COMPARISON OF THE MENTAL POWERS OF MAN AND THE LOWER
ANIMALS--_continued_.
The moral sense--Fundamental proposition--The qualities of
social animals--Origin of sociability--Struggle between opposed
instincts--Man a social animal--The more enduring social
instincts conquer other less persistent instincts--The social
virtues alone regarded by savages--The self-regarding virtues
acquired at a later stage of development--The importance of the
judgment of the members of the same community on
conduct--Transmission of moral tendencies--Summary.
I fully subscribe to the judgment of those writers[101] who maintain
that of all the differences between man and the lower animals, the moral
sense or conscience is by far the most important. This sense, as
Mackintosh[102] remarks, "has a rightful supremacy over every other
principle of human action;" it is summed up in that short but imperious
word _ought_, so full of high significance. It is the most noble of all
the attributes of man, leading him without a moment's hesitation to risk
his life for that of a fellow-creature; or after due deliberation,
impelled simply by the deep feeling of right or duty, to sacrifice it in
some great cause. Immanuel Kant exclaims, "Duty! Wondrous thought, that
workest neither by fond insinuation, flattery, nor by any threat, but
merely by holding up thy naked law in the soul, and so extorting for
thyself always reverence, if not always obedience; before whom all
appetites are dumb, however secretly they rebel; whence thy
original?"[103]
This great question has been discussed by many writers[104] of
consummate ability; and my sole excuse for touching on it is the
impossibility of here passing it over, and because, as far as I know, no
one has approached it exclusively from the side of natural history. The
investigation possesses, also, some independent interest, as an attempt
to see how far the study of the lower animals can throw light on one of
the highest psychical faculties of man.
The following proposition seems to me in a high degree probable--namely,
that any animal whatever, endowed with well-marked social
instincts,[105] would inevitably acquire a moral sense or conscience, as
soon as its intellectual powers had become as well developed, or nearly
as well developed, as in man. For, _firstly_, the social instincts lead
an animal to take pleasure in the society of its fellows, to feel a
certain amount of sympathy with them, and to perform various services
for them. The services may be of a definite and evidently instinctive
nature; or there may be only a wish and readiness, as with most of the
higher social animals, to aid their fellows in certain general ways. But
these feelings and services are by no means extended to all the
individuals of the same species, only to those of the same association.
_Secondly_, as soon as the mental faculties had become highly developed,
images of all past actions and motives would be incessantly passing
through the brain of each individual; and that feeling of
dissatisfaction which invariably results, as we shall hereafter see,
from any unsatisfied instinct, would arise, as often as it was perceived
that the enduring and always present social instinct had yielded to some
other instinct, at the time stronger, but neither enduring in its
nature, nor leaving behind it a very vivid impression. It is clear that
many instinctive desires, such as that of hunger, are in their nature of
short duration; and after being satisfied are not readily or vividly
recalled. _Thirdly_, after the power of language had been acquired and
the wishes of the members of the same community could be distinctly
expressed, the common opinion how each member ought to act for the
public good, would naturally become to a large extent the guide to
action. But the social instincts would still give the impulse to act for
the good of the community, this impulse being strengthened, directed,
and sometimes even deflected by public opinion, the power of which
rests, as we shall presently see, on instinctive sympathy. _Lastly_,
habit in the individual would ultimately play a very important part in
guiding the conduct of each member; for the social instincts and
impulses, like all other instincts, would be greatly strengthened by
habit, as would obedience to the wishes and judgment of the community.
These several subordinate propositions must now be discussed; and some
of them at considerable length.
It may be well first to premise that I do not wish to maintain that any
strictly social animal, if its intellectual faculties were to become as
active and as highly developed as in man, would acquire exactly the same
moral sense as ours. In the same manner as various animals have some
sense of beauty, though they admire widely different objects, so they
might have a sense of right and wrong, though led by it to follow widely
different lines of conduct. If, for instance, to take an extreme case,
men were reared under precisely the same conditions as hive-bees, there
can hardly be a doubt that our unmarried females would, like the
worker-bees, think it a sacred duty to kill their brothers, and mothers
would strive to kill their fertile daughters; and no one would think of
interfering. Nevertheless the bee, or any other social animal, would in
our supposed case gain, as it appears to me, some feeling of right and
wrong, or a conscience. For each individual would have an inward sense
of possessing certain stronger or more enduring instincts, and others
less strong or enduring; so that there would often be a struggle which
impulse should be followed; and satisfaction or dissatisfaction would be
felt, as past impressions were compared during their incessant passage
through the mind. In this case an inward monitor would tell the animal
that it would have been better to have followed the one impulse rather
than the other. The one course ought to have been followed: the one
would have been right and the other wrong; but to these terms I shall
have to recur.
_Sociability._--Animals of many kinds are social; we find even distinct
species living together, as with some American monkeys, and with the
united flocks of rooks, jackdaws, and starlings. Man shows the same
feeling in his strong love for the dog, which the dog returns with
interest. Every one must have noticed how miserable horses, dogs, sheep,
&c. are when separated from their companions; and what affection at
least the two former kinds show on their reunion. It is curious to
speculate on the feelings of a dog, who will rest peacefully for hours
in a room with his master or any of the family, without the least notice
being taken of him; but if left for a short time by himself, barks or
howls dismally. We will confine our attention to the higher social
animals, excluding insects, although these aid each other in many
important ways. The most common service which the higher animals perform
for each other, is the warning each other of danger by means of the
united senses of all. Every sportsman knows, as Dr. Jaeger remarks,[106]
how difficult it is to approach animals in a herd or troop. Wild horses
and cattle do not, I believe, make any danger-signal; but the attitude
of any one who first discovers an enemy, warns the others. Rabbits stamp
loudly on the ground with their hind-feet as a signal: sheep and chamois
do the same, but with their fore-feet, uttering likewise a whistle. Many
birds and some mammals post sentinels, which in the case of seals are
said[107] generally to be the females. The leader of a troop of monkeys
acts as the sentinel, and utters cries expressive both of danger and of
safety.[108] Social animals perform many little services for each
other: horses nibble, and cows lick each other, on any spot which
itches: monkeys search for each other's external parasites; and Brehm
states that after a troop of the _Cercopithecus griseo-viridis_ has
rushed through a thorny brake, each monkey stretches itself on a branch,
and another monkey sitting by "conscientiously" examines its fur and
extracts every thorn or burr.
Animals also render more important services to each other: thus wolves
and some other beasts of prey hunt in packs, and aid each other in
attacking their victims. Pelicans fish in concert. The Hamadryas baboons
turn over stones to find insects, &c.; and when they come to a large
one, as many as can stand round, turn it over together and share the
booty. Social animals mutually defend each other. The males of some
ruminants come to the front when there is danger and defend the herd
with their horns. I shall also in a future chapter give cases of two
young wild bulls attacking an old one in concert, and of two stallions
together trying to drive away a third stallion from a troop of mares.
Brehm encountered in Abyssinia a great troop of baboons which were
crossing a valley: some had already ascended the opposite mountain, and
some were still in the valley: the latter were attacked by the dogs, but
the old males immediately hurried down from the rocks, and with mouths
widely opened roared so fearfully, that the dogs precipitately
retreated. They were again encouraged to the attack; but by this time
all the baboons had reascended the heights, excepting a young one, about
six months old, who, loudly calling for aid, climbed on a block of rock
and was surrounded. Now one of the largest males, a true hero, came down
again from the mountain, slowly went to the young one, coaxed him, and
triumphantly led him away--the dogs being too much astonished to make an
attack. I cannot resist giving another scene which was witnessed by this
same naturalist; an eagle seized a young Cercopithecus, which, by
clinging to a branch, was not at once carried off; it cried loudly for
assistance, upon which the other members of the troop with much uproar
rushed to the rescue, surrounded the eagle, and pulled out so many
feathers, that he no longer thought of his prey, but only how to escape.
This eagle, as Brehm remarks, assuredly would never again attack a
monkey in a troop.
It is certain that associated animals have a feeling of love for each
other which is not felt by adult and non-social animals. How far in most
cases they actually sympathise with each other's pains and pleasures is
more doubtful, especially with respect to the latter. Mr. Buxton,
however, who had excellent means of observation,[109] states that his
macaws, which lived free in Norfolk, took "an extravagant interest" in a
pair with a nest, and whenever the female left it, she was surrounded by
a troop "screaming horrible acclamations in her honour." It is often
difficult to judge whether animals have any feeling for each other's
sufferings. Who can say what cows feel, when they surround and stare
intently on a dying or dead companion? That animals sometimes are far
from feeling any sympathy is too certain; for they will expel a wounded
animal from the herd, or gore or worry it to death. This is almost the
blackest fact in natural history, unless indeed the explanation which
has been suggested is true, that their instinct or reason leads them to
expel an injured companion, lest beasts of prey, including man, should
be tempted to follow the troop. In this case their conduct is not much
worse than that of the North American Indians who leave their feeble
comrades to perish on the plains, or the Feegeans, who, when their
parents get old or fall ill, bury them alive.[110]
Many animals, however, certainly sympathise with each other's distress
or danger. This is the case even with birds; Capt. Stansbury[111] found
on a salt lake in Utah an old and completely blind pelican, which was
very fat, and must have been long and well fed by his companions. Mr.
Blyth, as he informs me, saw Indian crows feeding two or three of their
companions which were blind; and I have heard of an analogous case with
the domestic cock. We may, if we choose, call these actions instinctive;
but such cases are much too rare for the development of any special
instinct.[112] I have myself seen a dog, who never passed a great friend
of his, a cat which lay sick in a basket, without giving her a few licks
with his tongue, the surest sign of kind feeling in a dog.
It must be called sympathy that leads a courageous dog to fly at any one
who strikes his master, as he certainly will. I saw a person pretending
to beat a lady who had a very timid little dog on her lap, and the trial
had never before been made. The little creature instantly jumped away,
but after the pretended beating was over, it was really pathetic to see
how perseveringly he tried to lick his mistress's face and comfort her.
Brehm[113] states that when a baboon in confinement was pursued to be
punished, the others tried to protect him. It must have been sympathy in
the cases above given which led the baboons and Cercopitheci to defend
their young comrades from the dogs and the eagle. I will give only one
other instance of sympathetic and heroic conduct in a little American
monkey. Several years ago a keeper at the Zoological Gardens, showed me
some deep and scarcely healed wounds on the nape of his neck, inflicted
on him whilst kneeling on the floor by a fierce baboon. The little
American monkey, who was a warm friend of this keeper, lived in the same
large compartment, and was dreadfully afraid of the great baboon.
Nevertheless, as soon as he saw his friend the keeper in peril, he
rushed to the rescue, and by screams and bites so distracted the baboon
that the man was able to escape, after running great risk, as the
surgeon who attended him thought, of his life.
Besides love and sympathy, animals exhibit other qualities which in us
would be called moral; and I agree with Agassiz[114] that dogs possess
something very like a conscience. They certainly possess some power of
self-command, and this does not appear to be wholly the result of fear.
As Braubach[115] remarks, a dog will refrain from stealing food in the
absence of his master. Dogs have long been accepted as the very type of
fidelity and obedience. All animals living in a body which defend each
other or attack their enemies in concert, must be in some degree
faithful to each other; and those that follow a leader must be in some
degree obedient. When the baboons in Abyssinia[116] plunder a garden,
they silently follow their leader; and if an imprudent young animal
makes a noise, he receives a slap from the others to teach him silence
and obedience; but as soon as they are sure that there is no danger, all
show their joy by much clamour.
With respect to the impulse which leads certain animals to associate
together, and to aid each other in many ways, we may infer that in most
cases they are impelled by the same sense of satisfaction or pleasure
which they experience in performing other instinctive actions; or by the
same sense of dissatisfaction, as in other cases of prevented
instinctive actions. We see this in innumerable instances, and it is
illustrated in a striking manner by the acquired instincts of our
domesticated animals; thus a young shepherd-dog delights in driving and
running round a flock of sheep, but not in worrying them; a young
foxhound delights in hunting a fox, whilst some other kinds of dogs as I
have witnessed, utterly disregard foxes. What a strong feeling of inward
satisfaction must impel a bird, so full of activity, to brood day after
day over her eggs. Migratory birds are miserable if prevented from
migrating, and perhaps they enjoy starting on their long flight. Some
few instincts are determined solely by painful feelings, as by fear,
which leads to self-preservation, or is specially directed against
certain enemies. No one, I presume, can analyse the sensations of
pleasure or pain. In many cases, however, it is probable that instincts
are persistently followed from the mere force of inheritance, without
the stimulus of either pleasure or pain. A young pointer, when it first
scents game, apparently cannot help pointing. A squirrel in a cage who
pats the nuts which it cannot eat, as if to bury them in the ground, can
hardly be thought to act thus either from pleasure or pain. Hence the
common assumption that men must be impelled to every action by
experiencing some pleasure or pain may be erroneous. Although a habit
may be blindly and implicitly followed, independently of any pleasure or
pain felt at the moment, yet if it be forcibly and abruptly checked, a
vague sense of dissatisfaction is generally experienced; and this is
especially true in regard to persons of feeble intellect.
It has often been assumed that animals were in the first place rendered
social, and that they feel as a consequence uncomfortable when separated
from each other, and comfortable whilst together; but it is a more
probable view that these sensations were first developed, in order that
those animals which would profit by living in society, should be induced
to live together. In the same manner as the sense of hunger and the
pleasure of eating were, no doubt, first acquired in order to induce
animals to eat. The feeling of pleasure from society is probably an
extension of the parental or filial affections; and this extension may
be in chief part attributed to natural selection, but perhaps in part to
mere habit. For with those animals which were benefited by living in
close association, the individuals which took the greatest pleasure in
society would best escape various dangers; whilst those that cared least
for their comrades and lived solitary would perish in greater numbers.
With respect to the origin of the parental and filial affections, which
apparently lie at the basis of the social affections, it is hopeless to
speculate; but we may infer that they have been to a large extent
gained through natural selection. So it has almost certainly been with
the unusual and opposite feeling of hatred between the nearest
relations, as with the worker-bees which kill their brother-drones, and
with the queen-bees which kill their daughter-queens; the desire to
destroy, instead of loving, their nearest relations having been here of
service to the community.
The all-important emotion of sympathy is distinct from that of love. A
mother may passionately love her sleeping and passive infant, but she
can then hardly be said to feel sympathy for it. The love of a man for
his dog is distinct from sympathy, and so is that of a dog for his
master. Adam Smith formerly argued, as has Mr. Bain recently, that the
basis of sympathy lies in our strong retentiveness of former states of
pain or pleasure. Hence, "the sight of another person enduring hunger,
cold, fatigue, revives in us some recollection of these states, which
are painful even in idea." We are thus impelled to relieve the
sufferings of another, in order that our own painful feelings may be at
the same time relieved. In like manner we are led to participate in the
pleasures of others.[117] But I cannot see how this view explains the
fact that sympathy is excited in an immeasurably stronger degree by a
beloved than by an indifferent person. The mere sight of suffering,
independently of love, would suffice to call up in us vivid
recollections and associations. Sympathy may at first have originated in
the manner above suggested; but it seems now to have become an instinct,
which is especially directed towards beloved objects, in the same manner
as fear with animals is especially directed against certain enemies. As
sympathy is thus directed, the mutual love of the members of the same
community will extend its limits. No doubt a tiger or lion feels
sympathy for the sufferings of its own young, but not for any other
animal. With strictly social animals the feeling will be more or less
extended to all the associated members, as we know to be the case. With
mankind selfishness, experience, and imitation probably add, as Mr. Bain
has shewn, to the power of sympathy; for we are led by the hope of
receiving good in return to perform acts of sympathetic kindness to
others; and there can be no doubt that the feeling of sympathy is much
strengthened by habit. In however complex a manner this feeling may have
originated, as it is one of high importance to all those animals which
aid and defend each other, it will have been increased, through natural
selection; for those communities, which included the greatest number of
the most sympathetic members, would flourish best and rear the greatest
number of offspring.
In many cases it is impossible to decide whether certain social
instincts have been acquired through natural selection, or are the
indirect result of other instincts and faculties, such as sympathy,
reason, experience, and a tendency to imitation; or again, whether they
are simply the result of long-continued habit. So remarkable an instinct
as the placing sentinels to warn the community of danger, can hardly
have been the indirect result of any other faculty; it must therefore
have been directly acquired. On the other hand, the habit followed by
the males of some social animals, of defending the community and of
attacking their enemies or their prey in concert, may perhaps have
originated from mutual sympathy; but courage, and in most cases
strength, must have been previously acquired, probably through natural
selection.
Of the various instincts and habits, some are much stronger than others,
that is, some either give more pleasure in their performance and more
distress in their prevention than others; or, which is probably quite as
important, they are more persistently followed through inheritance
without exciting any special feeling of pleasure or pain. We are
ourselves conscious that some habits are much more difficult to cure or
change than others. Hence a struggle may often be observed in animals
between different instincts, or between an instinct and some habitual
disposition; as when a dog rushes after a hare, is rebuked, pauses,
hesitates, pursues again or returns ashamed to his master; or as between
the love of a female dog for her young puppies and for her master, for
she may be seen to slink away to them, as if half ashamed of not
accompanying her master. But the most curious instance known to me of
one instinct conquering another, is the migratory instinct conquering
the maternal instinct. The former is wonderfully strong; a confined bird
will at the proper season beat her breast against the wires of her cage,
until it is bare and bloody. It causes young salmon to leap out of the
fresh water, where they could still continue to live, and thus
unintentionally to commit suicide. Every one knows how strong the
maternal instinct is, leading even timid birds to face great danger,
though with hesitation and in opposition to the instinct of
self-preservation. Nevertheless the migratory instinct is so powerful
that late in the autumn swallows and house-martins frequently desert
their tender young, leaving them to perish miserably in their
nests.[118]
We can perceive that an instinctive impulse, if it be in any way more
beneficial to a species than some other or opposed instinct, would be
rendered the more potent of the two through natural selection; for the
individuals which had it most strongly developed would survive in larger
numbers. Whether this is the case with the migratory in comparison with
the maternal instinct, may well be doubted. The great persistence or
steady action of the former at certain seasons of the year during the
whole day, may give it for a time paramount force.
_Man a social animal._--Most persons admit that man is a social being.
We see this in his dislike of solitude, and in his wish for society
beyond that of his own family. Solitary confinement is one of the
severest punishments which can be inflicted. Some authors suppose that
man primevally lived in single families; but at the present day, though
single families, or only two or three together, roam the solitudes of
some savage lands, they are always, as far as I can discover, friendly
with other families inhabiting the same district. Such families
occasionally meet in council, and they unite for their common defence.
It is no argument against savage man being a social animal, that the
tribes inhabiting adjacent districts are almost always at war with each
other; for the social instincts never extend to all the individuals of
the same species. Judging from the analogy of the greater number of the
Quadrumana, it is probable that the early ape-like progenitors of man
were likewise social; but this is not of much importance for us.
Although man, as he now exists, has few special instincts, having lost
any which his early progenitors may have possessed, this is no reason
why he should not have retained from an extremely remote period some
degree of instinctive love and sympathy for his fellows. We are indeed
all conscious that we do possess such sympathetic feelings;[119] but our
consciousness does not tell us whether they are instinctive, having
originated long ago in the same manner as with the lower animals, or
whether they have been acquired by each of us during our early years. As
man is a social animal, it is also probable that he would inherit a
tendency to be faithful to his comrades, for this quality is common to
most social animals. He would in like manner possess some capacity for
self-command, and perhaps of obedience to the leader of the community.
He would from an inherited tendency still be willing to defend, in
concert with others, his fellow-men, and would be ready to aid them in
any way which did not too greatly interfere with his own welfare or his
own strong desires.
The social animals which stand at the bottom of the scale are guided
almost exclusively, and those which stand higher in the scale are
largely guided, in the aid which they give to the members of the same
community, by special instincts; but they are likewise in part impelled
by mutual love and sympathy, assisted apparently by some amount of
reason. Although man, as just remarked, has no special instincts to tell
him how to aid his fellow-men, he still has the impulse, and with his
improved intellectual faculties would naturally be much guided in this
respect by reason and experience. Instinctive sympathy would, also,
cause him to value highly the approbation of his fellow-men; for, as Mr.
Bain has clearly shewn,[120] the love of praise and the strong feeling
of glory, and the still stronger horror of scorn and infamy, "are due to
the workings of sympathy." Consequently man would be greatly influenced
by the wishes, approbation, and blame of his fellow-men, as expressed by
their gestures and language. Thus the social instincts, which must have
been acquired by man in a very rude state, and probably even by his
early ape-like progenitors, still give the impulse to many of his best
actions; but his actions are largely determined by the expressed wishes
and judgment of his fellow-men, and unfortunately still oftener by his
own strong, selfish desires. But as the feelings of love and sympathy
and the power of self-command become strengthened by habit, and as the
power of reasoning becomes clearer so that man can appreciate the
justice of the judgments of his fellow-men, he will feel himself
impelled, independently of any pleasure or pain felt at the moment, to
certain lines of conduct. He may then say, I am the supreme judge of my
own conduct, and in the words of Kant, I will not in my own person
violate the dignity of humanity.
_The more enduring Social Instincts conquer the less Persistent
Instincts._--We have, however, not as yet considered the main point, on
which the whole question of the moral sense hinges. Why should a man
feel that he ought to obey one instinctive desire rather than another?
Why does he bitterly regret if he has yielded to the strong sense of
self-preservation, and has not risked his life to save that of a
fellow-creature; or why does he regret having stolen food from severe
hunger?
It is evident in the first place, that with mankind the instinctive
impulses have different degrees of strength; a young and timid mother
urged by the maternal instinct will, without a moment's hesitation, run
the greatest danger for her infant, but not for a mere fellow-creature.
Many a man, or even boy, who never before risked his life for another,
but in whom courage and sympathy were well developed, has, disregarding
the instinct of self-preservation, instantaneously plunged into a
torrent to save a drowning fellow-creature. In this case man is impelled
by the same instinctive motive, which caused the heroic little American
monkey, formerly described, to attack the great and dreaded baboon, to
save his keeper. Such actions as the above appear to be the simple
result of the greater strength of the social or maternal instincts than
of any other instinct or motive; for they are performed too
instantaneously for reflection, or for the sensation of pleasure or
pain; though if prevented distress would be caused.
I am aware that some persons maintain that actions performed
impulsively, as in the above cases, do not come under the dominion of
the moral sense, and cannot be called moral. They confine this term to
actions done deliberately, after a victory over opposing desires, or to
actions prompted by some lofty motive. But it appears scarcely possible
to draw any clear line of distinction of this kind; though the
distinction may be real. As far as exalted motives are concerned, many
instances have been recorded of barbarians, destitute of any feeling of
general benevolence towards mankind, and not guided by any religious
motive, who have deliberately as prisoners sacrificed their lives,[121]
rather than betray their comrades; and surely their conduct ought to be
considered as moral. As far as deliberation and the victory over
opposing motives are concerned, animals may be seen doubting between
opposed instincts, as in rescuing their offspring or comrades from
danger; yet their actions, though done for the good of others, are not
called moral. Moreover, an action repeatedly performed by us, will at
last be done without deliberation or hesitation, and can then hardly be
distinguished from an instinct; yet surely no one will pretend that an
action thus done ceases to be moral. On the contrary, we all feel that
an act cannot be considered as perfect, or as performed in the most
noble manner, unless it be done impulsively, without deliberation or
effort, in the same manner as by a man in whom the requisite qualities
are innate. He who is forced to overcome his fear or want of sympathy
before he acts, deserves, however, in one way higher credit than the man
whose innate disposition leads him to a good act without effort. As we
cannot distinguish between motives, we rank all actions of a certain
class as moral, when they are performed by a moral being. A moral being
is one who is capable of comparing his past and future actions or
motives, and of approving or disapproving of them. We have no reason to
suppose that any of the lower animals have this capacity; therefore
when a monkey faces danger to rescue its comrade, or takes charge of an
orphan-monkey, we do not call its conduct moral. But in the case of man,
who alone can with certainty be ranked as a moral being, actions of a
certain class are called moral, whether performed deliberately after a
struggle with opposing motives, or from the effects of slowly-gained
habit, or impulsively through instinct.
But to return to our more immediate subject; although some instincts are
more powerful than others, thus leading to corresponding actions, yet it
cannot be maintained that the social instincts are ordinarily stronger
in man, or have become stronger through long-continued habit, than the
instincts, for instance, of self-preservation, hunger, lust, vengeance,
&c. Why then does man regret, even though he may endeavour to banish any
such regret, that he has followed the one natural impulse, rather than
the other; and why does he further feel that he ought to regret his
conduct? Man in this respect differs profoundly from the lower animals.
Nevertheless we can, I think, see with some degree of clearness the
reason of this difference.
Man, from the activity of his mental faculties, cannot avoid reflection:
past impressions and images are incessantly passing through his mind
with distinctness. Now with those animals which live permanently in a
body, the social instincts are ever present and persistent. Such animals
are always ready to utter the danger-signal, to defend the community,
and to give aid to their fellows in accordance with their habits; they
feel at all times, without the stimulus of any special passion or
desire, some degree of love and sympathy for them; they are unhappy if
long separated from them, and always happy to be in their company. So it
is with ourselves. A man who possessed no trace of such feelings would
be an unnatural monster. On the other hand, the desire to satisfy
hunger, or any passion, such as vengeance, is in its nature temporary,
and can for a time be fully satisfied. Nor is it easy, perhaps hardly
possible, to call up with complete vividness the feeling, for instance,
of hunger; nor indeed, as has often been remarked, of any suffering. The
instinct of self-preservation is not felt except in the presence of
danger; and many a coward has thought himself brave until he has met his
enemy face to face. The wish for another man's property is perhaps as
persistent a desire as any that can be named; but even in this case the
satisfaction of actual possession is generally a weaker feeling than the
desire: many a thief, if not an habitual one, after success has wondered
why he stole some article.
Thus, as man cannot prevent old impressions continually repassing
through his mind, he will be compelled to compare the weaker impressions
of, for instance, past hunger, or of vengeance satisfied or danger
avoided at the cost of other men, with the instinct of sympathy and
good-will to his fellows, which is still present and ever in some degree
active in his mind. He will then feel in his imagination that a stronger
instinct has yielded to one which now seems comparatively weak; and then
that sense of dissatisfaction will inevitably be felt with which man is
endowed, like every other animal, in order that his instincts may be
obeyed. The case before given, of the swallow, affords an illustration,
though of a reversed nature, of a temporary though for the time strongly
persistent instinct conquering another instinct which is usually
dominant over all others. At the proper season these birds seem all day
long to be impressed with the desire to migrate; their habits change;
they become restless, are noisy, and congregate in flocks. Whilst the
mother-bird is feeding or brooding over her nestlings, the maternal
instinct is probably stronger than the migratory; but the instinct which
is more persistent gains the victory, and at last, at a moment when her
young ones are not in sight, she takes flight and deserts them. When
arrived at the end of her long journey, and the migratory instinct
ceases to act, what an agony of remorse each bird would feel, if, from
being endowed with great mental activity, she could not prevent the
image continually passing before her mind of her young ones perishing in
the bleak north from cold and hunger.
At the moment of action, man will no doubt be apt to follow the stronger
impulse; and though this may occasionally prompt him to the noblest
deeds, it will far more commonly lead him to gratify his own desires at
the expense of other men. But after their gratification, when past and
weaker impressions are contrasted with the ever-enduring social
instincts, retribution will surely come. Man will then feel dissatisfied
with himself, and will resolve with more or less force to act
differently for the future. This is conscience; for conscience looks
backwards and judges past actions, inducing that kind of
dissatisfaction, which if weak we call regret, and if severe remorse.
These sensations are, no doubt, different from those experienced when
other instincts or desires are left unsatisfied; but every unsatisfied
instinct has its own proper prompting sensation, as we recognise with
hunger, thirst, &c. Man thus prompted, will through long habit acquire
such perfect self-command, that his desires and passions will at last
instantly yield to his social sympathies, and there will no longer be a
struggle between them. The still hungry, or the still revengeful man
will not think of stealing food, or of wreaking his vengeance. It is
possible, or, as we shall hereafter see, even probable, that the habit
of self-command may, like other habits, be inherited. Thus at last man
comes to feel, through acquired and perhaps inherited habit, that it is
best for him to obey his more persistent instincts. The imperious word
_ought_ seems merely to imply the consciousness of the existence of a
persistent instinct, either innate or partly acquired, serving him as a
guide, though liable to be disobeyed. We hardly use the word _ought_ in
a metaphorical sense, when we say hounds ought to hunt, pointers to
point, and retrievers to retrieve their game. If they fail thus to act,
they fail in their duty and act wrongly.
If any desire or instinct, leading to an action opposed to the good of
others, still appears to a man, when recalled to mind, as strong as, or
stronger than, his social instinct, he will feel no keen regret at
having followed it; but he will be conscious that if his conduct were
known to his fellows, it would meet with their disapprobation; and few
are so destitute of sympathy as not to feel discomfort when this is
realised. If he has no such sympathy, and if his desires leading to bad
actions are at the time strong, and when recalled are not overmastered
by the persistent social instincts, then he is essentially a bad
man;[122] and the sole restraining motive left is the fear of
punishment, and the conviction that in the long run it would be best for
his own selfish interests to regard the good of others rather than his
own.
It is obvious that every one may with an easy conscience gratify his own
desires, if they do not interfere with his social instincts, that is
with the good of others; but in order to be quite free from
self-reproach, or at least of anxiety, it is almost necessary for him to
avoid the disapprobation, whether reasonable or not, of his fellow men.
Nor must he break through the fixed habits of his life, especially if
these are supported by reason; for if he does, he will assuredly feel
dissatisfaction. He must likewise avoid the reprobation of the one God
or gods, in whom according to his knowledge or superstition he may
believe; but in this case the additional fear of divine punishment often
supervenes.
_The strictly Social Virtues at first alone regarded._--The above view
of the first origin and nature of the moral sense, which tells us what
we ought to do, and of the conscience which reproves us if we disobey
it, accords well with what we see of the early and undeveloped condition
of this faculty in mankind. The virtues which must be practised, at
least generally, by rude men, so that they may associate in a body, are
those which are still recognised as the most important. But they are
practised almost exclusively in relation to the men of the same tribe;
and their opposites are not regarded as crimes in relation to the men of
other tribes. No tribe could hold together if murder, robbery,
treachery, &c., were common; consequently such crimes within the limits
of the same tribe "are branded with everlasting infamy;"[123] but excite
no such sentiment beyond these limits. A North-American Indian is well
pleased with himself, and is honoured by others, when he scalps a man of
another tribe; and a Dyak cuts off the head of an unoffending person
and dries it as a trophy. The murder of infants has prevailed on the
largest scale throughout the world,[124] and has met with no reproach;
but infanticide, especially of females, has been thought to be good for
the tribe, or at least not injurious. Suicide during former times was
not generally considered as a crime,[125] but rather from the courage
displayed as an honourable act; and it is still largely practised by
some semi-civilised nations without reproach, for the loss to a nation
of a single individual is not felt: whatever the explanation may be,
suicide, as I hear from Sir J. Lubbock, is rarely practised by the
lowest barbarians. It has been recorded that an Indian Thug
conscientiously regretted that he had not strangled and robbed as many
travellers as did his father before him. In a rude state of civilisation
the robbery of strangers is, indeed, generally considered as honourable.
The great sin of Slavery has been almost universal, and slaves have
often been treated in an infamous manner. As barbarians do not regard
the opinion of their women, wives are commonly treated like slaves. Most
savages are utterly indifferent to the sufferings of strangers, or even
delight in witnessing them. It is well known that the women and children
of the North-American Indians aided in torturing their enemies. Some
savages take a horrid pleasure in cruelty to animals,[126] and humanity
with them is an unknown virtue. Nevertheless, feelings of sympathy and
kindness are common, especially during sickness, between the members of
the same tribe, and are sometimes extended beyond the limits of the
tribe. Mungo Park's touching account of the kindness of the negro women
of the interior to him is well known. Many instances could be given of
the noble fidelity of savages towards each other, but not to strangers;
common experience justifies the maxim of the Spaniard, "Never, never
trust an Indian." There cannot be fidelity without truth; and this
fundamental virtue is not rare between the members of the same tribe:
thus Mungo Park heard the negro women teaching their young children to
love the truth. This, again, is one of the virtues which becomes so
deeply rooted in the mind that it is sometimes practised by savages even
at a high cost, towards strangers; but to lie to your enemy has rarely
been thought a sin, as the history of modern diplomacy too plainly
shews. As soon as a tribe has a recognised leader, disobedience becomes
a crime, and even abject submission is looked at as a sacred virtue.
As during rude times no man can be useful or faithful to his tribe
without courage, this quality has universally been placed in the highest
rank; and although, in civilised countries, a good, yet timid, man may
be far more useful to the community than a brave one, we cannot help
instinctively honouring the latter above a coward, however benevolent.
Prudence, on the other hand, which does not concern the welfare of
others, though a very useful virtue, has never been highly esteemed. As
no man can practise the virtues necessary for the welfare of his tribe
without self-sacrifice, self-command, and the power of endurance, these
qualities have been at all times highly and most justly valued. The
American savage voluntarily submits without a groan to the most horrid
tortures to prove and strengthen his fortitude and courage; and we
cannot help admiring him, or even an Indian Fakir, who, from a foolish
religious motive, swings suspended by a hook buried in his flesh.
The other self-regarding virtues, which do not obviously, though they
may really, affect the welfare of the tribe, have never been esteemed by
savages, though now highly appreciated by civilised nations. The
greatest intemperance with savages is no reproach. Their utter
licentiousness, not to mention unnatural crimes, is something
astounding.[127] As soon, however, as marriage, whether polygamous or
monogamous, becomes common, jealousy will lead to the inculcation of
female virtue; and this being honoured will tend to spread to the
unmarried females. How slowly it spreads to the male sex we see at the
present day. Chastity eminently requires self-command; therefore it has
been honoured from a very early period in the moral history of civilised
man. As a consequence of this, the senseless practice of celibacy has
been ranked from a remote period as a virtue.[128] The hatred of
indecency, which appears to us so natural as to be thought innate, and
which is so valuable an aid to chastity, is a modern virtue,
appertaining exclusively, as Sir G. Staunton remarks,[129] to civilised
life. This is shewn by the ancient religious rites of various nations,
by the drawings on the walls of Pompeii, and by the practices of many
savages.
We have now seen that actions are regarded by savages, and were probably
so regarded by primeval man, as good or bad, solely as they affect in an
obvious manner the welfare of the tribe,--not that of the species, nor
that of man as an individual member of the tribe. This conclusion
agrees well with the belief that the so-called moral sense is
aboriginally derived from the social instincts, for both relate at first
exclusively to the community. The chief causes of the low morality of
savages, as judged by our standard, are, firstly, the confinement of
sympathy to the same tribe. Secondly, insufficient powers of reasoning,
so that the bearing of many virtues, especially of the self-regarding
virtues, on the general welfare of the tribe is not recognised. Savages,
for instance, fail to trace the multiplied evils consequent on a want of
temperance, chastity, &c. And, thirdly, weak power of self-command; for
this power has not been strengthened through long-continued, perhaps
inherited, habit, instruction and religion.
I have entered into the above details on the immorality of savages,[130]
because some authors have recently taken a high view of their moral
nature, or have attributed most of their crimes to mistaken
benevolence.[131] These authors appear to rest their conclusion on
savages possessing, as they undoubtedly do possess, and often in a high
degree, those virtues which are serviceable, or even necessary, for the
existence of a tribal community.
_Concluding Remarks._--Philosophers of the derivative[132] school of
morals formerly assumed that the foundation of morality lay in a form of
Selfishness; but more recently in the "Greatest Happiness principle."
According to the view given above, the moral sense is fundamentally
identical with the social instincts; and in the case of the lower
animals it would be absurd to speak of these instincts as having been
developed from selfishness, or for the happiness of the community. They
have, however, certainly been developed for the general good of the
community. The term, general good, may be defined as the means by which
the greatest possible number of individuals can be reared in full vigour
and health, with all their faculties perfect, under the conditions to
which they are exposed. As the social instincts both of man and the
lower animals have no doubt been developed by the same steps, it would
be advisable, if found practicable, to use the same definition in both
cases, and to take as the test of morality, the general good or welfare
of the community, rather than the general happiness; but this definition
would perhaps require some limitation on account of political ethics.
When a man risks his life to save that of a fellow-creature, it seems
more appropriate to say that he acts for the general good or welfare,
rather than for the general happiness of mankind. No doubt the welfare
and the happiness of the individual usually coincide; and a contented,
happy tribe will flourish better than one that is discontented and
unhappy. We have seen that at an early period in the history of man, the
expressed wishes of the community will have naturally influenced to a
large extent the conduct of each member; and as all wish for happiness,
the "greatest happiness principle" will have become a most important
secondary guide and object; the social instincts, including sympathy,
always serving as the primary impulse and guide. Thus the reproach of
laying the foundation of the most noble part of our nature in the base
principle of selfishness is removed; unless indeed the satisfaction
which every animal feels when it follows its proper instincts, and the
dissatisfaction felt when prevented, be called selfish.
The expression of the wishes and judgment of the members of the same
community, at first by oral and afterwards by written language, serves,
as just remarked, as a most important secondary guide of conduct, in aid
of the social instincts, but sometimes in opposition to them. This
latter fact is well exemplified by the _Law of Honour_, that is the law
of the opinion of our equals, and not of all our countrymen. The breach
of this law, even when the breach is known to be strictly accordant with
true morality, has caused many a man more agony than a real crime. We
recognise the same influence in the burning sense of shame which most of
us have felt even after the interval of years, when calling to mind some
accidental breach of a trifling though fixed rule of etiquette. The
judgment of the community will generally be guided by some rude
experience of what is best in the long run for all the members; but this
judgment will not rarely err from ignorance and from weak powers of
reasoning. Hence the strangest customs and superstitions, in complete
opposition to the true welfare and happiness of mankind, have become
all-powerful throughout the world. We see this in the horror felt by a
Hindoo who breaks his caste, in the shame of a Mahometan woman who
exposes her face, and in innumerable other instances. It would be
difficult to distinguish between the remorse felt by a Hindoo who has
eaten unclean food, from that felt after committing a theft; but the
former would probably be the more severe.
How so many absurd rules of conduct, as well as so many absurd religious
beliefs, have originated we do not know; nor how it is that they have
become, in all quarters of the world, so deeply impressed on the mind
of men; but it is worthy of remark that a belief constantly inculcated
during the early years of life, whilst the brain is impressible, appears
to acquire almost the nature of an instinct; and the very essence of an
instinct is that it is followed independently of reason. Neither can we
say why certain admirable virtues, such as the love of truth, are much
more highly appreciated by some savage tribes than by others;[133] nor,
again, why similar differences prevail even amongst civilised nations.
Knowing how firmly fixed many strange customs and superstitions have
become, we need feel no surprise that the self-regarding virtues should
now appear to us so natural, supported as they are by reason, as to be
thought innate, although they were not valued by man in his early
condition.
Notwithstanding many sources of doubt, man can generally and readily
distinguish between the higher and lower moral rules. The higher are
founded on the social instincts, and relate to the welfare of others.
They are supported by the approbation of our fellow-men and by reason.
The lower rules, though some of them when implying self-sacrifice hardly
deserve to be called lower, relate chiefly to self, and owe their origin
to public opinion, when matured by experience and cultivated; for they
are not practised by rude tribes.
As man advances in civilisation, and small tribes are united into larger
communities, the simplest reason would tell each individual that he
ought to extend his social instincts and sympathies to all the members
of the same nation, though personally unknown to him. This point being
once reached, there is only an artificial barrier to prevent his
sympathies extending to the men of all nations and races. If, indeed,
such men are separated from him by great differences in appearance or
habits, experience unfortunately shews us how long it is before we look
at them as our fellow-creatures. Sympathy beyond the confines of man,
that is humanity to the lower animals, seems to be one of the latest
moral acquisitions. It is apparently unfelt by savages, except towards
their pets. How little the old Romans knew of it is shewn by their
abhorrent gladiatorial exhibitions. The very idea of humanity, as far as
I could observe, was new to most of the Gauchos of the Pampas. This
virtue, one of the noblest with which man is endowed, seems to arise
incidentally from our sympathies becoming more tender and more widely
diffused, until they are extended to all sentient beings. As soon as
this virtue is honoured and practised by some few men, it spreads
through instruction and example to the young, and eventually through
public opinion.
The highest stage in moral culture at which we can arrive, is when we
recognise that we ought to control our thoughts, and "not even in inmost
thought to think again the sins that made the past so pleasant to
us."[134] Whatever makes any bad action familiar to the mind, renders
its performance by so much the easier. As Marcus Aurelius long ago said,
"Such as are thy habitual thoughts, such also will be the character of
thy mind; for the soul is dyed by the thoughts."[135]
Our great philosopher, Herbert Spencer, has recently explained his views
on the moral sense. He says,[136] "I believe that the experiences of
utility organised and consolidated through all past generations of the
human race, have been producing corresponding modifications, which, by
continued transmission and accumulation, have become in us certain
faculties of moral intuition--certain emotions responding to right and
wrong conduct, which have no apparent basis in the individual
experiences of utility." There is not the least inherent improbability,
as it seems to me, in virtuous tendencies being more or less strongly
inherited; for, not to mention the various dispositions and habits
transmitted by many of our domestic animals, I have heard of cases in
which a desire to steal and a tendency to lie appeared to run in
families of the upper ranks; and as stealing is so rare a crime in the
wealthy classes, we can hardly account by accidental coincidence for the
tendency occurring in two or three members of the same family. If bad
tendencies are transmitted, it is probable that good ones are likewise
transmitted. Excepting through the principle of the transmission of
moral tendencies, we cannot understand the differences believed to exist
in this respect between the various races of mankind. We have, however,
as yet, hardly sufficient evidence on this head.
Even the partial transmission of virtuous tendencies would be an immense
assistance to the primary impulse derived directly from the social
instincts, and indirectly from the approbation of our fellow-men.
Admitting for the moment that virtuous tendencies are inherited, it
appears probable, at least in such cases as chastity, temperance,
humanity to animals, &c., that they become first impressed on the mental
organisation through habit, instruction, and example, continued during
several generations in the same family, and in a quite subordinate
degree, or not at all, by the individuals possessing such virtues,
having succeeded best in the struggle for life. My chief source of doubt
with respect to any such inheritance, is that senseless customs,
superstitions, and tastes, such as the horror of a Hindoo for unclean
food, ought on the same principle to be transmitted. Although this in
itself is perhaps not less probable than that animals should acquire
inherited tastes for certain kinds of food or fear of certain foes, I
have not met with any evidence in support of the transmission of
superstitious customs or senseless habits.
Finally, the social instincts which no doubt were acquired by man, as by
the lower animals, for the good of the community, will from the first
have given to him some wish to aid his fellows, and some feeling of
sympathy. Such impulses will have served him at a very early period as a
rude rule of right and wrong. But as man gradually advanced in
intellectual power and was enabled to trace the more remote consequences
of his actions; as he acquired sufficient knowledge to reject baneful
customs and superstitions; as he regarded more and more not only the
welfare but the happiness of his fellow-men; as from habit, following on
beneficial experience, instruction, and example, his sympathies became
more tender and widely diffused, so as to extend to the men of all
races, to the imbecile, the maimed, and other useless members of
society, and finally to the lower animals,--so would the standard of his
morality rise higher and higher. And it is admitted by moralists of the
derivative school and by some intuitionists, that the standard of
morality has risen since an early period in the history of man.[137]
As a struggle may sometimes be seen going on between the various
instincts of the lower animals, it is not surprising that there should
be a struggle in man between his social instincts, with their derived
virtues, and his lower, though at the moment, stronger impulses or
desires. This, as Mr. Galton[138] has remarked, is all the less
surprising, as man has emerged from a state of barbarism within a
comparatively recent period. After having yielded to some temptation we
feel a sense of dissatisfaction, analogous to that felt from other
unsatisfied instincts, called in this case conscience; for we cannot
prevent past images and impressions continually passing through our
minds, and these in their weakened state we compare with the
ever-present social instincts, or with habits gained in early youth and
strengthened during our whole lives, perhaps inherited, so that they are
at last rendered almost as strong as instincts. Looking to future
generations, there is no cause to fear that the social instincts will
grow weaker, and we may expect that virtuous habits will grow stronger,
becoming perhaps fixed by inheritance. In this case the struggle between
our higher and lower impulses will be less severe, and virtue will be
triumphant.
_Summary of the two last Chapters._--There can be no doubt that the
difference between the mind of the lowest man and that of the highest
animal is immense. An anthropomorphous ape, if he could take a
dispassionate view of his own case, would admit that though he could
form an artful plan to plunder a garden--though he could use stones for
fighting or for breaking open nuts, yet that the thought of fashioning
a stone into a tool was quite beyond his scope. Still less, as he would
admit, could he follow out a train of metaphysical reasoning, or solve a
mathematical problem, or reflect on God, or admire a grand natural
scene. Some apes, however, would probably declare that they could and
did admire the beauty of the coloured skin and fur of their partners in
marriage. They would admit, that though they could make other apes
understand by cries some of their perceptions and simpler wants, the
notion of expressing definite ideas by definite sounds had never crossed
their minds. They might insist that they were ready to aid their
fellow-apes of the same troop in many ways, to risk their lives for
them, and to take charge of their orphans; but they would be forced to
acknowledge that disinterested love for all living creatures, the most
noble attribute of man, was quite beyond their comprehension.
Nevertheless the difference in mind between man and the higher animals,
great as it is, is certainly one of degree and not of kind. We have seen
that the senses and intuitions, the various emotions and faculties, such
as love, memory, attention, curiosity, imitation, reason, &c., of which
man boasts, may be found in an incipient, or even sometimes in a
well-developed condition, in the lower animals. They are also capable of
some inherited improvement, as we see in the domestic dog compared with
the wolf or jackal. If it be maintained that certain powers, such as
self-consciousness, abstraction, &c., are peculiar to man, it may well
be that these are the incidental results of other highly-advanced
intellectual faculties; and these again are mainly the result of the
continued use of a highly developed language. At what age does the
new-born infant possess the power of abstraction, or become
self-conscious and reflect on its own existence? We cannot answer; nor
can we answer in regard to the ascending organic scale. The half-art and
half-instinct of language still bears the stamp of its gradual
evolution. The ennobling belief in God is not universal with man; and
the belief in active spiritual agencies naturally follows from his other
mental powers. The moral sense perhaps affords the best and highest
distinction between man and the lower animals; but I need not say
anything on this head, as I have so lately endeavoured to shew
that the social instincts,--the prime principle of man's moral
constitution[139]--with the aid of active intellectual powers and the
effects of habit, naturally lead to the golden rule, "As ye would that
men should do to you, do ye to them likewise;" and this lies at the
foundation of morality.
In a future chapter I shall make some few remarks on the probable steps
and means by which the several mental and moral faculties of man have
been gradually evolved. That this at least is possible ought not to be
denied, when we daily see their development in every infant; and when we
may trace a perfect gradation from the mind of an utter idiot, lower
than that of the lowest animal, to the mind of a Newton.