Now it is clear that the sum of the Cynics' attainments is not large. It consists, indeed, almost wholly in a certain hardened complacency, and a freedom to make faces at the world. To the onlooker, whose comment Epictetus also records, their aspect is mean:
No: but their characteristic is the little wallet, and staff, and great jaws; the devouring of all that you give them, or storing it up, or the abusing unseasonably all whom they meet, or displaying their shoulder as a fine thing.[10]
In other words, since the Cynic continues to live after having rejected the proper instruments and forms of life, he must make a living out of the charitable curiosity excited by his very unfitness. {94} And asceticism of this prudential type tends always to be both empty and monstrous; empty because it denies life, and monstrous because life is not really denied, but only perverted and awkwardly obstructed.
There is a materialistic evil corresponding to the prudential organization of life which is known as meanness, vulgarity, orsordidness. It denotes a failure to recognize anything better than the fulfilment of the simple interests in their severalty. Although guarded and adjusted these still determine the general tone of life. The controlling motive, the standard of attainment, is never anything higher than the elementary desire with its attendant satisfaction. In its negative aspect this is termedaimlessness, and is identical with the Christian vice of idleness, so graphically described by Jeremy Taylor:
Idleness is calledthe sin of Sodom and her daughters, and indeed isthe burial of a living man, an idle person being so useless to any purposes of God and man, that he is like one that is dead, unconcerned in the changes and necessities of the world; and he only lives to spend his time, and eat the fruits of the earth: like a vermin or a wolf, when their time comes they die and perish, and in the meantime do no good; they neither plough nor carry burdens; all they do is either unprofitable or mischievous.[11]
Thus aimlessness denotes a failure to attain anything of worth; a lack of consecutiveness and {95} unity. The correction of this fault lies in a new principle of organization.
This new principle of organization consists in theincorporation of interests, that is, their subordination to apurposethat embraces them, unifies them, and carries the whole to a successful issue. The incorporation of interests is peculiarly an intellectual process. It is this to which Socrates refers when he says thatknowledge is virtue. Purpose requires, in the first place, that one should define and foresee the end, and in the second place, that one should be sagacious and watchful in the service of it. Purpose is the virtue of the understanding, of a mind which is adventurous enough to project an enterprise, but has enough of home-keeping wit to judge nicely of cause and effect or of part and whole.
There are many virtues which contribute to purpose, and of these none is more indispensable thanpatience, or the capacity to labor without hire for a prize deferred. "Better is the end of a thing," says the Preacher, "than the beginning thereof: and the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit." Steadiness of purpose under adverse or confusing circumstances is calledpersistence, courage, loyalty,orzeal, with {96} differences of meaning that reflect the nature either of the purpose or the circumstances.
But since purpose is so much an intellectual virtue, special importance attaches in this economy totruthfulness. If one's purpose be some form of personal achievement, one must deal honestly with one's self. And this is not easily done. Epictetus told his pupils that men were loath to admit any fault that they held to be really blameworthy:
Some things men readily confess, and other things they do not. No one then will confess that he is a fool or without understanding; but quite the contrary you will hear all men saying, I wish that I had fortune equal to my understanding. But men readily confess that they are timid, and they say: I am rather timid, I confess; but as to other respects you will not find me to be foolish. A man will not readily confess that he is intemperate; and that he is unjust, he will not confess at all. He will by no means confess that he is envious or a busybody. Most men will confess that they are compassionate.[12]
Now if one is to attain anything difficult, he cannot afford to indulge in vanity or self-satisfaction; for action can be kept true to its end only when the least obliquity is marked and corrected. Hence the strong man does not attribute his failure to fortune or to his amiable virtues, but to his folly; for he knows that to be the crucial fault which it lies within his power to remedy. On the other hand, if the purpose be one {97} which involves the co-operation of several persons, it is necessary that these should deal openly and candidly with one another. Truthfulness is a condition of any collective undertaking. It is interesting to observe the growing recognition of the need of publicity wherever democratic institutions prevail. Secrecy is a sort of treason. If men are to work together for their common welfare they must be truly in touch with one another; otherwise there is a spy at their councils, an incalculable force that may counterwork their plans.
Achievement, the value which the virtue of purpose conditions, needs no moralist's justification. The world never tires of praising it, for it is the world's business. By achievement I mean the fulfilment by subordinated and cumulative effort of an interest deliberately adopted for its greatness of value. Life is now controlled not by the accident of desire, but by the due preference of the better. It has begun to be rational not only in its method, but also in its aim. It is now more fruitful, because more broadly conceived, being engaged in enterprises which continue, and which draw from many sources. Hence a man can better endure the spectacle of his own life, for it seems not to be wholly mean or ineffectual. In that his conduct is unified, consistent, and directed to some worthy {98} end, he is possessed of that quality of character which is respected in him both by himself and by his fellows.
It is unfortunate that there is no better term thansentimentalismwith which to indicate that variety of formalism which is characteristic of the purposive economy. The fallacy consists essentially in the abstraction of the purpose from its constituent interests. The true value of a purpose lies in its function of organization; and is, therefore, inseparable from the interests to which it gives unity and fulfilment. But its form, or even its mere name, may, through association, come to acquire a fictitious value. When this fictitious value gives rise in contemplation or discourse to a certain emotional satisfaction, we employ the term "sentimentalism" in the conventional sense. This is the sentimentalism of those
"Who sigh for wretchedness, yet shun the wretched,Nursing in some delicious solitudeTheir slothful loves and dainty sympathies."
I wish, however, to emphasize a more insidious variety of this error, in which it may be more profoundly and fatally confusing. I refer, in the first place, to what may be described asdeferred living. There is a popular illusion to the effect that a life purpose is to be fruitful only at the end; that it is something to be prepared for in youth, worked for in maturity, and attained—well, {99} it is difficult to say when. This is the fallacy of heaven transferred to earth. "Man never is, but always to be blest." Life is conceived as a sentence at hard labor, the only sure compensation being the ultimate deliverance. Now there is but one justification of a life purpose, and that is its conserving of the whole of life; it must save each day and each hour. There is no more virtue in the future than in the present. "The greatest disaster," says a Greek proverb, "is for a man to be opened and found empty"; and this does not refer to an autopsy. It is at least one function of a life-purpose to make life distributively and continuously good. That one's life shall be pointed with a purpose does not mean that it shall be reduced to a point. The very virtue of organization lies in its making room for the free play of immediate and particular interests, in its surrounding them at a distance with invisible safeguards.
A second important case of sentimentalism isnationalism. The value of the state lies in its protection and development of the concrete life of the community. The true object of patriotism is social welfare. But for the state as a provident economy, there may be substituted as an object of loyalty what is only an idea or a name; and when this is done men are easily persuaded to play into the hands of unscrupulous leaders. {100} To the abominable tyrannies which have thus been made possible I need not refer. In Hegel's philosophy of history,[13] as well as in many modern political theories, this error has been deliberately affirmed. But for illustration I prefer to turn to the case of Plato. TheRepublicwas conceived, it is true, without bias of party or race, but there is none the less a strain of arbitrariness and illiberality in it. This is due to the fact that the state is conceived by itself, with a quality and perfection of its own that displaces the interests of its citizens.[14] A state which is defined otherwise than as a provision for the very diversity of life, an organization responsive to pressure from every constituent desire, fails from over-simplification. This I take to be the meaning of Aristotle's comment on theRepublic:
The error of Socrates must be attributed to the false notion of unity from which he starts. Unity there should be, both of the family and of the state, but in some respects only. For there is a point at which a state may attain such a degree of unity as to be no longer a state, or at which, without actually ceasing to exist, it will become an inferior state, like harmony passing into unison, or rhythm which has been reduced to single foot. The state is a plurality, which should be united and made into a community by education.[15]
There is a chapter in theDiscoursesof Epictetus, entitled: "To or against those who obstinately Persist in what they have determined." {101} There could, I think, be no better formulation of purpose grown hard and unworthily self-sufficient. This form of materialism I have termedegoismandbigotry, since the purpose may be either personal or social in scope. But in either case the diagnosis of Epictetus goes to the root of the evil. He thus describes his experience with one of his companions, "who for no reason resolved to starve himself to death":
I heard of it when it was the third day of his abstinence from food, and I went to inquire what had happened.
"I have resolved," he said.
"But still tell me what it was which induced you to resolve; for if you have resolved rightly, we shall sit with you and assist you to depart; but if you have made an unreasonable resolution, change your mind."
"We ought to keep our determinations."
"What are you doing, man? We ought to keep not to all our determinations, but to those which are right; for if you are now persuaded that it is right, do not change your mind, if you think fit, but persist and say, we ought to abide by our determinations. Will you not make the beginning and lay the foundation in an inquiry whether the determination is sound or not sound, and so then build on it firmness and security?" . . .
Now this man was with difficulty persuaded to change his mind. But it is impossible to convince some persons at present; so that I seem now to know, what I did not know before, the meaning of the common saying, That you can neither persuade nor break a fool. May it never be my lot to have a wise fool for my friend: nothing is more untractable. "I {102} am determined," the man says. Madmen are also; but the more firmly they form a judgment on things which do not exist, the more ellebore they require.[16]
The wise fool is, as Epictetus says, more intractable than the aimless and unwitting fool; because there is substance to his folly. There is at least some truth on his side. But his folly is folly none the less. He hardens himself against that which would save him; while boasting himself a lover of light, he shuts his eyes lest any ray of it penetrate to him. Thus the egoist, through the atrophy of his sympathies and his preoccupation with a narrow ambition, gratuitously impoverishes his life; and it is difficult to convince him of his loss, because he indubitably has some gain.
Bigotry consists essentially in the failure to employ the method of discussion, in the failure to recognize in every rational being a possible source of that truth which all need. It is a stupid forfeiture or waste of the resources of intelligence possessed by one's fellows. The King Creon of Sophocles'sAntigoneis a masterly representation of the futility of this pride of opinion. Creon angrily resents every impeachment of his wisdom, insisting on instant and unquestioning obedience. But his son Haemon thus attempts to save him from himself:
Father, the gods plant wisdom in mankind, which is of all possessions highest. In what respects you {103} have not spoken rightly I cannot say, and may I never learn; and still it may be possible for some one else to be right too. . . . Do not then carry in your heart one fixed belief that what you say and nothing else is right. For he who thinks that he alone is wise, or that he has a tongue and mind no other has, will when laid open be found empty.[17]
It was once a practice even among learned men to set personal pride above the truth. The chancellor of the University of Paris complains of this practice in the Middle Ages:
What are these combats of scholars, if not true cock-fights, which cover us with ridicule in the eyes of laymen? A cock draws himself up against another and bristles his feathers. . . . It is the same to-day with our professors. Cocks fight with blows from their beaks and claws; "Self-love," as some one has said, "is armed with a dangerous spur." [18]
Egoism and bigotry, then, consist essentially in the exaggeration and immobility of an adopted purpose. As is the case with every variety of materialism, their fault lies in their blindness, in their fatuous rejection of the good that is offered to them. But this is not all. For in denying the good which is offered to him, the egoist or bigot also virtually denies the reason which offers it. It is this that constitutes the affront which is calledinjustice.
The full meaning of injustice has been recognised only gradually, and it is even now by no means free from confusion. But I think that it {104} will be agreed that the sting of it is a failing in respect. Violence may be wholly without this taint; and the most bitter injustice may be wholly without violence. To be unjust is to be condescending or supercilious; to assume superiority on personal grounds, ignoring the equal access to truth which is enjoyed by every rational being. The nice quality of injustice is most clearly to be apprehended where it is accompanied by benevolent intent. It is one of the princely attributes described in theBook of the Courtier, and justified in a manner that leaves no doubt of its implied meaning:
True it is that there are two modes of ruling: the one imperious and violent, like that of masters toward their slaves, and in this way the soul commands the body; the other more mild and gentle, like that of good princes by means of laws over their subjects, and in this way the reason commands the appetite; and both of these modes are useful, for the body is by nature created apt for obedience to the soul, and so is appetite for obedience to reason. Moreover, there are many men whose actions have to do only with the use of the body; and such as these are as far from virtuous as the soul from the body, and although they are rational creatures, they have only such share of reason as to recognize it, but not to possess or profit by it. These, therefore, are naturally slaves, and it is better and more profitable for them to obey than to command.[19]
Now the essence of injustice lies in this Platonic manner of classifying human beings in terms of {105} limited capacities; in assigning to some the degraded status of the appetites, and to others a limited faculty of understanding, while arrogating to a few the full power and title of Reason. The resentment of this arrogance is no more than the assertion of that potentiality of reason which distinguishes the animal man; it is his inevitable coming of age, his determination to play the man's part.
Justiceis the mutual respect through which rational purposes enter into a relation offraternal equality. It is the courteous paying of honor where honor is due. In modern times justice has very properly been identified withtolerance, which is the acknowledgment that one is one's self equally liable to error with another, and that another is equally liable to truth with one's self. Justice attaches a certain finality to the judgment of every individual instrument of reason. Under the form of justiceveracityrealizes its highest meaning. The truth is not to be administered with paternal indulgence or caution; it is to be yielded as a right to every free and self-determining mind.
The practice and the spirit of justice pervade every highly developed social grouping, such as marriage, friendship, or fellow-citizenship in a democracy. For Aristotle a friendship is "one {106} soul dwelling in two bodies";[20] that is, the same high capacity uniting two individuals in the acknowledgment of its common principles, and in the contemplation of its common objects. Aristotle's other saying, that "man is a political animal," is inspired with the same meaning. To participate in the life of a state, in which one's fellow-citizens were one's equals, in which men with equal endowments carried on one united activity while acknowledging one another's independence, was to an Athenian the very fulness of life. To be banished from it was, even in the eyes of the law, equivalent to death.
In a chapter of hisPhysics and Politics, entitled "The Age of Discussion," Bagehot has admirably represented the importance for human progress of an open exchange of opinion on all matters of great consequence:
In this manner all the great movements of thought in ancient and modern times have been nearly connected in time with government by discussion. Athens, Rome, the Italian republics of the Middle Ages, the communes and states-general of feudal Europe, have all had a special and peculiar quickening influence, which they owed to their freedom, and which states without that freedom have never communicated. And it has been at the time of great epochs of thought—at the Peloponnesian War, at the fall of the Roman Republic, at the Reformation, at the French Revolution—that such liberty of speaking and thinking have produced their full effect.[21]
{107} Elsewhere Bagehot attributes to freedom of discussion, not only the deliverance from narrow and conventional habits, but that general elevation of tone which is characteristic of such an era as the Elizabethan age in England. In short, justice or toleration, since it encourages men to push on to the limit of their powers, promotes not only originality and diversity, but a love of perfection.
It will have been observed that justice and freedom are complementary, for he who is just liberates, and he who is free receives justice. Together they constitute the basis of all the higher relationships between men, of a progressive society, and of the whole constructive movement which we call civilization.
But it is possible to construe justice and freedom only negatively, as meaning that the individual is to be allowed to go his way in peace. Such a misconception is formalistic, in that it rests on a failure to recognize the providence or fruitfulness of justice. The virtue of justice lies not in its disintegration of society, but in its enabling the members of society to unite upon the highest plane of endeavor. Justice is a method wherewith men may profit collectively, and in their organized effort, from a sum of enlightenment to which every individual contributes his best.Anarchismrests in the negative protest against {108} conformity; forgetting that the only right to liberty is founded on the possession of a reasonableness that inclines the individual to the universal; and forgetting that the only virtue in liberty lies in the opportunity for union and devotion which it provides.
There is a more restricted form of anarchism inscepticismwhich attaches finality to differences of opinion, and overlooks the fact that these very differences must be regarded as converging approaches to the common truth. For men can differ only in the presence of identical objects which virtually annul their difference. To be free to think as one pleases cannot but mean to think as truly as possible, and so to approach as closely as possible to what others also tend to think.
But a larger importance attaches to that mild variety of anarchism which is commonly calledlaissez-faire, and which Matthew Arnold calls British Atheism or Quietism. The reader will recall Arnold's quotation from theTimes:
It is of no use for us to attempt to force upon our neighbors our several likings and dislikings. We must take things as they are. Everybody has his own little vision of religious or civil perfection. Under the evident impossibility of satisfying everybody, we agree to take our stand on equal laws and on a system as open and liberal as is possible. The result is that everybody has more liberty of action and of speaking here than anywhere else in the Old World.
{109} And from Mr. Roebuck:
I look around me and ask what is the state of England? Is not every man able to say what he likes? I ask you whether the world over, or in past history, there is anything like it? Nothing. I pray that our unrivalled happiness may last.[22]
This is an almost perfect representation of the sentimental interest in justice. In the course of such justice, "none of us should see salvation." It leaves wholly out of account the fact that when men are left free to talk or act or live as they will, they will either stagnate, or they will strive for the best and help it to prevail. If the latter, they will be brought back to thestate as the means of making right reason effective, and of extending to all not simply the leave to be what they want to be, of following what Arnold calls their "natural taste of the bathos," but the opportunity of learning better.
Justice, like purpose and prudence, is a principle of organization, owing its virtue to the larger fulfilment of interest which it makes possible. Through this principle the individual is granted independence, in order that his freedom may remove every limit from his service. He is delivered from the bondage of violence and convention, but he is delivered into the charge of his own reason, which must give bonds not only that he will keep the peace, but that he will give {110} himself wholly to that true good which he may now discern.
In justice the human secular society is perfected. By a secular society I mean a society held to be self-sufficient as it is; a society in which only those interests are acknowledged which are actually present, or have actually been admitted to a place of power or prestige. But secularism orworldlinessin this sense suffers from the general error of materialism, the error of mistaking thede factogood for the whole good. It is only another case of that blindness which is the penalty of all self-sufficiency. The ancient and the modern types of worldliness present an interesting difference which will serve to illustrate their common fault.
Greek literature abounds in the glorification of the life already achieved. Thus Solon asks no more of the gods than to be fortunate and honored: "Grant unto me wealth from the blessed gods, and to have alway fair fame in the eyes of all men. Grant that I may thus be dear to my friends, and bitter to my foes; revered in the sight of the one, awful in the sight of the other." [23]
To this Pindar adds the petition that, "being dead I may set upon my children a name that shall be of no ill report." [24] Even the ideal of the philosophers is only a refinement of this; {111} recognizing the superiority of such activities as engage the imagination or reason, but nevertheless finding happiness to be complete in terms of the fulfilment of the dominant desires within the existing political community. This conception was vaguely distrusted, it is true; but it represents the characteristic enlightenment of the most enlightened centre of Greek life. Its insufficiency was not clearly demonstrated until the advent of Christianity; when it was proved to lie in a lack ofpity. Now pity is not, as is sometimes supposed, a kind of weakness; it is a kind of knowledge, wherewith men are reminded of obscure and neglected interests. It is easy to understand why the Christian revolution should have been regarded as destructive of culture. For it meant not the qualitative refinement of the good, but the quantitative distribution of it. But it none the less marks an epoch in moral enlightenment; since the bringing of all men up to one level of opportunity and welfare is as essential a part of the good as the cultivation of distinction.
The modern worldliness consists not in a lack of pity, but in a lack ofimagination. Philistinism, as Matthew Arnold describes it, is a complacent satisfaction with thekindof good that is praised and sought for in any given time. Such complacency is found in its most extreme form among those reformers or even religious leaders who are {112} devoted to the saving of men; for these come to overrate their wares through the very act of pressing them upon others. Matthew Arnold never tires of illustrating this from the Liberal propaganda of his day:
And I say that the English reliance on our religious organisations and on their ideas of human perfection just as they stand, is like our reliance on freedom, on muscular Christianity, on population, on coal, on wealth—mere belief in machinery, and unfruitful; and that it is wholesomely counteracted by culture, bent on seeing things as they are, and on drawing the human race onwards to a more complete, a harmonious perfection.[25]
In other words, both humanism and humanitarianism may be lacking in humanity: humanism, on account of its insensibility to pain and hunger and poverty when these lie outside a narrow radius of bright intensive living; humanitarianism, on account of its failure to honor the highest type of attainment and to prefigure a perfection not yet realized.
There is but one economy of interests which furnishes the proper sphere of moral action, namely, the universal economy which embraces within one system all interests whatsoever, present, remote, and potential. The validity of this economy lies in the fact that the goodness of action cannot {113} be judged without reference to all the interests affected, whether directly or indirectly. To live well is to live for all life. The control of action by this motive is the virtue ofgood-will. It should be added that the good will must be not only compassionate, but just; offering to help, without failing to respect. And it must be not only devoted, but also enlightened; serving, but not without self-criticism and insight.
Such a programme need not seem bewildering or quixotic. If my action does not offend those most nearly concerned, it will scarcely offend those removed by space, time, or indirection. Charity begun at home is spread abroad without my further endeavor. Furthermore, it is good-will rather than a narrow complacency that inspires my assuming of the special tasks and responsibilities defined by proximity, descent, and special aptitude. Life as a whole is built out of individual opportunities and vocations. It is required only that while I live effectively and happily, as circumstance or choice may determine, I should conform myself to those principles which harmonize life with life, and bring an abundance on the whole out of the fruitfulness of individual effort.
Good-will is the moral condition of religion, where this is corrected by enlightenment. The religion of good-will is best illustrated, from the {114} European tradition, in the transition from paganism to Christianity. I have said that the Greeks were not without distrust of that natural and worldly happiness which they most praised. This, for example, is the testimony of Euripides:
Long agoI looked upon man's days, and found a greyShadow. And this thing more I surely say,That those of all men who are counted wise,Strong wits, devisers of great policies,Do pay the bitterest toll. Since life began;Hath there in God's eye stood one happy man?Fair days roll on, and bear more gifts or lessOf fortune, but to no man happiness.[26]
This note of pessimism grows more marked among the philosophers, and is at length taken up into the Christian renunciation of the world. The philosophers attempted to devise a way of happiness which the superior individual might follow through detaching himself from political society and cultivating his speculative powers.[27] But the Christian renunciation involved the abandonment of every claim to individual self-sufficiency, even the pride of reason. It expressed a sense of the general plight of humanity, and looked for relief only through a power with love and might enough to save all. Hence there is this fundamental difference between pagan and Christian pessimism: the pagan confesses his powerlessness to make himself impregnable {115} to fortune, while the Christian convicts himself of sin, confessing his worthlessness when measured by the task of universal salvation. The one pities and absolves himself; the other condemns himself.
Now the other-worldliness of Christianity was without doubt a grave error, which it found itself compelled to correct; but it was none the less the vehicle through which European civilization became possessed of the most important secrets of religious happiness. In the first place, all are made sharers, through sympathy, in the failure of the present; and, thus distributed, the burden is lightened. "It is an act within the power of charity," says Sir Thomas Browne, "to translate a passion out of one breast into another, and to divide a sorrow almost out of itself; for an affliction, like a dimension, may be so divided as, if not indivisible, at least to become insensible." [28] In the second place, it is understood that there is no such thing as a happiness that is enjoyed at the expense of others and by the special favor of fortune. There is no promise of individual salvation save in the salvation of all. A private and protected happiness is bound sooner or later to be destroyed by an increase of sensibility, by an enlightened awareness of the evil beyond. And to experience evil, to realize it, and yet to be content, lies not within {116} the power of any moral being; it is not merely difficult, it is self-contradictory. To any one who judges himself fairly, with a wide and vivid image of life as it is in all its ramifications and obscurities, the evil of the world is all one. It follows that, as there is no perfect happiness except in the annihilation of evil, so there can be no peace of mind, no self-respect, no sense of living truly and for the best, unless one's action can be conceived as wholly saving and up-building, as contributing in its place and in its way to the general forward movement. This, I think, is the deeper explanation of the buoyancy of devoted people, of that buoyancy which was a source of such great wonder to the disillusioned wise men of ancient times. And this, I think, is the meaning of the Christian teaching that it is more blessed to give than to receive; and that the love of one's God is to grow out of the love of one's neighbor.
I have endeavored to show that the highest good is the greatest good; that it may not only be inferred from the present good, but that it actuallyconsistsof the present good, with more like it, and with the present evil eliminated. BymysticismI mean that species of formalism in which the highest good, out of respect for its exaltation, is divorced from the present good, and so emptied of content. Professor James has said that it is {117} characteristic of rationalists and sentimentalists, to "extract a quality from the muddy particulars of experience, and find it so pure when extracted that they contrast it with each and all its muddy instances as an opposite and higher, nature." [29] There is a peculiar liability to such abstraction in religion, for religion involves a judgment of insufficiency against every limited achievement. A longing after unqualified good is the very breath of enlightened religion; and in order that that ideal may be kept pure, it must not be identified with any partial good. Indeed, the office of religion requires it to condemn as only partial, good that is commonly taken to be sufficient. Now there is only one way of defining a good that shall be universal without being merely formal, and that is by defining perfection quantitatively rather than qualitatively; substituting for the Platonic Absolute Good, in which the present good is refined away into a phrase or symbol, the maximum good, in which the present good is saved and multiplied. He who believes that he conceives goodness otherwise than as the good which he already possesses, deceives himself; as does the author of theReligio Medici, when he says:
That wherein God Himself is happy, the holy Angels are happy, in whose defect the Devils are unhappy, that dare I call happiness; whatsoever {118} conduceth unto this may with an easy Metaphor deserve that name; whatsoever else the World terms Happiness, is to me a story out of Pliny, a tale of Boccace or Malizspini, an apparition, or neat delusion, wherein there is no more of Happiness than the name. Bless me in this life with but peace of my Conscience, command of my affections, the love of Thyself and my dearest friends, and I shall be happy enough to pity Caesar.[30]
Now it is safe to say that Sir Thomas Browne was in fact unable to attribute to God and the angels any other happiness than these same blessings which he covets for himself, saving only that they shall be without stint, and joined with others like them.
Formalism, as we have seen, is never merely negative in its consequences; for any moral untruth, since it replaces a truth, cannot fail to pervert life. Thus one may be persuaded with the author whom I have just quoted to count the world, "not an Inn, but an Hospital; and a place not to live, but to dye in." [31] I do not suppose that any one ever succeeded in wholly resisting the hospitality of this world, and one suspects that Thomas Browne partook not a little of its good cheer; but the opinion is false notwithstanding, and if false, then confusing and misleading. This world is not a place to suffer in, nor even a place to be mended in, but the only opportunity of achievement and service that can be certainly {119} counted on. The good is in the making here, if it is in the making anywhere. To neglect life here is equivalent to forfeiting it altogether.
Religious formalism may induce not only a default of present opportunity and responsibility, but also a substitution for good living of an emotional improvisation on the theme of absolute perfection, like that in theBook of the Courtier:
If, then, the beauties which with these dim eyes of ours we daily see in corruptible bodies, . . . seem to us so fair and gracious that they often kindle most ardent fire in us, . . . what happy wonder, what blessed awe, shall we think is that which fills the souls that attain to the vision of divine beauty! What sweet flame, what delightful burning, must that be thought which springs from the fountain of supreme and true beauty!—which is the source of every other beauty, which never waxes nor wanes: ever fair, and of its own self most simple in every part alike; like only to itself, and partaking of none other; but fair in such wise that all other fair things are fair because they derive their beauty from it. This is that beauty identical with highest good.[32]
Now I do not want to be understood as condemning this mysticism out of hand. I mean only that while it is eloquent and purifying, it is, nevertheless, not illuminating; and that if it be mistaken for illumination, it does in fact hide the light. It has no meaning whatsoever except the general idea of the superlative, and if it be not attached to some definite content drawn from {120} experience of acts and their consequences, it does but substitute a phrase for the proper objects of action and an emotion for provident conduct.
There is a further moral danger in mysticism, which I need only mention here, because I propose to discuss it more fully in the chapter on religion. Since mysticism opposes a formal perfection to the concrete good of experience, it tends to obscure the distinction between good and evil. That distinction lies within experience, and if experience as a whole be discredited, the distinction is discredited with it. If the common, familiar good is not to be taken as valid, then finality no longer attaches to that common, familiar evil which the moral will has been trained to condemn and resist. If the good lie "beyond good and evil," then neither is the good good nor the evil evil. The result is to leave the moral will without justification, supported only by habit and custom.
The virtue of piety lies in its completing, not in its replacing, secular efficiency. It gives to a life that is provident and fruitful as it goes, the stimulus of a momentous project, and reverence for a good that shall embrace unlimited possibilities.
{121}
In reviewing the several levels of life which morality defines, we may observe two types of universal value. The lower values in relation to the higher are indispensable. There is no health without satisfaction, no achievement without health, no rational intercourse without achievement, and no true religion except as the perfecting and completing of a rational society. The higher values, on the other hand, are more universal than the lower in that they surpass these in validity, and are entitled to preference. Thus the lower values are ennobled by the higher, while the higher are given body and meaning by the lower. Satisfaction derives dignity from being controlled by the motive of good-will, while the moral kingdom at large derives its wealth, its pertinence to life, and its incentive, from the great manifold of particular interests which it conserves and fosters.
It is the formal rather than the material principle in life which defines the direction of moral effort. By prudence, purpose, justice, and good-will life is regenerated and urged, against the resistance of inertia, towards its maximum of attainment. Hence these are the virtues which make men heroes, and which are symbolized in manners and in worship. Manners are a {122} symbolic representation of rational intercourse; thus courtesy is a ceremony of respect, chivalry of service, and modesty of self-restraint and impersonality. Worship is similarly a symbolic representation of good-will and hope. Upon the cultivation of "those outward and sensible motions which may express or promote an invisible devotion" human life is dependent not only for its graciousness, but for its discipline and growth.
{123}
The phrase "philosophy of history" is at present somewhat in disrepute. It enjoys much the same unpopularity among historians as does the term "metaphysics" among scientists, and probably for the same reason. It is assumed that such a discipline must either violate or exceed the facts in the interests of somea prioriconception. Doubtless some philosophies of history have been guilty of this charge; but they do not, I am sure, exhaust the possibilities in the case. In the present chapter I shall present an outline of what might fairly be regarded as a philosophy of history, but which nevertheless does no more than attempt a precise definition of principles which even the historian is forced to employ.
I shall not attempt to define the task of history, except in the broadest terms. The form which its results should finally assume is a matter of dispute among historians themselves. But it is at least possible to indicate the field of history in terms that will command general assent. In the first place, history deals with change, with the temporal sequence of events; and in the second place, it confines itself to such events as belong to what is called human conduct. Entirely apart from theories of method or technique, it seems clear that any established fact falling within this description belongs properly to that body of knowledge which we call history.
I wish especially to call attention to the fact that history deals withhuman conduct. It deals, in other words, with actions which serve interests; with needs, desires, and purposes as these are fulfilled or thwarted in the course of time. Its subject-matter, therefore, is moral. It describes the clash of interests, the failure or success of ambition, the improvement or decay of nations; in short, all things good and evil in so far as they have been achieved and recorded. And the broader the scope of the historian's study the more clearly do these moral principles emerge. The present-day emphasis on the accurate verification of data somewhat obscures, but does not negate the fact, that every item of detail is in the end brought under some judgment of good or evil, of gain or loss in human welfare. All history is virtually a history of civilization; and civilization is a moral conception referring to the sum of human achievement in so far as this is pronounced good.
Now there is a branch of philosophy called {125} "ethics," to which is committed the investigation of moral conceptions. These conceptions are as much subject to exact analysis as conceptions of motion or organic behavior. And such an analysis must underlie all judgments concerning the condition of mankind in any time or place, if these judgments make any claim to truth. The application of ethical analysis to the recorded life of man is a philosophy of history.[1] Such a discipline is charged with the criticism of the past in terms of critical principles which have been explicitly formulated. With a knowledge of what it means to be good or evil one may conclude in all seriousness whether the fortunes of society in any time or place were good or evil. One may with meaning distinguish between those who have been the friends and the enemies of society; and one may refer to the growth or decay of nations with some notion of what these terms signify. But it will be the main problem of a philosophy of history to deliver some verdict concerning the progress or decline of institutions, and of civilization at large.
It is necessary that we should at once rid our minds of false notions concerning the meaning ofprogress. This conception has been greatly confused during recent times through being identified with evolution in the biological sense. It should be perfectly clear that such evolution may or {126} may not be progressive; it means only a continuous modification of life in accordance with the demands of the environment. Even where this modification takes the direction of increasing complexity it does not necessarily constitute betterment; and it is entirely consistent with the principle of adaptation that it should take the reverse direction. Biological evolution signifies only a steady yielding to the pressure of the physical environment, whether for better or for worse. It is also important not to confuse the conception of progress with that of mere change or temporal duration. Because society has grown older it has not necessarily on that account grown wiser; nor because it has changed much has it necessarily on that account changed for the better. Whether the accumulations of the past are wealth or rubbish is not to be determined by their bulk.
Progress cleared of these ambiguities means, then,a change from good to better; an increase, in the course of time, of the value of life, whatever that may be. Taken in the absolute sense it means, not a gain here or a gain there, buta gain on the whole. It is impossible to reach any conclusion whatsoever concerning progress except in the light of some conception of the total enterprise of life. Every advance must be estimated not merely in relation to the interest immediately {127} served, but in relation to that whole complex of interests which is called humanity.
In discussing progress I shall therefore with right employ those moral conceptions which I have already defined. I shall regard as good whatever fulfils interests, and as morally good whatever fulfils all interests affected to the maximum degree. Especial importance now attaches to the principle which I have phrased thequantitative basis of preference. Since progress involves the change from good to better, it implies an increment of value. The later age is judged to beas good and better. I can see no way of verifying such a proposition unless it be possible to find in the greater good both the lesser good and also something added to it and likewise accounted good. In other words, progress involves measurement of value, and this involves someunit of valuewhich is common to the terms compared. The method must be in the last analysis that of superimposition.
Bagehot virtually employs this method in the chapter of hisPhysicsand Politics, which he entitles "Verifiable Progress PoliticallyConsidered." Let me quote, for example, his comparison of theEnglishman with the primitive Australian.
If we omit the higher but disputed topics of morals and religion, we shall find, I think, that the plainer {128} and agreed-on superiorities of the Englishmen are these: first, that they have a greater command over the powers of nature upon the whole. Though they may fall short of individual Australians in certain feats of petty skill, though they may not throw the boomerang as well, or light a fire with earthsticks as well, yet on the whole twenty Englishmen with their implements and skill can change the material world immeasurably more than twenty Australians and their machines. Secondly, that this power is not external only; it is also internal. The English not only possess better machines for moving nature, but are themselves better machines. Mr. Babbage taught us years ago that one great use of machinery was not to augment the force of man, but to register and regulate the power of man; and this in a thousand ways civilized man can do, and is ready to do, better and more precisely than the barbarian. Thirdly, civilized man has not only greater powers over nature, but knows better how to use them, and by better I here mean better for the health and comfort of his present body and mind. He can lay up for old age, which a savage having no durable means of sustenance cannot; he is ready to lay up because he can distinctly foresee the future, which the vague-minded savage cannot.[2]
It will be observed that in each case the superiority of the Englishmen lies in the fact that theybeat the Australians at their own game. Australians are as much interested as Englishmen in obtaining command over nature, in organizing their own powers, and in securing health and comfort. The Englishmen, however, can fulfil these interests not only up to but also beyond {129} the point which marks the limit of the Australians' attainment.
The method of superimposition is virtually employed in all competitive struggle. The glory and fruits of victory are sought by both opponents, and the success of one is the failure of the other. The superiority of the victor to the vanquished is beyond question only because they had the same interest at stake.
The application of this method to the determination of progress is not confined to philosophers of history. It is applied by every individual who realizes that his advance from childhood to maturity has been attended with growth and development. For the old boundaries of childhood still remain as evidence of the greater magnitude of the life which has outgrown them. Similarly every man may mark within himself the various limits which once bounded him, but which he has since exceeded in consequence of steady and consecutive effort. The progress of mankind at large differs only in complexity and range. It can be tested and determined only because identical interests persist. If men had not in all times wanted the same things it would be impossible to measure their attainments. Their successes and failures would be incommensurable. But the old needs and the old hopes yet remain. The problem of life which was from {130} the beginning is a problem still. If it can be shown that the old needs are met more easily, along with new needs besides, that there is better promise that the hopes will be fulfilled, and that the general problem of life is nearer a solution, then human progress will have been demonstrated.
I propose, in the first place, to discuss two general principles, the operation of which is conducive to progress. One of these principles isexternal, that is, it relates to the environment of life rather than to its internal economy; and to this I shall turn first.
The external environment of life is in some respects favorable, in other respects unfavorable. Now, strangely enough, it is the unfavorable rather than the favorable aspect of the environment that conduces to progress. Progress, or even the least good, would, of course, be impossible, unless the mechanical environment was morally plastic. The fact that nature submits to the organization which we call life is a fundamental and constant condition of all civilization. But there is nothing in the mere compliance of nature to press life forward. It is themenaceof nature which stimulates progress. It is because nature always remains a source of difficulty and danger {131} that life is provoked to renew the war and achieve a more thorough conquest. Nature will not permit life to keep what it has unless it gains more.
The external environment of life embraces not only mechanical nature, but also such outlying units of life as have not yet been brought into harmonious relations. Conflict between individuals, tribes, races, or nations operates in a manner analogous to mechanical nature. It exerts a constant pressure in the direction of greater strength and efficiency. In order that man shall not be robbed by his enemies of what he already has, he must forever be attempting to make himself impregnable and formidable.
But war and the struggle with nature not only put a premium on the better organization of life; they also make it a condition of permanence. Superior individuals survive when inferior individuals perish in the struggle, or the superior type obtains an ascendency over the inferior. In human warfare the defeated party is rarely if ever utterly annihilated; it tends, however, to lose its prestige or even its identity through being assimilated to the victorious party. In either case that form of life which in conflict proves itself the stronger, tends to prevail, through the exclusion of those forms which prove themselves weaker.
An unfavorable environment has, then, operated externally to develop coherence and unity {132} in life. But the cost has been prodigious, and must be subtracted from the gain. For there is no virtue in conflict save the strength of the victor. Man has made a virtue of this necessity; but to obviate so dire a necessity becomes one of the first tasks which civilization undertakes. The attempt to eliminate conflict, and reduce to a minimum the sacrifice of special interests, marks the operation of theinternalormoralprinciple of progress. During the historical period this principle assumes a constantly greater prominence.
A society may be said to be internally progressive when it can afford to withdraw some of its energies from the struggle for existence, and devote them to the improvement of method and the saving of waste. Its stability and security must be so far guaranteed as to make it safe to undertake a reconstruction, calculated to provide more fully for its constituent interests and develop its latent possibilities. There now obtains, within limits that tend steadily to expand, what Bagehot calls "government by discussion," that is, the regulation of action by the invention, selection, and trial of the best means. This substitution of rational procedure for custom is an irreversible and germinal process. Let me quote Bagehot's account of it:
A government by discussion, if it can be borne, at once breaks down the yoke of fixed custom. The {133} idea of the two is inconsistent. As far as it goes, the mere putting up of a subject to discussion is a clear admission that that subject is in no degree settled by established rule, and that men are free to choose in it. . . . And if a single subject or group of subjects be once admitted to discussion, ere long the habit of discussion comes to be established, the sacred charm of use and wont to be dissolved. "Democracy," it has been said in modern times, "is like the grave; it takes, but it does not give." The same is true of "discussion." Once effectually submit a subject to that ordeal, and you can never withdraw it again; you can never again clothe it with mystery, or fence it by consecration; it remains forever open to free choice, and exposed to profane deliberation.[3]
The strength of custom or established authority lies in prompt and undivided action against external enemies; but its weakness lies in its excessive cost to the interests within. And when there is leisure and security for deliberation, the policy and organization of society must respond at once to the claims of these interests. Development is now due to a moral rather than to a mechanical principle; that is, the surviving type of life is due not to pressure and elimination from without, but to a provident concern that emanates from within. There is a deliberate intention to promote survival, those interests alone being restricted or suppressed which do not comply with this intention. There evolves not a selected group of strong individuals, but a strong community, strong because both full of life, or rich {134} in incentive, and also harmonious. And within such a community the strength of individuals lies not in a sheer power to resist the strain of competition, but in the rational and moral capacity to utilize the resources of the entire community. Through moral organization the strong are made stronger at the same time that the weak are made strong.
Strictly speaking, there is only one internal principle of progress, namely,rationality. By rationality, in this connection, I mean the knowledge of the good, and the correction of existing usages through which it is accidentally or wantonly frustrated. If fulfilment be the motive of life, and maximum fulfilment be the good, then any existing usage stands condemned when it is proved to involve unnecessary sacrifice. And such usages will be condemned, and in the long run rejected, wherever there is an opportunity for self-assertion and discussion among the various interests concerned. But such correction may be initiated either by a positive or a negative motive. It may result either from the action of those who seek constructively to promote the general welfare of society, or from the action of those who protest against society in behalf of neglected interests. The first isconstructive reform, the second,revolution.
Constructive reformis the work of disinterested {135} reflection. It may originate in speculation, as political or social theory; or it may originate in the solution of a practical problem. Plato has described the type of mind which in either case it requires: a mind which is free from individual or party bias, and which represents and co-ordinates all the interests of the community. Now the failure of political and social theories as measures of reform is proverbial; none failed more completely and conspicuously than Plato's own. And it is not difficult to see why this should be the case; for, as a rule, they are adapted neither to the habits and intelligence of the time, nor to the actual instruments of practical efficiency. But it may be observed that the distance between the philosopher and the man of affairs is considerably shorter than it used to be. The method of discussion being once generally adopted, action, both individual and social, is pervaded with theory. Even the man of affairs cannot easily avoid being a philosopher.
And even in distinguishing as sharply as I have between theory and practice, I have simply followed a customary habit of thought that is on the whole misleading. For, in truth, it is as impossible for the man of affairs to avoid disinterested reflection, as it is for the commercial traveller to be unsociable. The activity of the one has to do with the organization of a wide range of {136} interests, as the activity of the other has to do with the capitalization of good-fellowship.
Those of you who are familiar with the First Book of Plato'sRepublicwill remember the account given there of the forced benevolence of the tyrant. It is, I believe, one of the great classics in ethical theory; and although its full meaning will not appear until we deal directly with the problem of government, I must allude to it here for the sake of the principle involved. The sophist of the dialogue, one Thrasymachus, attempts to overthrow Socrates's conclusion that virtue is essentially beneficent, by pointing to the case of the tyrant, who is eminent and powerful, as every one would wish to be, but who is at the same time wholly unscrupulous. He is the symbol of success, in that he can on all occasions do what it pleases him to do, and with no regard for the feelings of others. Now Socrates in his reply is not satisfied to show that even the tyrant must have some scruples; he goes to the length of asserting that the tyrant must of all persons in the community have themostscruples. And the reason which Socrates advances is unanswerable. The tyrant is the one person in the community who has toplease everybody. He owes his position and power, not to any directly productive activity, such as agriculture, industry, or military service, but wholly to his skill in {137} organizing and promoting interests that are not primarily his own. To be sure, he has his hire; but to earn it he must pay every man his price.
Now let us apply this to the general case of the man of affairs. It follows that just in so far as action is broad in scope, it must be considerate and just. To conduct enterprises on a large scale involves contact with many interests, and these interests, once affected, must either be understood and provided for or else antagonized. The greater the enterprise, the more truly does it exist by sufferance; it depends on the support of those who profit by it, and if that support be withdrawn, it collapses into absolute impotence. The ancient Cynics were right in thinking that the only man who can afford to be indifferent to the interests of his fellows is the man who renounces ambition and retires to his tub.
Once the era of civilization is inaugurated, power depends on moral capacity, that is, the capacity to protect and promote a considerable number of interests, and thus win their backing. This is proved in every field of human activity, military, political, religious, intellectual, social, or commercial. Commerce and industry afford at present the most striking examples. The man who succeeds is the man who can satisfy the greatest number of appetites. And the more his enterprise grows the more it becomes a public concern; {138} and the more, therefore, must he be studious of public welfare and responsive to public opinion. Thus manufacturing, transportation, or banking, when conducted on a large scale, touch life at so many points, that he who seeks to gain power or wealth by means of them will gradually and without any abrupt change of motive approximate the method of disinterested service. So every station in life, from that of the ruler to that of the shopkeeper, has its own characteristic form of the one problem ofmeeting, adjusting and fulfilling interests. The desire to be successful or to attain eminence in one's station exerts a constant pressure in the direction of the invention, trial, and selection of methods that will solve this problem. And such methods once devised are at once supported by the interests they serve, and become necessary to the life of the community.
Now the wise leader anticipates the needs and wishes of his followers, and so enjoys their continued support without ever seeming to depend on it. But there are very few such wise leaders. The reason for their scarcity lies in the natural inertia of profitable activities. There is a universal propensity to let well enough alone. So methods are allowed to outlive their usefulness, or remain unmodified when more provident and fruitful methods could be devised. When leadership {139} thus fails to be statesmanlike and far-sighted, there occurs that uprising of the disaffected interests which is calledrevolution.
Revolution, then, is the self-assertion of the various constituent interests which do not find room or fair measure within the existing organization. The evidence of the insufficiency of present methods being neglected by those in charge, that evidencemakes itself known. In the long run this is the surest principle of progress, because it is brought into operation by those who have a nearer or more indispensable interest at stake. It is unquestionably to the interest of the individual who heads an enterprise to conduct it rationally, that is, to make it always as productive as possible for all the interests which it serves. But if he fails he may not at once incur the penalty, or be conscious of it if he does; he may only forfeit an increase of power, or render his position precarious. On the other hand, to the constituent interest which is sacrificed, this same failure may mean loss of bread or even loss of life. Hence the latter is more sure to move in the matter. Justice is more urgently needed by the slave who rebels, than by the master who may be brought through enlightenment to liberate him. Thus neglected interests have been the conscience of every great human reform. Let me cite the two greatest cases of this in the history of {140} European civilization, Christianity and the French Revolution.
Christianity as a social revolution was a protest against the existing order on the part of interests which it did not recognize. I do not mean that these interests were not tolerated; they were, of course, protected, and even given a legal status. But in the reckoning of good and evil they were notcounted. Women and slaves, the poor, the ill-born, and the ignorant, were instruments which the happy man might use, or incidents of life which might test his charity and magnanimity. These classes rose to overthrow no single institution, but a whole conception of life, or standard of well-being which was defined to exclude them. In paganism, which did not pass with the advent of Christianity, but still lingers as the creed of the very precious souls, humanity is conceived only qualitatively, and not quantitatively. The good of the race is conceived to consist in the perfection of a few, chosen for their superior endowment and fortune. The eminent refinement and nobility of these demigods is substituted for the saving of lives, for the general distribution of welfare and opportunity. The many are to find compensation for their hardship in the happiness of the few. But the Christian principle of atonement was the precise opposite of this: one suffered that all might be blessed. Christianity {141} looked towards a good that should number every one in the multitude and endure throughout all time. Now it has since appeared that this was no more than the truth; and that it might have been conceived and executed by the wise men, had they only been more wise. But they were wise only within the limits of their own conceit. Hence it took the form of an assault on the established enlightenment. The many, with their yearning for a universal happiness, with their deep concern for the greater good, and their jealous compassion for all souls, destroyed the narrow eminence of the few. Thus Christianity was a revolution, and not a constructive reform.
The French Revolution was a protest not only against apathy, but against insolence as well. It was a demand of the many not merely to be happy, but to have what they called their "rights" respected; a protest against authority, not only because it was cruel, but because it was arbitrary, tyrannical. Hence it was aimed against priestcraft as well as against monarchy. It was based on the conviction that no one is so justly entitled to pass judgment on a man's affairs as a man himself. But it was a cry from the depths, the bitter resentment of a long-standing abuse. Therefore it took the form of an uprising against the established order; and while it opened men's eyes, it was not conducted in the spirit of enlightenment. {142} In spite of his inferences, Nietsche has not described the matter falsely:
The slave . . . loves as he hates, withoutnuance, to the very depths, to the point of pain, . . . his manyhiddensufferings make him revolt against the noble taste which seems todenysuffering. The scepticism with regard to suffering, fundamentally only an attitude of an aristocratic morality, was not the least of the causes, also, of the last great slave insurrection which began with the French Revolution.[4]
Insurrection, in other words, is the flat, downright, and unqualified affirmation of interests to which those in charge of affairs have denied existence. It is a flash in the eyes of those who will not see; a blast in the ears of those who will not hear. Insurrection assertsonlythe interests that have been neglected; hence, though it bringsnewlight, that light for lack of which the world went in darkness, it is careless and blind in its own way, and does not concern itself with restoring the balance. But, as Nietsche prefers not to comprehend, insurrection demonstrates beyond question the bankruptcy of aristocratic morality; discredits it as effectually, and in the same way, as new evidence discredits old theories.
These, then, are the two complementary methods through which rationality gets itself progressively established: through the imagination and foresight of constructive minds, and through the protest or uprising of neglected interests.
{143}
I must mention briefly, before leaving this general topic, an accessory condition on which this internal principle of progress depends for its effectual working. It is necessary that the life of society should be unbroken; that its achievements should be preserved and accumulated from generation to generation. This is provided for in the permanence of records, monuments, and institutions; but these are of less consequence than thecontinuity of tradition. Generations of men do not come into being and pass away like regiments in marching order. There is no present generation; unless one arbitrarily selects those of a certain age to represent the spirit of the day. He who is born now, enters into the midst of a social life in which the present is blended with the past through the interpenetration of individual lives of every stage of maturity. The threads are innumerably many, and their length is but threescore years and ten; but there is no place at which more than a few end, so that they are woven into one continuous and seamless fabric. It does not exceed the facts, then, to say that the life of society is one life, which may gather headway, increase in wealth, and profit by experience. Through this continuity society may learn, as the individual organism does, by the method of trial and error. Costly blunders need not be repeated, and the waste involved {144} in untried experiments may steadily be reduced. Furthermore, the advance is by geometrical, and not merely by arithmetical progression. Every discovery and achievement is multiplied in fruitfulness through being added to the capital stock and reinvested in fresh enterprises.
Human progress, thus determined by the movement of life towards its more rational, that is, more provident, organization, is attended in all its stages with a very significant difference of emphasis. I refer to the old conflict betweenconservatismandradicalism. If this were merely a difference of temperamental bias, it would not need to detain us. But it is really an opposition between exaggerated truths, in which each is boldly and impressively defined.
The truth of conservatism lies, first, in its love of the existing order. Every established form of social life has had a certain wholeness and strength and perfection of its own. This is as true of savagery as it is of any type of civilization. Interests are in equilibrium, and are guaranteed security within certain limits that are generally understood. In other words,at least a measure of fulfilment may be counted on. The conservative is right in valuing this as a prodigious achievement. He knows that disorder is ruin, not to {145} any class, but to all; the paralysis, if not the absolute destruction, of all fruitful activities.
And secondly, conservatism proclaims the truth that since order conditions all activity, it is impossible to promote human welfare except by using order. The enemy of order threatens to destroy the instruments of power, and so to make himself weak and helpless with the rest. The conservative understands the real delicacy of these instruments, and the difficulty of remodelling them while still forced to use them. For nothing puts so great a strain on society as progress. It tends to destroy its rigidity, to dull its edge, and to spoil the fine adjustment without which so complex an organization cannot function. There could be no human life whatsoever, and still less a progressive life, were not the great mass of men content to remain steadily in their places, and so form parts of a stable structure. An organization cannot actuallyworkuntil it is in equilibrium.
Now while the conservative fears to "swap horses while crossing the stream," the radical reminds him that if he does not do so he will never gain the farther shore. The conservative is satisfied to sit firmly in the saddle, but the radical thinks only of the long distance yet to go. There is a common misconception as to who is the real radical, the real menace to this existing order. {146} He is not the sceptic, butthe man with a purpose; the man who believes in the possibility of better things, and so has a motive impelling him to abolish and reconstruct the present things. The sceptic, who holds all order to be conventional and arbitrary, is as well satisfied with one system as another. His natural course is a cynical acquiescence in the inveterate folly of mankind. Or, finding order convenient, and fearing that its true groundlessness will be exposed if it be made a matter for discussion, he advocates blind obedience to the authority of the day. Hence the disillusioned, especially if they occupy positions of power in church or state or trade, may be counted on as the leaders of conservative policy. The typical radical, on the other hand, is Socrates, who censured the men of his time because they were satisfied with something short of the best; and who was condemned because he offered mena good reasonfor reorganizing life.
The radical, like the conservative, is right. He is right, in the first place, because he points out that the stability of the established order is not proof of its finality. It may be, indeed always will be, largely due to habit. Society forfeits a greater good through mere inertia, through the tendency of any organization of interests which runs smoothly and brings a steady return, to perpetuate itself. The radical is the critic of {147} custom, condemning it for timidly clinging to the present good, and abandoning the original intent of life to attain to the maximum.