THE ORDER OF VIRTUE
I
We have thus far dealt with the general content of morality, and with
its logical grounds. Morality is only life where life is organized and
confident, the struggle for mere existence being replaced with the
prospect of a progressive and limitless attainment. The good is
fulfilled desire; the moral good the fulfilment of a universal economy,
embracing all desires, actual and possible, and providing for them as
liberally as their mutual relations permit. The moral good is simply
the greatest possible good, where good in the broad generic sense means
any object of interest whatsoever, anything proved worth the seeking
from the fact that some unit of life actually seeks it. Whatever is
prized is on that account precious.
The logic of morality rests on this objective relation between interest
and value. The maximum good has the greatest weight, its claims are
entitled to priority, because it surpasses any limited good in
incentive and promise of fulfilment. Duty in this logical sense is
simply to {73} control of particular actions by a full recognition of
their consequences.
In the present chapter the attention is shifted from the whole to the
parts of morality. I am not one of those who stake much on the
casuistical application of ethical principles. Every particular action
virtually involves considerations of enormous complexity; and the
individual must be mainly guided by general rules of conduct or
virtues, which are proved by the cumulative experience of the race.
Life itself is the only adequate experiment in living. Virtues are
properly verified only in the history of society, in the development of
institutions, and in the evidences of progress in civilization at
large. I shall confine myself, then, to such verified virtues, and
seek to show their relation to morality as a whole.[1]
Virtues vary in generality according to the degree to which they refer
to special circumstance; and, since there is no limit to the variety of
circumstance, there is, strictly speaking, no final and comprehensive
order of virtues. The term may be applied with equal propriety to
types of action as universal as justice and as particular as conjugal
fidelity. We shall find it necessary to confine ourselves to the more
general and fundamental virtues.
I have adopted a method of classification to which I attach no absolute
importance, but which {74} will, I trust, serve to amplify and
illuminate the fundamental conceptions which I have already formulated.
I shall aim, in the first place, to make explicit a distinction which
has hitherto been obscured. I refer to the difference between the
_material_ and the _formal_ aspects of morality. On the one hand,
action is always engaged in the fulfilment of an immediate interest;
this constitutes its material goodness. On the other hand, every moral
action is limited or regulated by the provision which it makes for
ulterior interests; this constitutes its formal goodness. Let me make
this difference more clear.
A particular action is invariably connected with a particular interest;
and in so far as it is successful it will thus be directly fruitful of
fulfilment. And it matters not how broad a purpose constitutes its
ultimate motive; for purposes can be served only through a variety of
activities, each of which will have its proximate interest and its own
continuous yield of satisfaction. Life pays as it goes, even though it
goes to the length of serving humanity at large, and the larger
enterprises owe their very justification to this additive and
cumulative principle.
But if action is to be moral it must always look beyond the present
satisfaction. It must submit to such checks as are necessary for the
realization of a greater good. Indeed, action is not wholly {75} good
until it is controlled with reference to the fulfilment of the totality
of interests.
It follows, then, that every action may be judged in two respects:
first, in respect of its immediate return of fulfilment; second, in
respect of its bearing on all residual interests. Every good action
will be both profitable and safe; both self-sustaining and also
serviceable to the whole.
The necessity of determining the relative weight which is to be given
to these two considerations accounts for the peculiar delicacy of the
art of life, since it makes almost inevitable either the one or the
other of two opposite errors of exaggeration. The _undue assertion of
the present-interest_ constitutes materialism, in the moral sense.
Materialism is a forfeiture of greater good through preoccupation with
nearer good. It appears in an individual's neglect of his fellow's
interest, in his too easy satisfaction with good already attained, in
short-sighted policy on any scale. Formalism, on the other hand,
signifies the _improvident exaggeration of ulterior motives_. It is
due to a misapprehension concerning the relation between higher and
lower interests. I have sought to make it clear that higher interests
owe their eminence, not to any intrinsic quality of their own, but to
the fact that they save and promote lower interests. Formalism is the
{76} rejection of lower interests in the name of some good that without
these interests is nothing.
The conflict between the material and formal motives in life is present
in every moral crisis, and qualifies the meaning of every moral idea.
It may even provoke a social revolution, as in the case of the Puritan
revolution in England. The Puritan is still the symbol of moral rigor
and sobriety, as the Cavalier is the symbol of the love of life. The
full meaning of morality tends constantly to be confused through
identifying it exclusively with the one or the other of these motives.
Thus morality has come, on the whole, to be associated with constraint
and discipline, in both a favorable and a disparaging sense. This has
led to its being rejected as a falsification of life by those who
insist that every good thing is free and fair and pleasant. And, even
among those who recognize the vital necessity of discipline, morality
is so narrowed to that component, that it commonly suggests only those
scruples and inhibitions which destroy the spontaneity and
whole-heartedness of every activity.
That morality should tend to be identified with its formal rather than
its material aspect is not strange; for it is the formal motive which
is critical and corrective, substituting a conscious reconstruction of
interests for their initial movement. It is this fact which gives to
duty that {77} sense of compulsion which is so invariably associated
with it. Duty is opposed to the line of least resistance, whenever
life is dominated by any motive short of the absolute good-will. Thus
among the Greeks, _dikê_ is opposed to _bia_.[2] This means simply
that because the principles of social organization are not as yet
thoroughly assimilated, their adoption requires attention and effort.
And a similar opposition may appear at either a higher or lower level,
between the momentary impulse and the law of prudence, or between the
habit of worldliness and the law of piety.
In connection with this broad difference between the material and
formal aspects of life, it is interesting to observe a certain
difference of leniency in the popular judgment. Materialism is more
heartily condemned, because he who is guilty of it is not alive to the
general good. He is morally unregenerate. Formalism, on the other
hand, is good-hearted or well-intentioned. He who is guilty of it may
be ridiculed as unpractical, or pitied for his misguided zeal; but
society rarely offers to chastise him. For he has submitted to
discipline, and if he is not the friend of man, it is not because of
any profit that he has reserved for himself.
In the arrangement which follows I shall use this difference between
the material and formal {78} aspects of morality to supplement the main
principle of classification, which is that difference of level or
range, of which I have already made some use in the previous chapter,
and which I shall now define more precisely. In morality life is so
organized as to provide for interests as liberally and comprehensively
as possible. But the principles through which such organization is
effected will differ in the degree to which they accomplish that end.
Hence it is possible to define several economies or stages of
organization which are successively more complete. The _simple
interest_, first, is the isolated interest, pursued regardlessly of
other interests; in other words, not as yet brought under the form of
morality. The _reciprocity of interests_, represents that rudimentary
form of morality in which interests enter only into an external
relation, through which they secure an exchange of benefits without
abandoning their independence. In the _incorporation of interests_,
elementary interests are unified through a purpose which subordinates
and regulates them. The _fraternity of interests_, is that
organization in which the rational or personal unit of interest is
recognized as final, and respected wherever it is met. But there must
also be some last economy, in which provision is formally made for any
interest whatsoever that may assert itself. This is the realm of {79}
good-will, or, as I shall call it for the sake of symmetry, the
_universal system of interests_. I shall so construe these economies
as to make the broader or more inclusive comprehend the narrower.
Now each of these economies possesses its characteristic principle of
organization, or typical mode of action; and this enables us to define
five prime virtues: _intelligence, prudence, purpose, justice,_ and
_good-will_. From each of these virtues there accrues to life a
characteristic benefit: from intelligence, _satisfaction_; from
prudence, _health_; from purpose, _achievement_; from justice,
_rational intercourse_; and from good-will, _religion_. The absence of
these virtues defines a group of negative vices: _incapacity,
imprudence, aimlessness, injustice,_ and _irreverence_. Finally,
applying the distinction between formalism and materialism, we obtain
two further series of vices; for, with two exceptions, it is possible
in each economy either to exaggerate the principle of organization, and
thus neglect the constituent interests which it is intended to
organize; or to exaggerate the good attained, and thus neglect the
wider spheres beyond. There will thus be a formalistic series of
errors: _asceticism, sentimentalism, anarchism, mysticism_; and a
materialistic series: _overindulgence, sordidness, bigotry_ or _egoism,
worldliness_. Since materialism is in each case due to the lack of the
next higher {80} principle of organization, there is no real difference
between the materialism of one economy and the negative vice of the
next. But I have thought it worth while to retain both series, because
they represent a difference of emphasis which it is customary to make.
Thus there is no real difference between overindulgence and imprudence;
but one refers to the excess, and the other to the deficiency, in an
activity which is excessive in its fulfilment of a present interest,
and deficient in its regard for ulterior interests.
I have thought it best for the purpose of clear presentation to
tabulate these virtues and vices; and it proves convenient, also, to
adopt a fixed nomenclature. It is unfortunate that the terms must be
drawn from common speech; for it is impossible that the meaning
assigned to them in the course of a methodical analysis like the
present, should exactly coincide with that which they have acquired in
their looser application to daily life. But I shall endeavor always to
make plain the sense in which I use them; and, thus guarded, they will
serve to mark out a series of special topics which it is important
briefly to review.
{81}
ECONOMY VIRTUE VALUE NEGATIVE FORMALISM MATERIALISM
VICE
Simple Intelli- Satis- Incapacity ------ Over-
Interest gence faction indulgence
Recipro- Prudence Health Imprudence Ascet- Sordidness
city of icism
Interests
Incorpor- Purpose Achieve- Aimless- Sentiment- Bigotry
ation of ment ness alism Egoism
Interests
Fraternity Justice Rational Injustice Anarchism Worldliness
of Inter-
Interests course
Universal Good-Will Religion Irreverence Mysticism ------
System of
Interests
{82}
II
We have already had occasion to remark that no moral value attaches to
the successes and failures of the isolated or _simple interest_. Thus
it is customary not to apply judgments of approval or condemnation to
the vicissitudes of animal life. So wholesale a generalization is
undoubtedly false; but at any rate it is based on the supposition that
the motive in animal life is always simple. And similarly, whenever
human action is regarded only with reference to the impulse it
immediately serves, it is judged to be successful or futile, but never
right or wrong. These properties are reserved for such action as is
controlled, or is capable of being controlled, with reference both to
an immediate and also an ulterior interest. But since the difference
between goodness in the wider generic sense and goodness in the moral
sense is one of complexity, it is proper and illuminating to bring them
into one orderly progression.
The _root-value_, then, of which all the higher moral values are
compounded, is the fulfilment or satisfaction of the particular
interest. This fundamental value is conditioned by a form of
organization, which I propose in a restricted sense to term
intelligence. I mean the capacity which every living interest must
possess to {83} utilize the environment, to turn it to its own
advantage. This is the distinguishing and essential capacity of life
in every form. A plant can continue to exist, and a sculptor can model
a statue, only through being so organized as to be able to assimilate
what the environment offers. Whether it be called tropism or
technique, it is all one. Intelligence in this sense may be said to be
the elementary virtue, conditioning success on every plane of activity.
In using such terms as "satisfaction" and "success" interchangeably
with so irreproachable a term as "fulfilment," I may, until my meaning
is wholly clear, seem to degrade morality. But the tone of
disparagement in these first two terms is due to their having acquired
certain arbitrary associations. It is supposed that to be satisfied is
to be complacent, and that to be successful is to be hard and worldly.
Now, a narrow satisfaction and a blind success are morally evil; but
satisfaction and success may be taken up into a life that is wholly
wise and devoted. They will, in fact, constitute the real body of
value in any practical enterprise, from the least to the greatest.
The absence of intelligence, which I shall term _incapacity_, is the
one absolutely fatal defect from which life may suffer. Incapacity
embraces maladaptation, dulness, feebleness, {84} sickness, and death.
Like its opposite it does not enter into the moral account except in so
far as it affects a group of interests, through being prejudicial to an
individual's efficiency or a community's welfare; but it will impair
and annul attainment upon any plane. The fault of incapacity attaches
not only to life that is rudimentary or defective, but also to the
mechanical processes which have not been assimilated to any interest
and thus lie outside the realm of value. Incapacity in this sense is
that metaphysical evil of which philosophers speak. It testifies to
the fact that the cosmos is only partially subject to judgments either
of good or of evil; that value has a genesis and a history within an
environment that is at best plastic and progressively submissive.
In terms of intelligence and incapacity, the basal excellence and the
basal fault, it is possible to define that whole affair of which
morality is the constructive phase: the attempt of life to establish
itself in the midst of primordial lifelessness, to avert dissolution
and death, and to extend and amplify itself to the uttermost.
Within the economy of the simple interest there is no possibility of
formalism, since there is no subordination of interest to anything
higher than itself. But we meet here with materialism in its purest
form. _Overindulgence_ is the fault {85} which attaches to the
exclusive insistence of the isolated interest on itself; when it grows
head-strong, and is like to defeat itself through being blindly
preoccupied.
The evil of overindulgence arises from two natural causes. In the
first place an interest is essentially self-perpetuating; in spite of
periodic moments of satiety, an interest fulfilled is renewed and
accelerated. Just in so far as it is clearly distinguished it
possesses an impetus of its own, by which it tends to excess, until
corrected by the protest of some other interest which it infringes.
Overindulgence is most common where such consequences are delayed or
obscured by artificial means; hence its prevalence among those who can
afford for a time to dissipate their strength, or have some means of
replenishing it. And imprudence is common where the penalty is
insidious. The corruption entailed by gluttony, inebriety, and
incontinence may be slow and doubtful, or apparently remitted in
moments of recovery; but if one indulge himself in foolhardiness or
violence, he is like to be repaid on the spot. Hence the latter forms
of imprudence are more rare. To avoid imprudence, it is necessary to
discount that aspect which the interest wears within the period of its
immediate fulfilment, and thus avoid the necessity of repeating the
hard and wasteful lesson of experience. This {86} truth, which is the
first principle of all practical wisdom, has been graphically
represented in Jeremy Taylor's _Rules and Exercises of Holy Living_:
Look upon pleasures not upon that side that is next the sun, or where
they look beauteously, that is, as they come towards you to be enjoyed;
for then they paint and smile, and dress themselves up in tinsel and
glass gems and counterfeit imagery; but when thou hast rifled and
discomposed them with enjoying their false beauties, and that they
begin to go off, then behold them in their nakedness and weariness.
See what a sigh and sorrow, what naked and unhandsome proportions and a
filthy carcass they discover; and the next time they counterfeit,
remember what you have already discovered, and be no more abused.[3]
There is a second source of overindulgence, in the ever-increasing
complexity of the moral economy. The more numerous the interests; the
more difficult the task of attending to their connections and managing
their adjustment. Not only is the need of prudence never outgrown; it
steadily acquires both a greater urgency and a greater difficulty.
If incapacity may be said to be the metaphysical evil, the taint of the
cosmos at large, overindulgence may be said to be the original sin, the
taint of life itself. It is life's offence against itself, the denial
of greater life for the sake of the little in hand. It is the
perennial failure of the {87} individual interest to unite itself with
that universal enterprise of which it is the microcosmic image.
III
The simplest _moral_ economy is that in which two or more interests are
_reciprocally adjusted_ without being subordinated. The principle of
organization which defines such an economy is _prudence_. Prudence
becomes necessary at the moment when interests come into such contact
with one another as provokes retaliation. Thus, for example, interests
react on one another through being embodied in the same physical
organism. Each bodily activity depends on the well-being of
co-ordinate functions, and if its exercise be so immoderate as to
injure these, it undermines itself. _Moderation_ gains for special
interests the support of a general bodily health.
But bodily health is not the only medium of interdependence among the
interests of a single individual. His interests must draw not only
upon a common source of vitality, but also upon a common stock of
material resources. The limitation of interests that follows from this
fact is frugality or _thrift_, the practical working of the principle
that present waste is future lack, and that, therefore, to save now is
to spend hereafter. Thrift involves also a special emphasis on {88}
livelihood, since this is a source of supply for all particular
interests.
The social relation makes interests externally interdependent in a
great variety of ways. Interests must inhabit one space, exploit one
physical environment, and employ a common mode of communication. If
any interest so acts as unduly to divert one of these mediums to its
own uses, it must suffer retaliation from the other interests that
likewise depend on that medium. It is prudent to give even one's rival
half the road, and to divide the spoils with him. There is a politic
form of _honesty_; and _veracity_ may be conceived only as a kind of
caution. Thus Menander says: "It is always best to speak the truth in
all circumstances. This is a precept which contributes most to safety
of life." [4] _Tact_ is only a more refined method of avoiding the
antagonism of interests that operate within the same field of social
intercourse.
The economy of prudence has its own characteristic value. Indeed, if
this were not so there would be no possibility of that form of baseness
known as being _merely_ prudent. There is a prudential equilibrium; a
condition of smooth and harmonious adjustment, within the personal life
or the community. I propose that this equilibrium be termed _health_.
In that admirable idealization of renaissance morality, Castiglione's
{89} _Book of the Courtier_, the author refers to the immediate reward
of self-control that comes both from inner harmony and the approbation
of one's fellows. To instil goodness into the mind, "to teach
continence, fortitude, justice, temperance," Castiglione would give his
prince "a taste of how much sweetness is hidden by the little
bitterness that at first sight appears to him, who withstands vice;
which is always hurtful and displeasing, and accompanied by infamy and
blame, just as virtue is profitable, blithe, and full of praise." [5]
Socially, the healthful equilibrium corresponds to that "peace" which
Hobbes praised above all things;[6] and which is all that is asked for
by those who wish to be let alone in order that they may pursue their
own affairs. Although such peace may be ignominious, it need not be
so; and a sense of security and reciprocal adjustment must remain among
the surviving values, whatever higher achievements be added to it. But
the inherent value of health is most clearly defined by a nice
equilibration of activities within the medium of the individual
organism. I borrow the following description of health in this sense
from a recent book by H. G. Wells:
The balance as between asceticism and sensuality comes in, it seems to
me, if we remember that to drink well one must not have drunken for
some time, {90} that to see well one's eye must be clear, that to make
love well one must be fit and gracious and sweet and disciplined from
top to toe, that the finest sense of all--the joyous sense of bodily
well-being--comes only with exercises and restraints and fine living.[7]
The temperance praised by the Greeks is of like quality, with a further
reference to the reasonableness which it fosters. A prudence which is
mastered, which has become a spontaneity, delivers reason from bondage,
and makes the whole of life easily conformable to it. Thus
Castiglione, who is so often reminiscent of Plato and Aristotle, draws
a contrast between continence, as the "conquest" of prudence, and
temperance as its "beneficent rule."
Thus this virtue does not compel the mind, but infusing it by very
gentle means with a vehement belief that inclines it to righteousness,
renders it calm and full of rest, in all things equal and well
measured, and disposed on every side by a certain self-accord which
adorns it with a tranquillity so serene that it is never ruffled, and
becomes in all things very obedient to reason and ready to turn its
every act thereto and to follow wherever reason may wish to lead it,
without the least unwillingness.[8]
Such is that prudence which, though rich in its own right, is
nevertheless subordinate to greater good.
It is proper to regard prudence as inferior in principle to purpose and
good-will, or even as ignoble when confirmed in its narrowness. It
{91} denotes an organization of life in which as yet no interest has
risen above the rest; it bespeaks the common populace of interests,
disciplined, but not moved to any eminent achievement. The fact that
the validity of the principle of prudence is so readily granted is
significant of this. Prudence requires no interest to be other than
itself, but meets it on its own ground. There is no elevation of
motive.
But prudence is the first and most instructive lesson in morality. It
has a peculiar impressiveness, not only because it is so promptly and
unmistakably verified, but because it is so close to life. Its meaning
is unlikely to be obscured through being abstracted from the real
interests whose saving is the proof of its virtue. Furthermore,
although prudence is not the highest principle in life, it is a mistake
to suppose that it is therefore unnecessary in the highest spheres of
life. There is a problem of prudence that underlies every practical
problem whatsoever. If interests are to be organized they must be not
only subordinated but also co-ordinated, that is, adjusted within every
medium in which they meet. Without moderation, caution, self-control,
thrift, and tact there is no serving man or God. As life increases in
complexity it is easy to forget these basal precepts. Nature has
provided a model, both simple and fundamental, in physical health.
{92} "The body," says Burke, "is wiser in its own plain way, and
attends its own business more directly than the mind with all its
boasted subtilty." [9]
The prudential organization of life furnishes the first type of
_formalism_. Prudence requires that the interest shall be limited in
order that it may not antagonize other interests and thus indirectly
defeat itself. Discipline is justified, in other words, by its fruits.
But discipline involves an initial moment of negation, in which the
movement of the interest is resisted. It must be checked, and its
headway overcome, if it is to be redirected. The exaggeration of this
moment of negation, or a steady persistence in it, is _asceticism_.
Its fault lies in its emptiness, in its destruction or perversion of
that which it was designed only to protect against itself.
Asceticism appears most frequently as a subordinate motive in some
general condemnation of the world on religious grounds, and must
receive further consideration in that connection. Its proper meaning
as a purely prudential formalism is best exhibited in the Greek Cynics.
These philosophers were moved to mortify the flesh, and to deny their
social interests, by extreme caution. They discovered that the safest
method of adjustment was simplification. If one permits one's self no
desires, one need not suffer {93} from their conflict, nor need one
treat with the desires of others. Now this would be a very perfect
solution of the problem of adjustment, if only there were something
left to adjust. If a Cynic can attain to a state of renunciation in
which he wants nothing, he will be sure of having what he wants; only,
unfortunately, it will be nothing. Epictetus has thus represented the
Cynic's boast:
Look at me, who am without a city, without a house, without
possessions, without a slave; I sleep on the ground; I have no wife, no
children, no praetorium, but only the earth and heavens, and one poor
cloak. And what do I want? am I not without sorrow? Am I not without
fear? Am I not free?
Now it is clear that the sum of the Cynics' attainments is not large.
It consists, indeed, almost wholly in a certain hardened complacency,
and a freedom to make faces at the world. To the onlooker, whose
comment Epictetus also records, their aspect is mean:
No: but their characteristic is the little wallet, and staff, and great
jaws; the devouring of all that you give them, or storing it up, or the
abusing unseasonably all whom they meet, or displaying their shoulder
as a fine thing.[10]
In other words, since the Cynic continues to live after having rejected
the proper instruments and forms of life, he must make a living out of
the charitable curiosity excited by his very unfitness. {94} And
asceticism of this prudential type tends always to be both empty and
monstrous; empty because it denies life, and monstrous because life is
not really denied, but only perverted and awkwardly obstructed.
There is a materialistic evil corresponding to the prudential
organization of life which is known as meanness, vulgarity, or
_sordidness_. It denotes a failure to recognize anything better than
the fulfilment of the simple interests in their severalty. Although
guarded and adjusted these still determine the general tone of life.
The controlling motive, the standard of attainment, is never anything
higher than the elementary desire with its attendant satisfaction. In
its negative aspect this is termed _aimlessness_, and is identical with
the Christian vice of idleness, so graphically described by Jeremy
Taylor:
Idleness is called _the sin of Sodom and her daughters_, and indeed is
_the burial of a living man_, an idle person being so useless to any
purposes of God and man, that he is like one that is dead, unconcerned
in the changes and necessities of the world; and he only lives to spend
his time, and eat the fruits of the earth: like a vermin or a wolf,
when their time comes they die and perish, and in the meantime do no
good; they neither plough nor carry burdens; all they do is either
unprofitable or mischievous.[11]
Thus aimlessness denotes a failure to attain anything of worth; a lack
of consecutiveness and {95} unity. The correction of this fault lies
in a new principle of organization.
IV
This new principle of organization consists in the _incorporation of
interests_, that is, their subordination to a _purpose_ that embraces
them, unifies them, and carries the whole to a successful issue. The
incorporation of interests is peculiarly an intellectual process. It
is this to which Socrates refers when he says that _knowledge is
virtue_. Purpose requires, in the first place, that one should define
and foresee the end, and in the second place, that one should be
sagacious and watchful in the service of it. Purpose is the virtue of
the understanding, of a mind which is adventurous enough to project an
enterprise, but has enough of home-keeping wit to judge nicely of cause
and effect or of part and whole.
There are many virtues which contribute to purpose, and of these none
is more indispensable than _patience_, or the capacity to labor without
hire for a prize deferred. "Better is the end of a thing," says the
Preacher, "than the beginning thereof: and the patient in spirit is
better than the proud in spirit." Steadiness of purpose under adverse
or confusing circumstances is called _persistence, courage, loyalty,_
or _zeal_, with {96} differences of meaning that reflect the nature
either of the purpose or the circumstances.
But since purpose is so much an intellectual virtue, special importance
attaches in this economy to _truthfulness_. If one's purpose be some
form of personal achievement, one must deal honestly with one's self.
And this is not easily done. Epictetus told his pupils that men were
loath to admit any fault that they held to be really blameworthy:
Some things men readily confess, and other things they do not. No one
then will confess that he is a fool or without understanding; but quite
the contrary you will hear all men saying, I wish that I had fortune
equal to my understanding. But men readily confess that they are
timid, and they say: I am rather timid, I confess; but as to other
respects you will not find me to be foolish. A man will not readily
confess that he is intemperate; and that he is unjust, he will not
confess at all. He will by no means confess that he is envious or a
busybody. Most men will confess that they are compassionate.[12]
Now if one is to attain anything difficult, he cannot afford to indulge
in vanity or self-satisfaction; for action can be kept true to its end
only when the least obliquity is marked and corrected. Hence the
strong man does not attribute his failure to fortune or to his amiable
virtues, but to his folly; for he knows that to be the crucial fault
which it lies within his power to remedy. On the other hand, if the
purpose be one {97} which involves the co-operation of several persons,
it is necessary that these should deal openly and candidly with one
another. Truthfulness is a condition of any collective undertaking.
It is interesting to observe the growing recognition of the need of
publicity wherever democratic institutions prevail. Secrecy is a sort
of treason. If men are to work together for their common welfare they
must be truly in touch with one another; otherwise there is a spy at
their councils, an incalculable force that may counterwork their plans.
_Achievement_, the value which the virtue of purpose conditions, needs
no moralist's justification. The world never tires of praising it, for
it is the world's business. By achievement I mean the fulfilment by
subordinated and cumulative effort of an interest deliberately adopted
for its greatness of value. Life is now controlled not by the accident
of desire, but by the due preference of the better. It has begun to be
rational not only in its method, but also in its aim. It is now more
fruitful, because more broadly conceived, being engaged in enterprises
which continue, and which draw from many sources. Hence a man can
better endure the spectacle of his own life, for it seems not to be
wholly mean or ineffectual. In that his conduct is unified,
consistent, and directed to some worthy {98} end, he is possessed of
that quality of character which is respected in him both by himself and
by his fellows.
It is unfortunate that there is no better term than _sentimentalism_
with which to indicate that variety of formalism which is
characteristic of the purposive economy. The fallacy consists
essentially in the abstraction of the purpose from its constituent
interests. The true value of a purpose lies in its function of
organization; and is, therefore, inseparable from the interests to
which it gives unity and fulfilment. But its form, or even its mere
name, may, through association, come to acquire a fictitious value.
When this fictitious value gives rise in contemplation or discourse to
a certain emotional satisfaction, we employ the term "sentimentalism"
in the conventional sense. This is the sentimentalism of those
"Who sigh for wretchedness, yet shun the wretched,
Nursing in some delicious solitude
Their slothful loves and dainty sympathies."
I wish, however, to emphasize a more insidious variety of this error,
in which it may be more profoundly and fatally confusing. I refer, in
the first place, to what may be described as _deferred living_. There
is a popular illusion to the effect that a life purpose is to be
fruitful only at the end; that it is something to be prepared for in
youth, worked for in maturity, and attained--well, {99} it is difficult
to say when. This is the fallacy of heaven transferred to earth. "Man
never is, but always to be blest." Life is conceived as a sentence at
hard labor, the only sure compensation being the ultimate deliverance.
Now there is but one justification of a life purpose, and that is its
conserving of the whole of life; it must save each day and each hour.
There is no more virtue in the future than in the present. "The
greatest disaster," says a Greek proverb, "is for a man to be opened
and found empty"; and this does not refer to an autopsy. It is at
least one function of a life-purpose to make life distributively and
continuously good. That one's life shall be pointed with a purpose
does not mean that it shall be reduced to a point. The very virtue of
organization lies in its making room for the free play of immediate and
particular interests, in its surrounding them at a distance with
invisible safeguards.
A second important case of sentimentalism is _nationalism_. The value
of the state lies in its protection and development of the concrete
life of the community. The true object of patriotism is social
welfare. But for the state as a provident economy, there may be
substituted as an object of loyalty what is only an idea or a name; and
when this is done men are easily persuaded to play into the hands of
unscrupulous leaders. {100} To the abominable tyrannies which have
thus been made possible I need not refer. In Hegel's philosophy of
history,[13] as well as in many modern political theories, this error
has been deliberately affirmed. But for illustration I prefer to turn
to the case of Plato. The _Republic_ was conceived, it is true,
without bias of party or race, but there is none the less a strain of
arbitrariness and illiberality in it. This is due to the fact that the
state is conceived by itself, with a quality and perfection of its own
that displaces the interests of its citizens.[14] A state which is
defined otherwise than as a provision for the very diversity of life,
an organization responsive to pressure from every constituent desire,
fails from over-simplification. This I take to be the meaning of
Aristotle's comment on the _Republic_:
The error of Socrates must be attributed to the false notion of unity
from which he starts. Unity there should be, both of the family and of
the state, but in some respects only. For there is a point at which a
state may attain such a degree of unity as to be no longer a state, or
at which, without actually ceasing to exist, it will become an inferior
state, like harmony passing into unison, or rhythm which has been
reduced to single foot. The state is a plurality, which should be
united and made into a community by education.[15]
There is a chapter in the _Discourses_ of Epictetus, entitled: "To or
against those who obstinately Persist in what they have determined."
{101} There could, I think, be no better formulation of purpose grown
hard and unworthily self-sufficient. This form of materialism I have
termed _egoism_ and _bigotry_, since the purpose may be either personal
or social in scope. But in either case the diagnosis of Epictetus goes
to the root of the evil. He thus describes his experience with one of
his companions, "who for no reason resolved to starve himself to death":
I heard of it when it was the third day of his abstinence from food,
and I went to inquire what had happened.
"I have resolved," he said.
"But still tell me what it was which induced you to resolve; for if you
have resolved rightly, we shall sit with you and assist you to depart;
but if you have made an unreasonable resolution, change your mind."
"We ought to keep our determinations."
"What are you doing, man? We ought to keep not to all our
determinations, but to those which are right; for if you are now
persuaded that it is right, do not change your mind, if you think fit,
but persist and say, we ought to abide by our determinations. Will you
not make the beginning and lay the foundation in an inquiry whether the
determination is sound or not sound, and so then build on it firmness
and security?" . . .
Now this man was with difficulty persuaded to change his mind. But it
is impossible to convince some persons at present; so that I seem now
to know, what I did not know before, the meaning of the common saying,
That you can neither persuade nor break a fool. May it never be my lot
to have a wise fool for my friend: nothing is more untractable. "I
{102} am determined," the man says. Madmen are also; but the more
firmly they form a judgment on things which do not exist, the more
ellebore they require.[16]
The wise fool is, as Epictetus says, more intractable than the aimless
and unwitting fool; because there is substance to his folly. There is
at least some truth on his side. But his folly is folly none the less.
He hardens himself against that which would save him; while boasting
himself a lover of light, he shuts his eyes lest any ray of it
penetrate to him. Thus the egoist, through the atrophy of his
sympathies and his preoccupation with a narrow ambition, gratuitously
impoverishes his life; and it is difficult to convince him of his loss,
because he indubitably has some gain.
Bigotry consists essentially in the failure to employ the method of
discussion, in the failure to recognize in every rational being a
possible source of that truth which all need. It is a stupid
forfeiture or waste of the resources of intelligence possessed by one's
fellows. The King Creon of Sophocles's _Antigone_ is a masterly
representation of the futility of this pride of opinion. Creon angrily
resents every impeachment of his wisdom, insisting on instant and
unquestioning obedience. But his son Haemon thus attempts to save him
from himself:
Father, the gods plant wisdom in mankind, which is of all possessions
highest. In what respects you {103} have not spoken rightly I cannot
say, and may I never learn; and still it may be possible for some one
else to be right too. . . . Do not then carry in your heart one fixed
belief that what you say and nothing else is right. For he who thinks
that he alone is wise, or that he has a tongue and mind no other has,
will when laid open be found empty.[17]
It was once a practice even among learned men to set personal pride
above the truth. The chancellor of the University of Paris complains
of this practice in the Middle Ages:
What are these combats of scholars, if not true cock-fights, which
cover us with ridicule in the eyes of laymen? A cock draws himself up
against another and bristles his feathers. . . . It is the same to-day
with our professors. Cocks fight with blows from their beaks and
claws; "Self-love," as some one has said, "is armed with a dangerous
spur." [18]
Egoism and bigotry, then, consist essentially in the exaggeration and
immobility of an adopted purpose. As is the case with every variety of
materialism, their fault lies in their blindness, in their fatuous
rejection of the good that is offered to them. But this is not all.
For in denying the good which is offered to him, the egoist or bigot
also virtually denies the reason which offers it. It is this that
constitutes the affront which is called _injustice_.
The full meaning of injustice has been recognised only gradually, and
it is even now by no means free from confusion. But I think that it
{104} will be agreed that the sting of it is a failing in respect.
Violence may be wholly without this taint; and the most bitter
injustice may be wholly without violence. To be unjust is to be
condescending or supercilious; to assume superiority on personal
grounds, ignoring the equal access to truth which is enjoyed by every
rational being. The nice quality of injustice is most clearly to be
apprehended where it is accompanied by benevolent intent. It is one of
the princely attributes described in the _Book of the Courtier_, and
justified in a manner that leaves no doubt of its implied meaning:
True it is that there are two modes of ruling: the one imperious and
violent, like that of masters toward their slaves, and in this way the
soul commands the body; the other more mild and gentle, like that of
good princes by means of laws over their subjects, and in this way the
reason commands the appetite; and both of these modes are useful, for
the body is by nature created apt for obedience to the soul, and so is
appetite for obedience to reason. Moreover, there are many men whose
actions have to do only with the use of the body; and such as these are
as far from virtuous as the soul from the body, and although they are
rational creatures, they have only such share of reason as to recognize
it, but not to possess or profit by it. These, therefore, are
naturally slaves, and it is better and more profitable for them to obey
than to command.[19]
Now the essence of injustice lies in this Platonic manner of
classifying human beings in terms of {105} limited capacities; in
assigning to some the degraded status of the appetites, and to others a
limited faculty of understanding, while arrogating to a few the full
power and title of Reason. The resentment of this arrogance is no more
than the assertion of that potentiality of reason which distinguishes
the animal man; it is his inevitable coming of age, his determination
to play the man's part.
V
_Justice_ is the mutual respect through which rational purposes enter
into a relation of _fraternal equality_. It is the courteous paying of
honor where honor is due. In modern times justice has very properly
been identified with _tolerance_, which is the acknowledgment that one
is one's self equally liable to error with another, and that another is
equally liable to truth with one's self. Justice attaches a certain
finality to the judgment of every individual instrument of reason.
Under the form of justice _veracity_ realizes its highest meaning. The
truth is not to be administered with paternal indulgence or caution; it
is to be yielded as a right to every free and self-determining mind.
The practice and the spirit of justice pervade every highly developed
social grouping, such as marriage, friendship, or fellow-citizenship in
a democracy. For Aristotle a friendship is "one {106} soul dwelling in
two bodies";[20] that is, the same high capacity uniting two
individuals in the acknowledgment of its common principles, and in the
contemplation of its common objects. Aristotle's other saying, that
"man is a political animal," is inspired with the same meaning. To
participate in the life of a state, in which one's fellow-citizens were
one's equals, in which men with equal endowments carried on one united
activity while acknowledging one another's independence, was to an
Athenian the very fulness of life. To be banished from it was, even in
the eyes of the law, equivalent to death.
In a chapter of his _Physics and Politics_, entitled "The Age of
Discussion," Bagehot has admirably represented the importance for human
progress of an open exchange of opinion on all matters of great
consequence:
In this manner all the great movements of thought in ancient and modern
times have been nearly connected in time with government by discussion.
Athens, Rome, the Italian republics of the Middle Ages, the communes
and states-general of feudal Europe, have all had a special and
peculiar quickening influence, which they owed to their freedom, and
which states without that freedom have never communicated. And it has
been at the time of great epochs of thought--at the Peloponnesian War,
at the fall of the Roman Republic, at the Reformation, at the French
Revolution--that such liberty of speaking and thinking have produced
their full effect.[21]
{107} Elsewhere Bagehot attributes to freedom of discussion, not only
the deliverance from narrow and conventional habits, but that general
elevation of tone which is characteristic of such an era as the
Elizabethan age in England. In short, justice or toleration, since it
encourages men to push on to the limit of their powers, promotes not
only originality and diversity, but a love of perfection.
It will have been observed that justice and freedom are complementary,
for he who is just liberates, and he who is free receives justice.
Together they constitute the basis of all the higher relationships
between men, of a progressive society, and of the whole constructive
movement which we call civilization.
But it is possible to construe justice and freedom only negatively, as
meaning that the individual is to be allowed to go his way in peace.
Such a misconception is formalistic, in that it rests on a failure to
recognize the providence or fruitfulness of justice. The virtue of
justice lies not in its disintegration of society, but in its enabling
the members of society to unite upon the highest plane of endeavor.
Justice is a method wherewith men may profit collectively, and in their
organized effort, from a sum of enlightenment to which every individual
contributes his best. _Anarchism_ rests in the negative protest
against {108} conformity; forgetting that the only right to liberty is
founded on the possession of a reasonableness that inclines the
individual to the universal; and forgetting that the only virtue in
liberty lies in the opportunity for union and devotion which it
provides.
There is a more restricted form of anarchism in _scepticism_ which
attaches finality to differences of opinion, and overlooks the fact
that these very differences must be regarded as converging approaches
to the common truth. For men can differ only in the presence of
identical objects which virtually annul their difference. To be free
to think as one pleases cannot but mean to think as truly as possible,
and so to approach as closely as possible to what others also tend to
think.
But a larger importance attaches to that mild variety of anarchism
which is commonly called _laissez-faire_, and which Matthew Arnold
calls British Atheism or Quietism. The reader will recall Arnold's
quotation from the _Times_:
It is of no use for us to attempt to force upon our neighbors our
several likings and dislikings. We must take things as they are.
Everybody has his own little vision of religious or civil perfection.
Under the evident impossibility of satisfying everybody, we agree to
take our stand on equal laws and on a system as open and liberal as is
possible. The result is that everybody has more liberty of action and
of speaking here than anywhere else in the Old World.
{109} And from Mr. Roebuck:
I look around me and ask what is the state of England? Is not every
man able to say what he likes? I ask you whether the world over, or in
past history, there is anything like it? Nothing. I pray that our
unrivalled happiness may last.[22]
This is an almost perfect representation of the sentimental interest in
justice. In the course of such justice, "none of us should see
salvation." It leaves wholly out of account the fact that when men are
left free to talk or act or live as they will, they will either
stagnate, or they will strive for the best and help it to prevail. If
the latter, they will be brought back to the _state as the means of
making right reason effective_, and of extending to all not simply the
leave to be what they want to be, of following what Arnold calls their
"natural taste of the bathos," but the opportunity of learning better.
Justice, like purpose and prudence, is a principle of organization,
owing its virtue to the larger fulfilment of interest which it makes
possible. Through this principle the individual is granted
independence, in order that his freedom may remove every limit from his
service. He is delivered from the bondage of violence and convention,
but he is delivered into the charge of his own reason, which must give
bonds not only that he will keep the peace, but that he will give {110}
himself wholly to that true good which he may now discern.
In justice the human secular society is perfected. By a secular
society I mean a society held to be self-sufficient as it is; a society
in which only those interests are acknowledged which are actually
present, or have actually been admitted to a place of power or
prestige. But secularism or _worldliness_ in this sense suffers from
the general error of materialism, the error of mistaking the _de facto_
good for the whole good. It is only another case of that blindness
which is the penalty of all self-sufficiency. The ancient and the
modern types of worldliness present an interesting difference which
will serve to illustrate their common fault.
Greek literature abounds in the glorification of the life already
achieved. Thus Solon asks no more of the gods than to be fortunate and
honored: "Grant unto me wealth from the blessed gods, and to have alway
fair fame in the eyes of all men. Grant that I may thus be dear to my
friends, and bitter to my foes; revered in the sight of the one, awful
in the sight of the other." [23]
To this Pindar adds the petition that, "being dead I may set upon my
children a name that shall be of no ill report." [24] Even the ideal
of the philosophers is only a refinement of this; {111} recognizing the
superiority of such activities as engage the imagination or reason, but
nevertheless finding happiness to be complete in terms of the
fulfilment of the dominant desires within the existing political
community. This conception was vaguely distrusted, it is true; but it
represents the characteristic enlightenment of the most enlightened
centre of Greek life. Its insufficiency was not clearly demonstrated
until the advent of Christianity; when it was proved to lie in a lack
of _pity_. Now pity is not, as is sometimes supposed, a kind of
weakness; it is a kind of knowledge, wherewith men are reminded of
obscure and neglected interests. It is easy to understand why the
Christian revolution should have been regarded as destructive of
culture. For it meant not the qualitative refinement of the good, but
the quantitative distribution of it. But it none the less marks an
epoch in moral enlightenment; since the bringing of all men up to one
level of opportunity and welfare is as essential a part of the good as
the cultivation of distinction.
The modern worldliness consists not in a lack of pity, but in a lack of
_imagination_. Philistinism, as Matthew Arnold describes it, is a
complacent satisfaction with the _kind_ of good that is praised and
sought for in any given time. Such complacency is found in its most
extreme form among those reformers or even religious leaders who are
{112} devoted to the saving of men; for these come to overrate their
wares through the very act of pressing them upon others. Matthew
Arnold never tires of illustrating this from the Liberal propaganda of
his day:
And I say that the English reliance on our religious organisations and
on their ideas of human perfection just as they stand, is like our
reliance on freedom, on muscular Christianity, on population, on coal,
on wealth--mere belief in machinery, and unfruitful; and that it is
wholesomely counteracted by culture, bent on seeing things as they are,
and on drawing the human race onwards to a more complete, a harmonious
perfection.[25]
In other words, both humanism and humanitarianism may be lacking in
humanity: humanism, on account of its insensibility to pain and hunger
and poverty when these lie outside a narrow radius of bright intensive
living; humanitarianism, on account of its failure to honor the highest
type of attainment and to prefigure a perfection not yet realized.
VI
There is but one economy of interests which furnishes the proper sphere
of moral action, namely, the universal economy which embraces within
one system all interests whatsoever, present, remote, and potential.
The validity of this economy lies in the fact that the goodness of
action cannot {113} be judged without reference to all the interests
affected, whether directly or indirectly. To live well is to live for
all life. The control of action by this motive is the virtue of
_good-will_. It should be added that the good will must be not only
compassionate, but just; offering to help, without failing to respect.
And it must be not only devoted, but also enlightened; serving, but not
without self-criticism and insight.
Such a programme need not seem bewildering or quixotic. If my action
does not offend those most nearly concerned, it will scarcely offend
those removed by space, time, or indirection. Charity begun at home is
spread abroad without my further endeavor. Furthermore, it is
good-will rather than a narrow complacency that inspires my assuming of
the special tasks and responsibilities defined by proximity, descent,
and special aptitude. Life as a whole is built out of individual
opportunities and vocations. It is required only that while I live
effectively and happily, as circumstance or choice may determine, I
should conform myself to those principles which harmonize life with
life, and bring an abundance on the whole out of the fruitfulness of
individual effort.
Good-will is the moral condition of religion, where this is corrected
by enlightenment. The religion of good-will is best illustrated, from
the {114} European tradition, in the transition from paganism to
Christianity. I have said that the Greeks were not without distrust of
that natural and worldly happiness which they most praised. This, for
example, is the testimony of Euripides:
Long ago
I looked upon man's days, and found a grey
Shadow. And this thing more I surely say,
That those of all men who are counted wise,
Strong wits, devisers of great policies,
Do pay the bitterest toll. Since life began;
Hath there in God's eye stood one happy man?
Fair days roll on, and bear more gifts or less
Of fortune, but to no man happiness.[26]
This note of pessimism grows more marked among the philosophers, and is
at length taken up into the Christian renunciation of the world. The
philosophers attempted to devise a way of happiness which the superior
individual might follow through detaching himself from political
society and cultivating his speculative powers.[27] But the Christian
renunciation involved the abandonment of every claim to individual
self-sufficiency, even the pride of reason. It expressed a sense of
the general plight of humanity, and looked for relief only through a
power with love and might enough to save all. Hence there is this
fundamental difference between pagan and Christian pessimism: the pagan
confesses his powerlessness to make himself impregnable {115} to
fortune, while the Christian convicts himself of sin, confessing his
worthlessness when measured by the task of universal salvation. The
one pities and absolves himself; the other condemns himself.
Now the other-worldliness of Christianity was without doubt a grave
error, which it found itself compelled to correct; but it was none the
less the vehicle through which European civilization became possessed
of the most important secrets of religious happiness. In the first
place, all are made sharers, through sympathy, in the failure of the
present; and, thus distributed, the burden is lightened. "It is an act
within the power of charity," says Sir Thomas Browne, "to translate a
passion out of one breast into another, and to divide a sorrow almost
out of itself; for an affliction, like a dimension, may be so divided
as, if not indivisible, at least to become insensible." [28] In the
second place, it is understood that there is no such thing as a
happiness that is enjoyed at the expense of others and by the special
favor of fortune. There is no promise of individual salvation save in
the salvation of all. A private and protected happiness is bound
sooner or later to be destroyed by an increase of sensibility, by an
enlightened awareness of the evil beyond. And to experience evil, to
realize it, and yet to be content, lies not within {116} the power of
any moral being; it is not merely difficult, it is self-contradictory.
To any one who judges himself fairly, with a wide and vivid image of
life as it is in all its ramifications and obscurities, the evil of the
world is all one. It follows that, as there is no perfect happiness
except in the annihilation of evil, so there can be no peace of mind,
no self-respect, no sense of living truly and for the best, unless
one's action can be conceived as wholly saving and up-building, as
contributing in its place and in its way to the general forward
movement. This, I think, is the deeper explanation of the buoyancy of
devoted people, of that buoyancy which was a source of such great
wonder to the disillusioned wise men of ancient times. And this, I
think, is the meaning of the Christian teaching that it is more blessed
to give than to receive; and that the love of one's God is to grow out
of the love of one's neighbor.
I have endeavored to show that the highest good is the greatest good;
that it may not only be inferred from the present good, but that it
actually _consists_ of the present good, with more like it, and with
the present evil eliminated. By _mysticism_ I mean that species of
formalism in which the highest good, out of respect for its exaltation,
is divorced from the present good, and so emptied of content.
Professor James has said that it is {117} characteristic of
rationalists and sentimentalists, to "extract a quality from the muddy
particulars of experience, and find it so pure when extracted that they
contrast it with each and all its muddy instances as an opposite and
higher, nature." [29] There is a peculiar liability to such
abstraction in religion, for religion involves a judgment of
insufficiency against every limited achievement. A longing after
unqualified good is the very breath of enlightened religion; and in
order that that ideal may be kept pure, it must not be identified with
any partial good. Indeed, the office of religion requires it to
condemn as only partial, good that is commonly taken to be sufficient.
Now there is only one way of defining a good that shall be universal
without being merely formal, and that is by defining perfection
quantitatively rather than qualitatively; substituting for the Platonic
Absolute Good, in which the present good is refined away into a phrase
or symbol, the maximum good, in which the present good is saved and
multiplied. He who believes that he conceives goodness otherwise than
as the good which he already possesses, deceives himself; as does the
author of the _Religio Medici_, when he says:
That wherein God Himself is happy, the holy Angels are happy, in whose
defect the Devils are unhappy, that dare I call happiness; whatsoever
{118} conduceth unto this may with an easy Metaphor deserve that name;
whatsoever else the World terms Happiness, is to me a story out of
Pliny, a tale of Boccace or Malizspini, an apparition, or neat
delusion, wherein there is no more of Happiness than the name. Bless
me in this life with but peace of my Conscience, command of my
affections, the love of Thyself and my dearest friends, and I shall be
happy enough to pity Caesar.[30]
Now it is safe to say that Sir Thomas Browne was in fact unable to
attribute to God and the angels any other happiness than these same
blessings which he covets for himself, saving only that they shall be
without stint, and joined with others like them.
Formalism, as we have seen, is never merely negative in its
consequences; for any moral untruth, since it replaces a truth, cannot
fail to pervert life. Thus one may be persuaded with the author whom I
have just quoted to count the world, "not an Inn, but an Hospital; and
a place not to live, but to dye in." [31] I do not suppose that any
one ever succeeded in wholly resisting the hospitality of this world,
and one suspects that Thomas Browne partook not a little of its good
cheer; but the opinion is false notwithstanding, and if false, then
confusing and misleading. This world is not a place to suffer in, nor
even a place to be mended in, but the only opportunity of achievement
and service that can be certainly {119} counted on. The good is in the
making here, if it is in the making anywhere. To neglect life here is
equivalent to forfeiting it altogether.
Religious formalism may induce not only a default of present
opportunity and responsibility, but also a substitution for good living
of an emotional improvisation on the theme of absolute perfection, like
that in the _Book of the Courtier_:
If, then, the beauties which with these dim eyes of ours we daily see
in corruptible bodies, . . . seem to us so fair and gracious that they
often kindle most ardent fire in us, . . . what happy wonder, what
blessed awe, shall we think is that which fills the souls that attain
to the vision of divine beauty! What sweet flame, what delightful
burning, must that be thought which springs from the fountain of
supreme and true beauty!--which is the source of every other beauty,
which never waxes nor wanes: ever fair, and of its own self most simple
in every part alike; like only to itself, and partaking of none other;
but fair in such wise that all other fair things are fair because they
derive their beauty from it. This is that beauty identical with
highest good.[32]
Now I do not want to be understood as condemning this mysticism out of
hand. I mean only that while it is eloquent and purifying, it is,
nevertheless, not illuminating; and that if it be mistaken for
illumination, it does in fact hide the light. It has no meaning
whatsoever except the general idea of the superlative, and if it be not
attached to some definite content drawn from {120} experience of acts
and their consequences, it does but substitute a phrase for the proper
objects of action and an emotion for provident conduct.
There is a further moral danger in mysticism, which I need only mention
here, because I propose to discuss it more fully in the chapter on
religion. Since mysticism opposes a formal perfection to the concrete
good of experience, it tends to obscure the distinction between good
and evil. That distinction lies within experience, and if experience
as a whole be discredited, the distinction is discredited with it. If
the common, familiar good is not to be taken as valid, then finality no
longer attaches to that common, familiar evil which the moral will has
been trained to condemn and resist. If the good lie "beyond good and
evil," then neither is the good good nor the evil evil. The result is
to leave the moral will without justification, supported only by habit
and custom.
The virtue of piety lies in its completing, not in its replacing,
secular efficiency. It gives to a life that is provident and fruitful
as it goes, the stimulus of a momentous project, and reverence for a
good that shall embrace unlimited possibilities.
{121}
VII
In reviewing the several levels of life which morality defines, we may
observe two types of universal value. The lower values in relation to
the higher are indispensable. There is no health without satisfaction,
no achievement without health, no rational intercourse without
achievement, and no true religion except as the perfecting and
completing of a rational society. The higher values, on the other
hand, are more universal than the lower in that they surpass these in
validity, and are entitled to preference. Thus the lower values are
ennobled by the higher, while the higher are given body and meaning by
the lower. Satisfaction derives dignity from being controlled by the
motive of good-will, while the moral kingdom at large derives its
wealth, its pertinence to life, and its incentive, from the great
manifold of particular interests which it conserves and fosters.
It is the formal rather than the material principle in life which
defines the direction of moral effort. By prudence, purpose, justice,
and good-will life is regenerated and urged, against the resistance of
inertia, towards its maximum of attainment. Hence these are the
virtues which make men heroes, and which are symbolized in manners and
in worship. Manners are a {122} symbolic representation of rational
intercourse; thus courtesy is a ceremony of respect, chivalry of
service, and modesty of self-restraint and impersonality. Worship is
similarly a symbolic representation of good-will and hope. Upon the
cultivation of "those outward and sensible motions which may express or
promote an invisible devotion" human life is dependent not only for its
graciousness, but for its discipline and growth.
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