the rule of might has been superseded by the rule of right. It is
this sense in the civilized world that has revolted so overwhelmingly
against the Prussian military power in precipitating the World War;
and this conscience will probably be so developed and intensified by
the useless waste and cruelty of the war that such a calamity will
never again befall the world. Those nations will become the most
powerful that are the most just, the most humane, that develop in the
highest degree a world conscience, and realize the most intensely
that the nations all belong to one family, in which the good and
evil of one are the good and evil of all. What can the progress of
civilization mean but the progress of international comity, sympathy,
coöperation, fair-dealing; in fact, the fullest recognition of
the validity of the ethical laws to which we hold individuals and
communities amenable?
History is full of violence, cruelty, injustice, and the triumph
of the strong over the weak, wherein the end seemed to justify the
means; yet never since the world began did physical might alone make
moral right. The sheriff and the hangman have made the doctrine
unpopular among individuals--the ethical sense of mankind will in
time make it equally unpopular among nations.
Nature is not moral; primitive biological laws are not moral;
they are unmoral. There is no moral law until it is born of human
intercourse; then it becomes more and more a biological law, more
and more prominent in social and national progress. The law of the
jungle begins and ends in the jungle; when we translate it into human
affairs, we must take the cruelty of the jungle out of it, and read
it in terms of beneficent competition. Man is the jungle humanized;
the fangs and claws are drawn, and the stealthy spring gives place to
open and fair competition.
II
In the Darwinian struggle for existence there is first the struggle
with environment, or with the non-living forces--heat, cold, storm,
wind, flood; the organic always at war with the inorganic out of
which its power comes. The fateful physical and mechanical forces go
their way regardless of the life that surrounds them and which draws
its energy from them. Gravity would pull down every tree and shrub
and every animal that walks or flies. The wind and the storm would
flatten down the flowers and grasses and grains like a steam roller,
and often succeeds in doing so. See the timothy and wheat and corn
struggle to lift themselves again. Behold how the trees grip the
rocks and soil, and brace themselves against the wind! This struggle
is, of course, not a conscious one. Apart from the original push of
life, it can all be explained in terms of physics and chemistry. The
bio-chemist will tell you why the plant leans toward the light,
and why it rights itself when pressed down; but why or how matter
organizes itself into the various living forms is a question before
which natural philosophy is dumb. Neither chemistry nor physics
can give us the secret of life. The ingenious devices to secure
cross-fertilization among certain plants, devices for scattering the
seed among others,--the hooks, the wings, the springs,--to me all
seem to imply intelligence, not apart from, but inherent in, the
things themselves. Power of adaptation--to take advantage of wind
and flood, of solid and fluid--is one of the mysterious attributes
of life. And yet we know that vegetable life takes advantage of
these things not, as we do, by forethought and invention, but by a
mysterious inherent impulse.
How the bee and the bird battle with the wind, the fish with the
waves and the rapids, the fur-bearers with the cold and the snow!
how all living creatures struggle to escape or resist the dissolving
power of the natural forces!
The ever-present instinct of fear in all wild creatures and in
children, and the quickness with which it can be aroused in all
persons, throw light upon the crueler aspects of this struggle for
existence which is common to all forms of animal life. Had life never
been beset with perils, we should have been strangers to the emotion
of fear, as would all other creatures. Even the fly that alights on
my paper as I write fears my hand. It is ever on guard against its
natural enemies. This is the proof of the universal struggle. Among
the lower forms the struggle or competition of the fleet with the
slow, the cunning with the stupid, the sharp-eyed, the sharp-eared,
and the keen of scent with those less so; of the miscellaneous
feeders with the more specialized feeders; and, among mankind,
the competition of men of purpose, of foresight, of judgment, of
experience, of probity, and of other personal resources, with men
who are deficient in these things; and, among nations and peoples,
the inevitable competition of those who cherish the highest national
ideals, the best-organized governments, the best race inheritance,
the most natural resources, and so on, with the less fortunate
in these respects--all this struggle and competition, I say, is
beneficent and on the road to progress.
Myriads of different types of animal and vegetable life fit into the
scheme of organic nature without conflict or hindrance, but when
there is conflict, the strong prevail. The small and the gigantic,
the feeble and the mighty, the timid and the bold, the frail and the
robust--birds, insects, mice, squirrels, cattle--exist in the same
landscape and all prosper. Only when there is rivalry do the feeble
go to the wall, which means only that their numbers are kept down.
The cats do not exterminate the mice and rats, nor do the hawks and
owls exterminate the other birds; they are a natural check on their
undue increase. Nature’s checks and balances are all important. When
species subsist upon species, as weasels upon rodents and hawks upon
other birds, there seems to be some law that keeps the bloodthirsty
in check. Why should there be so few weasels, since they appear as
prolific as their victims? Why so few pigeon hawks, since the hawks
have no natural enemies, while the trees swarm with finches and
robins?
The conflicting interests in Nature sooner or later adjust
themselves; her checks and balances bring about her equilibrium. In
vegetation rivalries and antagonisms bring about adaptations. The
mosses and the ferns and the tender wood plants grow beneath the oaks
and the pines and are favored by the shade and protection which the
latter afford them. The farmer’s seeding of grass and clover takes
better under the shade of the oats than it would upon the naked
ground. In Africa some species of flesh-eaters live upon the leavings
of larger and stronger species, and in the tropics certain birds
become benefactors of the cattle by preying upon the insects that
pester them. Fabre tells of certain insect hosts that blindly favor
the parasites that destroy them. The scheme has worked itself out
that way and Nature is satisfied. Victim or victor, host or parasite,
it is all one to her. Life goes on, and all forms of it are hers.
It is easy to see why the wild plants run out the cultivated
ones--the latter are the result of artificial selection. No favor
has been shown the wild ones, and hence only the most vigorous have
survived. The cultivated plants always have a greater burden to bear
than the wild ones, and man helps them to bear it, or, rather, he
saddles it upon them. The cultivated races of man have burdens to
bear also, much greater than the savage tribes, but this is more than
made up to them by their superior brain power, which brain power
again has come about in the struggle for existence. Wild tribes have
also been under the discipline of natural selection, but by reason of
some obscure factors of race or climate or geography they have not
profited as have the European and Asiatic races. Their moral natures
are more rudimentary.
Doubtless some obscure or unknown factors in the original germ-cells,
far back in biological times, caused the divergence and splitting-up
of animal forms, and gave to one an impulse that carried it higher
in the scale of development than its fellows, just as the same thing
happens in human families in our own times. Why some creatures are
higher and some are lower, why some eventuated in the bird and some
in toad and frog and snake and lizard, is one of the mysteries. In
seeking the explanation of these things on natural grounds we are
compelled to resort to the fertile expedient of conjecture, and
pack the germ with many possibilities, each one depending for its
development upon chance occurrence or conditions.
Besides this struggle with the environment there is the struggle
of individuals and of species with one another--of oak with oak,
of beech with beech, of plant with its kind, for the moisture and
nutriment in the soil; of robin with robin for insects and fruit, of
fox with fox for mice and rabbits, and of lion with lion for antelope
and zebra. I say “struggle,” but it is rarely struggle in the sense
of strife or battle, but in the sense of natural competition--the
victory is to the most lucky and the most vigorous--the sharpest eye,
the quickest ear, the most nimble foot; and those most favored by
fortune win.
Under the law of variation some individuals have a fuller endowment
of vital energy than others; under a severe strain and trial of
whatever kind the favored ones will survive, while the others perish.
Some men, some animals, can endure more hardships than others; under
the same conditions all will not starve or freeze or fall exhausted
by the wayside at the same time. In the vegetable world the same
inequality in the gift of life exists, though not in the same degree.
Some seeds will lie dormant in the soil longer than others of the
same kind, and some kinds longer than others. Some seeds will not
sprout after the second year, but a few may sprout after the third
or even the fourth year. The stream of life is not of uniform depth
and fullness; it is shallow in some places, and deep in others, as
regards both species and individuals. In the natural competition
which goes on all around us, the strongest, the fittest, win in the
game, not necessarily by violence, but because, apart from the rôle
played by chance, they carry more pounds of vital pressure. Not all
acorns become oaks, probably not one in thousands; not all bird’s
eggs become birds; occasionally one egg in the nest does not hatch,
probably because of some defect in fertilization. Some nests are
torn out of the trees by storms, or are robbed by crows or jays or
squirrels; they were not well hidden. A large percentage of nests on
the ground is destroyed by night prowlers or by day prowlers; chance
again plays a great part here. Only a small fraction of the spawn
of fishes hatches, and a still smaller percentage of the hatched
ever reaches maturity. Fortune, good or bad, plays a great part
with all forms of life. The acorn that becomes an oak owes much to
chance--chance of position and soil, and chance of the vicissitudes
of the woods and fields. Falling trees or branches, or the foot of a
passing animal, may crush or deform it, or a squirrel or a raccoon
devour it. Barring these accidents, it owes, or may owe, not a little
to its inherent vitality--to its real oakhood.
The natural competition, or the struggle for existence among
mankind, is of similar character, though on the whole less
fortuitous. Coöperation, knowledge, altruism, have done much to
eliminate the element of chance. An acorn becomes an oak where ten
thousand other acorns fail, mainly by luck, while the child becomes
the man mainly through the care and nurture of his parents and of the
community in which he lives, but he reaches a position of power and
prominence largely through his inherent capabilities. Fortune plays a
part here also, as it did with Lincoln and Lee and Grant, but these
men all had the native endowment upon which Fortune could build.
In the natural competition that goes on in every town and city, the
success of one man over another is not, as a rule, the result of
violence or wrong; men of high purpose and character in business and
professional life add to the positive wealth and well-being of all;
they often lift the whole community to a higher and better standard
of living; the unfit profit by the achievements of the fit. The men
who have added to the wealth and well-being of this country could
be counted by the thousands. It is also true that the men who have
accumulated their millions at the expense of others, by fraud and
chicanery, or have diverted the earnings of others into their own
coffers, could be counted by the thousands. It is this class of men
who make the poor poorer. But did the achievements of such men as
the late James J. Hill make the poor poorer? Such men add enormously
to the wealth of the nation.
With all its discounts and set-backs, the natural struggle for
existence has carried the whole race forward. Even business
competition may be entirely beneficent. Two men open shops or houses
in similar lines in the same town and one outstrips the other.
Maybe his location is the better; one side of a street may be more
favorable to success than the other side. Maybe he is more affable
in manner, more thorough in his methods, more accommodating, more
fair-minded, of sounder judgment--in fact, the better man in a
beneficent sense.
On a broad view, throughout any country, this will be found to be
true: success in business, in the professions, on the farm, in the
manufactory, comes to those who deserve it. It cannot be otherwise.
The world is thus made. Among the nations the same rule holds.
England has earned all the power she has got. She is endowed with
the gift of empire. Solid merit alone tells in the long run, as well
among nations as among individual men. The worth of France rests upon
solid qualities. The worth of Germany is inherent in the character
of her people. That she has run to Krupp guns and Kaiserism during
these later generations, and has coveted the land and the gold of her
neighbors, is one of those human calamities analogous to tornadoes
and earthquakes.
In the course of modern history, race supplants race, not so much by
force of arms as by force of brain. The Europeans know how to utilize
the natural forces and make the stars fight on their side. So far as
they have done it by wars of conquest, they have violated the great
moral law and the law of natural competition. All wars of conquest by
civilized nations are wicked wars. They are becoming more and more
odious to mankind, and are bound to become still more so, till they
cease entirely. A century ago the conduct of Germany in the recent
war would have shocked mankind far less than it has to-day. A century
hence such an exhibition of the rule of the jungle among civilized
peoples will be impossible. If Germany could ever come to be the
dominant power in Europe, it would be through the law of natural
competition. Her superior efficiency in the arts of peace, could
alone give her the victory. It would have given her the victory in
her own age had she been contented with its slow but sure operation.
III
The question of right and wrong must have emerged, so as to become a
factor in the evolution of human society, very slowly--how slowly,
we can never know. But it did emerge, and is still emerging more and
more; first probably in the dealing of man with man, then in the
dealing of families with other families. In the dealing of tribes
with tribes in prehistoric times, the question of right and wrong
played probably little or no part; might alone settled matters. In
what we call the pagan world, among the early Egyptians, Hebrews,
Greeks, and Romans, the law of might in the dealings of one nation
with another prevailed, and up to our own time the standard of
international morality has been, and still is, far below the standard
among individuals and neighborhood communities. Even in the United
States there is a crying want of public conscience. The people are
preyed upon by men they elect to serve them. The men or corporations
that take pleasure and satisfaction in serving the public well and
reasonably, or in giving a _quid pro quo_, are rare. Men who are
blameless in their personal dealings with one another will, when
formed into a board of directors or trustees, rob railroads, and
squander money not their own. Capitalists will band together to rob
the state through the construction of sham highways or flimsy public
buildings. A public conscience is among all peoples of slow growth,
and an international conscience is still slower. What part has it
played in the history of Europe? Surely a very minor part. The Golden
Rule has been turned into an iron rule of might over right times
without number, by all the nations recently engaged in war.
As man’s moral consciousness has developed, the question of right
and wrong has, of course, come more and more to the front; his
relations to his fellows, his sense of justice, of truth, of fair
dealing, have occupied him more and more. His savage instincts have
been held more and more in check. The coöperation and sympathy and
good-will which have brought about his present civilization would
have been possible on no other terms. Without a sense of justice, of
love of truth, of ideal right, where should we have been to-day? The
fittest to survive among mankind were those races that had the moral
consciousness most fully developed. This gave a might which led to a
permanent supremacy--a beneficent might. A malevolent might is one
that is founded upon superior brute or material strength alone. The
law of the jungle or of the tornado or of the avalanche, introduced
into human affairs and unchecked by the law of man’s moral nature,
leads to wars of conquest, as it did to the World War.
IV
The expounders of the benefits of war write and speak about it as
if it were some system of hygiene or medicine or gymnastic training
that a people could practice in and of themselves; whereas wars of
conquest do not begin and end at home. There are two parties to such
a war. If it is a benefit to the victors, what is it to the defeated?
I am speaking, of course, of material benefits. The benefits that
come from heroism and self-denial are of another order. If the lamb
inside the lion is a benefit to the lion, what is it to the lamb?
If Germany reaped advantage by her invasion of Belgium, what did
Belgium reap? But the fate of the other party is the last question
that would ever occur to the Prussian military mind. If the doctrine
of frightfulness began and ended at home, the world could not object.
Because burned cities in modern times rise from their ashes in new
beauty and power, shall we therefore seek to rejuvenate our cities
by applying a match to them? Cities rise from their ashes because of
their stored-up wealth and because of the arteries of commerce and
industry that flow through them. Fire does not rejuvenate a dead tree
nor a dead city, nor does war rejuvenate a people who are in a state
of mortal ripening. It did not rejuvenate Rome in ancient times, nor
Spain in modern times, and it does not appear to be rejuvenating
Mexico very fast, nor any of the South American republics. All
depends upon the stock you are trying to rejuvenate.
Lord Roberts is quoted as saying, just before his death, that war is
necessary and salutary, and that it is the only national tonic that
can be prescribed when peace begets degeneracy in an over-civilized
people. He looked upon Germany as the greatest friend of the Allies
when she declared war against them. But could there be any better
proof that peace had not begotten degeneracy in England or France or
Russia than the promptness with which these countries took up the
challenge of Prussian militarism, and the fortitude and self-denial
with which they gave it blow for blow?
Under the smiling face of peace, when the demand is made, the
heroic element is always found to be slumbering. Every day, in the
industrial and scientific fields, men prove themselves the same
heroes that they do on the field of battle, and they prove it without
the excitement and stimulus that war gives; and women prove it in
times of peace and times of war.
The gospel of war as a national tonic in our time is a delusion and
a snare. Are we to get up a war offhand because we think the nations
need that kind of medicine? Blood-letting is a strange remedy for
the depleted condition to which Lord Roberts refers. War sets up the
victorious nation, but how about the defeated one? Have the defeats
of Spain in the past two or three hundred years set her up? Have the
defeats of Turkey redounded to her glory and power? Little doubt that
this World War will bear fruit, but it will be a kind of fruit the
combatant did not seek or expect.
The conclusion, then, that I arrive at is that a new rule of conduct
for nations as for individuals, a new biological law, has come into
being through man’s moral nature, his sense of right and wrong.
There is no question of right or of wrong in the world of living
things below man, and we can persuade ourselves that there is only by
putting ourselves in the place of the struggling animal forces. And
there is no question of right and of wrong in the human world till
man’s consciousness of this difference has begun to dawn. In our day
this consciousness is sufficiently developed to become the ruling
factor in the conduct of national and international affairs, and must
very soon put an end to all armed human conflicts. In saying this
I am not exploiting a theory; I am trying to state an indisputable
scientific fact.
X
TOOTH AND CLAW
I
To deny that Nature is cruel, in the strict sense of the term, were,
to the majority of persons, like denying that blood is red, or that
fire will burn. We use the term “cruel” loosely, and interpret the
ways of Nature in terms of our own psychology.
If we are torn by thorns or stung by nettles or bitten by snakes or
suffer from frost-bites or sun-stroke, we accuse Nature of cruelty,
always assuming, in our conceit, that we are the lords of creation,
and that things were made especially for us. We have no venomous
snake that will bite us except in self-defense, nor any bee that will
sting us except on the same grounds.
Even Darwin, in a letter to his friend Hooker, refers to the “clumsy,
wasteful, blundering, slow, and horribly cruel works of Nature,” thus
treating the All-Mother with scant respect.
Amiel cannot say, as he does say, that “Nature is unjust and
shameless, without probity and without faith,” unless he makes her
over into man or invests her with the human consciousness. Even the
good Emerson accuses Nature of being unscrupulous. Did the Concord
philosopher expect storms and frost and blight and thunderbolts
to have scruples? Did he expect thorns and nettles and fleas and
potato-bugs and grasshoppers and disease-germs to consider their ways?
A well-known philosopher and writer, Professor Jacks, of Manchester
College, Oxford, in writing upon “Our Common Foe,” takes it for
granted at the outset that Nature is cruel, and, moreover, that she
is as cruel as the Germans showed themselves to be in the cruelest
of all wars. “There is a cruelty in Nature,” he says, “and it has
been reserved for our age to realize how immense is its range and
how appalling its effects”; we realize it, he says, when we read
the story of Germany’s treatment of her prisoners, the story of
her submarines, and her conduct toward unoffending non-combatants
generally.
What worse thing could be said about Nature than that she is as bad
as the Germans? It almost makes us suspect treachery and death in
her summer breezes and her sunshine. Dr. Jacks seeks to justify his
charge by averring that man is a part of Nature and that in him are
summarized her good and her evil qualities. Of course, in a certain
sense this is true. But in seeking to solve the problems of his life,
man separates himself from the rest of Nature and holds himself
amenable to standards of conduct that he does not apply to the orders
below him. He regards himself as a superior being. He is a part of
Nature, but of an emancipated and regenerated Nature. He is one
with the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air only in his
purely animal aspects. As a moral and spiritual being with a sense of
truth and justice, of mercy and forgiveness, he stands on a higher
plane. He cannot justify his conduct by an appeal to brute nature or
to biological laws. His sins are more scarlet and his virtues more
divine than those of his unmoral and unreasoning brute neighbors. His
consciousness of right and wrong is the touchstone by which all his
deeds are to be tried.