“In thinking of such a being (God), man experiences a sentiment which is above all a religious sentiment. Every man, as we come into contact with him, awakens in us a feeling of some kind, according to the qualities we perceive in him, and should not He who possesses all perfections excite in us the strongest of feelings? If we think of the infinite essence of God, if we are thoroughly impressed by his omnipotence, if we remember that the moral law expresses his will, and that he has attached to the fulfillment and violation of this law, rewards and punishments which he distributes with inflexible justice, we must of necessity experience before such greatness emotions of respect and fear. If next we come to consider that this omnipotent being was pleased tocreate us, we, whom he had no need of, and that in creating us he heaped upon us benefits of all kinds, that he has given us this universe to enjoy its ever renewed beauties, that he has given us society that our life may become enlarged in that of our fellow-beings, that he has given us reason to think, a heart to love, liberty to act, that same respect and fear will receive additional strength from a still gentler sentiment, namely, that of love. Love, when directed toward feeble and circumscribed beings, inspires us with the desire to do them good: but, in itself, love does not especially consider the advantage of the person beloved: we love a thing, good or beautiful, simply because it is good or beautiful, and without thought of benefiting it; or benefiting ourselves. How much more so when this love is turned to God, as a pure homage to his perfections; when it is the natural outpouring of the soul toward a being infinitely adorable.“Adoration consists in respect and love. If man, however, sees in God the omnipotent master of heaven and earth only, the source of all justice and the avenger of all wrong, he will, in his weakness, be crushed by the overwhelming weight of God’s greatness: he will be living a life of perpetual fear, from the uncertainty of the judgment of God; he will conceive for this world and life, always so full of misery, nothing but hatred. Read Pascal’sThoughts. Pascal, in his superb humility, forgets two things: the dignity of man and the goodness of God. If, on the other hand, man only sees in God a kind and indulgent Father, he will run into a chimerical mysticism. In substituting love for fear, there is danger of losing the awe which we should have for him. God is then no longer a master, scarcely a father even; for the idea of father carries with it, in a certain degree, that of a respectful fear: he is nothing more than a friend. True adoration does not sever love from respect: it is respect animated by love.“Adoration is a universal sentiment; it differs in degrees according to the differences in human nature; it takes the greatest variety of forms; it often does not even know itself; sometimes it betrays itself by a sudden exclamation, a cry from the heart over the grand scenes of nature and life; sometimes it rises silently in the deeply-moved and dumb-stricken soul; it may in its expression mistake its aim; but fundamentally it is always the same. It is a spontaneous and irresistible yearning of the soul, which reason must declare just and legitimate. What more just, in fact, than to fear the judgments of Him who is holiness itself, who knows our actions and our intentions, and who will judge them as it becomes supreme justice? What more just, also, than to love perfect goodness and the source of all love? Adoration is first a natural sentiment: reason makes of it aduty.”[141]
“In thinking of such a being (God), man experiences a sentiment which is above all a religious sentiment. Every man, as we come into contact with him, awakens in us a feeling of some kind, according to the qualities we perceive in him, and should not He who possesses all perfections excite in us the strongest of feelings? If we think of the infinite essence of God, if we are thoroughly impressed by his omnipotence, if we remember that the moral law expresses his will, and that he has attached to the fulfillment and violation of this law, rewards and punishments which he distributes with inflexible justice, we must of necessity experience before such greatness emotions of respect and fear. If next we come to consider that this omnipotent being was pleased tocreate us, we, whom he had no need of, and that in creating us he heaped upon us benefits of all kinds, that he has given us this universe to enjoy its ever renewed beauties, that he has given us society that our life may become enlarged in that of our fellow-beings, that he has given us reason to think, a heart to love, liberty to act, that same respect and fear will receive additional strength from a still gentler sentiment, namely, that of love. Love, when directed toward feeble and circumscribed beings, inspires us with the desire to do them good: but, in itself, love does not especially consider the advantage of the person beloved: we love a thing, good or beautiful, simply because it is good or beautiful, and without thought of benefiting it; or benefiting ourselves. How much more so when this love is turned to God, as a pure homage to his perfections; when it is the natural outpouring of the soul toward a being infinitely adorable.
“Adoration consists in respect and love. If man, however, sees in God the omnipotent master of heaven and earth only, the source of all justice and the avenger of all wrong, he will, in his weakness, be crushed by the overwhelming weight of God’s greatness: he will be living a life of perpetual fear, from the uncertainty of the judgment of God; he will conceive for this world and life, always so full of misery, nothing but hatred. Read Pascal’sThoughts. Pascal, in his superb humility, forgets two things: the dignity of man and the goodness of God. If, on the other hand, man only sees in God a kind and indulgent Father, he will run into a chimerical mysticism. In substituting love for fear, there is danger of losing the awe which we should have for him. God is then no longer a master, scarcely a father even; for the idea of father carries with it, in a certain degree, that of a respectful fear: he is nothing more than a friend. True adoration does not sever love from respect: it is respect animated by love.
“Adoration is a universal sentiment; it differs in degrees according to the differences in human nature; it takes the greatest variety of forms; it often does not even know itself; sometimes it betrays itself by a sudden exclamation, a cry from the heart over the grand scenes of nature and life; sometimes it rises silently in the deeply-moved and dumb-stricken soul; it may in its expression mistake its aim; but fundamentally it is always the same. It is a spontaneous and irresistible yearning of the soul, which reason must declare just and legitimate. What more just, in fact, than to fear the judgments of Him who is holiness itself, who knows our actions and our intentions, and who will judge them as it becomes supreme justice? What more just, also, than to love perfect goodness and the source of all love? Adoration is first a natural sentiment: reason makes of it aduty.”[141]
These two sentiments, love and respect, may, inasmuch as they relate to God—that is to say, to an infinite being—be resolved into one, which we callveneration. Veneration is the respect mixed with love which we feel for our aged parents, for some exalted virtue, for devotion to a suffering country; but it is only through extension we so understand it: its true object, its proper domain, is the divinity;[142]and if there are other objects tobe reveredand venerated, it is because we detect in them something august and sacred.
It will, perhaps, be said thatsentimentscannot be erected intoduties: for how can I force myself to feel what I do not feel? Acts can be commanded, but not sentiments.
This is true; but the acts, in the first place, are nothing without the sentiments, and if piety is not already in the heart, the most pious works will have no virtue. Moreover, if it be true that it is impossible to generate, either in one’s self or in others, sentiments, the germs of which do not exist in human nature, it is not true that sentiments in conformity with this nature, and which, whilst we believe them completely absent, may only be dormant, could not be excited, awakened, cultivated, and developed. Now, it is enough to think of divine greatness, to experience a feeling of fear and respect; it is enough to think of divine perfection, to love this perfection, and seek to come nearer to it. Duty here consists, then, in thinking of God, in giving this great thought a part of our life, in uniting it with all the acts of that life: these sentiments will, then, be generated and will expand of themselves.
169. Piety united with all the acts of life: indirect duties toward God.—We have just said that the idea of God can be united with all the acts of life. Every action being the fulfillment of the will of Providence, can be both moral and religious.He who works, prays, says the proverb; a life which strives to preserve itself pure and virtuous, is a continuousprayer. In this sense, all our duties areindirect dutiestoward God.
1.Obedience to God, manifested by obedience to moral law. I can obey the moral law in two ways: on the one hand, because it is a duty, whatever besides may be the reason of this duty, and next because this duty is in unison with universal order, which is the work of divine wisdom. To fulfill one’s duty is, then, to co-operate in some respect with God in the achievement of this order. It is thus that in ancient religions, agriculture was regarded a religious act, because man took therein the part of the creator.
2.Resignation to the will of Providence.—Patience is unquestionably a duty in itself. There is a lack of dignity in rebelling against evils which cannot be prevented; but this is as yet a wholly negative virtue. It becomes a religious virtue if we regard the ills of life in the light of trials, and as the condition of a higher good, and expect to voluntarily submit to them as being in the plan of Providence. It is thus the Pythagoreans forbade suicide, saying that it was leaving the post in which God had placed us.
It would, moreover, be interpreting this duty of resignation very falsely to think that it commands us to bear trouble and make no effort to escape it. This were confounding Providence with fatalism. On the contrary, God, having given us free will, not only permits us thereby, but even positively enjoins upon us, to use it in bettering our condition.
3.Love of God conjoined with the love of man.—There is no real love of God without love of neighbor; it is a false piety which thinks itself obliged to sacrifice the love of men to the love of God: thence comefanaticism,intolerance,persecution. To believe these to be religious virtues isimpious. We cannot please God by acts of hatred and cruelty. Thus is the love of God nothing without the love of men.
But it can also be said that the love of men is incomplete if it does not get its sustenance from a higher source, which is the love of God. We can, in fact, love men in two ways:first, because they are men, because they are like us, because there is between them and us a natural bond of sympathy. But we can also love them because they are, like ourselves, members of the universe of which God is the sovereign ruler, members of a family of which God is the father, because, like ourselves, they reflect some of the attributes of supreme perfection, because they ought, like us, to strive after all perfection. We can then love men religiously, love them in God in some respect. Thus conversely to love men will be loving God.
170. The idea of God in morals.—We have, in a former course of lectures, seen how the moral law is related to God: this law is certainly not dependent on his will alone, but on his holiness and supreme perfection; and it is still further related to him as to a supreme sanction. We have to consider here only thepractical efficacyof the idea of God—that is to say, the additional strength moral belief receives by a belief in absolute justice and holiness. It is on this condition and from this standpoint that Kant has called the existence of God thepostulate[143]of the moral law. The moral law, in fact, supposes the world able to conform to this law; but how are we to believe in such a possibility if this world were the effect of a blind and indifferent necessity? “Since it is our duty,” says Kant, “to work toward the realization of the supreme good, it is not only a right, but a necessity flowing from this duty, to suppose the possibility of this supreme good, which good is only possible on the condition of God’s existence”[144]....—“Suppose, for example,” he says elsewhere, “an honest man like Spinoza, firmly convinced that there is no God and no future life. He will, without doubt, fulfill disinterestedly the duty that holy law imposes on his activity; but his efforts will be limited. If here and there he finds in nature accidental co-operation, he can never expect of this co-operationto be in perfect and constant accordance with the end he feels himself obliged to pursue. Though honest, peaceful, benevolent himself, he will always be surrounded by fraud, violence, envy; in vain do the good people he meets deserve to be happy; nature has no regard for their goodness, and exposes them, like all the rest of earth’s animals, to disease and misery, to a premature death, until one vast tomb—the gulf of blind matter from which they issued—swallows them all up again. Thus would this righteous man be obliged to give up as absolutely impossible the end which the law imposed on him; or, if he wished to remain true to the inner voice of his moral destiny, he will, from a practical point of view, be obliged to recognize the existence of a moral cause in the world, namely, God.” Thus, according to Kant, is religion, namely, the belief in the existence of God, required, not as a theoretical basis for morality, but as a practical basis. “The righteous man can say: Iwillthat there be a God.”[145]
It may be objected that moral law can dispense with outward success; that it does not appear to be essential to the idea of that law; that the wise, as far as their own happiness is concerned, need not consider it, can ignore it. But what they are obliged to consider, and are not allowed to ignore, is the happiness of others, and what is generally understood by progress—the possible improvement of the race. If, as some pessimistic and misanthropic philosophers seem to think, men will never be anything more than monkeys or tigers given to the lowest and most ferocious instincts, do you believe that any man, be he ever so well endowed morally, ever so deeply convinced of the obligation of the law of duty, could, if he believed such a thing, be able to continue doing his duty, a duty followed by no appreciable or perceptible results? The first condition for becoming or remaining virtuous, is to believe in virtue. But to believe in virtue means to believe that virtue is a fact, that it exists in the world, that it can do it good; in other words, it is to believe that thehuman race was created for good; that nature is capable of being transformed according to the law of good; it is, in short, to believe that the universe obeys a principle of good, and not a principle of evil—an Oromazes, not an Ahrimanes. As to believing in an indifferent being, one that were neither good nor evil, we should not be any better off; it would leave us just as uncertain in regard to the possible success of our efforts, and just as doubtful about the worth of our moral beliefs.
In one word, and to conclude, if God were an illusion, why could not virtue be an illusion also? In order that I may believe in the dignity and excellence of my soul and that of other men, I must believe in a supreme principle of dignity and excellence. Nothing comes from nothing. If there is no being to love me and my fellow-men, why should I be held to love them? If the world is not good, if it was not created for good, if good is not its origin and end, what have I to do here in this world, and what care I for that swarm of ants of which I am a part? Let them get along as well as they can! Why should I take so much trouble to so little purpose? Take any intelligent man, a friend of civil and political liberty, and ready to suffer anything to procure these to his country, as long as he believes the thing possible, both wisdom and virtue will command him to devote himself wholly to it. But let experience prove to him that it is a chimera, that his fellow-citizens are either too great cowards or too vicious to be worthy and capable of the good he wishes to secure to them; suppose he sees all around him nothing but cupidity, servility, unbridled and abominable passions; suppose, finally, that he becomes convinced that liberty among men, or at least among the people he lives with, is an illusion, do you think he could, do you even think he should, continue wasting his faculties in an impossible enterprise? Once more, I can forget myself, and I ought; and I should leave to internal justice or divine goodness the care to watch over my destinies; but that which I cannot forget, that which cannot leave me indifferent, is thereign of justice on earth. I must be able to say:Let Thy kingdom come!How can I co-operate with the Divine Idea if there is no God, who, in creating us for the furthering of his kingdom, made it, at the same time, possible for us? And how any I to believe that out of that great void whereto atheism reduces us, there can come a reign of wills holy and just, bound to each other by the laws of respect and love? Kant, the great stoic, without borrowing from theology, has more strongly than any other, described the necessity of this reign of law; but he fully understood that this abstract and ideal order of things would remain but a pure conception, if there were not conjoined with it what he justly calls “the practical, the moral faith” in the existence of God.
171. Religious rights.—Religious dutiesimplyreligious rights: for if it is a duty to honor the Creator, it is also a right. Even those who do not admit obligations toward God, ought to respect in those who do admit them, their liberty to do so. The right of having a religion, and practicing it, is what is calledliberty of conscience.
“The first right I claim,” says an eloquent writer, “is the right of adopting a free belief touching the nature of God, my duties, my future; it is a wholly interior right, which governs the relations of my will or conscience alone. It is the liberty of conscience in its essence, its first act, its indispensable basis. It is theliberty to believe, orfaith. Free in the innermost of my thought, shall I be confined to a silent worship? Shall I not be allowed to express what I think? Faith is communicative, and will make itself felt by others. I cannot control its expressing itself without doing it violence, without offending God, without rendering myself guilty of ingratitude. I cannot, moreover, worship a God that is not my God. The freedom of belief, without the freedom of prayer—that is to say, without free worship—is only a delusion.
“Now, is prayer sufficient? Does this solitary expression of my faith, my love, my ignorance, suffice the wants of my heart and my duties toward God? Yes, if man were made tolive alone; but not if he has brethren. I am a social being; I have duties toward society as well as toward God; my creed commands me to teach as well as to pray. My voice must be heard, and I must, following my destiny, and according to the measure of my powers, carry along with me all those who are inclined to follow me. This is the liberty of promulgating one’s creed, or, in other words, theliberty of propagandism.
“Worship, then, means to believe, to pray, to teach. But, can I consider myself a free believer, if praying in public be denied me; if by praying, and teaching, and confessing my doctrine, I risk the loss of my rights as man and citizen? There are other means for checking public worship and apostleship than burning at the stake. It is obvious that, in order no injustice be done to my particular creed, I should risk nothing by it; that I be not deprived of any of my civil or political rights. All this is included in the termlibertyofconscience: it is at the same time the right to believe, the right to pray, and the right to exercise this triple liberty without having to suffer any diminution in one’s dignity as man and citizen.”[146]
172. Religious society.—Religious duties and rights give rise to what may be called religious society. Fénélon has magnificently described the ideal religious society where all would form but one family united by the love of God and men.
“Do we not see,” he says, “that the external worship follows necessarily the internal worship of love? Give me a society of men who, while on earth, would look upon each other as members of one and the same family, whose Father is in heaven; give me men whose life was sunk in this love for their heavenly Father, men who loved their fellow-men and themselves only through love for Him; who were but one heart, one soul: will not in so godly a society the mouth always speak from the abundance of the heart? They will sing the praises ofthe Most High, the Most Good spontaneously; they will bless Him for all His bounties. They will not be content to love Him merely, they will proclaim this love to all the nations of the world; they will wish to correct and admonish their brethren when they see them tempted through pride and low passions to forsake the Well-Beloved. They will lament the least cooling of that love. They will cross the seas, go to the uttermost parts of the earth, to teach the benighted nations who have forgotten His greatness the knowledge and love of their common Father. What do you call external worship if this be not it? God then would beall in all; He would be the universal king, father, friend; He would be the living law of all hearts. Truly, if a mortal king or head of a family wins by his wisdom the esteem and confidence of his children, if we see them at all times pay him the honors due him, need we ask wherein consists his service, or whether any is due him? All that is done in his honor, in obedience to him, in recognition of his bounties, is a continuous worship, obvious to all eyes. What would it be then if men were possessed with the love of God! Their society would be in a state of continuous worship, like that described to us of the blessed in heaven.”[147]
“Do we not see,” he says, “that the external worship follows necessarily the internal worship of love? Give me a society of men who, while on earth, would look upon each other as members of one and the same family, whose Father is in heaven; give me men whose life was sunk in this love for their heavenly Father, men who loved their fellow-men and themselves only through love for Him; who were but one heart, one soul: will not in so godly a society the mouth always speak from the abundance of the heart? They will sing the praises ofthe Most High, the Most Good spontaneously; they will bless Him for all His bounties. They will not be content to love Him merely, they will proclaim this love to all the nations of the world; they will wish to correct and admonish their brethren when they see them tempted through pride and low passions to forsake the Well-Beloved. They will lament the least cooling of that love. They will cross the seas, go to the uttermost parts of the earth, to teach the benighted nations who have forgotten His greatness the knowledge and love of their common Father. What do you call external worship if this be not it? God then would beall in all; He would be the universal king, father, friend; He would be the living law of all hearts. Truly, if a mortal king or head of a family wins by his wisdom the esteem and confidence of his children, if we see them at all times pay him the honors due him, need we ask wherein consists his service, or whether any is due him? All that is done in his honor, in obedience to him, in recognition of his bounties, is a continuous worship, obvious to all eyes. What would it be then if men were possessed with the love of God! Their society would be in a state of continuous worship, like that described to us of the blessed in heaven.”[147]
The great ancient moralist, Epictetus, has as superbly as Fénélon expressed the same sentiments:
“If we had any understanding,” he says, “ought we not, both in public and in private, incessantly to sing and praise the Deity, and rehearse His benefits? Ought we not, whether we dig, or plough, or eat, to sing this hymn to God? Great is God, who has supplied us with these instruments to till the ground; great is God, who has given us hands and organs of digestion; who has given us to grow insensibly, to breathe in sleep. These things we ought forever to celebrate, and to make it the theme of the greatest and divinest hymn that He has given us the power to appreciate these gifts, and to use them well. But because the most of you are blind and insensible there must be some one to fill this station, and lead in behalf of all men the hymn to God; for what else can I do, a lame old man, but sing hymns to God? Were I a nightingale, I would act the part of a nightingale; were I a swan, the part of a swan. But since I am a reasonable creature it is my duty to praise God. This is my business. I do it. Nor will I ever desert this post, so long as it is permitted me; and I call on you to join in the same song.”[148]
“If we had any understanding,” he says, “ought we not, both in public and in private, incessantly to sing and praise the Deity, and rehearse His benefits? Ought we not, whether we dig, or plough, or eat, to sing this hymn to God? Great is God, who has supplied us with these instruments to till the ground; great is God, who has given us hands and organs of digestion; who has given us to grow insensibly, to breathe in sleep. These things we ought forever to celebrate, and to make it the theme of the greatest and divinest hymn that He has given us the power to appreciate these gifts, and to use them well. But because the most of you are blind and insensible there must be some one to fill this station, and lead in behalf of all men the hymn to God; for what else can I do, a lame old man, but sing hymns to God? Were I a nightingale, I would act the part of a nightingale; were I a swan, the part of a swan. But since I am a reasonable creature it is my duty to praise God. This is my business. I do it. Nor will I ever desert this post, so long as it is permitted me; and I call on you to join in the same song.”[148]
MORAL MEDICINE AND GYMNASTICS.
SUMMARY.
Means and end.—Moral science should not only point out theend; it should also indicate themeansof attaining that end.There is, as of the body, a culture of the soul: as, in medicine, we distinguish betweentemperaments,diseasesand theirtreatments, so do we distinguish in morals,characters,passions, andremedies.Of character.—Character as compared with temperament: four principal types.Character at different ages: childhood, youth, manhood, and old age.Passions.—Passions may in one respect be considered asnatural affections; but in a moral point of view they should be considered asdiseases.The law of passions considered from this last standpoint. Enumeration and analysis of these various passions.Culture of the soul, ormoral treatment.—On the government of passions.—Bossuet’s advice: not directly to combat the passions, but to turn them off into other channels.Of the formation of character.—Rules of Malebranche: 1, acts produce habits, and habits produce acts; 2, one can always act against a ruling habit.How is one habit to be substituted for another?—Aristotle’s rule: To go from one extreme to the other.—Bacon’s rules: 1, to proceed by degrees; 2, to choose for a new virtue two kinds of opportunities: the first when one is best disposed, the second when one is least so; 3, not to trust too much to one’s conversion and distrust opportunities.Benjamin Franklin’s Almanac.—Other practices.—Kant’s moral catechism.
Means and end.—Moral science should not only point out theend; it should also indicate themeansof attaining that end.
There is, as of the body, a culture of the soul: as, in medicine, we distinguish betweentemperaments,diseasesand theirtreatments, so do we distinguish in morals,characters,passions, andremedies.
Of character.—Character as compared with temperament: four principal types.
Character at different ages: childhood, youth, manhood, and old age.
Passions.—Passions may in one respect be considered asnatural affections; but in a moral point of view they should be considered asdiseases.
The law of passions considered from this last standpoint. Enumeration and analysis of these various passions.
Culture of the soul, ormoral treatment.—On the government of passions.—Bossuet’s advice: not directly to combat the passions, but to turn them off into other channels.
Of the formation of character.—Rules of Malebranche: 1, acts produce habits, and habits produce acts; 2, one can always act against a ruling habit.
How is one habit to be substituted for another?—Aristotle’s rule: To go from one extreme to the other.—Bacon’s rules: 1, to proceed by degrees; 2, to choose for a new virtue two kinds of opportunities: the first when one is best disposed, the second when one is least so; 3, not to trust too much to one’s conversion and distrust opportunities.
Benjamin Franklin’s Almanac.—Other practices.—Kant’s moral catechism.
We have done withpracticalmorals, the morals, namely, which have for their object the setting forth of man’s duties andthe principal applications of the moral law. The second part of this course of study shall be devoted to thetheoryof morals, which has for its object the elucidation of principles. But to pass from the one to the other, it seemed to us proper, by way of conclusion, to introduce here an order of researches which belongs to both practical and theoretical morals, the study, namely, of the means man has at his disposal in his moral self-perfection, either by curing himself of vice, or in advancing in virtue: this is what we callmoral medicine and gymnastics.
Bacon justly remarks that most moralists are like writing-masters who lay fine copies before their pupils, but tell them nothing of the manner of using the pen and tracing characters. Thus do the philosophers set before us very fine and magnificent models, very faithful and noble pictures of goodness and virtue, of duties, of happiness; but they teach us nothing about the means of attaining to such perfection. They make us acquainted with theend, and not with theroadthat leads to it.[149]
Then, presenting us himself a sketch of that portion of morality which does not confine itself to precepts only, but to instructions also, and which he calls theGeorgics of the soul(science of the culture and the soul), he tells us that it should be like medicine which considers first theconstitutionof the patient, then thedisease, then thetreatment. The same in regard to the soul: there are moral temperaments as there are physical temperaments: these are thecharacters; moral diseases as there are physical diseases; these are thepassions; and finally there is a moraltreatmentas there is a physical treatment, and it is the treatment of morality to indicate this treatment. Now, one cannot treat a disease without knowing it and without being acquainted with the temperament and constitution of the patient. “A coat cannot be fitted on a body without the tailor’s taking first the measure of him for whom he makes it.” Hence, it follows that before decidingon a remedy, one must acquaint himself with the characters and passions.
173. Of character.—The study of character is hardly susceptible of a methodical classification. Passions, manners, habits are so complicated and so intermixed in individuals that they afford scarcely a chance to faithfully describe them, and this subject, though very fertile, is more of the province of literature than of science. Theophrastus among the ancients, and La Bruyère among the moderns, have excelled in this kind of description; but it would be very difficult to analyze their works, as they have nothing didactic: they are better suited for reading. Theophrastus describes dissemblers, flatterers, intruders, rustics, parasites, babblers, the superstitious, misers, the proud, slanderers, etc. All these are unquestionably principal types of human character, but they cannot be strictly brought down to a few elementary types. La Bruyère is still further removed; he does not only treat character, but manners also; he describes individuals rather than men in general, or it is always in the individual that he sees the man. Hence the charm and piquancy of his pictures; but moral science finds scarcely anything to borrow from him.
Kant tried to give a theory of character, and he started with the same idea as Bacon, namely, the analogy between characters and temperaments; thus did he confine himself to taking up again the old physiological theory of temperaments and apply it to the moral man. He distinguishes two kinds of temperaments: temperaments ofsentiment, and temperaments ofactivity; and in each of these two kinds, two degrees or two different shades: exaltation or abatement. Hence, four different kinds of temperaments: the sanguine and the melancholy (temperament of sentiment), the choleric and phlegmatic (temperament of activity). Kant describes these four temperaments or characters as follows:[150]
“Thesanguinedisposition may be recognized by the following indications: The sanguine man is free from care andof good hope; he gives to things at one moment undue importance; at another, he can no longer think of them. He is splendid in his promises, but does not keep them, because he has not sufficiently reflected whether he will be able to keep them or not. He is well enough disposed to help others, but is a poor debtor and always asks for delays. He is good company, cheerful, lively, takes things easily, and is everybody’s friend. He is not usually a bad person, but a confirmed sinner, hard to convert, and who, though he will repent, will never allow this repentance to turn into grief: it is soon again forgotten. He is easily tired by work; yet is he constantly occupied, and that, for the reason that his work being but play, it proves a change which suits him, as perseverance is not in his nature.
“Themelancholyman gives to everything concerning him a vast importance; the least trifles give him anxiety, and his whole attention is fixed upon the difficulties of things. Contrary to the sanguine, always hopeful of success, but a superficial thinker, the melancholy is a profound thinker. He is not hasty in his promises because he intends keeping them, and he considers carefully whether he will be able to do so. He distrusts and takes thought of things which the sanguine passes carelessly by; he is no philanthropist, for the reason that he who denies himself pleasure is rarely inclined to wish it to others.
“Thecholericman is easily excited and as easily appeased; he flares up like a straw fire; but submission soon softens him down; he is then irritable without hatred, and loves him who readily gives up to him, all the more ardently. He is prompt in his actions, but his activity does not last long; he is never idle, yet not industrious. His ruling passion is honors; he likes to meddle with public affairs, to hear himself praised; he is for show and ceremonial. He is fond of playing the part of a protector and to appear generous; but not from a feeling of affection, but of pride, for he loves himself much more than he loves others. He is passionately given to moneymaking; in society he is a ceremonious courtier, stiff, and ill at ease, and ready to accept any flatterer to serve him as a shield; in a word, the choleric temperament is the least happy of all because it is the one that meets with most opposition.
“Thephlegmatictemper. Phlegm means absence of emotion. The phlegmatic man to whom nature has given a certain quantum of reason, resembles the man who acts on principle, although he owes this disposition to instinct only. His happy temperament stands to him in lieu of wisdom, and often in ordinary life he is called a philosopher. Sometimes even he is thought cunning, because all abuse launched at him bounces back again, as a ball from a sack of wool. He makes a pretty good husband, and, whilst pretending to do every one’s will, he governs both wife and servants as he likes, for he knows how to bring their wishes in agreement with his own indomitable but thoughtful will.”
There are then, according to Kant, four essentially distinct characters: thesanguine, playful, kindly, superficial; themelancholy, profound, sad, egotistical; thecholeric, ardent, passionate, ambitious, covetous; thephlegmatic, cold, moderate, inflexible.
Kant denies that these four kinds of temperaments can combine with each other; “there are but four in all,” he says, “and each of them is complete in itself.” It seems to us, on the contrary, that experience shows that no one of these characters exists separately in an absolute manner; there is always to some degree a mixture, and different men are generally distinguished by the leading feature in their character.
We must, however, make a distinction betweendispositionandcharacter. To be of such or such a disposition is not always being a manof character. The first of these two expressions signifies the various aptitudes, inclinations, or habits which distinguish a man from others; the second signifies that strength of will, that empire over himself which enables a man to follow faithfully the line of conduct he has chosen, and to bravely resist temptations. Character is not alwaysvirtue (for it may be controlled by false and vicious principles), but it is its condition.
“That tendency of the will which acts according to fixed principles (and does not move from this to that, like a fly) is something truly estimable, and which deserves all the more admiration as it is extremely rare. The question here is not of what nature makes of man, but of what man makes of himself. Talent has avenal valuewhich allows making use of the man therewith endowed; temperament has an affection-value which makes of him an agreeable companion and pleasant talker; but character has avaluewhich places him above all these things.”[151]
174. Age.—To this classification of characters according to temperaments, may be added that founded on age. In fact, different ages have, as it is well known, very different characteristics. Aristotle[152]was the first to describe the differences in men’s morals according to their ages, and he has since been very often imitated.
“I.The young.—The young are in their dispositions prone to desire, and of a character to effect what they desire. And they desire with earnestness, but speedily cease to desire; for their wishes are keen, without being durable; just like the hunger and thirst of the sick. And they are passionate and irritable, and of a temperament to follow the impulse. And they cannot overcome their anger; for by reason of their ambition, they do not endure a slight, but become indignant, and fancy themselves injured; and they are ambitious indeed of honor, but more so of victory; for youth is desirous of superiority, and victory is a sort of superiority. And they are credulous, from their never having yet been much imposed on. And they are sanguine in their expectations; for, like those who are affected by wine, so the young are warmed by their nature; and at the same time from their having neveryet met with many repulses. Their life too, for the most part, is one of hope; for hope is of that which is yet to be, while memory is of that which is passed: but to the young, that which is yet to be is long; but that which has passed is short. And they are brave rather to an excess; for they are irritable and sanguine, qualities, the one whereof cancels fear, and the other inspires courage; for while no one who is affected by anger ever is afraid, the being in hope of some good is a thing to give courage. And they are bashful; for they do not as yet conceive the honorable to be anything distinct; and they are high-minded; for they have not as yet been humbled by the course of life, but are inexperienced in peremptory circumstances; again, high-mindedness is the deeming one’s self worthy of much; and this belongs to persons of sanguine expectations. And they prefer succeeding in an honorable sense rather than in points of expediency; for they live more in conformity to moral feeling than to mere calculations; and calculation is of the expedient, moral excellence, however, of that which is honorable. Again, they are fond of friends and companions, by reason of their delighting in social intercourse. And all their errors are on the side of excess; for their friendships are in excess, their hatreds are in excess, and they do everything else with the same degree of earnestness; they think also that they know everything, and firmly asseverate that they do; for this is the cause of their pushing everything to an excess. They are likewise prone to pity; and they are also fond of mirth, on which account they are also of a facetious turn.”
“II.The old.—Those who are advanced in life are of dispositions in most points the very opposite of those of the young. Since by reason of their having lived many years, and having been deceived in the greater number of instances, and having come to the conclusion, too, that the majority of human affairs are but worthless, they do not positively asseverate anything, and err in everything more on the side of defect than they ought. And they always ‘suppose’ butnever ‘know’ certainly; and questioning everything, they always subjoin a ‘perhaps,’ or a ‘possibly.’ Moreover, they are apt to be suspicious from distrust, and they are distrustful from their experience. And they are pusillanimous from their having been humbled by the course of life; for they raise their desires to nothing great or vast, but to things only which conduce to support of life. And they are timid and apprehensive of everything; for their disposition is the reverse of that of the young; for they have been chilled by years; and yet they are attached to life, and particularly at its closing day. [They are apt to despond.] And they live more in memory than in hope; for the remnant of life is brief, and what has passed is considerable. And their desires have, some, abandoned them, the others are faint. They are neither facetious nor fond of mirth.
“III.Mature age.—Those who are in their prime will, it is evident, be in a mean in point of disposition between the young and the old, subtracting the excesses of each: being neither rash in too great a degree, nor too much given to fear, but keeping themselves right in respect to both. And they are of a tempering coolness joined with spirit, and are spirited not without temperate coolness. And thus, in a word, whatever advantages youth and age have divided between them, the middle age possesses both.”
We must admit that Aristotle, who has so admirably depicted young and old men, is weak on the subject of manhood. Boileau, translating Horace, makes of it a far more clear and exact picture:
“Manhood, more ripe, puts on a wiser look, succeeds with those in power, intrigues, and spares itself, thinks of holding its own against the blows of fate, and far on in the now looks forth to theto be.”
175. Passions.—Character, considered from a strictly philosophical standpoint, is nothing more than the various combinations which the passions, whether natural or acquired, which exist in man, form in each individual, so thatthere is, in some respect, double reason for treating these two subjects separately. But, in the first place, the divers movements of the soul take, by usage, the name of passions, only when they reach a certain degree of acuteness, and, as Bacon puts it, of disease. In the second, passions are the elements which in divers quantities and proportions compose what is termed character; it is from this double point of view that we must speak of them separately.
If we consider the passions from a psychological[153]standpoint, we shall find that they are nothing more than the natural inclinations of the human heart.
We have to consider them here especially from apathologicalpoint of view (if it may be permitted to say so), that is, as diseases of the human heart.
The character of passions regarded as diseases, is the following:
1. They areexclusive. A man who has become enslaved by a passion, will know nothing else, will listen to nothing else; he will sacrifice to that passion not only his reason and his duty, but his other inclinations, and even his other passions also. The passion of gambling or of drinking will stifle all the rest, ambition, love, even the instinct of self-preservation.
2. Passion, as a disease, is in aviolentcondition; it is impetuous, disordered, very like insanity.
3. Although there may be fits of passion, sudden and fleeting, which rise and fall again in the same instant, we generally give the name of passions only to movements which have becomehabitual. Passions then are habits; applied to things base, they becomevices.
4. There is a diagnosis[154]of passions as there is of diseases. They betray themselves outwardly by external signs which are their symptoms (acts, gestures, physiognomy), andinwardly, by first indications or what was formerly calledprodromes, which are their forerunners (disturbance, agitation, etc.).
5. Passion, like disease, has its history: it has its regular course, its crisis, and termination. TheImitation of Jesus Christgives in a few words the history of a passion: “In the beginning a simplethoughtpresents itself to the mind; this is followed by a vividfancy; then comesdelectation, a badimpulse, and finally theconsent. Thus does the evil one gradually enter the soul.”[155]
6. It is rare that a passion arises and develops without obstacles and resistance. Hence that state we have calledfluctuation(Vol. I., p. 167), and which has so often been compared to the ebb and flow of the sea.
These general features of the passions being stated, let us make a brief sketch of the principal passions.
It may be said that our passions pass through three distinct states; they are at first natural and unavoidable affections of the mind:inclinations,tendencies; they become next violent and unruly movements: these are the passions properly so-called; they become habits and embodied in the character, and take the name ofqualitiesanddefects,virtuesandvices. But it is to be noted that whilst we can always distinguish these three states theoretically, language is, for the most part, inadequate to express them; for men have designated these moral states only according to the necessities of practice, and not according to the rules of theory.
The three states which we have just pointed out, can be very clearly distinguished in the first of the affections of human nature, namely, theinstinct of self-preservation. This instinct is at first a natural, legitimate, necessary affection of the human heart; but by the force of circumstances, the influence of age, disease, temperament, it develops out of proportion into a state of passion, and becomes what we callfear; or else it turns into a habit and becomes the vice we callcowardice.
Physical self-preservation is inseparable from twoappetitescalled hunger and thirst. These two appetites, too much indulged in, become passions, which themselves may become vices. But language fails here to express their various shades: there is only one word to express the passion or vice related to eating and drinking: it is on the one handgluttony, and on the otherdrunkenness;[156]both these vices, and in general all undue surrender to sensual pleasures, is calledintemperance.
The source of all our personal inclinations is the love for ourselves orself-love, a legitimate instinct when kept within bounds; but when carried to excess, when exclusive and predominant, it becomes the vice we callselfishness.
Self-esteem, developed into a passion, becomes, when it turns upon great things,false pride; when upon small,vanity.
The love of libertydegenerates into aspirit of revolt; the legitimate love of power, intoambition;the instinct of propertybecomesgreed,cupidity,passion for gain, and tends to run into thepassion for gamblingor the desire to gain by means of chance. The desire for gain engenders thefear of loss, and this latter passion developing into a vice and mania, becomesavarice.
Human inclinations are divided intobenevolentandmalevolentinclinations. The first may develop into a passion, but not into a vice; the second alone become vices.
There is not a single benevolent inclination which, carried too far and beyond reason, may not become a more or less blameworthy passion. But, in the first place, we have no terms in our language to express the exaggerations of these kinds of passions,[157]and in the second, though they be exaggerations, we shall never call the tenderer affections of the human heart, however foolish they may be, vices, if they are sincere.
Yet, may some of these affections become vices when they unite with personal passion. For example, good nature or the desire to please may lead toobsequious servility, the desire to praise, toflattery, and esteem, tohypocrisy. But these vices partake more of the nature of self-love than of benevolent inclinations.
Malevolent passions.—Malevolent inclinations give rise to the most terrible passions. But are there, indeed, in man naturally malevolent inclinations? Reid, the philosopher, disputes it and justly thinks, as we do, that malevolent passions are but the abuse of certain personal inclinations intended to serve as auxiliaries in the development of our activity. There are two principal malevolent passions,emulationandanger.
Emulation is but a special desire for success and superiority. This desire, induced by the thought that other men around us have attained to such or such degree of public esteem or power, is not in itself a malevolent inclination. We may wish to equal and surpass others without, at the same time, wishing them any harm. We can experience pleasure in excelling them, without exactly rejoicing in their defeat; we can bear being excelled by them without begrudging them their success.
Emulation then is a personal but not a malevolent sentiment; it becomes malevolent and vicious when our feelings toward others become inverted: when, for example, we regret, not the check we have been made to suffer, but the advantage our rivals have gained over us, and when we are unable to bear the idea of the good fortune of others; or again when, conversely, we experience more pleasure at their defeat than joy at our own victory. This sentiment, thus perverted, becomes what is calledenvy: and envy is generally the pain we feel at the good fortune of others; it is then a sentiment implying the wish to see others unhappy; and is therefore an actual vice, as low as it is odious.
Envywhich has some analogy withjealousymust bedistinguished from the latter. Jealousy is a kind of envy which bears especially upon affections it is not allowed to share; envy, upon material goods, or goods in the abstract (fortune, honors, power). The envious man wants goods he does not possess; the jealous man refuses to share those which he has. Jealousy is then a sort of selfishness, not as base as envy, since higher goods are in question, but which for its consequences is nevertheless one of the most terrible of passions.
Anger is a natural passion, which seems to have been bestowed on us to furnish us an arm against peril; it is an effort the soul makes to resist an evil it stands in danger of. But this inclination is one of those which cause us the quickest to lose our self-possession, and throws us into a sort of momentary insanity. Yet, although it is a passion of which the consequences may be fatal, it is not necessarily accompanied by hatred (as may be seen by the soldier who will fight furiously and who, immediately after the battle or during a truce, will shake hands with his enemy). Anger then is an effort of nature in the act of self-defense; it is a fever, and as such it is a fatal and culpable passion, but it is not a vice.
Anger becomeshatredwhen, thinking of the harm we have done or could do to our enemy, we rejoice over the thought of this harm; it is calledresentmentorrancorwhen it is the spiteful recollection of an injury received; finally, it becomes thepassion of vengeance(the most criminal of all) when it is the desire and hope to return evil for evil. Pleasure at the misfortune of others, when it reaches a certain refinement, even though free from hatred, becomescruelty.
Hatred changes intocontemptwhen there is joined to it the idea of the baseness and inferiority of the person who is hated. Contempt is a legitimate sentiment when it has for its object base and culpable actions; it is a bad and blameworthy passion when it bears upon a pretended inferiority, either of birth, or fortune, or talent, and then belongs to false pride. False pride, however, is not always accompanied by contempt. We see men full of self-satisfaction, who yetknow how to be polite and courteous toward those they regard their inferiors; others, on the contrary, who look down upon their inferiors and treat them like brutes. Contempt, with such, is added to false pride. A gentler form of contempt isdisdain, a sort of delicate and covered contempt. Contempt when it applies itself to set off, not the vices, but the peculiarities of men, trying to make them appear ridiculous, becomesrailleryorirony.
Such are the principal affections of the soul viewed as diseases, that is to say, inasmuch as they have need of remedies.
Let us now, to continue Bacon’s comparison, pass to theirtreatment.
176. Culture of the soul.—After having studied characters and passions, we have to ask ourselves by what means passions may be governed and characters modified or corrected.
177. Bossuet’s rule.—As to the first point, namely, the government of the passions, Bossuet gives us in hisConnaissance de Dieu et de soi-même,[158]excellent practical advice: it is obviously based on his study of consciences.
He justly observes that we cannot directly control our passions: “We cannot,” he says, “start or appease our anger as we can move an aim or keep it still.” But, on the other hand, the power we exercise over our external members gives us also a very great one over our passions. It is, of course, but an indirect power, but it is no less efficacious: “Thus can I put away from me a disagreeable and irritating object, and when my anger is excited, I can refuse it the arm it needs to satisfy itself.”
To do this it is necessary to will it; but there is nothing so difficult as to will when the soul is possessed by a passion. The question is then to know how one may escape a ruling passion. To succeed in it one should not attack it in front, but as much as possible turn the mind upon other objects: it is with passion “as with a river which is more easily turnedoff from its course than stopped short.” A passion is often conquered by means of another passion, “as in a State,” says Bacon, “where a prince restrains one faction by means of another.” Bossuet says even that it may be well, in order to avoid criminal passions, to abandon one’s self to innocent ones.[159]One should also be careful in the choice of the persons he associates with: “for nothing more arouses the passions than the talk and actions of passionate men; whilst a quiet mind, provided its repose be not feelingless and insipid, seems, on the contrary, to communicate to us its own peace. We need something lively that may accord with our own feelings.
In a word, to conclude with Bossuet, “we should try to calm excited minds by diverting them from the main object of their excitement; approach them obliquely rather than directly in front; that is to say, that when a passion is already excited, there is no time then to attack it by reasoning, for one drives it all the stronger in. Where wise reflections are of greatest effect is in the forestalling of passions. One should therefore fill his mind with sensible thoughts, and accustom it early to proper inclinations, so that there be no room for the objects of passions.”
178. Improvement of character.—Bossuet has just informed us how we are to conduct ourselves in regard to the passions, as diseases of the soul. Let us now see how character, namely, temperament, may be modified.
The character is a collection of habits, a great part of which belong, unquestionably, to our natural inclinations, but which, nevertheless, are also largely formed under the influence of education, circumstances, indulgence of passions, etc. It is thus character, “this second nature,” as it has often been called, gradually develops.
Character being, as we have seen above, a habit, and virtue, on the other hand, being also a habit, the problem which presents itself to him who wishes to improve his character and exchange his vices for virtues, is to know how one habit may be substituted for another, and how even a painful habit may be substituted for an agreeable habit, sometimes for a habit which has lost its charm, but not yet its empire over one.
This problem may be found analyzed and most pathetically described in theConfessionsof St. Augustine: