Chapter XXIII: Part III: closes with reference to "an approximately complete adjustment (7)

The rule that the greatest possible happiness of _all_ is to be striven for, is an assertion that the happiness of every one is to be considered, that not that of the lowest human being is to be interfered with unless such interference is _necessary_ in order to prevent still greater harm to others; and that no such interference shall be greater than is positively necessary in accordance with this aim. The highest moral law is thus nothing more than the Christian commandment of love to all men. And the rule "To count each as one, no more," may receive the restrictive clause "in so far as the good of the whole of society is not diminished by so doing."

Some Darwinians are inclined to regard the preservation of existence as the criterion by which to judge the moral quality of action. "Aim for the preservation of the species" would be, from their standpoint, the moral law. But mere existence is not happiness; that is shown by the fact of suicide. However, it is true that health is one of the conditions of happiness. Pessimists are generally men of an unhappy temperament, often of morbid physical constitution; medical science must, in its progress, help to prevent the development of such morose dispositions. Want of love may also be a cause of pessimism; most pessimists have been lonely men. And want of employment may also lead to pessimism. If we follow Rousseau's advice not to listen to those who are in exceptional abnormal positions, but appeal to those who constitute the great majority, we shall conclude that, in general, the happiness of men greatly exceeds their misery. The increase of suicide is often used as an argument that civilization has not caused an increase, but a decrease, of happiness. To this argument it may be answered that the religious scruples which formerly withheld men from this extreme step have diminished, that men have grown more self-conscious and independent in action; and that, moreover, our age is one of unrest, a transition-period such as no other period has been. When we examine the lives of tribes on a low plane of civilization, we find their existence full of uncertainty and of superstitious fear, and at the mercy of the forces of nature. Without doubt, much misery exists; a great part of it, however, is caused by the disappointment of too extreme demands for happiness; the individual must not require that life shall be continuous rapture.

The recognition of what right action is, is not its accomplishment. Pain and pleasure determine the will,--the pain and pleasure of the person who wills, since he cannot feel with the feelings of others or will with their will any more than he can move with their limbs. He may have a conception of the welfare or suffering of others, but a mere mental image does not determine the will. Only when such a conception arouses pleasure or pain in the subject himself, are will and action possible.

Love consists in joy in the thought of the beloved person, with joy in his joy, and pain in his pain. He who seeks to render happy one whom he loves does not, as a rule, consider the fact that he will himself have a joy in the happiness of that other; his aim is to give pleasure, not to himself, but to the other. But the thought of doing for him is combined with pleasure, the thought of not doing for him is combined with pain; and these present feelings determine the will.

That which distinguishes the moral from the immoral man is that, in the former, the notions of the right and good rouse strong feelings,--feelings of pain at the thought of acting contrary to them, of pleasure at the thought of acting in accordance with them, feelings which may overpower all others; while in the immoral man these conceptions call forth no feelings or only such weak ones as offer no sufficient opposition to the influence of other feelings. Both men act from feeling, but not from the same feelings.

Do we, by proving that the moral, as well as the immoral man is determined in his action by feelings, show that the one approximates to, or is identical with the other? By no means. In that case, the proof that both the moral man and the immoral man will with their own will, and act through their own limbs, that both possess arms, hands, senses, feelings, understanding, in short, that both are human beings, must show, in the same manner, an approximation of the moral to the immoral man. A perceptive, intellectual, objective side, and an emotional, inner, subjective side are to be distinguished in all action; and only the confusion of the two has led to the fancy that, with the proof that all action proceeds from the pain or pleasure of the person who wills, it is shown that all action, every human being, is selfish, and that unselfishness is a figment of the imagination. It is not the expected pleasure that moves the will; it is only when the conception of future happiness or misery awakens present feelings stronger than other present feelings which would move the will in another direction, that willing and action can follow in accordance with that conception. Hence, there is nothing so remarkable in the sacrifice of one's own happiness. It is not morally desirable that self-love should be weak, but only that conscience and general benevolence should be stronger still.

Many who have recognized the reality of sympathy and benevolence have not regarded them as primary but as evolved from egoism. However, if the word egoism is to have a distinct meaning, it must be interpreted as the conscious preference of one's own good to that of others. But with self-consciousness is likewise developed the consciousness of other beings, and the latter, as the former, clothes itself with feelings--with egoistic feelings, and with sympathetic feelings as well.

It is further to be remarked that the proof that an action is disinterested, is no proof of its moral worth. The worst action,--an action of pure cruelty, envy, or hatred, may be disinterested, that is, it may have for its end the pain of another without consideration of the advantage of the doer.

The effects, as pain or pleasure, of conduct opposed to, or in harmony with, civil or moral law, in so far as such effects can be predicted and, as thus predicted, they influence the will, are called Sanctions. One may distinguish between a physical, a political, a social, a sympathetic, and a moral sanction. Doubtless the conduct recommended by self-love, as a result of these sanctions, coincides, to a very large extent, to a larger extent than egoists in the rule perceive, with that which the good of society demands; but it is just as certain that, in many cases, the way of selfish cunning and that of virtue diverge. The outer sanctions do not insure the coincidence of duty and one's own happiness; nor does the sympathetic sanction secure this, for sympathy is often on the side opposed to duty. There is but one sanction which is ever on the side of action in accordance with duty: the moral sanction, the peace and joy which accompany the knowledge of having done right. Duty and self-interest coincide the more nearly, the better and more unanimous the various sanctions are, and, especially, the more strongly the moral feelings are developed in a society; one of the tasks society has to set itself is to labor for the greatest possible concord of duty and self-interest. But this harmony will never become an absolutely perfect one and self-sacrifice impossible. Man needs, therefore, some end which shall depend upon himself alone, if he is to be kept from discouragement and despair. Such an end is the consciousness of right-doing. He who chooses this as highest end must devote himself to the service of mankind, as well as he who makes the advancement of the good of mankind his end. The thought of this end will prevent him from being blinded by self-interest in answering the question as to what right and duty are, and will also preserve him from permitting himself one or the other pet sin under the excuse that he will atone for it by other good actions; it will compel him to the endeavor to fulfil every duty. And though he may not be perfectly happy, he will be happier than the man who makes the good of humanity his end; since he is less dependent upon outer events. Benevolence and conscience are not the same. The latter constrains us to do right, that is, to perform actions the expected results of which are in harmony with the general welfare; it has attained its end when the right action is performed, and it has failed to attain its end when this aim is frustrated. Man has a deep inner longing for happiness of some sort. When he does not find it upon earth, he seeks it in some other world. He has often a deep inner yearning for holiness, and a secret dissatisfaction in his own conduct. Ethics satisfies this double longing in commanding him to renounce his greatest happiness and endeavor to attain moral blessedness, the happiness of holiness.

Perhaps some one may object that this is a selfish view of the moral life. Is it selfish to renounce one's greatest happiness in order to attain only peace of conscience? That no one were without such selfishness! He who sets himself this end will act better, more in accordance with the good of humanity, than he who makes the advancement of human welfare his ultimate aim. Hence the human being _should_ choose this end. Therefore, the highest moral commandment, the Categorical Imperative, receives this form: "Strive to attain peace of conscience in devoting thyself to the service of mankind."

By "right" we understand what is in conformity with a standard of action which we recognize, by "wrong," what is in opposition to it. The recognition and application of the standard belong to the reason. But not to reason alone; every rule is the outcome of feelings; and this is the reason why ideas of right possess the power of motives.

Judgment of action may take place in two ways: immediately, through the feeling; and mediately, through moral rules, the adoption of which, however, presupposes feeling. According to the disposition, the education, the circumstances, of a man, the one or the other form of judgment prevails. The words "obligation," "commandment," "duty," "law," express the fact that something lies without the mere free pleasure of the acting individual, is withdrawn from its sphere.

It has been said that a distinction is to be made between duty and the sense of duty--that an objective duty still exists, even when no corresponding inner sense of duty is present. This merely means that some one else in distinction from the acting person recognizes a moral law, by which he may blame the action. Duties are actions sanctioned by one or another sort of punishment. The moral sanction is self-blame. But not the performer of an act alone, others also, pronounce judgment on his action, and in the rule there exists a greater or less harmony between his judgment and that of others. To self-condemnation is added the consciousness of having deserved the blame of others.

Human actions are not only an object of displeasure or of indifference, but also of praise, gratitude, love, admiration. Actions which reveal a character above the average are regarded as meritorious according to the measure of their superiority; they deserve recognition, respect, praise, honor.

Three classes of actions to which public opinion applies its sanction may be distinguished: actions blamed; those the neglect of which is blamed; and those which are praised. The first two classes, sanctioned by a punishment, are regarded as duty; the last class, sanctioned by at least mental reward, are actions of desert. Actions the omission of which is punished or blamed are not actions of desert, but of duty and obligation.

The boundary-line between duty and desert is not fixed and definite; in the measure in which the moral condition of a society is perfected, the province of that which is regarded as duty is extended into that which was formerly regarded as desert. The distinction between duty and desert has, in general, only an outward significance; it has regard to the relation to others, to the social sanction. The moral human being does not inquire what entitles him to praise, but simply what is right; and he does not compare himself with others but with his moral ideal. Hence he recognizes, with regard to himself, only duty, not desert. He aspires to attain, not the approbation of others, but his own, and he attains this only when he has done that which he holds to be the best possible.

The moral significance of the outward sanction lies in its educating influence; it acts as counterpoise to inclination to action opposed to the moral law, and facilitates, thus, the victory of the moral motives, which increase in strength through use. If it is true that a condition of "heteronomy" always precedes that of "autonomy," then the outer sanction is the indispensable condition of the evolution of moral feelings.

It has sometimes been said that the human being is under obligation to others only. But it seems that this view has proceeded from a confusion of the moral with the juridic significance of the word "duty." It is not to be doubted that the consciousness of duty would not develop in an individual who grew up in solitude,--but speech and reason likewise would not become his. The law of morality applies not only to social conduct but also to conduct having reference to self.

By "moral law" is not meant a law in the sense that it is imposed on human beings from without, by another; it is exactly the peculiarity of the moral law that it is self-imposed as the voice of conscience.

Virtue is related to duty as the enduring characteristic to the single action, or the lasting will to obligation, to the "ought"; virtue is a disposition to act in accordance with duty. Vice is a characteristic which continually determines actions opposed to duty.

There may be exceptional cases where vice is innate, as is idiocy or insanity, but the records of prisons and reformatories where a moral influence has been attempted, show us that germs of good may exist even in those apparently wholly given over to vice. It is true that the capacity for moral education is narrowed with every added year of life; but it is impossible for us to say, with certainty, how great this decrease of capacity may be.[79]

The most essential influence for moral betterment is that which the personality of an earnest human being exerts by example and precept. The awakening and strengthening of good impulses is not, however, the immediate destruction of the bad; and struggle is often necessary if the good shall conquer. The more frequent the victory, the easier it becomes. Every virtue can be acquired at least in some degree, if the wish to acquire it be sufficiently strong and persistent.

But although such struggle as this is often necessary, exactly the sign of the attainment of virtue consists in the absence of self-compulsion; by this absence, its perfection is measured.

The assertion, occasionally heard, that virtue is in proportion to struggle, amounts to the contradictory assertion that the more perfect the man is, the less is his virtue. The truths which, imperfectly comprehended, lead to this opinion, are these: We distinguish by the name of virtue that moral constitution which rises above the average. It is presupposed, however, that its possessor has, in general, the impulses and capacities belonging to human nature; he could not be called temperate in any particular direction, if he did not possess the capacity of enjoyment which leads many to intemperance. Moreover, the control of strong impulses from a desire to do right presupposes a strong sense of duty; and it is on account of this sense of duty that we respect a man. But if an individual distinguished by a strong sense of duty gradually succeeds in tempering his impulses and ridding himself of his faults, his virtue is not less, but more perfect. And finally, the fact is also to be taken into consideration that, while one cannot necessarily conclude, from a man's innate love for some especial class of good actions, that he will do his duty in other directions also, this is an inference which can be drawn where actions are performed from a sense of duty.

A certain degree of intelligence is a condition of virtue; a being without reason is not a moral being, as the animal is not; but morality requires only average human intelligence.

There is no greater error than the opinion that virtue is not concerned with action; for virtue is excellence of character which leads to right action; action is the test of moral worth.

In olden times, an attempt was often made to set up one especial form of character as universal ideal. Such an attempt is injustifiable, since the nature and circumstances of individuals differ. In morality, too, there may be originality.

In the judgment of an action, two questions must be distinguished: the question whether the action is right or wrong, and the question as to what inference shall be drawn from it with regard to the character of the performer.

In the action, there must be distinguished the following points: the movement of the body; the results of the act; the act of the will; the intent; the presence or absence of a conviction that the action will not have evil results; the part of the intent willed, not merely as means but as end; and the incentive, or feeling from which the action springs. The chief end and the incentive together are often called the motive. The movement of the body is not an object of moral judgment, as are not, also, the outer results of the action as such. Nor is a mere act of the will as such, but its nature, of moral importance.

No human motive or incentive is, in itself, bad. Not even anger and hatred are in themselves evil; since wrath against wrong is justifiable. Yet motives are by no means morally of the same worth; while where motives directed to the good of the individual are at work, the action will be, in nine cases out of ten, in accordance with the general good; it will be, let us say, in nine cases out of ten, contrary to the general good where motives of malevolence are active. And for this reason the motive in the single case gives us a clue to the character. There exists a certain stability of character which makes it likely that the individual who acts out of good motives on one occasion will do so again. Of greatest worth are the motives which spring from desire for the general good; these are moral motives. Actions may be right, yet immoral, and moral yet wrong. Yet the theory that the objective judgment of an action, and the judgment of the character of the doer have nothing in common is erroneous; for in both cases the highest ground of reasonable judgment is the same; namely, the general good.

Blame is not merely for the sake of prevention through fear; since we may blame a deed and not its doer. When a man does what we consider wrong under the impression that he is acting for the general good, we do not endeavor to frighten him from his conduct by blame, but to convince him of his error.

But the significance of the motives of an action does not lie merely in our inference from them to the character of the doer; from the actual, or inferred, motives of the action spring its most important results; namely, its influence upon the morality of human beings. Every moral action reacts for good upon the performer, strengthening his tendency to such conduct; and it is, besides, an inciting example.

It is not necessary for morality that all actions should take place directly from desire for the general good, but only that the belief be present that they are in harmony with the general good; duty need not be the only motive, but simply the ruling one; one may act immediately from other motives.

The aesthetic judgment of a character is to be distinguished from the moral judgment of it. Much that pleases one aesthetically in character is morally indifferent; and much that is morally of the greatest worth has little or no aesthetic value. The talk of an identity of the beautiful and the good has caused much confusion.

Things have particular qualities according to which they affect us and are affected. All that I can predicate of things, all their being is their effect. And when I say that a certain thing, as long as it does not change, will, under the same circumstances, operate in the same way, I assert merely that this certain thing, as long as it remains unchanged, is this certain thing. It may often be difficult or impossible to determine whether or not the thing has changed, but if it has not changed, it must, under the same circumstances, operate in the same manner as formerly. As everything is, at each moment, a definite thing, so is also every human being; he has definite qualities, and if these do not change, neither does his action under the same circumstances; if it could change, he would act according to that which he is not.

Different individuals have different innate tendencies; and differing circumstances develop similar tendencies in different ways. The history of the human being is his character, if we add what he has inherited to his own history. To reflect upon human nature is to assume its conformity to law; to deny such conformity involves ceasing from thought on it; for thought means the conclusion of like from like. Though the action of the human being depends, in a high degree, upon circumstances, we can often predict, from a knowledge of his character, the general nature of his action. And if our expectation should be, for once, disappointed, we do not say that his character has suddenly passed into its opposite, but that we had an insufficient knowledge of the circumstances, or that we imputed to him a character which he did not really possess. We have thus to distinguish two groups of facts in the contemplation of a particular action: the present constitution of the doer of the action, and that of the outward circumstances concerned; if a change occurs in either, the conduct will also change. Criminal statistics are evidence of the effects of similar circumstances upon similar characters.

Those who deny the action of cause and effect in the conduct of men as contradictory of freedom, cannot refer to physical or political liberty, since the absence of these does not involve the absence of cause and effect. The free will which is said to be peculiar to the human being and not possessed by the animals, is an absence of subjection to the impressions of the moment, and this has been regarded as an activity of pure reason. But, as Hoeffding says, the contest of the reason with the passions is really a contest between feelings combined with reflections of reason and other violent feelings that are combined with few thought-elements. This free will is the capacity of reflection gained by experience. It is not a negation of cause and effect, for the act of the will is determined by the feelings, thoughts, inclinations, which precede it; it may be determined by reflection as opposed to the impressions of the moment. The word "freedom" is also used to denote moral freedom, or the freedom from determination by immoral motives; in such case, however, moral motives determine.

But it must be remembered that the natural law of cause and effect is not like a law in the sense of the political law; it is not something imposed from the outside. Natural laws are rules formed by men to express the regularity of events in one sentence; things do not obey the laws, but the laws are according to things. When we say: Gunpowder "must" explode when it comes in contact with a flame, the explosion is necessary; we do not mean that the gunpowder is compelled, under certain circumstances, to explode; it explodes of its own essential nature. "Necessity" designates, not a state of things, but a state of the understanding regarding them. The same is true of the words "possible" and "accidental." The accidental is the unintentional. The bullet which accidentally killed a man was not sent with the intention of killing him. Or "accident" is used of that with regard to which we are ignorant and cannot predict; the word does not, in this sense either, denote an absence of cause. Objectively, nothing is "possible"; either it is, or it is not. Great confusion is, however, caused by a want of clearness in the interpretation of the words "possible," "impossible," "necessary," etc., with regard to the will. When I say: "It is _possible_ for the good man to perform even the worst action, he _can_ perform it"; and: "It is not _possible_ for the good man to perform a bad act, he cannot do it"; I use the words "possible" and "can" in two quite different senses. The first sentence means: "Even the best man can perform the worst act _if he will_"; the second: "The good man never has the will; it follows from his nature that he does not possess it; it would be a self-contradiction to say that he has it." The human being can do this or that if he wills, provided no outer force opposes his will; but whether he wills or not depends upon his character. His will is not uncaused.

It has been said that "one should not allow himself to be determined, but should himself determine his act." This assertion makes self something distinct from one's thoughts and feelings. Free will has also been interpreted as choice between motives. The human being does not, however, choose between motives but between acts, and his choice is free in that he can, as has been said, choose this or that act _if he will_; but his choice is not the less caused. When, in reflection on a past act, the human being says to himself: "It was possible for me to act otherwise," he means, as a rule, simply: "If I had thought as I do now, I should not have acted thus; but I did not think as I do now." The delusion that he might have acted differently under the same outer circumstances and with the same thoughts and feelings, arises from the difficulty of realizing, from his present standpoint, his position at the time of action. It may, indeed, seem to us, after we have chosen a certain course, that another was the easier; but can it be possible that one preferred the former course when he yet really preferred the latter? It is the strongest motive that determines the action. Or, if it be objected to this assertion, that our only criterion of the strength of motives is their effect as overcoming other motives, the assertion that the will follows the strongest motive would still exclude accident in choice; the assertion would amount to this: that the motive which determines the will in the one instance will always, under the same outer and inner circumstances, determine it. So Mill remarks that, when we say that the heavier weight will weigh down the other, we understand by "heavier weight," merely the one which will weigh down the other. Nevertheless, the sentence is not senseless, since it means that there is, in many or most cases, a heavier weight, and that its action is always the same. Education by others, and self-education would be useless, if the same thoughts and feelings could, under the same circumstances, produce now this, now that totally different result, and not always the same one.

Kant's doctrine of freedom includes practical freedom (which is not, according to his definition, opposed to causality) and transcendental freedom; he seems, however, not always to have kept the distinction between the two clearly in view. His theory of transcendental freedom is grounded upon the doctrine of the pure ideality of time. The only method of saving the doctrine of freedom is, according to Kant, the theory that the law of necessity applies to things as phenomena but not to things in themselves. If phenomena are not to be regarded as things in themselves, but as mere thought-images, they must themselves have reasons which are not phenomena. Such a cause for pure reason[80] is not determined by phenomena, although its effects appear as phenomena. The causal action of reason does not have a beginning in time, but is the constant condition, outside time, of all free action of the will.

Kant failed, however, to prove the pure ideality of time, as Riehl has sufficiently shown. Moreover, were the _intelligibile_ character of reason the cause of action as phenomenon, there would be no possibility of moral improvement, since the noumenon is not affected by phenomena,--an inference which Schopenhauer makes in adopting Kant's theory. Moreover, if space has, as Kant also assumes, transcendental ideality, plurality is not conceivable; hence, the moral difference of characters, and the science of Ethics itself, could have no transcendental significance. It is evident that Kant argues from the standpoint of an assumption of a "soul-thing," a constant "substratum" of psychical phenomena,--a standpoint which he himself criticizes. He identifies this thing-in-itself, moreover, with the reason, although he himself declares that the concept of the thing-in-itself is but a concept limiting reason.[81] He makes the reason a thing-in-itself outside time, although it is an activity, a process of consciousness in time. The thought of duty, of the categorical imperative, is a phenomenon, and if the will is determined thereby, it is determined by something in time. Kant takes but little account, moreover, of the fact of birth. Is the _intelligibile_ character born? If so, it is preceded by something in time; if not, it must be eternal, existing before birth as well as after death. And how can he assert, too, that an action might have been other than it was, if it depended upon the constitution of the _intelligibile_ character, and this is as it is, and operates as it is?

Schopenhauer's argument for transcendental freedom contains many self-contradictions, and is founded on the fiction of a first free choice of character. Schopenhauer asserts, however, that character is innate. If so, how is it chosen? The theory assumes that one is before he is. An act of choice presupposes a chooser, and, according to his own words, "Every _existentia_ presupposes an _essentia_"; that is, every existence must have a particular being, essence.

Accountability assumes that some one is held answerable for an action or event, and is, as answerable, amenable to punishment. The punishment may be one of law, of society, or a moral punishment. The concept of responsibility is closely allied to that of accountability; it assumes, in general, that a person is the author of a deed. Responsibility may be immediate, when the author of the deed was also its performer, or mediate, when the performer was another person.

Remorse is pain at the recognition of the immorality of a past action. With the pain is often connected the wish that the action had not been performed. This wish is naturally unreasonable, since it is directed to the impossible. Yet it is not idle, as Schopenhauer asserts, since it has an effect upon future action. There is often also an egoistic regret, or one not called forth especially by the conscience, for a past action. This may or may not be moral, according as it is or is not in harmony with the general welfare.

The friends of the theory of chance as regards the will have asserted that shame, remorse, would be impossible, if the human being recognized the fact that his act was necessary. They have neglected, however, to give any reasons for this remarkable assertion. If a man recognizes that the constitution of his mind was such as to lead unavoidably to vicious acts, this is the strongest motive for condemnation of his own moral constitution, for pain at it, and an endeavor to better it. But if the act had no necessary foundation in his character, if it was merely an accident that his will chose thus, then, since the act is past and there is no reason for drawing conclusions from it with regard to future action, how does it concern him?

Blame and punishment, as well as self-blame, have regard to character and so to the future. Acts are not blameworthy and punishable if they have no cause. Punishment is inflicted from two motives: as a preventive, and as an expression of the felt need of retribution. Originally, mankind punished from a desire for revenge. This is not the moral motive. Not the criminal alone, but the whole constitution of society, is responsible for his crime. If, then, punishment is allowable for the sake of prevention, it cannot, as an evil, be permissible further than is in accordance with this end. Punishment of the insane could be justified only in case it could prevent insanity.

Nor is desert based upon an uncaused character of the will. We do not admire, praise, and reward great genius the less because genius is inborn; nor do we admire the moral man the less because his father before him was distinguished by deeds of philanthropy. We admire him for what he _is_.

The doctrine of causality in human action is far from being what it is sometimes called, a doctrine of fatalism. Fatalism assumes that, whatever a man may do, a power outside him determines the event; but the recognition of cause and effect in human action is the recognition of the fact that the actions of human beings are never without result.

It is often said that morality is founded upon religion. Assuming that, by religion, is meant the belief in a personal God and in the immortality of the soul, is this true?

If a mighty tyrant commanded a man to do what was contrary to his conscience, if he promised rich reward for obedience and fearful torture for disobedience, would obedience therefore be moral? Why is it represented as wrong to follow Satan's commands and right to follow God's will? Evidently not because God is mighty but because he is good, and Satan is bad. But if it is, thus, a matter of duty, and not merely one of selfish cunning, to obey God's will, then his will must be directed to the good; and this presupposes the good to be something in itself, without regard to the fact that God wills it. If God is a moral being, this must be so.

This is, in fact, an assumption which the moral members of society have, in general, made. They boast of the morals of their religion, comparing it, in this respect, with other religions; and thus they subject it to the test of morality. Moreover, when we examine the Christian gospel, we find that it in general assumes the moral laws as already existent and only urges obedience to them. The good is, as we have seen, that which conduces to the general welfare. The earliest religions had no connection with rules of morality; these have developed with the social life of human beings and have, in it, their root.

As to the belief in immortality, cannot the human being do right without the thought of the reward and punishment of another life? As a matter of fact, many good men have not possessed such a belief. The distance of such an end often makes its effect a weak one, and the motive may easily become selfish. Yet it is true that a loss of faith may include a loss of morality, in case the belief exist that there is no basis for morality outside religion; the responsibility of such a loss of morality lies with those who teach this latter doctrine. Through love to others and the thought of the immortality of influence, the moral man gains a larger life and loses the fear of death. He who has thus faced the thought of death finds life more earnest but not less happy. Each hour has not the less its own joy because there is an end, at last. Nor, in spite of the deep pain the loss of friends causes us, do we lose them wholly, since the memory of all that was best in them may remain with us. Our own pain may bring to us a deeper sympathy with, and love for, others.

If we are able to love the good in God, we may also learn to love the good in those about us, and be incited, by it, to emulation. The love of the good in men has always had stronger effect than love for a distant God of whom but little was known. It was the thought of the man Buddha which exerted an ennobling influence upon thousands, and it was the thought of another human being that moved the "christians" more strongly than did that of a Father in Heaven. Do we love father and mother, brother or sister, wife or child, or our friends, for God's sake? Why may we not love all men, as we love our friends and children, for their own sake?

It has been said that there is no accountability, if not to God. But if God is the author of the world, he must himself be the cause of evil, either by direct influence or by neglect to avert. Where, then, is the justice of his punishment? It does not suffice to answer that God's justice is not our justice; for in that case, what right have we to apply the word to him at all?

History demonstrates the fact that morality is by no means necessarily connected with religion. In the name of religion millions upon millions of human beings, and these often the most upright and conscientious men of their nation, have been put to death, and thus the civilization of whole peoples has been retarded. Slavery in America had no stronger friends than the churches. How is the forgiveness of sins by God to be justified? Are the evils which they caused any the less existent because of such forgiveness, and is it well for the doer to escape, in this way, the sense of responsibility? Only labor for the good of humanity is the way of atonement. We ourselves are the creators of the kingdom of righteousness.

Many claim that Ethics is not indeed based upon Theology, but that it needs a metaphysical, a teleological, foundation. For it presupposes that human life has an "end." If we wish to ascertain how our life should be conducted, we must ascertain what is the end Nature has in view for us.

But an end is an effect imagined beforehand and willed, which we cannot bring about immediately but only through a chain of causes. These causes we call the means to the end. They too are willed, but only indirectly and because the end is attainable only through them. These processes to an end are sometimes treated as if the causal succession in them were reversed, so that the last effect appears as the beginning, and the future determines the present; in this sense, the end has been called the end-cause, because the final link of the process causes the beginning. But this is a senseless conception, since the future, that which does not yet exist, cannot now operate. In fact, the succession of causes and effects is no more broken into in the processes leading to an end than in any other processes. When a human being imagines to himself a result and endeavors to bring it about, these mental processes are not future but present; and they are not determined by an influence of the future upon the present, but by an influence of the past upon the present; they follow from experience, that is, from that which has already occurred. They are causal processes in which the activities of understanding and will have part. Hence "ends" exist in nature in so far as they exist in man and the higher animals; but outside these, ends cannot be predicated, unless Nature is regarded either as gifted with imagination and will or as the creation of a being possessing these. But imagination and will require, according to all our experience, a highly developed nervous system, and to assume their existence where such a centralized system does not exist is scientifically injustifiable. Moreover, the laws of thought by no means determine us to inquire after a cause of the whole world, since the concept of cause is applicable only to changes, not, however, to enduring existences and their qualities.

Or let us assume that we had discovered an end set by Nature. Then, either it would appear useless to interfere with its attainment and unnecessary to assist in it, or it would appear to us possible to oppose this end. In this latter case, cause must be shown why we should assist, or should resist, the process of Nature.

Many philosophers have said that man should live according to his own nature. If the word "nature" here denotes the totality of his characteristics, it is evident that the worst actions are not less natural than the best. Therefore, the word nature cannot, as here used, have this sense; the natural in this sense is not identical with the moral. Nor can the term as here used refer to the usual, for in that case the greatest moral excellence, as unusual, must be rejected. Nor can it be used to designate the more primary, for in that case, again, the later developments of benevolence and truthfulness should be rejected.

The word can have but one other sense, namely, as opposed to artificial. But what is in man artificial and what is natural? It seems that the natural is understood as that which is not the work of human intention and reflection, of labor, and of education. Innate impulses would be, according to this definition, natural. But it is evident that one cannot abandon himself to his blind impulses; society could not exist under such circumstances.

Or if it be said that, since all organs and impulses of the human being tend to preservation of the species, and that this must, therefore, be the end, then let us say "the preservation of the species," or "the good of mankind" but not "the natural life," is the end for man to attempt.

Nature as a whole is neither good nor bad. Her cruelty in the struggle for life is continuous. Yet this is not "cruelty," in so far as it is not willed. She has often selected the best men for her sacrifices. Yet this is not all that is to be said of the relation of Darwinism to Ethics. The law of natural selection regulates not only the life of the individual but also that of peoples and nations. Evil may arise and prosper in society. But it has no permanent existence. The chances that the descendants of human beings possessing evil characteristics will long survive, that they will not, sooner or later, perish as the result of conflict with the mandates of health, or the laws of the state, or the demands of society, are not great. In the life of nations, it appears more clearly than in the life of the individual, that "Death is the price of sin." Should in any society the opinion gain power that the struggle for existence authorizes or demands a regardless pursuit of one's own interests, an oppression and robbery of the weak by the strong, an annihilation of pain through the annihilation of the suffering individuals, an outrooting of conscience, and the natural voice of pity which raises protest against such a course; should selfishness be bred, and physical strength and refined cunning become the highest ideal; such a community would be on the verge of its own destruction; it would have labored for this result by justifying the struggle of all against all, permitting this the moment that a conflict of interests arose. Let times of need and danger, times of national war, come, and we shall see what is the fate of a society in which love of country, self-sacrifice, a sense of the ideal, respect for truth and justice, are only subjects for scorn. "The world's history is its judgment-day."

All positive human authorities are subject to the authority of the conditions of life. If they do not take note of the nature of things, if they disturb the foundations of social life, their endeavors must finally suffer shipwreck on the rock of this powerful impersonal authority.

Natural selection is therefore a power of judgment, in that it preserves the just and lets the evil perish. Will this war of the good with the evil always continue? Or will the perfect kingdom of righteousness one day prevail? We hope this last but we cannot know certainly.

We ourselves shall decide our future, by our acts.

* * * * *

In an essay written for the Society for Ethical Culture, and read October 10, 1891, before the London branch of that society, Gizycki reconstructs his theory of the right final end of life, advocating as such the General Welfare, instead of Peace of Conscience in the pursuit of the same. The objections to his own former theory offered are, chiefly, that if peace of conscience is regarded as the final end, the individual is likely to take too little account of the outward effects of his action, to be too little impressed by the evil results which should teach him greater care. The good of society is regarded by the virtuous man as more important than his own happiness, as that for which he is willing to sacrifice his own peace.

FOOTNOTES:

[79] The references here are to Lombroso, "Der Verbrecher," deutsche Ausgabe, S. 129 u. f.; H. v. Valentini, "Das Verbrecherthum im preussischen Staate," S. 226 u. f.

[80] Intelligibile Ursache.

[81] Grenzbegriff.

S. ALEXANDER

"MORAL ORDER AND PROGRESS" (1889)

The proper business of Ethics is the study of moral judgments--or, if we say of human conduct, then of conduct as submitted to the praise or blame of moral judgments. But these judgments are not mere opinions; conduct is not that which is "judged" to be right in distinction from that which is right; and thus the analysis of such judgments is a systematization of both conceptions and facts.

The task of Ethics falls into two parts. It has (1) to supply a _catalogue raisonne_ of the moral observances of life, the various moral judgments which make up the contents of the moral consciousness, and (2) to discuss what it is that the moral judgment, as such, expresses.

Nothing is more striking at the present time than the convergence of different schools of Ethics--English Utilitarianism developing into Evolutional Ethics, on the one hand, and the idealism associated with the German philosophy derived from Kant on the other. The convergence is not, of course, in mere practical precepts, but in method also. It consists in an "objectivity" or impartiality of treatment, commonly called "scientific." There is also a convergence in general results which consists in a recognition of a kind of proportion between individual and society, expressed by the phrase "organic connection." The theory of egoism, pure and simple, has been long dead; Utilitarianism succeeded it and enlarged the moral end. Evolution continued the process of enlarging the individual interest, and has given precision to the relation between the individual and the moral law. But in this it has added nothing new; for Hegel, in the early part of the century, gave life to Kant's formula by treating the law of morality as realized in the society and the state. The change in ethical conception is not due to biological research alone, but to the study of history also, and to other general changes in the practical data on which its principles are built. The social and political history of the century represents the growth of the idea of freedom, which has properly two sides--that of individual liberty of healthy development, and that of the solidarity of society and the responsibility of the individual to it. With the increasing complexity of interests and the growth of individual freedom, has come, however, a certain sense of loneliness to the individual in the midst of modern competition, and this explains, to a great extent, the increase of suicide in the present century.

The convergence of dissimilar theories affords us some prospect of obtaining a satisfactory statement of the ethical truths towards which they seem to move.

Our inquiry falls into two parts, according as we analyze the conceptions which relate to the existence of the moral judgment or those connected with its growth, maintenance, and change--the statics or the dynamics of morality. To these two divisions is to be added a third, preliminary division, more closely allied with the statical examination of morality. These three parts are represented by the questions: (1) What is it that is good? To what are the terms good and bad applied? (2) Why is it good? What does its goodness mean? (3) How does goodness come into being; how is it maintained; how does it advance?

Moral judgments apply to voluntary action, that is, action distinguished by the presence of an idea of the end to be attained "not merely _in_ consciousness but _to_ consciousness," and the conversion of the idea into the actual reality of presentation. The terms good and bad, indeed, are applied, not only outside the realm of morals, but also, within it, to desires and thoughts; but to these only as they are the objects of volition, in that the will at present allows them to persist in consciousness or in that their present occurrence is regarded as the result of past willing.

The conduct to which we apply moral judgment is a whole made up of many parts--and actions, consequences, and internal feelings have value for morality only in so far as they are its elements.

External action concerns conduct only in so far as the object of volitions (which may be either internal or external) is derived from this source. Voluntary external action is not external only, but has also an internal side; and not whether I succeed in performing a certain action or am prevented in the middle of it, but whether I willed it, is of importance to moral judgment. Conduct is sometimes considered separately from character; but this separation results from confusing conduct with mere action. A character exists only in its conduct, and all moral actions issue from character.

The consequences cannot be separated from conduct in the moral judgment, except in so far as they could not have been foreseen. The consequences of conduct are a most important part of action, in that they should be considered by the person willing, and should influence the nature of his conduct.

The internal side of conduct is represented by the moral sentiments. These are to be distinguished from the mere motives, which, defined as something that has propulsive force, whether a feeling or a passion, does not enter into moral action except as absorbed into volition. No emotion is, in itself, right or wrong, but is only indirectly judged as such as it makes a difference to the action--as an aptitude of mind which tends to this or that predominating form of conduct. Moral sentiments, on the other hand, as moral aptitudes effective for particular conduct, contain an additional element. Moral sentiments, thus defined, being equivalent to conduct, it follows that the mere possession of sentiments cannot constitute the difference between intrinsic or internal, and customary morality; customs are themselves a matter of sentiment. Thus "conduct as a concrete whole has an inward element of sentiment and an outward element of action, and these are different, on the one hand from mere given feelings, on the other from mere action." "Conduct is this unity of feeling and action in which mere feeling is modified by the idea of action, and mere action becomes a mental, or, if we like, a spiritual thing." "Conduct and character are the same thing facing different ways." "Think of a man's conduct in relation to the mental conditions from which it proceeds, and you think of his character; think of his character as it produces results beyond these sentiments themselves, and you have conduct."