“Who would,” says Bossuet, “dare think of other excesses which reveal themselves in a still more dangerous manner? Who, I say, would dare speak of them, or dare think of them, since they cannot be spoken of without shame nor thought of without peril, though it be but to condemn them? O God, once more, who would dare speak of this deep and shameful plague of nature, this concupiscence which binds the soul to the body with bonds so tender and so violent—bonds man can scarcely defend himself against, and which cause such frightful disordersamong the human race! Woe to the earth! woe to the earth, from whose secret passions rise continually vapors so thick and black, concealing from us both sky and light, but of which we are reminded through the lightnings and thunder-bolts they send forth against the corruption of the human race!”[94]
“Who would,” says Bossuet, “dare think of other excesses which reveal themselves in a still more dangerous manner? Who, I say, would dare speak of them, or dare think of them, since they cannot be spoken of without shame nor thought of without peril, though it be but to condemn them? O God, once more, who would dare speak of this deep and shameful plague of nature, this concupiscence which binds the soul to the body with bonds so tender and so violent—bonds man can scarcely defend himself against, and which cause such frightful disordersamong the human race! Woe to the earth! woe to the earth, from whose secret passions rise continually vapors so thick and black, concealing from us both sky and light, but of which we are reminded through the lightnings and thunder-bolts they send forth against the corruption of the human race!”[94]
The abuse of the pleasures of the senses is in general calledintemperance, and the proper use of these pleasures,temperance. Gormandizing is the abuse of the pleasures of eating; intoxication or drunkenness, the abuse of the pleasures of drinking; immodesty or lust, the abuse of the pleasures attached to the reproduction of the species. The opposites of these three vices are, to the first two,sobriety, to the last,chastity.
The duty of temperance is enforced by two considerations: 1, intemperance being, as experience shows, the ruination of health, is thereby contrary to the duty of self-preservation; 2, intemperance destroying the intellectual faculties, and making us unfit for any energetic and manly action, is contrary to the duty imposed on us to respect our moral faculties and protect against all injury within us the free personality which constitutes the essence of humanity.
Kant does not admit that the first of these considerations—that, namely, which is deduced from the interest of our health—has any validity in morals: “Vice,” he says, “should not be judged from the damage it does to man, for to resist it would then be resisting it for reasons of comfort and commodity, which could never be a principle to found a duty on, but only a measure of prudence.” This is true; but if we have in the foregoing pages established that self-preservation is one of man’s duties, that he should not destroy his health or abridge his life, an evident corollary of this principle is to avoid intemperance, because intemperance abridges life. This consideration is then as legitimate from the standpoint of morality as from that of interest.
The ancients have spoken admirably about temperance. Socrates in particular, in Xenophon’sMemorabilia, showedclearly that temperance makes of man a free man, and intemperance, a brute and a slave.
“Tell me, Eutydemus, thinkest thou not that liberty is a precious and honorable thing for an individual and for a State?—It is the most precious of all.—Thinkest thou him then who allows himself to be overruled by the pleasures of the body, and thereby disabled from doing good, a free man?—Not the least.—Perhaps callest thou liberty the power to do good, and servitude the being prevented from it by obstacles.—Precisely.—The intemperate then appear to thee as slaves?—Yes, by Jupiter, and rightly so.—What thinkest thou of masters who hinder the doing good, and oblige one to do wrong.—It is, by Jupiter, the worst possible kind.—And which is the worst of servitudes?—To my mind that which subjects us to the worst masters.—Then is intemperance the worst of servitudes?—So I think.”
“Tell me, Eutydemus, thinkest thou not that liberty is a precious and honorable thing for an individual and for a State?—It is the most precious of all.—Thinkest thou him then who allows himself to be overruled by the pleasures of the body, and thereby disabled from doing good, a free man?—Not the least.—Perhaps callest thou liberty the power to do good, and servitude the being prevented from it by obstacles.—Precisely.—The intemperate then appear to thee as slaves?—Yes, by Jupiter, and rightly so.—What thinkest thou of masters who hinder the doing good, and oblige one to do wrong.—It is, by Jupiter, the worst possible kind.—And which is the worst of servitudes?—To my mind that which subjects us to the worst masters.—Then is intemperance the worst of servitudes?—So I think.”
Plato, on his side, in a charming picture brings out with force the insatiableness of sensual passions:
“See,” says Socrates, “if the temperate man and the disorderly man are not like two men having each a large number of casks: the casks of the one are in good condition and full, one with wine, another with honey, a third with milk, and others with other liquors; these liquors, moreover, are rare and hard to get; they cost infinite trouble to obtain; their owner having once filled his barrels, pours henceforth nothing more into them; he has no longer any anxiety concerning them, and is perfectly at ease. The other can, it is true, procure the same liquors, but only with difficulty; his casks, moreover, being leaky and rotten, he is obliged to fill them constantly, day and night, lest he be devoured by burning pains. This picture being an image of both lives, canst thou say that that of the libertine is happier than that of the temperate man?”
“See,” says Socrates, “if the temperate man and the disorderly man are not like two men having each a large number of casks: the casks of the one are in good condition and full, one with wine, another with honey, a third with milk, and others with other liquors; these liquors, moreover, are rare and hard to get; they cost infinite trouble to obtain; their owner having once filled his barrels, pours henceforth nothing more into them; he has no longer any anxiety concerning them, and is perfectly at ease. The other can, it is true, procure the same liquors, but only with difficulty; his casks, moreover, being leaky and rotten, he is obliged to fill them constantly, day and night, lest he be devoured by burning pains. This picture being an image of both lives, canst thou say that that of the libertine is happier than that of the temperate man?”
A second consideration which may be added to the preceding one is, that the intemperate man, seeking pleasure, does not find it; pleasure passionately pursued changes even into pain: “Intemperance,” says Montaigne, “is the pest of voluptuousness, whilst temperance is its seasoning.” This view of the matter is especially that in which the epicurean moralists delight; they always, in morals, compare one pleasure with another; but it also holds good for those who place duty above pleasure, for it is likewise a duty to prefer a pure, simple,delicate pleasure, to a violent, disorderly, or vulgar pleasure. From this standpoint, we may say with Plato, in his Philebus, that the purest pleasures are not the strongest, and even that the stronger and more ardent a pleasure may be, the nearer it approaches a change into pain. Now, all other duty set aside, one should principally seek the pleasures which are not mixed with pain, because they are the most natural and the most legitimate of all: thus is it that the pleasure we derive from a satisfied appetite is a proper pleasure, however humble it be, whilst the pleasure which carries with it satiety and disgust, indicates by that very fact, that it is against nature, or at least goes beyond nature. Virtue requires, then, that we prefer the first to the second.
140. The pleasures of the senses.—But provided one is content with moderate pleasures, is it allowed to enjoy the pleasures of the senses, or must we rather turn our mind, will, and soul, from them, and rest content with the satisfied want? Montaigne, that naive child of nature, supports the first proposition; Saint Augustine, the apostle of free grace, advocates the second. “Nature,” says Montaigne, “has maternally provided that the actions she enjoins upon us for the satisfaction of our wants be also pleasurable, and she invites us thereto not only through reason, but also by the appetite: it is not right to corrupt her rules.” Not only did Montaigne authorize the pleasure of the senses, but he also favored one’s delighting in it:
“It should be fitly studied, enjoyed, dwelt upon, to show ourselves worthily thankful to him who dispenses it.... To that degree, did I myself follow this precept that in order that the pleasure of sleeping should not stupidly escape me, I found it well in former days, to have myself disturbed in my sleep, that I might catch the feeling of it.... Is there any gratification of the senses? I do not allow them to have it all to themselves; I associate my soul with it, not to lose itself in it, but to find itself in it.... It estimates, thereby, how much it owes God for putting the body at its own disposal, allowing it to enjoy in order and completeness the soft and agreeable functions whereby it pleased him to compensate us by his mercy for the pains his justice inflicts on us in its turn.”
“It should be fitly studied, enjoyed, dwelt upon, to show ourselves worthily thankful to him who dispenses it.... To that degree, did I myself follow this precept that in order that the pleasure of sleeping should not stupidly escape me, I found it well in former days, to have myself disturbed in my sleep, that I might catch the feeling of it.... Is there any gratification of the senses? I do not allow them to have it all to themselves; I associate my soul with it, not to lose itself in it, but to find itself in it.... It estimates, thereby, how much it owes God for putting the body at its own disposal, allowing it to enjoy in order and completeness the soft and agreeable functions whereby it pleased him to compensate us by his mercy for the pains his justice inflicts on us in its turn.”
St. Augustine looks at the thing from an entirely different standpoint:
“Thou hast taught me, O my God,” he says, “to look upon food as upon a remedy. But when I pass from the suffering of hunger to the repose of satiety, even in this passage from the one to the other does concupiscence lay its snares for me; for this passage is a pleasure, and there is no other means to reach the end which by necessity we must reach. And although real hunger and thirst—eating and drinking be but a matter of health, yet does pleasure join itself thereto as a dangerous companion, and sometimes it even takes the lead and induces me to do from a sense of pleasure, what I only wish to do for my health. What is enough for health, is not enough for pleasure, and it is often difficult to decide whether it is the wants of the body that require to be met, or the deceiving voluptuousness of concupiscence which subjugates us. In this incertitude our miserable soul rejoices because she finds therein a defense and an excuse, and, not knowing what is sufficient for the maintenance of health, she places the interests of voluptuousness under the shadow of this pretext. Every day I endeavor to resist its temptations and invoke thy hand to save me, and I lay at thy feet my incertitudes, because, alas! my resolution is not yet strong enough.”
“Thou hast taught me, O my God,” he says, “to look upon food as upon a remedy. But when I pass from the suffering of hunger to the repose of satiety, even in this passage from the one to the other does concupiscence lay its snares for me; for this passage is a pleasure, and there is no other means to reach the end which by necessity we must reach. And although real hunger and thirst—eating and drinking be but a matter of health, yet does pleasure join itself thereto as a dangerous companion, and sometimes it even takes the lead and induces me to do from a sense of pleasure, what I only wish to do for my health. What is enough for health, is not enough for pleasure, and it is often difficult to decide whether it is the wants of the body that require to be met, or the deceiving voluptuousness of concupiscence which subjugates us. In this incertitude our miserable soul rejoices because she finds therein a defense and an excuse, and, not knowing what is sufficient for the maintenance of health, she places the interests of voluptuousness under the shadow of this pretext. Every day I endeavor to resist its temptations and invoke thy hand to save me, and I lay at thy feet my incertitudes, because, alas! my resolution is not yet strong enough.”
It will be seen that the two moralists use both the same principle (namely, the will of Providence) to arrive at entirely different conclusions. According to one, pleasure was instituted by God only as a means to arrive at the satisfaction of bodily wants. It is, then, this satisfaction alone we should have in view. According to the other, God allowing necessity to be accompanied by pleasure, invites us thereby to enjoy pleasure. It seems to us that the two moralists fall here into an excess: for, according to us, we should not too much distrust pleasure nor delight in it too much: pleasure, not being an evil in itself, there is no reason why we should reproach ourselves for enjoying it: for it is as essential to the nature of our being as life itself. We may even say that pleasure is already a superior degree of existence, and it is for this reason that the animal is found to be superior to the plant. The scruples of St. Augustine in regard to pleasure are, therefore, exaggerated. On the other hand, I do not approve ofMontaigne’s refinement either; it is not proper to bring the reflective faculties to bear upon sensual pleasures in order to enhance them: to have one’s self waked up in order to take cognizance of the sweetness of sleep is an unjustifiable refinement of sensuality unless one admits pleasure to be the end of life. In one word, it is necessary here to avoid at the same time exaggeratedscruplesandself-gratification, as occupying the mind more than is necessary with what has but a very inferior value.[95]
Providence, besides, has furnished us means to enhance the pleasures of the senses by mingling with them the pleasures of the mind or heart. “Banquets,” says Kant, “have, besides the physical pleasure they procure us, something that tends to a moral end, namely, to bring together a certain number of people, and to maintain among them an extended interchange of kindly feelings.”
And this austere moralist does not hesitate to lay down certain rules which should preside over refined festivities. We shall be pardoned if we reproduce here some of his witty remarks on that subject. “The good cheer,” he says, “which best accords with humanity, is a good repast in good company; a company which Chesterfield says should not fall below the number of the Graces, nor exceed that of the Muses.... On the contrary, large assemblages and festivities are altogether in bad taste.... To eat alone is unwholesome for a philosophic scholar: it is no restoration, it is rather exhaustion; it is a labor, and not a play revivifying thought. The man who eats alone loses gradually his cheerfulness; he recovers it, on the contrary, when the intermittent jests of a guest give him a new subject of animation which, alone, he would not have been able to discover.” Kant further requires, “that the repast should end with laughter, which, if it is loud and hearty,is a sort of compliment to nature.” Then, after having given rules for table-talk, he concludes by saying: “However insignificant these laws of polite society may appear, especially when compared to morality properly so called, they are, nevertheless, a garment which becomes virtue, and which may be recommended in all seriousness. In fact, thanks to these laws, sensual pleasures are ennobled and increased by mixing with them intellectual pleasures. It is the same with those other pleasures related to the purest and noblest sentiments of the heart, and which, thanks to this alliance, may be reconciled with perfect chastity.
141. The exterior bearing.—Propriety.—Decorum.—Temperance should not be confined to the inner man; it should manifest itself outwardly through acts, words, through proper bearing and attitudes: this is what is calleddecency; the principal part of which ismodesty.
“We must not,” says Cicero, “mind the cynics and certain stoics who turn us into ridicule and reproach us for being ashamed to speak of things that have nothing shameful in themselves. As for us, let us follow nature, and abstain from all that might wound the eyes or ears. Let our bearing, gait, our looks, gestures, be always true to decency.... There are two things to be avoided: soft and effeminate airs, and a boorish and uncouth appearance.”[96]
“We must not,” says Cicero, “mind the cynics and certain stoics who turn us into ridicule and reproach us for being ashamed to speak of things that have nothing shameful in themselves. As for us, let us follow nature, and abstain from all that might wound the eyes or ears. Let our bearing, gait, our looks, gestures, be always true to decency.... There are two things to be avoided: soft and effeminate airs, and a boorish and uncouth appearance.”[96]
The ancients justly attached great importance to the outward appearance and countenance; they regarded it as the sign of the freeman.
“There are,” says Cicero, “two kinds of beauty: the one, grace; the other, dignity. Grace belongs to woman, dignity to man. We should, therefore, interdict ourselves all that could belie that dignity, either in dress, bearing, or gesture. There are movements among our wrestlers which are sometimes displeasing, and certain gestures of our comedians which are somewhat ridiculous; they would both recommend themselves to the public better by simplicity and decency. One should be neither uncouth nor over-refined; in regard to dress, the most modest is the best. Avoid, likewise, in your gait, either that excessive slowness(reminding one of the imposing gravity of sacred pomps), or too much haste, which is a sure sign of light-headedness and thoughtlessness.”[97]
“There are,” says Cicero, “two kinds of beauty: the one, grace; the other, dignity. Grace belongs to woman, dignity to man. We should, therefore, interdict ourselves all that could belie that dignity, either in dress, bearing, or gesture. There are movements among our wrestlers which are sometimes displeasing, and certain gestures of our comedians which are somewhat ridiculous; they would both recommend themselves to the public better by simplicity and decency. One should be neither uncouth nor over-refined; in regard to dress, the most modest is the best. Avoid, likewise, in your gait, either that excessive slowness(reminding one of the imposing gravity of sacred pomps), or too much haste, which is a sure sign of light-headedness and thoughtlessness.”[97]
These counsels will not appear minute to those who know that the soul is always ready to fall in with the body, and that the inner man sets himself naturally to the outer man. Disorder in manners, dress, words, bring insensibly with them disorder in thought, and the outward dignity is but the reflection of the dignity of the soul.
DUTIES RELATING TO EXTERNAL GOODS.
SUMMARY.
The necessity of external goods.—Two sorts of duties.—1. Those relative touse; 2. Those relative toacquisition.Use of external goods.—They aremeansand notends:avarice,cupidity,prodigality.It is not the degree of riches, it is the spirit in which we seek or possess them, which is the object of a moral rule.Economy, a mean between prodigality and avarice.Economy and saving are not only duties ofself-preservation, but ofdignity.Maxims of Franklin.—The prodigal and the miser, according to Aristotle.Acquisition of external things.—Universal law of work.—Servileandfreework.—Nobility of work.Work is apleasure, anecessity, aduty.
The necessity of external goods.—Two sorts of duties.—1. Those relative touse; 2. Those relative toacquisition.
Use of external goods.—They aremeansand notends:avarice,cupidity,prodigality.
It is not the degree of riches, it is the spirit in which we seek or possess them, which is the object of a moral rule.
Economy, a mean between prodigality and avarice.
Economy and saving are not only duties ofself-preservation, but ofdignity.
Maxims of Franklin.—The prodigal and the miser, according to Aristotle.
Acquisition of external things.—Universal law of work.—Servileandfreework.—Nobility of work.
Work is apleasure, anecessity, aduty.
142. Necessity of external goods.—External goods are as necessary to man as is his body: for it is in the first place a fundamental law of beings physically organized, that they only subsist by means of a continual exchange of their component parts, with foreign substances. Life is a circulation, a vortex: we lose and acquire; we return to nature what it gave us, and we take from it back again in exchange what we need to repair our losses. There follows from this that certain external things, especially food, are indispensable to our existence, and that it is absolutely necessary that we be in sure possession of them in order to be ourselves sure of life.
Food is not the only need of man. Shelter and clothing, without being as rigorously indispensable (especially in warmcountries), are nevertheless of great utility to maintain a certain equilibrium between the temperature of our bodies and the external temperature; for it is well known that the derangement of this equilibrium is one of the most ordinary causes of illness. Nature not having clothed man as she has the other animals, he is obliged to provide himself with clothes by his industry. As for habitations, several animals know as well as man how to construct them: for example, beavers and rabbits; and despite the indisputable superiority of his art, this is yet, as we see for man, but the development of an instinct which he shares with other creatures.
These various wants, then, which to be satisfied demand a certain number of material objects, such as food, houses, clothing, etc., carry with them others in their train: for example, the need of locomotion to procure what is wanted: hence, carriages, boats, etc.;—the need of protecting one’s self against those who would take from us what we possess: hence, arms of every kind;—the need of repose and order in the house: hence, furniture of every sort;—in a higher degree again the need of pleasing the imagination: hence, works of art, pictures, statuary;—the need of information: hence, books, etc.
Finally, and independently of all these different things, there are yet two which deserve to be specially noticed, because of their particular and distinctive character. These are, first, land, which is the common and inexhaustible source of all riches, the only thing that does not perish, and which is always found again in the same quantity after as well as before the enjoyment of it; land, which is as the substance, the very basis of riches;[98]and the second, money (gold or silver, with their representative, paper), which is of a nature to be exchanged against all kind of merchandise, even land, and which, consequently, represents them all. These two kinds of things, land and money, the one an essential, the other a condensed image, of all wealth, are the two mostnatural objects of man’s desires, because, with the one or the other, he can procure all the rest.
We have not to examine here how man succeeds in securing to himself the exclusive enjoyment of these several goods: we shall treat the subject of property further on, and shall explain in what, and why, it is inviolable. Let it suffice to say here that these goods being bound up with the very preservation of our existence, the desire and instinct which lead us to appropriate them, have nothing blameworthy in themselves.
External goods being necessary to life, we have to consider how we should use them when we possess them, and how acquire them when we do not possess them.
143. Duties relating to the use of external goods.—Cupidity.—Avarice.—From the very fact that man is a part of nature, it manifestly follows that he is allowed to make his profit of the goods of nature and to turn them to his use. The only question is then to know to what degree and in what spirit, he should love material goods, and what use he is to make of them, not in regard to others, but in regard to himself.
A first consideration is that material things or riches have no value in themselves; they are only worth anything as they suit our wants. Gold and silver, in particular, are only a value because they can be exchanged against useful things, and these things, again, are only good because they are useful. They are, to employ Kant’s favorite formula,means, notends. Now we precisely overthrow this order when we take material things as ends and not as means—that is to say, when we attribute to them anabsoluteinstead of arelativevalue. This happens when, for example, we seek gain for gain’s sake; when we accumulate riches for the sole pleasure of accumulating them—a vice we callcupidity.
It is, again, what happens when we enjoy wealth for itself, without wishing to turn it to use, and depriving ourselves of everything to enjoy the thing itself, which has no other value except that of buying other things; a vice we callavarice.
The character of these two vices (a character which is not only contrary to prudence, but also to virtue) is to transform material things into absolute ends. “Avarice,” says Kant, very justly, “is not only economy misunderstood, but a servile subjection to the goods of fortune; an incapacity of exercising mastery over them.... It is not only opposed to generosity, but to liberality of sentiments in general—that is to say, to the principle of independence which recognizes nothing but the law, and becomes thus a fraud which man commits against himself.” Cupidity does not, at first glance, appear to be of so shameful, and especially so ridiculous a character as avarice; for avarice is a contradiction to one’s self (to die rather than lose that which can only serve to prevent us from dying), and viewed in that light it becomes a comical oddity. But the love of gain for gain’s sake is, no less than avarice, a servile subjection to the goods of fortune. To earn money is a necessity to which we must submit (and of which we need not be ashamed, since it is nature herself that requires it), but it is not, and should not be, an end to the soul. The end of wealth (without failing in the duties we owe to ourselves) should be to make sure of the means of self-preservation, self-cultivation, education—yea, even recreation; for recreation is a thing much more refined and noble than accumulation of wealth. In one word, according to an old saying, one must possess riches and not be possessed by them.
Such is thespiritin which man should seek or possess riches; and it is for him a strict duty; but as to the degree and limits of possession, as to the extent or quantity of riches, morality gives us neither rules nor principles. There is no particular limit known beyond which a man in making money would become immoral. There is no restriction to his becoming a millionaire if he can. A morality that should teach to look upon the rich as culpable, would be a very false one. The contempt for riches, such as the ancient philosophers professed, is a very beautiful thing in itself; but to make good use of wealth is also very praiseworthy. Wealth, which in itselfhas no value, may have a very great one from the use made of it. There is, therefore, no other rule to be observed here than the one we have already pointed out, namely, that we should not love money for itself, but acquire it or receive it as a means to be useful to ourselves and to others. Let us add, however, that even with this motive, we should not entertain too great a desire for gain;[99]for to take too much pleasure in accumulating a fortune, even to make a good use of it, is again another way to become its slave.
144. Poverty.—The duty of not allowing one’s self to become morally a slave to external goods, carries with it, as its corollary, the duty of bearing poverty patiently if circumstances impose it on us. I do not mean here the strength of soul with which we should bear adversity of any kind (we shall speak of that further on), but the resignation with which we should look upon the deprivation of certain things, which have no value in themselves. The poor man should, of course, endeavor to improve his condition by his work, and we are far from recommending to him a stupid insensibility which would dry up the sources of all industry; but what we should especially guard against is this uneasy discontent and powerless desire which are also a kind of slavery. We should try to be satisfied with our lot, as ancient wisdom has it, and if it requires a certain amount of heroism to bear extreme misery, a limited share of wisdom will be sufficient to enable one to accept patiently poverty and mediocrity.
145. Prodigality.—Maintaining, as we have done, that riches have no value in themselves, except as means to satisfy our wants, do we mean thereby that they are to be spent injudiciously?—and would not that appear to be condemning saving and economy, virtues which not only morality, but wisdom also, recommends? Shall we, in order to avoid cupidity and avarice, run into dissipation and prodigality?
Let us first observe that prodigality, which is the opposite of avarice, is not always the opposite of cupidity. The need of spending engenders necessarily the need of obtaining and gaining as much money as possible; and the prodigal, if he is not so in the beginning, very soon becomes covetous, through the exhaustion of his resources. “Most prodigals,” says Aristotle, “become greedy and grasping, because they always wish to spend at their will. Their own resources being soon exhausted, they must needs procure others; and as they scarcely take thought about dignity and honor, they appropriate without scruple, and as they can.” We should, therefore, not view prodigality as a noble independence in respect to riches. It is so in the beginning, in fact, with young rich people; but they soon find out the limits of their great fortunes, and then begins their slavery in respect to those very goods they made at first so light of.
Prudence and our own interest teach us, of course, sufficiently that prodigality is a stupid vice, and that it is absurd to sacrifice the wants of to-morrow to the pleasures of to-day. Simple common-sense advises economy and saving. But for this very reason may we ask, with Kant: “whether they deserve the name of virtues; and whether prodigality even, inasmuch as it tends to an unexpected indigence, should not be called an imprudence rather than a vice?” We shall say in reply that self-interest well understood becomes itself a duty when in opposition to passion. For instance, if, on the one side, passion lures me on to procure to myself a certain pleasure, and that, on the other, self-interest shows that this pleasure imperils my health, it is certain thatdutyin this circumstance commands me to prefer my health to a momentary pleasure.[100]Prudence, then, is but the exercise of a moregeneral duty, which, if not the basis, is at least the condition of all the others: the duty of self-preservation.
Economy and saving are not only a duty of self-preservation, but also a duty of dignity: for experience teaches us that poverty and misery bring us into the dependency of others and that want leads to beggary. He who knows how to husband his means of existence, secures for himself in the future not only his livelihood, but also independence; in depriving himself of fleeting and commonplace pleasures, he buys what is far better, namely, dignity.
“Be economical,” says Franklin, “and independence shall be thy shield and buckler, thy helmet and crown; then shall thy soul walk upright, nor stoop to the silken wretch because he hath riches; nor pocket an abuse because the hand which offers it wears a ring set with diamonds.”
“Be economical,” says Franklin, “and independence shall be thy shield and buckler, thy helmet and crown; then shall thy soul walk upright, nor stoop to the silken wretch because he hath riches; nor pocket an abuse because the hand which offers it wears a ring set with diamonds.”
It is from this point of view that the charming and witty, though sometimes vulgar, precepts of poor Richard may be regarded as moral maxims, and should have access to all minds:
“If you would be wealthy, think of saving as well as of getting.”
“A fat kitchen makes a lean will.”
“What maintains one vice would bring up two children.”
“Many littles make a mickle.”
“Fools make feasts and wise men eat them.”
“It is foolish to lay out money in a purchase of repentance.”
“Silks and satins, scarlet and velvets put out the kitchen fire.”
“When the well is dry, they know the worth of water.”
“Pride breakfasted with Plenty, dined with Poverty, and supped with Infamy.”[101]
What Franklin has depicted with greatest force and eloquence, is the humiliation attached to debts, a sad consequence of the want of economy. There is a kind of pride which is not that of Rome and Sparta, nor of the courts and the great, but which has not the less its price.
“He that goes a borrowing, goes a sorrowing. Alas! think well what you do when you run in debt; you give to another power over your liberty. If you cannot pay at the time, you will be ashamed to see your creditor; you will be in fear when you speak to him; you will make poor, pitiful, sneaking excuses, and by degrees come to lose your veracity, and sink into base, downright lying.For lying rides upon Debt’s back.A free-born man ought not to be afraid to see or speak to any man living. But poverty often deprives a man of all spirit and virtue.It is hard for an empty bag to stand upright.”
“He that goes a borrowing, goes a sorrowing. Alas! think well what you do when you run in debt; you give to another power over your liberty. If you cannot pay at the time, you will be ashamed to see your creditor; you will be in fear when you speak to him; you will make poor, pitiful, sneaking excuses, and by degrees come to lose your veracity, and sink into base, downright lying.For lying rides upon Debt’s back.A free-born man ought not to be afraid to see or speak to any man living. But poverty often deprives a man of all spirit and virtue.It is hard for an empty bag to stand upright.”
We should then avoid so to subject ourselves to material things as not to dare make use of them, which is avarice; or to spend them foolishly and thus render ourselves dependent upon men, which is prodigality. Economy lies between the two, and it is one of the virtues upon which Aristotle has most successfully established his theory of the golden mean. Kant, however, does not agree with him on this point. “For,” says he, “if economy is a just medium between two extremes, then should we, in going from one vice to the opposite vice, have to pass through virtue: the latter then would be nothing more than a lesser vice.” According to Kant, it is not themeasurebut theprinciplewhich may serve to distinguish a vice from a virtue: the one is distinguished from the other not quantitatively, but specifically. The two vices, extremes themselves, prodigality and avarice, namely, are opposed to each other, not only in degree, but in kind. What is prodigality? “It is,” says Kant, “to procure means of livelihood with a view to the enjoyment only.” What is avarice? “To acquire and preserve these means in view of possession only, interdicting one’s self the enjoyment thereof.” These two qualities, it is seen, do not only differ from each other in the more or the less, but in their very nature. There would remain next to ask, what is the quality of economy,and that is just what Kant does not tell us. In default of it, it might be formulated thus: “to acquire and preserve the means of livelihood, not for the sake of possession or enjoyment, but for present or future need.” Only there remains still the difficulty of distinguishing need from enjoyment. Where does legitimate need end? Where does barren enjoyment begin? It is here that Aristotle’s formula asserts itself, and that we must finally come to recognize that the virtue of economy consists in a certain medium between prodigality and avarice.
Yet whatever it be, we cannot better close this subject than by citing Aristotle’s admirable description of the prodigal and the miser: La Bruyère shows no greater acuteness and force.
“The prodigal is he who ruins himself on his own accord. The senseless squandering of his property is a sort of self-destruction, since one can only live on what one has. Prodigality is the excess of giving, and the want of receiving; but these two conditions cannot very long keep together; for it is not easy to give to every one, when one receives from no one. This vice, however, should not appear as blameworthy as that of avarice. Age, distress even, may easily enough correct the prodigal and bring him back to a just medium. Thus is the nature of the prodigal on the whole not a bad one; there is nothing vicious or low in this excessive tendency to give much and take nothing in return; it is only folly. It is true that prodigals become greedy and grasping. This is also why their gifts are not truly liberal ... why they enrich some people who should be left in poverty, and refuse doing anything for others far more deserving. They give with open hands to flatterers or people who procure them pleasures as unworthy as those of flattery.“Avarice is incurable.... Avarice is more natural to man than prodigality; for most of us prefer keeping what we have than giving it away.... It consists of two principal elements: defect of giving, excess of receiving.... Some show more excess of receiving, some more defect of giving. Thus do all those branded by the name shabby, stingy, mean, sin through a defect of giving; yet do they not covet, nor would they take what belongs to others.... Other misers, on the contrary, may be known by their grasping propensities, taking all they can get: for example, all those who engage in ignoble speculations ... usurers and all those who lend small sums at large interest. All these people take where they should not take,and more than they ought to take. Lust for the most shameful lucre seems to be the common vice of all degraded hearts: there is no infamy they are not willing to endure, if they can make it a profit.”[102]
“The prodigal is he who ruins himself on his own accord. The senseless squandering of his property is a sort of self-destruction, since one can only live on what one has. Prodigality is the excess of giving, and the want of receiving; but these two conditions cannot very long keep together; for it is not easy to give to every one, when one receives from no one. This vice, however, should not appear as blameworthy as that of avarice. Age, distress even, may easily enough correct the prodigal and bring him back to a just medium. Thus is the nature of the prodigal on the whole not a bad one; there is nothing vicious or low in this excessive tendency to give much and take nothing in return; it is only folly. It is true that prodigals become greedy and grasping. This is also why their gifts are not truly liberal ... why they enrich some people who should be left in poverty, and refuse doing anything for others far more deserving. They give with open hands to flatterers or people who procure them pleasures as unworthy as those of flattery.
“Avarice is incurable.... Avarice is more natural to man than prodigality; for most of us prefer keeping what we have than giving it away.... It consists of two principal elements: defect of giving, excess of receiving.... Some show more excess of receiving, some more defect of giving. Thus do all those branded by the name shabby, stingy, mean, sin through a defect of giving; yet do they not covet, nor would they take what belongs to others.... Other misers, on the contrary, may be known by their grasping propensities, taking all they can get: for example, all those who engage in ignoble speculations ... usurers and all those who lend small sums at large interest. All these people take where they should not take,and more than they ought to take. Lust for the most shameful lucre seems to be the common vice of all degraded hearts: there is no infamy they are not willing to endure, if they can make it a profit.”[102]
146. Duties relating to the acquisition of external things.—Work.—The necessity of procuring the things needful to life imposes on us a fundamental obligation, which continues even when the want is met: it is the obligation ofwork.
Work springs from want; this is its first origin; but it survives want; and its beauty and dignity consist in that, being at first born of a natural necessity, it becomes the honor of man and the salvation of society.
In its most general sense, work means activity, and in that sense it may be said that everything works in nature; everything is in motion; everywhere we see effort, energy, unfolding of forces. Take but the animals: the bird works to build its nest; the spider to weave its web; the bee to make her honey; the beaver to construct its lodges; the dog to catch the game; the cat to catch mice. We find among animals workmen of all sorts: masons, architects, tailors, hunters, travelers; even politicians and artists, as if they had been destined to set us examples in all kinds of work and activity.
“In the morning,” says Marcus Aurelius, “when thou hast trouble in getting up, say to thyself: I awake to do the work of a man: why, then, should I grieve for having to do things for which I am born, for which I was sent into the world? Was I born to remain warmly in bed under my cover?—But it is so pleasant.—Wert thou born for pleasure, then? Was it not for action, for work? Seest thou not the plants, the sparrows, the ants, the spiders, the bees, filling each their functions, and contributing according to their capacity to the harmony of the world? And shouldst thou refuse to attend thy functions as man? Shouldst thou not follow the biddings of nature?”[103]
“In the morning,” says Marcus Aurelius, “when thou hast trouble in getting up, say to thyself: I awake to do the work of a man: why, then, should I grieve for having to do things for which I am born, for which I was sent into the world? Was I born to remain warmly in bed under my cover?—But it is so pleasant.—Wert thou born for pleasure, then? Was it not for action, for work? Seest thou not the plants, the sparrows, the ants, the spiders, the bees, filling each their functions, and contributing according to their capacity to the harmony of the world? And shouldst thou refuse to attend thy functions as man? Shouldst thou not follow the biddings of nature?”[103]
The ancients distinguished two kinds of work: noble and independent work, namely, the arts, the sciences, war and politics; and servile or mercenary work imposed by necessity. The latter they deemed below the dignity of man; manuallabor, properly so called, useful work, distinct from gymnastics and military exercises, they considered as belonging exclusively to slaves. It is to this Aristotle referred when he said:
“There are men who have but just the necessary amount of reason to understand the reason of others: it is they whose only work is useful manual labor. It is obvious that such men cannot belong to themselves; they belong necessarily to others; they are slaves by nature.”
“There are men who have but just the necessary amount of reason to understand the reason of others: it is they whose only work is useful manual labor. It is obvious that such men cannot belong to themselves; they belong necessarily to others; they are slaves by nature.”
Aristotle believed, moreover, that nature herself had made the distinction between the freeman and the slave:
“Nature,” he said, “made the bodies of the freemen different from those of the slaves; she gave to the latter the necessary vigor for the heavy work of society, and made the former unable to bend their erect natures to such rude labors.”[104]
“Nature,” he said, “made the bodies of the freemen different from those of the slaves; she gave to the latter the necessary vigor for the heavy work of society, and made the former unable to bend their erect natures to such rude labors.”[104]
It is not necessary to have lived to this present time to find these errors refuted. Before Aristotle, Socrates had already understood the dignity of labor, even of the productive labor insuring a livelihood; he had seen that work in itself was not servile, as the following charming account related by Xenophon, well proves:
“Socrates, observing, on one occasion, Aristarchus looking gloomily, ‘You seem,’ said he, ‘Aristarchus, to be taking something to heart; but you ought to impart the cause of your uneasiness to your friends; for, perhaps, we may by some means lighten it.’
“‘I am indeed, Socrates,’ replied Aristarchus, ‘in great perplexity; for since the city has been disturbed, and many of our people have fled to the Piræus, my surviving sisters and nieces and cousins have gathered about me in such numbers, that there are now in my house fourteen free-born persons. At the same time, we receive no profit from our lands, for the enemy are in possession of them; nor any rent from our houses, for but few inhabitants are left in the city; no one will buy our furniture, nor is it possible to borrow money from any quarter; a person, indeed, as it seems to me, wouldsooner find money by seeking it on the road, than get it by borrowing. It is a grievous thing to me, therefore, to leave my relations to perish; and it is impossible for me to support such a number under such circumstances.’ Socrates, on hearing this, replied: ‘Are you not aware that Cyrebus, by making bread, maintains his whole household and lives luxuriously; that Demea supports himself by making cloaks, Menon by making woolen cloaks, and that most of the Megarians live by making mantles?’ ‘Certainly they do,’ said Aristarchus; ‘for they purchase barbarian slaves and keep them, in order to force them to do what they please; but I have with me free-born persons and relatives.’ ‘Then,’ added Socrates, ‘because they are free and related to you, do you think that they ought to do nothing else but eat and sleep? Do you find that idleness and carelessness are serviceable to mankind, either for learning what it becomes them to know, or for remembering what they have learned, or for maintaining the health and strength of their bodies, and that industry and diligence are of no service at all? And as to the arts which you say they know, did they learn them as being useless to maintain life, and with the intention of never practicing any of them, or, on the contrary, with a view to occupy themselves about them, and to reap profit from them? In which condition will men be more temperate, living in idleness or attending to useful employments? In which condition will they be more honest, if they work, or if they sit in idleness meditating how to procure necessaries?’ ‘By the gods,’ exclaimed Aristarchus, ‘you seem to me to give such excellent advice, Socrates, that though hitherto I did not like to borrow money, knowing that, when I had spent what I got, I should have no means of repaying it, I now think that I can endure to do so, in order to gain the necessary means for commencing work.’
“The necessary means were accordingly provided; wool was bought; and the women took their dinners as they continued at work, and supped when they had finished their tasks; they became cheerful instead of gloomy in countenance, and,instead of regarding each other with dislike, met the looks of one another with pleasure; they loved Aristarchus as their protector, and he loved them as being of use to him. At last he came to Socrates, and told him with delight of the state of things in the house; adding that, ‘the women complained of him as being the only person in the house that ate the bread of idleness.’ ‘And do you not tell them,’ said Socrates, ‘the fable of the dog? For they say that when beasts had the faculty of speech, the sheep said to her master: “You act strangely, in granting nothing to us who supply you with wool, and lambs, and cheese, except what we get from the ground; while to the dog, who brings you no such profits, you give a share of the food which you take yourself.”
“The dog hearing these remarks, said, ‘And not indeed without reason: for I am he that protects even yourselves, so that you are neither stolen by men, nor carried off by wolves; while, if I were not to guard you, you would be unable even to feed, for fear lest you should be destroyed.’ In consequence it is said that the sheep agreed that the dog should have superior honor. You, accordingly, tell your relations that you are, in the place of the dog, their guardian and protector, and that, by your means, they work and live in security and pleasure, without suffering injury from any one.’”[105]
If it is unjust to regard manual and productive work as servile, it is equally unjust to regard them as alone entitled to the name of work.
“There are,” says a Chinese sage, “two kinds of work: some people work with their minds; some with their hands. Those who work with their minds govern men; those who work with their hands are governed by men. Those who are governed by men feed men; those who govern men are fed by men.”[106]
“There are,” says a Chinese sage, “two kinds of work: some people work with their minds; some with their hands. Those who work with their minds govern men; those who work with their hands are governed by men. Those who are governed by men feed men; those who govern men are fed by men.”[106]
The same author shows further how divers functions are necessarily divided in society.
“The holy man said to his brother: Go and comfort men; call them to thee; bring them back to virtue; correct them, help them; make them prosper. In thus busying themselves with the welfare of the people, could these holy men find leisure to engage in agriculture?”
“The holy man said to his brother: Go and comfort men; call them to thee; bring them back to virtue; correct them, help them; make them prosper. In thus busying themselves with the welfare of the people, could these holy men find leisure to engage in agriculture?”
We must, therefore, admit that all activity usefully employed is work, and that all work, whether manual or intellectual, mercenary[107]or gratuitous, is noble and legitimate.
Work being taken in its most general sense, may be set down as being apleasure, anecessity, aduty.
Kant, who, as we have seen, refuses to admit in morals any other principle but that of duty, would probably disagree with us when we say that work is a pleasure and a necessity. But if it be true, why should we not say so? Is it necessary, in order that the duty of work be truly accomplished, that it be both painful and useless? Wisdom nowise requires this. Providence having attached to work, whilst making it the necessary condition of our self-preservation, a certain pleasure, lightening thereby our efforts, morality nowise forbids us to enjoy this pleasure and accept this necessity.
It will be easily granted that work is a necessity; but it is more difficult to obtain from men the admission that it is a pleasure. Man, if he will not die of hunger, must work, unquestionably, they will say; but that it is a pleasure is quite another thing.
If the pleasure of work is put to question, no one at least will maintain that it is a pleasure not to work. For when does rest, leisure, recreation give us most pleasure? Everybody knows, it is when we have worked. Recall to mind any unusually heavy work, any hurried and necessary task, or even our daily or weekly duty scrupulously fulfilled: what joy is it not when the task is done to give ourselves a holiday!
Idleness brings with it satiety, weariness, disgust, disorder,the ruin of the family, the destruction of health, and other evils still more baleful. Work, on the contrary, makes repose enjoyable. Without the fatigue of the day’s work, no pleasure in sleep, and even no sleep at all. A manifest proof that Providence did not intend us for repose, but for action, for effort, for struggle, for energetic and constant work.
We should even go so far as to say that work is not only a stimulant, but that it is in itself a pleasure and a joy.
There is, in the first place, the joy of self-love. We all experience joy when we have accomplished something; when we have succeeded in a difficult work, and the more difficult it was, the prouder we are of it. Besides, the exercise which accompanies activity is in itself a great good. The unfolding of strength, physical or moral, is the source of the truest pleasures. Activity is life itself: to live, is to act. Work, again, gives us the pleasure which accompanies any kind of struggle: in working we struggle against the forces of nature, we subdue them, discipline them, we teach them to obey us. Unquestionably the first efforts are painful: but when once the first difficulties are overcome, work is so little a fatigue that it becomes a pleasant necessity. One is even obliged to make an effort to take rest. Yes, after having in childhood had trouble to get accustomed to work, what in the long run becomes the most difficult, is not to work. One is almost obliged to fight against himself, to force himself to recreation and rest. Leisure in its turn becomes a duty to which we almost submit against our will, and only because reason bids us to submit to it; for we know that we must not abuse the strength Providence has entrusted to us.
It is not necessary to dwell long on this point to fix in our memory that work alone insures security and comfort. Certainly it does not always secure them; this is unfortunately too true; but if we are not quite sure that by working we can provide for wife and children, and secure a legitimate rest for our old age, we may, on the other hand, be quite sure that without work we shall bring upon ourselves and ourfamily certain misery. There have not yet been found any means whereby wealth may be struck out of the earth without work. This wealth which dazzles our eyes; these palaces, carriages, splendid dresses, this furniture, luxury, all these riches and others more substantial: machinery, iron-works, land produce, all this is accumulated work. Between the condition of savages that wander about famished in the forests of America, and the condition of our civilized societies, there is no other difference but work. Suppose (a thing impossible) that in a society like this our own, all work should all at once be stopped: distress and hunger would be the immediate and inevitable consequence. Spain, on discovering the gold mines of America, thought herself enriched forever; she ceased work; it was her ruin; for from being Europe’s sovereign mistress, as she then was, she fell to the rank we see her occupy to-day. Laziness brings with it misery; misery beggary, and beggary is not always satisfied with asking merely—it steals.
Work is not only a pleasure or a necessity, it is also a duty; though painful and joyless, work is, nevertheless, an obligation for man; it were still an obligation for him if he could live without it. Work does not only insure security: it secures dignity. Man was created to exercise the faculties of his mind and body. He was created to act. I do not speak here of what he owes to others, but of what he owes to himself. “The happy man,” says Aristotle, “is not the man asleep, but the man awake,” and to be awake is to work and act.
DUTIES RELATING TO THE INTELLECT.
SUMMARY.