process of social life -are pushed home into the actual formative operation of the social -mind and will. Society, we are told, may be compared not indeed to -an organism, but rather to a brain; it is a cooperative mind, a -syllogism, in which the principles held by one part are modified -and applied by another. M. Tarde’s extreme illustrative hypothesis -corresponds strangely with one thrown out by Mr. Sidgwick. Mr. -Sidgwick [8] has simplified an ethical question by supposing only a -single sentient conscious being in the universe; for M. {45} Tarde -there is, we might say, no single being at all; the typical social -man is a hypnotical creature, a somnambulist acting under suggestions -from others, though he does not know it, and is under the illusion -that he is himself. [9] Nothing could be of higher interest than to -see the necessities of social science thus working themselves out, -on slippery and unfamiliar ground, by the sheer force of facts and -experience. That a science of man must be a science of mind seems no -longer disputable. - -[1] Giddings, p. 17. - -[2] Le Bon, _Psychologie des Foules_. - -[3] Tarde, _Les Lois de l’Imitation_. - -[4] Durkheim, _La Division du Travail Social_. - -[5] Tarde, _La Logique Sociale_. - -[6] Baldwin, _Social and Ethical Interpretations in Mental -Development_. - -[7] Perhaps this expression originates with Fustel de Coulanges in -_La Cité Antique_. - -[8] _Methods of Ethics_, p. 374. - -[9] _Les Lois de l’Imitation_, p. 83. - -On the substance of this development there is one observation which -inevitably suggests itself to any critic who approaches the problem -from the philosophical side. - -Necessarily, as the relation of the individual to society is the -root of every social problem, psychological sociology consists to a -great extent in exercises upon the theme of identity and difference. -These exercises have hitherto been for the most part unconscious -and involuntary. And the high degree of substantial truth which is -attained by inquirers who have not thought the logic of identity -worthy of a single glance, is the strongest possible confirmation of -the common experience that it is safer to neglect theory than to be -careless of facts. Nevertheless, it has now become apparent, that -a point has been attained at which logical criticism is absolutely -essential, or if not logical criticism, at least some reference to -the familiar and well-established results of ancient or modern social -philosophy. - -For it is a universal characteristic of the {46} sociological -movement before us, that identity and difference are referred to -different spheres, and the “one” and the “other” are regarded as -reciprocally exclusive atoms. [1] The difficulties and fallacies -which thus arise are innumerable. Thus we have the contagious common -feeling of a crowd [2] taken as the true type of a collective mind, -obviously because it is not understood how an identical structure can -include the differences, the rational distinctions and relations, -which really constitute the working mind of any society. So again -we have one type of law marked off as corresponding to social -similitude, [3] while a different type corresponds to the social -division of labour; simply because the category of resemblance has -been substituted for that of identity, and is treated as exclusive of -differentiation; with the result of a really terrible distortion of -facts in the attempt to separate the whole sphere of penal enactment -from that which deals with industrial organisation. So with the -entire set of notions of “Imitation,” “Repetition” and “Invention.” -[4] The separation of Imitation and Invention is simply the popular -exclusion of Difference from Identity; while the treatment of -Repetition as the characteristic of knowable phenomena and the mode -of utterance of social Imitation means the restriction of rational -Identity to its barest form, and the exclusion from {47} social -theory of absolutely every case of true cooperative structure. For -true cooperative structure is never characterised by repetition, but -always by identity in difference; it is the relation not of a screw -to an exactly similar screw, but of the screw to the nut into which -it fastens. - -[1] M. Tarde’s view just mentioned might seem to conflict with this. -But note that he regards the man influenced by others as under an -illusion in thinking that he is himself: _i.e._, with Spencer and -Huxley, he regards the “self” and the “other” as irreconcilable -factors. - -[2] Le Bon, Op. cit. - -[3] Durkheim, Op. cit. - -[4] Tarde and Baldwin, Op. cit. - -In the discussions of Egoism and Altruism the difficulty comes to a -head. Some writers think Egoism prior to Altruism; others--the more -wary and enlightened--incline to treat Altruism as a phase earlier -than Egoism; M. Durkheim, whose eye for a fact is very keen, seeing -the absurdity of both these suppositions, is determined to include -the two characters in question from the very beginning in the human -consciousness, [1] but, of course, as contents belonging to different -spheres and consisting of contrasted elements. The conception of a -whole held together by its differences, its identity consisting in -and being measured by their very profoundness and individuality, is -not at the command of any of these writers, although the greater -part of M. Durkheim’s theory seems imperatively to demand such a -conception. - -[1] _Division du Travail_, 216. - -vii. Before considering, in conclusion, the relation of Sociology -as influenced by the above-mentioned sources and points of view, to -social philosophy proper, it will be well to devote a few words to -emphasising the way in which these “sources” ought to be regarded. - -Every “source” of sociological science is at once a category, or -point of view, and also a certain group of actual social conditions. -This relation is effectively illustrated by the study of any social -{48} unity which is such as to invite a thorough conspectus of -its life from top to bottom of the social growth and underlying -conditions. I repeat that the history and life of ancient Greece, a -singularly complete working model of society on a very small scale, -analysed with remarkable thoroughness, and individual throughout, is -the prerogative example of such a treatment; but next to this, or in -addition to it, a thoroughly careful study of local history, life, -and conditions, in a limited region, [1] with which we are familiar -from top to toe, is an essential propaedeutic to true social theory. -To focus a number of groups of fact, and coordinate the points of -view which they substantiate, into the conception of a living being, -with its individual character and spiritual utterance, needs more -than a merely literary or statistical study. But by making this -effort we shall learn, as no economic charts or general scientific -works can teach us, what a social life is, and in what sense it -is true that all partial facts and experiences within it demand -ultimate coordination in the category of mind. It is not meant that -consciousness can make the weather hold up, but it is meant that no -fact has a true social bearing except in as far as, sooner or later, -it comes to form part of the world which a being capable of sociality -and therefore intelligent, presents to himself as his theatre of -action. - -[1] Cf. Professor Geddes’ idea of a “Regional Survey,” with which -visitors to his delightful “Summer School” become acquainted. - -3. Thus it may seem that by mere force of facts a necessary solution -has been arrived at, and that psychological sociology must be one and -the same science with social philosophy. - -{49} But this is not quite the case. Up to the present time these two -sciences continue to approach their object-matter, as it were, from -different ends, and whether the two views will ultimately amalgamate -is perhaps mainly a problem of the personal division of labour. -But a question of principle, with reference to the true nature of -psychology, is indirectly involved. Only there seems no reason why -two kinds of psychology should not exist. - -Psychology, as at present conceived by its best working -representatives, is a positive, though not a physical science. -“For (the psychologist) the crude superstitions of Australian -aborigines have as much interest and value as the developed and -accurate knowledge of a Newton or a Faraday.” [1] Its aim is “the -establishment of continuity among observed facts, by interpolating -among them intermediate links which elude observation.” [2] If -not a “physical” science, then, it is, in a common sense of the -term, a “natural” science. It has the impartiality, and uses the -watchwords--law, process, genesis--which belong to a natural science. -And like every impartial science, to which process and genesis are -watchwords, it tends to explain the higher by the lower. This springs -from no malice aforethought, but from the conditions of the case. The -lower is simpler, and usually comes first in time. It is naturally -dwelt upon, as that into which it is hoped to resolve the more -complex, and the explanation which is more adequate for the simple, -is less adequate for the complex. No difference of higher {50} and -lower is recognised by the impartial science, and its ideal, as a -science, is inevitably the expression of the complex in terms of the -simple; while, as far as genesis in time is insisted on, the bias -towards temporal causation is pretty sure to operate by attaching a -quasi-causal significance to the earlier phases. - -[1] Stout, _Analytic Psychology_, Introduction. - -[2] _Ib_. From a logical point of view this idea of explanation seems -seriously defective. See Bradley’s _Principles of Logic_, p. 491. - -In all these characteristics psychology is at one with sociology. -And, therefore, though it is a gain that other points of view should -be resolved into the point of view of mind, yet the positive bias of -sociology is not transcended simply by this resolution. - -Philosophy starts, we have said, as it were, from the other end. It -is critical throughout; it desires to establish degrees of value, -degrees of reality, degrees of completeness and coherence. Its -purpose might be termed “Ethical,” but for the extreme narrowness -of the meaning of that term. Society, for it, is an achievement or -utterance of human nature--of course not divorced from nature in -general--having a certain degree of solidity, so to speak; that is -to say, being able, up to a certain point, to endure the tests and -answer the questionings which are suggested by the scrutiny of human -life from the point of view of value and completeness. Is the social -life the best, or the only life for a human soul? In what way through -society, and in what characteristics of society, does the soul lay -hold upon its truest self, or become, in short, the most that it has -in it to be? How does the social life at its best compare with the -life of art, of knowledge, or of religion, and can the same principle -be shown to be active in all of them? And what have {51} they in -common, or peculiar to each, which has an imperative claim on the -mind of man? - -Now it was hinted above that there might be two kinds of psychology, -or two tendencies within it. And if psychology were to be impelled, -as it has been more than once in the past, by the recognition that -where there is more of its object--of mind--its interest is greater -and the rank of its object-matter is higher, then there would not -be much to choose between the temper of psychology and that of -philosophy. And as sociology has found itself driven forward into -the territory of social “logic,” a name which at once suggests a -critical and philosophical science, it may well be that sociological -psychology will not remain wholly “positive” and impartial, but -will assume, as in the hands of Professor Giddings, for example, it -seems inclined to, at least a teleological attitude, testing social -phenomena by the quantity and quality of life which they display. - -But, at any rate, the points of view of sociology, and of social -philosophy as above described, will continue to supplement each -other. Philosophy gives a significance to sociology; sociology -vitalises philosophy. The idea of mind is deepened and extended by -the unity and continuity which sociological analysis, throughout all -its many-sided sources, vindicates for the principle of growth and -order down to the roots and in all the fibres of the world. Every -natural resource and condition must be thought of as drawing forth -or constituting some new element in the mind which is the universal -focus; just as every shape and colour of the trees in the landscape -or every note of a melody finds its {52} definite and individual -response in the contemplative consciousness. The error lies, not in -identifying the mind and the environment, but in first uncritically -separating them, and then substituting not merely the one for the -other, but wretched fragments of the one for the whole in which alone -either can be complete. - -Philosophy, on the other hand, in treating of society, has to deal -with the problems which arise out of the nature of a whole and its -parts, the relation of the individual to the universal, and the -transformation by which the particular self is lost, to be found -again in a more individual, and yet more universal form. In all -these respects its view is what might be called teleological; that -is to say, it recognises a difference of level or of degree in the -completeness and reality of life, and endeavours to point out when -and how, and how far by social aid, the human soul attains the most -and best that it has in it to become. As long as these two points -of view are clearly recognised, it is a matter of the mere personal -division of labour whether they are brought to bear by the same -thinkers and within the same treatises. - - - - -{53} - -CHAPTER III. - -THE PARADOX OF POLITICAL OBLIGATION: SELF-GOVERNMENT. - -1. To every-day common sense there is something paradoxical in the -phenomena of political obligation; however it may acquiesce in -what, although not satisfactorily explicable, is plainly seen to -be necessary. Where, indeed, we meet with any form of absolutely -despotic government, we have not so much a paradox as a defect; -for, although government may exist in such a shape, it is open to -question how far true political obligation can be said to arise -under such a system. In as far as it does so, we shall find that the -fact is due to unacknowledged conditions and relations, which we -shall more easily analyse as they appear in free or constitutional -states. It would then be easy to show, if we were interested in -doing so, that the principles which will have been recognised as -operative in the freest states known to history, are and have -been, in various degrees, at the root of the common life of every -state or community which has held together effectively enough to -be treated as in any sense a political whole. But this would be a -historical investigation, unnecessary for the purpose of pure {54} -social theory. In this we may fairly start from the highest form of -political experience, in which, as we shall see, the mere defects -of political immaturity being outgrown, the paradox of political -obligation emerges with intensified emphasis. - -Let us take as our starting point, then, the conception of -“self-government,” to which, it will be admitted on all hands, the -thought and feeling of mature communities has clung both in ancient -and modern times, as in some way containing the true root and ground -of political obligation. We shall find in it a striking illustration -of the strength and weakness of wide-spread popular notions. A -universal popular notion cannot but have a hold of some essential -truth, otherwise it could not survive and spread, and form a working -theory for an immense area of experience. On the other hand, a -popular notion, as such, cannot be critical of itself and aware of -its own foundations; and so in defending and applying itself it is -pretty sure to plunge deep into fallacy. “Self-government” is an idea -which will be found, as has been said, to contain the true ground and -nature of political obligation. But the rough and ready application -of it which, for example, represents the individual as simply one -with the community, and the community therefore as infallible in its -action affecting him, is a pure example of fallacy, and may be justly -characterised as a confusion pretending to be a synthesis. Of this -idea as of so many we must say that those who have pronounced it to -be self-contradictory have understood it much better than most of -those who accept it as self-evident. - -In the conception of self-government then we {55} have the paradox of -obligation in its purest form. As applied to the individual himself, -it gives the paradox of Ethical Obligation. As applied to the -individuals who compose a society, it gives the paradox of Political -Obligation. This must be the preliminary distinction by which we -approach the subject; but we shall find that the two problems and the -two cases cannot be ultimately separated, although they are to be -distinguished in a certain respect. - -The paradox of Ethical Obligation starts from what is accepted as -a “self,” and asks how it can exercise authority or coercion over -itself; how, in short, a metaphor drawn from the relations of some -persons to others can find application within what we take to be the -limits of an individual mind. [1] - -[1] On this problem, see below, p. 139. - -The paradox of Political Obligation starts from what is accepted as -authority or social coercion, and asks in what way the term “self,” -derived from the “individual” mind, can be applicable at once to the -agent and patient in such coercion, exercised _prima facie_ by some -persons over others. Both relations and their connection have been -pointed out by Plato. [1] - -[1] _Republic_, 430, 431. - -Our object in the present chapter is to enforce the reality of the -difficulties which attach to the idea of political self-government, -so long as current assumptions as to the union of individuals in -society are maintained. And for this purpose we are to examine the -views of some very distinguished philosophers to whom the paradox -has appeared irreconcilable, and law or government has seemed {56} -essentially antagonistic to the self or true individuality of man; -while the term self, if applied to the collective group by or within -which government is undoubtedly exercised, appears to them an empty -and misleading expression. The curious and significant point, to -which we shall call attention, is, in brief, that while maintaining -law and government to be in their nature antagonistic to the self of -man--whether as pain to pleasure or as fetters to individuality--they -nevertheless admit with one voice that a certain minimum of this -antagonistic element is necessary to the development of the sentient -or rational self. We have here a dualism which challenges examination. - -2. The attitude towards law and government which Bentham adopted -(1748-1832) was in a great degree that of the philanthropic reformer. -His principle of the greatest happiness of the greatest number is -said [1] to have been derived from Beccaria, whose work on “Crimes -and Penalties” had great influence throughout Europe. And Howard, -“the philanthropist,” who was just twenty-two years Bentham’s senior -(1726-1790), represented a revolt against the abuses of the treatment -of criminals at that time, by which Bentham, who eulogised him as -“a martyr and apostle,” was strongly affected. The movement which -Bentham led was, in short, markedly hostile to the existing system -of law, and to the reasonings of its advocates. And substantial as -his knowledge and constructive genius proved to be, it never lost -the character which the direction of his approach to the subject had -marked upon it, a character of suspicion and antagonism, which is -{57} expressed in his description of law as a necessary evil, and -government as a choice of evils. [2] - -[1] Professor Holland in _Encycl. Brit_., art.; Bentham.” - -[2] Bentham, _Principles of Legislation_, p. 48. - -Pain being the ultimate evil, it is clear why, on Bentham’s -principles, every law is an evil. For every law, for him, is -contrary to liberty; and every infraction of liberty is followed by -a natural sentiment of pain. [1] Against those who would deny the -proposition that every law is contrary to liberty he brings a charge -of perversion of language, in that they restrict liberty to the right -of doing what is not injurious to others. They give the term, that is -to say, a partly positive implication. For him then liberty has the -simplest and apparently widest meaning, [2] which includes liberty to -do evil, and is defined, we must suppose, purely as the absence of -restraint. And he therefore has no doubt whatever that the citizen -can acquire rights only by sacrificing part of his liberty. And in -this there is an appearance of truth, if we forget that in saying -that a part of one’s liberty is sacrificed it is implied that one -had, to begin with, a certain area of liberty, of which a portion -is abandoned to save the rest. But the idea of any such antecedent -liberty is just such a fiction as Bentham himself delighted to -expose. It is true, however, that some degree of restraint on what -we can _now_ easily imagine ourselves free to do, is involved in -political society. The point on which we have to fix our attention, -for the purposes of social theory, is the remarkable representation -of this state of things under the figure, as it were, of an amount of -general liberty, {58} which is increased by subtraction, or which can -only attain its maximum by the conversion of a certain edge or border -of it, so to speak, into constraint. This border of constraint is -implied to be capable of a minimum, such as to condition a maximum of -liberty, or possible individual initiative; a relation which, being -at first sight contradictory, demands further analysis. For it would -appear that if the sacrifice of some liberty is to be instrumental -to the increase of the whole amount, that whole can hardly be a -homogeneous given quantity, like, for instance, a piece of land; for -such a one must surely be diminished by the subtraction of any part -of it. It must, one would infer, be something which has a complex -nature like that of a living plant, such that certain restrictions or -negations which are essential to its prosperity are dictated by its -individual characteristics (which must be positive), and express the -same principle with them; and therefore are wholly relative to the -positive type and phase of the plant to be cultivated. Only in some -such sense can it be intelligible how constraint is instrumental to -effective self-assertion. - -[1] Bentham, _Principles of Legislation_, p. 94. - -[2] It is not really the widest, as will appear in the sequel. - -But if this is so, the restrictive influences of law and government, -which are the measure of the constraint imposed, cannot be alien to -the human nature which they restrict, and ought not to be set down -as in their own nature antagonistic to liberty or to the making -the most of the human self. The root of the difficulty obviously -lies in assuming that the pressure of the claims of “others” in -society is a mere general curtailment of the liberty of the “one,” -while acknowledging, not {59} contrary to fact, but contrary to -the hypothesis of that curtailment, that the one, so far from -surrendering some of his capacity for life through his fellowship -with others, acquires and extends that capacity wholly in and through -such fellowship. On the above assumption the terms of the paradox -of self-government become irreconcilable, and government is made an -evil of which it is impossible to explain how it ministers to the -self which stands for the good. So long as to every individual, taken -as the true self, the restraint enforced by the impact of others is -alien and a diminution of the self, this result is inevitable. - -It is instructive, therefore, to note Bentham’s uncompromising -hostility to all the theories of philosophical jurists. The common -point of all their theories, from Hobbes and Grotius to Montesquieu -and Rousseau, not to mention Kant and his successors, has lain in the -fact that their authors divined under the forms of power and command, -exercised by some over others, a substantive and general element of -positive human nature, which they attempted to drag to light by one -analogy after another. But neither Montesquieu’s “eternal relations,” -nor the “Social Contract,” nor “General Will,” nor “Natural Rights” -of other thinkers find favour in Bentham’s eyes. One and all they -are to him fiction and fallacy. He can understand nothing in law but -the character of a command; he can see no positive relation of it to -human nature beyond the degree in which it dispenses with the pain of -restraint while increasing the pleasure of liberty. - -To describe the magnificent success which {60} attended the use of -this rule of thumb in the practical work of reform does not fall -within our immediate subject. Our purpose was merely to illustrate -the paradox implied in the conception of self-government, by pointing -out how fundamentally hostile to one another Bentham took its -constituent elements to be. - -3. The same point may be further insisted on by examining the main -ideas of Mill’s “Liberty,” without by any means professing to give -a full account of Mill’s opinions on the relation of individuals -to society. What indeed is instructive in his position, for our -immediate purpose, is that, having so deep a sense, as he has, of -social solidarity, he nevertheless treats the central life of the -individual as something to be carefully fenced round against the -impact of social forces. - -i. Mill’s idea of Individuality is plainly biassed by the Benthamite -tradition that law is an evil. It is to be remembered that Anarchism -of a speculative kind, the inevitable complement of a hide-bound -Conservatism, was current in the beginning of this century, as in -Godwin and Shelley. Thus we find concentrated in a few pages of -the “Liberty” [1] all those ideas on the nature of Individuality, -Originality, and Eccentricity, which are most opposed to the -teaching derived by later generations in England from the revival of -philosophy and criticism. It is worth while, after reading Mill’s -observations upon the relation of individuality to the Calvinistic -theory of life, [2] to turn to the estimate expressed by Mark -Pattison [3] of the force of individual character generated by {61} -the rule of Calvin at Geneva. That the individuality, or genius, -the fulness of life and completeness of development which Mill so -justly appreciates, is not nourished and evoked by the varied play -of relations and obligations in society, but lies in a sort of inner -self, to be cherished by enclosing it, as it were, in an impervious -globe, is a notion which neither modern logic [4] nor modern art -criticism will admit. In the same way, the connection of originality -and eccentricity, on which Mill insists, appears to us to-day to be -a fallacious track of thought; and in general, in all these matters, -we tend to accept the principle that, in order to go beyond a point -of progress, it is necessary to have reached it; and in order to -destroy a law, it is necessary to have fulfilled it. Here, however, -is the heart of the point on which we are insisting. If individuality -and originality mean or depend upon the absence of law and of -obligation; if eccentricity is the type of the fully developed self, -and if the community, penetrated by a sense of universal relations, -is therefore a prey to monotony and uniformity, then it needs no -further words to show that law is a curtailment of human nature, the -necessity of which remains inexplicable, so that self-government is a -contradiction in terms. - -[1] pp. 35-9. - -[2] _Ib._, p. 35. - -[3] _Essays_, vol. I., “Calvin.” - -[4] See below, p. 79. - -ii. How then does Mill bring the two terms into relation? How does -he represent the phenomenon that, in the life of every society, -the factors of self and of government have to be reconciled, or at -anyrate to coexist? - -To find the answer to this question, the whole {62} of the chapter, -“Of the limits of the authority of society over the individual,” [1] -should be carefully studied. A few characteristic sentences may be -quoted here. - -[1] _On Liberty_, ch. iv. - - “What, then, is the rightful limit to the sovereignty of - the individual over himself? Where does the authority of - society begin? How much of human life should be assigned - to individuality, and how much to society? - - “Each will receives its proper share, if each has that - which more particularly concerns it. To individuality - should belong the part of life in which it is chiefly the - individual that is interested; to society, the part which - chiefly interests society.” - -Every one who lives in society, he continues in effect, is bound -not to interfere with certain interests of others (explicitly or -implicitly constituted as “rights”), and is bound to take his fair -share of the sacrifices incurred for the defence of society and -its members. These conditions society may enforce, at all costs to -recalcitrants. Further, it may punish by opinion, though not by law, -acts hurtful to others, but not going so far as to violate their -rights. But acts which affect only the agent, or need not affect -others unless they like, may be punished, we are given to understand, -neither by law nor by opinion. Mill expects his conclusions to be -disputed, and the following is the conclusion of the passage in which -he explains and re-affirms it: - - “... when a person disables himself, by conduct purely - self-regarding, from the performance of some definite - duty incumbent on him to the public, he is guilty of - a social {63} offence. No person ought to be punished - simply for being drunk; but a soldier or policeman should - be punished for being drunk on duty. Wherever, in short, - there is a definite damage, or a definite risk of damage - either to an individual or to the _public, the case is - taken out of the province of liberty, and placed in that - of morality or law_.” [1] - -[1] Italics are mine. - -It will probably occur at once to the reader that, considered as a -practical rule, the view here maintained would by no means curtail -unduly the province of social interference. We should rather -anticipate that it would leave an easy opening for a transition -from administrative nihilism to administrative absolutism; and some -such transition seems to have taken place in Mill’s later views. -This tendency to a complete _bouleversement_ is the characteristic -of all conceptions which proceed by assigning different areas to -the several factors of an inseparable whole, which then reasserts -itself in its wholeness within the area of either factor to which -we may happen to attend. Indeed, even in the passage before us, the -defence of individuality has already well-nigh turned round into -its annihilation. Every act that carries a definite damage to any -other person belongs to the sphere of law, and every act that can -be supposed likely to cause such a damage, to that of morality; and -individuality has what is left. The extraordinary demarcation between -the sphere of morality and that of liberty is to be accounted for, -no doubt, by the Benthamite tradition which identified the moral and -social sanctions; so that in this usage the sphere of morality means -much the same as what, {64} in the first passage referred to, was -indicated as the sphere of opinion. - -Now, it is obvious that the distinction which Mill is attempting to -describe and explain is one practically recognised by every society. -The question is whether it can be rightly described and explained -by a demarcation which, if strictly pressed, excludes individuality -from every act of life that has an important social bearing; while, -owing to the two-sided nature of all action, it becomes perfectly -arbitrary in its practical working as a criterion. For every act -of mine affects both myself and others; and it is a matter of mood -and momentary urgency which aspect may be pronounced characteristic -and essential. It may safely be said that no demarcation between -self-regarding and other-regarding action can possibly hold good. -What may hold good, and what Mill’s examples show to be present to -his mind, is a distinction between the moral and the “external” -aspects of action, on the ground of their respective accessibility -to the means of coercion which are at the disposal of society. The -peculiar sense in which the term “external” is here employed will -explain itself below. [1] - -[1] See ch. viii. below. - -For our present purpose, however, what we have to observe is merely -that the demarcation between individuality and society, contrived in -defence of the former, has pretty nearly annihilated it. And thus we -see once more how overwhelming is the _prima facie_ appearance that, -in the idea of self-government, the factors of self and government -are alien and opposed; and yet how hopeless it remains {65} to -explain the part played by these factors in actual society, so long -as we aim at a demarcation between them as opposites, rather than at -a relative distinction between them as manifestations of the same -principle in different media. - -iii. A few words may here be said on the applications by which Mill -illustrates his doctrine, in order to point out what confusion -results from relying on a demarcation which cannot strictly be made. - -It will be noted in the first place that he objects altogether to -the attempt to prevent by punishment either immorality or irreligion -as such. [1] This objection a sound social theory must uphold. But -if we look at Mill’s reason for it, we find it simply to be that -such an attempt infringes liberty, by interfering with action which -is purely self-regarding. Without entering further upon the endless -argument whether this or any action is indeed purely self-regarding, -we may observe that by taking such ground, Mill causes the above -objection, which is substantially sound, to appear as on all fours -with others which are at any rate very much more doubtful. Such is -the objection on principle to all restrictions imposed upon trade -with a distinct view to protecting the consumer, not from fraud, -but from opportunities of consumption injurious to himself. The -regulation or prohibition of the traffic in alcoholic liquors is of -course the main question here at issue; and it may be admitted that -Mill’s discussion, with the many distinctions which he lays down, -is full of shrewdness and suggestiveness. But the ultimate ground -which he takes, as above stated, is quite different from the genuine -reasons which exist {66} against attempting to enforce morality by -law and penalty, and introduces confusion into the whole question of -State interference by ranking the two objections together. Closely -analogous are his objections to the statutes respecting unlawful -games, [2] which, whether wise or unwise, are quite a different thing -from an attempt to punish personal immorality as such. And lastly, -the same principle is illustrated by his whole attitude to the strong -feeling and the various legal obligations which determine and support -the monogamous family. In maintaining the general indissolubility -of marriage, and supporting the parental power, the State is -interfering, for him, with the freedom of parties to a contract, and -conferring power over individuals, the children, who have a right to -be separately considered. Such interference is for him _ipso facto_ -of a suspected nature. It is an interference hostile to liberty; and -whether it is or is not an external condition of good life, which -the State is able effectively to maintain, is a question which he -does not discuss. Throughout all these objections to authoritative -interference we trace the peculiar prejudice that the criterion of -its justifiability lies in the boundary line between self and others, -rather than in the nature of what coercive authority is and is not -able to do towards the promotion of good life. On many points indeed, -when the simple protection of “others” is concerned, Mill’s doctrine -leads to sound conclusions. Such, for example, is the problem of -legislation after the pattern of the Factory Acts. - -[1] Pp. 48 and 50. - -[2] P. 59. - -But yet a strange nemesis attaches to grounds {67} alleged with -insufficient discrimination. Just as, by ranking inner morality and -outer action alike under the name of freedom, Mill is led to object -to interference which may be perfectly justified and effectual; so -by the same confusion he is led to advocate coercive treatment in -impossibly stringent forms, and in cases where it runs extreme risk -of thwarting a true moral development. We are amazed when he strongly -implies, in respect to the education of children and the prospect of -supporting a family, that moral obligations [1] ought to be enforced -by law. The proposal of universal State-enacted examinations by -way of enforcing the parental duty of educating children, to the -exclusion of the task of providing education by public authority, -in which Mill sees danger to individuality, opens a prospect of a -Chinese type of society, from which, happily, the good sense of -Englishmen has recoiled. And just the reverse of his proposal has -come to pass under the influence of the logic of experience. The -State has taken care that the external conditions of an elementary -education are provided, and, while doing this, has no doubt exercised -compulsion in order that these conditions may be a reality. But the -individual inquisition by examination is tending to drop out of the -system; and the practical working of the public education is more and -more coming to be that the State sees to it that certain conditions -are maintained, of which the parents’ interest and public spirit -leads them to take advantage. Sheer compulsion is not the way to -enforce a moral obligation. - -[1] Pp. 62 and 64. - -{68} Still more startling is the suggestion that it might be just to -interdict marriage to those unable to show the means of supporting -a family, on the ground of possible evil both to the children -themselves through poverty, and to others through over-population. -This is a case in which authoritative interference (except on account -of very definite physical or mental defects) must inevitably defeat -its object. No foresight of others can gauge the latent powers to -meet and deal with a future indefinite responsibility; and the result -of scrupulous timidity, in view of such responsibilities, is seen in -the tendency to depopulation which affects that very country from -which Mill probably drew his argument. To leave the responsibility -as fully as possible where it has been assumed is the best that law -can do, and appeals to a spring of energy deeper than compulsion can -reach. - -Thus we have seen that by discriminating the spheres of -non-interference and interference, according to a supposed -demarcation between the sphere of “self” and of “others,” a -hopelessly confused classification has been introduced. Sometimes -the maintenance of external conditions of good life, well within the -power of the State, is forbidden on the same grounds as the direct -promotion of morality, which is impossible to it. In other cases -the enforcement of moral obligations is taken to lie within the -functions of the State, although not only is the enforcement of moral -obligations _per se_ a contradiction in terms, but almost always, -as in the cases in question, the attempt to effect it is sure to -frustrate itself, by destroying the springs on which moral action -depends. - -{69} It is worth noticing, in conclusion, that in two examples, -[1] the one trivial, the other that of slavery, both theoretically -and practically very important, Mill recognises a principle wholly -at variance with his own. Here he is aware that it may be right, -according to the principle of liberty, to restrain a man, for -reasons affecting himself alone, from doing what at the moment he -proposes to do. For we are entitled to argue from the essential -nature of freedom to what freedom really demands, as opposed to -what the man momentarily seems to wish. “It is not freedom to be -allowed to alienate his freedom,” as it is not freedom to be allowed -to walk over a bridge which is certain to break down and cause his -death. Here we have in germ the doctrine of the “real” will, and a -conception analogous to that of Rousseau when he speaks of a man -“being forced to be free.” - -[1] Pp. 57 and 61. - -4. Before referring to Mill’s explicit utterances on the problem of -self-government, which are of the same general character as those -of Mr. Herbert Spencer, it will be well to note some instructive -points in the views of the latter thinker. The study of Mr. Spencer’s -writings, and more especially of those which appear most directly -opposed to the popular conceptions of the day, cannot be too strongly -urged upon the sociological student. And this for two reasons. In the -first place, no other writer has exhibited with equal vividness the -fatal possibilities of a collective governmental stupidity. That in -practice these possibilities are continually tending to become facts, -just as in theory they are {70} represented by recurrent fallacies, -[1] is a proof of the extreme arduousness of the demands made by the -task of self-government upon the people which undertakes it. And no -theorist is fitted to discuss the problem of social unity who has -not realised the arduousness of these demands in all its intensity. -And, in the second place, the student will observe an instructive -meeting of extremes between elements of Mr. Spencer’s ideas and -popular social theories of an opposite cast. The revival of doctrines -of the natural rights of man on a biological foundation [2] is a -case in point. An uncriticised individualism is always in danger of -transformation into an uncritical collectivism. The basis of the two -is in fact the same. - -[1] As, for example, in Rousseau’s attempts to explain the action of -a collective mind, in which he constantly falls into the advocacy of -a soulless _régime_ of mass-meetings. - -[2] _Man v. State_, p. 95. - -i. A comparison of the conception of “right” as entertained by -Bentham and by Herbert Spencer forms a striking commentary on ideas -in which “government” is antagonistic to “self.” Bentham, seeing -clearly that the claims of the actual individual, taken as he -happens to be, are casual and unregulated, fulminates against the -idea of natural right as representing those claims. Right is for -him a creation of the State, and there can be no right which is not -constituted by law. And the truth of the contention seems obvious. -How, in fact, could individual claims or wishes constitute a right, -except as in some way ratified by a more general recognition? - -But to Mr. Herbert Spencer the contrary proposition is absolutely -convincing, and, indeed, on {71} their common premises, with equal -reason. [1] It is ridiculous, he points out, to think of a people as -creating rights, which it had not before, by the process of creating -a government in order to create them. It is absurd to treat an -individual as having a share of rights _qua_ member of the people, -while in his private capacity he has no rights at all. - -[1] _Ib_., p. 88. - -We need not labour this point further. It is obvious that Mr. Herbert -Spencer is simply preferring the opposite extreme, in the antithesis -of “self” and “government,” to that which commended itself to -Bentham. If it is a plain fact that “a right” can only be recognised -by a society, it is no less plain that it can only be real in an -individual. If individual claims, apart from social adjustment, are -arbitrary, yet social recognitions, apart from individual qualities -and relations, are meaningless. As long as the self and the law are -alien and hostile, it is hopeless to do more than choose at random in -which of the two we are to locate the essence of right. - -ii. And how alien and hostile the self and the law may seem we see -even more crudely enunciated in Herbert Spencer than in Bentham -or Mill, as the fundamental principle of the tradition has worked -itself more definitely to the front. “The liberty [1] which a citizen -enjoys is to be {72} measured, not by the nature of the governmental -machinery he lives under, whether representative or other, but by -the relative paucity of the restraints it imposes on him.” And so -we are astounded to find it maintained that the positive and active -element in the right to carry on self-sustaining activities is of a -non-social character, depending only on the laws of life, [2] and -if the matter were pushed home, would have to be identified, one -must suppose, with the more strictly animal element of the mind; -while only the negative element arises from social aggregation, and -it is this negative element alone which gives ethical character to -the right to live. Though these distinctions apply primarily to -the ground of the _right to live_, yet it appears inevitable that -they represent the point of view from which the active self or -individuality must be regarded on the principle we are pursuing. -The ground of the right to live, as here stated, is simply the -recognition that life is a good; and if the positive element of this -good is non-social and only the negative is of social origin, and -this alone is ethical, it seems clearly to follow that the making -the most of life--its positive expansion and intensification--is -excluded from the ethical aspects of individuality, and, indeed, that -individuality has no ethical aspect at all. Here is the ultimate -result of accepting as irreducible the distinction between the self -and government, or the negative relation of individuality and law. -Liberty and self are divorced from the moral end, a tendency which we -noted even in Mill. Selves in society are regarded as if they {73} -were bees building their cells, and their ethical character becomes -comparable to the absence of encroachment by which the workers -maintain the hexagonal outline due to their equal impact on each -other as they progress evenly from equidistant centres. The self, -which has ranked through out these views as the end, to whose liberty -all is to be sacrificed, turns out to be the non-ethical element of -life. - -[1] _Man v. State_, p. 15. Cf. Seeley, _Introd. to Political -Science_, p. 119: “Perfect liberty is equivalent to total absence -of government.” I have attempted to point out the fallacy of this -in a way applying to its practical and everyday meaning in my essay -on “Liberty and Legislation,” in the volume of essays called _The -Civilisation of Christendom_. - -[2] _Man v. State_, p. 98. - -Thus, when Professor Huxley speaks of “self-restraint as the essence -of the ethical process,” [1] while “natural liberty” consists in -“the free play of self-assertion,” we see how the whole method of -approaching social and ethical phenomena is turned upside down unless -the paradox of self-government is conquered once for all. The idea -that assertion and maximisation of the self and of the individuality -first become possible and real in and through society, and that -affirmation and not negation is its main characteristic; these -fundamental conceptions of genuine social philosophy [2] can only -be reached through a destructive criticism of the assumptions which -erect that paradox into an insoluble contradiction. - -[1] _Evolution and Ethics_; pp. 27 and 31. - -[2] For the Greek, it is society which is natural, positive, and -promotive of man’s individuality. See ch. ii. above. - -5. We may now restate the essence of the problem of self-government -as it presents itself to the thinkers whom we have been reviewing. -On the assumptions which they accept, the annihilating criticism of -self-government in the first chapter of Mill’s Liberty is indeed -irresistible. He begins by pointing out that in times of political -immaturity, {74} the conception of political liberty consisted -in setting limits to the power which the ruler, considered as an -independent force opposed in interest [1] to his subjects, should -be suffered to exercise over the community. But as it was found -possible, in a greater and greater degree, to make the ruling power -emanate from the periodical choice of the ruled, - - “some persons began to think that too much importance - had been attached to the limitation of the power itself. - _That_, it might seem, was a resource against rulers - whose interests were habitually opposed to those of the - people. What was now wanted was, that the rulers should - be identified with the people; that their interest and - will should be the interest and will of the nation. The - nation did not need to be protected against its own will. - There was no fear of its tyrannising over itself.” - -Rousseau in some moods is the victim of this fallacy, and it is -widely triumphant to-day. - -[1] So early an analysis of government as that made by Plato in the -_Republic_ shows indeed that this was never the sole theory, as it is -not the truest, of the cohesive forces of any community whatever. But -it has a certain validity, proportioned to the degree of political -imperfection. - -But with the success of the democratic principle, - - “elective and responsible government became subject to - the observations and criticisms which wait upon a great - existing fact. It was now observed that such phrases as - ‘self-government’, and ‘the power of the people over - themselves’, do not express the true state of the case. - The ‘people’ who exercise the power are not always the - same people with those over whom it is exercised; and the - ’self-government’ spoken of is not the government of each - by himself, but of each by all the rest. The {75} will of - the people, moreover, practically means the will of the - most numerous or the most active _part_ of the people; - the majority, or those who succeed in making themselves - accepted as the majority ... and precautions are as - much needed against this as against any other abuse - of power. The limitation, therefore, of the power of - government loses none of its importance when the holders - of power are regularly accountable to the community, that - is, to the strongest party therein. ... In political - speculations, the ‘tyranny of the majority’ is now - generally included among the evils against which society - requires to be on its guard.” - -The paradox of self-government then, so far from being theoretically -solved by the development of political institutions to their highest -known maturity, is simply intensified by this development. When -the arbitrary and irrational powers of classes or of individuals -have been swept away, we are left face to face, it would seem, with -the coercion of some by others as a necessity in the nature of -things. And, indeed, however perfectly “self-government” has been -substituted for despotism, it is flying in the face of experience -to suggest that the average individual self, as he exists in you or -me, is _ipso facto_ satisfied, and at home, in all the acts of the -public power which is supposed to represent him. If he were so, the -paradox of self-government would be resolved by the annihilation of -one of its factors. The self would remain, but “government” would -be superfluous; or else “government” would be everything, and the -self annihilated. If, on the other hand, we understand the “self” -in “self-government” to stand for the whole sovereign group or {76} -community, which is usually called a “self-governing,” as opposed to -a subject, state, then we have before us the task of showing that -this self is a reality in any sense which justifies the acceptance of -what is done by the public power as an act of the whole community. -But on the ground where we stand in the theories reviewed in the -present chapter, no such self can be shown. Government, in fact -and in principle, reveals itself as coercion exercised by “the -others” over “the one.” And so long as this is the case, and as the -government is alien to the self, not only do the rights of majorities -remain without explanation, but no less is it impossible to say on -what rational ground an entire community can apply coercion to a -single recalcitrant member. We have seen that Mill would solve the -problem by a demarcation, according to which the aim and ground of -government is to protect the self from the impact of others, and -leave it in its isolated purity. Herbert Spencer, it may be noted, -[1] has recourse to one of those hypotheses of tacit consent which -would reduce a community to the level of a joint-stock company, [2] -_minus_ a written instrument of association; which in the case of -the State has to be replaced by Mr. Spencer’s estimate of purposes, -which would _probably_ be accepted with unanimity _if_ the question -were asked! Bentham alone, founding {77} himself on the actual nature -of social life, genially overrides the whole question of individual -right, and while maintaining law to be a necessary evil, and pouring -scorn on all attempts to exhibit a positive unity throughout the -selves which compose a society, makes the promotion of a free and -happy life the sole criterion of governmental interference. - -[1] _Man v. State_, p. 83 _sq_. - -[2] It is a remarkable testimony to the inherent vitality of -associations of human beings that even a joint-stock company often -finds its work and aims so developing on its hands that it has to -obtain additional powers from Parliament. It transcends, therefore, -the limits of the shareholders original contract, and Herbert -Spencer’s loud complaints of this procedure show how little he -recognises the nature of social necessity. - -On the basis of every-day reflection, then, we are brought to an -absolute deadlock in the theory of political obligation. If, as -popular instinct maintains, and as common sense seems somehow to -insist, there is a theory and a justification of social coercion -latent in the term “self-government,” we cannot find a clue to it -in the reasoning of our most recent and popular political thinkers. -Nor should we find a comprehensive theory, though we might find -suggestions towards one, if we recurred to our more philosophical -teachers, such as Hobbes and Locke, who are further from popular -modes of thought. If there is anything satisfactory in the conception -of self-government, every interpretation of it is at once condemned -which does not give the fullest force to both terms of the paradox, -at the same time that it exhibits their reconciliation. What this -fullest force is, and the antagonism which it involves, we have seen -in the present chapter. We must start from an actual self, which is -capable of rebelling against law and government; and from an actual -“government,” which is capable of tyrannising over the individual -self. We must not treat the self as _ipso facto_ annihilated by -government; nor must we treat government as a pale reflection, -pliable to all the vagaries of the actual self. Nor, again, must -we divide the inseparable {78} content of life, and endeavour to -assign part to the assertion of the individual as belonging to self, -and part to his impact on others, as belonging to government. We -must take the two factors of the working idea of self-government in -their full antagonism, and exhibit, through and because of this, the -fundamental unity at their root, and the necessity and conditions -of their coherence. We must show, in short, how man, the actual man -of flesh and blood, demands to be governed; and how a government, -which puts real force upon him, is essential, as he is aware, to his -becoming what he has it in him to be. And if we fail to destroy the -assumptions which hinder us from doing this, we shall have to admit -that the maturity of democratic institutions has only liberated us -from arbitrary despotism to subject us to necessary tyranny; and -though, in spite of such a failure, we might still acquiesce in -“counting heads to save breaking them,” we should have to agree that -this may indeed be the shrewdest device of political expediency, but -that the difference between the two processes corresponds to no real -capacity of the human individual for partaking, by the exercise of -will and intelligence, in a peacefully organised and yet effectually -governed whole. We shall then, in short, be compelled to agree with -Bentham and Mill and Spencer that “self-government” and “the general -will” are meaningless phantoms, combinations of hostile factors, -incapable of being united in a real experience. - - - - -{79} - -CHAPTER IV. - -THE PROBLEM OF POLITICAL OBLIGATION MORE RADICALLY TREATED. - -1. The reader will no doubt have observed that the theory dealt -with in the last chapter belongs to the general type of what is -currently known as Individualism. For several reasons I have -preferred not to make use of this hackneyed word. In the first place, -it is very hackneyed; and the employment of such terms takes all -life and expressiveness out of philosophy. And, in the next place, -Individualism may mean many things, and in its fullest, which is -surely, for the student of philosophy, its truest meaning, it is far -too good for the theories under discussion. An “Individual” may be -“individual” or indivisible because he has so little in him, that -you cannot imagine it possible to break him up into lesser parts; -or because, however full and great his nature, it is so thoroughly -one, so vital and so true to itself, that, like a work of art, the -whole of his being cannot be separated into parts without ceasing to -be what it essentially is. In the former case the “individual” is an -“atom”; in the latter he is “a great individuality.” [1] The sense -in which we shall make {80} use of the notion of the individual, so -far as we use it at all, will be the latter and not the former. And, -therefore, we shall as far as possible discard the hackneyed term -“Individualism,” which embodies the former meaning only. - -[1] See Nettleship’s _Remains_, i. 160. - -If then we are to coin an expression which will indicate the -common features of the theories outlined in the previous chapter, -we may venture upon some such phrase as “_prima facie_ theories,” -or “theories of the first look.” By this I do not mean that they -stand in the same rank with the views of the Greek thinkers, who, -undisturbed by previous speculation, saw the great facts of social -experience with a freshness and wholeness of vision with which -they can never be seen again. The “first look” of our own day is -of a different kind. It is the first look of the man in the street -or of the traveller, struggling at a railway station, to whom the -compact self-containedness and self-direction of the swarming human -beings before him seems an obvious fact, while the social logic -and spiritual history which lie behind the scene fail to impress -themselves on his perceptive imagination. - -We see then that these theories of the first appearance are mainly -guided by this impression of the natural separateness of the human -unit. For this reason, as we noted, the experience of self-government -is to them an enigma, with which they have to compromise in various -ways. And because their explanations of it are not true explanations -but only compromises, they rest on no principle, and dictate no -consistent attitude. For Bentham all solid right is actually in the -State, {81} though conceived by himself as a means to individual -ends; for Mill, it is divided between the State and the individual, -by a boundary which cannot be traced and therefore cannot be -respected; for Herbert Spencer all right is in the individual, -and the State has become little more than a record office of his -contracts and consents. - -The assumption common to the theories in question is dictated by -their very nature. It is not precisely, as is often supposed to -be the case, that the individual is the end to which Society is -a means. Such a definition fails to assign a character which is -distinctive for any social theories whatever. For Society, being, -at the lowest rate, a plurality of individuals, whatever we say of -the individual may be construed as true of Society and _vice versa_, -so long as all individuals are understood in the same sense as one. -Thus the “means” and the “ends” are liable to change places, as, for -practical purposes, we saw that they did in Bentham. The ethical term -“altruism” illustrates this principle. It shows that by taking “the -individual” as the “end,” nothing is determined as to the relation -between each individual and all, and it remains a matter of chance -how far it is required of “each” individual, in the name of the -welfare of “the individual,” to sacrifice himself to “all.” - -The fact is that the decisive issue is not whether we call the -“individual” or “society” the “end”; but what we take to be the -nature at once of individuals and of society. This is the question -of principle; and views which are at one in this have nothing which -can in principle keep them apart, {82} although they may diverge to -the seemingly opposite poles of the liberty of each and the welfare -of all. We have observed this sliding from one narrowness to its -opposite, as between Bentham, Mill, and Herbert Spencer. - -The root idea then, of the views which we have been discussing, is -simply that the individual or society--it makes no difference which -we take--is what it _prima facie_ appears to be. This is why we have -called them “_prima facie_” theories, or “theories of the first -look.” It would be a long story to explain how a first look can be -possible in the eighteenth or nineteenth century A.D. But in brief, -the history of thought shows certain leaps or breaks in culture; when -the human mind seems to open its eyes afresh, or to emerge on a new -platform, from which new point of view all its adjustments have to be -re-made and its perceptions re-analysed. In these new stages a great -advance is involved; but the advance is potential, and the possible -insight has to be paid for by an initial blindness. - -Such an occasion it was on which the legislator or economist or -natural philosopher of the modern world turned his gaze upon man -in society. He saw him as “one of millions enjoying the protection -of the law,” [1] and society as the millions of which he is one. -Such an onlooker inevitably proceeds to treat the social whole as -composed of units A, B, C, etc., who, _as they stand, and just as -they seem to us when we rub against them in daily intercourse_, -are taken to be the organs and centres of human life. From this -assumption all {83} the rest follows. Each of us, A, B, C, and all -the others, seems to be, and to a great extent in the routine of life -actually is, self-complete, self-satisfied, and self-willed. To each -of us, A, B, or C, all the rest are “others.” They are “like” him; -they are “repetitions” of him, but they are not himself. He knows -that they are something to himself; but this “something” is still -“something else,” and even in ethical reflection he is apt to call -his recognition of it “altruism”--an indefinite claim and feeling, -touching his being at its margin of contact with neighbouring -circles, the centres of which are isolated. - -[1] B. Jowett, in conversation, to author. - -To the individual and society thus conceived--A, B, C, and the -rest--it is plain that government can be nothing but self-protection. -It is, in fact, a form of the impact of “others,” scientifically -minimised, and accepted because it is minimised. For this reason it -is, as we saw throughout, alien to the self, and incapable of being -recognised as springing from a common root with the spontaneous -life which we pretend to be aware of only within our private magic -circle. Then the forcible impact of B and C upon the circle of A -is a necessary evil, a diminution, _pro tanto_, of A. And the more -altruistic A is, the more he will recognise this, as affecting not -himself only, but B and C also. - -It is for this reason that, on the views in question, all law and -government necessarily remain formal and negative as compared with -the substantive and positive ends of the self. The maintenance of -“liberty,” of the circular or hexagonal [1] fences round A, B, C, -and the rest, is {84} conceived as involving no determinate type of -life, no relation to the ends which the units pursue within their -hexagons. If in any way the self went beyond itself, and A recognised -a positive end and nature which peremptorily bound him to B and the -others, it would be impossible to keep this nature and end from -reflecting themselves in the determinate content of the conditions -of association between them. The assumption would be destroyed which -keeps “government” alien to “self,” and it would be possible to -consider in what sense and for what reason the nature of a spiritual -animal turns against itself with the dualism which the paradox of -self-government embodies, and that in pursuit of its true unity. - -[1] See P. 73 - -2. We will now discuss Rousseau’s treatment of the paradox of -“self-government.” And we discuss it, not because it is complete or -self-consistent, but rather because, while breaking through to the -root of the whole matter, it is as incomplete and as inconsistent -as are the efforts of our own minds to lay hold of any profound -truth. It displays, in fact, on the great stage of the history -of philosophy, precisely the struggle which each of us has to go -through if he tries to pierce the surface of commonplace fiction -and tradition which persistently weaves itself about social facts. -On almost every page there is relapse and vacillation. The fictions -which are being cast aside continually reassert themselves; the -embodiment of the principle which the author’s genius has discerned -is sought for in expedients essentially opposite to its nature, while -the instruments which it has developed for itself are contemptuously -rejected. - -{85} We are going to examine the main thesis of Rousseau’s _Contrat -Social_. The reader who is surprised to find in our account little -or nothing of the “return to nature,” “natural equality,” and the -“natural rights of the individual,” may refer for these to Rousseau’s -earlier essays on theses propounded by the Academy of Dijon. The -first of the theses (1750) ran, “Whether the re-establishment of the -sciences and the arts contributed to purify morals”; and Rousseau’s -discourse, which won the prize, following the lead of the thesis, -started from the later Renaissance, and dealt in general with the -phenomena of decadence--a very real problem. The notable feature -of this brief essay is its constant vacillation between the attack -on science, art, and education as such, and the criticism, by no -means an undiscerning criticism, of their abuses. Rousseau’s head -is full, not of primitive man, but of Socrates and Cato, of Sparta -and republican Rome. A writer who speaks of Newton and Verulam -as preceptors of the human race can hardly be hostile to true -intellectual achievement. [1] It is noteworthy that his zeal for -educational reform is already apparent in this first published work. - -[1] The whole piece breathes a spirit of prize essay paradox, and -though, if sympathetically read, it is seen to be most characteristic -of the author, no serious conclusion should be drawn from it as to -his hostility to civilisation. A comic instance of his vacillation is -produced by the necessity he felt himself under, of excepting, from -his general dispraise of modern letters, such Academies as that of -Dijon, which was to judge his essay. For an excellent appreciation -of these earlier works, and of Rousseau in general, see the essay -on “Our Natural Rights,” in the _Lectures and Essays_ of the late -Professor W. Wallace, Clarendon Press, 1898. - -The second essay (1754), a much longer and {86} more serious -piece, is on the thesis, “What is the origin of Inequality among -mankind, and is it justified by natural law?” It was dedicated, with -expressions of extravagant laudation, to Rousseau’s native state, -the Republic of Geneva. His enthusiasm for this community, as for -the ancient city-states, is a far truer guide to his genuine social -ideas than any of his paradoxes about the state of nature and the -bondage of social man. His genius, in fact, is very much under-rated -by those who suppose him at any time to have believed the primitive -state of nature, or earliest imaginable condition of the human -race, to be capable of furnishing an ideal of life. He is perfectly -aware that a state of nature, which is to furnish an ideal, must be -selected at least from among the higher phases of man’s evolution, -after morality and the family have begun to form themselves, and -language and property have made some advance. Here, again, his -vacillation is strikingly observable, and we can see that it arises -from his profound insight. The vices of civilisation tend to force -the desirable state of man down the scale of evolution, but the -value of morality and respect for human nature tend to force it up, -and Rousseau’s argument embodies the struggle. For Rousseau is far -too critical and clear-sighted to ascribe true morality or strictly -human nature to a state of animal innocence, and he knows that virtue -involves potential vice; [1] and therefore it is with hesitation -and regret that he selects a middle state as {87} representing his -ideal, fully aware that it has forfeited animal innocence without -having attained human morality. Even the famous declamation against -the first founder of property in land seems to pass away in an -admission that this was an inevitable stage in the growth of human -capacities, which the author would not seriously desire to remain -undeveloped. Two further points may be noted; first, the fundamental -contention that men are by nature not equal but unequal, the -evil of civilisation lying just in the replacement of natural by -political inequality. If this political inequality were considered as -modifiable, it is plain that the view would point to an advantage in -the way of equality [2] possessed by society over nature. Secondly, -the view here taken of natural liberty in relation to the social -pact should be compared with that of the _Contrat Social_. In the -essay, “natural liberty” is on the whole preferred; in the _Contrat_, -another kind of liberty is held a truer good, although much of the -tone and language associated with the preference of natural liberty -continues by the side of the later view. It is plain that we are -dealing, not with an unconsidering fanatical enthusiasm for one or -another state of man, but with a struggling insight, which sees evil -but also good in all, and, with hesitation and reluctance, depresses -the scale first in favour of the one, and then in favour of the other -condition of human beings. - -[1] He seems to regard the beginnings of industrial co-operation as -the end of the “state of nature” in the widest sense. The remark that -“iron and corn civilised man and ruined the human race,” anticipates -much in later speculations. - -[2] We find Rousseau actually drawing attention to this in the -_Contrat Social_. See _Cont. Soc_., I. ix. fin., where observe (i) -that he half believes himself to have spoken of natural equality, -and not of natural inequality, in the “Essay”; and (2) the “hedging” -footnote on the illusoriness of social equality. - -3. The famous opening words of chap. i. of the {88} _Contrat Social_ -(published 1762) sound like the beginning of a tirade against -civilisation and the State. “Man is born free, and everywhere he is -in chains. One thinks himself the master of others, who does not -fail to be more of a slave than they.” Here we might well suppose -ourselves to be reading the preface to a demonstration that all -social constraint is slavery, and that man, in a state of nature, -possessed a liberty which he has now lost. We expect such an opening -to be followed by a denunciation of the fetters of society, and a -panegyric on the pre-social life. And there can hardly be a doubt -that these sentences, along with a few similar phrases which stick in -the memory, are the ground of the popular idea of Rousseau, shared -by too many scholars. [1] But how does Rousseau go on? Here are the -succeeding sentences. “How did this change take place? I do not -know. What can render it legitimate? I think I can tell.” Here, as -previously in the discourse on “Equality,” he (1) cuts himself loose -in principle from the historical fiction of a social pact succeeding -a state of nature; and (2) he promises to furnish a justification -for the change (or, striking out the quasi-historical term “change,” -for the condition of man), which is expressed by the words, “is -everywhere in chains.” - -[1] Professor Henry Sidgwick and Professor Ritchie are notable -exceptions. See also, and pre-eminently, the essay of the late -Professor Wallace referred to above. - -This then is the task which he has set himself. The sentences last -cited show that his answer will, in some degree, turn its back on his -question, and that really man had little natural freedom to lose, and -is not everywhere in chains. But the fact that {89} the problem first -struck Rousseau’s mind through a feeling of rebellion against social -slavery, and a loathing for the civilisation of his day, sets him at -the very beginning of the path which social theory has to traverse, -and ensures that the difficulties which we all feel at times will be -met in their sharpest form. He knows, in short, that something, which -can look like utter bondage, is a fact; and he knows that this fact -has to be justified. - -After some chapters devoted to clearing away inadequate solutions of -the problem, he re-states it as follows, in terms of that form of the -supposed social contract in which it was regarded as a compact of all -with all for the constitution of a community: - - “To find a form of association which shall defend and - protect, with the entire common force, the person and - the goods of each associate, and by which, each, uniting - himself to all, may nevertheless obey only himself, and - remain as free as before.” [1] - -[1] _Contrat Social_, bk. i., ch. vi. - -4. Before proceeding to examine the true meaning of this formula and -its answer, we will briefly notice the conflict of ideas suggested -by it. Man’s freedom, it is implied, remains at the same level. Even -his power is not increased; it is only that individuals combine -their forces, previously isolated. These implications suit neither -the view he starts from, nor the view he arrives at. If man had a -natural freedom, and then submitted to society, though merely to -increase his force of action, some of his freedom must be lost, and -he cannot remain as free as he was before. But if man in society {90} -has a nature, which he could not have out of society, such that his -individuality is maximised by the organisation of a social whole, -then it is plain that he is not merely as free “as he was before,” -but very much more free; free, indeed, strictly speaking, under -social conditions alone. The notion which Rousseau started from, -that man has surrendered some part of a previous freedom in order to -make the most of the remainder, appears, as here, in the language -of compromise, frequently through the _Contrat Social_. But it is -not effectively relied on, for Rousseau is too acute to attempt a -demarcation theory, and while he assumes, for example, according -to the literal notion of a compact, that man only surrenders as -much of his liberty as is necessary to the community, he sees that -the sovereign is sole judge of this proportion and consequently is -absolute. [1] In the same way he first deduces the sovereign’s right -of inflicting capital punishment from the individual’s pre-existing -right to risk his life in order to save it, in virtue of which he -has transferred to the sovereign a right to demand his life when -necessary to the public safety, which includes his own. And then, -feeling this to be a fiction, he ekes it out by the precisely -contrary suggestion that a criminal has broken the social treaty, -has ceased to be a member of the community, and is dealt with as an -enemy on terms of war. [2] This supplementation shows that Rousseau -is aware of the weakness of his other account of the matter, based -on non-social individual right. His constant failure, entire or -partial, to free himself from the language of “first appearance {91} -theories,” as we have ventured to call them, is just what makes him -so instructive, in view of the similar inclination which besets us -all. - -[1] _Contrat Social_, bk. II., ch. v. - -[2] Bk. II., ch. v. - -5. We will now examine the real nature of his solution. For the -historical fiction of a social contract, he substitutes, in answer -to the problem formulated above (see section 3, end), the conditions -which constitute a “people” or commonwealth. He speaks, indeed, of -the “act” or “contract” which constitutes it--a survival of the -language which belongs to the fiction. [1] But it is plain, even -if he had not said so distinctly in the first chapter, that he is -dealing not with an act in historical time, but with the essential -nature of a social body. The “clauses of the contract,” he explains, -are dependent on “the nature of the act”; they are implicit and -universal--that is to say, not capable of being affected by any -actual or supposed agreement in contravention of what the essence -of a body politic requires. He is, as he has clearly said in the -previous chapter, analysing the “act” “by which a people is a -people,” _i.e._ the conditions of political unity. - -[1] _Contrat Social_, bk. II., ch. v. - -The “clauses of the contract” then reduce themselves to a single one, -“the total alienation of each associated member, with all his rights, -(the language is moulded by the fiction of an actual contract and -pre-social rights,) to the community as a whole.” The community as -a whole is therefore absolute. The subsequent passage, referred to -above, [1] in which he speaks as if individual rights were retained, -is a case of the vacillation on which we have remarked. - -[1] P. 90. - -{92} The essence of this “social pact” is further reducible to the -following formula: - - “Each of us puts into the common stock his person and - his entire powers under the supreme direction of the - general will: and we further receive each individual as - an indivisible member of the whole.” - - “Instantaneously, in place of the particular person of - each contracting party, this act of association produces - a moral and collective body, composed of as many members - as the assembly has voices, which receives from this same - act its unity, its common self (_son moi commun_), its - life, and its will. This public person which thus forms - itself, by the union of all the others, used to take - the name of city, [1] and now takes that of republic or - body politic, which is called by its members State when - it is passive, Sovereign when it is active, Power when - comparing it with others.” - -[1] Rousseau’s footnote _in loc_. “The true sense of this word is -almost entirely effaced among the moderns; most of them take a town -for a city, and a townsman for a citizen. They are not aware that the -houses make the town, but the citizens make the city.” - -In this passage the formula of association, and much of the -commentary upon it, imply the “contract” to have been an event in -history. Such is the bearing of the words “act of association,” -“produces,” “receives,” “forms itself.” It is admitted that -Rousseau’s thoughts are always more or less struggling with this -conception, which, it must however be remembered, he explicitly -refuses to rely on; and henceforward, having sufficiently called -attention to it, we shall not encumber ourselves with observing upon -it in every instance. - -Putting aside then the defective terminology, and {93} bearing in -mind that Rousseau considers himself to be analysing the essence -of that act or character “by which a people is a people,” we find -in this passage very far-reaching ideas. We find that the essence -of human society consists in a common self, a life and a will, -which belong to and are exercised by the society as such, or by -the individuals in society as such; it makes no difference which -expression we choose. The reality of this common self, in the action -of the political whole, receives the name of the “general will,” and -we shall examine its nature and attributes in the following chapter. - -The primary point which it is necessary to make clear, however, is -whether the whole set of ideas is to be seriously pressed, or whether -the unity which they indicate is merely formal and superficial. -For phrases of the kind here employed may be found in many earlier -writers. The term “person,” for example, comes through Hobbes from -the Roman law. “_Persona_,” in Roman law, we are told, [1] means -either a complex of rights or the possessor of those rights, whether -an individual or a corporate body. “_Unus homo sustinet plures -personas_.” Thus a man may devolve his “_persona_” on another man. A -corporation has a single “_persona_.” It is in this sense that for -Hobbes, the State is a “real unity in one person,” which person has -been devolved by all the individuals of a multitude upon one man or -a definite assembly of men, whose acts therefore are, politically -speaking, the acts of the whole multitude so united in one “person.” - -[1] See, _e.g._, Green’s _Lectures on the Principles of Political -Obligation_, p. 61. - -{94} This use of the term “person” is one of the cases alluded to -in ch. I., where an abstraction of law has preserved the seed of a -philosophical idea of unity. How far the unity thus indicated is an -empty fiction, or how far it is grasped as something vital, into -which the individual mind goes out and in which it finds what its -nature demands, is what we now have to consider further. - -6. Chapters vii. and viii. of book I. of the _Contrat Social_ show -the outcome of Rousseau’s conflicting ideas in a very few remarkable -propositions. - -The question is whether the unity of a body politic is an arbitrary -abstraction or a fundamental force and reality. - -Rousseau is discussing in chapter vii. the guarantees which exist -for a fulfilment of obligations by the sovereign (or whole) to its -members and by the members to the sovereign respectively. As regards -the obligation of the sovereign to its members, he runs straight -into the fallacy referred to in ch. I. He contends, that is to say, -that the whole is necessarily, by its constitution, that which it -ought to be, and being composed of all the individuals can have no -interest opposite to theirs as a whole, while, _qua_ sovereign, it -is debarred from any such special [1] action as might be hurtful -to any single individual. This presupposes that the whole always -acts according to its idea as a whole, and neither is “captured” by -individual interests nor transgresses the limits set to its action -by restriction to true public concerns. But if this were so, the -State would be perfectly wise and {95} good; and we do not need to -be told that a State, _qua_ wise and good, could do no injustice to -its members. The whole is of course liable to vices correlative to -those which Rousseau is about to guard against when they arise in the -individual. - -[1] See below, p. 112. - -And his view of individual disloyalty is decisive as to the vitality -of his conception of political unity. - - “Indeed,” he says, “each individual may, as a man, have - a particular will contrary to or unlike the general will - which he has as citizen; his particular interest may - speak to him quite differently from the common interest; - his absolute and naturally independent existence may - make him regard what he owes to the common cause as a - gratuitous contribution, the loss of which would be - less injurious to others than its payment is burdensome - to himself; and considering the moral person which - constitutes the State as an abstraction (_être de - raison_) because it is not a man, he would enjoy the - rights of the citizen without consenting to fulfil the - duties of the subject--an injustice the progress of which - would cause the ruin of the body politic.” - - “In order, then, that the social pact may not be a - vain formula, it tacitly includes the covenant, which - alone can confer binding force on the others, that - whoever shall refuse to obey the general will shall be - constrained to do so by the whole body, which means - nothing else than that he will be forced to be free.” - -In this passage Rousseau lays bare the very heart of what some would -call political faith, and others political superstition. This lies -in the {96} conviction that the “moral person [1] which constitutes -the state” is a reality, as opposed to the natural idea that it is an -abstraction or fiction of the reflective mind (an “_ens rationis_,” -_être de raison_), because it is not an actual individual human -being. The theories of the first appearance, as we have called -them, are characterised by accepting as ultimate “the absolute and -naturally independent existence” of the physical individual, and -therefore regarding government as an encroachment on the self, and -force as oppression. Whereas, if the social person is taken as the -reality, it follows, as Rousseau points out, that force against the -physical individual may become a condition of freedom. We saw even in -Mill how extreme cases bring out the necessity for assuming a “real” -will at variance with the individual’s immediate desire. [2] There is -more to be said, of course, as to the limits within which force can -be so applied. [3] - -[1] For the meaning of “person,” see account above, p. 93. Note -on the meaning of “moral” as here used that it is determined by a -general opposition to physical, as in “moral certainty.” None the -less, this use of “moral person” forms an interesting stage in the -advance from the physical individual through the legal “person” -towards the notion of a higher or greater self. - -[2] The trivial case which he takes, of its being no curtailment to -freedom to keep a man off an untrustworthy bridge, as he certainly -does not want to be drowned, has received terrible illustration of -late (June, 1898) by the disaster at the launch of the “Albion.” -The disaster occurred because not enough force was used against the -passionate momentary eagerness of individuals, and in favour of what -it is fair to presume their real will would be. - -[3] See below, ch. VIII. - -It is worth while to cite here the whole of the short chapter viii., -which draws out the {97} consequences of the above conception of a -social pact and of sovereignty. - - “_Of the Civil Condition_.--This passage from the state - of nature to the civil state produces in man a very - remarkable change by replacing, in his conduct, instinct - by justice, and giving to his actions the morality which - they lacked before. It is then alone that, the voice - of duty succeeding to physical impulse, and right to - appetite, man, who till then had only considered himself, - sees himself compelled to act on other principles, and to - consult his reason before listening to his inclinations. - Although he deprives himself in this state of several - advantages which he holds from nature, he gains such - great ones in their place, his faculties exercise and - develop themselves, his ideas expand, his sentiments are - ennobled, his whole soul is exalted to such a degree, - that, if the abuses of his new condition did not often - degrade him below that from which he has emerged, [1] - it would be his duty to bless without ceasing the happy - instant which tore him from it for ever, and, from a - stupid and narrow animal, made him an intelligent being - and human. - - “Let us reduce these _pros_ and _cons_ to terms easy - to compare. What man loses by the social contract is - his natural liberty and an unlimited right to all which - attracts him and which he can obtain; what he gains is - civil liberty and the {98} property of what he possesses. - To avoid error in these reckonings we must carefully - distinguish natural liberty, which has no bounds but the - powers of the individual, from the civil liberty which - is limited by the general will; and possession, which - is only the effect of force or the right of the first - occupant, from property, which can only be founded on a - positive title. - - “We might, in view of the preceding, add to the gains - of the civil state the moral freedom which alone makes - man master of himself; for the impulsion of appetite - alone is slavery, and obedience to the law which we have - prescribed to ourselves is liberty. But I have already - said too much on this head, and the philosophical sense - of the word liberty is not my subject here.” - -[1] Cf. the well-known lines of Faust: - - “Ein wenig besser würd er leben, - Hätt’st Dur ihm nicht den Schein des Himmelslichts gegeben; - - Er nennt’s Vernunft, und braucht’s allein - Nur thierischer als jedes Thier zu seyn.” - -Besides the terminology of the historical fiction this curious -passage shows in the strongest light the struggle by which Rousseau -passed from the position of the “Discourse on the Origin of -Inequality” to that of the “_Contrat Social_.” The “hedging” of -the sentence, “Although he deprives himself,” etc., represents a -loathing of the decadent society of his day, which was deep-seated -in Rousseau’s mind, and which his life enables us thoroughly to -understand. The son of a Genevese artisan, with a touch of vagabond -impulses, and more than a touch of Wordsworthian genius, he was the -first, perhaps, of great modern writers to feel the true democratic -passion, [1] and to see his artificial age as Plato or as Ruskin -might {99} have seen it. It was no small feat of insight to subdue -his just repugnance so far as to estimate, in the language of the -chapter before us, the use, as distinct from the abuse, of law and -society. - -[1] Note the sentence in Émile, “C’est le peuple qui compose le genre -humain; ce qui n’est pas peuple est si peu de chose que ce n’est pas -la peine de le compter.” (Bk. iv., 3rd maxim.) - -As a feature of this conflict of ideas, we may observe more -especially the notion of original individual right, ascribed to a -condition of man in which, according to the previous paragraph, -right could not exist. The phrase is merely taken up from previous -writers, as is also the so-called “right of the first occupant.” -And the antithesis with true right and property, recognised by the -social mind, in which this chapter presents them, has the effect of a -destructive analysis of these uncritical conceptions. [1] - -[1] Rousseau’s brilliant criticism, bk. I., ch. iii., has finally -destroyed the conception of a right, whether natural or social, -founded merely on force. - -True right, then, begins with that social unity “by which a people is -a people,” figured by Rousseau under the image of the social compact. -This unity is one aspect of the rule of reason, the sense of duty, -and the essence of humanity. The quality of man is liberty, [1] -and we here see that this fundamental principle which Rousseau has -above laid down in an undetermined sense, must, in the course of his -reasoning, take on the higher meaning demanded by the conceptions of -this chapter. - -[1] Bk. i., ch. iv. - -And the import of the term “liberty” in this chapter is a measure -of the modification of ideas which has been brought about in the -process of “justifying” the “bondage” of man. [1] The famous {100} -sentence, “Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains,” now -turns out to mean, “Man is born in natural liberty (which, if it -refers to any actual condition at all, implies, in animal isolation), -and by subservience to social law, he attains the civil liberty -through which alone he becomes truly man.” Of course, however, the -phrase “born free” has the under current of meaning, “is born _for_ -the truest freedom,” but in order that this import may be elicited -the rhetorical antithesis, “and everywhere is in chains,” must be -abandoned. - -[1] See bk. i., ch. i. - -The final paragraph of chapter viii. makes it clear that Rousseau -considers the civil state as an embodiment of moral liberty, while -he is rightly anxious not to seem to cut the knot of his problem by -appealing to the merely ethical or philosophical sense of the term -freedom. For this latter conception, taken by itself, is apt to be -understood as the establishment of unity in the self by the path of -renunciation. Now, the freedom of the true civil state is, on the -one hand, only a stage in the ascent towards perfect ethical freedom -or unity, for it involves rather the recognition of such freedom as -the imperative end of social law, than the actual attainment of it; -and, on the other hand, it is something broader and more substantial -than ethical freedom is apt to be conceived as implying, because of -that outgrowth of the self into an organised social content which the -civil condition involves. The distinction between the civil state and -ethical freedom is therefore a sound one, but yet does not prevent -their juxta-position in this passage from throwing {101} important -light on Rousseau’s conception of the former. - -The expansion of old conceptions in Rousseau’s hands, and the -direction in which his views are advancing, are well illustrated by -the paragraph before us in comparison with Locke’s idea of consent. -A recent editor of the _Contrat_ [1] cites in illustration of the -words, “Obedience to the law which we have prescribed to ourselves -is liberty” Locke’s sentence, “The liberty of man in society is -to be under no other legislative power but that established by -consent in the commonwealth.” [2] But Locke is speaking, according -to his theory, of the actual or tacit consent of individuals to -the establishment of a governing power; a consent which, for him, -is conditional and revocable, and therefore fails to meet the full -difficulty of self-government. Rousseau, borrowing very likely his -actual phrases from Locke, is speaking of something quite different, -viz., the recognition of a law and a will, with which one’s everyday -self may be at odds, as nevertheless one’s truer and fuller self, and -imperative as against the commonplace trivial moods which constitute -one’s inferior existence. - -[1] M. Dreyfus-Brisac. - -[2] _Civil Government_, ii. 22. - -Thus far, then, we have seen how the problem of self-government is -transformed by a deeper insight. _(a)_ The negative relation of the -self to other selves begins to dissolve away before the conception -of the common self; and _(b)_ the negative relation of the self to -law and government begins to disappear in the idea of a law which -expresses our real will, as opposed to our trivial and rebellious -moods. The whole notion of man as one among {102} others tends to -break down; and we begin to see something in the one which actually -identifies him with the others, and at the same time tends to make -him what he admits that he ought to be. We have now to follow these -ideas to their application. - - - - -{103} - -CHAPTER V. - -THE CONCEPTION OF A “REAL” WILL. - -1. We saw in the course of the last chapter that for Rousseau’s -political theory everything turns on the reality of the “moral -person” which constitutes the State. When active, this “moral” -or “public person,” or common self, is called sovereign; [1] and -sovereignty for Rousseau consists in the exercise of the General -Will; [2] and it is in this characteristic of political society that -he finds that justification for the use of force upon individuals [3] -which he set out to seek. At the close of the last chapter we noted -the transformation in the problem of “self-government” which such a -conception tends to produce. In face of it, the opposition between -self and others, and between self and law or government, will have to -be interpreted altogether afresh. The present chapter will be devoted -to explaining the idea of a General Will with reference to Rousseau’s -presentation of it, and the rest of the work will develop and apply -it more freely. - -[1] Bk. I., ch. vi. - -[2] Bk. II., ch. i. - -[3] Bk. i., ch. vii.; cf. I., ch. i. - -A few words may be said upon Rousseau’s relation to Hobbes [1] and -Locke, simply to {104} illustrate the process by which deepening -political experience awakened the ancient meaning within abstractions -which had preserved it in a latent form. - -[1] See also p. 93 above. - -Both Hobbes and Locke use expressions, in treating of the government -and unity of a commonwealth, which closely resemble Rousseau’s -phrases respecting the General Will, the moral person, and the real -unity. - -Hobbes, for example, insisted that sovereignty must lie in a will, -and that this will must be real and must be taken as representing -or standing for the will of the community. “This is _more than -consent or concord; it is a real unity of them all_ in one and the -same person.” [1] Only, interpreting “real” as implying inherence in -tangible determinate individuals, he in fact _substituted_ the will -(taking the word in its ordinary sense) of a certain individual or -certain individuals _for_ the will of the community or moral person -as such. His temperament was emphatically one of those described by -Rousseau as treating the “_moral_ person” as a fiction. But so far -from abandoning for that reason all idea of actual effective unity, -he replaces the fictitious or abstract unity of the “person” by the -“real unity” of an actual human being or a determinate group of human -beings, to be _taken as_ the unity of the Commonwealth as such. Thus, -for instance, with a logic which is irresistible on the basis which -he adopts, he denies all possibility of other representation of the -people where there is already a sovereign power. For the one and -only representative of the people is for him the {105} sovereign, -on whom the “person” of the community is, by the very fact of his -sovereignty, assumed to be conferred. We may say then, in short, that -Hobbes places the unity of political society in a will, and that, in -his sense, a real or actual will, but emphatically not in a general -will. He inherits the language which enables him to predicate unity -and personality of the state, but in his mouth the terms have not -recovered a true political meaning, and the social right, which they -are intended to account for, remains a mere name. - -[1] _Leviathan_, pt. II., ch. xvii. Italics mine. - -Locke brings to bear a truer political experience, but a far less -coherent logic. He feels that actual government is a trust, and that -the ultimate supreme power remains in the community as a whole. The -difficulty in his case is to understand how the will or interest of -the community as such obtains determinate expression. Generally, -and apart from particular causes of dissent, it is to be taken as -one with the will of the governing body to which, according to the -constitution, the work of government is given in trust. But the trust -is conditional, and theoretically revocable; the ultimate supreme -power is in the community at large, which may withdraw the trust if -its conditions are violated. Of course, no determinate means of doing -this in a lawful manner is, or can be, suggested, [1] and therefore -the will of the people is not expressed by Locke as a real or actual -will. And so the right, which was to be displayed as social, remains -{106} a latent right in individuals to assent or to dissent, and -society is not represented as a genuine unity. - -[1] The referendum is not really such a means. It can only work -within a well organised constitution, and could not be used to -re-make the whole constitution--the forms and conditions of -sovereignty--at a blow. - -For Hobbes, then, we might venture to say, political unity lies in -a will which is actual, but not general; while for Locke it lies -in a will which is general, but not actual. If the two are pressed -to extremes, the former theory annihilates “self,” and the latter -annihilates “government.” For the former there is no true right, -because the will of the state is related as mere force to the actual -individual will; for the latter there is no true right, because -the individual’s will remains a mere natural claim, which is never -thoroughly transformed by social recognition and adjustment. - -But if it were possible to inspire a logic as coherent as that of -Hobbes, with a political content as large as that which animates -Locke, a new ground would be won. And this is what Rousseau has -attempted in his conception of a will at once actual and general; on -the one hand, an absolute and determinate adjustment and recognition -of rights; on the other hand, embodying in its recognitions all -individual claims which represent a true individuality. Here, if -such a theory were workable, we should have a genuine account of -self-government, political obligation, and social right. It may be -admitted that the theory is not workable in the form which Rousseau -gave it. As Bentham contemptuously said, his doctrine would make -all laws invalid, excepting, perhaps, those of the Republic of San -Marino. But we shall see that these difficulties arise just where -Rousseau failed to be true to his own best insight; and we shall find -indications in his writings which suggest a different conclusion. - -{107} 2. What Rousseau means to indicate by his expression, “the -General Will,” may seem to many persons, as he clearly saw, to have -no actual existence. It is of the nature of a principle operating -among and underneath a great variety of confusing and disguising -factors, and can only be defined by the help of an “as such” or “in -so far as.” It is, we might say, the will of the whole society “as -such” or the wills of all individuals “in so far as” they aim at the -common good. It is expressed in law, “in so far as” law is what it -ought to be; and sovereignty, “as such,” _i.e._ when truly itself -because rightly acting for the common interest, is the exercise -of the General Will. In its idea, as the key to the whole problem -of self-government and freedom under law, it is that identity -between my particular will and the wills of all my associates in -the body politic which makes it possible to say that in all social -co-operation, and in submitting even to forcible constraint, when -imposed by society in the true common interest, I am obeying only -myself, and am actually attaining my freedom. It embodies indeed the -same factors as the conception of self-government, but in a shape -which is a stage nearer to reconciliation. It postulates a will which -in some sense transcends the individual whose will it is, and is -directed upon an object of wider concern. And in one way or other, we -know that this may be, and indeed always is the case, for our will is -always directed to something which we are not. - -We may, perhaps, approach Rousseau’s thought more successfully by -starting from the idea of what is implied in the nature of will, as -a characteristic {108} of an intelligent being. We may then find -ground for conceiving that my will or yours, as we exercise it in the -trivial routine of daily life, does not fulfil all that it implies -or suggests. It is narrow, arbitrary, self-contradictory. It implies -a “true” or “real” or “rational” will, which would be completely, or -more completely, what ours attempts to be, and fails. Thus, it has -been said that what Rousseau really aimed at, with his conception of -the General Will, was the will “in itself,” or the will as it would -be if it carried out what its nature implies and demands. - -We can see that some notion of this kind floats before Rousseau’s -mind from the predicates which he assigns to Sovereignty and the -General Will, which are for him nearly convertible terms. - -Sovereignty, for example, is inalienable and indivisible; [1] that is -to say, it is a simple consequence of the nature of a body politic, -“that by which a people is a people.” You can no more alienate or -break it into parts than you can alienate or break into parts the -use of your own judgment. To be capable of sovereignty means to be -a people “as such” or “as a whole,” that is a living and choosing -people. The people may of course give general orders to subordinates -to hold good till revoked, as I may give a power of attorney for more -or less specified purposes to another man. But that is the delegation -“of power, not of will.” - -[1] Bk. II., chs. i. and ii. Here Rousseau is following Hobbes very -closely. - -We see the author’s intention still more clearly when he -maintains that the General Will is always {109} right, [1] and is -indestructible. [2] Though it is always right, as Will, yet the -people may be misled in their knowledge and judgment of details; -though it is indestructible in the human breast, yet a man may vote -at the polling booth on another issue than that which he would -have before him if he consulted the General Will. He may answer by -his vote not the question, “Is this for the public good?” but the -question, “Is this for my private good?” If so, he does not indeed -extinguish the General Will in himself, but he evades it. Or, as we -might say, the man does not altogether cease, however ignorant or -interested, to possess a man’s leaning towards making the real best -of himself, though his private interest may at times so master his -mind as to throw the higher or common good into the second place. -Thus, the relation of the general will to a community is plainly -apprehended by Rousseau much in the spirit of the doctrine that -man always aims at something which he takes to be good. And so the -General Will is as much implied in the life of a society as some sort -of will for good in the life of an individual. The two, in fact, are -not merely analogous but to a great extent identical. The General -Will seems to be, in the last resort, the ineradicable impulse of an -intelligent being to a good extending beyond itself, in as far as -that good takes the form of a common good. Though this impulse may be -mastered or cheated in a degree, yet, if it were extinct, human life -would have ceased. - -[1] Bk. II., ch. iii. - -[2] Bk. iv., ch. i. - -We need not enter at length upon the question whether the good -which extends beyond oneself {110} is adequately described as the -good which is general or common to oneself and others. It is plain -that the unity of myself with others in a common good is the same -in principle as the unity of myself with myself which I aim at in -aiming at my own good. Thought and language, we should bear in mind, -unite me to myself just as they unite me to others, and they expand -my being by binding my own life into a whole no less than by making -intercourse possible between my fellow men and myself. Just so, the -good at which I aim extends beyond my trivial or momentary self--that -is to say, is universal as against myself as particular--in ways -which are not _prima facie_ exhausted by saying that they include the -good of others. But again, just like thought and language, the good -which enables me to enter deeper into communion with myself or with -the world must always have an aspect of extending that communion to -others; and therefore, for the purposes of social philosophy, we may -treat the universal good or self as also in its nature a general or -common good or self. It is that at least, though it may be more, in -accordance with the logical relation between the rational universal, -and the numerical generality. - -This indestructible impulse towards the Good, which is necessarily -a common good, the substantial unity and filling of life by the -interests through which man is human, is what Rousseau plainly has -before him in his account of the General Will. But it has rightly -been observed [1] that he did not really distinguish this conception, -analogous as it is to what Plato or Aristotle might have said {111} -of the “divine reason which is the source of the laws and discipline -of the ideal polity,” from the legal idea of the sovereign “in the -sense of some power of which it could reasonably be asked how it was -established in the part where it resides, when and by whom and in -what way it is exercised.” We will point out, however, the negative -and positive indications which he furnishes as to where it is not and -where it is to be looked for. That he fails to emancipate himself -from the fallacies which he acutely indicates is a phenomenon for -which the reader is, I trust, sufficiently prepared. - -[1] Green, _Principles of Political Obligation_, p. 82. - -3. Rousseau develops his idea of a General Will by the contrast -which he draws between the General Will and the Will of All. [1] The -General Will aims at a common interest; and it is this community -of interest, and not the number of votes in which it may find -expression, which in truth “generalises the will.” [2] The Will of -All aims at private interest as such (“_l’intérêt privé_”) and is -only a sum of particular wills. Only, Rousseau fancies, if you let -the particular wills fight it out freely, their differences are -likely to cancel each other, and the General Will to make itself -felt, like any pervading factor through a chaos of indefinite -variations. - -[1] _Contrat Social_, II. iii. - -[2] _Ib._ II. iv.; cf. above. - -The important point in the idea of the Will of All” lies in its -being “a sum” of “particulars,” as opposed to something common or -general in its nature. Thus, in the limiting case, you may have a -unanimous vote in favour of a certain course of action, and yet the -voters may severally have been determined by aims and considerations -which {112} Rousseau would not admit to be capable of entering at -all into a determination of the General Will. For a private affair -_as such_ is incapable in Rousseau’s view of being made the subject -of law, that is of an act of the General Will. Such an act must be -general, not only in the number of votes (which, as we have seen, is -the less important factor), but in the nature of its subject-matter, -which must be, as we should say, a question of genuine public -interest. [1] Now, when men’s minds leave out of sight the public -or truly general aspect of a question, and are determined, each -of them severally, by the expected consequences to himself as a -private individual; then, though all may practically agree in the -decision which is arrived at, yet such a decision is founded on no -view of truly public interest, but is what Rousseau calls “a sum of -particular wills.” The distinction between such a sum of wills, and -a will that aims at a truly common interest or good, rests upon that -fundamental contrast between a mere aggregate and an organic unity, -which is embodied in the opposing views of society which we have -been discussing. Pushed to extremes, it might raise a difficulty -for those who are not familiar with the logical distinction between -a Judgment of Allness and a true Universal Judgment. [2] What harm -can there be, it may be asked, in my voting according to the effect -a measure will have upon my affairs, if everyone else is allowed -to vote according to the effect it will have upon his affairs, -especially as in the extreme case suggested, the result is that we -are all agreed? What can be more for the general {113} interest than -a decision in which every particular interest is satisfied? On the -mere basis of comparative generality, as estimated by number, there -is plainly no answer to this objection. We meet here with another -instance of the difficulties which arise from working with the notion -of society as “self and others,” and of the good as an altruistic -aim. For in the case supposed, the others are all satisfied as -much as myself; and so I should give weight to no higher aim by -considering their interest than by considering my own, unless I -considered it on different grounds from those which I admitted in -judging of my own advantage. But any different, higher, or deeper -grounds might just as well present themselves to me with reference to -my own advantage as with reference to theirs; and would differ from -motives of private interest, not by bringing about a more unanimous -adhesion, but by belonging to a deeper appreciation of the common -good, and therefore producing a less superficial unity of resolve. -The real difference between Allness and true Universality is that -a “universal” characteristic goes more deeply into the nature of -that which it characterises than does a mark or attribute which, -like the owner’s name in the books of a library, simply happens to -be attached _ab extra_ to all the objects in question. So here, the -supposed accordant decisions of all the voters, as guided each by his -strictly private interest, are not really or completely accordant. -They happen to come together in one point which has to be settled -at the moment; but beyond that they express no oneness of life or -principle; still less can they give voice to any demand of the -greater or rational {114} self in which the real common good resides. -This is what Rousseau means by saying that it is the community of -the interest or the nature of the object, and not the number of -voices, which distinguishes the General Will from the Will of All. -It follows, therefore, that the private interest as such, which in -the case supposed determines the individual voter, is not ultimately -his true interest; and it may be said, “But if each followed his -own true interest the Will of All would be right.” But a true -interest, as opposed to an apparent interest, necessarily has just -the characters which the true Universal has as against the collection -of particulars, or the General Will against the Will of All. So that -to say, “If everyone pursued his own _true_ private interest the -Will of All would be right,” is merely to say, “If everyone pursued -his _true_ private interest he would pursue the common interest”; -or, “The Will of All, if directed to the common good, would be one -with the General Will.” The reason why it is necessary to insist -upon the distinction between true and apparent interest, universal -and aggregate of particulars, General Will and Will of All, is -just that a true interest generally requires some degree of energy -or effort, perhaps of self-sacrifice; while the purely private or -apparent interest, the interest of each of us in his routine frame -of mind, is that by which many are always determined, and a whole -community is only too likely to be guided. That is why it is worth -while to distinguish the Will of All from the General Will. Let us -suppose that Themistocles had been beaten in the Athenian assembly -when he proposed that, instead of dividing the revenue {115} from the -silver mines among all the citizens, they should devote this revenue -annually to building a fleet--the fleet which fought at Salamis. It -is easy to see that in such a case a relatively ideal end, demanding -a certain self-denial, might appear less attractive to all the -individuals--each keeping before himself his own separate share of -profit--than the accustomed distribution of money. And if such a -view had gained the day, history would never have told, and no free -Europe would have existed to understand, by what decision the true -general will and common interest of Athens might have transcended -the aggregate private interests of all her citizens. No doubt, it -may be added, a true universal end is usually more powerful than a -limited interest even in the mere area of its operation; and we may -ultimately find, in the benefits conferred by Athens on the world, -a justification of her courage and self-denial, even by the rough -and unreliable standard of the number of individuals beneficially -affected. - -[1] _Contrat Social_, II. iv. - -[2] Cf. p. 110 above. - -If such a theory as that just stated were to be literally pressed, it -would lead to the conclusion that a law which was not _really_ for -the general interest was not binding on the subjects of a state. For, -by the definition, such a law could not be a true act of sovereignty. -No political theorist, however visionary, could accept such a -conclusion as this, and Rousseau, seeing that the decision of the -recognised sovereign must be final, attempts to show how and when it -comes nearest to a true General Will. - -The decisive point of his doctrine on this subject is his hostility -to representative government, [1] {116} and his consequent demand of -a primary assembly and a small community as the only guarantees for -the genuine expression of a will for the common good. “The English -people,” according to his well-known saying, “is only free during -a general election.” Further, it is a sign that the Will of All -is, on the whole, coinciding with the General Will, when unanimity -prevails in the assembly. But long discussions and the organisation -of minor “interests” and associations within the state, in short, -all the phenomena of mature political life, are signs and conditions -of failure to express the General Will, which is most likely to make -itself felt when particular wills neutralise one another in the way -explained above. [2] - -[1] Bk. III. xv.; cf. IV. ii. - -[2] P. 111 - -Now all this makes it clear that in endeavouring to point out the -signs of the General Will, Rousseau is really enthroning the Will -of All. He aims at eliciting a direct opinion, uncontaminated by -external influence or interest, from each and every member of the -citizen body. In this aim, what is present to his mind is of course -the popular idea of the ancient City-State. But the actual working -even of Athenian or of Roman institutions was far more subtle -and complex than this. And more especially, the very core of the -common good represented by the life of a modern Nation-State is -its profound and complex organisation, which makes it greater than -the conscious momentary will of any individual. By reducing the -machinery for the expression of the common good to the isolated and -unassisted judgment of the members of the whole body of citizens, -Rousseau is ensuring the {117} exact reverse of what he professes -to aim at. He is appealing from the organised life, institutions, -and selected capacity of a nation to that nation regarded as an -aggregate of isolated individuals. And, therefore, he is enthroning -as sovereign, not the national mind, but that aggregate of private -interests and ideas which he has himself described as the Will of -All. He is so far aware of this that, as we have seen, he refuses to -contemplate a great modern nation as a political whole, because he -fails to conceive how, for such a community, the General Will can -satisfactorily find expression. But in as far as he commits himself -to the view that the sovereign, constituted as he would have it, -“necessarily is what it ought to be,” or “is incapable of injustice -to any of its members,” so far he has forgotten the dangers of the -Will of All, and has affirmed the absolute supremacy of the popular -will in the very sense against which his conception of the Will of -All is a protest. The notion of primary assemblies and of direct -participation in citizen life has no doubt a real lesson for the -political theorist; but it does not point to reducing the whole -political system of a great state to a model which never, perhaps, -thoroughly fulfilled its idea except under very special conditions. - -4. The other and more fruitful direction of Rousseau’s speculations -upon the General Will is to be found in his remarks on the function -of the Legislator. We will approach them by help of a short -restatement of the problem as it now stands. - -It was observed above that what Rousseau had before him in his notion -of the General Will might {118} be described as the “Will in itself,” -or the Real Will. Any such conception involves a contrast between the -Real Will and the Actual Will, which may seem to be meaningless. How -can there be a Will which is no one’s Will? and how can anything be -my Will which I am not fully aware of, or which I am even averse to? - -This question will be treated more fully on psychological grounds in -a later chapter. For the present, it is enough to call attention to -the plain fact that often when people do not know what they mean, -they yet mean something of very great importance; or that, as has -commonly been said, “what people demand is seldom what would satisfy -them if they got it.” We may recall the instances [1] in which even -Mill admitted that it is legitimate to infer, from the inherent -nature of will, that people do not really “will” something which -they desire to do at a given moment. The example of slavery is a -striking one. A man may contract to become a slave, but no civilised -government will enforce his contract at law, and the ultimate reason -for the refusal is, as Mill in effect points out, that man’s nature -is to exercise will--to have liberty--and a resolution to divest -himself of this capacity must be taken as _ipso facto_ void, by -contradicting the very essence of humanity. [2] - -[1] P. 69 above. - -[2] “Liberty is the quality of man.” (Rousseau, _Contrat Social_). - -Now the contradiction, which here appears in an ultimate form, -pervades the “actual” will, which we exert from moment to moment as -conscious individuals, through and through. A comparison of our acts -of will through a month or a year is {119} enough to show that no one -object of action, as we conceive it when acting, exhausts all that -our will demands. Even the life which we wish to live, and which on -the average we do live, is never before us as a whole in the motive -of any particular volition. In order to obtain a full statement of -what we will, what we want at any moment must at least be corrected -and amended by what we want at all other moments; and this cannot -be done without also correcting and amending it so as to harmonise -it with what others want, which involves an application of the same -process to them. But when any considerable degree of such correction -and amendment had been gone through, our own will would return to -us in a shape in which we should not know it again, although every -detail would be a necessary inference from the whole of wishes -and resolutions which we actually cherish. And if it were to be -supplemented and readjusted so as to stand not merely for the life -which on the whole we manage to live, but for a life ideally without -contradiction, it would appear to us quite remote from anything which -we know. Such a process of harmonising and readjusting a mass of data -to bring them into a rational shape is what is meant by criticism. -And criticism, when applied to our actual will, shows that it is not -our real will; or, in the plainest language, that what we really want -is something more and other than at any given moment we are aware -that we will, although the wants which we are aware of lead up to it -at every point. - -To obtain something which approximates to a real will, then, involves -a process of criticism and {120} interpretation, which may be either -natural or intellectual; that is to say, it may proceed by “natural -selection,” through the method of trial and error, or it may be -rapidly advanced at favourable moments by the insight of a great -mind. But some forwardness in this criticism and interpretation, -bringing with it some deposit, so to speak, of objects of volition -in which the private will, so far as it is distinguished at all, -finds harmony and expansion, must be coeval with social life, and, in -short, with humanity. - -It is such a process of interpretation that Rousseau ascribes to -the legislator. He fathers on him the whole labour of history and -social logic in moulding the customs and institutions of mankind. -And in agreement with our general attitude to Rousseau’s historical -imagination, we may take what he says of legislation and the -legislator as an expression of his views on the function of customs -and ordinances in the constitution of will. It is very remarkable, -considering the other aspect of his views, that he should have -conceived so distinctly, as the following passage shows that he did, -the immense contrast between a real will and anything which could be -presented as a whole in the momentary consciousness of human beings. - -Here is his statement of the problem. - - “Laws are, strictly speaking, only the conditions of - civil association. The people which submits to the laws - ought to be their author. Only the associates can have - the right to regulate the conditions of the society. - But how are they to regulate them? Can {121} it be done - by a common agreement, by a sudden inspiration? Has the - body politic an organ for pronouncing its acts of will? - Who will give it the necessary foresight to form such - acts and to publish them before they are needed? Or how - is it to pronounce them at the moment when they are - required? How is a blind multitude, which often does not - know what it wills, because it rarely knows what is good - for it, to execute for itself so great and difficult an - enterprise as a system of legislation? Of itself, the - people always wills the good, but it does not always see - it. The general will is always right, but the judgment - which guides it is not always enlightened. It must be - made to see objects such as they are, and, sometimes, - such as they ought to appear to it; it must be shown the - right road which it seeks, must be protected from the - allurements of private will; places and times must be - brought close to its eyes, and the attractions of present - and visible advantages counterbalanced by the danger of - remote and latent evils. Private persons see the good - which they reject; the public wills the good which it - does not see. All alike need guidance. The former must - be obliged to conform their will to their reason; the - latter must be taught to know what it wills. [2] Then, - from the public enlightenment there results the union of - understanding and of will in the social body; and hence - the precise co-operation of the parts and the greatest - power {122} of the whole. Hence springs the necessity of - a legislator.” [1] - -[1] _Contrat Social_, bk. II., ch. vi. - -[2] There is a _prima facie_ contradiction in this rhetorical -antithesis; if all private individuals were enlightened, but -selfishly interested, there could be no public good will. The -contrast must lie between different classes of persons, if it is to -have a meaning. - -In the following chapter [1] Rousseau touches the essence of laws and -institutions in a few words, which only embody a contradiction or a -miracle because he is thinking of the legislator’s work as a creation -accomplished at one blow. - - “In order that a people at its birth should have the - capacity to appreciate the sound maxims of policy and - follow the fundamental rules of political reason, it - would be necessary for the effect to become the cause; - for the social spirit, which is meant to be the work of - the legislation, to preside over the legislation itself, - and for men to be, before laws are made, what they are - meant to become by their means.” - -The legislator then, in face of this contradiction, must have -recourse to supernatural sanctions. - -[1] _Contrat Social_, II. vii. - -But the paradox precisely expresses the fact. Laws and institutions -are only possible because man _is_ already, what they gradually -make more and more explicit; because he has a general will, that -is, because the good which he presents to himself as his own is -necessarily in some degree a good which extends beyond himself, or -a common good. The criticism or interpretation which elicits the -general will or actual social spirit, by removal of contradictions, -and embodiment in permanent form, is essentially one with the work -which Rousseau ascribes to the legislator. And his paradox is removed -when we understand that the legislator is merely one of the organs of -the social spirit itself, as it carries out its self-criticism and -self-interpretation, in part by trial and error {123} and in part by -conscious insight and adjustment. The habits and institutions of any -community are, so to speak, the standing interpretation of all the -private wills which compose it, and it is thus possible to assign -to the General Will an actual and concrete meaning as something -different at once from every private will, and from the vote of any -given assembly, and yet as standing, on the whole, for what both the -one and the other necessarily aim at sustaining as the framework of -their life. It is needless to observe that such a representation -of the Real Will is imperfect, since every set of institutions is -an incomplete embodiment of life; and any given system of life is -itself also incomplete. It is more important to remember that, though -always incomplete, just as the system of sciences is an incomplete -expression of truth, the complex of social institutions is, as we -have seen, very much more complete than the explicit ideas which at -any given instant move any individual mind in volition. - - - - -{124} - -CHAPTER VI. - -THE CONCEPTION OF LIBERTY, AS ILLUSTRATED BY THE FOREGOING -SUGGESTIONS. - -1. We have now seen that the problem of Self-Government may be -regarded from a point of view other than that which presented it -as a contradiction in terms. The contradiction depended on the -absolute opposition between self and others which was embodied in -the _prima facie_ idea of society; the result of which was that all -increase of individuality and all assertion of self were at the -first view hostile as regarded others, and liberty, the condition -of individuality, became a negative idea, prescribing as it were a -maximum of empty space, to be preserved against all trespassers, -round every unit of the social whole. We saw that notions of this -kind were pushed so far as to endanger the fundamental principle, -according to which self-affirmation is the root of morality, and -it was maintained that the ethical attitude essentially lay in the -negation and limitation imposed by social life upon the natural -tendency to self-assertion. [1] According to these ideas, the self in -society is something less than, if it could so exist, it would {125} -be out of society, and liberty is the arrangement by which, at a -sacrifice of some of its activities, it is enabled to disport itself -_in vacuo_ with the remainder. - -[1] Pp. 27 and 73. - -But if we may give weight to the suggestions of the two previous -chapters, the assumptions which we work with are transformed. The -difference of principle is that the average individual, such as each -of us takes himself to be in his ordinary [1] trivial moods, when he -sees, or thinks he sees, nothing in life but his own private interest -and amusement,--this average individual is no longer accepted as the -real self or individuality. The centre of gravity of existence is -thrown outside him. Even his personality, his unique and personal -being, the innermost shrine of what he is and likes to be, is not -admitted to lie where a careless scrutiny, backed by theoretical -prejudice, is apt to locate it. It is not in the nooks and recesses -of the sensitive self, when the man is most withdrawn from things -and persons and wrapped up in the intimacies of his feeling, that -he enjoys and asserts his individual self to the full. This idea is -a caricature of the genuine experience of individuality. It is true -that to feel your individuality is to feel something distinctive, -which gives you a hold and substance in yourself and a definite -position among others, and, it may be, against them. But on a careful -consideration, it will be found that this substance and position are -always sustained by some kind {126} of determinate achievement or -expansion on the part of the self. It always comes from taking hold -of the world in some definite way; which, just because it is definite -and affirmative, is at once a distinct assertion of the self, and -a transition from the private self into the great communion of -reality. The simplest machine will show us that it is the differences -of the parts which enable them to make a whole. And so, we are now -suggesting, it is in the difference which contributes to the whole -that the self feels itself at home and possesses its individuality. - -[1] There is a difficulty in stating this point without confusion, -just because the “ordinary” individual, being at the bottom different -from what he seems, is actually determined in all sorts of ways, -consciously and unconsciously, by demands and ideas which go far -beyond what he would admit to determine him. - -Following up such thoughts as these, we see that there is a meaning -in the suggestion that our real self or individuality may be -something which in one sense we are not, but which we recognise as -imperative upon us. As Rousseau has said of the social self, we say -more generally of the self or life which extends beyond our average -private existence, that it is more real than we are, and we only feel -ourselves real in proportion as we identify ourselves with it. - -With such suggestions in our minds, we see the problem of liberty in -a new light. Liberty, no doubt, is as Rousseau has told us, so far -agreeing with Mill, the essential quality of human life. It is so, we -understood, because it is the condition of our being ourselves. But -now that it has occurred to us that in order to be ourselves we must -be always becoming something which we are not, or in other words, we -must always recognise that we are something more than we have become, -liberty, as the condition of our being ourselves, cannot simply be -something which {127} we have, still less something which we have -always had--a _status quo_ to be maintained. It must be a condition -relevant to our continued struggle to assert the control of something -in us, which we recognise as imperative upon us or as our real self, -but which we only obey in a very imperfect degree. Thus it is that -we can speak, without a contradiction, of being forced to be free. -[1] It is possible for us to acquiesce, as rational beings, in a law -and order which on the whole makes for the possibility of asserting -our true or universal selves, at the very moment when this law and -order is constraining our particular private wills in a way which we -resent, or even condemn. Such a law and order, maintained by force, -which we recognise as on the whole the instrument of our greatest -self-affirmation, is a system of rights; and our liberty, or to use -a good old expression, our liberties, may be identified with such a -system considered as the condition and guarantee of our becoming the -best that we have it in us to be, that is, of becoming ourselves. -And because such an order is the embodiment up to a certain point of -a self or system of will which we recognise as what ought to be, as -against the indolence, ignorance, or rebellion of our casual private -selves, we may rightly call it a system of self-government or free -government; a system, that is to say, in which ourselves, in one -sense, govern ourselves in another sense; not as Mill has said, by -each one of us being subject to all the “others” (taking “others” in -the same sense in which each of us is “one”), {128} but by all of us, -as casual private units, being subject to an order which expresses, -up to a certain point, the rational self or will which, as rational -beings, we may be assumed [2] to recognise as imperative. - -[1] For limitations see ch. viii. below. - -[2] In principle, actual individual assent is not needed. The -question when the assumption breaks down belongs to the subject of -the duty of rebellion and the significance of punishment. - -2. Before proceeding to develop the idea of liberty, we may consider -for a moment the closely analogous idea of “nature” and what is -“natural.” - -Like the notion of “liberty” which is that of “being able to be -yourself,” the notion of nature, which is that of “coming to be -_of_ yourself, or _of_ itself,” has always, however imperfectly -apprehended, exercised immense power over the mind. It is felt that -you have touch with reality when you have found something which can -grow of itself. But again, like the notion of liberty, the notion -of nature is apt to be apprehended in a form so partial as to be -practically negative, and in this form, to be given a hostile bearing -against what are, in fact, completer phases of the same idea. - -That which is natural, or by nature, in the most obvious sense--what -most plainly appears to have “come of itself”--is what comes first in -time, and what comes with the least putting together the primitive -and the simple as against the late and the complex. And so in the -theoretical inquiry after what is solid and can be relied upon, there -constantly recurs in all ages the tendency to story-telling; to the -narration of what is supposed to have come first, as the simple -{129} spontaneous beginning out of which the world as we know it has -emerged with greatly altered attributes. The note of story-telling is -unmistakable in this naïve theory, whether we find it in poets who -portray the Golden Age, from Hesiod downwards, [1] or represented -as a fallacy of social compact by Plato in the second book of the -_Republic_ [2] or adopted as a juristic theory by Tacitus [3] and -the writers who relied on the idea of a “state of nature,” down to -Rousseau. - -[1] The resemblance between Hesiod’s dream of the Golden Age and -modern doctrines of intensive culture is startling, and there is -probably a true historical continuity between them. This does not -involve the assertion that there can be no truth in the latter, but -it does suggest that the disproportionate emphasis laid upon it -(_e.g._ by Fourier and in _Merrie England_) indicates an element of -the old “Nature” fallacy. - -[2] _Rep_., 358 E. - -[3] _Annals_, iii. 26; cf. _Germania_, ch. xix. 20, “Neque corrumpere -et corrumpi ‘seculum’ vocatur. ...” Note the identification of “our -age” with corruption; cp. use of _fin de siècle_. - -It may be observed at this point that the conception of a “law of -nature” made a very valuable middle term between the conception of a -purely primitive condition of the world and the ideal of a complete -society. The logical reason is plain. The instinct of getting at -something solid and permanent, which first reveals itself by going -back to the supposed original or simple, soon attaches itself also -to what is _generally_ found to exist, understanding generality as -a mark of that tendency to come of itself which it feels to attach -to what is real and able to stand in its own right. But generality -is a clue which leads a long way; and the mind passes from saying -“Fire burns [1] by nature, {130} for it burns everywhere; but law -is variable” [2] to observing that there are features of law which -have their own generality, and there thus appears to be a “natural” -element in law, which may mean the right of the strongest, [3] but -may again amount to a tendency to come out of the “state of nature.” -Just in the same way, the conception of Liberty has always drawn -from experience a certain positive tendency to progress, and has -never perhaps, even in the most fanatical theory, maintained the full -demand for isolation which its negative bearing might seem to imply. - -[1] Argument cited by Aristotle, _Eth_., v. 10. - -[2] Just so, in strict science, from the Atomists downward, the -primary qualities (spatial) are real, the secondary (colours) -conventional (or, as we say, “subjective”); the former meaning holds -good more generally than the latter. - -[3] Plato, _Gorgias_, p. 484. - -But again, the instinct which, in looking for what has power to grow -or come of itself, lays hold of what is merely primitive or merely -general, has in all great epochs of thought been met by a deeper -insight. - -It is not merely what we are born _as_, or what the world begins -with, that comes of itself. The most ordinary conception of growth -involves maturity, and the term nature in Greek and Latin, as in -English, can indicate not only what we are born _as_, but what we are -born _for_, our true, or real, or complete nature. Thus the great -thinkers of every age have been led to something like Aristotle’s -conception, “what a thing is when its growth is completed, that is -what we call its nature [1] (growth or evolution)”; and so, if we -are to think of “nature” as a whole, it will not be, {131} as when -we speak of “natural” science, an outward world, whether of atoms -or of organisms, contrasted both with God and with Man, “for nature -in Aristotle is not the outward world of created things; it is the -creative force, the productive principle of the universe.” [2] To -us, inclined to contrast the natural at once with the human and -the divine, there is something startling in the vivid reality with -which the Greek thinkers hold the three ideas together. The creative -activity of the divine principle seems for Plato to be actually one -with growth, or nature, or evolution. [3] It may be of interest to -cite the great passage in which Plato lays his finger on the common -fallacy. [4] - - “Many learned men say that the elements and inorganic - and organic world below man came by nature and chance, - but that law and justice and man’s works and social - institutions and religion are merely conventional, - variable, and untrue. But we must maintain that law and - religion and man’s works exist by nature, or are not - lower than nature, being the products of mind according - to right reason.” ... “For they give the name of nature - to the origin of the earliest things; [5] but if really - mind is earliest of all things, then _it_ may rightly be - said to be superlatively natural.” - -[1] Aristotle, _Pol_., i. i. - -[2] Butcher, _Aristotle’s Theory of Poetry and Fine Art_, p. 116. - -[3] _Republic_, x. 597. - -[4] _Laws_, 889 ff. abridged. - -[5] We are not dealing here with Platonic interpretation, but it -seems necessary to point out that, literally taken, this passage -accepts the principle that nature = primary genesis, and sets out to -prove mind to be natural in this sense. We might rather reject the -appeal to succession in Time altogether, as at bottom Plato means -to. But we see how emphatically mind is for Plato the superlatively -natural. - -And so, as the universe is for the great thinkers {132} at once -natural and divine, the same applies to human society. Not only in -Aristotle’s trenchant expressions to the effect that the City State -is a natural growth, but in the whole of Plato’s careful analysis -of moral and social life, we find society depicted as a living and -growing creature, in which man’s nature expands itself from more to -more, having its own essence progressively communicated to it. And so -we find that the peculiar naturalness of the primitive and the simple -is only an illusion, caused by the greater difficulty of recognising -the larger individuality which comes both of and to itself in the -later and more complex phases of life. But whatever it was that was -real and that came of itself in the primitive and simple is there to -a greater degree--with more reality and as the same self, only more -complete--in the later and complex. The idea of a diminution of being -as we pass from the simpler to the more developed self is a fallacy -of non-recognition. - -Rousseau, as we saw, maintains in words the traditional opposition -between the natural and the civil or moral condition of man. From the -tendency of his views, however, we might have expected that in his -philosophy the wheel would come full circle, and the term “nature” -would revert to its Greek meaning. But this is not the case, though -in Émile there is a compromise which points in some such direction. -Yet a remarkable passage [1] from Burlamaqui, a Genevese jurist, the -earlier contemporary of Rousseau, shows the reversion to the Greek -view of social nature completed in principle. - - “La liberté civile l’emporte de {133} beaucoup sur la - liberté naturelle, et, par conséquent, l’état civil qui - l’a produit est de tous les états de l’homme le plus - parfait, et, à parler exactement, le veritable état - naturel de l’homme. L’établissement d’un gouvernement - et d’une puissance souveraine, ramenant les hommes à - l’observation des lois naturelles, [2] et par conséquent - dans la route de bonheur, les fait rentrer dans leur état - naturel, duquel ils étaient sortis par le mauvais usage - qu’ils faisaient de leur liberté.” - -[1] Cited in Dreyfus-Brisac’s edition of the _Contrat Social_, p. 39. - -[2] Note the value of “natural law” as a middle term equivalent to -the general and rational features of positive law, and forming a -step by which the “natural” is carried beyond the supposed “state of -nature.” - -Upon this reversion to ancient usage there followed the movement -of the age of romantic genius and of organic science, and with -Goethe’s Erdgeist and Wordsworth’s religion of Nature the restriction -of the natural to the primitive and simple was destroyed. Nature -still remains a point of view under which we regard what relatively -speaking “comes of itself,” but it has ceased to exist as a -question-begging predicate, attached to pre-social or extra-social -conditions of man. - -3. Liberty, as understood by the writers who were discussed in ch. -iii. of the present work, is related to the State much as Nature, in -the mouth of story-telling theory, is related to civilised society. -We saw that Seeley in his _Introduction to Political Science_ [1] -lays it down that “perfect liberty is equivalent to total absence -of government.” And this no doubt fairly represents our first -notion of the matter, when cleared of the limitations imposed upon -it by practical life, which {134} limitations--really a first hint -of the truth--we are apt to mistake for mere sophistications and -imperfections. We noted in Rousseau the surviving contrast between -natural liberty on the one hand and civil or moral liberty on the -other, and we observed that the expanding idea of what was natural -could not be prevented from covering the ground of the civil or moral -life. The thread of connection, or rather the ferment of expansion, -we found to be, in the case of nature, the idea of self-origination. -That was natural which came of itself. - -[1] Seeley, quoted p. 91 above. - -_(a)_ In the simple ideal of liberty, as equivalent to the absence of -all government--for we must not forget that it is an ideal, obtained -by neglecting the facts of life which run counter to it--there is -clearly embodied a claim which commands our respect. The claim is so -self-evident and so convincing to average human feeling--Mr. Spencer -would indeed say, with some truth, to animal feeling in general--that -its precise nature is seldom stated in distinct language. We have -assumed above that the root of it lies in the claim to be ourselves. -But it is safer to take it in the shape which it actually has for the -average consciousness, and this is the negative shape, as a claim -to be free from constraint. [1] If we ask, “What is constraint?” -the answer is founded on the current distinction between myself -and others as different minds attached to different bodies. It is -constraint when my mind is interfered with in its control of my body -either by actual or by threatening physical {135} violence under the -direction of another mind. A permanent and settled condition of such -constraint, by which I become in effect the instrument of another -mind, is slavery. And it will not lead us far wrong if we assume that -the value put upon liberty and its erection into something like an -ideal comes from the contrast with slavery. The ideal of positive -political freedom presupposes more complex experiences. But Homer -already knows that “Zeus deprives a man of half his manhood when he -becomes a slave.” - -[1] We must assume, I suppose, that in Seeley’s sentence “Government” -= “Constraint,” or its _vraisemblance_ is lost. - -This, then, we may take as the practical starting point in the notion -of freedom. It is what, with reference to a formed society, we may -call a status; the position of a freeman as opposed to a slave; that -is, of one who, whatever oppression he may meet with _de facto_ from -time to time, or whatever specified services he may be bound to -render, normally regards himself and is regarded by others as, on the -whole, at his own disposal, and not the mere instrument of another -mind. - -Thus the juristic meaning of the term liberty, based on the normal -distinction between one self-determining person and another, we may -set down as its literal meaning, and so far the English writers, -of whom Seeley is the latest type, are on solid ground when they -define liberty as the absence of restraint, or perfect liberty as the -absence of all government (in the sense of habitual constraint by -others). - -_(b)_ It is obvious that the above definition would be wholly -inadequate to the simplest facts respecting the demands which have -through all history been asserted and achieved under the name -of political {136} liberty. A man may be a long way more than a -slave and yet a long way less than a citizen. If, as Seeley says, -the English writer of the verses, “Ah, Freedom is a noble thing,” -only meant by Freedom, being out of prison, it is certain that he -meant much less than the Greek historian who two thousand years -before used almost the same words. “The right of equal speech,” he -wrote, “demonstrates itself in every way as a noble thing.” [1] -By this, as his words and their occasion make plain, he meant a -certain determinate security for the positive exercise of activities -affecting the welfare of the social whole, and some such security -is always understood to be involved in the notion of political -liberty. But we will content ourselves at this point with noting the -distinction and connection between the negative or juristic, and -the varyingly positive or political conception of liberty. For the -latter is, in its degree, a case of that fuller freedom which we are -about to trace to its embodiment in the state; and the phenomena of -political liberty are covered, of course, by the point of view which -we shall take in indicating the state as the main organ and condition -of the fuller liberty. - -[1] Hdt., v. 78. - -(c) The connection, we said, between juristic and political liberty -should be observed at this point. It is merely an example of what -we shall find throughout, that the apparently negative has its -roots and its meaning in the positive, and, in proportion as its -true nature becomes evident, its positive aspects become explicit. -There is no true security for juristic liberty apart from political -{137} liberty; and it has constantly been the infraction of juristic -liberty that has been the origin of the demand for a share in highly -positive political duties and functions. Mere protection for person -and property may seem an easy thing to define and maintain with just -a little goodwill; but the questions when, how, and in what sense it -is to be maintained involve the positive character of the political -system, and there is no ultimate security unless that system is -moulded by the whole compass of individuality which society contains. - -_(d)_ Recurring then to the literal or elementary sense of liberty, -as the absence of constraint exercised by one upon others, we may -admit that, in going beyond it, we are more or less making use of a -metaphor. [1] We are passing from the idea of non-constraint pure -and simple to the idea of more or less moulding and selection within -the powers and activities of the self. It is true, indeed, and must -be maintained as a fundamental principle, that the “higher” liberty -is also in fact the “larger” liberty, presenting the greater area -to activity and the more extensive choice to self-determination. -[2] But this larger development remains within a positive general -character, and if more alternatives are open, there are also, by -that very fact, more which are closed. We cannot wholly exhaust the -new meaning of liberty as applied to the law-abiding and moral life -of a {138} conscientious citizen even by changing the negative into -the positive, and saying that, whereas mere juristic freedom was -only freedom _from_ constraint, political freedom means freedom _to_ -act. The higher sense of liberty, like the lower, involves freedom -_from_ some things as well as freedom _to_ others. And that which we -are freed from is, in this case, not the constraint of those whom we -commonly regard as others, but the constraint of what we commonly -regard as a part of ourself. Here is the reason for saying that, when -we speak of liberty in the higher sense, we must be admitted to be -speaking metaphorically. [3] - -[1] In this and the following section I have made great use of -Green’s discussion in the first chapter of the _Principles of -Political Obligation_. - -[2] Perhaps I may refer on this head to “Liberty and Legislation” in -my _Civilisation of Christendom_ (Sonnenschein). - -[3] But see below, p. 145. - -In the straightforward sense of the word, we saw, I am free when -I am not made the instrument of another person’s will through -physical violence or the threat of it. The subtle questions which -may arise with regard to due or undue degrees of influence, by which -I may become the instrument of another’s mind, with more or less -willingness on the part of my own, are here disregarded. I am assumed -to be acting freely so long as I follow the inclination of my mind, -apart from any painful conflict forced upon it by the prospect of -physical interference with its belongings. - -But from the earliest ages of ethical reflection, a further sense -has been ascribed to the term liberty. It has been pointed out -by moralists and philosophers--first, perhaps by Socrates and -Plato--that the condition of man as to being himself is fundamentally -affected not only by the power to do what he likes without -constraint, but by the nature of that which he likes to do. The human -{139} mind, it is explained, is never wholly at one with itself, -and the common phrases “self-mastery” or “self-control” are adduced -by way of presenting what we spoke of above as the ethical paradox -of self-government. [1] The mind, then, is treated by a metaphor as -if it were two or more persons; and the term liberty, which applies -_prima facie_ to the non-constraint of one person by another, is -applied to the non-constraint of something within an individual mind -by something else within it. Now, apart from further scrutiny, it -does not appear why the term liberty, when thus applied, should mean -anything of ethical value. As Plato observed, in a passage [2] from -which the current use of all these phrases is probably derived, it -seems absurd at first sight to speak of self-control as a distinctive -predicate of certain states of mind. For surely, within the mind, -that which is controlled must be of the nature of self no less than -that which controls it, so that, in saying that I have self-control, -I am saying that I am self-indulgent; in saying that my mind is free, -I am at the same time saying that it is a slave. Within certain -limits this paradox represents a truth, and the ethical rank of -the elements which coerce and are coerced may be quite oppositely -estimated. We may think fit to call ourselves free either when love -conquers reason or when reason triumphs over love. Still, as Plato -proceeds to point out, the general adoption of the metaphor, the -fact that we think and call ourselves “free” or “self-controlled” -or “fully ourselves” in some cases and not in others; and that we -do not in each of {140} these cases regard the opposite attribution -“slave,” “self-indulgent,” “not ourselves” as equally true with the -former, indicates that some substantial fact is forcing itself upon -us through the metaphor in question. It is the same problem as that -which Professor James has wittily stated when he points out that -“the sluggard, the drunkard, the coward never talk of their conduct -in that way (i.e. as conquering their impulses and temptations) or -say they resist their energy, overcome their sobriety, conquer their -courage, and so forth.” [3] - -[1] P. 55. - -[2] _Republic_, 430 E. - -[3] _Principles of Psychology_, ii. 548. - -It is most important, we may venture to observe in passing, not to -understand the substantive fact, or Plato’s presentation of it, as -if it lay in an alternative between two psychological factors, say -intelligence and desire, the one of which was to be preferred and -the other to be repudiated, through some quasi-ethical conception of -rank, such as the supposed affinity of the one factor with divine or -of the other with animal life. We are speaking of the sense in which -it can be asserted that the human self is, comparatively speaking, -free in one kind of life and unfree in another, both being assumed -to be chosen, in the absence of constraint by an external will. It -is plain that the only ground on which such an assertion can really -be sustained is that the one life more than the other gives effect -to the self as a whole, or removes its contradictions and so makes -it most fully what it is able to be, or what, by the implied nature -of each and all of its wants, it may be said really to want to be. -The claims of intelligence and desire in their various phases must be -{141} criticised according to this principle, and not advocated upon -presuppositions drawn from external comparisons. - -But our question at the present moment is not as to the deeper -nature of that which we call the self _par excellence_, but as to -the bearing of the metaphor by which the assertion of such a self is -identified with liberty or absence of constraint. And the point is -plainly this; [1] that in the conflict between that which stands for -the self _par excellence_ and that which, at any time, stands opposed -to it, we have the clear experience that we are capable of being -determined by a will within our minds which nevertheless we repudiate -and disown, [2] and therefore we feel ourselves to be like a slave as -compared with a freeman if we yield, but like a freeman compared with -a slave if we conquer. We may be determined by something which not -only is not ourself--for in the greatest moments of life, when our -being touches its maximum, we, in a sense, feel an impulse which is -not ourself--but it is not ourself as something which has got hold of -us by force, and operates upon us by conflict and violence, without -having the kind of power needed to carry us away and sweep our whole -self harmoniously into its current. That we can be determined by a -will in us which neither is ourself nor represents it at a higher -level, and which we loathe and disown, is the experience on which the -metaphor of freedom and slavery is {142} based, when applied to the -life of man considered apart from external constraint. [3] - -[1] See Green’s _Principles of Political Obligation_, p. i. - -[2] This remains substantially true, even if we agree with Socrates -that it is impossible to know the better and prefer the worse at a -given moment. Our normal self will repudiate the view we took at some -moment. - -[3] There is something worthy of Dante in Rousseau’s observation -(_Contrat Social_, Bk. iv. ch. 2, note) that the convicts in the -galleys at Genoa had “Liberty” stamped on their chains. The fetters -of the bad self are the symbol of freedom. Rousseau turns his remark -to commonplace, after his fashion, by referring it to the mere -liberation of society from malefactors. - -_(e)_ The metaphorical application of the term Liberty to a state of -the individual mind has both its danger and its justification. The -state of mind in question, we repeat, is that in which the impulse -towards self-satisfaction sets itself upon an object which represents -the nature of the self as a whole, as free from contradiction or as -at its maximum of being, and triumphs over the alien and partial -will, the tendency to narrower tracks of indulgence, when entangled -in which it feels itself oppressed and constrained by a foreign -influence. When the mind does what, as a whole, it wills, as Plato -implies, [1] it feels free. When it cannot be said to will anything -as a whole, but is distracted among aims which cannot satisfy it, -then there is no sense in which it can be said to do what _it_ wills, -and it feels itself under constraint and a slave. - -[1] _Republic_, ix. 577 E. - -The metaphor has this danger. The contrast between whole and part is -too readily transformed, in popular theory, into the contrast between -an empty generality and everything in particular. The claim to be -free then involves the separation between mind as a general faculty -of volition, and every particular object. Mind is then said to be -free as an undetermined faculty, but as filled and {143} moulded by -any object or idea, (the passive participles “filled” and “moulded” -imply a relation which is not real, but, as assumed, is the ground of -the fallacy in question) it has lost its freedom and become a slave. -But if we retain the conception that mind has reality only as a whole -of determinate character, self-determined through its power of being -a self, but not through any power of creating particulars out of -nothing, we shall avoid this caricature of the higher freedom. - -But it is far more important to note the justification of the -metaphor. We saw that, from Homer downwards, the conviction has been -ineradicable that liberty is the true nature of man. And we now -observe that the metaphor, through which the deepest sense of this -quality has expressed itself, depends upon the same principle as -the literal usage from which it is drawn. In the case of Liberty, -conceived as a condition of the mind, just as in the case of Liberty, -conceived as the absence of physical menace or coercion on the -part of other persons, the root of the matter is the claim to be -determined only by ourself. But, in the literal case, what we mean by -ourself is the given self, the group of will and wishes, of feelings -and ideas, associated from time to time with my particular body; -in short, the actual uncriticised “mind,” as we experience it all -day and every day. In the metaphorical case, we have made so much -progress in self-criticism as to know at least that our “self” is -something of a problem. We know that the given self, the mind from -day to day, [1] is not satisfactory; and {144} we throw the centre -of gravity outside it, and place the true self in something which -we rather want to be than actually are; although, at the same time, -it is clear that to some extent we are this something or we should -not want to be it. We realise, indeed, that to be ourselves is a -principle at once of distinction or position among others, and of -thorough transition into and unity with the life which is at the -root of theirs. And it is for this reason that we feel so confident, -in proportion as we at all lay hold upon a life which can thus -distinguish and identify us, that we have here the grasp of what is -in its nature our true self. Here then, as in the literal case of -liberty from personal constraint, we are putting in act the principle -of “being determined only by ourself.” - -[1] See, however, note on p. 125 above. - -And thus Liberty as understood by “theorists of the first look,” or -by those who in all ages have resisted arbitrary tyranny, belongs -after all to the same principle with the civil or moral liberty -of the philosopher. The claim to obey only yourself is a claim -essential to humanity; and the further significance of it rests -upon what you mean by “yourself.” Now if it is true that resistance -to arbitrary aggression is a condition of obeying only ourselves, -it is more deeply true, when man is in any degree civilised, that, -in order to obey yourself as you want to be, you must obey some -thing very different from yourself as you are. And it has been -well pointed out [1] that the consciousness of civilised peoples -is deeply alive to this significance of liberty, so that any work -of self-improvement may be most effectively {145} presented to a -popular audience as an effort to attain freedom by breaking the -bondage of drink, for example, or of ignorance, or of pauperism. -In spite of the objection that Freedom as thus represented is a -mere metaphor, “the feeling [2] of oppression, which always goes -with the consciousness of unfulfilled possibilities, will always -give meaning to the representation of the effort after any kind of -self-improvement as a demand for freedom.” We have followed the usual -course of English thought, and the example of a writer whose caution -equalled his enthusiasm, in admitting that the lower sense of the -term Liberty is the literal sense, and that the deeper meaning may -be treated as metaphorical. It is worth while to observe that the -justice of this way of looking at the matter is very doubtful. It -is because we know, however indefinitely, that our self has a reach -beyond its daily needs, that arbitrary oppression becomes a thing -to be resisted at the price of life itself. Herbert Spencer draws -attention to the struggles of an animal which we try to confine, -as a proof of the innate feeling of liberty. But the domesticated -animal is the highest animal, or at anyrate not the lowest; while the -man domesticated on similar terms is what we call a slave, because -he has sold his liberty for his life. It is therefore in truth the -sense of the higher liberty--the greatness and unity of life--that -has communicated uncontrollable force to the claim for the lower; -and if the fuller meaning is the reality and the lesser the symbol, -it would be nearer the truth to say that the reality is the liberty -of {146} a moral being whose will finds adequate expression in its -life, of which liberty the absence of external constraint is only an -elementary type or symbol. The claim of the dictionary-maker that the -earliest or the average meaning is also the truest or the “proper” -meaning of words has no foundation. [3] - -[1] Green’s _Principles_ p. 18. [2] _Loc. cit._ - -[3] Nettleship’s _Remains_, i. 27 and 30. - -4. Liberty, then, throughout, is the being ourselves, and the -fullest condition of liberty is that in which we are ourselves most -completely. The ideal thus implied may be further explained by help -of the philosophical expression, “The free will is the will that -wills itself.” We have already seen, by implication, the meaning of -this. If we are asked, “But does not our will always will itself?” -we have the answer ready, that in one sense it does, but in another -it does not. We always want what we will, but what we will is not -always what would satisfy our want. A will that willed itself would -be a will that in willing had before it an object that would satisfy -its whole want, and nothing but its want. Its desires would not -be narrow and partial desires, in the fulfilment of which a man -feels choked and oppressed like one lost in a blind alley which -grows narrower and narrower. They would not be artificial desires -stimulated and elaborated into a tyranny of the machinery of life by -the self which gropes for more and cannot find the “more” which it -needs. That is to say, the volitions of the self would have undergone -a process just such as is undergone by a casual sensuous observation -as it passes into a great scientific theory. As the observation -stands it is inadequate to itself; for it poses as a truth, and is -manifestly a false {147} connection. So it is supplemented on the -one hand and purged away on the other; conditions and qualifications -are inserted into it to harmonise it with other knowledge, until -it makes some approach to being an expression of experience fit to -occupy a permanent place in man’s conception of the world. This, -the adjustment of a partial element to unity with the whole, is the -essence of criticism. And it is just such another process by which -the experience of life fills up and purifies the objects presented -to the casual volition. That is to say, the nature of the process -may be represented by considering it as having an effect of this -kind on an unharmonised will; and relatively at any given moment -such a process is in some degree going on. But we must bear in mind -that we are not to think of the sensuous individual as totally prior -in time to the social consciousness, and as a pre-existing matter, -upon which such an effect is to be thought of as super-induced. That -would be precisely the fallacy with which Rousseau struggles so hard, -and the escape from which we are attempting to illustrate; none -the worse, perhaps, if our own language betrays how very difficult -it is to throw it off altogether. We really know the sensuous -individual as such, the will in its impure and uncriticised form, -only in our experience, constant as that is, of failure, error, -and forgetfulness, in adhering to the rational life, which, on the -whole, is inherent in the very nature of our rational being, and -which we only desert in the same way and to the same extent as we -make mistakes in intellectual matters. We go wrong by narrowness and -confusion, by erroneous abstractions out of the whole, in a way only -possible {148} for a social and intellectual being, and not prior to -our entire social and intellectual character. - -Understanding then that we are dealing with narrowness and confusion -and their opposites within a social intelligence already existing and -predominant on the whole, we may note the sort of relation in which -the more adequate will is analogous to the more adequate piece of -knowledge. - -Take, as we said above, the actual casual will of any individual at -any given moment, especially if it is of a nature which, within the -context of civilised life, we commonly pronounce to be wrong. Let it -be, for example, an impulse of sensual passion. It is a commonplace -that in such impulses the self can find no abiding satisfaction. -They pass and leave him empty. They bring with them no opening out -of fresh possibilities, no greater stability to the mind. Yet they -have their meaning, and belong to human nature. They imply a need for -union, and an attraction outside the immediate self. If we compare -them with the objects and affections of a happy and devoted family, -we see the difference between a less adequate and a more adequate -will. The impulse, in passing into family affection, has become -both less and more. It is both disciplined and expanded. The object -presented to the will is transformed in character. Lawlessness is -excluded; but, in place of a passing pleasure, a whole world of -affections and interests, extending beyond the individual life, is -offered as a purpose and a stimulus to the self. In short--for it -is idle to expatiate upon what everybody recognises at once--you -can make a life out of the one, and you cannot out of the other. -In the family at its best the will has an {149} object which is -real and stable, and which corresponds to a great part of its -own possibilities and capacities. In willing this object, it is, -relatively speaking, willing itself. We might compare in the same -way the mere will to earn our daily bread, with the horizon of a -great intellectual profession; or the routine of an industry or -profession vacantly and formally pursued with the very same routine -conscientiously followed in a spirit of enlightenment. In every case -we are led up to the contrast of the actual indolent or selfish will, -and the will, in as far as it comes to be what its nature implies, -namely, that which we have spoken of as the real or rational will, -embodied in objects which have power to make a life worth living for -the self that wills them. - -Now, our nature as rational beings implies the imperative claim -upon us of a will which is thus real or rational. Recognised or -unrecognised, it is rooted in our own wills, as the claim to be -true is rooted in our assertions. Any system of institutions which -represents to us, on the whole, the conditions essential to affirming -such a will, in objects of action such as to constitute a tolerably -complete life, has an imperative claim upon our loyalty and obedience -as the embodiment of our liberty. The only question that can arise -is whether the system is that which it pretends to be. But even -if rebellion is a duty, it can only be so because the imperative -obligation, as we recognise it, is irreconcilable with the particular -system which claims our obedience in its name. The imperative claim -of the will that wills itself is our own inmost nature, and we cannot -throw it off. This is the ultimate root of political obligation. - -5. It is such a “real” or rational will that {150} thinkers after -Rousseau have identified with the State. In this theory they are -following the principles of Plato and Aristotle, no less than the -indications which Rousseau furnished, by his theory of the general -will in connection with the work of the legislator. The State, when -thus regarded, is to the general life of the individual much as we -saw the family to be with regard to certain of his impulses. The -idea is that in it, or by its help, we find at once discipline and -expansion, the transfiguration of partial impulses, and something -to do and to care for, such as the nature of a human self demands. -If, that is to say, you start with a human being as he is in fact, -and try to devise what will furnish him with an outlet and a stable -purpose capable of doing justice to his capacities--a satisfying -object of life--you will be driven on by the necessity of the facts -at least as far as the State, and perhaps further. Two points may be -insisted on to make this conception less paradoxical to the English -mind. - -_(a)_ The State, as thus conceived, is not merely the political -fabric. The term State accents indeed the political aspect of the -whole, and is opposed to the notion of an anarchical society. But -it includes the entire hierarchy of institutions by which life is -determined, from the family to the trade, and from the trade to the -Church and the University. It includes all of them, not as the mere -collection of the growths of the country; but as the structure -which gives life and meaning to the political whole, while receiving -from it mutual adjustment, and therefore expansion and a more -liberal air. The State, it might be said, is thus conceived as the -operative criticism of all {151} institutions the modification and -adjustment by which they are capable of playing a rational part in -the object of human will. And criticism, in this sense, is the life -of institutions. As exclusive objects, they are a prey to stagnation -and disease--think of the temper which lives solely for the family -or solely for the Church; it is only as taken up into the movement -and circulation of the State that they are living spiritual beings. -It follows that the State, in this sense, is, above all things, -not a number of persons, but a working conception of life. It is -the conception by the guidance of which every living member of -the commonwealth is enabled to perform his function, as Plato has -taught us. If we ask whether this means that a complete conception -of the aims and possibilities of the common life exists even in the -minds of statesmen, not to speak of ordinary citizens, the question -answers itself in the negative. And yet the State can only live -and work in as far as such a conception, in however fragmentary, -one-sided shapes, pervades the general mind. It is not there mostly -in reflective shape; and in so far as it is in reflective shape it -is according to ultimate standards contradictory and incomplete. But -everyone who has a fair judgment of what his own place demands from -him, has, at his own angle, so to speak, a working insight into the -end of the State; and, of course, practical contradictions would be -fewer if such conceptions were completer and more covered by each -other. But a complete reflective conception of the end of the State, -comprehensive and free from contradiction, would mean a complete -idea of the realisation of all human {152} capacity, without waste -or failure. Such a conception is impossible owing to the gradual -character of the process by which the end of life, the nature of the -good, is determined for man. The Real Will, as represented by the -State, is only a partial embodiment of it. - -_(b)_ The State, as the operative criticism of all institutions, is -necessarily force; and in the last resort, it is the only recognised -and justified force. It seems important to observe that force is -inherent in the State, and no true ideal points in the direction of -destroying it. For the force of the State proceeds essentially from -its character of being our own mind extended, so to speak, beyond -our immediate consciousness. Not only is the conduct of life as a -whole beyond the powers of the average individual at his average -level, but it is beyond the powers of all the average individuals -in a society taken together at their average level. We make a great -mistake in thinking of the force exercised by the State as limited to -the restraint of disorderly persons by the police and the punishment -of intentional law-breakers. The State is the fly-wheel of our life. -Its system is constantly reminding us of duties, from sanitation to -the incidents of trusteeship, which we have not the least desire to -neglect, but which we are either too ignorant or too indolent to -carry out apart from instruction and authoritative suggestion. We -profit at every turn by institutions, rules, traditions, researches, -made by minds at their best, which, through State action, are now in -a form to operate as extensions of our own minds. It is not merely -the contrast {153} between the limited activity of one individual -and the greater achievement of millions put together. It is the -contrast between individuals working in the order and armed with the -laws, customs, writings, and institutions devised by ages, and the -same individuals considered as their daily average selves, with a -varying but always limited range of immediate consciousness. For at -any given moment, no judge knows all the law; no author knows all -his own books, not to mention those of others; no official of an -institution has the whole logic and meaning of the institution before -his mind. All individuals are continually reinforced and carried -on, beyond their average immediate consciousness, by the knowledge, -resources, and energy which surround them in the social order, with -its inheritance, of which the order itself is the greatest part. -And the return of this greater self, forming a system adjusted to -unity, upon their isolated minds, as an expansion and stimulus to -them, necessarily takes the shape of force, in as far as their minds -are inert. And this must always be the case, not merely so long as -wills are straightforwardly rebellious against the common good, but -so long as the knowledge and energy of the average mind are unequal -to dealing, on its own initiative and out of its own resources, with -all possible conjunctions in which necessary conditions of the common -good are to be maintained. In other words, there must be inertia to -overcome, as long as the limitations of our animal nature [1] exist -at all. The State is, as {154} Plato told us, the individual mind -writ large, or, as we have said, our mind reinforced by capacities -which are of its own nature, but which supplement its defects. And -this being so, the less complete must clearly submit to find itself -in the more complete, and be carried along with it so far as the -latter is able to advance. It is very important to note, however, -that our mind at its best is very different from our mind at its -average; and it has understood and approved, when at its best, a -great deal which in its average moments comes upon it as force or -custom from the outside. Thus, there is no abrupt division between -our conscious mind and the social system of suggestion, custom, and -force, which supports and extends and amends it. The two are related -much as the focus of consciousness is related to the sub-conscious -and automatic habits by which daily life is rendered possible. It is -no more conceivable that social life should go on without force and -authoritative custom, because the end of social life is reflected in -the varying intelligence of individuals, than that individual life -should go on without sub-consciousness and automatism, because it is -ultimately relative to the ends which appear as ideas in the shifting -focus of the mind. The inherent limitations of State action will be -dealt with in a later chapter. We have thus far been attempting to -make clear what is meant by the identification of the State with the -Real Will of the Individual in which he wills his own nature as a -rational being; in which identification we find the only true account -of political obligation. - -[1] Not “of our individuality.” Individuality is not, in principle, a -limitation which makes us unequal to our part in the whole. - - - - -{155} - -CHAPTER VII - -PSYCHOLOGICAL ILLUSTRATION OF THE IDEA OF A REAL OR GENERAL WILL. - -1. The object of the present chapter is to assist the reader in -bringing together the conception of the State or the Community on -the one hand, and that of an actual personal will, existing in an -individual mind, on the other. [1] We have seen that Self-Government -can only be explained if the centre of gravity of the self is -thrown outside what we are continually tempted to reckon as our -individuality, and, if we recognise as our real being, and therefore -as imperative upon us, a self and a good which are but slightly -represented in our explicit consciousness, at its ordinary level. We -have seen that all sound theory and all good practice are founded -on the insight or on the faith [2] that the common self or moral -person of society is more real than the apparent individual; and -we have followed Rousseau’s clue in criticising as defective and -contradictory the actual will of {156} given persons, and in looking -for its interpretation and completion in law and institutions as the -embodiment of the social spirit. - -[1] Cf. ch. ii., p. 43. - -[2] The faith may of course exist in minds which would absolutely -repudiate the theoretical form here propounded for it. No one could -have had a more ardent actual faith in the reality of the greater -self than Bentham and Mill. - -But Society and the State present themselves at first sight as -indefinite multitudes of persons. Institutions are many-sided facts; -and an unreflective citizen could hardly say of what he takes them -to be composed. And though law and custom approach more nearly to -what we commonly understand by a “will,” yet they again are apt to -be regarded as a sort of dead external weight with which the living -volition of the ordinary man has little or nothing to do. - -Our purpose, therefore, is to explain what is meant by saying that -“a will” can be embodied in the State, in society, in law and -institutions; and how it is possible for the individual, as we know -him, to be in an identity with this will, such as continually to -vary, but never wholly to disappear. How can a man’s real self lie -in a great degree outside his normal self, and be something which he -only now and then gets hold of distinctly, and never completely? - -2. We will begin (1) by pointing out the analogy between the groups -or systems of which our intelligence is composed, and the groups or -systems which make up the fabric of society, and we will then go on -(2) to exhibit them as up to a certain point aspects of the same fact. - -(1) We may note two degrees of connection between the members of a -whole, which we may call “Association” and “Organisation.” - -(i.) When two individuals are so connected that where you find -the one you expect to find the {157} other, they may be called -associates. And any kind of habitual grouping, from a gang of -thieves to a scientific or philanthropic institution, may be called -an Association. Owing probably to the verbal force which it borrows -from the verb “to associate,” the term “association” implies the -intentional coming together of units which have been separate, and -which may become separate again. The word “Society,” on the other -hand, has not this verbal force, and although an “association” may -call itself “a society,” yet “Society” as such is not spoken of as -an “Association.” When we speak of “Society” we do not emphasise the -aspect of being put together out of elements which exist apart, and -therefore we habitually apply the word to that natural grouping, -which, at any rate, we do not normally think of as purposely put -together and liable to be dissolved again. When the State is treated -as an Association, a definite theory of its nature is implied, such -as is involved in Herbert Spencer’s comparison between it and a joint -stock company. - -Now this same term “Association” is the most familiar expression for -a connection between elements of mind, analogous to that between -persons who are called associates. If two elements of mind are so -connected that, where we find the one we expect to find the other, -they are said to be “associated.” If the engine’s whistle makes me -think the train is going to start, then it would be said that the -idea “train starting” is associated in my mind with the idea “engine -whistling.” They have before entered into the same mental group or -whole, and so, where we find the one, {158} we expect to find the -other, just as, where my friend X is, his comrade Y is probably not -far off. - -We may here note the analogy between these two modes of -association--that of persons and that of mental elements. In -both cases, according to the plain man’s view of the matter, we -are dealing with wholly casual conjunctions of units naturally -independent. The associates in either case need no better reason for -now being together than that they had been together before. Their -connection expresses nothing intimate or essential in their natures, -and, if they fall apart again, they will not be seriously affected by -the separation. - -Now, of course, this idea of mere conjunction is not strictly true -even of the connections between the most casual associates. Every -association, whether of comrades or of ideas, is a connection between -qualities, and therefore a general connection between the natures of -the related terms. People are not really companions for no reason at -all; and ideas are not really units or atoms which stick together -by mere juxtaposition, so that when one is pulled up out of the -Hades of oblivion it drags the other with it. Both the association -of companions and the association of ideas are tendencies in which -some general connection of qualities is at work, and expresses itself -through the detail of the actual surroundings, so far as an opening -is left to it. When the association is made explicit by both members -being present together, there is an outlet or utterance of the nature -of the associates which there is not when they are separated. - -{159} But though all this is true, and can be detected in cases of -association by careful analysis, it is, relatively speaking, the -fact that commonplace association depends upon qualities which are -so superficial that they may set up a tendency to connection between -any units which are members of the same world. And, therefore, as -compared with any more thorough-going kind of connection, such -association may be set down as casual, and as determined by the mere -chance of juxtaposition. - -(ii.) Let us compare the kind of connection just described as -association with that which we have agreed to call organisation. - -Associates, [1] we saw, were together, as might roughly be said, -simply because they found themselves together. That is to say, they -were, after their association, what they were before it, and would -not be seriously affected if they were to be separated. Connections -of this kind are essentially between unit and unit. They fall short -of the nature of a plan which determines a great range of elements, -variously but with reference to an identical operation. - -[1] An “Association,” it may be urged, generally has a definite -purpose, and so far, as indeed we said above, the associates come -together, and do not merely find themselves together. But this is -only an apparent difficulty. In comparison with the whole compass -of their nature, associates who come together for some limited -purpose--Bimetallism, Philanthropy, a political cause--do merely -find themselves together. They form, as the cynic will say, an -extraordinary menagerie, and their association may break up without -any apparent effect upon their nature. Obviously, however, there are -some purposes which go deeper into men’s characters, and others which -are shallower; and this merely illustrates our point that the most -casual association is a universal connection of qualities in disguise. - -Beginning, as before, with the connection between {160} persons, -we may illustrate the difference by the comparison between a crowd -and an army. The mind of a crowd has indeed been taken as the type -of a true social mind. But it is really something quite different. -It is merely the superficial connection between unit and unit on an -extended and intensified scale. As unit joins unit in the street, -each determines his immediate neighbours, and is determined by them -through the contagion of excitement, and with reference to the -most passing ideas and emotions. What acts upon them in common is -necessarily what there is in common between persons meeting, as it -were, for no reason, and not knowing what they share beyond what they -immediately see and feel. The crowd may indeed “act as one man”; but -if it does so, its level of intelligence and responsibility will, -as a rule, be extraordinarily low. It has nothing in common beyond -what unit can infect unit with in a moment. Concerted action, much -more reasoning and criticism, are out of the question. The doing or -thinking of a different thing by each unit with reference to a single -end is impossible. The crowd moves as a mere mass, because its parts -are connected merely as unit with unit. Any form of connection which -could effect an organisation in the whole would make a demand on -the nature of every unit, which, where their conjunction is merely -casual, could not possibly be met. - -An army, [1] no less than a crowd, consists of a multitude of men, -who are associated, unit to unit. Influences must pass and repass -between every one {161} of the men and those men with whom he is -standing in the ranks, or with whom he passes his leisure time. We -may note, by the way, that these influences are themselves of a more -permanent nature than those which pass between members of a crowd, -and that they must necessarily be modified by that other connection -of which we are about to speak. For the links of “association” -between man and man are not the determining force in the operations -of the army as such. The army is a machine, or an organisation, which -is bound together by operative ideas embodied on the one hand in -the officers, and on the other hand in the habit of obedience and -the trained capacity which make every unit willing and able to be -determined not by the impulse of his neighbours, but by the orders -of his officers. What the army does is determined by the general’s -plan, and not by influences communicating themselves from man to man, -as in a crowd. In other words, every unit moves with reference to -the movements of a great whole, with most parts of which he is not -in direct touch at all. He is not determined by simple reference to -the movements of his immediate neighbours. The army, that is, is a -system or organised group, the nature of which, or the predominant -idea embodied in its structure, determines the movements and -relations of its parts or members. The difference of the two modes -of determination is plainly visible on a review day, if we first -watch the compact regiments marching off the ground, and then the -crowd streaming away irregularly in search of rest or refreshment. By -organisation then, as opposed to association, we mean determination -of {162} particulars by the scheme or general nature of a systematic -group to which they belong, as opposed to their determination by -immediate links uniting them with what, relatively speaking, are -other particulars in casual juxtaposition with them. [2] - -[1] The illustration was suggested to me by a passage in Mr. Stout’s -_Analytic Psychology_. - -[2] Ultimately, of course, the distinction is one of degree. What -operates is always a general connection between members of a whole; -the only question is what kind of whole, and, therefore, what kind of -connection. - -In the working and composition of mind the same difference is -observable between association and organisation. Mere association -means that any perception or idea may suggest absolutely any mental -element whatever with which it has developed a connection by entering -into the same mental whole. A study of the purely associative mind is -sometimes said to be found in the character of Miss Bates in “Emma.” -Perhaps, as really uncontrolled association can hardly be found -in a sane intellect, we may say that the character in question is -something more subtle and more true to nature; and that is, a study -of the tendency to pure association continually breaking out, and as -continually repressed, or “herded back” to the main subject, to use -the expression which Walter Scott applies to the way in which just -such an associative talker [1] is brought back to his point by his -hearer. - -[1] Claude Halcro in the _Pirate_. - -In mind, as in the external world, the higher stage of association -is organisation. The characteristic of organisation is control by a -general scheme [1] as opposed to influence by juxtaposition {163} -of units. The zigzag course of thought which is represented in such -a character as Miss Bates is due to the absence of control by any -general scheme. Every idea--every significant word--has practically -innumerable connections in the mind. If the course of thought has no -general direction impressed upon it, no selective control operative -within it, it may change its line altogether at every principal word. -[2] The possibilities of the ideas at our command make them like a -complex of railways, wholly consisting of turn-tables, so that, on -any one of these component parts, the train may swing round and go -off in a wholly new direction. This is notably illustrated by the -sense of context in interpretation. For anyone who has no such sense, -possible errors are endless, beyond the hope of correction. - -[1] For the psychological theory of such control see Stout, _Analytic -Psych_. ii. 3. - -[2] If it has not enough control to complete a significant sentence, -of course there is insanity or idiocy. - -The opposite of such a zigzag course is a train of thought such as -an argument. In a train of thought, one general idea prescribes the -direction, or forms the “subject,” or limits what has been called -the universe of discourse. Attention is wholly guided by the general -idea, and refuses to be distracted by any interest or suggestion -which does not bear upon it. Let the general idea be, for example, -the relation of wealth to the best life. Experience shows that it -is most difficult to resist the varied interests and distractions -which present themselves in the attempt to keep this relation in -view. Easy and attractive modes of acquisition, easy and attractive -modes of expenditure, force themselves upon the mind as isolated -{164} suggestions, and divert it from the question: “Shall I, or -will any one else, be the better for it, as I understand better?” -The effort of control, needed to keep in view the general nature of -our conception of what is best in life, and to attend to suggestions -which offer themselves as to acquisition and expenditure, only in -so far as they seem likely to promote that conception, means the -predominance of a scheme or general idea through all the varied -circumstances of economic possibility. It makes no difference whether -we are speaking of reasoning or of practice. The nature of the -control which insists on relevancy, and of the intellectual system -in which it exhibits itself, is the same in both cases. Every mind, -in fact, is more or less organised under the control of dominant -ideas, which belong to its habitual preoccupations and determine -the constant bias of its thoughts. There is a well-known story how -a traveller in a railway carriage undertook to detect the vocation -of each of his fellow travellers from their respective answers to -a single question. The question was: “What is that which destroys -what it has itself produced?” and a naturalist, so the story runs, -revealed himself by the answer, “vital force,” a soldier replied -“war,” a scholar “Kronos,” a journalist “revolution,” and a farmer “a -boar.” [1] Each answer was determined by the dominant bias or idea -which selected out of the possible answers to the riddle that which -would harmonise with the general mental system under its control. -Selection, it must be remembered, is at the same time creation. In -every situation, {165} theoretical or practical, the surroundings -as a whole are new, and the rule or scheme has to assert itself in -conditions which are not precisely repeated from any former case. In -so asserting itself it does not simply _reproduce_ something old, -any more than a batsman recalls a former movement when he plays a -ball, but it _produces_ that thought or deed which expresses its -nature with reference to the new surroundings in which it has to act. -[2] For it is a universal tendency, a scheme partly defined, and in -process of further defining itself by moulding the material presented -to it. - -[1] Steinthal, in James’ _Psychology_, II., 108. - -[2] See Mr. Stout on “Proportional Systems,” _Analytic Psychology_, -ii. 167. - -There is one more essential point. A mind has its dominant nature, -but is no single system equally organised throughout. It is rather -a construction of such systems, which may be in all degrees of -alliance, indifference, and opposition to one another. Each of such -systems, or groups of ideas and experiences, has its own dominant -scheme, and its own tendency in controlling thought or action. And, -as a general rule, in proportion as one system is active, all the -others are quiescent; in proportion as we are intent or engaged upon -one train of thought or one pursuit, we are not alive to suggestions -belonging to any other. Every system, or group of this kind, is -called in psychology an “Appercipient mass,” because it is a set of -ideas, bound together by a common rule or scheme, which dictates -the point of view from which perception will take place, so far as -the system in question is active. And without some “apperception,” -some point of view in the mind which enables the {166} newcomer to -be classed, there cannot be perception at all. The eye only sees -what it brings with it the power of seeing. Hence some of the most -striking instances of apperception are drawn from elementary cases -in which a really remote system is active in default of a better, -just because the action of some system is necessary and the nearest -responds. A child calls an orange “a ball”; a Polynesian calls a -horse “a pig.” These are the nearest “heads” or rules of apperception -under which the new perception can be brought. Every scientific -idea we apply, every set of relations in which we stand, and every -pursuit with which the mind is familiar, is a case of such an -appercipient mass, or rule or scheme of attention. And we know by -common experience how entirely quiescent is one such factor of the -mind while we are absorbed in the activity of another; how utterly, -for example, we disregard the botanical character of wild flowers -when we are clearing them out of the garden as weeds, and how wholly -we neglect the question whether they are “flowers” or “weeds” when -we are occupied in studying their botanical character. And in the -action of every appercipient mass, in as far as it determines thought -by the general nature of a systematic whole, rather than through -the isolated attraction exercised by unit upon unit, we have an -example of organisation as opposed to association; or, if we like, -of systematic connection or association between whole and part, as -opposed to the same principle operating casually and superficially -between unit and unit. - -The scheme or systematic connection, it must be added, may work -unconsciously. Not all ideas {167} which control our thought and -action are explicit ideas in abstract form; and perhaps the general -nature and limits of a man’s mind are something of which he can never -be reflectively conscious, though he is aware of what he takes to -be his leading ideas. It is well known that principles which are -not presented to reflection may be intellectually operative, and -embodied in a train of results. Thus our appercipient masses may -have very different degrees of explicit system. But their action is -always systematic--the nature of the whole modifying what it comes in -contact with, and being modified by it. - -With this conception of psychical systems before us, let us cast -one more glance at the organisation of society and the State. We -refused to take a crowd as a true type of society, and we looked to -the example of an army for the leading features of organisation as -opposed to casual “association.” The characteristic of an army on -which we insisted was the determination of every unit in it, not by -the movements and impulses of his immediate neighbours, but by the -scheme or idea of the whole. Now, on looking closer, we see that -society as such is a vast tissue of systems of this type, each of -them a relatively, though not absolutely, closed and self-complete -organisation. There are wheels within wheels, systems within systems, -groups within groups. But, speaking generally, the business and -pleasure of society is carried on by persons arranged in groups, -which exhibit the characteristic of organisation that the capacity -of every person is determined by the general nature and principle -of the group considered as a whole, and not by his relations to the -units who happen to be next him. {168} Such groups, for example, are -the trades and professions. Their structure may be very different. -In some the workshop is again a subordinate self-organised group. In -others the professional man works alone, and to all appearances goes -his own way. It is common to all of them, however, that they form -groupings of members, within each of which groupings all members are -determined in a certain way by the common nature of the group. Within -his trade or profession, a man acts, as it is said, in a definite -“capacity.” He regards himself and is regarded from a definite point -of view, and all other points of view tend to be neglected while -and in so far as he is acting in the capacity corresponding to his -membership of a certain group. [1] - -[1] The group to which he belongs, as bound together by differences, -is often rather that of his clients or customers than of his -colleagues in his vocation. But there is generally a differentiation -within the vocation-group also. - -_Prima facie_, there may be, as with systems which compose the -mind, all degrees of alliance, indifference, or opposition between -these groupings of persons; and the same person, belonging to many -different groups, may find his diverse “capacities” apparently at -variance with one another. A conscientious Trade Unionist may find -his capacity as a member of the Union, interpreted as binding him -to do his utmost for the amelioration of working class conditions -in general, apparently at variance with his capacity as the head of -a family bound to provide immediately for those whom he has brought -into the world. Or a judge or magistrate, obliged to {169} enforce -what he conceives to be a bad law, may find his official capacity -apparently at variance with his duty as a conscientious citizen. It -is plain that unless, on the whole, a working harmony were maintained -between the different groups which form society, life could not go -on. And it is for this reason that the State, as the widest grouping -whose members are effectively united by a common experience, is -necessarily the one community which has absolute power to ensure, by -force, if need be, at least sufficient adjustment of the claims of -all other groupings to make life possible. Assuming, indeed, that -all the groupings are organs of a single pervading life, we find it -incredible that there should ultimately be irreconcilable opposition -between them. That they should contradict one another is not more -nor less possible than that human nature should be at variance with -itself. - -Thus, we have seen that the mind, and society or the State, are -identical in the characteristic of being organisations, each composed -of a system of organisations, every superior and subordinate grouping -having its own nature and principle which determines its members as -such, and every one, consequently, tending to impose upon its members -a peculiar capacity or point of view, which, in so far as a given -system is active, tends to put all other systems out of sight. The -connection between these systems is of very different kinds, and very -unequal in degree; but in as far as the mind and the community are -actual working wholes, it is to be presumed that in each there is an -ultimate or pervading adjustment which hinders {170} contradiction -from proceeding to destructive extremes. And neither the mind nor -the community, as working organisations, can be accounted for on the -principle of mere association. - -(2) After pointing out the analogy between the organised structure -of minds and the organised structure of society, we now go on to -show that minds and society are really the same fabric regarded from -different points of view. The explanation may be divided into three -parts. - -(i.) Every social group is the external aspect of a set of -corresponding mental systems in individual minds. - -(ii.) Every individual mind is a system of such systems corresponding -to the totality of social groups as seen from a particular position. - -(iii.) The social whole, though implied in every mind, only has -reality in the totality of minds in a given community considered as -an identical working system. - -(i.) Society and the State and every institution present themselves -to us at first sight as a number of persons, together, perhaps, with -certain buildings and other external apparatus, and certain kinds -of work carried on and tangible results produced--so many children -“educated,” so many workmen “employed,” so many ships built or fields -tilled. - -But if we could bring before ourselves the complete reality of any -social group or institution, we should find ourselves considering -a very different order of facts. Let us think for a moment of -a rate-supported elementary school. We imagine it as a heap of -buildings and a mass of children with a percentage of teachers -scattered among {171} them. But in what does its actual working -really consist, and on what does it depend? - -The actual reality of the school lies in the fact that certain living -minds are connected in a certain way. Teachers, pupils, managers, -parents, and the public must all of them have certain operative -ideas, and must be guided according to these ideas in certain -portions of their lives, if the school is to be a school. Now, the -being guided by certain operative ideas is, in other words, the -activity of certain appercipient masses dictating a certain point of -view, in so far as those particular masses are awake. And it must -be noted that the connection or identity in which the school exists -presupposes a different activity, that is, a different appercipient -system, in every mind, and more especially in every class of mind -concerned. It is the same as in our old example of the screw and the -nut. No school could be made of teachers alone or of pupils alone; -nor, again, could a school be made with teachers who were all the -same, or with pupils who were all the same. - -So, if we could visualise the reality of the school--the -institution--what we should see would be an identical connection -running through a number of minds, various and variously conditioned. -But within each mind the connection would take a particular shape, -such as to play into the connections with all other minds, as a -cogwheel plays into the other cogwheels of a machine. The pupil must -be prepared to learn in his particular way and the teacher to teach -in his particular way. The parents and the public also have their -{172} own relations to the work of teaching, and whether for good -or for evil they take up some attitude to it, and their attitude -modifies it. Thus the connection, as it is within any one mind, -is useless and meaningless if you take it wholly apart from what -corresponds to it in the others. It is like a wheel without an axle -or a pump handle without a pump. And it is because of this nature of -the elements which make up the institution that it is possible for -the institution itself to be an identity, or connection, or meeting -point, by which many minds are bound together in a single system. - -It may seem as if this way of analysing an institution was reducing -a solid fact into mere thoughts. But it is not really so. Taking the -ideas of all concerned as they really are, we have the facts in space -and time--buildings, appliances, hours of work and attendance, and so -on--included in them. It is impossible to state the idea fully and -correctly without including the environment on which it rests, and -the activities in which it is realised. We are not to omit the facts -in space and time from what we mean by an institution; the only thing -is that we have not known them as they really are till we have known -them as bound into unity by the mental systems of which they are the -context or the expression. The child and the teacher alike must think -of their work with reference to particular times and places, or they -would not do it at those times and places; and it is only in actually -doing it at those times and places that the idea, or point of view, -which stands for the school in each of their minds, is able to assert -itself without frustration. - -{173} Thus we may fairly say that every social group, or institution, -is the aspect in space and time of a set of corresponding mental -systems in individual minds. We may draw corollaries from this -conception, both as to the nature of the individual will, or active -mind, and as to the nature of the social and political whole. - -(ii.) Every individual mind, in so far as it thinks and acts in -definite schemes or contexts, is a structure of appercipient systems -or organised dispositions. Now, we do not suggest at present that -all appercipient systems can be represented as social groups, though -there are few, if any, such systems which do not involve some -relations with persons connected in time and space. But it is clear, -from the explanations of the last section, that every social group -or institution involves a system of appercipient systems, by which -the minds that take part in it are kept in correspondence. Every -individual mind, then, so far as it takes part in social groupings -or institutions, is a structure of appercipient systems, answering, -each to each, to the different capacities in which it enters into -each grouping respectively. We have already remarked on the way in -which the distinction between different “capacities” answers to the -psychological tendency for the activity of one appercipient system to -obstruct the activity of all others. It is hardly necessary to point -out that, partly for this reason, though the mind must be an actual -structure of systems, it is very far from being a rational system of -systems. The fact that, when one system is active, all others, as a -rule, are inert, conceals the contradictions which {174} underlie the -entire fabric, and protects them from criticism and correction. - -But though the mind is thus implicitly self-contradictory in various -degrees, this does not alter the fact that its general nature is to -be a unity of organised ideas answering to the actual set of parts -which the individual plays in the world of space and time. Thus each -individual mind, if we consider it as a whole, is an expression -or reflection of society as a whole from a point of view which is -distinctive and unique. Every social factor or relation, to which it -in any way corresponds, or in which it in any way plays its part, -is represented in some feature of its appercipient organism. And -probably, just as, in any man’s idea of London, there is hardly any -factor of London life which does not at least colour the background, -so, in every individual impression of the social whole, there is -no social feature that does not, in one way or another, contribute -to the total effect. In the dispositions of every mind the entire -social structure is reflected in a unique form, and it is on this -reflection in every mind, and on the uniqueness of the form in which -it is reflected, that the working of the social whole, by means of -differences which play into one another, depends. If, so to speak, -we lay a mind on the dissecting table, we find it to consist for the -most part of a fabric of organised dispositions, each disposition -corresponding to a unique point of view or special angle [1] from -which it plays a part in some human function. About the precise -relation of a human function to the fact that, as a {175} rule, it -connects together a plurality of human beings, we shall have more -to say in the following chapter. It is enough for the present that -whatever does connect a plurality of human beings depends on the -operation of appercipient systems in their minds, and therefore every -individual mind is, as Plato has told us, so far as it goes, for good -or evil, the true effective reality of the social whole. And it is -easy to see when we consider the working of organised apperception, -how it is possible actually to will more or less of our own -volitional system. There is first the contrast between appercipient -systems which are at any time active and those which are not active, -and then there is the contrast between our actual volitional nature -at its actual fullest, and the demands implied by the nature of -the whole, from which it is inseparable. These demands are always -appearing more or less in every act of willing our own will. - -[1] I owe this comparison to a lecture by Prof. S. Alexander. - -(iii.) The social whole, regarded from a corresponding point of -view, would be a whole consisting of psychical dispositions and -their activities, answering to one another in determinate ways. It -would therefore be of the nature of a continuous or self-identical -being, pervading a system of differences and realised only in them. -It differs from a machine, or from what is called an “organism” pure -and simple, by the presence of the whole in every part, not merely -for the inference of the observer, but, in some degree, for the -part itself, through the action of consciousness. But it would be a -mistake, we should observe at this point, to identify the presence -of {176} the whole for the part by means of consciousness, with the -consciousness of the part that the whole is present to it. The latter -is a speculative idea, the former is a fact which embodies this idea -for the observing theorist, but not necessarily or usually for the -working consciousness itself. In the shape of our minds and their -adjustment to our work, of which we are unconscious, there is an -irreducible analogy between human society and the lower organisms. -The consciousness which guides our lives is a consciousness of -something, but not as a rule a consciousness of the place of that -something in the whole of life. We live in our objects, but we do not -know how or how far our objects identify us with the whole to which -we ultimately belong. - -It is plain that the social whole can, in practice, only be complete -in a plurality of individuals. We know that in the development of -human nature, which we take as the ultimate standard of life, no one -individual can cover the whole ground. As in the natural world in -space and time, so, in the world of human beings which on one side -belongs to it, differentiation implies dispersion into a plurality -of centres. The same man, according to what seems to be the limit -of physical and psychical possibility, could not be both Plato -and Aristotle, nor both Greek and Jew, not even both Spartan and -Athenian, not to say both man and woman. We are on less secure ground -when we say that he could not, effectively and as a rule, be both -statesman and shoemaker, or soldier and clergyman. It is plain that -in some cases capacities may be united which in other cases are found -apart. {177} The same man may be a good architect and a good workman, -or again, the architect and the workman may be different persons, -though suited to work together. We may reply, of course, that -whatever abilities lie within one personality, effective work demands -the division of labour. This is true, but is obviously a matter of -degree. The man who does only one thing does not always do it best, -and it is not easy to say what “one thing” means. - -The point of these suggestions is to make it clear that, while -plurality of human beings is necessary to enable society to cover -the ground, as it were, which human nature is capable of covering, -yet actual individuals are not ultimate or equal embodiments of the -true particulars of the social universal. We thus see once more -that the given individual is only in making, and that his reality -may lie largely outside him. His will is not a whole, but implies -and rests upon a whole, which is therefore the true nature of his -will. We also gain some light on the unity of the social mind. For -it seems plain that one actual human being may cover the ground, -which, in other instances, it takes many men to occupy. And in -some such examples--not, or not obviously, in those where a high -intensity of genius is the essential quality--there seems little -reason to distinguish the correlation of dispositions within the one -person from the correlation of the same dispositions if dispersed -among different persons. If I am my own gardener, or my own critic, -or my own doctor, does the relation of the answering dispositions -within my being differ absolutely and altogether from what {178} -takes place when gardener and master, critic and author, patient and -doctor, are different persons? My instructions to my gardener are -conveyed in language, it will be said, while I know my own wishes -directly. And this is not the place to press the problem home either -psychologically or metaphysically. But, just to induce reflection, -it may be asked whether my instructions to myself are not as a rule -conveyed and remembered in language. If we consider my unity with -myself at different times as the limiting case, [1] we shall find it -very hard to establish a difference of principle between the unity of -what we call one mind and that of all the “minds” which enter into a -single social experience. - -[1] Cp. p. 110 above. - -In any case, we have said enough to suggest that Society _prima -facie_ exists in the correlated dispositions by which a plurality -of individual minds meets the need for covering the ground open to -human nature, by division of labour in the fullest sense. But we have -further pointed out that the true particularisation of the human -universal does not necessarily coincide with the distinction between -different persons, and that the correlation of differences and the -identity which they constitute remain much the same whether they -chance to fall within a single human being, or to be dispersed over -several. The stress seems, therefore, to lie on the attainment of the -true particularisation which does justice to the maximum of human -capacity, rather than on the mere relations which arise between the -members of a _de facto_ plurality. Not that the presence of human -nature in any {179} individual does not constitute a claim that it -shall be perfected in him, but that its perfecting must be judged by -a criticism addressed to determining real capacities, and not by the -accidental standard of a given plurality. We shall pursue these ideas -further in the following chapter. - - - - -{180} - -CHAPTER VIII. - -NATURE OF THE END OF THE STATE AND CONSEQUENT LIMIT OF STATE ACTION. - -1. According to the course of thought which we have been pursuing, -the distinction between the individual on the one hand, and the -social or political whole on the other, is not relevant to the -question where the “end” of man in Society is to be sought. For the -conceptions of Society and the Individual are correlative conceptions -through and through; at whatever level, therefore, we take the one, -we are bound to construe the other as at the same level; so that, -to distinguish the one element from the other as superior from -inferior, or as means from end, becomes a contradiction in terms. If -we begin by drawing boundaries round the individual, the boundaries -which we draw reproduce themselves in society conceived as a total -of such individuals, and the question of means and end, as we saw -in Bentham’s case, [1] takes the form whether “each” is the means -to the welfare of “all,” or “all” to the welfare of “each”; the -distinction thus becoming purely verbal. While, if we set no limit -to individuality, except the limit of the nature {181} which makes -it contributory to the social universal, then we find that the -advancements of the universal and of its differences vary together, -and are indeed one and the same thing. It is idle to think of -dissociating them as means and end. - -[1] Chapter III. - -The only way in which the idea of means and end can be applied to -the social whole and its parts, is to take Society when at its lower -level, being dealt with under the aspect of mere plurality, as a -means to what it is at its higher level, when realised as a communion -of individualities at their best. But from this point of view we get -no distinction of means and end as between Individuals and Society. -What we get is Individuals and Society alike, as understood and -partly existing at one level (that of commonplace Individualism and -Collectivism), taken as a means to both Individuals and Society -at a higher level. As we have seen, the only true explanation of -self-government is to throw the reality of the self outside what -passes for its average nature, and in this sense the average nature -may be treated as a means to the truer or fuller self--as something, -that is to say, which is instrumental to the latter, and has no -rights against it. - -2. For us, then, the ultimate end of Society and the State as of -the individual is the realisation of the best life. The difficulty -of defining the best life does not trouble us, because we rely -throughout on the fundamental logic of human nature _qua_ rational. -We think ourselves no more called upon to specify in advance what -will be the details of the life which satisfies an intelligent being -as such, than we are called upon to specify in advance {182} what -will be the details of the knowledge which satisfies an intelligent -being as such. Wherever a human being touches practice, as wherever -he touches theory, we find him driven on by his intolerance of -contradictions towards shaping his life as a whole. What we mean by -“good” and “truth” is practical and theoretical experience in so far -as the logic which underlies man’s whole nature permits him to repose -in it. And the best life is the life which has most of this general -character--the character which, so far as realised, satisfies the -fundamental logic of man’s capacities. - -Now, it is plain that this best life can only be realised in -consciousness, that being the medium of all satisfaction and the -only true type of a whole in experience. And all consciousness, as -experienced by man, is on one side particular, attached to bodies, -and exclusive of consciousnesses attached to other bodies. In a -sense, it is true that no one consciousness can partake of or -actually enter into another. Thus, it is apt to be held, as we have -amply seen, that the essential danger of State interference lies in -the intrusion of something originated by “others” upon a distinct -particular consciousness, whose distinction and particularity--its -freedom--are thus impaired. It is all-important to our point of view -that this prejudice should be dispelled. Force or automatic custom -or authoritative tradition or “suggestion” are not hostile to one -individuality because they come from “others,” but because their -nature is contradictory to the nature of the highest self-assertion -of mind, because they are, so to speak, in a medium incompatible with -its medium. They {183} are just as hostile to this self-assertion, -just as alien, if they emanate, as they constantly do, from -conflicting elements in our complex private experience, as if they -come to us, as we say, “from without.” The question is of their -“nature” and tendency, not of their centre of origin. Individuals are -limited and isolated in many ways. But their true individuality does -not lie in their isolation, but in that distinctive act or service -by which they pass into unique contributions to the universal. True -individuality, as we have said, is not in the minimisation which -forbids further subdivision, but in the maximisation which includes -the greatest possible being in an inviolable unity. It is not, -therefore, the intrusion upon isolation, as such, that interferes -with individuality; it is the intrusion, upon a growing unity of -consciousness, of a medium hostile to its growth. - -But we have seen that force, automatism, and suggestion, are in -some ways necessary to the support and maintenance of the human -consciousness, owing to its animal limitations. They are, indeed, as -is well known, the condition of its progress. Therefore, in promoting -the best life, these aids must be employed by society as exercising -absolute power--viz., by the State. And the problem presented -by their employment is _not_ a question of the “interference of -the State with the Individual”--an antithesis which is strictly -meaningless; but it is a question how far and in what way the use of -force and the like by the State is a hindrance to the end for which -the State itself exists. In other words, it is to be ascertained -how far the fullest self-assertion of the social {184} universal -in its differences--the best life--can be promoted or is likely to -be endangered by means which are of a different order, and so in -some circumstances opposed to it. The point is not that _I_ and -some thousands more break in by force upon _you_ in particular and -violate _your_ isolation; but that such breaking in by force, whoever -does it and whoever suffers by it, and even if through passion or -obsession _you_ do it to _your_self and _I_ to _my_self, is hostile -_prima facie_ to the living logic of the will, which alone can create -a unity and realise a best. How then, and under what reservations, -in the complicated conflict of the fuller and narrower self, can -this dangerous drug of violence be administered, so to speak, as a -counter-poison to tendencies which would otherwise give no chance -to the logical will? With this difficulty in our minds, we will -endeavour to determine the general principle on which force and -menace should be used by the State, and a routine be mechanically -maintained by it. - -3. We have hitherto spoken of the State and Society as almost -convertible terms. [1] And in fact it is part of our argument that -the influences of Society differ only in degree from the powers of -the State, and that the explanation of both is ultimately the same. -But on the other hand, it is also part of our argument that the -State as such is a necessary factor in civilised life; and that no -true ideal lies in the direction of minimising its individuality or -restricting its absolute power. By the State, then, we mean Society -as a unit, recognised as rightly exercising control over its members -{185} through absolute physical power. The limits of the unit are, of -course, determined by what looks like historical accident; but there -is logic underneath the apparent accident, and the most tremendous -political questions turn upon the delimitation of political units. -A principle, so to speak, of political parsimony--_entia non sunt -multiplicanda praeter necessitatem_, “two organisations will not -survive when one can do the work”--is always tending to expand the -political unit. The limits of the common experience necessary for -effective self-government are always operating to control this -expansion. We might therefore suggest, as a principle determining -the area of states, “the widest territorial area compatible with the -unity of experience which is demanded by effective self-government.” -But the State _de facto_ (which is also _de jure_) is the Society -which is recognised as exercising compulsory power over its members, -and as presenting itself _qua_ a single independent corporation among -other independent corporations. Without such power, or where, if -anywhere, it does not exist, there can be no ultimate and effective -adjustment of the claims of individuals, and of the various social -groups in which individuals are involved. It is the need for this -ultimate effective adjustment which constitutes the need that every -individual in civilised life should belong to one state, and to one -only. Otherwise his “real” will might have no working representative -at all, but all be sheer conflict. That Society, then, is a State, -which is habitually recognised as a unit lawfully exercising force. -We saw that the characteristics of Society pass gradually into those -of the State. It would not be true that {196} Society is a State -only as actually exercising force; but it would perhaps be true to -say that State action as such, though far from being limited to -the downright exercise of force, yet consists of all that side of -social action which depends on the character of ultimate arbiter -and regulator, maintainer of mechanical routine, and source of -authoritative suggestion, a character which is one with the right to -exercise force in the last resort. - -[1] See, however, p. 150 ff. - -The end of the State, then, is the end of Society and of the -Individual--the best life, as determined by the fundamental logic -of the will. The means at its disposal, _qua_ State, always partake -of the nature of force, though this does not exclude their having -other aspects as well. Taxation may have the most reasonable and -even the most popular purpose, yet the generality and justice of -its incidence, and the certainty of its productiveness, can only be -secured by compulsion. No State could undertake its work on the basis -of voluntary contributions. A universal end, we might say, is indeed -not a mere general rule; but you cannot carry out a universal end in -a plurality of units--and a set of human individuals is always in one -aspect a plurality of units--without enforcing general rules. - -4. Here, then, we have our problem more closely determined than in -the previous chapters. There we saw, in general, that self-government -can have no meaning unless we can “really” will something which we -do not always “actually” will. And we were led to look for a clue to -our real or implied will in the social spirit as incorporated in laws -and institutions, that is to say in Society as a {187} working whole -reflected in the full system of the consciousnesses which composed it. - -We supposed ourselves prepared, then, it would seem, to do and -suffer anything which would promote the best life of the whole--that -maximisation of our being which, from the nature of our real will, we -saw to be imperative upon us--a demand implied in every volition and -from which we could never escape. - -But now we are face to face with the question what we _are_ called -upon to do or to suffer, as members of a State, in promotion of -the best life. We have here to renew, from another standpoint, the -discussions of chapter iii. The governing fact of the situation is -that the means of action at our disposal as members of a State are -not, on their distinctive side, _in pari materia_ with the end. It -is true that the State, as an intelligent system, can appeal by -reasoning and persuasion to the logical will as such. It constantly -does so in various forms, and a State which did nothing of the kind -either directly or indirectly would not possess the recognition -which is necessary to its very existence. So far its work is _in -pari materia_ with the end, being a direct element in the expansion -of mind and character in their own spiritual medium of thought and -will. But this side of its work is not distinctive of the State, -and, therefore, is not that for which more particularly it exists. -Its distinctive attribute is to be ultimate arbiter and regulator -of claims, the guarantor of life as _at least_ a workable system -in the bodily world. It is in its ultimateness _de facto_ that the -differentia lies which separates it from the innumerable {188} other -groupings and associations which go to make up our complex life. This -is shown in the fact that each of us, as we have said, must belong -to a State, and can belong to one only. For an ultimate authority -must be single. Now, authority which is to be ultimate in a sphere -including the world of bodily action, must be an authority which -can use force. And it is for this reason that, as we said, force is -involved in the distinctive attributes of the State. - -But force is not _in pari materia_ with the expansion of mind and -character in their spiritual medium. And, thus, there at once appears -an inadequacy of means to end as between the distinctive _modus -operandi_ of the State and the end in virtue of which it claims to -represent the “real” will. - -What is the bearing of this inadequacy? What is the most that the -State, in its distinctive capacity, can do towards promoting a form -of life which it recognises as desirable? Its direct power is limited -to securing the performance of external [1] actions. This does not -mean merely the performance of outward bodily movements, such as -might be brought to pass by actual physical force. It is remarkable -that actual physical force plays a very small part in the work of any -decently ordered State. When we say that the State can do no more -than secure the performance of external actions, we do not exclude -from the action the intention to act in a certain way. With out such -an intention there is no action in the sense of human action at all, -but merely a muscular movement. It is necessary for the State to -attach {189} importance to intention, which is involved in the idea -of human action, and is the only medium through which the muscular -movements of human beings can be determined with any degree of -certainty. The State, then, through its authority, backed ultimately -by physical force, can produce, with a fair degree of certainty, -the intention to act in a certain way, and therefore the actions -themselves. Why do we call intentional actions, so produced, external -actions only? - -[1] Green, _Principles of Political Obligation_, pp. 34, 35. - -It is because the State is unable to determine that the action -shall be done from the ground or motive which alone would give it -immediate value or durable certainty as an element in the best life. -On the contrary, in so far as the doing of the action is due to the -distinctive mode of operation which belongs to the State, due, that -is to say, to the hope of reward or the fear of punishment, its value -as an element in the best life is _ipso facto_ destroyed, except in -so far as its ulterior effects are concerned. An action performed in -this sense under compulsion is not a true part of the will. [1] It is -an intention adopted from submissiveness or selfishness, and lacks -not only the moral value, but what is partly the same thing, the -reliable constancy of principle, displayed in an action which arises -out of the permanent purposes of a life. - -[1] The theory of punishment will modify this proposition in some -degree. - -The State, then, as such, can only secure the performance of external -actions. That is to say, it can only enforce as much intention [1] -as is {190} necessary to ensure, on the whole, compliance with -requirements stated in terms of movements affecting the outer world. -So far from promoting the performance of actions which enter into the -best life, its operations, where effective, must directly narrow the -area of such actions by stimulating lower motives as regards some -portion of it. - -[1] On this question _vide_ Green’s very thorough discussion. It is -true, of course, that the law takes account of intention, and does -not, _e.g._, treat accidental homicide as murder, the difference -between them being a difference of intention. But it is obvious that, -in attempting to influence human action at all, so much account -as this must be taken of intention; for intention is necessary to -constitute a human action. An unintentional movement of the muscles -cannot be guarded against by laws and penalties; it is only through -the intention that deterrent or other motives can get at the action, -and a constant law-abiding disposition is the best security for -law-abiding action. On the importance of intention and disposition as -affording a certainty of action, Bentham, who wholly rejects judgment -according to moral motive, is as emphatic as possible. - -5. The State, then, in its distinctive capacity, has no agency at its -command for influencing conduct, but such as may be used to produce -an external course of behaviour by the injunction or prohibition of -external acts, in enforcing which acts the State will take note of -intentions, so far as it can infer them, because it is only through -them that its influence can be exerted. - -The relation of such a means to the imperative end, on which we have -seen that political obligation depends, must be in a certain sense -negative. The means is one which cannot directly promote the end, -and which even tends to narrow its sphere. What it can effect is to -remove obstacles, to destroy conditions hostile to the realisation -of the end. This brings us back to a principle laid down by Kant, -[1] and in its bare statement strongly resembling Mill’s contention. -When force is opposed to {191} freedom, a force that repels that -force is right. Here, of course, all depends upon what we mean by -freedom, and in what sense we think that force can hinder hindrances -to it. If freedom meant for us the empty hexagon [2] round each -individual, the principle would take us back to Mill’s Liberty. If, -on the other hand, we failed to grasp the discrepancy between force -of any kind and the positive nature of the common good which we take -to be freedom, the principle would lead us straight to a machine-made -Utopia. For its negative character cannot restrain it from some -degree of positive action. It is only through positive operation -that a negation or opposition can find reality in the world. And the -limits of its positive action must depend on the precise bearings of -the negation which it puts in force. - -[1] W., ix. 34. Fichte remarked on the pregnancy of this principle. - -[2] See p. 72, above. - -Now, for us, after the explanations which have been given, the -negative nature of our principle is to be seriously pressed, although -its action has to take positive form. The State is in its right when -it forcibly hinders hindrance to the best life or common good. In -hindering such hindrances it will indeed do positive acts. It may -try to hinder illiteracy and intemperance by compelling education -and by municipalising the liquor traffic. Why not, it will be asked, -hinder also unemployment by universal employment, over-crowding by -universal house-building, and immorality by punishing immoral and -rewarding moral actions? Here comes the value of remembering that, -according to our principle, State action is negative in its immediate -bearing, though positive both in its {192} actual doings and its -ultimate purpose. On every problem the question must recur, “Is the -proposed measure _bona fide_ confined to hindering a hindrance, or -is it attempting direct promotion of the common good by force?” For -it is to be borne in mind throughout that whatever acts are enforced -are, so far as the force operates, withdrawn from the higher life. -The promotion of morality by force, for instance, is an absolute -self-contradiction. [1] No general principle will tell us how in -particular to solve this subtle question, apart from common sense -and special experience. But there is perhaps more to be learned from -this principle, if approached with _bona fides_ [2] than from most -generalities of philosophy on social or ethical topics. It is well, -I think, constantly to apply the idea of removing hindrances, in -criticism of our efforts to promote the best life by means involving -compulsion. We ought, as a rule, when we propose action involving -compulsion, to be able to show a definite tendency to growth, or -a definite reserve of capacity, which is frustrated by a known -impediment, the removal of which is a small matter compared to the -capacities to be set free. [3] For it should be remarked that {193} -every act done by the public power has one aspect of encroachment, -however slight, on the sphere of character and intelligence, if only -by using funds raised by taxation, or by introducing an automatic -arrangement into life. It can, therefore, only be justified if it -liberates resources of character and intelligence greater beyond all -question than the encroachment which it involves. This relation is -altogether perversely presented, as we saw above, if it is treated as -an encroachment of society upon individuals. All this is beside the -mark. The serious point is, that it is an interference, _so far as -compulsion operates in it_, of one type of action with another and -higher type of action; of automatism, so to speak, with intelligent -volition. The higher type of action, the embodiment of the common -good in logical growth, is so far from being merely individual as -opposed to social, that it is the whole end and purpose in the name -of which allegiance to society can be demanded from any individual. -As in the private so in the general life, every encroachment of -automatism must be justified by opening new possibilities to -self-conscious development, if it is not to mean degeneration and -senility. - -[1] “You will admit,” it was once said, “that compulsory religion is -better than no religion.” “I fail to see the distinction” was the -reply. - -[2] Among true students _bona fides_ is presupposed. The range opened -to sophistry by a principle of this kind, which commends positive -action with a negative bearing for a positive end, is, of course, -immeasurable. Practically, I believe that _bona fides_ is about the -first and last necessity for the application of political ideas. - -[3] Perhaps I may adduce an instance of real interest. It has been -argued that ship-masters should be induced by a premium to ship -boys as apprentices to the trade of seamanship, and that training -for this trade should be fostered by local authorities like any -other form of technical education. The argument which really told -in the discussion, consisted of statistics which seemed to prove a -wide-spread eagerness on the part of boys and their parents that they -should enter a maritime life, and the existence of a hindrance simply -in the absence of adequate training for a few years during boyhood. - -It is the same principle in other words which Green lays down when -he says in effect [1] that only such acts (or omissions) should be -enforced by the public power as it is better should take place {194} -from any motive whatever than not take place at all. When, that is, -we enforce an act (or omission) by law, we should be prepared to -say, “granting that this act, which might conceivably have come to -be done from a sense of duty, now may come to be done for the most -part from a fear of punishment, or from a mechanical tendency to -submit to external rules (attended by the practical inconveniences of -insensibility, half-heartedness, and evasion which attach to acts so -enforced), still so much depends, for the higher life of the people, -upon the external conditions at stake, that we think it worth while -to enforce the act (or omission) though our eyes are fully open to -the risk of extended automatism.” - -[1] _Principles of Political Obligation_, p. 38. - -Here we may have to meet our own arguments against Mill. “You said -it was a contradiction,” we shall be told, “to admit coercion as a -means to liberty. But here you are advocating coercion as a means to -something as incompatible with it, in so far as it is operative, as -our ‘liberty,’ viz., a certain state of mind and will. If the area of -coercion is necessarily subtracted from the area of liberty, as you -argued above, is not the area of coercion necessarily subtracted from -that to be occupied by the desired growth of will and character?” - -The answer depends, as we indicated in ch. iii., on the difference -between bare liberty and a determinate growth. If your liberty is -wholly indeterminate, then every restraint is a reduction of it. You -cannot increase a quantity which is all of one kind by taking away -a part of it. And, in fact, the idea that there was or could have -{195} been a previous general liberty, of which a part was given up -in exchange for more, is a mere illusion. Liberty has grown up within -the positive determinations of life, as they have expanded and come -to fit mankind better. - -But if the quantity to be increased is a determinate growth, of a -type whose general character is known, the problem is transformed. -It is the commonest of experiences that hindrances can be removed -and favourable conditions maintained, if this has to be done, not -with a view to every conceivable and inconceivable development, -but for a growth the general line of which is known. In this case, -as the whole expands, the restraints and the liberty, the room for -action, may even increase together. [1] This is not only true in -universal theory, but much more important than is always remembered -in special theory or practice. The possibility of promoting freedom -or well-being by compulsion depends very greatly indeed on the unity -of habit and experience which binds together a single community. -The more the life has in common, the more definite and automatic -arrangements you may safely make in promotion of it. The rules of my -household, which inconvenience its members no more than their clothes -do, would produce a rebellion if they were enforced by law even -throughout our village. - -[1] See the author’s essay, “Liberty and Legislation,” in -_Civilisation of Christendom_ (Sonnenschein). - -Thus, then, we may maintain our principle of the limits of -distinctive State action. The peculiarity of it is that it allows -of positive acts and interferences, motived by an ultimate positive -{196} purpose, but with a bearing on that purpose which is primarily -negative or indirect. However positive, as actual facts, are the -conditions which it may become advisable to maintain, they may -always, on the side which is distinctively due to State compulsion, -be regarded as the hindrance of hindrances. And the _bona-fide_ -application of this principle will really be, when aided by special -experience, in some degree a valuable clue to what ought to be done. -It is only putting in other words the rule of action followed by all -practical men in matters of which they have genuine experience. We -may think, for instance, of the problem involved in State maintenance -of universities. It is easy to vote money, to build buildings, and -to pass statutes. But none of these things will secure the objects -of a university. Money and buildings and statutes may throw open an -arena, so to speak, for the work of willing minds in learning and -education. But the work itself is in a different medium from anything -which can be produced by compulsion, and is so far less vital as it -is conditioned by the operation of force upon minds which demand no -work of the kind. - -But here we meet a difficulty of principle. Do we say that no -external conditions are more than hindrances of hindrances to the -best life? Do we deny that the best life can be positively promoted -by external conditions; or if we admit this, do we still deny that it -can be positively promoted by the work of the State? The answer has -already been implied, but may be explicitly restated. We refused [1] -to separate mind from its embodiment in {197} material things, and -so to be drawn into a purely inward theory of morality, It would be -exaggeration to call such external conditions as, _e.g_., first-rate -educational apparatus, [2] mere negative conditions of the best life. -But then, we are now asked, cannot the State supply such external -conditions by expenditure compulsorily provided for, and if so, is -not our principle destroyed, viz., the limitation of State action to -the hindrance of hindrances? - -[1] Page 31. - -[2] See Thring on the importance of this, in Parkin’s life of him. -Note, however, also the modification of his view by the adventure of -Uppingham on the Sea. - -The difficulty springs from the fact, that the State, as using -compulsion, is only one side of Society, and its action is only -one side of social action. If first-rate educational apparatus is -called into existence by a State endowment, the first-rateness of the -apparatus is not due to the compulsion applied to taxpayers, which -rather, so far, negatives the action of intelligent will as such. But -it must be due, in one way or another, to the fact that first-rate -ability in the way of devising apparatus was somewhere pressing for -an outlet, which, by a stroke of the pickaxe, so to speak, the public -power was able to provide for it. We must not confuse the element of -compulsion, which is the side of social action distinctly belonging -to State interference, with the whole of the material results which -liberated intelligence produces. When we say, then, that the State as -such can do nothing for the best life but hinder hindrances to it, -the principle applies in the strictest sense only to the compulsory -or automatic side of State action, which {198} must, so to speak, be -reckoned against it [1] in comparing its products with those which -are spontaneous social growths throughout. - -[1] Subject to what will be said on the theory of rights and -punishment. - -But it is further true that material conditions which come close to -life, such as houses, wages, educational apparatus, do not wholly -escape our principle. They occupy a very interesting middle region -between mere hindrances of hindrances and the actual stimulation -of mind and will. On the one side they are charged with mind and -character, and so far are actual elements in the best life. On the -other side they depend on external actions, and therefore seem -accessible to State compulsion, which extends to all external -doings and omissions. But what we have to observe is, and it is in -practice most important, that, _as charged with mind and will_, -these material facts may not be accessible to State compulsion, -while, _as accessible to State compulsion_ pure and simple, they -may forfeit their character of being charged with mind and will. -This shows itself in two ways. First, just because they are facts -of a kind which come so close to life (in other words depend so -greatly upon being charged with mind and will), State compulsion -cannot with certainty secure even their apparent existence. They -fail bodily, like human beings, if there is no spirit to keep them -alive. The relation of wages to the standard of life illustrates this -point. Secondly, supposing that for a time, by herculean efforts of -compulsion, which must call active intelligence to its aid, such -facts are made to present a satisfactory appearance of existence, -none the less, {199} so far as they are characterised by compulsion, -they may lose their character as elements in the best life. That -is to say, they may fail to benefit those whom they are meant to -benefit. The fact may fail to be absorbed in the life. - -The principle of the hindrance of hindrances is most valuable and -luminous when rightly grasped, just in these middle cases. A pretty -and healthy house, which its inhabitant is fond of, is an element in -the best life. Who could doubt it who knows what home-life is? But -in order that putting a family out of a bad house into a good one -should give rise to such an element of the best life, it is strictly -and precisely necessary that the case or policy should come under our -principle. That is to say, unless there was a better life struggling -to utter itself, and the deadlift of interference just removed an -obstacle which bound it down, the good house will not be an element -in a better life, and the encroachment on the ground of volition will -have been made with out compensation--a fact which may show itself in -many fatal ways. If, on the other hand, the struggling tendency to a -better life has power [1] to effect the change without the deadlift -from outside, then the result is certain and wholly to the good. - -[1] Many forms of _social_ co-operation, it must be remembered, need -no deadlift from the _State_ as such. We are not setting self-help -against co-operation, but will against automatism. - -Thus we may say that every law and institution, every external fact -maintained by the public power, must be judged by the degree in which -it sets at liberty a growth of mind and spirit. It is a {200} problem -partly of removing obstacles to growth, and partly of the division of -labour between consciousness and automatism. - -It ought to occur to the reader that the ground here assigned for -the limitation of State action--that is, of social action through -the public power--is not _prima facie_ in harmony with the account -of political obligation, according to which laws and institutions -represented a real self or general will, recognised by individuals -as implied in the common good which was imperative upon them. We -spoke, for example, of being forced to be free, and of the system of -law and order as representing the higher self. And yet we are now -saying that, in as far as force is operative through compulsion and -authoritative suggestion, it is a means which can only reach its end -through a negation. - -But this _prima-facie_ contradiction is really a proof of the -vitality of our principle. It follows from the fact that we -accept self-government in the full strength of both its factors, -and can deal with it on this basis. The social system under -which we live, taking it as one which does not demand immediate -revolution, represents the general will and higher self as a whole -to the community as a whole, and can only stand by virtue of that -representation being recognised. Our loyalty to it makes us men and -citizens, and is the main spiritualising force of our lives. But -something in all of us, and much in some of us, is recalcitrant -through rebellion, indolence, incompetence, or ignorance. And it -is only on these elements that the public power operates as power, -through compulsion {201} or authoritative suggestion. Thus, the -general will when it meets us as force, and authority resting on -force, and not as a social obligation which we spontaneously rise -to accept, comes to us _ex hypothesi_ as something which claims -to be ourself, but which, for the moment, we more or less fail -to recognise. And, according to the adjustment between it and -our complex and largely unintelligent self, it may abandon us to -automatism, or stir in us rebellion or recognition, and so may -hinder the fuller life in us or remove hindrances to it. It seems -worth while to distinguish two main cases of the relation between -the ordinary self and the general will. One of these cases covers -the whole of our every-day law-abiding life, in its grades of active -loyalty, acceptance of suggestion, and automatic acquiescence; and -consists of the relation of our ordinary self to the general system -of rights maintained by the State as ultimate regulator and arbiter. -The other is confined to more exceptional situations, and has to -do with collision between the particular and the general will, as -treated in the theory of punishment. The subject of reward may be -mentioned at the same time, if only to show why it is almost an empty -heading in political theory. We will end this chapter, therefore, -with a general account of the system of rights and of reward and -punishment. - -6. The idea of individual rights comes down to us from the doctrine -of natural right, and has generally been discussed with reference to -it. We need not now go back upon the illusions connected with the -notion of natural right. It is enough if we bear in mind that we -inherit from it the important {202} idea of a positive law which is -what it ought to be. A right, [1] then, has both a legal and a moral -reference. It is a claim which can be enforced at law, which no moral -imperative can be; but it is also recognised to be a claim which -ought to be capable of enforcement at law, and thus it has a moral -aspect. The case in which positive enactment and the moral “ought” -appear to diverge will be considered below. But a typical “right” -unites the two sides. It both is, and ought to be, capable of being -enforced at law. - -[1] This is a right in the fullest sense. The nature of a merely -legal or merely moral right will be illustrated below. - -Its peculiar position follows from what we have seen to be the end -of the State, and the means at its disposal. The end of the State -is a moral purpose, imperative on its members. But its distinctive -action is restricted to removing hindrances to the end, that is, -to lending its force to overcome--both in mind and in externals -essential to mind--obstacles which otherwise would obstruct the -realisation of the end. The whole of the conditions thus enforced -is the whole of “rights” attaching to the selves, who, standing in -definite relations, constitute the community. For it is in these -selves that the end of the State is real, and it is by maintaining -and regulating their claims to the removal of obstructions that the -State is able to promote the end for which it exists. Rights then are -claims recognised by the State, _i.e._ by Society acting as ultimate -authority, to the maintenance of conditions favourable to the best -life. And if we ask in general for a definition and limitation of -State action as such, the answer is, in a simple {203} phrase, that -State action is coincident with the maintenance of rights. - -The system of rights which the State maintains may be regarded from -different points of view. - -First, _(a)_ from the point of view of the whole community, that is, -as the general result in the promotion of good life obtained by the -working of a free Society, as a statesman or outside critic might -regard it. Thus looked at, the system of rights may be described -as “the organic whole of the outward conditions necessary to the -rational life,” or “that which is really necessary to the maintenance -of material conditions essential to the existence and perfection of -human personality.” [1] This point of view is essential as a full -contradiction of that uncritical conception by which rights are -regarded as something with which the individual is invested in his -aspect of isolation, and independently of his relation to the end. -It forces us away from this false particularisation, and compels us -to consider the whole State-maintained order in its connectedness as -a single expression of a common good or will, in so far as such a -good can find utterance in a system of external acts and habits. And -it enables us to weigh the value which belongs to the maintenance of -any tolerable social order, simply because it is an order, and so -far enables life to be lived, and a determinate, if limited, common -good to be realised. From other points of view we are apt to neglect -this characteristic, and to forget {204} how great is the effect, -for the possibilities of life throughout, of the mere fact that a -social order exists. Hegel observes that a man thinks it a matter of -course that he goes back to his house after night-fall in security. -He does not reflect to what he owes it. Yet this very naturalness, so -to speak, of living in a social order is perhaps the most important -foundation which the State can furnish to the better life. “_Si -monumentum quaeris, circumspice_” If we ask how it affects our will, -the answer is that it forms our world. Speaking broadly, the members -of a civilised community have seen nothing but order in their lives, -and could not accommodate their action to anything else. - -[1] Krause and Henrici, cit. by Green, _Principles of Political -Obligation_, p. 35. Cp. “The system of right is the realm of realised -freedom, the world of the mind produced by the mind as a second -nature” (Hegel, _Philosophie d. Rechts_, sect. 4). - -It should be mentioned as a danger of this point of view that, -fascinated by the spectacle of the social fabric as a whole, we may -fail to distinguish what in it is the mere maintenance of rights, -and what is the growth which such maintenance can promote but cannot -constitute. Thus we may lose all idea of the true limits of State -action. - -_(b)_ We may regard this complex of rights from the standpoint of -the selves or persons who compose the community. It is in these -selves, as we have seen, that the social good is actual, and it is -to their differentiated functions, [1] which constitute their life -and the end of the community, that the sub-groupings of rights, or -conditions of good life, have to be adjusted each to each like suits -of clothes. The rights are, from this point of view, primarily the -external incidents, so far as maintained by law--the authoritative -vesture as it were--of a {205} person’s position in the world of his -community. And we shall do well to regard the nature of rights, as -attaching to selves or persons, from this point of view of a place -or position in the order determined by law. It has been argued, I -do not know with what justice, that, in considering the relations -of particles in space, the proper course would be to regard their -positions or distances from each other as the primary fact, and to -treat attributions of attractive and repulsive forces as modes of -expressing the maintenance of the necessary positions rather than -as descriptive of real causes which bring it about. At least, it -appears to me, such a conception may well be applied to the relative -ideas of right and obligation. What comes first, we may say, is the -position, the place or places, function or functions, determined by -the nature of the best life as displayed in a certain community, and -the capacity of the individual self for a unique contribution to -that best life. Such places and functions are imperative; they are -the fuller self in the particular person, and make up the particular -person as he passes into the fuller self. His hold on this is his -true will, in other words, his apprehension of the general will. Such -a way of speaking may seem unreally simplified when we look at the -myriad relations of modern life and the sort of abstraction by which -the individual is apt to become a rolling stone with no assignable -place--indeed “gathering no moss”--and to pass through his positions -and relations as if they were stations on a railway journey. But in -truth it is only simplified and not falsified. If we look with care -we shall see that it, or nothing, is true of all lives. - -[1] I do not say merely social functions, _i.e._ functions dealing -directly with “others” as such. - -{206} The Position, then, is the real fact--the vocation, place or -function, which is simply one reading of the person’s actual self and -relations in the world in which he lives. Having thoroughly grasped -this primary fact, we can readily deal with the points of view which -present the position or its incidents in the partial aspects of -rights or obligations. - -(i.) A right, we said, is a _claim_ recognised by society and -enforced by the State. My place or position, then, and its incidents, -so far as sanctioned by the State, constitute my rights, when thought -of as something which I claim, or regard as powers instrumental to -my purposes. A right thus regarded is not anything primary. It is -a way of looking at certain conditions, which, by reason of their -relation to the end of the whole as manifested in me, are imperative -alike for me and for others. It is, further, the particular way of -looking at these conditions which is in question when I claim them or -am presumed to claim them, as powers secured to me with a view to an -end which I accept as mine. I _have_ the rights no less in virtue of -my presumed capacity for the end, if I am in fact indifferent to the -end. But, in this case, though attributed _ab extra_ as rights, they -tend to pass into obligations. - -(ii.) If rights are an imperative “position” or function, when looked -at as a group of State-secured powers claimed by a person for a -certain end, obligations are the opposite aspect of such a position -or group of powers. That is to say, the conditions of a “position” -are regarded as obligations in as far as they are thought of as {207} -requiring enforcement, and therefore, primarily, from the point of -view of persons not directly identified with the “position” or end -to which they are instrumental. Rights are claimed, obligations -are owed. And _prima-facie_ rights are claimed _by_ a person, and -obligations are owed _to_ a person, being his rights as regarded by -those against whom they are enforceable. - -Thus, the distinction of self and others, which we refused to take -as the basis of society, makes itself prominent in the region of -compulsion. The reason is that compulsion is confined to hindering -or producing external acts, and is excluded from producing an act in -its relation to a moral end, that is, the exercise of a right in its -true sense; though it can enforce an act which in fact favours the -possibility of acting towards a moral end that is, an obligation. -This is the same thing as saying that normally a right is what _I_ -claim, and the obligation relative to it is what _you_ owe; as an -obligation is that which can be enforced, and that is an act or -omission apart from the willing of an end; and a right involves what -cannot be enforced, viz., the relation of an act to an end in a -person’s will. But even here the distinction of self and others is -hardly ultimate. The obligation on me to maintain my parents becomes -almost a right [1] if I claim the task as {208} a privilege. And -many rights of my position may actually be erected into, or more -commonly may give rise to, obligations incumbent on me for the sake -of my position or function. If the exercise of the franchise were -made compulsory that would be a right treated also as an obligation; -but it might be urged that _qua_ obligation it was held due to the -position of others, and only _qua_ right to my own “position.” But if -the law interferes with my poisoning myself [2] either by drains or -with alcohol, that, I presume, is the enforcement of an obligation -arising out of my own position and function as a man and a citizen, -which makes reasonable care for my life imperative upon me. - -[1] I do not know that I can compel my parents to be maintained by -me, and therefore it is not my legal right to maintain them; but at -least the obligation, if I claim it, ceases to depend on force. An -East-End Londoner will say, “He had a right to maintain his father,” -meaning that he was bound to do so; and Jeannie Deans says, “I have -no right to have stories told about my family without my consent,” -representing her own claim as an obligation on herself as well as -on others. She represents the thought, “I have a right that you -should not tell stories, etc.,” in a form which puts it as a case of -the thought, “You have no right to tell stories,” disregarding the -distinction between herself and others as accidental. - -[2] The law used to interfere with bad sanitation only as a -“nuisance,” _i.e._ as an annoyance to “others.” It now interferes -with any state of things dangerous to life as such, which probably -means that a change of theory has unconsciously set in. Legislation -for dangerous trades almost proves the point, though here it is -possible to urge that the employer is put under obligation for the -sake of his workers, and not the workers for their own sake. But the -distinction is hardly real. - -_(c)_ It is commonly said that every right implies a duty. This has -two meanings, which should be distinguished. - -In the one case, (i.) for “duty” should be read “obligation,” _i.e._ -a demand enforceable by law. This simply means that every “position” -may be regarded as involving either powers secured or conditions -enforced, which are one and the same thing differently looked at. -Roughly speaking, they are the same thing as differently looked at -by one person, and by other persons. My right {209} to walk along -the high road involves an obligation upon all other persons not to -obstruct me, and in the last resort the State will send horse, foot -and artillery rather than let me be causelessly obstructed in walking -along the high road. - -It is also true that every position which can be the source of -obligations enforceable in favour of my rights is likewise a link -with obligations enforceable on me in favour of the rights of others. -By claiming a right in virtue of my position I recognise and testify -to the general system of law according to which I am reciprocally -under obligation to respect the rights, or rather the function -and position, of others. My rights then imply obligations both in -others, and perhaps in myself, correlative to these rights, and -in me correlative to the rights of others. But it cannot strictly -be said that the obligations are the source of the rights, or the -rights of the obligations. Both are the varied external conditions of -“positions” as regarded from different points of view. - -But (ii.) there is a different sense in which every right implies a -duty. And this, the true meaning of the phrase, is involved in what -we have said of the nature of a “position.” All rights, as claims -which both are and ought to be enforceable by law, derive their -imperative authority from their relation to an end which enters into -the better life. All rights, then, are powers instrumental to making -the best of human capacities, and can only be recognised or exercised -upon this ground. - -In this sense, the duty is the purpose with a view to which the -right is secured, and not merely {210} a corresponding obligation -equally derived from a common ground; and the right and duty are not -distinguished as something claimed by self and something owed to -others, but the duty as an imperative purpose, and the right as a -power secured because instrumental to it. - -_(d)_ We have treated rights throughout as claims, the enforcement -of which by the State is merely the climax of their recognition by -society. Why do we thus demand recognition for rights? If we deny -that there can be unrecognised rights, do we not surrender human -freedom to despotism or to popular caprice? - -(i.) In dealing with the general question why recognition is -demanded as an essential of rights, we must remember what we took -to be the nature of society and the source of obligation. We -conceived a society to be a structure of intelligences so related -as to co-operate with and to imply one another. We took the source -of obligation to lie in the fact that the logic of the whole is -operative in every part, and consequently that every part has a -reality which goes beyond its average self, and identifies it with -the whole, making demands upon it in doing so. - -Now, we are said to “recognise” anything when it comes to us with a -consciousness of familiarity, as something in which we feel at home. -And this is our general attitude to the demands which the logic of -the whole, implied in our every act, is continuously making upon -us. It is involved in the interdependence of minds, which has been -explained to constitute _the mind_ of which the visible community -is the body. A teacher’s {211} behaviour towards his pupils, for -example, implies a certain special kind of interdependence between -their minds. What he can do for them is conditioned by what they -expect of him and are ready to do for him, and _vice versa_. The -relation of each to the other is a special form of “recognition.” -That is to say, the mind of each has a definite and positive attitude -towards that of the other, which is based on, or rather, so far as it -goes, simply _is_, the relation of their “positions” to each other. -Thus, social positions or vocations actually have their being in the -medium of recognition. They _are_ the attitudes of minds towards one -another, through which their several distinct characteristics are -instrumental to a common good. - -Thus, then, a right, being a power secured in order to fill a -position, is simply a part of the fact that such a position is -recognised as instrumental to the common good. It is impossible to -argue that the position may exist, and not be recognised. For we -are speaking of a relation of minds, and, in so far as minds are -united into a single system by their attitudes towards each other, -their “positions” and the recognition of them are one and the same -thing. Their attitude, receptive, co-operative, tolerant, and the -like, is so far a recognition, though not necessarily a reflective -recognition. Probably this is what is intended by those who speak of -imitation or other analogous principles as the ultimate social fact. -They do not mean the repetition of another person’s conduct, though -that may enter in part into the relation of interdependence. They -mean the {212} conscious adoption [1] of an attitude towards others, -embodying the relations between the “positions” which social logic -assigns to each. - -[1] To call this imitation is something like calling fine art -imitation. Really, in both cases, we find a re-arrangement and -modification of material, incident to a new expression. The process, -if we must name it, is “relative suggestion” rather than imitation. - -(ii.) But then the question of page 210 presses upon us “If we deny -that there can be unrecognised rights, do we not surrender human -freedom to despotism or to popular caprice?” - -The sting of this suggestion is taken out when we thoroughly grasp -the idea that recognition is a matter of logic, working on and -through experience, and not of choice or fancy. If my mind has _no_ -attitude to yours, there is no interdependence and I cannot be a -party to securing you rights. You are not, for me, a sharer in a -capacity for a common good, which each of us inevitably respects. -A dog or a tree may be an instrument to the good life, and it may -therefore be right to treat it in a certain way, but it cannot be -a subject of rights. If my mind _has_ an attitude to yours, then -there is certainly a recognition between us, and the nature of -that recognition and what it involves are matters for reasoning -and for the appeal to experience. It is idle for me, for instance, -to communicate with you by language or to buy and sell with you, -perhaps even idle to go to war with you, [1] and still to say that -I recognise no capacity in you for a common good. My behaviour is -then inconsistent with itself, and the question takes the form what -rights are involved {213} in the recognition of you which experience -demonstrates. No person and no society is consistent with itself, and -the proof and amendment of their inconsistency is always possible. -And, one inconsistency being amended, the path is opened to progress -by the emergence of another. If slaves come to be recognised as free -but not as citizens, this of itself opens a road by which the new -freeman may make good his claim that it is an inconsistency not to -recognise him as a citizen. - -[1] As distinct from hunting. We do not go to war with lions and -tigers. - -But no right can be founded on my mere desire to do what I like. [1] -The wish for this is the sting of the claim to unrecognised rights, -and this wish is to be met, as the fear that our view might lead -to despotism was met. The matter is one of fact and logic, not of -fancies and wishes. If I desire to assert an unrecognised right, I -must show what “position” involves it, and how that position asserts -itself in the system of recognitions which is the social mind, and my -point can only be established universally with regard to a certain -type of position, and not merely for myself as a particular A or B. -In other words, I must show that the alleged right is a requirement -of the realisation of capacities for good, and, further, that it -does not demand a sacrifice of capacities now being realised, out -of proportion to the capacities which it would enable to assert -themselves. I must show, in short, that in so far as the claim in -question is not secured by the State, Society is inconsistent with -itself, and falls short of being what it professes to be, an organ -of good life. And all my showing gives no _right_, till it has -{214} modified the law. To maintain a right against the State by -force or disobedience is rebellion, and, in considering the duty of -rebellion, we have to set the whole value of the existence of social -order against the importance of the matter in which we think Society -defective. There can hardly be a duty to rebellion in a State in -which law can be altered by constitutional process. - -[1] Green, _Principles of Political Obligation_, p. 149. - -The State-maintained system of rights, then, in its relation to the -normal self and will of ordinary citizens with their varying moods of -enthusiasm and indolence, may be compared to the automatic action of -a human body. Automatic actions are such as we perform in walking, -eating, dressing, playing the piano or riding the bicycle. They have -been formed by consciousness, and are of a character subservient to -its purposes, and obedient to its signals. As a rule, they demand -no effort of attention, and in this way attention is economised -and enabled to devote itself to problems which demand its intenser -efforts. They are relegated to automatism because they are uniform, -necessary, and external--“external” in the sense explained above, -that the way in which they are required makes it enough if they are -done, whatever their motives, or with no motives at all. - -By far the greater bulk of the system of rights is related in this -way to normal consciousness. We may pay taxes, abstain from fraud and -assault, use the roads and the post-office, and enjoy our general -security, without knowing that we are doing or enjoying anything that -demands special attention. Partly, of course, attention is being -given by other consciousnesses to maintaining the securities and -{215} facilities of our life. Even so, the arrangement is automatic -in so far as there is no reason for arousing the general attention in -respect to it; but to a varying extent it is automatic throughout, -and engrained in the system and habits of the whole people. We are -all supposed to know the whole law. Not even a judge has it all in -his knowledge at any one time; but the meaning is that it roughly -expresses our habits, and we live according to it without great -difficulty, and expect each other to do so. This automatism is not -harmful, but absolutely right and necessary, so long as we relegate -to it only “external” matters; _i.e._ such as are necessary to be -done, motive or no motive, in some way which can be generally laid -down. Thus used, it is an indispensable condition of progress. It -represents the ground won and settled by our civilisation, and leaves -us free to think and will such matters as have their value in and -through being thought and willed rightly. If we try to relegate these -to automatism, then moral and intellectual death has set in. - -But if the system of rights is automatic, how can it rest on -recognition? Automatic actions, we must remember, are still of a -texture, so to speak, continuous with consciousness. “Recognition” -expresses very fairly our habitual attitude towards them in ourselves -and others. We might think, for example, of the system of habits and -expectations which forms our household routine. We go through it -for the most part automatically, while “recognising” the “position” -of those who share it with us, and respecting the life which is its -end. At points here and there in which it {216} affects the deeper -possibilities of our being, our attention becomes active, and we -assert our position with enthusiasm and conscientiousness. Our -attitude to the social system of rights is something like this. The -whole order has our habitual recognition; we are aware of and respect -more or less the imperative end on which it rests--the claim of a -common good upon us all. Within the framework of this order there is -room for all degrees of laxity and conscientiousness; but, in any -case, it is only at certain points, which either concern our special -capacity or demand readjustment in the general interest, that intense -active attention is possible or desirable. - -The view here taken of automatism and attention in the social whole -impairs neither the unity of intelligence throughout society nor -the individual’s recognition of this unity as a self liable to be -opposed to his usual self. As to the former point, every individual -mind shows exactly the same phenomena, of a _continuum_ largely -automatic, and thoroughly alive only in certain regions, connected, -but not thoroughly coherent. As to the latter point, permeation of -the individual by the habits of social automatism does not prevent, -but rather gives material for, his tendency to abstract himself from -the whole, and to frame an attitude for himself inconsistent with his -true “position,” against which tendency the imperative recognition of -his true self has constantly to be exerted. - -7. We have finally to deal with the actual application by the State -of its ultimate resource for the maintenance of rights, viz., force. -Superior force may be exercised upon human nature both {217} by -rewards and by punishments. In both respects its exercise by the -State would fall generally within the lines of automatism; that is -to say, it would be a case of the promotion of an end by means other -than the influence of an idea of that end upon the will. But, owing -to the subtle continuity of human nature throughout all its phases, -we shall find that there is something more than this to be said, and -that the idea of the end is operative in a peculiar way just where -the agencies that promote it appear to be most alien and mechanical. -In so far as this is the case, the general theory of the negative -character of State action has to be modified, as we foresaw, [1] by -the theory of punishment. _Prima facie_, however, it is true that -reward and punishment belong to the automatic element of social life. -They arise in no direct relation of the will to the end. They are a -reaction of the automatic system, instrumental to the end, against -a friction or obstacle which intrudes upon it, or (in the case of -rewards) upon the opposite of a friction or obstacle. There is no -object in pressing a comparison into every detail; but perhaps, as -social and individual automatism do really bear the same kind of -relation to consciousness, it may be pointed out that reward and -punishment correspond in some degree to the pleasures and pains of a -high-class secondary automatism, say of riding or of reading, _i.e._ -of something specially conducive to enhanced life. Such activities -bring pleasure when unimpeded, and pain when sharply interrupted -by a start or blunder which jars upon us. Putting this latter case -in language which {218} carries out the analogy to punishment, -we might say that the formed habit of action, unconsciously or -semi-consciously relevant to the end or fuller life, is obstructed by -some partial start of mind, and their conflict is accompanied with -recognition, pain, and vexation. “What a fool I was,” we exclaim, “to -ride carelessly at that corner,” or “to let that plan for a holiday -interrupt me in my morning’s reading.” - -[1] P. 189. - -It may seem remarkable that reward plays a small and apparently -decreasing part in the self-management of society by the public -power. To the naïve Athenian, [1] it seemed a natural instrument for -the encouragement of public spirit, probably rather by a want of -discrimination between motives than by a real belief in political -selfishness. In European countries honours still appear to play a -considerable part, but on analysis it would be found less than it -seems. Partly they are recognitions of important functions, and -thus conditions rather than rewards. To a great extent, again, they -recognise existing facts, and are rather consequences of the respect -which society feels for certain types of life (with very curious -results in regions where the general mind is inexperienced, _e.g._ in -fine art) than means employed to regulate the conduct of citizens. -We should think a soldier mean whose aim was a peerage, still more a -poet or an artist. I hardly know that rewards adjudged by the State, -as distinct from compensations, exist {219} in the United States -of America. [2] Rewards then fill no place correlative to that of -punishments, and the reason seems plain. Punishment corresponds much -better to the negative method which alone is open to the State for -the maintenance of rights. For Punishment proclaims its negative -character, and no one can suppose it laudable simply to be deterred -from wrong-doing by fear of punishment. But though precisely the same -principle applies to meritorious actions done with a view to reward, -an illusion is almost certain to arise which will hide the principle -in this case. For, if reward is largely used as an inducement to -actions conducive to the best life, it is almost certain that it -will be used as an inducement to actions, the value and certainty of -which depend on the state of will to which they are due. And then the -distinction between getting them done, motive or no motive, which -is the true region of State action, and their being done with a -certain motive, which is necessary to give them either practical or -moral value, is pretty sure to be obliterated, and the range of the -moral will trenched upon in its higher portion and with a constant -tendency to self-deception. [3] {220} It is the same truth in other -words when we point out that taking reward and punishment, as -interferences, only to deal with exceptional cases, reward would deal -with the exceptionally good. Therefore, again, reward must either -make an impossible attempt to deal with all the normal as good, which -involves the danger of _de_-moralising the whole of normal life, -or must take the line of specially promoting what is exceptionally -conducive to good life; in which case confusion is certain to arise -from interference with the delicate middle class of external actions -analysed above. [4] And thus it is only what we should expect when -we find that States having no _damnosa hereditas_ of a craving for -personal honours are hardly acquainted with the bestowal of rewards -by the public power. - -[1] “Speech of Pericles,” Thucyd., ii. 46: “Where there are the -greatest rewards of merit, there will be the best men to do the work -of the State.” Contrast Plato’s principle that there can be no sound -government while public service is done with a view to reward. - -[2] The precise theory of the grants in money made to soldiers or -sailors, for distinguished service, is not easy to state. But it -seems clear that they are not intended to act as motives. They are -essentially a recognition after the act, not an inducement held out -before it. - -[3] It is perhaps permissible to observe in general, what is very -well known to all who have much experience of what is called -philanthropy, that the tendency to distinguish it by public honours -is exceedingly dangerous to its quality, which depends entirely on -that energy and purity of intelligence which can only accompany the -deepest and highest motives. Mere vulgar self-seeking is not the -danger (though it does occur) so much as obfuscation of intelligence -through a mixture of aims and ideas. - -[4] P. 199. - -It will be sufficient, then, to complete the account of State action -in maintenance of rights by some account of the nature and principles -of punishment. - -And we may profitably begin by recalling M. Durkheim’s suggestion, -which was mentioned in a former chapter. [1] Punishment, he observes, -from the simplest and most actual point of view, includes in itself -all those sides which theory has tended to regard as incompatible. -It is, in essence, simply the reaction of a strong and determinate -collective sentiment against an act which offends it. It is idle -to include such a reaction entirely under the head either of -reformation, or of retaliation, or of prevention. An aggression is -_ipso facto_ a sign of character, an injury, and a menace; and the -reaction against it is equally _ipso facto_ an attempt {221} to -affect character, a retaliation against an injury, and a deterrent -or preventive against a menace. When we fire up at aggression it is -pretty much a chance whether we say “I am going to teach him better -manners,” or “I am going to serve him out,” or “I am going to see -that he doesn’t do that again.” A consideration of each of these -aspects is necessary to do justice both to the theories and to the -facts. - -[1] P. 37. - -i. An obvious point of view, and the first perhaps to appear in -philosophy, though strongly opposed to early law, is that the aim of -punishment is to make the offender good. As test of the adequacy of -this doctrine by itself, the question may be put, “If pleasures would -cure the offender, ought he to be given pleasures?” The doctrine, -however, does not, by any means, altogether incline to leniency. For -it carries as a corollary the extirpation of the incurable, which -Plato proposes in a passage of singularly modern quality, when he -suggests the co-operation of judges and physicians in maintaining the -moral and physical health of society. [1] - -[1] _Republic_, 409, 410. - -The first comment that occurs to us is, that by a mere medical -treatment of the offender, including or consisting of pleasant -conditions, if helpful to his cure, the interest of society seems -to be disregarded. What is to become of the maintenance of rights, -if aggressors have to anticipate a pleasant or lenient “cure”? It -may be true that brutal punishments stimulate a criminal temper in -the people rather than check it; but it is a long way from this to -laying down that there is no need {222} for terror to be associated -with crime. To suppose that pleasures may simply act throughout as -pains, is playing with words and throws no light on the question. -If we leave words their meaning, we must say that punishment must -be deterrent for others as well as reformatory for the offender, -and therefore in some degree painful. It is true, however, that the -offender, as a human being, and presumably capable of a common good, -has, as Green puts it, “reversionary rights” of humanity, and these, -punishment must so far as possible respect. - -But there is a deeper difficulty. If the reformation theory is to be -seriously distinguished from the other theories of punishment, it has -a meaning which is unjust to the offender himself. It implies that -his offence is a merely natural evil, like disease, and can be cured -by therapeutic treatment directed to removing its causes. But this -is to treat him not as a human being; to treat him as a “patient,” -not as an agent; to exclude him from the general recognition that -makes us men. (If the therapeutic treatment includes a recognition -and chastisement of the offender’s bad will [1]--the form of which -chastisement may, of course, be very variously modified--then -there is no longer anything to distinguish the reformatory theory -from other theories of punishment.) It has been lately pointed out -[2] what a confusion is involved in the claim that beings, who -are irresponsible and so incapable of guilt, are therefore in the -strict sense innocent. Here are the true objects {223} for a pure -reformatory theory. Here that may freely be done, as to creatures -incapable of rights, which is kindest for them and safest for -society, from quasi-medical treatment to extirpation. There is no -guilt in them to demand punishment, but there is no human will in -them to have the rights of innocence. - -[1] Plato’s reformatory theory seems to involve this. - -[2] Mr. Bradley, in the _International Journal of Ethics_, April, -1894. - -But, applied to responsible human beings, such a theory, if really -kept to its distinctive contention, is an insult. It leads to the -notion that the State may take hold of any man, whose life or ideas -are thought capable of improvement, and set to work to ameliorate -them by forcible treatment. There is no true punishment except where -one is an offender against a system of rights which he shares, and -therefore against himself. And such an offender has a right to the -recognition of his hostile will; it is inhuman to treat him as a wild -animal or a child, whom we simply mould to our aims. Without such -a recognition, to be punished is not, according to the old Scotch -phrase, to be “justified.” - -ii. The idea of retaliation or retribution, though in history the -oldest conception of punishment, [1] may be taken in theory as a -protest against the conception that punishment is only a means for -making a man better. Its strong point is its definite idea of the -offender. The offender is a responsible person, belonging to a -certain order which he recognises as entering into him and as entered -into by him, and he has made actual an intention hostile to this -order. He has, {224} as Plato’s Socrates insists in the _Crito_, -destroyed the order so far as in him lies. In other words, he has -violated the system of rights which the State exists to maintain, -and by which alone he and others are secured in the exercise of any -capacity for good, this security consisting in their reciprocal -respect for the system. His hostile will stands up and defies the -right, in so far as his personality is asserted, through a tangible -deed which embodies the wrong. It is necessary, then, that the power -which maintains the system of rights should not merely, if possible, -undo the external harm which has been done, but should strike down -the hostile will which has defied the right by doing that harm. -The end or true self is in the medium of mind and will, and is -contradicted and nullified so far as a hostile will is permitted to -triumph. - -[1] We saw that, even in its earliest forms, it cannot really be -taken to exclude the other aspects. - -It is obvious, however, that the means by which the hostile will can -be negatived fall _prima facie_ within the region of automatism. -The recalcitrant element of consciousness is not susceptible to the -end as an idea, or it would not be recalcitrant. The end can here -assert itself, agreeably to the general principle of State action, -only through external action the mental effects of which cannot -be precisely estimated. It might, therefore, seem that the pain -produced by the reaction of the automatic system on the aberrant -consciousness--the punishment--was simply a natural pain, which might -act as a deterrent from aberration, but had no visible connection -with the true whole or end for the mind of the offender. We shall -speak below of the sense in which {225} punishment is deterrent or -preventive. But it is to be noted at this point that a high-class -secondary automatism, with which all along we have compared the -system of rights as engrained in the habits of a people, retains -a very close connection with consciousness. We do not indeed will -every step that we walk, but we only walk while we will to walk, and -so with the whole system of routine automatism which is the method -and organ of our daily life. At any interruption, any hindrance or -failure, consciousness starts up, and the end of the whole routine -comes sharply back upon us through our aberration. - -So it is with punishment. Primarily, no doubt, chastisement by pain, -and the appeal to fear and to submissiveness, is effective through -our lower nature, and, in as far as operative, substitutes selfish -motives for the will that wills the good, and so narrows its sphere. -But there is more behind. The automatic system is pulsing with the -vitality of the end to which it is instrumental; and when we kick -against the pricks, and it reacts upon us in pain, this pain has -subtle connections throughout the whole of our being. It brings us -to our senses, as we say; that is, it suggests, more or less, a -consciousness of what the habitual system means, and of what we have -committed in offending against it. When one stumbles and hurts his -foot, he may look up and see that he is off the path. If a man is -told that the way he works his factory or keeps his tenement houses -is rendering him liable to fine or imprisonment, then, if he is an -ordinary, careless, but respectable citizen, he will feel some thing -of a shock, and recognise that he was getting {226} too neglectful -of the rights of others, and that, in being pulled up, he is brought -back to himself. His citizen honour will be touched. He will not like -to be below the average which the common conscience had embodied in -law. - -When we come to the actual criminal consciousness, the form which -the recognition may take in fact may vary greatly; and as an extreme -there may be a furious hostility against the whole recognised -system of law, either involving self-outlawry through a despair of -reconciliation, or arising through some sort of habitual conspiracy -in which the man finds his chosen law and order as against that -recognised by the State. [1] But after all, we are dealing with a -question of social logic and not of empirical psychology. And it must -be laid down that, in as far as any sane man fails altogether to -recognise in any form the assertion of something which he normally -respects in the law which punishes him (putting aside what he takes -to be miscarriage of justice), he is outlawed by himself and the -essentials of citizenship are not in him. Doubtless, if an uneducated -man were told, in theoretical language, that in being punished for -an assault he was realising his own will, he would think it cruel -nonsense. But this is a mere question of language, and has really -nothing to do with the essential state of his consciousness. He would -understand perfectly well that he was being served as he would say -anyone should be served, whom he saw acting as he had done, in a case -where his own {227} passions were not engaged. And this recognition, -in whatever form it is admitted, carries the consequence which we -affirm. - -[1] See the account of the Mafia in Marion Crawford’s _Corleone_. -Accepting this as described, it simply is the social will in which -the population of a certain region find their substitute for the -State. - -In short, then, compulsion through punishment and the fear of it, -though primarily acting on the lower self, does tend, when the -conditions of true punishment exist (_i.e._ the reaction of a system -of rights violated by one who shares in it), to a recognition of the -end by the person punished, and may so far be regarded as his own -will, implied in the maintenance of a system to which he is a party, -returning upon himself in the form of pain. And this is the theory -of punishment as retributive. The test doctrine of the theory may be -found in Kant’s saying that, even though a society were about to be -dissolved by agreement, the last murderer in prison must be executed -before it breaks up. The punishment is, so to speak, his right, of -which he must not be defrauded. - -There are two natural perversions of this theory. - -The first is to confuse the necessary retribution or reaction of the -general self, through the State, with personal vengeance. [1] Even in -the vulgar form, when a brutal murder evokes a general desire to have -the offender served out, [2] the general or social indignation is -not the same as the selfish desire for revenge. It is the offspring -of a rough notion of law and humanity, and of the feeling that a -striking aggression upon them demands to be strikingly put down. Such -a sentiment is a part {228} of the consciousness which maintains the -system of rights, and can hardly be absent where that consciousness -is strong. - -[1] It may be noted that Durkheim, relying chiefly on early religious -sentiment, denies Maine’s view that criminal law arises out of -private feud. - -[2] Green, _Principles of Political Obligation_, p. 184. - -The second perversion consists in the superstition that punishment -should be “equivalent” to offence. In a sense, we have seen, it -is _identical_; _i.e._ it is a return of the offender’s act upon -himself by a connection inevitable in a moral organism. But as for -_equivalence_ of pain inflicted, either with the pain caused by the -offence or with its guilt, the State knows nothing of it and has no -means of securing it. It cannot estimate either pain or moral guilt. -Punishment cannot be adapted to factors which cannot be known. And -further, the attempt to punish for immorality has evils of its own. -[1] The graduation of punishments must depend on wholly different -principles, which we will consider in speaking of punishment as -preventive or deterrent. - -[1] See above, p. 192. - -iii. The graduation of punishments must be almost entirely determined -by experience of their operation as deterrents. It is to be borne in -mind, indeed, (i.) that the “reversionary rights” of humanity in the -offender are not to be needlessly sacrificed, and (ii.) that the true -essence of punishment, as punishment, the negation of the offender’s -anti-social will, is in some way to be secured. But these conditions -are included in the preventive or deterrent theory of punishment, if -completely understood; if, that is to say, it is made clear precisely -what it is that is to be prevented. - -If we speak of punishment, then, as having for {229} its aim to be -deterrent or preventive, we must not understand this to mean that a -majority, or any persons in power, may rightly prevent, by the threat -of penalties, any acts that seem to them to be inconvenient. - -That which is to be prevented by punishment is a violation of the -State-maintained system of rights by a person who is a party to -that system, and therefore the above-mentioned conditions, implied -in a true understanding of the reformatory and retributive aspects -of punishment, are also involved in it as deterrent. But, this -being admitted, we may add to them the distinctive principle on -which a deterrent theory insists. If a lighter punishment deter as -effectively as a heavier, it is wrong to impose the heavier. For the -precise aim of State action is the maintenance of rights; and if -rights are effectively maintained without the heavier punishment, -the aim of the State does not justify its imposition. It is well -known that success in the maintenance of rights depends not only on -the severity of punishments, but also on the true adjustment of the -rights themselves to human ends, and on that certainty of detecting -crime which is a result of efficient government. And it must always -be considered, in dealing with a relative failure of the deterrent -power of punishment in regard to certain offences, whether a better -adjustment of rights or a greater certainty of detection will not -meet the end more effectively than increased seventy of punishment. -We have seen that the equivalence of punishment and offence is really -a meaningless superstition. And there is no principle on which {230} -punishment can be rationally graduated, except its deterrent power as -learned by experience. This view corresponds to the true limits of -State action as determined by the means at its disposal compared with -the end which is its justification, and is therefore, when grasped in -its full meaning as not denying the nature of punishment, the true -theory of it. - -We saw, in speaking of punishment as retributive, in what sense it -can and cannot rest upon a judgment imputing moral guilt. Of degrees -of moral guilt as manifested in the particular acts of individuals, -the State, like all of us, is necessarily ignorant. But this is -not to say that punishment is wholly divorced from a just moral -sentiment. Undoubtedly it implies and rests upon a disapproval of -that hostile attitude to the system of rights which is implied in the -realised intention constituting the violation of right. Though in -practice the distinction between civil and criminal law in England -carries out no thoroughly logical demarcation, yet it is true on -the whole to say with Hegel that, in the matter of a civil action, -there is no violation of right as such, but only a question in whom -a certain right resides; while in a matter of criminal law there is -involved an infraction of right as such, which by implication is a -denial of the whole sphere of law and order. This infraction the -general conscience disapproves, and its disapproval is embodied in -a forcible dealing with the offender, however that dealing may be -graduated by other considerations. - -I may touch here on an interesting point of detail, following Green. -If punishment is essentially {231} graduated according to its -deterrent power, and not according to moral guilt, how does it come -to pass that “extenuating circumstances” are allowed to influence -sentences? That they do so really, if not nominally, even in -England, there can be no doubt. Is it not that they indicate a less -degree of wickedness in the offender than the offence in question -would normally presuppose? It would seem that judges themselves -are sometimes under this impression. But it may well be that they -act under a right instinct and assign a wrong reason. For it is -impossible to get over the fact that moral iniquity is something -which cannot be really estimated. The true reason for allowing -circumstances which change the character of the act to influence -the sentence is that, in changing its character, they may take it -out of the class of offences from which men need to be deterred by -a recognised amount of severity. If a man is starving and steals a -turnip, his offence, being so exceptionally conditioned, does not -threaten the general right of property, and does not need to be -associated with any high degree of terror in order to protect that -right. A man who steals under no extraordinary pressure of need does -what might become a common practice if not associated with as much -terror as is found by experience to deter men from theft. - -It may be said, in some exceptional emergency, “but many men are -now starving; ought not the theft of food, on the principle of -prevention, to be now punished with extreme severity, as other wise -it is likely to become common?” Or in general, ought not severity to -increase with {231} temptation or provocation, as a greater deterrent -is needed to counterbalance this? The case in which the temptation or -provocation is exceptional has just been dealt with. But if abnormal -temptation or provocation becomes common, as in a famine, or in some -excited condition of public feeling, then it must be remembered that -not one right only, but the system of rights as such, is what the -State has to maintain. If starvation is common, some readjustment of -rights, or at least some temporary protection of the right to live, -is the remedy indicated, and not, or not solely, increased severity -in dealing with theft. [1] If provocation becomes common, then the -rights of those provoked must be remembered, and the provocation -itself perhaps made punishable, like the singing of faction songs in -Ireland. Punishment is to protect rights, not to encourage wrongs. - -[1] Though for the sake of all parties, and to avoid temptation, a -strong policing of threatened districts may be desirable in such -circumstances. - -Thus, we have seen the true nature and aims of punishment as -following from the aim of the State in maintaining the system of -rights instrumental to the fullest life. The three main aspects of -punishment which we have considered are really inseparable, and each, -if properly explained, expands so as to include the others. - -We may, in conclusion, sum up the whole theory of State action in -the formula which we inherit from Rousseau--that Sovereignty is the -exercise of the General Will. - -First. All State action is General in its bearing and justification, -even if particular, or rather {232} concrete, in its details. It -is embodied in a _system_ of rights, and there is no element of it -which is not determined by a bearing upon a public interest. The -verification of this truth, throughout, for example, our English -system of public and private Acts of Parliament, would run parallel -to the logical theory of the Universal Judgment as it passes into -Judgments whose subjects are proper names. But the immediate point is -that no rights are absolute, or detached from the whole, but all have -their warrant in the aim of the whole, which at the same time implies -their adjustment and regulation according to general principles. This -generality of law is practically an immense protection to individuals -against arbitrary interference. It makes every regulation strike a -class and not a single person. - -And, secondly. All State action is at bottom the exercise of a Will; -the real Will, or the Will as logically implied in intelligences -as such, and more or less recognised as imperative upon them. And, -therefore, though in the form of force it acts through automatism, -that is, not directly as conscious Will, but through a system which -gives rise to acts by influences apparently alien, yet the root -and source of the whole structure is of the nature of Will, and -its end, like that of organic automatism, is to clear the road for -true volition; it is “forcing men to be free.” And in so far as by -misdirection of the automatic [1] process it {234} encroaches on -the region of living Will the region where the good realises itself -directly by its own force as a motive it is “sawing off the branch on -which it sits,” and superseding the aim by the instrument. - -[1] It must not be forgotten that the State is, by its nature, -under a constant temptation to throw its weight on the side of the -automatic process. A most striking example is its adoption of the -automatic water-carriage system in drainage, with far-reaching -economic consequences. See Poore’s _Rural Hygiene_ and _The Dwelling -House_. - - - - -{235} - -CHAPTER IX. - -ROUSSEAU’S THEORY AS APPLIED TO THE MODERN STATE: KANT, FICHTE, HEGEL. - -1. Probably no other philosophical movement has ever focussed in -itself so much human nature as the post-Kantian Idealism. It has -fallen to the present writer to show elsewhere [1] how the “finding -of Greek art,” which it owed to Winckelmann, gave it unrivalled -insight into mind as embodied in objects of sense. Here we have to -deal with another source of its ideas. As we pointed out in the -first chapter, the ethical and political theory of Kant, Fichte, and -Hegel springs from the same _Evangel of Jean Jacques_ from which -the French Revolution drew its formulae. It would not be true to -say that it springs from this alone. Great philosophers know how -to fuse the materials they work in; and particularly the modern -abstraction of “freedom” was blended, for Hegel, with the idea of -concrete life through the tradition of the Greek city, with its -affinity for autonomy on the one hand and for beauty on the other. -Nevertheless, few lines of affiliation are better established in the -history of philosophy than that between Rousseau’s {236} declaration -that liberty is the quality of man and the philosophy of Right as it -developed from Kant to Hegel. - -[1] _History of Aesthetic_ (Sonnenschein). - -It has been suggested that the literary intercourse of France, -England, and Germany was far closer in the eighteenth century than -it is to-day, in spite of the immense mechanical development of -communication in the interval. National self-consciousness and the -divergent growth of national minds have, it is urged, raised a -barrier between peoples, which existed in the last century to a far -smaller degree. [1] This question of literary history lies beyond my -subject; but at least it seems probable that Rousseau had a power -in Germany which no French writer of to-day could possibly exercise -outside his own country. His educational influence [2] alone forms -a considerable chapter in the history of _Pädagogik_, and touches -closely on philosophy. Our psychologists of childhood are his -spiritual descendants, and indeed the question of the development of -the human being is closely akin to the question of liberty. - -[1] See M. Lévy-Bruhl, “De l’Influence de Jean Jacques Rousseau en -Allemagne,” _Annales de l’École libre des Sciences Politiques_, -Juillet, 1897. - -[2] Cf. _Kant et Fichte et la Problême de l’Education_, Duproix, -Alcan., 1897; and on Rousseau’s varied initiative, see Amiel, -_Journal Intime_ E. tr. I. 202, “J.J. Rousseau is an ancestor in all -things. It was he who founded travelling on foot before Töpffer, -reverie before René, literary botany before George Sand, the worship -of nature before Bernardin de St. Pierre, the democratic theory -before the Revolution of 1797, political discussion and theological -discussion before Mirabeau and Rénan, the science of teaching before -Pestalozzi, and Alpine description before De Saussure.” - -His literary influence, as the prophet of nature and feeling, and the -champion of sentimental {237} religion against the _Philosophes_, -carried everything before it. He struck into the path which had -been opened in Germany by the translation of Thomson’s _Seasons_ -before 1750, and followed by the Swiss critics and the idyllic -poets, who were opponents of the dominant pseudo-classicism. [1] -Jacobi, who passed some years of his youth at Geneva, owed his -doctrine of feeling as the faculty of religious truth in part at -least to Rousseau. Klinger, whose drama, _Sturm und Drang_, gave its -name to the romantic and naturalist revolution, marked by Goethe’s -_Götz von Berlichingen_ (1773) and Schiller’s _Räuber_ (1781), -was responsible, we are told, in later years, for the surprising -judgment that Rousseau (in _Emile_) is the young man’s best guide -through life. [2] Even Schiller and Herder passed through a period of -enthusiastic admiration for Rousseau. It is exceedingly significant -that Schiller’s _Letters on the Aesthetic Education of Humanity_ -are addressed expressly to the problem of reconciling the claims of -Nature [3] and of the State upon individual man. For, when Schiller -suggests that the clue to the required reconciliation between Nature -and the State lies in the union of feeling and intelligence which is -found in Beauty, we have before us in a single focus three main types -of experience, from the fusion of which a new idealism was to emerge. - -[1] See author’s _History of Aesthetic_, p. 214. - -[2] Lévy-Bruhl, _Loc. cit_. p. 330. The citation appears to be from a -romance, and I have not seen the context. - -[3] Letter 3 contains a profound criticism of the supposed actual -“state of nature,” and it might be said with truth that the whole -subject of the letters is the problem “how man is to be free without -ceasing to be sensuous.” - -{238} 2. Returning to our immediate subject, the Philosophy of -Right, we will consider for a moment the specific relation of -Rousseau’s idea of Freedom to Kantian or post-Kantian thought. It is -permissible, perhaps, to embody the chief part of what has to be said -in extracts from works of great original value and not very generally -accessible. Not only the poets and sentimentalists of Germany, but -also the great philosophers, distinctly recognised the debt of the -German genius to the ideas of Rousseau. The conception of the “Social -Contract” has an importance which surprises the modern reader in the -political philosophy of Kant and more especially of Fichte, and it -is not till we come to Hegel that the literal interpretation of the -“Social Contract” is completely discriminated from the truth conveyed -by the doctrine of the General Will. Apart from all questions about -the literal meaning of the “Social Contract,” it is simple fact that -the whole political philosophy of Kant, Hegel, and Fichte is founded -on the idea of freedom as the essence of man, first announced--such -was Hegel’s distinct judgment--by Rousseau. I begin by citing the -crucial passage from Hegel’s _History of Philosophy_, which gives in -a few lines the basis of his own theory of Right, as well as his view -of Rousseau’s position. [1] - -[1] Hegel’s _Geschichte der Philosophie_, iii. 477. - -After explaining that Rousseau treated the right of Government as -on one side, in its historical aspect, resting [1] on force and -compulsion, Hegel {239} continues, - - “But the principle of this justification (the absolute - justification of the State) Rousseau makes the free - will, and, disregarding the positive right (or law) - of States, he answers to the above question [2] (as - to the justification or basis of the State) that man - has free will, seeing that ‘Freedom is the distinctive - quality of man. [3] To renounce one’s freedom, means to - renounce one’s humanity. Not to be free is therefore a - renunciation of one’s human rights, and even of one’s - duties.’ The slave has neither rights nor duties. - Rousseau says, therefore, [4] The _fundamental problem_ - [5] is to find a form of association which shall protect - and defend at once the person and the property of every - member with the whole common force, and in which each - individual, inasmuch as he attaches himself to this - association, _obeys only himself, and remains as free - as before_ [5] The solution is given by the _Social - Contract_; [5] it (Rousseau says) is this combination, to - which each belongs through his will." - - These principles, thus set up in the abstract, we cannot - but take as correct; yet ambiguity begins at once. Man is - free; this is no doubt the substantive nature of man; and - in the State it is not only not abandoned, but in fact - it is therein first established. The freedom of nature, - the capacity of freedom, is not the actual freedom; {240} - for nothing short of the State is the actualisation of - freedom. - - But the misunderstanding about the “_General Will_” - begins at the following point. The notion of Freedom must - not be taken in the sense of the casual free-will of each - individual, but in the sense of the reasonable will, the - will in and for itself. [6] The general will is not to be - regarded as compounded of the expressed individual wills, - [7] so that these remain absolute; else the proposition - would be true, “where the minority has to obey the - majority, there is no freedom.” Rather the general will - must be the rational will, even though people are not - aware of it; the State, therefore, is no such association - as is determined upon by individuals. - - The false apprehension of these principles does not - matter to us. What matters to us is that by their means - it comes as a content into consciousness, that man has - in his mind Freedom as the downright absolute, that the - free will is the notion of man. It is just freedom that - is the self of thought; one who repudiates thought and - talks of freedom knows not what he is saying. The oneness - of thought with itself [8] is freedom, the free will. - Thought, only taken in the form of will, is the impulse - to break through [9] one’s mere subjectivity, is relation - to definite being, realisation of one’s {241} self, - inasmuch as I will to make myself as an existent adequate - to myself as thinking. The will is free only as that - which thinks. - - The principle of freedom dawned on the world in Rousseau, - and gave infinite strength to man, who thus apprehended - himself as infinite. This furnishes the transition to - the Kantian philosophy, which, from a theoretical point - of view, took this principle as its basis. Knowledge - [10] was thus directed upon its own freedom, and upon - a concrete content, [10] which it possesses in its - consciousness.” - -[1] In the place referred to, _Contrat Social_, Bk. I. chs. iii., -iv., Rousseau points out clearly that _force_ gives _no right_. So -when Hegel describes him as saying that the right of rule rested on -force, etc., _in its historical aspect_, this is incorrect unless it -means that, this “historical” aspect giving no explanation of right, -the term “right” is a mere name so far as it is concerned. - -[2] _Cont. Social_, Bk. I., iv. - -[3] I retain Hegel’s paraphrastic rendering of Rousseau’s words. - -[4] _Cont. Social_, Bk. I., iv., cf. p. 89 above. - -[5] Hegel’s italics. - -[6] Anything is “in and for itself” when it has become “_for -itself_,” _i.e._ consciously and explicitly what it is “_in itself_,” -_i.e._ in its latent or potential nature. - -[7] Rousseau’s _Will of All_. - -[8] _i.e._ Anything is free, in as far as it is able to be itself. -Thought, as the embodiment of the return upon oneself or being with -oneself, is for Hegel the strongest case of this. - -[9] _i.e._ By going beyond it. - -[10] _I.e._ Philosophy, by basing itself on the idea of freedom, is -led to scrutinise the life in which mind realises itself, before it -becomes, and on the way to becoming, reflectively philosophical; -and which is therefore “_its own_ freedom”--as one texture with -knowledge--and also a “concrete content,” _i.e._ an actual system -of living, as an object in which mind can find itself expressed--a -relation which = freedom. - -Everyone is familiar, in general terms, with the part played by the -idea of freedom in Kant’s philosophy. It may, however, be of interest -to point out how definitely it comes to him in the form given it by -Rousseau. Omitting the whole subject of Kant’s educational interest, -[1] I will refer to two passages from Kant’s early notes [2] in -connection with the tract on the _Feelings of the Sublime and the -Beautiful_, and two from the _Philosophy of Right_, which first -appeared in the autumn of 1796. - -[1] See Duproix, _Loc. cit_. [2] Between 1765 and 1775. - -First, then, to establish the definite impulse communicated to Kant -in his earlier years by Rousseau in particular. - - “I am myself,” he writes, [1] “a student by inclination. - I feel the whole thirst for knowledge, and the covetous - restlessness that demands to advance in it, and again the - satisfaction of every {242} step of progress. There was a - time when I believed that all this might constitute the - honour of humanity, and I despised the crowd that knows - nothing. It was Rousseau who set me right. That dazzling - privilege disappeared; and I should think myself far less - useful than common artisans if I did not believe that my - line of study might impart value to all others in the way - of establishing the rights of humanity.” - -[1] Kant’s _Werke_ (Rosenkrantz), xi., p. 240. Cf. p. 218. - -Kant seems, from the context, to be foreshadowing the idea of his -critical philosophy, as putting man in his place in the order of -creation. - - “If there is any science,” he says just below, “which man - really needs, it is that which I teach, to fill properly - _that_ place which is assigned to man in creation; a - science from which he can learn what one must be in order - to be human.” - -This throws light on the curious passage in the same set of notes, -[1] where, in a discussion of the idea of Providence, Kant first -refers to Newton’s discovery of order in the multiplicity of the -planetary motions, and then proceeds, - - “Rousseau first discovered, beneath the multiplicity - of the forms assumed by man, the deeply latent nature - of humanity, and the hidden law, according to which - Providence is justified by his observations. Before that - the objection of Alphonsus and of Manes [2] held the - field. After Newton and Rousseau, God is justified, and - henceforwards Pope’s doctrine is true.” - -[1] _Ib_, p. 248. - -[2] The Manichean doctrine. - -“Pope’s doctrine” is no doubt his Leibnitzian optimism, founded on a -supposed insight into man’s true place in creation. [1] Rousseau’s -{243} “discovery,” which Kant here connects with this doctrine, must -be his assertion of man’s natural goodness and freedom, which he -tends to forfeit by departing in civilisation from the place assigned -him by nature. It is clear that Rousseau’s impeachment of literature -and civilisation had at this time made a considerable impression upon -Kant. It is all the more interesting to see Kant retracing, on a very -different scale, the development which Rousseau had initiated, from -natural to social and ethical freedom. - -[1] See passage cited from Kant, just above. - -I subjoin two passages from the _Philosophy of Right_ (1796), -which exhibit this later development, still in its connection with -Rousseau’s phraseology. - - “_The innate Right is one only_.--Freedom (independence - of the constraining will of another), in as far as it can - co-exist with the freedom of every other according to a - universal law, is this unique original right, belonging - to every human being by reason of his humanity.” [1] - -[1] Kant’s _Werke_ (Rosenkrantz), ix. 42. - -An indication of the embodiment of this freedom in the State may be -given as follows: - - “All those three powers in the State (Sovereignty or - the Legislative, the Executive, and the Judicial), are - offices; and, as essential, and necessarily proceeding - from the idea of a State in general with reference to - the establishment (Constitution) of one, are offices - _of State_. They contain the relation of a universal - supreme Power (which, considered according to laws of - freedom, can be no other than the united people), to - the crowd of individuals which compose it _qua_ the - governed; that is, of the ruler (_imperans_) to the - {244} subject (_subditus_). The act whereby the people - constitutes itself into a State, _or strictly speaking - only the idea of that Act, according to which idea alone - the justice of the Act can be conceived_, [1] is _the - original contract_, [2] according to which all (_omnes et - singuli_) of the people surrender their external freedom, - in order at once to receive it back again as members of a - commonwealth, that is, of the people regarded as a State - (_universi_). And one cannot say, The State, or man in - the State, has sacrificed a part of its innate outward - freedom for a certain end; but rather, he has totally - abandoned his wild lawless freedom in order to find his - entire freedom again undiminished in a lawful dependence, - that is, in a condition of right or law; (undiminished), - because this dependence springs from his own legislative - will.” [3] - -[1] The italics are mine. - -[2] Kant’s italics. - -[3] _Ib_., 160 - -It is remarkable, in face of these general views, that both Kant -and Fichte follow Rousseau, for reasons which Kant explains from -the political conditions of the time, in distrusting representative -government. [1] - -[1] _Ib_., 166 (the deputies are practically dependent on the -Ministry). But cf. p. 193, which shows that in a true Republic -the representative system might, according to Kant, be a reality, -and then would be the ideal form. The whole discussion is full of -reference to Rousseau. - -The passage just cited is of course a reproduction of Rousseau’s -view modified by interpretation very much in the sense in which we -interpreted it above. - -3. When we pass to Fichte (whose earlier work upon _Natural Right_ -was published actually before that of Kant), we observe the idea -of contract in the act of transmuting itself, though {245} by an -imperfect transition, into the idea of an organic whole. For Fichte, -the State is a necessary implication of the human self; for a self -involves a society of selves, and law or right is the relation -between selves in a bodily world. And the “contract” on which -citizenship rests, by the fact that it is general, [1] forges an -indiscernible unity of the social whole. In this connection, Fichte -makes the remarkable claim to be first to apply the simile of an -organism to the whole civic relation. I cite an important passage: - - “As far as I know, the idea of the whole of the State - has so far only been established through the ideal - combination of individuals, and thereby the true insight - into the nature of this relation has been cut off.” [2] - -[1] Fichte (_Werke_, iii. 203 ff.) says, “Indeterminate”; viz. -I undertake to aid in protecting whoever is injured. Now, I can -never know (he argues) who in particular is to be benefited by -this undertaking; many are invisibly benefited by it through the -suppression of the injurious will before it comes to be manifest. -Therefore the relation is really organic; every part strives to -conserve every part, because injury to any part may concern any part. -It is the general as indeterminate, really less of a unity than -Rousseau’s “moi commun”. - -[2] Werke, iii. 207. The “ideal combination” = the imaginary contract. - -You must, he urges, not merely have an idea of combination; you must -show a bond of union beyond the idea, or making the idea necessary. - - “In our account this has been achieved. In the notion - of that which is to be protected, in accordance with - the necessary uncertainty _which_ individual will need - the visible protection, and still further, _which_ it - will have advantaged invisibly in the case of a wrongful - will suppressed by the law before its outbreak, all - individuals are forced into unity. - - {246} “The most fitting simile to elucidate this notion - is that of an organised natural product, which has - often been employed in modern times to describe the - different branches of the public power as a unity, but - not, so far as I know, to throw light on the whole civic - relation. Just as, in the natural product, every part - can be what it is only in _this_ combination, and out - of this combination simply would not be this (indeed - outside all organic combination there would simply be - nothing ...): just so it is only in the combination of - the State that man attains a definite position in the - series of things, a point of rest in nature; and each - attains _this determinate_ position towards others, and - towards Nature, only through the fact that he is in - _this determinate_ combination. ... In the organic body - every part continually maintains the whole, and while it - maintains it, is itself maintained thereby; just such is - the citizen’s relation to the State.” - -Here we seem to be back with Plato and Aristotle. We are in fact -too near to Plato; for the distinction between maintenance of the -citizen’s determinate activity, and maintenance of the general -conditions of such activity, being destroyed by Fichte in his desire -to make State action positive and not negative, the conclusion -necessarily arises that the citizen must be secured and maintained in -his definite activity or occupation, and from this springs the notion -of the closed commercial State; “closed” against foreign trade in -order that the government may be able to determine prices and assign -occupations. In other words, the basis of the State is still the Ego -conceived as the individual self; it is not the social good operating -by its own {247} power on intelligent will. And, arising from this -individualism, the precautions which seem necessary to protect and -sustain the individual in his fixed relation to the whole, make -Fichte’s “Closed Commercial State” perhaps the earliest document of -a rigorous State Socialism. Freedom, as he himself recognises to be -_prima facie_ the case, is annihilated by the provisions for its -protection. [1] It is curious to see Rousseau’s phrase “forced to be -free,” [2] which refers in him to the supremacy of law, reappearing -as a defence of the enforcement of leisure time, [3] as though -freedom were not realised in labour and in loyalty. Here is Hegel’s -judgment of the transition we have just been considering. - - “Kant began to found right on freedom, and Fichte too - in his _Natural Right_ made freedom his principle; but - it is, as in Rousseau, the freedom of the particular - individual. This is a great beginning; but in order to - get to particular results they were obliged to accept - presuppositions. The universal (for them) is not the - spirit, the substance of the whole, but the external - mechanical negative power against individuals. ... The - individuals remain always hard and negative against one - another; the prison-house, the bonds, become ever more - oppressive, instead of the State being apprehended as the - realisation of freedom.” [4] - -[1] Fichte, _Nachgelassene Werke_, ii. 535. - -[2] _Ibid_., 537. - -[3] Of course such enforcement may have justification. - -[4] Hegel, _Geschichte der Philosophie_, iii. 576. The idea of -organism was thus mechanically apprehended. - -4. To apprehend the State as the realisation of freedom was the aim -of Hegel’s _Philosophy of Right_, which has perhaps been more grossly -misrepresented {247} than any work of a great political philosopher, -excepting Plato’s _Republic_. - -Popular criticism will tell us that Hegel found his ideal in the -Prussian bureaucracy, and will further hint that his doing so was -to his advantage. Such suggestions imply two misapprehensions, -for one of which Hegel’s tactlessness was responsible, while the -other depends on a genuine difficulty attending any philosophical -analysis of society. I will try to throw light on each of these -misapprehensions. - -_(a)_ If Hegel had wished to have a partisan tendency attributed to -his book, he could not have timed it better nor written a preface -more certain to mislead. In 1820, when the book was published, the -minds both of governments and of peoples were full of irritation. -The anti-constitutional reaction had recently declared itself. [1] -The demonstration at the Wartburg, celebrating the anniversary -of the Reformation, and of the Battle of Leipzig, took place in -October, 1817. The unaccountable change in the ideas of the Czar from -Liberalism to reaction took place, we are assured, [2] in June, 1818. -The murder of Kotzebue, a Russian agent, reactionary journalist, and -decayed dramatist, took place in March, 1819. Kotzebue seems to have -been popularly credited with perverting the views of the Czar. His -assassination had an effect in no way related to his real importance. -Hardenberg, the Prussian minister, exclaimed on hearing of it that -a Prussian constitution had now become impossible. Innocent persons -{249} were arrested in Prussia at Metternich’s instigation, and -private papers were seized and published in a garbled form. The -publication of Hegel’s book with a preface attacking Fries for some -expressions used by him at the Wartburg festival, took place, as we -said, in 1820, and Hegel had moved from Heidelberg to Berlin, having -obtained the honour of a Berlin professorship, in 1818. Small wonder -that “it was pointed out that the new professor was a favourite of -the leading minister, that his influence was dominant in scholastic -appointments, and that occasional gratuities from the Crown proved -his acceptability,” or that Fries remarked that Hegel’s theory of the -State had grown, “not in the garden of science, but on the dunghill -of servility.” [3] Hegel himself “was aware that he had planted a -blow in the face of a shallow and pretentious sect, and that his book -had given great offence to the demagogic folk.” [4] - -[1] See Fyffe’s _History of Modern Europe_, vol. II., ch. ii. - -[2] Fyffe, _Loc. cit_. - -[3] Wallace, _Hegel’s Philosophy of Mind_, p. clxxix. - -[4] Wallace, _Loc. cit_. - -And yet, so far as the essence of Hegel’s political philosophy is -concerned, there is nothing in all this. The first sketch of the -_Philosophy of Right_ was published in the _Encyclopaedia of the -Philosophical Sciences_ in 1817, before Hegel left Heidelberg. His -political interest, in its gradual development, can be traced back -in unpublished writings to 1802. [1] He started from the conception -of the Greek State, on which his early sketch of the ethical system -(1802, unpublished in his lifetime) was founded. And his subsequent -development consisted in enlarging this conception by drawing out -its framework to include the more {250} accented freedom of modern -life, as he divined it from the attentive study both of English and -of German politics. His substantive political theory never changed, -except by development, in accordance with his general attitude -towards the differences between Greek and modern life. - -[1] See Wallace, _Op. cit_., clxxx. and clxxxvii. - -_(b)_ “But,” popular criticism will rejoin, “here we have Hegel’s -ideal State, depicted by his own hand, and it is pretty much the -Prussian State of his time, tempered by a few references to English -politics. Is not this a narrow horizon and a low ideal?” This -criticism is of value, because it leads up to an important feature of -true political theory. - -To depict what most people call “an ideal State” is no more the -object of political philosophy than it is the object, say, of -Carpenter’s _Human Physiology_ to depict an “ideal” man or an angel. -The object of political philosophy is to understand what a State is, -and it is not necessary for this purpose that the State which is -analysed should be “ideal,” but only that it should be a State; just -as the nature of life is represented pretty nearly as well by one -living man as by another. - - “Every State,” [1] Hegel says, “even if your principles - lead you to pronounce it bad, even if you detect this - or that deficiency in it, always has (especially if - it belongs to the more developed States of our time) - the essential moments of its existence in it. But - because it is easier to discover defects than to grasp - the affirmative, people easily fall into the error of - allowing particular aspects to lead them to forget the - inner organism {251} of the State. The State is no work - of art, it stands in the world, that is, in the sphere - of caprice, accident, and error; evil behaviour is able - to mar it in many respects. But the ugliest human being, - a criminal, a sick man, or a cripple, is all the same a - living human being; the affirmative, his life, persists - in spite of the defect, and this affirmative is what we - are concerned with here.” - -[1] _Phil. d. Rechts_, p. 313. - -Of course, no comparison is quite precise, and it may be urged that -the State is more artificial than a human body. However this may -be, [1] we shall at least understand Hegel’s attitude better, and, -as I venture to think, adopt by far the most fruitful standpoint -for ourselves, if we look at political philosophy like one who is -trying to ascertain what is the nature of human life as he observes -it in any or every human body. If the life is there, its essentials -are there, and his aim is to understand them. No doubt a door is -here opened to argument with regard to what logicians call a “pure -case.” In understanding life “as such,” you must, it would seem, -purge out its mere defects, in regard to which it is not “life,” and -the remainder, what you pledge yourself to as essential, must be _ex -hypothesi_ your “ideal” of life. And perhaps there is no reason to -reject this responsibility if confined to the emphasis of elements -and interconnection of facts. It cannot apply to more. - -[1] The comment will probably betray the type of pessimism indicated -by Rousseau. See p. 95 above. - -We cannot construct an ideal body by reducing life, nor an ideal -polity by reducing mind, to its pure case or essentials, since we -cannot construct {252} organisms [1] or history at all. And it is -because this is always being forgotten that the duty of understanding -rather than constructing has to be insisted upon. It is true that in -understanding, as in constructing, we imply essential relations, and -so incur responsibility, and are liable to betray a bias; but still, -life can be understood by help of any creature that is alive, and -therefore it is not the example with which the student works, but the -insight which he shows, that is the decisive point. - -[1] “No human mind has ever conceived a new animal.” Ruskin, _Modern -Painters_, ii. 148. - -4. We have to begin by realising what is involved in the fact that -we are about to treat the analysis of a Modern State as a chapter -in the _Philosophy of Mind_. For Hegel’s _Philosophy of Right_ -(or of _Law_), though published by him as an independent work, is -essentially an expansion of paragraphs which form one sub-division of -his _Philosophy of Mind_, itself the third and concluding portion of -the _Encyclopaedia of Philosophy_, of which the two earlier portions -are the _Logic_ and the _Philosophy of Nature_. - -We saw in the second chapter of the present work that the mere -force of facts has driven modern sociologists to handle their -science in a more or less intimate connection with Psychology. The -differentia of society, we saw, has been stated in various formulae -of a psychological character. But it seemed to us that, owing to a -neglect of the logic of identity, the nature of mind was broken up -by such unreal distinctions as that between invention and imitation, -varied by the unreal {253} reduction of the one to the other, [1] -and also that an unexplained separation and parallelism survived as -between the individual and the social mind, bearing witness to the -vitality of the superstition which Rousseau’s insight picked out for -condemnation. [2] We do not deny that mind may be more than social; -but in as far as it is social it is still real mind, and that means -that it is not something other than what we know as individual lives, -[3] a pale and unreal reflection of them, but it is a characteristic -which belongs to their most intimate constitution. This was Plato’s -analysis of moral autonomy, and his work remains classically valid, -needing only expansion and interpretation in applying it to modern -free intelligence and social self-government. - -[1] Prof. Baldwin, _Social and Ethical Interpretation_, p. 105, at -least suggests this unreal reduction. - -[2] See p. 95 above. - -[3] “Lives,” and not merely “consciousnesses,” as objective mind is -largely in the form of habit. - -The position of the analysis of a State in the _Philosophy of Mind_ -may be briefly indicated as follows. When we embark on the study of -ordinary Psychology, we take the individual human being as we find -him to-day. We accept him as a formed individual, distinguishing -himself from external things, and possessing what we call a will--a -capacity of seeking his own satisfaction, which he represents to -himself in general ideas by the help of language. We analyse the -self and will with their aspects of memory, attention, association, -impulse, and emotion. But all modern psychologists are aware that -this formed self and will has much history behind it, and presupposes -a long genesis connecting it with simpler forms of {254} soul-life. -Hegel, indeed, was among the first in modern times to see how far -back the story of mind must be taken. The human intelligence, as the -psychologist assumes it, is for him a middle phase in the romance of -which mind is the hero. Before it come the chapters of Anthropology, -which treat of the fixation of a soul in the disciplined powers and -habits of a human body, and then the account [1] of a consciousness -which gradually rises from a struggling perception of objects around -it to a moral and scientific certainty of being at home in the world. - -[1] For this account, to which he has devoted perhaps the greatest -of his works, Hegel has coined the term “Phenomenology of the Mind.” -It is the history of the emergence of the free or modern spirit from -the undeveloped consciousness of the ancient world, to which, for -instance, slavery seemed a natural thing. - -The story of mind, then, begins long before the free mind, the object -of Psychology to-day, has appeared on the scene. And as to this there -would be no great difference of opinion. The peculiarity of Hegel’s -treatment is that his romance of the intelligence not only begins -long before the phase of free mind is reached, but continues long -after. Investigation can no more stop at the individual of to-day -than it can begin with him. His “mind” is not a separable entity, -and throughout the story no such entity has appeared. It has been -convenient for Hegel to treat the earlier division of the _Philosophy -of Mind_, comprising the Anthropology, Phenomenology, [1] and -Psychology, as dealing _par excellence_ with Mind Subjective. This is -because its main purpose was to trace the growth of “subjectivity,” -the emergence of the man of full mental {255} stature, aware -of himself, of his ideas and purposes, and confident in his -“subjectivity” his self-hood against all comers. - -[1] See previous note. - -But the following division of the work, under the title of Mind -Objective, deals with a necessary implication which might have been -noted at any point of the entire history of consciousness, though at -any earlier point it could have been treated as referring to mind -only by anticipation. - -Here, however, the problem can no longer be deferred. The “free -mind” does not explain itself and cannot stand alone. Its impulses -cannot be ordered, or, in other words, its purposes cannot be -made determinate, except in an actual system of selves. Except by -expressing itself in relation to an ordered life, which implies -others, it cannot exist. And, therefore, not something additional and -parallel to it, which might or might not exist, but a necessary form -of its own action as real and determinate, is the actual fabric in -which it utters itself as Society and the State. This is what Hegel -treats in the second division of the _Philosophy of Mind_ under the -name of Mind Objective. It is not for him ultimate. A particular -society stands in time, and is open to criticism and to destruction. -Beyond it lies the reality, continuous with mind as known in the -State, but eternal as the former is perishable, which as Absolute -Mind is open to human experience in Art, Religion, and Philosophy. - -We will pursue in the following chapter Hegel’s analysis of the -modern State as Mind Objective, a magnified edition, so to speak, -of Plato’s _Republic_, bringing before the eye in full detail -distinctions and articulations which were there invisible. - - - - -{256} - -CHAPTER X. - -THE ANALYSIS OF A MODERN STATE. HEGEL’S “PHILOSOPHY OF RIGHT.” - -1. We are about to analyse a modern State into groups of facts which -are also ways of thinking. And a question may arise in what sense the -connection is to be understood which will be alleged to bind together -these groups of facts or points of view. When it is urged that group -_b_ or view _b_ is suggested and made necessary by the shortcomings -of group _a_ or view _a_, does this imply that group a or its idea -came into existence first, and group _b_ or the notion of it sprang -up subsequently or as an effect of the former? And could such a -relation be reasonably maintained as between the component parts of a -unity like the State? - -An answer may be indicated as follows. We are dealing, in society -and in the State, with an _ideal fact_. As a fact, a form of life, -society has always been a many-sided creature, meeting the varied -needs of human nature by functions no less varied. As an ideal fact, -however, its advance has partaken of the nature of theoretical -progress. In the continuous attempt to deal satisfactorily {257} with -the needs of intelligent beings, the mind, the intelligent will, has -thrown itself with predominant interest now into one of its functions -and now into another. And this has not been a chance order of march. -Obviously, what it has emphasised and modified in the second place -has depended both positively and negatively on what it had emphasised -and modified in the first place. Positively, because when one step is -thoroughly secured the next may be definitely attempted. Negatively, -because the definite attainment of one step exposes the limitations -of what has been achieved, and the need for another. At every stage -the will is dissatisfied with the expression of itself which it has -created. Till some public order has been established, morality can -hardly find expression; but when a legal system is thoroughly in -force it becomes apparent how far the letter may fall short of the -spirit. We see the same action of intelligence in pure theory. Every -conquest of science leads to a new departure. It suggests it by its -success, and demands it by its failure. - -Now, in science it may or may not be the case that the connection -which has led to a discovery enters permanently as a discernible -factor into the structure of knowledge. The re-organisation of -experience may sweep away the steps which led to it. But in the -living fact of society this is not so. Its many sides are actual and -persist, and the emphasis laid from time to time on the principle -of each--_e.g._ on positive law, on family ties, on economic -bonds--merely serves to accent an element which has its permanent -place in the whole. Thus, there must always be family ties and -economic bonds. But at one time everything tends to be construed -{258} in terms of kinship, at another time in terms of exchange. -And the tendency means a difference of actual balance between the -functions as well as a different theory. The positive and negative -connection of elements like these, the true place and limit of each, -is permanently rooted in human nature, but may be elucidated by the -explicit logic of their attempt and failure to give the tone to the -whole social fabric. It follows that the social whole grows, like -a great theory, in adequacy to the needs which are its facts; and -the dissatisfaction of the will with its own expression, in other -words, the contradictions which practical intelligence is continually -attempting to remove, becomes more like suggestion than flat -contradiction--or change, as we say, becomes less revolutionary. It -may seem to be a difference between the social whole and a scientific -theory that the former, as it grows, creates new difficulties, by -creating new and freshly contradictory matter, as in the social -problems of civilisation; while the latter, as we imagine, deals with -an unchanging experience. But this distinction is less true than it -appears, and the comparison with the growth of a theory will always -throw light on the true nature of the will and its continuous effort -to satisfy itself. - -2. Right or Law may be taken in the widest sense as including the -whole manifestation of Will in an actual world--“the actual body of -all the conditions of freedom,” [1] “the realm of realised freedom, -the world of mind produced out of itself, as a second nature.” [2] It -is a merit of the German {259} term “_Recht_” [3] that it maintains -the connection between the law and the spirit of law, [4] and almost -of itself prohibits the separation between positive law, and will, -custom or sentiment, which underlies such a theory as Austin’s. - -[1] Hegel, _Philos. of Mind_ (E. Tr.), p. 104. Cf. defs. quoted from -Green, p. 203 above. - -[2] _Rechtsphil_., sect. 4. - -[3] Cf. the Greek’s idea of “_nomos_.” - -[4] See ch. ii. above on Montesquieu and Rousseau. - -This whole sphere of Right or Law, the mind as actualised in Society -and the State, naturally divides itself on the principle which has -just been explained, into three connected groups of ideal facts -or points of view. The first, or simplest and most inevitable, of -these, may be called the “letter of the law” as we come upon it most -especially in the law of property--Shylock’s law--the sheer fact, as -it seems, that the world is appropriated by legal “persons.” - -The second, obviously conditioned by the first both positively and -negatively, may be described as the morality of conscience; the -revolt of the will against the letter of the law, though this was -its own direct expression of itself (_e.g._ in taking things as -property); and its demand to recognise as right nothing but what -springs from itself as the good will. - -And thirdly, there is the reality or concrete experience in which -the two former sets of facts, or ideas, find their true place and -justification--the completed theory, so to speak, which adjusts and -explains the narrower views founded on one-sided contact with life. -This is indicated to consist in “social observance,” or “ethical use -and wont”; the system of working mind where the true will appears as -incarnate in a way of living. This, {260} like the others, it must -be remembered, is a fact, though akin to a theory. Not only does it -explain and justify the other factors, but its existence has enabled -them to exist, as theirs has also been essential to it. And yet each -of the three, as one aspect of society which under certain influences -may catch the eye, has at times claimed--is, indeed, constantly -claiming--predominance, and has thus brought into relief its own -defects and the need of the complementary ideas. We will speak of -these moods of mind or kinds of experience in their order, expecting -a further sub-division when we come to treat of the third. - -3. “Law,” then, in the directest possible sense--the minimum sense, -so to speak--is the hard literal fact that it is a rule of the -world we live in for things to be appropriated by persons. This is -the first or minimum change of the world from mere matter into the -instruments of mind, and it is a necessary change. Things have no -will of their own, and it is by having a will asserted upon them that -they become organs of life. In the same way, it is by assertion in -external things that the will first becomes a fact in the material -world. Property is “the first reality of freedom.” [1] It is not -the mere provision for wants, but the material counterpart of will. -Contract belongs to this sphere, the sphere of property. It is an -agreement of persons about an external thing--a “common will,” but -not one “general” or “universal” in its own nature like that involved -in the State. - -[1] _Rechtsphil_., sect. 41. Not, in its developed form, the first -in time. Hegel lays stress on the fact that true, free, property was -hardly realised even in his own day. - -{261} Thus, it is a confusion of spheres to apply the idea of -contract to the State, for the State is an imperative necessity of -man’s nature as rational, while contract is a mere agreement of -certain free persons about certain external things. The idea of the -social contract is a confusion of the same type as that by which -public rights and functions were treated as private property in the -middle age. The attributes of private property are nothing more than -the conditions of “personal” existence, and absurdity results if they -are transferred to functions of the State. - -This phase or view of law as, in its letter, an ultimate and absolute -rule, may be illustrated, Hegel says, by the Stoic notion that there -is only one virtue and one vice; by the Draconic conception that -every offence demands the extreme penalty; and by “the barbarity -of the formal code of honour, which found in every injury an -unpardonable insult.” It might also be illustrated by Austin’s theory -of law as a command enforced by a penalty; or by the theories which -account for property simply by the fact of occupancy or of labour -mixed with the thing. The common point of all these views is that -they treat the law, not as a part of a living system, [1] ultimately -resting on the will to maintain a certain type of life, but as -something absolute in its separateness, and equally sacred in all its -accidents and inequalities. - -[1] See _e.g._ above, p. 232, how the idea of a system of rights may -modify punishment. - -Now, this emphasis and idea of law, being the exaggeration of a -single and direct necessity, the {262} necessity of order and -property, may be called “primitive” or barbarous, but it cannot of -course be identified with the earliest state of social authority -known to history or to anthropology. There we should probably find -law undifferentiated from custom and from religious sentiment, -and consequently, though rigid enough, not in any such one-sided -absoluteness as we have been describing. All we can say is that -this is the way in which law must come to be regarded whenever its -living spirit is forgotten, and an unreal absoluteness is assigned -to it; and this connection of principle verifies itself as a fact in -recurrent historical phenomena, and in fallacies which perpetually -reappear. - -4. Within the whole fabric of right or realised will, the element -which naturally asserts itself by antagonism to the letter of the -law is the morality of conscience, conscientiousness, or the idea of -the Good Will. It is connected with the letter of the law, as Hegel -puts it, by the various degrees of wrong. The will, that is to say, -finds itself at variance in or with [1] the order of law and property -which it has created as its direct and necessary step to freedom. Its -realised theory, so to speak, is found to break down at a certain -point, by being in contradiction with the needs which it was created -to meet. “_Summum jus, summa injuria_”. We may object that the -anti-legal will is simply wrong. This may be so, and again it may -not be so. What the will has awakened to, whether right or wrong, is -{263} that it can acquiesce in nothing which does not come home to it -as fulfilling its own principle. What so comes home to it is what it -calls “good,” and it cannot accept any order or necessity which it -cannot will as good, _i.e._ as satisfying its own idea. - -[1] “In it,” when my will does not conflict with right as such, but -claims the right in an object A to be mine and not yours--a civil -dispute. “With it,” when my will rebels, and by its act, so far as -in it lies, denies and destroys the whole fabric of right, _e.g._ -takes the object A, without alleging a right to it--theft, a criminal -offence, cf. p. 230. - -When this phase of reaction is pushed to its logical extreme, we -have the modern doctrine of my conscience and my pure will. It is -the conflict of the inner self with the outer world, expressed in -history through the Stoic and through some forms of the Christian -consciousness (especially the Protestant consciousness), and in -philosophy through the Kantian doctrine of the good will, uttered in -the famous sentence, “Nothing can possibly be conceived in the world -or out of it which can be called good without qualification except -a good will.” [1] Nothing is worth doing but _what_ one ought, and -_because_ one ought. - -[1] Kant, _Grundlegung zur Metaphysik d. Sitten_, sect. I. - -The criticism to which this principle has been subjected is familiar -to students of ethics. Its point is, in brief, that there is no way -of connecting any particular action with the mere idea of a pure -will. The forms assumed by evasions of this difficulty, which we fall -into when we desire wholly to separate the inner from the outer, or -the “ought” from the “is,” are treated by Hegel with unsurpassable -vigour and subtlety, as indeed the annihilating criticism of this -conception is primarily due to him. The essence of the matter is -that the pure will directed towards good for the sake of good, -having no real connection with any detailed conduct, may be alleged -by self-deception in support of any behaviour whatever, and out of -this may spring the {264} whole sophistry and hypocrisy of “pure -intention.” He makes the shrewd observation, [1] which is still of -interest, that the extreme Protestant doctrine of conscience may take -the form of ethical vacuity or instability, and that this had in his -time been the cause of many Protestants going over to Rome, to secure -some sort of moorings, if not precisely the stability of thought. - -[1] _Rechtsphil_., sect. 141. - -Still, out of all this one-sidedness, there survives the permanent -necessity that an intelligent being can acquiesce only in what -enters into the object of his will. It is his will which affirms the -aim to which his nature draws him, and he is absolutely debarred -from reposing in anything which does not appeal to his will. The -subjective will is the only soil on which freedom can be a reality. - -So, within the general organism of Right or realised Free-will, we -have found two opposite groups of facts--for the aspirations of -intelligent beings are facts--or tendencies or theories, which are -connected by opposition, and yet are necessary to the expression of -the same underlying need--the letter of the law, and the freedom of -conscience. - -5. Hegel’s name for the third term, which, as he puts it, expresses -the “truth” of these extremes, may be rendered “the Ethical System,” -or “the Moral Life,” or “Social Ethics.” It expresses “the truth” of -the extremes, as a good theory may express the truth of two one-sided -views. Only, as we have said, it is a fact as well as a theory, and -therefore is something which actually contains what these two views -demand, and does the work which they, and the facts they rely on, -{265} exhibit as necessary to be done. This relation is not obscure -or unprecedented. Every institution, every life, works as a theory, -and either masters its facts or fails to master them; though not -every theory is a life or an institution. - -The German word which the above-mentioned phrases attempt to render -is “_Sittlichkeit_” The word takes its meaning from “_Sitte_” which -in common usage is equivalent to “custom.” Hegel’s use of the -term, in his later writings, as opposed to “_Moralität_” and as -indicating, in comparison with it, a fuller and truer phase of life, -is an intentional declaration of war against the Kantian principle -of the pure good will, and is the gist of Hegel’s ethico-political -view in a nutshell. The word would most naturally apply to the -life of a community in which law, custom, and sentiment were not -yet very sharply distinguished. According to accepted views, the -communities of ancient Greece, before they were stirred by the -reflective movement which is associated with the names of Socrates -and the Sophists, would be examples of a disposition and order of -life which the word “_Sittlichkeit_” might denote. And it was in -the Greek communities, as is shown by the work which he sketched -as early as 1802, [1] that Hegel found this suggestion of a whole -in which law and custom, duty and disposition, were absolutely at -one. He subsequently modified the conception in accordance with the -modern idea of freedom, by allowing a greater emphasis and relief to -its {266} component parts, and insisting (against Plato’s _Republic_ -for instance,) on the principle of individual choice, initiative, -and property, as necessary to the complete communion of intelligent -beings. As we have just seen, indeed, he introduces reflective -morality or conscientiousness into the sphere of Right, to represent -the full nature of mind, which is only exhibited in a consciousness -which pursues its aims of its own choice and for their own sake. - -[1] The _System d. Sittlichkeit_. The _Rechtsphil_. was not published -till 1817, in its earliest form. See Wallace, _Hegel’s Philosophy of -Mind_, p. 187. - -The Ethical System, then, or Social Ethics, is put forward as the -ideal fact which includes, and does the work of both the literal law -and the moral will, alike in practice and as a theory. It is the idea -of freedom developed (i.) into a present world, and (ii.) into the -nature of self-consciousness. - -For (i.), in the first place, the ethical system, or the ways of -acting which make up social ethics, constitute a present and actual -world. So far it partakes of the nature of the literal law and order, -the system of property-holding, which, as we have seen, is all but -a natural fact. Social Ethic, we might say, _is_ a physical fact. -The bodily habits and external actions of a people incorporate it. -It transforms the face of a country, “domesticating the untamed -earth.” [1] Each individual has his own bodily existence in a -determinate mode as a part of the ethical life of society. The rules -and traditions of ethical living are, as has been said, “the nature -of things.” They are as hard, as “objective” an order as “sun, -moon, mountains, rivers, and all objects of nature.” [2] Man lives -according to them before he knows that he {267} does so, and always, -in a great degree, independently of knowing that he does so. As this -group of facts, or considered from this point of view, the ethical -system is the body of the moral world. - -[1] Aeschylus, _Eumenides_, I. 14. [2] _Rechtsphil_., sect. 146. - -(ii.) But it is also and no less the very nature of -self-consciousness. It is as much a demand of man’s intelligence -or an inner and universal law as the “pure will” itself. [1] The -difference between them is that the Ethical System is a _system_, -a world, though from the point of view of will regarded as inner, -that is to say, as something which is the motive and fulfills the -demand of consciousness. Thus, it bears the character of a thoroughly -systematised theory, as contrasted with the idea of a good will, -which is a mere general point of view. And it is because of this -systematic character that it is enabled to connect the individual -or particular will with the universal spirit of the community. It -is only in a system that a particular fact can be connected with -a universal law, as the planetary motions are with the law of -gravitation. The particular will, as we have explained above, is -universalised by its relation to a systematic purpose which it partly -implies and partly realises. A man wishes for this thing or that -thing, but not at any price. The reservations to which his wish is -subject, by reason of other purposes and postulates of life, are -known to him only in part; but if they could be stated in full, they -would constitute the system of his life as realised in the universal -life of the community. It is precisely {268} analogous to the process -which a common judgment of perception has to go through in becoming a -scientific truth--the implications have to be stated in full, and the -perception modified in accordance with them. And when this is done, -we have no longer a fact, but a science. - -[1] On all this portion of the subject, see Mr. Bradley’s Essay, “My -Station and its Duties,” in _Ethical Studies_. - -Regarded from this point of view, as the substance of the individual -Will, the Ethical System is the Soul of the moral world. - -In analysing the Ethical System, we shall say nothing of “duties” -or “virtues.” Duty is in each case what the relation requires--the -attachment of the universal system of will to the individual life. -Virtue is a habit of such action, considered as embodied in the -nature of an individual. The idea of virtue and virtuousness is not, -in Hegel’s view, altogether suitable to the members of an ethical -commonwealth. It belongs rather to a time of undeveloped social life, -when ethical principles and the realisation of them are ascribed to -the nature of peculiarly gifted individuals. Virtue or excellence, to -the Greek moralist, for instance, suggested doing something better -than the average, or being in some way specially gifted, and it is -still apt to indicate the desire to be some thing exceptional, and -not simply to find yourself in genuine service. The meaning of the -words to-day tends to narrow itself to certain special relations, and -does not indicate that life of the member in the whole, which is the -essence of what we really value. - -The Ethical System, or the Order of Social Ethics, then--the mind and -conduct of the citizen in Christendom--may be regarded as affirming -freedom {269} in three principal aspects, necessarily connected, and -supplementing one another. Outwardly these aspects are different -groups of facts--different institutions; inwardly they are different -moods or dispositions of the one and indivisible human mind. - -Thus, Hegel’s analysis regards the social whole or system of social -ethics from three points of view. First, in respect of the Family; -secondly, in respect of what he has entitled Bourgeois Society; and -thirdly, in respect of the Political Organism, or the State in the -strict sense. - -It is to be borne in mind that, like the three principal divisions in -the sphere of Right, these headings represent explicit theories of -society, as well as groups of facts. - -6. Beginning once more, within an ordered social sphere, at the -ethical factor which stands nearest to the natural world, and has -taken, so to speak, the minimum step into the realm of purpose and -consciousness, we start from the family. As the family exists in a -modern civilised community, it is something necessary to society and -the State, but absolutely distinct from both. - -It first _(a)_ represents the _fact_ of the natural basis of social -relations, being the embodiment of natural feeling in the form of -love, both as between the parents, and as embodied for them in the -children. It is in accordance with Hegel’s general views of the -meaning of a system that he sees this element of mind primarily -represented by the family, as an organ preserved and differentiated -_ad hoc_, and not, or not merely, distributed indefinitely throughout -the community. Thus, the modern family represents for him a higher -stage {270} of civilisation--an organ to a fuller embodiment of -mind--than the clan or tribe, or, in short, than any form of -community in which the _whole_ bond of union rests on merely natural -feeling, kindness, generosity, or affection. In the nation, indeed, -a tinge of natural affection, a colouring of unity by kinship, -survives, just as feeling runs through the experience of the -individual mind. But the distinctive character of the State is clear -intelligence, explicit law and system, and so the natural basis of -feeling, though necessary to be preserved and spiritualised, achieves -these needs in the family as a special organ, and not in the State as -such. - -All those theories, therefore, which tend to assimilate the State to -a family by a sort of levelling down of the former or levelling up of -the latter (Plato’s _Republic_, the phalanstery, paternal government, -and the like) involve for Hegel a mere confusion of relations. They -recognise an element which is essential to society, and may truly -be said to be even its foundation. But they do not see its right -place in the whole, and do not understand that in order to attain a -stronger and deeper unity (which is, in short, a stronger and deeper -mind) the different elements must be allowed a greater emphasis and -relief, and their respective characteristics must not be slurred or -scamped. - -But _(b)_ in the second place, the family is a factor in the rational -whole, the State, though its function _par excellence_ is that of -the natural basis of society. Hence its nature and sanction is -ethical--it rests neither on mere feeling on {271} the one hand, -nor on mere contract on the other. It has a public side, and the -acceptance of a universal obligation by a declaration in explicit -language (language being the stamp of the universal), in face of the -community, is an essential part of marriage, and not a mere accident -or accessory, as the votaries of feeling have urged. This view is -aimed against the confusion which finds the sole essence of marriage -in feeling. This is a perpetually recurring contention, represented -in Hegel’s day by Friedrich von Schlegel’s _Lucinde_, which argues -that the form of marriage destroys the value of passion. Hegel’s -analyses are everywhere directed against this inability to grasp the -distinct sides of a many-sided fact. - -_(c)_ The ethical aspect of the family [1] shows itself in the nature -and organisation of the household, as an institution embodying -permanent interests and relations of the two persons who are its -head, and as an organ of public duties in the bodily and spiritual -nurture of the children. The permanent and equal relation of the -heads of the household, involved in its nature as the ethical aspect -of the family, implies monogamy, and it is the monogamous family -alone which can count as a true element of the ethical order. - -[1] Cf. Green’s _Principles of Political Obligation_, p. 235. - -_(d)_ The household, being the true and operative ethical organ -which makes parentage into family, is the unit which demands to be -respected and protected by the State against the less differentiated -forms of consanguinity, such as the clan. The true family starts -from marriage and the foundation of a household, and in the early -{272} development of law we find the State, with a just instinct, -protecting the household against the clan, _e.g._ by conferring the -power of bequest. This power, though now it may imply a discretion -mainly hostile to the family, presented itself in early law rather -as a means of perpetuating the separate household as against the -pretensions of the clan to interfere with its property. - -Thus, the monogamous family is naturally and necessarily, to some -extent, a unit in respect of property; the children, at least, being -inevitably under tutelage and incapable of self-support, even if -economic equality asserts itself as between husband and wife. This -peculiar relation in respect of property is rooted in the unique -nature of the household, as an organ for the guardianship of immature -lives, and as a unity of feeling rather than of explicit thought. It -is noticeable that progress tends to introduce the distinctions of -property within its unity [1] (though for children this can never go -very far), and very slightly to introduce the relations of the family -into the outside world. In as far as such distinctions come to be -made, the nature and functions of the household being undisturbed, a -somewhat higher intensity of ethical union is rendered necessary, and -will no doubt assert itself. - -[1] Married Women’s Property, Protection of Earnings of Children, -Property assigned by understanding within household to young children. - -7. When the man (or woman [1]) arrives at maturity and leaves the -safe harbour of the family, he finds himself, _prima facie_, isolated -in a world {273} of conflicting self-interests. He has his living -to make, or his property to administer. He is tied to others, in -appearance, only by the system of wants and work, with the elementary -function which is necessary to it, viz. its police functions and the -administration of justice. - -[1] Hegel would say only or chiefly the man, who is for him the -natural earner and chief of the household. - -It is this phase of social life, and the temper or disposition -corresponding to it, which Hegel indicates by the expression -Bourgeois Society. [1] It presents itself to him as the opposite -extreme of life and mind to that embodied in the family. It is an -aggregate of families--for the units of the Bourgeois Society are -heads of households--as seen from the outside, in the great system -of industry and business, where a man has to find his work and do -it. It is, in mind, the presence of definite though limited aims, -calculation and self-interest. [2] - -[1] _Bürgerliche Gesellschaft_. “Society,” Wallace points out, is -here opposed to “community,” and indicates a looser phase of union. - -[2] Cf. the merchant in Wilhelm Meister’s _Lehrjahre_, viii. 2. “I -can assure you that I never reflected on the State in my life. My -tolls, charges, and dues I have paid for no other reason than that it -was established usage” (cited from Wallace, _Hegel’s Philosophy of -Mind_, p. cci.). - -Bourgeois Society is the aspect of the social whole insisted on by -the classical political economy, by which, as an achievement in -the way of reducing complex appearances to principles, Hegel was -much impressed. It is, again, the view of society embodied in the -conception of the purely police State, and its principle is confused -with that of the State proper by one set of theorists, as that of the -family is by another. - -It is the peculiarity of Hegel’s view--probably {274} the most -definitely original, as it is the most famous, of all his political -ideas--to contend that this aspect of society, with the form of -consciousness belonging to it, is necessary to a modern State. -According to his logic, indeed, it is inevitable that every true -whole shall have an aspect of “difference,” of breaking up into -particulars. - -The principle of the ancient State, as concentratedly expressed in -Plato’s _Republic_, was weak and undeveloped, and fell short of the -true claims of intelligence, [1] just because it dared not really let -the individual go--let him assert himself as himself. “Subjectivity” -was a principle fatal to it. Not that there was an iron oppression -in the States of antiquity. The individual was, for an onlooker, -magnificently developed. His limitations were in him, and did not -oppress him; but for all that, free choice and the career open to -talents were not for him. - -[1] “Was not ideal enough” (Hegel, _Geschichte der Philosophie_, -ii. 254). The “notion” for him necessarily involves identity, -differentiation, and re-integration; and in this respect the ancient -State falls short of a true notion, while the modern realises it. - -The modern demand--such is Hegel’s conception--is harder and higher. -The individual’s life is not predetermined by his birth, but he is -thrown face to face with economic necessity, which is a form of the -universal end. He has to strip off his crudeness and vanity, and, of -himself, mould himself into something which fulfils a want. This is -a step without which there can be no true freedom--the giving one’s -self by one’s own act a definite place in the region of external -necessity, the “becoming _something_” or attaching oneself to {275} -a definite class of service renderers. Thus, we are startled to -find culture or education treated in general, and in respect of -its indispensableness, under the head of the Bourgeois Society. -For culture is the liberation from one’s own caprices, and the -acceptance of a universal task. It is a severe process, and therefore -unpopular, but it is a necessary one if we are to have true freedom. -The criticism that such a world and temper is the world and temper -of self-interest does not appeal strongly to Hegel. We shall have to -treat of it more fully below. [1] - -[1] See p. 291. - -It may be noted in passing that the insecurity of life, which may -seem to attach to dependence on the vast system of wants and work, -is more and more seen, as modern economic relations develop, not to -be insecurity at all, except in as far as “culture” in the form of -industrial training is absent. There is, indeed, in modern life, -nowhere any absolute and oyster-like stability. The highest stability -to be anywhere attained is that due to fitness for service in the -interdependent system of needs. [1] - -[1] I may refer to _The Standard of Life_, by H. Bosanquet, essay on -“_Klassenkampf_”. - -Therefore, as Hegel saw, but in more ways than he saw, the system -of Bourgeois Society--the economic and industrial world--is not a -separate reality, but only an appearance within a larger system. -The member of it is not so detached as he may seem, or think. He is -within, and sustained by, the general life of the State, as the aims -which are his motives in “business” or industry are within {276} and -inseparable from the whole structure of his intelligence. - -Thus, the world of Bourgeois Society--a world, on the whole, of cash -nexus and mere protection by the State--has a structure or tendency -of its own which brings it back by necessary steps to connection with -the State proper or explicit and determinate social unity. It is, -we must observe, posterior to the State in time. It is only within -the State proper, and resting on its solid power, that such a world -as that of Bourgeois Society could arise or be conceivable. Its -priority to the State is, like that of the family, the priority of -comparative narrowness or simplicity, of dealing with fewer factors, -and of representing human nature in a more special, though necessary, -aspect. And for this very reason it could not exist by itself. It has -not the many-sided vitality indispensable to anything which is to -hold its own in the actual world. - -The working of the Bourgeois Society, then, exhibits an inevitable -connection with the State proper, and, so to speak, leads up to it. - -In the first place, the economic world implies the administration -of justice. In this, as involving a developed system of civilised -law, there is an advance on the “letter of the law” in its crudest -and most barbarous acceptation. The system of law of a modern -State is, and still more ought to be, [1] a fairly reasonable and -intelligible definition of the rights and relations of persons. -By this determination the economic system of particular wants and -services enters upon a first {277} approximation, as it were, to a -unity of principle. The law only professes, indeed, to _protect_ -property and exchange, but in doing so it unavoidably recognises -that the particular want has a general bearing; for the developed -system of law only comes into existence to enable wants to be -supplied, and takes its definite shape according to the system of -wants. We may illustrate this first approximation to universality, -which law confers upon the particulars of private interest, by a -suggestive view which M. Durkheim has propounded. [2] He has pointed -out that the current formula for social change, “from status to -contract,” has a subtler significance than is apt to be recognised. -For contract is not really indeterminate, as if it arose _in vacuo_ -without a precedent. It runs in forms determined by social experience -through law and custom; and thus the law, which professedly aims at -protecting property and exchange, necessarily regulates them by the -modes in which it chooses to protect them. - -[1] Hegel pleads strongly for codification. - -[2] _De la Division du Travail Social,_ 225 ff. - -A more intimate relation to the State proper--to a definite -principle, as we might say, of common good--grows out of the -interests of Bourgeois Society which take the shape of what a German -calls “Police and Corporation,” _i.e._ State regulation and Trade -Societies. - -The basis of State regulation is the emergence of aspects of common -interest in the system of particular interests. The region of -particular interests (supply and demand) has an accidental side, -and the State has a right and a duty to protect the general good -against accidental {278} hindrances. On the whole, no doubt, the -right relation between producer and consumer arises of itself, but -miscarriages may occur which call for interference on behalf of the -explicit [1] principle of the general good. The _general_ possibility -of the individual’s obtaining what he wants is a public interest, and -the State has a right to intervene with this end in view, both by -execution of necessary public works, by sanitary inspection and the -like, and by inspection and control of fraud in the case of necessary -commodities offered for sale to the general public. For the public -offer of goods in daily use is not a purely private concern, but a -matter of the general interest. If indeed there was complete official -regulation, there would be a risk of getting work like the Pyramids, -that represented no private want at all; but yet, in the system of -private wants, there is a public interest that demands vigilance. - -[1] The _explicit_ idea of common good always belongs in Hegel to the -State proper. - -A similar approximation of Bourgeois Society to the State is -constituted by the “Corporation,” which rests on the facts of class. -Every member of the Bourgeois Society belongs by his vocation to a -class, and this breaking up into classes is a consequence of the -division of labour which prevails in the economic sphere, disguising -the common good as private interest or necessity. But in the -formation of classes society begins as it were to recover from the -dispersion which private interest has occasioned. As a member of his -class [1] or {279} “estate,” the citizen acquires solidarity with his -fellows, and his particular interest becomes _ipso facto_ a common -one. As a member of the class, again, he is, or ought to be, a member -of his “trade society” or “corporation.” In this he finds his honour -or recognition, [2] a definite standard of life (apart from which -he is apt to assert himself by aimless extravagance, for want of a -recognised respectability), a standard of work, insurance against -misfortune, and (as a candidate for admission) the means of technical -education. - -[1] The term “_Stände_” it must be remembered, has for a German the -association of elements of the representative assembly; “états”, -estates of the realm. - -[2] Cf. the English workman’s phrase, “a good tradesman,” _i.e._ a -competent member of his trade. - -If the family is the first basis of the State, the classes or estates -are the second. The Corporation or Trade Society is a second family -to its members. It is the very root of ethical connection between the -private and the general [1] interest, and the State should see to it -that this root holds as strongly as possible. [2] - -[1] “We can only say that these men, if they leave us, will bitterly -regret it. ... The man who is so unselfish as to care nothing for -himself or his fellow-men will soon find himself, as years creep over -him, and grey hairs and glasses, completely cut out.”--“Branch Trade -Report (Birmingham) to National Union of Boot and Shoe Operatives, -January, 1896.” - -[2] Sects. 201 and 255. I omit Hegel’s characterisation of the -classes, which has a good deal in common with theories which -represent occupations as determining character. The contrast between -agricultural and industrial or commercial life, between country and -town, is of great importance in his view. He almost seems to confine -Bourgeois industrialism as such to the life of town-dwellers; though, -again, ultimately the whole division into classes is characteristic -of Bourgeois Society (cf. sects. 256 and 305). - - “If,” Hegel writes, [1] “in recent days the “Corporation - has been abolished, this has the significance {280} - that the individual ought to provide for himself. This - may be admitted; but the corporation did not alter the - individual’s obligation to earn his livelihood. In our - modern States the citizens have only a limited share in - the universal business of the State; but it is necessary - to permit the ethical human being a universal activity - over and above his private end. This universal, which the - modern State does not always provide for him, he finds - in the Corporation. We saw before that the individual - providing for himself in the Bourgeois Society also acts - for others. But this unconscious necessity is not enough; - it needs the Corporation to bring it to a conscious and - thoughtful social ethics. Of course the Corporation needs - the higher superintendence of the State, or it would - ossify, shrink into its shell, and be degraded into a - wretched guild. But in and for itself the Corporation is - no closed guild; it is rather the bringing of an isolated - trade into an ethical connection, and its admission into - a sphere in which it wins strength and honour.” [2] - -[1] Sect. 255. - -[2] It is obvious that this treatment of associations arising -among classes in industry and commerce does not apply in principle -exclusively to trade or professional societies. It would include, -_e.g._, Friendly Societies and Co-operative Societies, by which -members of the economic world bind themselves together for help, -recognition, and the assertion of their general interests. - -8. The State proper, or political constitution, presents itself to -Hegel as the system in which the family and the Bourgeois Society -find their completion and their security. He was early impressed, -as we have seen, with the beautiful unity of the ancient Greek -commonwealths. And the first and last idea which governs his -representations of the modern State is that of the Greek commonwealth -enlarged as it was from a sun to a solar {281} system. The family -feeling and the individual interest are in the modern State let go, -accented, intensified to their uttermost power; and it is out of -and because of this immense orbit of its elements that the modern -State has its “enormous strength and depth.” It is the typical mind, -the very essence of reason, whose completeness is directly as the -completeness of each of its terms or sides or factors; and secure -in the logical confidence that feeling and self-consciousness, the -more they attain their fulness, must return the more certainly to -their place in the reasonable system which is their very nature. -As ultimate power, the State maintains on one side the attitude of -an external necessity towards the spheres of private life, of the -family, and of the economic world. It may intervene by force to -remove hindrances in the path of the common good, which accident and -immaturity may have placed there. But, in its essence, the State is -the indwelling and explicit end of these modes of living, and is -strong in its union of the universal purpose with the particular -interests of mankind. It is, in short, the incarnation of the general -or Real Will. It has the ethical habit and temper of the family as a -pervading basis, combined with the explicit consciousness and purpose -of the business world. In the organism of the State, _i.e._ in as -far as we feel and think as citizens, feeling becomes affectionate -loyalty, and explicit consciousness becomes political insight. As -citizens we both feel and see that the State includes and secures -the objects of our affections and our interests; not as separate -items, thrown together by chance, but as purposes transformed by -their relation to the common good, into {282} which, as we are more -or less aware, they necessarily pass. This feeling and insight are -the true essence of patriotism. It is easier to be magnanimous than -to be merely right, and people prefer to think of patriotism as a -readiness to make great sacrifices which are never demanded. But true -patriotism is the every-day habit of looking on the commonwealth as -our substantive purpose and the foundation of our lives. - -The division of functions in the State is a necessary condition of -its rational organisation. But, as Rousseau had insisted, it is -altogether false to regard these separate functions as independent, -or as checks on one another. There could be no living unity, if the -functions of the State were ultimately independent and negative -towards each other. Their differentiation is simply the rational -division of labour. The State is an image of a rational conception; -it is “a hieroglyph of reason.” - -Sovereignty, therefore, resides in no one element. It is, -essentially, the relation in which each factor of the constitution -stands to the whole. That is to say, it resides only in the organised -whole acting _qua_ organised whole. If, for example, we speak of the -“Sovereignty of the People” in a sense opposed to the Sovereignty of -the State--as if there were such a thing as “the people” over and -above the organised means of expressing and adjusting the will of the -community--we are saying what is, strictly speaking, meaningless. -It is just the point of difference between Rousseau’s two views. We -saw that Rousseau clearly explained the impossibility of expressing -the general {283} will except by a determinate system of law. -But what he seemed to suggest, and was taken to mean, by popular -Sovereignty, was no doubt just the view which Hegel condemns. It is -essentially the same question as how a constitution can be made. -Strictly, a constitution cannot be made except by modification of -an existing constitution. If, to put a case, you have a multitude -new to each other in some extra-political colony, they must assume -a constitution, so to speak, before they can make one. Law and -constitution are utterances of the spirit of a nation. - -The form of State which Hegel analyses is a modern constitutional -monarchy, with an executive (ministers sitting in the chambers, as -he is careful to urge) and Chambers or Estates representing the -classes developed in the civic community. Representation, he urges, -is of bodies or interests rather than of masses of individuals, and -the Corporations or Trade Societies have also an important place -directly, by their touch with the departments of the executive -government. [1] The general principle is, as indicated above, that -the problems of connection between considerable particular interests -and the universal interests of the community are, so to speak, -prepared on the ground of the Corporation and Bourgeois Society for -a solution in the interest of the common good by the Legislative and -the Executive Government. - -[1] Much as through inspectors and commissions the opinion of Trade -Unions, Friendly Societies, and Co-operators is elicited by our -Government Departments with a view to legislation, independently of -the House of Commons. - -The logical division of power, in his language, {284} is that the -Legislature has to establish universal principles, the executive has -to apply these principles to particular cases, and the prince has to -bring to a point the acts of the State by giving them, “like the dot -on the i,” the final shape of individual volition. - -The distinction of States into Monarchy, Aristocracy, and Democracy, -Hegel refuses to regard as applicable to the modern world. At best, -it could only apply to the undeveloped communities of antiquity. The -modern State is a concrete, and, according to its principle, all the -elements of a people’s life are represented in it as an indivisible -unity. - -A curious point is Hegel’s insistence on the function of the personal -Head of the State. By a junction of the extremes, he connects it with -the recognition of free individuality, which is usually regarded as -the democratic principle of the modern world. There is no act, we may -say in illustration, according to the modern idea of an act, if it is -not done in the end by an individual, though in a developed political -system the monarch’s action may only consist in signing his name. -It is at least remarkable to compare this view with the tendency to -one-man government in the administration of the United States of -America. - -The State, then, is on one side the external force and automatic -machinery implied in the maintenance and adjustment of the rights and -purposes of the family and the Bourgeois Society as an actual life. -On the other side, and most essentially, it is that connection of -feeling and insight, working throughout the consciousnesses of {285} -individuals as parts in a connected structure, which unite in willing -a certain type of life as a common good in which they find their -own. It has the same content as that of Religion; but in an explicit -and rationalised form as contrasted with the form of feeling. Only -the separation of Church and State, and the division of the Churches -against one another, have made it possible for the State to exhibit -its own free and ethical character in true fulness, apart from both -dogmatic authority and anarchic fanaticism. - -9. Publicity of discussion in the assembly of the classes or estates -is the great means of civic education. It is not in the least true -that every one knows what is for the good of the State, and has only -to go down to the House and utter it. It is in the work of expression -[1] and discussion that the good takes form by adjustment of private -views to facts and needs brought to bear by criticism. “The views a -man plumes himself on when he is at home with his wife and friends -are one thing; it is quite another thing what happens in a great -assembly, where one shrewd idea devours the other.” [2] - -[1] It is a remarkable point in English politics to-day that -legislation is practically in the hands of the Government -departments. Bills are rejected or “knocked about in Committee”; but -the mass of organised knowledge necessary to initiate legislation in -a complex society can hardly be found outside the gathered experience -of an office which has continuity in dealing with the same problems. -This tendency more than justifies Hegel’s point of view. An act of -the “General Will” has not only, as he said, to be moulded by running -the gauntlet of public and critical discussion, but has even to be -first drafted by the help of immense piles of experience, which the -general mind does not possess, and could not deal with, but which, -nevertheless, enable its typical wish and intention to be embodied in -effective form. - -[2] _Rechtsphil._, sect. 315. - -{286} The free judgment of individuals based on the publicity of -political discussion is “public opinion.” In public opinion we -have an actual existent contradiction. As public, it is sound and -true, and contains the ethical spirit of the State. As expressed -by individuals in their particular judgments, on which they plume -themselves, it is full of falsehood and vanity. It is the bad which -is peculiar, and which people pride themselves on; the rational -is universal in its nature, though not necessarily common. Public -opinion is a contradictory appearance, in which the true exists as -false. It is no accident, but inevitable insight, that leads both of -these characters to be proverbially expressed, as in “Vox populi, vox -Dei,” contrasted with Ariosto’s - - “Che’l Volgare ignorante ogn’un’ riprenda - E parli plu di qual che meno intenda”; [1] - -or Goethe’s - - “Zuschlagen kann die Masse - Da ist sie respektabel; - Urtheilen gelingt ihr miserabel.” [2] - -or the “mostly fools” of Carlyle. - -[1] “That the ignorant vulgar reproves everyone, and talks most of -what it understands least.” - -[2] “The masses are respectable hands at fighting, but miserable -hands at judging.” - -Now, as public opinion thus combines truth and falsehood, the public -cannot be in earnest with both, _i.e._ both cannot be its real will. -But if we restrict ourselves to its express utterance, we cannot -possibly tell what it is in earnest with--_because it does not know_. -Therefore, the degree of passion {287} with which a given opinion -is maintained throws no light on the question, on what points the -public is really in earnest, in the sense of the “real will.” This -can only be known from the substantive reality, which is the “true -inwardness” of public opinion. This substantive reality, the true -merits of any case, is not to be got by the study of mere public -opinion as expressed, but when it is successfully divined and -asserted, public opinion will always come round to it. If we ask how -it is to be divined or known, we must go back to the analogy of a -theory. The solution must be constructed so as to satisfy the real -facts or needs, and the real facts or needs only become known in -proportion as it is constructed, just as in scientific discovery. -The man who can see and do what his age wills and demands is the -great man of the age. Public opinion, then, demands to be at once -esteemed and contemned; esteemed in its essential basis, contemned -in its conscious expression. It is, however, the principle of the -modern world that every one is allowed to contribute his opinion. -When he has contributed it, and so far satisfied the impulse of -self-assertion, he is likely to acquiesce in what is done, to which, -he can feel, he has thrown in some element of suggestion or criticism. - -10. In concluding this chapter, we will attempt to estimate the -nearness of such an analysis of the State to the actual facts of -life, admitting certain appearances against it, but rejecting -pessimistic views which rest on false abstractions. - -I will state the difficulties as they appeared to T.H. Green, a -cautious and practical Englishman, {288} well experienced in local -politics, and acquainted with different classes of men. [1] - - “To an Athenian slave, who might be used to gratify a - master’s lust, it would have been a mockery to speak - of the State as a realisation of freedom; and perhaps - it would not be much less to speak of it as such to an - untaught and under-fed denizen of a London yard with gin - shops on the right hand and on the left.” - - “It is true that the necessity which the State lays on - the individual is for the most part one to which he is - so accustomed that he no longer kicks against it; but - what is it, we may ask, but an external necessity, which - he no more lays on himself than he does the weight of - the atmosphere or the pressure of summer heat and winter - frosts, that compels the ordinary citizen to pay rates - and taxes, to serve in the army, to abstain from walking - over the Squire’s fields, snaring his hares, or fishing - his preserved streams, to pay his rent, to respect those - artificial rights of property which only the possessors - of them have any obvious interest in maintaining, or even - (if he is one of the proletariate) to keep his hands off - the superfluous wealth of his neighbour when he has none - of his own to lose?” - - “A conception does not float in the air. It must be - somebody’s conception. Whose conception, then, of general - good is it that these institutions represent?” - - “Is it not seriously misleading, when the requirements of - the State have so largely arisen out of force directed - by selfish motives, and when the motive of obedience to - these requirements is determined by fear, to {289} speak - of them as having a common source with the morality - of which it is admitted that the essence is to be - disinterested and spontaneous?” - -[1] _Principles of Political Obligation_, p. 8; cf. p. 127 ff. - -I have quoted these passages--the whole section should be carefully -read--in order to state plainly a paradox which affects the theory -of society from beginning to end. It continually shows itself in the -pessimistic criticism of economic motive, political motive, and of -every-day social motive. - -The whole question really depends on our understanding of the -relation of abstract and concrete. It is plain, as Green says, that -the idea of a common good has never been the sole influence operative -in the formation or maintenance of States. And, in as far as it has -operated at all, it has only done so in very imperfect forms. Green -goes so far as to say that Hegel’s account of freedom as realised in -the State does not seem to correspond to the facts of society as it -is, or even as, under the unalterable conditions of human nature, it -ever could be; though, no doubt, there is a work of moral liberation, -which society, through its various agencies, is constantly carrying -on for the individual. - -Now, the truth of these criticisms may be granted in the same sense -in which we grant the imperfection of knowledge (as currently -conceived) or of morality--imperfections not accidental, but -inherent in each particular form of human experience. The conflict -of interests, the failure to reconcile rights, and the weight and -opaqueness, so to speak, of law and custom to the individual mind, -are contradictions of the same type and {290} due to causes of -the same kind as those which arise in the world of ethics and of -theory. And, though the new relations which spring up in society -are perpetually resulting in new contradictions, there is no reason -to compare the State unfavourably, in this respect, with Morality -or with Science. The contradictions, in fact, are the material of -organisation. [1] - -[1] Take, for instance, the chaos of the medical charities of London. -It consists of endeavours to adjust help to needs, which endeavours -are themselves unadjusted to each other. Thus, precisely as in the -theoretical progress, the unadjustment of adjustments brings out ever -new contradictions which demand readjustment. - -Without differing profoundly from Green in theory, therefore, we -venture to assign a greatly diminished importance to his criticisms. -This is due in part to the growth of a more intimate experience, -owing in some measure to his initiative, which seems to show the -essentials of life to be far more identical throughout the so-called -classes of society than is admitted by such a passage as that cited -above about the dweller in a London yard. [1] It is due, further, -and in connection with such experience, to the psychological -conceptions developed in previous chapters, according to which the -place of actual fear of punishment in maintaining the social system -is really very small, while {291} the place of a habituation, which -is essentially ethical, is comparatively large. These suggestions, -which lead us to lay decreasing stress on Green’s criticism of Hegel, -point wholly in the general direction of his own convictions, and -we may finally meet the general difficulty, which expresses itself -in pessimism, by considerations such as Green himself alleges in -mitigation of his own criticism. - -[1] Not much stress should be laid on an isolated expression of this -kind, used in making clear the difficulties of a theory which on -the whole he supported, and putting these difficulties, as was his -custom, as high as possible. But it is worth noting that no one, -who really knows the class thus rhetorically alluded to, fails to -experience in them the same great relations and recognitions which -make life worth living for more fortunate persons, and, as they feel -very keenly, the experience is often more emphatic there than in the -richer class. Probably, in fundamental matters, there is as large a -proportion of persons untaught and bred up between temptations among -the rich as among the poor. - -We may approach the matter in this way. The paradox is, that if you -scrutinise the acts which have made States, and which carry them on, -or which go on under and within them, you will every where be able -to urge that they spring from self-interest and ambition--not from a -desire for the common good. How then can we say that the State exists -for a common good? Hegel’s large conception of a social fabric and -the temper of mind which maintains it should have done some thing to -meet this problem. But we may come a little closer to the precise -difficulty. - -Nothing is so fallacious as mere psychological analysis applied -to the estimation of the purposes which rule a mind. In every act -there is necessarily an aspect of the agent’s particular self. -One way or another he is satisfied in it. So the pessimistic or -superficial psychologist can always--not in some acts merely, but -in all--discover a form of self-seeking. Life is a whole made up -of particulars, and the universal is a connection within them, not -another particular outside them; it is a mistake of principle to -suppose that any act can be outside the tissue of aims, impulses, and -emotions which affect the sensitive self. Great purposes work through -these affections and transform them, but {292} cannot obliterate -them without obliterating life. “There is nothing degrading in -being alive.” [1] But there is a kind of eye which sees all these -particulars apart from the substantive aims which give them their -character, and treats them as if they were the sole determining -motives of the agent. Hegel calls such a critic--he is thinking -especially of historians--“the psychological valet, for whom there -are no heroes, not because they are no heroes, but because he is -only a valet.” On the whole, a man is what he does. If his series -of actions has the root of the matter in it, it is wrong either for -him to be deterred, or for a critic to carp, because they bring him -gain or glory, or gratify him by activity and excitement. To shrink -from particular occasions of action because one’s self may find -satisfaction in them is to fall back into the mere general willing of -the abstract good. And “the laurels of mere willing are dry leaves -that never have been green.” - -[1] _Rechtsphil._, sect. 123. - -We may illustrate these ideas from the life of the ordinary members -of States, and from the career of a great ruler or conqueror. [1] - -[1] Green, _Principles of Political Obligation_, sects. 121 and 128. - -The life of an English labourer, for example, may concern itself with -no such abstract ideas [1] as are expressed by the words “State” or -“common good.” But, to begin with, he is a law-abiding citizen. He -keeps his hands off others and their belongings by the same rule -by which he expects others to keep their hands off him and his -belongings. {293} [2] He recognises fairness of bargaining, and is -prepared to treat others fairly, as he expects them to treat him. He -is aware of his claims, that is to say, as depending on something in -common between himself and others; and if he does not practically -admit any such community, “he is one of the dangerous classes, -virtually outlawed by himself.” [3] - -[1] Although the literary class are liable very seriously to -under-rate the significance of forms of thought unfamiliar to them. - -[2] Habits, such as our habit of relying on security of life and -property, are secondarily automatic, _i.e._ are very intimately -connected with ideas. See chap. viii. - -[3] Green, _Loc. cit_. - -So far he is a loyal subject only. If he is to have a fuller sense -of a social good, he must either take part in the work of the State, -or at least be familiar with such work, through interest in his -fellows share of it, and in the organisations which connect his class -interests with the public good. His mind must not merely work in -its place in the social mind, but must be in some degree aware of -the connection between its place and the whole--of the appercipient -structure to which it belongs. He must, in short, have touch with -the connection which Hegel represents as that between the Bourgeois -Society and the State proper. And this, in modern States, is in -principle open to him. - -And, further, he must have the feeling for his State, which is -connected with the idea of home and fatherland. In a modern nation -the atmosphere of the family is not confined to the actual family. -The common dwelling-place, history, and tradition, the common -language and common literature, give a colour of affection to the -every-day citizen-consciousness, which is to the nation what family -affection is in the home circle. - -{294} Thus, it is not true that either the feeling or the insight -which constitute a consciousness of a common good are wanting to the -every-day life of an average citizen in a modern State. It may seem -full of selfish care, but this is only a narrow view. If we look at -the spirit of the whole life we shall see that it is substantially -dependent on the recognition of a good, and feels that dependence in -concrete form. - -And, secondly, to take the paradox in its extreme shape, in which the -order of the State appears to arise out of the selfish ambition of -the most unscrupulous of men. The contradiction may be stated in the -form that the actions of bad men are “over-ruled” for good. But this -would mean that the “psychological” critic or historian had first -misstated the cause, and then had rectified his mis-statement by a -meaningless phrase. The great ideas and causes which were advanced, -for example, by the career of Napoleon, owed neither their nature nor -their existence to his selfish ambition. They did not, however, owe -them to any non-human cause; to any operation of ideas otherwise than -in the minds of men. They came into existence through the working of -innumerable minds towards objective ends by the inherent logic of -social growth, with various degrees of moral insight, and they were -promoted by Napoleon’s career in virtue of the common character which -united his aims, in so far as they had a reasonable side, with the -movement shaped by the ideal forces of the age. There is no reason -to doubt, if we do not wilfully narrow our view of the situation, -that a conception of good was as much operative in the cause as it is -present in {295} the effect--say, in the unity of Italy. We cannot -attempt to deal with the problem of the existence of evil, on the -ground of ethical and political philosophy; and we are not concerned -to deny or to minimise the presence of greed and selfishness as -distorting forces in the minds of men, or in the organisation of -States. All that we needed to show, was that what makes and maintains -[1] States as States is will and not force, the idea of a common -good, and not greed or ambition; and that this principle cannot be -overthrown by the facts of self-interest in ordinary citizens, or of -selfishness in those who mould the destinies of nations. - -[1] Aristotle’s saying of the State, that it “_comes to be_ for the -sake of life, but _is_ for the sake of good life,” expresses in the -first instance an apparent contrast between origin and purpose of -States. But its real point is that the purpose is implied in the -origin, for the State is natural, and in every “natural” genesis its -purpose is implied; and the origin is implied in the purpose, for -the State, in the processes which maintain it, “originates,” _i.e._ -renews its material basis, daily, and must do so in order to “be.” - - - - -{296} - -CHAPTER XI. - -INSTITUTIONS CONSIDERED AS ETHICAL IDEAS. - -1. We have been guided throughout our argument by the idea that the -relation of a given mind to the mind of society [1] is comparable to -the relation between our apprehension of a single object and our view -of nature as a whole. The former term, in each case, we cannot but -suppose to be an individualised case of the latter. The latter seems -inevitably to imply a universal principle corresponding to every -feature of the former. We can never see through the connections, and -the connections of the connections--_e.g._ of gravitation and of -colour--in every part. But our ideal as theorists would be to analyse -the physical object into features, every one of which should be a -case of a natural law, and the whole taken together a case of the -whole system of natural law, which would be our scientific view of -the world. - -[1] I neglect, for the moment, the difference between the mind -of society and mind at its best. The difference is practically -considerable, but I shall attempt to make it appear, in the course -of the present chapter, to be a difference of progress but not of -direction. - -In treating of a human mind in its relation to {297} Society and -the State, our ideal is comparable to this. We should like to -analyse any given mind into features each of which should be an -individual case of a universal principle, and the whole of which, -taken together, should be a case of the whole system of principles -incarnate in the world, and proximately in the social world. Plato, -simplifying for the sake of elucidation the City-state, which to our -minds was already simple, represented a community, in diagrammatic -form, as consisting in a threefold structure of classes, in which -were incarnate the three main features which he discriminated in -the individual soul--the desires necessary to living, the spirit of -action, and the power of seeing things as a whole. - -2. The principles which constitute a society are facts as well as -ideas, and purposes as well as facts. This threefold character is -united in what we describe by the general term “institutions,” a term -which would apply perfectly well to Plato’s “classes” in virtue of -the definite relations with which he invests them. - -It is unnecessary to insist on the external aspect of institutions as -facts in the material world; but it will be worth while to gather up -the leading conceptions of our analysis by tracing the nature of some -prominent “institutions,” as ideas, constituent elements of the mind, -which are also purposes; that is, as ethical ideas. An institution -may have grown up without special ordinance, or may have been called -into existence by an act of public will. But it has always the -character of being recognised _as if_ it had been “instituted” or -established to fulfil some public or quasi-public {298} purpose. [1] -An old servant is sometimes said to be “quite an institution”--he -is characterised by the function of keeping alive certain common -traditions of a school, perhaps, or a family--an annual custom may -be an institution in virtue of the same kind of recognition; Sunday -is an institution; the word is indeed very vaguely applied, for -obviously almost every object or event can have a significance of -this kind attached to it in jest or earnest. But for all that, we can -see pretty plainly what usage is driving at. An institution implies -a purpose or sentiment of more minds than one, and a more or less -permanent embodiment of it. “Of more minds than one,” because it is -to fix the meeting points of minds that the external embodiment is -necessary. - -[1] Why is not a memorial statue or building, which expresses a -public idea, an “institution” apart from its uses? Apparently because -it has not the notion of bringing persons together or inducing -persons to act in some definite way. An “institution,” then, belongs -to the level of society, as such, conceived as a number of persons. -Thus, a work of art is hardly an institution, though it expresses the -“universal” of many minds; but a weekly concert is an institution, -because many persons act together in giving and attending it. - -In institutions, then, we have that meeting point of the individual -minds which is the social mind. But “meeting point” is an unhappy -term, suggesting objects in space that touch at certain spots. Rather -let us say, we have here the ideal substance, which, as a universal -structure, is the social, but in its differentiated cases is the -individual mind. And it is necessary to observe that the material of -this fabric has determinate sources. Mind is not an empty point. It -is the world as experienced. The institutions, which as ethical {299} -ideas constitute mind, are, like a theory, attempts at unity in face -of needs, pressures, facts, and suggestions which arise in what we -call our surroundings, and to each of which mind reveals a different -quality; as every tone of a landscape elicits its peculiar shade of -feeling, which but for it might have remained latent for ever. It -takes the whole world to call out the whole mind. But it will be -enough if we can trace, in some prominent examples, the nature of an -institution as at once a dealing with surroundings, [1] an ethical -idea, and a social principle. - -[1] There are, of course, no absolute surroundings. At every point -experience rests on mind. But at any point at which we are observing, -we must take some facts as, comparatively speaking, given. - -3. The family starts from the universal physical fact of parentage, -but takes its ethical value mainly from the special phase of parental -relation which leads to the formation of a household. The association -of parents and children in a household, which is permanent until -broken up into other households, is due to economic conditions. -Calling to mind the original meaning of words, we see that we are -asserting the formation of a house hold to be due to “household” -[1] conditions. And this is something more than a pun. Whatever the -surroundings may be which favour the formation of households, whether -the difficulty of procuring livelihood, which makes the father’s -continued care essential, [2] or the chances offered by agriculture -to a stable group, they operate as elements in a human world, in a -world which is constituted by {300} the focussing of “surroundings” -(circumstances) in a whole. Conditions which have become “economic” -have ceased to be material. They are motives, interests, means to -ends. They bring the world into the mind, but in doing so they become -factors in the purposiveness and re-adjustment, which the mind, as -unity asserting itself throughout varied suggestions, is busied in -bringing to pass. By demanding permanence, for instance, economic -conditions elicit in the relation of parent and child the simplest -form of universality necessary to an ethical idea. - -[1] “Economy” = household management. - -[2] It is said that the household does not readily form itself in -very easy conditions of life. - -We will not venture upon the history of phases of the family life, -but will attempt at once to sketch its position and value in the -typical civilisation of a modern State. Only it must be insisted on -once more, [1] that the family or household as an ethical structure -is not anterior to the State, but is rather a growth dependent on the -spirit and protection of the State, and intentionally fostered by -it as against forms of kinship which do less justice to the ethical -possibilities of parentage. - -[1] Cf. p. 272. - -As an ethical idea, then, the monogamous family, which is in the -normal case also a household, has a unique place in the structure of -the citizen mind. - -Its peculiarity is in being a natural union of feeling with ideal -purpose. That is to say, the ideal purpose, a permanent interest -in a comparatively permanent and external life, attaches itself -by imperceptible links to the most universal incident of animal -existence. The mere remaining together of the units, a demand of -their physical needs, is almost enough of itself to transform their -inevitable {301} mutual dependence into a relation of intentional -service, rooted in affection, and tinged with some degree of -forethought. - -And, being thus “natural,” the idea of the family has a hold like no -other upon the whole man. In this respect it anticipates the powers -which have been claimed for the love of beauty. The very animal -roots of life, and every detail of man’s appetitive being, are made, -without conscious effort or moralising interference, factors in a -round of social service. The meal of a lonely individual [1] is -perhaps, at best, a refined and lawful pleasure. But the family meal, -quite apart from over-strained religionism, has in it, as a plain -matter of fact, the fundamental elements of a sacrament, none the -less effective that they are not thought of by that name. And both -through maintaining the fitness of the parents for their life work, -and through the training of the children to the same end, the natural -ethics of the family have an indispensable logical hold upon the more -explicit common good known to the social will. - -[1] Note, however, what is said below of the secondary or transferred -idea of the family. The solitary may partake of the family sacrament, -so to speak, “by faith.” - -And, in the last place, it should be noted that a feeling and -atmosphere of this kind is not confined to members actually living in -households formed by families. There is no race, it has been said, -that parts with its children so readily, or retains their affections -so permanently, as the Anglo-Saxon race. When the type and spirit are -once formed, they are contagious and persistent; they {302} affect -all who have seen or known them, and even those who have never formed -part of a household bound by kinship. - -If we contrast the idea of the household with monasticism as its -repudiation, and with the tribal state or phalanstery as its -exaggeration, we shall see its uniqueness in the strongest light. The -naturalness of its foundation, and the completeness of the reciprocal -interest (involving monogamy) on which its idea rests, distinguish -it from all other forms of union or disunion in which the sexes are -concerned. It may be added that the family, and it alone, has the -right adjustment of population in its power. The fully trained and -equipped human being can never be superfluous in the world. And the -production of the fully trained and equipped human being depends on -the capacity of forming a true family and meeting its requirements, -and when this capacity and idea regulate the union of the sexes no -growth nor apparent decrease of population need cause anxiety. - -It seems as idle to discuss whether civilisation is conceivable -without the family as whether human nature can change. All that -we can attempt, as philosophers, is to ascertain the distinctive -part which its idea plays in human life as such. There must be, -we can see, some such idea--an ethical idea covering some such -sides of life--while man is a spiritual animal. But by what -precise “institution” such an idea might come to be represented in -circumstances which we do not know, it would be beyond the modesty of -philosophy to predict. - -The institution of Property may be mentioned {303} as a corollary to -the household-family. Its natural basis and ethical value are very -markedly correlative to those of the latter. The outlook upon life -which it essentially implies is co-extensive with that demanded by -the household, although in the relations of acquisition and exchange -many further rights and duties may attach to it. It depends on the -fact that, in order to express a will in an individual life (which -is incomplete except as the life of a household), there must be a -power of moulding the material world in the service of ideas, which -is conditioned by free acquisition and utilisation. The institution -of property, then, as an ethical idea, consists in the conception -of individual (properly speaking, household) life as a unity in -respect to its dealings with the material instruments of living. -It is not merely the idea of provision for the future; still less -the certainty of satisfying wants as they arise from day to day. It -is the idea that all dealings with the material conditions of life -form part of a connected system, in which our conceptions and our -abilities express themselves. It binds together the necessary care -for food and clothing with ideas of making the most of our life and -of the lives dependent upon us. A being which has no will has so far -no property--a child has in practice, and a slave had by Roman law, -property in a secondary sense--and a being which has no property -has so far no actual will. The “person,” or responsible head (or -heads), of a household, is the true unit to whom the idea of property -attaches, because he is the unit to which we normally ascribe an -individualised will, a single {304} distinctive shape of the social -mind. A child has not yet such a will; a group of mature persons has -more than one. The change which is passing over the household in -consequence of the recognition of married women as individual wills -is highly instructive on this point. They can hold and manage their -own property, because it is admitted that they can have their own -view of life. It is not proposed that young children should hold and -manage property, because every one knows that they have no mature -individualised view of life. The corporate person of the household -is so far dissolved by legal recognition of its more individual -components; and it is most important, theoretically, to note that its -unity is not diminished by the recognition, but is raised to a higher -power. - -4. It might seem fanciful to say that our district is to our family -as space to time; but it would suggest something of the point of -view from which it is well to look at the structure of our ethical -ideas. It is desirable to realise how the simplest characters of our -surroundings and their necessary connections are ethically important, -not because they impose anything upon us, but because they respond -to something within us, or rather, to a possibility which is to be -realised by the world, as in us its variety strives towards unity. -Parentage, we saw, was a universal animal fact, and from it, in -an experience capable of unity and permanence, springs the family -household and all that it implies for our lives. One’s district, as -an element of life, implies, of course, some stability--a home, not -merely permanent as a {305} home, like the Scythian’s waggon, but -located on some spot of earth. The nomad, we must suppose, to a great -extent carries his neighbourhood--his tribe--along with him, and for -that very reason the fact of neighbourhood has not its full effect on -him. - -But when a permanent home is fixed on some spot of earth, presumably -with the beginnings of agriculture, a new condition begins to -operate--the “indifference” of space. Perhaps we are surprised that -“indifference” should be an ethical stimulus. But nothing is more -instructive than to note how qualities of our surroundings, which by -themselves seem negative or the barest natural necessities, spring -into significance when taken up into the unity of life. Locality -means a potential neighbourhood. It may be long before any one comes -near you except your own cousinhood, your tribe or clan. But the -indifference of space is a standing invitation, and it is pretty -certain that some day strangers will become your neighbours, and -that you will have to take up some mental attitude towards them. -Historians and jurists have described to us the struggle between the -principle of kinship and the principle of neighbourhood. When we read -that a plebeian, in the eyes of a Roman patrician, simply could not -make a real marriage any more than the beasts of the field, this is -not, as it may have become by survival, intentional arrogance on the -patrician’s part. It was rather the state of mind of Mrs. Transome -towards Rufus Lyon, “sheer inability to consider him.” A proof of -what a struggle it involved to reach a new attitude of mind as -regarded the resident alien is given by {306} the half-way house at -which it was found necessary to pause in the process. The recognition -of kinship on the ground of residence was the fiction, we are told, -by which the mind assisted itself to a positive attitude towards -those whom the indifference of space insisted on bringing within its -range. And the positive attitude towards which it was groping its way -was of course the recognition of humanity, the equality of man in the -truest sense which that ambiguous phrase will bear. - -In modern States, in which this struggle is on the whole behind -us, our district or locality asserts its full indifference. Its -“negative” here becomes a “positive.” That is to say, on the whole, -[1] and under some reasonable reservations as to evidence of -intention to accept duties, and to renounce incompatible ones, men -are full members of the district to which they choose to belong. The -challenge thrown down by the indifference of space has resulted in a -recognition of universal humanity. Our district is our neighbourhood. -We will look a little more closely at the ethical idea implied. We -notice at once, at least in English experience, that each of us -belongs to a variety of districts which are concentric as regards -him. Each of these districts represents a different purpose, and we -are told that for practical purposes great confusion results. But -it is a useful training to be made aware of the distinct purpose of -each {307} organised locality which surrounds us--to have the care -of our health, of public order, of education, of the relief of the -destitute, and of religion according to our view of it, represented -by different, or possibly different, boundary lines on the map. Each -of these boundaries indicates some common element of thought and -feeling--some common interest--in the mind of the neighbourhood, and -the difference of the boundaries, where they differ--the difference, -_e.g._, between the civil and ecclesiastical parish--may have a -long growth of ideas behind it. At any rate, all these are moral or -physical needs, which, like our household necessities, draw us out of -ourselves, and reveal us to ourselves as cases of a larger mind. - -[1] Settlement, scholarships, fellowships, and charities generally, -“close” to localities, and perhaps domicile, maintain qualifications -in contradiction with actual residence, and in case of allegiance -even depending in part on birth. But some fixity is, of course, -convenient; and I believe that intention plus residence will cancel -almost any opposing qualification. - -Every locality, then, is, however imperfectly and unconsciously, a -body which has a mind. It is, as an idea which enters into us, the -spiritual reflection of our adjacent surroundings, both human and -natural, as the family is of our animal parentage. The neighbourhood -is for the mind its immediate picture of the world, the frame into -which its further vista of society as a whole must be fitted, or, in -other words, its sphere of direct relations. The family is a group -of natural relations; but the neighbourhood consists of relations -which are as natural in a different way, not through blood, but -through contact. It is not a selection, but rather a specimen of -life as a whole, for it must include as a rule _all_ the necessary -elements of the social fabric. It includes all that comes to us by -direct sense-perception from day to day; all our chance meetings and -dealings with those outside our household, and probably the nearer -{308} and more reliable illustrations of all social and political -problems. For it is a context of life which we know and feel in its -total working, which is impossible with what we only gather from -writings or from hearsay. - -As such a reflection of our direct surroundings, it colours our whole -basis of feeling, A peculiar tinge of happiness, anxiety, depression, -or resolution attaches to the streets or fields which we pass through -day by day, and the faces which we meet. How far these feelings are -true interpretations of what we see, and how far they spring from -superficial or sentimental associations, is one of the greatest tests -of the mind and heart. Do we see the body of a soul, the symbols of -character and happiness, in the houses, the streets, the tillage, the -workshops, or the gardens? - -No other element of mind can be the substitute for the neighbourhood. -It is the faith in which we live, so far as embodied in our contact -with a sensuous world. It is a microcosm of humanity, in which, by -the very indifference of space, we are liable to the direct impact of -all possible factors. It is particularly the sphere of charity and -courtesy, of the right behaviour in immediate human relations of all -possible kinds. - -The District or Neighbourhood, in short, as an ethical idea, is the -unity of the region with which we are in sensuous contact, as the -family is that of the world bound to us by blood or daily needs. -Local self-government, for example, acquires a peculiar character -from the possibilities of intimate knowledge of each other among -those who carry it on. A man’s whole way of living {309} is in -question when he sets up to be locally prominent, and though the -result may often be corruption or vulgarity, [1] these are only the -failure of what, at its best, is a true type of the relation of -fellow-citizens. - -[1] The recriminations or interested intimacies of a vestry or parish -council rest at bottom on the personal knowledge which, rightly used, -gives security to local life. - -As with the family, we may illustrate the significance of -Neighbourhood by the case in which it fails to be duly recognised, -and that in which nothing else is recognised. - -To a great extent, in the life of modern cities, especially when -supplemented by suburban residence, the principle is disregarded. -In a great city, the actual neighbourhood is more than can be dealt -with, and has often no distinctive physical character--at least no -attractiveness--and the idea of a special relation to it falls away. -The fact, indeed, is less universal than is often asserted, and -nearness in space, together with local government, retain and will -retain a certain predominance over the mind. The total disregard -of an ethical purpose connecting us with the surroundings nearest -to us in bodily presence, tends to deprive the general life of its -vitality, its sensuous health, strength, and beauty. In many ways, -circuitous perhaps, but ultimately effective, it may be that this -factor of immediacy will regain a proper place in the national mind. -We may observe that in as far as electoral districts are treated as -mere circumscriptions of such and such numbers of electors, the life -of a neighbourhood is disregarded. To make the constituency a mere -{310} number (Hare’s scheme) would be the climax of this tendency. - -In the ancient City-state, on the other hand, the district was all -powerful. The State was almost a sensuous fact. The members of the -State were essentially friends and neighbours, who for business or -pleasure were meeting all day long. When the district thus absorbs -the State, there is a want of what we call freedom, though there -may be enough of sensuous unconstraint. The State and its ideal -purposes are not clearly set above all flesh and blood. A great legal -system is not created till the State ceases to be a neighbourhood. -Individual intimacy [1] and the “hard case” obscure the idea of -universal law. The possibility of representative government, of a -political faith which does not work by sight, is not conceived. -The district, as a natural fact, was at first only a degree more -liberating than the natural fact of kinship. [2] It was not conceived -that man, as man, belonged “neither to this place nor to Jerusalem.” -With the ideal unity of a modern nation such conceptions harmonise -much more readily, and the neighbourhood can lend them flesh and -blood without hiding them. - -[1] Imagine a Roman or English judge being addressed as Demosthenes, -in his speech against Pantaenetus, addressed (in his client’s name) -the Athenian jury: “I know I have a hurried gait and a loud voice, -and it annoys people; but I am as I was made, and I have a right -to justice all the same.” It sounds like a speech to a jury of -schoolboys. - -[2] P. 300 above. - -5. “Class” is in democratic countries no longer a political -institution. A man’s vote is secured to him on a minimum -qualification, and his practical influence and acceptance depend -neither on {311} birth nor on occupation, but on the power which -he can exercise by his qualities or his possessions. This is a -consequence of the recognition of humanity as such, and has its bad -side and its good side according to the baseness and nobility of the -influences which tell _de facto_ upon human nature. It is horrible, -we may say, that influence should belong to wealth without any -security whatever for a discharge of social function. But this, given -human nature as it is to-day, is a result of the same causes which -enable us to boast, with some truth, that a man ranks in the general -world by his powers, character, and behaviour, and that we do not -know or care whether his livelihood comes to him as a miner or as a -duke. Wealth has weight because people give it weight; but no one -need give weight to wealth in politics or social intercourse unless -he likes. It is a consequence, then, of the recognition of free -humanity that “class” no longer is an institution in political right -as such, while in social intercourse, though it practically exists as -an institution, it claims to be an expression of what people are in -character and behaviour, and its differences are not annexed by any -iron bond to differences of occupation. [1] - -[1] It may be taken as proved that a “gentleman” can make his living -as a labourer or mechanic--at least in the U.S.A., where irrational -tradition is weaker than in England--and remain a gentleman in the -drawing-room sense of the term as well as in essentials. This being -so, there can be no inherent impossibility in men born and bred -as labourers or mechanics realising the same qualities. It would -be cant, I think, to say that full equality of social class, full -pleasantness and freedom of intercourse, could be attained without -those qualities. - -But though occupation no longer determines either social or political -class, in the sense of {312} gradation by any formal bond, yet it -remains and must always remain a determinant of class in a narrower -sense, and one of the main ideas which constitute the ethical -structure of the mind. - -The necessities which we compared roughly to time and space--the -proximate permanent group and the adjacent locality--give a value to -man’s animal routine, and a significance to the area of his every-day -perceptions. It is when the division of labour, the requital of -one service by a different one, becomes prominent in a community, -that a further grasp is laid upon the distinctive capacities of the -individual consciousness, in which must be reckoned the surroundings -which constitute its horizon of possibilities. We still answer -the general question, “What is he?” by naming a man’s industry or -profession. The family and the neighbourhood sustain and colour the -individual life, but the vocation stamps and moulds it. The more -definite and articulate summons of the organising world--in which of -course intelligence is active, ever discerning new purposes in old -routine--elicits a deeper response from, or takes a more concrete -shape in, the particular centre of consciousness. The individual has -his own nature communicated to him as he is summoned to fit himself -for rendering a distinctive service to the common good. He becomes -“something”; an incarnation of a factor in the social idea. - -The Roman word “class,” which the English language has adopted, not -for every separate employment, but for the character and position -roughly connected with a whole group of employments, has an origin -worth recalling. Plato’s classes {313} were “_genera_” = clans, -extended families. The German classes were “Stände” = statuses, -positions, estates (compare the French “état,” which practically = -trade). But the Roman “classis” was “a summoning” to public service; -the first and second classes were the first and second summonings; -[1] then indeed to military service in an order based on wealth. But -the idea may survive. Our “class” may be thought of as the group or -body in which we are called out for distinctive service. - -[1] _Mommsen Rom. Hist_., i. 101, E. tr. The “_classicus_” was the -trumpet. - -One’s class, then, in the sense in which it indicates the type -of position and service involved in one’s occupation, approaches -very near the centre of one’s individuality. In principle, as an -ethical idea, it takes the man or woman beyond the family and the -neighbourhood; and for the same reason takes him deeper into himself. -He acquires in it a complex of qualities and capacities which put -a special point upon the general need of making a livelihood for -the support of his household. In principle, his individual service -_is_ the social mind, as it takes, in his consciousness, the shape -demanded by the logic of the social whole. He is “a public worker” -[1] by doing the service which society demands of him. And just -because the service is in principle something particular, unique, and -distinctive, he feels himself in it to be a member of a unity held -together by differences. And in this sense the bond of social union -is not in similarity, but in the highest degree of individuality -or specialisation, the ultimate point of which would be to feel -that I am rendering {314} to society a service which is necessary, -and which no one but me can render--the closest conceivable tie, -and yet one, which in a sense, really exists in every case. Your -special powers and functions supply my need, and my special powers -and functions supply your need, and each of us recognises this and -rejoices in it. This ethical idea of unique service, or the service -of a unique class, involves of course a more or less conscious -identity in difference. That is to say, the individual’s mind is not -reduced to his special service, or he would be a machine. Rather, -the whole social consciousness is present in him, but present in -a modified form, according to the point of view from which it is -looking. The problem is simply put by Plato’s diagrammatic scheme of -classes. The statesman’s function is to be wise for the community; -the carpenter’s to carpenter for the community. But plainly the -community for which the statesman knows that he has to be wise, must -include the carpenter’s life and the conditions of his work, and the -community for which the carpenter knows that he has to work must -include some of the order and organisation which belong to it in the -statesman’s vision. The individual, in short, is unique, or belongs -to a unique class, not as an atom, but as a case of a law, or term -of a connection. This is what is meant by individuality in the true -sense; the character of a unit which has a great deal that, being his -very self, cannot be divided from him; not one which has so little -that there is nothing by subtraction of which he can be imagined -less. Such individuality is in a sense the whole ethical idea, but -more particularly is embodied in {315} the idea of a vocation. Our -vocation, like our neighbourhood, and usually of course in connection -with it, stamps both mind and body; and what we consider most -intimately ourself is really the structure of ethical ideas which -we are describing, with the feelings and habits in which they are -rooted, but none of which are unmodified by them. - -[1] Greek δημιοῦργος [demiourgos], “artisan.” Homer speaks of -“those who are public workers--the soothsayer, the doctor, and the -carpenter.” - -Like the other ideas of which we have spoken, the idea of class -or specialised function may be illustrated both by the extreme in -which it is nothing, and the extreme in which it is everything. -The less a society is differentiated--the less that, considered as -a mind, it has developed intense and determinate capacities--the -more its structure repeats itself from household to household, [1] -and fails to exhibit lines of formation pervading the community as -a whole. Dicey’s _The Peasant State_ [2] gives an idea of a social -mind thus undifferentiated, without classes, without ambitions, and -without interests. Both in this case and in that of the Boers of the -Transvaal it would be rash for an outsider to pronounce dogmatically -on the value of the life which is achieved. But as cases of social -formation and of social minds, they illustrate our present theme. To -say that there is no specialised function, is the same as to say that -there is no developed intelligence. - -[1] Durkheim’s “Segmentary Structure,” _De la Division_, p. 190. - -[2] See also H. Bosanquet, _Standard of Life_, p. 8. - -“Class” appears to be everything, an absolute and inflexible rule -of precedence and privilege, when it has lost or has not gained the -power of accommodating itself to function, and function to social -logic. Such denials of free adjustment, of {316} the career open to -talents, may take the form of a confusion of the principle of class -with that of birth, or even with that of private property. In the -former case function and position are inherited, in the latter they -are bought and sold. The two confusions may even be combined, as when -public functions are inherited like or with a house or an estate. [1] -Such a “class” system may be an oppression to its members, [2] or -to the community, or to both. But the essence of the evil is that a -function of mind is divorced from its characteristic of free logical -adaptation within the social system. The institution has become -ossified; and instead of moulding itself, like a theory or a living -organism, to the facts and needs which it is there to meet, it nails -itself to an alien principle, and becomes a fallacy in social logic, -or a dead organ in the social body. - -[1] As in the judicial privileges of the Baron of Bradwardine and his -likes. - -[2] The hereditary executioner in Maurus Jokai’s novel, _Die schöne -Michal_. - -In both of these extreme cases individuality is minimised. In the -former the individual does not pretend to any high capacity. In -the latter he pretends to a considerable capacity, but this being -cut apart from the principle of the whole, and pretending to be -everything in itself to exist absolutely or for its own sake has lost -the connection which gave it value, and becomes a mere pretension. - -There is a strange and sad institution in which, it may be suggested, -the two extremes of error are combined. This is the institution of -“the {317} poor” as a class, representing, as an ethical idea in the -modern mind, a permanent object of compassion and self-sacrifice. -“Poverty,” it has been said, “has become a status.” The “déclassés” -have become a social class, with the passive social function of -stimulating the goodness of others. [1] Let any one consider -carefully, from the point of view which regards ethical ideas as -an embodiment of human or social purposes, the offertory sentences -of the Church of England. It is needless to press the criticism, -for no one would be likely to deny that here we have ideas gathered -from other soils and climates, and rightly applicable only in the -spirit, but not in the letter. “Give alms of thy goods, and never -turn thy face from any poor man; and then the face of the Lord -shall not be turned away from thee.” “He that hath pity upon the -poor lendeth unto the Lord, and look, what he layeth out it shall -be paid him again.” The victims of misfortune in a small community, -under strict regulations, as were the Jews, for the promotion of -industry, are one thing. The recognition of a class marked by _the -function of dependence_--to use a contradictory expression--in a -vast community whose industrial organisation rests on the individual -will, is another thing. The idea of pity and self-denial, inherited, -I presume, largely from the Jewish scriptures as also from the New -Testament, has tended, in the modern world, to become mechanical, -and combine with a false class-conception. All who know the inner -life of evangelical Christians a {318} generation ago will admit -that, among earnest persons of this type, the notion of the -tithe--the devotion of one tenth or more of the income to purposes -of religion or benevolence--had been inherited as a guiding idea, -representing an end valuable _per se_, almost according to the -letter of the offertory. I am not suggesting any vulgar charge of -other-worldliness, but recalling a genuine conviction that the -surrender of a portion of income to a less fortunate class of the -community was in itself desirable and a religious duty. - -[1] The incurably sick and helpless in all ranks of society do, no -doubt, rightly fulfil such a passive function. - -It would not be difficult to show that the true and highest idea -of Christian charity is remote from this conception of a dependent -status as inherent in a certain portion of society. What seems to be -needed here, as in so many aspects of morality and religion, is to -combine the inspiration and _abandon_ of the modern mind with the -definiteness of purpose and lucidity of plan that characterised the -ancient City-state. - -Socialism, at its best, [1] unites with recent political economy -and with those who try to “organise” or rationalise charity, in -challenging the preconception that poverty must be recognised as a -permanent class-function. And this brave denial may remain written to -its credit when the controversies of immediate method are forgotten. - -[1] I cannot think that in detail its advocates are consistent with -their principles on this point. But controversy is not my object here. - -We may attempt to indicate in a few words the direction in which -the ethical idea incarnate in the institution of the “poor” is -tending to supplement and modify itself as clearer notions of a -commonwealth arise. It may be observed, by {319} way of introduction, -that we cruelly misconceive the Greek mind when we ascribe to it -a want of love and compassion, because we miss in its utterances -the religious note of devotion to the poor. [1] To a great extent -the truest idea of charity was presupposed in the very axioms of a -Greek commonwealth. The Greek spoke little of “the poor,” because -he recognised no such status. [2] It would have meant to him a -functionless class, a dislocation of the body politic. This, in -fact, is what it did mean when pauperism began to press upon the -Greeks, and the philosopher [3] at once diagnoses the evil, and uses -the term, “people without means,” _i.e._ without ways of supporting -themselves, instead of the older word, which rather suggests the -“object of ‘charity’”. To get them back into a function, “a means,” -is the course which _ipso facto_ rises before him; not to create a -new ethical idea for their sake _qua déclassés_. - -[1] Not altogether true, of course. In Homer “all strangers and poor -men come from Zeus.” - -[2] It is a mistake to treat all these problems as automatically -solved for the ancients by slavery. The citizen population had -enough dependence on industrial life to be liable to disaster from -its dislocation, and that this happened so little was a true success -while it lasted. - -[3] Aristotle, _Politics_, 1320, d. 29. The older word is πτωχός -[ptochos], “one who crouches or cringes, a beggar”; it always had a -bad sense till it was ennobled in the _Gospels_ (Liddell and Scott). -Aristotle’s word is ἄπορος [aporos], “without ways and means.” -Different from both is πένης [penes], for which we have no proper -word, having spoilt “poor” by the idea of dependence. It means a -poor man in the sense of one who is not rich enough to live without -working. The speeches in which Poverty πενία [penia] defends her -merits against Wealth, and in distinction from Beggary πτώχεια -[ptocheia], in Aristophanes’ _Plutus_, are fine, though mixed with -fallacies. - -The full modern conception of the “poor” as {320} an institution, if -they must be an institution, ought at least to avoid the pitfall of -acquiescence. Granting the fire and love of the Christian mind to be -a gain, yet its object must be brought into relation with the true -meaning of a mind or a commonwealth. Devotion to man at his weakest -must not be separated from devotion to the possibilities of man at -his strongest--possibilities either existent or at least symbolised -in the most unhappy of the functionless poor. Self-sacrifice for -the poor should not mean a tribute to the maintenance of a vicious -status, but an abiding and pervading sense of the claims which the -weaker humanity has to be made strong. - -6. The Nation-State, we have already suggested, is the widest -organisation which has the common experience necessary to found -a common life. This is why it is recognised as absolute in power -over the individual, and as his representative and champion in the -affairs of the world outside. It is obvious that there can be but -one such absolute power in relation to any one person; and that, so -far as the world is organised, there must be one; and, in fact, his -discharge from one allegiance can only be effected by his acceptance -of another. The analysis of the previous chapter releases us from the -task of setting out the elements which combine in the Nation-State, -as the conception of sovereign and ultimate adjustment between the -spheres which realise the elements of our ethical life. It should be -noted, however, that the principles of the family, the district, and -the class, not only enter into the nation in these definite shapes, -but affect the general fabric of {321} the national State through the -sense of race, of country, and of a pervading standard of life and -culture. The reaction of ideal unity on the natural conditions of a -state is exemplified by the tendency to substitute ideal frontiers--a -meridian or a parallel [1]--for frontiers determined by natural -boundaries. - -[1] See, _e.g._, the map of North America. - -The Nation-State as an ethical idea is, then, a faith or a -purpose--we might say a mission, were not the word too narrow and -too aggressive. It seems to be less to its inhabitant than the -City-state to its citizens; but that is greatly because, as happens -with the higher achievements of mind, it includes too much to be -readily apprehended. The modern nation is a history and a religion -rather than a clear cut idea. Its power as an idea-force is not known -till it is tried. How little the outsider, and even members of the -community concerned, were able to gauge beforehand the strength of -the sentiment and conception that pervaded the United States through -the war of secession. [1] The place of the idea of the Nation-State -in the whole of ethical ideas may be illustrated by the Greek -conception of Happiness, as that organisation of aims, whatever it -may be which permits the fullest harmony to life. The State, as -such, we saw, is limited to the office of maintaining the external -conditions of a good life; but the conditions cannot be conceived -without reference to the life for which they exist, and {322} it -is true, therefore, to say that the conception of the Nation-State -involves at least an outline of the life to which, as a power, it is -instrumental. The State, in short, cannot be understood apart from -the nation, nor the conditions from the life, although in exerting -political force it is important to distinguish them. As an ethical -idea, the idea of a purpose, it is essential to hold the two sides -together, if we are not to walk blindly. - -[2] The dangers besetting the French Republic to-day (December, 1898) -are, in essence, tests applied to the strength of a national idea. If -the idea cannot maintain itself, we must reluctantly suppose that it -ought not--that the common life has not the necessary depth. - -7. Our analysis of the Nation-State suggests a point of view which -may be applied to the vexed question of whether State action is to be -judged by the same moral tests as private action. - -The first step is to get a clear idea of the nature of State action. -It must be confined, one would think, to what is done in the name of -the State, and by something approaching to an act of will on its part -as a State. We only pass moral judgment on individuals in respect -of their acts of will, and we ought to extend the same justice to -a State. The question is complicated by the fact that a State has, -as its accredited agents, individuals whose acts it must normally -avow. But it can hardly be saddled with moral responsibility for -their personal misdoings, except under circumstances which are barely -conceivable. [1] The State, as such, can have no ends but public -ends; and in practice it has none but what its organs conceive to -be public ends. If an agent, even under the order of his executive -superior, commits a breach of morality, _bona fide_ in order to what -he conceives to be a public end desired by the State, he and his -superior are certainly {323} blamable, but the immorality can hardly -be laid at the door of the public will. - -[1] _i.e._ That it should actually order a theft, murder, or the like. - -Indeed, a strict definition of State action might raise a difficulty -like that of defining the General Will--if the act was immoral, -can the State, _as such_, really have willed it? And waiving this -as a mere refinement, it still seems clear that the selfishness or -sensuality, which has at least a good deal to do with the immorality -of private actions, can hardly be present in an act of the public -will, in the same sense as in a private volition. The State, as such, -certainly cannot be guilty of personal immorality, and it is hard to -see how it can commit theft or murder in the sense in which these -are moral offences. To speak of the question as if it concerned the -conduct of statesmen and their agents, instead of the volition of a -State as such, seems to introduce confusion. We are discussing the -parallel between public and private acts, and we are asked to begin -by treating the public acts as private. - -It may be said that this distinction between public and private acts -leads to the casuistry of pure intention. We are saying, it will be -urged, that the State remains pure, because its will is on the whole -towards a public interest, whatever crimes its agents may commit. -And, no doubt, this line is often taken in practice. A successful -agent finds his evil deeds are winked at; an unsuccessful one is -disavowed. In either case the State pleads innocence. But this danger -cannot alter the conditions of a moral action, and we cannot impute -that as an action to the State, of which it knew no particulars, -which it never {324} willed, and which can hardly indeed be the -object of a public will. It has a duty to see to the character of its -agents and punish their excesses; but the conditions under which it -is true that _qui facit per alium facit per se_, can seldom apply to -a public body with regard to actions of its agent which are not of a -nature to embody public ends. - -Promises and treaties, however, are acts which embody public ends. -And here the State, on its side, is bound to maintain good faith; but -still its agent is likely to go wrong if he mixes up the obligations -of the State with his private honour. The question for him, if he -has to keep or break a public undertaking, is, to what is the State -substantially bound, not to what extent would he be bound if he had -made the promise or engagement in question in his private capacity? -He, or the power which is to act, must consider the obligations and -aims of the State, as a whole, and work for the best fulfilment of -them as a whole. The question may be _parallel to_ that of a private -case of honour, but it is not _his_ honour nor _his_ promise that is -in question. Just so, if he introduces his private conscience about -religion or morality into his public acts on behalf of the State, -he may cause frightful persecutions or disasters. The religious -persecutions, and our position in India, supply examples. - -The State, then, exists to promote good life, and what it does cannot -be morally indifferent; but its actions cannot be identified with -the deeds of its agents, or morally judged as private volitions -are judged. Its acts proper are always public acts, {325} and it -cannot, as a State, act within the relations of private life in which -organised morality exists. It has no determinate function in a larger -community, but is itself the supreme community; the guardian of a -whole moral world, but not a factor within an organised moral world. -Moral relations presuppose an organised life; but such a life is -only within the State, not in relations between the State and other -communities. - -But all this, it may be urged, is beside the question. The question -is not, can a State be a moral individual (though this is certainly -one question)? but, does an interest of State justify what would -otherwise be immorality or wrong-doing on the part of an officer of -State? - -Again, I think, we must distinguish between acts essentially private -and acts essentially public. To steal or murder, to lie, or to commit -personal immorality, for instance, as we said, cannot be a public -act. Such acts cannot embody a general interest willed by the public -will. A State agent who commits them in pursuit of information or -to secure a diplomatic result cannot be justified on the ground -that they are not his acts but the State’s; and they are as immoral -in him as in anyone else. Ultimately, indeed, it may be true that -there is no act which is incapable of justification, supposing some -extreme alternative; and in this sense, but in this sense only, it -might be that, treating the interest of a commonwealth like any other -ethically imperative interest, such acts might be relatively capable -of justification. But this justification would only mean that some -supreme interest was subserved by them, and would have {326} no -special relation to the supposed public character of the interest. -It is then a case of the conflict of duties. And the commoner -occurrence, which results in doubtful acts, probably is that an -agent, charged with some public service, finds it easiest to promote -it by some act of rascality, and acts on his idea. But over readiness -to make capital out of an apparent conflict of duties is neither made -worse nor better by the fact that one of the duties is the service of -the State. [1] - -[1] Cruelty, it has been said, is a good deal owing to laziness. -It is more comfortable to sit in the shade rubbing red pepper into -a man’s eyes to make him confess than to run about in the sun -collecting evidence. I quote from memory, from a lecture, I think, by -Mr. Leslie Stephen. - -A public act which inflicts loss, such as war, confiscation, the -repudiation of a debt, is wholly different from murder or theft. It -is not the act of a private person. It is not a violation of law. -[1] It can hardly be motived by private malice or cupidity in the -strict sense, and it is not a breach of an established moral order -by a being within it and dependent upon it for the organisation and -protection of his daily life. It is the act of a supreme power, -which has ultimate responsibility for protecting the form of life of -which it is the guardian, and which is not itself protected by any -scheme of functions or relations, such as prescribes a course for the -reconciliation of rights and secures its effectiveness. The means -adopted by such a supreme power to discharge its responsibilities -as a whole, are of course subject to criticism as respects the -conception of good which they {327} imply and their appropriateness -to the task of realising it. But it is mere confusion to apply -to them names borrowed from analogous acts of individuals within -communities, to impute them, as it were, to individuals under -dyslogistic predicates and to pass moral judgment upon them in the -same sense as on private acts. The nearest approach which we can -imagine to public immorality would be when the organs which act for -the State, as such, exhibit in their public action, on its behalf, a -narrow, selfish or brutal [2] conception of the interest of the State -as a whole, in which, so far as can be judged, public opinion at the -time agrees. In such a case the State, as such, may really be said -to be acting immorally, _i.e._ in contravention of its main duty to -sustain the conditions of as much good life as possible. This case -must be distinguished, if I am right, from the case in which the -individuals, acting as the public authority, are corrupted in their -own private interests [3] not shared with the public. For then the -case would rather be that the State, the organ of the public good, -had not been given a chance to speak, but had simply been defrauded -by those who spoke in its name. - -[1] An act which violates its own law is not an act of the State. And -the State is not subject to the law of any other State. - -[2] _e.g._ If, with the knowledge of Parliament, and without a -protest from it, a price were offered for the killing of a hostile -statesman or general. - -[3] _e.g._ Bribed by a foreign potentate, or pursuing Stock Exchange -interests. - -We do not suggest, then, that the action of States is beyond moral -criticism, nor that action of individuals in their interest is -above or below morality, except in the sense in which one moral -claim has constantly to be postponed to another. But we {328} deny -that States can be treated as the actors in private immoralities -which their agents permit themselves in the alleged interest of the -State; or, again, can be bound by the private honour and conscience -of such agents; and we deny, moreover, that the avowed public acts -of sovereign powers, which cause loss or injury, can be imputed to -individuals under the names of private offences; that someone is -guilty of murder when a country carries on war, or of theft when it -adopts the policy of repudiation, confiscation, or annexation. - -8. It is obvious that the idea of humanity, of the world of -intelligent beings on the surface of our earth, conceived as a unity, -must hold such a place in any tolerably complete philosophical -thinking, as in some way to control the idea of particular States, -and to sum up the purposes and possibilities of human life. The idea -of humanity is universal, and whatever limits we have tacitly in -mind--whatever limits the Greek thinker had in mind while he based -his ethics on the distinction between man and beast--yet, when we -rely on the idea of man as man, we are committed to treat in some way -of the world of mankind. - -_(a)_ The first point which forces itself upon our attention is, -that the idea which we tacitly entertain when we refer to humanity, -is not true of the greater part of mankind. No doubt, we are quite -aware of imperfection and inconsistency in the family and the State. -But here, in the case of mankind, the problem reaches an acuter form. -According to the current ideas of our civilisation, a great part of -the lives which {329} are being lived and have been lived by mankind -are not lives worth living, in the sense of embodying qualities for -which life seems valuable to us. [1] It is true that, in all to whom -we give the name of man, we suppose a possibility of such living, in -the sense that they have an intelligence distinguishable from that of -animals. But it is a possibility which, for the most part, has been -very slightly realised, and which involves no conscious connection, -so far as we can see, with any realisation. Our idea of man is not -formed by simple enumeration, but by framing a law which explains the -less perfect and consistent facts with reference to the more perfect -and more consistent facts. - -[1] This idea is embodied in the doctrine of Salvation confined to -the few, and contains perhaps a similar error. But it has a _prima -facie_ truth. - -_(b)_ This being so, it seems to follow that the object of our -ethical idea of humanity is not really mankind as a single community. -Putting aside the impossibilities arising from succession in time, -we see that no such identical experience can be presupposed in all -mankind as is necessary to effective membership of a common society -and exercise of a general will. It does not follow from this that -there can be no general recognition of the rights arising from -the capacities for good life which belong to man as man. Though -insufficient, as variously and imperfectly realised, to be the basis -of an effective community, they may, as far as realised, be a common -element or tissue of connection, running through the more concrete -experience on which effective communities {330} rest. Such a relation -as that of England and India brings the matter home. Englishmen -cannot make one effective self-governed community with the Indian -populations. It would be misery and inefficiency to both sides. But -our State can recognise the primary rights of humanity as determined -in the life of its Indian subjects, and enforce or respect these -rights, whether India be a dependency or an independent community. -The problem is not unlike that raised by the idea of a universal -language. As a substitute for national languages, it would mean a -dead level of intelligence unsuited to every actual national mind, -the destruction of literature and poetry. As an addition to existing -languages, or more simply, if it became customary for every people -to be acquainted with the tongues of other nations, there would be a -common understanding no less firm, and a vast gain of appreciation -and enjoyment, a levelling up instead of levelling down. The -recognition of human rights through communities founded on organic -unity of experience may be compared in just these terms to the idea -of a universal society including the entire human race. - -_(c)_ The contrast between humanity and mankind has always uttered -itself through a dichotomous mode of expression--Jew and Gentile, -Greek [1] and barbarian, Mussulman and infidel, Christian {331} and -heathen, white civilisations and the black and yellow races. It will -be noted at once that some of these divisions contradict each other, -and this fact may suggest the probability that to every people its -own life has seemed the crown of things, and the remainder of mankind -only the remainder. Such a suggestion may have a real bearing on our -problem, and we will return to it. In the meantime, however, it is -plain that humanity [2] as an ethical idea is a type or a problem -rather than a fact. It means certain qualities, at once realised in -what we take to be the crown of the race, and including a sensibility -to the claims of the race as such. Sensibility to the claims of the -race as such, is least of all qualities common to the race as such. -The respect of States and individuals for humanity is then, after -all, in its essence, a duty to maintain a type of life, not general, -but the best we know, which we call the most human, and in accordance -with it to recognise and deal with the rights of alien individuals -and communities. This conception is opposed to the treatment of all -individual human beings as members of an identical community having -identical capacities and rights. It follows our general conviction -that not numbers but qualities determine the value of life. But -qualities, of course, become self-contradictory if they fail to meet -the demands imposed on them by numbers. - -And thus we recur to a suggestion noted {332} above. Every people, -as a rule, seems to find contentment in its own type of life. This -cannot contradict, for us, the imperativeness of our own sense of -the best. But it may make us cautious as to the general theory of -progress, and ready to admit that one type of humanity cannot cover -the whole ground of the possibilities of human nature. Our action -must, no doubt, be guided by what we can understand of human needs, -and this must depend ultimately on our own type of life. But it -makes a difference whether we start from the hypothesis that our -civilisation as such stands for the goal of progress, or admit that -there is a necessity for covering the whole ground of human nature. -And it may be that, as the ground is covered, our States may go the -way which others have gone, without, however, leaving things as they -are. If the State, moreover, is not ultimate nor above criticism, no -more is any given idea of humanity; and reference to “the interests -of mankind” only names the problem, which is to find out what those -interests are, in terms of human qualities to be realised. - -[1] It is remarkable that a limitation of the earth’s surface, -raising an idea of unity, has always, I believe, been presupposed. -For the Greeks, Delphi was the centre of the earth; for us, the earth -being a sphere and returning into itself, gives a certainty that it -does not stretch away to infinity, so making unity of its inhabitants -inconceivable. The remark, I think, is Kant’s. - -[2] “Humanity” = “humaneness.” Scotch “Humanities” = Greek and -Latin. Oxford “Literae humaniores” = classics and philosophy. Greek -φιλάνθρωπον [philanthropon], a sense of what is due to man, _e.g._ of -poetical justice. - -_(d)_ Neither the State, however, nor the idea of humanity, nor -the interests of mankind, are the last word of theory. And even -political theory must so far point ahead as to show that it knows -where to look for its continuation. We have taken Society and the -State throughout to have their value in the human capacities which -they are the means of realising, in which realisation their social -aspect is an inevitable condition (for human nature is not complete -in solitude), but is not by itself, in its form of multitudes, the -end. {333} There is, therefore, no breach of continuity when the -immediate participation of numbers, the direct moulding of life by -the claims and relations of selves, falls away, and the human mind, -consolidated and sustained by society, goes further on its path in -removing contradictions and shaping its world and itself into unity. -Art, philosophy, and religion, though in a sense the very life-blood -of society, are not and could not be directly fashioned to meet the -needs and uses of the multitude, and their aim is not _in that sense_ -“social.” They should rather be regarded as a continuation, within -and founded upon the commonwealth, of the work which the commonwealth -begins in realising human nature; as fuller utterances of the same -universal self which the “general will” reveals in more precarious -forms; and as in the same sense implicit in the consciousness of -all, being an inheritance which is theirs so far as they can take -possession of it. - -We have thus attempted to trace in outline the content of the self, -implied, but imperfectly and variously reached, in the actual -individual consciousness. It is because of this implication, carrying -the sense that something more than we are is imperative upon us, that -self-government has a meaning, and that freedom--the non-obstruction -of capacities--is to be found in a system which lays burdens on the -untamed self and “forces us to be free.” What we feel as mere force -cannot as such be freedom; but in our subtle and complex natures the -recognition of a force may, as we have tried to explain, sustain, -regularise, and reawaken the operation of {334} a consciousness -of good, which we rejoice to see maintained, if our intelligence -fails of itself to maintain it, against indolence, incompetence, -and rebellion, even if they are our own. This is the root of -self-government, and true political government is self-government. - - - - -INDEX. - -A. - -Absolutism, Administrative, 63. -Actual Will, contrast Real Will, 118. -Albion, Launch of, 96 note. -Alexander, Prof., 174 n. -All and each, as Society and Individual, 81, 180. - Will of All dist. General Will, 111. -Allness, Judgment of, 112. -Altruism in H. Spencer, 24. - and Egoism, 47, 81, 83. -Amiel, cit, 236 note. -Analysis of motive, fallacy of, 291 ff. -Anglo-Saxon race, 301. -Anthropology in Hegel, 254. -Appercipient masses, 165 ff. - cpd. social groups, 169. -Aristocracy, Monarchy and Democracy, 284. -Aristotle, 5 ff., 32, 129 ff., 295 note. - on the poor, 319 note. -Army, opp. crowd, 160 ff. -Art, how far a social good, 333. -Artisan or public worker, 313 note. -Association, of persons and of ideas, 156 ff. - _see_ ORGANISATION. -Athens, 115. -Attention, 216, _see_ AUTOMATISM, APPERCIPIENT. -Austin, theory of Law, 261. -Authority of Society over Individual in Mill, 62. -Automatism in society, 183, ch. viii. -Autonomy, in Greece, 4. - moral, in Plato, 253. - -B. - -Bagehot, _Physics and Politics_, 19. -Baldwin, Prof., _Social and Ethical Interpretations_, 44, 253. -Baron of Bradwardine, 316. -Beauty, reconciliation of Nature and State (Schiller), 237. -Beccaria, 56. -Bentham, 56 ff., 82, 180. -Bequest, power of, 272. -Biology and Sociology, 21 ff. - double influence on Sociology, 23 ff. -Birth, surviving as qualification, 306 note. -Boeckh, 33 note. -_Bona fides_, in political theory, 192. -Bourgeois Society (in Hegel), 27, 269, 273 ff. -Boot and Shoe Operatives, Trade Report, 279 note. -Bradley, F.H., _Principles of Logic_, 49 note. - on Punishment, 222. - _Ethical Studies_, 267 note. -Büchsenschütz, 33 note. -Buckle, 28, -Burlamaqui, 132. -Butcher, Prof, (on Nature), _Aristotle’s Theory of Poetry and Fine - Art_ 131. - -C. - -Calvin at Geneva, 61. -Capacities, social, distinction of, 168, 173. -Cash nexus, 276. -Causation, physical, in human life, 31. -Cause, idea of, in Sociology, 21. -Charity Organisers, 318. -Christian consciousness, 263. -Church of England, offertory, 317. -Church and State, 285. -Cicero, 10. -Citizen of the World, 8. -City and town, distinguished in, Rousseau, 92 note. -City-State, 36, 116. - as a district, 310. -Civil condition, in Rousseau, 97, 100. -Civil Dispute, 262 note. -_Civil Government_ Locke, 101. -Civil Liberty, in Rousseau, 97. -_Civilisation of Christendom_, 137, 195. -Class, 278, 310 ff. - derivation, 312. - its absence, 315. -Classes in community, 7, 30. -Clan v. Family, 272. -Closed Commercial State, Fichte, 246. -Codification, 276 note. -Collectivism, uncritical, 70, 181. -Commonwealth and Soul, 6. -Comparative Politics, 41. -Competition and Co-operation, 24 ff. -Compulsion ch. viii., - in elementary education, 67. -Comte, 18 ff., 41. -Conditions and purpose, in Greek thinkers, 32. - which come close to life, 198. -Conditions, man and his, 31. -Conscience, morality of, 259. - in public acts, 324. -Consciousness of Kind, 43. -Consent, in Locke, 101. -Constituencies, of mere numbers, 309. -Constraint and self-assertion, 58. -Continuity, idea of, 23. -Contract, true province of, 260, _see_ STATUS. -_Contrat Social_, _see_ ROUSSEAU. - in Kant, 244. - in Fichte, 245. - in Hegel, 239, 261. -Convention, Law treated as, 8. -Co-operative Societies, 280 note. -Corporation, or Trade Society, 278., -Cosmopolitanism, 9. -Crawford, Marion, _Corleone_, 226 note. -Crime, sociological analysis of, 37. -Criminal offence, 262 note. -Crowd, 160 ff. - mind of a, 43. -Culture, 275. -Curtius, E., on Peloponnese, 33 note. -Czar, the (in 1818), 248. - -D. - -Dante, 31. -Decadence in Rousseau, 85. -_Déclassés_ as a class, 317. -De Coulanges, _La Cité Antique_, 44. -Demarcation between self-regarding and other regarding action, 64, 68, 76. -Democracy, _see_ ARISTOCRACY. -Democratic principle, 74, 284. - true d. passion, 98. -De Morgan, Prof., _Budget of Paradoxes_, 20. -Despotic Government, 53. -Deterrent, _see_ PUNISHMENT. -Dicey, _The Peasant State_, 315. -Difference and Identity compared with Invention and Imitation, 46. -Dijon, Academy of, 85. -District, the, as Ethical Idea, 304 ff., -Division of Labour, 278. -Dress, 8. -Dreyfus-Brisac, M., editor of _Contrat Social_, 101. -Duncker, 33 note. -Duproix, _Kant et Fichte_, 236 ff. -Durkheim, E., _Annee Sociologique_, 30 - _De la Division du Travail Social_, 34, 37 ff., 43, 220 ff., 227 note, 315. -Duty, dist. right and obligation, 208 ff. - -E. - -Each, _see_ ALL. -Economic view of History, 28. - facts, pressure of, 30. - world, the, 275. -Egoism, _see_ ALTRUISM. -_Émile_, Rousseau’s, 98 note. -_Emma_, Jane Austen’s, 162. -End and means in society, 81, 180 ff. - of Society and the State, 181. -English people, the, 116. -Epicureanism, 9. -Epiphenomena, 29. -Equality and Inequality, natural in Rousseau, 87. -Equivalence of punishment and offence, 228. -États, 278 note. -Eternal Relations, in Montesquieu, 59. -Ethical purpose of Philosophy, 50. - obligation, paradox of, 55, 139. - aspect negative in Spencer and Huxley, 72-3, cp. 124. - use and wont, 259. - ideas, ch. xi. -_Être de raison_, State is not, 95. -“Evangel of a _Contrat Social_” 14. -Examination in Elementary Education, 67. -Extenuating circumstances, 231. -External aspect of action, 64, 188 ff. - -F. - -Family meal, the, 301. -Family, monogamous, in Mill, 66, 269 ff., ch. xi. -_Faust_, 97 note. -Fichte, on Kant, 190 note, ch. ix. -Fiction, historical of contract in Rousseau, 91 ff., 98. -Force, in relation to end of State, ch. viii. -Foreigners Court at Rome, 10. -Form and Matter, in life of peoples, 32. -Freedom, _see_ ROUSSEAU. - Rousseau’s idea of, 237 ff. - and thought (Hegel), 240. - as understood by Kant and Fichte (Hegel), 247. -Freeman, _Comparative Politics_, 42. -French Republic, 321 note. -Friendly Societies, 280 note. -Fries, 249. -Frontiers, ideal, 321. -Fyffe, _History of Modern Europe_, 248. - -G. - -Geddes, Prof. Patrick, “Parasitism,” 26. - “Regional Survey,” 48 note. -General Will, 59, 93, ch. v. - “always right,” 121. - _see_ SOVEREIGNTY. - misunderstanding about (Hegel), 240. -Geneva, Calvin at, 61. -Geneva and Rousseau, 86. -Genevese, Rousseau’s father a, 98. -Giddings, Prof., _Principles of Sociology_, 18, 51. -Goethe, 41. -Götz, 237. -Golden Age, the, 129. -Good, meaning of, 182. -Good Will, _see_ CONSCIENCE, MORALITY. -Government Departments, legislation by, 285. -Graduation of Punishment, 228. -Gravitation, 19. -Green, T.H., _Principles of Political Obligation_, 93, 110, 137, - 141, 144, 188 ff., 203, 213, 227. - principle of State interference, 193. - criticism of Hegel, 288 ff. -Greeks, poor among, 319. -Grotius, 59. - -H. - -Happiness, Greek idea of, 321. -Hardenberg, 248. -Hare’s scheme, 310. -Hegel, 13, 27, 203, chs. ix. and x. -Henrici cit. by Green, 203. -Herder, 237. -Herodotus, 136. -Hesiod, 129. -Hindrance of hindrances, in State action, 192 ff., 199. -_History of Aesthetic_, 235. -Hobbes, 13, 59, 77, 93, 104 ff. -Holland, Prof., 56. -Homer, 31, 135. -Honour, private, in public acts, 324. -Household, 271. -Housing of poor, 198-9. -Howard, “the Philanthropist,” 56. -Humanity, and man, 328 ff. - compared with idea of universal language, 330. - dichotomous appellations for, 330. -Huxley, Prof., _Evolution and Ethics_, 26 ff., 73. - -I. - -Ideal, 274. -Ideas, influence of, in economic sphere, 30. - and community, 7. -Identity, _see_ DIFFERENCE. -Imitation and Invention, 43, 211, 252 ff. -Immorality, prevention of, by law, 65. -Indifference of space, 305. -Individual, fuller and narrower meaning of term, 79. - independent existence of, 95. -Individualism, 70, 79, 80, 181. -Individuality, in Mill, 61, cp. 79, 125. - limits of, 176. - highest point of, 313 ff. -Individual Mind, _see_ MIND. -Industrial world, the, 275. -Inequality, _see_ EQUALITY. -Influence, Rousseau’s double, 16. -Insanity, as loss of systematic control, 163. -Institutions, ch. xi., real nature of, 170 ff. -Intention, in theory of State coercion, 188 ff. -Interference by State, ch. viii. -Irreligion, prevention of, by law, 65. -Isonomy, in Greece, 4. - -J. - -Jacobi, at Geneva, 237. -James, Prof. W., 140, 164. -Joint-stock company and community compared, 76. -Jokai, Maurus, _Die Schöne Michal_, 316. -Jurisprudence, 34 ff. -Juristic meaning of liberty, 135. -Justice, administration of, 276. - -K. - -Kant, 13, 59, 190, ch. ix., 263. -_Klassenkampf_, 275 note. -Klinger, _Sturm und Drang_, 237. -Kinship and Neighbourhood, struggle of principles, 305. -Kotzebue, murder of, 248. -Krause cit. by Green, 203. - -L. - -Labourer, an English, and the State, 292. -Law of Nature (and of Nations), 10. -Law, sociological analysis of, 37. - and sentiment, 38. -Law, province of, in Mill, 63. -Le Bon G., _Psychologie des Foules_, 43. -Legislation, idea of, in Rousseau, 117 ff. -Le Play, 28. -Letter of the Law, 259, 276. -Lévy, Bruhl M., 236 ff. -Liberty, ch. vi. - in Bentham, 57 ff. - Mill’s _Liberty_, 60 ff. - “real”, in Mill, 69. - in Spencer and Seeley, 71, 133. - _see_ NATURAL, CIVIL, MORAL, JURISTIC. - “the quality of man,” 99, 118, 126. - in Locke, 101. - on convicts chains, 142 note. - bare and determinate Liberty contrasted, 194 ff. -Life, human, some of its elements, 31. -Limitation of earth’s surface, Kant on, 330 note. -Locality, mind of, 307. -Loch, C.S., 142 note. -Locke, 13, 101, 104 ff. -Logic of social progress, 258. -_Lucinde_, Schlegel’s, 271. - -M. - -Mafia, the, 226. -Maine, origin of penal law, 227 note. -Majority, will of, 4, 5. - “tyranny of,” 75, 240. -Marriage, prohibition suggested by Mill, 68, 271. -Married Women’s Property, 272. -Marx, 28, 29 note. -Materialism, 28 ff. -Matter and form, in life of peoples, 32. -Maximisation, 187. -Means, _see_ END. -Medical Charities of London, 290 note. -_Merrie England_, 129 note. -Metternich, 249. -Mill, J.S., 60 ff., 82, 118, 190, 194. -Mind and body of community, 7. - as a structure of systems, 173. - as a reflection of society, 174. - _see_ ASSOCIATION, ORGANISATION, APPERCIPIENT MASSES. - subjective and objective, 254-5. - absolute, 255. - of Society, 296. -Minority, _see_ MAJORITY. -Mommsen, 313 note. -Monarchy, 284. - _see_ ARISTOCRACY. -Monasticism, 302. -Montesquieu, 13, 40, 59. -Moral freedom in Rousseau, 98, 100. -Morality, province of, in Mill, 63. - of conscience, 259. - of State action, 322. -_Moralität_, 265. - -N. - -Napoleon, 294. -Nation-State, 3, n, 116, 321 ff. -Natural Law, 133 note. -Natural Liberty in Rousseau, 97. -Natural Right, 10 ff., 59. - on biological basis, 70. -Nature, 128 ff. - in Aristotle, 130 ff. - as self-assertion, 27. - State of, in Rousseau, 86. - in Burlamaqui, 132. -Neighbourhood, _see_ KINSHIP, 308. -Nettleship, R.L., 79 note, 146. -Newman, W.L., edition of Aristotle’s _Politics_, 33 note. -New Testament, 10. -Newton, Sir Isaac, 20. -Nihilism, Administrative, _see_ ABSOLUTISM. - -O. - -Obligation, ethical and political, 55. - enforcement of moral, 67 ff. - dist. right, 206. -Offer for Sale, a public matter, 278. -Organisation of ideas or persons opp. Association, 156 ff., 162. -Organism, comparison of society to, in Fichte, 245. -Origin of Inequality (Rousseau’s Discourse), 86. -“Others,” in Society, 58, 66, 83, 113, 182, 207. - _see_ INTERFERENCE. - -P. - -Parsimony, political, 185. -Paternal Government, 270. -Pattison, Rev. Mark, on Calvin, 60. -Person or Persona in Law and Politics, 12, 93, 104. -Phenomenology, 254 note. -Philanthropy and public honours, 219 note. -Philosopher, ancient, compared with Sociologist, 18. -Philosophical Theory described, 1. -Philosophy, purpose of, 50. - relation to social good, 333. - of Right (or Law) of Kant, 243. - of Hegel, 247 ff. - its position in _Philosophy of Mind_, 522 ff. - of Fichte, 244. -_Pirate, the_ (Scott), 162. -Plato, 5 ff., 20, 27, 32, 55, 74 note, 131, 139, 142, 218 note, 221, 253, 297. -Police State, 273. -Political Economy, 27, 273. -Political Obligation, paradox of, 55. -Political Speculation, in 17th century, -Politics and Science, relations of, 5. -Poor, the, as a class, 316, 320. -Poore, G.V., _Rural Hygiene_, 34 note. - _Dwelling House_, 233 note. -Position in society, dist. Right and Obligation, 205. -Property, 260, 302. -Proportional systems, Stout on, 165. -Protection, mere, as function of the State, 276. - of children’s earnings, 272. -Protestant consciousness, 263. -Psychology, a natural science, 49. - two tendencies in, 51. -Public or State action, dist. private, 322. -Public opinion, 287. -Publicity of discussion, 285. -Punishment, ch. viii., 37 ff., 220 ff. - right of capital, in Rousseau, 90. -Purposes and conditions in Greek philosophers, 32. -Pyramids, 278. - -R. - -“Real” Will, ch. v., and Actual, contrasted, 118. -Rebellion, duty of, 213-4. -Re-establishment of Sciences and Arts (Rousseau’s Discourse), 85. -Referendum, 105 note. -Reformation of offenders, _see_ PUNISHMENT. -Religion and State, 285, 333. -Repetition, 44. -Representation of the People, 104. -Representative Government, 115, 244. -Republic of Plato criticised, 274. -Republic of San Marino, 106. -Retribution, _see_ PUNISHMENT. -Return to Nature, 8, 23. -Returns in Social Science, 42 note. -Revolution, French, 14. -Reward, 217 ff. -_Richard the Second_, Shakespeare’s, 12. -Right, science of, 34 ff. - _see_ PHILOSOPHY OF RIGHT. - of first occupant, 99. - dist. obligation, 206. - unrecognized, 210. -Rights, natural, 35 ff. - in Bentham and Spencer, 70 ff. - in Rousseau, 99. - system of, 127, 201 ff. - negative basis of, 191. - sphere of, 258-9. -Ritchie, Prof., _Natural Rights_, 12, 14 - note, 88. -Rogers, J.D., 17 note. -Roman Jurisprudence, 10. -Roman Rule, 10. -Rousseau, 13 40, 59, 70 note, 74, chs. iv. and v., 142 note. - his idea of freedom, 237-8. - on force and right, 238 n., 282. -Ruskin (quoted) 252 n. - -S. - -St. Paul, 29. -Salamis, 115. -Scheme, general, in thought and in society, 162 ff. - unconscious operation of, 166. -Schiller, _Rauber_ and _Letters on Aesthetic Education_, 237. -Scott, Sir Walter, 162. -Seamanship, Technical training in, 192 note. -Seeley, J., 42 note, 133. -Self, the given, 143. -Self-assertion and self-restraint, 27, 72. -Self-government, ch. iii., 101, 139, 155, 134, 334 -Self-improvement as freedom, 144 ff. -Self-mastery, Plato’s account of, 139. -Self-regarding conduct, 62 ff. -Shakespeare, 31. -Sidgwick, Prof., 44, 88. -Similarities, etc., in social consciousness, 43. -_Sittlichkeit_, _see_ _Moralität_. -Slavery, 8, 69. -Social contract, 59, ch. vi. - _see_ “_Contrat Social_“ - groups compared with appercipient masses, 169. - Logic, 43. - observance = ethical use and wont, 259. - Physics, 20. - Spirit, 40, 122. - Science, ch. ii. -Socialism, 318. -Society as self-restraint, 27, 73. - for Greeks implies self-assertion, 73 note. - as a psychical whole, 175, 178. - and Individual, demarcation between, 62, 64. - relation to plurality of individuals, 176. - dist. State, 184. - as restraint, 27. - compared with animal species, 23. - compared with individual organism, 24. - as viewed by Philosophy, 50. -Sociologists, criticism of, 21 ff. -Sociology, ch. ii. -Socrates, 5 ff., 265. -Sophists, 265. -Soul and Commonwealth, 6, _see_ MIND. -Sources in Sociology, 47. -Sovereign, fallacy respecting, in Rousseau, 94 ff. - nature of, 103, 108. -Sovereignty, as exercise of General Will, 232 ff. - of people, 282. -Spencer, Herbert, 24 ff., 69 ff., 82, 145. -Spinoza, 14 ff. -Standard of Life, 30. -Stände, 278 note. -State, _see_ CITY-STATE AND NATION-STATE. - dist. Bourgeois Society, 27, 93, 273. - not an abstraction, 95. - inclusive notion of, 150 ff. - interference by, ch. viii. - analysis of, ch. x. - dist. Society, 184. - v. Nature, 237. - actual and ideal, 250. - political organism, 269, 280 ff. - and Religion, 285. - Regulation, 277. -Statistics, 42. -Status to Contract, Durkheim, 277. -Steinthal, 164. -Stephen, Mr. Leslie, on cruelty, 326 note. -Stoicism, 9, 263. -Stout, G.F., _Analytic Psychology_, 49, 162 note, 165 note. -Struggle for life, 23. -Subjectivity, 274. -Successes in social research, not due to Sociology, 22. -Suggestion in Society, 45, 183. -Super-organic, 26. -Supply and Demand, 277 ff. -Survival of fittest, _see_ STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. -Sutherland, A., _Origin and Growth of the Moral Instinct_, 27 note. - -T. - -Tacitus, _Annals_ and _Germania_, 129. -Tarde, G., 43 note, 44 ff. -Teleological character of Philosophy, 52. -Themistocles, 114. -Theories of the first look, 80, 82, 96, 144. -Theory, society compared to, 258. -Thomson’s _Seasons_, 237. -Thring, Life of, 197 note. -Thucydides, 218 note. -Tithe, the, 318. -Trade Societies, 277, 279 ff., 283. -Traffic returns, French, 43. -Training for Seamanship, 192 note. -Transvaal, 315. -Truth, meaning of, 182. - -U. - -Uniqueness of service, 25, 314. -United States of America, 284, 321. -Units, Delimitation of political, 185. -Unity of Social Mind, 177. -Universal good and common good, 110. - Judgment dist. Judgment of Allness, 112 ff. - Self, realised not solely in State, 332 ff. -Universe of Discourse, 163. -Unlawful Games, Statutes respecting, 66. - -V. - -Valet, the psychological, 292. -Vegetarianism, 8. -Vengeance dist. retribution, 227. -Vico, _New Science_, 13, 17, 40. -Virtue, 268. - -W. - -Wallace, Prof. W., _Lectures and Essays_, 85. - _Hegel’s Philosophy of Mind_, 249, 265. -War, dist. hunting, 212. -Wartburg, demonstration at, 248. -Water-drinking, 8. -Webb, Mr. and Mrs., 22 note. -_Wilhelm Meister’s Lehrjahre cit_., 273 note. -Will, Real or General, 96, ch. v. - in Hobbes and Locke contrasted, 106. - of All contrasted with General, 111. - Real with Actual, 118. - that wills itself, 146. - implies a whole, 177. - particular, how universalised, 267. - _see_ SOVEREIGNTY, SOCIAL OBSERVANCE. -Wycliffite cry, 12. - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Philosophical Theory of the State, by -Bernard Bosanquet - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PHILOSOPHICAL THEORY OF *** - -***** This file should be named 63249-0.txt or 63249-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/2/4/63249/ - -Produced by gdurb - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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