all motives. The confirmed drunkard or thief has got into the stage of
moral inability; the common motives that keep mankind sober and honest
have failed. Yet there are motives that would succeed, if we could
command them. Men may be sometimes cured of intemperance when the
constitution is so susceptible that pain follows at once on indulgence.
And so long as pleasure and pain, in fact and in prospect, operate upon
the will, so long as the individual is in a state wherein motives
operate, there may be moral weakness, but there is nothing more. In such
cases, punishment may be properly employed as a corrective, and is
likely to answer its end. This is the state termed accountability, or,
with more correctness, PUNISHABILITY, for being accountable is merely an
incident bound up with liability to punishment. Moral weakness is a
matter of a degree, and in its lowest grades shades into insanity, the
state wherein motives have lost their usual power--when pleasure and
pain cease to be apprehended by the mind in their proper character. At
_this_ point, punishment is unavailing; the moral inability has passed
into something like physical inability; the loss of self-control is as
complete as if the muscles were paralysed.
In the plea of insanity, entered on behalf of any one charged with
crime, the business of the jury is to ascertain whether the accused is
under the operation of the usual motives--whether pain in prospect has a
deterring effect on the conduct. If a man is as ready to jump out of the
window as to walk downstairs, of course he is not a moral agent; but so
long as he observes, of his own accord, the usual precautions against
harm to himself, he is to be punished for his misdeeds.
* * * * *
These various questions respecting the Will, if stripped of unsuitable
phraseology, are not very difficult questions. They are about as easy to
comprehend as the air-pump, the law of refraction of light, or the
atomic theory of chemistry. Distort them by inapposite metaphors, view
them in perplexing attitudes, and you may make them more abstruse than
the hardest proposition of the "Principia". What is far worse, by
involving a simple fact in inextricable contradictions, they have led
people gravely to recognise self-contradiction as the natural and the
proper condition of a certain class of questions. Consistency is very
well so far, and for the humbler matters of every-day life, but there is
a higher and a sacred region where it does not hold; where the
principles are to be received all the more readily that they land us in
contradictions. In ordinary matters, inconsistency is the test of
falsehood; in transcendental subjects, it is accounted the badge of
truth.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: _Fortnightly Review_, August, 1868.]
[Footnote 2: Donaldson's "History of Christian Literature and Doctrine,"
Vol. I., p. 277.]
[Footnote 3: Intensity of passion stands confessed in the
self-delineations of men of imaginative genius. We forbear to quote the
familiar instances of Wordsworth, Shelley, or Burns, but may refer to a
remarkable chapter in the life of the famous Scotch preacher, Dr. Thomas
Chalmers. The mere title of the chapter is enough for our purpose. It
related to his early youth, and ran thus, in his own words:--"A year of
mental elysium". It is while living at a white-heat that all the
thoughts and conceptions take a lofty, hyperbolical character; and the
outpouring of these at the time, or afterwards, is the imagination of
the orator or the poet.
The spread of the misconception that we have been combating is perhaps
accounted for by the circumstance that imagination in one man is the
cause of feeling _in others_. Wordsworth, by his imaginative colouring,
has excited a warmer sentiment for nature in many spectators of the lake
country. That, however, is a different thing. We may also allow that the
poet intensifies his own feelings by his creative embodiments of them.]
* * * * *
II.
ERRORS OF SUPPRESSED CORRELATIVES.[4]
By Relativity is here meant the all-pervading fact of our nature that we
are not impressed, made conscious, or mentally alive, without some
change of state or impression. An unvarying action on any of our senses
is the same as no action at all. An even temperature, such as that
enjoyed by the fishes in the tropical seas, leaves the mind an entire
blank as regards heat and cold. We can neither feel nor know without
recognising two distinct states. Hence all knowledge is double, or is
the knowledge of contrasts or opposites: heavy is relative to light; up
supposes down; being awake implies the state of sleep.
The applications of the law in the sphere of emotion are chiefly
contemplated in what follows. Pleasure and pain are never absolute
states; they have reference always to the previous condition. Until we
know what that has been in any case, we cannot pronounce upon the
efficacy of a present stimulation. We see a person reposing, apparently
in luxurious ease; if the state has been immediately consequent upon a
protracted and severe exertion, we are right in calling it highly
pleasurable. Under other circumstances, it might be quite the reverse.
There is an offshoot or modification of the principle, arising out of
the operation of habit. Impressions made upon us are greatest when they
are absolutely new: after repetition they all lose something of their
power; although, by remission and alternative, the causes of pleasure
and pain have still a very considerable efficacy. Many of the
consequences of this great fact are sufficiently acknowledged, or, if
they are not, it is from other causes than our ignorance. The weakness
is moral, rather than intellectual, that makes us expect that the first
flush of a great pleasure, a newly-attained joy or success, will
continue unabated. The poor man, probably, does not overrate the
gratification of newly-attained wealth; what he fails to allow for is
the deadening effect of an unbroken experience of ease and plenty. The
author of "Romola" says of the hero and the heroine, in the early
moments of their affection, that they could not look forward to a time
when their kisses should be common things. So it is with the attainment
of all great objects of pursuit: the first access of good fortune may
not disappoint us; but as we are more and more removed from the state of
privation, as the memory of the prior experience fades away, so does the
vividness of the present enjoyment. It is the same with changes for the
worse: the agony of a great loss is at first overpowering; gradually,
however, the system accommodates itself to the new condition, and the
severity dies away. What is called on these occasions the "force of
custom" is the application of the law of Accommodation, or Relativity
modified by habit.
[RELATIVITY IN PLEASURES.]
It is a familiar experience of mankind, yet hard to realise upon mere
testimony, that the pleasures of rest, repose, retirement, are wholly
relative to foregone labour and toil; after the first shock of
transition, they are less and less felt, and can be renewed only after
a renewal of the contrasting experience. The description, in "Paradise
Lost," of the delicious repose of Adam and Eve in Eden is fallacious;
the poet credits them with an intensity of pleasure attainable only by
the brow-sweating labourer under the curse.
The delights of Knowledge are relative to previous Ignorance; for,
although the possession of knowledge is in many ways a lasting good, yet
the full intensity of the charm is felt only at the moment of passing
from mystery to explanation, from blankness of impression to
intellectual attainment. This form of the pleasure is sustained only by
new acquisitions and new discoveries. Moreover, in the minor forms of
the gratification due to knowledge, we never escape the law of
relativity; the "power" delights us by relation to our previous
impotence. Plato supposed that, in knowledge, we have an example of a
_pure_ pleasure, meaning one that had no reference to foregone privation
or pain; but such "purity" would be a barren fact, not unlike the pure
air of a bladeless and waterless desert. A state of uninterrupted good
health, although a prime condition of enjoyment, is of itself a state of
neutrality or indifference. The man that has never been ill cannot sing
the joys of health; the exultation of that strain is attainable only by
the valetudinarian.
* * * * *
These examples have been remarked upon in every age. It is the moral
weakness of being carried away by a present strong feeling, as if the
state would last for ever, that blinds each of us in turn to the stern
reality of the fact. There are, however, numerous instances, coming
under Relativity, wherein the indispensable correlative is more or less
dropped out of sight and disavowed. These are the proper errors or
fallacies of Relativity, a branch of the comprehensive class termed
"Fallacies of Confusion". The object of the present essay is to exhibit
a few of these errors as they occur in questions of practical moment.
* * * * *
When it is said, as by Carlyle and others, "speech is silvern, silence
is golden," there is implied a condition of things where speech has been
in excess; and but for this excess, the assertion is untrue. One might
as well talk of the delights of hunger, or of cold, or of solitary
confinement, on the ground of there being times when food, warmth, or
society may be in excess, and when the opposing states would be a joyful
change.
The Relativity of Pleasures, although admitted in many individual cases,
has often been misconceived. The view is sometimes expressed, that there
can be no pleasure without a previous pain; but this goes beyond the
exigencies of the principle. We cannot go on for ever with any delight;
but mere remission, without any counterpart pain, is enough for our
entering with zest on many of our pleasures. A healthy man enjoys his
meals without any sensible previous pain of hunger. We do not need to
have been miserable for some time as a preparation for the reading of a
new poem. It is true that if the sense of privation has been acute, the
pleasure is proportionally increased; and that few pleasures of any
great intensity grow up from indifference: still, remission and
alternation may give a zest for enjoyment without any consciousness of
pain.
The principle of Comparison is capriciously made use of by Paley, in his
account of the elements of Happiness. He applies it forcibly and
felicitously to depreciate certain pleasures--as greatness, rank, and
station--and withholds its application from the pleasures that he more
particularly countenances,--namely, the social affections, the exercise
of the faculties, and health.
* * * * *
[SIMPLICITY OF STYLE A RELATIVE MERIT.]
The great praise often accorded to Simplicity of Style, in literature,
is an example of the suppression of the correlative in a case of mutual
relationship. Simplicity is not an absolute merit; it is frequently a
merit by correlation. Thus, if a certain subject has never been treated
except in abstruse and difficult terminology, a man of surpassing
literary powers, setting it forth in homely and intelligible language,
produces a work whose highest praise is expressed by Simplicity. Again,
after the last century period of artificial, complex, and highly-wrought
composition, the reaction of Cowper and Wordsworth in favour of
simplicity was an agreeable and refreshing change, and was in great part
acceptable because of the change. It does not appear that Wordsworth
comprehended this obvious fact; to him, a simplicity that cost nothing
to the composer, and brought no novelty to the reader, had still a
transcendent merit.
* * * * *
It has been a frequent practice of late years to celebrate the praises
of Knowledge. Many eloquent speakers have dilated on the happiness and
the superiority of the enlightened and the cultivated man. Now, the
correlative or obverse must be equally true: there must be a
corresponding degradation and disqualification attaching to ignorance
and the want of instruction. This correlative and equally cogent
statement is suppressed on certain occasions, and by persons that would
not demur to the praises of knowledge: as, when we are told of the
native good sense, the untaught sagacity, the admirable instincts of the
people,--that is, of the ignorant or the uneducated. Hence the great
value of the expository device of following up every principle with its,
counter-statement, the matter denied when the principle is affirmed. If
knowledge is a thing superlatively good, ignorance--the opposite of
knowledge--is a thing superlatively bad. There is no middle standing
ground.
* * * * *
In the way that people use the argument from Authority, there is often
an unfelt contradiction from not adverting to the correlative
implication. If I lay stress upon some one's authority as lending weight
to my opinion, I ought to be equally moved in the opposite direction
when the same authority is against me. The common case, however, is to
make a great flourish when the authority is one way, and to ignore it
when it is the other way. This is especially the fashion in dealing with
the ancient philosophers. Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle are quoted with
much complacency when they chime in with a modern view; but, in points
where they contradict our cherished sentiments, we treat them with a
kind of pity as half-informed pagans. It is not seen that men liable
to such gross errors as they are alleged to have committed--say on
Ethics--are by that fact deprived of all weight in allied subjects, as,
for example, Politics--in which Aristotle is still quoted as an
authority.
* * * * *
[DIGNITY OF ALL LABOUR ABSURD.]
Many of the sins against Relativity can be traced to rhetorical
exaggeration. Some remarkable instances of this can be cited.
When a system of ranks and dignities has once been established, there
are associations of dignity and of indignity with different conditions
and occupations. It is more dignified to serve in the army than to
engage in trade; to be a surgeon is more honourable than to be a
watchmaker. In this state of things a fervid rhetorician, eager to
redress the inequalities of mankind, starts forth to preach the dignity
of _all_ labour. The device is a self-contradiction. Make all labour
alike dignified, and nothing is dignified; you simply abolish dignity by
depriving it of the contrast that it subsists upon.
Pope's lines--
Honour and shame from no condition rise;
Act well your part; there all the honour lies--
cannot be exempted from the fallacy of self-contradiction. Differences
of condition are made by differences in the degree of honour thereto
attached. If every man that did his work well were put on a level, in
point of honour, with every other man that did the same; if the
gatekeeper of a mansion, by being unfailingly punctual in opening the
gate, were to be equally honoured with a great leader of the House of
Commons, then, indeed, equality of pay would be the only thing wanted to
abolish all differences of condition. There is, no doubt, in society, a
quantity of misplaced honour; but so long as there are employments
exceptionally arduous, and virtues signally beneficent in their
operation, honour is a legitimate spur and reward, and should be
graduated according to the desert in each case.
In spurring the ardour of youth to studious exertion, it is common to
repeat the Homeric maxim, "to supplant every one else, and stand out
first". The stimulating effect is undoubted; it is strong rhetorical
brandy. Yet only one man can be first, and the exhortation is given
simultaneously to a thousand.[5]
[JUSTICE ADMIRABLE ONLY IF RECIPROCATED.]
In the discussion and inculcation of the moral duties and virtues, there
has been, in all ages, a tendency to suppress correlative facts, and to
affirm unconditionally what is true only with a condition. Thus, the
admirable nature of Justice, and the happiness of the Just man, are a
proper theme to be extolled with all the power of eloquence. It has been
so with every civilized people, pagan as well as Christian. In the
dialogues of Plato, justice is a prominent subject, and is adorned with
the full splendour of his genius. Aristotle, in one of the few moments
when he rises to poetry, pronounces justice "greater than the
evening-star or the morning-star". Now all this panegyric is admissible
only on the supposition of _reciprocal_ justice. Plato, indeed, had the
hardihood to say that the just man is happy in himself, and by reason of
his justice, even although others are unjust to him; but the position is
untenable. A man is happy in his justice if it procure for him justice
in return; as a citizen is happy in his civil obedience, if it gain him
protection in return. There are two parties in the case, and the
moralist should obtain access to both; he should induce the one to
fulfil his share before promising to the other the happiness of justice
and obedience. It may be rhetorical, but it is not true, that justice
will make a man happy in a society where it is not reciprocated.
Justice, in these circumstances, is highly noble, praiseworthy,
virtuous; but the applying of these lofty compliments is the proof that
it does not bring happiness, and is an attempt to compensate the
deficiency. There is a certain tendency, not very great as human nature
is constituted, for justice to beget justice in return--for social
virtue on one side to procure it on the other side. This is a certain
encouragement to each man to perform his own part, in hope that the
other party concerned may do the same. Still, the reciprocity
occasionally fails, and with that the benefits to the just agent. It is
necessary to urge strongly upon individuals, to impress upon the young,
the necessity of performing their duty to society; it is equally
implied, and equally indispensable, that society should perform its part
to them. The suppressing of the correlative obligation of the State to
the individual leaves a one-sided doctrine; the motive of the
suppression, doubtless, is that society does not often fail of its
duties to the individual, whereas individuals frequently fail of their
duties to society. This may be the fact generally, but not always. It is
not the fact where there are bad laws and corrupt administration. It is
not the fact where the restraints on liberty are greater than the
exigencies of the State demand. It is not the fact, so long as there is
a single vestige of persecution for opinions. To be thoroughly
veracious, for example, in a society that restrains the discussion and
expression of opinions, is more than such a society is entitled to.
* * * * *
[PLEASURES OF BENEVOLENCE CONDITIONAL.]
The same fallacy occurs in an allied theme,--the joys of Love and
Benevolence. That love and benevolence are productive of great happiness
is beyond question; but then the feeling must be mutual, it must be
reciprocated. One-sided love or benevolence is a _virtue_, which is as
much as to say it is _not_ a pleasure. The delights of benevolence are
the delights of reciprocated benevolence; until reciprocated, in some
form, the benevolent man has, strictly speaking, the sacrifice and
nothing more. There is a great reluctance to encounter this simple naked
truth; to state it in theory, at least, for it is fully admitted in
practice. We fence it off by the assumption that benevolence will always
have its reward somehow; that if the objects of it are ungrateful,
others will make good the defect at last. Now these qualifications are
very pertinent, very suitable to be urged after allowing the plain
truth, that benevolence is intrinsically a sacrifice, a painful act; and
that this act is redeemed, and far more than redeemed, by a fair
reciprocity of benevolence. Only such an admission can keep us out of a
mesh of contradictions. Like justice in itself, Benevolence in itself is
painful; any virtue is pain in the first instance, although, when
equally responded to, it brings a surplus of pleasure. There may be acts
of a beneficent tendency that cost the performer nothing, or that even
may chance to be agreeable; but these examples must not be given as the
rule, or the type. It is the essence of virtuous acts, the prevailing
character of the class, to tax the agent, to deprive him of some
satisfaction to himself; this is what we must start from; we are then in
a position to explain how and when, and under what circumstances, and
with what limitations, the virtuous man, whether his virtue be justice
or benevolence, is from that cause a happy man.
* * * * *
It is a fallacy of the suppressed relative to describe virtue as
determined by the _moral nature_ of God, as opposed to his arbitrary
will. The essence of Morality is obedience to a superior, to a Law;
where there is no superior there is nothing either moral or immoral. The
supreme power is incapable of an immoral act. Parliament may do what is
injurious, it cannot do what is illegal. So the Deity may be beneficent
or maleficent, he cannot be moral or immoral.
* * * * *
Among the various ways, proposed in the seventeenth century, of solving
the difficulty of the mutual action of the heterogeneous agencies--matter
and mind--one was a mode of Divine interference, called the "Theory of
Occasional Causes". According to this view, the Deity exerted himself by
a _perpetual miracle_ to bring about the mental changes corresponding to
the physical agents operating on our senses--light, sound, &c. Now in
the mode of action suggested there is nothing self-contradictory; but in
the use of the word "miracle" there is a mistake of relativity. The
meaning of a miracle is an exceptional interference; it supposes an
habitual state of things, from which it is a deviation. The very idea of
miracle is abolished if every act is to be alike miraculous.
* * * * *
[MYSTERY CORRELATES WITH THE INTELLIGIBLE.]
We shall devote the remainder of this exposition to a still more notable
class of mistakes due to the suppression of a correlative member in a
relative couple--those, namely, connected with the designation,
"Mystery," a term greatly abused, in various ways, and especially by
disregarding its relative character. Mystery supposes certain things
that are plain, intelligible, knowable, revealed; and, by contrast to
these, refers to certain other things that are obscure, unintelligible,
unknowable, unrevealed. When a man's conduct is entirely plain,
straightforward, or accounted for, we call that an intelligible case;
when we are perplexed by the tortuosities of a crafty, double-dealing
person, we say it is all very mysterious. So, in nature, we consider
that we understand certain phenomena: such as gravity, and all its
consequences, in the fall of bodies, the flow of rivers, the motions of
the planets, the tides. On the other hand, earthquakes and volcanoes are
very mysterious; we do not know what they depend upon, how or in what
circumstances they are produced. Some of the operations of living bodies
are understood,--as the heart's action in the mechanical propulsion of
the blood; others, and the greater number, are mysterious, as the whole
process of germination and growth. Now the existence of the contrast
between things plainly understood, and things not understood, gives one
distinct meaning to the term Mystery. In some cases, a mystery is formed
by an apparent contradiction, as in the Theological mystery of Free-will
and Divine Foreknowledge; here, too, there is a contrast with the great
mass of consistent and reconcilable things. But now, when we are told by
sensational writers, that _everything is mysterious;_ that the simplest
phenomenon in nature--the fall of a stone, the swing of a pendulum, the
continuance of a ball shot in the air--are wonderful, marvellous,
miraculous, our understanding is confounded; there being then nothing
plain at all, there is nothing mysterious. The wonderful rises from the
common; as the lofty is lofty by relation to something lower: if there
is nothing common, then there is nothing wonderful; if all phenomena are
mysterious, nothing is mysterious; if we are to stand aghast in
amazement because three times four is twelve, what phenomenon can we
take as the type of the plain and the intelligible? You must always keep
up a standard of the common, the easy, the comprehensible, if you are to
regard other things as wonderful, difficult, inexplicable.
[LOCKE ON THE LIMITS OF THE UNDERSTANDING.]