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THE MORAL ECONOMY
by
RALPH BARTON PERRY
Assistant Professor of Philosophy in Harvard University
Author of
The Free Man and the Soldier
The Moral Economy
The Approach to Philosophy
Charles Scribner's Sons
New York -- Chicago -- Boston -- Atlanta
San Francisco -- Dallas
Copyright, 1909, by
Charles Scribner's Sons
All rights reserved. No part of this book
may be reproduced in any form without
the permission of Charles Scribner's Sons
DEDICATED TO N.
MARCH 30, 1909
"Things and actions are what they are, and the
consequences of them will be what they will be;
why then should we desire to be deceived?"
BISHOP BUTLER.
{vii}
PREFACE
This little book is the preliminary sketch of a system of ethics. Its
form differs from that of most contemporary books on the subject
because of the omission of the traditional controversies. I have
attempted to study morality directly, to derive its conceptions and
laws from an analysis of life. I have made this attempt because, in
the first place, I believe that theoretical ethics is seriously
embarrassed by its present emphasis on the history and criticism of
doctrines; by its failure to resort to experience, where without more
ado it may solve its problems on their merits. But, in the second
place, I hope that by appealing to experience and neglecting scholastic
technicalities, I may connect ethical theory with every-day reflection
on practical matters. Morality is, without doubt, the most human and
urgent of all topics of study; and I should like, if possible, to make
it appear so.
The references which I have embodied in the notes are intended to serve
the English reader as an introduction to accessible and untechnical
literature on the subjects treated in the several chapters. These
chapters coincide with the main divisions of ethical inquiry: Goodness,
Duty, Virtue, Progress, Culture, and Religion. And although so brief a
treatment of so large a programme is impossible without sacrifice of
thoroughness, it does provide both a general survey of the field, and a
varied application of certain fundamental ideas.
RALPH BARTON PERRY.
CAMBRIDGE, 1909.
{ix}
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
MORALITY AS THE ORGANIZATION OF LIFE . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
I. THE GENERAL CLAIMS OF MORALITY . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
The practical necessity of morality, 1. The interplay
of dogmatism and scepticism, 4. The fundamental
character of morality, 7.
II. GOODNESS IN GENERAL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
The dependence of value on life, 9. Definition of the
simpler terms of value. Goodness: the fulfilment of
interest, 11. "Good" and "good for," 12.
III. MORAL GOODNESS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
The moral organization of life, 13. Definition of the
terms of moral value. Moral goodness: the fulfilment of
an economy of interests, 15. Moral goodness and
pleasure, 16. Rightness or virtue, 18. Morality and
life, 19.
IV. MORALITY AND NATURE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
The alleged artificiality of morality, 20. Morality
and the struggle for existence, 21. Morality and
adaptation, 22. Morality is natural if life is, 24.
V. MORALITY AND CONFLICT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24
Morality and competitive struggle. Morality the
condition of strength, 24. The value of conflict, 23.
The elimination of conflict, 26. Morality and the love
of life, 27.
VI. THE DIGNITY AND LUSTRE OF MORALITY . . . . . . . . . . . 28
The effect of war on sentiment and the imagination, 28.
Real power is constructive, not destructive or
repressive, 29. Moral heroism, 31. The saving or
provident character of morality, 32. Morality and the
consummation of life, 33.
CHAPTER II
THE LOGIC OF THE MORAL APPEAL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
I. THE STAND-POINT OF RATIONALISM AND INDIVIDUALISM . . . . 34
Modern individualism, 34. Distinguished from
scepticism, 36. The individual as the organ of knowledge,
37. Moral individualism as a protest against convention,
39. Duty as the rational ground of action, 40.
Reasonableness a condition of the consciousness of
duty, 41.
II. THE LOGIC OF PRUDENCE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Prudence as elementary, 43. Interest, action, and
goodness, 43. The alleged relativity of goodness, 43.
The conflict of interests solved by conciliation, 48.
The limits of prudence, 49.
III. THE LOGIC OF PREFERENCE AND PURPOSE . . . . . . . . . . 50
The adoption of new interests and the problem of
preference, 50. A hypothetical solution of the problem, 51.
Solution in the concrete case through the organization
of a purpose, 53. The principle of the objective validity
of interests, 54. The principle of the quantitative basis
of preference, 55.
IV. THE LOGIC OF IMPARTIALITY AND JUSTICE . . . . . . . . . 57
The private interest, 57. The personal factor negligible
in counting interests, 58. The refutation of egoism.
The first proposition of egoism, 59. The second
proposition of egoism, 61. Impartiality as a part of
justice, 63. Justice as imputing finality to the
individual, 64. The equality of rational beings as organs
of truth, 64. Summary of justice, 66.
V. THE LOGIC OF GOOD-WILL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67
All interests are entitled to consideration, 67.
Goodwill and the growth of new interests, 67.
VI. DUTY AND THE IMAGINATION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
The logical imagination, 69. Rationalism and incentive
to action, 70. Rationalism and faith, 71.
CHAPTER III
THE ORDER OF VIRTUE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72
I. THE VIRTUES AND THEIR CLASSIFICATION . . . . . . . . . . 72
Summary of the content and logic of moral value, 72.
Virtues as verified rules of life, 73. The material and
formal aspects of morality, 74. Materialism and
formalism due to exaggeration, 75. The general importance
of the conflict between the material and formal
motives, 76. Duty identified with the formal motive, 76.
Formalism less severely condemned, 77. The five
economies of interest, 77. Summary of virtues and
vices, 79. Table, 81.
II. THE ECONOMY OF THE SIMPLE INTEREST . . . . . . . . . . . 82
The simple interest not a moral economy, 82. Satisfaction
the root-value, and intelligence the elementary
virtue, 82. Incapacity, 83. Overindulgence the first
form of materialism, 84. It is due to lack of foresight,
85. Or to the complexity of interests, 86. Overindulgence
as the original sin, 86.
III. THE RECIPROCITY OF INTERESTS . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87
Prudence as a principle of organization, 87. Moderation
and thrift, 87. Honesty, veracity, and tact of the
prudential form, 88. The inherent value of the prudential
economy. Individual and social health, 88. Temperance
and reason, 90. Prudential formalism, or asceticism, 92.
Asceticism illustrated by the Cynics, 92. Prudential
materialism or sordidness, 94. Aimlessness or idleness, 94.
IV. THE INCORPORATION OF INTERESTS . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95
Purpose as a principle of organization. Its
intellectual character, 95. The virtues subsidiary to
purpose, 95. Truthfulness in the purposive economy, 96.
The value of achievement, 97. The formalistic error
of sentimentalism, 98. Deferred living, 98. Nationalism,
99. Egoism and bigotry as types of materialism.
The pride of opinion, 100. Egoism and bigotry involve
injustice, 103. The meaning of injustice, 103.
V. THE FRATERNITY OF INTERESTS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105
Justice as a principle of organization, 105. Justice
conditions rational intercourse, 105. Discussion, freedom,
and tolerance, 106. Anarchism and scepticism, 107.
_Laissez-faire_, 108. Justice and materialism.
Worldliness, 110. Ancient worldliness due to lack of
pity, 110. Modern worldliness due to lack of
imagination, 111.
VI. THE UNIVERSAL SYSTEM OF INTERESTS . . . . . . . . . . . 112
The economy of good-will, 112. Good-will as the
condition of real happiness. Paganism and Christianity,
113. Merely formal good-will is mysticism, 116.
Mysticism perverts life by denying this world, 118.
Quietism, 119. Mystical perversion of moral truth, 120.
VII. SUMMARY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
The interworking of the formal and the material
principles, 121. Importance of the formal principle.
Manners and worship, 121.
CHAPTER IV
THE MORAL TEST OF PROGRESS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123
I. THE GENERAL THEORY OF PROGRESS . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123
The philosophy of history, 123. The meaning of
progress, 125. Progress and the Quantitative basis of
preference, 127. The method of superimposition as a test
of progress, 127.
CONTENTS
II. THE EXTERNAL AND INTERNAL PRINCIPLES OF PROGRESS . . . . 130
The external principle: the pressure of an unfavorable
environment, 130. The external and the internal
principle, 131. The internally progressive type of society.
The importance of discussion, 132. Rationality the
internal principle of progress, 134. The positive
motive: constructive reform, 134. Disinterested reflection
and the man of affairs, 136. Success depends on moral
capacity, 137. The negative motive: revolution, 139.
Christianity as a social revolution, 140. The French
Revolution, 141. Dependence of progress on the
historical connectedness of human life, 143.
III. CONSERVATISM AND RADICALISM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144
Conservatism values the existing order, 144. Progress
requires the maintenance and use of order, 145. The
real radical not the sceptic but the rationalist, 145.
The justification of the radical, 146.
IV. PROGRESS IN THE INSTITUTION OF GOVERNMENT . . . . . . . 147
Institutions are permanent moral necessities, 147.
Government as the interest both of the weak and of the
strong, 148. The moral necessity of government, 150.
The variable and progressive factor in government,
151. The principle of rationality in government, 152.
The benefits and cost of government in the ancient
military monarchy, 152. Solidarity of interest in the
Greek and Roman oligarchies, 154. Advance in liberality
in Athenian institutions, 156. The development
of modern institutions, 157. The modern idea of
democracy, 158. Summary of the modern state. It is
territorial and impersonal, 160. The representative
method, 160. Emphasis on internal policy and
international peace, 162.
V. THE QUALITY OF CONTEMPORARY LIBERALISM . . . . . . . . . 163
Democracy based not on pity but on enlightenment,
163. The respect for the opinion of those most
interested, 164. The spirit of modern justice, 165.
Sensitiveness to life, 166. The allowance for growth, 167.
The individual and the crowd, 168. Hopefulness and
the bias of maturity, 169. The work done and the
work to do, 170.
CHAPTER V
THE MORAL CRITICISM OF FINE ART . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171
I. THE JUSTIFICATION OF THE MORAL CRITICISM OF ART . . . . . 171
The higher activities of civilization, 171. The attempt
to apply aesthetic standards to life, 172. The claim of
art to exemption from moral criticism is based on
misapprehension. Morality not a special interest, but the
fundamental interest, 174. Morality does not substitute
its canons for those of art, 175.
II. DEFINITION OF ART AND THE ESTHETIC INTEREST . . . . . . 176
Art as the adaptation of the environment to interest,
176. Industrial art and fine art, 177. The aesthetic
interest: the interest in apprehension, 179. The
interest in sensation and perception, 181. The emotional
interest, 182. Instinct and emotion in the aesthetic
experience. Poetry and music, 183. The interest in
discernment, 185. The representative element in art
exemplified in Greek sculpture, 185. And in Italian
painting of the Renaissance, 187. Levels and blendings
of the aesthetic interest, 189. The moral criticism of
the aesthetic interest, 190.
III. THE SELF-SUFFICIENCY OF THE AESTHETIC INTEREST . . . . 192
The aesthetic interest is capable of continuous
development, 192. And is resourceful, 192. But tends
on that account to be narrow and quiescent, 192.
IV. THE PERVASIVENESS OF THE ESTHETIC INTEREST . . . . . . . 194
The aesthetic interest may supply interest where there
is none, or enhance other interests, 194. But it must
not be allowed to replace other interests, 195.
V. THE VICARIOUS FUNCTION OF THE AESTHETIC INTEREST . . . . 197
Other interests may be represented by the aesthetic
interest, 197. The danger of confusing vicarious
fulfilment with real fulfilment, 198. And of being
aesthetically satisfied with failure, 199.
VI. ART AS A MEANS OF STIMULATING ACTION . . . . . . . . . . 201
Art is a source of motor excitation,201. But such
excitation is morally indeterminate, 201. Such influences
must be selected with reference to their effect on moral
purpose, 202.
VII. ART AS A MEANS OF FIXING IDEAS . . . . . . . . . . . . 203
The higher practical ideas have no other concrete
embodiment than art, 203. Art both fixes ideas and
arouses sentiment in their behalf, 204. But if art is
to serve this end it must be true, 205. Untruth in
art, 206. Universality and particularity in art, 207.
Art may invest ideas with a fictitious value, 208.
VIII. THE LIBERALITY OF THE AESTHETIC INTEREST . . . . . . . 209
Art is unworldly, 209. The aesthetic intercourse
promotes social intercourse on a high plane, 210.
IX. CONCLUSION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212
When subjected to moral control, art may make the
environment harmonious with morality, 212.
CHAPTER VI
THE MORAL JUSTIFICATION OF RELIGION . . . . . . . . . . . . 214
I. THE DEFINITION OF RELIGION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 214
The sound practical motive in religion, 214. Religion
as belief, 216. Summary definition of religion, 218.
II. THE TESTS OF RELIGION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218
The measure of religion, extensive and intensive, 218.
The test of truth the fundamental test, 220. The
therapeutic test, and its confusion of the issue, 222.
The two forms of the truth test, cosmological and ethical,
224. The working of these critical principles, 226.
Cosmology and ethics are independent of religion, 228.
The optimistic bias, 231. Summary of religious
development, 231.
III. SUPERSTITION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 232
The prudential character of superstition, 232. The
ethical idea in primitive religion, 233. The
cosmological idea, 234. The method of primitive religion,
235. Superstition in Christianity, 235. The ethical
and cosmological correction of superstition, 236.
IV. TUTELARY RELIGION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237
The deity identified with the purpose of the worshipper,
237. The national religion of the Assyrians and
Egyptians, 238. The correction of tutelary religion, 239.
V. PHILOSOPHICAL RELIGION. METAPHYSICAL IDEALISM . . . . . 241
Religion formally enlightened, 241. Metaphysical and
moral idealism, 242. The inherent difficulty in
metaphysical idealism, 242. The swing from formalism to
materialism. Pessimism, other-worldliness, mysticism,
panlogism and aesthetic idealism, 243. Aesthetic
idealism falsifies experience and discredits moral
distinctions, 246.
VI. MORAL IDEALISM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 248
Moral idealism reflects moral judgment, 248. Evil real
but not deliberately perpetrated. The knowledge of
evil, 249. The ground of moral idealism, 252.
VII. THE GENERIC VALUE OF RELIGION . . . . . . . . . . . . . 252
Religion morally inevitable, 252. The value of the
religious generalization of life, 253. The immediate
reward of service, 254. Religion and moral
enthusiasm, 254. Culture and religion, 255.
NOTES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 257
INDEX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 263
{1}
THE MORAL ECONOMY
CHAPTER I
MORALITY AS THE ORGANIZATION OF LIFE
In the words with which this book is inscribed, Bishop Butler conveys
with directness and gravity the conviction that morality is neither a
mystery nor a convention, but simply an observance of the laws of
provident living. "Things and actions are what they are, and the
consequences of them will be what they will be: why then should we
desire to be deceived?" [1] This appeal, commonplace enough, but
confident and true, sounds the note with which through all that follows
I shall hope to keep in unison.
It is because he professes to believe that morality is an imposture
that must be smuggled into society behind the back of reason, that
Nietsche makes a merit of its dulness. "It is desirable," he says,
"that as few people as possible should reflect upon morals, and
consequently it is very desirable that morals should not some day
become interesting!" [2] He confesses that he sees no occasion for
alarm! But the dulness of {2} morality testifies only to its
homeliness and antiquity. For to be moral is simply to be intelligent,
to be right-minded and open-minded in the unavoidable business of
living. Morality is a collection of formulas and models based solidly
on experience of acts and their consequences; it offers the most
competent advice as to how to proceed with an enterprise, whether large
or small. It is the theory and technique which underlies the art of
conduct; that "master-workman," by whom kings reign and princes decree
justice; possessed by the Lord in the beginning of his way, and whom to
hate is to love death.
It is worth while to remark and proclaim such a conviction as this only
because mankind has so treacherous a memory, and so fatuous a habit of
disowning its most precious and dearly won possessions. Cardinal
truths are periodically overlaid with sophistication, blended with
tentative opinion, and identified with the instruments of the day.
There results a confusion of mind that fails to distinguish the essence
from the accident, and aims to destroy where there is need to rectify.
Because government is clumsy and costly, it is proposed to abolish
government; because education is artificial and constraining, society
is exhorted to return to the easy course of nature; metaphysics must be
swept away, because the {3} metaphysics of some time or school has
outlived its usefulness; and morality, because it is hard or tiresome,
must give way to the freedom and romance of no morality. Such blind
and irresponsible agitation is a perpetual menace to the balance of
impressionable and unsteady minds, if not indeed to the work of
civilization.
Now it is safe to say that these venerable institutions have arisen in
answer to fixed needs; needs implied in life as a general and constant
situation. There is no other way of accounting for them. They have
been tolerated only because they yield a steady return. Their loss
would be a catastrophe which mankind, obedient to the necessities of
life, would fall at once to repairing. Institutions are the very body
of civilization; and while they may grow and change without limit, if
they be abruptly destroyed civilization must suffer paralysis in some
vital part. At once the most direct and striking proof of this lies in
the fact that the revolutionist, whether he be propagandist or man of
action, invariably commits himself, and ends by executing the very
function he denied. At the moment when he comes to close quarters, and
actually engages the object of his attack, he is swept into some
current of endeavor that has from the most ancient times been pressing
steadily toward the solution of a problem that lies in the centre of
{4} the path of life. He straightway commences himself to govern,
educate, speculate, or moralize. And the more patiently he labors, the
greater his respect for the vested wisdom of his time. Whereas he
first sought utterly to demolish, he is now content to make his little
difference and hand on the work. In the end every purely destructive
programme is inevitably futile, because it goes against the grain. For
all conduct is constructive in motive, and forward in direction. But
how wasteful is the momentary fury--wasteful of high passion and
distinguished capacity, and how mystifying to the lay intelligence!
It may, of course, be said that there is method in this madness; since
man's twofold blindness, his dogmatism and his scepticism, his
immobility and his wantonness, tend in the long run to neutralize one
another. But with the perspective required for such consolation,
neither the agencies of destruction nor those of obstruction preserve
the same heroic proportions which they are wont to assume in their day.
They seem to be engaged in a sort of by-play, and wear an unmistakable
aspect of childishness. Lo! Mankind has been a long time on his way,
and endures hardily the prospect of endless leagues to go. He is the
Patient Plodder, symbol of mature intelligence. And he has in his
company two small boys who exhibit an incorrigible {5} naughtiness.
The one of these is called Destruction; his other names being Cynic,
Sceptic, and Nihilist. He it is that mocks and cries, "Go up, thou
bald head! go up, thou bald head!" Mankind does not curse him in the
name of the Lord, but invites him to play with another small boy, named
Obstruction, and whose other names are Vested Interest, Reactionary,
and Pedant. This one, whenever Mankind will lead him, digs in his
heels or lies down in his tracks; until, pricked and goaded by his
playfellow, he at length gets up and scrambles after. And so these two
keep ever by the side or at the heels of Mankind, whom they neither
lead nor deflect from his course.
Paradox serves to dislodge prejudice; and blasphemy may rudely but
effectually bring to their senses those who have mistaken the hardness
of their hearts for loyalty, and their easy default for success. But
practical wisdom belongs only to those who proceed unwaveringly out of
the past and into the future, correcting mistakes when they may,
conserving the good already won, and making new conquests.
It may be remarked, and should be readily granted, that patient
plodding is less _piquant_ than the by-play of inertia and revolt. The
spirit of Nietsche is doubtless even now yawning mightily at such
tedious moralizing; fresh proof of the "dull, gloomy seriousness," the
hopeless {6} stupidity of our sublunary virtue. I believe that
Nietsche has frankly confessed the real grievance of his class of
mischief makers. They are impatient and easily bored; while the
business of establishing a healthful and vigorous society is
complicated, tortuous, and slow. Their talent for letters, their love
of vivid pictures, sharp contrasts, and concise dramatic situations,
cannot adapt itself to the real bulk and complexity of life.
Civilization is too promiscuous, too prolonged and monotonous, for
these rare spirits. And they have their sure reward; for they ease the
tension of effort, supplying a recreative release from its pangs under
the flattering guise of higher truth. All the impatience and
playfulness in the world conspires with them. But as one of the demos
of moral dullards, I get no little comfort from applying to Nietsche
and Ibsen, and to certain prophet litterateurs of England, Burke's
reproof of Lord Bolingbroke.
When men find that something can be said in favor of what, on the very
proposal, they have thought utterly indefensible, they grow doubtful of
their own reason; they are thrown into a sort of pleasing surprise;
they run along with the speaker, charmed and captivated to find such a
plentiful harvest of reasoning, where all seemed barren and
unpromising. . . . There is a sort of gloss upon ingenious falsehoods
that dazzles the imagination, but which neither belongs to, nor becomes
the sober aspect of truth. . . . In such cases, the writer has a
certain fire and {7} alacrity inspired into him by a consciousness,
that let it fare how it will with the subject, his ingenuity will be
sure of applause.[3]
It is safe to accept morality as one accepts agriculture, navigation,
constitutional government, or any other tried solution of an
unavoidable problem. There is false opinion here as elsewhere, and
hollow convention is not infrequently paraded as duty and wisdom; but
the nucleus of morality is verified truth, the precipitate of mankind's
prolonged experiment in living.
I do not propose, however, to be satisfied with so modest a claim. It
might still be contended that morality is doubtless true so far as it
goes, or well enough for those who care for it; but that it will
scarcely concern other than the more coarse-grained and less
adventurous minds. It is customary to associate high wisdom with the
pursuit of some special interest, for its own sake, and under no wider
law than a sort of professional etiquette or code of honor. Business
is business, art is art, truth is truth, and for one who cares to "go
in for it," virtue is for virtue's sake. Those who ride hobbies do not
object to the moralist, provided he does not intrude. But if he
applies his rules to other than his own personal or domestic affairs,
he is berated as an impertinent busybody who is talking of things he
does not understand. Now I venture to assert that the {8} moralist in
the nature of the case can never be impertinent, though he may be
impolite or even insulting. He can never be impertinent because,
contrary to the formula of the day, there is no such thing as virtue
for virtue's sake. Morality is the one interest that virtually
represents all interests. It is the interest of every man in the
general tests of success and failure, and in the maintenance of the
field or medium of all interests. There is no enterprise which, if
conducted efficiently, is not a verification of moral rules; there is
no enterprise which does not receive and transmit the now of life that
circulates through the moral system at large. To be righteously
indignant is to protest passionately in behalf of the whole good, and
against the clumsy and inadvertent evil. To this morality owes its
universal support, its invincible finality. It need never be
apologetic, because it holds no brief; it advocates no measure except
the carrying through to the end of what is virtually undertaken by all
parties to the adventure of life.
It follows that no man can exempt himself from moral liability. He is
irrevocably committed to life, and can neglect the laws of life only at
his absolute or ultimate peril. What does it profit a man to gain a
bit here and a bit there, if he is foreordained to loss on the whole?
If he squanders his moral patrimony he has no means of {9} recouping
his fortunes; he has wasted his supporting vitality and forfeited his
general livelihood.
And now if this be true it is of more than passing or sentimental
importance. It needs to be vividly realized if morality is to make its
saving appeal. Morality is only discredited through being sanctioned;
its proper merits are more eloquent than its friends and borrowed
auspices. If it can be simply proclaimed as it is, it cannot be
denied. This is one of the things which I undertake to do. But to
understand what morality really is, to recognize its claims, is to
understand also its application, its critical pertinence to art and
religion, to all the great and permanent undertakings of men. Such
application I shall in the later chapters undertake to suggest, partly
as an amplification of the meaning of morality, and partly as a
programme of further reflection looking toward a moral philosophy of
history. I can do no more in the present chapter than broadly present
the structure of morality, leaving the logic of its appeal and its more
important applications for the chapters which follow.
II
The moral affair of men, a prolonged and complicated historical
enterprise, is thrown into historical relief upon the background of a
mechanical cosmos. Nature, as interpreted by the {10} inorganic
sciences, presents a spectacle of impassivity. It moves, transforms,
and radiates, on every scale and in all its gigantic range of temporal
and spatial distance, utterly without loss or gain of value. One
cannot rightly attribute to such a world even the property of neglect
or brutality. Its indifference is absolute.
Such a world is devoid of value because of the elimination of the bias
of life. Where no interest is at stake, changes can make no practical
difference; where no claims are made, there can be neither fortune nor
calamity, neither comedy nor tragedy. There is no object of applause
or resentment, if there be nothing in whose behalf such judgments may
be urged.
But with the introduction of life, even the least particle of it, the
rudest bit of protoplasm that ever made the venture, nature becomes a
new system with a new centre. The organism inherits the earth; the
mechanisms of nature become its environment, its resources in the
struggle to keep for a time body and soul together. The mark of life
is partiality for itself. If anything is to become an object of
solicitude, it must first announce itself through acting in its own
behalf. With life thus instituted there begins the long struggle of
interest against inertia and indifference, that war of which
civilization itself is only the latest and most triumphant phase.
{11}
Nature being thus enlivened, the simpler terms of value now find a
meaning. A living thing must suffer calamities or achieve successes;
and since its fortunes are _good_ or _bad_ in the most elementary sense
that can be attached to these conceptions, it is worth our while to
consider the matter with some care. An _interest_, or unit of life, is
essentially an organization which consistently acts for its own
preservation. It deals with its environment in such wise as to keep
itself intact and bring itself to maturity; appropriating what it
needs, and avoiding or destroying what threatens it with injury. The
interest so functions as to supply itself with the means whereby it may
continue to exist and function. This is the principle of action which
may be generalized from its behavior, and through which it may be
distinguished within the context of nature. Now the term _interest_
being construed in this sense, we may describe goodness as _fulfilment
of interest_. The description will perhaps refer more clearly to human
life, if for the term _interest_ we substitute the term _desire_.
Goodness would then consist in the _satisfaction of desire_. In other
words, things are good because desired, not desired because good. To
say that one desires things because one needs them, or likes them, or
admires them, is redundant; in the end one simply desires certain
things, that is, one {12} possesses an interest or desire which they
fulfil. There are as many varieties of goodness as there are varieties
of interest; and to the variety of interest there is no end.
Strictly speaking, goodness belongs to an interest's actual state of
fulfilment. This will consist in an activity, exercised by the
interest, but employing the environment. With a slight shift of
emphasis, goodness in this absolute sense will attach either to
interest in so far as nourished by objects, as in the case of hunger
appeased, or to objects in so far as assimilated to interest, as in the
case of food consumed. It follows that goodness in a relative sense,
in the sense of "good for," will attach to whatever _conduces_ to good
in the absolute sense; that is, actions and objects, such as
agriculture and bread, that lead directly or indirectly to the
fulfilment of interest. But "good" and "good for," like their
opposites "bad" and "bad for," are never sharply distinguishable,
because the imagination anticipates the fortunes of interests, and
transforms even remote contingencies into actual victory or defeat.
Through their organization into life, the mechanisms of nature thus
take on the generic quality of good and evil. They either serve
interests or oppose them; and must be employed and assimilated, or
avoided and rejected {13} accordingly. Events which once indifferently
happened are now objects of hope and fear, or integral parts of success
and failure.
III
But that organization of life which denotes the presence of morality
has not yet been defined. The isolated interest extricates itself from
mechanism; and, struggling to maintain itself, does, it is true, divide
the world into good and bad, according to its uses. But the moral
drama opens only when interest meets interest; when the path of one
unit of life is crossed by that of another. Every interest is
compelled to recognize other interests, on the one hand as parts of its
environment, and on the other hand as partners in the general
enterprise of life. Thus there is evolved the _moral_ idea, or
principle of action, according to which _interest allies itself with
interest in order to be free-handed and powerful_ against the common
hereditary enemy, the heavy inertia and the incessant wear of the
cosmos. Through morality a plurality of interests becomes an
_economy_, or _community of interests_.
I have thus far described the situation as though it were essentially a
social one. But while, historically speaking, it is doubtless always
social in one of its aspects, the essence of the matter is as truly
represented within the {14} group of interests sustained by a single
organism, when these, for example, are united in an individual
life-purpose. Morality is that procedure in which several interests,
whether they involve one or more physical organisms, are so adjusted as
to function as one interest, more massive in its support, and more
coherent and united in the common task of fulfilment. Interests
morally combined are not destroyed or superseded, as are mechanical
forces, by their resultant. The power of the higher interest is due to
a summing of incentives emanating from the contributing interests; it
can perpetuate itself only through keeping these interests alive. The
most spectacular instance of this is government, which functions as
one, and yet derives its power from an enormous variety of different
interests, which it must foster and conserve as the sources of its own
life. In all cases the strength of morality must lie in its liberality
and breadth.
Morality is simply the forced choice between suicide and abundant life.
When interests war against one another they render the project of life,
at best a hard adventure, futile and abortive. I hold it to be of
prime importance for the understanding of this matter to observe that
from the poorest and crudest beginnings, morality is _the massing of
interests against a reluctant cosmos_. Life has been attended with
discord and mutual {15} destruction, but this is its failure. The
first grumbling truce between savage enemies, the first collective
enterprise, the first peaceful community, the first restraint on
gluttony for the sake of health, the first suppression of ferocity for
the sake of a harder blow struck in cold blood,--these were the first
victories of morality. They were moral victories in that they
organized life into more comprehensive unities, making it a more
formidable thing, and securing a more abundant satisfaction. The fact
that life thus combined and weighted, was hurled against life, was the
lingering weakness, the deficiency which attends upon all partial
attainment. The moral triumph lay in the positive access of strength.
Let us now correct our elementary conceptions of value so that they may
apply to moral value. The fulfilment of a simple isolated interest is
good, but only _the fulfilment of an organization of interests_ is
morally good. Such goodness appears in the realization of an
individual's systematic purpose or in the well-being of a community.
That it virtually implies one ultimate good, the fulfilment of the
system of all interests, must necessarily follow; although we cannot at
present deal adequately with that conclusion.
The quality of moral goodness, like the quality of goodness in the
fundamental sense, lies not in the nature of any class of objects, but
in any {16} object or activity whatsoever, in so far as this provides a
fulfilment of interest or desire. In the case of moral goodness this
fulfilment must embrace a group of interests in which each is limited
by the others. Its value lies not only in fulfilment, but also in
adjustment and harmony. And this value is independent of the special
subject-matter of the interests. Moralists have generally agreed that
it is impossible to conceive moral goodness exclusively in terms of any
special interest, even such as honor, power, or wealth.[4] There is no
interest so rare or so humble that its fulfilment is not morally good,
provided that fulfilment forms part of the systematic fulfilment of a
group of interests.
But there has persisted from the dawn of ethical theory a misconception
concerning the place of _pleasure_ in moral goodness. It has been
supposed that every interest, whatever its special subject-matter, is
an interest in pleasure. Now while a thorough criticism of hedonism
would be out of place here, even if it were profitable, a summary
consideration of it will throw some light on the truth.[5]
Fortunately, the ethical status of pleasure is much clearer than its
psychological status. As a moral concern, pleasure is either a
_special interest_, in which case it must take its place in the whole
economy of life, and submit to principles which adjust it to the rest;
or it is _an {17} element in every interest_, in which case it is
itself not an interest at all. Now whether it be proper to recognize a
special interest in pleasure, it is not necessary here to determine.
That this should be generally supposed to be the case is mainly due, I
think, to a habit of associating pleasure peculiarly with certain
familiar and recurrent bodily interests. At any rate it is clear that
the pleasure which constantly _attends_ interests is not that _in which
the interest is taken_. Interests and desires are qualitatively
diverse, and to an extent that is unlimited. The simpler organisms are
not interested in pleasure, but in their individual preservation; while
man is interested not only in preservation, but in learning,
card-playing, loving, fighting, bargaining, and all the innumerable
activities that form part of the present complex of life.
Now, it is true that it is agreeable or pleasant to contemplate the
fulfilment of an interest; and that such anticipatory gratification in
some measure accompanies all endeavor. But there is an absolute
difference between such present pleasure and the prospect which evokes
it. And it is that prospect or imagined state of fulfilment which is
the object of endeavor, the good sought. It is also true that the
_fulfilment_ of every interest is pleasant. But this means only that
the interest is conscious of its fulfilment. In pleasure {18} and pain
life records its gains and losses, and is guided to enhance the one or
repair the other. Where in the scale of life pleasure and pain begin
it is not now possible to say, but it is certain that they are present
wherever interests engage in any sort of reciprocity. If one interest
is to control or engage another it must be aware of it, and alive to
its success or failure. Where life has reached the human stage of
complexity, in which interests supervene upon interests, in which every
interest is itself an object of interest, the consciousness of good and
evil assumes a constantly increasing importance. Life is more watchful
of itself, more keenly sensitive to the fortunes of all of its
constituent parts. It is proper, therefore, to associate pleasure with
goodness; and happiness, or a more constant and pervasive pleasure,
with the higher forms of moral goodness. But pleasure and happiness
are incidental to goodness; necessary, but not definitive of its
general form and structure.
In addition to goodness thus amplified there now enters into life at
the moral stage a new element of value, the _rightness_ or _virtue_ of
action which, though moved by some immediate desire, is at the same
time controlled by a regard for a higher or more comprehensive
interest. This is the distinguishing quality of all that wins moral
approval: thrift and temperance; loyalty {19} and integrity; justice,
unselfishness, and public spirit; humanity and piety. To the further
discussion of these several virtues we shall have occasion shortly to
return.
Moral procedure, then, differs from life in its more elementary form,
through the fact that interests are organized. Morality is only life
where this has assumed the form of the forward movement of character,
nationality, and humanity. Moral principles define the adjustment of
interest to interest, for the saving of each and the strengthening of
both against failure and death. Morality is only the method of
carrying on the affair of life beyond a certain point of complexity.
It is the method of concerted, cumulative living, through which
interests are brought from a doubtful condition of being tolerated by
the cosmos, to a condition of security and confidence. The spring and
motive of morality are therefore absolutely one with those of life.
The self-preservative impulse of the simplest organism is the initial
bias from which, by a continuous progression in the direction of first
intent, have sprung the service of mankind and the love of God.
{20}
IV
There is an old and unprofitable quarrel between those who identify,
and those who contrast, morality with _nature_. To adjudicate this
quarrel, it is necessary to define a point at which nature somehow
exceeds herself. Strictly speaking, it is as arbitrary to say that
morality, which arose and is immersed in nature, is not natural, as to
say that magnetism and electricity are not natural. If nature be
defined in terms of the categories of any stage of complexity, all
beyond will wear the aspect of a miracle. It would be proper to
dismiss the question as only a trivial matter of terminology, did not
the discussion of it provide an occasion for alluding to certain
confused notions that have obtained wide currency.
Thus there is an ancient belief that it is natural to be licentious;
that man is at heart unruly and wilful, wearing the artificial good
behavior of civilization as he wears his clothes. Nietsche has
contributed not a little to the glorification of this pro-natural and
anti-moral monster. And yet no one has recognized more clearly than
he, that restraint and law are not only in life from the beginning, but
that they are themselves the very sources of its power.
'The singular fact remains,' he says, 'that everything of the nature of
freedom, elegance, boldness, {21} dance, and masterly certainty, which
exists or has existed, whether it be in thought itself, or in
administration, or in speaking and persuading, in art just as in
conduct, has only developed by means of the tyranny of such arbitrary
law; and in all seriousness; it is not at all improbable that precisely
this is "nature" and "natural"--and not _laisser-aller_!'[6]
It only remains to drop the terms "arbitrary" and "tyranny"; since the
principle of development in life can scarcely be regarded as arbitrary,
or its effectual working as tyranny.
Huxley chose to draw a line between nature and morality, at the point
where a limit is set to the isolated organism's struggle against all
comers.
The practice of that which is ethically best--what we call goodness or
virtue--involves a course of conduct which, in all respects, is opposed
to that which leads to success in the cosmic struggle for existence.
In place of ruthless self-assertion it demands self-restraint.[7]
But Huxley appears momentarily to have overlooked the fact that the
struggle for existence itself puts a premium on self-restraint. For
there is no stage of evolution in which the adjustment and co-operation
of interests is not an aid to survival. One does not have to rise
higher in the scale of life than the plants fertilized by insects, to
observe the working of this principle. It is only the crudest and most
impotent self-assertion that is "ruthless." The reason for this {22}
is simply that the real enemy of every vital process is not another
kindred process, but the mechanical environment. Life is essentially
an assertion, not against life, but against death. Interests that
expend their energies in destroying or crippling one another, slip back
toward that primeval lifelessness from which they emerged. Restraint
for the sake of organization is therefore only a developed and
intelligent self-assertion.
If one insists still upon drawing a line between cosmical and moral
forces, let it be drawn at the point where there first arises that
unstable complex called life. Life does in a sense oppose itself to
the balance of nature. To hold itself together, it must play at parry
and thrust with the very forces which gave it birth. Once having
happened, it so acts as to persist. But it should be remarked that
this opposition between the careless and rough course of the cosmos,
the insidious forces of dissolution, on the one hand, and the
self-preserving care of the organism on the other, is present
absolutely from the outset of life.
Vegetable and animal organisms do, it is true, adapt themselves to the
environment; but their adaptation is essentially a method of using and
modifying the environment in their own favor, precisely as is the case
with human action. {23} Therefore Huxley's sharp distinction between
natural plant life and man's artificial garden is misleading.
'The tendency of the cosmic process,' he says, 'is to bring about the
adjustment of the forms of plant life to the current conditions; the
tendency of the horticultural process is the adjustment of the
conditions to the needs of the forms of plant life which the gardener
desires to raise.'[8]
But this is to ignore the basal fact, which is that plant life in any
form is a defiance of current conditions. Art has already begun when
natural processes assume a form that feeds itself, reproduces itself,
and grows. The first organisms have only a local footing; they are
rooted in the soil, and can turn to their advantage only the conditions
characteristic of a time and place. Eventually there evolves a more
resourceful unit of life, like the gardener with his cultivated plants,
who is capable of inhabiting nature at large. But the method is still
the same, that of playing off nature against nature; only it is now
done on a larger scale, and in a more aggressive and confident spirit.
The need of concession to the demands of locality is reduced, through a
concession once and for all to the wider processes of nature. But in
relation to its environment, life is never wholly constructive, as it
is never wholly passive. Whether it appears in the form of vegetation
or civilization, {24} it always involves both an adaptation of nature
to itself and of itself to nature.
Morality, then, is natural if life is natural; for it is defined by the
same essential principles. It is related to life as a later to an
earlier phase of one development. The organization of life answers the
self-preservative impulse with which life begins; the deliberate
fulfilment of a human purpose is only life grown strong enough through
organization to conduct a larger and more adventurous enterprise.
V
In the light of this conception let us examine more fully the relation
of morality to the competitive struggle between individuals and
communities. There can, of course, be no doubt that competition forces
life up in the scale. But it is equally true, and more significant,
that in the course of that progress competition itself is steadily
eliminated. The stronger units of life prevail against the weaker.
But the stronger units of life are the more inclusive and harmonious
complexes of interest. They are constituted by adjusting interests;
allowing each a modicum of free play, or crushing those that will not
submit to organization. Within such units the principle of mechanical
survival gives way to the principle of moral survival. I mean by this
that {25} the selection, rejection, and gradation of interests is made
not on the basis of the uncompromising self-assertion of each and the
survival of the hardy remnant; but on the basis of the contribution
made by each to the life of the collective body. The test of survival
is obedience to a law defined in the joint interest of all, and control
is vested in the rational capacity to represent this interest and
conduct it to a safe and profitable issue. The strength of life thus
organized lies in its massiveness, in its effective plenitude. When
such units wage war on one another, this strength is wasted; and the
very same principle that strength shall prevail, tends to the extension
of the organization until it shall embrace contentious factions.
Even where the principle of survival does not operate, conflict has
been, and yet remains, a factor in moral progress of enormous and
far-reaching importance. The more keen and unrelenting it is, the more
effectually does it expose the weakness of the competing units, the
more urgently does it require a better concentration and economy of
effort. In order to fight a rival, it is necessary to leave off
fighting one's self, and be healthy and single-minded. An industrial
corporation, in order to overreach its competitors, is compelled to
adjust its intricate functions with incredible nicety, to utilize
by-products, and even to introduce old-age pensions for the promotion
{26} of morale among its employees. And so a nation, to be strong in
war, must enjoy peace and justice at home. War has served society by
welding great aggregates of interest into compact and effective wholes,
the enemy providing an object upon which collective endeavor can unite.
But circumstances that press life forward will be left behind, if these
circumstances are not themselves good. And war is not that for which
men war; they war for the existence and satisfaction of their
interests. That which is constructive and saving in war is not the
contact between the warring parties, but their internal coherence and
harmony. It is _that_ which survives when hostility is inhibited by a
recognition of the cost; it is that which is extended when hostility
gives way to a wider co-ordination of interests.
The loss when contending currents are redirected and flow together is
not a loss of power, but only of neutralizing resistance. It is true
that the lesson of harmony is learned through discord; but harmony is
none the less in the end exclusive of discord. The principle of peace,
learned at home through the hard necessity of war abroad, finds only a
more complete justification and beneficent application in peace abroad.
It is love and not hate that is the moving spring of life. It is love
which is constructive; hate destroys even the very object that evokes
and {27} sustains it. It is essential, then, to life, not only to
assert and reproduce itself, but to increase itself through allying
itself with life. Where the motive of life thus freely expresses
itself, there are no natural enemies.
I count it to be important thus to trace morality back to the original
love of life, since only so is it possible to understand its urgency,
and its continuity with every organic impulse. It is because morality
is without warrant dislocated from the natural life, that it is accused
of being barren and formal. To many minds it is best symbolized by the
kindly lady who gives the small boy a penny, and admonishes him not to
spend it. But there could be no more outrageous travesty. Morality in
its springs is absolutely one with that clinging to life which is the
most deep-lying of all interests, and with that relish for life in
which its goodness needs no philosopher's approval. The primal
determination to be and to sell one's self dearly, is not different,
except in its limits, from the moral determination to be and to attain
to the uttermost. The whole force of life is behind every moral
scruple, and guarantees the sanity even of a universal good-will.
But the identification of morality with the organization of life,
serves also to demonstrate life in its unity and larger auspices.
Morality harmonizes life and eliminates its wanton {28}
self-destruction; but life is not therefore left without an object of
conquest. For there is one campaign in which all interests are
engaged, and which requires their undivided and aggressive effort.
This is the first and last campaign, the war of life upon the routine
of the mechanical cosmos and its forces of dissolution. To live, to
let live, and to grow in life, constitute an absorbing and passionate
task, in which every human heroism may find a proper object.
VI
It must be admitted that the imagination has not yet sufficiently
glorified this enterprise of civilization. It is hard to forget old
shibboleths and loyalties. And yet precisely that must be done with
every advance in liberality. Admiration and passion lag behind reason;
are forever backsliding and debauching themselves among the companions
of their youth. But man's salvation lies not in degrading his reason
to the level of his loyalties, nor in allowing the two to drift apart,
but in acquiring a finer loyalty. And while one cannot extemporize the
symbols and imagery of devotion, these will surely grow about any
sustained purpose.
We hear much in our day of the passing of nobility and enthusiasm with
the era of war. "Whatever makes men feel young," says Chesterton, {29}
"is great--a great war or a love story." [9] Love stories will
doubtless continue to the end; but must man cease to feel young in the
days when cruelty and exploitation are obsolete? Nietsche[10] speaks
with passionate regret of a certain "lordliness," or assertion of
superiority, that has latterly given place to the slave morality, which
aims at "the universal green-meadow happiness of the herd." There are
no more heroes, of "lofty spirituality," but only levellers, timid,
stupid, mediocre folk, "_sans genie et sans esprit_."
Now there is a paradox that does not seem to have occurred to Nietsche,
in the slave insurrection by which he accounts for this dreary
spectacle. It can scarcely be a code of slavishness that has enabled
slaves to overthrow their masters. The morality of the modern European
democracy is the morality of the strong; of the many, it is true, but
of the many united and impassioned, moving toward the general end with
good heart. And it is this which gave mastery to the once ruling
class. Mastery appears wherever action is bold, united, and with the
pressure of interest behind it; mastery has nothing to do with the airs
of mastery, with Nietsche's "pathos of distance," separating class from
class. The "instinct for rank," and "delight in the nuances of
reverence," are not signs of nobility, as Nietsche would have it.
There is no nose for them so {30} sensitive and discriminating as that
of the chambermaid or butler. The mere pride of an easy mastery over
slaves is the taint of every society in which class differences are
recognized as fixed. It attaches to all classes; whether it be called
snobbery or obsequiousness, it is all one. The virtue of mastery, on
the other hand, lies in the power and in the attainment which it
represents.
And this Nietsche himself fully admits in his less inspired but more
thoughtful utterances. It is "the constant struggle with uniform
unfavorable conditions" that fixes the type he admires. When there are
no more enemies, "the bond and constraint of the old discipline
severs," and a rapid decay sets in; which leads inevitably, after a
chaos of individualism, to a period of mediocrity such as the present.
In other words, so soon as its political and social activities are
confined to "lording it," the aristocracy loses its vigor, and falls an
easy prey to democratic or other propagandists _who want something and
are united to attain it_.
Now it seems that if man is not to become spiritually bankrupt, he must
be confronted with unfavorable conditions that keep him vigilant and
alert. Nietsche has no imagination for resistance, struggle, and
victory, except as these arise in the war of man against man. His
heroes are Alcibiades, Caesar, and Frederick II, "men {31} predestined
for conquering and circumventing others." But it is not easy for us of
this day to forget the others; it is the cost to them that galls our
conscience. We cannot sincerely applaud a heroism in which life is
condemned to feed on itself. Shall the only enemy that never fails,
the condition that is always indifferent if not unfavorable, namely,
the perpetual wear and drag of nature, be forgotten in order that men
may fall on one another? Has man no more lordly task than that of
destroying what he holds to be good? Is there no more of "creative
plenipotence" in man than killing and robbing?
I am convinced that it needs only enlightenment to reduce Nietsche's
circumventer of others to the proportions of a burglar; and to enlarge
to truly heroic proportions him who circumvents the blindness of
nature, brings up the weak or faint-hearted who lag behind, and throws
himself bravely into the enterprise of steady constructive
civilization. Nietsche is beguiled by a love of melodrama. He forgets
the real war for the pageantry of an era that will pass. As a
misleader of youth he conspires with the writers of dime-novels to fix
the imagination on false symbols. The small boy who would run away
from home for the glory of fighting Indians is deceived; both because
there are no longer any Indians to fight, and because there are more
glorious {32} battles to be fought at home. War between man and man is
an obsolescent form of heroism. There is every reason, therefore, why
it should not be glorified as the only occasion capable of evoking the
great emotions. The general battle of life, the first and last battle,
is still on; and it has that in it of danger and resistance, of
comradeship and of triumph, that can stir the blood.
But I have not undertaken to make morality picturesque. I shall leave
that to other hands. In an age when it has been somewhat out of
literary fashion, Chesterton[11] has found it possible even to proclaim
morality as the latest and most enlivening paradox. But I propose to
leave it clad in its own sobriety. Its appeal in the last analysis
must be to a sense for reality, and to an enlightened practical wisdom.
Morality is that which makes man, "naked, shoeless, and defenceless" in
body, the master of the kingdom of nature. Morality in this sense has
never been more simply and eloquently justified than in the words which
Plato puts into the mouth of Protagoras. He first describes the arts
with which men contrived barely to sustain themselves, in a condition
no better than the beasts which preyed on them in their helplessness.
It is then that through the gift of Zeus they are rescued from their
degradation and invested with the forms of civilization.
{33}
After a while the desire of self-preservation gathered them into
cities; but when they were gathered together, having no art of
government, they evil-intreated one another, and were again in process
of dispersion and destruction. Zeus feared that the entire race would
be exterminated, and so he sent Hermes to them, bearing reverence and
justice to be the ordering principles of cities and the bonds of
friendship and conciliation.[12]
But reverence and justice are more even than the ordering principles of
cities. They are the conditions of the maximum of attainment, whether
this be conceived as that supreme excellence which Plato divined, or as
that all-saving good which is the object of a Christian devotion to
humanity. Morality is the law of life, from its bare preservation to
its supreme fruition. There is a high pretension in morality which is
the necessary consequence of its motive. But man is not, on that
account, in need of those reminders of failure which are so easy to
offer, and which are so impotently true; he needs rather new symbols of
faith, through which his heart may be renewed, and his courage
fortified to proceed with an undertaking of which he cannot see the
end. Faith and courage have brought him thus far:
"Till he well-nigh can tame
Brute mischiefs and control
Invisible things and turn
All warring ills to purposes of good."
{34}