phenomenon, one by no means confined to the physical and intellectual
conditions which we have so far considered, but embracing also features
of moral and spiritual progress. The origin and growth of these need
also to be reviewed, if we would present a fully rounded sketch of human
evolution. So far as his physical form is concerned, man became
practically completed ages ago, as the supreme effort of nature in the
moulding and vitalizing of matter. When the arena of the struggle for
existence became transferred from the body to the mind, variation in the
body, once so active, rapidly declined; and with the full employment of
the intellect in the conflict with nature, physical evolution ceased,
except in minor particulars, and the organic structure of man became
practically fixed. The human animal, therefore, as a physical species,
has reached a stage of permanence. And this may be regarded as the
supreme result of material evolution in animals; or at least it may be
affirmed that, while man continues to exist, no member of the lower
animal tribes can possibly develop to become his rival.
But though man is not markedly distinct as a physical species from his
anthropoid ancestor, the process of evolution has not ceased, but has
gone on in him rapidly and immensely. The strain has simply been
transferred from the body to the mind, and to the extent that the mental
characteristics are more flexible and yield more readily to formative
influences, the mind has surpassed the body in rapidity of evolutionary
variation. Within a period during which the lower animals have remained
almost unchanged, man has varied enormously in mental conditions, and
to-day may be looked upon, not merely as a distinct species, but
practically as a new order, or class, of animals, as far removed
intellectually from the mammals below him as they are from the insects
or mollusks.
If now we turn from the physical and intellectual to the ethical stage
of development, it will be to perceive as marked and decided a process
of evolution. The change has, perhaps, been even greater, since in the
lower animals the moral faculties are more rudimentary than the
intellectual. But, on the other hand, the moral development in man has
been much inferior to the intellectual. Therefore, though the foundation
was lower, the edifice has not reached nearly so great a height, and man
to-day stands in moral elevation considerably below his intellectual
level.
It was formerly the custom to look upon man as the only intellectual and
moral animal, the forms below him being credited solely with hereditary
instincts. This belief is no longer entertained by those familiar with
the results of modern research. Evidences of unquestionable powers of
thought have been traced in the lower animals, imagination and reason
being alike indicated. The elephant, for instance, is evidently a
thinking animal, and is capable of overcoming difficulties and adapting
itself to new situations, using methods not unlike those which man
himself might display under similar circumstances. Its gratitude for
favors and remembrance of and revenge for injuries are evidences of its
possession of the moral attributes. The recorded instances of displays
of reason in the dog, man's constant companion, are innumerable.
Intellectual attributes are still more pronounced in the ape tribe, as
indicated in a preceding chapter, where it was argued that man began his
development in intellect at a somewhat advanced stage.
The same cannot be said in regard to his moral evolution. In this
respect the level from which man emerged was a much lower one. If his
moral growth may be symbolized as a great tree, it is one not very
deeply rooted in the world below him. Yet it doubtless has grown out of
the soil of animal life, and its finer tendrils and fibres may be traced
to a considerable depth in this fertile soil.
Before proceeding with this subject, it is important to devote some
attention to the characteristics of the moral attributes, concerning
which there is much diversity of opinion. There has been abundance of
theorizing upon the principles of ethics, thinkers dividing themselves
into two widely separated groups. In the one school, the intuitive, the
principles of morality are looked upon as inherent in the soul of man,
unfolding as the plant unfolds from its seed. In the other school, the
inductive, morality is claimed to be founded upon selfishness, the
moving principle of human actions being the desire to avoid pain and
attain pleasure. Each school makes a strong argument, which goes far to
indicate that each is based upon a truth, and therefore that neither has
the whole truth.
The fault would appear to lie in the attempt to make morality a unit. In
our view this unity does not exist. While both schools may be partly
right, neither would seem to be wholly right, and they appear to be
pulling at the two ends of a single chain. Ethics, in short, may be
regarded as composed of unlike halves, which unite centrally to form a
whole. It may aid to reconcile the conflicting systems of theorists if
it be held that the inductive half of ethics is the product of the
reasoning powers and outer experience, the intuitive half the product of
feeling and inner development; while both meet and harmonize in life as
reason and feeling harmonize in the mind.
It is interesting to find that it is the intuitive, not the inductive,
element of the moral attributes that we find principally developed in
the lower animals. This is the outgrowth of instinct, not of thought;
the development of that principle of attraction which manifests itself
in all nature, and which, when associated with consciousness, becomes
what we know as love, affection, or sympathy. It is a powerful and
pervading force in all matter, intelligent and unintelligent, and in
conscious beings falls naturally among the emotions. Like all the
passions, it is instinctive in origin, though it may come under the
control of the intellect as the mind develops. In the lower animal world
it is manifested as a vigorous attraction, the sexual. In the higher
animals this attraction expands and grows complex. The attraction
between the sexes becomes love, and in its full unfoldment may join two
individuals together for life and influence most of their actions. To
the attraction between the sexes should be added that between parents
and children, the parental and filial, and that between associates, the
tribal or social, the latter, though weaker, of the same character.
With these bonds reason has nothing to do. It does not form them and
would seek in vain to sever them. They belong to a part of the mental
constitution which lies outside the kingdom of thought, and they,
therefore, often act counter to the selfish consideration of personal
safety. The love bond, indeed, in its full strength, seems to
constitute a partial loss of individuality. Mates will suffer pain and
endure physical injury for each other or for their offspring to as great
an extent as if these constituted a part of themselves, and as if their
actions were performed in self-defence.
With this brief review of the philosophy of the ethical sentiments, we
may proceed to a consideration of the facts. While the rudimentary form
of the sentiment in question is manifest far down in the descending
grades of animal life, it expands into what we may fairly term love or
affection only in the higher forms. Romanes, in his "Animal
Intelligence," remarks: "As regards emotions, it is among birds that we
first meet with a conspicuous advance in the tenderer feelings of
affection and sympathy. Those relating to the sexes and the care of
progeny are in this class proverbial for their intensity, offering, in
fact, a favorite type for the poet and moralist. The pining of the
'love-bird' for its absent mate, and the keen distress of a hen on
losing her chickens, furnish abundant evidence of vivid feelings of the
kind in question. Even the stupid-looking ostrich has heart enough to
die for love, as was the case with a male in the Rotund of the Jardin
des Plantes, who, having lost his mate, pined rapidly away."
Among social and communal animals the sentiment of sympathy widens to
embrace all the members of the tribe, a characteristic which is very
strongly manifested in so low an organism as the ant. As an example of
this feeling among birds, Romanes quotes an interesting illustration
from Edward, the naturalist. The latter had shot and wounded a tern, but
before he could reach it, the helpless bird was carried off by its
companions. Two of these took hold of it by the wings and flew with it
several yards over the water. They then relinquished their burden to two
others, and the process continued in this way until they at length
reached a rock at some distance. When the hunter, eager for his prize,
pursued them, the sympathetic birds again took up their wounded
companion and flew off with it again over the water.
Abundant instances of this sentiment of social affection could be quoted
from the mammalia. It is by no means confined to members of a species,
but may extend to very unlike species. No one needs to be told of the
warm affection so often shown by the dog for its master, a love which
will lead it to dare wounds or death in his service, or in the
protection of his property. This altruistic sentiment strongly exists in
the monkeys. Examples of the ardent feeling of these animals for their
fellows have been given in a preceding chapter, and many more might be
quoted, if necessary. It must suffice here to quote a single further
instance cited by Romanes, and relating to a small monkey which was
taken ill on shipboard, where there were several others of different
species.
"It had always been a favorite with the other monkeys, who seemed to
regard it as the last born and the pet of the family; and they granted
it many indulgences which they seldom conceded to one another. It was
very tractable and gentle in its temper, and never took advantage of the
partiality shown to it. From the moment it was taken ill, their
attention and care of it redoubled; and it was truly affecting and
interesting to see with what anxiety and tenderness they tended and
nursed the little creature. A struggle often ensued between them for
priority in these offices of affection; and some would steal one thing
and some another, which they would carry to it untasted, however
tempting it might be to their own palates. They would take it up gently
in their forepaws, hug it to their breasts, and cry over it as a fond
mother would over her suffering child."
With the human race the love sentiment does not usually display the
singleness of energy shown among the lower animals. It is affected and
often checked in its development by an intricate series of influences,
which act on savage and civilized man alike. The family formed the
primitive human group, its linking elements being the sexual attraction
between man and woman and the fervent affection between parents and
children. These feelings, while strong in certain directions, were crude
and uneven. In savage tribes to-day the wife is an ill-treated drudge.
Yet the husband will protect his wife and children from danger at risk
of his life. The maternal instinct seems still stronger. The mother
often acts as if the child were an actual part of herself. Danger or
injury to it produces in her a mental agony, the close equivalent of its
fear or pain, and she will endure suffering and peril in its protection
with an impulse beyond the control of reason.
This sentiment, in a weakened form, extended from the family to the
group; and the success of man in gaining the mastery over the other
animals was doubtless greatly aided by the strong bond of social
affinity existing between the members of a group. They worked together
in a fuller sense than any other animals except the ants and bees.
From the original social group another and closer community seems
gradually to have developed, the group of kindred. This was a natural
outgrowth from the family, whose bond of affection was extended to
include more distant relatives, until there emerged the organized group
of kindred known as the "Village Community," which seems everywhere to
have preceded civilization. This bond of kindred gradually extended,
combining men into larger and larger groups, until the clan, the horde,
and the tribe emerged, their members all linked together by the reality
or the fiction of common descent. Such was the form of organization that
existed in Greece and Rome in their early days, and made its influence
felt far down into their later history. It existed indeed, at some
period, over almost all the earth.
As the group widened, the bond of sympathy weakened. Love in the family
found its counterpart in fellow-feeling in the tribe, in patriotism in
the nation. It is undoubtedly true that desire for personal protection
is one of the strong influences which bind men into societies. The hope
of advantage in other directions and the pleasure of social intercourse
are other combining forces. Yet below these rational elements has always
abided the emotional element, the sympathetic attraction which binds
kindred closely together, and which exerts some degree of influence on
all members of the same group or nation.
The development of the ethical principle in mankind is largely due to
the extension of the sentiment of social sympathy. For ages it was
confined to the immediate group. Such was the case even in civilized
Greece, intellectually one of the most advanced of peoples, but morally
very contracted. The Greeks were long divided into minor groups, with
the warmest sentiment of patriotism uniting the members of each
community, while their common origin bound all the Hellenes together.
But this feeling failed to cross the borders of the narrow peninsula of
Greece, all peoples beyond these borders being viewed as barbarians, in
whose pleasures and pains no interest was felt, and whose misfortunes
produced no stir of sympathy in the Grecian heart. Even Aristotle taught
that Greeks owed no more duties to barbarians than to wild beasts, and a
philosopher who declared that his affection extended to the whole people
of Greece was thought to be remarkably sympathetic.
The Romans were equally narrow in their early days, and not until the
empire extended to the outer borders of the civilized world did this
narrowness give way to a more expanded sympathy. The brotherhood of
mankind, indeed, was taught by Socrates, Cicero, and others of the
ancient moral philosophers, yet these seeds of philosophy fell in very
sterile soil and took root with discouraging slowness. Philosophers
elsewhere taught the dogma of universal love,--Confucius among the
Chinese, Gautama among the Hindoos,--but their teachings have borne
little fruit in the great, stagnant peoples of Asia, in whom the
narrowness of semicivilization prevails.
The teachings of Christ, whose code of morality was the intuitive one,
"Love one another," have been far more effective. Christianity became
the religion of Europe, since then the most progressive part of the
world, and with every step of progress in civilization the Christ
doctrine of charity and sympathy reached a higher and broader stage.
To-day it has attained, in Europe and America, a wide degree of
development, and the vast extension of human intercourse through the
mediums of travel, commerce, and telegraphic communication is, for the
first time in human history, beginning to lift the doctrine of the
universal brotherhood of man from the plane of a philosophic dogma
toward that of an established fact. The range of sympathy is narrow yet,
selfishness predominates, the truly altruistic are the few, the feebly
sympathetic and coldly selfish are the many; yet it must be admitted
that there has been a great development of altruism during the
nineteenth century, and the promise of the coming of Christ's kingdom on
the earth is greater to-day than at any former period in the history of
mankind.
The love principle is the innate moral element of the universe. Its
rudimentary form is the attraction between atoms, which expands into the
attraction between spheres. We see a development of it in the magnetic
and electric attractions, and a higher one in the sexual attraction that
exists in the lowest organisms. Its expansion continues until it reaches
the high level of human love and social sympathy. But throughout its
whole development consciousness takes no part in its origin. While
conscious of its existence, we do not consciously call it into
existence. Men and women "fall in love"; they do not reason themselves
into affection. Those we love become in a measure a part of ourselves,
we feel their sufferings and endure their afflictions, not through the
nerves of the body, but through the finer ones of the mind,--a plexus
of spiritual nerves which stretch unseen from soul to soul. So strong is
this sympathetic affinity that Comte was induced to look upon mankind as
an organism, and it gave rise in the mind of Leslie Stephens to the
conception of a common "social tissue."
Love and law rule the universe. It is this second moral element, that of
law, which we have next to consider. Inductive morality had its origin
in experience; it assumed the form of social restriction, then of fixed
law and precept, and culminated in the sense of duty--a conscientious
avoidance of that which was thought to be wrong, and an earnest desire
to do what was looked upon as right.
The history of this phase of morality differs essentially from that of
the phase we have just considered. The sense of duty, the conscientious
sentiment, so highly developed in man, seems largely non-existent in the
lower animals, so far as observation has taught us. Yet it is not quite
wanting, its rudiment is there, and this rudiment is capable of
development. It may be, indeed, that a highly developed sense of duty
exists in the ants and bees, to judge from their diligent labors for the
benefit of the community. But the clearest examples of conscientious
performance of duty are those seen in the case of the dog, in which
animal intimate association with man has developed something strongly
approaching a conscience. A dog needs only to be well treated to
display a sense of dignity and a self-respect analogous to these
feelings in man. A sensitive resentment against injustice in high-caste
and carefully nurtured dogs has often been observed; while shame for an
act which the animal knows to be forbidden has been seen in a hundred
instances. The sense of duty is occasionally very strongly developed.
Many striking examples of this are on record. A dog will often defend
his master's property with the greatest devotion, letting no temptation
draw him away from the path of duty.
An instance has been related to the writer in which an extraordinary
display of this feeling was made. A gentleman, on coming home at night,
found he had forgotten his key, and attempted to enter the house by the
window of a room in which his dog was on duty as a night-watch. To his
surprise and annoyance the animal would not permit him to enter, and
attacked him every time he tried to climb in. The animal knew him well,
responded to his attempts to fondle it, but the moment he made an
attempt to enter the window it became hostile and seemed ready to spring
upon him. In its small brain was the feeling that no one, master or
stranger, had the right to enter that house at night by the window, and
it was there to perform its duty without regard to persons. In the end,
the gentleman was obliged to leave and seek shelter elsewhere.
The development of the sense of duty and the growth of moral
restriction in primitive man were probably very slow, much more so than
the evolution of intelligence. The social habit of man doubtless
rendered necessary, at an early period, some restraints on the actions
of individuals, and these in time gained the strength of unwritten law;
but many of them were scarcely what we should call moral obligations.
Many such restrictions exist among savage tribes to-day, and to these we
must turn for examples of their character. We, for instance, look upon
theft and lying as immoral practices, but such is not the case with
savages generally, most of whom will steal if the opportunity offers,
while they will lie in so transparent and useless a manner as to
indicate that they see nothing wrong in this practice. And yet the
aborigines of India, many of whom are very immoral according to our
standard, are often strongly averse to untruthfulness. "A true Gond,"
says Mr. Grant, "will commit a murder, but he will not tell a lie." It
is well known that truthfulness was one of the chief virtues of the
ancient Persians, a virtue that was accompanied by much which we would
call immoral. The Hindoo devotee is exceedingly tender of the lives of
animals, while he is often callous to human suffering. Disregard of
human suffering, indeed, showed itself strongly through all the past
ages, men being slaughtered with as little compunction as if they were
so many wild beasts, while frightful tortures were inflicted with an
extraordinary absence of humane feeling. And these excesses were
committed by persons who in the ordinary affairs of life were frequently
tender in feeling and conscientious in action.
In truth, moral development from this point of view has always shown a
one-sidedness that goes far to discredit the doctrine of intuitive
conceptions of right and wrong. The indications are strong that rules of
conduct are not inherent in the human mind, that men become moral to the
extent that they are taught the principles of justice, and grow
one-sided in their ideas of virtue through incompleteness in their moral
education. What we call sinfulness is largely a matter of custom and
convention. Men cannot properly be said to sin when their actions are
checked by no conscientious scruples, and what one people would consider
atrocious instances of wrong-doing, might be looked upon as innocent and
even estimable by a people with a different moral standard. Religion has
much to do with this. The human sacrifices and cannibal feasts of the
Aztec Indians, for instance, were regarded by them as good deeds,
obligations which they owed to their gods. Yet this people had attained
to some of the refined practices and moral ideas of civilization.
The leading principles of correct human conduct are few and simple. They
were arrived at early in the history of human thought, and little has
since been added to them. They arose as results of human experience, as
necessary principles of restraint in developing communities, and were
nearly all extant in prehistoric times as the unwritten laws of social
organization. What creed-makers did was to put these ancient axioms of
morality on record, and offer them to the world as codes of religious
observance. They could not have been of primitive origin, since the most
of them do not exist among the savage tribes still with us. There is
nothing, indeed, to show that any idea of sinfulness exists in the minds
of the lowest savages, the rules of conduct which they possess being
such regulations as are necessary to the existence of the most
undeveloped community.
Of the various codes of morals, much the best known to us is that given
to the Israelites by Moses, the famous "Ten Commandments." The most of
these--as of all such codes--were evidently legal in origin, rules
necessary for the existence of a civilized society, restrictions
controlling the conduct of men toward one another. It was the
creed-makers who first gave such legal restrictions the strength of
moral obligations, and announced that their infraction would be punished
by divine agencies, even if they should escape human retribution.