FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[54]Vol. II. p. 189.[55]Ibid. p. 223, 224.[56]Vol. II. p. 212.[57]Ibid. pp. 227, 228.

[54]Vol. II. p. 189.

[55]Ibid. p. 223, 224.

[56]Vol. II. p. 212.

[57]Ibid. pp. 227, 228.

For what purpose are we in the world? asks the philosopher, and lays, with this question, the foundation for later errors. In the effort to rescue from destruction the theory of a creative intelligence, teleology has adapted itself to many forms of scientific theory, not excepting that of evolution. It reads into evolutionprogress towards what is, in one way or another, assumed to be an end. But we really know, in the universe, nothing but continuity, eternal change according to natural law, and so onlycausæ efficientes, nevercausæ finales; and organic development as well as processes in inorganic nature are to be explained in this manner. The assumption that the result of a process is an end towards which the process was directed is unwarranted. The question of science is not: Wherefore is any creature in the world? but: What is he? What is his actual aim, that is, his endeavor?

In the answer to this question, all philosophical schools have something in common. Happiness, in one form or another, is acknowledged to be the "end" of life in this sense. A follower of the utilitarian school may define happiness as the "sublime feeling that one has taken part in the continuous improvement of humanity, and the increase of human happiness," but his words are less a definition of the concept than a designation of the way in which happiness is to be arrived at. The "sublime feeling" can be represented only as a feeling of happiness, of joy. The religious theory, too, which represents the joys of religion on earth and in heaven, as compensating for the evils of this life, makes happiness the end of life, though in a different manner. Spencer is right in declaring that happiness, however it may be defined, always means, in the end, a greater amount of pleasure than of pain. At this point, however, the harmony of the schools ceases. The question as to the method by which this surplus of pleasure is to be obtained is answered in different ways. All say, indeed, by seeking good and avoiding evil. But opinion is divided as to what is good and what is evil.

Rolph here introduces a long criticism of the different schools. Against utilitarianism he urges that, in so far as it makes the happiness of the greatest number its principle, it asserts the right of the majority over a minority, and so advocates, by implication, an absolute subjection to authority.

Our whole moral education has for its aim to give the young as high a conception as possible of the happiness which springs from virtue and, on the other hand, to decry the pleasure which may result from forbidden acts. We seek, in this manner, to diminish the inward struggle and bring about the right result. He who has grown up under good influences escapes many temptations to which a man of less moral education falls a prey. According to Wallock,who makes the degree of inner struggle the measure of virtue, the man of better education in this case, the more moral man, must have less merit than the less moral man. Wallock thus founders on the rock which Kant so skilfully avoids; according to the former, the man whose lusts have been mastered by education could never equal the man of evil instincts, and the chastity of a Magdalen must be regarded as more moral than that of a pure woman.

Spencer's theory, that the conduct of the higher animals is better adjusted to ends than that of lower species, is erroneous; the lower animals are exactly as well organized for the ends of their existence as are the higher animals for theirs; the tapeworm is relatively just as perfect as the human being, in comparison with whom he possesses many superior qualities. The common judgment that the human being is superior does not accord with the real adjustment of things, but with our human conception of the ideal end of organization, our anthropocentric idea of the aim of life. We foolishly believe that the tapeworm and every other animal has the same end as the human being, and rank the animals according to this principle, instead of tracing the different genealogical branches to a like height and then comparing them. Not the fitness for ends, but the kind and multiplicity of the ends for which there is fitness, determine our judgment; and the ends by which we judge are those of our own life. We judge subjectively and absolutely instead of objectively and relatively. We are ever unconsciously influenced by the conception that nature, in creating the tapeworm, merely made a false step and a step backwards in her way towards the creation of man. That all animals are adapted, some in a greater, some in a less degree, to the ends of their existence, is proved by the simple fact of their existence, that is, of their survival in the struggle for existence; but which are in a higher, and which are in a less degree so adapted, is, in the individual instance, extremely difficult to determine. In any attempt at such an estimate, we must meet with peculiar difficulties, resulting from the fact that we judge of the adaptation to ends with less certainty the further from us any animal is in its organization. A comparison such as Spencer institutes is possible only with respect to like functions of similar organs in closely related forms.

The assertion that increase of ability for self-preservation leads to better care for the young, and makes of such care a duty, islikewise erroneous. For, up to the highly organized class of the crustacea, we have no example of care for the young. In the struggle for existence, the species which survive must be such as not only are in themselves best fitted for survival, but as also bring forth best fitted progeny. Nor has Spencer made clear on what ground natural process is to be regarded as identical with duty. In truth he has succeeded in showing only that care for the young is wide-spread in the animal kingdom, from which fact naturally follows that it is a quality which tends to the preservation of species.

It cannot be conceded that such a perfection as Spencer pictures, where each shall fulfil all the functions of his own life in the most perfect and complete manner without interfering with a like freedom in others, is possible. The assertion involves the extension to all living beings of that ideal principle of equal claims which Spencer repudiates with regard to man,—showing that not all men are capable of a like degree of happiness and that individuals desire, moreover, pleasure differing in quality. Furthermore, a world of beings which, like the animals and many plants, can support life only by means of organic material, must, in order to exist, destroy organic life, either animal or vegetable. The theory does not even hold with regard to individuals of the same species; Spencer himself acknowledges the truth of the principles of Malthus and of Darwin, according to which, even with the lowest rate of increase, a struggle of competition must soon arise between individuals of the same species.

Nor does Spencer's proof of the fundamental character of altruism hold, on investigation. He demonstrates that through the animal species up to man, there is less and less self-sacrifice of the mother animal in giving birth to offspring. But this physical sacrifice is not altruism; altruism lies in conscious care for the young after birth, and this is not lessened, but increased, the higher we ascend.

That morality is but greater adjustment of acts to ends cannot be admitted. If, in ordinary speech, the word good refers to greatest adjustment to ends, whatever the ends may be, that is no proof that it must have the same significance in Ethics. A good shot may be a good one in that it hits the mark; but what if it kill a man? The acts of criminals may be as well adjusted to their ends and as easy to predict as those of a good man. Spencer's theory would lead, consistently carried out, to the principlethat the means justify the end, an assertion that is even more dangerous than its opposite. The fact is, that in Ethics it is the nature of the end which is of importance.

Spencer endeavors to show that only normal exercise of function is favorable to life, and so moral;—that excess and deprivation are both injurious. It is not true, however, that excess is always injurious; within certain bounds it is made up for by reserves in the animal organism. Or, if Spencer should answer to this objection, that his "normal" is not to be represented by a sharp line, difficult to keep to, but by a broad road within which excess is safe, such a representation would both burden his theory with two dividing-lines, and moreover would not save it. For he has not deemed it necessary to treat the concept "normal" to an exact definition, and we find him using it in his later deductions in an entirely new sense—not as equilibrium between capacity of function and its exercise, but in the ideal significance of a harmony between the claims of the individual on the one side, and those of the environment on the other. This normal is nowhere actually to be found and cannot, from the nature of things, be arrived at. By addition of this significance, the word normal becomes indefinite in meaning, and is used, now in one sense, now in the other. Normal exercise of function has, however, nothing to do with the claims of the environment, which generally demands, indeed, a deviation from the normal.

Nor is Spencer's analysis of the beginning of the process of food-seizure, adduced in support of the theory that happiness and morality are commensurable, confirmed by facts. According to this theory, the process of food-taking begins with the contact of animal and food, in which act the commencement of diffusion of food in the body of the animal causes a pleasure which leads to the seizure of its prey and the further act of devouring it. The theory might hold of the lowest organisms, but could not be true of any animal furnished with an impenetrable shell or skin. Nor would the seizure follow with sufficient promptness if it were left to the action of the pleasure caused by diffusion. Moreover, we should expect to find, according to this theory, a much more general and finer development of the organ of taste among the animals,—to find it as a special organ on the lowest planes of animal life; it is, on the contrary, the latest of the special senses to develop. It is the reaction on the sense of touch, the lowestand most general of the special senses, which causes the seizure of nourishment. We must, therefore, deny that pleasure is the motive to the seizure of food, and so, too, reject the conclusion that it is the motive to every other act.

Besides arguing that normal function brings pleasure, Spencer has attempted to prove that all pleasure has its spring in normal function, and is therefore moral. Could he succeed in so doing, hedonism would be proved. For since all schools agree in regarding happiness as the end of life, and since all these, in common, acknowledge happiness to be an excess of pleasure over pain, enjoyment might be regarded as the absolute guide. But if, as Spencer acknowledges, pleasure and morality are only in a perfectly adapted society commensurate, then in only such a society can pleasure be the criterion; and since we do not live in a perfectly adapted society, the theory is not applicable to us, and if practicably applied would be fatal to society.

Against Spencer's theory of the final spontaneity of morality, many objections may be urged, among others especially the one that such a morality ceases to be morality at all, virtue being possible, as Kant has demonstrated, only where a certain conquest of desire is achieved. Such a morality is, moreover, unattainable, an extravagant fancy.

Rolph thinks Spencer's theory awakes the conjecture that it was not first arrived at through investigation, but rests upon a preconceived opinion, as do to a greater or less extent all theories on this subject. It seems as if the author had first attached himself to that theory which best accorded with his scientific bias, and then tried whether this theory might be proved or supported by facts of biology and psychology. One might surmise, from the very skilful, but often too artificial argument, that the author pursued the following train of thought. Pleasure, and indeed the greatest possible pleasure, is the end of endeavor in the organic world, that is, the psychical cause of endeavor. May it not also be the physical cause?

Rolph answers this question with a denial, and endeavors to show that the taking of food has its cause in the insatiability of all organic substance. The theory of Spontaneous Generationcontains nothing impossible or improbable; is, on the contrary, a necessary logical assumption not to be disproved by the mere result of experiment under conditions of the laboratory. It is easy to imagine that organic elements, which are to be found in great quantities in inorganic nature, may come together by chance, or rather in the natural order of things, to the formation of protoplasm.

The movement of these masses of protoplasm seems, at first glance, to set the law of gravitation at defiance, but we may answer that an ascending balloon might seem, to an uninstructed observer, to do the same, although its movement is merely the natural result of that force; it is not necessary, therefore, to assume a free inner motive, the soul, as the cause of the one motion or the other. The first assimilation of food has its beginning in the process of endosmose and exosmose, in which the protoplasm, as in general the denser fluid, increases in volume, taking up more than it gives out; the process occurring, in detail, according to the special relations of attraction in the parts. The organism always takes up the greatest amount possible under the circumstances, exactly as, in the inorganic world, water takes up the greatest amount possible of salt or any other soluble substance; the growth of a crystal, and the oxidation of iron are illustrations of the same principle. Of the limit of this capacity to take up new matter into the organism we know nothing; all recent experiments go to show that the organism is capable, under propitious circumstances, of an enormous receptivity, such as, under natural conditions, it never reaches. The lower animals feed continually, and their whole lives are passed in this employment. In plants the tendency is seen still more clearly. Experiments with electric, violet, and ultra-violet light show an enormous growth in plants exposed to its action. But this can be only an indirect growth, namely, the exorbitant acceleration of organic change and assimilation. This fact is proved by experiments turning on increase of warmth in soil; from which is seen to result an unusual development of that part of the plant to which growth is especially directed at the time. When the warmth of an incubator is increased, the animal organ especially engaged in development at the time is affected in like manner. So that we may assume that the organism is capable of responding to every demand that nature makes upon it under normal conditions; and since thegreatest possible assimilation under the existing conditions is thus removed from the control of the creature, the latter appears practically insatiable. This insatiability must appear to the observer an inner impulse of the organism, an effort towards increase of nourishment. It may be called mechanical hunger in distinction from psychical hunger, of which it is the basis. It is not necessary to take into consideration, in the question as to the degree of assimilation possible, the amount of excretion of substance by the organism; we must, on the contrary, assert that this is dependent upon the amount of assimilation. The measure of growth depends, therefore, on the degree of assimilation of new material. This degree, however, like the degree to which the matter may be dissolved in a liquid in the case of inorganic matter, is especially affected by light and warmth. The creature which comes into existence in the sun will experience a decrease of organic change when placed in the shade; and the creature which comes into existence in the shade will experience an increase of such change under the influence of the sun, a decrease again with a return to the shade. This decrease means hunger,—harm. Experiments with zoöspores throw an interesting light upon these relations. They show that the zoöspores, although suited to very different degrees of light, all shun darkness. Although when in the light they soon come to rest, divide, and copulate, they remain, in the darkness, in a state of continual unrest and motion. They grow so thin "that they almost excite pity" (Strassburger), and finally perish of hunger. Only such zoöspores as are distinguished by sex and copulate come to rest, or those of such sorts as prey upon others. It is easy to perceive that the unrest of the zoöspores in the darkness springs from lack of nourishment, from hunger; they seek feverishly for the light, without which assimilation follows with insufficient energy to satisfy need and render life possible. In darkness, copulation alone can do this; copulation takes, then, the place of normal nourishment.

Or let us consider the case of an organism which has originated in the shade. Heat, as we know, increases chemical change, in inorganic as well as organic matter; it hastens the disintegration of certain compounds, and alone renders it possible in many cases. In general, we may assert that increase of temperature within certain limits increases assimilation; that is, capacity to assimilate. Therefore, if an animal is placed in the sun, itscapacity, that is, its need, to assimilate is increased, although assimilation is much more energetic than before. Need to assimilate or hunger is, therefore, dependent upon the supply of food, although, doubtless, also on other conditions, especially those of light and temperature. If this is true, the hunger of a simple organism that assimilates energetically must be more intense than that of one which assimilates slowly, in spite of the consumption of an enormous quantity of food in the case of the former. Botanists know (Sachs, "Lehrbuch der Botanik," p. 613) "that growth may be so hastened by too high a temperature that assimilation (especially under scanty light) does not suffice to provide the necessary material for it. The transpiration of the leaves may be so increased that the roots cannot repair the loss. And on the other hand, a too low temperature of the soil may so diminish the action of the roots that even a small loss by transpiration cannot be repaired."

At what stage of organization psychical hunger is added to mechanical hunger, or whether it may be identified with it, we cannot say. In any case, the former appears exceedingly early, for excitations of hunger may be observed in creatures very low in the scale of being. Certainly hunger is never absent where there is movement.

Hunger, a sense of pain, is, therefore, the first impulse to action.[58]

With a like effort in the attempt to obtain food, that organism will be best nourished which commands the best means of obtaining and preparing its food,—the best apparatus for the seizure and grinding of food, and the best salivary gland. And finally, greater surface of skin, of lungs, of gills, or of intestines, causes greater capacity for assimilation, and since this surface is increased by cell-division or propagation, the capacity of the organism for assimilation grows with its capacity of propagation.[59]Protoplasm is never entirely homogeneous, and we must suppose some difference even in the beginning; such difference is, indeed, fundamental through the very composition of protoplasm fromthe four fundamental elements, and this or that other element. These different elements must be held together by forces of attraction, and the direction of these forces must have some common centre represented by some differentiation of the protoplasm, whether as clearer spot, or as nucleus. This spontaneously generated organism, neither animal nor plant, is nourished, as we have seen, by diffusion, by the transformation of inorganic into organic substance. The lowest organisms possess no definite organs for taking food; they manifest, however, phenomena of movement which are exactly like those of the animal organism, for they appear unconditioned and hence voluntary. Locomotion is, in the lowest animal forms, the only means of obtaining nourishment. The amœba surrounds and takes in whatever is by chance met with. Animals a little higher in the scale swim about and seek their food; or, remaining in one place, they cause, by means of cilia, a movement of the water towards a certain part of the body, a sort of mouth where the protoplasm is open and can take up the prey in the same manner as does the amœba. Ascending the scale of life, we find more and more complicated apparatus for the seizure of food, for its preparation and digestion, and the beginning of a nervous system, first as the differentiation of certain muscle-cells, then in connection with a special sense, that of hearing. If we assume any pleasure to be connected with the earliest acts of assimilation, it must be that of the satisfaction of a want, the stilling of pain in the form of hunger.

In the earliest forms of propagation, the younger organism is a true copy of that from which it springs, the trifling differences being due, as Schmankewicz has shown, to outer influences. The differences of male, female, worker, and soldier are due to such outer influences. The differences in the younger organism, where propagation takes place through copulation, may be explained by the mixture of types, through which, by action and reaction, some qualities are intensified, while some others become latent or are entirely destroyed. To these mutual influences are to be added such as come from without, especially those of warmth, and of quantity and quality of food. Under too great an increase in temperature, the young organism may even bedestroyed, the process of assimilation not being able to keep pace with it. Those variations which have led to the development of existing forms, that is, which were favorable to life, are chiefly such as could be brought about by relative or absolute increase of assimilation. This is true of mental, as well as of physical, qualities.

It is a fact established without doubt, that the most common and most widely distributed species show the greatest variability, and that those species, on the contrary, which are now rare, although they were, perhaps, at earlier periods, the most common and extremely variable, vary, at the present date, the least of all. Following Darwin, one generally draws the conclusion that the severity of the struggle for existence favors the formation of varieties. For, it is said, the most common species fight the severest battle with one another, while the scanty representatives of rarer species come the least into competition and continue unchanged. But this theory is, in two ways, erroneous. In the first place, no attention is paid to the fact that a rare species may be exposed to a severe struggle against another species for the same nourishment, while a common species may, on the other hand, be exposed to no such struggle, and, supporting life from a generous supply of food, be subjected to but slight pressure. The conception of the Darwinians means nothing more or less than that the individuals of a species vary the more, the less favorable the conditions of nourishment; and this cannot be conceded. Again, the fact is to be taken into consideration, that the species at present common must have passed through a favorable period in which food was so plentiful that it not only afforded an abundance to individuals past the dangers of infancy and youth, but allowed, in addition, the existence of an ever-increasing number of individuals. And it is this period of increase, of abundance, not a period of struggle, which has developed the variations we now have before our eyes. In the same manner one must conclude, with regard to the rarer species, that the formerly existing numerous varieties were destroyed during the period of decline, that is, of overpowering pressure. We have abundant proof of this in the fact that domesticated species, which are carefully tended and fed, and so wholly withdrawn from the struggle for existence, vary enormously, and produce the most wonderful monstrosities.

To what direct causes the appearance of a variety is due, is aquestion as yet unanswered. But Weismann's investigations have shown us that climate plays a large part in their development. Embryology teaches us, moreover, that the development of the young organism does not take place with the same uniformity in all organs, but that, on the contrary, in one period one organ, in another, another, undergoes a more rapid growth, which may be influenced by variations in food or temperature. Through such variations the development of monstrosities is explained. We know that influences of nourishment are operative in the development of the larvæ of bees to workers or to queens, and we can easily conceive that other organs besides the sexual are subject to these influences. The field in which such influences may be operative is, indeed, boundless.

All these considerations lead us to the conclusion that variability in general, but especially that variability resulting in a so-called improvement of the varieties producing it, is an accompaniment of prosperous conditions. This is a conclusion not yet reached in zoölogy, although botanists long ago recognized, in abundance of food, the most essential condition for the development of variations.

Darwinism fails to account for any need of nourishment beyond that necessary for the maintenance of thestatus quoof life. According to Darwin, the animal can acquire only sufficient for the repair of loss. The struggle for existence is, therefore, according to him, a struggle of self-defence, and its results could be, at the best, only the maintenance of species in their present position or, in a less favorable case, their decline, and finally their destruction. But this view is wholly false. The animal acquires not only enough to repair loss, but much more. How could the first amœba have propagated itself, if it consumed no more than it needed for mere self-maintenance, and how could evolution have taken place? We have seen that, even in the inorganic world, there is not an equality of loss and repair, but that, in osmose, the denser fluid takes up more than it gives, while the fluid that is less dense loses more than it receives, and the mutual exchange reaches the maximum possible under the existing circumstances. It is this characteristic which renders the involuntary and forced tendency of the organism to satiation independent of the amount of waste; this mechanical hunger is the spring of the insatiability of organisms, and explains to ustheir increase in number, the process of increasing perfection, and individual development. Without it, an eternity would not have sufficed for evolution; we should still have only a world of primitive amœbæ.

This theory of development is, then, the opposite of that ordinarily assumed. The latter asserts that increase of growth demands increase of nourishment, whereas this asserts the fact that increase of nourishment determines growth. The struggle for existence is not a struggle for the mere necessaries to maintain life, but a struggle for increase of acquisition, increase of life; it is not a struggle of defence, but an attack which only under certain circumstances becomes a defence. The rule with which we advise our friends is, "Forward! strive to better yourself!" though we may endeavor, in hypocritical spirit, to persuade to contentment those who come into competition with our interests.

The chief points, therefore, in which this theory differs from that of Darwin, are as follows:—

"The struggle for existence is really a struggle for increase of nourishment, of life; and independent of the supply of the moment, it goes on at all times, hence even in a state of abundance.

"Limitation of supply by competition leads to fixation of the species and, in the end, to its decrease and disappearance.

"Sickness, climate, and direct enemies are the destructive agencies, and must secure more propitious conditions for survivors, the stronger their effect.

"Only under conditions of prosperity can the survivors propagate largely, and perfect themselves, separating into varieties and species.

"The increase and differentiation of the organic world shows us that conditions of prosperity have been the rule, those of want the exception."

Rolph's extremely interesting chapter on Propagation traces the sexual instinct to the "mechanical hunger." The earliest example which may be adduced in support of this theory is that of the zoöspores which, by copulation, sustain life for a time under the unfavorable conditions of darkness, the thinner male representing, as does also the spermatozoön, the seeking individual suffering from want, the female representing a means of sustenance. The sex of the young organism is in like manner referred by Rolph to conditions of nourishment during development. We now come to the chapter on

The existence of morality presupposes the existence of commandments of duty, and of an authority. Among animals, as well as among human beings, we find recognized authority and can discern the principles of action which constitute the duty of any particular animal. Authority among the lower animals is based on might, which is, indeed, the universal source of authority, without which no authority can exist. Personal authority is but a particular form of the authority of circumstances; and to this authority every creature must be subject. It consists of two factors: the outer authority of the environment, and the inner authority of impulse. Duty is obedience to authority. The duty of the organism consists in action that corresponds to these two authorities, following the direction given as the resultant of the mixture of the two components. That is, that manner of life is right or moral which renders the life of the organism the fullest possible under the circumstances. The unreasoning organism is unconsciously drawn to seek this maximum, while the reasoning being seeks it through reflection. The impulse to happiness includes, therefore, for the reasoning being, the impulse to morality; or, ideally expressed, the relative morality equals the relative happiness; morality and happiness are the same thing.

An authority without the means of enforcing itself is a self-contradiction. The means by which nature makes its authority felt is organic excitation. In proportion to its strength, an excitation produces sensation, in case it is not too weak to make itself felt at all. Every excitation has a definite significance and may come from without or within. Pleasant excitations are always, primarily, the feeling of the stilling of pain, though there are pains, such as, for instance, that of a wound, the toothache, headache, an aching corn, which have no corresponding feeling of pleasure. Nor is pleasure the only offspring of pain, since pain may bring forth pain. Pleasure depends, in its character as pleasure as well as in its strength, on the feeling preceding it in the organism; that is, its quality is the result, not of the degree of organic excitation, but of the order of succession of the feelings. For this reason, the same feeling which brings pleasure to one individual may bring pain to another.

This whole deduction is at variance with Spencer's theory that pleasurable excitations are favorable to life, painful ones injurious. And since observation is in direct opposition to his assertion, his followers have been obliged to supplement it with the conception that pain is gradually weeded out by natural selection. On the contrary, we need pain at every instant, since it is the impulse to action; persistence in the same condition through lack of excitation, must result in death; pleasure can never originate action, it can only cause persistence in action already begun. The fact has been too often overlooked, that the motive and the "end" of an action are by no means the same. The motive is pain, and the end is either simply the stilling of pain or an additional positive pleasure. There are, therefore, many actions which are directed to no concrete positive end, but only to the purely negative end of escape from pain without consideration of the further results; a striking example of such action is suicide. Even where positive pleasure appears as an end, it is never in itself the motive to action. In order to become a motive, it must first be transformed into an excitation, into desire for pleasure; and this desire for a definite or an indefinite pleasure is, in its essence, pain—the pain of the absence of pleasure.[60]

The pleasure sought may be one already known through experience, or it may be one not yet experienced. In the latter case, the desire is awakened by instruction or reflection, or else induced by instinct. But the motive is always the same, namely, a seeking after pleasure, hence a feeling of pain.

This view furnishes us with a psychical explanation of the association of ideas, the mysterious so-called transferrence of the feeling of pleasure from the end to the means. Pleasure begins as soon as we have begun the action which will bring us with certainty to the end desired, and this pleasure may reach such a degree of strength at some point of the process as to conquer the desire for the real end, hem further action, and dispose to continuance at the point reached. The action of the miser may be thus explained.

The objection that, if pain is the motive, the organism is nothing but a bundle of pains, is by no means valid, for it overlooks the fact that pain remains, in an immense number of cases, belowthe threshold of consciousness; as in the case of organic action, where it is rhythmic. The same is true of reflex action. To any close observer of the lower organisms, it seems most probable that these possess consciousness (see Wundt, "Physiologische Psychologie"), nor is it by any means proved that the plants do not possess it likewise. It is certainly remarkable that exactly the lowest plants, which stand so near the animals in the phenomena of their life, exhibit movements closely resembling those of animals. And it is, moreover, a fact that automatic and reflex actions increase with the degree of organization, and are most numerous in human beings. With increased exercise, one chain of movements after the other is withdrawn from consciousness; and through this removal from consciousness action gains in certainty and rapidity, and in energy also, since the part of the force which was before lost in inducing consciousness is now released. Such removal from consciousness is, therefore, a benefit to the organism, as an adaptation to the increased demands of circumstances. Movements which thus become unconscious are each and every one of them movements which have but one definite end and an interruption of which either kills or seriously injures the organism, or at least brings disorder into its life for the time being. An easily excited consciousness would be an exceeding danger to the animal. Conscious action is directed to the attainment of variable ends by means which are also variable. It cannot, therefore, astonish us that consciousness disappeared in plants after the loss of free motion.

By the regular exercise of certain actions or of trains of thought, either through necessity or by habit certain tracks are worn or taken possession of, so that the whole process, from the excitation to the action resulting upon it, takes place with such rapidity that we are no longer conscious of its separate phases and so of the growth of the result.

The first commandment of animal ethics is, therefore: "Flee pain"; and closely associated with it is a second commandment furnished by the insatiability of the organism, the impulse to happiness, to increase of life. The principle of Spencer's ethics, according to which normal living is right living, would result in stagnation. Right living consists, on the contrary, in progress, in passing beyond the normal. No educator would hesitate for an instant to pronounce the continuance of a pupil upon a presentnormal immoral, and to oppose it with all his powers. From day to day the developing organism advances the line of its normal activity. And as in the individual, so in the species: every new generation exceeds in a certain measure the activity of the last. Not rest, but motion, constitutes the normal; not rest, but motion, is happiness, and the spring of happiness. Not that being which has no wants, but that which develops and satisfies the greatest possible number of wants, is the happiest, leads the most pleasurable life. When we apply these principles to the animals, we reach the conception that all such as lead a solitary life live morally when they endeavor, with all their powers, to better their own condition. That they injure plants and other animals in so doing need not trouble us, since they are forced to do so in order to maintain life. The principle on which animal life is based is hence preëminently egoistic and acknowledges no other right than that of might. Spencer, in speaking of altruism on the lowest plane of animal life, makes the fundamental and quite fatal mistake that he does not first sharply and distinctly define egoism. Had he done this, he would certainly have found that, for egoism, as for altruism, the criterion of consciousness, of will, is indispensable. In his definition of altruism as consisting in those acts which in any way benefit others, he does nothing less than get rid of egoism altogether, since there are no acts which do not, in the end, benefit others than the performer. The greater number of the young brought forth by lowest organisms serve as food for other species, and hence the parent animal, in bringing forth such numbers, favors these species rather than her own flesh and blood. The fly would act altruistically, according to Spencer's definition, in being caught in the net of the spider.

A creature which gets its food, as do many of the lower species, without exertion of its own, does not act egoistically, nor does the animal which, in the natural course of its growth, brings forth young by spontaneous division; but that animal may do so which acquires its food by means of any voluntary actions, however insignificant, or which voluntarily protects and cares for its young; and such voluntary action increases rather than decreases with greater organization. Real egoism begins with the voluntary acquisition of food, a process continued in the forced excretion of the young. But since this action benefits the second generation,we may regard it as the connecting link between egoism and altruism. It is not purely altruistic; altruism proper begins with the nourishment and care of the young. And to what degree we have a right to consider even this as really altruistic can be determined only by further investigation. The emptying of the milk-glands is combined with pleasure; it may therefore be regarded as primarily egoistic, and furnishes us with a further example of the development of altruism from egoism. Altruism increases, not only with higher organization, but also with a higher development of social life.

The beginnings of society are to be found in the family life of animals; the most primitive form of this is the temporary, voluntary association of male and female among the higher species; that is, the anthropoids and vertebrates. On this merely temporary association follows, as a higher stage, the lasting family union, which exists among comparatively few animals. The so-called "states" of the animals are, in their most typical instances, nothing but families living in a condition of polyandry.

Closer association gives opportunity for a misuse of the powers and aims of the individual, before impossible. Examples of this are the theft of honey from one hive of bees by the workers of another, and the carrying off of the young by wasps and ants, as also the slaughter of the drones. Since the robber of yesterday may be the robbed of to-day, such acts are harmful to individuals, to the family, and to the species. They diminish the degree of life, and are opposed to animal ethics. The association of male and female, since only temporary, affords little opportunity for immorality, and the duties of parents to their young are, for the most part, faithfully performed. In striking contrast to the natural morality of wild animals is the immorality of domestic animals, which give themselves up to every sort of vice when not restrained. The moral conditions of any associated animals not under control, whether in zoölogical gardens, in the town, or in the country, is, in fact, monstrous. Immorality increases with the closer association of animals. The closer the contact and the looser the bond between the individuals of a species, the greater the opportunity for immorality, and the worse the resulting habits. The careless life of pleasure led by animals that live in solitude, is interfered with, in a state of association, by certain duties. How far the performance of such duties springs from a concealedpleasure, or from instinct, or follows upon the command of authority, we, unfortunately, cannot say. The limitation of gratification signifies, however, decrease of pleasure. The needs of different animals differ according to differing organization; higher organization means greater and more complicated desire, the satisfaction of which is often impossible, but it means also the attainment of capacity for greater pleasure in form and intensity. Hence even the partly attained pleasure of the higher animals is, in intensity as well as in fulness, much greater than the completely attained pleasure of the lower animals.

Rolph contests Lubbock's theory that the early type of man lived in a condition of sexual promiscuity, and gives as a reason for his opinion the "strict" monogamy of those animals which are most closely related to man. The customs of such animals should have as much weight, as evidence, as those of any of the present tribes of savages, since these tribes are as old as civilized races, and their customs cannot, therefore, be unhesitatingly regarded as primary ones.

The real needs of men, those the gratification of which is indispensable to the maintenance of life, are few. By experience, and by experience alone, can man learn that present gratification may mean future pain, and so be withheld from such gratification; for only disinclination to one form of pleasure can induce inclination to another form. In the simplicity of primitive social conditions and the uniform character of action under such conditions, rules of experience must have been early formed, which, inherited by succeeding generations, became the rules of conduct.[61]With the development of authority,—first the paternal authority, then that of the family, and finally that of the elders of the tribe,—the possibility of establishing rules of action, and inducing morality, increased. The very nomination of elders, to which primitive authority may almost everywhere be traced, shows how great was the respect for experience.

Spencer remarks, in one place in his "Data of Ethics," that human beings first banded themselves together because they found it more advantageous to coöperate. This is only conditionally true. Before human beings could find association advantageous, they must have accumulated experience of it. That they did this by their own inclination is certainly not true. Wherever we find two solitary beings coming together by chance, enmity is the first feeling excited, and war the result. Everything new, everything unknown, causes aversion, and this aversion must lead to misunderstandings and war the more surely because each of the opponents feels himself disturbed in his supposed right to limitless possession. Human beings must first have warred with one another before they came to the knowledge, not that social life, that is, mutual forbearance, was more advantageous, but that more closely associated individuals gained in power against a common enemy by their association. Man did not choose society, but was, on the contrary, forced into it, for good or evil, through increase of his kind. The discovery of the first tools must have had an immense influence upon increase in the number of individuals, which was before limited by struggle with wild animals, and by the restriction of food to fruit. We must conclude that, under such circumstances, a lasting contract was inevitable, and that, with it, vices suddenly appeared which had before existed only potentially, as predisposition. War or theft must have followed the mutual limitation of rights, but against this disturbance of the peace other members of the society must have banded themselves together. The weaker must soon have been driven from their possessions by the stronger, and must then have united for the purpose of obtaining, by association, what they were unable to acquire otherwise. The growing children settled near their parents, with whom they entered into a family union, in which the father represented the authority. In this arrangement is the germ of civil order,—of the ideas of right and wrong. Inner conflicts can at first scarcely have occurred, since the possessions of the family were in common, and a conception of theft between members of the family could not exist. Furthermore, there was scarcely anything worth stealing, for the implements must have been so primitive that each individual could easily manufacture them for himself. Only women could have been, in the beginning, an object of conflict, and for avoidance of this conflict lawsand customs arose, which are, to our modern minds, inexplicable. Real polyandry may doubtless be explained by the idea of the common right of possession among brothers; it has, in most cases, this significance. It is extended, indeed, later, to more distant relatives, and gains finally a solemn significance, the presentation of the wife, or of one of a number of wives, being a symbol of fraternity by which the guest is honored.

With the manufacture of better tools and weapons, temptation to theft was increased, and authority began to be directed inwards to the society itself, since inner conflict injured the family in its contests with outer enemies. What is true of the family in this connection, is true of the tribe. A joint egoism of the society as a whole must thus have been developed, as soon as the first step of association was taken. The earliest law is always negative, a prohibition, not a positive command.

War had its good as well as its evil side, since it made different peoples acquainted and gave them knowledge of each other's tools, weapons, and customs. War was, at first, the only means by which peoples learned to know each other. The establishment of peace led to the union of different peoples, or at least to peaceful intercourse by exchange, which united the tribes by common interests, corrected ideas, and tempered customs.

The egoistic impulses, the feeling of unconditional right to possession, are the impulses with which the child is born; morality is not inborn, but must be developed by education, as is shown by the example of such children as are neglected in education.[62]Or, if there is anything innate in the direction of morality, it is merely a certain inherited predisposition acquired in the course of the thousands of years of social intercourse, which makes it easier for us to respond to education. If this is not so, and the impulse to morality is innate, why has it required so many centuries for man to make the simple connection of ideas, that what is just towards one man is just towards another. In this feeling of justice, acquired through an extension of egoism, is the root of all virtue. It is the spring of sympathy or benevolence, which can be developed only where the feeling of the like rights of others is strong.

But an unconsidered over-estimate of this feeling is the source of Spencer's Utopia, as it is of that of present socialism. Wehave seen that authority is a primary and necessary factor of society. Authority, virtue, and duty are interdependent, and must be of about the same antiquity. From all compulsion imposed by authority, the creature, by its nature, attempts to escape, and the feeling which prompts this attempt has been falsely called the instinct of freedom. Authority exceeds its bounds, where it issues commands not demanded by the general conditions existing in the society. But though these conditions may demand a limitation of personal freedom, their requirements must, nevertheless, in general, be enforced.

Natural and Humane Ethics may thus be at variance in some things; may in others, coincide. There is no necessary conflict and no necessary agreement between them; therefore the theological theory of an absolute contradiction between them is false, as is also the teleological theory of their coincidence. The latter theory, not being able to deny that the moral and the natural do not always coincide under present circumstances, endeavors to avoid the difficulty by calling these conditions abnormal. The theory falls into two errors: in the first place, it ignores the fact that we have our organs, notforuse butbyuse; and that our inherited characteristics may be regarded as an adjustment to the conditions of our ancestors, but not an adjustment to our own; and in the second place, there are no abnormal conditions. There are new or changed conditions, but either there are no abnormal ones, or all are abnormal.

But although increase of life means also increase of desire, although the organism is insatiable, yet there is, as we have seen, an increase of happiness, both in quantity and quality, with higher organization. The absolute amount is increased, but not the relative amount, the amount realizable in proportion to desire.

Want does not lead to improvement, as Darwin maintains, and the individual cannot be just or sympathetic in a condition of want. The freer he is from the direct care of the acquirement of necessities, the more manifold capabilities will he develop, and the greater will be his happiness.

The task which authority must set itself, in order to secure greater justice in society, and so greater happiness, is twofold, a positive and a negative task. The positive task consists in such an education of the young as will enable them by their own effort to advance towards their individual ideal of happiness, and inthe inculcation of such an ideal as corresponds to their individual talents and means, and is attainable under the existing circumstances. The negative task, already implied in the positive one, is the imposition of necessary restrictions in the means used for the attainment of happiness. Within the limits set by justice, the individual has a natural right to seek his own pleasure, and for each individual an attainable maximum may be reckoned. This is not saying, however, that the individual has a just claim to this maximum, in case he cannot, or will not, be sufficiently energetic to gain it by his own efforts. It is an error of modern times to suppose that the realization of happiness rests in any other hand than that of the individual himself—that the state can make and decree happiness. Happiness cannot be secured by means of decrees, by a division of goods, or by gifts. Division is always unjust, since it leaves out of consideration that individuality of character which is the only measure of sensibility to pleasure. The negative part of the task is to be accomplished less by inculcation of many special virtues than by the continual direction of the attention to the fundamental virtue of justice. The positive task is to be accomplished by the most thorough education of the intelligence of the individual, through which he shall learn to inquire the reason of moral precepts, to judge for himself, and then to act on the decision he arrives at. We have seen that the ethical education of the present time tends to reduce inner struggle, rendering the results of wrong-doing as repellant as possible. One in whom has been instilled a very terrible conception of the sufferings resulting, in the present and future life, from wrong-doing, will perhaps automatically avoid the evil; and the means for a moral education seem thus attained. However, it is not so; for when the individual accustoms himself to being directed in action, not by his own carefully won experience, but by feelings instilled by others, concerning the ethical character of which his own insight does not, and cannot, afford him any explanation, he opens the way to every chance influence, and becomes the plaything of unknown forces; while he at the same time divests himself of that personal responsibility without which no society can exist. The true ideal of education is such as sharpens the judgment and accustoms the individual to consider his action from all sides, in the consciousness of personal responsibility. Only through such action is man the possessor of freedom.He who acts without reflection, from unreliable emotion, is not free. The freest possible decision is that which is reached as the result of such a careful consideration of all the single components of reflection that no one of them exceeds in its influence its real worth. The ideal of education is not, therefore, the production of spontaneous decision and action, but of reasoning, conscious action. That this principle is the only right one is shown by our former observations, according to which, as society develops, more and more actions are the result of reflection. And in case a state of moral perfection is attainable, it can be arrived at only as each member of the society acts from perfect reflection, not from impulse or instinct. In attempting social improvement, we must take example by the chemist, who does not attempt a chemical combination by force but endeavors to attain the conditions under which the elements will unite, through their own inner laws, to the desired, homogeneous body. This is a wearisome process; but it is the shortest and swiftest, for it leads us to the desired end.

The single virtues cannot be regarded as ideal principles. They contradict each other, and whether the one or the other should have the preference depends on the individual case and can be decided only by reflection. The formulation of these general rules of conduct under the name of virtues has, practically, only the advantage of reducing the numberless possibilities of action to a few; but such principles can never be exhaustive. Wherever the individual forgets this fact and is led to regard virtue as an end, instead of as the means to an innocent happiness, virtue ceases to be virtue and becomes its opposite. Thus thrift becomes avarice, generosity extravagance, courage foolhardiness, openness want of consideration, gentleness weakness, and chastity celibacy. The single virtues are only abstractions from special circumstances generalized to an ideal of action. But in practical life, we have to do with individual cases whose conditions are by no means ideal, and cannot be treated as ideal. We must act, in each case, for the relative best, not for absolute good; and what is best for one sex or in one society may not be best for the other sex or in another society. A compromise between idealism and realism is everywhere necessary; and such a compromise is made, despite all fine words to the contrary, by every one,—by one only more openly or consciously than another. It is comfortingto remark that mankind shows itself, and always has shown itself, instinctively taking the road to the attainment of the end.

Through an extension of relations, authority, at first represented by a single individual, the head of the family or tribe, reaches the point of development where the one ruler is unable to rule all parts, and decide all questions, alone, so that he is obliged to call in help. He naturally chooses men near to him, with whose character he is acquainted. But there arises, by this division of authority, the danger of its misuse to the disadvantage of the ruler himself. Since despotic government depends on might alone, and the voice of the people has no influence, every person in any way related to the ruler represents a danger. Nevertheless, the establishment of new powers to assist the ruler was the starting-point of constitutional government. For by this division of power the ruler rendered it impossible for himself to govern without help from others, and opened the way to a contract of compromise with the people. The influence of individuals upon the state spread, thus, to the people itself. Self-government, pure parliamentarism, is the ultimate end to be reached by the process.

We have seen that neither pleasure, nor utility, nor virtue, nor, finally, religion, can be regarded as the absolute means, but only as the relative means to the attainment of happiness. Both the hedonist and the utilitarian need to correct and further define their principle, as well in respect to the end to be attained, as in respect to the means proposed. Their principles are not to be rejected, but fanaticism is to be condemned. Principles may have exceptions; but fanaticism recognizes no exceptions.

As to man's final end. Though he has attained to the power of shaping, to some extent, his own environment and means of existence, yet he does not occupy an exceptional position in the animal kingdom, and must cease to exist unless he submits to adapt himself. It has been almost the rule that the highest animals of an epoch have later died out and been replaced by some new aristocracy, developed from somewhat lower forms. It is to be supposed that man, also, will be destroyed, whether by a new ice-age or by a period of heat. By the very fact of his supremacy, he disturbs the primal equilibrium, and originates conditions which, even now, press hard upon single lands and may easily become dangerous to all civilization. Destruction may also threaten mankind morally, for the development of moralityhitherto gives no surety of its continuance. Every advancement brings with it some evil, every virtue contains the germs of some vice. Modern humanity has given us an unreasoning soft-heartedness, with an extravagant malady of forgiveness which is nothing less than immorality itself, since it on the one hand undermines the general sense of justice, while on the other it prompts and encourages wrong-doing.

Back to Index Next