MORALITY
Space is running out fast, and it is quite impossible to grapple with
the details of so vast a subject as primitive morality. For these the
reader must consult Dr. Westermarck's monumental treatise, _The Origin
and Development of the Moral Ideas_, which brings together an immense
quantity of facts, under a clear and comprehensive scheme of headings.
He will discover, by the way, that, whereas customs differ immensely,
the emotions, one may even say the sentiments, that form the raw
material of morality are much the same everywhere.
Here it will be of most use to sketch the psychological groundwork
of primitive morality, as contrasted with morality of the more advanced
type. In pursuance of the plan hitherto followed, let us try to move
yet another step on from the purely exterior view of human life towards
our goal; which is to appreciate the true inwardness of human life--so
far at least as this is matter for anthropology, which reaches no
farther than the historic method can take it.
It is, of course, open to question whether either primitive or advanced
morality is sufficiently of one piece to allow, as it were, a composite
photograph to be framed of either. For our present purposes, however,
this expedient is so serviceable as to be worth risking. Let us assume,
then, that there are two main stages in the historical evolution of
society, as considered from the standpoint of the psychology of conduct.
I propose to term them the synnomic and the syntelic phases of society.
"Synnomic" (from the Greek _nomos_, custom) means that customs are
shared. "Syntelic" (from the Greek _telos_, end) means that ends are
shared.
The synnomic phase is, from the psychological point of view, a kingdom
of habit; the syntelic phase is a kingdom of reflection. The former
is governed by a subconscious selection of its standards of good and
bad; the latter by a conscious selection of its standards. It remains
to show very briefly how such a difference comes about.
The outstanding fact about the synnomic life of the ruder peoples is
perhaps this--that there is hardly any privacy. Of course, many other
drawbacks must be taken into account also--no wide-thrown
communications, no analytic language, no writing, no books, and so
on; but perhaps being in a crowd all the time is the worst drawback
of all. For, as Disraeli says in _Sybil_, gregariousness is not
association. Constant herding and huddling together hinders the
development of personality. That independence of character which is
the prime condition of syntelic society cannot mature, even though
the germs be there. No one has a chance of withdrawing into his own
soul. Therefore the individual does not experience that silent
conversation with self which is reflection. Instead of turning inwards,
he turns outwards. In short, he imitates.
But how, it may be objected, does evolution take place, if every one
imitates every one else? Certainly, it looks at first sight like a
vicious circle. Nevertheless, there is room for a certain progress,
or at any rate for a certain process of change. To analyse its
psychological springs would take us too long. If a phrase will do
instead of an explanation, we may sum them up, with the brilliant French
psychologist, Tarde, as "a cross-fertilization of imitations." We need
not, however, go far to get an impression of how this process of change
works. It is going on every day in our midst under the name of "change
of fashion." When one purchases the latest thing in ties or straw hats,
one is not aiming at a rational form of dress. If there is progress
in this direction, it is subconscious. The underlying spiritual
condition is not inaptly described by Dr. Lloyd Morgan as "a
sheep-through-the-gapishness."
From a moral point of view, this lack of capacity for private judgment
is equivalent to a want of moral freedom. We have seen how relatively
external are the sanctions of savage life. This does not mean, of course,
that there is no answering judgment in the mind of the individual when
he follows his customs. He says, "It is the custom; therefore it is
right." But this judgment can scarcely be said to proceed from a truly
judging, that is to say, critical, self. The man watches his neighbours,
taking his cue from them. His judgment is a judgment of sense. He does
not look inwards to principle. A moral principle is a standard that
can, by means of thought, be transferred from one sensible situation
to another sensible situation. The general law, and its application
to the situation present now to the senses, are considered apart,
before being put together. Consequently, a possible application,
however strongly suggested by custom, fashion, the action of one's
neighbours, one's own impulse or prejudice, or what not, can be
resisted, if it appear on reflection not to be really suited to the
circumstances. In short, in order to be rational and "put two and two
together," one must be able to entertain two and two as distinct
conceptions. Perceptions, on the contrary, can only be compared in
the lump. Just as in the chapter on language we saw how man began by
talking in holophrases, and only gradually attained to analytic, that
is, separable, elements of speech, so in this chapter we have to note
the strictly parallel development from confusion to distinction on
the side of thought.
Savage morality, then, is not rational in the sense of analysed, but
is, so to speak, impressionistic. We might, perhaps, describe it as
the expression of a collective impression. It is best understood in
the light of that branch of social psychology which usually goes by
the name of "mob-psychology." Perhaps mob and mobbish are rather
unfortunate terms. They are apt to make us think of the wilder
explosions of collective feeling--panics, blood-mania,
dancing-epidemics, and so on. But, though a savage society is by no
means a mob in the sense of a weltering mass of humanity that has for
the time being lost its head, the psychological considerations
applying to the latter apply also to the former, when due allowance
has been made for the fact that savage society is organized on a
permanent basis. The difference between the two comes, in short, to
this, that the mob as represented in the savage society is a mob
consisting of many successive generations of men. Its tradition
constitutes, as it were, a prolonged and abiding impression, which
its conduct thereupon expresses.
Savage thought, then, is not able, because it does not try, to break
up custom into separate pieces. Rather it plays round the edges of
custom; religion especially, with its suggestion of the general
sacredness of custom, helping it to do so. There is found in primitive
society plenty of vague speculation that seeks to justify the existing.
But to take the machine to bits in order to put it together differently
is out of the reach of a type of intelligence which, though competent
to grapple with details, takes its principles for granted. When
progress comes, it comes by stealth, through imitating the letter,
but refusing to imitate the spirit; until by means of legal fictions,
ritual substitutions, and so on, the new takes the place of the old
without any one noticing the fact.
Freedom, in the sense of intellectual freedom, may perhaps be said
to have been born in one place and at one time--namely, in Greece in
the fifth and fourth centuries B.C.[7] Of course, minglings and
clashings of peoples had prepared the way. Ideas begin to count as
soon as they break away from their local context. But Greece, in
teaching the world the meaning of intellectual freedom, paved a way
towards that most comprehensive form of freedom which is termed moral.
Moral freedom is the will to give out more than you take in; to repay
with interest the cost of your social education. It is the will to
take thought about the meaning and end of human life, and by so doing
to assist in creative evolution.
[Footnote 7: Political freedom, which is rather a different matter,
is perhaps pre-eminently the discovery of England.]