The law of man's nature is, thus, regarded as a part of the law of Nature—"We are all working together to one end, some with knowledge and design, and others without knowing what they do." [Footnote: Ibid, vi, 42.] And, this being the case, man may take pattern, when he is inclined to fall below the standard of duty appropriate to him, by considering humbler creatures: "Dost thou not see the little plants, the little birds, the ants, the spiders, the bees working together to put in order their several parts of the universe? And art thou unwilling to do the work of a human being? And dost thou not make haste to do that which is according to thy nature?" [Footnote: Ibid, v, 1. ] The delinquent is, hence, judged guilty, not merely of derogation from his high estate, but also of impiety. [Footnote: Ibid, ix, 1. ]

117. VAGUENESS OF THE LAW OF NATURE.—The question of the influence of religious belief upon a theory of morals I shall discuss elsewhere. [Footnote: See chapter xxxvi.] Here it is only necessary to point out that, if there is vagueness in the appeal to human nature, it can scarcely be dissipated satisfactorily by simply turning to Nature in a broader sense. Shall we, when in doubt as to human behavior, copy that of the brutes? The industry of some humble creatures it seems edifying to dwell upon; but from the fact that bees are stung to death by their sisters in the hive, or that the spider is given to devouring her mate, we can hardly draw a moral lesson for man.

The appeal to a Law of Nature so often made in the history of ethical speculation has furnished but a vague and elusive norm. He who makes it is apt to fall back upon the moral intuitions with which he is furnished, and to pack a greater or less number of them into his notion of Natural Law. [Footnote: See SIR HENRY MAINE'S fascinating chapters on the "Law of Nature," Ancient Law, chapters in and iv. The innumerable appeals to the Law of Nature contained in Grotius's famous work on the "Law of War and Peace" are very illuminating. ]

In Cicero, Nature becomes fairly garrulous to man on all matters of deportment: "Let us follow Nature, and refrain from whatever lacks the approval of eye and ear. Let attitude, gait, mode of sitting, posture at table, countenance, eyes, movement of the hands, preserve the becomingness of which I speak." [Footnote: De Officiis, i, 35, translated by Peabody,]

118. THE APPEAL TO NATURE AND INTUITIONISM.—The moralists who urge us to follow nature, whether human nature or Nature in a wider sense, we may, hence, regard as intuitionists of a sort. Those who emphasize human nature evidently depend upon their moral intuitions to give them information as to its characteristics. It is intuition that paints for them their pattern. They do not take man as they actually find him; they call for the suppression of some traits, and the exaggeration of others.

Nor are those who appeal to Nature in a wider sense less guided by moral intuitions. The appeal is never made without restrictions and limitations. No one dreams that the bird, the ant, the spider, the bee, can be regarded as satisfactory teachers of morals to human beings. Each may be occupied in putting in order its corner of the universe; but the order attained is not a human order, and there is in it much that is revolting to the moral judgments of mankind. Man must have a standard of his own. He listens to Nature only when she tells him what he already approves.

As a form of intuitionism the doctrine of following.. nature may be criticised in much the same way as other forms. One great merit it has. It calls attention to the fact that ethics is a discipline which has no significance abstracted from the nature of man. It appears absurd to say that man ought to do what it is not in man, under any conceivable circumstances, to do. And, like other forms of intuitionism, it has the merit of avoiding that short-circuiting which may easily prove seductive to the egoist or the utilitarian. He who accepts as his end either his own happiness or that of men generally may easily be induced to take short cuts to that end, and pay little attention to moral maxims as such. He may treat lightly that great system of rules and observances by which men are guided in their relations with one another, and which prevent human societies from relapsing into a chaos.

On the other hand, the follower of nature, like other intuitionists, may easily be thrown into perplexity by the fact that what seems to him natural, and, hence, right, may not be approved by other men. He cannot prove that he is right and they are wrong. He appears condemned to take refuge in subjective conviction, that is, in mere dogmatism.

II. PERFECTION

119. PERFECTION AND TYPE.—When we speak of a thing as more or less perfect, we commonly mean that it is more or less perfect in its kind. A good saw makes a poor razor; a good chair, a more than indifferent bed. A bee crushed by a blow, a bird with a broken wing, we regard as imperfect. But it scarcely occurs to us to ask ourselves whether the bee is more or less perfect than the bird, or the bird than the spider. Swift's Houyhnhnms at their best could not be either perfect horses or perfect men. They were creatures with a perfection of their own, and one appropriate to their hybrid nature.

To every creature its own perfection. This principle men seem to assume tacitly in their judgments. They set up a standard for each kind, and they conceive the individual to attain or to fall short, according to the degree of its approach to, or of its divergence from, the allotted standard.

If we take perfection in this sense—and we usually have no other sense in mind in our judgments of perfection—the doctrine that it is the whole duty of man to strive to attain to perfection is none other than the doctrine that it is his duty to follow nature, his proper nature as man. And any difficulties which may legitimately be urged upon the attention of the moralist who recommends the following of nature may with equal justice be urged upon the attention of him who exhorts us to aim at perfection.

Thus, if it is doubtful just what nature demands of us, it seems no less doubtful what obligations are laid upon us when we make perfection our goal. That goal cannot mean for each man simply the developing to the utmost of all the capacities which he possesses. There are men rich in the possibilities of sloth, of indifference to future good, of egoism, even of malignant feeling. Nor does the average man furnish the pattern of perfection. The perfectionist does not regard the average man as the embodiment of his ideal. He seeks to better him.

That, in striving to attain perfection, a man should remain a man, with essentially human characteristics, seems evident. But what sort of a man he should be is not as clear. Until we are in a position to give some reasoned account of what we mean by perfection as an ideal, and to show that it is a desirable goal for man, we appear to be setting up but a vague end for human endeavor, and to be assuming intuitively that it is a desirable end.

120. MORE AND LESS PERFECT TYPES.—So much for perfection as synonymous with the ideal human nature of which ancient and modern moralists have treated. It appears, however, possible to use the word "perfection" in a somewhat different sense.

Man is not merely man; he is a living being, and there are living beings of many orders. The plants, the simpler forms of animal life, the brutes which we recognize as standing nearer to us, and man may, from this point of view, be referred to the one series. Some members of this series we characterize as lower, and others we speak of as higher in the scale.

Now, such designations as higher and lower cannot be applied indiscriminately. There is little sense in the assertion that a bit of string is higher than a straight line, or a hat than a handkerchief. Some significant basis of comparison must be present. Things must be recognized as approximating to or diverging from an accepted standard in varying degrees.

Such a basis of comparison is present when some objects possess the same qualities in a more marked degree than do others. But this is not the only possible basis of comparison. We may assume that the possession of certain qualities marks a creature as higher, and that the creature which has them not, or has them imperfectly developed, thereby stamps itself as being of a lower order.

Something like this appears to determine our judgments when we assign to various creatures their place in the scale of living beings. We do not mean that the higher possess to a greater degree all the capacities possessed by the lower. Many things which the plant does man cannot do at all; and, among the animals, those which we recognize as higher may be lacking in many capacities present in a marked degree in the lower. In ranking one living creature as higher, and, thus, as more perfect, than another, we assume that the "nature" of the one, with its various capacities and lacks of capacity, is, on the whole, of more worth than the "nature" of another.

It might be maintained that, in his estimate of the worth of different kinds of beings man is influenced by his partiality for the distinctively human, rating creatures as lower or higher in proportion to their divergence from or approximation to his own type. Undoubtedly this plays a part in men's judgments. We are partial to ourselves. And yet judgments of perfection and imperfection cannot wholly be explained on this principle.

"I think we must admit without proof," writes Professor Janet, [Footnote: The Theory of Morals, Book I, chapter iii, English translation, New York, 1883, p. 48.] a brilliant apostle of the doctrine of perfection, "that things are good, even independently of the pleasure which they give us, in themselves and by themselves, because of their intrinsic excellence. If anyone were to demand that I should prove that thought is worth more than digestion, a tree more than a heap of stones, liberty than slavery, maternal love than luxury, I could only reply by asking him to demonstrate that the whole is greater than one of its parts. No sensible person denies that, in passing from the mineral kingdom to the vegetable kingdom, from this to the animal kingdom, from the animal to man, from the savage to the enlightened citizen of a free country, Nature has made a continual advance; that is to say, at each step has gained in excellence and perfection."

One is naturally impelled to ask from what point of view things so disparate as the mineral, the plant, the brute, man, thought and digestion, liberty and slavery, can be compared with one another at all, and referred to any sort of a series. What is, in its essence, this excellence or perfection of which we have more shining evidence as we go up in the scale? Janet identifies it with intensity of being, with activity. The greater the activity, the greater the perfection.

To the identification of perfection and activity we may hesitate to assent. It does not seem clear that there is greater activity manifested in a snail than in a burning house, in maternal love than in furious hate, in quiet thought than in passion. Yet it seems significant that judgments of worth do not appear out of place in comparing such things.

121. PERFECTIONISM AND INTUITIONISM.—Taking into consideration all that is said above, it seems not unreasonable to conclude:

(1) That in speaking of the perfection of any creature we very often judge it only by the standard set by its own type. We regard it as a good specimen of its kind.

(2) But when we use perfection in a wider sense, we judge different types after the standard furnished by the distinctively human.

(3) And we take as our standard of the human the "pattern" man held in view by those who urge us to follow nature.

But why should this pattern man be assumed to be better or worthier than a man of a different sort? He who finds in him a greater exhibition of activity may with equal justice address to himself the question: Why is activity, in itself, of value? The one question, like the other, looks for its answer in the dictum of some intuition. What may be said for, and what against, intuitions, we have already considered. [Footnote: See chapter xxiii]

III. SELF-REALIZATION

122. THE SELF-REALIZATION DOCTRINE.—The ethical school which makes the realization of the capacities of the self the aim of moral action has for a generation, especially in England and America, had the support of many acute and scholarly minds. The doctrine, often spoken of as the Neo- Kantian or the Neo-Hegelian, may be said to be influenced by Kant, so far as concerns metaphysical theory, but its ethical character is more properly Hegelian and suggests in many particulars that great German philosopher's "Philosophy of Right."

We may conveniently take as the protagonist of the school the Oxford scholar, Thomas Hill Green, whose "Prolegomena to Ethics" has had, directly and indirectly, a powerful influence upon the minds of the men of our generation.

We find the doctrine of self-realization, as set forth by Green, to be as follows:

(1) In all desire some object is presented to the mind as not yet real, and there is a striving to make it real, and thus to satisfy, or extinguish, the desire. [Footnote: Prolegomena to Ethics, Sec 131.]

(2) Self-consciousness knits the desires into a system, and thus attains to the conception of "well-being," which implies the satisfaction of desire in general, and not merely of this or that desire. [Footnote: Prolegomena to Ethics, Sec 128.]

(3) "Good" is that which satisfies some desire. Any good at which an agent aims must be his own good; and "true good" is nothing else than "permanent well-being." [Footnote: Prolegomena to Ethics, Sec Sec 190, 92, 203.]

(4) A desire is determined by the nature of the creature desiring; man can attain satisfaction only in the realization of his capacities. His true good lies only in their complete realization—in his becoming all that it is in him to become. [Footnote: Prolegomena to Ethics, Sec Sec 171-2, 180.]

(5) But man is a social being, and has an interest in other persons than himself. Hence his complete self-satisfaction implies the satisfaction of his social as well as of his other impulses. That is, his true good includes the good of others. [Footnote: Prolegomena to Ethics, Sec Sec 199- 205.]

(6) We can only discover what our "capacities" are by observing them as so far realized, and thus gaining the idea of future progress. The ultimate end is unknown to us. [Footnote: Prolegomena to Ethics, Sec 172.]

(7) But we see enough to recognize that man's capacities can be realized, his self-satisfaction intelligently sought, only in a social state based upon the notion of the common good. The right reveals itself in the actual evolution of society. [Footnote: Ibid., Sec Sec 172-76, 205.]

123. THE DOCTRINE AKIN TO THAT OF FOLLOWING NATURE.—The self- realization doctrine has much in common with the doctrine of following nature. Thus:

1. It evidently does not recommend the realization of all the capacities of the individual as such, but holds in view a "pattern" man.

2. This is social man, the true representative of human nature as conceived by the ancient Stoic. Green holds before himself "the ideal of a society in which everyone shall treat everyone else as his neighbor, in which to every rational agent the well-being or perfection of every other such agent shall be included in that perfection for which he lives." [Footnote: Prolegomena to Ethics, Sec 205.] The same thought was more pithily expressed by Marcus Aurelius in the aphorism that "what is good for the hive is good for the bee."

3. We find, too, the analogue of that wider appeal to nature which suffused the Stoic doctrine with religious feeling. In the above brief recapitulation of the steps in the self-realization doctrine I have omitted this aspect, as I wished to confine myself to the ethical doctrine pure and simple. But Green conceives of the Divine Consciousness as already having before it the consummation toward which man strives in his efforts at self-realization; he regards man as working toward the attainment of a Divine Purpose. The self-realizationist may prefer, sometimes, to use language more abstract. He may say: "Man's consciousness of himself as a member of society involves a reference to a cosmic order." [Footnote: MUIRHEAD, The Elements of Ethics, Book I, chapter in, Sec 10.] But the difference of language scarcely carries with it a substantial difference of thought. [Footnote: "Though the philosopher as such may shun the term 'God' on account of its anthropomorphic associations, and may prefer to speak of the 'conscious principle,' or of the 'universal self,' yet the latter has in substance the same meaning as the former." FITE, An Introductory Study of Ethics, chapter xiii, Sec 4.]

4. As the appeal to human nature, or to nature in a broader sense, left the norm for the guidance of human actions somewhat vague, so the appeal to the principle of self-realization seems to leave one without very definite guidance. There may easily arise disputes touching what capacities are to be realized, and in what degree.

124. IS THE DOCTRINE MORE EGOISTIC?—One difference between the principles of following nature, striving to attain to perfection, and aiming at self-realization seems to force itself upon our notice. On the surface, at least, the last doctrine appears to stand out as more distinctly egoistic. The very name has an egoistic flavor; the doctrine bases itself upon the satisfaction of desire; nor do its advocates hesitate to emphasize that the satisfaction sought is the satisfaction of the agent desiring. In the chapter on Egoism [Footnote: Chapter xxiv.] I have cited some utterances which sound egoistic, and such citations might be multiplied.

Nevertheless, from this egoistic root springs a flower which disseminates the perfume of a saintly self-abnegation. How is this seeming miracle accomplished?

The transition is brought about through a chain of reasoning which is subtle and ingenious in the extreme. Must we not admit that in all purposive action—the only action with which the moralist need concern himself—there is a striving to realize or satisfy desire in the attainment of some object? And if the desires of a mind or self converge upon some object, does not its realization imply the satisfaction or realization of the desires of that mind or self? Furthermore, if our desires have as their root our capacities—for we can desire nothing that it is not in us to desire—is not the realization of desire the realization of capacity? Does it not follow, hence, that every mind or self, in all purposive action, is striving, either blunderingly or with far-sighted intelligence, to attain to self-satisfaction, which means, to the realization of its capacities? Finally, as men are by nature social creatures, how can a man fully realize his capacities without becoming a truly unselfish being? Unselfishness appears to be the inevitable goal of the strivings for self-satisfaction of an unselfish self.

125. WHY AIM TO REALIZE CAPACITIES?—This reasoning appears highly satisfactory in two very different ways. It seems, on the one hand, to stop the mouth of the egoist, who insists that his own advantage is his only proper aim. It assures him that he is throughout seeking his own advantage, when he aims at self-realization. On the other hand, it assures the man to whom egoism appears repellant and immoral, that self- realization implies that one must love one's neighbor as oneself. The immemorial quarrel between self-love and benevolence appears to be adjusted to the mutual satisfaction of both parties.

Is the reasoning unassailable? There are two steps in it which appear to demand a closer scrutiny. One is the transition from desire to capacity; the other, the assumption that he who follows an unselfish impulse may properly be said to aim at self-satisfaction, and to exercise no self- denial.

As to the first. Our desires may have their roots in our capacities, but desires and capacities are, nevertheless, not the same thing.

Men do actually strive to realize their desires—a desire is nothing else than such a striving for realization or satisfaction. But it cannot be said that men generally strive to realize their capacities, except to the limited degree in which their capacities may happen to be expressed in actual desires. Capacities may lie dormant, and the man in whom they lie dormant need not on that account feel dissatisfied, as does the man whose desires are not realized. Self-realization, as understood by the school of thinkers which advocates it, implies much more than the satisfaction of desire. It implies the multiplication of desires and their satisfaction. On what ground shall we persuade the contented egoist, who has but a handful of commonplace desires and finds it possible to satisfy most of them, that it is better to call into being a multitude of wants many of which will probably remain unrealized? He may point out that the divine discontent is apt to leave the idealist and the reformer as lean as Cassius. All of which does not prove that the self-realizationist is not right in exhorting men to develop their capacities in the direction of the pattern which he holds in view; but it does seem to prove that the path to self-realization, in this sense, is not necessarily the path to self-satisfaction. "The good" has come to mean more than that which satisfies desire. How shall we persuade men that it is their duty to make this good their end?

126. THE PROBLEM OF SELF-SACRIFICE.—As for the second point. He who makes his moral aim self-satisfaction can scarcely be expected to advocate self-sacrifice.

Accordingly, we find among self-realizationists, a tendency to repudiate altogether what may properly be called self-denial. "Anything conceived as good in such a way that the agent acts for the sake of it," said Green, [Footnote: Prolegomena, Sec 92.] "must be conceived as his own good." "A moment's consideration will show," writes Professor Fite, in his clear and attractive book, [Footnote: An Introductory Study of Ethics, chapter viii, Sec 5.] "that, for self-sacrifice in any absolute sense, no ground of obligation is conceivable. Unless I am in some way interested in the object [Footnote: I.e., unless I desire the object.] whose attainment is set before me as a duty, it seems to be psychologically impossible that I should ever strive for it."

Now we do seem compelled to concede that, unless a man desires an end, he cannot will that end. Anything that is selected as an end, and striven for, must be desired. And the attainment of the end implies, of course, the satisfaction of that particular desire. But, admitting all this, is not the question left open whether some desires may not be sacrificed to others; and whether, indeed, a whole extensive system of desires may not, on occasion, be sacrificed to a single desire? In this case, may not the transaction properly be called self-sacrifice? Suppose the desire to serve one's neighbor, if satisfied, prevents the realization of a multitude of other desires of the same agent. Is it certain that its satisfaction does not imply self-denial?

127. SELF-SATISFACTION AND SELF-SACRIFICE.—The argument to prove that it is not really self-sacrifice may follow divers paths.

Thus, it may be argued that, since the proper end of a rational being is his own permanent good, the sacrifice of such goods as do not conduce to this end is not self-sacrifice. Sensual pleasures, the satisfaction of vanity or ambition, the accomplishment of a vengeful purpose, an excessive preoccupation with one's own interests as contrasted with those of others—such things as these, it is claimed, do not permanently satisfy. That the so-called man of pleasure is a man upon whom pleasures pall, and that he who seeks too earnestly to save his own life is apt to lose it, has been reiterated by a long line of professional and lay moralists from Buddha to Tolstoi. The refuge from the discontent arising out of the attempt to quench one's thirst by sipping at transient delights has always been found in altruism under some guise. The self- realizationists may claim that certain things are given up in order that other things more permanently satisfying to the self may be attained, and may deny that this is any renunciation of self-satisfaction. [Footnote: GREEN, op. cit., Sec 176.]

Again. It may be argued that men's interests do not conflict as widely as is commonly supposed. To be sure, two men may have to struggle with each other for the pleasure of eating a given apple, of making a pecuniary profit, of obtaining a coveted post, of being the first authority in a given science or art, of securing the affections of a particular woman. Here one man's loss seems to be another man's gain. But two men may enjoy seeing a child eat an apple, or a deserving man profit, or their common candidate win the election, or their favorite artist honored, or their beloved nephew accepted by the lady of his choice. If one desires certain things, and certain things only, there seems no reason why one's desires should not be in harmony with those of others.

The things best worth having, it is claimed, do not admit of being competed for. [Footnote: GREEN, Prolegomena to Ethics, Sec Sec 244- 245.] If my aim is unselfish devotion to humanity, how can I lose if my neighbor attains in the same running? Do virtuous men, in so far as they are virtuous, stand in each other's light? Are there not as many prizes as there are competitors? As long as I remain in this field I may seek self-satisfaction without scruple. I satisfy another's desire in satisfying my own. By benevolence I lose nothing.

The list of things which one may forego without self-sacrifice has been made a long one. Even the realization of capacities highly valued by cultivated men has been brought into it:

"No conflict," writes Professor Seth, [Footnote: A Study of Ethical Principles, Part II, chapter ii, Sec 4, Edinburgh, 1911, p. 286.] "is possible between the ends of the individual and those of society. The individual may be called upon to sacrifice, for example, his opportunity of esthetic or intellectual culture; but in that very sacrifice lies his opportunity of moral culture, of true self-realization."

128. CAN MORAL SELF-SACRIFICE BE A DUTY?—To this position one is tempted to demur until two questions have found a satisfactory answer:

1. Is it true that there is no sacrifice of self-realization or self- satisfaction, properly so called, where all other desires and impulses are sacrificed to the one desire to do right?

2. Is it not conceivable, at least, that obedience to an unselfish impulse may result even in the sacrifice of the opportunities of moral culture in general? Can it, then, be called self-realization?

Touching the first question it may plausibly be maintained that the desires of the self are many and various, and that the satisfaction of an altruistic impulse may imply the sacrifice of so many of them that the self may very doubtfully be said to attain to permanent satisfaction when the impulse is realized. Aristotle's hero, who, in dying for his country, chooses the more "honorable" for himself, [Footnote: Ethics, Book IX, chapter viii, Sec 12.] can hardly be said in that one act to have accomplished a state of permanent satisfaction or well-being for the self whose being was, in that act, brought to an abrupt termination. Certain Stoics seem to have taught that virtue is its own adequate reward and that nothing else matters; but this has not been the verdict of moralists generally. Paley, who writes like an unblushing egoist, [Footnote: See Sec 96.] we may pass over; but even Kant, a thinker of a very different complexion, appears to regard the mere doing of a right act as not a sufficient reward for the doer. He looks for the act to be crowned with happiness in a life to come, thus saving it from being mere self- sacrifice.

The second question one approaches with some hesitation. "No moralist," writes Professor Sidgwick, [Footnote: The Methods of Ethics, Introduction.] "has ever directed an individual to promote the virtue of others except in so far as this promotion is compatible with, or rather involved in, the complete realization of virtue in himself." It appears rash to admit to be a duty that which as high an authority as Sidgwick maintains no moralist has ever ventured to advise. Still, it is permissible to adduce an illustration taken from actual life, and to ask the reader to form his opinion independently.

A girl, anxious to provide her younger sister with a better lot, enters a factory and gives up her life to labor of a monotonous and mind- destroying character, amid sordid and more or less degrading surroundings. The act is a heroic one, but is it clear that it conduces to the self-realization, not of the sister, but of the agent herself? The influence of surroundings counts for much. High impulses may, under such pressure, come to be repressed.

"Capacity for the nobler feelings," writes Mill, [Footnote: Utilitarianism, chapter iii] "is in most natures a very tender plant, easily killed, not only by hostile influences, but by mere want of sustenance; and in the majority of young persons it speedily dies away if the occupations to which their position in life has devoted them, and the society into which it has thrown them, are not favorable to keeping that higher capacity in exercise. Men lose their high aspirations as they lose their intellectual tastes, because they have not time or opportunity for indulging them; and they addict themselves to inferior pleasures, not because they deliberately prefer them, but because they are either the only ones to which they have access, or the only ones they are any longer capable of enjoying."

In other words, one may put oneself into a situation in which self- realization appears to be made a most difficult and problematic goal. Nor does it seem inconceivable that one should do this for the sake of another's good. Hence, even if we restrict the meaning of the word "self- sacrifice" to the sacrifice of the "real" or moral self, the impossibility of self-sacrifice scarcely appears to have been proved; the impossibility of a conflict between the ends of the individual and of society does not appear to be indubitably established.

129. SELF-SACRIFICE AND THE IDENTITY OF SELVES.—Can it be maintained upon any other grounds than those adduced above? One line of argument remains open to us. We may maintain that, while two bodies are two because they occupy two portions of space, two minds, as not in space, cannot thus be held apart, and we may conclude that "the many individuals composing the race are not really many, but one." [Footnote: Fite, An Introductory Study of Ethics, chapter xii.] I suppose that he who can take this position will find it natural to argue that any act which serves the interests of any self must be regarded as serving the interests of every self, and thus cannot be considered as sacrificing the interests of any self.

To these transcendental heights, however, comparatively few will be able to climb. To men generally it will still appear that Peter's love to Paul is not identical with Peter's love to Peter; and that Peter may act in such a way that, on the whole, he loses, while Paul gains. That the interests of Peter and Paul, as developed social beings and members of a civilized community, are less likely to be in conflict than those of their primitive cave-dwelling forerunners may be freely conceded. But from such relative harmony to a complete identity of interests seems a far cry.

130. QUESTIONS WHICH SEEM TO BE LEFT OPEN.—Evidently, the self- realization doctrine is a great advance upon the doctrine of following nature. The self-realizationist realizes that man's nature is in the making, and he is not blind to the difficulty of the task of determining just what the real demands of human nature are.

This leads to his laying much stress upon the gradual development of systems of rights and duties as they emerge under the actual conditions to which human societies are subjected in the course of their evolution. He reads history with comprehending eyes, and reverences the human reason as crystallized in social institutions. Hence, the divergence of the moral standards which obtain in different ages and among different peoples does not seem to him a baffling mystery. He can find a relative justification for each, and yet hold to an ideal in the light of which each must be judged.

It may be questioned, however, whether the edifice which he erects can be based wholly upon the appeal to the self which ostensibly furnishes the groundwork of the doctrine. We may ask whether such an appeal can:

(1) Prescribe to the individual in what measure his various capacities should be realized.

(2) Show that it is reasonable to awaken dormant capacities, and thus multiply desires.

(3) Justify social acts which certainly appear to be self-sacrificing, and which the moral judgments of men generally do not hesitate to approve.



CHAPTER XXVII

THE ETHICS OF EVOLUTION

131. THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE TITLE.—The title, "The Ethics of Evolution," seems to assume that the evolutionist, frankly accepting himself as such, must be prepared to join some school of the moralists different from other schools, and basing itself upon evolutionary doctrine.

That the ethical views of individuals and of communities of men may undergo a process of evolution or development is palpable. The ethical notions of the child are not those of the man, nor are the moral ideas of primitive races identical with those of races more advanced intellectually and morally.

But it is one thing to maintain that morals may be in evolution in individuals and in communities, and quite another to hold that the acceptance of the doctrine of evolution, broadly taken, forces upon one some new norm by which human actions may be judged. It was possible for as ardent an evolutionist as Huxley to hold that evolution and ethics are not merely independent, but are actually at war with one another, the competitive struggle for existence characteristic of the one giving place in the other to a new principle in which the rights of the weak and the helpless attain express recognition. [Footnote: HUXLEY, Evolution and Ethics, New York, 1894. See, especially, the Prolegomena.] And Sidgwick, that clearest of thinkers, maintains [Footnote: The Methods of Ethics, Book I, chapter vi, Sec 2.] that we have no reason to assume that it is our duty as moral beings simply to accelerate the pace in the direction already marked out by evolution.

It should be remembered that the word evolution may be used equivocally. It is not evident that all evolution is in the direction of a life, brute or human, that we commonly recognize as higher. There is retrogression, as well as progress, where such retrogression is favored by environment. We may call this, if we please, devolution. Were the conditions of his life very unfavorable, man could not live as he now lives; and, indeed, were they sufficiently unfavorable—for example, if the earth cooled off to a certain point—he could not live at all, but would have to give place to a lowlier creature better fitted to the conditions. Must the man who foresees this end approaching strive to hasten its arrival, or should he oppose it? In a decadent society, to come nearer to the problems which concern us in ethics, must a man strive to realize the social will expressed in progressive decadence? Should he hasten the decline of the community?

That those who study man as a moral being, like those who study man in any of his other aspects, will be more or less influenced in their outlook by the broadening of the horizon which results from a study of what the students of the evolutionary process have to tell us, may be conceded. But when we admit this, we do not necessarily have to look for a new norm by which to judge conduct. We seem, rather, forced to ask ourselves how this broadening of the horizon affects the norms which have heretofore appealed to men as reasonable. To be sure, any evolutionist has, in the capacity of a moralist, the right to suggest a new norm. But, in that case, he must, like any other moralist, convince us that it is a reasonable one.

132. EVOLUTION AND THE SCHOOLS OF THE MORALISTS.—Those who have suggested the norms discussed above, no one would think of as greatly influenced in their ethical teaching by the doctrine of evolution. Locke, Price, Butler and Sidgwick; Aristippus and Epicurus; Paley and Hobbes; Bentham and Mill; Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius; Janet, Green, and the rest, no one would be inclined to class simply as evolutionary moralists. Some of them never thought of evolution at all. How would it affect their standards of right and wrong were evolution expressly taken into account? Would the standards have to be abandoned? Or would the men, as broader men, merely have to revise some of their moral judgments?

(1) It might be supposed that the acceptance of evolutionary doctrine would bring into being a grave problem for the intuitionist, at least. If the body and mind of man are products of evolution, must we not admit as much of man's moral intuitions? Then why not admit that these may be replaced some day by other moral intuitions to be evolved in an unknown future?

He who reasons thus should bear in mind that Sidgwick, who by no means repudiated the doctrine of evolution, was an intuitionist, and placed his ultimate moral intuitions on a par with such mathematical intuitions as that two and two make four. If all intuitions are a product of evolution, Sidgwick might claim that the moral intuitions he accepts fare no worse than those elementary mathematical truths which we accept without question and without reflection. And he might maintain that an appeal to evolution need cast no greater doubt upon ultimate moral truth than upon mathematical. If intuitionism in all its forms is to be rejected, it seems as though it must be done upon some other ground than an appeal to evolution.

(2) As to the egoist. It is not easy to see how the appeal to evolution need disconcert him. Should he be so foolish as to maintain that egoism is always, in fact, necessary and unavoidable on the part of every living creature, he might easily be refuted by a reference to the actual life of the brutes, where altruism can be shown to play no insignificant role. But if he simply maintains that the only reasonable principle for a man to adopt is egoism, he may continue to do so. He makes the self and its satisfactions his end. How can it concern him to learn how the self came to be what it is, or what it will be in the distant future? He panders to the present self; he may assume that it will be reasonable to pander at the appropriate time to the self that is to be, whatever its nature.

(3) The utilitarian remains such whether he makes the greatest good of the greatest number to consist in pleasure or in some other end, such as self-preservation. Some utilitarians, who have been inclined to emphasize the good of man, rather than to extend even to the brutes the goods to be distributed, may be influenced to extend the sphere of duties, if they will listen to the evolutionist, who cannot well leave out of view humbler creatures. [Footnote: "Thus we shall not go wrong in attributing to the higher animals in their simple social life, not only the elementary feelings, the loves and hates, sympathies and jealousies which underlie all forms of society, but also in a rudimentary stage the intelligence which enables those feelings to direct the operations of the animal so as best to gratify them." HOBHOUSE, Ethics in Evolution, chapter i, Sec 4.]

He may broaden his sympathies. But this need not compel him to abandon his fundamental doctrine.

(4) A very similar conclusion may be drawn, when we consider the influence of an acceptance of the doctrine of evolution upon those who would turn to man's nature, to perfection, or to self-realization, as furnishing the norm of human conduct.

A Marcus Aurelius could, with little reference to evolution, accept man's nature, or Nature in the wider sense, as marking out for man the round of his duties. A modern Darwinian might fall back upon much the same standard, while clearly conscious of the fact that man's nature is not something unchangeable, and while inclined to view Nature in general with different eyes from those of the Roman Stoic. No sensible evolutionist would maintain that a creature of a given species should act in defiance of all the instincts of creatures of that type, merely on the ground that species may be involved in a process of progressive development.

Nor need the perfectionist abandon his perfectionism in view of any such consideration. He who measures perfection by the degree of activity exercised in action, may admit that the coming man will be more perfect than it is possible for any man to be now; but that need not prevent him from holding that it is man's present duty to aim at the only perfection possible to him, he being what he is. Similar reasoning will apply to any other conception of perfection likely to be adopted, consciously or unconsciously, by any adherent of the school in question.

As for the self-realizationist, a very little reflection seems sufficient to reveal that the maxim that it is man's duty to become all that it is in him to become is in no wise refuted by the claim that man may, in the indefinitely distant future, become much more than many people have supposed or now suppose.

(5) There remains the doctrine of the Rational Social Will as furnishing the norm of conduct. I have tried to show that this doctrine must rest upon broad views of man and of man's environment. It is the very essence of the rational will to take broad views, to consider the past, the present, and the future. Surely the adherent of this school may let the evolutionist work in peace, may thank him for any helpful suggestions he has to offer, and may develop his own doctrine with little cause for uneasiness at the thought that information given him may refute his fundamental principle.

However, it is not out of place for him to point out, if revolutionary measures of any sort are suggested by this or that evolutionist, that ethics is a discipline which is concerned with what men have to do, here and now. It must take into consideration what is advisable and feasible. Utopian schemes which break violently with the actual order of things and the normal development of human societies may be suggested by evolutionists, as they have been suggested by men who were not evolutionists at all. They are not to be taken much more seriously in the one case than in the other.

133. THE ETHICS OF INDIVIDUAL EVOLUTIONISTS.—Such considerations seem to make it evident that the acceptance of the doctrine of evolution should have no other influence upon us as moralists than that of making us take broad views of man and of his environment. It still remains to find a norm of conduct, and evolutionists, like other men, may develop ethical systems which are not identical. It is worth while here to touch very briefly upon the suggestions of one or two individual evolutionists. Those who speak of the ethics of evolution are very apt to have such in mind.

Thus, Darwin, whose study of the lower animals led him to believe that the social instincts have been developed for the general good rather than for the general happiness of the species, defines the "good" as "the rearing of the greatest number of individuals in full vigor and health, with all their faculties perfect, under the conditions to which they have been subjected." The "greatest happiness principle" he regards as an important secondary guide to conduct, while making social instinct and sympathy primary guides. [Footnote: The Descent of Man, chapter iv, concluding remarks. ]

Spencer maintains that the evolution of conduct becomes the highest possible when the conduct "simultaneously achieves the greatest totality of life in self, in offspring, and in fellow-men." "The conduct called good," he writes, "rises to the conduct conceived as best, when it fulfills all three classes of ends at the same time." But life he does not regard as necessarily a good. He judges it to be good or bad "according as it has or has not a surplus of agreeable feeling." Hence, "conduct is good or bad according as its total effects are pleasurable or painful." [Footnote: The Data of Ethics, chapter in, Sec Sec 8 and 10. ]

To be sure, Spencer criticises the utilitarians, and thinks little of the Benthamic calculus of pleasures. He believes that we should substitute for it something more scientific, a study of the processes of life. In his earlier writings he appears to be largely in accord with the intuitionists in judging of conduct, regarding intuitions as having their origin in the experiences of the race. Nor does he ever seem inclined to break with intuitionism completely. But, as we have seen above (Sec 108), there appears to be nothing to prevent a utilitarian from being an intuitionist of some sort, as well.

Stephen, in his clear and beautifully written work on morals, also accepts the general happiness as the ultimate end of reasonable conduct; and he, too, criticizes the current utilitarianism. He writes: "This, as it seems to me, represents the real difference between the utilitarian and the evolutionist criterion. The one lays down as a criterion the happiness, the other the health of society." [Footnote: The Science of Ethics, London, 1882, chapter ix, 12.] By which, of course, he does not mean merely physical health, but such a condition of vigor and efficiency as carries with it a promise of continued existence and well- being in the future.

It is not necessary to multiply instances. It can readily be seen that all three of the writers cited are utilitarians, and the last two are what have been characterized as hedonistic utilitarians. That they suggest this or that means of best attaining to the desired goal does not put them outside of a school which embraces men of many shades of opinion.



CHAPTER XXVIII

PESSIMISM

134. THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE PESSIMIST.—With philosophy in general this volume has little to do; but as pessimism is not the doctrine of normal men generally, but is apt to be identified in our minds with the teachings of certain of its leading exponents, it may be well to give, in briefest outline, the type of reasonings upon which the pessimist may take his stand.

Schopenhauer held that the one World-Will, which manifests itself in all nature, inorganic and organic, and is identical with the will of which each man is conscious in himself, is a "will to live." When the World- Will becomes conscious, as it does in man, the will to live is consciously asserted. But the will to live is essentially blind and unreasoning, or it would not do anything so stupid as to will life of any sort. He writes:

"Only a blind will, no seeing will, could place itself in the position in which we behold ourselves. A seeing will would rather have soon made the calculation that the business did not cover the cost; for such a mighty effort and struggle, with the straining of all the powers, under constant care, anxiety and want, and with the inevitable destruction of every individual life, finds no compensation in the ephemeral existence itself, which is so obtained, and which passes into nothing in our hands." [Footnote: The World as Will and Idea, translated by HALDANE and KEMP, London, 1896. On the Vanity and Suffering of Life. Volume III, p. 390.]

The basis of all will, says Schopenhauer, is need, deficiency, and, hence, pain. He dwells at length upon the misery of life, and the desirability of a release from life. The refuge of suicide at once suggests itself, but is rejected by Schopenhauer on the ground that the destruction of the individual cannot prevent the One Will from manifesting itself in other individuals. Curiously enough he appears to approve of suicide by starvation, as indicating a renunciation of the will to live. But his general recommendation is asceticism, renunciation of the striving for pleasure, the voluntary acceptance of pain. Through this the Will is to be taught to apprehend its own nature, and, thus, to deny itself. How a general asceticism on our part will rob the one universal Will, revealed in the mineral, vegetable and animal worlds, of its nature, and still its strivings, the great pessimist does not indicate.

At this point, von Hartmann, who may fairly be called Schopenhauer's pupil, takes up the tale. He suggests that it is conceivable that a universal negation of the will may be obtained, if the preponderating part of the actual World-Will should come to be contained in the conscious minds that resolve to will no more. This he thinks may neutralize the whole, and put an end to existence, which is unavoidably an evil, and implies a preponderance of pain. [Footnote: Philosophy of the Unconscious, "Metaphysic of the Unconscious," chapter xiv.]

135. COMMENT ON THE ETHICS OF PESSIMISM.—On the metaphysics of the pessimists I shall make no comment save that there appears to be here sufficient vagueness to satisfy the most poetical of minds. But the following points in the ethics of pessimism should be noted:

(1) Pleasure and pain are made the measure of the desirability or undesirability of existence.

(2) It is assumed that pleasure and pain are measurable; and that they may be quantitatively balanced against one another in such a way that this or that mixture of them may be declared by an enlightened man to be, on the whole, desirable or the reverse.

(3) It is claimed that the balance must necessarily incline to the side of pain, and hence, that life is not worth living.

(4) It follows from all this that it is our duty to aim, not necessarily directly, but in some manner, at least, at the destruction of life everywhere.

(5) I beg the reader to observe that the above doctrine rests upon assumptions which seem to be made without due consideration. Thus:

(a) It is by no means to be assumed without question that pleasure and pain alone are the measure of the desirable. They are not the only things actually desired; and, if we assert that they alone are desirable, we fall back upon a dubious intuition.

(6) The quantitative relations of pleasures and pains are legitimate subjects of dispute, as we have seen in earlier chapters in this volume. When is one pleasure twice as great as another? How can we know that three pleasures counterbalance a pain? Is it by the mere fact that we will as we do, in a given instance? Then how prove that we will as we do, because of the equivalence of the pleasure to the pain?

(c) Who shall decide for us whether life is—not desired, it is admittedly that, as a rule,—but, also, desirable?

May the man who denies it rest his assertion upon such general considerations as that satisfaction presupposes desire, and that desire implies a lack, and, hence, pain? The famous author of "Utopia" pointed out long ago that the pains of hunger begin before the pleasure of eating, and only die when it does. Shall we, then, regard a hearty appetite as a curse, to be mitigated but not wholly neutralized by a series of good dinners?

To be sure, the pessimists do not depend wholly upon such general arguments, but point out in great detail that there is much suffering in the world, and that the fulfillment of desire, when it is attained, often results in disillusionment. But the fact remains that life, such as it is, is desired by men and other creatures generally; desired not as an exception, and under a misapprehension, but, as a rule, even by the enlightened and the far-seeing.

Is not the desirable what is desired by the rational will? We have seen that the rational social will does not aim at the suppression of desires generally, but only at the suppression of such desires as interfere with broader satisfactions. Viewed from this stand-point, the pessimist's "denial of the will to live" appears as an expression of the accidental or irrational will. It is not an expression of the nature of man, but of the nature of the pessimist.

(6) It is, perhaps, worth while to point out that there is nothing to prevent a given pessimist from being an intuitionist, an egoist, a utilitarian (of a sort), or an adherent of one of the other schools above discussed. He may assume intuitively that life is undesirable; in view of its undesirability he may act, either taking himself alone into consideration, or including his neighbor; he may invoke the doctrine of evolution; he may even, if he chooses, call it self-realization to annihilate himself, for he may argue that a will that comes to clear consciousness must see that it must be its own undoing. It is hardly necessary to point out, however, that the pessimist, as such, should not be in any wise confounded with the moralists discussed in the five chapters preceding.



CHAPTER XXIX

KANT, HEGEL AND NIETZSCHE

136. KANT.—-It is impossible, in any brief compass, to treat of the many individual moralists, some of them men of genius and well worthy of our study, who offer us ethical systems characterized by differences of more or less importance. When we refer a man to this or that school and do no more, we say comparatively little about him, as has become evident in the preceding chapters. As we have seen, it has been necessary to class together those who differ rather widely in many of their opinions. Here, I shall devote a few pages to three men only, partly because of their prominence, and partly because it is instructive to call attention to the contrast between them in their fundamental positions. I shall begin with Kant.

Kant held that the human reason issues "categorial imperatives," that is to say, unconditional commands to act in certain ways. The motive for moral action must not be the desire for pleasure, but solely the desire to do right.

He makes his fundamental rule abstract and formal: "So act that you could wish your maxim to be universal law." As no man could wish to be himself neglected when in distress, this law compels him to be benevolent, and a new form of the fundamental rule is developed: "Treat humanity, in yourself or any other, as an end always, and never as a means." [Footnote: Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals, Sec 2.]

Now Kant, although he maintains that it is not a man's duty to seek his own happiness—a thing which natural inclination would prompt him to do— by no means overlooks happiness altogether. He thinks that virtue and happiness together constitute the whole and perfect good desired by rational beings. The attainment of this good must be the supreme end of a will morally determined. [Footnote: Dialectic of the Pure Practical Reason, chapter ii.] We are morally bound to strive to be virtuous ourselves and to make others happy.

Still, each man's happiness means much to him; and Kant, convinced that virtue ought to be rewarded with happiness, holds that our world is a moral world, where God will reward the virtuous. If we do not assume such a world, he claims, moral laws are reduced to idle dreams. [Footnote: Ibid.]

Such utterances as the last may well lead the utilitarian to question whether Kant was quite whole-hearted in his doctrine of the unconditional commands of the practical reason of man. They appear to be not independent of all consideration of human happiness.

I shall not ask whether Kant was consistent. Great men, like lesser men, seldom are. But, in order that the contrast between his doctrine and those of the two writers whom I shall next discuss may be brought out clearly, I shall ask that the following points be kept well in mind:

(1) Kant was an out-and-out intuitionist. He goes directly to the practical reason of man for an enunciation of the moral law.

(2) Moral rules of lesser generality, such as those touching benevolence, justice and veracity, he traces to the practical reason, making them independent of all considerations of expediency. Thus he defends the body of moral truth accepted by so many of his fellow-moralists.

(3) His "practical reason" speaks directly to the individual. Kant looked within, not without. We may call him an ethical individualist. Socrates, when on trial for his life, listened for the voice of the divinity within him. He needed no other.

137. HEGEL.—In strongest contrast to the individualism of Kant stands the doctrine of Hegel. To the latter, duty consists in the realization of the free reasonable will—but this will is identical in all individuals, [Footnote: The Philosophy of Right, Sec 209] and its realization reveals itself in the customs, laws and institutions of the state. From this point of view the individual is an accidental thing; the ethical order revealed in society is permanent, and has absolute authority. It is true, however, that it is not something foreign to the individual; he is conscious of it as his own being. In duty he finds his liberation. [Footnote: Ibid., Sec Sec 145-149]

But what is a man's duty? "What a man ought to do," says Hegel, [Footnote: Ibid., Sec 150] "what duties he should fulfill in order to be virtuous, is in an ethical community easy to say—the man has only to do what is presented, expressed and recognized in the established relations in which he finds himself."

In other words, he ought to do just what his community prescribes! This seems, taken quite literally, a startling doctrine.

It would be a wrong to Hegel to take him quite literally, for he elsewhere [Footnote: Ibid., Introduction.] makes it plain that he by no means approves of all the laws and customs that have obtained in various societies. Still, he exalts the law of the state and regards any opposition to it on the authority of private conviction as "stupendous presumption." [Footnote: Op. cit., Sec 138.] This is a serious rebuke to the reformer. The individual must, according to Hegel, look for the moral law outside of himself—of himself as an individual, at least. He must find it in the State.

138. NIETZSCHE.—Again a startling contrast: after Hegel, Nietzsche—the voice of one crying in the wilderness, exquisitely, passionately, but scarcely with articulate scientific utterance. A prophet of revolt and emancipation; a cave-dweller, who would flee organized society and the refinements of civilization; the rabid individualist, to whom the community is the "herd," and common notions of right and wrong are absurdities to be visited with scorn and denunciation. He makes a strong appeal to young men, even after the years during which the carrying of one's own latch-key is a source of elation. He appeals also to those perennially young persons who never attain to the stature which befits those who are to take a responsible share in the organized efforts of communities of men.

With Nietzsche the man, his suffering life, and the melancholy eclipse of his brilliant intellect, ethics as science is little concerned. In Nietzsche the marvellous literary artist it can have no interest. These things are the affair of literature and biography.

Here we are concerned only with his contribution to ethics. Just what that has been it is more difficult to determine than would be the case in a writer more systematic and scientific. But he makes it very clear that he repudiates the morals which have been accepted heretofore by moralists and communities of men generally.

He confesses himself an "immoralist." He despises man as he is, and hails the "Superman," a creature inspired by the "will to have power" and free from all moral prejudices, including that of sympathy with the weak and the helpless.

"Full is the world of the superfluous," he sings in his famous dithyramb, [Footnote: Thus Spake Zarathustra, I, xi. It is a pity to read NIETZSCHE in any translation. His diction is exquisite. But those who can only read him in English may be referred to the translations of his works edited by LEVY. New York, 1911.] "marred is life by the many-too- many."... "Many too many are born; for the superfluous ones was the State devised."..."There, where the State ceaseth—there only commenceth the man who is not superfluous."

Man, says Nietzsche, should regard himself as a "bridge" over which he can pass to something higher. [Footnote: Ibid., Prologue, and I, IV, XI, et passim.] Upon the fact that the Superman may have the same reason for regarding himself as a "bridge" as the most commonplace of mortals, and may begin anew with loathing and self-contempt, he does not dwell. Yet, as long as progress is possible, man may always be regarded as a "bridge." The reader of Nietzsche is tempted to believe that hatred and contempt must always be the predominant emotions in the mind of the "superior" man. Darwin, who knew much more about man and nature than did our passionate poet, was still able to regard man as "the crown and glory of the universe." Not so, Nietzsche.

Those who have read little in ethics are inclined to attribute to Nietzsche a greater measure of originality than he can reasonably claim. More than two milleniums before him, Plato conceived an ideal Republic in which moral laws, as commonly accepted, were to be set aside. Marriage was to be done away with; births were to be scientifically regulated; children were to be taken from their mothers; sickly infants were to be destroyed. In Sparta the committee of the elders did not permit the promptings of sympathy and the cries of wounded maternal love to influence the decision touching the life or death of the new-born.

Here was an attempt at bridge-building, but it was conceived as a scientific matter, to be taken in hand by the State, and for the good of the State. But Nietzsche would destroy the State. His Superman appears as individualistic as a "rogue" elephant, a few passages to the contrary notwithstanding. Are we to regard him as a mere lawless egoist, or as something more? We are left in the dark. [Footnote: See the volume, Beyond Good and Evil, "What is Noble?" Sec 265.] But we note that Nietzsche disagrees with most moralists, in that he refuses to regard Caesar Borgia as a morbid growth. [Footnote: Ibid., The Natural History of Morals, Sec 197. DOSTOIEVSKY'S genius has portrayed for us an admirable Superman in the person of the Russian convict Orloff. See his House of the Dead, chapter v.]

The Superman has always been with us, in somewhat varying types. From Alexander the Great to Napoleon, and before and after, he adorns the pages of history. Attila, among others, may enter his claim to consideration. It remains for the serious student of ethics to estimate scientifically his value as an ethical ideal, and to judge how far this type of character may profitably be taken as a pattern. Nietzsche stands at the farthest possible remove from Hegel. Does he, as an individualist, stand within hail of Kant? It scarcely seems so. When we examine Kant's "practical reason," in other words, the moral law as it revealed itself to Kant, we find that it had taken up into itself the moral development of the ages preceding. Kant's practical reason, his conscience, to speak plain English, was not the practical reason of, for example, Aristotle. The latter could speak of a slave as an "animated tool," and could believe there were men intended by nature for slavery. Kant could not. In theory an individualist, the Sage of Konigsberg stands, in reality, not far from Hegel. He does not break with the past. But Nietzsche is revolt incarnate.

PART VIII

THE ETHICS OF THE SOCIAL WILL

CHAPTER XXX

ASPECTS OF THE ETHICS OF REASON

139. THE DOCTRINE SUPPORTED BY THE OTHER SCHOOLS.—- I urge the more confidently the Ethics of Reason, or the Ethics of the Rational Social Will, because there is so little in it that is really new. It only makes articulate what we all know already, and strives to get rid of certain exaggerations into which many men who reason, and who reason well, have unwittingly fallen.

The fundamentals of the doctrine have been exhibited in Parts V and VI of this volume, and the exaggerations alluded to have been treated in Part VII. Hence, I may speak very briefly in indicating how the Ethics of Reason finds a many-sided support in schools which appear, on the surface, to be in the opposition.

It is evident, to begin with, that the Ethics of the Social Will cannot dispense with Moral Intuitions, but must regard them as indispensable; as, indeed, the very foundation of the moral life. That the individual may, and if he is properly equipped for the task, ought, to examine critically his own moral intuitions and those of the community in which he finds himself, and should, with becoming modesty and hesitation, now and then suggest an innovation, means no more than that he and the community are not dead, but are living, and that progress is a possibility, at least.

As for the Egoist, unless he is an absurd extremist, we must admit that he says much that is worth listening to. Was not Bentham quite right in maintaining that if all A's interests were committed to B, and all B's to A, the world would get on very badly? A charity that begins at the planet Mars would arrive nowhere. The Ethics of Reason has room for a very careful consideration of the interests of the self. But it may object to the position that the moral mathematician may regard as the only important number the number One.

With the Utilitarian our doctrine need have, as we have seen, no quarrel. Did not that learned, enlightened, and most fair-minded of utilitarians, Sidgwick, ultimately resolve the happiness which men seek into anything which may be the object of the mind in willing? Did not a critical utilitarianism resolve itself into the doctrine of the Rational Social Will? Why take less critical utilitarians as the only exponents of the school? Besides, is there any reason why the social will should be blind to the fact that men generally do desire to gain pleasure and to avoid pain? It is only the exaggeration of this truth that we need to combat.

To Nature, properly understood, we can enter no objection. Who objects to Perfection as a "counsel of perfection?" Can the Social Will object to a man's striving to Realize his Capacities—under proper control, and with a regard to others? The Pessimist is an unhealthy creature, and the Social Will represents normal and healthy humanity. Here we have disparity. But to Evolution our doctrine offers no opposition. It is only by a process of development that the Actual Social Will has come to be what it is; and the Rational Social Will looks to a further development under the guidance of reason.

The fact is that thoughtful men belonging to different schools tend to introduce into their statement of their doctrines modifying clauses; and in the end we find them not as far apart as they seemed at the beginning. The tendency is, I think, in the direction of the recognition of the Rational Social Will. This doctrine belongs to nobody in particular; it is the. common property of us all. It contains little that is startling.

140. ITS METHOD OF APPROACH TO PROBLEMS.—-He who looks to the Rational Social Will for guidance is given a compass which may be of no small service to him. For example:

(1) He will see that moral phenomena are not to be isolated. He will accept the historic order of society and judge man and his emotions and actions in the light of it. He will never feel tempted to say, with Bentham, that the pleasure which has its roots in malice, envy, cruelty, "taken by itself, is good." [Footnote: Principles of Morals and Legislation, chapter x, Sec 10, note.]

He will simply say, it is pleasure. That it is, of course; but he will maintain that nothing "taken by itself" is either good or bad, from the moralist's point of view. The cruel man may will to see suffering, and may enjoy it. The moral man may hold that the cruel man, his act of will, and his pleasure, should all be snuffed out, in the interest of humanity, as an unmitigated evil.

(2) The advocate of the Rational Social Will recognizes, as do many adherents of other schools, that the social will, as expressed at any given time, is only relatively rational; that men must live in their own day and generation, although they can, to some degree, reach beyond them; and that some differences of opinion as to the relative values of virtues, and the goodness of characters, are to be expected.

(3) Furthermore, he is in a position to explain how a man may be "subjectively" right and yet "objectively" wrong. The man's character may be such that it is, on the whole, to be approved by the Rational Social Will. He may be animated by the desire to adjust himself to that will. And yet, the accident of ignorance, the accident of prejudice not recognized by himself as such, may lead him to do what he thinks right and what those more enlightened recognize to be wrong.

141. ITS SOLUTION OF CERTAIN DIFFICULTIES.—Perhaps it would be better for me to give this section a heading more nearly like the last. I aim only to give the reader a point of view from which he can approach the problem of a solution.

Take the problem which has come up before in the form of the distribution of pleasures. [Footnote: See Sec 109.] He who dwells, not so much upon pleasure, as upon the satisfaction of desire and will, must state it differently, but the problem is much the same. What degree of recognition should be given to the will of each individual, or to the separate volitions and desires in the life of the individual? Should everybody count for one? Should every desire or group of desires receive recognition? Is no distinction to be made in the intensity of desires? And how many individuals shall we include in our reckoning?

Light seems to be shed upon this complicated problem or set of problems when we hold clearly before ourselves what the task of reason is in regulating the life of man individually and collectively. Its function is to bring order out of chaos and strife; to substitute harmony and planfulness for accident; to introduce long views in the place of momentary impulses; to prevent the barter of permanent good for a mess of pottage.

Reason must accept the impulses and instincts of man as it finds them, and do what it can with them. It cannot ignore them. Slowly, civilizations, to some degree rational, have come into being. In so far as they are rational, they are justified. Keeping all this in view we may say, tentatively:

(a) The principle, "everybody to count for one, and nobody for more than one," must be interpreted as an expression of the conviction that no will should be needlessly sacrificed.

Reason is bodiless, except as incorporated in human societies, and these must have their historic development. Can we do away with the special claims of family, of neighborhood, of the state? They have their place in the historic rational order. But the whispered "everybody to count for one" may help us to realize that such special claims cannot take the place of all others.

(b) Shall a deliberate attempt be made to enlarge the circle of those who are to share in the social will, not merely by diminishing the number of deaths, but by promoting the number of births? States have attempted it often enough. I can only say that, if this be attempted, it should not be attempted in ways that ignore the historical development of society, with its social and moral traditions.

(c) Why not justify our attitude toward the brutes by maintaining that they have, theoretically, rights to recognition, in so far as such recognition does not interfere with the rights of man in the rational social order? The brutes outnumber us, to be sure. We are in a hopeless minority. But were this minority sacrificed, there would be no rational social order at all—no right, no wrong; nothing but the clash of wills or impulses which reason now strives to harmonize as it can. [Footnote: See chapter xxi]

(d) When we turn to the problem of the distribution of satisfactions in the life of the individual, we find ready to hand a variety of unwise saws—"A short life and a merry one," and the like.

How should the individual choose his satisfactions? Merely from the standpoint of the individual? What is desirable? Not desired, by this man or by that, but desirable, reasonable?

It is an open secret that the house of mirth lacks every convenience demanded of a permanent residence, and that those who breathlessly pursue pleasure are seldom pleased. Nor do men, when they stop to think, want their lives to be very short.

And, in any case, this question of the distribution of satisfactions in the life of the individual does not concern the individual alone. Is the man who wants a short life and a merry one an "undesirable" from the standpoint of the Rational Social Will? Then he should be suppressed. The manner of distribution of even his own personal satisfactions is not his affair exclusively. Every ordered society has its notions touching the type of man which suits its ends.

(e) But shall we, in making up our minds about the "satisfaction on the whole" which busies the rational individual or the rational community, take no account at all of the intensity of pleasures and of pains, the eagerness with which some things are desired and the feebleness of the impulsion toward others? May not the intense thrill of a moment more than counterbalance "four lukewarm hours?" Are we not, if we take such things into consideration, back again face to face with something very like the calculus of pleasures—that bugbear of the egoist and of the utilitarian?

It would be foolish to maintain that man, either individually or collectively, places all desires upon the same level. No man of sense holds that every desire should count as one. On the other hand, no man of sense pretends to have any accurate unit of measurement by which he can make unerring estimates of desirability.

Fortunately, he is not compelled to fall back upon such a unit. Even if he was born yesterday, the race was not. He is born into a system of values expressed in social organization and social institutions. It is the resultant of innumerable expressions of preference on the part of innumerable men. It is a general guide to what, on the whole, man wants.

It is, then, foolish for him to raise such questions as, whether it is not better to aim at intense happiness on the part of the few, to the utter ignoring of the mass of mankind. Such questions the Rational Social Will has already answered in the negative.

142. THE CULTIVATION OF OUR CAPACITIES.—Finally, we may approach the question whether it is reasonable to awake dormant desires, to call into being new needs; which, satisfied, may be recognized as a good, but which, unsatisfied, may result in unhappiness. [Footnote: Compare chapter xxi, Sec 86.]

A little cup may be filled with what leaves a big one half empty. It is easy to find grounds upon which to congratulate the "average" man. All the world caters to him—ready-made clothing is measured to fit his figure, and it is sold cheap; the average restaurant consults his taste and his pocket; the average woman just suits him as a help-mate; he is much at home with his neighbors, most of whom diverge little from the average. Why strive to rise above the average—and fall into a divine discontent?

May one not say much the same of a community? Why should it strive to attain to new conquests, to awaken in its members new wants and strain to satisfy them? Does it seem self-evident that it is reasonable, in general, to multiply desires with no guarantee of their satisfaction?

I know no way of approaching the solution of this problem save from the standpoint of the Rational Social Will. We are confronted with the general problem of the desirability of civilization, with all that that implies. The life of man in some rather primitive societies has seemed in certain respects rather idyllic. The eating of the fruit of the tree, and the consequent opening of the eyes, has, time and again, seemed to result in disaster.

But was the idyllic life not an accidental thing, due to a fortuitous combination of circumstances, rather than to man's intelligent control of a larger environment? Civilization of some sort seems inevitable. Have we any other guarantee that we can make it, in the long run, rational, than a many-sided development of man's capacities? And must we not exercise a broad faith in the value of enlightenment, increase of knowledge, farsightedness, the cultivation of complex emotions, even at the risk of some waste of effort and some suffering to certain individuals?

Perhaps this is as good a place as any to say a word about the significance of the terms "higher" and "lower," when used in a moral sense. We have seen that John Stuart Mill made much of the distinction in his utilitarianism. Bentham appears to sin against the enlightened moral judgment in holding that, quantities of pleasure being the same, "push- pin is as good as poetry."

When we realize that the worth of things may be determined from the standpoint of the Rational Social Will, we can easily understand that some occupations and their accompanying pleasures should be rated higher than others, however satisfactory the latter may seem to certain individuals. It is not unreasonable to rate the pleasure of scientific discovery as higher than the pleasure of swallowing an oyster; and that, without following Bentham in falling back upon a quantitative standard, or following Mill in maintaining that pleasures, as pleasures, differ in kind. [Footnote: See chapter xxv, Sec 107.]



CHAPTER XXXI

THE MORAL LAW AND MORAL IDEALS

143. DUTIES AND VIRTUES.—We saw, at the very beginning of this volume [Footnote: Chapter i, Sec 2.] that a single moral law, so abstractly stated as to cover the whole sphere of conduct, must be something so vague and indeterminate as to be practically useless as a guide to action. The admonition, "do right," does not mean anything in particular to the man who is not already well instructed as to what, in detail, constitutes right action. Nor do we make ourselves more intelligible, when we say to him "be good."

It seems to mean something more when we say "act justly" or "be just"; "speak the truth," or "be truthful." And the more we particularize, the more we help the individual confronted with concrete problems—the only problems with which life actually confronts us.

This is as it should be. Duties and virtues are expressions of the Rational Social Will, and that will is a mere abstraction except as it is incorporated, with a wealth of detail, in human societies. It would be hard for the small boy to classify, under any ten commandments, the innumerable company of the "don'ts" which he hears from his mother during the course of a week. He can leave such work to the moralist. But he is receiving an education in the moral law, as an expression of the social will, through the whole seven days.

If we wish, we can emphasize the moral law, and dwell upon the duties of man. On the other hand, we may lay stress upon the virtues, and point to ideals. The Greek made much of the virtues; the Christian moralist had more to say of man's duties. In the end, there need be little discrepancy in the results. I make the same recommendation, whether I say to a man, Speak the truth! or whether I say to him, Be truthful!

It may be claimed that shades of difference make themselves apparent, where one emphasizes the law and another points to an ideal. Perhaps they do, in most minds. It certainly sounds more conceited to say: "I am trying to be virtuous," than to say: "I am trying to do my duty." On the other hand, the admonition, "Be truthful," appears to leave one a little latitude. We take the truthful man, so to speak, in the lump. If he has a strong bias toward truth-speaking, and is felt to be reliable, on the whole, it is not certain that we should rob him of his title on the ground of one or two lapses for which weighty reasons could be urged. The admonition: "Speak the truth!" seems more uncompromising; and yet he who prefers this legal form may maintain that it is a general admonition addressed to men of sense who are supposed to be able to exercise reason.

144. THE NEGATIVE ASPECT OF THE MORAL LAW.—Why does the Moral Law, on the surface at least, appear to be so largely negative? As we look back upon our early youth, our days appear to be punctuated with punishments. When we attain to years of discretion, this is not the case, with most of us, at least.

But when we turn to the law, in our own society or in others, we find prohibitions and penalties everywhere. Of rewards little is said. Is the social will meant to be chiefly inhibitory? Is it a check to the action of the individual?

(1) The negative aspect of the moral law is, to a considerable degree, an illusion. The social will takes us up into itself and forms us. In our early youth we are acutely conscious of the process. A vast number of the things a boy wants to do are things that do not suit the social will at all. He wants to break windows; he wants to fight other boys; he wants to be idle; his delight is in adventures not normally within the reach of, or suited to the taste of, the citizens of an ordered state. It is little wonder that the boy regards the moral law as a nuisance and the state as a suitable refuge for those suffering from senile decay.

There are individuals who scarcely get beyond this stage. They remain, even in their later years, at war with the state. From time to time, we seize them and incarcerate them. That the law forbids and punishes, they never forget. It is chiefly for such that the criminal law exists. They are in the state, but they are not of it. They have small share in the heritage of the civilized man.

For most of us there comes a time when most prohibitions are little thought of. It has been maintained, that the law is negative partly for the reason that positive duties are too numerous to be formulated. But how numerous are the things that ought not to be done which normal men never think of doing! At this moment, I could swallow a pen, taste the ink in the ink-well, throw my papers from the window, hurl the porcelain jar on the chimney-piece at the cat next door, swing on the chandelier. I am conscious of no constraint in not doing these things. Why? I have become to some degree adjusted to the type which the social will strives to produce.

(2) And, having become so far adjusted, I recognize that the social will is distributing rewards most lavishly. The whole organism of society is its instrument. Work is found for me, and I am paid for it. If I am industrious and dependable, I am recompensed. If I am truthful, I am believed, which is no little convenience. If I am energetic and persevering, I may grow rich or be elected to office. If I am courteous, I am liked and am treated with courtesy.

Every day I am paid, in the ordinary course of things, according to my deserts. Why should society work out an extraordinary system of rewards for those whom it is already rewarding automatically?

In some cases, recourse is had to extraordinary rewards. We give prizes to children in the schools; we give medals to soldiers for distinguished service; we confer honorary degrees upon men for a variety of reasons. In monarchical countries and in their colonies, the man who earns an extraordinary reward may even pass it on, in the shape of a title, to his descendants, as though it were original sin. But the giving of extraordinary rewards to all ordinary, normal persons would be too much.

The man who markedly offends against the moral law is not an ordinary, normal person. He is not adjusted to the social will. It is natural that he should attract especial attention. Thus the "Thou shalt not!" is given prominence. To this I might add, that punishments are cheaper and easier than extraordinary rewards. Pains are sharper than pleasures, and are easily inflicted.

(3) It is worthy of remark that, with the evolution of morality, it tends to become positive. The enlightened moral man recognizes, not merely the actual social will, but also the Rational Social Will. He may feel it his duty to do much more than society formally demands of him.

145. HOW CAN ONE KNOW THE MORAL LAW?—This question has already been answered in chapters preceding. Every man has three counsellors: (1) The "objective" morality of his community—custom, law, and public opinion, which certainly deserve to be taken very seriously; (2) his moral intuitions, which may be of the finest; and (3) his reason, which prevents him from making decisions without reflection.

Can a man who listens to these three counsellors be sure that he is right in a given decision? The sooner a man learns that he is not infallible and impeccable, the better it will be for him, for his neighbor, and for the world at large.



CHAPTER XXXII

THE MORAL CONCEPTS

146. GOOD AND BAD; RIGHT AND WRONG.—As a rule, men reflect little touching the moral terms which are on their lips every day. It is well worth while to take some of them up and to turn them over for examination.

We may use the terms "good" and "bad," "right" and "wrong," in a very broad sense. A "good" trick may be a contemptible action; the "right" way to crack a bank-safe may be the means to the successful commission of a crime. Evidently, the words, thus used, are not employed in a moral sense.

When we pass judgments from the moral point of view, we concern ourselves with men and with their actions, and measure them by the standard of the social will. Men and actions are "good," when they can meet the test. Actions are "right" or "wrong," when they are in accordance with the dictates of the moral law, or are at variance with them. That an act may be both right and wrong, when viewed from different standpoints, even on moral ground, we have seen in Chapter XXX. A man may mean to do right, and may, through ignorance or error, be guilty of an act that we condemn. To the intelligent, confusions are here unnecessary. But the history of ethics is full of confusions in just this field.

147. DUTY AND OBLIGATION.—Verbal usage sometimes justifies the use of one of these words, and sometimes that of the other. We say: I did my duty; we do not say: I did my obligation. But this is a mere matter of verbal expression, and we are really concerned with two names for the same thing.

(1) There has been much dispute as to whether the sense of duty or moral obligation can or cannot be analyzed. It has been declared unanalyzable and unique. Some think this a point of much importance which imparts a peculiar sacredness to the sense of duty.

There appears no reason why this position should be taken. No one has been able to analyze into its ultimate sensational elements the peculiar feeling one has when one is tickled. But this does not make the feeling sacred or awe-inspiring. The authority of the sense of duty must be looked for in another direction—and authority it has.

(2) I have spoken of the "sense" of duty. We all recognize that, when we are faced with a duty, a feeling is normally present. But the whole argument of this volume has maintained that man is not to be treated only as the subject of emotions. He is a rational being. In some persons feeling is very prominent; in others it is less so. It is quite conceivable that, in a given case, a man capable of reflection should recognize that he is confronted with a duty, and yet that he should feel no impulse to perform it. Did no one ever feel any such impulse, the whole system of duties, the whole rational order of society itself, would dissolve and disappear.

Fortunately, the normal man does feel an impulse to perform duties recognized as such. And in the case of those exceptional persons who do not, society strives to supply surrogates, extraordinary impulses based upon a system of rewards and punishments. This is a mere supplement, and could never keep alive a society from which the sense of duty had disappeared.

Duty is sacred. It is the very foundation of every rational society. It does not greatly concern ethics whether the impulse, which makes itself felt in men who want to do their duty, can or cannot be analyzed. But it is all-important that they should feel the impulse.

(3) Can a man do more than his duty? Is it the duty of everyone to be, not merely a good, average, honest, faithful, law-abiding citizen, but to go far beyond this and be conspicuously a saint?

It should be remembered that we are concerned with the connotation properly to be given to a word in common use.

A certain amount of goodness the social will appears to demand of men rather peremptorily. Its demands seem to vary somewhat with the exigencies of the times—for example, in peace and in war. It does not make the same demands of all men. From those to whom much has been given— wealth, education, social or political influence,—much is required. From certain persons it appears to be glad to get anything. If they keep out of the police-court, it is agreeably surprised.

I have no desire to dissuade anyone from the arduous pursuit of sainthood; but I submit that the word "duty," as sanctioned by usage, implies but a limited demand, and takes cognizance of character and environment. He who comes up to this moderate standard is not condemned; but he is free to go farther and to become as great a saint as he pleases. In which case, we admire him. Those who, in the past, have spoken of "counsels of perfection," have drawn upon a profound knowledge of human nature and of human societies.

148. REWARD AND PUNISHMENT.—We saw in the last chapter (Sec 144) that it is something of a criticism upon man and upon societies of men that extraordinary rewards have to be given and that punishments must be inflicted.

More attention has been paid to punishments than to rewards, and the question touching the proper aim of punishment in a civilized state has received much discussion. The study of the history of the infliction of punishment is suggestive, but it does not shed a clear light. The social will has not always been a rational social will, and some of its decisions may be placed among the curiosities of literature. Still, they may serve the purpose of the traditional "terrible example."

Should we, in punishing, aim at the prevention of crime? Are punishments to be "deterrent"? Under this head we must consider, not merely the criminal himself, but also those who are in more or less danger of becoming criminals, though they have, as yet, committed no known crime.

Should the aim of punishment be the reformation of the criminal?

Should we punish merely that "justice" be done? He who steals and eats fruit is visited with punishment, in the course of nature, if the fruit is unripe. But he suffers equally if he eats his own fruit, under like conditions. This seems a blind punishment. Should we visit pain upon him for the theft, merely because it is a theft, and without looking abroad for any other reason?

Light appears to be thrown upon these problems when we reflect that punishment is an instrument, employed by the Rational Social Will, in pursuance of its ends.

(1) It is desirable that men should be deterred from committing crime. If this cannot be done save by the infliction of punishment, then let men be punished. But be it remembered that punishment is a regrettable necessity, and that the occasions for the infliction of penalties may greatly be diminished by the amelioration of the organism of society. There is the born criminal, as there is the born inmate of an asylum for the insane. But there is also the manufactured criminal; the product of the slum, the victim of ignorance, the prey of the walking-delegate, the sufferer from over-work and undernourishment, the inhabitant of the filthy and overcrowded tenement, the man robbed of his self-respect, who has no share in the sweetness and light of civilization. A society that first manufactures criminals and then expends great sums in punishing them is, in so far, not rational.

(2) It is desirable that the criminal should be reformed and returned to society as a normal man. But this is not the one and only aim of the social will. The whole flock should not be sacrificed to the one black sheep, as some sentimental persons appear to believe. There is room here for the exercise of judgment and of some cool calculation.

(3) As for the demand that a given pain shall be inflicted for a given wrong done, irrespective of any gain to anybody, and irrespective of consequences,—it appears to carry one back to ancient and primitive law.

Undoubtedly many punishments have been inflicted in the past to satisfy the sense of resentment. [Footnote: It may be objected that we are not concerned here with resentment but with the satisfaction of "justice." Men's notions of the "justice" of punishments have been touched upon in chapter ii, Sec 4. Plato suggests, in his Laws, that the slave who steals a bunch of grapes should receive a blow for every grape in the bunch. This has an agreeably mathematical flavor of exactitude. But what shall be done to the man who steals half of a ham or a third of a watermelon?] Undoubtedly the same is true of the present. Can anything be said in favor of this impulse? It plays no small part in the life of humanity.

We feel that a bad man ought to be punished. We harbor a certain resentment against him. The resentment of the individual for personal injuries we recognize to be wrong. It is not impartial, and it is apt to be excessive and unreasoning. Public order demands that it be refused expression.

But is the—we must admit, somewhat more disinterested—resentment of the community a rational thing? Have men, collectively, no whims, no prejudices? When a trial is deferred, and public indignation has cooled off, how do the chances of the prisoner compare with those he enjoyed just after the commission of the crime? And yet something may be said for public resentment. It has a certain driving-power. It may be questioned whether either our desire to deter men from crime, or our benevolent interest in the criminal, would be quite sufficient to enforce law, if all sense of resentment against the law-breaker were lacking. Its usefulness as an instrument of the social will appears to give it a certain justification. But it also suggests that even public resentment should not be given free rein.

Before leaving the subject of reward and punishment, it may be well to say a word touching our use of the terms credit and discredit, merit and demerit.

We do not give a man credit for an action, we do not think of him as meritorious, merely because he has done right. Who thinks of praising the young mother for feeding and washing her first-born? Who shakes the hand of the Sunday-school teacher and congratulates him upon having stolen nothing for a week? But the waif from the gutter who wanders through a department-store and resolutely takes nothing, emerging exhausted with the struggle, we slap upon the back and call a little man.

Our notions of credit and merit are bound up with our notions of extraordinary rewards. The creditable action, the meritorious man, have a certain claim upon us, if only the claim of special recognition. Any man who makes a notable step forward deserves credit, whatever his actual position upon the moral scale. He who only "marks time" upon a relatively high level may be a good man, but we do not give him credit for the act normally to be expected of him. The recognition of merit is a part of the machinery of moralization.

149. VIRTUES AND VICES.—One swallow, said Aristotle, does not make a spring, nor does one happy day make a happy life. Elsewhere he draws our attention to the fact that one good action does not constitute a virtue.

We may define the virtues as those relatively permanent qualities of character which it is desirable, from the moral point of view, that a man should have. The vices are the corresponding defects. I shall not attempt to draw up a list of the virtues. For a variety of lists, exhibiting curious and interesting diversities, I refer the reader back to Chapter III, Sec Sec 9-11.