THE ORIGIN OF THE MORAL EMOTIONS
WE have found that resentment and retributive kindly emotion are
easily explicable from their usefulness, both of them having a
tendency to promote the interests of the individuals who feel them.
This explanation also holds good for the moral emotions, in so far as
they are retributive emotions: it accounts for the hostile attitude of
moral disapproval towards the cause of pain, and for the friendly
attitude of moral approval towards the cause of pleasure. But it still
remains for us to discover the origin of those elements in the moral
emotions by which they are distinguished from other, non-moral,
retributive emotions. First, how shall we explain their
disinterestedness?
We have to distinguish between different classes of conditions under
which disinterested retributive emotions arise. In the first place, we
may feel disinterested resentment, or disinterested retributive kindly
emotion, on account of an injury inflicted, or a benefit conferred,
upon another person with whose pain, or pleasure, we sympathise, and
in whose welfare we take a kindly interest. Our retributive emotions
are, of course, always reactions against pain, or pleasure, felt by
ourselves; this holds true for the moral emotions as well as for
revenge and gratitude. The question to be answered, then, is, Why
should we, quite disinterestedly, feel pain calling forth indignation
because our neighbour is hurt, and pleasure calling forth approval
because he is benefited?
{109} That a certain act causes pleasure or pain to the by-stander is
partly due to the close association which exists between these
feelings and their outward expressions. The sight of a happy face
tends to produce some degree of pleasure in him who sees it; the sight
of the bodily signs of suffering tends to produce a feeling of pain.
In either case the feeling of the spectator is the result of a process
of reproduction, the perception of the physical manifestation of the
feeling recalling the feeling itself on account of the established
association between them.
Sympathetic pain or pleasure may also be the result of an association
between cause and effect, between the cognition of a certain act or
situation and the feeling generally produced by this act or situation.
A blow may cause pain to the spectator before he has witnessed its
effect on the victim. The sympathetic feeling is of course stronger
when both kinds of association concur in producing it, than when it is
the result of only one. As Adam Smith observes, "general lamentations
which express nothing but the anguish of the sufferer, create rather a
curiosity to inquire into his situation, along with some disposition
to sympathise with him, than any actual sympathy that is very
sensible."[1] On the other hand, the sympathy which springs from an
association between cause and effect is much enhanced by the
perception of outward signs of pleasure or pain in the individual with
whom we sympathise.
[Footnote 1: Adam Smith, _Theory of Moral Sentiments_, p. 7.]
But the sympathetic feeling which results from association alone is
not what is generally understood by sympathy. Arising merely from the
habitual connection of certain cognitions with certain feelings in the
experience of the spectator, it is, strictly speaking, not at all
concerned with the _feelings_ of the other person. It is not a reflex
of what he feels--which, indeed, is a matter of complete
indifference--and the activity which it calls forth is thoroughly
selfish. If it is a feeling of pain, the spectator naturally, for his
own sake, tries to get rid of it; but this {110} may be done by
turning the back upon the sufferer, and looking out for some
diversion. The sympathetic feeling which springs from association
alone, may also produce a benevolent or hostile reaction against its
immediate cause: the smiling face often evokes a kindly feeling
towards the smiler, and "the sight of suffering often directs
irritation against the sufferer."[2] In such cases it is the other
person himself, rather than his benefactor or his tormentor, that is
regarded as cause by the sympathiser. When based on association alone,
the sympathetic feeling thus lacks the most vital characteristic of
sympathy, in the popular sense of the term: it lacks kindliness.[3]
[Footnote 2: Leslie Stephen, _Science of Ethics_, p. 243.]
[Footnote 3: The difference between sympathy and kindly ("tender")
emotion has been commented upon by Professor Ribot (_Psychology of the
Emotions_, p. 233), and by Mr. Shand, in his excellent chapter on the
'Sources of Tender Emotion,' in Stout's _Groundwork of Psychology_,
p. 198 _sqq._]
Sympathy, in the ordinary use of the word, requires the co-operation
of the altruistic sentiment or affection--a disposition of mind which
is particularly apt to display itself as kindly emotion towards other
beings. This sentiment,[4] only, induces us to take a kindly interest
in the feelings of our neighbours. It involves a tendency, or
willingness, and, when strongly developed, gives rise to an eager
desire, to sympathise with their pains and pleasures. Under its
influence, our sympathetic feeling is no longer a mere matter of
association; we take an active part in its production, we direct our
attention to any circumstance which we believe may affect the feelings
of the person whom we love, to any external manifestation of his
emotions. We are anxious to find out his joys and sorrows, so as to be
able to rejoice with him and to suffer with him, and, especially, when
he stands in need of it, to console or to help him. For the altruistic
sentiment is not merely willingness to sympathise; it is above all a
conative {111} disposition to do good. The latter aptitude must be
regarded rather as the cause than as the result of the former;
affection is not, as Adam Smith maintained,[5] merely habitual
sympathy, or its necessary consequence. It is true that sympathetic
pain, unaided by kindliness, may induce a person to relieve the
suffering of his neighbour, instead of shutting his eyes to it; but
then he does so, not out of regard to the feelings of the sufferer,
but simply to free himself of a painful cognition. Nor must it be
supposed that the altruistic sentiment prompts to assistance only by
strengthening the sympathetic feeling. The sight of the wounded
traveller may have caused no less pain to the Pharisee than to the
good Samaritan; yet it would have been impossible for the Samaritan to
dismiss his pain by going away, since he felt a desire to assist the
wounded, and his desire would have been left ungratified if he had not
stopped by the wayside. To the egoist, the relief offered to the
sufferer is a means of suppressing the sympathetic pain; to the
altruist, the sympathetic pain is, so to say, a means of giving
relief. The altruist wants to know, to feel the pain of his neighbour,
because he desires to help him. Why are the most kind-hearted people
often the most cheerful, if not because they think of alleviating the
misery of their fellow-creatures, instead of indulging in the
sympathetic pain which it evokes?
[Footnote 4: I use the word "sentiment" in the sense proposed by Mr.
Shand, in his article, 'Character and the Emotions,' in _Mind_, N.S.
v. 203 _sqq._, and adopted by Professor Stout, _op. cit._ p. 221
_sqq._ Sentiments cannot be actually felt at any one moment; "they are
complex mental dispositions, and may, as divers occasions arise, give
birth to the whole gamut of the emotions" (_ibid._ p. 223 _sq._).]
[Footnote 5: Adam Smith, _op. cit._ p. 323.]
It is obvious, then, that sympathy aided by the altruistic
sentiment--sympathy in the common sense--tends to produce
disinterested retributive emotions. When we to some extent identify,
as it were, our feelings with those of our neighbour, we naturally
look upon any person who causes him pleasure or pain as the cause of
our sympathetic pleasure or pain, and are apt to experience towards
that person a retributive emotion similar in kind, if not always in
degree, to the emotion which we feel when we are ourselves benefited
or injured. In all animal species which possess altruistic sentiments
in some form or other, we may be sure to find sympathetic resentment
as their accompaniment. {112} A mammalian mother is as hostile to the
enemy of her young as to her own enemy. Among social animals whose
gregarious instinct has developed into social affection,[6]
sympathetic resentment is felt towards the enemy of any member of the
group; they mutually defend each other, and this undoubtedly involves
some degree of sympathetic anger. With reference to animals in
confinement and domesticated animals, many striking instances of this
emotion might be quoted, even in cases when injuries have been
inflicted on members of different species to which they have become
attached. Professor Romanes' terrier, "whenever or wherever he saw a
man striking a dog, whether in the house, or outside, near at hand or
at a distance, . . . . used to rush in to interfere, snarling and
snapping in a most threatening way."[7] Darwin makes mention of a
little American monkey in the Zoological Gardens of London which, when
seeing a great baboon attack his friend, the keeper, rushed to the
rescue and by screams and bites so distracted the baboon, that the man
was able to escape.[8] The dog who flies at any one who strikes, or
even touches, his master, is a very familiar instance of sympathetic
resentment. The Rev. Charles Williams mentions a dog at Liverpool who
saved a cat from the hands of some young ruffians who were maltreating
it: he rushed in among the boys, barked furiously at them, terrified
them into flight, and carried the cat off in his mouth, bleeding and
almost senseless, to his kennel, where he laid it on the straw, and
nursed it.[9] In man, sympathetic resentment begins at an early age.
Professor Sully mentions a little boy under four who was indignant at
any picture where an animal suffered.[10]
[Footnote 6: The connection between social affection and the
gregarious instinct will be discussed in a subsequent chapter.]
[Footnote 7: Romanes, _Animal Intelligence_, p. 440.]
[Footnote 8: Darwin, _Descent of Man_, p. 103. _Cf._ Fisher, in _Revue
Scientifique_, xxxiii. 618. A curious instance of a terrier "avenging"
the death of another terrier, his inseparable friend, is mentioned by
Captain Medwin (_Angler in Wales_, ii. 162-164, 197, 216
_sq._).]
[Footnote 9: Williams, _Dogs and their Ways_, p. 43.]
[Footnote 10: Sully, _Studies of Childhood_, p. 250.]
The altruistic sentiments of mankind will be treated at {113} length
in subsequent chapters. We shall find reason to believe that not only
maternal, but to some extent, paternal and conjugal affection,
prevailed in the human race from ancient times, and that social
affection arose in those days when the conditions of life became
favourable to an expansion of the early family, when the chief
obstacle to a gregarious life--scarcity of food--was overcome, and
sociality, being an advantage to man, became his habit. There are
still savages who live in families rather than in tribes, but we know
of no people among whom social organisation outside the family is
totally wanting. Later discoveries only tend to confirm Darwin's
statement that, though single families or only two or three together,
roam the solitudes of some savage lands, they always hold friendly
relations with other families inhabiting the same district; such
families occasionally meeting in council and uniting for their common
defence.[11] But as a general rule, to which there are few exceptions,
the lower races live in communities larger than family groups, and all
the members of the community are united with one another by common
interests and common feelings. Of the harmony, mutual good-will, and
sense of solidarity, which under normal conditions prevail in these
societies, much evidence will be adduced in following pages. Mr.
Melville's remark with reference to some Marquesas cannibals may be
quoted as to some extent typical. "With them," he says, "there hardly
appeared to be any difference of opinion upon any subject whatever. .
. . They showed this spirit of unanimity in every action of life:
everything was done in concert and good fellowship."[12] When a member
of the group is hurt, the feeling of unanimity takes the form of
public resentment. As Robertson observed long ago, "in small
communities, every man is touched with the injury or affront offered
to the body of which he is a member, as if it were a personal attack
upon his own honour or safety. The desire of revenge is communicated
from breast to breast, {114} and soon kindles into rage."[13] Speaking
of some Australian savages, Mr. Fison remarks:--"To the savage, the
whole gens is the individual, and he is full of regard for it. Strike
the gens anywhere, and every member of it considers himself struck,
and the whole body corporate rises up in arms against the
striker."[14] Nobody will deny that there is a disinterested element
in this public resentment, even though every member of the group
consider the enemy of any other member to be actually his own enemy as
well, and, partly, hate him as such.
[Footnote 11: Darwin, _op. cit._ p. 108.]
[Footnote 12: Melville, _Typee_, p. 297 _sq._]
[Footnote 13: Robertson, _History of America_, i. 350. _Cf._
Clifford's theory of the "tribal self" (_Lectures and Essays_, p. 290
_sqq._). He says (_ibid._ p. 291), "The savage is not only hurt when
anybody treads on his foot, but when anybody treads on his tribe."]
[Footnote 14: Fison and Howitt, _Kamilaroi and Kurnai_, p. 170.]
Our explanation of what has here been called "sympathetic resentment,"
however, is not yet complete. This emotion, as we have seen, may be a
reaction against sympathetic pain; but it may also be directly
produced by the cognition of the signs of anger. In the former case it
is, strictly speaking, independent of the _emotion_ of the injured
individual; we may feel resentment on his behalf though he himself
feels none. In the latter case it is a reflected emotion, felt
independently of the cause of the original emotion of which it is a
reflection--as when the yells and shrieks of a street dog-fight are
heard, and dogs from all sides rush to the spot, each dog being
apparently ready to bite any of the others. In the former case, it is,
by the medium of sympathetic pain, closely connected with the
inflicted injury; in the latter case it may even be the reflection of
an emotion which is itself sympathetic, and the origin of which is
perhaps out of sight. In an infuriated crowd the one gets angry
because the other is angry, and very often the question, Why? is
hardly asked. This form of sympathetic resentment is of considerable
importance both as an originator and as a communicator of moral ideas.
To teach that a certain act is wrong is to teach that it is an object,
and a proper object, of moral indignation, and the aim of the
instructor {115} is to inspire a similar indignation in the mind of
the pupil. An intelligent teacher tries to attain this end by
representing the act in such a light as to evoke disapproval
independently of any appeal to authority; but, unfortunately, in many
cases where the duties of current morality are to be enjoined, he
cannot do so--for a very obvious reason. Of various acts which, though
inoffensive by themselves, are considered wrong, he can say little
more than that they are forbidden by God and man; and if,
nevertheless, such acts are not only professed, but actually felt, to
be wrong, that is due to the fact that men are inclined to sympathise
with the resentment of persons for whom they feel regard. It is this
fact that accounts for the connection between the punishment of an act
and the consequent idea that it deserves to be punished. We shall see
that the punishment which society inflicts is, as a rule, an
expression of its moral indignation; but there are instances in which
the order is reversed, and in which human, or, as it may be supposed,
divine, punishment or anger is the cause, and moral disapproval the
effect. Children, as everybody knows, grow up with their ideas of
right and wrong graduated, to a great extent, according to the temper
of the father or mother;[15] and men are not seldom, as Hobbes said,
"like little children, that have no other rule of good and evill
manners, but the correction they receive from their Parents, and
Masters."[16] The case is the same with any outbreak of public
resentment, with any punishment inflicted by society at large. However
selfish it may be in its origin, to whatever extent it may spring from
personal motives, it always has a tendency to become in some degree
disinterested, each individual not only being angry on his own behalf,
but at the same time reflecting the anger of everybody else.
[Footnote 15: _Cf._ Baring-Gould, _Origin and Developwent of Religious
Belief_, i. 212.]
[Footnote 16: Hobbes, _Leviathan_, i. 2, p. 76.]
Any means of expressing resentment may serve as a communicator of the
emotion. Besides punishment, language deserves special mention. Moral
disapproval may {116} be evoked by the very sounds of certain words,
like "murder," "theft," "cowardice," and others, which not merely
indicate the commission of certain acts, but also express the
opprobrium attached to them. By being called a "liar," a person is
more disgraced than by any plain statement of his untruthfulness; and
by the use of some strong word the orator raises the indignation of a
sympathetic audience to its pitch.
All the cases of disinterested resentment which we have hitherto
considered fall under the heading of sympathetic resentment. But there
are other cases into which sympathy does not enter at all. Resentment
is not always caused by the infliction of an injury; it may be called
forth by any feeling of pain traceable to a living being as its direct
or indirect cause. Quite apart from our sympathy with the sufferings
of others, there are many cases in which we feel hostile towards a
person on account of some act of his which in no way interferes with
our interests, which conflicts with no self-regarding feeling of ours.
There are in the human mind what Professor Bain calls "disinterested
antipathies," sentimental aversions "of which our fellow-beings are
the subjects, and on account of which we overlook our own interest
quite as much as in displaying our sympathies and affections."[17]
Differences of taste, habit, and opinion, are particularly apt to
create similar dislikes, which, as will be seen, have played a very
prominent part in the moulding of the moral consciousness. When a
certain act, though harmless by itself (apart from the painful
impression it makes upon the spectator), fills us with disgust or
horror, we may feel no less inclined to inflict harm upon the agent,
than if he had committed an offence against person, property, or good
name. And here, again, our resentment is sympathetically increased by
our observing a similar disgust in others. We are easily affected by
the aversions and likings of our neighbours. As Tucker said, "we grow
to love things we perceive {117} them fond of, and contract aversions
from their dislikes."[18]
[Footnote 17: Bain, _Emotions and the Will_, p. 268.]
[Footnote 18: Tucker, _Light of Nature Pursued_, i. 154.]
We have already seen that sympathy springing from an altruistic
sentiment may produce, not only disinterested resentment, but
disinterested retributive kindly emotion as well. When taking a
pleasure in the benefit bestowed on our neighbour, we naturally look
with kindness upon the benefactor; and just as sympathetic resentment
may be produced by the cognition of the outward signs of resentment,
so sympathetic retributive kindly emotion may be produced by the signs
of retributive kindliness. Language communicates emotions by terms of
praise, as well as by terms of condemnation; and a reward, like a
punishment, tends to reproduce the emotion from which it sprang.
Moreover, men have disinterested likings, as they have disinterested
dislikes. As an instance of such likings may be mentioned the common
admiration of courage when felt irrespectively of the object for which
it is displayed.
Having thus found the origin of disinterested retributive emotions, we
have at the same time partly explained the origin of the moral
emotions. But, as we have seen, disinterestedness is not the sole
characteristic by which moral indignation and approval are
distinguished from other retributive emotions: a moral emotion is
assumed to be impartial, or, at least, is not knowingly partial, and
it is coloured by the feeling of being publicly shared. However, the
real problem which we have now to solve is not how retributive
emotions may become apparently impartial and be coloured by a feeling
of generality, but why disinterestedness, apparent impartiality, and
the flavour of generality have become characteristics by which
so-called moral emotions are distinguished from other retributive
emotions. The solution of this problem lies in the fact that society
is the birthplace of the moral consciousness; that the first moral
judgments expressed, not the private emotions of isolated individuals,
but emotions which were {118} felt by the society at large; that
tribal custom was the earliest rule of duty.
Customs have been defined as public habits, as the habits of a certain
circle, a racial or national community, a rank or class of society.
But whilst being a habit, custom is at the same time something else as
well. It not merely involves a frequent repetition of a certain mode
of conduct, it is also a rule of conduct. As Cicero observes, the
customs of a people "are precepts in themselves."[19] We say that
"custom commands," or "custom demands," and speak of it as "strict"
and "inexorable"; and even when custom simply allows the commission of
a certain class of actions, it implicitly lays down the rule that such
actions are not to be interfered with.
[Footnote 19: Cicero, _De Officiis_, i. 41.]
The rule of custom is conceived of as a moral rule, which decides what
is right and wrong.[20] "Les loix de la conscience," says Montaigne,
"que nous disons naistre de nature, naissent de la coustume."[21] Mr.
Howitt once said to a young Australian native with whom he was
speaking about the food prohibited during initiation, "But if you were
hungry and caught a female opossum, you might eat it if the old men
were not there." The youth replied, "I could not do that; it would not
be right"; and he could give no other reason than that it would be
wrong to disregard the customs of his people.[22] Mr. Bernau says of
the British Guiana Indians:--"Their moral sense of good and evil is
entirely regulated by the customs and practices inherited from their
forefathers. What their predecessors believed and did must have been
right, and they deem it the height of presumption to suppose that any
could think and act otherwise."[23] The moral evil of the pagan
Greenlanders "was all that was contrary to laws and customs, as {119}
regulated by the angakoks," and when the Danish missionaries tried to
make them acquainted with their own moral conceptions, the result was
that they "conceived the idea of virtue and sin as what was pleasing
or displeasing to Europeans, as according or disaccording with their
customs and laws."[24] "The Africans, like most heathens," Mr. Rowley
observes, "do not regard sin, according to their idea of sin, as an
offence against God, but simply as a transgression of the laws and
customs of their country."[25] The Ba-Ronga call derogations of
universally recognised custom _yila_, prohibited, tabooed.[26] The
Bedouins of the Euphrates "make no appeal to conscience or the will of
God in their distinctions between right and wrong, but appeal only to
custom."[27] According to the laws of Manu, the custom handed down in
regular succession since time immemorial "is called the conduct of
virtuous men."[28] The Greek idea of the customary, [Greek:
to\ no/mimon], shows the close connection between morality and custom;
and so do the words [Greek: e)/thos, ê)/thos], and [Greek: e)thika/],
the Latin _mos_ and _moralis_, the German _Sitte_ and _Sittlichkeit_.[29]
Moreover, in early society, customs are not only moral rules, but the
only moral rules ever thought of. The savage strictly complies with
the Hegelian command that no man must have a private conscience. The
following statement, which refers to the Tinnevelly Shanars, may be
quoted as a typical example:--"Solitary individuals amongst them
rarely adopt any new opinions, or any new course of procedure. They
follow the multitude to do evil, and they follow the multitude to do
good. They think in herds."[30]
[Footnote 20: _Cf._ Austin, _Lectures on Jurisprudence_, i. 104;
Tönnies, 'Philosophical Terminology,' in _Mind_, N.S., viii. 304. Von
Jhering (_Zweck im Recht_, ii. 23) defines the German _Sitte_ as "die
im Leben des Volks sich bildende verpflichtende Gewohnheit"; and a
similar view is expressed by Wundt (_Ethik_, p. 128 _sq._).]
[Footnote 21: Montaigne, _Essais_, i. 22 (_[OE]uvres_, p. 48).]
[Footnote 22: Fison and Howitt, _op. cit._ p. 256 _sq._]
[Footnote 23: Bernau, _Missionary Labours in British Guiana_, p. 60.]
[Footnote 24: Rink, _Greenland_, p. 201 _sq._]
[Footnote 25: Rowley, _Religion of the Africans_, p. 44.]
[Footnote 26: Junod, _Ba-Ronga_, p. 477.]
[Footnote 27: Blunt, _Bedouin Tribes of the Euphrates_, ii. 224.]
[Footnote 28: _Laws of Manu_, ii. 18.]
[Footnote 29: For the history of these words, see Wundt, _op. cit._ p.
19 _sqq._ For other instances illustrating the moral character of
custom, see Maclean, _Compendium of Kafir Law and Customs_, p. 34
(Amaxosa); Macpherson, _Memorials of Service in India_, p. 94
(Kandhs); Kubary, _Ethnographische Beiträge zur Kenntniss der
Karolinischen Inselgruppe_, i. 73 (Pelew Islanders); Smith, _Chinese
Characteristics_, p. 119.]
[Footnote 30: Caldwell, _Tinnevelly Shanars_, p. 69.]
Disobedience to custom evokes public indignation. In {120} the lower
stages of civilisation, especially, custom is a tyrant who binds man
in iron fetters, and who threatens the transgressor, not only with
general disgrace, but often with bodily suffering. "To believe that
man in a savage state is endowed with freedom either of thought or
action," says Sir G. Grey, "is erroneous in the highest degree";[31]
and this statement is corroborated by an array of facts from all
quarters of the savage world.[32] Now, as the rule of custom is a
moral rule, the indignation aroused by its transgression is naturally
a moral emotion. Moreover, where all the duties incumbent on a man are
expressed in the customs of the society to which he belongs, it is
obvious that the characteristics of moral indignation are to be sought
for in its connection with custom. The most salient feature of custom
is its generality. Its transgression calls forth public indignation;
hence the flavour of generality which characterises moral disapproval.
Custom is fixed once for all, and takes no notice of the preferences
of individuals. By recognising the validity of a custom, I implicitly
admit that the custom is equally binding for me and for you and for
all the other members of the society. This involves disinterestedness;
I admit that a breach of the custom is equally wrong whether I myself
am immediately concerned in the act or not. It also involves apparent
impartiality; I assume that my condemnation of the act is independent
of the relationship in which the parties concerned in it stand to me
personally, or, at least, I am not aware that my condemnation is
influenced by any {121} such relationship. And this holds good
whatever be the origin of the custom. Though customs are very
frequently rooted in public sympathetic resentment or in public
disinterested aversions, they may have a selfish and partial origin as
well. At first the leading men of the society may have prohibited
certain acts because they found them disadvantageous to themselves, or
to those with whom they particularly sympathised. Where custom is an
oppressor of women, this oppression may certainly be traced back to
the selfishness of men. Where custom sanctions slavery, it is
certainly not impartial to the slaves. Yet in the one case as in the
other, I assume custom to be in the right, irrespectively of my own
station, and I even expect the women and slaves themselves to be of
the same opinion. Such an expectation is by no means a chimera. Under
normal social conditions, largely owing to men's tendency to share
sympathetically the resentment of their superiors, the customs of a
society are willingly submitted to, and recognised as right, by the
large majority of its members, whatever may be their station. Among
the Rejangs of Sumatra, says Marsden, "a man without property, family,
or connections, never, in the partiality of self-love, considers his
own life as being of equal value with that of a man of substance."[33]
However selfish, however partial a certain rule may be, it becomes a
true custom, a moral rule, as soon as the selfishness or the
partiality of its makers is lost sight of.
[Footnote 31: Grey, _Journals of Expeditions in North-West and Western
Australia_, ii. 217.]
[Footnote 32: Tylor, 'Primitive Society,' in _Contemporary Review_,
xxi. 706. _Idem_, _Anthropology_, p. 408 _sq._ Avebury, _Origin of
Civilisation_, p. 466 _sqq._ Eyre, _Journals of Expeditions into
Central Australia_, ii. 384, 385, 388. Curr, _The Australian Race_, i.
51. Mathew, 'Australian Aborigines,' in _Jour. and Proceed. Roy. Soc.
N.S. Wales_, xxiii. 398. _Idem_, _Eaglehawk and Crow_, p. 93. Taplin,
'Narrinyeri,' in Woods, _Native Tribes of South Australia_, pp. 35,
136 _sq._ Hawtrey, 'Lengua Indians of the Paraguayan Chaco,' in _Jour.
Anthr. Inst._ xxxi. 292. Murdoch, 'Ethnological Results of the Point
Barrow Expedition,' in _Ann. Rep. Bur. Ethn._ ix. 427 _sq._ (Point
Barrow Eskimo). Holm, 'Ethnologisk Skizze af Angmagsalikerne,' in
_Meddelelser om Grönland_, x. 85. Nansen, _First Crossing of
Greenland_, ii. 295. Johnston, _British Central Africa_, p. 452. New,
_Life, Wanderings, and Labours in Eastern Africa_, p. 110 (Wanika).
Scott Robertson, _Káfirs of the Hindu-Kush_, p. 183 _sq._]
[Footnote 33: Marsden, _History of Sumatra_, p. 247.]
It will perhaps be argued that, by deriving the characteristics of
moral indignation from its connection with custom, we implicitly
contradict our initial assumption that moral emotions lie at the
bottom of all moral judgments. But it is not so. Custom is a moral
rule only on account of the indignation called forth by its
transgression. In its ethical aspect it is nothing but a
generalisation of emotional tendencies, applied to certain modes of
conduct, and transmitted from generation to generation. Public
indignation lies at the bottom of it. In its capacity {122} of a rule
of duty, custom, _mos_, is derived from the emotion to which it gave
its name.
As public indignation is the prototype of moral disapproval, so public
approval, expressed in public praise, is the prototype of moral
approval. Like public indignation, public approval is characterised by
a flavour of generality, by disinterestedness, by apparent
impartiality. But of these two emotions public indignation, being at
the root of custom and leading to the infliction of punishment, is by
far the more impressive. Hence it is not surprising that the term
"moral" is etymologically connected with _mos_, which always implies
the existence of a social rule the transgression of which evokes
public indignation. Only by analogy it has come to be applied to the
emotion of approval as well.
Though taking their place in the system of human emotions as public
emotions felt by the society at large, moral disapproval and approval
have not always remained inseparably connected with the feelings of
any special society. The unanimity of opinion which originally
characterised the members of the same social unit was disturbed by its
advancement in civilisation. Individuals arose who found fault with
the moral ideas prevalent in the community to which they belonged,
criticising those ideas on the basis of their own individual feelings.
Such rebels are certainly no less justified in speaking in the name of
morality true and proper, than is society itself. The emotions from
which their opposition against public opinion springs may be, in
nature, exactly similar to the approval or disapproval felt by the
society at large, though they are called forth by different facts or,
otherwise, differ from these emotions in degree. They may present the
same disinterestedness and apparent impartiality--indeed, dissent from
the established moral ideas largely rises from the conviction that the
apparent impartiality of public feelings is an illusion. As will be
seen, the evolution of the moral consciousness involves a progress in
impartiality and justice; it tends towards an equalisation {123} of
rights, towards an expansion of the circle within which the same moral
rules are held applicable; and this process is in no small degree
effected by the efforts made by high-minded individuals to raise
public opinion to their own standard of right. Nay, as we have already
noticed, individual moral feelings do not even lack that flavour of
generality which characterises the resentment and approval felt
unanimously by a body of men. Though, perhaps, persecuted by his own
people as an outcast, the moral dissenter does not regard himself as
the advocate of a mere private opinion.[34] Even when standing alone,
he feels that his conviction is shared at least by an ideal society,
by all those who see the matter as clearly as he does himself, and who
are animated with equally wide sympathies, an equally broad sense of
justice. Thus the moral emotions remain to the last public
emotions--if not in reality, then as an ideal.
[Footnote 34: _Cf._ Pollock, _Essays in Jurisprudence and Ethics_,
p. 309.]
The fact that the earliest moral emotions were public emotions implies
that the original form of the moral consciousness cannot, as is often
asserted, have been the individual's own conscience. Dr. Martineau's
observation, that the inner springs of other men's actions may be read
off only by inference from our own experience, by no means warrants
his conclusion that the moral consciousness is at its origin engaged
in self-estimation, instead of circuitously reaching this end through
a prior critique upon our fellow-men.[35] The moral element which may
be contained in the emotion of self-reproach or self-approval, is
generally to such an extent mixed up with other and non-moral
elements, that it can be disentangled only by a careful process of
abstraction, guided by the feelings of other people with reference to
our conduct or by our own feelings with reference to the conduct of
others. The moral emotion of remorse presupposes some notion of right
and wrong, and the application of this notion to one's own conduct.
Hence it could never have {124} been distinguished as a special form
of, or element in, the wider emotion of self-reproach, unless the idea
of morality had been previously derived from another source. The
similarity between regret and remorse is so close, that in certain
European languages there is only one word for both.[36]
[Footnote 35: Martineau, _Types of Ethical Theory_, ii. 29 _sqq._]
[Footnote 36: As, in Swedish, the word _ånger_.]
* * * * *
From what has been said above it is obvious that moral resentment is
of extreme antiquity in the human race, nay, that the germ of it is
found even in the lower animal world, among social animals capable of
feeling sympathetic resentment. The origin of custom as a moral rule
no doubt lies in a very remote period of human history. We have no
knowledge of a savage people without customs, and, as will be seen
subsequently, savages often express their indignation in a very
unmistakable manner when their customs are transgressed. Various data
prove that the lower races have some feeling of justice, the flower of
all moral feelings. And the supposition that remorse is unknown among
them,[37] is not only unfounded, but contradicted by facts. Indeed,
genuine remorse is so hidden an emotion even among ourselves, that it
cannot be expected to be very conspicuous among savages. As we have
seen, it requires a certain power of abstraction, as well as great
impartiality of feeling, and must therefore be sought for at the
highest reaches of the moral consciousness rather than at its lowest
degrees. But to suppose that savages are entirely without a conscience
is quite contrary to what we may infer from the great regard in which
they hold their customs, as also contrary to the direct statements of
travellers who have taken some pains to examine the matter. The answer
given by the young Australian when asked by Mr. Howitt whether he
might not eat a female opossum if the old men were not present,[38]
certainly indicates conscientious respect for a moral rule, and is, as
Mr. Fison observes, "a striking instance of that 'moral {125} feeling'
which Sir John Lubbock denies to savages."[39] Dr. Hübbe-Schleiden
asserts that, among the people whom he had in his service, he found
the Negroes, in their sense of duty, not inferior, but rather superior
to the Europeans.[40] Mr. New says of the Wanika:--"Conscience lives
in them as the vicegerent of Almighty God, and is ever excusing or
else accusing them. It may be blunted, hardened, resisted, and largely
suppressed, but there it is."[41] M. Arbousset once desired some
Bechuanas to tell him whether the blacks had a conscience. "Yes, all
have one," they said in reply. "And what does it say to them?" "It is
quiet when they do well and torments them when they sin." "What do you
call sin?" "The theft, which is committed trembling, and the murder
from which a man purifies and re-purifies himself, but which always
leaves remorse."[42] Mr. Washington Matthews refers to a passage in a
Navaho story which "shows us that he who composed this tale knew what
the pangs of remorse might be, even for an act not criminal, as we
consider it, but merely ungenerous and unfilial."[43]
[Footnote 37: Avebury, _Origin of Civilisation_, pp. 421, 426.]
[Footnote 38: See _supra_, p. 118.]
[Footnote 39: Fison and Howitt, _op. cit._ p. 257 n.]
[Footnote 40: Hübbe-Schleiden, _Ethiopien_, p. 184 _sq._]
[Footnote 41: New, _op. cit._ p. 96.]
[Footnote 42: Arbousset and Daumas, _Exploratory Tour to the
North-East of the Colony of the Cape of Good Hope_, p. 322.]
[Footnote 43: Matthews, 'Study of Ethics among the Lower Races,' in
_Journal of American Folk-Lore_, xii. 7.]
A different opinion as to the existence of moral feelings among
savages has been expressed by Lord Avebury. To him even modern savages
seem to be "almost entirely wanting in moral feeling"; and he says
that he has "been forced to this conclusion, not only by the direct
statements of travelers but by the general tenor of their remarks, and
especially by the remarkable absence of repentance and remorse among
the lower races of men."[44] The importance of the subject renders
{126} it necessary to scrutinise the facts which Lord Avebury has
adduced in support of his conclusion.
[Footnote 44: Avebury, _op. cit._ pp. 414, 426. Lord Avebury quotes
Burton's statement that in Eastern Africa, as also among the Yoruba
negroes, conscience does not exist, and that "repentance" expresses
regret for missed opportunities of mortal crime. Speaking of the stage
of savagery represented by the Bakaïri, Dr. von den Steinen likewise
observes (_Unter den Naturvölkern Zentral-Brasiliens_, p. 351),
"Goodness and badness exist only in the crude sense of doing to others
what is agreeable or disagreeable, but the moral consciousness, and
the ideal initiative, influenced neither by prospect of reward nor
fear of punishment, are entirely lacking." Lippert maintains
(_Kulturgeschichte der Menschheit_, i. 27) "dass sich das Gewissen
beim Naturmenschen nicht als 'Selbsttadel,' sondern nur als Furcht
zeigt."]
Mr. Neighbors states that, among the Comanches of Texas, "no
individual action is considered a crime, but every man acts for
himself according to his own judgment, unless some superior power--for
instance, that of a popular chief--should exercise authority over
him." Another writer says, "The Redskin has no moral sense whatever."
Among the Basutos, according to Casalis, morality "depends so entirely
upon social order that all political disorganisation is immediately
followed by a state of degeneracy, which the re-establishment of order
alone can rectify." Similar accounts are given as regards Central
Africa and some other places. Thus at Jenna, and in the surrounding
districts, "whenever a town is deprived of its chief, the inhabitants
acknowledge no law--anarchy, troubles, and confusion immediately
prevail, and till a successor is appointed all labour is at an end."
The Damaras "seem to have no perceptible notion of right or wrong."
The Tasmanians were "without any moral views and impressions." Eyre
says of the Australians that they have "no moral sense of what is just
and equitable in the abstract"; and a missionary had very great
difficulty in conveying to those natives any idea of sin. The Kacharis
had "in their own language no words for sin, for piety, for prayer,
for repentance"; and of another of the aboriginal tribes of India Mr.
Campbell remarks that they "are . . . said to be without moral sense."
Lord Avebury in this connection even quotes a statement to the effect
that the expressions which the Tonga Islanders have for ideas like
vice and injustice "are equally applicable to other things." The South
American Indians of the Gran Chaco are said by the missionaries to
"make no distinction between right and wrong, and have therefore
neither fear nor hope of any present or future punishment or reward,
nor any mysterious terror of some supernatural power." Finally, Lord
Avebury observes that religion, except in the more advanced races, has
no moral aspect or influence, that the deities are almost invariably
regarded as evil, and that the belief in a future state is not at
first associated with reward or punishment.[45]
[Footnote 45: Avebury, _op. cit._ p. 417 _sqq._]
Many of the facts referred to by Lord Avebury do not at all presuppose
the absence of moral feelings. It is difficult to see why the
malevolence of gods should prevent men from having notions of right
and wrong, and we know from the Old Testament itself that there may be
a moral law without Paradise {127} and Hell. The statement concerning
the Comanches only implies that, among them, individual freedom is
great; whilst the social disorder which prevails among various peoples
at times of political disorganisation indicates that the cohesiveness
of the political aggregate is weak, as well as a certain discrepancy
between moral ideas and moral practice. In Morocco, also, the death of
a Sultan is immediately followed by almost perfect anarchy, and yet
the people recognise both the moral tenets of the Koran and the still
more stringent tenets of their ancient customs. As to the Basutos,
Casalis expressly states that they have the idea of moral evil, and
represent it in their language by words which mean ugliness, or
damage, or debt, or incapacity;[46] and M. Arbousset once heard a
Basuto say, on an unjust judgment being pronounced, "The judge is
powerful, therefore we must be silent; if he were weak, we should all
cry out about his injustice."[47] Moreover, a people may be
unconscious of what is just "in the abstract," and of moral "notions,"
in the strict sense of the term, and at the same time, in concrete
cases, distinguish between right and wrong, just and unjust. Of the
Western Australians, Mr. Chauncy expressly says that they have a keen
sense of justice, and mentions an instance of it;[48] whilst our
latest authorities on the Central Australians observe that, though
their moral code differs radically from ours, "it cannot be denied
that their conduct is governed by it, and that any known breaches are
dealt with both surely and severely."[49] As regards the Tonga
Islanders, Mariner states that "their ideas of honour and justice do
not very much differ from ours except in degree, they considering some
things more honourable than we should, and others much less so"; and
in another place he says that "the notions of the Tonga people, in
respect to honour and justice . . . are tolerably well defined, steady
and universal," though not always acted upon.[50] The statement that
the American Indians have "no moral sense whatever," sounds very
strange when compared with what is known about their social and moral
life; Buchanan, for instance, asserts that they "have a strong innate
sense of justice."[51] Of course, there may be diversity of opinion as
to what constitutes the "moral sense"; if the conception of sin or
other theological notions are regarded as essential to it, it is
probably {128} wanting in a large portion of mankind, and not only in
the least civilised. When missionaries or travellers deny to certain
savages moral feelings and ideas, they seem chiefly to mean feelings
or ideas similar to their own.
[Footnote 46: Casalis, _Basutos_, p. 304.]
[Footnote 47: Arbousset and Daumas, _op. cit._ p. 389.]
[Footnote 48: Brough Smyth, _Aborigines of Victoria_, ii. 228.]
[Footnote 49: Spencer and Gillen, _Native Tribes of Central
Australia_, p. 46.]
[Footnote 50: Mariner, _Natives of the Tonga Islands_, ii. 159, 163.]
[Footnote 51: Buchanan, _Sketches of the History, &c., of the North
American Indians_, p. 158.]
Of many savage and barbarous peoples it is directly affirmed that they
have a sense of justice. Mr. Man says concerning the Andaman
Islanders, "Certain traits which have been noticeable in their
dealings with us would give colour to the belief that they are not
altogether lacking in the sense of honour, and have some faint idea of
the meaning of justice."[52] Colonel Dalton states that, among the
Korwás on the highlands of Sirgúja, when several persons are
implicated in one offence, he has found them "most anxious that to
each should be ascribed his fair share of it, and no more, the oldest
of the party invariably taking on himself the chief responsibility as
leader or instigator, and doing his utmost to exculpate as
unaccountable agents the young members of the gang."[53] The Aleuts,
according to Veniaminof, are "naturally inclined to be just," and feel
deeply undeserved injuries.[54] Kolben, who is nowadays recognised as
a good authority,[55] wrote of the Hottentots, "The strictness and
celerity of the Hottentot justice are things in which they outshine
all Christendom."[56] Missionaries have wondered that, among the
Zulus, "in the absence for ages of all revealed truth and all proper
religious instruction, there should still remain so much of mental
integrity, so much ability to discern truth and justice, and withal so
much regard for these principles in their daily intercourse with one
another."[57] Zöller ascribes to the Negro a well-developed feeling of
justice. "No European," he says, "at least no European child, could
discriminate so keenly between just and unjust punishment."[58] Mr.
Hinde observes:--"One of the most marked characteristics of black
people is their keen perception of justice. They do not resent merited
punishment where it is coupled with justice upon other matters. The
Masai have their sense of justice particularly strongly
developed."[59] Dieffenbach writes of the Maoris, "There is a high
natural sense of justice amongst them; {129} and it is from us that
they have learnt that many forbidden things can be done with impunity,
if they can only be kept secret."[60] Justice is a virtue which always
commands respect among the Bedouins, and "injustice on the part of
those in power is almost impossible. Public opinion at once asserts
itself; and the Sheykh, who should attempt to override the law, would
speedily find himself deserted."[61]
[Footnote 52: Man, in _Jour. Anthr. Inst._ xii. 92.]
[Footnote 53: Dalton, _Descriptive Ethnology of Bengal_, p. 230.]
[Footnote 54: Veniaminof, quoted by Dall, _Alaska_, p. 398.]
[Footnote 55: Theophilus Hahn remarks (_The Supreme Being of the
Khoi-Khoi_, p. 40) that Kolben's reports have been doubted by European
writers without any good reason.]
[Footnote 56: Kolben, _Present State of the Cape of Good Hope_,
i. 301. _Cf._ _ibid._ i. 339.]
[Footnote 57: Quoted by Tyler, _Forty Years among the Zulus_, p. 197.]
[Footnote 58: Zöller, _Kamerun_, ii. 92. _Cf._ _Idem_, _Das Togoland_,
p. 37.]
[Footnote 59: Hinde, _The Last of the Masai_, p. 34. _Cf._ Foreman,
_Philippine Islands_, p. 185.]
[Footnote 60: Dieffenbach, _Travels in New Zealand_, ii. 106.]
[Footnote 61: Blunt, _Bedouin Tribes of the Euphrates_, ii. 224 _sqq._]
Much less conspicuous than the emotion of public resentment is the
emotion of public approval. These public emotions are largely of a
sympathetic character, and, whilst a tendency to sympathetic
resentment is always involved in the sentiment of social affection, a
tendency to sympathetic retributive kindly emotion is not. Among the
lower animals this latter emotion seems hardly to occur at all, and in
men it is often deplorably defective. Resentment towards an enemy is
itself, as a rule, a much stronger emotion than retributive kindly
emotion towards a friend. And, as for the sympathetic forms of these
emotions, it is not surprising that the altruistic sentiment is more
readily moved by the sight of pain than by the sight of pleasure,[62]
considering that its fundamental object is to be a means of protection
for the species. Moreover, sympathetic retributive kindliness has
powerful rivals in the feelings of jealousy and envy, which tend to
make the individual hostile both towards him who is the object of a
benefit and towards him who bestows it. As an ancient writer observes,
"many suffer with their friends when the friends are in distress, but
are envious of them when they prosper."[63] But though these
circumstances are a hindrance to the rise of retributive kindly
emotions of a sympathetic kind, they do not prevent public approval in
a case when the whole society profits by a benefit, nor have they any
bearing on those disinterested instinctive likings of which I have
spoken above. I think, then, we may {130} safely conclude that public
praise and moral approval occurred, to some degree, even in the
infancy of human society. It will appear from numerous facts recorded
in following chapters, that the moral consciousness of modern savages
contains not only condemnation, but praise.
[Footnote 62: _Cf._ Jodl, _Lehrbuch der Psychologie_, p. 686.]
[Footnote 63: Schmidt, _Ethik der alten Griechen_, i. 259.]