MORAL MEDICINE AND GYMNASTICS.
SUMMARY.
=Means and end.=--Moral science should not only point out the _end_; it
should also indicate the _means_ of attaining that end.
There is, as of the body, a culture of the soul: as, in medicine, we
distinguish between _temperaments_, _diseases_ and their _treatments_,
so do we distinguish in morals, _characters_, _passions_, and
_remedies_.
=Of character.=--Character as compared with temperament: four principal
types.
Character at different ages: childhood, youth, manhood, and old age.
=Passions.=--Passions may in one respect be considered as _natural
affections_; but in a moral point of view they should be considered as
_diseases_.
The law of passions considered from this last standpoint. Enumeration
and analysis of these various passions.
=Culture of the soul=, or =moral treatment=.--On the government of
passions.--Bossuet's advice: not directly to combat the passions, but
to turn them off into other channels.
=Of the formation of character.=--Rules of Malebranche: 1, acts produce
habits, and habits produce acts; 2, one can always act against a
ruling habit.
How is one habit to be substituted for another?--Aristotle's rule: To
go from one extreme to the other.--Bacon's rules: 1, to proceed by
degrees; 2, to choose for a new virtue two kinds of opportunities: the
first when one is best disposed, the second when one is least so; 3,
not to trust too much to one's conversion and distrust opportunities.
Benjamin Franklin's Almanac.--Other practices.--Kant's moral
catechism.
We have done with _practical_ morals, the morals, namely, which have for
their object the setting forth of man's duties and the principal
applications of the moral law. The second part of this course of study
shall be devoted to the _theory_ of morals, which has for its object the
elucidation of principles. But to pass from the one to the other, it
seemed to us proper, by way of conclusion, to introduce here an order of
researches which belongs to both practical and theoretical morals, the
study, namely, of the means man has at his disposal in his moral
self-perfection, either by curing himself of vice, or in advancing in
virtue: this is what we call _moral medicine and gymnastics_.
Bacon justly remarks that most moralists are like writing-masters who lay
fine copies before their pupils, but tell them nothing of the manner of
using the pen and tracing characters. Thus do the philosophers set before
us very fine and magnificent models, very faithful and noble pictures of
goodness and virtue, of duties, of happiness; but they teach us nothing
about the means of attaining to such perfection. They make us acquainted
with the _end_, and not with the _road_ that leads to it.[149]
Then, presenting us himself a sketch of that portion of morality which
does not confine itself to precepts only, but to instructions also, and
which he calls the _Georgics of the soul_ (science of the culture and the
soul), he tells us that it should be like medicine which considers first
the _constitution_ of the patient, then the _disease_, then the
_treatment_. The same in regard to the soul: there are moral temperaments
as there are physical temperaments: these are the _characters_; moral
diseases as there are physical diseases; these are the _passions_; and
finally there is a moral _treatment_ as there is a physical treatment, and
it is the treatment of morality to indicate this treatment. Now, one
cannot treat a disease without knowing it and without being acquainted
with the temperament and constitution of the patient. "A coat cannot be
fitted on a body without the tailor's taking first the measure of him for
whom he makes it." Hence, it follows that before deciding on a remedy,
one must acquaint himself with the characters and passions.
=173. Of character.=--The study of character is hardly susceptible of a
methodical classification. Passions, manners, habits are so complicated
and so intermixed in individuals that they afford scarcely a chance to
faithfully describe them, and this subject, though very fertile, is more
of the province of literature than of science. Theophrastus among the
ancients, and La Bruyere among the moderns, have excelled in this kind of
description; but it would be very difficult to analyze their works, as
they have nothing didactic: they are better suited for reading.
Theophrastus describes dissemblers, flatterers, intruders, rustics,
parasites, babblers, the superstitious, misers, the proud, slanderers,
etc. All these are unquestionably principal types of human character, but
they cannot be strictly brought down to a few elementary types. La Bruyere
is still further removed; he does not only treat character, but manners
also; he describes individuals rather than men in general, or it is always
in the individual that he sees the man. Hence the charm and piquancy of
his pictures; but moral science finds scarcely anything to borrow from
him.
Kant tried to give a theory of character, and he started with the same
idea as Bacon, namely, the analogy between characters and temperaments;
thus did he confine himself to taking up again the old physiological
theory of temperaments and apply it to the moral man. He distinguishes two
kinds of temperaments: temperaments of _sentiment_, and temperaments of
_activity_; and in each of these two kinds, two degrees or two different
shades: exaltation or abatement. Hence, four different kinds of
temperaments: the sanguine and the melancholy (temperament of sentiment),
the choleric and phlegmatic (temperament of activity). Kant describes
these four temperaments or characters as follows:[150]
"The _sanguine_ disposition may be recognized by the following
indications: The sanguine man is free from care and of good hope; he
gives to things at one moment undue importance; at another, he can no
longer think of them. He is splendid in his promises, but does not keep
them, because he has not sufficiently reflected whether he will be able to
keep them or not. He is well enough disposed to help others, but is a poor
debtor and always asks for delays. He is good company, cheerful, lively,
takes things easily, and is everybody's friend. He is not usually a bad
person, but a confirmed sinner, hard to convert, and who, though he will
repent, will never allow this repentance to turn into grief: it is soon
again forgotten. He is easily tired by work; yet is he constantly
occupied, and that, for the reason that his work being but play, it proves
a change which suits him, as perseverance is not in his nature.
"The _melancholy_ man gives to everything concerning him a vast
importance; the least trifles give him anxiety, and his whole attention is
fixed upon the difficulties of things. Contrary to the sanguine, always
hopeful of success, but a superficial thinker, the melancholy is a
profound thinker. He is not hasty in his promises because he intends
keeping them, and he considers carefully whether he will be able to do so.
He distrusts and takes thought of things which the sanguine passes
carelessly by; he is no philanthropist, for the reason that he who denies
himself pleasure is rarely inclined to wish it to others.
"The _choleric_ man is easily excited and as easily appeased; he flares up
like a straw fire; but submission soon softens him down; he is then
irritable without hatred, and loves him who readily gives up to him, all
the more ardently. He is prompt in his actions, but his activity does not
last long; he is never idle, yet not industrious. His ruling passion is
honors; he likes to meddle with public affairs, to hear himself praised;
he is for show and ceremonial. He is fond of playing the part of a
protector and to appear generous; but not from a feeling of affection, but
of pride, for he loves himself much more than he loves others. He is
passionately given to money making; in society he is a ceremonious
courtier, stiff, and ill at ease, and ready to accept any flatterer to
serve him as a shield; in a word, the choleric temperament is the least
happy of all because it is the one that meets with most opposition.
"The _phlegmatic_ temper. Phlegm means absence of emotion. The phlegmatic
man to whom nature has given a certain quantum of reason, resembles the
man who acts on principle, although he owes this disposition to instinct
only. His happy temperament stands to him in lieu of wisdom, and often in
ordinary life he is called a philosopher. Sometimes even he is thought
cunning, because all abuse launched at him bounces back again, as a ball
from a sack of wool. He makes a pretty good husband, and, whilst
pretending to do every one's will, he governs both wife and servants as he
likes, for he knows how to bring their wishes in agreement with his own
indomitable but thoughtful will."
There are then, according to Kant, four essentially distinct characters:
the _sanguine_, playful, kindly, superficial; the _melancholy_, profound,
sad, egotistical; the _choleric_, ardent, passionate, ambitious, covetous;
the _phlegmatic_, cold, moderate, inflexible.
Kant denies that these four kinds of temperaments can combine with each
other; "there are but four in all," he says, "and each of them is complete
in itself." It seems to us, on the contrary, that experience shows that no
one of these characters exists separately in an absolute manner; there is
always to some degree a mixture, and different men are generally
distinguished by the leading feature in their character.
We must, however, make a distinction between _disposition_ and
_character_. To be of such or such a disposition is not always being a man
_of character_. The first of these two expressions signifies the various
aptitudes, inclinations, or habits which distinguish a man from others;
the second signifies that strength of will, that empire over himself which
enables a man to follow faithfully the line of conduct he has chosen, and
to bravely resist temptations. Character is not always virtue (for it may
be controlled by false and vicious principles), but it is its condition.
"That tendency of the will which acts according to fixed principles (and
does not move from this to that, like a fly) is something truly estimable,
and which deserves all the more admiration as it is extremely rare. The
question here is not of what nature makes of man, but of what man makes of
himself. Talent has a _venal value_ which allows making use of the man
therewith endowed; temperament has an affection-value which makes of him
an agreeable companion and pleasant talker; but character has a _value_
which places him above all these things."[151]
=174. Age.=--To this classification of characters according to
temperaments, may be added that founded on age. In fact, different ages
have, as it is well known, very different characteristics. Aristotle[152]
was the first to describe the differences in men's morals according to
their ages, and he has since been very often imitated.
"I. _The young._--The young are in their dispositions prone to desire, and
of a character to effect what they desire. And they desire with
earnestness, but speedily cease to desire; for their wishes are keen,
without being durable; just like the hunger and thirst of the sick. And
they are passionate and irritable, and of a temperament to follow the
impulse. And they cannot overcome their anger; for by reason of their
ambition, they do not endure a slight, but become indignant, and fancy
themselves injured; and they are ambitious indeed of honor, but more so of
victory; for youth is desirous of superiority, and victory is a sort of
superiority. And they are credulous, from their never having yet been much
imposed on. And they are sanguine in their expectations; for, like those
who are affected by wine, so the young are warmed by their nature; and at
the same time from their having never yet met with many repulses. Their
life too, for the most part, is one of hope; for hope is of that which is
yet to be, while memory is of that which is passed: but to the young, that
which is yet to be is long; but that which has passed is short. And they
are brave rather to an excess; for they are irritable and sanguine,
qualities, the one whereof cancels fear, and the other inspires courage;
for while no one who is affected by anger ever is afraid, the being in
hope of some good is a thing to give courage. And they are bashful; for
they do not as yet conceive the honorable to be anything distinct; and
they are high-minded; for they have not as yet been humbled by the course
of life, but are inexperienced in peremptory circumstances; again,
high-mindedness is the deeming one's self worthy of much; and this belongs
to persons of sanguine expectations. And they prefer succeeding in an
honorable sense rather than in points of expediency; for they live more in
conformity to moral feeling than to mere calculations; and calculation is
of the expedient, moral excellence, however, of that which is honorable.
Again, they are fond of friends and companions, by reason of their
delighting in social intercourse. And all their errors are on the side of
excess; for their friendships are in excess, their hatreds are in excess,
and they do everything else with the same degree of earnestness; they
think also that they know everything, and firmly asseverate that they do;
for this is the cause of their pushing everything to an excess. They are
likewise prone to pity; and they are also fond of mirth, on which account
they are also of a facetious turn."
"II. _The old._--Those who are advanced in life are of dispositions in
most points the very opposite of those of the young. Since by reason of
their having lived many years, and having been deceived in the greater
number of instances, and having come to the conclusion, too, that the
majority of human affairs are but worthless, they do not positively
asseverate anything, and err in everything more on the side of defect than
they ought. And they always '_suppose_' but never '_know_' certainly; and
questioning everything, they always subjoin a '_perhaps_,' or a
'_possibly_.' Moreover, they are apt to be suspicious from distrust, and
they are distrustful from their experience. And they are pusillanimous
from their having been humbled by the course of life; for they raise their
desires to nothing great or vast, but to things only which conduce to
support of life. And they are timid and apprehensive of everything; for
their disposition is the reverse of that of the young; for they have been
chilled by years; and yet they are attached to life, and particularly at
its closing day. [They are apt to despond.] And they live more in memory
than in hope; for the remnant of life is brief, and what has passed is
considerable. And their desires have, some, abandoned them, the others are
faint. They are neither facetious nor fond of mirth.
"III. _Mature age._--Those who are in their prime will, it is evident, be
in a mean in point of disposition between the young and the old,
subtracting the excesses of each: being neither rash in too great a
degree, nor too much given to fear, but keeping themselves right in
respect to both. And they are of a tempering coolness joined with spirit,
and are spirited not without temperate coolness. And thus, in a word,
whatever advantages youth and age have divided between them, the middle
age possesses both."
We must admit that Aristotle, who has so admirably depicted young and old
men, is weak on the subject of manhood. Boileau, translating Horace, makes
of it a far more clear and exact picture:
"Manhood, more ripe, puts on a wiser look, succeeds with those in power,
intrigues, and spares itself, thinks of holding its own against the blows
of fate, and far on in the now looks forth to the _to be_."
=175. Passions.=--Character, considered from a strictly philosophical
standpoint, is nothing more than the various combinations which the
passions, whether natural or acquired, which exist in man, form in each
individual, so that there is, in some respect, double reason for treating
these two subjects separately. But, in the first place, the divers
movements of the soul take, by usage, the name of passions, only when they
reach a certain degree of acuteness, and, as Bacon puts it, of disease. In
the second, passions are the elements which in divers quantities and
proportions compose what is termed character; it is from this double point
of view that we must speak of them separately.
If we consider the passions from a psychological[153] standpoint, we shall
find that they are nothing more than the natural inclinations of the human
heart.
We have to consider them here especially from a _pathological_ point of
view (if it may be permitted to say so), that is, as diseases of the human
heart.
The character of passions regarded as diseases, is the following:
1. They are _exclusive_. A man who has become enslaved by a passion, will
know nothing else, will listen to nothing else; he will sacrifice to that
passion not only his reason and his duty, but his other inclinations, and
even his other passions also. The passion of gambling or of drinking will
stifle all the rest, ambition, love, even the instinct of
self-preservation.
2. Passion, as a disease, is in a _violent_ condition; it is impetuous,
disordered, very like insanity.
3. Although there may be fits of passion, sudden and fleeting, which rise
and fall again in the same instant, we generally give the name of passions
only to movements which have become _habitual_. Passions then are habits;
applied to things base, they become _vices_.
4. There is a diagnosis[154] of passions as there is of diseases. They
betray themselves outwardly by external signs which are their symptoms
(acts, gestures, physiognomy), and inwardly, by first indications or what
was formerly called _prodromes_, which are their forerunners (disturbance,
agitation, etc.).
5. Passion, like disease, has its history: it has its regular course, its
crisis, and termination. The _Imitation of Jesus Christ_ gives in a few
words the history of a passion: "In the beginning a simple _thought_
presents itself to the mind; this is followed by a vivid _fancy_; then
comes _delectation_, a bad _impulse_, and finally the _consent_. Thus does
the evil one gradually enter the soul."[155]
6. It is rare that a passion arises and develops without obstacles and
resistance. Hence that state we have called _fluctuation_ (Vol. I., p.
167), and which has so often been compared to the ebb and flow of the sea.
These general features of the passions being stated, let us make a brief
sketch of the principal passions.
It may be said that our passions pass through three distinct states; they
are at first natural and unavoidable affections of the mind:
_inclinations_, _tendencies_; they become next violent and unruly
movements: these are the passions properly so-called; they become habits
and embodied in the character, and take the name of _qualities_ and
_defects_, _virtues_ and _vices_. But it is to be noted that whilst we can
always distinguish these three states theoretically, language is, for the
most part, inadequate to express them; for men have designated these moral
states only according to the necessities of practice, and not according to
the rules of theory.
The three states which we have just pointed out, can be very clearly
distinguished in the first of the affections of human nature, namely, the
_instinct of self-preservation_. This instinct is at first a natural,
legitimate, necessary affection of the human heart; but by the force of
circumstances, the influence of age, disease, temperament, it develops out
of proportion into a state of passion, and becomes what we call _fear_; or
else it turns into a habit and becomes the vice we call _cowardice_.
Physical self-preservation is inseparable from two _appetites_ called
hunger and thirst. These two appetites, too much indulged in, become
passions, which themselves may become vices. But language fails here to
express their various shades: there is only one word to express the
passion or vice related to eating and drinking: it is on the one hand
_gluttony_, and on the other _drunkenness_;[156] both these vices, and in
general all undue surrender to sensual pleasures, is called
_intemperance_.
The source of all our personal inclinations is the love for ourselves or
_self-love_, a legitimate instinct when kept within bounds; but when
carried to excess, when exclusive and predominant, it becomes the vice we
call _selfishness_.
Self-esteem, developed into a passion, becomes, when it turns upon great
things, _false pride_; when upon small, _vanity_.
_The love of liberty_ degenerates into a _spirit of revolt_; the
legitimate love of power, into _ambition_; _the instinct of property_
becomes _greed_, _cupidity_, _passion for gain_, and tends to run into the
_passion for gambling_ or the desire to gain by means of chance. The
desire for gain engenders the _fear of loss_, and this latter passion
developing into a vice and mania, becomes _avarice_.
Human inclinations are divided into _benevolent_ and _malevolent_
inclinations. The first may develop into a passion, but not into a vice;
the second alone become vices.
There is not a single benevolent inclination which, carried too far and
beyond reason, may not become a more or less blameworthy passion. But, in
the first place, we have no terms in our language to express the
exaggerations of these kinds of passions,[157] and in the second, though
they be exaggerations, we shall never call the tenderer affections of the
human heart, however foolish they may be, vices, if they are sincere.
Yet, may some of these affections become vices when they unite with
personal passion. For example, good nature or the desire to please may
lead to _obsequious servility_, the desire to praise, to _flattery_, and
esteem, to _hypocrisy_. But these vices partake more of the nature of
self-love than of benevolent inclinations.
_Malevolent passions._--Malevolent inclinations give rise to the most
terrible passions. But are there, indeed, in man naturally malevolent
inclinations? Reid, the philosopher, disputes it and justly thinks, as we
do, that malevolent passions are but the abuse of certain personal
inclinations intended to serve as auxiliaries in the development of our
activity. There are two principal malevolent passions, _emulation_ and
_anger_.
Emulation is but a special desire for success and superiority. This
desire, induced by the thought that other men around us have attained to
such or such degree of public esteem or power, is not in itself a
malevolent inclination. We may wish to equal and surpass others without,
at the same time, wishing them any harm. We can experience pleasure in
excelling them, without exactly rejoicing in their defeat; we can bear
being excelled by them without begrudging them their success.
Emulation then is a personal but not a malevolent sentiment; it becomes
malevolent and vicious when our feelings toward others become inverted:
when, for example, we regret, not the check we have been made to suffer,
but the advantage our rivals have gained over us, and when we are unable
to bear the idea of the good fortune of others; or again when, conversely,
we experience more pleasure at their defeat than joy at our own victory.
This sentiment, thus perverted, becomes what is called _envy_: and envy is
generally the pain we feel at the good fortune of others; it is then a
sentiment implying the wish to see others unhappy; and is therefore an
actual vice, as low as it is odious.
_Envy_ which has some analogy with _jealousy_ must be distinguished from
the latter. Jealousy is a kind of envy which bears especially upon
affections it is not allowed to share; envy, upon material goods, or goods
in the abstract (fortune, honors, power). The envious man wants goods he
does not possess; the jealous man refuses to share those which he has.
Jealousy is then a sort of selfishness, not as base as envy, since higher
goods are in question, but which for its consequences is nevertheless one
of the most terrible of passions.
Anger is a natural passion, which seems to have been bestowed on us to
furnish us an arm against peril; it is an effort the soul makes to resist
an evil it stands in danger of. But this inclination is one of those which
cause us the quickest to lose our self-possession, and throws us into a
sort of momentary insanity. Yet, although it is a passion of which the
consequences may be fatal, it is not necessarily accompanied by hatred (as
may be seen by the soldier who will fight furiously and who, immediately
after the battle or during a truce, will shake hands with his enemy).
Anger then is an effort of nature in the act of self-defense; it is a
fever, and as such it is a fatal and culpable passion, but it is not a
vice.
Anger becomes _hatred_ when, thinking of the harm we have done or could do
to our enemy, we rejoice over the thought of this harm; it is called
_resentment_ or _rancor_ when it is the spiteful recollection of an injury
received; finally, it becomes the _passion of vengeance_ (the most
criminal of all) when it is the desire and hope to return evil for evil.
Pleasure at the misfortune of others, when it reaches a certain
refinement, even though free from hatred, becomes _cruelty_.
Hatred changes into _contempt_ when there is joined to it the idea of the
baseness and inferiority of the person who is hated. Contempt is a
legitimate sentiment when it has for its object base and culpable actions;
it is a bad and blameworthy passion when it bears upon a pretended
inferiority, either of birth, or fortune, or talent, and then belongs to
false pride. False pride, however, is not always accompanied by contempt.
We see men full of self-satisfaction, who yet know how to be polite and
courteous toward those they regard their inferiors; others, on the
contrary, who look down upon their inferiors and treat them like brutes.
Contempt, with such, is added to false pride. A gentler form of contempt
is _disdain_, a sort of delicate and covered contempt. Contempt when it
applies itself to set off, not the vices, but the peculiarities of men,
trying to make them appear ridiculous, becomes _raillery_ or _irony_.
Such are the principal affections of the soul viewed as diseases, that is
to say, inasmuch as they have need of remedies.
Let us now, to continue Bacon's comparison, pass to their _treatment_.
=176. Culture of the soul.=--After having studied characters and passions,
we have to ask ourselves by what means passions may be governed and
characters modified or corrected.
=177. Bossuet's rule.=--As to the first point, namely, the government of
the passions, Bossuet gives us in his _Connaissance de Dieu et de
soi-meme_,[158] excellent practical advice: it is obviously based on his
study of consciences.
He justly observes that we cannot directly control our passions: "We
cannot," he says, "start or appease our anger as we can move an aim or
keep it still." But, on the other hand, the power we exercise over our
external members gives us also a very great one over our passions. It is,
of course, but an indirect power, but it is no less efficacious: "Thus can
I put away from me a disagreeable and irritating object, and when my anger
is excited, I can refuse it the arm it needs to satisfy itself."
To do this it is necessary to will it; but there is nothing so difficult
as to will when the soul is possessed by a passion. The question is then
to know how one may escape a ruling passion. To succeed in it one should
not attack it in front, but as much as possible turn the mind upon other
objects: it is with passion "as with a river which is more easily turned
off from its course than stopped short." A passion is often conquered by
means of another passion, "as in a State," says Bacon, "where a prince
restrains one faction by means of another." Bossuet says even that it may
be well, in order to avoid criminal passions, to abandon one's self to
innocent ones.[159] One should also be careful in the choice of the
persons he associates with: "for nothing more arouses the passions than
the talk and actions of passionate men; whilst a quiet mind, provided its
repose be not feelingless and insipid, seems, on the contrary, to
communicate to us its own peace. We need something lively that may accord
with our own feelings.
In a word, to conclude with Bossuet, "we should try to calm excited minds
by diverting them from the main object of their excitement; approach them
obliquely rather than directly in front; that is to say, that when a
passion is already excited, there is no time then to attack it by
reasoning, for one drives it all the stronger in. Where wise reflections
are of greatest effect is in the forestalling of passions. One should
therefore fill his mind with sensible thoughts, and accustom it early to
proper inclinations, so that there be no room for the objects of
passions."
=178. Improvement of character.=--Bossuet has just informed us how we are
to conduct ourselves in regard to the passions, as diseases of the soul.
Let us now see how character, namely, temperament, may be modified.
The character is a collection of habits, a great part of which belong,
unquestionably, to our natural inclinations, but which, nevertheless, are
also largely formed under the influence of education, circumstances,
indulgence of passions, etc. It is thus character, "this second nature,"
as it has often been called, gradually develops.
Character being, as we have seen above, a habit, and virtue, on the other
hand, being also a habit, the problem which presents itself to him who
wishes to improve his character and exchange his vices for virtues, is to
know how one habit may be substituted for another, and how even a painful
habit may be substituted for an agreeable habit, sometimes for a habit
which has lost its charm, but not yet its empire over one.
This problem may be found analyzed and most pathetically described in the
_Confessions_ of St. Augustine:
"I was," he tells us, "like those who wish to get awake, but who,
overcome by sleep, fall back into slumber. There is certainly no one
who would wish to sleep always, and who would not rather, if he is
healthy of mind, prefer the waking to the sleeping state; and yet
there is nothing more difficult than to shake off the languor which
weighs our limbs down; and often, though the hour for waking has come,
we are against our will made captives by the sweetness of sleep.... I
was held back by the frivolous pleasures and foolish vanities which I
had found in the company of my former friends: they hung on the
vestures of my flesh, whispering, 'Art thou going to abandon us?'...
If, on the one hand, virtue attracted and persuaded me, pleasure on
the other captivated and enslaved me.... I had no other answer for the
former, than: 'Presently, presently, wait a little.' But this
'presently' had no end and this 'wait a little' was indefinitely
prolonged, Wretch that I am! who will deliver me from the body of this
death?"[160]
At so painful a juncture, the Christian religion offers its children an
all-powerful and efficacious remedy: this is what it calls _grace_. But of
this means moral philosophy cannot dispose; all it can do is to find in
the study of human nature the exclusively natural means God has endowed it
with, to elevate man to virtue. Now, these means, limited though they be,
should not be considered inefficient, since for many centuries they
sufficed the greatest men and sages of antiquity.[161]
=179. Rules of Malebranche and Aristotle.=--We may take for a starting
point this maxim of Malebranche, which he borrowed from Aristotle: _Acts
produce habits, and habits produce acts_.[162] A habit, in fact, is
induced by a certain number of often repeated actions; and once generated,
it produces in its turn acts, so to say, spontaneous and without any
effort of the will. Thence spring vices and virtues; and the problem is to
know how the first may be corrected, and the second retained: for the
question is not only to pass from evil to good, but we should also take
care not to slide from good into evil.
If the first maxim of Malebranche were absolute, it would follow that the
soul could not change its habits, nor the bad man improve, nor the good
become corrupt; it would follow that hope would be interdicted to the one,
and that the other would have nothing more to fear; consequences which
experience shows to be entirely false. Some fanatical sects may have
believed that virtue or holiness once attained could never again be
lost,[163] and this belief served as a shield to the most shameful
disorders. Facts, on the contrary, teach us that there is no virtue so
infallible as to be secure against a fall, and no vice ever so deeply
rooted that may not be lessened or destroyed. In fact, and this is
Malebranche's second maxim: _One can always act against a ruling habit._
If one can act contrary to a positive habit, such acts often repeated may,
according to the first maxim, produce, by the effort of the will, a new
habit which will take the place of the preceding one. One can thus either
corrupt or correct one's self. Only, as the virtuous habits are the more
painful to acquire, and the vicious habits the more agreeable, it will
always be more easy to pass from good to evil than from evil to good.
How shall we proceed to substitute a good habit for a bad one? Aristotle
says that when we have a defect to get rid of, we should throw ourselves
into the opposite extreme, so that after having removed ourselves with all
our might from the dreaded fault we may in some respects, and through
natural elasticity, return to the just medium indicated by reason, just as
a bent wand straightens itself again when let go. This maxim may do in
certain cases and with certain characters, but it would have to be applied
cautiously. One may, under the influence of enthusiasm, throw himself into
a violent extreme, and remain there for some time; but at the moment of
reaction it is not impossible that, instead of stopping at the desired
medium, he may fall back into the first extreme again.
=180. Rules of Bacon and Leibnitz.=--Bacon,[164] who did not find
Aristotle's maxim sufficient, tries to complete it by a few additional
ones:
1. One should beware of beginning with too difficult tasks, and should
proportion them to his strength--in a word, _proceed by degrees_. For
example, he who wishes to correct himself of his laziness, should not at
once impose too great a work upon himself, but he should every day work a
little longer than the day before, until the habit is formed.
In order to render these exercises less painful, it is permitted to employ
some auxiliary means, like some one learning to swim will use bladders or
willow supports. After a little while the difficulties will be purposely
increased, like dancers who, to acquire agility, practice at first with
very heavy shoes.
"There is to be observed," adds Bacon, "that there are certain vices (and
drunkenness is one of them) where it is dangerous to proceed by degrees
only, and where it is better to cut short at once and in an absolute
manner.
2. The second maxim, where the question is of acquiring a new virtue, is
to choose for it two different opportunities: the first when one feels
best disposed toward the kind of actions he may have in view; the second,
when as ill disposed as possible, so as to take advantage of the first
opportunity to make considerable headway, and of the second, to exercise
the energy of the will. This second rule is an excellent one, and truly
efficacious.
3. A third rule is, when one has conquered, or thinks he has conquered,
his temperament, not to trust it too much. It were well to remember here
the old maxim: "_Drive away temperament_," etc., and remember AEsop's cat,
which, metamorphosed into a woman, behaved very well at table until it
espied a mouse.
Leibnitz also gives us some good advice as to practical prudence, to teach
us to triumph over ourselves, and expounds in his own way the same ideas
as Bossuet and Bacon:
"When a man is in a good state of mind he should lay down for himself laws
and rules for the future, and strictly adhere to them; he should,
according to the nature of the thing, either suddenly or gradually turn
his back upon all occasions liable to degrade him. A journey undertaken on
purpose by a lover will cure him of his love; a sudden retreat will
relieve us of bad company. Francis Borgia, general of the Jesuits, who was
finally canonized, being accustomed to drink freely whilst yet a man of
the world, when he began to withdraw from it gradually reduced his
allowance to the smallest amount by dropping every day a piece of wax into
the bowl he was in the habit of emptying. _To dangerous likings_ one must
oppose more innocent likings, such as agriculture, gardening, etc.; one
must shun idleness; make collections of natural history or art objects;
engage in scientific experiments and investigations; one must make himself
some indispensable occupation, or, in default of such, engage in useful or
agreeable conversation or reading. In a word, one should take advantage of
all good impulses toward forming strong resolutions, as if they were the
voice of God calling us.[165]
=181. Franklin's Almanac.=--To these maxims concerning the formation and
perfecting of character, may fittingly be added the moral method which
Benjamin Franklin adopted for his own improvement in virtue. He had made a
list of the qualities which he wished to acquire and develop within
himself, and had reduced them to thirteen principal ones. This
classification, which has no scientific value, appeared to him entirely
sufficient for the end he had in view. These thirteen virtues are the
following: temperance, silence, order, resolution, frugality, industry,
sincerity, justice, moderation, cleanliness, tranquillity, chastity,
humility.
This catalogue, once drawn up, Franklin, reflecting that it would be
difficult to fight at the same time thirteen defects and keep his mind on
thirteen virtues, had an idea similar to that of Horatius in his combat
with the Curiatii: he resolved to fight his enemies one by one; he applied
to morality the well-known principle of politicians: "_Divide if thou wilt
rule_."
"I made a little book," he says, "in which I allotted a page for each of
the virtues. I ruled each page with red ink, so as to have seven columns,
one for each day of the week, marking each column with a letter for the
day. I crossed these columns with thirteen red lines, marking the
beginning of each line with the first letter of one of the virtues; on
which line, and in its proper column, I might mark, by a little black
spot, every fault I found upon examination to have been committed
respecting that virtue upon that day.
"I determined to give a week's strict attention to each of the virtues
successively. Thus, in the first week, my great guard was to avoid even
the least offense against _temperance_; leaving the other virtues to their
ordinary chance, only marking every evening the faults of the day. Thus,
if in the first week I could keep my first line, marked T, clear of spots,
I supposed the habit of that virtue so much strengthened, and its opposite
weakened, that I might venture extending my attention to include the next,
and for the following week keep both lines clear of spots. Proceeding thus
to the last, I could get through a course complete in thirteen weeks, and
four courses in a year. And, like him, who, having a garden to weed, does
not attempt to eradicate all the bad herbs at once, which would exceed his
reach and his strength, but works on one of the beds at a time, and,
having accomplished the first, proceeds to a second; so I should have, I
hoped, the encouraging pleasure of seeing on my pages the progress made in
virtue, by clearing successively my lines of their spots; till, in the
end, by a number of courses, I should be happy in viewing a clean book,
after a thirteen weeks' daily examination."
=182. Maxim of Epictetus.=--The wise Epictetus gives us the same advice as
Franklin: "If you would not be of an angry temper," he says, "then do not
feed the habit. Be quiet at first, then count the days where you have not
been angry. You will say: 'I used to be angry every day; now every other
day; then every third or fourth day, and if you miss it so long as thirty
days, offer a sacrifice to God."[166] He said, moreover: "If you will
practice self-control, take, when it is warm and you are thirsty, a
mouthful of fresh water, and spit it out again, and tell no one."
=183. Individual character--Cicero's maxims.=--The philosophers whom we
have just cited give us rules to combat and correct our temperament when
it is vicious. Cicero, on the contrary, gives us others to maintain our
individual character and remain true to it; and these rules are no less
useful than the others. He justly observes that every man has his own
inclinations which constitute his individual and original character.
"Some," he says, "are more agile in the foot-race; others stronger at
wrestling; these are more noble, those more graceful; Scaurus and Drusus
were singularly grave; Laelius, very merry; Socrates was playful and
amusing in conversation. Some are simple-minded and frank, others, like
Hannibal and Fabius, more crafty. In short, there is an infinite variety
of manners and differences of character without their being for that
blamable."[167]
Now, this is a very sensible principle of Cicero, that we ought not to go
against the inclinations of our nature when they are not vicious:
"_In constraining our talents
We do nothing gracefully_,"
said the fabulist. "Let each of us then know his own disposition, and be
to himself a severe judge concerning his own defects and qualities. Let us
do as the players who do not always choose the finest parts, but those
best suited to their talent. AEsopus[168] did not often play the part of
Ajax." Cicero in this precept, "that every one should remain true to his
individual character," goes so far as to justify Cato's suicide, for the
reason that it accorded with his character. "Others," he says, "might be
guilty in committing suicide; but in the case of Cato, he was right; it
was a duty; Cato ought to have died."[169] This is carrying the rights and
duties of the individual character somewhat far; but it is certain that,
aside from the great general duties of humanity, which are the same for
all men, each individual man has a role to play on earth, and this role
is in part determined by our natural dispositions; now, we should yield to
these dispositions, when they are not vicious, and should develop them.
=184. Self-examination.=--Finally, what is especially important, considered
from a practical standpoint and in the light of moral discipline, is, that
each one should render himself an exact account of his own disposition,
his defects, oddities, vices, so that he be able to correct them. Such was
the practical sense of that celebrated maxim formerly inscribed over the
temple at Delphi: "Know thyself." This is Socrates' own interpretation of
it in his conversations with his disciples: "Tell me, Euthydemus, have you
ever gone to Delphi?"--"Yes, twice."--"And did you observe what is written
somewhere on the temple-wall: Know Thyself?"--"I did."--"Think you that to
know one's self it is enough to know one's own name? Is there nothing more
needed? And as those who buy horses do not think they know the animal they
wish to buy till they have examined it and discovered whether it is
obedient or restive, vigorous or weak, swift or slow, etc., must we not
likewise know ourselves to judge what we are really
worth?"--"Certainly."--"It is then obvious that this knowledge of himself
is to man a source of much good, whilst being in error about himself
exposes him to a thousand evils. Those who know themselves well, know what
is useful to them, discern what they can or cannot do; now, in doing what
they are capable of doing, they procure the necessaries of life and are
happy. Those who, on the contrary, do not know themselves, fail in all
their enterprises, and fall into contempt and dishonor."[170]
=185. Examination of the conscience.=--To know one's self well, it is
necessary to examine one's self. Hence a practice often recommended by
moralists, and particularly Christian moralists, known also by the
ancients, namely, the _examination of the conscience_.
There is a fine picture of it in Seneca's writings: "We should," says the
philosopher, "call, every day, our conscience to account. Thus did
Sextius; when his daily work was done, he questioned his soul: Of what
defect hast thou cured thyself to-day? What passion hast thou combated? In
what hast thou become better? What more beautiful than this habit of going
thus over the whole day!... I do the same, and being my own judge, I call
myself before my own tribunal. When the light has been carried away from
my room, I begin an inquest of the whole day; I examine all my actions and
words. I conceal nothing, allow myself nothing. And why should I hesitate
to look at any of my faults when I can say to myself: Take care not to do
so again: for to-day I forgive thee?"[171]
To designate all the practices which experience of life has suggested to
the moralists, to induce men to better, correct, perfect themselves in
right doing, would be an endless task. No better method in this respect
than to read the Christian moralists: Bossuet, Fenelon, Nicole,
Bourdaloue. The advice they give concerning the proper use of time,
opportunities, temptations, false shame, loose conversations,
perseverance, can be applied to morals as well as to religion. Reading,
meditation, proper company, good advice, selection of some great model to
follow, etc., are the principal means we should employ to perfect
ourselves in the right: "If we extirpated and uprooted, every year, a
single vice only, we should soon become perfect men."[172]
=186. Kant's Catechism.=--An excellent practice in moral education is what
Kant calls a moral catechism, in which the master, under the form of
questions and answers, sums up the principles of morality. The pupil
learns thereby to account for ideas of which he is but vaguely conscious,
and which he often confounds with principles of another order, with the
instinct of happiness, for example, or the consideration of
self-interest.
The following are some extracts from Kant's _Moral Catechism_.[173]
_Teacher._--What is thy greatest and even thy only wish on earth?
The pupil remains silent.[174]
_Teacher._--Is it not always to succeed in everything according to thy
wishes and will? How do we call such a state?
The pupil remains silent.
_Teacher._--We call it _happiness_ (namely, constant prosperity, a life
all satisfaction, and to be absolutely content with one's condition). Now,
if thou hadst in thy hands all possible earthly happiness, wouldst thou
keep it wholly to thyself, or share it with thy fellow-beings?
_Pupil._--I should share it with them; I should make others happy and
contented also.
_Teacher._--This already shows that thou hast a good _heart_. Let us see
now if thou hast also a good _judgment_. Wouldst thou give to the idler
soft cushions; to the drunkard wine in abundance, and all else that will
produce drunkenness; to the rogue agreeable manners and a fine presence,
that he might the more easily deceive; to the violent man, audacity and a
strong fist?
_Pupil._--Certainly not.
_Teacher._--Thou seest then that if thou heldst all happiness in thy
hands, thou wouldst not, without reflection, distribute it to each as he
desires; but thou wouldst ask thyself how far he is _worthy_ of it. Would
it not also occur to thee to ask thyself whether thou art thyself worthy
of happiness?
_Pupil._--Undoubtedly.
_Teacher._--Well, then, that which in thee inclines to happiness, is
called _inclination_; that which judges that the first condition to enjoy
happiness is to be worthy of it, is the _reason_; and the faculty thou
hast to overcome thy inclination by thy reason, is _liberty_. For example,
if thou couldst without injuring any one procure to thyself or to one of
thy friends a great advantage by means of an adroit falsehood, what says
thy reason?
_Pupil._--That I must not lie, whatever great advantage may result from it
to me or to my friend. Falsehood is _degrading_, and renders man
_unworthy_ of being happy. There is in this case absolute necessity
imposed on me by a command or prohibition of my reason, and which should
silence all my inclinations.
_Teacher._--What do we call this necessity of acting conformably to the
law of reason?
_Pupil._--We call it _duty_.
_Teacher._--Thus is the observance of our duty the general condition on
which we can alone be worthy of happiness. _To be worthy of happiness and
to do one's duty is one and the same thing._
APPENDIX[175] TO CHAPTER VIII.
THE UNION OF CLASSES.
A subject which has attracted much attention, and which is often referred
to in conversation, in books, in political assemblies, is the various
_classes_ of society; there are upper and lower classes, and between these
two, a middle class. We speak of laboring classes, poor classes, rich
classes. These are expressions which it were desirable should disappear.
They relate to ancient customs, ancient facts, and in the present state of
society correspond no longer to situations now all clearly defined. They
are vestiges which last long after the facts to which they corresponded
have disappeared, and which retained are often followed by grave
consequences. They give rise to misunderstanding, false ideas, sentiments
more or less blameworthy. I should like to show that in the present state
of society, there are no longer any classes, that there are only men,
individuals. The word _classes_, in a strict sense, can be applied only to
a state of society where social and natural advantages are conferred by
the law to certain men at the expense of others; where some can procure
these advantages whilst others never can; where the public burden weighs
on a certain class, on a certain number of men, whilst the others are
entirely free from it, and this, I repeat, by the sanction of law, and by
social organization.
This state of things has existed, with more or less differences and
notably great changes, in all past centuries. Its lowest degree is, for
example, that where it is impossible for certain men to procure to
themselves the goods desired by all, where they can never own any kind of
property, however small, where they are themselves considered property;
where, instead of being allowed to sell and buy, they are themselves sold
and bought, themselves reduced to an object of commerce. This state is
that called _slavery_.
Slavery, in its strict sense, is the state where man is the property of
other men, is a thing; where he is bought and sold, and where his work
does not belong to him, but to his master.
This state of things existed through all antiquity. Society, with the
ancients, was divided into two great _classes_ (the term is here perfectly
in its place), classes very unequal in numbers, where the more numerous
were the property of the least numerous. The citizens, as they were
called, or freemen, who constituted a part of the State, the Republic, had
no need of working to make a living, because they owned living instruments
of work--men.
This state of things, you well know, did not only exist in antiquity; it
was perpetuated till our days, and it is not very long since it still
existed in some of the greatest societies of the world. We may consider it
at present as wholly done away with.
A notch higher, we find the state called _serfdom_, where man is not
wholly interdicted to own property, and where he is allowed a family,
which fact constitutes the superiority of serfdom over slavery. It is
obvious that in a state of slavery, there can be no family: a man, the
property of another, liable to be bought and sold, can have no family.
Serfdom, which in the Middle Ages existed in all European societies, and
but recently was abolished in Russia, allowed the individual a family, and
in a certain measure even the right of property; but he was a part of the
land on which he was born, and, like that land, belonged to a master, a
_lord_.
The serf then was, as it is commonly called, attached to the _glebe_, to
the land, unable to leave it, unable to buy or sell except under extremely
restricted conditions, and thus a part of the soil on which he was born,
he belonged with that soil to his lord. This state of things was gradually
bettered. The serfs, little by little, acquired by their work a small
capital; they succeeded in buying their liberty from their lords. It is
this which gave rise to that ancient society, called _ancien regime_,
which preceded the French Revolution. But all men were not serfs; things
had not reached that point; serfdom had already been abolished by means of
certain contracts, certain sums of money which the workingmen paid as a
sign of their former thraldom. Yet was there still in force much that was
iniquitous, forming what is called an aristocratic society, where, for
example, some men had the exclusive right of holding and transmitting to
their children territorial property, which they were not allowed to put in
trade, the exclusive right of holding public functions, of having grades
in the army, the right of hunting and fishing, etc. And conversely, on the
other hand, whilst the minority enjoyed so exclusively all these
privileges, the costs of society rested on the greater number, and these
costs the serfs were obliged to pay. Hence a society in which there were
classes, since the law conferred social advantages on some in preference
to others, and heavy burdens resting on some without resting on others.
As it is not my purpose to write here the history of modern society, I
need not enter into all the details of these facts, which are, besides,
quite well known.
You all know that these great social injustices and iniquitous practices
disappeared at the time of the Revolution, and that the principal object
of the French Revolution of 1789 was precisely to suppress all these
privileges conceded to some, and these burdens unequally imposed on
others. From that moment, there was equality in law, that is to say, that
all men belonging to our present society are allowed to accumulate
property, exercise public functions, rise to higher grades--in a word, are
considered fit to obtain all the advantages which society has to offer,
and which nature allows them to desire and acquire.
Since 1789, society, as a matter of course, has continued to move in the
same grooves, and, thanks to work and competition, all that which still
existed by way of social inequalities has gradually disappeared; if, by
chance, there still remain in our laws such vestiges of former inequality,
they will in time, and with the help of all enlightened men, disappear;
for it is now a truth fully recognized that the good of humanity demands
that at least all legal inequalities should be done away with, and that
all men, without distinction, should be allowed to acquire any advantages
which their special faculties, and the conditions wherein they are placed,
enable them to acquire. I say, then, that this being the case, there is no
reason why, in the present state of society, men should any longer be
designated by classes. They are men, and men alone, and as such they
should be allowed to enjoy common advantages, to live by their
work--namely, to constitute themselves into families, to cultivate their
intelligence, to worship God according to their conscience--in a word, to
enjoy all the rights we call the rights of a man and citizen.
But when in a society all legal inequalities have been suppressed, does it
necessarily follow that an absolute equality will be the final result? No.
Society can only do away with inequalities of its own making; inequalities
which, from causes we have not time here to set forth, were added to the
already existing natural inequalities. For there are natural inequalities;
inequalities which may be called individual inequalities, there being no
two persons in the world exactly the same. From this fact alone--men being
in a thousand ways different from each other--it necessarily follows that
each man's condition is different from that of his fellow-men. Hence an
infinite multitude of inequalities which have always existed and always
will exist, because they result from the nature of things; and such
inequalities must be clearly distinguished from those dependent on the
law.
What now are the principal causes of these inequalities, which I call
individual inequalities? They are of two kinds: the inherent faculties of
the individual, and the circumstances wherein he is placed.
The faculties of the individual are the work of nature: they spring from
his moral and physical organization; and, as I have said above, there
being no two men exactly alike, either physically or morally, it naturally
follows that there are differences, and these differences bring with them
inequalities. Let us, for instance, take the most important of all these
differences, namely, physical strength, health. Man is a living being, an
organized being, and his organization is subject to the most delicate,
most numerous, most complicated conditions. Hence many differences. Some
are born strong, robust, able to brave all kinds of temperatures, all
sorts of trials--trials of work, of outside events, sometimes the trials
of their own excesses even.
Others, on the contrary, are born with a feeble constitution; they are
weak, delicate, they cannot bear trials the same as the others.
This is a first difference, and this difference, you well know, may be
subdivided into a multitude of others; for there are no two individuals
equally healthy, equally strong. What will be the natural result? This,
for example: that where strength is required (and every one needs more or
less physical strength to accomplish certain heavy works), the strongest
will have the advantage over the others; and, after a certain time, of two
men who started at the same time, under the same conditions, with equal
moral advantages, one, owing to his physical strength, shall have
accomplished a great deal, and the other less; one shall have earned much,
the other little: their career is unequal.
But it is not always the greater physical strength and health which
determine in man his capacity for work; and it is a notable fact, and a
matter upon which it is well to insist, namely, that all differences are
compensated for, balance themselves, so to say; that such a one, for
example, who, in some respect and from a certain point of view, may be
inferior to another, may from another standpoint be superior to him;
which, again, is as much as to say that there are no classes in society;
for if the one who in one respect is inferior to his fellow-man, is in
another superior to him, they are equals.
In the class called the laboring class, for example, we see every day that
it is not always the strongest and the healthiest that produce the largest
amount of work; and love of work is a notable factor in this scale of
physical strength, making the balance pretty even. For some delicate men
are industrious, whilst others who are stronger are not; some have a
natural liking for their work, whilst others again have not. Hence a
difference in the character of their work, and, consequently, in the
remuneration of it.
A third difference is that of the _intelligence_. All men have received
from nature a special gift which distinguishes them from the animals, and
which we call intelligence; but they have not received it all to the same
degree. Not all men have the same intellectual faculties, and every one
knows how great an element of success intelligence is in all functions, in
all departments of human activity, even in those requiring above all
physical strength and the use of the hands. It is well known that even the
latter find in intelligence their best auxiliary; that it procures them an
invaluable advantage, even over those whose physical strength, facility,
ardor, tenacity in work, would seem to forestall all rivalry.
There is finally a fourth element which is also inherent in the individual
man, and which distinguishes one man from the other, and this is
_morality_. We all know that morality, independently of its own merit, its
incomparable, intrinsic merit, a merit which cannot be estimated by its
fruits, is of itself alone one of the greatest factors in bringing about
important results in practical life. We all know that even setting aside
the intrinsic worth of morality--honesty, virtue--the work resulting from
our physical efforts is greatly enhanced by this precious element. We all
know that economy, sobriety, a spirit of peace and concord, devotion to
the family--in short, all moral elements--give to him who exercises them a
vast superiority over his fellows who do not, despite his intellectual and
physical disadvantages.
When I say that morality is an element of inequality, I wish to be
understood rightly. There are, it is true, moral inequalities among men;
and from these moral inequalities spring others; but morality is not in
itself a principle of inequality, for what precisely constitutes morality,
is that all men can equally attain to it; that it wholly depends on the
individual man to attain to it or not. So that if, on this point, a man
finds himself inferior to another, he can blame no one for it but himself.
Here, then, is a point where the law is of no avail; where it is evident
that man is the master of his actions, and gains for himself what morality
he wishes; if, then, there results from this a certain inequality among
men, this inequality is to be attributed to the free-will of the
individual man, who did not profit by the admirable gift Providence has
endowed him with--namely, moral liberty--and by means of which he can
choose between the right and the wrong.
You see, then, that there are many causes differentiating men from each
other, and in such a manner that it is impossible to define them strictly.
We cannot say: there are on the one hand the strong, and on the other the
weak; on the one the intelligent, on the other the feeble-minded, because
all these elements so combine as to compensate for one another. Once
more, he who is least favored in one direction, may be better favored in
another; he who has an inferior share of intelligence and physical
strength, may be the first in will-power. We can thus always fill out
natural inequalities, and correct and overcome them by an effort of the
will.
Still, however that may be, and despite all effort of individual
will-power and moral energy, there unquestionably result from these
individual differences a multitude of different conditions among men.
Besides, and independently of these purely inward causes due to both the
physical and moral constitution of the individual man, there are yet
outward causes of inequality. These are the circumstances, the conditions
wherein we are born and live.
We are all more or less dependent on the physical and social conditions
which surround us. It is quite certain that birth, for example, is a
circumstance wholly independent of the will of man. Some are born in the
most favorable, some in the least favorable social conditions--some rich,
some poor; facts which depend neither on their constitution nor on their
will. There are, moreover, still other outward circumstances. One may be
born in a rich, a civilized, an enlightened, a progressive country, or in
a poor, barbarous, benighted country. One may live in a place where there
is every means of education, of making a living, of improving one's self,
where there may be a thousand favorable openings for a man, and again, on
the contrary, in a place far away from all civilization, without
opportunities for work, without enlightenment, without means of
communication with other men. All such circumstances are independent of
the will of the individual man, and can only be corrected in time and
through the progress of civilization, which gradually equalizes all
countries.
There are yet, besides all this, what is generally called the happy and
unhappy chances of life. Everybody knows that human events do not always
run as one would wish them, that things turn out more or less fortunately,
as circumstances, and not men, order them. One may, for instance, get
sick, when he has most need of health; a wife loses her husband, the
support of her family, when she has most need of him; one may engage in an
enterprise apparently founded on the best conditions of success: this
enterprise fails on account of unexpected events, and without its being
any one's fault. In commerce, for instance, we see every day the most
unfortunate consequences of outward circumstances, against which one is
utterly helpless, because, in commerce especially, there is a large share
to be left to chance, to the unknown, which no one can calculate
beforehand. Now, all such unexpected events, as they are realized,
overthrow all our plans, and are cause that some attain to wealth, and
others fall into poverty. Farmers particularly know but too well how
dependent they are on outward circumstances. Cold, heat, rain, are for
them elements of fortune or misery, and they are elements over which they
have no control whatsoever.
Now these elements, working blindly, as it would seem, are the chief cause
of the great diversity of human conditions. Some, it is said, are lucky;
others are not; some meet with favorable circumstances, others with
contrary and fatal circumstances. Everything seems to co-operate toward
crushing some, whilst everything again favors the success of others. These
causes are innumerable, and could be multiplied _ad infinitum_; they
explain the infinite variety of human conditions, how there are none
exactly similar, and how there are consequently no two men exactly alike.
They are equals as men, in the sense that they have the same rights to
justice, to truth; the same rights of conscience; but they are not equals
as to their circumstances, which circumstances, as we have seen, vary in
every respect. But, it may be asked, why all these inequalities? Why are
some happy and others unhappy? Why some rich, fortunate, powerful,
intelligent, virtuous even? (for it would almost seem that up to a certain
point, virtue also depends on social position, since those who are born in
a more elevated condition have greater facilities to exercise virtue); why
are others, on the contrary, unfortunate, obliged to work so hard to
arrive at such poor results; to be scarcely able to make a living for
themselves or their family? Certainly these are indeed most grave and
serious questions. But, what I contend for is, that it is not to society
we should put these questions, but to Providence, who has made life what
it is. Society can do but one thing, namely, not to add to natural
inequalities, social ones. It can also, to a certain degree, lessen the
natural inequalities; but it is not wholly responsible for man's moral and
physical constitution; it is not wholly responsible for the course of
events in the world; so that if we would know why things are thus
fashioned, we must rise higher; we must not make our fellow-men or society
in general answerable for them. I only add that, as legal inequalities
disappear, so will the natural inequalities also vanish, and this is the
essential point. Natural inequalities cannot be wholly corrected, for the
reasons above stated; but as society, in doing away with legal
inequalities, strives to lessen the share of responsibility it has
heretofore had in these inequalities, the natural inequalities must
necessarily grow less, and for the simple reason that avenues being opened
to man to enjoy the fruit of his labor, and acquire the rights society
holds now out to him, he will be able to fill out these natural
inequalities. The inequality of intelligence was largely due to want of
culture. As soon as men shall be educated, enlightened, shall themselves
endeavor to learn, the differences in human intelligence will gradually
disappear; for it has been observed that as civilization progresses, the
number of great men diminishes, and what was formerly called genius, is
lost in the larger development of society. This may be only an illusion,
for genius never changes; only as the existing differences among men
become lessened, the inequalities which separated the great men from the
rest are less obvious.
Thus, the more you shall put into the hands of men, and if possible of all
men, means for educating themselves, the more you will find these
differences vanish; the more will they grow like each other, the more will
human intelligence become equalized.
On the other hand, as social and legal inequalities disappear, public
prosperity, public wealth, public comforts, will increase at the same
rate. As the physical strength of men develops, so will the means of
combating infirmities, diseases, all that weakened, enervated, depraved
the populations, develop also. As the moral differences diminish (not
indeed in the sense that every one will reach the same degree of
virtue--that is impossible), the rudeness, the brutality, certain odious
vices due to ignorance, to barbarous manners, to the insufficient means of
communication with each other, will gradually disappear; and thus, in
respect to civilization also, will men grow more like each other.
You see, then, that by culture, by the progress of civilization, all these
inequalities due to outward circumstances, may be combated. Society at the
present time, being more ingenious, more enlightened, more clever than in
past days, has at its command a multitude of means wherewith, if not to
destroy, at least to reduce the ill effects of outward chances. That, for
example, which we call _life-insurance_, is very effective indeed in
combating misfortune. By means of a small sacrifice, every man may in some
respect protect himself against chances which formerly reduced a large
part of the population to misery. It is the same with other similar
societies of mutual assistance and benefit; they will increase in
proportion to general progress, and will largely counteract the unhappy
results of such inequalities as may be combated by human industry.
I go still further; I maintain that the inequalities above noted not only
should not be imputed to society, but not even to Providence. They are
legitimate and useful; they are the necessary stimulant to work. It is
because of that very great variety of conditions that men make the proper
efforts to better them, and that by these efforts, by this common labor,
society progresses.
Why does every one work? Is it not that each sees above him a position he
covets, and which he seeks to secure? It is not the first of positions,
nor the highest, for man does not think of those too far above him, nor
should he; but the next best, such as others like him occupy, he can
attain. If he earns a little money only, he tries to earn more; if he is
only a workman, he may become a foreman; if only a foreman, a master; if
only a master, a capitalist. He who is but a third clerk will want to be
second clerk; he who is second will want to be first; and thus through the
whole series of degrees. Now, it is just the possibility of securing a
better situation than the one we are in that stimulates us to work and
make the necessary efforts. Suppose (a thing, of course, impossible) that
all men could be assured of a sufficient quantity of daily bread equally
distributed among them, human activity would at once come to a stop, human
work would cease; society would consequently become impoverished, and,
becoming impoverished, even the small portion each one is satisfied with
could no longer be possible, and they would have to fall back upon work
again. Work requires a stimulant, and it is the inequality of human
conditions which furnishes this stimulant.
Societies are like individuals. Every society has always before its eyes a
condition better than the one it is in, a state of greater material
prosperity, of greater intellectual development; and it is because we long
to reach that superior state that society strives after improvement. There
are, indeed, societies that are indifferent to this; that do not
experience such a want; but such peoples remain stagnant in their
barbarous ignorance; they never advance. It is the civilized nations who
are not satisfied with their condition, and where every one endeavors to
better his own. We should, therefore, look upon the inequalities which
favor individual development, which assist the progress of the race, which
excite every man to make an effort to better his condition, as truly
desirable.
I have demonstrated how the great legal inequalities which, before the
French Revolution, authorized the division of society into classes, have
now disappeared, and that what remains, and must of necessity remain, are
the natural inequalities resting, on the one hand, on individual
faculties, and on the other, on the diversity and the inequality of the
conditions wherein we are placed. Let us now see whether in these
conditions there is something requiring society to be divided into
parts:--some people above, some below, some in the middle, and whether
each of these parts should be called a class. I look in vain for anything
whereon such distinctions could be based. Let us take the most natural
fact which could serve as a basis for such distinctions--namely, fortune,
wealth.
It is said: there are the rich and the poor. But what more vague than such
terms? Where does poverty stop? Undoubtedly, there are wretched people in
all societies. There is no society wholly free of poor unfortunates, so
unfortunate as to require the assistance of others. It is what we call
beggary, and it exists in all societies. But this is not an element which
may be said to constitute a class. It is not any more correct to say the
class of beggars than the class of invalids. There are invalids in all
societies, and we are all subject to becoming invalids, but we cannot say
that there is a class of invalids. Those who are ill are to be pitied, but
they do not, I repeat, constitute a class, which would allow us to divide
society into two parts: a class of people that are well and people that
are sick. The same with beggary; it is an anomaly, an unfortunate
exception to the rule, and very sad for those who are its victims, but it
does not constitute a class. Yet it is not this we generally understand by
the poor and the rich classes. We understand by rich those who have a
certain appearance of well-being; and by poor those who work more or less
with their hands. Now, there is nothing more false than such a
distinction, for, among those called rich, there are many that are poor,
and wealth and poverty are not generally absolutely different. It depends
on the relations between the wants and the means of satisfying them.
How many among physicians, lawyers, artists, for example--among men who
belong to what we call the middle class--are, I ask, not only poor, but
wretched? How are we to know them? What is it marks in society the rich
and the poor? Here we have, for instance, country people, good folks, who
have never opened a book, who do not know A from B, and who are rich; and
again others of the middle class who are poor. The conditions in society
so intertwine that it is impossible to cut it in two and say: these are
the rich classes, these the poor. There is an infinite variety of degrees,
each having some sort of property, the one more, the other less. In such a
number of degrees it is impossible to distinguish precisely the beginning
or the end. We admit these individual inequalities, and as many different
conditions as there are individuals; but there are no classes, and no one
could tell their beginnings and ends. How could you determine the amount
of property requisite to belong to either of these categories--the rich or
the poor? Shall you say that the rich man is he who has any capital, and
the poor, he who has not any? There are many people with capital that are
poor, and many without who are very well off. These are but arbitrary
distinctions.
Upon what, then, shall we base class differences? On the professions? On
those who exercise public functions and those who do not? But this would,
in the first place, be a very unequal division; for the number of public
functionaries is very small in comparison with the immense mass of people
who have no public profession. And again, wherein is the public
functionary superior to this or that merchant, this or that big farmer,
this or that great builder or contractor? It is impossible to say; for in
the hierarchy of functionaries there is also a top, a middle, a bottom,
with an infinite variety of degrees in each.
Take the nobility. But who in these days troubles himself about
aristocratic names? They are, unquestionably, valuable _souvenirs_ for
those who can boast of them--of great historical names, for instance;
names which have played a part in history; they are grand recollections to
cherish and respect, but they give him who possesses them but very feeble
advantages. It is not very long since there might have been found some
legitimate ground for the class distinctions we are examining, namely, in
political rights, at a time when some few enjoyed political rights and a
great many had none; but this time has gone by, this inequality is also
wiped out; there are no more political classes than there are social
classes.
Shall we take material work--work of hand, as a class distinction among
men? We hear often the term _laboring classes_--men, namely, who live by
work of hand; but are not those who work with their brains, workers also?
There are a thousand kinds of work, and it is not absolutely necessary one
should work with his hands to be a worker. Besides, there are many people
working with their hands, who do not belong to what is usually understood
by the laboring class: the painters, sculptors, chemists, surgeons; all
these people work with their hands. You see, then, that, look at it as you
will, it will be very difficult to find distinctive signs whereby society
could be divided into classes.
There are groups of workers; groups formed by the variety of work which
has to be done. Everybody cannot do the same thing in society. Political
economy teaches a very true and necessary law, called division of labor.
In order that a certain piece of work be well done, its different parts
must be distributed among those who are capable of executing them; and the
more each one will exclusively attend to the portion allotted to him, the
better will the work be done.
It is the same with society. Society is a great work-shop, a vast factory,
where there are a great many different kinds of work to be done. Each must
do his share. Hence various groups of workers. Some cultivate the land,
because men must be fed; some engage in industrial pursuits, for men must
be clothed, must be housed against the inclemencies of the weather; then
there is justice to be rendered; there are some needed to protect the
laborers; men must also be educated and need educators. There are roads to
be made, railroads to be laid, laws to be enforced, and all this gives
rise to a multitude of functions, a large number of groups of workers,
each working in the line which has been determined, more or less, by
birth, circumstances, or natural ability. Shall we still say that each of
these groups forms a class? Shall it be the military class, because it is
composed of soldiers; the class of ecclesiastics, because composed of
priests; the teaching class, because composed of teachers? In no wise.
Then should we neither speak of the laboring classes--of the middle
classes.
There is, I repeat, but one society, and that society composed of an
infinite number of individuals; all differing from each other by reason of
their various natural endowments and the outward conditions in which they
are placed. They are subdivided into groups which more or less blend with
each other, are more or less dependent on each other.
There is, however, a sign whereby men may be distinguished from each
other, and that is education: difference in instruction and culture; and
this is in these days the only kind of difference that can still exist
among them.
How is this to be remedied? In two ways: in observing the duties of
society and the duties of individuals. Society at this present moment is
doing all in its power to bring education within the reach of all, and
according to the particular need of each. Of course all are not obliged to
learn the same things. Even among the most enlightened, there are some
who, relatively to others, are quite ignorant. So that there are degrees
here also. But still there is a certain common ground of customary,
useful, necessary knowledge, which brings all together:--the education
common to all, and which is as a bond between them. Society is doing its
best in extending this education, propagating it, developing it; and men
should do their best toward it. It depends, therefore, on the individual
man to do away with this last inequality. It behooves us, then, to
disseminate education and instruction, as far as it lies in our power; and
it behooves those who have not yet enjoyed it to make every effort to
improve themselves.
Finally, connected with education, there is a feature which also
establishes a certain difference between men: good manners; good habits;
good morals; all of which are distinguishing, differentiating, traits. On
whom is it incumbent to do away with such inequalities? On us all. Each of
us, in his own individual sphere of life, must break down the barrier that
separates him from the one above him; he must rise up to him, not so much
through morality, for morality is the same below as above, but through his
manners, his habits, his dignity, sobriety, politeness, he must win his
esteem.
This is accomplished rather through education than instruction, for it is
education that makes men good-natured, so that it will be through
education that the last inequality between men will be effaced.
I say, then, that we should as much as possible work toward this end, and
above all avoid using expressions which tend to separate men from each
other. These expressions belong to a past age; they were perpetuated by
usage, and still uphold certain imaginary rights, and modes of
thinking--certain prejudices and sentiments which divide society into two
parts, and cause it to believe that it is so divided from necessity. In
indulging in such prejudices, what in fact is but an imaginary division
becomes a real one.
It is, therefore, this imaginary division of classes which must be done
away with; for it is from the imagination that all these feelings of
distrust, and jealousy, and ill-will generally spring; and they should be
combated resolutely, for they carry with them very lamentable
consequences. The remedy is where the evil is. These old prejudices
residing in the imagination, it is the imagination we should correct. We
must accustom ourselves to think differently; we must look upon ourselves
not as belonging to a particular class, but to one and the same society, a
society of men, men all equals and in different social conditions, all
entitled to the same rights.
It is, therefore, in reciprocal good feeling, in the heart of men rather
than in any legal reform, that the true safety of society resides. We must
give up those old notions which cause some to imagine that they are
oppressed, or threatened, or prevented to rise in the social scale, and
others, that they run the danger of being dispossessed of their
privileges. There is in such antagonism far greater danger than in the
actual evils both sides complain of.
To do away with it only requires reciprocal good-will, kindness, readiness
to understand each other. The reform which has taken place in our laws,
must take place in our minds also. Class feeling must be suppressed, and
there will then appear a truly human society, all being united by
brotherly love.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] No. CLIX.--July 1, 1884, pp. 246, 247.
[2] The fifth collegiate year will be devoted to theoretical morality.
[3] The word enthusiasm comes from a Greek word signifying, to be filled
with a god.
[4] Drive away nature, and it gallops back again. Lafontaine has said the
same thing: "Shut the door against its nose, and it will return by the
window."
[5] J. J. Rousseau, _Emile_.
[6] Kant, _Doctrine de la vertu_. French translation of J. Barni, p. 171.
[7] Kant is wrong in rejecting these two maxims, interpreting them in the
sense we have just refuted.
[8] Chapter I., page 22.
[9] It would seem here that negative gratitude becomes confounded with
negative ingratitude; the one doing no harm, the other doing no good; it
would seem as one and the same condition, wherein neither harm nor good is
done; but the distinction exists nevertheless; for the question, on the
one hand, is to do no harm when tempted to do some, and on the other, not
to do any good when there is an occasion for it. For example, he who
despoils others, but abstains before his benefactor, experiences a certain
degree of gratitude, and he who does good to his friends and flatterers
around him, and does not do any to his benefactor, is already ungrateful.
[10] These questions will be examined more in detail in the next chapter.
[11] See chapter IV.
[12] Lawyers make a distinction between _possession_ and _property_. The
first consists simply in having the object in use; the second, in enjoying
its exclusive use, even if the object were not naturally in one's hands.
[13] Victor Cousin, _The True, the Beautiful, and the Good_ (lectures xxi.
and xxii.).
[14] Which is to say that the acts are nothing if the heart is absent.
[15] St. Paul, 1 Cor., xiii., 1-7.
[16] In the _Provinciales_ this apostrophe is addressed to the Jesuits,
whom Pascal accuses of loose maxims on the subject.
[17] _Le Devoir._ Part iv., Ch. iii.
[18] In Tuscany the penalty of death was abolished in the eighteenth
century by the Grand Duke Leopold. It was again established with the Grand
Duchy's annexation to the Kingdom of Italy. In Switzerland, after being
abolished by the Confederation, the penalty of death was finally left to
be determined by each particular canton.
[19] It answers the frequent assertion that the courtesy and regards which
men owe each other reciprocally, would soon disappear if they were not
protected by the resource of the duel.
[20] Jules Simon, _La Liberte_, ii. part, ch. iii.
[21] Thus we see Saint Simonian ideas completely disappear from the modern
socialistic sects which all tend to blend with the equality-communism pure
and simple.
[22] On the question of property, see Thiers, _La Propriete_ (1848) and
the _Harmonies economiques de Bastiat_, ch. viii.
[23] See in the _Harmonies economiques_ viii., that ingenious and
substantial theory which shows the growing progress of the community by
reason of property.
[24] See especially about the question of interest, the controversy
between Proudhon and Bastiat. (Works of Bastiat, vol. v., _Gratuity of
Credit_.)
[25] Mode of reckoning in the time of Louis XIV.
[26] The scene between father and son in _The Miser_ (Sc. ii., Act iii.).
[27] See, in Moliere's _Don Juan_, the charming scene between Don Juan and
Mr. Dimanche.
[28] "Things lost cannot give rise to an action for theft, when the
finder, after having looked for their proprietor in vain, and only
retained them when his researches proved fruitless, has ascertained that
the proprietor will not present himself. But if the thing has been taken
with the intention of appropriating it, if it has an owner, although
unknown, there is no doubt about the delinquency." (Faustin-Helie, _Droit
penal_, iv. edit., Lecon v., p. 66.)
[29] The play in Latin is on the words _otiandi_ and
_negotiandi_.--Translator.
[30] _De Officiis_, Book III., ch. xiv.
[31] Definition of the canon law.
[32] _Digest_, II., Sec. 3, _De Furtis_.
[33] _Traite des obligations_, Part I., ch. i., Sec. 2.
[34] See Racine's tragedy of Phedre.
[35] Puffendorf, _Of the Duties of Man and the Citizen_, ii., c. ix., Sec.
18.
[36] In the United States children can, in the case of neglect by their
parents, make contracts which are obligatory for whatever is necessary for
them.
[37] Our Code does not admit that a mistake touching the person, vitiates
the consent of the contractors, unless this consideration be the principal
cause of the agreement.
[38] _Esprit des Lois_, XV., iv. The stipulations which Montesquieu
demanded have been made, and have led to the suppression, or at least to a
great diminution, of the slave-trade.
[39] By _maitrise_ was understood the rank or degree of master; and
_jurandes_ was the name of an annual office by means of which the affairs
of the corporation were administered: it also meant the assembly of
workmen, who had lent the customary oath.
[40] Beaumarchais, _Barbier de Seville_.
[41] Nicole does not give any examples; but it is evident, for instance,
that it is a graver fault to rashly incriminate the _integrity_ of a
functionary than his _incapacity_, the _chastity_ of a woman than her
_economy_.
[42] Nicole belonged to the sect of the Jansenists, celebrated for the
harshness and rigidity of their morality.
[43] It is also called _commutative_ justice, somewhat improperly, in
taking for its type the act of exchange, where one gives the equivalent of
what he receives; but this expression is only truly correct when it
touches upon property, and particularly upon sale, trust, loan. But the
term _commutative_ has no longer much meaning when applied to the respect
due to the life, the liberty, or the honor of others. Nevertheless, it is
necessary to be familiar with the expression, as it is usually opposed to
_distributive_ justice.
[44] _Nepotism_ is the custom of advancing to desirable posts the members
of one's family; _simony_ (which has especially to do with the Church)
consisted in the purchase of the ecclesiastical functions: the term may
also, by extension, be applied to lay functions.
[45] We give on the next page an analysis of this Essay.
[46] Jouffret, _De la politesse_ (_A Lecture at the distribution of prizes
at the Tournon Lyceum_, Tournon. 1880).
[47] Lamennais, _Paroles d'un Croyant_, xv.
[48] Kant, _Doctrine de la vertu_, trad. Barni, p. 160.
[49] It is the question debated between Alceste and Philinte in the first
scene of the _Misanthrope_.
[50] Kant, _Doc. de la vertu_, trad. de Barni, p. 155.
[51] See Puffendorf, _Droits de la nature et des gens_, III., ch. iii.
[52] See our _Morale_, liv. II., ch. v.
[53] Abstinence from the flesh of animals was based by Pythagoras, as it
was with the Brahmins, upon the doctrine of metempsychosis.
[54] The question is as to the acts themselves, and not their abuse.
[55] A philosopher of the school of Descartes, who, like his master,
taught that animals are machines.
[56] _Education progressive_, VI., iv.
[57] _Bulletin de la Societe Protectrice des Animaux._ June, 1868.
[58] Law of the 2d July, 1850, called _Grammont Law_: "Shall be punishable
by a fine of from five to fifteen francs, or from one to five days'
imprisonment, any one who shall publicly and abusively have maltreated
domestic animals. In case of repetition of the offence, imprisonment."
A society--_Societe Protectrice des Animaux_--has been formed to come in
aid to the law. The principal articles of its statutes are: "The aim of
the society is to ameliorate, by all the means in its power, and
conformably to the law of the 2d of July, 1850, the condition of animals.
The society awards recompenses to any propagating its work and inventing
proper means to the relief of animals; to the agents of the police,
pointed out by their chiefs as having enforced the laws and regulations
for the prevention of cruelty and ill-treatment towards animals;--to the
agents of agriculture, shepherds, farm-help, farmers, leaders of
cattle;--to coachmen, butcher-boys, smiths--in short, to any person who,
in some high degree, shall have given proof of good treatment, intelligent
and continued care and compassion toward animals." See in its _Bulletins_,
the useful results obtained by this interesting society.
[59] _Traite elementaire de philosophie_, p. 262.
[60] Concerning these three powers, see Montesquieu, _Esprit des lois_,
I., xi.
[61] See on this subject the _Notions d'instruction civique_.
[62] Prosopopoeia in rhetoric is the form of expression which consists
in animating physical or abstract things, in lending them "a soul, a mind,
a visage" (Boileau), in making them speak or being spoken to as if they
were present and living. In _Crito_, the laws are personified, and it is
they that speak.
[63] _Droits et devoirs de l'homme_, Henri Marion, Paris, 1880, p. 67.
[64] The preceding quotation is from our _Philosophie du bonheur_.
[65] _Philosophie sociale_, Essai sur les devoirs de l'homme et du
citoyen, par l'abbe Durosoi (Paris, 1783).
[66] Marshal Marmont was accused of treason for having accepted the
capitulation of Essonne, which was perhaps imposed upon him by necessity.
[67] The _liberum veto_ in Poland was the right of each representative to
oppose the veto of the laws which were voted unanimously.
[68] Montaigne thus expressed himself in regard to marriage: "A good
marriage is a sweet society for life, full of constancy, troubles, and an
infinite number of useful and substantial services and mutual
obligations."
[69] Ad. Garnier, _Morale sociale_ I., ii., p. 104.
[70] See our book, _La Famille_, 3d lecture. We take the liberty to refer
the reader to this book for the development of the subject.
[71] Xenophon.
[72] A. Garnier, _Morale sociale_.
[73] The law of divorce has since been passed again in France.--[Transl.]
[74] David Hume, _Essays_.
[75] A great German moralist, Fichte, denies, however, people having a
right to voluntarily and systematically renounce marriage: "An unmarried
person," he says, "is but half a person. A fixed resolution not to marry
is absolutely contrary to duty. Not to marry is, without its being one's
fault, a great misfortune; but not to marry through one's fault is a great
fault (_Durch seine Schuld, eine grosse Schuld_). It is not permitted to
sacrifice this end to other ends, even where the service of the Church, or
family or State duties, or, in fine, the repose of a contemplative life,
are concerned; for there is no higher end for man than to be a complete
man." There is much truth in these words of Fichte, yet may we be
permitted to think that his doctrine in this respect is pushed to excess,
as well as that which forbids second marriages.
[76] _La Famille._ 4th Lecture.
[77] _Du droit de la guerre et de la paix_, I., II. ch. v. Sec. 2.
[78] And that may be questioned.
[79] This duty to-day is imposed by law: "Primary instruction is
obligatory for children of both sexes from six to thirteen years." (Law of
the 28th March, 1882, art. 4.)
[80] Fichte, _System der Sittenlehre_, Pt. III., ch. iii., Sec. 29.
[81] _Doctrine of happiness._
[82] Fichte is right here when he speaks of the exaggeration of this
principle. But the principle itself is a true one, namely, that one should
accustom children to act according to their own reason: it is the only
means of teaching them liberty.
[83] The Dialogues of Plato. Laws. B. Jowett's Translation, B. IV., 238.
[84] Xenophon's _Memorabilia of Socrates_, translation by J. S. Watson, B.
II., Chap. 2.
[85] Xenophon's Memorabilia. Translation J. S. Watson.
[86] _Des Devoirs de l'homme_, ch. xii.
[87] A European custom.--_Transl._
[88] See our work on _La Famille_ (3d lecture).
[89] _Le Vrai, le Beau et le Bien._ Lect. xxi., ch. xxii.
[90] There is no injustice done to him who consents to it.
[91] St. Augustin, _Cite de Dieu_, I., xvii., trad. d'Em. Saisset.
[92] One will say, perhaps, that the merchant is never innocent, for he
should have foreseen the risks which threatened him, and provided against
them. But there is no commerce without risks. There is, then, a certain
amount of risks which it is allowed and even necessary to run, or else
suppress commerce altogether. For example, a merchant in times of peace
certainly knows that there may suddenly arise a cause of war, and he must
make provision against the eventuality; but if all his transactions were
influenced by that idea, commerce in times of peace would not differ from
commerce in times of war, and would consequently be null.
[93] Rousseau's _Emile_, I., i.
[94] Bossuet, _Traite de la concupiscence_, Ch. iv.
[95] We may apply here what La Bruyere said of clothes: "There is as much
weakness in avoiding fashion as affecting it. A philosopher allows his
tailor to dress him." In the same sense is there as much weakness in
rebelling against pleasure as in seeking it too artfully. The honest man
simply enjoys it without thinking of it. Between the rigorist and the
sensualist, the sensible man has his place.
[96] _Ciceron_, _Traite des devoirs_, I., xxxiv.
[97] Cicero, _Traite des devoirs_, ch. xxxvi.
[98] We nowise mean to uphold here the doctrine of the _physiocrats_ for
whom land was the only riches; we shall merely say that it is the basis of
all wealth.
[99] There is here, again, a broad duty, for how can we interdict to a
merchant the desire for gain without suppressing one of the incitements to
his activity and work? All that we can recommend to him is moderation, and
not to sacrifice to this incitement sentiments of a higher order.
[100] Kant himself recognizes that self-interest may become a duty when
combated by passion. "To secure one's own happiness," he says, "is at
least an indirect duty; for he who is dissatisfied with his condition may
easily, in the midst of the cares and wants which besiege him, yield to
the temptation of transgressing his duties.... Therefore, even though this
tendency in man to seek his happiness did not determine his will, even
though health were not, for him at least, a thing to be taken account of
in his calculations, there would still remain in this case, as in all
others, a law, the one, namely, which commands him to work for his
happiness, not from inclination, but from a sense of duty, and it is only
by this that his conduct may have a real moral value.
[101] Franklin, _Poor Richard's Almanac_.
[102] Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics, iv., i.
[103] Meditations of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, v., i.
[104] Aristotle, Politics, i., ii.
[105] Xenophon's Memorabilia of Socrates, Bohn's translation, by Rev. J.
S. Watson, M.A., II., vii.
[106] Confucius and Mencius, Pauthier's translation, p. 303.
[107] The word mercenary has always had an unfavorable meaning attached to
it, a relic of ancient prejudice. In the proper sense, mercenary means
remunerative, and should have no condemnatory signification. Yet already
in antiquity the word _mercenary_ had a higher sense than the word
_servile_; for Cicero, wishing to say that one should treat one's slaves
well, said that they should be treated as mercenaries--that is to say, as
men remunerated but free.
[108] Plato, Republic, i., ii.
[109] See his _De Officiis_, i., iv.
[110] It might be called _sensibility_, in the sense this word had in the
XVIII. century. It is not enough to be human toward others, one owes some
feeling to one's self also.
[111] Nicomachean Ethics, VI., ii.
[112] Ibid., VI., xii.
[113] Nicomachean Ethics, VI., ii.
[114] We do not mean by this that science cannot be a means of livelihood:
nothing more legitimate, on the contrary. We only mean that it is not that
alone.
[115] See also the admirable passage of Augustin Thierry in the preface to
_Dix ans d'etude_.
[116] "Answer me, ye illustrious philosophers, ye through whom we know
what are the causes which attract bodies to a vacuum; what are in the
revolutions of the planets, the relations of the spaces they travel over
at equal periods ... how man sees everything in God; how the soul and the
body correspond to each other without inter-communication, like two
clocks.... Even though you had not taught us any of these things, should
we be less numerous, less flourishing, more depraved?" This passage
recalls vividly that of Malebranche quoted above. What, however, is most
curious about it is that Rousseau in his criticism appropriates
Malebranche's hypothesis.
[117] "Good sense is the best distributed thing in the world," says
Descartes at the beginning of his _Discours de la Methode_.
[118] Unless, of course, passion itself implies a duty superior to
self-interest: which is not the case here.
[119] See Burlamaqui, _Droit naturel_, part I., ch. vi.
[120] See the celebrated lines in the _Misanthrope_, act ii., sc. v.
[121] _Virtus_ in Latin has both meanings.
[122] Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics. Translated by R. W. Browne, III., vi.
[123] This idea of Aristotle may be questioned; for, in a sudden peril,
one may be sustained by a natural impulse, and the feeling of
self-defense, whilst anticipated peril allows all the impressions of fear
to grow: it requires, therefore, a greater effort to overcome them.
[124] _De Officiis_, I., xxiii.
[125] See Xenophon's _Memorabilia of Socrates_, I., i.
[126] _Discours de la Methode_, part III.
[127] The Works of Epictetus. T. W. Higginson's translation, ch. vi., p.
21.
[128] The Works of Epictetus. T. W. Higginson's translation, ch. xv., page
139.
[129] Latin, _gyrus_, the ring in which colts are driven round by
horse-breakers.
[130] Cicero, _De Officiis_, I., xxvi.
[131] Plato's _Republic_, I., iv.: A man deserves to be called courageous
when that part of his soul in which anger resides obeys the commands of
reason.
[132] Aristotle, _Nicomachean Ethics_, R. W. Browne's transl., IV., v.
[133] Plato's _Republic_, I., iv.
[134] Anger is still nobler when provoked by injustice done to others.
[135] Aristotle, _Nicomachean Ethics_, IV., v.
[136] Kant, _Doctrine de la Vertu_, _trad. franc._, p. 96.
[137] Moliere's _Tartufe_.
[138]
And shall I speak of Iris, loved and praised by all?
Ah! what heart! ah! what heart! humanity itself!
A wounded butterfly calls forth the truest tears!
Ah, yes; but when to death poor Lally is condemned,
And to the block is dragged, a spectacle to all,
Iris will be the first to go to the dread feast,
And buy herself the joy to see his dear head fall.
GILBERT, _le Dix-Huitieme Siecle_.
[139] _Lettre sur la metaphysique_, lettre II., chap. ix.
[140] Metaphysics is the science which treats of what is beyond and above
nature. We call _metaphysical_ such attributes of God by which he
surpasses nature; as, for instance, infinitude, immensity; the moral
attributes, on the contrary, are those which have their analogies in the
human soul, such as kindness, wisdom, etc.
[141] V. Cousin, _Le Vrai, le Beau et le Bien_, xvi{e} _lecon_.
[142] See _Dictionnaire de l'Academie francaise_ (7{e} edition, 1878):
"_Veneration_, respect for holy things. It is also said of the respectful
esteem in which certain persons are held."
[143] A postulate is a truth which, although it cannot be rigorously
demonstrated should, nevertheless, by reason of the necessity of its
consequences, be practically admitted.
[144] Kant, _Critique de la raison pratique_, II., ii. Trad. de J. Barni,
p. 334.
[145] _Critique de la raison pratique_; trad. fr., p. 363.
[146] Jules Simon, _La Liberte de Conscience_, 4{e} lecon (Paris,
1857).--We have borrowed some few passages of another book of the same
author, _La Liberte_ (Vol. ii., 4{e}, part 1, ch. 1).
[147] Fenelon. _Lettres sur la metaphysique et la religion._ Letter II.,
ch. i.
[148] The works of Epictetus. T. W. Higginson's transl., I., xvi.
[149] _De Augmentis Scientiarum_, III., i. and iii.
[150] Kant, _Anthropologie_. Trad. franc. de Tissot, p. 27.
[151] Kant gives ingenious examples of these three degrees of action. See
his _Anthropologische charakteristik_.
[152] Aristotle's _Rhetoric_, book II., ch. xii., xiii., xiv., Bohn's
translation.
[153] Psychology is the science which treats of the faculties and
operations of the soul.
[154] Diagnosis in medicine is the art of determining a disease by means
of the symptoms or signs it presents.
[155] _Imitation of Jesus Christ_, I., xii.
[156] We should, however, make a distinction between the passion for wine
and drunkenness. One can have this passion without giving up to it.
Drunkenness is the habit of yielding to it.
[157] _Sentimentality_ is false sensibility, and not exaggerated
sensibility. _Softness_ is a vague expression. Patriotism may by
exaggeration become _fanaticism_; but this is equally true of other
sentiments--of the religious sentiment, for example.
[158] Chap. III., 19.
[159] Plato in the Phaedo (trad. de Saisset, p. 31) seems to condemn the
idea of combating passion by passion: "To exchange one sensual pleasure
for another," he says, "one grief for another, one fear for another, and
to do like those who get small change for a piece of money, is not the
path which leads to virtue. Wisdom is the only true coin against which all
the others should be exchanged.... Without wisdom all other virtues are
but shadows of virtues, a virtue the slave of vice, wherein there is
nothing wholesome nor true. True virtue is free from all passion." Nothing
more true and more noble; but there is in this doctrine nothing contrary
to that of Bossuet. The question is not to exchange one passion for
another, for such an act is devoid of all moral character, but to exchange
passion against wisdom and virtue; and all we want to know is the means.
Now experience confirms what Bossuet has said, namely, that one cannot
immediately triumph over a passion, especially when at its zenith, and
that it is necessary to turn one's thoughts upon other objects and appeal
to more innocent passions or to passions, if not less ardent, at least
more noble, such as patriotism or the religious sentiment.
[160] _Confessions_, VIII., v.
[161] The virtues of the pagans have been often depreciated, and St.
Augustine himself, great an admirer as he was of antiquity, called them,
nevertheless, _splendid vices_ (_vitia splendida_). They are often
regarded as induced by pride rather than by a sincere love of virtue. We
should beware of such interpretations, for once on the road of moral
pessimism, there is no reason for stopping at anything. We may as well
maintain that there are a thousand forms of pride, and that self-love
often sets its glory in pretending to overcome itself. "We must therefore
not wonder to find it coupled with the greatest austerity, and, in order
to destroy itself, make us bravely a companion of it, for whilst it ruins
itself in one place, it starts up again in another." It may be seen by
this passage of La Rochefoucauld, that it is of no use to interpret the
pagan virtues in a bad sense, for the argument can be retorted. It is
better to regard virtue as sincere and true wherever we meet with it, so
long as there are no proofs to the contrary.
[162] _Traite de morale_, III., 2.
[163] The theory of _inadmissible sanctity_ consisted in maintaining that
man, having reached a state of sanctity, could never again, whatever he
might do, fall from it.
[164] _The Dignity of Sciences_, VII., iii.
[165] Essays on the Human Understanding, II., xxi.
[166] Epictetus, II., xxiii. (T. W. Higginson's transl.).
[167] _De Officiis_, I., xxx.
[168] The greatest tragic actor at Rome, and a contemporary of Roscius,
the greatest comic actor.--TRANSLATOR.
[169] _De Officiis_, I., xxxi.
[170] _Memorabilia of Socrates_, IV., iv.
[171] Seneca, on Anger, III., 38. To tell the truth, Seneca forgave
himself sometimes too easily perhaps, as, for example, on the day when he
defended the murder of Agrippina; we are often too much disposed to
imitate him.
[172] _Imitation of Jesus Christ_, I., xi.
[173] _Doctrine de la Vertu_, trad. fr. p. 170.
We give here this catechism as an example of what might be done in a
course of morals. The teacher can modify its form and developments as he
thinks best.
[174] We can see by this that Kant understood youth. In a Socratic
interrogation of this kind, the pupil, distrusting his powers, will always
begin by being silent. It is only when he perceives that he knows what was
asked him, that he ventures to answer, and answers well.
[175] We give this as a useful supplement to Chapter VIII. It is a lecture
formerly delivered on the _Union of Classes_ (1867, _Revue des cours
litteraires_, v., p. 42).... We beg to be pardoned for what negligences of
style may have crept into the improvisation.
Transcriber's Notes:
Passages in italics are indicated by _italics_.
Passages in bold are indicated by =bold=.
Superscripted characters are indicated by {superscript}.