DUTIES RELATING TO THE INTELLECT.
SUMMARY.
=Duties relative to the investigation of truth.=--Of intellectual
virtues: that there are such.
Of the three forms of the intellect: _speculative_, _critical_,
_practical_. Hence, three principal qualities: _knowledge_, _judgment_
or _good sense_, _prudence_.
Of _knowledge_.--Refutation of the objections to knowledge: Nicole,
Malebranche and Rousseau.
General duty to cultivate one's intellect: the impossibility of
determining the full range of this duty.
_Good sense or judgment._--Errors committed in ordinary life: sophisms
of self-love, interest, and passion.--Other sophisms founded on false
appearances.--Logical rules.
Of prudence or practical wisdom.--Can it be called a virtue?
Particular rules.
=Duties relative to telling the truth.--Lying.=--Two kinds of lies:
inward and outward lying.
Inward lying.--Can one lie to himself? Examples.
Of the lie properly so-called.--How and why it lowers the mind.
_Of silence._--To distinguish between _dissimulation_ and
_discretion_.
Duty of silence: in what cases?
Of the oath and of perjury.--Perjury is a double lie.
The different duties of man toward himself, considered as a moral being,
are naturally deduced from the divers faculties of which this moral being
is composed. Plato is the first, to our knowledge, who has employed this
mode of deduction.[108] It is after having distinguished three parts or
three faculties in the soul, that he attributes to each of them a virtue
proper, "virtue being," he says, "the quality by means of which one does a
thing well." It is thus that the virtue of wisdom corresponds to the
faculty of the understanding; the virtue of courage to the irascible or
courageous faculty, or to the heart; temperance, to that of desire or
appetite. To these three virtues, Plato adds another which is but the
harmony, the accord, the equilibrium between these, namely, justice.
Cicero afterwards took up this deduction from another standpoint.[109]
In applying this ancient method to the present divisions of psychology, we
shall admit, with Plato and Cicero, an order of virtues relative to the
mind, and which we will call _wisdom_; and another class of virtues
relating to the will, and which would correspond with _courage_ or
_strength_ of _mind_ (_virtus_, _magnitudo animi_). As to sensibility, if
we take into consideration the appetites and physical desires, the virtue
relating to them is _temperance_, of which we have already spoken. There
remain the emotions, the affections of the heart which relate more
particularly to the duties toward others. Yet they may, in a certain
respect, be also considered as duties toward one's self, although language
does not designate this kind of virtue by a particular name.[110]
=147. Duties relative to the investigation of truth.=--_Intellectual
virtues._--There are two classes of virtues which have been often
distinguished: the _strict_ duties and the _broad_ duties: the strict
duties to consist in not injuring one's faculties; the broad, to develop
and perfect them; it is not easy to apply this distinction here; and,
concerning intelligence, to separate self-preservation from
self-improvement. In such a case, not to gain is inevitably to lose; he
who does not cultivate his intellect, impairs it by that very fact.
One could not then, without pedantic investigation and subtlety, try to
distinguish here, in one and the same duty, two distinct duties: the one
prohibitive, the other imperative. They are both bound up in the general
duty to cultivate one's intellect. It is not so with the relations
existing between one's own intellect and the intellect of others; the
expression of a thought gives rise to a strict duty: not to lie; which is
the immediate consequence of the duty of the intellect toward itself, and
which consequently should, by way of corollary, also belong to the present
chapter.
The first question which presents itself to us is to know whether we
should admit, with Aristotle, _intellectual_ virtues, properly so called,
distinct from the _moral_ virtues, the first having regard to the
intellect, the second to the passions. It would seem that the various
faculties pointed out by Aristotle under the name of intellectual virtues,
are rather qualities of the mind than virtues: art, science, prudence,
wisdom, intelligence[111] (not to mention the difficulty of determining
the various shades of meaning of these terms), are natural or acquired
aptitudes, but which do not appear to have any moral merit: a scholar, an
artist, a clever man, a man of good sense and good counsel are naturally
distinguished from virtuous men. It would seem then that the intellectual
virtues are opposed to the moral virtues, as the mind is to the heart:
now, for every one, it is the heart rather than the mind that is the seat
of virtue.
These difficulties are only apparent, and Aristotle himself gives us the
means of solving them:
"In order to be truly virtuous," he says, "one should always act in a
certain moral spirit: I mean that the choice of an action should be a
free one, determined only by the nature of the acts one accomplishes.
Now it is virtue that renders this choice laudable and good."[112]
It is not the natural faculties of the mind then, no more than those of
the heart and body, that deserve the name of virtues. It is those same
faculties, developed and cultivated by the will: on this condition alone
do they deserve esteem and respect. The intellect is in itself of a higher
order than the senses, the appetites, the passions: it is therefore
incumbent upon us to give it the largest share in our personal
development. "It is to that we are allied," says Pascal, "not to space and
time. Let our efforts then tend to think well; this is the principle of
morality." The intellect presents two particular forms: it is either
_contemplative_ or _active_, _theoretical_ or _practical_. The virtue of
the contemplative intellect is _knowledge_; that of the practical
intellect _prudence_. Finally a third virtue might be admitted: _judgment_
or _common sense_, which is a _critical_,[113] not a practical faculty,
and which partakes at the same time of both sides of the understanding.
These subtle distinctions of Aristotle have not lost their correctness and
application with time. One can, in fact, employ his mind in three ways:
either contemplate absolute truth by the means of science;--or judge of
events and men and foresee future things without contributing toward their
occurrence;--or again deliberate as to what is to be done or not to be
done to bring about actions useful to one's self and to others. Hence
three kinds of men: the _wise_, the _intelligent_, the _prudent_.
_Knowledge._--Taking up again, one after the other, these three qualities,
we ought to ask ourselves whether knowledge is a duty for man; if he is
held to develop his mind in a theoretical manner and without any practical
end. But before we examine whether it is a duty, let us first find out
whether it is lawful.
The scientific and speculative culture of the mind on the part of man, has
often been regarded as a proud or conceited refinement.
This opinion was expressed by some writers of the seventeenth century--for
instance, by Nicole, in the preface to the _Logique de Port Royal_:
"These sciences," he says, "have not only back-corners and secret
recesses of very little use, but they are all useless when viewed in
themselves and for themselves. Men were not born to spend their time
measuring lines, examining the relations of angles, studying the
divers movements of matter: their mind is too vast, their life too
short, their time too precious, to occupy themselves with such small
matters."
Malebranche expresses himself in about the same terms:
"Men were not born to become astronomers or chemists, to spend their
whole life hanging on a telescope or fastened to a furnace, for no
better purpose than to draw afterwards from their laborious
observations useless consequences. Granting some astronomer was the
first in discovering lands, seas, and mountains in the moon; that he
was the first to perceive spots moving upon the sun, and that he has
calculated their movements exactly. Granting some chemists to have
finally discovered the secret of fixing mercury or to make that
alkahest by means of which Van Helmont boasted he could dissolve all
matter: were they the wiser and happier for it?"
In expressing themselves so disdainfully concerning the sciences, Nicole
and Malebranche meant, in fact, only that one should not prefer
speculative knowledge to the science of man or to the science of God; and
it is most true that if we view the sciences from a standpoint of dignity,
we must admit that the moral sciences have greater excellence than the
physical sciences. But that which is equally true is, that we must not
measure the merit of the sciences by their material or even moral or
logical utility. Science is in itself, and without regard to any other end
but itself, worthy to be loved and studied. Intelligence, in fact, was
given to man that he might know the truth of things; investigation is its
natural food. Man, in raising himself to science, increases thereby the
excellence of his nature; he becomes a creature of a higher order; for in
the order of divine creatures, the most perfect are at the same time those
who know the most, and the highest degree of happiness promised to
religious faith, is to know truth face to face. It is therefore no
frivolous amusement to increase here below the sum of knowledge we are
capable of, though this knowledge be only that of the things of this
world, and not yet the higher and direct knowledge of God.
Without admitting that science is of itself a legitimate object of
research, it will be recognized that it is lawful to study it, either in
our own interest or for the love of others, or for the love of God. But
this is not enough: to see in science nothing but a means to be useful to
ourselves (as, for example, to make a living),[114] is a servile and
mercenary view, which does not deserve to be discussed. To maintain that
science should only be cultivated because of its utility to others, is the
same as to say that man has no duties toward himself, and that he is not
obliged, letting alone the interest of others, to respect or perfect his
own self: a thing we have already refuted. Finally, to say that science
should be cultivated as a gift from God, and for the love of God, may be
true; but this is not any more applicable to that occupation than to any
other; and the same may be said of any other kind of duty without
exception. Certainly, science should not make one proud; but pride is only
an adventitious and not a necessary consequence, which, in speaking of
cultivating science, should not be confounded with the fact itself.
Besides, when Malebranche says that the scientist is not any happier or
wiser for his science, he is mistaken: for the greatest happiness is
sometimes derived from science alone; and as to the wisdom of it, a taste
for elevated thought is already a guarantee against the allurements of the
passions; finally, whilst we cultivate science, we are safe from other
less innocent inclinations.
To the opinions of Nicole and Malebranche, let us oppose the testimony of
two men who possessed in the highest degree the respect and love of
science:
"It is unworthy of man," says Aristotle, "not to possess himself of
all the science he can. If the poets are right, when they say that the
Divinity is capable of jealousy, this jealousy would especially
manifest itself in regard to philosophy, and then, all those who
indulged in elevated thought would be unhappy. But it is not possible
for the Divinity to be jealous, and the poets, as the proverb says, do
not always tell the truth.
Let us now hear Descartes:
"Although in judging myself I find that I am more disposed to incline
toward the side of distrust than presumption, and that regarding with
a philosopher's eye the diverse actions and enterprises of men, there
be scarcely any that do not seem to me vain and useless, yet does the
progress which I think I have already made in the search for truth
give me extreme satisfaction, and inspire me with such hopes for the
future that if, among the more material occupations of men, there are
any substantially good and important, I dare believe that it is the
one I have chosen."[115]
If, from a standpoint of somewhat mystical piety, some minds of the
seventeenth century regarded the sciences as useless, a paradoxical
stoicism accused them in the eighteenth to be a cause of corruption and
decay in society. Such is J. J. Rousseau's celebrated thesis in his first
speech at the Academy of Dijon.
This celebrated paradox, which has created so much excitement in the past
century, and which is even an historical event (for it was the first
attack against the society of the time), has since been so decried that it
is useless to dwell on it. Let us make a brief _resume_ of J. J.
Rousseau's arguments:
1. Progress in letters and sciences serves for nothing else but to conceal
the vices and put hypocrisy in the place of an ill-bred rusticity.
2. All great nations ceased to be invincible as soon as the sciences
penetrated among them. Egypt, after the conquest of Cambyses; Greece,
after Pericles; Rome, after Augustus. If, on the contrary, we look for
examples of healthy, honest, vigorous nations, we find them among the
ancient Persians, Scythians, Spartans, the first Romans, the Swiss.
3. The sciences and arts are born of and nourish idleness. Their least
mischief is uselessness.[116]
4. The letters and arts engender luxury, and luxury is one of the powerful
instruments of corruption in morals: it destroys courage, lowers the
character, and, by another consequence, depraves and corrupts the taste
even.
5. Another consequence: the culture of the mind engenders sophisms, false
systems, and dangerous doubts about religion and morality.
These various arguments, taking them up one after the other, may be
answered as follows:
1. It is nowise proved that in the age of ignorance vices were less
numerous and less deeply rooted than in the more enlightened age. Decency
is a good in itself, and is not always hypocrisy. Delicacy of mind robs at
least vice of its grossest features; it diminishes and allays violence,
which is a great source of crimes.
2. It is not true that military virtues (which, besides, are not the only
admirable virtues) are destroyed by the culture of the mind: modern
examples prove this sufficiently.
3. To say that the letters and sciences are born of and nourish idleness
is an abuse of words. Wherein is the man who works mentally more idle than
he who works with his hands?
4. The sciences and letters do not develop a taste for luxury: luxury
would develop without them, and would be all the more frivolous and
corrupting: they are concomitant, but not mutually related facts. Luxury,
besides, is not absolutely bad in itself: the taste for elegance is a
legitimate one. Is not nature herself adorned?
5. Science develops wrong opinions, false systems: so be it; but it also
corrects them, and we should look at both sides of a thing and see its
good parts as well as its bad. Otherwise it would be easy to prove that
everything is wrong.
Rousseau's paradox, however, is not altogether false, and there are,
unquestionably, many evils mixed up with the culture of the mind, but
these evils do not come from the mind's being cultivated, but from its
being badly cultivated; they do not come from people's seeking the true
and the beautiful, but, on the contrary, from their not seeking them
enough. The vanity derived from false science should not be imputed to
true science, but to ignorance. The moral enfeeblement, which is the
result of an over-refined culture of the mind, comes from our not
sufficiently cultivating the mind in every direction; for example, from
our neglecting the moral sciences for the industrial sciences, or the
nobler arts for the voluptuous arts. The remedy for the evils pointed out
by Rousseau is, therefore, not ignorance, but, on the contrary, a greater
abundance of light, and higher lights.
It is then for each of us a duty to instruct himself, but it is evident
that this duty must be regarded as a broad duty--that is to say, that its
application cannot be determined by precise formulas. No man is obliged by
the moral law to be what is called a scholar; no one is obliged to learn
astronomy or transcendental mathematics, still less metaphysics. But it
can be said that it is a duty for each of us: 1. To learn as well as
possible the principles of the art he will have to cultivate: for
instance, the magistrate the principles of jurisprudence; the physician
the principles of medicine; the artisan the principles of mechanics. In
this respect young students, we must confess, have far too easy a
conscience. They do not realize the responsibility they incur by their
negligence and laziness. 2. It is a duty for all men, according to the
means they can dispose of, to instruct themselves concerning their
duties. 3. It is also a duty for each to go, as far as he can, beyond the
strictly necessary in matters of education, and in proportion to the means
he has at his disposal. It is then a duty to neglect no occasion of
improving one's self.
=149. Good sense.=--Between science and prudence, between _theoretical_
intelligence and _practical_ intelligence, Aristotle places the _critical_
faculty--in other terms, judgment, good sense, discernment. This faculty
is distinguished from science in that it is only applied to things where
doubt and deliberation come in; it treats then of the same objects as
prudence; but it is distinguished from the latter in that prudence is
practical and prescribes what should be done or not be done; good sense,
on the contrary, is purely critical: it is limited to mere judging. It is,
then, in some respects disinterested and does not induce to action; it is
the art of appreciating things, men, and events. Good judgment may be
found among men lacking practical prudence: one sees often very well the
faults of others without seeing one's own; or, again, one may be aware of
one's own faults and not be able to correct them. However, it is not to be
denied that good sense or good judgment is a useful auxiliary to prudence;
it is already in itself an estimable quality, and is far from being as
well distributed among men as Descartes claims.[117] On the contrary,
according to Nicole:
"Common sense is not so common a quality as one thinks.... Nothing is
more rare than this exactness of judgment. Everywhere we meet false
minds who have scarcely any discernment of what is true; who take
everything the wrong way; who accept the worst kind of reasonings, and
wish to make others accept them also; who allow themselves to be
carried away by the least appearances of things; who are always
excessive in their views and run into extremes; minds who either have
no grasp to hold on to the truths they have acquired, because they
have become attached to them through chance rather than solid
knowledge; or who, on the contrary, persist in their ideas with such
stubbornness that they listen to nothing that could undeceive them;
who judge boldly of things neither they nor any one else, perhaps,
ever understood; who make no difference between talking to the
purpose and talking nonsense, and are guided in their judgment by mere
trifles.... So that there are no absurdities, however incredible, that
do not find approving adherents. Whoever intends duping people is sure
to find people glad to be duped, and the most ridiculous nonsense is
sure to find minds suited for it."
Here, the rules of morality are confounded with those of logic. It is the
latter that teaches us how to avoid error, if not in science (which is the
object of speculative logic), at least in life. The development of these
rules will be found in the _Recherche de la verite_ of Malebranche. The
_Logique de Port Royal_ will furnish us a _resume_ of them which will
suffice here:
=150. Illusions coming from ourselves.=--1. A first cause of illusion in
the judgments we pass upon things, is to take our interest for a motive of
belief: "I am of such or such a country, _ergo_, I must believe that such
or such a saint has preached the Gospel there; I belong to such or such a
class, _ergo_, I believe that such or such a privilege is a just one."
2. Our affections are another cause of illusion: "I love him, _ergo_, he
is the cleverest man in the world; I hate him, _ergo_, he is nobody." This
is what may be called the sophistry of the heart.
3. Illusions of self-love. There are some who decide about everything by
the general and very convenient principle, that they must be in the right.
They listen but little to the reasons of others; they wish to carry
everything before them by main authority, and treat all those who are not
of their opinion as indifferent thinkers. Some even, without suspecting
it, go so far as to say to themselves: "If it were so, I should not be the
clever man I am: or, I am a clever man; _ergo_, it is not so."
4. Reciprocal reproaches which people may make to each other with the same
right: for example, you are a caviler, you are selfish, blind, dishonest,
etc. Whence this equitable and judicious rule of Saint Augustine: "Let us
avoid in discussions mutual reproaching; reproaches which, though they
may not be true at that moment, may justly be made by both parties."
5. A spirit of contradiction and dispute, so admirably depicted by
Montaigne:
"We only learn to dispute that we may contradict, and every one
contradicting and being contradicted, it falls out that the fruit of
disputation is to lose and nullify the truth.... One flies to the
east, the other to the west; they lose the principal, and wander in
the crowd of incidents; after an hour of tempest, they know not what
they seek; one is low, the other high, and a third wide; one catches
at a word and a simile; another is no longer sensible of what is said
in opposition to him, being entirely absorbed in his own notions,
engaged in following his own course, and not thinking of answering
you; another, finding himself weak, fears all, refuses all, and, at
the very beginning, confounds the subjects, or, in the very height of
the dispute, stops short, and grows silent; by a peevish ignorance
affecting a proud contempt, or an unseasonable modest desire to shun
debate...."
6. The contrary defect, namely, a sycophantic amiability, which approves
of everything and admires everything: example, the _Philinte_ of Moliere.
Besides these different illusions which are due to ourselves and our own
weaknesses, there are others engendered from without, or at least from the
divers aspects under which things present themselves to us:
=151. Illusions arising from objects.=--1. The mixture of the true and the
false, of good and evil which we see in things, is cause that we often
confound them. Thus do the good qualities of the persons we esteem cause
us to approve their defects, and _vice versa_. Now, it is precisely in
this judicious separation of good from evil that a correct mind shows
itself.
2. Illusions arising from eloquence and flowery rhetoric.
3. Ill-natured interpretations of people's peculiar views founded on mere
appearances or hearsay; as, for example: such a one goes with doubtful
characters, _ergo_, he is a bad character himself; such another associates
with free-thinkers, _ergo_, he is a free-thinker likewise; a third
criticises the government, _ergo_, he is a rebel; he approves its acts,
_ergo_, he is a courtier, etc., etc.
4. False deductions drawn from a few accidental occurrences; as for
instance: medicine does not cure all diseases, hence it cures none; there
are frivolous women, hence all women are frivolous; there are hypocrites,
hence piety is nothing but hypocrisy.
5. Error of judging of bad or good advice from subsequent events. As for
example: Such or such an event followed upon such and such advice, hence
it was good--it was bad.
6. Sophistry of authority. It consists in accepting men's opinions on the
strength of certain qualities they may possess, although these qualities
may have nothing to do with the matter in hand. For instance, by reason of
their age, or piety, or, what is worse, of wealth and influence. Certainly
we do not exactly say in so many words: such a one has a hundred pounds
income, and must therefore be right; but there is nevertheless something
similar going on in our minds, which runs away with our judgment without
our being conscious of it.
In pointing out these various dangers upon which good judgment and upright
reasoning are often wrecked, we indicate sufficiently the rules which
ought to serve in the education of the mind: for it is enough to be warned
against such errors, and be endowed with a certain amount of correct
judgment, to recognize and avoid them.
=152. Prudence.=--From the faculty of judging and having an opinion about
things, let us pass on to the third quality of the mind, namely: prudence,
which consists, as Aristotle informs us, in deliberating well before doing
anything, and which is the art of well discerning our interest in the
things concerning us, and the interest of others in the things concerning
them.
There are then two sorts of prudence: personal prudence, which is nothing
more than self-interest well understood, and civil or disinterested
prudence, which applies to the interests of others; thus, a prudent
general, a prudent notary, a prudent minister, are not only prudent in
their own interests, but for that of others. Prudence from this point of
view is then but a duty toward others. As to personal prudence, it may be
asked how far it is a question of morals, and whether it is not excluded
from them by the very principle of morals, which is duty. But we have
already solved that difficulty. Because prudence is not all virtue, it
does not follow that it is not _a_ virtue. Certainly, we are too naturally
inclined to seek our own interest, to make it necessary to set it down as
a duty. But in case of struggle between self-interest and passion,[118]
self-interest takes sometimes the character of duty. This is clear enough.
Interest, if properly understood, represents general interest; and
passion, private interest. To yield to passion, is to satisfy at a given
moment, and for a very short time, one of our desires only. Prudence, on
the contrary, pleads the cause of the general interest of the entire man,
and for all his life. Man may be represented (as Plato has represented
him) figuratively as a city, a republic, a world; it has been said that he
is a microcosm (little world). This little world represents in miniature
the harmony of the great world. The individual to whom the government of
this little world is intrusted, and who stands in regard to himself as
Providence stands in regard to the universe, should not favor a part of it
at the expense of the rest. Prudence is then the virtue by means of which
man governs the affairs of the little State of which he is the king.
Prudence, moreover, is nothing more than foresight--that is to say, the
faculty of foreseeing what is coming, of drawing from the past,
consequences for the future, and acting conformably to the lessons of
experience. Now, it is especially by this that man is distinguished from
the animal: it is by this that he is capable of progress. He owes it then
to himself to act according to the principles of reason, and not according
to brute instincts.
Another difficulty of greater import, is that prudence does not represent
a special virtue, but is nothing more than a common name given to several
particular virtues. Thus, prudence being defined "the discernment between
the useful and the hurtful," it may be said that discernment, in point of
sensual pleasures, will be called moderation or temperance; in point of
riches, economy; that true courage holding the mean between temerity and
cowardice, is necessarily accompanied by prudence; we have seen that
science itself must learn how to keep within bounds, and this also is a
sort of prudence. We shall find therefore that prudence has not, like
other virtues, a property of its own. It is in reality nothing more than a
mode common to all personal virtues, each presenting two standpoints to be
considered from: 1, from the standpoint of personal dignity, which is the
highest principle; 2, from the standpoint of a proper self-interest,
which, subordinate to the first, is a secondary and relative standpoint.
However, applied in individual cases, we will give here a few of the rules
concerning prudence in general:
1. It is not enough to attend to what good or evil the present moment may
present; we should also examine what the natural consequences of this good
or evil will be, so that, comparing the present with the future and
balancing the one with the other, we may see the result beforehand.
2. It is unreasonable to seek a good which will inevitably be followed by
a greater evil.
3. Nothing is more reasonable than to suffer an evil which is certain to
be followed by a greater good.
4. One should prefer a greater good to a lesser, and conversely so in the
case of evils.
5. It is not necessary to be fully certain in regard to great goods or
evils, and probability is sufficient to induce a reasonable person to
deprive himself of some lesser goods, or to suffer some slight evils, in
view of acquiring much greater goods, or avoiding worse evils.[119]
=154. Duties relative to telling the truth.--Veracity and falsehood.=--It
is in the nature of man to express his thoughts by signs of various kinds,
and oftenest by words. What is the law which is to regulate the relations
between words and thoughts? Are we to regard words as arbitrary means
serving indifferently to express any kind of thought, or as having no
other end than to express our own particular thought, the same, namely,
which comes to us at the moment of speaking? Common sense solves this
question by esteeming in the highest degree those who use speech only to
express their thought, and despising those who use it to deceive. This
sort of virtue is called _veracity_, and its opposite is _falsehood_.
Falsehood is generally regarded among men as only a violation of the duty
toward others. It is not from this standpoint we are going to consider it
here. Unquestionably, one should injure no one in any way, no more by a
falsehood than otherwise. But for a falsehood to be harmless, does it
follow that it is not bad? The scholastics distinguished two kinds of
falsehoods: the _malicious_ falsehood, with intent to deceive, and the
_verbal_ falsehood, which consists in mere words, and does not spring from
any wish to do harm (as, for example, the falsehood of the physician who
deceives his patient). But such distinctions should not be admitted.
Falsehood need not be malicious to be bad: it is bad of itself, whatever
be its consequences. There remains then to know what is to be done in
cases of conflict between our duties, and if moral law does not in certain
cases relent? Even though it did, it would not suffice to authorize the
distinction between two kinds of falsehoods. What precisely constitutes a
falsehood is to be verbal--that is to say, to employ speech to express the
contrary of truth. Whether malice enters into it or not, this is an
accident which has nothing to do with the essence of falsehood; it may
aggravate or attenuate it, certainly, but it does not constitute it.
To well understand the moral evil which resides in falsehood one must
take it at its source--that is to say, distinguish with Kant between
_inner_ and _outward_ falsehood: the first whereby one lies to himself,
namely, in lacking in sincerity in regard to himself; the second whereby
one lies to others.
The human mind is naturally constituted for knowing the truth: truth is
its object and its end. A mind that has not truth for its object is no
mind. Whosoever uses his mind to satisfy his inclinations undoubtedly
debases his mind, but he does not pervert it; but he who uses his mind to
make himself or others believe the contrary to the truth, perverts and
ruins his mind. He then perverts and destroys one of the most excellent
gifts of his nature, and fails thereby in one of the strictest and most
clearly defined duties.
It may be asked whether it is possible for man to really lie to himself,
and if it is not rather a contradiction in terms. One can, in fact,
understand how a man may be mistaken, but then he does not know that he is
mistaken; it is an error, but no lie; if, on the contrary, he knows that
he is mistaken, then for that very reason is he no longer mistaken; so
that it would seem that there can be no lying to one's self.
And yet popular psychology, the subtlest of all, because it is formed in
the presence of real facts, and under the true teachings of experience
(whilst scientific psychology is always more or less artificial), this
natural psychology, which sums up the experience of the whole of humanity,
has always affirmed that man could voluntarily deceive himself,
consequently lie to himself. The most ordinary case of inward falsehood is
when man employs sophisms--that is to say, seeks reasons wherewith to
smother the cry of his conscience; or when he tries to persuade himself
that he has no other motive in view than moral good, whilst, in fact, he
only acts from fear of punishment, or from any other interested motive.
"To take, through love of self, an intention for a fact, because it
has for its object a good end in itself, is again," says Kant, "a
defect of another kind. It is a weakness similar to that of the lover
who, desirous to see nothing but good qualities in the woman he
loves,[120] shuts his eyes to the most obvious defects."
The inward lie is then an unpardonable weakness, if not a real baseness,
and we must conclude from this that it is the same with the outward
lie--the lie, namely, which expresses itself in words.
Here it may be objected that speech is not an integrant part of the mind,
that it is only an accident, that whatever use we may make of speech we do
not destroy thereby the principle of intelligence, for I may use my mind
to discover and possess myself of truth, even though I should not make
known the same to others, or make them believe otherwise than I think.
From this standpoint falsehood would still remain a sin as a violation of
the duty toward others, though not as a shortcoming in regard to one's
self.
But this would be a very false analysis of the psychological fact called
communication of thought. Speech is never wholly independent of thought.
The very fact that I speak, implies that I think my speech: there is an
inner affirmation required. I cannot make sophisms to deceive men without
having first inwardly combined these sophisms through the faculty of
thinking which is in me. I think then of one thing and another at the same
time; I think at the same time of both the true and the false, and I am
conscious of this contradiction. I employ then knowingly my mind in
destroying itself, and I fall, consequently, into the vice pointed out
above.
Kant gives another deduction than ours to prove that falsehood is a
violation of duty toward one's self. But his deduction is, perhaps, not
sufficiently severe:
"A man who does not himself believe what he tells another, is of less
worth than is a simple _thing_; for one may put the usefulness of a
simple thing to some account, whilst the liar is not so much a real
man as a deceiving appearance of a man.... Once the major principle of
veracity shaken, dissimulation soon runs into all our relations with
others."
This deduction is very ingenious; but it lacks strictness, inasmuch as it
is based on the use a man may be made of, which principle is contrary to
the general principle of Kant's morals, and also because it rests on the
standpoint of social interest, which lies outside the point in question.
=155. Discretion.=--It is evident that the duty not to lie, does not carry
with it, as its consequence, the duty of telling all. Silence must not be
confounded with dissimulation, and no one is obliged to tell all he has in
his mind; far from it; we are here before another duty toward ourselves,
which stands in some respect in opposition to the preceding one, namely,
_discretion_. The babbler who speaks at all times and under all
circumstances, and he who tells what he should not, must not be confounded
with the loyal and sincere man, who only tells what he thinks, but does
not necessarily tell all he thinks.
Silence is obviously a strict duty toward others, when the matter in
question has been confided to us under the seal of secrecy. But it may
also be said that it is a duty toward ourselves, and for the following
reasons:
1. To use one's mind, as does the babbler, in giving utterance to barren
and frivolous thoughts, is degrading: not all that accidentally crosses
one's mind is worthy of being expressed; and it is simply heedlessness to
fix one's mind on fleeting things, and give them a certain fixity and
value through words; 2, there are, on the other hand, other thoughts, too
precious, too personal, too elevated, to be indiscreetly exposed to the
curiosity of fools or indifferent persons. Thus will it be heroic,
unquestionably, to confess one's faith before the executioner, if there is
need; but it is not necessary to proclaim it all round when there is no
occasion for it: I believe such and such a thing; I belong to such or such
a church; I hold such and such a doctrine; I belong to such or such a
party, unless, of course, there is an interest in spreading one's belief;
and even then it will be necessary to choose the right place and the right
moment. As to using discretion in regard to our sentiments, our moral
qualities, or our defects, it is in one instance a duty of modesty and in
another one of personal dignity.
=156. Perjury.=--If falsehood is in general an abasement of human dignity,
it is a still greater abasement when it is of the kind called _perjury_,
and a transgression which might be defined as a double falsehood.
Perjury is of two sorts: it either means swearing falsely or violating a
former oath. In order to understand the meaning of perjury, one must know
what constitutes an oath.
The oath is an affirmation where God is taken as a witness of the truth
one is supposed to utter. The oath consists, then, in some respect, in
invoking God in our favor, in making him speak in our name. We, so to say,
attest that God himself, who reads the heart, would, if he were called in
testimony, speak as we speak ourselves. The oath indicates that one
accepts in advance the chastisements God does not fail to inflict upon
those who invoke his name in vain.
It will be seen by this how perjury, namely, false swearing, may be called
a double lie. For perjury is a lie, first in affirming a thing that is
false, and second, in affirming that God would bear testimony if he were
present. Let us add that there is here a sort of sacrilege which consists
in our making God, in some respects, the accomplice of our lie.
It is true that men, in taking an oath, forget often its sacred and
religious character, and, consequently, there is not always a sacrilegious
intention in their false swearing. But it may still be said that perjury
is a double lie; for in every oath taken, even though stripped of all
religious character, there is always a double attestation: first we affirm
a thing, and next we affirm that our affirmation is true. It is thus that
in that form of speech long since worn out, which is called _word of
honor_, we give our word and engage our honor to attest that such or such
affirmation is true. To break this word is, then, to lie twice, for it is
affirming a false affirmation. It is for this reason that falsehood,
which is always culpable, must, in this case, be regarded as particularly
dishonorable.
As to perjury, considered as a violation of a former oath, it belongs to
the class of promise or word-breaking, which is especially contrary to the
duty toward others. Yet, even in this kind of falsehood, there is also a
violation of personal duty; for he who breaks a promise (with or without
oath) would seem to indicate by it that he did not intend keeping his
promise, which is destructive to the very idea of a promise; it is then,
once more, using speech, not as a necessary symbol of thought, but simply
as a means of obtaining what we want, reserving to ourselves the liberty
to change our minds when the moment comes for fulfilling our promise. This
is abasing our intelligence, and making it serve as a means to satisfy our
wants, whilst it belongs to an order far superior to these very wants.