■■•♦*»'■■.'-■ ■' "■Vj-V' v.- Si; vC • ' W^^f ^'^•<-■- ",' ■'■•■',' ri-2;:^.. :^;^*: ^p^. ' "■ .■' ■'^ -•;v V r- ', r 1/ ■>■'■■*<' ■■H-' -'t-''-" };m ■I- ." ^^'m' '■-^■v\: -i-y^ " i, ^^f-^^"^--. "^.tP- \i.?--:rX „■■■ --.V. •,-. ;>•:*?•■ ■' - '■ ' ■■•-' ^'■> ■■■ > ■■:-• •■•<> ■ 1.^\. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES CONDUCT AND ITS DISORDERS BIOLOGICALLY CONSIDERED MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK • BOSTON ■ CHICAGO ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. TORONTO CONDUCT AND ITS DISORDERS BIOLOGICALLY CONSIDERED BY CHARLES ARTHUR MERCIER M.D., F.R.C.P., F.R.C.S. PHYSICIAN rOR MENTAL DISEASES TO CHARING CROSS HOSPITAL EXAMINER IN MENTAL DISEASES AND PSYCHOLOGY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF LONDON VISITOR OF THE STATE INEBRIATE REFORMATORY, ETC. ETC. AUTHOR OF 'PSYCHOLOGY, NORMAL AND MORBID,' 'a TEXT-BOOK OF INSANITY,' ' SANITY AND INSANITY,' ' CRIMINAL RESPONSIBILITY,' ETC. ETC. MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON 191 1 1 e c , ^ « • t * < "^ I • " ♦ • « « , \0H \M53c TO MY PROFESSIONAL LEADER G. H. SAVAGE, M.D., F.RC.R O ^ h (^ Jj^:< -.< /^ PEEFACE It would appear, prima facie, that few studies are more important than that of Conduct ; for man is engaged in conduct during the whole of his waking life, and even the times, places, and occasions of sleep are parts of conduct. Conduct is what we are all engaged in, from birth to death ; and yet, though many departments of conduct are described in many books, there is not in existence, curiously enough, any comprehensive study of conduct as a whole — any general view of the field of human activity. Ethics, or conduct as right and wrong, has been studied for millenniums ; the actual conduct of men in concrete affairs has been, for millenniums, described in history ; isolated departments of conduct, such as that which is engaged in the production and distribu- tion of wealth, and those of many crafts and arts, have been the subject of study for generations, and have been described with the utmost care and partic- ularity ; innumerable societies have been founded for the promotion of conduct in this or that respect ; the press teems with books and articles, advocating conduct of this or that description, setting forth its advantages, describing its peculiarities, and instructing the reader how it is to be followed ; but of conduct as vii viii CONDUCT a whole ; of what it is ; of its nature ; its varieties and kinds ; of their relations to each other ; of its vagaries and disorders ; no book treats : no study exists. In the execution of conduct as a whole, as in that of its several departments, mankind has contrived to get along very well without that systematic study of it, that we term the science of the subject. No doubt, they can reason very well without studying books on logic ; they can bake and brew, weave and tan, make chairs and tables, plough, sow, and reap ; all without studying these subjects in books ; but no one doubts that the reasoning faculty is sharpened by the study of logic ; or that brewers and bakers, weavers and tanners, carpenters and joiners, farmers and stock-raisers, are better equipped for their several avocations by studying them systematically in books ; and to say the least, no one who is engaged in execut- ing conduct, that is to say, no living human being, is likely to pursue his conduct less capably from having studied it systematically. Apart from the general advantage to every one who has to engage in conduct of any kind, of having a systematic knowledge of that mode of conduct ; and therefore to every one of having a systematic knowledge of conduct as a whole ; there are certain special advantages to be derived from a study of Praxiology, if I may so term it. In some departments of knowledge and practice, the study of conduct as a whole is of prime importance. It is especially important in Education and in Psychiatry. If education is, as I think it is now acknowledged to PREFACE ix be, the equipment of the young human being for the arduous struggle in and for life, it is surely desirable that the educator should be assisted by a systematic knowledge of the primary and secondary aims of life ; of their relative importance ; of their meanings ; of their relations to each other ; of the different ways in which they may be sought ; as well as of the by- paths and cross-roads into which the pursuit may be erroneously directed. It is, however, in the study and treatment of Insanity, that a systematic knowledge of conduct at large is most necessary ; for insanity is in the main, disorder of conduct ; and for disorder to be estimated, order must first be known. The first task of the physician, who desires to treat dis- orders of bodily function, is to learn what these functions are, and how they are performed in health. A repairer of steam-engines or motor-cars who had made no systematic study of the way in which they work when in order, would scarcely be considered fully equipped for his task. Yet the psychiatric physician, whose function it is to treat disorders of conduct, not only makes no systematic study of conduct, but denies that such a study is desirable, even if he admits that such a study is possible. The difficulty is, of course, that the study of con- duct never has been systematised. There is no science of human conduct ; and the question at once arises, is it possible to create such a science ? Is not con- duct altogether too variable, too erratic, too much the creature of choice, and caprice, and chance, and circumstance, ever to be susceptible of reduction to system, and to be treated scientifically ? This h X CONDUCT depends much on what we mean by Science ; and few words have been more abused, or used in more senses, or with more ambiguity, than ' Science ' and * Scientific' By the science of a subject, is often meant a knowledge of the laws of that subject ; and if the subject has no laws, then of it there can be no science, in this sense. No doubt, one of the aims of investigation is to discover those uniformities that we call natural laws ; but science, though it depends on investigation, is not the same as inves- tigation. Again, scientific often means accurate ; and scientific knowledge is opposed to inaccurate knowledge. No doubt, another aim of investigation is to increase the accuracy of knowledge ; but know- ledge may be scientific and yet be inaccurate. The progress of science carries with it increase in the accuracy of knowledge ; and increase of accuracy implies some inaccuracy to begin with. Science is none the less science, though it is lacking in perfect accuracy. In my view, science is organised know- ledge ; it is systematised knowledge ; and it is as easy to organise and systematise the knowledge of human conduct, as of anything else. The advantage of the systematisation of knowledge is that it enables us to see exactly in what respects our knowledge is deficient, as well as to estimate the bearing of one item of knowledge upon another. Unorganised knowledge may be compared to a heap of chessmen piled on a table. From inspection of such a heap, it would be impossible to tell whether it contained a complete set, an imperfect set, or a mixture of PREFACE xi parts of two or more sets. But if the chessmen are systematically arranged in their places on the board, we can see at a glance, not only whether they are all there, but if not, precisely what piece is missing ; whether any are redundant, and if so, what are the redundant pieces ; whether all belong to one set, and if not, what pieces are intruders. Similarly with the systematic arrangement of knowledge, which consti- tutes science. The systematic arrangement enables us to see at a glance whether, and in what respects, our knowledge is defective ; whether we have confused the knowledge of one thing with the knowledge of another ; and what the relations and bearings are, of one part of our knowledge with another. Science, then, is knowledge that is organised or systematised ; and this book is an attempt to organise and systematise our knowledge of human conduct. Until conduct has been investigated on a systematic plan, it is premature to declare that it is not subject to law ; for only by systematic investigation are laws discovered. In one department of conduct, systematic investigation has been pursued for generations ; and though there is much controversy as to what the laws are, no political economist has any doubt, that in the production and distribution of wealth, the conduct of mankind does conform to certain natural laws. I do not pretend to investigate conduct in general with anything approaching the thoroughness with which the production and distribution of wealth has been examined. In the establishment of every science, two stages are recognisable. The first stage is to collect facts, to classify and arrange them ; the second xii CONDUCT is to discover the laws in accordance with which the facts occur. It is the first, or natural history stage, that is here attempted with respect to human con- duct ; and it seems to me no more difficult to study conduct systematically, and so to reach that organised knowledge that we call Science, than to study any other subject in the same way. According as the system is good or bad, well or ill adapted to its purpose, the result will be better or worse ; it will be rudimentary science or developed science ; but as long as some system is employed in the investi- gation, the knowledge will be organised into science of some kind. The principle on which the investigation of human conduct is here made, is the biological principle. I have estimated the various modes and phases of human activity, in the light of their value in secur- ing the survival of man in the struggle for existence. As judged by this principle, every mode of conduct has its value, positive or negative ; and most modes of conduct are positively beneficial at some times, in some circumstances, in some degree ; and in some respects ; while they are at other times, in other cir- cumstances, in other degrees, or in other respects, injurious. It will come as a surprise, I dare say, to many, that such modes of conduct as the creation of beautiful things for the sake of their beauty, or the observances of religious ceremonial, have a bio- logical value, and tend to enhance, or to injure, the chances and prospects of survival in the struggle for life ; and it may seem, I fear, to votaries of art or of religion, that such a mode of regarding these phases PREFACE xiii of conduct is derogatory to them, and disrespectful. No disrespect is intended, however ; nor do I think that any derogation from the high rank and position that such modes of conduct take among human activities, need result from the examination of them on biological grounds, and the appraisement of their biological value. Viewing them, and all other modes of conduct, in the dry light of science, it would be irrelevant and impertinent either to praise or blame ; either to attack or defend. My aim is merely to describe and explain ; and if my descriptions are accurate, and my explanations satisfy the minds of my readers, I have accomplished my task. CONTENTS FAOE Preface . . . . . . . vii Introduction ...... xix BOOK I ACTION CHAPTER I Action as Spontaneous or Elicited . . .3 Action as Abundant or Scanty .... 9 CHAPTEE II Action as Instinctive or Reasoned . . .12 CHAPTEE III Instinct and Reason . . . . .30 The Fossilisation of Reason into Instinct . . 30 The Liquidation of Instinct into Reason . . .36 CHAPTEE IV Action as Self-indulgent or Self-restrained . . 44 Action as Impulsive or Deliberate . . .50 Action as Voluntary or Involuntary . . .53 Action as Novel, Habitual, or Automatic . . 55 XV xvi CONDUCT CHAPTER V PAGE Action as Original or Imitative . . . .64 Action as Crude or Elaborate . . . .68 Action as Play or Work . . . . .71 Action as Skilful or Unskilful . . . .73 BOOK II CONDUCT CHAPTER VI Purposes or Ends . . . . . .77 CHAPTER VII Directly Self-conservative Conduct . . .88 CHAPTER VIII Indirectly Self-conservative Conduct . . .115 CHAPTER IX Social Conduct 128 Influence on Conduct of the Mere Existence op Others 130 The Social Instinct . . . . .130 Influence on Conduct of the Presence of Others . 133 Social Inhibition ..... 133 CHAPTER X Influence on Conduct of the Attention of Others , 139 Shyness: Self-consciousness . . . .139 Influence on Conduct of the Estimation of Others . 145 Ambition: Pride: Vanity: Conceit . . .145 CONTENTS xvii CHAPTER XI PAOE Influence on Conduct of the Approval of Others . 155 Elicited Morality . . . . .155 CHAPTER XII Influence on Conduct of the Liking op Others . 181 Suavity. . . .181 Influence on Conduct of the Will of Others . .186 Leading and Subordination . . . .186 CHAPTER XIII Influence on Conduct of the Example of Others . 191 Custom and Fashion . . . . .191 CHAPTER XIV Influence on Conduct of the Action of Others . 221 1. On Ourselves . . . . .221 2. On Others . . . . . .228 3. On Circumstances ..... 234 CHAPTER XV Spontaneous Social Conduct . . . .236 1. Towards the whole Community Patriotic Conduct .... 236 2. Towards Sections and Classes of the Community Philanthropic Conduct . . .240 CHAPTER XVI Spontaneous Social Conduct — continued . . . 242 3. Towards Individuals : Spontaneous Morality . 242 a. Self-restraining or Passive . . . 245 b. Active . . . . . .261 Antagonism of Social and Self-regarding Conduct . 268 xviii CONDUCT CHAPTEE XVII PAQE Social-Eacial Conduct . . . 274 Chastity and Modesty ..... 274 CHAPTER XVIII RaciaTj Conduct . . . . .288 Courtship ...... 289 Jealous Conduct ..... 299 CHAPTEE XIX Eacial CoiSBVCT— continued . . . .. .304 Marital Conduct . . . . 304 Parental and Filial Conduct . . . 306 CHAPTEE XX Indirectly Vital Conduct . . . . .314 Recreative Conduct . . . . .316 Aesthetic Conduct ..... 325 CHAPTEE XXI Investigation . . . . . . 333 CHAPTEE XXII Religious Conduct . . . . . .347 INDEX . . . . . . .371 INTEODUCTION Conduct is Action in pursuit of Ends, and is com- posed of Acts undertaken to attain Ends. To study conduct systematically, therefore, it is necessary to discover the nature of action ; the different kinds of action of which man is capable ; the ends that he seeks to compass ; the relative importance of these ends ; the harmony or conflict among them ; their subordination and superordination to one another ; the biological reasons on which they are based ; and any other information we can obtain concerning them. For the present purpose, we need to discover, also, the disorders to which conduct is liable. Action must first be distinguished from movement, with which it is sometimes confounded. A bodily movement need not be an act ; and an act need not be a movement. The movements of epilepsy, of chorea, of paralysis agitans, and other nervous maladies, are not acts ; and if we ask why they are not acts, the answer that would most frequently be given would be that they are not voluntary — that they are not initiated or directed by the Will. In treating of Conduct, however, it is desirable to eliminate, as far as possible, reference to mental states and processes. We shall find hereafter that it xix XX CONDUCT is not always possible to eliminate sucli reference completely, but at least it should be minimised. Already there is great confusion between the two sciences of Psychology and Praxiology, and it is most desirable to keep them distinct. Moreover, there are acts, as we shall presently find, with which the Will is not concerned, and therefore the inter- vention of volition affords no distinction between Action and Movement. The true distinction is that action is always purposive : mere movement is not. An act always serves an end : a movement need serve no end. The movements of the nervous maladies, already instanced, are mere movements, for they are not purposive. They serve no purpose, and contribute to no end. May we then say that action is purposive movement ? By no means, for there are many acts that are not movements. There are many acts that are, on the contrary, arrests of movement, many that consist in suppression of movement. Every arrest of movement is not an act, or the termination of a fall would be an act ; nevertheless, there are arrests and suspensions of movement that are as plainly and truly acts as the most elaborate movements of handcraft. If, in crossing a street, I stop to let a cab go by, my arrest of movement is as purposive, as is my resumption of movement when the cab is passed. When counsel declines to cross- examine a witness, his abstention is as much an act, and may have as much bearing on the verdict, as if he had badgered the witness for an hour. ' Not to decide is to decide ' says the old saw ; and not to INTRODUCTION xxi move is, in many cases, to act. If the police tell me to move on, and I stop still, I am charged with doing an illegal act : I am not charged with negligence, and so to charge me would be wrong, both in law and in Praxiology. If I see a man drowning, whom I could save by stretching out my hand, and I purposely refrain from doing so, I am as guilty of his death as if I held his head under water. To stare a person out of countenance is an act ; to stand still is as much an act as to walk ; to leave off doing a thing, or to refrain from doing it, is as much an act as to do it. What imparts to these suppressions and arrests of movement the quality of action, is their purposive character. They are not, indeed, move- ments, but they are things done, and done with a purpose ; and it is the purpose that constitutes action. An Act, then, is movement, or arrest or suppression of movement, done with a purpose. By an End is meant a purpose. The End is the purpose served by the Act. Whether it is the end, in the sense of being the ultimate goal of the opera- tion, or whether it is a proximate aim, whose achieve- ment is sought, not for itself, but as a means to some further end, does not alter its character as an end for the purpose of the argument. I reach for my hat for the purpose of putting it on, and this is the proximate aim or end of the act. This end is not the ultimate goal of the act, for the putting on of my hat is but a step to going out ; and this, again, is a means of getting to the station ; the end of which is to take the train. The taking of the train is itself but a means to a further series of ends, — of xxii CONDUCT getting to town, seeing my solicitor, executing a deed, securing property, benefiting my family, and so forth, and so on. Each of these is an end, but a proximate or intermediary end. Certain ultimate ends there are, as we shall find, in one or other of which all such trains or series of purposes terminate ; but for the present argument, an end is the purpose for which any act is undertaken. The study of Conduct resolves itself into the study of Action and the study of Ends, or Purposes, and these two branches of the subject demand separate and detailed consideration. The modes of action of w^hich mankind is capable are various ; or, to put it otherwise, action presents to our observation various qualities or characters, any one of which may occupy our exclusive attention. Each of these qualities varies from maximum to zero, and then continues to vary, on the minus side, from zero to maximum. Although each mode of action must be examined separately, it must be clearly understood that this separateness is the separation of analysis, and that any concrete act may display many or all modes of action in conjunction. The following Chapters of the first Book contain, therefore, an examination, not of acts, but of modes of action. Thus regarded, Action varies according as it is 1. Spontaneous or Elicited. 2. Abundant or Scanty. 3. Instinctive or Reasoned. 4. Self-indulgent or Self-restrained. 5r Impulsive or Deliberate. INTRODUCTION xxiii 6. Voluntary or Involuntary. 7. Novel, Habitual, or Automatic. 8. Original or Imitative. 9. Crude or Elaborate. 10. Work or Play. 11. Skilful or Unskilful. For the sake of clearness and emphasis, I repeat that a single concrete act may exhibit a quality from every one of these contrasted couples. It may be spontaneous, abundant, reasoned, self-indulgent, deliberate, voluntary, novel, original, elaborate, play, and skilful. All these modes of action are found, by analysis, to reside in acts. To the study of Action the first Book is devoted. The second Book considers the Ends that Conduct strives to attain, and the means by which these ends are compassed. BOOK I ACTION B CHAPTER I I. ACTION AS SPONTANEOUS OR ELICITED If we watcli some very simple organism, such as an amoeba, which is a single cell, we see that, while its circumstances remain unchanged, the amoeba exhibits movement, which is to be regarded as amoebic conduct. It thrusts out a process here ; it retracts another there ; it becomes contracted in this place ; it bulges in that ; it forms vacuoles within its substance ; it changes its shape. These, the simplest manifestations of rudimentary conduct, in the simplest organisms, occur spontaneously. They are not responses to stimulus from without. The medium in which the animal is contained is motion- less ; and, during the time of the movements, under- goes no such local alterations of quality as are sufi&cient to account for the large and conspicuous movements of the amoeba. Whatever changes of shape, whatever locomotion, whatever motion, take place in the amoeba, are spontaneous. They arise, not in obedience to any stimulus applied from with- out, but out of the inherent activity of the amoeba itself They are expenditures out of the store of motion that is accumulated within its substance — of 3 CONDUCT BOOK 1 motion that changes from a molecular motion, which we cannot perceive, to a molar motion that is per- ceptible to our senses. The aimless jerkings and sprawlings and cryings of the new-born infant, are due, or need be due, to no irritation or stimulus from without, but to libera- tion of pent-up motion from within. That stimulus is not needed to provoke movement, is shown by the fact, known to every mother, that movement is antenatal. Such movements fall short of acts, it is true. They can scarcely be called purposive ; and yet, in a sense, they are purposive. They serve the purpose of getting rid of some of the stored motion which is accumulated in excess. In the more de- veloped and adult human being, the opening of the eyes on spontaneous waking in the morning, the throwing off the clothes and getting out of bed, are due to no stimulus from without, but to the liberation of motion from within. To the vigorous body comes a time when retention of stillness becomes irksome — becomes impracticable. The writer, after several hours at his desk, the traveller, after several hours in the train, must rise and stretch his limbs ; must get out and pace the platform ; not because he is incited or attracted to do so by any external allure- ment ; not because he is compelled by any external disturbance; but because motion has accumulated within him to a point of tension that overcomes the resistance opposed to it. When a man starts oflf for his game of golf, or his cricket, or his tennis, he does so, not — certainly not solely — because he is solicited by his fellow-player to do so, but because he feels the CHAP. 1 ACTION AS SPONTANEOUS 5 necessity of expending some of tlie store of motion within him, whose accumulation is become irksome. If he did not go to golf, or tennis, or cricket, he would do something else. He would walk, or ride, or row, or swim. Some exertion he must take, to get rid of his contained motion. No fresh man in the vigour of health can content himself with doing nothing. If he have nothing to do, he must make something to do ; for motion must be expended somehow. If there were no such store of motion, there would be no conduct, — no action. Man would not act, because he could not move. Thus it is true, at the top as well as at the bottom of the scale, in man as well as in the amoeba, that the primary initiation of conduct, and the possibility of conduct, is the accumulation within the organism, of a store of motion that imperatively demands expenditure. On the other hand, much conduct is initiated by stimulus from without. The amoeba thrusts out a process at random, impelled to do so by the inherent motion of its own cell-body, even when no change in its surroundings elicits this protrusion ; but the presence in the medium of a small organic particle, fit to serve as food for the amoeba, may incite the protrusion of a process in the direction of the particle, and the absorption of the particle into the substance of the process. The new-born child will cry when it is replete with motion, without the stimulus of any irritant ; but it will cry when not replete with motion, if a pin is scratching it. The writer who has been for hours at his desk, will at length stretch and yawn in very weariness, that is, to expend 6 CONDUCT BOOK I motion that has been long accumulating ; but if he hears a crash in the next room, he will get up before he has reached the stretching and yawning stage, and go to see what has happened. The man who has had his game of golf or tennis in the morning, and so expended the motion that demanded expenditure, may be induced, by the persuasion of his friend, to play again in the afternoon, even though no inward craving prompts him to exert himself. Two partial, and, as I think, erroneous, views of action are in vogue. There is a school which traces all conduct back to a root in reflex action, and teaches that conduct of the most elaborate kind is but highly developed reflex action : with this doctrine I pro- foundly disagree. Action, in my opinion, has two roots, of which reflex action is but one, and the less important. The mainspring of conduct is not reflex action, but spontaneous action, — that expenditure of stored motion that is not elicited by the application of stimulus, but is the inevitable result of accumula- tion to a point of tension that breaks down resistance. If electric tension accumulates on the prime conductor of a statical machine, we can at any moment elicit a spark by approaching a conductor to it ; but if we do not approach a conductor, the tension will accumulate till it reaches a degree that overcomes the resistance of the air, and issues in a spark. If the tension of steam continually accumulates in a boiler, we can at any time obtain a jet by turning on a valve ; but if we neglect to do so, the tension will at length find relief by raising the safety valve, or bursting the boiler. Continually accumulating motion must find an exit ; CHAP. I ACTION AS SPONTANEOUS 7 and in the nervous system, motion continually ac- cumulates ; so that, sooner or later, action becomes inevitable, whether stimulus is applied or no. Later on, we shall find a large department of conduct, known as Recreative, that owes its origin to the necessity of expending accumulated motion, and cannot be accounted for by the stimulus of circumstance. The other view of action ascribes its origin to volition ; and finds, in the will of the actor, a complete explanation of conduct. From this view also I dissent. In the first place, as we shall find in a subsequent section, there is a considerable class of acts that are involuntary, and in which will has no share or concern ; in the second, it is out of place in a study of conduct, which we must strive to keep as free as possible from psychological implications, to explain the origin of conduct in psychological terms. Our aim is to find explanations that are not psycho- logical but biological, and in this connexion an ex- planation in psychological terms is irrelevant. From the biological point of view, conduct is the product of two factors — the internal factor and the external factor — and this double origin will present itself again and again during our survey. We act ; and as all acts are movements, or arrests or sup- pressions of movement, in order to act we must be able to move ; that is, that we should have at command a store of motion susceptible of expenditure. And we act, not in vacuo, but in a world of circum- stance ; and, in order that we may so act, it is necessary to take account of circumstance, — it is 8 CONDUCT BOOK I necessary that we should respond to the impress of circumstance. Without a store of motion, there could be no movement, and therefore no action, and no conduct, since conduct is action : without response to the impress of circumstance, there could be no adaptation of action to circumstance, and therefore no conduct, since conduct is the pursuit of ends by modifying circumstances. All action is due to the co-operation of these two factors, and is controlled, guided, varied, and determined, by the combination of the internal factor with the external factor. The initiation of action may be due to the internal factor, to the external factor, or to a combination of the two ; and the continuance or cessation of action is similarly determined. We may go on walking as long as it is pleasurable to do so, and cease when we are tired ; or we may go on until we find ourselves in a cul-de-sac, or fall into a pit, and can go no farther ; or we may go on until we arrive at our destination, and so are arrested by a combination of the internal with the external factor. When a bird starts singing, the initiation of the action is due to the internal factor ; when it flies from the sound of a gun, the initiation of the action is due to the external factor ; when it looks for food, the action is initiated by a combination of both factors. It may leave off singing because it is tired ; or because it is frightened away ; or because it sees a desirable worm within easy distance. Not only may the initiation, continuance, and cessation of action be determined by either the in- ternal or the external factor, or by a combination CHAP I ACTION AS SPONTANEOUS 9 of the two, but the direction also, that action takes, may be determined in either of these ways ; and this leads us to the cardinal distinction between Instinctive and Reasoned action ; but before considering this distinction, account must be taken of quantity of action. II. ACTION AS ABUNDANT OR SCANTY According to the amount of motion that his nervous system contains in store, the action of a person will be abundant, vigorous, and long-sustained, or it will be scanty, languid, and brief Few differences, in the mode of action of different men, are more important than this, or have more effect on his success in attaining his ends. Almost all the men who have left their mark upon the world, and have attained great results in any department of life, have been copiously endowed with the power of maintaining vigorous action, for many hours a day, over long periods. In a few conspicuous cases — in such cases as those of Charles Darwin and Herbert Spencer — the power of long sustained exertion has been impaired by ill-health ; but the defect, in the number of hours of daily labour, has been compensated by the regularity with which the daily task has been done. Though work could be done for but a few hours every day, those hours were never omitted ; and the work was of a character that every hour devoted to it contributed to the same end. In a few cases — in such a case as the poet Gray — a man has made his mark upon the world, 10 CONDUCT BOOK I and stamped his remembrance on the minds of men, in spite of indolence and languor, by the exquisite skill with which he has wrought a single piece of work. But such cases are rare. Other things being equal, he will be most successful who is capable of the most sustained and vigorous action ; and these qualities of action depend on the amount of motion that he has at his disposal to expend, and that his nervous system, therefore, can contain in store. In respect to vigour of action, men differ in the same manner as carnivorous animals, as a whole, diff'er from those that are herbivorous. The former are capable of tremendous efforts, that are spasmodic and short-lived, breaking the continuity of long periods of repose ; the latter are capable of uniform and long-continued exertion of less intensity ; and so it is with men. Some, we find, interrupt a life that is on the whole lethargic, by bursts of strenuous but short-lived energy ; others plod with steady determina- tion. Mankind are apt to view the latter with the greatest approval, and to look somewhat askance upon the former ; and no doubt, for the majority of men, and in the greater number of occupations, the latter mode of action is the most eff'ectual ; but the world would be poorer without its Edward IV. 's, its Chathams, and its Massenas. Great deficiency in intelligence, that is in elaborateness, skill, and originality in conduct, is often, though not always, accompanied by deficiency in vigour and sustention of action. Most idiots and imbeciles are lethargic, and wanting in quantity as CHAP. I ACTION AS SPONTANEOUS 11 well as in quality of action ; but the association is not invariable, and dull men may be very industrious. It is a foible of some brilliant men that high ability may stand instead of steady industry, but the assumption is not very often justified. CHAPTER II HI. ACTION AS INSTINCTIVE OR REASONED The most important distinction between modes of action, and that on which several others hang, is the distinction between Instinctive action and Reasoned action. For this reason, and because it is not generally understood, and, even among those who have examined it critically, there is no consensus upon it, it is advisable to consider it with some care. Reason was considered by the ancients the distinctive possession of man, and all animals below the status of mankind were denied the possession of any share whatever of reason. The division, by Porphyry, of the genus animal, was into rationale and ii^rationale, the former including man alone, and the latter comprehending all the rest of the animal kingdom. An echo of this ancient dictum resounds, from time to time, in the columns of the Spectator, in which instances of reasoned acts, done by cats and dogs, are given, and are adduced as evidence that here and there, in isolated instances, some of the lower animals have evinced a modicum of reason ; but the thesis that will presently be main- tained here, that every animal, in every one of its 12 CHAP. 11 ACTION AS INSTINCTIVE 13 acts, exercises reason to some extent, is one that would startle even the zoophilists of the Spectator ; and to their antagonists would partake of the nature of blasphemy. The curious thing about the discussion as to whether animals can reason, by which is usually meant whether or no a single animal here and there, of the higher grades, has attained the ability of im- porting a modicum of reason into his usually instinc- tive action, proceeded for generations without any attempt to define what was meant by instinctive action, or by reasoned action, or what is the difference between the two. Lately, an important symposium of opinion on the subject has been published, but as it would be too long to reproduce here, and as my own view does not agree with that of any of the contributors to this symposium, I propose to state my own view without reference to those of my predecessors. That pigs do not fly, is a truth with which we are familiar from our earliest years ; and equally true is it that chickens do not swim, nor ducklings scratch ; that men walk on two legs, and horses on four. In other words, the way in which the inherent motion of the organism is expended, is determined largely by external conformation. But it depends not only on external conformation. It depends also on internal organisation. If ducklings do not scratch the ground as chickens do, it is not only because their feet are not adapted to scratching, but also, and mainly, because they are wanting in the nervous organisation that actuates the movement of scratching. If men walk upright upon two legs, while horses walk prone on 14 CONDUCT BOOK I four, it is not only because the whole external organ- isation of men and horses is adapted to their several modes of progression, but also because men possess the nervous arrangements necessary for preserving the balance in the upright position, and moving the legs and body harmoniously together for that end ; while horses possess different nervous arrangements, for moving the four limbs in alternation. What is true of the differences in conduct between one species of animal and another, is true also of the differences between one individual and another. If one man expends his accumulated motion in laborious bodily exercise, while another expends his in internal rearrangement, by working out some abstruse mathe- matical or chemical problem, it is because the nervous organisation of the one is adapted to expend motion in the one direction, and that of the other is adapted to expend it in the other. All that we speak of as * tastes,' ' capabilities,' and so forth, are embodied in the structural organisation of the nervous system ; and, according to these differences of nervous organi- sation, different modes of conduct will be manifested. Nevertheless, in this matter also, circumstances play their part. The external factor as well as the internal factor is potent. A man would rather play cricket than golf ; for the one he has a natural bent and aptitude, the other he cares little about, and plays much less skilfully ; but it requires the common consent of twenty-two people to play cricket, and just now that consent is not to be had ; and he can play golf by himself; so, rather than sit idle at home, he goes off to play golf In such a case, the external CHAP. II ACTION AS INSTINCTIVE 15 factor determines the direction in which motion is expended — the character of the action. No man can become an accomplished musician who has not a natural bent and aptitude for music,— a capacity of feeling certain emotions, and giving expression to them by musical sounds — and in so far, the action of musical performance is determined by the internal factor. But however highly developed his aptitude for music may be, the musician cannot play without his instrument ; and in so far the action is determined by the external factor. However highly a man may be endowed with natural dexterity, and the capability of nice manipulation, he cannot do accurate work without suitable tools. Whatever his skill in the breaking of unmanageable horses, he cannot exercise it in a land in which no horses are. However great an orator he may be, he can neither convince nor persuade those who do not understand the language he speaks. In every case, the external factor, as well as the internal, helps to determine the nature and character of the action. So far, while we have found that conduct is determined by the combination of the internal factor and the external factor — by natural aptitude working in circumstances, — we have not reached the problem of the difference between instinctive conduct and reasoned conduct. It was necessary, however, to insist on the combination of these factors before the problem could be investigated. The web-spinning of the spider, the nest-building of birds, and the comb-building of the bee, are usually considered among the most perfect types and 16 CONDUCT BOOK I examples of iustinct. It is worth while to examine them, to seek the quality that is peculiar, and characteristic of instinctive action ; and I think it will be found in their fixed and invariable character. The web constructed by every individual of a species of geometrical spider, agrees very closely, in its main features, with the web of every other individual of that species. Each web consists of a few main supports, attached at their extremities to surrounding objects, and enclosing a polygonal area ; of spokes radiating at equal angles from the centre of this area, and attached at their peripheral extremities to its sides ; and of two sets of spirals attached to the spokes, an inner set, fine and closely approximated ; and an outer set, thicker and in a wider spiral. The striking feature of the web is its geometrical character. The spokes are set at equal angles ; the spirals are set at equal intervals. In the features enumerated, the webs of all such spiders are alike. They do not vary. We can predict, before the spider has spun an inch of line, that its web will, when finished, have these characters. As far as these characters are concerned, the web is completely determinate in structure. Its construction is deter- mined, as far as these features are concerned, by the organisation of the spider ; and the animal cannot construct a web of any other pattern. Such action is called instinctive. We give the name instinctive to action which is determinate ; which is executed uniformly by every individual of the species ; which is predictable. Instinctive action, therefore, is that which is determined entirely by the internal factor, CHAP. II ACTION AS INSTINCTIV^E 17 — by the organisation of the animal, — not only as to its initiation, progress, and conclusion, but also as to its direction or character. Another mode of action that is, by universal consent, regarded as a charactistic example of in- stinctive action, is the comb-building of the hive-bee. The comb is built of hexagonal cells, with parallel sides, and with pyramidal bases composed of three rhombic plates. The cells are all of the same dimen- sions ; the walls of the same thickness ; the sheets of comb are flat, and hang vertically from the roof of the hive. Every cell in the comb is a perfect geometrical figure, and every cell is similar to every other cell, not only iu that comb, but in the other combs in the hive ; and not only in the other combs in that hive, but in every comb in every hive of the same species of bee. The cells are made uniformly by every individual of the species ; their shape, and size, and material, and disposition, are all deter- minate. They are predictable. They are due to a certain mode of action on the part of the bee, that is predetermined by the organisation of the bee. The nervo-muscular apparatus of the bee is so constructed, and so conditioned, that, when it is actuated, or set in operation, it turns out work of this nature, and this pattern, with mechanical regularity ; and this is the character of instinctive action. A third mode of action that is typically instinctive in character, is the nest-building of birds. Every bird of the same species builds its nest in a position, of a form and mode of construction, of a size, and of materials, similar to the nest of every other individual c 18 CONDUCT BOOK I of the same species. The rook always builds, at the top of a tall tree, a loosely constructed nest of live twigs. The tailor-bird always builds in the hollow made of leaves that it has sewn together. The kingfisher and the sand-martin always build in holes excavated in the ground. The wood-pigeon never builds on a cliff, nor the rock-pigeon in a tree. The magpie and the long-tailed tit build domed nests opening at the side ; the tern and the ostrich scoop holes in the ground. Each bird, in nidification, follows a course of conduct that is fixed, invariable, determinate, predictable ; the same for every in- dividual of the species. Like the spider in spinning its web, and the bee in building its comb, the bird does not need to learn from experience how the instinctive act is to be done. It is done by the operation of internal mechanism, which, when put in operation, can act in only one way ; and the product of the mechanism is as determinate as the product of an automatic lathe, or a loom. It is this fixed, invariable, unmodifiable character, that is the mark and the diff"erentia of instinctive action. But, although the webs of all spiders belonging to the same species are precisely alike in all their main features, save only in size, yet there are, in every web, features which are peculiar to it alone — features in which the web of every individual spider dift'ers from the web of every other ; and in which even the second and third webs, made by the same spider, difter from the first, and from each other ; features which are unpredictable, and are determined, not by the internal organisation of the spider, working in a CHAP. II ACTION AS INSTINCTIVE 19 predetermined manner, but by the external circum- stances, to which the action of the spider is adapted. The objects, to which the main supports of the web are attached, differ in every case. Their distance apart is never the same. Their number varies widely. In consequence of these differences, the size and shape of the polygonal area that bounds the web, are never alike in any two webs — not even in two successive webs built by the same spider in the same place. The construction of the web up to this stage, and in these respects, is adapted to the individual circumstances of the place, and the occasion, in which it is made ; and the adaptation is often ingenious. The thickness of the main supports of the web is made proportional to their length. Their anchorage to the fixed point to which they are attached, may be single or multiple. When the wind is so high as to endanger the structure, a spider has been known to hang a pebble to the lower edge of its web, to afford a yielding support and tightener. Again, the operation by which the spirals are affixed to the spokes is fixed and invariable, and never undergoes alteration ; but the operation by which the main supports of the web are attached, is subject to much variation. The spider may float the web in the air, and allow the wind to carry it across the inter- vening space ; or she may run round with it, giving out thread as she goes, from one point of support to the other ; or she may drop from one point of support, and, suspended at the end of a thread, allow herself to be swung by the wind, until she reaches the other point of support. The method she adopts is 20 CONDUCT BOOK I determined by the circumstances in which she is. In still air she does not depend on the wind to carry her. The precise position of the web, the number of the prime supports, the precise shape of the poly- gonal area that they include, the objects to which they shall be attached, the mode of reaching these objects, the method of anchoring the supports thereto, all these are variable. They are not the same for any two webs. They are specially adapted to the specific circumstances in which the web is built. They are determined by the choice of the spider on the particular occasion : and choice is the distinguish- ing mark of reason. In these respects, therefore, the action of the spider, in spinning its web, is not instinctive. It has none of the marks of instinct. It is reasoned. Thus we find that, if instinctive action is that which is invariable, determinate, pre- dictable, unmodified by external circumstances, the same in every individual of the species, the product of rigid organisation acting under fixed conditions ; and if reasoned action is variable, indeterminate, unpredict- able, the product of choice in adaptation to circum- stances ; then, into an act so thoroughly and typically instinctive as the web-spinning of the spider, an element of reason enters. Part of this instinctive act is reasoned. Although the structure of the comb of the hive- bee is determinate in the respects enumerated, yet it is not completely determinate. In some respects it is variable, and is modified in adaptation to circum- stances. Sometimes, to fill up a corner, or to avoid a projection, the sheet of comb is not flat, but is CHAP. II ACTION AS INSTINCTIVE 21 curved ; and in that case, the cells are not parallel- sided, but frustrums of pyramids, those on the convex side having mouths larger than their bases, and those on the concave side having bases larger than their mouths. When a comb is in danger of dragging away from its supports, or if it has actually fallen, buttresses are built to sustain it, and in these buttresses, the shape of the cells, while generally conforming with the shape of the type, is yet modified, and subordinated to the object to be served. The cells of drone-comb are larger than the cells of ordinary comb, and where the two adjoin, the intermediate cells are modified in shape to suit the circumstance. A bee will sometimes pull down and rebuild a piece of work, it may be more than once, until the work is to her satisfaction ; and one bee will pull down the work of others, and reconstruct it in better form. In all these cases, the instinctive action is modified to suit the exigencies of particular circumstances ; and such modification is guided by choice of one out of several alternatives ; is determined, not by the unalterable action of the internal factor, but by the requirements of the external factor ; and is therefore not instinctive, but reasoned. It is the same, mutatis mutandis, with the nest- building of birds. The rook always builds, of live twigs, a loosely constructed nest at the top of a tall tree. In these respects its action is fixed, deter- mined, predictable, unmodifiable, instinctive. But which particular tree, and which branch of the tree, shall bear the nest, — these are not predetermined. 22 CONDUCT BOOK I These are not the same for every individual of the species. There is an internal compulsion in the rook to build a nest, and to build it of live twigs, at the top of a tall tree ; but there is no internal compulsion in the rook to select one tree rather than another, or one branch rather than another. Were it so, the result would be disastrous. If every rook built on the same branch of the same tree, the branch and the tree would be broken down. Nor is there any internal compulsion in the rook, to select one twig rather than another for his purpose. He settles on any tree that has a likely branch, and proceeds to twist it off ; and in all the details of nidification — in placing the sticks, and interlacing them with one another — he is guided by what has been already done, and by the particular direction and conformation of the branch which is his foundation. In these matters his action is modifiable. It is subject to variation, to choice, to alteration in adaptation to external conditions. Here it is the external factor that determines the mode and direction of his action. It is the same with other birds. While some make their nests, like rooks, on tall trees, other species have other instincts. All the individuals of one species make their nests in dense parts of thick bushes ; all those of another in holes in the ground ; all those of another on inaccessible cliffs ; and so on. But as to the particular bush, and the particular part of the bush ; as to the particular cliff, and the particular part of the clifi', in which the nest shall be made, these are not predetermined. One bush is more suitable from its greater density ; another has a OHAP. II ACTION AS INSTINCTIVE 23 branch more suitably shaped ; which of the two shall be the locality of the nest, is a matter for the decision and deliberate choice of the nesting bird. It is not predetermined. It is uncertain. It varies. It is a matter of choice. So in the matter of materials. The rook builds its nest of live twigs, the thrush of fibrous roots and stems, the chaffinch of moss and lichen ; but what particular twig, or fibre, or bit of moss, shall be used, is not predetermined. It is a matter of selection — of choice, — and choice is reason. Some trees, limes for instance, are preferred by the rook, but he is not restricted to limes ; nor, where there are several limes, is he restricted to any one ; and the choice of suitable twigs on any one tree is almost limitless. Yet on each visit he chooses one. He does not always choose the same. He does not necessarily take the nearest, or the easiest to break. His action varies according to circumstances. It is determined by external conditions. That is to say, while the act of nest-building is determined, in its main features, by internal organisation, and is in this respect instinctive ; it is subject, in its details, to the operation of choice in adaptation to circumstances, and is, in this respect, reasoned. It would be easy to extend indefinitely this brief review of instinctive action, and to show that, how- ever rigidly invariable the main features of the instinctive action may be, there is always a margin that is modified by reason in adaptation to circum- stances. Enough has been said, I think, to show that no act is wholly instinctive. Into every instinctive act there is an intrusion of reasoned 24 CONDUCT BOOK I action. However paramount may be the action of the fixed organisation of the actor, it is never sufficiently complete, at any rate in the higher animals, to cover the whole field, and account for the whole of the action. However dominant the action of the fixed organisation may be, there is always a margin to which it does not extend, in which choice is free : in which action is no longer determinate, but is modifiable in adaptation to circumstances ; and such modifiability is the mark of reasoned action. I do not deny that in animals whose conduct is of primitive simplicity, such conduct may be wholly instinctive. The conduct of a fixed bivalve, for instance, is almost limited to the opening and closing of its shell ; and the latter operation takes place, no doubt, reflexly, in response to stimulus ; but it is not impossible that some choice is exercised by the animal in the time of opening. My position is not in the least invalidated, however, if there are actions wholly determined by the organisation of the actor, and unafiected by any element of choice or reason. All I contend for is that, in the higher animals at any rate, and in elaborate instincts, an element of reason is always present. In them there is no such thing as a wholly instinctive act. Generally, it would be correct to say that, while the end is dictated imperatively by instinct, the means by which the end is attained are, to a varying extent, sought by reason ; and this is as true of the action of mankind, as of that of the animals below mankind. The conduct of men is usually contrasted with CHAP. II ACTION AS INSTINCTIVE 25 the conduct of animals, and looked on as wholly reasoned ; while that of animals is regarded as wholly instinctive. But on examination, we find that, as the conduct of animals is not wholly in- stinctive, but always, at least in its higher mani- festations, contains some element of reason ; so the conduct of man is not wholly reasoned, but contains always some element of instinct. In the lower animals, the internal factor greatly predominates, and little margin is left for the choice of means to attain the end that instinct dictates; in man, the reasoned factor encroaches more and more in dis- covering means to attain his ends ; but the ends, the ultimate ends, are always instinctively determined. In contemplating the conduct of man, we regard mainly the means by which he achieves his ends, and when we take account of purposes, we regard mainly the proximate and intermediate purposes, which, as well as the immediate means, may be dictated by reason ; and thus we are apt to regard the whole conduct of man as reasoned, because we confine our contemplation to that part which is reasoned, and neglect those fundamental and under- lying purposes which are not reasoned, but instinctive. In truth, and in close examination, it is found that instinct is no more excluded from the conduct of man by the prevalence of reason, than reason is excluded from the conduct of animals by the dominance of instinct. The difference is one, not of kind, but of degree. In lower animals, instinct dictates the end, and not only the end, but to a considerable extent the means by which the end is 26 CONDUCT BOOK I achieved ; and leaves but a margin, larger or smaller, to the guidance of reason. In man, instinct dictates the main ends only, and the reasoned margin is so greatly increased that it seems to occupy the whole area ; but it does not. The central area is always occupied by instinct. The black border of a sheet of white paper may be a mere line round the edge ; or it may be a margin so broad that the main area of the paper is black, and only a small patch of white is left in the middle ; but the two very different sheets present merely extreme variations of the same arrangement. The business man, examining the plans of his new premises, adapting them to his new machinery, his increased staff, the order in which the processes of manufacture are to be conducted, the reception of raw material, the packing and delivery of the finished product, and many other considerations, is performing a series of highly reasoned acts. But these highly reasoned acts are but means for the attainment of an end — the end of acquiring income to supply his wants. And action for the supply of his wants — to keep him in house, warmth, clothing, food, comforts, and even luxuries — is not reasoned action. It is instinctive. It is certain and predictable that every normal man will endeavour some action to supply himself with necessaries, — to support himself and his family. He is impelled by instinct to act in some way for the attainment of this end ; but here the impulse of instinct terminates. Instead of finding, as in the case of the bee, an elaborate course of action for the supply of food and shelter, dictated by a CHAP.H ACTION AS INSTINCTIVE 27 rigid instinct, which, willy nilly, he must follow ; instinct dictates merely the end that must be attained, and leaves it entirely to reason to find the means of attaining it. The lover who schemes and plots to find oppor- tunity of meeting his beloved ; who presses into his service the telegraph, the postal service, the railway, visits here and letters there, the exigencies of his business, and the demands of his employer ; is conducting a series of operations of highly reasoned character. All these acts are reasoned acts, the subjects of deliberation and choice, not predetermined, not predictable, subject to modification from hour to hour, and from moment to moment, under the influence of obstructing circumstances. But the main action, to which these are all subsidiary, the end for which they are the means, the primary course of conduct of which they are the details, that is to say, the seeking the association with a person of the opposite sex for the purpose of courtship, — that is not a reasoned act. That is a matter of instinct. It is certain. It is inevitable. It is determinate. Instinct demands that some such object of association shall be sought. Instinct determines, in the main, the choice of the particular individual ; but when instinct has done this much, reason is left to fill in all the details, to find or make opportunities for that association which instinct imperatively demands. The internal factor supplies the main direction of activity, the external factor is left to do the rest. The man of science who conducts some prolonged investigation for the solution of a difificult problem, 28 CONDUCT BOOK I say in physics, or biology, immerses himself in operations of the most highly reasoned character ; but these highly reasoned operations are means, merely, to the attainment of some end that is dictated by an imperious instinct. Is he working for ultimate pecuniary reward ? The dictation of instinct is manifest. Does he work for fame ? The desire for fame is a high development of that desire for the esteem of his fellows, which is the common instinctive possession of all men. Does he work for the pure love of investigation, and to jBnd out the secrets of nature ? Then he is actuated by the same instinct of Curiosity that prompts the girl to dis- articulate her doll ; the boy to rip up the bellows, and pull his watch to pieces ; that draws the deer to the decoy, the magpie to the jewel, the salmon to the torch, the moth to the lamp. In these instances, which might be multiplied indefinitely, the instinctive factor in conduct, while it really dominates the whole, and determines the ultimate end that shall be pursued, yet leaves so completely to the guidance of reason the means by which the end is to be attained, that the reasoned action absorbs the whole of the attention, and the conduct of mankind is commonly supposed to be governed by reason alone. So far does the ultimate instinctive end recede into the background, and so complicated and prolonged becomes the reasoned action by which that end is sought, that in many cases, the ultimate end of conduct disappears altogether from the view of the actor, who pursues some intermediate end, not realising that this intermediate end is but a CHAP. 11 ACTION AS INSTINCTIVE 29 stage towards the attainment of the ultimate aim, to which his instinct impels him. When the business man is making plans, raising capital, and organising his arrangements to extend his business, he looks only to the improvement of the business itself, and the prospective profit that it will bring him. He is not directly concerned, he is scarcely conscious of the fact, that his ultimate motive in all this work is to secure himself against want, in the coming time when he will no longer be able to work ; to educate and clothe his children, and to see them established in the world, and able to provide for themselves. When the lover is arranging to meet his mistress, he thinks only of the pleasure that the meeting will afford him, and would be outraged to be told that his ultimate motive is that she may become the mother of his children. And when the man of science is poring over his problem, the only motive that is present to his mind is the interest of the pursuit, the overcoming of difficulties and the avoidance of fallacies. He does not stop to consider the motive at the back of what he is doing. CHAPTER III INSTINCT AND REASON A. The Fossilisation of Reason into Instinct Dogs that have been under domestication for in- numerable generations, and that, during innumerable generations, have been well and regularly fed, still retain the instinctive habit of burying bones, the remnants of a generous meal, to serve them on a future occasion, which, in their domesticated life, never arises. So obsolete has become the need, that the habit of exhuming the buried bone is almost lost ; but still the practice of burying it is continued. Originally undertaken to serve a further end — to provide a store of nourishment against future want — the practice is now pursued for its own sake, though it no longer serves any end. The burying of bones is become itself an end. Whenever intelligence is employed to attain an end, the end is attained, not immediately, but by successive steps. The dog, in providing against future want, employs but one intermediate operation, — that of burying the bone. But man, in providing against future want, employs many intermediate operations. He works at this and at that ; he makes friends to secure influence ; 20 CHAP. lit INSTINCT AND REASON 31 he intrigues ; he speculates ; he travels ; he conducts his correspondence ; he joins the Freemasons ; he does a thousand things that have no direct result in providing for his future, but which he hopes will serve him indirectly, — doubly, trebly, and re- motely indirectly. In short, he proceeds towards an ultimate instinctive end by successive steps, passing from one intermediate end ,to another, often without recognising that he is proceeding to an ultimate end, but having the proximate end only in view. Thus it happens, in very many cases, that the proximate or intermediate end, undertaken originally only as a means towards some ultimate end, becomes an end in itself. The ultimate end is dropped out of sight, and forgotten ; and the intermediate or proximate end becomes the ultimate goal. Such anticipation of motive, as we may call it, is the burying of bones by the domesticated dog. Once undertaken as a means to a further end, it is now become an ultimate end, beyond which the dog does not go. Many instances of such anticipation of motive occur in the conduct of mankind, and the consequent modification of conduct will often be referred to in subsequent pages. Some of these instances, of what may be termed the fossilisation of reason into instinct, we may observe in actual course of making : others have long become fixed and organised as secondary instincts. A sentinel was found, by a high military authority, pacing up and down before a government building in Berlin. As sentries are not usually posted before such buildings, the high military authority made .<»!»,- a- I \£- fk-AJu."^ f-'^-'L '^'n.^'— w.^v..w ^■■^- v^-— ^ 32 CONDUCT BOOK I inquiry as to the reason of the exception. No reason could be given at first ; but on research being made, it was found that, years before, the railings had been painted, and a sentry had been posted to warn passers-by not to brush against the wet paint. The paint had long been dry ; the railings were now in condition to need painting again ; but still the sentinel was posted daily, and tramped up and down before the building, neither knowing nor caring what he was there for. The ultimate end for which he was posted there, had long dropped out of sight, and had ceased to exist ; buti the posting of a sentry on that spot was become an end in itself, to be attained without reference to any ulterior end. We see the same thing in the carrying out of many laws. A law is instituted to prevent a certain abuse. The abuse ceases, but still the provisions of the law are pedantically administered. They are become ends to be followed for their own sake, regardless of the fact that the circumstances to which they were adapted have ceased to exist, or that the administra- tion of the law may actually produce the very evils it was intended to prevent. The old poor-law, passed to relieve destitution, was continued in operation for many long years after it produced much more destitution than it relieved. Before the days of maps and plans, the boundaries of parishes were kept in mind by an annual per- ambulation by the parish authorities and the children, into whom it was important that the knowledge should be instilled ; and certain impressive ceremonies, such as beating the children, or bumping their elders, CHAP. Ill INSTINCT AND REASON 33 were practised at important spots, in order to impress the sufferers with a more lasting remembrance of the boundary. The construction of accurate maps and plans has long provided better, and more lasting, and more available evidence of the course of the boundaries ; but in the meantime the practice of ' beating: the bounds ' has become an end to be followed for its own sake, regardless of the further end for which it was instituted. Among the subsidiary instincts is that of accumu- lation. Originated in the practice of accumulating, in times of plenty, a store of food that should serve for sustenance in times of scarcity, its obvious advantages soon caused the transfer of the desire and the practice to other things than food ; until, in the course of ages, it culminated in the practice of accumulating money, the symbol and potentiality of acquiring most things that are regarded as desirable. Having started as a means to the further end of security against future want, it is now, by the process of anticipation of motive, become an end in itself; and we have the familiar spectacle of men who have already accumulated money in excess of any possible need, still going on with the accumulation for the mere sake of accumulating. From food and money, the practice has overflowed, by an easy process of transference, to other things, some useful, many useless, and we now see people accumulating book-plates, postage stamps, and all kinds of queer things, merely to satisfy the secondary instinct of accumulation. In the insane, we see a grotesque manifestation of the same instinct in the collection D 34, CONDUCT BOOK I of matcliboxes, pebbles, bits of string, rags, paper, and so forth. In such a case as the foregoing, the manifestation of the subsidiary instinct, the transformation of what was once a means into an end, is clear and obvious ; but there are many other examples of the same process going on around us, whose nature we do not, perhaps, recognise : and many customs, otherwise inexplicable, are due to this anticipation of motive. In an age when the only means of ascertaining the hour with any approach to accuracy, was by consulting the sun-dial on the parish church, it was manifestly desirable that some signal, audible to parishioners scattered over a wide area, should be given, to indicate the time at which the public services of the church would begin. For this purpose, a bell was hung in a lofty tower, from which its reverberations would travel to a greater distance. This custom of ringing the church bell, originated as a means to the further end of signifying to the parishioners the hour of service, is followed at the present day, when every labourer possesses a clock, and every middle-class householder half a dozen ; and when meetings by the score are held in every parish at a pre-arranged hour, which are punctually attended by people who receive no tintinnabular summons. The ringinor of the bell has ceased to be a means to a further end, and is become, by anticipation of motive, an end to be followed for its own sake. The ringing of the bell is at length regarded almost as a portion of the service, the omission of which would be disrespectful to the Almighty. CHAP. 1,1 INSTINCT AND REASON 35 A whimsical instance of the same tendency is seen in the tenacity with which the teaching of Latin is adhered to in our public schools. At one time the common and only medium of communication among educated men of all nations ; the language in which all books were written, all legal documents engrossed, all diplomatic correspondence conducted, all Uni- versity lectures delivered ; its acquisition was, of necessity, the first step in a liberal education. It was taught, not in the least as an end in itself, but as a means to further and more distant ends. With the lapse of time, other and more direct means of attaining these ends came into use, and the value of Latin as a means in education disappeared. But, in the meantime, the teaching of Latin, as a first step in education, had become habitual. From an inter- mediate, it had become an ultimate end. That it had had a purpose was forgotten, and it was, and still is, pursued, as if it were in itself an end worthy of attainment ; and, as this strange position demands justification, all kinds of reasons are alleged by its advocates for its retention in the curriculum, reasons which had nothing to do with its establishment, which are after-thoughts, and are enlisted to account otherwise for what is really an extension of instinct into the domain of reason. For it will have been observed that what is here called the anticipation of motive, or the erection into an ultimate end, of what was at first but a proximate end, and a means to some further end, is a change from a more reasoning to a more instinctive course of conduct. It is an extension of the direction of 36 CONDUCT BOOK I conduct by the internal factor, and a limitation of / its direction by the external factor. The charac- teristic of reasoned action is its indeterminate, varying nature, its modifi ability in adaptation to circumstances ; while the characteristic of instinc- ^ tive action is its unyielding rigidity, its predict- able certainty. It is clear that an act, that is performed in adaptation to circumstances that no longer exist, has ceased to be a reasoned act. Reason would modify the action into adaptation with the altered circumstances. The rigid invariability, which ensures the continuance of an action after the circumstances that it was framed to meet have ceased to exist, is instinctive ; and remains instinctive, whether the act is that of burying bones in anticipa- tion of a need that will never arise ; or that of ringing a bell whose summons is neither needed nor regarded ; or that of teaching a language whose use is ended and well-nigh forgotten. B. The Liquidation of Instinct into Reason So far, we have ascertained that conduct is a mixture, in variable proportions, of instinctive action with reasoned action ; that every course of conduct is demanded by instinct and moulded by reason ; that instinct dictates imperiously the ends, which reason seeks to compass; and that there is a strong tendency for action, that was in the first place reasoned, to lose its reasoned character, and fossilise into instinct. It is manifest that if this tendency were not counterbalanced by an opposing tendency, CHAP. Ill INSTINCT AND REASON 37 the action, both of animals and of men, would become increasingly instinctive, and their conduct would at length crystallise into instinctive action, with a minimum of modifiability by reason. But this is not the case. The conduct of many animals, and of most communities of mankind, is in the opposite direction, and tends, as a whole, and with many an alternation and reflux, to become increasingly reasoned, and decreasingly instinctive, in its methods. There must, therefore, be some tendency opposed to, and somewhat stronger than that we have considered — a tendency to the breaking down of the fixed, determinate, invariable quality of action, that is characteristic of instinct ; a tendency to modify, in accordance with circumstances, the rigidity of in- stinctive action ; a tendency to increase the external factor at the expense of the internal factor, in the determination of the mode of action. Such a tendency is not far to seek. We have seen that in every action, however completely and rigidly instinctive it may appear to be, there is yet some margin that is modifiable by reason under the com- pulsion of altered circumstances. No two spiders' webs are in exactly the same place ; and therefore some intelligent choice of points of support must be made by every spider. No two nests can be in exactly the same place ; and therefore some in- telligent choice of locality must be made by every bird. Not only in the choice of locality for every nest, and every web, does this infusion of reason take place, but every act of every animal must occur under circumstances slightly different from other acts lJd38^: 38 CONDUCT BOOK I of the same animal, and must be modified to some degree, however slight, in accordance with the variation in the circumstances in which it is done. The flies caught in a spider's web, are of diff"erent sizes and different kinds ; they are entangled in different parts of the web, and by diff'erent parts of their bodies and limbs ; and they need to be dealt with in different ways. They are dealt with in different ways. When a spider catches a Tartar, in the shape of a wasp too big for her, she makes haste to cut the web, and allow the wasp to escape. No animal ever twice captures prey, or discovers food, of precisely the same character under precisely the same conditions. Every animal must deal with continually varying circumstances, though the varia- tions are sometimes greater, and sometimes less. Often the variation may be extremely small, so that the modification of action, that the variation renders necessary, is almost neglectable ; but some modification there must be, except in the simplest actions of the simplest animals, leading the simplest lives in the most uniform circumstances. The more closely the present circumstances reproduce those which are customary, and to which action is become adjusted, the less need for the importation of novel action. Customary action, which may or may not be in- stinctive, but which is at any rate customary, will be successful ; and if the customary action is also instinctive, the action will be repeated with a minimum of reasoned modification. When the circumstances are novel, the adjustment of action to them must fail, unless the action undergoes reasoned CHAP. Ill INSTINCT AND REASON 39 modification in adaptation to them ; and whether it will be so modified, depends on two factors — the degree of novelty of the circumstances, and the degree of adaptability, that is of reason, of the actor. When circumstances are different from those that are customary, adaptation must fail unless intelligence is correspondingly developed. Widely diff"erent circum- stances need a high degree of intelligence ; slightly difierent circumstances may be met with but little aid from reason. But whether the difference in circumstances is great or small, adaptation to them will fail, unless reason is correspondingly developed. If a cat, for instance, is let loose upon an island that contains no birds or small mammals, the cat will starve, unless it adapts itself to these new circum- stances by learning to catch fish, or to live on insects, or molluscs, or other food. Since every animal must, of necessity, be constantly importing into its action some minimum of intelligence, to deal with those slight modifications of circumstances that arise from differences of locality, season, weather, and so forth ; it will have little difficulty in adapting its action — it will already be in possession of enough reason to adapt its action — to those modifications of circum- stances that difter but little from the customary. Owing to the constitution of the nervous system, and of mind, each such exertion of intelligence will increase the general ability of the animal to deal with other novelties in circumstances, providing only that the novelty is not too great. Hence, the condition for an increase of intelligence, is a variation in circumstances, greater, but not much greater, than 40 CONDUCT BOOK I customary variation ; or, more accurately, a variation proportional to the degree of intelligence existing. An animal of low intelligence, that is to say, incapable of making wide departures from instinctive action to deal with novel circumstances, is easily caught by a simple trap ; and such animals continue to be caught in traps of the same kind, in spite of any amount of experience in witnessing the capture of their relatives. However simple a mole trap, moles never learn to avoid it. Relatively to their adaptability, the difference of the circumstances from those to which they instinctively adjust themselves, is too great to permit them to bridge the interval by a modification of action. But animals that are ac- customed to originate new adaptations to circum- stances, soon learn to avoid simple traps ; and every increase in the novelty of the trap is met by a new adaptation of action to avoid it. Any new trap will catch a rat or two, but the rats soon learn to adapt themselves to the new circumstances ; and, to catch many rats, the traps must be changed ; or a trap must be devised so different from what is customary to rats, that the interval cannot be bridged by their adaptability. The circumstances of all animals vary more or less ; and consonantly, their action, in dealing with circumstances, is more or less reasoned or intelligent. The liquidation of instinctive action into intelligent action, which we term the increase in the intelligence of the animal, depends on the gradual increase in novelty in their circumstances. If the amount of variation in circumstance remains uniform, the un- CHAP. Ill INSTINCT AND REASON 41 changing variability is inimical to increase of intel- ligence. If the amount of variation in circumstances, to which they must adapt themselves, diminishes, the grade of intelligence will be apt to deteriorate ; as we see in domestic cattle and sheep. The circumstances of cattle and sheep in domestication, present much wider variations than the circumstances of the same animals in a state of nature. They are distributed, by the agency of man, over every variety of climate ; they are fed with the food of the most diverse nature ; they are housed and treated in many different ways ; but to these different conditions they do not need to make adaptations. Everything is done for them. Their circumstances, diverse as they are, are arti- ficially adapted to them ; and they are but passive in the matter — much more passive than in a state of nature ; — and consequently, their intelligence, in spite of varied circumstances, does not increase, but on the contrary, diminishes. If the variation of the circumstances is very great, and sudden, or rapid, out of proportion to the ability of the animal to respond by new adaptation, no adaptation will be made ; and, if the circumstances thus changing are vital, the animal must perish ; as happens when a trap is beyond its comprehension. Such extreme variations seem, in certain cases, to paralyse the energies of the animal completely ; and this paralysis may, in some cases, be its salvation, as in those cases in which attack by a foe of over- whelming strength is followed by a simulated death, which may be preservative. It seems probable that by such paralysis of the energies may be explained 42 CONDUCT BOOK I the dwindling and extinction of certain savage races, when brought into contact with the infinite com- plexity of modern civilisation. Short of this de- structive effect, however, it seems that the wider the variation that is introduced into circumstances, the more favourable are the conditions to increase of intelligence. As every novelty, if it be not too great, introduced into the circumstances of human life, paves the way for further novelties ; so every new adjustment made to circumstances, facilitates the making of still more novel adjustments. The new circumstances demand and elicit new adjustments to meet them ; and the formation of the new adjustments increases the flexi- bility of adaptation, and renders easier the formation of adjustments still more novel. Since there is no human life into which some novel circumstances do not from time to time enter, it is clear that the conditions of an increase of intelligence are present in the lives of all ; and, as long as the nervous system retains plasticity, the intelligence of each individual will tend to advance. Thus, two opposing tendencies exist in action ; and the actual instinctiveness or intelligence of the conduct of any person, or of any community of persons, is the resultant. By anticipation of motive, and the pursuit of means as ends, conduct tends perpetually to become more fixed, unvarying and instinctive ; by response to novelty in circumstances, it tends perpetually to become more flexible, more adaptable to special and new surroundings. In some persons the one mode, and in others the other mode, CHAP. Ill INSTINCT AND REASON 43 preponderates. In the same person, conduct will be, in one department or particular, fossilising into instinct ; in another department or particular, it will exhibit increase of intelligence. Like attraction and radiation in the world of atoms and ions ; like gravita- tion and centrifugal motion in the solar system ; like Ormuzd and Ahriman in Eastern legend, the two opposing forces are omnipresent in human conduct. The distinctive character of instinctive conduct is its fixity and determinateness ; of reasoned conduct its flexibility in adaptation to circumstances ; but these, though the most salient and fundamental, are by no means the only differences between the two modes of action. Other differences of great im- portance are implied and involved in those that have been considered, and these other differences must now be explained. CHAPTER IV IV. ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT OR SELF- RESTRAINED The more purely instinctive an act remains, the more immediately and directly does it serve its purpose ; and the introduction or extension of the reasoned element in the action, necessarily postpones the attainment of the end. When the spider is seek- ing an appropriate position for its web, and determin- ing on the best points of support ; when the bird is seeking an appropriate position for its nest, and weighing the comparative advantages of concealment, security, and ease of construction ; the building of the structure is, in each case, suspended, postponed, and delayed, by as much time as is consumed in the search and the choice. The end in view, however, — the construction of a secure web in a position adapted to the capture of flies ; the construction of a secure nest in a place concealed from enemies, or inaccessible to them, — is so much more successfully attained, as to compensate for the delay in its attainment. When a hive of bees sets about to modify the disposition of its comb, by making passages here, and building buttresses there, the time thus occupied is taken from u CHAP. IV ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 45 that which is devoted to the collection and storage of food, that the young may be reared, and the colony maintained through the winter ; but, while the attain- ment of the end in view — the intermediate end of storing food — is thus suspended, postponed, and delayed, the ultimate ends are more completely attained by the easier access to stores, and by the security of the comb from fracture and waste of its contents. When a colony of beavers excavates a canal for the transport of the logs, on the bark of which they feed, the collection of the logs is suspended, postponed, and delayed ; but the end in view, — the collection of the logs, is greatly facilitated. This power of suspending and postponing the immediate and direct pursuit of an end — this post- ponement of motive, as we may call it — becomes, in the higher manifestations of conduct, one of its most distinctive characters. It is the mark of reasoned action to forego the immediate gratification of a desire, for the sake of obtaining a greater future advantage. This ability to suspend and postpone the direct pursuit of instinctive ends, and to interpose action which delays this gratification, while it secures for the actor greater advantages, lies at the root of all progress, all civilisation, and all morality. It has been said that the man who first contented ^ himself with abusing his adversary, instead of assault- ' ing him, took the first step in civilisation ; and the saying exhibits appreciation of the principle under discussion. If a man gives up years of his life to the acquirement of some difficult trade or profession, it is because the deferred reward that he will thus 46 CONDUCT BOOK I obtain, will be so much greater than that of an occupation that is immediately remunerative. If he invests his gains, he foregoes the instant pleasure of spending, for the future gratification of a fixed in- come. If he insures his life, he foregoes the same pleasure for the advantage of his family, as well as for his own contentment. The substitution of court- ship for rapine ; the postponement of marriage for reasons of prudence ; the continual advance in the average age of marriage ; alike bear witness to the same principle. The first result of the importation of reason into instinctive action is, then, this suspension of the immediate or direct pursuit of the end. It imports a power of suspending, checking, controlling, restrain- ing, or inhibiting instinctive action. This power of inhibition is inseparable from the exercise of reason. It is an integral part of reasoned action ; and the more of reasoning employed, the more and more of inhibition is involved in the action. Reason means, first of all, choice. It implies a selection between alternatives ; and however rapidly the choice may be made, there is always some interval of time occupied in making the selection. The instinctive impulsion to take action directly conducing to the end in view, is overcome by the power of voluntary suspension, until the course that seems most appropriate to secure the end, is decided upon. For the time being, action is arrested ; and this arrest or suspension of action, is one of the most striking characters of reason. This power of sus- pending, or arresting, or inhibiting action, once CHAF. IV ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 47 initiated by the necessity of taking time to allow of the operation of choice, becomes, bit by bit, detachable from the operation of choice ; so that, at length, the power is acquired of arresting or sus- pending action, irrespective of immediate choice. The action is arrested ; and not merely is the attain- ment of the end thereby postponed, but the choice itself may be postponed, and the end itself may be postponed indefinitely, or altogether abandoned. Thus arises the power of self-restraint or self-control, as it is called ; a power which, first exercised in the most pronounced forms of instinctive action, gradually attains a larger and larger sway, until at length it prevails even over those trifling movements of facial expression, which are the inseparable accompaniments of emotion, and are the most difficult acts of all to control. In a previous section it has been shown how motives become anticipated, and that which was once a means to a further end comes to be pursued as an end in itself. This is true in greater or less degree of all means ; and is true of the mode of action that we are now considering. Self-restraint and self-control are cultivated as ends in themselves ; the arrest and suspension of the pursuit of ends is exaggerated into the abandonment of these ends ; and thus arises the practice of asceticism, in all its degrees and in all its forms. Asceticism is primarily the renunciation of pleasure ; that is to say, the renunciation of instinctive gratifications. It is the inhibition or arrest of the action by which pleasure is pursued ; and becomes possible only by the power 48 CONDUCT BOOK I of self-restraint, which enters into action as reason is applied to the modification of instinct. Self-denial and self-restraint, as ends in themselves, are no more desirable than burying bones, or ringing church bells, or learning Latin. They are of value only for the ends that can be achieved by means of them, and as they facilitate the attainment of ends. But, since they are the common condition of the better and more complete attainment of all ends, of every description, their acquirement and cultivation, apart from their application to any particular end, are of great value and importance ; and the practice of self-denial and self-restraint, in and for themselves, and apart from their application to any particular end, is the practice of asceticism. Any quality that is cultivated for itself alone, is liable to be cultivated to excess. As soon as it becomes an end to be pur- sued for its own sake, its utility as a means to further ends is ipso facto forgotten and lost sight of, and it may then be pursued to an extent that actually militates ao^ainst the attainment of these further ends. Self-denial and self-control are valuable only as they enable us to attain, more completely than we could without them, the gratification of instinctive ends. But, in the cultivation of self-denial and self-control, this value is altogether ignored, and they are culti- vated, often, to the extent of delaying or rendering impossible, the very ends that their purpose is to serve. Nay, they are cultivated to the point of renouncing and repudiating these very ends them- selves. Mere rapine, by the cultivation of self- control, becomes mitigated into courtship ; the CHAP. IV ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 49 further cultivation, in excess, of self-control, secures the abolition of courtship, and of the end that courtship is intended to serve ; and results in celibacy. The gluttonous orgy of the savage becomes, by the cultivation of self-control, the decorous and orderly meal of the cultivated man ; but the cultivation, for its own sake, of self-denial, leads to fasting, which may become as great a danger to health as gluttony. The instant indulgence in riotous expenditure, that we call prodigality, is restrained by the cultivation of self-denial, and replaced by thrift. By the further pursuit of self-denial for its own sake, and without regard to the end to be attained by its means, thrift is exaggerated into miserliness. Self-control is the voluntary renunciation of im- mediate gratification, for the sake of greater sub- sequent gratification. Self-denial is the voluntary renunciation of gratification for its own sake, as an end, and without regard to any future gratification to be gained thereby. From the voluntary renuncia- tion of pleasure to the voluntary enduring of pain, is but a short step ; it is, in fact, a matter merely of degree, or even of nomenclature ; and the voluntary enduring of pain, or the self-infliction of pain, is asceticism. At one end of the long chain is the momentary suspension of the pursuit of gratification, in order that choice may be made of the most effectual mode of attaining it ; in the middle is the dour indifference to sensual pleasure of the Puritan ; at the extreme end are the self-tortures and self- mutilations of the Eastern devotee, who suspends himself by a hook passed through the muscles of E nooK I 50 CONDUCT his back, gazes open-eyed at the sun from the rising up of the same until the going down thereof, or takes his repose in a barrel set with spikes. V. ACTION AS IMPULSIVE OR DELIBERATE Action that seeks instant and direct attainment of an end, is impulsive action, and partakes of the nature of instinct, with little or no modification by reason. Action that is delayed, in order that the most advantageous method of attaining the end may be found, or in order that the proximate end itself may be weighed, and adjudged to be expedient or inexpedient, is deliberate action. By common con- sent, impulsive action is regarded as in some respect inferior to deliberate action. It is low^er in grade. It is marked by inferiority. The impulsive act need not, of necessity, be less moral than the deliberate act. The impulse may be to do a generous or a charitable act. But it is, by its very impulsiveness, less of a reasoned act. It is done without a weighing of advantage and disadvantage. It is more or less predetermined in character. When a man is struck by another, his natural impulse is to hit back. That is the instinctive retaliation upon the assault. The intervention of reason would lead to consideration of whether the blow was malicious or playful ; whether it was intended for the person assaulted or for some one else ; of the size and strength of the assailant ; of whether he is backed and reinforced by others — in short, of the odds — and various other considerations. The passage of these thoughts through the mind CHAP. IV ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 51 takes time, and the estimation of them is called deliberation. Hence a deliberate act is one done after the lapse of time, as distinguished from an impulsive act, which is performed instantly. This is not, however, the true differentia between impulse and deliberation. An act determined on to-day, and done to-morrow or next week, may still be impulsive ; an act done on the spur of the moment may still be deliberate. The deferred act is impulsive if it is determined on without deliberation ; without weighing of the advantages and disadvantages ; without contemplation of its remoter results ; and, if so determined on, it remains impulsive, however great the lapse of time between the determination and the execution. On the other hand, deliberation may be extremely rapid. One of the most striking differences in the characters of different persons, is the speed with which their deliberations are con- ducted, and with which they are able to decide on the expediency or inexpediency of a contemplated act. Some are by nature persons of rapid decision, others are by nature slow to decide ; but whether performed rapidly or slowly, deliberation, if it pre- cedes the execution of an act, deprives the act of the character of impulsiveness ; and, if deliberation do not precede the act, then it is impulsive, no matter what length of time has elapsed between the determination and the execution. Excuse is sometimes made for criminal and other wrongful acts, on the ground that they are the result of 'irresistible impulse.' When the word 'impulse' is thus used, it seems to carry a meaning different 52 CONDUCT BOOK I from that defined above, and more consonant with ' involuntary,' as considered below. When an act is spoken of as impulsive, all that is carried by the word impulsive, and all that, in my opinion, ought to be carried by it, is that the act was not preceded by deliberation. Whether the urgency of the craving to execute the act was, or was not, resistible by the actor, is an important consideration ; but it is not properly indicated by calling the act one of resistible or irresistible impulse. All voluntary acts are due to motives of desire or aversion ; and a desire or an aversion may be so urgent as to carry all before it, and to issue in an act, that may or may not be impulsive or deliberate, but that the actor may find it difiicult — perhaps impossible — to inhibit ; but the act so done need not, of necessity, be impulsive. It may be deliberate in a high degree. It may be the result of the most careful and elaborate premedita- tion, and adaptation of means to the end in view. We are here introduced to another meaning of the word deliberation. In its proper sense, as opposed to impulsion, it means the weighing of advantage and disadvantage. But it may be used to mean care in devising. A carefully devised act is said to be a deliberate act, although it may be impulsive in the sense that its advantages and disadvantages have not been duly weighed. The deliberation has been exercised, not upon the end to be attained by the act, but on the means by which the end is to be attained : and thus the act may be impulsive in the one aspect, and deliberate in the other. HAP. IV ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 53 VI. ACTION AS VOLUNTARY OR INVOLUNTARY It seems at first sight rather a misnomer to speak of an act as involuntary. An act of the whole organism, directed to an end, seems to carry with it the implication of being directed by the will ; but in fact, there is a class of acts, properly so-called, in that they are more than movements, being directed to the attainment of ends, that yet are not only executed without the concurrence of the will, but insist on their own execution in spite of the utmost efforts of the will to inhibit and prevent them. Coughing is clearly an act, in the sense that it is a co-ordinated system of movement, directed to the end of clearing away obstruction from the air passages ; yet, though it may be voluntarily performed, and may, when not very urgent, be voluntarily inhibited, it is often completely involuntary. It is often executed without the initiation, without the concurrence, of the will ; and in spite of the most strenuous exertion of the will to prevent it. Sneezing is another such act, even more involuntary than coughing, for coughing can be performed voluntarily, but sneezing cannot. Vomiting is another such act. Parturition is another. Parturition is not ordinarily thought of as an act, so completely involuntary is it in all its stages ; yet, if coughing and sneezing are acts, which I think every one would admit, parturition also must be considered an act. It is a co-ordinated act of many movements, directed towards the attainment of an end ; and, although it is very largely involuntary, yet, like 54 CONDUCT BOOK I cougliiDg and sneezing, it can be reinforced by voluntary effort. Urination and defsecation must be regarded as semi- voluntary acts. They are not wholly under the control of the will. They cannot be performed at any moment by purely voluntary effort ; but they can be inhibited. Their performance can be pre- vented by voluntary effort, and, when they are performed, their performance is brought about by the removal of inhibition. Normally, this inhibition is maintained, not only involuntarily, but uncon- sciously ; but there are many morbid conditions in which the inhibition fails, and the urine and faeces are discharged, apparently without any voluntary removal of inhibition, but by the mere failure of the inhibition to maintain itself. Such discharges are involuntary acts. All the acts hitherto instanced as involuntary, are intermediate between conduct and physiological pro- cesses ; but there are acts that belong strictly to the domain of conduct, and yet are partly or wholly in- voluntary. When the body is falling forwards, the arms are thrust forwards ; and this act is not only involuntary, but cannot be prevented by the strongest exertion of the will. The fall may be into water, or into a feather bed, so that, even if not shielded by the projection of the arms, no injury would result ; but for all that, we cannot help projecting the arms. When the body is falling backwards, the arms are thrown up ; and similarly, the action is not only in- voluntary, but cannot be voluntarily inhibited. A sudden loud noise is apt to produce a start of the CHAI'. IV ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 55 whole body, which is similarly involuntary ; a sudden and unexpected prick or burn of a limb, produces an involuntary snatch of the limb ; and other instances will occur to the reader. There is, however, another very large class of acts that are involuntary in a different sense. VII. ACTION AS NOVEL, HABITUAL, OR AUTOMATIC An act is novel when it is done for the first time by the actor ; and the degree of novelty is marked by the extent to which it diff"ers from the previous acts of that actor. Thus, in speaking of an act as novel, we are not now considering its novelty with respect to acts at large, or acts done by members of the human race, but solely with respect to the acts of the particular actor contemplated. So regarded, an act that is widely different from all previous acts, may be spontaneous or elicited ; it may be instinctive or reasoned ; it may be impulsive or deliberate ; crude or elaborate ; work or play. Whatever its other characters may be, a novel act is, cceteris paribus, less nicely adapted to the end in view, than an act that is not novel. A novel act is, according to its degree of novelty, as above defined, inferior in applic- ability to its purpose, to an act that is not novel. It is also less economical of eff"ort. It needs more exertion, both mental and bodily, in proportion to the result, than an established act. It is, as a rule, slower, less facile, and less successful. The first efforts of the chick, or the newborn colt or calf, to stand or walk, are made with manifest effort. They 56 CONDUCT BOOK I are uncertain, they include sprawlings, and un- necessary movements. They are not very successful. The animal is apt to sway about and fall. Nor is it only the first essays at instinctive movement that are thus characterised. The same peculiarities are observed in reasoned acts. The child learning to write, performs the action slowly and laboriously, with much exertion, with unnecessary movements of its mouth and tongue ; and when all is done, the writing is not as good as that of the practised pen- man. So the novice at skating sprawls and falls about. He uses his arms as much as his less ; he goes through far more exertion than the practised skater, and the result is much less successful. He does not cover anything like the same ground in the same time ; nor can he execute the intricate fiofures achievable by the other. So with him who is learning the bicycle, the typewriter, the musical instrument, or any other exercise needing com- plicated action. The first efforts are awkw^ard ; they include many unnecessary movements ; they include many wrong movements ; they are slow ; they are attended by much voluntary effort ; and the result is inferior in accuracy to that achieved by the expert. As the action is repeated, it loses these characters with the frequency of repetition. The more often it is repeated, the more facile it becomes ; the less of extraneous and unnecessary movement enters into it ; the more rapidly and accurately it is performed ; the fewer the failures ; and the better the result. When an act has been repeated sufficiently often, it merges from the habitual into the automatic, and the dis- CHAP, iv ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 57 tinction is marked, not so much by the greater facility and accuracy of the automatic movement, as by the degree to which it becomes independent of the exertion of the will for its continuance. As a rule, it needs an exertion of will for its initiation, but once started, the movements continue mechanically, and any intrusion of volition into their performance rather hinders and impairs, than increases their efficacy. When we start for a walk, we do so by an exertion of will ; but once the action is initiated, we do not attend to the movements of our legs ; and any attempt to regulate the length of the stride, or the position of the feet, by an exertion of the will, is an embarrassment, and a hindrance to the facile per- formance of the act. It is the same in any action that is become automatic by long continuance. Whether it is playing a musical instrument, or bicy- cling, or typewriting, or skating, or any other com- plicated movement that has once been so thoroughly acquired as to be automatic, volition is needed for its initiation only ; and when once it is started, any further intervention of the will impairs the speed and accuracy of the performance. In this respect, an automatic act is involuntary ; that is to say, the several movements of which it is composed are involuntary, in the sense of not being actuated by separate exertions of the will ; though the whole action is voluntary, in the respect that it is initiated, continued, and terminated, by voluntary exertion. Nevertheless, if the attention is distracted, and the will falls into abeyance, the movement may continue without any very active exertion of will, perhaps 58 CONDUCT BOOK I without any at all. The mechauism, once set in action, continues to act, as a clock continues to go, without any further interference from outside. To alter or to arrest it, requires exertion of will ; but to continue it, needs little or none. Hence, such actions may proceed in the abeyance or absence of conscious- ness. In the unconscious state of post -epileptic automatism, elaborate acts of the automatic class are done, without, as far as can be ascertained, any con- sciousness at all on the part of the actor. The similarity between automatic action and instinctive action will not have escaped the notice of the reader. Action that is thoroughly automatic, is determinate. When a person has learnt a verse of poetry so thoroughly that its utterance is become automatic, its utterance is determinate, and, once begun, will not vary from time to time, but will always be repeated in the same words. The operations of undressing and of dressing, when they are become automatic, are undertaken in the same order, and performed in the same way. The man who is accustomed daily to compare his watch with a standard clock, as he goes to his work, will do so at last automatically, when he comes to the accustomed spot ; and will perhaps not know, the moment after, that he has done so. We can predict that at that spot he will take his watch out and look at it. Indeed, some acts, such as walking, may be regarded, from one point of view, as automatic, from another, as instinctive ; the fact being that the facile per- formance of an act is conditioned by the existence of a nervous mechanism, whose activity actuates the CHAP. IV ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 59 movements that compose the act ; and the difference between instinctive action and automatic action is that, in the former, the mechanism is inherited ready formed, as the structure of the arm and the eye are inherited ready formed ; while the mechanism of the automatic act must be laboriously constructed by the exertions of the individual, just as the lever and the lens must be constructed before they can be used. For this reason, automatic action is never as com- pletely mechanised as instinctive action. It remains to the end more modifiable, less certainly predictable, less rigid, especially in detail. Yet that it does, in cases, attain a high degree of mechanisation, is seen in the extreme difficulty that is found in breaking a person off a bad style of doing a thing. One who has once thoroughly acquired an erroneous style of per- formance, can scarcely ever be diseducated, and re-educated into a good style. The provincial accent learnt in childhood, clings to the man to extreme old age, in spite of his efforts to correct it. The origin of automatic mechanisms has been described. They are created by use. They are an instance of the truth that function creates structure. They are laboriously built up by prolonged practice, in conformity with the laws of action of the nervous system. It is clear that, if such mechanisms were heritable, that which was automatic in the parent \ would be instinctive in the child. It is certain, \ however, that a fully organised mechanism, acquired \ by prolonged practice in the parent, is not trans- I mitted as a fully formed mechanism to the child. 1 The English-speaking parent does not transmit to I 60 CONDUCT BOOK I the child the faculty of English speech. He does, however, transmit to his child a capacity of learning to speak, either in English or in any other language. The spider, however, transmits to its offspring more than the capacity of learning how to make a web. She transmits the capacity to make a perfect web. The bee transmits, not merely the capacity of learning how to gather pollen and honey, and of learning how to construct comb ; but the capacity to gather pollen and honey, and to construct comb. Whether the difference, of transmitting the capacity of doing a thing, and the transmitting the capacity of learning how to do it, is merely a difference in the number of generations through which the capacity has been transmitted, is a controverted question. Those who deny the inheritance of ' acquired ' qualities, regard the two capacities as radically different, and maintain that the transmission of the one can never merge into the transmission of the other. On the other hand, the similarity in nature, and in fundamental characters, between the instinctive mechanism and the automatic mechanism, is very great ; and to require that one shall be formed by one process, and the other by another and totally different process, seems to be a violation of Occam's ' razor ' — entia non sunt multiplicanda p^^aeter necessitatem. More- over, it is extremely significant that certain instinctive acts are improvable by education, and thus occupy an intermediate position between the purely instinctive act and the purely automatic act. Walking is, in the caterpillar, a purely instinctive mode of action. It is perfectly performed, the moment the animal CHAP. IV ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 61 emerges from the egg. Walking and running are, in the fowl and foal, instinctive acts. I suppose no one would contest that the mechanisms which actuate these acts, are almost fully formed at birth in these animals, and need but a few tentative efforts to act efficiently. Walking and running are, in the human being, automatic acts. All that the individual re- ceives from inheritance, with respect to these acts, is the capacity of learning them, and learnt they are, by a long and laborious process. But, although the fowl and the foal can walk and run very soon after birth, and with very little practice, they cannot walk or run immediately after birth, or without any practice at all. They, too, must have some education in walking and running, before they are proficient ; not much education is required, it is true, but some is required. The human child requires more education — much more — but the difference, in this respect, between the human child on the one hand, and the colt and fowl on the other, is a difference of more and less, not a difference in kind ; and it is difficult to believe — it is contrary to the razor of Occam to believe — that a difference in degree in the result, is due to a difference in kind of the cause. Moreover, we must remember, and the fact is very material to the issue, that the capacity of walking erect on two legs by man is, as a racial acquirement, a thing of yesterday in comparison with the capacity of walking on four by horses, or on two by fowls. The fowl and the foal need a little education in the accomplishments of walking and running, but they do not need much ; and, once acquired, the 62 CONDUCT BOOK I accomplishment is not perfected by practice. In this respect the instinctive act difters from the automatic act. But the acts of nest-making, and of singing, in birds, which are types and examples of instinctive action, are, especially the latter, eminently improvable by practice and imitation. It is well known that a bird's second nest is superior to its first. It is well known that birds are taught by their parents to peck and to tly. It is well known that a bird brought up under a good singer will, cceteris paribus, sing better than one that has had no such example before it. In these cases, then, the distinction between the in- heritance of a capacity to act, and the inheritance of a capacity to learn how to act, breaks down. It appears that it is a matter of degree. It appears that an animal may inherit the capacity to perform perfectly a certain act, as the spider inherits the capacity to make a web. Or it may inherit the capacity to do the act after a very few efforts of learning,' as the fowl inherits the capacity to walk. Or it may inherit the capacity to act, but this capacity needs education by a period of learning, or of teaching, or of both. Or it may inherit the capacity to act imperfectly, and this capacity may, by practice and imitation, be developed into one of acting perfectly. This kind of inheritance — of inheritance of such a pure instinct as pecking, or flying, or singing, in a bird — is exactly on all fours with the inheritance, by the child, of the capacity of learning to walk. In its case also, the capacity to learn is inherited, and is perfected by practice and imitation. There is, in short, every shade of CHAP. .V ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 63 gradation between the inheritance of capacity to learn to do an act, and inheritance of capacity to do the act without learning ; and if the mode of origin of the actuating mechanism is difterent in the two cases, the onus of proving it to be different lies clearly on those who make the assertion. The proof that is commonly adduced is that they do not under- stand how it is that a mechanism can be inherited. If this is enough to disprove the inheritance of acquired mechanisms, it is enough to disprove the existence of gravitation, for we do not understand how it is that gravitation acts. CHAPTER V VIII. ACTION AS ORIGINAL AND IMITATIVE The difference between original action and novel action is clear. A novel act is one tliat has never been done before by the actor, but he may be familiar with it, in the sense of having often witnessed its performance by others. An original act is one that he has neither himself performed, nor witnessed, nor heard of. It is one that he has thought out for himself — that he has originated. It need not be original in the sense that it has never been done before. It may be habitual, or even automatic, with other people ; but as far as his own knowledge is concerned, it is one that, previously to the doing, was unknown to him. The antithesis of an original act is not an automatic act, but one that is imitated. There are, in fact, two origins for novel acts. An act done now for the first time, by any person, may be an act of which he has witnessed the performance, or of which he has heard or read a description, in which case it is imitated ; or it may be an act that he has neither witnessed, nor had described to him, but which is due entirely to his own initiative. Degree of originality in action is measured by the 64 CHAP. V ACTION AS ORIGINAL 65 extent to which the novel and unimitated action differs from the previous action of the same actor ; and it is important to notice that no action that is not purely imitative, is destitute of all originality. Even action so highly automatic as walking, contains some original features ; for in every walk, inclines, irregularities, and variations of the surface of the ground are met with, that are not precisely like any that have been previously encountered ; and have to be dealt with, by adjustments of the limbs and body, that are slightly different from all that have preceded. Obstacles of slightly different kind and magnitude, and in slightly different relative positions, must be avoided by movements, the exact counterpart of which have not previously been executed, — movements that contain, therefore, some small element of originality. When, therefore, we speak of a man as possessing no spark of originality, we are using the language of hyperbole. Such a man would be at the mercy of the first combination of circumstances that he met with ; for no such com- bination ever repeats with exactness, any previous combination ; and therefore, without some originality, his adjustment to such a combination must fail. Original action is directly antithetic to imitative action. It is antithetic also to instinctive action. An instinctive act may be novel, in the sense of being done by the actor for the first time in his life ; but it cannot be original, in the sense that he has thought it out for himself An act, if it is instinctive, and as far as it is instinctive, is not thought out. It is not a product of choice or deliberation, as has already 66 CONDUCT BOOK I been demonstrated. It is determined by the fixed constitution of the nervous system, and is, strictly speaking, mechanical, in that it is actuated by a determinate mechanism. An original act is not determinate ; it is a reasoned way of meeting special circumstances by special action, invented and devised ad hoc by the actor. Imitative action partakes of the nature of in- stinctive action. It is very often instinctive, in the sense that one of the more primitive instincts is that of imitation. The acquisition of language by young children is purely imitative : the construction of a new word to express a new meaning is purely original. The instinct of imitation is very widespread, very strong, and very important. Many of the elaborate instincts of animals, while they are inherited in a high degree of completion, are yet perfected, and receive their final touches, from imitation. By imitation, some birds learn to fly, and to peck, and most birds attain to greater perfection in nest- building. By imitation, many birds learn to talk. By imitation, all young children learn the same accomplishment. By imitation, the pointer and the setter perfect their special qualities ; and by the same faculty, the artisan learns his trade, and the child at school to write. Nor is imitation confined to such simple acts as these. Originality in one, has always its complement in imitation in others. The oridnal artist founds a school of imitators ; the original writer, whether his originality is in the subject that he chooses, or the manner in which he treats it, soon has his imitators. A new ACTION AS ORIGINAL 67 fashion in dress, in games, in table decoration, in the binding of books, in riding a horse, or setting out a garden, is imitated as soon as it is known. The imitative instinct is the mainstay of convention : originality is the main factor in revolt against con- vention. In the history of every art, it is customary to point out how each artist is * influenced ' by his predecessors ; which is a way of saying that he has imitated them in one respect or another. In such cases, the imitation is scarcely, or is but little, instinctive. It is more usually the result of delibera- tion and choice. Although, therefore, there is an instinctive imitation, yet imitation is not necessarily instinctive. There are times and occasions when it is highly reasoned, as when Pickard imitated the crank invented by Watt, and as in parody and in the whole range of intentional mimicry. The faculty of imitation is often defective, and is sometimes in excess. There are many occasions on which imitation cannot be achieved, either at all, or without much labour, and many unsuccessful attempts ; as every teacher of handicraft and bodily exercises knows. The power of accurate imitation diminishes with advancing years ; and hence people w^ho learn a language in mature life, rarely or never attain a perfect pronunciation. It differs much in different people, and, while a strong tendency to instinctive imitation is a sign of a mind of low calibre, some forms of imitation, as for instance the subtle imitation in high-class parody, of the spirit as well as of the form of the original, demands faculties of a high order. Mere instinctive imitation 68 CONDUCT BOOK I is seen at its height in monkeys, and in microcephalic idiots ; whose instant imitation of attitude and gesture displayed before them, is a very curious and striking manifestation, and may be regarded as excess of this mode of action. Reasoned, or quasi- reasoned, imitation may also be excessive, and must be so regarded in those persons who are slaves to fashion in any of its very various manifestations. IX. ACTION AS CRUDE OR ELABORATE This is a manifest distinction, which cuts across many of the others, and does not need much elucida- tion. A crude act is a simple act, composed of few movements, and adapted to serve directly a simple purpose. An elaborate act, or course of conduct, is one that is composed of many unlike parts, and is directed to serve its purpose through a series of acts, many of which serve ends that are proximate and intermediate to the main purpose of the action. Among spontaneous acts, yawning is crude, dancing a minuet is elaborate. Among elicited acts, a blow in response to a blow is crude, a lawsuit in response to aggression is elaborate. Among instinctive acts, the nesting of the gull or the auk, in a slight hollow on the bare ground, is crude ; the nesting of the magpie or the weaver-bird, in a com- plicated structure, is elaborate. The web of the house-spider is crude, that of the geometrical spider is elaborate. The comb of the bumble-bee is crude, that of the hive-bee is elaborate. Among reasoned acts, a shout to attract attention is crude ; a speech OHAP. V ACTION AS ORIGINAL 69 to conviuce aii audience is elaborate. Among im- pulsive acts, a hand-clasp on meeting a friend is crude; a hasty marriage is elaborate. Among deliberate acts, the pulling of a trigger, after long aiming, is crude ; the learning of a profession is elaborate. Among voluntary acts, opening a letter is crude ; writing a letter is elaborate. Among involuntary acts, starting at a loud noise is crude, while the continuing act of playing the piano, or typewriting, is elaborate. The last example, however, is scarcely accurate. Each individual movement entering into the composition of the act is, indeed, made independent of a separate volition, but the whole act thus pro- duced by the combination of notes, is voluntary. There is, perhaps, in the range of the normal, no very elaborate act that is wholly involuntary ; though disease offers us many examples of highly elaborate acts that are involuntary. Some epileptic fits have a low degree of elaboration ; the movements of chorea are highly elaborate ; and in post-epileptic automatism, it is frequent to meet with acts so elaborate as undressing, taking out the watch and winding it, and acts more elaborate still. Since all acts are novel when they are done for the first time by the actor, novel acts may be crude or elaborate ; and since all acts become habitual, and at length automatic, if repeated sufficiently often ; habitual and automatic acts may be either crude or elaborate. It is important to make the distinction into crude and elaborate acts, apart from that into instinctive and reasoned ; for the distinctions are often confused. It is often understood, or assumed, that elaborateness 70 CONDUCT BOOK I of action is a measure of intelligence ; and this is quite true in one meaning of intelligence ; but then, intelligent action must not be confused with reasoned action, as understood and defined in this book. By a reasoned act, is here meant an act that is specially adapted to special circumstances ; an act that is not performed in a fixed unvarying way, but is flexible and modifiable to suit the exigencies of circumstances, and especially of new circumstances. Action that is not reasoned, in the sense here used, may yet be extremely elaborate. The action of a magpie in building its nest ; the collective action of bees in building their comb ; and of beavers in excavating their canals, building their dams and their lodges, are extremely elaborate ; and, as far as elaborate, are intelligent, if elaboration is a sign of intelligence ; but none of these actions need be reasoned. As a whole, they are not reasoned. They are the fixed and predictable results of organised nervous mechanisms ; and the animals, so long as they are not mechanically prevented, could not act otherwise than in the way they do. In the course of executing these instinctive acts, unwonted circum- stances may arise, and may be dealt with in new ways specially adapted to the circumstances ; and such action would be reasoned in the sense here used ; but if no such circumstances are met with, or if, being met with, they arouse no corresponding modification of action, but are dealt with as the stereotyped plan, then, however elaborate that plan may be, the action is not reasoned action in the sense in which reasoned action is here defined. The want ACTION AS ORIGINAL 71 of appreciation of the distinction that is here drawn, between intelligent action, in the sense of elaborate action, and reasoned action, in the sense of action specially adapted to special circumstances, is re- sponsible for a good deal of the confusion about instinct and reason that has prevailed, and that still prevails. X. ACTION AS PLAY OR WORK Like several of the other distinctions that we have made among modes of action, the distinction between play and work is one that is generally allowed, and, in a sense, generally recognised ; yet I know of no definite distinction having been drawn between them, and I think it would puzzle most of those, who i recognise that there is a distinction between them, ' to say what the distinction is. I suppose a very common notion would be that that occupation by which the living is earned, is work, while occupation which is unremunerated, is play. I do not think this distinction could stand criticism. What is to be said of one person taking gratuitously the work of another, as an act of charity, and without remuneration ? What is to be said of the very abundant and arduous occupation, that is undertaken by the great multitude of men and women who serve gratuitously on public bodies, and as honorary secretaries to societies and committees of all kinds ? No doubt many of those occupations are pursued for the benefit that they may ultimately and indirectly bring to the earning of the living ; but very many are pursued with no such object, and yet the work done is, I think. 72 CONDUCT BOOK I properly called work. Moreover, much occupation that is remunerated, partakes of the nature of play. Although it is remunerated, it is of the character of play. Some men take their holiday camping out in a tent with a friend or two ; others take their holiday camping out as territorials, and enjoy themselves quite as much as if they were bent on pleasure alone, and none the less because their services are remuner- ated. The man who goes into wild countries for sport, enjoys his sport none the less because he collects specimens by which he hopes to defray his expenses. Nor is the employment of the gambler at Monte Carlo, or elsewhere, any the less play when he wins than when he loses. Others suggest that work is that which is useful, and play is doing that which is not useful. If this is to be the test, then the toil of prisoners under the old regime, at the crank and the treadmill, was play ; and then the huntsman who follows the fox across country is working, if the exercise serves to ward off his gout. No. These tests will not serve. The true distinction between work and play lies, in my opinion, in whether the occupation is or is not congenial and pleasant. Work is doing what you don't like. Play is doing what is pleasant to do, and what we would rather do than not. Those men who earn their living by an occupation that is congenial to them, pass their lives in play, as long as the occupation is not pursued after it has ceased to be congenial and grateful. If, indeed, an occupa- tion, that is ordinarily congenial and delightful, is pursued after the point of fatigue is reached, so that it ceases to be congenial, and becomes irksome, then ACTION AS ORIGINAL 73 it is no longer play, but work, and this is true, whether it is remunerated or not : whether it is useful or not. And if, in an occupation that is generally distasteful, patches occur now and then, that are pleasant and congenial, then the doing of such portions of the daily task is not work, but play. XI. ACTION AS SKILFUL OR UNSKILFUL The distinction between skilful and unskilful action is important in practice, but it is so well recognised and understood that it needs but little demonstration. Still, more than one quality in action is often included when we speak of it as skilful. Strictly speaking, skilful action is that which attains the end in view, most completely, and with the least expenditure of effort. Since many ends can be attained only, or best, by elaborate or accurate action, and cannot be attained, or can be only incompletely and imperfectly attained, by crude action, it happens that the term skilful is erroneously applied to elaborate or very accurate action, while acts that are crude, or that need but little accuracy, are considered unskilful. Hence the distinction with skilled and unskilled workers. So long as skilled is not regarded as synonymous with skilful, and unskilled with unskilful, no harm is done ; but the terms are often confused. In one sense — the correct sense — a navvy in excavat- ing a hole in the ground, may exhibit a high degree of skill, in that he achieves his end completely, with a minimum expenditure of effort. In another sense — in confusion with skilled — his action, in comparison BOOK I 74 CONDUCT with that of a watchmaker, is unskilled, in that it is crude, and does not need great accuracy. Where the one employs but few and simple movements, the movements of the other are numerous and complicated. Where the one works to an inch or two, the other works to a thousandth of an inch. Both may be equally skilful, but both are not equally skilled. By the nature of things, there can be no excess of skill, but defect of skill is a frequent enough defect, and one of which every one has experience, both in his own acts and in those of others. BOOK II CONDUCT CHAPTER VI PURPOSES OR ENDS The purposes or ends that conduct seeks to attain are numerous, and need classification before they can be systematically studied. Purposes may be divided into ultimate, proximate, and intermediate. My proximate purpose in writing a letter is to make an appointment. My intermediate purpose is to obtain support for my application for a lucrative post. My ultimate purpose is to secure my livelihood. Ultimate purposes are, in all cases, dictated by instincts ; and here we meet with a new meaning of the word instinct. We have already spoken of instinctive action, and have found it to be marked by its determinate character. It is fixed ; invariable ; pre- dictable ; the same for every individual of the same species. We have found, moreover, that it is subject to the invasion of reasoned action ; and that, while instinctive action pursues, with unvarying constancy, a certain end, reason modifies the means employed, so that the end may be the more effectually attained. We are now to notice that if an end is sought, it is sought under the dictation of desire ; and, while the desires for proximate and intermediate ends may, in 77 78 CONDUCT BOOK II many cases, be termed reasoned desires, in that they, like reasoned acts, are modifiable under the stress of circumstances ; ultimate ends are instinctive, in the same sense that modes of action are instinctive ; that is to say, they are determinate, fixed, predictable, the same for every individual of the species. The term instinct is sometimes applied to the mode of action, sometimes to the desire that prompts the mode of action. The former I term instinctive action ; and the latter is instinctive desire ; but for the sake of brevity, I speak hereafter of instinctive desire as instinct, and no confusion need arise if this meaning is kept in view. Instincts, thus understood, are inherited desires. They are desires that are as much and as integral a part of the inheritance of each individual, as any portion of the bodily organisation. Instinctive action is action the result of an inherited nervous mechanism. What the structural embodiment, or basis, or sub- stratum, of a desire may be, we do not know ; but that, whatever it is, it is as much, and as purely and truly, inherited, as the mechanism that actuates in- stinctive action — of that we may be sure. Instinct dictates with imperious urgency the ends that we must pursue ; reason finds the means to attain those ends. A classification of ultimate purposes is, there- fore, a classification of instinctive desires. We have seen that action that is become automatic, approximates in character to instinctive action, and becomes a sort of secondary or acquired instinctive action ; and correspondingly, in the department of desire, there are secondary or acquired desires, that CUAP. VI PURPOSES OR ENDS 79 approximate in character to instincts. The course of conduct by which the ultimate purposes of life are satisfied, becomes, in man, extremely complicated and prolonged ; each ultimate purpose being pursued through a long chain of intermediary purposes. In order to fit his children to earn their own living, and to support families of their own, a man sends them to school and to college, sends them abroad, each of these acts being achieved by a chain of subsidiary acts ; invites their friends to stay with him ; extends his influence in various directions, by various means ; enters them into a profession ; and assists them in innumerable ways. Each of these subsidiary, proxi- mate, or intermediate ends is prompted immediately by its particular desire, ultimately by the ultimate or instinctive desire. The proximate desire is not instinctive. It may, perhaps, be called reasoned. There is no instinctive desire to send a child to school, any more than there is an instinctive desire to send him to Harrow or Winchester ; but some of the subsidiary purposes, serving as steps to the achievement of the ultimate or instinctive purposes, are so invariable, so fixed in the race, so common to all individuals of the species, so determinate, that they may properly be called instinctive. For instance, one of the primary ends pursued by all animals is that of self-conservation ; and in the circumstances in which man lives, and has lived for innumerable generations, one of the principal means of self-con- servation is the accumulation, in times of plenty, of material for food and other wants, that may serve him in times of scarcity. This intermediary end is 80 CONDUCT BOOK II now become instinctive. The desire of accumulation is an inherited desire, and is experienced and dis- played by all men in all circumstances. One of the main purposes of all animals — of all organic beings — is racial continuance ; and as a means to racial con- tinuance, combat among males, for the possession of females, has been found effectual, and practised, among certain species, for innumerable generations. In these species has been developed, therefore, the intermediary instinct of combat — the desire for combat, or fighting instinct ; which, primarily mani- fested for the possession of females ; then found effectual for the protection of the family ; and at length important for the preservation of the com- munity ; has overflowed, as it were, into other departments of action, and become, in many persons, by the process of anticipation of motive already considered, an end to be pursued for its own sake — for the mere gratification of its pursuit. Thus, in addition to the few great primitive instincts by which all conduct is ultimately prompted, there are many intermediary ends which are become instinctive; and many others which are in course of fixation into instinctive ends. Hence it appears, that a classification of instincts might be made on the basis of their order, as primary, secondary, tertiary, and so forth ; and if this were done, it would probably be found that all instincts, of every kind and description, are subsidiary to the primitive and fundamental instinct of race- continuance. The main conclusion reached by the monumental discoveries of Darwin in the last CHAP. VI PURPOSES OR ENDS 81 century, is that all life is teleological — is directed to a purpose — and that the ultimate end, to which all the action, and all the functions, of living organisms are directed, is the continuation of the race to which the organism belongs. In the great scheme of nature, the interest and welfare of the individual are ignored, except in as far as they subserve the interest and welfare of the race. To the life of every individual, there is a fixed, a natural, an inevitable termination. The life of the race has no such bound : its prolongation is indefinite. If the individual survives to the age of reproduction, and performs that function, the purpose of nature, as far as that individual is concerned, is served ; and the individual may perish without detriment to that purpose ; and sooner or later, he does perish. Hence, all the activities we are now to consider — all the instinctive and other purposes that are pursued by man- — are calculated to serve, directly or indirectly, the primitive, fundamental purposes of race con- tinuation and race preservation. If the race is to be continued, it is first of all necessary that its component individuals shall survive to the reproductive age, and as long thereafter as is necessary for the nourishment and cherishing of the offspring, and the establishment of them in such wise, that they, in their turn, may serve the purpose of race-preservation and race-continuance. Owing to the high degree of elaboration that the activities, and therefore the structure and nervous organisation, of man have attained, his full development is a slow process, and takes many years to complete. It is G 82 CONDUCT BOOK II long before lie is able to fend for himself completely ; and during these long years, he would inevitably perish, if he were not protected by that parental care, which vicariously takes the place of self-pro- tection. As he grows older, his own ability gradually supplants that of his parents, until he attains to full self-supporting capacity ; to the maintenance of which a group of subsidiary instincts, and sub- sidiary modes, contribute. It matters not, therefore, whether we take first the reproductive activities, as the most primitive, to which all others are secondary and subsidiary ; or the self-supporting or self-con- servative, which are a necessary preliminary to the reproductive ; or the parental, which are a necessary preliminary to the self-conservative. We may take that which is most convenient ; and as the self- conservative group contains the simplest and crudest modes of activity, we may well give them first place. Among the many expedients into which the struggle for existence has thrust different races of animals, it is scarcely too much to say that the most efficient, and therefore the most widely adopted, is that of living together in communities, more or less organised. The grade of organisation reached by different communities, varies within very wide limits. Beginning with mere physical contiguity, like that of mussels on the rocks, the community reaches, in many cases, so high a degree of organisation, as to consist of classes of individuals, diff'ering not only in function, but so diff'erent in structure, that they would be taken to belong to diff'erent genera, were it not known that they are all the offspring of the CHAP. VI PURPOSES OR ENDS 83 same mother ; and so specialised in function, as to be incapable of living apart from the community they serve, and by which they are supported. It is among ants and bees that these extremes of communal organisation are found ; and in some of these societies, not only are classes of individuals of very different size, structure, and function, members of the same family, associated together ; but included in the community may be slaves, belonging to a difierent race, and even domesticated animals. None of the communities of mankind are organised to such a height of specialisation, in the structure of individuals, as the communities of ants and bees ; but many of them are very highly organised ; and a large share of the conduct of individual men and women is determined by their relations to one another, and to the community of which they form part. This section of conduct has its own set of instincts, and of non - instinctive motives ; and demands separate and careful con- sideration. Thus the three great departments of conduct are that which is subservient to the conservation of the individual ; that which subserves the pre- servation of the community ; and that which provides for the continuation of the race ; and each of these has its subdivisions, and its own instincts, primary, secondary, tertiary, and so on. But though these are the main, they are not the only departments of conduct. There are other instincts, other desires inherent in the nature of man, that crave satisfaction by modes of action. Most of these he shares with 84 CONDUCT BOOK II the lower animals : some may, perhaps, be his own peculiar property. As man is born with certain innate capacities for action, so he is born with desires to exercise these capacities. The function of the nervous system, which is a compendium of the whole organism, is to accumulate and expend motion ; and the ways in which motion shall be expended, are to some extent pre - ordained in the organised nervous mechanisms that he inherits. They are determined by his instinctive and innate desires. Much of this motion is expended in the satisfaction of the primary instincts already enumerated ; but it may be, and it often is, especially in youth, that the motion accumulated in the nervous system, is in excess of what can be then expended in the pursuit of these ultimate ends. When he has satisfied all the main instincts that press for satisfaction at the moment, and in the circumstances in which he then is, a surplus or residue of motion remains, unex- pended and demanding expenditure — a surplus whose retention is irksome, and a source of uneasiness that may amount to massive misery. To get rid of this surplus, action is undertaken. It is undertaken for no end ulterior to the mere expenditure of motion, and the relief of the uneasiness that the accumulated motion causes. Ex hypothesi, the primary desires afford no scope or opportunity for expenditure, or expenditure on them is become too irksome to be continued. The motion is expended, therefore, in ways that, with respect to these primary desires, or ultimate ends, are wasteful and unremunerative. CHAP. VI PURPOSES OR ENDS 85 The motion is expended for the mere sake of exercising capacities that have lain idle, and clamour for exercise. It is expended in recreation. Among the capacities with which man, in common with many other animals, is endowed, is that of appreciating beauty ; and a certain proportion of the spare energy, left over after vital requirements are satisfied, is expended on the contemplation of beauty, and the making of beautiful things. This is, of course, a branch of recreative activity, but it is sufficiently distinct from other modes of that activity, to demand separate consideration. The contemplation of beauty, and the measures taken to go where beautiful things are to be found, constitute one phase of aesthetic conduct. The making and acquisition of beautiful things constitutes another ; and the huge prices given for beautiful pictures, and the labour expended on producing beautiful music, and beautiful architecture, bear witness to the urgency of aesthetic desire. There are other qualities besides beauty, that attract us to witness the things that possess them. We go to see the carcass of a whale thrown up on the beach, attracted, not by the beauty of the whale, but by its strangeness ; we go to witness plays, attracted, not by the beauty of the scenery or the dialogue, but by the dramatic interest ; we read novels, not so much for the beauty of the language or the thought, as for interest in the story ; we pursue these courses of conduct, not for the purpose of contemplating beauty, but for the satisfaction of curiosity, which is one of the ultimate, though not 86 CONDUCT BOOK II one of the primary, aims of conduct. Curiosity is an instinct that man shares with many of the lower animals ; and investigation, the mode of action that it prompts, is a very important mode of conduct. It extends from listening to the gossip of the village crone, to the most refined and daring speculation of the philosopher ; and accounts for much conduct that cannot be otherwise explained. In some degree, Curiosity enters into the com- position of the Religious instinct — that desire for knowledge of, and communion with, the unknown and incomprehensible verities, that surround man- kind on all sides with a veil of mystery. This instinct is the motive of a peculiar mode of conduct — religious ceremonial — and prompts also the modi- fication of conduct in all its departments, but especially in the three major or primary modes. Before considering in detail the departments of conduct, — three primary and four secondary — that have been enumerated, it is necessary, since this book is intended as a guide to morbid as well as to normal conduct, to indicate generally the ways in which conduct may be disordered. These ways are best indicated by observing the disorders of the instincts by which the conduct is prompted. Instincts, and the conduct that is undertaken to satisfy them, may be disordered in four ways. They may be excessive, defective, perverted, or reversed. Excess and defect are relative terms. It is not always easy, it is not always possible, to say whether any particular phase of conduct is in fact excessive or defective — whether, for instance, a man eats too much PURPOSES OR ENDS 87 or too little — but it is easy to understand that conduct, in any particular department, may be excessive or defective ; and to appreciate in what the excess or defect consists. Perversion and reversal need, how- ever, some explanation. By perversion of conduct, I mean conduct prompted by an instinct, but calcu- lated to defeat the very end that the normal instinct serves. The end served by the instinct of eating is the nourishment of the body, and its maintenance in health and strensfth. But sometimes the desire of O food is perverted, so that instead of the appetite being directed to beef and mutton, and bread and butter, it is directed to clay, or chalk, or filth. In such a case, I speak of the instinct, and the conduct which it prompts, as perverted. When an instinct is re- versed, the desire is to attain an end the direct contradictory of the end contemplated by the normal instinct. Thus, the normal instinct of self- conservation is sometimes reversed, and replaced by an urgent desire of self-destruction, or self-mutilation. I must guard myself against being supposed to mean that in such cases there is necessarily a real reversal of instinct. What happens is, no doubt, that some antagonistic instinct — for many instincts are an- tagonistic to others — has gained such predominance and exaggeration, as to swamp the instinct that seems to be reversed ; and, for practical purposes, to abolish and supersede it, either for the time being, or permanently. CHAPTER VIT DIRECTLY SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT Conduct that is directed to tlie conservation of the actor, is susceptible of division into two very distinct departments, — that which is directly self- conserva- tive, and that which is indirectly self-conservative. The former consists of those modes of action by which life is preserved from day to day and from hour to hour, including those acts that must be per- formed vicariously for infants and young children in order to keep them alive, and without which they would perish. Such conduct is that of procuring food and drink ; of the avoidance of manifest dangers ; and of dealing with antagonists. Indirectly self- conservative conduct is that by which a person administers his means and earns his livelihood. The first mode of conduct that comes under review is the eating of food ; and this may be regarded in three aspects, — selection, quantity, and mode of prehension. The first stage of eating is the selection of food. Normally we eat what is edible ; but the infant stuffs into its mouth anything it can get hold of; and this defect in the selection of food is paralleled by the S8 cH.vii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 89 idiot, whose power of discrimination has never ad- vanced beyond the stage of infancy ; and by the dement, who has lost the power once possessed. The ingestion, as food, of inappropriate substances, may depend, as in these cases, on mere want of discrimina- tion between what is edible and what is not ; or it may depend upon a deliberate selection of inedible matter ; a perversion of conduct that is not very infrequent. Geophagy, the eating of clay or loam, is practised by some primitive tribes of men ; and hysterical girls, as well as insane persons, sometimes have a morbid appetite for chalk, or coal, or other inedible matter. The craving of pregnant women for strange food is a matter of notoriety, but it does not often extend to what is actually inedible. Without being inedible, the food selected may be strange and bizarre ; but in judging of this, we must remember that what is considered fit to eat is largely a matter of fashion and convention. We are apt to shudder at the idea of eating snails, although among those with whom it is the fashion to eat them, they are considered a delicacy ; and we ourselves have no objection to eating their congener, the whelk, nor even snails themselves, when they are called peri- winkles. We should regard leniently, therefore, those who have an appetite for meat that is raw, or semi- putrid, or in other ways unusual. But when the appetite extends to that which is inherently disgust- ing to every animal, we must consider it morbid, and no plea of eccentricity can excuse coprophagy. A less degree of disorder of the same kind is evinced by those who refuse appetising and daintily served 90 CONDUCT BOOK II food, on the ground of their unworthiness, and demand offal, scraps, and the leavings of other people. Excessive care in the selection of food is unpleasant to witness, but is rarely pushed to a degree that can be recognised as morbid. Rejection of food from a suspicion that it is poisoned, or that it contains filth, cannot be regarded as an excess of scrupulosity in selection, whether the suspicion is sane or insane. To some persons, the appearance of a hair in a plate of soup contaminates the whole tureen, and this is within the normal. There are persons for whom no food is good enough, who find fault with whatever is put before them, and turn up a supercilious nose at wholesome viands. Such conduct is vulgar, but can scarcely be regarded as morbid. Quantitative variation in eating, extends from the grossest excess to total abstinence. Mere gluttony, though it is very common in the insane, cannot be regarded as itself evidence of insanity ; and a certain measured degree of abstinence or reticence in eating is a recognised practice ; but fasting that is so prolonged and excessive as to be detrimental to health, must be regarded as disorder, whether it is practised with suicidal intent, or whether it arises from religious fanaticism. In this connection may be mentioned a phase of conduct that is occasionally witnessed — the artificial production of vomiting. Usually it is practised, as one of the vagaries of hysteria, to excite sympathy and interest in the vomiter ; but it has been practised in secret by prisoners, to produce a mysterious CH.VII SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 91 wasting, in spite of abundant feeding, and thus contribute to a premature release. Under the head of ingestion of food, may be considered the taking of stimulants of all forms and in all kinds of ways. The following account, written for the Report of the Departmental Committee on the Inebriates' Acts, embodies my views on the subject. A capacity for being pleasurably affected by the consumption of alcohol, or some other intoxicant — opium, betel, kava, coca, kola, hashish, etc. — is a fundamental fact in human nature. It is common to nearly all human beings who have tried the effect of such drugs, and even to some of the lower animals. Dr. A. Shadwell, in his book on Drink, Temper- ance and Legislation, says : — ' The fundamental fact at the bottom of the drink question is the physiological effect of alcoholic liquor on the human organism. People like it, and drink to please themselves. Man's liking for alcoholic liquor rests on a physiological basis that can no more be argued away than the physiological difference between the sexes.' The late Sir George Balfour, M.D., in his article on ' Drunkenness ' in the EncyclopcBdia Britannica, says : — ' However degrading and demoralising the vice of drunkenness may be, it is important to remember, in all our thoughts concerning it, that it is the outcome of a craving innate in human nature, whether civilised or savage.' Dr. Archdall Reid, in his books on The Principles of Heredity and on Alcoholism, argues at length that the fundamental cause of inebriety, underlying all 92 CONDUCT BOOK II secondary causes, is an excessive susceptibility to the attraction of the intoxicating aorent used. Mankind in general seems to possess, in varying degree, this capacity for deriving enjoyment from the consumption of intoxicants. No desire for the consumption of alcohol exists antecedent to actual trial of its use. Savage races, and civilised persons, who have never taken alcohol, have no desire for it whatever, however insatiate their craving for it may become when once they have indulged in it. Most persons now, in civilised countries, take some intoxicant ; and most of them remain sober without effort. Some, however, get drunk from time to time. A smaller number are habitual drunkards. In every person, a certain quantity of alcohol will produce the familiar effects of intoxication. This quantity varies with the person, and with the rapidity with which the alcohol is taken. The symptoms, also, vary with the person intoxicated, with the amount and kind of alcoholic liquor taken, and with the length of time over which its use is spread. In most people, the use of alcohol gives rise at length to satiety, and to temporary distaste for further indulgence. The quantity needed to produce this effect varies much in different persons. The important difference is that, in some persons, satiety is produced before intoxication, and in others, intoxication is produced before satiety. Every person can be intoxicated, provided sufficient alcohol is taken ; but there are many in whom satiety seems never to be reached. cH.vii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCTOR If these propositions, on which it is unlikely that there will be any material difference of opinion, be granted, they lead to the following conclusions : — 1. That when satiety is produced before intoxica- tion, the person so affected is in no danger of becoming intoxicated. He is never tempted to get drunk. Before the stage of intoxication is reached, he has already acquired a temporary distaste for alcohol, which is his sufficient safeguard. 2. Persons in whom the point of intoxication is reached before satiation occurs, will, unless other influences intervene, go on drinking until they become intoxicated. 3. But many persons who are liable to become intoxicated before satiation occurs, stop drinking before they become drunk. They are not actuated solely by desire for drink. They foresee and recog- nise the danger of becoming drunk ; and before the point of drunkenness is reached, refuse to indulge further the desire for drink. They exercise their will, under the influence of a number of desires conflicting with that for drink, such as self-respect, and desire to retain the respect of others — exercises of volition which, under such circumstances, we call ' self-control.' Whether persons, in whom the satiation point lies beyond the limit of sobriety, will become drunk or no, depends primarily on the relative strength of the desire for drink and of such self-control. If the desire for drink is the stronger, they will become drunk ; if self-control is the stronger, they will remain sober. Seeing that the great majority of persons who 94 CONDUCT BOOK II take alcohol are not drunkards, it follows that, in them, either the satiation point is reached before intoxication occurs, or the desire for drink is over- mastered by that voluntary reinforcement of other desires which we call self-control. 4. There is, however, a large number of persons who occupy an intermediate position between the habitually sober and the habitually drunken. These are persons who become intoxicated before satiation is reached, and in whom self-control, if it is exercised, is capable of overcoming the desire for drink ; but who yet allow themselves to become drunk, because they do not choose to exercise this self-control. They do not reinforce, by voluntary exertion, the influence of the desires antagonistic to the desire for drink. They possess sufficient strength of will, if they choose to exert it, to cease drinking before the intoxication stage is reached ; but they do not, or they do not always, exert this volition. Either they are not sufficiently alive to the disadvantages of drunkenness ; or, realising them, deliberately decide that such dis- advantages are more than counterbalanced by the enjoyment of drunkenness ; or they are reluctant to run counter to the practice of their companions ; or they feel themselves bound to continue the practice of treating and being treated ; or, for some other reason, they deliberately refrain from exercising the self-control they possess. These persons form the class of occasional drunkards, week-end drunkards, bank-holiday drunkards, convivial drunkards, etc. Lastly, there are those in whom the satiation point is postponed until after intoxication is reached, or is OH. VH SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 95 altogether absent, and in whom the desire for drink overmasters all other conflicting desires, even when these are reinforced by the utmost exertion of will. Such persons form the class of inebriates, who fall naturally into the following divisions : — A. Persons who are born with an excessive degree of the common capacity for deriving pleasure from the use of alcohol, but are not endowed with a corresponding exaggeration of that combination of faculties that we call self-control. Deriving more pleasure than others from the use of alcohol, they desire it more strongly. Desiring it more strongly, they need a corresponding increase of self-control to enable them to abstain from its excessive use. Such persons are not necessarily deficient in intelligence, strength of will, or desire to keep sober. They may be superior to the average in some or all of these qualities ; but desire for drink is in them so greatly intensified, that a capacity for self-control, even beyond the average, is insufficient to keep them from excess. Such persons are often of great capability and intelligence, and frequently are members of families in which other examples of this form of inebriety occur. The desire for drink, which may be very great, is often intermittent or paroxysmal in occurrence ; and the amount of alcohol taken is often enormous. B. Persons who, with or without an excessive degree of the common capacity for deriving pleasure from the use of alcohol, are deficient in self-control. They lack either the intelligence to appreciate the ill effects of drunkenness, or the self-respect and other 96 CONDUCT BOOK II desires antagonistic to drunkenness, or the force of character and strength of will necessary to withstand the appeal of a desire for immediate gratification at whatever cost of future detriment. The lack of self- control shows itself not only in inability to withstand the allurements of alcohol, but also in outbreaks of temper, of violence, of restlessness, or of destructive- ness, on slight provocation. Many such persons are deficient in intelligence ; they come of families in which there are other instances of mental disorder ; and, in them a small amount of alcohol is usually sufficient to produce intoxication. C. Besides the congenital peculiarities above described, there is no reason to doubt that continued self-indulgence by the ' occasional ' drunkard may cause the subordination of self-control to the desire for drink. By continual indulgence, the desire for liquor is increased. This is especially the case when alcohol has been originally taken for some special effect. It may be that its stimulation enables the drinker to accomplish tasks that could not be under- taken without its aid ; or it may be (and this is more frequent in women) that it was originally taken in illness, or for the relief of pain or discomfort. Whatever the reason that led to the practice, it is found that the longer the habit is continued, the greater becomes the desire for the drug ; and also that an increasing quantity is needed to produce the effect for which it was originally taken. By continually yielding to desire, and continual failure to exert self-control, not only is desire strengthened, but self-control is weakened, until it cH.vii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 97 is reduced permanently below the point necessary to overcome the desire ; and thus inebriety is established. Inebriates of this class are miscellaneous in character. Sometimes they approach to Class A or Class B in family history and mental qualities, but often have little apparent affinity to either. They are inebriates by artificial culture rather than by nature ; and when they are mentally defective or disordered, the defect or disorder is often the con- sequence, rather than the cause, of the drinking habit. This view of inebriety, which regards it as an alteration of the ratio of self-control to desire for drink, throws light upon the question whether or not it should be regarded as a disease. It is a consti- tutional peculiarity ; and in many cases depends on the qualities with which a person is born ; in many is acquired by vicious indulgence. When such a constitutional peculiarity is acquired, it would be straining the meaning of words to call it a disease. When it is inborn, the question becomes one of nomenclature. If such native peculiarities as the possession of a sixth finger, or the absence of a taste for music are rightly considered diseases, then the native constitutional peculiarity that underlies some cases of inebriety may be considered a disease ; but there are cogent reasons why the term disease should not be strained so as to cover inebriety. By disease is commonly understood a state of things for which the diseased person is not responsible, and which he cannot alter by any effort of will. But H 98 CONDUCT BOOK II this is not the case with inebriety. If the desire for drink can be increased by indulgence, and self- control diminished by lack of exercise, equally the reverse effect can be produced by voluntary effort. Desire for drink may be diminished by abstinence, and self-control, like any other faculty, may be strengthened by exercise. It is erroneous and disastrous to imply, by calling inebriety a disease, that it is to be accepted with fatalistic resignation, and that the inebriate need make no effort to mend his ways. It is the more so, since inebriety is in many cases surmounted, and in many more cases diminished ; and the cases that recover and amend are those in which the inebriate desires and strives for his recovery. The mode of prehension of food next comes under review. In these days, when not only paupers in workhouses, but the poorest of the poor, outside of those relatively luxurious institutions, would consider themselves degraded if they were deprived of the use of forks, it is startling to remember that in the high and luxurious civilisations of ancient Egypt, of Crete, of Babylon, of Assyria, of China, of Hindostan, of Athens, and of Rome, the use of forks in eating was unknown. Not until the sixteenth century did they come into use in Europe ; and printing was an established art, when the most refined and cultured men and women still dipped their fingers in the dish, and gnawed bones held in the hand. AVe should expect that a practice so lately acquired, would be lost early in the general dissolution of conduct that takes place in insanity ; and it is with some surprise cH.vii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 99 that we find it still retained by dements, who have lost modes of conduct of immeasurably greater anti- quity. Still, we do find, as might have been expected, that the insane make a much more lavish use of their fingers at meals than is decorous. The maintenance of personal cleanliness is a mode of conduct of comparatively late acquirement. As, indeed, it is but very imperfectly acquired, even by many adults, in civilised communities, so it is one that is very early lost in general dissolution of conduct. Cleanliness of the person and neatness of attire are among the earliest qualities to be lost in that mode of insanity which is an even dissolution, proceeding in regular order, from loss of the latest acquired modes of conduct, and attacking them, successively, in the inverse order of their acquirement. Accurately regular order of this kind is rare ; but all insanity approximates to this order, subject to the disturbing influence of intercurrent factors ; and in most forms of insanity that proceed to any appreci- able depth, failure of personal cleanliness and neatness is a common feature. Washing is neglected ; the hair is unkempt ; the nails are dirty ; the stockings down at heel ; the garments put on anyhow, unbrushed and unfastened. Such, too, is the conduct, in this respect, of young children, before they have acquired this mode of conduct; and such is the conduct of those older persons, whose conduct remains always in the stage of that of young children, and who are called Idiots or Imbeciles. Defect of personal cleanliness and neatness is not the only disorder to which this mode of conduct is 100 CONDUCT BOOK II liable. There are persons in whom the instinctive desire to be personally clean, is developed in morbid excess ; and their conduct expresses this excess. Such persons spend a large part of their waking time in washing themselves. They put on clean linen a dozen or more times a day. They constantly search themselves for signs of soiling ; and can neither con- vince themselves, nor be convinced, that they are not befouled in some way, or infested with vermin. Reversal of this mode of conduct is by no means unknown, even among the sane. There have been, and are yet, persons who revel and delight in personal uncleanliness, and even cherish the presence of vermin on their persons. I do not refer to the supposed delight of children in ' getting into a mess,' which is merely indifference to the uncleanly consequences of following some alluring pursuit, such as making of mud pies. Such uncleanliness is incidental, and is not, like that now under consideration, pursued and desired for its own sake. Religious asceticism is sometimes displayed in this manner. The devotees of some religions have bound themselves neither to wash, to shave, nor to change their clothing, for a certain time, or for the rest of their lives ; or, without binding themselves by vow, have followed this course upon the ascetic principle. When the body of Thomas a Becket was stripped of its clothes, the innermost garment was found to be ' boiling over ' with lice, which was proof positive to the spectators that the departed archbishop was a saint. The modes of conduct hitherto considered, are modes of spontaneous action. The next — conduct CH VII SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 101 in the presence of personal danger — is elicited action. Conduct directed to the preservation of a whole skin, and the avoidance of physical injury and mutilation, and dealing with antagonism generally, is not entered upon, except it is elicited by circumstances that threaten us with injury ; and when such circum- stances arise, they are met in one of seven different ways ; depending in part on the character of the circumstances, in part on the character of the actor. Each of these ways merges and grades into those nearest to it ; but in the type, they are sufficiently distinct. 1. When danger arises from some circumstance of overwhelming power, the eflect may be to produce complete inhibition of all action on the part of the threatened person ; who then passively awaits de- struction, even though the way to safety may be plain and easy. In many accounts of overwhelming calamity, by fire, flood, shipwreck, earthquake, and other natural forces, we hear of some of the victims being utterly paralysed, and incapable of making any effort for their own escape or preservation. They have to be dragged out of danger by main force, and carried away, if they are to be saved at all. For themselves, they are incapable of any effort whatever. In thus behaving, they exhibit the same conduct, or want of conduct, as is seen in many of the lower animals, which are said to simulate death in the presence of danger. They do, in fact, drop inert to the ground, from which they are often with difficulty distinguished ; and their invisibility secures their safety. In human calamity, this beneficial effect 102 CONDUCT BOOK II is not often secured, and its occurrence in the lower animals is, no doubt, incidental. Even in the presence of overwhelming calamity, total inhibition is rare. Usually, with the inhibition of all other modes of action, the ability to utter a scream, or danger-cry, is retained ; and the next two modes of meeting danger — yielding and flight — are commonly accompanied by the danger-cry. All animals that have voices have their danger-cry, which is understood as a warning of danger, not only by their fellows of the same community, if they are social animals, but also by all animals of the same species, and even generally, by all animals within hearing. It appears that any sudden and loud sound may be interpreted as a warning of danger ; for on the report of a gun, the voice of every bird in the neighbourhood is instantly stilled, and an impressive silence follows. Be that as it may, the value of the danger-cry, as a warning to others, and as a social protection, is self-evident. It warns all within hearing of the existence of dansfer, and sets them on their ofuard ao-ainst it. Its value to individual social animals also is great, for it acts as a rallying cry, and calls their fellows to their aid. The squeal of an injured dog will bring all the dogs of the neighbourhood around him. In social animals, in short, the danger-cry is a cry for help ; it is used mainly by the weaker members of the community — by women and children — and is often of great service in calling assistance. 2. Without producing the paralytic inhibition described, which is an involuntary submission to cH.vii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 103 the antagonist power, antagonism may produce a voluntary submission, or yielding ; which is the answer to an antagonism that is recognised as in- superable, but yet is not of the overwhelming char- acter that produces the paralytic inhibition. 3. The next mode of meeting danger is by flight ; the natural resource of the weak, the timid, and the fleet. It is a mode that is very often successful in securing the safety of the refugee, and the first impulse of most people, on occasions of personal danger, especially when the danger is suddenly appreciated, is to shrink and retreat from it. There are few people whose ' nerve,' as it is called, is so steady as not to shrink at the sudden appreciation of danger ; few who do not start at a sudden un- expected noise, or snatch away the hand when a spark drops on it. Such startings and snatchings are not themselves flight, but they are incipient flight. They are movements that are the beginnings of retreat from danger ; and would become full retreat if they were continued. There are animals, such as the hamster, that do not retreat from even overwhelming odds, but such animals are few ; and their conduct, though sometimes emulated, is not often emulated by human beings. The hamster often courts its own destruction ; and there are many occasions of danger when retreat or flight is the only practicable refuge. In the foregoing cases, the antagonist agent is deemed of such greatly superior power, that opposi- tion is considered impracticable, and is not attempted ; but in cases in which the estimate of the power of 104 CONDUCT BOOK II the antagonist falls short of this insuperability, opposition is offered to it, and the opposition varies considerably in character, from mere passive refusal to co-operate, to active retaliation. 4. Opposition may be purely passive. It may take the form of a mere refusal to assist the antagonist in his design, without ofieriug active opposition, or placing difficulties in his way. Such passive opposi- tion, as it is rarely effective, is rarely resorted to ; but instances occur now and then. If my landlord tries to eject me from his house, I may sit tight, and refuse to budge, without actively opposing his wishes. If the tax collector seeks to levy on me a tax that I consider unjust, I may refuse to pay it, and leave him to collect it by process of law. Such opposition is, for the most part, futile, and is not frequent ; and more active means must be pursued if the antagonist is to be defeated. Of active opposition there are three degrees, not always distinguishable in practice — simple opposition, aggressive opposition, and counter- attack. 5. By simple active opposition is meant action directly opposite to the antagonistic action. If one tries to pull me out of my chair, I cling to it ; if he pushes me backward, I push forward ; if he brings an action against me, I defend it ; if he levies money on me, I not merely refuse to pay it, but assign my goods to some one else, so as to deprive him of his remedy ; and so forth. 6 and 7. Aggressive opposition and counter-attack are further stages of the same process. If my antagonist grasps me by the arm, and I merely un- cH.vii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 105 clasp his huud, tlie opposition is simple and direct ; if I hammer his hand to make him let go, it is aggres- sive ; if I hit liim on the nose, my action becomes counter-attack. If he brings an action against me, and I defend it, my opposition is simple and direct ; if I make a counter-claim, it is aggressive ; if I accuse him of fraud, I make a counter-attack. In thus treating of the various ways of meeting antagonism, we have travelled outside the subject immediately under discussion — the ways of obviating personal danger ; but since the modes of meeting personal danger are applicable, mutatis mutandis, to antagonism of all kinds, it is more convenient to treat them together. We now return to the narrower limit, and consider the disorders of the modes of conduct, by which we meet circumstances that threaten us with personal injury. Defect of self-preservative conduct is frequent, and is exhibited in several ways. The paralytic inhibition, that is produced by danger from overwhelming catastrophe, is often a form of defect, for there are cases in which retreat would be easy were it not for the deprivation of power to move. Self-preservative conduct is often defective from failure to appreciate the danger, even when this is open and manifest. A young child, an idiot, or a dement, may stray on to a railway line, or into the traJ0Qc of the street, and fail, from lack of appreciation of the danger that threatens him, to retreat from approaching death. He may lie naked in winter, with his blankets beside him, but without sufficient intelligence to appreciate that, by pulling the blankets 106 CONDUCT BOOK II over liim, he would protect himself against the cold. Attracted by its brightness, he may seize a live coal, without appreciating that it will burn him. All defect is relative. It is a matter of degree ; and, though such extreme instances as have just been adduced are clearly morbid, there are all grades between them and such defect as would be termed want of foresight or imprudence ; and beyond these again, there is a degree of precaution that no one would be expected to take. It argues idiocy to pick up a razor by grasping the blade ; it argues foolhardiness to smoke in a powder magazine, or a fiery mine ; it argues want of caution to skate upon ice whose bearing power has not been tested ; but it is no reflec- tion on intelligence, prudence, or foresight, to live in a stone house, in a country that has not, in the memory of man, been visited by an earthquake. There are many instincts that may rise to an intensity that overpowers that of self-preservation when they come into conflict with it. Men and women frequently incur danger, and even cheerfully sacrifice their lives, for amatory passion ; sexual jealousy ; chastity ; parental fondness ; fear of incur- ring the contempt or disapprobation, or desire for the admiration or approbation, of their fellows ; for their religion ; and even to satisfy the instinct of curiosity, and to attain the purpose of investigation. But over and above all these more or less serious purposes of life, men will incur danger, and rashly undertake the most perilous risks, for the mere purpose of recreation, that is, in order to give free exercise to faculty. The attraction of mountain- cH.vii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 107 climbing, of bull-fighting, of hunting of dangerous beasts of prey, of exploring savage countries, of aerial navigation, and so forth, is often said to consist in the spice of danger that they entail ; but this is not quite correct. The attraction for such pursuits, which we call the spirit of adventure, is not in the danger itself, Ijut in the opportunity for the exercise of faculty which the adventurer is conscious of possessing, and which, therefore, he desires to exer- cise. It is not the desire to be in danger, but the desire of opportunity for the exercise of coolness, presence of mind, steadiness, and resource, in the presence of danger, that impels him into dangerous pursuits. No doubt, in many cases, desire for admiration and applause contribute to the result ; and, in very many modes of conduct, more than one motive operates to impel the actor ; but in the seeking of unnecessary danger, the recreative motive takes a large share. Excessive solicitude to avoid personal danger is by no means an infrequent trait of character. The timid and the apprehensive take excessive precautions against hypothetical dangers. This mode of conduct approaches morbid excess in the valetudinarian, who takes unnecessary precautions against disease that is improbable ; and attains morbid excess in the hypo- chondriac, whose conduct is absorbed in finding and taking remedies, for diseases from which he does not suffer. The victim of claustrophobia or agoraphobia adapts his conduct to escape, not so much from danger, for he knows that danger there is none ; but from the unreasoning dread of danger. The one 108 CONDUCT HOOK n refuses to remain in a closed room, the other to cross an open space, not because his intellect tells him there is danger in either course, but because, in spite of the assurance of his intellect, he quakes with un- reasoning panic at the prospect. The occurrences of claustrophobia and agoraphobia are so strange, that they would be incredible if they were not so well substantiated, and indeed so frequent ; but I think they may be explained on biological grounds. When our ancestors were arboreal in habit, this habit w^as their salvation from extinction. Feeble in body, destitute of weapons and of defensive armour, devoid of means of concealment, neither swift nor strong, their safety from carnivorous foes lay in the agility with which they could climb out of reach, and in the accuracy with which they could leap from bouffh to bough, and from tree to tree. Whenever they descended to the ground, they were in danger. It is on the ground that the greater carnivora in the Old World pursue their prey ; and, adapted as our ancestors were, to arboreal life, their progress on the ground was less rapid than among the tree-tops, and less rapid than that of their principal foes. Among the tree-tops they were secure. There, no enemy could overtake them, or vie wdth them in activity ; but on the ground they were, as they well knew, at a disadvantage. On the Hat, they had no chance against the spring of the panther, or the speed and wind of the wolf ; but once let them gain the security of the tree-top, and they could grin and chatter with derision at their helpless enemies below. The further they ventured from their secure retreat, the greater CH vii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 109 their peril ; the nearer their refuge, the more complete their security. Since instincts become adapted to modes of life, which in turn they dictate, we may be sure that, in the arboreal stage of their existence, our ancestors had a very strong instinctive aversion against any extended excursion from their place of security and refuge. Near to trees, they were in safety ; far from trees, they knew they were in continual danger, and therefore were in continual uneasiness. In such a situation, they had an abiding and well founded dread of impending danger. This is the state of mind which is reproduced, in similar circumstances, in agoraphobia. The craving of the subject of this malady is not, as usually supposed, to be in a closed space ; but to be near to some tall vertical object. Away from such an object — in a wide open space — he has just the feeling of dread, of impending danger, of imminent disaster, of something dreadful about to happen, that a man would have who was walking in a jungle infested with tigers ; or a child has when alone in the dark. And this is just such a feeling as our arboreal ancestors must have had when they were out of reach of their natural retreat. I have seen a woman, affected with agoraphobia, get from one side of a court to the other, by not only going round by the wall, but by squeezing herself up against it, and clutching at the bare surface. Sufferers from this malady cannot cross an open space. They cannot venture more than a step or two from some vertical surface. They feel no uneasiness in a colonnade, open all around them though it is. Their reason tells no CONDUCT BOOK II them that their dread is groundless ; but reason is powerless against instinct, and an imperious instinct shouts danger in their ears. The opposite malady — claustrophobia — seems to me to reproduce a state of affairs of much later occurrence in our racial history. When arboreal habits at length began to be abandoned, and our anthropoid ancestors began to shelter themselves in hollow trees, in caves, and holes in the ground, there must often have been a conflict between the inveterate primitive habit of roosting under the open sky, and the modern innovation of taking shelter from the weather. The sense of confinement must often have been very irksome. We may be sure there was no sudden revolution in the mode of life. The new habit was adopted very gradually. Only in some very violent storm would the first in-dwellers creep into a hole for shelter ; and they would soon find their circumscribed quarters intolerable, and brave the elements as soon as the weather began to moderate. Perhaps the new instinct was first implanted in the young, by the parents bestowing their tender offspring in holes during their own absence, or when cold and rain became severe. In any case, we may be sure that the habit of taking refuge in more or less closed spaces, was a habit of slow and gradual acquirement ; and we may be sure that it was not acquired without many a relapse, and much backsliding. The very fact that our ancestors, in their arboreal stage, were timid, and that in a closed space their retreat was cut off", must have given them, in such retreats, a feeling of uneasiness, that was always liable to rise CH. VII SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 111 into panic, and lead to an irresistible desire to get out into the open. This is the state of mind that is reproduced in claustrophobia. In a confined space, the victims of this malady suffer from uneasiness that often reaches actual panic, and impels them to get out, or to provide means of egress by opening a window or a door. Like the sufferer from agora- phobia, the claustrophobe experiences the revival of an instinct that has been dormant for untold genera- tions, but that has subsided more recently than that revived in agoraphobia. Since it survived to a later date, since it has been more recently lost, it is more easily revived ; and this is the reason, in my opinion, that claustrophobia is so much less rare than agoraphobia. Perversion of self-preservative conduct is not often seen. It is, indeed, frequent enough for this instinct to lead, as in the food-faddist, and the self-drugger, to conduct that defeats the very instinct by which it is prompted ; but this adverse effect is not known to those who pursue the conduct, and comes, therefore, into the category of mere mistake. Lastly, a very frequent disorder of conduct is prompted by what appears to be the reversal of this instinct. The desire to avoid injury, to preserve a whole skin, and prevent mutilation and injury, is often replaced by the contradictory desire, directed towards self-iujury, self-mutilation, and suicide. The motives behind these acts are various. Self-mutilation, and self-injury that is intended to stop short at self- injury, and is not a mere abortive attempt at suicide, are usually prompted by a hyper-conscientious desire 112 CONDUCT BOOK II to suffer punishment for real or fancied sin ; but in some cases, it lias been carried out with a view to escape other evils that are regarded as more serious. Conscripts, for instance, have been known to mutilate themselves, in order to escape service in the army. Conduct that is actually suicidal, may be prompted by very various motives, of which the most frequent, in the sane, is the loss of what is, at the time, the chief aim of life. When an adolescent has been brought up to believe that the passing of an examination is the sole portal to success in life ; when the passing of the examination has been long before him as the main, almost the exclusive, aim of his existence ; the failure to pass the examination not infrequently leads to suicide, or suicidal attempt. A shockingly large proportion of the German youths who fail to take their degrees, commit or attempt suicide ; and such acts are not unknown in this country, where, however, the acknowledgment that the passing of academic examinations is not the be-all and end-all of existence, is a great safeguard against self-destruction. The equal or superior place that is taken by athletics in the curricula of our Universities, has at least this good effect. It provides a second, an alternative, and a very different standard of achievement and aim in life. Failure to attain academic distinction does not shut the door against success of every kind. The importance attached to the passing of examinations is, in this country, great ; it is perhaps a good deal exaggerated ; but it is not paramount ; and the despair that is pro- duced by failure is consequently not nearly so serious. cH.vii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 113 Whatever aim is allowed to absorb the whole attention, the whole craving, the whole aspiration of a person, its withdrawal and relegation to utter impossibility may, and often does, prompt to suicide. This is the motive of the suicide of the girl whose lover has deserted her ; of the business man who is irretrievably ruined ; of the mother whose child is dead. The last case is rare, and in the second, other motives usually contribute ; but in both cases, the single motive under consideration is sometimes sufficient. There are cases in which the death of a relative, who has been the object of absorbing afiection, has prompted to suicide ; and, as we should expect, these cases are usually those in which not only the affection, but all the attention and exertion of the survivor, have been lavished on the lost — cases in which a daughter has been absorbed in nursing a mother, or, more rarely, a wife in nursing her husband. Next to the loss of the main aim in life, loss of the means of subsistence is the most frequent motive to suicide in the sane. The cases are, perhaps, not wholly distinguishable, for loss of the means of subsistence carries with it loss of the means of attaining most of the aims of life. To the selfish man it means loss of self-indulgence ; to the sympa- thetic it means loss of the means of making others happy ; to all it means loss of power, loss of success, consciousness of failure in one, at least, of the great aims of life. In the insane, in whom the prompting to suicide is so frequent, the motive is often different from the 114 CONDUCT BOOK II motive in the sane. In the insane, the motive is usually the motive of self-sacrifice. It is based upon the conviction of unworthiness, and sin, and self- abasement. The insane suicide kills himself, not usually because he believes, rightly or wrongly, that the main object of life is taken from him, and is become unattainable ; but because he is convinced that he is not fit to live. He has committed an unpardonable sin. His life is a curse to all he loves — to all around him — perhaps to all his countrymen, or to the world at large. He must die in order to free the world from the calamity of his influence and his presence. The law stigmatises his act as a crime, but it is in fact due to a morbid excess of conscientiousness. In other cases, the motive of the insane suicide seems to be the desire to escape from a feeling of misery that is become unbearable. Conduct of the directly self-conservative kind is that which is earliest acquired by each individual. It is wanting in very young children, and this want is the reason why it is unsafe to leave very young children alone to their own devices. If a person fails to acquire these modes of conduct, as he ad- vances to years at which they are ordinarily acquired, such a person is called an Idiot ; and the mark and characteristic of Idiocy is the absence of these modes of conduct, or any of them, at the age at which they would ordinarily come into being. CHAPTER VIII INDIRECTLY SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT Under this head is included that conduct by which the means are administered and the livelihood is gained ; and the administration of means is placed before the earning of the livelihood, for two reasons. In the first place, there are many persons in civilised societies who do not need to earn their livelihood ; but there are none, above the grade of Imbeciles, who have not, at some time or other, means to administer ; and in the second, the administration of the means appears to be, upon the whole, of easier and earlier acquirement, and of later disappearance, in regular dissolution, than the earning of the livelihood. The due and proper administration of means requires, in the first place, that a proper proportion should be observed between income and expenditure ; and in the second, that a proper proportion should be observed among the various objects of expenditure. Expenditure may be in excess or in defect ; the former disorder being prodigality, the latter miserli- ness. Prodigality is, for the most part, a relative term. That expenditure which would be prodigal for an income of X500 a year, would not necessarily 115 116 CONDUCT BOOK II be prodigal for an income of £5000 ; and that which would be prodigal for an income of £5000, would not necessarily be prodigal for an income of £50,000. In estimating the prodigality or otherwise of ex- penditure on desirable objects, regard must, of course, be had to the income out of which the expenditure comes ; but there is a prodigality in kind as well as in degree ; and there is an absolute prodigality — a prodigality which would be excessive to any income, however large. Relative prodigality also is of two kinds. There is prodigality, ordinarily so termed ; by which is meant expenditure that is excessive in proportion to the income of the prodigal. But expenditure may be regarded as relatively prodigal, even when it is not excessive in proportion to income, if it is excessive in proportion to the gratification purchased by it. A man whose income is, say, £5000 a year, would not be regarded as prodigal, because he pur- chased a motor car for £1000 ; but if he gave £1000 for a racing car which he could not use, and which he offered, the day after purchase, to sell for £500, he might well be regarded as prodigal in this ex- penditure. Master Primrose, in purchasing, for the price of a horse, his gross of spectacles in shagreen cases, was prodigal in both senses. He purchased that which he could not afford, and he gave for the articles a price out of all proportion too great for the gratification that he derived from them. Whether the racing car that my patient bought was intrinsic- ally worth the money — whether, that is to say, it cost £1000 to build and equip and sell — or whether cH.viii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 117 the gross of spectacles in shagreen cases were worth, to a person trading in spectacles, the price that Moses Primrose gave for them, is beside the question. They may each have cost more to make than the price for which they were purchased ; but this does not make the purchase any the less prodigal for that particular purchaser. For a racing motor-man, of the same means, the racing car might have been a prudent purchase. For the dealer in spectacles, the gross of those conveniences might have been a prudent purchase, at the price paid ; but for the actual purchaser in each case, the purchase was prodigal, because of the utter want of proportion between the price paid, and the amount of gratifica- tion gained by the payment. By absolute prodigality I mean a proposal of expenditure that would be excessive for any income, however large, — proposals that stamp the proposer as insane, without any need to inquire into the amount of his income. When a man proposes to purchase battleships by millions, or to pave all the streets of London seventeen feet thick with diamonds, we may safely regard the proposal as absolutely prodigal, without considering the amount of his income. Prodigality, like other defects of conduct, may rest on lack of intelligence. A person may spend more than his income from sheer lack of intelligence to appreciate that he is spending disproportionately — from lack of the arithmetical faculty. This, however, is not frequent. Persons as defective as this, if they are poor, are deprived by opportunity of spending or incurring debts beyond their means. If well-to-do, 118 CONDUCT BOOK II their defect has been appreciated in good time, and they have been made wards of Court. Ordinarily, the defect is a moral defect. It lies in the lack of will to forgo the immediate enjoyment of spending, even at the cost — the inevitable and foreseen cost — of future embarrassment. A certain lack of intelligence there may be ; or rather, a certain wilful ignoring of the consequences, and shutting of the eyes to them ; a certain lack of appreciation that the inevitable is inevitable. But the main defect is the lack of moral stamina — of self-restraint — of that ability to postpone immediate gratification, that has been so much insisted on in a previous chapter. Meanness, miserliness, or excessive parsimony, is the complementary failure in conduct. It is the failure to spend a due proportion of income. What proportion of his income it is right and prudent for a person to spend, depends on a number of considera- tions that need not be entered upon here. It depends very much upon the source from whence his income is derived ; upon whether it is fixed or precarious ; upon whether it depends on his own exertions or is independent of them ; upon its total amount ; upon the degree of comfort, and the amenities of life, proper to his station, and customary among his fellows. But whatever the source of his income, and whatever its security or want of security, there is a degree of parsimony that transcends the normal. If a man is in such penury that he has difficulty in procuring the bare necessaries of life, it is undue parsimony to deny himself these necessaries, to the impairment of his health and earning power. CH. VI n SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 119 so Ions as his means can afford them. But in such cases we are not often called upon to adjudicate. The cases in which parsimony is clearly excessive, and runs into miserliness, are those in which a person's income or possessions are ample, and yet he denies himself the ordinary necessaries and amenities of life. Such cases as those of John Elwes and Daniel Dancer exhibit the passionate clinging to possession, pushed to the point of positive insanity. A man who is of ample means, and yet grudges and refuses the expenditure necessary to keep him in decent food and decent raiment ; who obtains his food from the pig pail and his clothes from the scare- crow ; who goes filthy in his person because he cannot face expenditure for soap ; and filthy in his sur- roundings because he grudges the expense both of implements and labour ; such a man exhibits conduct that is clearly disorderly by reason of excess of parsimony, or miserliness. Still more, perhaps, does he exhibit it when he allows his houses to stand empty, and to fall into ruin, because he cannot bear to part with the money necessary to keep them in repair. Such cases are cases of miserliness. Meanness is not quite the same thing. The mean man will spend, grudgingly it may be, and with pain, perhaps, but he will spend money on himself, sufficient to satisfy the standard of his time and his condition in life. The expenditure that he cannot or will not face, is expenditure on others, or what approximates to the same thing, bearing his fair share of common ex- penditure. 120 CONDUCT BOOK II Quite distinct from the disinclination to spend, although allied to it, usually accompanying it, and often confused with it, is the desire to accumulate. They are different sides of the same thing, no doubt, but they are different sides. Accumulation cannot proceed without caution in expenditure ; but when the aversion from expenditure is pushed to the point in which it existed in John Elwes, so that he let his houses fall into ruin and be unoccupied, from want of the necessary expenditure to keep them in repair, it is clear that this aversion becomes actually antagon- istic to accumulation. Of the two, the instinct of accumulation is by far the more primitive and funda- mental, and is, in most cases, the stronger ; the dis- inclination to spend being merely subsidiary to it. The storing up, in times of plenty, of pabulum for future use in time of scarcity, is a very firmly fixed habit, an instinctive mode of action which exhibits its remoteness of origin, and its primitive nature, not only in its universality in the human race, but in the fact that man shares it with many of the lower animals. It is found, not only in his congeners, the apes, in the dog, the squirrel, the beaver, the rat, and other mammals, but also in the spider, the bee, the ant, and many other insects. In man, it appears at a very early stage of development, both in the race and in the individual. No savage is so destitute of it as not to put aside for to-morrow the remains of the animal that he has killed, but cannot wholly consume, to-day ; and there are few tribes of savages that have not methods, more or less elaborate, of preserving meat for future use. In these humble OH. VII , SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 121 beginnings we see the origin of Capital — of that mighty power that covers the land with roads and railways, and the sea with ships ; that raises buildings hundreds of feet into the air, and sinks mines thousands of feet below ground ; that severs continents by canals, and unites them by cables ; that renders possible the discoveries of the scientist, the speculations of the philosopher, and the rapt meditations of the divine. It is rare to find this instinct defective ; but such cases are found. Charles Lamb has described with inimitable whimsicality the character of one of the Great Race. ' Early in life he found himself invested with ample revenues ; which ... he took almost immediate measures entirely to dissipate and bring to nothing. ... It was a wonder how he contrived to keep his treasury always empty. He did it by force of an aphorism which he had often in his mouth, that " money kept more than three days, stinks." ' The main interest that the instinct of accumula- tion has for the student of conduct, is in its various transfers. Originally applied by man, no doubt, as it still is by some of the lower animals, solely to food, it is now, both in man and in some of the lower animals, applied to things other than food. The magpie and the jackdaw collect glittering as well as other uneatable things ; the bower-bird collects things of bright colour ; the rat collects all kinds of things ; and man collects almost everything that is movable. He begins in childhood, with horse-chestnuts and birds' eggs ; and from this rudiment his habit grows, until his collections include everything that can be 122 CONDUCT BOOK II collected. He collects animals, alive and dead, and all their products and belongings, from fossil bones to fresh-water shells, and infusoria skeletons. He collects plants from every country under heaven, and all their products. He collects minerals, and all the products, not only of nature, but of man himself. He collects everything written or printed, from illuminated manuscripts and rare editions, to postage stamps, book - plates, and autographs. He collects the shoes, fans, and snuff-boxes of the living, and the sarcophagi of the dead ; nay, even the mummies themselves. Many of the collections are made, not solely for the mere sake of collecting, but for the educational value, or interest, or beauty, of the things collected ; but many things are collected, as the boy collects horse-chestnuts and birds' eggs, merely to satisfy the instinct of accumulating ; and the degradation of this instinct is seen in the very common habit of the insane, of collecting all kinds of heterogeneous and useless rubbish. When their pockets are turned out, as they must be every night, they are found to be stuffed with collections of useless and incongruous fragments : — torn newspapers, bits of bread, stones, leaves, sticks, bits of string, a spoon or a fork perhaps, corks, buttons, odd playing cards, and what not. Not infrequently, the instinct of collecting is powerful enough to break down the restraint of morality, in persons who are punctiliously honest with respect to other things, not included in their passion for collecting. The bibliophile, who is honest enough in all other relations of life, does not always cH.viii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 123 return the volume he has borrowed ; and cases become known, from time to time, in which the first theft discovered leads to investio^ation, and reveals a collection of large numbers of similar articles, all accumulated by the same dishonest means. Quantities of eyeglasses, of fans, of opera-glasses, of stockings, or of some other article, are found to have been collected, far beyond any requirement of usefulness, profit, or beauty. They have never been used, and it is evident that beyond a single one, or two, or three, of them, they could be of no use to the collector. No attempt to dispose of them has been made. They have been stolen, not for profit, nor for the money that could be made out of them, but solely to satisfy the passion of collecting, which happens to have been concentrated upon this or that particular class of thing. One more mode of action falls to be considered under the head of administration of means ; and this is the defence and retention of property. This instinct also is shared by man with some of the lower animals ; and, if we include under property, as we legitimately may do, and should do, all that is, or is deemed to be, appropriated by the proprietor to his ow^n use, then man shares the instinct with a very large pro- portion of the lower animals. It has long been known that each gang of dogs in Constantinople has its own well defined district, into which no dog of another gang may encroach, on pain of instant assault, pursued even to the death ; but it is only of late years discovered that every pair of robins in a garden is similarly jealous of the integrity of its own district, 124 CONDUCT BOOK II and will immediately assault, and endeavour to drive away, an intruder. Long before the term was in- vented by man, every robin defended the exclusive user of his own petty district, against all comers in the shape of other robins. Similarly, every bird has property in its own nest ; and, though its appropriation and defence of its own eggs and young, belong more to the parental than the property instinct, there is much in common between the two. Every social bee and ant defends its own hive or nest, even to the death, against foreign intruders. It has a sense of property in its home. Dogs have the instinct strongly developed, and apply it, not only to places, but to specific articles, thus sharing with man the instinct of property usually so called. A dog needs no teaching or training to guard his master's coat, or his own bone, against all comers. He has the instinct already inherent in him. The instinct of defending one's own property is little subject to disorder. It is not necessarily accompanied by a proportionate respect for the property of others, and genuine mistakes and con- fusion as to the rightful owner of specific property are not rare. When, however, doctrinaires deny the existence of property, they run foul of an instinct of very remote origin, of great potency, and of very wide prevalence, not only in the human race, but in a very large proportion of the lower animals also. Such instincts are not easy to overcome. The second department of indirectly self- con- servative action is the earning of the livelihood. It would manifestly be foreign to the purpose of this CH. V HI SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 125 book to consider, or even enumerate, the different ways in which men and women earn their livelihood, even if it were practicable to do so, but certain ways in which this mode of conduct fails, must be set forth. If a person is to earn his living, he must be able and willing to perform services, for which others are able and willing to pay ; and thus there are four sources of failure. He may not be able to perform such services, or he may be unwilling to do so ; others may be unable to pay for his services, or they may be unwilling to do so. The whole affair lies in this nutshell. The ability of others to pay for the services of any person, is a matter that need not be pursued here. It lies at the base of the whole problem of unemploy- ment, and is in the department of the political economist ; but their willingness to pay depends upon whether the services of the person concerned are sufficiently desired, to make others think it worth while to make the purchase ; and this resolves itself into what the person, desiring to earn his living, is able and willino; to offer. If his services are such as no one is willing to purchase, it is because they are in some way defective. They have not a sufficient value to tempt a purchaser, and this want of value is usually due to one of two causes. The services that he offers are either lacking in quality, or they are lacking in quantity. There is a large class of persons whose services are so deficient in quality that they find no purchaser, or no continuous market. Such persons are neither 126 CONDUCT BOOK II incapable of labour, nor unwilling to labour, but their labour has no market value ; because they cannot apply it successfully without so much super- vision, as renders it more costly than it is worth. They require constant supervision to prevent them from spoiling their job. If such a man is set to dig a hole, he will dig it in the wrong place, or too wide, or too deep, or not wide or deep enough, or too irregular in shape. If he is set to weed, he will tear up weeds and valuable plants indiscriminately. If he is set to gather rubbish, he will gather everything that is movable that he finds in the place. If he is sent with a message, he delivers it wrong, or to the wrong person, or he forgets it altogether. He is incapable of any but very simple occupation ; and even this he cannot perform correctly. Such persons are above the grade of idiots, for they are capable of acquiring, and do acquire, the modes of action of the directly self-conservative class. They can be trusted in the street without fear that they will be run over, or lose their way ; they can be trusted to shave themselves without gashing their fingers ; to clothe themselves appropriately ; and to keep themselves moderately clean. But the earning of the living requires a higher grade of intelligence than they possess. Capable of crude acts only, they cannot attain to the elaborate- ness of action necessary to give their services a market value. Such persons are technically called imbeciles ; and the defect which prevents them from earning their livelihood, is an intellectual defect. But the services that a person can render may be ample in quality, but may be deficient in quantity, cH.viii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 127 or, what is equally important, in regularity. They may rise to a higli degree of elaboration, skill, and originality, but they always have the character of play ; they never attain to the dignity of work. The only action of which these persons are capable, or at any rate, which alone they undertake, is that of play. They are often of an active and bustling disposition, and then they are always busy, and utterly devoid of industry. For by industry we mean steady per- sistence in an occupation, in spite of monotony and distastefulness. We mean an employment followed, at the cost of present gratification, for the sake of the future advantage to be derived from it. Of such self-sacrifice, the persons under consideration are incapable. They follow their occupation with eager- ness, as long as it is pleasurable ; but as soon as they tire of it, they give it up. Services so rendered have little or no commercial value. Service, however skilled, however accurate, however original, is of little value if it cannot be relied on ; and the man that attends his business only when he feels inclined to do so, soon ceases to have any business to attend. Or the quantity and regularity of a man's services may be impaired by illness, and in that case he is handicapped in earning his livelihood ; but this is a matter in which the defect of conduct is involuntary, and does not enter into our consideration. CHAPTER IX SOCIAL CONDUCT Of all departments of conduct, that which has relation to the social state ; which is evoked by the existence, presence, demeanour, and action of our fellows ; which regulates our relations to our fellows, and to the community at large ; is the most extensive, and comprises the most numerous and diverse modes of action. The conduct of every member of a community is profoundly modified by his membership of the community ; and, as with other departments of conduct, social conduct is in part elicited, in part spontaneous. Elicited social conduct consists of those modes of action or inaction that are produced in us by the existence, presence, demeanour, action and inaction, actual or anticipated, of our fellows ; in short, by the attitude that others adopt towards us. Spontaneous social conduct is that by which we seek, TYiero motu, to express our attitude towards the community as a whole, towards sections or classes of the community, or towards the individual members of it with whom we come into relation. In the first section, of elicited social conduct, we must consider the following influences; remembering that we consider 128 CHAP. IX SOCIAL CONDUCT 129 not only the actual, but the anticipated attitude of others towards us. I. Elicited Social Conduct A. Influence on conduct of the Existence of others. The Social Instinct. B. Influence on conduct of the Presence of others. Social Inhibition. C. Influence on conduct of the Attention of others. Self-conscious conduct : Shyness. D. Influence on conduct of the Esteem of others. Pride : Vanity : Ambition. E. Influence on conduct of the Approval of others. Elicited Morality. F. Influence on conduct of the Liking of others. Suavity. G. Influence on conduct of the Will of others. Subordination and Leading. H. Influence on conduct of the Example of others. Custom and Fashion. I. Influence on conduct of the Action of others ; 1. On ourselves. 2. On others. 3. On circumstances. IL Spontaneous Social Conduct K. Conduct towards the whole community. Patriotic and Treasonable conduct. L. Conduct towards sections and classes. Philanthropy and Misanthropy. M. Conduct towards individuals. Beneficence and Maleficence. K 130 CONDUCT BOOK II A. INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT OF THE MERE EXISTENCE OF OTHERS This is the Social Instinct. The mere existence of others evokes in us the instinctive desire to associate with them, to rub shoulders with them, to be of them, and amongst them. Man is a social animal ; and his custom of living in communities, continued, as it has been, for untold ages, has resulted in, and resulted from, an urgent and deep-seated desire for the companionship of his fellows, which is now become one of the dominant motives of human con- duct. Prolonged privation of the companionship of his fellows is intolerable to every man — to all social animals. It is well known to all keepers and breeders of stock, that no social animal will thrive in solitude. It is known to every farmer, that a cow or a horse kept alone, will surmount or break down the most formidable obstacles, to get into the society of its fellows. The lonely shepherds of Australia, and the lonely hunters of the backwoods, jSnd, after a time, the craving for companionship reach an extreme of tension that demands satisfaction, at any sacrifice of privation and exertion. Solitary confinement, if sufficiently prolonged, results inevitably in madness. The companionship of his kind is as necessary to the mental health of man, as food is necessary to his bodily health. The deprivation of either, if pro- longed sufficiently, is destructive. And this is not quite all. Every man requires companionship, and not the mere companionship of human beings, but the companionship of men and women approximately of CHAP. IX SOCIAL CONDUCT 131 his own social state and race, of feelings, tastes, habits, customs, prejudices even, similar to his own. In the presence of other human beings he may, indeed, preserve his sanity, but unless these other human beings, or some of them, are in sympathy with him in the matters recorded, he is not at ease ; he is not fully satisfied ; he does not take the full delight of complete companionship ; he suffers, less indeed than the solitary, but to some extent he still suffers, from starvation of the soul. There are people in whom the instinct of com- panionship is defective ; others in whom it is present in excess. In many of the insane, the defect of this mode of conduct is but one instance and example of a universal defect of conduct and of mind. They sit all day, holding no communication with their fellows, and taking no notice of them. If left alone, they would stay alone indefinitely, not merely be- cause the instinct of companionship is wanting, but because all initiative, that of the social instinct among the rest, is wanting. They are too destitute of mind to possess the social instinct. It is gone in the general wreck. Whether the monks of the Thebaid, and the her- mits of the Middle Ages, adopted their mode of life from abhorrence of the society of their fellow-men, or even from defect of the social instinct, is to be doubted. Such seeking of solitude must be held, in the best cases, a mode of self-sacrifice and mortifi- cation, such as all religions have countenanced, and many have inculcated. In many cases, the retreat from social life was due to less worthy motives — to 132 CONDUCT BOOK II laziness, and a desire to shirk the burdens that social life imposes. Whether the character of Timon, as traditionally depicted, is true to fact, is doubtful ; but if it is so, it is an instance of the reversal of the social instinct. Fiction presents us with other instances, such as the Black Dwarf; but in actual experience they are, at least, very rare in the sane, pace the French philoso- pher, who declared that the more he saw of human beings, the more he loved dogs. In the insane, such characters are not very infrequent. There are some insane persons who are contented only when they are by themselves. In the company of others they are noisy, aggressive, turbulent, uneasy ; wretched them- selves, and a nuisance to others. Alone, they are tranquil, and they often beg to be placed in solitude. They seem not to desire, but rather to resent and dislike, the presence of others. On the other hand, there are those, both sane and insane, who exhibit the social instinct in disorderly excess. No healthy-minded person desires to be never alone ; every person of normal susceptibility feels and knows when his society is desired, and when it is not ; but there are people whose craving for the society of others is so inordinate, that they are uneasy if they are ever alone, and they do not appear to recognise that other people are differently constituted. Eather than be alone, such a person will seek the society of those who plainly don't want him ; but his vanity prevents him from recognising their reluctance. He will thrust himself upon a pair of lovers, and com- placently believe they are grateful for his efforts to SOCIAL CONDUCT 133 entertain them. He will intrude between a man and his solicitor, between a woman and her doctor, and benevolently add his advice. He will intervene between bargainers, and offer his arbitration. He is not only himself the subject of an inordinate craving for the society of others, but he credits them with an equal eagerness for his own. Some degree of perversion, or at least degradation, of social conduct, is seen in those who habitually seek the society of their social inferiors, to the exclusion of that of their social equals. We sometimes see a cultured and educated man join a gang of gipsies, or even marry into a tribe of savages. More often, we witness temporary lapses, usually, but not always, connected with drunkenness, or with sexual irregular- ities, into the companionship of criminals, tramps, or other depraved characters. B. INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT OF THE PRESENCE OF OTHERS Social Inhibition The existence of every aggregate depends upon the limitation of the motion of the constituent parts com- posing the aggregate. When a blacksmith desires to divide an iron bar, he heats it until it softens, and then he finds the division easy. When a housekeeper desires to increase the cohesion of her pats of butter, she puts them on ice, and finds that by doing so she secures a more coherent aggregate. In dividing the iron bar, the smith is so far destroying the integration of the aggregate of atoms composing the bar, as to 134 CONDUCT BOOK II divide it into two smaller aggregates, and he finds this operation facilitated by heating the bar, that is to say, by increasing the independent movement of each individual atom entering into the constitution of the aggregate. When the housekeeper hardens her butter by cooling it, she takes an aggregate which is break- ing down, and resolving into incoherent particles, and, by decreasing the independent movement of each par- ticle, she binds it into a coherent aggregate. What is true of these simple inorganic aggregates, is true of organic aggregates. In every case in which an aggregate is formed, the aggregation implies, involves, and requires a surrender of some freedom of action on the part of the individual components of the aggre- gate. If some members of a flock, or a herd, or a shoal, or a flight, move in a direction, or at a rate, diff'erent from that of the other members ; the herd, or the flock, or the shoal, will be disintegrated by the loss of those members who thus move indepen- dently ; and if all moved at difterent rates, or in difi'erent directions, the flock or herd would cease to exist. It would be disintegrated^ altogether into its individual components. A certain surrender of individual freedom of action is necessary to the existence of the gregarious state. On no other terms can a community exist. The solitary bee makes its cell in cylindrical or somewhat oval form. The gregarious bee, crowded on every side by its fellows, makes a cell, the cylindrical form of which is modified by the proximity of those fellows. Where the activity of its neighbour meets, and tends to encroach on its own activity ; OHAP. IX SOCIAL CONDUCT 135 where its owu activity meets, and tends to encroach upon the activity of the others ; where the cyHnders would, if completed, encroach on one another ; there the activity of all is checked. Since both cylinders cannot encroach at the same place on each other ; and since the encroachment of either would unduly limit the activity of the neighbouring constructor, a com- promise is made ; a bargain is struck ; via media is found. Since neither cylinder may encroach on the other, the only possible alternative is found, and a flat partition is built up between the two. Each bee so limits the extent of her own construction, as to leave her neighbours a range precisely equal to her own. The result is a structure far better adapted to the purpose of the community, than if each bee had had full liberty, and had built a cylindrical cell of her own. Time, labour, and material are economised ; strength and capacity are gained. This typical instance will illustrate the prime condition of social life — first, the necessary surrender, on the part of each individual, of some part of the sphere — in this case the cylinder — of individual action ; and second, the great advantage that this surrender of individual freedom secures to the community. From this example, we learn the fundamental truth, that the influence of the community upon each of its members is primarily inhibitory. The condition of living in a community is the surrender of some of the freedom of individual action ; and correspondingly, the effect on the individual of the presence of his fellows, is an inhibitory effect. It limits his action. 136 CONDUCT BOOK II Thus we arrive at the first of the influences that society exercises upon the individuals that compose it. The first effect that is produced on each by the others, is produced by their mere presence ; and this eff"ect is inhibitory in character. In the presence of others we do not, and cannot, behave precisely as we do when we are alone. We speak of children, in the presence of any of their elders of whom they are in awe, being ' on their best behaviour ' ; and every one, in the presence of any one else, is to a certain extent on good behaviour. He does not do things that he does when alone. He does not to the same extent abandon himself to his own comfort and con- venience. He feels that something is due to his socius ; and the more unfamiliar the person in whose presence he is, the greater is this inhibitory eff'ect. There are some acts that cannot be done, or can be done only with more or less difiiculty, in the presence of others. The more people that are present, the greater the inhibitory eftect of their presence; and the stranger they are, the more is this eff'ect en- hanced. No one eats a meal in the presence of others in precisely the same way that he would eat it in solitude. This inhibitory eff'ect is produced by the mere presence of others. It is not necessary to the inhibition that they should observe the actor. In nothing is the inhibitory eff'ect of the presence of others more manifest, than in the dift'erence between oral expression and written expression. When the inhibitory and restraining influence of the actual presence of others is absent, freedom of expression becomes possible, that is quite out of the CHAP. IX SOCIAL CONDUCT 137 question when face to face with the interlocutor ; and this holds true whether the communication that is to be made, is antagonistic or the reverse. Many a bashful man finds it impossible to declare his affection when face to face with his beloved, but manages to pour out his feelings on paper with little difficulty. Smarting under a sense of injury, he determines to seek out his adversary, with the intention of giving him a piece of his mind ; but when he comes into actual presence of that adversary, the matter somehow takes on a different complexion. The strong language that he intended to use, and that expressed his feeling so aptly, now appears inappropriate. The interview takes a different tone from that which he intended and expected. But if, instead of seeking an interview with his opponent, he sits down to express his feel- ings in writing, he will be apt, in the absence of the restraint imposed by the personal presence of the other, to express himself with a vigour which is subsequently a source of wonder to him. The extraordinary want of reticence that is dis- played by some diarists, is another illustration of the influence, or rather of the absence of the influence, under consideration. The astounding revelations of some diarists, of whom Pepys is the type and example, are possible on paper only. No man could make them in the presence of any one else ; and the occasional revelations, in Courts of Justice, of diaries and letters, are such as would be impossible in open speech. The inhibitory effect of the presence of others, and especially of the presence of strangers, is as con- spicuous in disordered as in ordered conduct — in the 138 CONDUCT BOOK II insane as in the sane. Thus, it often happens that the physician, or the magistrate, who is a stranger to the lunatic, fails to observe any sign of insanity, because before him no sign of insanity is displayed. The presence of the stranger inhibits the disorderly, no less than the orderly, conduct; and the lunatic, who displays abundant disorder to his own family, or his accustomed physician, is passed as sane by those who are strangers to him. Similarly, many insane persons exhibit their insanity only, or most con- spicuously, in their writings ; and nothing is more remarkable than the profound insanity of the writings of some insane persons, who are quite sane enough in conversation to pass muster. The effect on conduct of the mere presence of others, does not appear, as the effect of their atten- tion does, to diminish with advancing age, or with use. It varies, no doubt, in different persons ; but its variations appear to depend, not so much on use, as on idiosyncrasy. It is, I suppose, never com- pletely absent ; and rarely attains such excess as to be a serious inconvenience. There is a kind of spurious reversal, which will be considered in the next section, in which the presence of others appears rather to stimulate than to inhibit, but this is an effect, not of the presence, so much as of the attention of others. CHAPTER X C. INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT OF THE ATTENTION OF OTHERS Shyness: Self- consciousness If the effect of the mere presence of others upon conduct, is thus conspicuous and powerful, more effect may be expected from the direction of their attention. What is easier than to walk across the room or the road ? No one who wishes to get to the other side, thinks twice how he shall walk across, pays any attention to the mode in which he does it, or finds any difficulty in holding himself, or moving his limbs. But let the open space be the stage of a crowded theatre, how now ? The very fact that scores or hundreds of people are looking at him, and attending to what he does, has a profound effect upon the way in which a man walks across the stage. Now he must himself pay attention to his own movements, and we have seen (p. 57) that the effect of attending to automatic movements, like those of walking, is to impair their efficiency. One's legs seem no longer one's own. The ease and auto- maticity of their action are gone. Their movements are 139 140 CONDUCT BOOK II stiff, awkward, and constrained ; nay, to some people they become impossible. Some people can no more cross that space than if it were a space of deep water. The concentration of the attention of many people upon them, is inhibitory to the point of paralysing. The fluent talker to one or two companions, whose attention he desires to attract, and has perhaps a difficulty in attracting, halts, stammers and breaks down in his first speech to an assembly. What he has to say is the same, but his ease of utterance is gone. It is inhibited by the concentrated attention of his audience. The learner who has acquired com- plete accuracy in performing a piece of music in private, bungles when he plays it to his first audience. Persons who are never so skilled in an operation of any kind, which they are accustomed to perform alone, will break down under the attention of other people. ' I can't do it while you look at me ' is what they say. The handicraftsman, who has practised his art until he has attained facility, finds himself embarrassed if some one is watching him — still more embarrassed if several people are watching him. He loses his facility, and becomes awkward in his move- ments. He makes mistakes. The conjurer or pres- tidigitator who has perfected some trick in solitude, so that he can perform it with perfect facility, and with the certainty of success, is no longer certain of success when he is performing it before an audience. It requires longer practice to make him certain of success before others, than to make him certain of success in solitude. No one, without long practice, can behave with the same ease before persons who CHAP. X INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT 141 are observing him, and attending to what he does, as he can when alone ; and the curious thing is that when he has attained ease before spectators to whom he is accustomed, his embarrassment returns when the spectators are new to him. An actor who is at ease before provincial audiences, becomes embarrassed at performing in London, and vice versa ; and the speaker who has attained facility before an American audience, is apt to experience an unwonted embar- rassment at addressing one in England. The modification of conduct that is brought about by the attention of others, is called self-conscious conduct : a term that implies that, in these circum- stances, we have an exaggerated consciousness of our own movements and attitudes. We are compelled to attend to them as we do not attend when we are alone ; and the result of this attention is awkward- ness and embarrassment of movement, which may, and in some cases does, rise to a height that renders movement almost impossible ; and that has a para- lysing effect upon the mental powers also. The inexperienced speaker, who has committed his oration to memory, and is word - perfect in it when alone, finds himself, in the presence of his audience, without a word to throw at a dog. His mind is as empty of words as if the faculty of speech had never been given to him. Even practised orators, speaking before audiences to which they are well accustomed, even actors of long experience, are liable to accessions of ' stage fright,' which render them incapable of uttering a word. Speakers so practised and ex- perienced as Robert Lowe and Lord Randolph 142 CONDUCT BOOK II Churchill, have had to sit down in silence in the House of Commons, overpowered in the middle of a speech by their inability ; and many distinguished actors have left on record that they often ex- perienced lapses of the same kind. Besides this inhibitory effect of the attention of others on one's own action, another effect is very frequent, even if it is not constant. Most people, perhaps all people, who are doing a thing in the presence of spectators, experience a desire to pose, to ' show off,' to exhibit some peculiarity of manner, to appear to advantage, to ask silently for applause ; a desire which they do not experience when alone. This desire may be resisted. It commonly is resisted, since it is not considered good form to allow the appeal for applause to become apparent ; but very often it is not resisted, and imparts to conduct a peculiar character, that it does not possess in other circumstances. Even when resisted, the very fact that it has to be resisted, diminishes the ease and natural- ness of the demeanour ; and imparts to it a peculiarity, that can be recognised by the observant spectator. With use and custom, the inhibitory effect of attention, like to the somniferous effect of opium, wears off, and is replaced by stimulation. The practised orator, the experienced actor, the accom- plished juggler, finds that his best performances are executed in the presence of his largest audiences ; and that a beggarly array of half-empty benches fails to call forth his best powers. What embarrasses and hampers his action, is not the attention of his audience, but the want of it. If their interest flags, CHAP. X INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT 143 and their attention wanders, if they talk among themselves, and turn their eyes away from him, straightway his powers flag, and he finds his task more and more difficult and wearisome. He may even be unable to proceed at all. There are those in whom the inhibitory effect of the attention of others is exaggerated, so as to pro- duce more embarrassment, and more prolonged em- barrassment, than is usual. Most children suffer more or less from what is called shyness, which is the inhibitory and confusing effect of the direction of attention towards them ; and this phase of conduct may endure into later life, and, when much prolonged or very pronounced, it approaches the abnormal. The confusion and embarrassment of mind that is the mental side of shyness, may exhibit itself, in conduct, in shrinking from observation, in self- suppression, and withdrawal, as far as possible, from engaging the attention of others ; and this may be pushed so far that the shy person shuns society, especially the society of strangers, to avoid the pains of shyness. Otherwise, the confusion and embarrass- ment may be exhibited in action intended to proclaim their absence ; and shy persons often, in desperation, do things which render them conspicuous, and attract still more attention from bystanders. They en- deavour to hide their real shrinking from notice, and their feeling of being ' out of it,' by boisterous behaviour, by undue familiarities, by loudness of speech and aggressive laughter, which leave them, when the occasion is past, suffering from agonies of remorse and shame. 144 CONDUCT BOOK II The opposite state, of deficient sensitiveness to the attention of others, is sometimes seen ; and com- plete self-possession, as it is termed, in young children, and in young people who are conspicuous objects of attention, though it can scarcely be called abnormal, is unattractive. We are inclined to regard such persons as lacking in modesty, and to be repelled by them. Something in the nature of what appears to be a reversal of shyness is exhibited by some people, who are not always, in fact, deficient in shyness. There are those whose constant effort it is to attract and concentrate upon them the attention of other people. In the language of the stage, they try to be always in the limelight ; and to achieve this end, they usually play to the gallery. That is to say, they seek to render themselves conspicuous by devices which ostensibly have some other purpose. A man can render himself conspicuous by holding over his head a scarlet umbrella, or by sticking an ostrich feather in the decorous silk hat of civilisation. Such people may not, indeed, carry actual scarlet umbrellas, nor do they decorate their hats wdth actual ostrich feathers ; but they carry, wherever they go, a meta- phorical scarlet umbrella, and are ready to open it and hoist it aloft at any moment, to attract the attention of their fellows. We may see the shadowy ghost of an ostrich feather in their hats, even when they are on the way to church. The type and example of them is Bottom the weaver. They always seek to be in the limelight. They desire to attract and concentrate upon themselves the atten- CHAP. X INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT 145 tion of others. Some must have notoriety, even at the cost of approbation and esteem. They would rather be reprobated or contemned than incon- spicuous ; rather notorious than neglected. D. INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT OF THE ESTIMATION OF OTHERS A^nhition, Pride, Vanity, Conceit An attitude of neutral attention is not long sus- tained. It soon passes into one of esteem or dis- esteem, approval or disapproval, liking or disliking, with its consequences on the conduct of the person attended to. Since every one desires to be esteemed, approved and liked, and to avoid disesteem, dis- approval and dislike, these attitudes on the part of others have a very powerful influence on conduct ; and our task is to discover what are the qualities in conduct that arouse esteem, approval and liking, and what are the qualities that evoke their opposites. We shall then have the key to large departments of social conduct. These three social motives to conduct, though they are separable on analysis, are yet, in practice, closely associated, and together provide the dominat- ing influence of social life. Every one desires, with intense and overmastering urgency, to avoid con- tempt, disapproval, and dislike, and to gain the admiration, approval, and liking of his fellows. The potency of the combined motives is enormous, and often asserts their dominance over all other motives to conduct, even the most primary, fundamental, and original. The desire to be admired, approved, and I. 146 CONDUCT BOOK II liked by others, or to avoid their contempt, dis- approval and dislike, overcomes the desire for money, for life, even for reproductive conduct in all its forms. For this, men will sacrifice fortune, life, love, and even children. How large a proportion of the money that is given in charity is given for no charitable motive, but for ostentation, is notorious. Of the tens of thousands who sacrifice their lives in war, how many are actuated by love of country and sense of duty ; how many by desire to gain admira- tion, or by fear of incurring contempt ; how many by desire to be approved, and fear of disapproval ? Diff'erent people, with different experience, would estimate the proportion differently ; but the large share that is avowedly given, by soldiers themselves, to the desire for glory, shows that it is a very im- portant factor. Again, how many unequal marriages are prevented by fear of loss of caste, and so of incurring disesteem, we have no means of knowing ; but it is certainly large. How many women are preserved from sexual immorality by no instinct of chastity, but by fear of incurring reprobation, we cannot estimate ; but that they are very many, no one can doubt. Though desire to be liked, to be approved, and to be applauded, and the correlative aversion to be disliked, to be disapproved, to be contemned, often concur in the same person with respect to the same act ; yet they are not only separable on analysis, but often operate singly in determining conduct ; and we often apportion them separately. We all like Falstaff ; we all admire his wit; but we none of CHAP. X INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT 147 us approve of him. We all admire Napoleon Buona- parte ; but few of us like him, and still fewer approve. We approve of both St. Francis of Assisi and St. Dominic ; but the first we like without admiring ; the second we admire without liking. We admire Francis Bacon ; but we neither approve nor like him ; we like Mr. Foker, without approving or admiring ; and we approve John Howard, without admiring or liking him. We must therefore examine separately the influence of each upon conduct, and we take first the influence of esteem. Esteem, and its emphatic, admiration, are evoked by the display of capability and skill in dealing with circumstances, and of superiority of any kind ; and also by the belief, well or ill-founded, that superiority of any kind is possessed. Disesteem, and its emphatic, contempt, are evoked by evidence of deficiency of skill and capability, by the display of inferiority of any kind, or by the belief in the existence of these qualities or modes of action. To gain esteem at least, and admiration if possible, is the common desire of all ; and, in order to satisfy this desire, we endeavour to display the qualities that evoke them ; or at any rate, to engender in others the belief that we possess them. We advertise our successes, and pretend to superiority, even if we do not possess it. To avoid disesteem and contempt, we conceal our failures, and we avoid the display of incompetence and inferiority, and endeavour to disguise or conceal whatever of these qualities we feel that we have. The matter is more complicated, however, than this. In order that we may gain that applause from 148 CONDUCT DOOK II others that is so large an element in our well-being, not only must we obtain credit for capability, or success, or excellence, or superiority of some kind, in some matter or other ; but we must satisfy two further conditions. In the first place we must not applaud ourselves ; in the second, we must not demand the applause we desire. He who achieves success in the face of difficulty, or exhibits, in any respect, superiority to the general run, even if it be a mere conventional superiority, such as rank, or social position, is admired, and receives applause, which is the expression of admira- tion ; but if we detect that he is already in receipt of applause from himself, our own is at once checked and diminished. We are piqued that he should have the presumption to forestall our own judgment. We are annoyed that he has shown himself independent of our opinion. His self-assurance, and applause of himself, are distasteful to us. If he chooses to applaud himself, without waiting for our sanction, we are apt to let him content himself with that applause, and to withhold our own. Those alone receive unstinted applause, who combine high achievement with modesty of demeanour. If we desire to stand high in the estimation of others, and to receive their applause, we must assume the virtue of modesty, if we have it not. However satisfied we may be of our own excellence and superiority, we must keep that satisfaction to ourselves, and not express it openly. We must not even allow it to leak out in our demeanour. Such suppression is not possible to all. We can CHAP. X INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT 149 all suppress the verbal expression of any superiority of which we feel ourselves possessed ; but a person in whom the consciousness of superiority or excellence is very strong, cannot suppress all manifestation of it. It peeps through, unintentionally, and it may be altogether unconsciously, in his demeanour. The overt assumption of superiority is termed Arrogance of demeanour, and the covert assumption is termed Pride. The second negative condition necessary to secure the applause of others, is to refrain from demanding it. Applause that is solicited is withheld ; or if, for reasons, we feel obliged to accord it, it is not genuine, or not wholly genuine. We may feel admiration, but if our applause is solicited, we are inclined to suppress it. Applause is a free gift : no one has a right to demand it ; and the more explicitly and urgently it is demanded, the more we feel inclined to withhold it. A man may merit our applause by the exhibition of indisputable skill, capacity, superiority, or excellence ; but if he has the bad taste to demand our applause as of right, we deny it to him. No man can have a right to a free gift. That impatience which is not content to wait for applause until it is spontaneously given, but must ask for it, may rest upon a real excellence, or on one which has no real existence, but exists only in the imagination of the demander. In the first case it is termed Vanity, and in the second Conceit ; and the demand may be conveyed in plain terms, or in- directly, or by demeanour only. Applause is seldom seriously demanded in plain terms, but is often 150 CONDUCT BOOK 11 demanded indirectly ; and vanity and conceit are exhibited in various ways. The crudest methods of indirect demand are boasting and bragging ; boasting being the relation of actual achievement by the boaster, bragging the relation of what he could do if he liked ; but this crude method is so manifestly calculated to defeat its own purpose, that it is employed by those only in whom vanity or conceit is carried to excess, or who are wanting in reticence, or are exceptionally naive. A more frequent and more subtle method of demanding applause, is to exaggerate, or, without exaggeration, to exhibit and emphasise, the dijBiculties of the feat for which applause is desired. This device is often undetected ; but when it is detected, its detection diminishes, as all asking for applause diminishes, the amount and heartiness of the applause that the feat may merit, and would otherwise obtain. In exhibiting skill and capacity, a man should not draw attention to his skill and capacity. He should ajDpear intent solely on achieving his object ; not on the double task of achieving his object and drawing attention to his skill in doing so. All attitudinising, all flourishes, all unnecessary display of capacity, are so many devices for soliciting applause, and are certain means of diminishing the applause of those who see through the device. The highest skill, which receives the most ungrudging applause of the most competent critics, is not that in which difiiculties are exhibited and emphasised, but that in which they are ignored and concealed. This is the meaning of the maxim, Ars est celare artem. So necessary to the obtaining CHAF, X INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT 151 of ungrudging applause, is the absence of any demand for it, that a little want of self-possession is sometimes more effectual than that perfect self-possession that borders on the expression of vanity. For this reason, an accomplished House of Commons orator advised a novice not to be too perfect in the delivery of his maiden speech. If he hesitated now and then, if he even appeared to lose the thread of his discourse, and break down temporarily, it would find him more favour with his audience than a more perfect delivery, Complementarily, we hide from others our failures and our unskilfulness ; for such exhibitions bring us into disesteem and contempt with our fellows ; and few experiences are more bitter than the knowledge that we have brought ourselves into contempt. In every endeavour, we have three efficient motives for attaining success : three for avoiding failure. We desire to attain, for its own sake, and for the benefit that flows from it, the aim of our endeavour ; we desire the more abstract and general satisfaction that success of any kind brings with it ; and we desire the enhanced estimation of our fellows that attends the publication of our success. We desire to avoid failure lest we lose the aim of our endeavour ; lest we sufi"er the pangs of failure; lest we incur the diminution of neighbourly esteem that attends the knowledge that we have failed. Conduct calculated to gain the esteem, and escape the disesteem, of others, is subject to many vagaries. Many profess indifference to the esteem of others, but those who do so with sincerity are very few. 152 CONDUCT BOOK II The paiu of being in contempt is so severe, that few indeed will not try to avoid it. A man may, indeed, confess his own failures, and tell stories against himself; but only in small matters, or in matters foreign to the main purposes of life. In greater matters, he will attribute failure, not to his own want of capability, but to unavoidable misfortune, or to the machinations of others. In moods of depression, indeed, we may confess to incapability or inferiority, but such confessions are often indirect appeals for contradiction, or for sympathy. In the morbid depression of insanity, the consciousness of incapacity, incompetence, and general unworthiness, is dominant ; and then confession of these inferiorities is exaggerated in emphasis, and goes far beyond the facts. The commoner faults are an excess of the passion for admiration and applause, leading to conduct that is calculated to achieve this end, at the cost of forfeiting the approval and liking of others ; and a pursuit of applause that is too direct, or too evident, and consequently fails, for the reasons already stated. We commonly discriminate between the craving for an applause that is widespread and uncritical, and for that of a smaller, but more critical circle. Conduct of the first kind must be histrionic, and must rather exhibit excellence in doing that which every one can do less well ; while conduct of the second kind need not be showy, and is apt to be the doing well of that which but few can do at all. Ambition that is inordinate, that is to say, that strives for admiration alone, regardless of approba- CHAP. X INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT 153 tion and liking, is apt to lead to disaster. It incurs the dislike of many, wlio therefore antagonise the ambitious man ; and the disapprobation of many, who therefore refrain from supporting him. The most conspicuous example in history is, of course, Napoleon Buonaparte. Desire for admiration may prompt conduct of almost any kind, from bravery in war to philosophic speculation ; from feats of personal strength to display in costume ; from the laborious acquisition of fluency of speech to ostentatious dona- tions to the poor. The passion for admiration, so called, that we witness in certain women, is not so much a social as a sexual craving. What they desire, and by this conduct seek, is not so much common admiration, as the attraction of the opposite sex. The desire for the admiration of their own sex is not, indeed, wanting ; it may enter largely into their motive ; but the proximate motive is predominantly sexual. In no case is the distinction between conduct in pursuit of admiration, and conduct in pursuit of approbation and of liking, clearer than in this. Such women desire the admiration and liking of men, but if they can secure the admiration of women, they are indiflerent to the hostility they inspire ; nay, it is even an additional gratification, as evidence of superiority. If we desire the applause of others, we must, as already shown, refrain from applauding ourselves, and from those peculiarities of manner and demeanour which indicate self-applause, as well as from demand- ing or supplicating for applause, or making naked claim to superiority. Failures of reticence in these 154 CONDUCT BOOK II respects are not infrequent, and may be truly regarded as perversions of conduct, since they defeat the very object that they seek to attain. The man of arrogant demeanour exhibits a self-applause, and, by implication, an indifference to the esteem of others, which arouses our hostility. The naive self-applause of Ruskin excites in us, not admiration, but rather contempt ; and so does the arrogance of Carlyle. The boaster and the braggart do not obtain the admiration they seek, and rather diminish than increase our esteem for them. Short of boasting and bragging, there is a subtler mode of asking for admira- tion by talking about oneself, which assumes that we are of sufficient importance to be the subject of con- versatiron ; and still more indirect is that insincere self-depreciation, that is intended to evoke contradic- tion : one of many instances of the pride that apes humility. Though it is not peculiar to the insane, nothing is more characteristic of the insane than boasting and bragging, and the limitation of conversation to them- selves and their own affairs ; and, as we should expect, these modes of conduct reach, in the insane, a pitch of enormity that is never witnessed in the sane. CHAPTER XI E. INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT OF THE APPROVAL OF OTHERS Elicited Morality What qualities in conduct are admired and applauded, and what inspire disesteem and contempt, we have already discovered. We are now to find the qualities that are approved, and are displayed in order to win approval ; and those that are disapproved, and are, in consequence, either eschewed or concealed ; and they are not far to seek. That conduct is approved, and called right, that is beneficial to the community or to the stirp ; and that which is detrimental to the com- munity or the stirp, is disapproved, reprobated, and called wrong. Moral conduct is conduct that serves the common interest, or the interest of the stirp, as distinguished from the interest of the actor. Conduct that is regarded as immoral and wrong, is conduct injurious, either to the community as a whole, or to individual members or classes of the community, or to the stirp. These, I say, are the qualities in conduct that are respectively approved, and called right or moral ; or disapproved, and called wrong or immoral ; but I do not say that these qualities are thus regarded 155 156 CONDUCT BOOK II because they are discerned to have these effects. In approving or disapproving conduct, as right or wrong, we do not avowedly, or even consciously, rest our approval or disapproval on the beneficial or injurious effect of the conduct. This does not enter into our judgment. We regard certain modes of conduct instinctively, as right or wrong ; we consider right- ness and wrongness as primary qualities of conduct, not needing explanation, and scarcely susceptible of explanation. We consider murder and robbery wrong in themselves — intrinsically and manifestly wrong, instinctively abhorrent — without regard to their effect on society. We consider parental solicitude and filial piety right in themselves — intrinsically and manifestly right — and approve them instinctively, without need- ing to give, as a reason for our approval, that they are beneficial to the stirp. Nor do I wish to imply that right conduct is followed solely from the motive of securing approval ; wrong conduct eschewed from the sole motive of avoiding disapproval. A morality that rests on such foundations, is not much superior to that which is based on the expectation of reward, and the fear of punishment. Those only are of the highest morality, whose conduct does, indeed, secure approval, but is dictated, not by the desire to secure approval, but by the simple desire to do what is right because it is felt and believed to be right — in short, from a sense of duty. This, however, is Spontaneous Morality, and is considered in a subsequent chapter. Here we are treating of Elicited Morality only, for Moral Conduct is no exception to the rule, that the external factor, as CHAP. XI ELICITED MORALITY 157 well as the internal factor, enters into the guidance of Conduct in every department. The highest and truest morality is that which is dictated by the internal factor alone : — that which is followed from an instinc- tive desire to do what is believed and felt to be right : to avoid and repel that which is believed or felt to be wrong. But, in the present stage of human develop- ment, many persona are imperfectly socialised in this respect. Their sense of duty is imperfectly developed, and were it not reinforced by other sanctions, would be insufficient to keep them in the path of rectitude. But, since adherence to this path is necessary for the preservation of the community, and therefore of the stirp, several other sanctions, besides that of con- science, have come into existence, in order to fence the path about. The patent necessity for an external reinforcement of the sense of duty, has led every community to institute its own system of criminal law, which safeguards the social fabric, by punishing acts that are injurious to it. A method so direct, and so brutal, is felt to be crude and artificial ; and, at best, it merely punishes infractions of social order after they have taken place. A far more eflectual remedy would be one that should prevent them ; and to this end, the Religious sanction ministers ; as will hereafter be shown. But the sense of duty is, in many, so weak, and the importance to society of pre- serving its integrity against internal aggressions is so vital, that a third influence is brought to bear against them. This is the growth and development, in the minds of men, of pleasure derived from the approval, and pain derived from the disapproval, of 158 CONDUCT BOOK II their fellows. To secure this pleasure, and avoid this pain, men who would not be deterred from wrong- doing by any internal sense of duty, or by any in- fluence of religion, may yet be kept in the straight path of morality. It has been said that that conduct is approved which is beneficial, either to society or to the stirp ; and that is disapproved, which is injurious to one or other. The truth of this thesis may not be self- evident, but a little consideration will show that it must be true. The desire to obtain the approval of others for our conduct, and to avoid their disapproval, is, as has been shown, a very powerful and pervading motive to conduct. In everything that we do and say, we keep one eye on the efifect our action will have in gaining or forfeiting the approval of others. ' What will people think ? ' is a question constantly on the tongues of some, and constantly in the minds of all. There is no reason of comfort or convenience why a man should not go to a dinner-party in his shooting jacket and knickerbockers, or a woman should not go to a wedding in deep mourning. They do not dress thus, however ; and the reason they do not is that, if the action occurs to them, they ask themselves what people will think. They are deterred by the disapproval they will incur. We all try to act so as to gain approval and avoid disapproval : and these motives influence us in nearly everything w^e do. Consequently, the conduct of every member of the community tends to conform, and in the majority of his acts does conform, with what his fellows approve CHAP. XI ELICITED MORALITY 1,59 of; and teuds to avoid, and for the most part does avoid, acts of which they disapprove. If, therefore, conduct that is generally approved were detrimental to the community, it would be generally followed ; and in the long run the community must perish. If conduct that is beneficial were disapproved, it would be generally eschewed, and the community would be defeated, and superseded by one in which disapproval was more advantageously bestowed. The history of the human race, in the main a history of conflict, has been long enough, and arduous enough, to bring about an adjustment of approval to beneficial conduct, and of disapproval to harmful conduct, even if such adjustment did not originally exist ; for, by natural selection, those communities in which the adjustment was more complete, would survive and prevail : those in which it was less complete, would perish, or be exterminated. Whether the approval of conduct is owing to any appreciation of its beneficial character or not, is of no importance. It is enough that conduct of this character is approved, no matter whether the reason of the approval is rational or irrational ; or whether the approval rests on no reason at all. It would be safe to say that the biological value of the conduct is seldom the ground of the approval. We regard action as right or wrong on grounds of authority, of sympathy, of prejudice, of our suppositions as to the will of the Deity, or on no acknowledged ground at all. Many acts are instinctively perceived to be right or wrong, without consideration or deliberate judgment ; and what this instinctive perception 160 CONDUCT BOOK II means, will be explained below ; but whether we know it or not, our approval is given to conduct that is beneficial to the community or the stirp, and our disapproval to conduct that is of the opposite tendency. Even if the ground of our approval were, origin- ally, appreciation of the beneficial character of the conduct, this would not long remain the ground. By anticipation of motive, the ultimate end would drop out of sight, and the conduct would be followed for its own sake. From an intermediate end it would advance to an ultimate end, just as the ringing of church bells and the teaching of Latin have so advanced ; and as in these cases, if a reason is sought, some new reason is advanced in place of the true one, which is forgotten. The action has, in short, ceased to be reasoned, and is become instinctive. If, now, we examine the conduct that is in fact approved, and considered to be right, we shall find that it does, in fact, conform to the description, of being beneficial to the community and the stirp, regardless of the actor ; while that which is dis- approved, may be beneficial to the actor, but is detrimental to the community or to the stirp. We have seen in a previous chapter, that the influence of society on the individual is in the main inhibitory. Society limits our activity in this direction and in that ; but where it does not limit us, it leaves us very much to our own devices. It prescribes what we may not do, without exhorting us as to what we are to do. It is a gardener that prunes, but does not train. The fear of disapproval is mainly prohibitory. CHAP. XI ELICITED MORALITY 161 and is therefore a more general motive to conduct than the desire for approval, which is less prohibitory and more stimulating. Moreover, the ways in which injury may be done to the community or the stirp, are more numerous than the ways in which they can be benefited ; and consequently, we shall find that the modes of conduct of which we disapprove, and which we stigmatise as wrong, are more numerous than those on which we bestow active approbation. We are now to discover the kinds of acts that are disapproved and regarded as wrong. Wrong conduct is conduct that is injurious to the community or to the stirp ; and as to the first kind of wrong conduct, it may be injurious directly or indirectly, and to the community as a whole, to sections or classes, or to individuals. Conduct that is injurious to the stirp must be separately considered. Conduct that is directly injurious to the whole community is treason. Technically, treason is levying war against the king, compassing his death, or assist- ing his enemies ; but we are not bound to this technical meaning ; and it seems to me that the true mischief of treason is injury, not so much of the king, as of the commonwealth, of which the king is the representative. When the technical meaning was fixed, the tenure of his throne by the monarch was comparatively insecure, and the king not merely reigned, but governed. His death or deposition was a serious calamity, and diminished the security of the kingdom itself from invasion, and of every person in it from foes, both native and foreign. In the absence of a strong hand at the centre of M 162 CONDUCT BOOK II government, the peace was not kept ; and no one knew what pretender might arise, or what disorder might not ensue on the demise of the crown. Now- adays, the government is distributed over a much wider basis, and is much more secure. Amurath to Amurath succeeds, without the slightest apprehension of danger to the nation, either from without or from within ; and the death or removal of the king is no longer the most serious evil that can befall the nation. Hence, our concept of treason may be widened. Compassing the death of the king, or, generally, antagonism to him, was resented, not merely because of the divinity that doth hedge a king, but because the king held in his hand the power, safety, and welfare of the kingdom ; and to strike at him was to strike at the whole community. The king was not merely the ruler and governor of the nation ; he was its symbol also ; and attack upon him was resented, not merely as an attack on his person, but as an attack upon the whole nation that he symbolised. In short, antagonism to the king is but one mode of injurious action on the nation that the king represents ; and is therefore but one mode of treason, in the wider sense in which the term is used here. Treason is conduct directly injurious to the community at large. For such conduct the severest reprobation is reserved, and the most terrible punishments inflicted. At a time when any injury of a private person, even up to murder, could be condoned by a pecuniary fine at a fixed tarifi", no mercy was ever shown to traitors ; and the punishments they incurred were grotesque CHAP. XI ELICITED MORALITY 163 in the elaborateness of their gruesome details. Such punishments are no longer inflicted ; but it would be a mistake to suppose, because attempts on the life of the sovereign are no longer punished capitally, that treason to the whole community is no longer resented. If actual attacks on the person of the sovereign are regarded with leniency, it is partly because of the greater strength of the humanitarian spirit, but mainly because the life of the sovereign is no longer of prime importance. Little mercy is shown to those whose action is calculated to injure the community seriously ; or to those who are supposed, however erroneously, even to sympathise with the common enemy. The old forms of treason, even if they were now practised, would no longer rouse the populace to fury. It would be difiicult, nowadays, to reproduce the madness of the Popish Plot, or even the panic of Chartism ; but the experience of the Dreyfus case, and of our own persecution of so-called pro-Boers, shows that the passionate abhorrence of what is regarded as treason, is as intense as ever. Even Napoleon Buonaparte, in his day, was scarcely more execrated than was President Kruger in ours. Technically, of course, neither Napoleon I. nor President Kruger was a traitor ; but the resentment against those who seek to injure the community, is much the same, whether they attack it from within or from without. Spontaneous Patriotism — the love of our own community — is sufficient to preserve most of us from treasonable conduct ; but if an additional motive is needed, it is furnished by the knowledge of the universal execration that we should incur. 164 CONDUCT BOOK II Patriotism is no longer subject to its former limitations. In most languages, the name for an enemy is derived from that of a stranger, or vice versa ; an indication of the strict limitation of our sympathies to those of our own community. With the spread of humanitarianism, and the freer inter- course among nations, our sympathies are widened ; and merely local patriotism tends to widen into benevolence towards the whole human race. This spread of benevolence has, however, its counterpart in the wider application of treason. We now witness conduct antagonistic, not merely to this or that sovereign or government, but generally to all governments, and all means of government. The anarchist is a traitor, not only to the community in which he lives, but to all civilised communities ; and is a caput lupinum, open to attack by all. Disapproval is awarded, not only to direct, but to indirect attacks on the community — to any conduct that is calculated to weaken or impair its life- worthiness. This is the reason of the disapproval with which we regard innovators ; for, as will be shown in the next chapter, innovation is always a potential source of weakness in a community. Complementary to the disapproval and execration that are heaped upon traitors, are the approval and acclaim that are awarded to patriots. The most manifest service that can be rendered to a community by its component members, is to fight for it ; oppor- tunity for which is frequent enough in the long history of our race, whose normal state, until quite recent times, has been a state of war. The fighter OHAP. XI ELICITED MORALITY 165 has always been honoured ; and even at the present day, when humanitarianism has made such surprising advances, the man who conducts a successful war is immediately rewarded by a grateful nation with high rank and large fortune ; while the man who has saved a thousand lives for every one that the other has destroyed, is tardily rewarded with a low rank in the peerage, and no money at all. The fighter is always the most honoured person in the community ; and consequently, the practice of fighting, and the following of arms as a profession, are always cul- tivated, for the sake of the honour that attaches to them. The approbation with which fighting for the community is regarded, is bestowed, by anticipation of motive, on fighting for fighting's sake ; and the combative man is approved and honoured, while the meek are disapproved and despised; in spite of the great inheritance that they are to expect. Manifest services are rendered to the nation, not only by those who fight for it, but by those also who direct its policy and manage its internal aff'airs ; and when their management is such that the nation is benefited thereby, they receive their meed of approval. To secure this approval, many persons devote laborious lives to politics ; but it must be admitted that in this, as in other actions of the class now dealt with, the motives of the actors are mixed. The approval of his fellows is by no means the sole motive of the politician. He is actuated in part by ambition — by the desire to be esteemed and applauded — in part by the desire to be conspicuous, and the 166 CONDUCT BOOK II object of attention ; in part by the desire for power ; in some cases by the desire for pecuniary and other collateral advantages that attend the profession of politics ; and in part, it may be, by disinterested love of country, and desire to serve his fellow-men. In as far as his motive is believed to be the last, in so far is he approved and honoured by his fellow- countrymen ; and in as far as he is credited with other motives, this approval is withheld from him. The concurrence of so many motives, induces a large number of men to devote themselves to political life ; and the number would probably be larger, were it not that the approbation awarded to politicians is seldom unanimous. Inasmuch as he gratifies one section of the nation, he is apt to offend another ; and though he may receive much honour, he is likely to be the object of much execration also. In the complex constitution that society has now reached, it is inevitable that the immediate interests of sections and classes within the community should sometimes clash with one another ; and then we witness a reproduction of patriotic and antipatriotic conduct on a smaller scale. Each section or class will produce its special champions and opponents, who will incur approval, admiration, and liking from those whom they support ; disapproval and dislike from those whom they oppose. As in the larger community of the nation, the largest measure of execration will be reserved for the traitor — for him who opposes, or fails to support, the interests of his own immediate fellows. As the armed foe is respected, and even honoured, while the traitor to his nation ELICITED MORALITY 1G7 is execrated, and killed without mercy ; so the employer is withstood with stubbornness, but without violence ; while the blackleg is hustled and assaulted. He who opposes the interests, real or supposed, of his own town or class, is regarded as a petty traitor ; and finds it hard to withstand the execration he incurs. An Irish landlord who should espouse the cause of the tenants, or an Irish tenant who should sympathise with the landlords, supposing such a monster to be possible, would have little reason to congratulate himself on his independence of action ; and the fact that no such lusus naturae has appeared, speaks, not merely for the sway of self-interest, but for the much stronger influence of the motives we are now considering ; for there has never been a righteous cause that has not inspired some men to subordinate their own interest to the rights of others ; but to incur the odium of their fellows, is a conse- quence that few are willing to face. Powerful as is the influence of the approval and disapproval of our fellows, on our conduct towards the community as a whole, and towards sections and classes of the community ; the widest sway of these motives is over our conduct towards our individual fellows. The reason why it is wrong to steal, to murder, to bear false witness, and generally, to allow our self - regarding action to injure our neighbours, is that such action is destruc- tive to the community. If such action became prevalent, the community would dissolve into segregated and antagonistic units. As self-regard- ing motives are intrinsically stronger than social- 168 CONDUCT BOOK II conservative motives, it is necessary to reinforce the latter by various extrinsic expedients, of which the dis- approbation, felt and displayed towards him who injures the community by selfish injury of others, is one of the most powerful. By the natural process already described ; by the action of natural selection, in weeding: out both individuals and communities in which self-restraint in this respect is less developed, and allowing the survival of those in whom it is more developed ; the instinct of morality has now attained a certain fixation and potency ; but its fixation and potency are as yet far from complete. Spontaneous reluctance to injure others for our own self-interest, would, in very many cases, be insufficient to prevent such action, if the inner motive were not reinforced by the knowledge, that by so acting we should incur the reprobation of our fellows. Many a man whose honesty, many a woman whose chastity would not of itself be powerful enough to withstand temptation, is kept in the straight path by dread of the disgrace that would follow on a lapse from virtue. It is clear, however, that, in many cases, this motive must be inefficacious. Disapprobation will not be incurred unless the lapse from virtue is known ; and if it can be concealed, the motive does not come into operation. For this reason, the exigencies of social conservation have provided, in the inculcations of religion, an internal reinforcement of the moral instinct, that does not depend on publicity for its operation. This additional rein- forcement will be considered further on, under the head of religious conduct ; at present we need CHAP. XI ELICITED MORALITY 169 concern ourselves with the restraint of disapprobation only. Disapproval is felt towards all acts by which gratification is gained by the injury of other people, whatever the nature of those acts may be ; but disap- proval is not limited to acts of this class. We have seen that the first condition to the existence of a society, is the exercise of self-restraint on the part of its members, and the unrestrained activity of each in- dividual, even if that activity is in no wise antagon- istic to other individuals, is destructive of the society. As already pointed out, if all the members of a flock or herd move in diff"erent directions, the flock or herd is dispersed, and ceases to exist as an aggregate. Society, therefore, in self-protection, frowns upon lack of self-restraint, and approves of conduct that is self- restrained. We disapprove of undue self-indulgence, even though no one is injured by it. We reprobate the glutton, the drunkard, the slothful, the idle, the devotee of pleasure, even though they harm no one by their self-indulgence ; and contrarily, we approve the abstemious, the industrious, the continent, for the self- restraint that they exercise. When exaggerated into asceticism, self-restraint receives, in most communities, an additional meed of approval. There are occasions, however, on which the disapproval of the community, so far from being avoided, is deliberately incurred. Powerful as is the desire for the approval of others, and great as are the pains of knowing oneself disapproved, yet these are not paramount among motives, even among social motives. That they should yield to the 170 CONDUCT BOOK II urgency of the primary motives of self-conservation and reproduction, is not to be wondered at ; for these are motives of much greater antiquity, and take biological precedence. That urgency of want should lead men to steal ; and that urgency of love, or of cruder passion, should lead to unchastity ; are results that we observe with regret, but without wonder. They are easily explained, for the dread of general disapproval is, after all, but a secondary instinct ; and naturally yields to a primary one. But that this secondary instinct should be overcome by the desire of self-approbation, which is not only of later origin, but is actually derived from that which it conquers, appears paradoxical. The instinct to do what we believe to be right, merely because it is right, is, in other words, an instinctive desire for self-approval. We should disapprove ourselves if we acted otherwise, and our own disapproval is more than we can bear ; so we do what we believe to be right, even though, in so doing, we incur the dis- approval of others. The pain of self-disapproval is, to many, greater than the pain of the disapproval of others. Our notions of right and wrong arise in this way : — To primitive natures, to children, to the unthinking, to the uncultured, that is right, of which the general sentiment approves ; that is wrong, of which the general sentiment disapproves. Right is right because it is approved ; wrong is wrong because it is disapproved ; and no other standard of morality is known. But we are ourselves members of the community, and, as such, we appraise the conduct of others, and of ourselves, by the same ELICITED MORALITY 171 standard. We grow up, that is, in the knowledge that some things are regarded as right, and others as wrong ; and we adopt towards them, whether done by ourselves or by others, the attitude of approval or disapproval that we find prevalent. Pending the approval or disapproval of others, which cannot be expressed until the act is done, we determine the rightness or wrongness of an act by the test of our own approval or disapproval of it. We thus appraise action, in order that our conduct may be such as shall be generally approved ; and the origin of our desire to secure our own approval, is the desire to secure the approval of others. By anticipation of motive, the further end is lost sight of; and in course of time, we act on the motive of securing our own approval, without regard to the approval of others. The proximate motive, which was originally but a means to a further end, is now become an end to be sought for its own sake. When men begin to think for themselves, they appraise anew the acts that they find the subjects of general approval and disapproval ; and they may adjudge certain acts that are generally approved, to be pernicious, or certain that are generally dis- approved, to be beneficial to the community ; and in this they may be correct or incorrect. For though, by the operation of natural selection, general approval goes to conduct that is beneficial to the community, and disapproval to conduct that is detrimental ; yet conduct that is beneficial in one may be injurious in another, and the benefit may be direct and manifest, while the injuriousness may be indirect and obscure, 172 CONDUCT BOOK II or vice versa. Moreover, a mode of conduct that is beneficial in one set of circumstances, or in one stage of society, may be harmful in another ; and the corresponding attitude of approval or disapproval may not alter in accordance with the alteration in the effect of the conduct. Whether the appraise- ment is correct or incorrect, it follows that, when a new appraisement is made, and does not agree with that which is prevalent, the standard of right and wrong of the appraiser will conflict with that of the community at large ; and, in doing what he thinks right, he will do what others think wrong. How he will act in such a case, will depend on whether the pain of self-disapproval is greater than the pain of the disapproval of others, plus the penalties that this disapproval carries with it. If it be, he will do what he thinks right, regardless of consequences ; if it be not, he will bow himself in the House of Rimmon. It is to the credit of human nature, that no new doctrine has ever lacked martyrs. Benefit and injury to the community are not the only determinants of the rightness and wrongness of conduct. Moral judgments of conduct depend on the eff"ect of the conduct on the preservation of the stirp also. By the same process of natural selection, by which approval and disapproval are brought into harmony with benefit and injury, respectively, to the community, they are brought into harmony with benefit and injury, respectively, to the stirp. In those communities in which conduct injurious to the stirp is approved, such conduct will be followed ; and the community will perish with the stirp. In CHAP. XI ELICITED MORALITY 173 those in which conduct beneficial to the stirp is dis- approved, such conduct will be followed ; and the stirp will not survive. Hence the reprobation with which the practice of procuring abortion is visited ; hence the disapproval with which religion, the peculiar guardian of the community, regards the limitation of families ; hence the encouragement that it gives to large families ; hence the general approval given by the Jews to the marriage with a brother's wife ; to the taking of a concubine to supplement the function of a barren wife ; hence the approval of parental and filial affection. The disapproval of immodesty and unchastity rests on grounds that are partly social, partly racial. The doctrine of morality that is here advanced, is not the conventional doctrine. The general notion is, I think, that we approve that which we believe to be right, because it is right ; and we disapprove that which is wrong, because it is wrong. I think there is confusion in this view. In my view, to approve a thing, and to adjudge it right, are the same ; or, if there is any difference, approval precedes the judgment, instead of following it, according to the current doctrine. We accept those things as right that are generally approved ; and many people never go beyond this stage. They accept the conventional morality that they find prevalent ; and then, though they approve what they believe to be right, they believe it to be right because they find it generally approved. In this case, the judgment of what is right rests on approval — the approval of others. If, however, a man quarrels with conventional morality. 174 CONDUCT BOOK II his difference must rest on one of two grounds. Either he looks to the social and racial consequences of conduct, and approves or condemns it as, socially or racially, advantageous or injurious; or he refers to what he considers is the attitude of the Deity, and makes his approval or disapproval coincide with what he believes to be the approval or disapproval of God. In the first case, he adopts, without explicitly acknowledging that he does so, the code of ethics that is here stated. In the second case, he rests his belief of what is divinely approved or disapproved, either on authority, or on his own inspiration, or, what is for the present purpose equivalent, his own interpretation of the inspired sayings of others ; but in any case, right rests on approval, wrong on dis- approval. If he rests his belief on authority, the same authority usually dictates the common standard ; and his morality is the prevalent and conventional morality. If he rests his belief on his own inspira- tion, or his own interpretation of the inspired sayings of others ; his morality is usually bizarre, and is apt to coincide with self-interest, or class-interest. In any case, the ultimate test of the morality of conduct, by which it must stand or fall, by which its eventual adoption or rejection must be determined, is social and racial advantage. That conduct which is found by experience to be socially or racially advantageous, will at length gain general approval, and prevail ; and that which is found by experience to be socially or racially disadvantageous, will meet with general disapproval, and will die out. The true reason for the approval or disapproval will not usually be CHAP. XI ELICITED MORALITY 175 assigned : may not even be known. The disadvan- tageous conduct will be felt to be wrong, without reason assigned. It will become distasteful. Men's gorge will rise against it, as it rose against human sacrifices, against torture, against the persecutions of the Inquisition, against prosecution for witchcraft, against the sweating of the labour of children. When we say that we feel instinctively that such or such conduct is wrong, we cannot say why ; we express an inarticulate appreciation, felt deep down in our nature, that the conduct we so stigmatise is socially or racially disadvantageous ; and if it were to prevail, would tend to the destruction of the community, or the extirpation of the race. If this antagonism to what is socially and racially disadvantageous does not become the prevalent code of morality, then the community will perish ; the race will be extirpated ; and the code of morality will perish with the race it has destroyed. The influence on conduct of the disapproval of others, appears, in many instances, to be defective. Many persons — hardened criminals — appear callous to reprobation, and indifferent though all men abhor them. But all men do not abhor them. Each of them has his own small circle of comrades, by whom he is at least admired, if not even approved. The more such criminals bring upon themselves the general reprobation of the community at large, the more they are admired, the more they may even be approved, by their own immediate social circle. These are the people with whom the criminal is in 176 CONDUCT BOOK II contact ; whose estimation he values, and whose approval or disapproval carries weight with him. The rest of the world are, to him, foreigners. He does not recognise their standards ; or admit the jurisdiction of their opinion. They are not only foreigners, but foreigners with whom he is at war. To court their approval would be treachery to the small community, to whose approval and disapproval he is amenable, and attaches weight. ' Honour amongst thieves ' is an adage of very ancient pedigree. It means that he who joins the furtive community must adopt furtive standards. He must subject his conduct to the approval or disapproval of the community he has entered ; and must abide by the result. To refuse to adopt the standard of this community, and to order his conduct without regard to its approval or disapproval, would render him altogether an outlaw ; and this is a fate that no man has the hardihood to face. The defect of the acknowledged criminal is not that he is impervious to the motives, of seeking approbation and avoiding its reverse ; but that the approval that he seeks, and the disapproval that he tries to avoid, are not those of society at large, which are adapted to its own welfare and maintenance ; but of a small community, parasitic on society, in which morality, as far as it exists, is different from that of society at large. It is for this reason that the furtive community is so unstable. No gang of thieves, no horde of bandits, hangs long together. If society does not exterminate it, it falls to pieces ; for it is built on the sand of disloyalty. No band of brigands CHAP. XI ELICITED MORALITY 177 has had a long existence ; and those that have Hved longest, have owed their longevity to the adoption of correct social methods, and an adherence to some, at least, of the principles of morality. They have been faithful to each other ; have cherished the weak ; fed the hungry; and, however raptorial their conduct to the community at large, have observed honesty in their dealings with each other. Many pretend indifference to the disapproval of their fellows ; but, except the martyr, who is sustained by a sense of rectitude derived otherwise than directly from observing what the community approves, it is doubtful whether the indifference is sincere. In insanity, however, with the decay of other faculties, this also is weakened, and at last destroyed. We are not surprised to find demented persons, whose minds are reduced to a low level, lost as much to the appreciation of disapproval, as to that of other circumstances. Those who are indifferent to hunger and thirst, heat and cold, and have not even enough intelligence to dress themselves, can scarcely be expected to appreciate the approval or disapproval of others ; and accordingly, we find that their conduct is often bestial, and they cannot be made to appreciate its bestiality. But these are not the only insane who fail in the appreciation of right and wrong. There are not a few who retain a fair, and even a considerable degree of intelligence, but who are shamelessly filthy and immoral ; indifferent to the unanimous disapproval of their fellows ; and treat all expressions of disgust with callousness and levity. Such persons are often guilty of the vilest N 178 CONDUCT BOOK II outrages on others. One will spit in his neighbour's plate ; another will make an unprovoked attack upon him, or pour on him the foulest abuse and obscenity ; a third will be guilty of revolting indecency ; but no expression of disapproval puts them to shame, no subsequent reflection brings -er se. They are utterly callous, and cannot be t to appreciate the heinousness of their cc^ "^urji^s ntj Lastly, there is a sr>" i persons who are otherwise normal in mind ' ':s d to be incapable of appreciating the righ.n ^gness of acts, or of being influenced b;y . app^. bation or dis- approbation of others. To admiration and contempt, they often show exaggerated sensitiveness ; but to approbation and reprobation thr^^ are callous. Such persons, whom I term moral i'libeciles, must not be confused with another class of immoral persons, who recognise quite well the distinctioi between right and wrong conduct, but yet incur disapproval and punish- ment for wrong-doing, without being able, so it appears, to reform their ways. Both class 3S do criminal acts from a very early age. The moral imbecile continues to act criminally for the rest of his life. Punishment embitters and exasperates him, but has not the least reforming influence. He has no self-disapproval for his wrongful acts ; and looks on punishment for them as unjust persecution. He does not acknowledge — it seems never to occur to him — that other people are to be considered, or that their welfare should stand in the way of his own gratification. As Bacon says, he would burn down another man's house to roast his own eggs. He is irreformable and irre- CHAP. XI ELICITED MORALITY 179 claimable. The criminal propensities of such persons show themselves at a very early age. As soon as other children would begin to recognise and conform to moral teaching, it is discovered that these children are incapable of moral education. They begin to steal before th " ar*" breeched, and continue to steal for the rest of ^es. There is, however, another class of immo: lre^'>. distinct from that which has been desc. ind, ^uch more amenable to reform. These iit. ( kno^v and appreciate quite well that, w^ e -stealing, they are doing wrong ; but t-.ey h'o. jt sufficient self-restraint to withstand temptation. Whatever they see that is desirable, they take to their own use, even at the cost of prompt an^ severe and certain punishment. Persons of both kinds will steal with little attempt at concealment ; and the same person who, at one time, will steal with elaborate precautions, will steal, at another, with barefaced impudence. A peculiarity often, but not necessarily, found in the second class, and absent in the first, is that their 1 oredations are, ' in many cases, restricted to one Class of object. Some children steal chocolates, and chocolates only. Some adults steal fans only, or single boots, or spoons, or what not — often things that are of no use, certainly of no use in the numbers they accumulate. Some steal, merely, as it appears, from the itch of stealing, and from no strong desire of possession ; for they will give away the stolen object to the first comer — perhaps to a beggar in the street. Children who exhibit this second mode of immorality are incorrigible as children, and some- 180 CONDUCT BOOK II times remain incorrigible to adult life ; but in many cases — in the majority of cases — their evil propensities drop from them as they emerge from childhood. Hyper-conscientiousness is a conspicuous feature in many cases of insanity. There are many insane persons who live in the miserable conviction that their most innocent acts are wrong. Their whole past lives meet with their own disapproval, and they disapprove profoundly of everything they do in the present. In many cases, in order to account for their reprobation of themselves, they imagine immoral acts that they deludedly believe they have committed ; and accuse themselves of crimes and wrongful doings, of which they are com- pletely innocent. They are afraid to do the most innocent acts for fear they may be wrong ; and in some cases are convinced that such acts as even taking food, ought to be abstained from. CHAPTER XII F. INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT OF THE LIKING OF OTHERS Suavity The desire to be liked, and to avoid being disliked, by others, is of less cogency than the desire to be admired or to be approved ; but still, it is a motive of considerable force ; and, though usually accom- panying one or both the others in practice, is not always so accompanied, and is separable on analysis. Other things being equal, we like those who give us pleasure ; and we dislike those who give us pain. The main source of pleasure is the successful pursuit of ends ; pain is given by every experience that interferes with the successful pursuit of ends ; hence, liking can always be traced, more or less directly, to aid, dislike to opposition, offered to us by the person liked or disliked. Our friends are those who aid us, or show a disposition to aid us : our enemies are those who oppose us, or exhibit a spirit of opposition. As has been said, the desires to be approved, admired, and liked, often prompt to the same acts ; and it is not always easy, even for the actor himself, 181 182 CONDUCT BOOK II to distinguish the motive that was most concerned. In the class of acts that induce liking on the part of others, there is an additional difficulty ; since many acts that bring upon us the liking or disliking of others, are undertaken from quite different motives, and bring this result as a by-product, of which we take no account in undertaking the act. Most of the acts, by which we aid and assist other people to attain their ends, are undertaken because we, too, desire those ends ; and, in helping others, we are forwarding our own interests. Many more are undertaken from pure benevolence ; and in either case, the fact that the aid we give to others tends to make them like us, does not enter largely as a motive in the act. Most of the acts by which we oppose the ends of other people, and place obstacles in their way, are done because we disapprove the ends they seek, and certainly with no intention of incurring their dislike. Certain conduct is, however, undertaken for the sole purpose of gaining the liking of others ; and in opposing their efforts, we are usually prompted, by this motive, to frame our opposition so as to avoid being disliked for it, or to reduce the inevitable dislike to a minimum. We like those who give us pleasure, and pleasure arises from the successful pursuit of ends ; but this is not the only source of pleasure. We are pleased also when we have the consciousness that success is likely ; and generally, when we feel capable. The pleasure of health is the pleasure of capability. We find pleasure in all skilful exercise of faculty, not only for the success that attends the particular act, LOVABLE QUALITIES 183 but from the conviction it gives us of general capa- bility — of the likelihood that we shall be successful in other things. Anything, in short, that exalts our own opinion of our own powers, is a source of pleasure ; and such exaltation, of our opinion of our powers in general, is even a greater source of satis- faction than success in any particular instance. Hence our liking for those who give us a good opinion of ourselves. We like those who recognise our abilities, or discern any good quality in us ; we like those from whom we receive praise, deference, and appreciation, even more than those from whom we receive actual assistance. Praise, deference, and appreciation may be awarded to the display of laudable qualities, because they are extorted by genuine admiration, and thus do not come into the class of acts now considered ; but in as far as they are not genuine, or are exaggerated, they are given for a return in liking ; and in many cases, even when thoroughly deserved, and not exaggerated, they are paid in part only as genuine appreciation, in part in order to secure liking in return. In order to achieve our ends, it is necessary that we should have liberty of action ; and those who infringe this liberty, incur our dislike ; while those who leave us a free field for endeavour, are liked for doing so. As has been so often asserted, society exists by virtue of the limitation of action of its members, so as to leave to others freedom within equal limits. Those who encroach upon what we regard as our own legitimate and peculiar field of action, are disliked ; and those who restrain them- 184 CONDUCT BOOK II selves, and allow us freedom of action without the need of self-assertion, are liked for the pleasure they afford. In small matters of daily intercourse, the self-restraint that refuses to encroach on the liberty of others ; the aid that is given in petty matters ; retiring so as to allow even more liberty to others than could strictly be claimed ; are called good manners ; and good manners are assumed, partly from pure benevolence, and then they are best manners, and constitute the natural gentleman ; but more often from the desire to be liked, and to avoid being disliked ; and this desire they fulfil. In common with other animals, man is imitative, and the influence of imitation on conduct as a whole, will be dealt with presently ; but it falls to be noticed here that, in consequence of his innate tendency to imitate, he is apt to take on the mood of those with whom he associates. There are times when all com- municate hopefulness to each other, and then credit is good ; there are other times when all difiuse pessimism, and credit is bad. The brave man in- spires courage in his companions ; the panic-stricken is apt to breed panic in others. Amongst other qualities, cheerfulness and happiness are communi- cable. In the presence of the cheerful, our spirits are raised ; in the presence of misery, we are apt to be depressed. Since the mere presence of cheerfulness and high spirits gives us pleasure, we like those who exhibit these qualities ; and, in s^^ite of ourselves, we cannot help a certain distaste for the society of the miserable. It is a consciousness of these efi'ects that makes us assume cheerfulness in the cHAi. XII PEllSONAI. CHARM 185 presence of others. If we feel miserable, we do not parade our misery. We put a good face on our misfortunes, and, in this respect also, modify our conduct in order to avoid incurring the dislike of our fellows. There are some happily constituted people, who exhibit a combination of cheerfulness, good manners, and a demeanour which carries to others the convic- tion that they are liked, that together constitute a charm of manner, that renders them universally and greatly liked. Charm of manner is notoriously diffi- cult to analyse and explain ; but I think it will be found to be composed of the ingredients I have indicated. Defect of the desire to be liked, and to avoid dislike, is not frequent ; but it is not unknown. Those, and they are not few, who delight to ' score ' off other people, to exercise their wit in malicious sayings, are not by any means necessarily insensible to the pleasure of being liked ; but either they do not realise the dislike they incur, or they are unable to sacrifice the triumph of the moment to the more enduring pleasure of avoiding ill-will. There are, however, a few people who seem to enjoy giving pain by saying and doing ill-natured things, especi- ally to those who cannot retaliate ; and this petty tyranny finds its gratification in the display of power at the expense of incurring dislike. Defect of less degree is seen in those who pursue their ends in opposition to the endeavour of others, without attempts at conciliation, and even with unnecessary ofFensiveness. Such people, however successful they 186 CONDUCT BOOK 11 may be, provide their own nemesis in widespread dislike, which does not fail, sooner or later, to raise difficulties that they need never have had to sur- mount. Excessive sensitiveness to the dislike of others is not very infrequent. There are people whose fear of giving offence is raised to such a pitch, that it seriously interferes with their endeavours ; and leads them to forgo ends that they might legitimately seek to attain, and to suffer uneasiness that is quite uncalled for. They live in dread of offending people, and interpret the most innocent acts as signs of dislike. Such people are seriously handicapped in the struggle for life. Perversion of this form of conduct is by no means unknown. It is not very rare for a blunderer to seek to ingratiate himself by means that make him dis- liked rather than liked ; and the gift of a white elephant does not always elicit the gratitude that is expected. That fine sense of appropriateness, that chooses unerringly the mode of action that will most arouse liking, and give the least offence, is termed ' tact ' ; and in tact, many people are conspicuously deficient. G. INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT OF THE WILL OF OTHERS Leading and Subordination This is a well characterised and admitted deter- minant of conduct. Among the many ways in which men may be classified ; among the ways in CHAP. XII FORCE OF CHARACTER 187 which we do, for practical purposes, classify the men and women we meet ; none is more important than that according to force of character ; a phrase not very easy to define with strictness, perhaps because we do not attach to it any very well-defined meaning; but a phrase that, whatever else it includes, means a power of resisting the wills of others, and of im- pressing on others the will, so as to induce them to act in accordance with it. Such force of character goes with steadfastness of purpose ; but it is by no means the same as steadfastness of purpose. There are many who are capable of adhering with steady tenacity to a single purpose, so long as they are not interfered with by others of greater force of character than themselves ; but who find themselves incapable of resisting a diversion from the purpose, if this inter- ference is forthcoming. Nothing is more difiicult than to explain how this force of character is exercised, or wherein resides the power of impressing the will upon others. It is exercised, of course, by physical expression ; but not by emphasis in ex- pression. It is not the shouting dogmatist who com- pels, by force of character, conformity with his will. It is not persuasion. The result is not produced by appeal to the reason, or by working on the emotions. It is not altogether fear of the consequences of non- compliance — of incurring anger or resentment. It is that, in the presence of the man of strong character, the man of weak character is overcrowed ; and finds it impossible to insist upon his own will and his own way. Force of character goes, no doubt, with courage, and weakness of character may go with lack of courage; 188 CONDUCT BOOK II but superior courage does not yield a full explanation ; and General Baynes is very far from being the only man who has proved his courage, even to the point of heroism, on the field of battle ; and yet has suc- cumbed with humility to a domestic tyrant. It is will that prevails. The strong will prevails over the weaker, even though the weaker will may go with the finer intellect ; and the person who carries out the will of another against his own conviction, may know in his heart that his own course is best. But in spite of this knowledge, he yields. He gives way to the stronger personality. Neither force of character, nor its defect, is associated with any particular physique. Each is found in the physically strong and the physically puny ; with giant stature and diminutive size. There is, indeed, a certain physiognomy which gives in- formation to the observer. Firmness and tone in the facial muscles, and a steady eye, speak as eloquently of strong character, as flabbiness of expression and a wandering gaze do of one that is weak. Of force of character, every possible shade and grade is exhibited by difi'erent people ; but some are so conspicuously deficient as to attract attention by their defect, which brings them under the domination of almost any one who chooses to exert domination over them ; and to these the title of ' Facile ' is given in Scotch law. The facile person is a person who has ' no will of his own.' Often he feels his own in- firmity, mistrusts his own judgment, and alters his conduct every time fresh advice is given to him. Often he places himself, or falls, under the dominance CHAP. XII FACILITY 189 of some one person of greater force of character ; and, if that person is not disinterested, may suffer severely by doing so. By Scotch law, facile persons may be sequestered from the management of their property, which is placed under the care of a guardian. English law, with its characteristic reluctance to interfere with the liberty of the subject, allows the facile person to be stripped of his property by adventurers with stronger wills than his own ; but it generously allows him to bring actions against his despoilers, and to recover as much of his property as may be left, provided he can prove that he was moved to part with it by undue influence. There can scarcely be excess in force of character. The stronger a man's character, the more certain is he, caeteris paribus, to make a success of his life. Men of great force of character, and they alone, attain great success, become leaders of men, and occupy influential positions in the world. Whatever his ex- ternal and adventitious advantages, the weak man goes to the wall, and yields place to the strong. In every assembly and combination of men ; in every legislature, or club, or committee, or associ- ation for work or play ; some one or two men of strongest character come to the front, and lead ; the rest are compelled, more or less contentedly, to follow. Men of strong character are often termed obstinate ; but obstinacy and force of character, though they often go together, are not the same thing. Just as an aggressive demeanour is often adopted by the shy man to conceal his shyness ; so a weak man often 190 CONDUCT BOOK II exhibits obstinacy to conceal his weakness. A man may be obstinate as a mule, without having that power of impressing his will on others, which is the distinguishing mark of the man of strong character. CHAPTER XIII H. INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT OF THE EXAMPLE OF OTHERS Custom and Fashion We have seen that, for the maintenance of social life, it is necessary that the conduct of each individual should conform with the conduct of the rest. If a flock or a herd, or a pack, is to remain a flock, or a herd, or a pack, its members must all move together, in the same direction, and at the same rate. If some remain at rest, while others go on, the community is disintegrated. If some go north, while others go south, east, and west, the community is disintegrated. If some gallop, while others trot, and others walk, the community will be disintegrated ; and, as a community, will cease to exist. For a community to continue in existence, it is necessary that its members should act alike — that the action of each should conform with the action of all. If some of the members of a tribe fraternise with a neighbouring tribe, while other members attack it ; the tribe will be divided against itself, will be split into factions, and disintegrated ; and if, without action for and against its neighbours, some members 191 192 CONDUCT BOOK II of the tribe are favourably disposed towards them, while others are hostile; though there may be no actual disintegration, there is incipient disintegration. The bonds of union of the tribe are slackened. It is no longer as firmly united. An action is begun, which, if it proceeds, will result in actual disintegration. Any influence, therefore, which tends to prevent difi'erence of opinion, and difference of inclination, among the members of the tribe, helps to preserve the tribe ; and for this reason, those tribes in which difi'erence of opinion, and difterence of inclination, are frowned upon, discountenanced, and disapproved, will, caeteris paribus, prevail against those in which such difi"erences are tolerated. Nor let it be thought that it is only difierences of opinion with respect to who are to be fought and who are to be welcomed, that is important to the integrity of a society. All differences of opinion, indicating, as they do, tenden- cies to diff'erences of action, are disintegrative. As long as all the members of a community hold the same religious belief, for instance, this common opinion forms a bond of union between them ; hold- ing them together, not only in unison of opinion and thought, but in physical propinquity. If the community becomes divided into sects, holding difi"erent tenets, and practising difi"erent ceremonials, not only is there a difi'erence in mind, but this difier- ence soon tends to physical disintegration. The members of the new sect hold together, and, in as far as their mutual bonds' are strong, their bonds to the rest of the community are weakened. They associate together more, and associate less with the cHAP.xm CUSTOM AND FASHION 193 rest of the community ; they intermarry among themselves, and look askance upon mixed marriages ; they favour their co-religionists in business ; they regard themselves, and are regarded, as apart from the rest of the community ; and not infrequently they are thrust out of it, as in the case of the Hugue- nots ; or they leave it, as in the case of the Pilgrim Fathers ; or they are exterminated, as in the case of the Albigenses. Hence we find that, in every com- munity, conformity, not only of the conduct, but of the opinion, of each, with the conduct and opinion of the rest, is regarded with approval ; and conduct and opinion that do not conform to the common standard, meet with strong reprobation, and what is more, with vigorous suppression. Hence, too, we find, strongly implanted among the instincts of every member of the community, is the instinct to conform, to do as others do, to fall in with the prevailing mode of action. To be singular is to incur the disapproval, not only of others, but of ourselves. Each member of a community has a natural and instinctive repulsion against outraging convention. He desires to do as others do, not merely to escape the disapprobation of others that non-conformity incurs, but because non-conformity is inherently distasteful to him. This instinctive repulsion has its origin in social need, and in the operation of natural selection. Conformity is, of course, imitation of the example of others ; but there is a clear distinction between conformity and imitation. The child's action in learning to write is imitative, but it is not con- forming. The child imitates the writing it is told 194 CONDUCT BOOK II to copy ; but he does so, not because every one else writes, and he is unwilling to be singular. He learns to write because he is told to learn. Nor is the motive of his parents and teachers the desire of conformity, at any rate in origin. The child is taught to write, not because illiteracy is singular, but because writing is useful. So the artisan, in learning his trade, imitates the action of his seniors, and learns by imitation to do the work thus and so ; not because it is the fashion to do it thus and so, but because thus and so it can be most effectively done. In short, conforming action is necessarily imitative, but imitative action is not necessarily conforming. The early disciples of every new prophet, in every depart- ment of life — in art, in literature, in manufacture, in professions, in social experiments, and what not — are imitative of their prophet ; but they are non- conforming to the great body of the community. The influence of the instinct of conformity is seen in every department of life ; from the games of children, to the fundamental doctrines and practices of religion ; from the decoration of a dinner-table, to the ceremonial of a coronation ; from the first cloth- ing of the new-born babe, to the cerements of the dead. Conformity is of two different kinds, or is exhibited in two different ways — simultaneous and successive. When each person does what every one else is doing, his conformity is simultaneous, and he is said to follow the fashion ; when he does what has always been done, his conformity is successive, and he is said to follow custom. Following fashion is CHAP. XIII CUSTOM AND FASHION 195 based on imitation ; following custom is based on habit : both are modes of conformity. Again, conformity may be intended or unintended. We may follow the fashion, or adhere to custom, in- tentionally, knowing and avowing that we do so for that reason ; or we may do either unintentionally, believing that we do so from some other motive, but in fact prompted by the instinct of conformity. In following fashion, we usually do so intentionally, knowing that we do so, in order to conform with what others are doing. In adhering to custom, we usually act with no such intention ; and in full faith ascribe our action to some other motive. The rules are by no means invariable ; but they hold good over a large range of conduct. We are accustomed to think of fashion as change- able ; but fashion is not necessarily changeable. Fashion is that conduct, whether changeable or continuous, to which all conform at the same time. Thus, a fashion, if it endures, becomes a custom ; and a custom, so long as it endures, is a fashion ; but, while continuity is the essence of custom, fashion is independent of continuity or change. The difference between fashion and custom is a difference of motive. Fashion is followed because it is now generally followed ; custom is followed because it has been generally followed in the past. Fashion is not necessarily changeable. Very many fashions are, it is true, notoriously short-lived ; but even fashions in dress, which are, perhaps, the shortest-lived of all, are not necessarily short-lived. In many countries, the fashion in dress remains the 196 CONDUCT BOOK II same for many generations ; and in certain respects it remains for long periods ttie same in all countries. In such cases, fashion merges into custom. In Western Europe the fashion in dress for women is to wear skirts ; and this fashion has been a custom for many generations ; but as it is now followed by each, not because it has been the custom for many generations, but because every one else now follows it. It is followed as a fashion, and not as a custom. A fashion is that which is generally done ; but the converse is not true. That which every one does is not necessarily a fashion. Every one eats and drinks ; but no one eats and drinks because every one else does so. The manner and time of eating and drinking are, however, largely matters of fashion. Every one in the same social position, eats at the same time, of much about the same number of courses, served in very much the same way, on tables with the same class of furniture and decora- tion. Some of these things are done by all, because all find them equally convenient or pleasant ; but most of them are done by each, because they are done generally — for the sake of conformity, or to be in the fashion. It is natural to suppose, on a priori grounds, that the influence of fashion and custom would be most conspicuous in those modes of activity that I call unremunerative, or indirectly vital ; that is to say in recreation, in aesthetics, in ceremonial, and in religion ; and would scarcely be perceptible in such vital concerns as marital and parental conduct, self- conservative and social conduct, on which the welfare, CHAP. XIII CUSTOM AND FASHION 197 and the very existence, of the race depend. It would seem that, in matters of vital importance, it would be very unsafe to regulate our conduct merely by fashion or custom, and that one should be guided by some more rational and safer principle. In fact, however, we find that, although the sway of fashion and custom is very powerful among the indirectly vital modes of conduct, their influence, so far from being confined to these modes, extends with equal, and even greater tyranny, to conduct of the most vital importance. Fashion is paramount in matter of adornment, whether of the person, the house, the garden or the implements of life. In our dress ; in the colours and patterns of carpets, and curtains, and wall-papers ; in the shapes and materials of all the ornaments, of person, table, and house ; in the arrangements of our gardens ; in the very shapes of our houses ; in games, sports, and recreations of all kinds ; we follow fashion with slavish devotion. It is true that, in the matter of adornment, we think we are pursuing beauty for its own sake ; and that we adopt certain methods of ornamentation because they are intrinsically beautiful ; but in fact,' the great majority of us think those things beautiful which are generally agreed to be beautiful. We follow the fashion, and imagine we are prompted by another motive. It is the same with games and recreations. In every school there is a season for marbles and a season for peg-top. First one game, and then another becomes the fashion, and is followed by each because it is followed by all ; and the parents of the schoolboys are similarly swayed. People play those 198 CONDUCT BOOK II games tliat tliey fiud other people playing ; and althougli several other motives enter into the decision, the main reason why each person now plays bridge who formerly played whist, is that he finds other people playing bridge, and conforms to the fashion. A few years ago, every one bicycled, those who liked it and those who did not, but bicycled because other people bicycled. Now we all play golf; and for the same reasons. Powerful as is the influence of fashion in non-vital modes of conduct, the influence of custom in the vital modes is scarcely less important. Custom dictates with imperious edict the class from which the marital partner is to be sought. In primitive communities, custom compels that marriage must be endogenous or exogenous, as the case may be ; and in more advanced communities, custom forbids marriage into another race, or even into another social class. The white may not marry the black, whether the black is Hamitic or Aryan. A member of the royal family may not marry outside of royal families. Mesalliances of all kinds are forbidden by custom ; and if greater laxity seems to have been allowed of late years, it is not because custom is less tyrannous, but because boundaries between classes are breaking down. Nor is marital conduct the only form of vital conduct that is dictated by custom. The mode of earning the livelihood is similarly prescribed. In this country, the barriers are breaking down between the landed class and the professional class ; between the professional class and the trad- ing class ; between the trading class and the artisan CHAl*. XIII CUSTOM AND FASHION 199 class ; between the artisan class and the labouring class ; but it was only yesterday that they became passable ; and even now, though transition from one class to the next is permitted, transition from any class to the next but one is forbidden by custom. A member of the professional class may not become an artisan ; nor a shopkeeper's son a labourer ; and vice versa. In other communities the prohibition is far more rigid. The Hindu is forbidden, not only to marry outside his caste, but to adopt any occupa- tion but that into which he is born. In many matters of social conduct also, the sway of custom is paramount. As has been shown, the root of morality is in social advantage ; but we do not approve acts because we recognise them to be socially advantageous, nor is social disadvantage the reason that we avow for disapproving acts that we consider immoral. In these matters, we are guided very largely by custom. It is custom, and custom alone, that sanctions the practice of suttee. Custom accounts for the reverence and admiration with which a monarch of very moderate intelligence, and very questionable morality, such as George IV. or William IV., is regarded. Custom prescribes that the mode of inflicting capital punishment in England shall be hanging, in France the guillotine, in Spain the garrotte. Custom prescribes the swaddling clothes of the infant, the veil of the bride, the posture of the lying-in woman, the cerements of the dead, and the disposal of the corpse. Here the bodies of the dead are buried, there they are burnt ; in this place they are exposed to be eaten by the fowls of the air, in 200 CONDUCT BOOK II that, they are mummified and preserved ; in a third they are eaten by the survivors ; and in each case the treatment of the dead is determined by custom. The enormous importance of custom will be recognised, when it is remembered that it is to custom that law owes its origin. In early stages of society, custom and law are identical ; and even in the advanced stage of society that we now see, not only is much law founded on custom, and little more than elaborated custom ; but much custom has the sanction of penalties that, though not formally legal, yet partake of the nature of law, in being enforced by general approval ; and, in some cases, by Courts that are outside the law, and yet are imitations of Courts of Law, and adopt some of the methods, and much of the formality of Courts of Law, The common law, which has jurisdiction over almost the whole of the English-speaking race, owes its origin entirely to custom. It is the embodiment of the custom that existed in the primitive Germanic tribes from which our race is sprung ; elaborated and modified from time to time, to bring it into harmony with successive states of society. Koman law is the embodiment and elaboration of Latin custom ; and even the statute law, which has been created to supply the deficiencies, which the increasing com- plexity and the advancing humanity of society discover in the common law, — even the statute law is interpreted by rules which owe their origin to custom. So binding is the force of custom, so paramount its influence in law, that the plain words CHAP. XIII CUSTOM AND FASHION 201 of a statute are often overridden by custom, which requires them to be interpreted in a sense foreign to their apparent meaning. This is not the only respect in which law is power- less against the force of custom. The killing of a man in a duel is murder in law, and was murder for many generations in which the law could not be en- forced ; for custom was too strong for law. In Germany, where as here, murder is murder in the eye of the law, custom not only sanctions duelling, but makes it in some cases compulsory ; and in the face of this custom, law is powerless. When we speak of fashion, we are apt to think only of dress and adornment ; but fashion has a potent influence on conduct in many other matters. Wherever two or three are gathered together in one place, each will tend to do as the rest are doing ; and if we add to the imitative instinct, the other instinct, already considered, which impels us to seek the applause of our fellows, we shall understand why it is that the conduct of crowds is often outrageous. Each strives to follow the fashion, and do what the others are doing ; and beyond this, each seeks to outdo the others, and so gain applause. When many are seeking to outdo each other in a particular mode of conduct, exaggeration of that mode of conduct is a natural consequence. The influence of all upon each has some proportion to the number of the ' all.' A sturdy individuality of character, that can hold out, and pursue its own way, un- influenced by the contrary example of a few, finds more and more difliculty in maintaining independence 202 CONDUCT BOOK II of action, as the number of examples to the contrary is increased. Hence, caeteris paribus, the larger the crowd, the more unanimous it is, provided it is not too large for rapid communication between all its parts. Wherever there is a crowd, there is something that brings the crowd together. Usually it is met together under the influence of some common emotion or desire ; and a way of expressing this emotion or desire occurs to one, or perhaps to several, and rapidly spreads to the rest. When each finds all around him acting in a certain way, and especially when each desires the same end, the impulsion is almost irresistible to act as the others are acting, in order to attain that end ; and more, to outdo the rest in that mode of action. When each strives to outdo the rest, action easily becomes outrageous. Even if one of the crowd discerns what seems to him a better way of attaining the common end, his own judgment, unless he is a person of unusually strong character, is subordinated to the judgment of the rest. He thinks he must be wrong, and the others right ; or, even if he continues of his own opinion, he is overborne in action, and impelled to follow the fashion of the moment. Hence, the members of a crowd will do, as members of a crowd, acts that no one of them would do singly ; and corporate action is almost always less reasonable, and usually less moral, than individual action in similar circumstances. This is generally recognised, and. expressed in the saying that a committee has neither a soul to be saved nor a body to be kicked. Even bodies of picked men, the ^lite of a nation, — CHAP, xrii CUSTOM AND FASHION 203 even governmeuts and Cabinets — are guilty of prevarications, subterfuges, evasions, and mean- nesses, wliicli no individual member of tbem would think of doiuQ^. The reason would seem to be that corporate action is, in social matters, a more primitive mode of action than individual initiative. The unit of society is not the individual, but the family ; and, through many ages of incipient social life, the preservation and survival of the incipient society depended on the unity of corporate action. Whether the corporate action was right or wrong, wise or unwise, prudent or imprudent, was of far less moment to preservation and survival, than whether it was unanimous. If the members acted in unison wrongly, or unwisely, or imprudently, the society might survive. It would probably be damaged. It might lose some, perhaps many, of its members. But what was left of it would still be a social body. If some acted in one way and some in another, individuals might survive ; but the social body would be disintegrated, and, as a social body, would perish ; and in the destruction of the social body, the individuals, however prudent, however wise, who pursued an independent course of action, would also perish. Some flavour of its primitive origin still hangs about corporate action. Corporate action is, by its origin and nature, more primitive in char- acter than action on individual initiative ; and being more primitive, it seeks its ends by ways that are, upon the whole, more direct, less intelligent, and less moral. It is in ceremonial that the sway of custom is 204 CONDUCT BOOK 11 most absolute. Ceremonial, whether in the Court, or in Courts of Law, or in religious observance, or in social intercourse, is regulated almost entirely by custom. No doubt the ceremonial does change with lapse of time. We profess ourselves ' most obedient servants ' in writing only now ; we bow more seldom, and we curtsy not at all ; but we still open our Courts of Law with the Norman-French Oyez, Oyez, of eight centuries ago ; our prelates still wear their copes, and carry their crosiers ; our barons still, on ceremonial occasions, wear their coronets and their ermine ; and, in controversies on the proper ecclesi- astical ceremonial, we take our stand avowedly on antiquity. That is right which prevailed in the third century, or the sixth century, as the case may be. The sway of fashion is subtle and far-reaching. It affects, not only our voluntary acts, but the very functions of our bodies, and seems to extend even to physical conformation. From a hundred and fifty years ago to a time some of us can remember, it was the fashion to faint away, or swoon, on occasions of stress and emotion. In the novels of Richardson, and of later date, down to the middle of the last century, the heroine, and even the hero, swooned when they parted, and swooned when they met ; swooned when they received a letter, and swooned when they wrote one ; swooned when they heard bad news, and swooned when they heard good. And these swoons were perfectly genuine. The syncope was real. The heart's action was suspended. But no one swoons now. Swooning is out of fashion. CHAP. XIII CUSTOM AND FASHION 205 In religious revivals, the groans, and shouts, and gesticulations, are voluntary, or semi- voluntary, but the swoons and the convulsions that are sometimes exhibited, are involuntary results of fashion. In the so-called ' aesthetic ' craze of the 'eiohties of the last century, it was astonishing to find the women presenting a certain type of features which formed part of the fashion. The tousled hair could be arranged ; the leanness could be produced by re- striction of diet ; but the hatchet faces, the prominent chins, the hollow eyes, the thin noses, that character- ised multitudes of the votaries of the cult, had not been seen before, and have not been seen since, in anything approaching the number and proportion of the population that then obtained. Conformity with custom is more important, bio- logically, than conformity with fashion, and the instinct of continuing to do what has heretofore been done, is more dominant than the instinct of doing what others are now doing. Those who fail to conform to fashion, are scorned and derided ; but those who innovate upon custom, are hated and persecuted. Continuity of action is more strictly safeguarded than conformity of action ; and pre- sumably, therefore, is more important to the conserva- tion of society. In every department of life, the sway of custom is tyrannous. From the games of children, to the solemn observances of religion ; from the consumption of hot cross buns on Good Friday, to the elaborate ceremonies of a coronation ; from the hanging up of mistletoe at Christmas, to the procedure of Courts of Justice, and the mode of 206 CONDUCT BOOK II signifying the approval of the Sovereign of the statutes passed by Parliament; custom rules the roost. Neither in adhering to custom, nor in following the fashion, do we always know the motive of our action. Especially in adhering to custom, we are apt to suppose that we do so for some other reason than the mere desire to continue action that is become customary. Ordinarily, we follow custom because it is customary, and do not seek for any motive ; but if a motive is demanded, we grope about for it, and find it, perhaps, in something which we consider ought to have influenced us, but which in fact was never in our thoughts. The natives of India do not avow any motive for follow- ing the custom of caste, any more than they avow a motive for walking on two limbs rather than on four. To them, caste is part of the order of nature ; and needs no more motive than sleeping or waking. Neither does it often occur to us to ask why a bride should be dressed in white, or should wear a veil. We accept the custom without inquiry. But if inquiry is made, the answer we get is often not the true answer. It is an answer invented to serve the occasion — invented in all good faith, and believed to be true, but still it is wide of the mark. If, for instance, we ask why Latin is, or was for generations, the main subject taught in every school, we are told that it is because it is an unparalleled mental exercise ; because it is the foundation of a good style of speaking and writing ; because it is necessary to the knowledge of English ; and twenty other CHAI'. XIH CUSTOM AND FASHION 207 reasons which are transparently incorrect. The real motive, that it is customary, is not wilfully con- cealed : it is unknown, unrecognised; and the motives assigned are believed to be the true motives. Only occasionally, as for instance, in the style of dress, is the real motive of following fashion or custom, recoofnised and avowed to be the desire to do what others are doing, or have done. Following the fashion has its origin in that biological necessity for uniformity of action on the part of members of a community, that has been several times referred to ; and, given the consequent instinctive desire, and the ever present example, needs no further explanation. But conformity with custom, though custom be no more than unchanging fashion, needs more accounting for, for the opportun- ity of following custom is much less continuous than that of following fashion. What is generally being done is constantly in levidence before us ; but what has been generally done by them of old time, does not necessarily come before us continually, or even frequently. Many customs are followed only at certain times of year, such as decorating with holly at Christmas ; wearing new clothes at Easter ; choosing valentines in February ; and so forth. Others are followed only on certain occasions in life ; as at birth, marriage, death, the execution of deeds, crossing the equator, and so forth ; others, again, on certain anniversaries, as on birthdays, Guy Fawkes day, Calf's Head day, and so forth. In inquiring into the origin of custom, as of fashion, two things have to be clearly distinguished. We must recognise a 208 CONDUCT BOOK II clear distinction between the origin of the particular custom or fashion, and the origin of the habit of following custom or fashion, apart from any particular observance. The origin of particular customs and fashions is postponed for the moment. The origin of instinctive desire to conform with fashion, we have already found ; and since custom is but fashion that has been long unchanged, it seems that no further explanation of following custom is needed ; but the intermittent occurrence of many customs, the rarity of occasion for many of them, marks a distinction between fashion and custom, and makes some further explanation necessary. When a custom is followed but once a year, or once in a lifetime; and on an isolated occasion, when the same action is not at the time being followed by others ; it can scarcely be said to be done because it is being generally done. It is done, no doubt, because it is generally done by others on similar occasions in their lives ; but it is not done because it is now being done. It is done for the sake of continuity in succession of perform- ance ; not for the sake of conformity of simultaneous performance. While it is easy to see that, if all the members of a society scatter simultaneously in different directions, the society will be dispersed and will cease to exist ; it is by no means so clear that if they all simultaneously alter their mode of action from what has previously been the rule, the same consequence will follow. Hence, conformity with custom requires an explanation beyond that needed for conformity with fashion. And we have seen that conformity with custom is more strictly safeguarded CHAP, xiii CUSTOM AND FASHION 209 than conformity with fashion. The penalties that attach to a breach of custom are, on the whole, more severe than those that are visited on a departure from fashion ; and conformity with custom would seem, therefore, to be socially more important. The great advantage of adherence to custom, would seem to be that it is a safeguard against the risks that attend novelty of action. Custom ensures the preservation of modes of action, that the experience of past generations has proved to be beneficial. It ensures that each generation profits by the experi- ence of previous generations ; and does not need to discover for itself, by the wasteful and perilous process of trial and error, the best ways of dealing with recurring circumstances. It is true that many customs are mere ceremonials, and have, apparently, no immediate bearing on the welfare and survival of the society in which they prevail ; but it would be a mistake to suppose that ceremonial observance has no bearing on the stability of society ; and many customary modes of action are not ceremonial. Moreover, if the instinct is of value in certain matters, it is certain, as with other instincts, to overflow into other regions, in which its value is less apparent. Customary action is a substitute for instinctive action. It provides, for a given set of recurring circumstances, a mode of action that can be adopted without any laborious reasoning process, — a mode of action that has grown up and been elaborated in the course of preceding generations, and has been found eff*ectual by them. We have seen, in a previous chapter, how novel action, as it becomes first habitual, p 210 CONDUCT BOOK II and then automatic, approximates in nature to instinctive action ; we now see another approach to instinctive action, made in another way — not in the course of a single lifetime, by the repetition of action in a single individual, but in the course of generations, by the repetition of the same mode of action by many successive individuals. I have repeatedly spoken of conformity with custom as instinctive action ; and I now speak of customary action as a substitute for instinctive action — as quasi -instinctive ; but the statements are not inconsistent. The desire to follow custom is a true instinct ; inasmuch as it is innate, fixed, in- variable, the same in all ; but the particular custom that is followed is an accident. It depends on the custom that happens to prevail in the community to which the individual belongs. If the custom were just the opposite of what it is, he would follow it with equal avidity. In short, the instinctive element in the act is not the following of the particular custom, l)ut the general mode of acting in accordance with custom, whatever the custom may happen to be. The origin of particular customs is, in many cases, obscure ; in many is lost in the mists of antiquity ; but the instinct of following custom must have had its origin, like other instincts, in the biological advantage that it bestows ; and most, if not all, customs must have had a similar origin. We argue the biological advantage, at any rate in primitive communities, of the instinct of adhering to custom, from its strength and universality in such communities. In all CHAP. XIII CUSTOM AND FASHION 211 primitive communities, adherence to custom is rigid and tyrannous ; and, in view of the decided disadvantages of certain customs, this dominance of customary action would not prevail unless the countervailing advantages were very great. I do not say that the utility of any customary observance is necessarily perceived by those who practise it. In many cases, they would be puzzled to assign to it any utilitarian function ; in many cases, the utility that they do assign to it is imaginary, as in the case of teaching of Latin ; but it must have had, at the time of its origin, some biological advantage, or it would not have become customary ; or, if this is not true of every case, it must be true that on balance, and in the long run, the customs of a community must be beneficial to it. For those communities whose customs were adverse to their welfare, would perish before the competition of those whose customs were advantageous ; and the latter would survive and flourish. In primitive communities, especially, in which a very large part of conduct is regulated by custom, the customs that are prevalent must be, on balance, beneficial, or the community would perish. Whether or no individual customs are beneficial or not, and it is difficult to see what benefit to the community can arise from the couvade, or from infanticide, or from the infliction of deformities ; it is certain that the instinct of adhering to custom, whatever the custom may be, must in the long run, be of great biological advantage in primitive communities. The complement of adherence to custom is opposi- tion to change ; and we find this instinct very strongly 212 CONDUCT BOOK II developed in most people, and especially in people of primitive cast of mind, — in children, in unadvanced communities, and in the dull. The degree in which this instinct is developed is, in fact, a rough measure of the grade of reason of its possessor. Any change in customary modes of conduct, unless it is adopted simultaneously by the whole community, is resisted with tenacity, and usually with acrimony, unless it is a mode of conduct that is customarily changeable. Generally, the more primitive the society, the fewer modes of conduct are subject to change ; and the more developed the society, the more tolerant is it of change, and the more modes of conduct are changeable without opposition ; but even in societies that we consider highly developed, change, in matters that are not customarily subject to change, is instinctively resisted. We have seen of late years a passionate resistance to the change of throwing professions open to women ; and we see it now in the resistance to admitting them to the suffrage. History is one long record of resistance to change of custom — resistance that has always been strenuous, often sanguinary, and usually at length overcome. The history of religious custom, in all ages and all countries, has been the history of a bloody retaliation on innovation ; and even in the most advanced com- munities, religious persecution is far from extinct. Social and industrial history repeat the tale. In very many cases, vested interests combine with instinctive disinclination in opposition to change ; but in many, the opposition is purely, or largely, instinctive. The persons interested in stage-coaches, CHANGE OF CUSTOM 213 OH.' formed but a minority of those who opposed the introduction of railways ; and the equally strenuous opposition, which is now forgotten, to, the macadamisa- tion of roads, could not have had a large support from vested interests. It required a national disaster to supersede by book-keeping, the keeping of the national accounts by wooden tallies. The establish- ment of the penny post was opposed as violently as the application of chloroform to mitigate the pains of labour. Changes of spelling, which would tend to brevity, simplicity, to the clearing of confusion in pronunciation, and to the elucidation of etymology, are prevented by the instinctive opposition to change. Every change of social conditions, however manifestly beneficial, requires, even nowadays, when change is become frequent and normal, elaborate organisation, and much expense of money and labour, to bring it about. In every department of conduct, change of custom is achieved at the cost of much labour, much time, and much odium. Yet custom does change, it may be by unnoticeable degrees, it may be with startling abruptness ; but it changes ; and our task is to find the causes by which change of custom is produced. The changes of fashion are notorious for their rapidity and want of reason, and these also are to be accounted for. Probably the earliest and the most frequently - acting solvent, that softens the rigid carapace of custom and renders it pliant, is the conflict of customs that arises from the intercourse of difierent communities having different customs. Primitive communities grow in nearly complete isolation ; and 214 CONDUCT BOOK II even in highly developed communities, a large part of the nation has usually but little intercourse with other nations ; but in the life of every community, occasions arise, with more or less frequency, on which a part or the whole of the community is brought into contact with customs different from its own ; and this contact, and the resulting comparison, tend to disturb the uniformity of both the compared customs. The chief mode of contact between communities is, of course, war ; and in primitive communities, the contact of war is very complete. The whole, or the greater part, of the primitive community, takes part in war ; and war often results in the conquest and absorption of one community by another. In such a case, the conquered, though absorbed and merged in the conquerors, may retain to a large extent their own customs ; and then two bodies of custom will exist side by side, with the result that each will modify the other ; and although one may eventually prevail, it will be changed in the process. It will be in some respects modified by the other. Thus, the great anniversaries of the Christian Church are adopted from the pagan rites that they superseded. Feudal law and common law both survived, but each acted on and modified the other. History records many cases of the conquering race adopting, with more or fewer modifications, the religion, the language, the laws of the conquered ; and when the conquered have been forced to adopt the customs of the conquerors, these customs have always been modified in the process of adoption. In this way, not only are customs changed, but the very fact that CHAP. XIII CHANGE OF CUSTOM 215 they are changed, tends to familiarise people with the notion that custom can be changed ; and thus prepares the way for future changes. A similar influence is exerted by the peaceful incorporation into a nation, of alien individuals, especially when the immigration is copious. The immigrants bring with them their own customs, and two sets of customs cannot exist side by side, without mutually modifying each other. It was the large importation into Imperial Rome, of immigrants from the provinces, that paved the way for the adoption of the Christian religion. The immigrants were themselves pagans, but they were pagans professing many different religions, and the existence, side by side, of many diff'erent religious faiths, loosened the ties of all, and facilitated the adoption of a new faith. The two nations of the modern world in which custom is least binding, and new modes of conduct meet with least opposition, are England and the United States of America ; and these are the countries that have received immigrants in the largest numbers. An influence similar in character, though less in degree, is exerted by contact and intercourse with people of alien customs, without actual incorporation. Caeteris paribus, it is the commercial nations, such as England and Holland, in which custom is most flexible ; the isolated nations, such as India and China, in which the power of custom is most dominant. Intercourse with other nations was the primary cause of the break-up of custom in Japan. It is doubtful whether any recognition of the 216 CONDUCT BOOK II disadvantage attending any mode of customary action, would, of itself, be enough to break the custom, unless some of the foregoing influences had already been at work, to weaken the instinct of observance of custom ; but when once the sacred character of customary observance is infringed and weakened, the way is open to departure from any particular custom that is especially burdensome, or that is no longer applicable to an altered state of society. Once a breach is made in any custom, and the whole customal of that society is weakened in security ; and, the preliminary condition being satisfied, it is the perception of positive disadvantages in a custom that leads, usually after a bitter struggle, to its defeat and discontinuance. As nations advance in social aptitude, and the social bond is maintained by the direct desire to aid, support, and serve the com- munity as a whole, and its individual members ; the indirect bonds, of which adhesion to custom is one, become less necessary to social conservation ; and may be dispensed with, without consequent weakening of the social union. In advanced nations, therefore, customs may be dispensed with, and the general observance of custom may be slackened and weakened, to an extent that would speedily bring about the dissolution of a more primitive community. Such slackening of custom must, however, be made cautiously and gradually, if the social bond is not to suffer ; and we must therefore welcome the stubborn opposition to change, that compels every departure from custom to justify itself completely before it is adopted. CHAP. XIII CHANGE OF FASHION 217 Changes of mere fashion are more readily allowed than changes of custom ; and the reason is clear. If the fashion has been long in existence, it is not a mere fashion, but a fashion that has become a custom. If it is a mere fashion, it is the product of compara- tively recent change ; and there is no resentment against change of things in which change is customary. For there may be a custom to change as well as a custom not to change ; and when change in any department of conduct is customary, it would be a departure from custom to refrain from changing the fashion. Still, the instinctive desire to do as others are doing is very strong, and a departure from fashion requires explanation. At the root of change of fashion is desire for change, an instinctive desire that is intimately connected with the constitution of the nervous system and of the mind. Psychologists tell us that all conscious- ness depends on change ; and that an unchanging state of consciousness is a state of unconsciousness. Physiologists tell us that the nervous system is a storehouse of motion, constantly filling and constantly needing expenditure ; and both are agreed that the changes of mind are correlated with the activity of nerve function. We have seen in a previous chapter, that there are two modes ^in which conduct is originated. Conduct is originated by the outbreak of accumulated motion, that has reached a point of tension no longer controllable by inherent resistance to its discharge ; and is originated also by the pro- vocation and elicitation of impinging impressions. The accumulation of motion, as it approaches the 218 CONDUCT BOOK II bursting-point, is attended with feelings of uneasiness, increasing to the massive misery that is experienced by the captive and the prisoner, to whom normal activity is denied. The denial of opportunity for the expenditure of motion in spontaneous conduct, is well recognised to be attended with pain and misery. What is, perhaps, less well recognised, is that denial of the opportunity for the expenditure of motion by elicitation is also painful. Expenditure of motion in this way cannot, ex hypothesi, take place, except in response to impression ; and impression is not pro- duced except by change of circumstances. Hence the longing for change of circumstances. The monotony of long continued sameness, becomes at length intolerable. As with so many other desires, we do not in the least recognise or appreciate the physiological or psychological source of the longing ; all we appreciate is that the longing exists, and demands satisfaction. From time to time, a change of circumstances comes to be ardently desired. This is why the townsman retreats into the country, and the countryman takes his holiday in town ; this is the motive of foreign travel ; this is why we discard a garment before it is worn out ; this is the greater part of the attraction of shows, pageants, theatres, and assemblies of all kinds ; this is why some move their furniture, others their residence ; and so forth ; and this is the motive that lies at the root of changes of fashion. If change is desired, and if conformity with the doings of others is desired, then the com- bination of these two desires leads direct to a change of fashion. CHAP. XIII CHANGE OF FASHION 219 Granted, however, that all desire change, and all desire to conform, there still remains the difficulty of explaining how it is that all adopt the same change, without previous agreement as to what the change is to be ; and in changes of fashion, such common agreement is rare. In matters of dress, for instance, there is no widespread agreement or understanding as to the character of a new fashion. A new fashion comes in, and all follow it ; yet, when it first comes in, it is not a fashion. It is followed, not generally, but by a few only. The earliest exponents of a new fashion are not actuated by the desire to conform, or they would not depart from the old fashion ; and as soon as the change they have introduced is generally followed, and is become the fashion, it is distasteful to them, and must be replaced by something else. Thus we see the curious paradox that the leaders of fashion are themselves the least fashionable, in the true sense of the word. The explanation is to be found in another principle of conduct, already expounded. It lies in the desire for admiration, for eminence, for superiority, for leadership, which is so potent a motive to conduct. Conformity with fashion is following the example of others ; and when example is followed, example must be set. Where there are many who follow, there must be some who lead ; and the leaders are those who have the power, described in the last chapter, of impressing their will upon the wills of others. The usual origin of a change in fashion is that it is first made, for the sake of change, by a person of originating and independent mind ; and, once started, the natural desires of change, and 220 CONDUCT BOOK II for conforming to fashion, do the rest. In matters in which change of fashion is frequent, there is little danger of odium in setting a new fashion ; but change of custom, though it may be brought about in the same way, requires exceptional daring on the part of the innovator. CHAPTER XIV INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT OF THE ACTION OF OTHERS 1. On Ourselves The normal effect of the action of others toward us, is to produce reciprocal action of the same kind towards them. The effect is by no means invariable ; it is modified by precept, by example, by the dis- position of the person acted on, and by other factors ; but broadly and generally, the action of others towards us, is reciprocated by similar action towards them. The primary and natural impulse of human nature, on being struck, is to strike back ; on being pushed, to push again ; to meet a scowl by a scowl, and a smile by a smile. These crude and direct reciprocations are types of more elaborate and in- direct reciprocations, that prevail in higher spheres of conduct. Generally, beneficent action evokes a return of beneficence ; maleficent action, a return of evildoing; and neutral action a return in kind. On persons, for instance, who put questions to us, that we do not consider them entitled to put, we are apt to retaliate by similar questions in turn ; but the action of others towards us is rarely, as the 221 222 CONDUCT BOOK II instance shows, neutral, either in effect or in intention ; and, in practice, we need consider action towards ourselves, only as it concerns our welfare ; and the natural and primary reaction is, as has been said, reciprocal. The rule is not invariable. We do not now rob the man who has robbed us ; but such a mode of retaliation is undoubtedly the primitive mode. It is followed among primitive people — among savages and children. When Billy is asked why he took Tommy's top, the answer ' Well, he took my marbles,' seems, to the childish sense of justice, full and explanatory. The increasing complexity and elaborateness of action in Imman society, and the imperative necessity that the peace shall be kept, has led to more elaborate reciprocation on even crude injuries ; and whatever the mode of injury, or the mode of retaliation, there is a universal feeling, common to all nations, people, and languages, to all ages and all races, that the reciprocated injury should bear a proportion to that which provokes it. It need not be an injury of the same kind. If a man hits me on the jaw, I may hit him on the eye, without the sense of justice in a bystander being outraged. If he picks my pocket, I may give him in charge to the police ; but whatever form my retalia- tion takes, it must bear a severity roughly pro- portionate to the severity of the injury inflicted. If my retaliation falls short of this, I am unsatisfied, and wish to increase it. If it exceeds this standard, I alienate the sympathy of lookers on, and prepare for myself an attack of remorse. It is much the CHAP, xrv RECIPROCAL CONDUCT 223 same if the action on ourselves is beneficent. When one does us a kindness, or a service, we desire to reciprocate it by doing kindness or service in return ; and we preserve a proportion between that which is given and that which is returned. As long as the reciprocation is in abeyance, we feel under a sense of obligation that is irksome and un- pleasant, and that we wish to terminate. If the return that we make is much less than what is given us, we feel that we have been mean, and the feeling is unpleasant. If the return is much greater, we are troubled by the feeling that we have laid on our benefactor a burden of obligation, that will be a greater trouble to him than the service we have rendered will compensate. In our dealings with our friends, however, we do not open a ledger, entering on the one side the services rendered, and on the other the benefits returned. The rule holds good broadly and generally, and is pretty accurate as applied between acquaint- ances, whose means of giving and returning are approximately the same. It does not hold good between friends, nor between those of very unequal opportunities. Friendship cancels obligation on the one side, and the expectation of return on the other. From our friends we are glad to receive kindnesses, services, and gifts, rendered in token of friendship ; and we feel under no obligation for them, under no compulsion to make return, except by increase of goodwill. Nay, any return in kind by way of pay- ment, such as we should feel bound to make to an acquaintance, is felt to be dishonouring to friendship. 224 CONDUCT BOOK II Friendship gives with both hands, and seeks only the gratification of giving. A friend would be disappointed and hurt at any direct return for the offices of friendship ; but would feel equally disappointed and hurt if, on occasion arising, no return were made. This is the difference. Between acquaintances of equal opportunity, a direct return of kindly offices is required. Between friends, a direct return is hurtful, since it indicates that the friendship is no friendship, but mere acquaintanceship. The effect, between friends, of rendering services, is to render the friendship closer and more intimate, and to increase the desire to render services generally, and when occasion serves, but not ad hoc — not in direct reciprocation. Between persons of very unequal opportunity, direct reciprocation of benefits is not expected. We help those who are weaker than ourselves, and are helped by those who are stronger, without thought in the first case, or obligation in the second, of direct return, or of any return at all. I procure employ- ment for this man, who is out of work ; a fortnight in the country for this child, who is out of health ; a midwife for that woman, who is about to be con- fined ; and neither do I look for return, nor do they think of making it. But this I expect, as a reciproca- tion of my benevolence — that they shall refrain from injurious action towards me. If the man works actively against my candidature ; if the child throws mud at me ; if the woman spreads evil reports about me, and hints that a father should take precautions about the bringing of his child into the world ; I oHAP.xiv RECIPROCAL CONDUCT 225 have reason to feel aggrieved. If my professional senior helps me, a beginner, to my first patient, or my first brief, and I accept his help ; he closes my mouth if I happen to know that his methods of practice are below the high standard of professional purity. Retaliation against injury is rarely defective in intention. There are few who are content to receive an injury, and to pass it by without an attempt at retaliation, unless the circumstances are such that retaliation is impracticable ; and even then, a feeling of soreness is cherished, and determination is fixed that, if ever opportunity presents* itself, retaliation shall be made. Fortunately, for the peace of society, such determinations are, with most people, softened and mitigated by the lapse of time. The Christian morality forbids them to be entertained ; and forbids even that instant retaliation, when instant retalia- tion is possible, which is an instinctive trait of human character. Such teaching has not, in this respect, been effective ; but this it has done — it has rein- forced, and in some measures forestalled, the effect on vindictive determination, that is exercised by lapse of time. It has abbreviated the time during which such determinations endure, and brought about an earlier evanescence. The cardinal error of retaliation upon injury is more often excess than defect. Instant retaliation tends strongly to be excessive, and out of proportion to the injury suffered. So well is this recognised, that a rule was once introduced into the Navy, at the instance of Captain Marryat, that no offender against Q 226 CONDUCT BOOK II discipline should be punished until after the lapse of twenty-four hours from the discovery of his offence. People who are described as of hasty temper, are those in whom instant retaliation is apt to be greatly excessive, and often to be regretted when lapse of time has brought a juster estimation of the injury suffered. On the other hand, those are termed vindictive, in whom the lapse of time brings little or no mitigation of the sense of injury, and of the determination to retaliate. There are those, and their characters are not admired, in whom the over- estimation of injury suffered is accompanied by a long endurance of an undiminishing determination to retaliate. Such characters pertain, on the one hand, to primitive people, as exemplified in the practice of vendetta ; and on the other hand, to people who may be termed, somewhat paradoxically, secondarily primitive ; that is to say, who are reduced by the denuding action of insanity to a state of quasi- artificial primitiveness. The return of good offices may similarly be de- fective or excessive. There are those — egotistic and selfish persons, frequent among both the sane and the insane — who are content to receive the kind offices, the services, the benefits, conferred on them by other people, without the thought of any return. What- ever benefits they receive, they accept as their right ; and this trait of character is sometimes pushed so far that the accepting of a benefit from another, they regard, not as establishing an obligation, but as con- ferring a favour on that other. By an established convention, the Sovereign is ' graciously pleased to CHAP. XIV RECIPROCAL CONDUCT 227 accept ' the gifts and services of his subjects. The egotist puts himself in the place of a sovereign lord, and is graciously pleased to accept benefits from others, as his bare due ; never regarding the transac- tion in any other light than that of conferring a favour on his benefactor. Others, again, are defective in this mode of conduct, from meanness. They know and appreciate that they are under obligation as the recipients of benevolence, but the pain of remaining under obligation is less than the pain of discharging it, and under obligation they remain. On the other hand, the sense of obligation is, in some, excessive. They are as sensitive to obligation as a cat is to wet feet, and are impatient both to incur and to endure it. Offers of help they resent ; the unrequited services of others they disdain. They will be self-sufficient. They will be independent. Such self-sufficiency and independence are, in their degree, altogether praiseworthy ; but they are, in some, pushed to an excess that renders their exhibitor impracticable and unattractive. Theirs is the pride that is apt to go before a fall ; and in the fall they meet with little sympathy — and would repudiate it if it were tendered to them. There is one mode of excessive sensitiveness to obligation, and excessive return for goodwill, which is limited, as far as I know, to the Jewish race. There are not a few Jews who feel and give effect to an obligation, when any of their possessions is admired, to make a present of the admired object to the person who admires it. This very amiable trait of character may be a source of considerable embarrassment to the 228 . CONDUCT BOOK II recipient of their bounty, for which the donor looks for no return, and would be chagrined if a return were made. 2. Injiuence on Conduct of the Actioyi of Others on Others The action of others towards third parties, pro- duces in us a definite attitude towards the actors, and modifies our conduct towards them. The observation of beneficent action towards others, produces in us an attitude of sympathy and approval towards the actor, increases our regard for him, and disposes us to express the increased regard in our conduct. If his benefactions are on a large scale, we entertain him at a banquet ; we subscribe to present him with his portrait ; we work, perhaps, to secure his election to parliament ; and when he dies, we pay our respects by following him to his grave. If his beneficence is exhibited in isolated acts of kindness here and there, we become benevolently disposed towards him. If we know of any object that he wishes to attain, we help him towards it. We desire, and as far as opportunity allows, we serve, his welfare. We feel that he has established a claim on our goodwill. If, on the other hand, his action towards others is maleficent, it arouses in us an attitude antagonistic towards him, and we desire that he shall be punished, and are ready, if occasion serves, to take part in its infliction. When we hear of a brutal murder, we desire ardently the capture and punishment of the murderer ; and, if occasion serves, we give information OHAP. XIV JUSTICE 229 to the police, or aid the course of justice in any way within our power. If we come upon a boy ill-treating his younger brother, or tormenting a cat, we box his ears. Deeply implanted in every human being is the desire that those who inflict pain on others, should themselves be made to sufl"er pain ; and this is the foundation of every system of criminal law. Inti- mately bound up with this desire, is the desire that such action shall be prevented for the future ; but this is a later and a secondary result of witnessing the infliction of suff'ering. The first, the primary, the crude, instinctive impulse, is to inflict pain in retalia- tion for pain inflicted. When we witness the infliction of injury upon others, the desire arises in us to inflict pain upon the injurer ; and not merely to inflict pain, but to inflict an amount of pain bearing some proportion to that inflicted by the ofiender ; and more than this, we have some vague leaning towards inflicting on the injurer, pain of the same kind that he has made others sufi'er. The last desire is become, to a great extent, overlaid and stifled in the complexity of modern civilisation ; but in primitive natures it is often dis- played. In the code of Hammurabi, if a jerry-built house fell, and killed the tenant, the builder was to be killed. If it fell, and killed the eldest son of the tenant, the eldest son of the builder was to be killed. Retaliation of such punctual accuracy as this, is termed poetical justice, and the term seems to imply that it is not to be expected in a workaday world. In fact, it is in most cases impracticable, and the utmost that we now expect is that there shall be some corre- 230 CONDUCT BOOK II spondence iu degree, Ijetween the pain suffered, and the pain inflicted, by an offender, without stipulating for any similarity in kind. An opinion is often expressed, that the treatment of those who have injured others, should be restricted to what is sufficient to deter them from its repetition, and to deter others who are inclined to commit similar offences ; and that the retaliatory element should be altogether discarded. This is not the place to discuss questions of penology. My object is not to consider what conduct ought to be, but to describe what conduct is ; and, that punishment always is, in fact, retaliatory, there cannot, in my opinion, be any doubt at all. When we contemplate the brutal murder and mutilation of a charming woman by her husband, do we restrict our desire for the punishment of the murderer, to such measure as may secure that he has no opportunity to murder and mutilate a second wife, and that other husbands may be warned not to murder and mutilate their wives ? If the first object alone were desired, it would be enough to keep the murderer under police supervision for the rest of his life. Would this be considered an adequate punish- ment in the mind and conscience of the average man ? If, in addition, the deterrence of others from doing the like is to actuate us in awarding punishment, then we must not inflict a punishment more severe than is sufiicient to attain this result. How far the punish- ment of one is a deterrent to others from committing a similar offence, must always be a matter of con- jecture ; but suppose it were a matter of certainty, and suppose we knew for certain that a severe repri- CHAP. XIV JUSTICE 231 mand of the murderer would have the same deterrent effect upon other would-be murderers as hanging him, should we be contented with inflicting this punishment upon a man for the murder and mutilation of his wife ? I am sure that very few would answer this question in the affirmative. When we hear of some trivial sentence, a fine of a few shillings, or a few days' imprisonment, being inflicted upon a man or a woman who has barbarously tortured a child ; are we think- ing of the want of deterrent effect that this mild punishment will have upon others ? I say with con- fidence that we are not ; that if we think at all of the deterrent effect, or of the want of it, it is as an after- thought. The main reason of our dissatisfaction is the inadequacy of the punishment to the oflence, the want of proportion between the pain that the offender suffers, and the pain that he has inflicted. In these days, it is rare for a public benefactor not to receive, in meal or in malt, our adequate recognition of his benefactions ; and the man who is not moved to show goodwill towards the private benefactor of others, is a churl, and a very infrequent churl. The public attitude towards malefactors has undergone, during the last few generations, a great alteration, and is still in process of change. Until less than a hundred years ago, they were treated by punishments of the most savage, and even barbarous, character. The gallows, the axe, the stake, the wheel, the quartering-block, the rack, the thumbscrew, and the boot, were employed with horrible frequency ; and such retaliations of society on its depredators are now regarded with horror. Nowadays, the 232 CONDUCT book n malefactor is treated with consideration, and even with tenderness. By some, he is regarded as the victim of heredity : by others, as the victim of circumstances ; and yet others, with a curious perverseness of ingenuity, blame the victim, society, for the depredations of those that prey upon it. The tendency now is to treat the malefactor with more consideration than is shown to the honest poor man, who, in the face of dire temptation, has pre- served his integrity. Such treatment will inevitably increase the number of malefactors, and so work its own reform ; but there is another tendency, that, if it is not wholly modern, has become greatly accentuated in recent years, and is more difficult to combat ; and this is the rapid elevation of a peculiarly heinous malefactor into a popular hero. We have seen that, by lapse of time, the desire to retaliate upon those who have injured us, is normally diminished ; and something of the same diminution takes place in the desire to punish those who have injured others. On the first discovery of a barbarous crime, the criminal is universally execrated ; and if he then were to fall into the hands of the mob, he would be lynched instantly and without mercy. But with lapse of time, this indignation dies down. It is not surprising, nor is it much to be regretted, that we can now read of the crimes of a Brinvilliers or a Borgia, without feeling the same fervour of indigna- tion that we should experience if they were recently committed. It would not be a mark of elevated morality if we could read of them without indignation ; and if any one should regard these perpetrators not CHAP. XIV JUSTICE 233 as debased malefactors, but as a heroine or a hero, he would, I think, suffer in the estimation of his hearers, and be looked upon as the upholder of a very vitiated ethical standard. How, then, are we to regard those very numerous persons who make a sort of hero or heroine of the debased malefactors of the present day, as soon as the details of their crimes grow cold in the memory ? By the time the evidence has been collected, and the malefactor tried and condemned, there is always a considerable, sometimes a large, number of persons who treat him or her with nauseous adulation. The murderer who has beaten his wife to death, or killed her with circumstances of revolting barbarity, is the recipient of bouquets of flowers, which turn his condemned cell into a bower of roses. The woman who has outraged maternity by putting her innocent child to death, is over- whelmed with hundreds, literally hundreds, of ofi"ers of marriage. These demonstrations of perverted sympathy do not come from the professionally insane. They come from out the general population of persons capable of holding their places in the society to which they belong, and acting as sane persons. Such perverted and spurious sentimentality does, however, raise a presumption that its exhibitors are on the border of sanity, if they are not wholly beyond the pale. It seems, therefore, that the witnessing of injuries inflicted by others upon others, produces, in the bystander, an action towards the aggressor that is apt to be excessive as soon as the transgression is known ; but that rapidly diminishes, and is apt, 234 CONDUCT BOOK II after a time, to die down, and even to be reversed. When a man confesses to a murder that he committed twenty years ago, our desire for his punishment is languid. 3. Injiuence on Conduct of the Actioii of Others on Circumstances It would seem that action of others, which is directed neither towards ourselves nor towards our fellows, is no concern of ours, and can have but little influence on our conduct ; but this is not so. The interdependence of every member of a society on every other, is close and intimate ; and the action of each has its effect on all. Man acts on circumstances to overcome them, and to extract benefit from them for himself and his ; and the ways in which each man deals with his circumstances, have interest for all his fellows, and modify in some degree their conduct, especially their conduct towards him. If a man is successful in extracting benefit from his circumstances ; if his action on circumstances is efficient ; his success and eflficiency breed, in those around him, an attitude of respect, which colours their conduct towards him. Such men are treated with respect. Their opinions are considered ; their acts are not lightly questioned ; their advice is valued ; their services are sought ; their example is followed ; their wishes are regarded. In many ways, they modify the conduct of those who know them. The man who is unsuccessful in extracting benefit from circumstances, becomes ipso facto negligible. CHAP. XIV ADMIRATION AND ENVY 235 His opinions carry no weight ; his acts, even when sensible, are lightly regarded ; none seeks his advice ; none seeks his services ; his example is noticed only to be avoided ; and his wishes are disregarded. These are the inevitable consequences of success and ill success ; but beyond this, there are certain phases of conduct, generated by the same results of action, but differing according to the character of the observer. In some, the witnessing of success in others breeds whole-hearted admiration that is freely expressed ; in others, differently constituted, the observation of success in others is a source of envy which finds its expression in detraction. The failure of others, produces conduct in the bystander that is similarly diverse, according to his character. In some it breeds sympathy, pity, and desire to help, that find expression in appropriate conduct ; in others it breeds contempt, self-esteem, and a desire to exhibit their own superiority by trampling on the unsuccessful. One would suppose that envy of the successful would go with brutality towards the unsuccessful, and this is generally true ; but it is not universally true. There are those who are sickened by the sight of success in others, in which they do not themselves share, and yet can protect and succour the unsuc- cessful ; so curiously compounded is human nature. CHAPTER XV SPONTANEOUS SOCIAL CONDUCT Beyond that social conduct that is elicited from us by the existence, the presence, the attitude, the action, of others, there is a considerable range of social conduct that is autogenic or spontaneous. The social conduct of others, that elicits conduct from us, has its complement in social conduct of our own, that produces similar effects in them. Without being prompted or incited thereto by the conduct of others, we act in various ways towards them ; and these modes of conduct may be classified according as they are directed to influence the welfare of the state as a whole, of sections or classes, or of indi- viduals within the state ; and each of these three modes of conduct is further divisible according as it is active, on the one hand, or passive and self- restraining on the other. Patriotic Conduct Beyond that patriotic conduct which is elicited from us by desire of the approbation of our fellows, already treated of in a previous chapter, there is a spontaneous patriotism, that arises from love of 236 CHAP. XV PATRIOTIC CONDUCT 237 country, and the more elevated motive of desiring to benefit the community to which we belong. The two motives are, no doubt, often associated ; and not even the actor himself may know how far he is actuated by patriotism, and how far by ambition ; but the two are distinct, and the distinction is well recognised. Patriotic conduct is conduct spontaneously de- voted to the service of the State ; but all service so devoted is not necessarily patriotic. Many thou- sands of persons serve the State, in the Navy, the Army, the Civil Service, not primarily for love of country, but as a means of livelihood. Even those who serve their country in the legislature, and render very arduous services without remuneration, are, it is believed, not all actuated solely by the motive of patriotism. None the less, patriotism is an efficient motive, actuating, in some, a large part of conduct, in some an occasional act only ; and few persons are altogether destitute of it. Mak- ing every allowance for ambition and class interest, yet the conduct of many statesmen, soldiers, and others, is largely dominated by the mere desire to serve the community to which they belong ; and there are times and occasions — times of Parliamentary elections and political turmoil, occasions of wars and embroilment with foreign states — when the conduct of a large proportion of the citizens of the country is actuated by the motive of serving the whole com- munity. Some convene meetings ; others attend them ; and yet others break them up. Some make speeches, which others interrupt ; some take part in 238 CONDUCT BOOK II processions, which others attack ; and, for the time being, a large part of the population is engaged in conduct directly inspired by regard for the welfare of the State. Such conduct may be in excess or in defect. Excess of patriotism is rare, and difficult to define ; for it is a condition of social life, that each individual in the community should be ready, upon occasion, to sacrifice everything, even his life, to the welfare of the State ; but he who allows his enthusiasm for politics to absorb so large a share of his conduct, as seriously to impair his livelihood, and that of his family, is thereby diminishing the welfare of the State as a whole, perhaps by more than his direct exertions enhance it. It may be, indeed, as in the case of the younger Pitt, that his services are of paramount importance to the State, and in such a case, patriotism will prompt him to sacrifice even his means of livelihood ; but even in his case, the very importance of his services rendered that conduct excessive, by which he impaired his health, and brought about his premature death. With many, again, civic conduct is defective. There are many who do not concern themselves at all about national affairs ; who do not trouble to arrive at any considered judgment with respect to them, or to record their votes for the council of the nation. Perversion of conduct has been defined as conduct prompted by instinctive desire, but plainly calculated to defeat the very end desired ; and, estimated by this definition, much political conduct appears to be CHAP. XV PATRIOTIC CONDUCT 239 perverted ; for many things are done, many negotia- tions with foreign countries are conducted, much legislation is passed, many wars are undertaken, with the object and desire of benefiting the State, but which are, in result, detrimental and even disastrous to it. Such conduct is, however, taken out of the category of perverted conduct, by the fact that, to the actors, it is not, when it is done, plainly detrimental or disastrous to the interest it is intended to serve. To them it appears likely to be beneficial, though to others its detrimental char- acter is plain enough. Spontaneous conduct of the character we are now considering, may be active or passive, may mean exertion or self-restraint ; and the passive or self- restraining moiety is as important as the active. It is important that every member of a community should refrain from acts noxious or detrimental to the community ; and though such acts are provided against by the efficacy of fear of disapprobation and punishment that they incur, it is manifestly a greater safeguard to the State, that its members should be inherently averse to action of this descrip- tion ; and this inherent repulsion is the motive of the self-restraining patriotic conduct under consideration. In rare cases, this motive is not strong enough to prevent conduct antagonistic to the State ; and there are cases in which a man directs his conduct so as to injure the community to which he belongs. Such conduct may be either purely self-seeking, or purely self-abnegatory, or some mixture of the two. The sordid traitor, who sells his country for a 240 CONDUCT BOOK II pecuniary reward, belongs to one class ; the crazy fanatic, who sacrifices his life in the endeavour to assassinate the head of the State, or some prominent official, to benefit, as he fancies, some class of his fellow-countrymen, or to avenge some fancied wrong, belongs to the second ; another conspirator who seeks to subvert the government, partly in order that a better may take its place, and partly in order that his own interests may be served thereby, is in an intermediate position. Self- restraining patriotic conduct is in excess, when it leads to abstention from conduct that could not possibly injure the State, from fear that injury may result. It is not very infrequent, in certain cases of insanity, for the patient to refrain from the most innocent acts — from eating and drinking, for instance — on account of a crazy notion that by so doing he would bring disaster upon the nation. Philanthropic Conduct The aggregate amount of conduct prompted by the motive of benefiting sections and classes of the community, is enormous. It ranges from the pro- vision of workmen's dwellings, and the immense ramifications of the Charity Organisation Society, to the provision of homes for starving dogs, and of temporary relief for cats while their owners are away from home. For, with the increase and spread of tenderness and sympathy with suffering of all kinds, and of all creatures, dogs and cats have been admitted to a share in the life of the community, and are regarded, in some sort, as fellow-citizens. CHAP. XV PHILANTHROPIC CONDUCT 241 Philanthropic conduct that serves a section of the community, is a sort of miniature or local patriotism. It seeks to serve, not the State, but some section of the State — a county or a town, with all the classes therein comprised. The amount of effort that is devoted to service on local bodies, by members of Town Councils, County Councils, Urban and Rural District Councils, and so forth, is enormous and incalculable ; and under this head falls the provision of local benefits, of parks and recreation grounds, of public libraries, museums, and baths, at the expense of philanthropic donors. Philanthropic conduct that serves a class of the community, may affect the class to which the actor belongs, and is then a wider self-seeking ; or may affect a class alien to that of the actor, and is a purer philanthropy. These are the motives that lead to the constitution of Trade Unions, Employers Federa- tions, and the thousands of charitable societies, from the managing committees of hospitals, to homes of rest for tired horses ; and that prompts to the subscriptions of millions of pounds in charity every year. Philanthropic conduct may be regarded as ex- cessive, when the inroads it makes on the time or the means of the philanthropist, are so great as to encroach on the duty that he owes to himself and his family ; it is defective when he selfishly withdraws himself from participation in corporate efforts to improve the lot of others, while sharing in the benefits they obtain. R CHAPTER XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY The third division of spontaneous social conduct, — that which regulates our relations to individual fellow-citizens — is by far the most extensive. Like the other modes of autogenic or spontaneous conduct, it is divided into two sections, the active and the self- restraining ; and of these, the latter is by far the most important. Without the exertion of active beneficence, without the kind offices and acts of beneficence that we do for one another, social life would be deprived of much of its charm, of much of its benefit, of much of its polish ; but it would still continue. It would be a grey, cold, selfish society, but it would be a society ; and might hold together, as a society, indefinitely. There is nothing disruptive or disintegrative of society in the absence of active benevolence ; and many societies in which it had little place, have had a long and prosperous existence. But without self- restraining social conduct, society would fall to pieces. As already pointed out, in the chapter on Elicited Morality, the foundation of social life is the self-restraint, the limitation of their own freedom of action, on the part of the individual ■242 CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 243 members of the society. The imperative condition of social life is that the individuals of which it is composed, should not encroach upon the sphere of activity proper to each or any of their fellows. We have seen how this condition is upheld and safe- guarded by the powerful influence of the approbation that is awarded to it, and the disapprobation that is incurred by its infringement. But a morality that is wholly dependent on the approbation and disapproba- tion of others, is a precarious and incomplete morality. It would permit the perpetration of acts and omissions of the most immoral character, if they could be per- petrated without discovery. The preservation of society would depend on the perpetual vigilance exercised by all upon each ; and no one who was out of sight, could be trusted to act with integrity. A morality so enforced would be precarious and un- satisfactory. It would be frequently infringed ; and the society that was so preserved from the disin- tegrating effects of private and internecine aggression, would avail little in competition with one in which such disintegration had the additional safeguard, of an inherent disinclination on the part of each to encroach upon the legitimate freedom of the rest. Hence, in the competition of communities with each other, it has happened that those in which there was any rudiment of this inherent self-control have prevailed over those in which it was absent ; and those in which it was present in greater degree, have prevailed over those less copiously endowed ; and we are now arrived at a state of society in which most individuals have an inherent and spontaneous 244 CONDUCT BOOK II repulsion, partly innate, partly tlie result of inculcation, against those encroachments on the liberty of others that constitute acts of immorality. We avoid, not merely to escape disapprobation, but because it is inherently distasteful to us, action that interferes, to the detriment of our neighbour, with any department of his conduct. We avoid interference with his direct self-conservation — with his life- worthiness ; with the earning of his livelihood ; with his family and social relations ; with his recreation, his religion, and with the legitimate satisfaction of his curiosity. Most of the self-restraints, that should characterise our dealings with our neighbours, are summarised in the decalogue ; and it will be remembered that every one of the commandments, that concern our duty to our neighbour, is prohibitory. Most of the trans- gressions that are inconsistent with good citizenship are prohibited, either explicitly or by implication, in the decalogue ; but the active side of our neighbourly activities is altogether ignored therein. As to the second order of spontaneous social acts, — those by which we promote the welfare of our fellows, not merely passively, by refraining from aggressive action, but actively, by assisting them to attain their ends — these are not mentioned in the decalogue. As to them, the old dispensation is dumb : but for the merely self- restraining moiety of spontaneous social conduct, we may take the decalogue for our guide, expanding its provisions to exhibit all that they may fairly be taken to imply. CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 245 Self-restraining Spontaneous Morality 'Thou shalt do no murder.' This brief prohibi- tion must, for the practical purposes of social life, be expanded to prohibit every mode of action that diminishes the life-worthiness of others. Not only may we not do murder by violence, but we may not maim our neighbour, we may not break his limbs, or blacken his eye, or assault him in any way. Not only may we not wilfully do him physical injury, but we are bound so to limit and restrain our action, that we may not put him in danger, by recklessness, or carelessness, or negligence. Not only may we not wilfully poison him, but, if we have the handling of poisons, we are bound to exercise every precaution that they may not fall into the hands of the ignorant or the unskilful. Not only must we refrain from wilfully communicating infection to our neighbour, but we must be careful lest he should be inadvertently infected. Whatever sanitation is within our control, must not be neglected, but kept in a state of efficiency, lest others should suffer by our default. Such pits and ponds as constitute a danger to wayfarers, must be fenced. Precautions must be taken against fire. If we undertake the supply or preparation of food, we must see that it is pure and wholesome. In every direction in which our action affects the life-worthiness of others, we are bound so to exercise it, that not merely their lives, but their health, may not be imperilled. Defect in one or other of these modes of conduct is unfortunately frequent enough, either from want 246 CONDUCT BOOK II of knowledge, from want of forethought, from care- lessness, from selfishness, and lack of consideration for the claims of others, or from deliberate design in the interest of self; and these several motives mark increasing degrees of turpitude. Among the insane, conduct tending to the injury of others is frequent, though it is much less frequent than people unac- quainted with the insane are apt to suppose. Actual assaults upon others by insane persons, are by no means frequent events. The majority of them are committed by paranoiacs, who are, as already stated, in a constant state of exasperation at the persecutions to which they suppose themselves to be subject, and are on the one hand, prone to express their resentment by physical violence, and on the other, are by no means discriminating as to the person upon whom the violence shall be exercised. If upon a person whom they suppose to be concerned in the persecu- tion, so much the better ; but if such a person is not at hand, or cannot be identified, any one will serve as a whipping boy ; and the assault, if undeserved by him, will at any rate attract notice, and so give the paranoiac a chance of ventilating his grievances. Generally, the effect of insanity is to weaken self- control, and to reduce the sufferer from it to a lower level of civilisation ; and thus it is natural that acts of violence should be more frequently perpetrated by the insane than by the sane ; though, as has been said, this proclivity is much exaggerated in the minds of the public. The inherent selfishness, which also is a part of the general degradation of mind that occurs in insanity, leads to acts of aggression, and CHAP. XV[ SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 247 especially to licence in conduct, that may easily become dangerous to others ; and the lack of fore thought, and inability to realise the natural conse- quences of action, that results from intellectual deficiency, is another reason that the conduct of the insane is apt to be dangerous, even if not wilfully dangerous, to others. They are no more to be trusted with dangerous appliances, with fire, or poison, or weapons, or sharp instruments, than children ; and for the same reason — that they do not appreciate the potentialities for mischief that reside in such appliances. Conduct in restraint of injury to others is some- times excessive. There is a variety of insanity in which the patient regards himself as a source of infection, or of some other mode of injury, to others, and regulates his conduct accordingly ; living in isolation, and refusing to associate with others, for fear of communicating the infection ; and there are others who are so convinced that whatever they do or say is noxious and pestilential to those they love, or to those around them, that they refuse communica- tion with others, and even attempt suicide, to avoid inflicting the injury they dread. In rare cases, the instinct which bids us care for the safety of those around us, and do nothing to imperil their lives, is reversed ; and we see the gruesome spectacle of an instinctive murderer, who takes life for the mere sake of taking life, and with no motive ulterior to the satisfaction derived from the act. Such a mode of conduct seems incredible, but there are cases in which it has been established 248 CONDUCT BOOK II beyond doubt. One after another, the patients of a certain professional nurse died while under her hands. Her very presence in a house seemed fatal. She was a most capable, assiduous, and devoted nurse. She nursed her patients with the utmost solicitude ; they became much attached to her, and she to them ; but whomsoever she nursed, even if their illnesses did not appear to be serious when she joined them, invariably died. More than forty persons thus met their death before she was suspected ; but at length the inference was inescapable. Poison was looked for, and was found. The nurse was placed on her trial, and the evidence was overwhelmingly clear ; but what puzzled the court and the country was that no motive was apparent. She gained nothing by the deaths. Many of the victims were her benefactors ; and for some of them she had professed, and had appeared to feel, a close and steady friend- ship for years. These considerations led to her reprieve on the ground of insanity ; though she was to all appearance sane, and no other indication of insanity was manifested by her. She was relegated to a lunatic asylum, and in a few years became deeply and hopelessly insane. ' Thou shalt not steal.' The next respect in which every member of a community is bound and obliged to limit his own action, is with respect to the means of livelihood of his fellows. He must so order his own conduct, as not to embarrass his fellows in the administration of their means and the earning of their livelihood. The decaloguic prohibition from stealing, like the prohibition from murder, is but CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 249 the type and example of a multitude of cognate prohibitions. He must not only refrain from steal- ing ; he must, in the language of the catechism, be true and just in all his dealings. Not only must he not deprive his neighbour of money or goods, either by stealth, force, or fraud, but he must not seek to prevent or hinder his neighbour from the honest acquisition of wealth. He must not put obstacles in the way ; and to this end, he must refrain from unfavourable comment upon him. He must abstain, again in the words of the decalogue, from bearing false witness, and in those of the catechism, from evil -speaking, lying, and slandering. He must abjure, not only the thousand tortuous ways of dishonest acquisition, but the ways, almost equally numerous, and equally tortuous, of unjust disparage- ment. Nor is this the limit of the restraint which social life demands of each individual who partakes in it. He must respect the liberty of other people in the administration of their means. Even if he does not propose himself to profit by doing so, he must not tempt them into gambling and reckless speculation. He must not persuade them to ex- penditure that is beyond their proper capacity, and disproportionate to their means ; neither must he encourage them in undue parsimony. Defect in the restraints of this class, are but too frequently advertised in the records of criminal and coroners' courts. Prosecutions for the many forms of stealing ; actions for libel, and slander ; suicides, the result of gambling, to which the unhappy victim has been tempted by insidious companions, or noxious 250 CONDUCT BOOK II publications ; are but too frequent ; and show that, in spite of thousands and tens of thousands of years of social life, man is, as yet, imperfectly adapted to the social state. The true balance between the self- regarding instincts and the social instincts is not yet reached. The former had many millions of years' start of the latter, and the instincts later acquired have not yet gained their fair share of influence in the regulation of conduct. A too punctilious regard for the property of others, an excess of abstention from interfering with it or encroaching upon it, is extremely rare ; but cases are not wanting. When Miss Matty lost her property, and was reduced to keeping a little shop, she would persist in giving the children over-w^eight of sweets for their money ; and when it was repre- sented to her that sweets were unwholesome for the children, she merely added peppermint or ginger lozenges to counteract the ill effects. It must be admitted, however, that such excess of self-restraint is rare. Non-interference with our neighbours' social relations, demands that we shall refrain from action that shall depreciate him in the opinion of his fellows, or cause him embarrassment in their presence. If he is shy, we shall not accentuate his shyness by making him the focus of attention ; if he stumbles in addressing an audience, w^e shall not jeer at him ; if he perpetrates a breach of etiquette, we shall not make him feel it ; if he is unpopular, we shall not add to his unpopularity. Evil speaking is to be added to the taboo. One of the marks of high breed- CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 251 ing is said to be the capability of putting people at their ease, that is to say, of relieving them of all feeling of embarrassment ; and it appears, therefore, that by high breeding we mean, in this connection at least, a high degree of adaptation to the social state. Defect in conduct of this description is frequent enough. The want of tact of a blundering oaf is very apt to cause embarrassment, by drawing atten- tion to the very matter that some one present desires to conceal ; and few people have sufficient self- restraint to refrain from repeating a racy story, even though it reflects upon an acquaintance. Such sins are venial ; but not venial is the backbiting which deliberately and intentionally seeks to discredit a neighbour with his or her fellows, from the motive of envy, or of gaining momentary distinction as the bearer of news. Excess also, of restraint in this respect is to be deprecated, and for obvious reasons. If I am asked, in good fciith and for suflicient reason, as to the trustworthiness of this man or that woman, I am bound and obliged to tell all I know to the dis- credit, as well as the credit, of the person concerned. If I do not, I do injustice to the applicant, by leading him to place trust in a person who is untrustworthy. Upon this consideration is founded the legal doctrine of privilege. Neither may we give such rein to our conduct as to impair the sanctity of our neighbours' family relations. The seventh commandment is but one of the prohibitions against such interference. Not only may a man not seduce his neighbour's wife, but he must refrain from such conduct as may cause strife 252 CONDUCT BOOK II between husband and wife, between parent and child. He must not speak or act so as to impair the mutual esteem and affection of husband and wife, the respect of the child for his parents, or the love and protection of the parent for the child. Any such action is destructive of family ties, and it is the family, not the individual, that is the true unit of society. But our abstention from interference in family life must go further than this. The New Testament gives to the seventh commandment an extension similar to that which the tenth gives to the eighth ; but the extension is not extensive enough. The unit of society is the family ; the basis of the family is chastity ; and the foundation of chastity is purity of thought. The prohibition of the seventh command- ment is therefore incomplete, unless and until there is read into it a prohibition, not merely of entertaining unchaste thoughts towards this or that person, but against corrupting the purity of the minds of others by foul stories and suggestions. Self-restraint in conduct, towards the marital and parental relations of others, is upon the whole well observed in the great bulk of the population. The danger of interfering between husband and wife is notorious ; and, although the divorce court finds its time fully occupied, the proportion of the population that has recourse to its relief, is, in this country, insignificantly small. In those countries, as in some of the United States, in which divorces are more numerous, it is not because adultery is more common, but because divorce is granted for other reasons than that of adultery. Neither is self-restraint ill observed CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 253 in the matter of interference between parents and children ; and in these respects, defect of conduct is not frequent ; but in the matter of foul conversation and pornographic literature, there is much licence ; and in these respects the conduct of many is very defective. Of late years, there has come into existence an amount of pornographic literature that pretends to be scientific ; that under the guise of science, panders to the beastliest inclinations in man ; and that, in consequence of its disguise as science, is able to escape the destructive ministrations of the modern representative of the hangman. The next mode of action that comes under review, is that concerned in the exercises of religion ; and application of the rule that we are now considering, demands that we do not interfere to restrain others in whatever exercise of religion their consciences dictate. This rule of conduct is of very recent recognition, and one that is even now not universally admitted. We have just (August 1910) witnessed the solemn intervention of the Parliament of the nation in the religious conduct of the Sovereign, and the imposition upon him of a compulsory religious formula. It is but a couple of centuries since a compulsory religious formula was imposed upon every citizen in the nation ; since one who neglected to attend the services of the national Church incurred a penalty for his neglect ; and since the repetition of a prescribed religious formula was compulsory on every holder of civic office, from the Lord Chancellor to the parish constable. Little by little these legal provisions have been relaxed ; and now the Sovereign 254 CONDUCT BOOK II and tlie Lord Chancellor are the only civic officials thus interfered with ; but long after the legal obliga- tion was abolished, coercion was exercised by opinion, and by the disapprobation expressed towards those whose religious exercises differed from the exercises of the majority. Nor were this coercion, and the legal coercion that it replaced, without justification. We are pleased to assume an attitude of superiority towards our ancestors, and to regard them as bigoted and benighted in their religious intolerance ; but, in doing so, we forget that circumstances alter cases. Apart from the special political circumstances of our own country, in which the threatening attitude of a foreign power rendered it necessary for us to safe- guard ourselves by provisions of the kind, the considerations set forth above, in the chapters on Custom and Fashion, must always be borne in mind. Until a very advanced stage of society is reached, it is vital to the existence of a community that uniformity of conduct should prevail within it. Multiformity of conduct is directly disintegratory, as has been shown ; and unless it is suppressed, the community, in which variety of conduct is allowed to prevail, will either disperse of its own motion, or will be so weakened as to fall an easy prey to some community that is more rigidly and stably constituted. Until a substitute of equal binding power arises and prevails in the community, it is a condition of its existence that uniformity of conduct should prevail ; and if it do not prevail l)y the natural inclination of the citizens to conform with custom and fashion, it must be enforced by punitive CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 255 measures. Toleration in religion is of late appearance, because, until lately, it could not have been permitted without danger to the State. It is said that every country has the Jews that it deserves. It is true that every country has the degree of toleration in reliajion that it deserves. Until the o-rowth of sympathy, and the binding force of goodwill towards each other of the several members of the community, have attained a streno^th renderinoj them substitut- able for the binding force of custom ; until the growth of self-restraint has enabled an internal coercion over self-regarding conduct to take the place of external coercion ; it is not safe for the community to neglect any means by which the self-regarding conduct of individuals may be subordinated to the common welfare, and by which all may be made to act in unison, without regard to individual inclination. This is the reason that toleration in matters of religion is of such late appearance. At the present day, however, such toleration may safely be allowed in Western nations ; and as it is become safe, so it is become the practice. Even the Churches themselves, with the sole exception of the Roman Catholic Church, formally admit the practice of toleration ; though, perhaps, it would not be very safe to allow any of them the power of suppressing it. Looking at the matter from the point of view of the citizen, and the student of conduct, however, we see that liberty of action of each is to be allowed, up to the extreme point at which it begins to encroach upon the liberty of action of all, provided that the safety of all is not thereby imperilled ; and, since 256 CONDUCT BOOK II there are now in existence cohesive forces sufficient to keep society together without the binding influence of religious uniformity, this uniformity may safely be abandoned ; and it is no longer necessary for the welfare of the State, and therefore no longer justifiable, to interfere with the religious exercises of others. We may not, then, interfere to restrict the religious exercises of other people ; and it follows that we may not restrict the expressions of their opinion on religious matters ; but may we restrict the expression of opinion in any respect ? This is a thesis that has often been argued, and men of the highest intellect, and of the purest morality, have advocated different views with respect to it. It seems to me that these eminent moralists, such as Dr. Johnson on the one side, and J. S, Mill on the other, have not sufficiently distinguished between the expression of opinion as to what is, on the one hand, and the advocacy of modes of conduct on the other. To the expression of opinion as to what is, or may be, even if it concerns the existence and attributes of the Deity, I can see no objection ; but the advocacy of a course of conduct stands on different ground. If there are many acts that a member of a community may not do, and that, if he do not voluntarily restrain himself from, he may rightly be prevented hj force majeure from doing, then it seems to me illogical and absurd to permit him to advocate the doing of these acts. If a man may not murder or steal, then, equally, he may not advocate murder or stealing ; and if he may rightly be prevented CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 257 by force majeure from murder and stealing, and punished if he does murder or steal, then it seems to me to follow, of necessity, that he may be prevented from advocating murder or stealing, and punished if he does advocate them. But I see nothing in this reasoning to deter him from discussing what killing is murder, or what taking away of property is stealing. This is a distinction that is not always recognised. A man should not, it seems to me, be punished for writing a book on ' Killing no Murder ' ; but he may rightly be punished for suggesting the practice of murder. He should not be restrained from his endeavours to show that taking away from other people their land or their property is not dishonest ; but he may rightly be restrained from, and punished for, advocating the taking of their land or property, until the public conscience is convinced that there is no dishonesty in the practice. In the scheme of nature, the individual is, as has been shown, of no account in comparison with the race. The individual is a mere means of continuing the race, and is ruthlessly sacrificed to the welfare of the race. And in the community also, the welfare of the individual is nothing, in comparison with that of the community at large. The community must not, and does not, hesitate to sacrifice the individual for its own welfare. It is bound, however, to take care that the principle on which the individual is sacrificed, is not inimical to the community itself The community has, and ought to have, no hesitation in sacrificing its individual members in war, or for treason ; but it must be careful not to sacrifice them, not to allow S 258 CONDUCT BOOK 11 them to suffer any disadvantage, on a principle which, as society is constituted, would be dangerous to its existence. If it does so, it does so at its own peril ; and the struggle for existence between communities, will ensure the destruction of any community that makes a mistake in this respect. Thus, it seems to me right, that is to say, desirable for the welfare of the community, that the advocacy of practices which appear to be destructive of common life, should be punished and suppressed ; but wrong to punish or suppress the discussion of what is and what is not advantageous or dis- advantageous to the community. On this principle, it appears to me that, with respect to the expression of opinion as to what is, tolerance is right and intolerance wrong ; but with respect to advocacy of action that appears to be inimical to the community, intolerance is right and tolerance is wrong. I have said action that appears to be inimical to the community, and the obvious retort is, appears to whom ? Why, to the community itself; and in the community it is the dominant will that prevails. It is not necessarily the will of the majority, for in many matters the majority exerts no will. In medieval times, the power of the nation was exerted, now by an individual, now by an oligarchy, now by an institution — the Church — and the mass of the nation took no part in com- mon life, but that of obeying the behests of the dominant one or few, in as far as these behests were consistent with custom. But somewhere in every community there resides a dominant will ; and CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 259 this will it is, that exerts the governance for the time being. In modern democracies, the dominant will resides in the majority, and the majority does what it pleases. The same principle of non-intervention in the conduct of others, applies to recreation, and to the research of curiosity. Time was when certain re- creations were forbidden. The Puritans abolished play-acting and bear-baiting ; and even now, the law forbids prize-fighting and cock-fighting ; and the latter are rightly forbidden, from the point of view here taken. This principle forbids us to limit, by our own action, the action of others, so long as what they do is innocuous to the community, or to any part of it. If the Puritans discountenanced play- acting, we must not forget that many of the plays of that date were licentious in the extreme, and fostered a dissolution of family relations, which is destructive to the State. If bear-baiting and cock-fighting are prohibited in a more humane age, it is because the extension of sympathy with suffering has led to the inclusion within our social sympathies, as outlying appendages to the community, of the lower animals, whose sensitiveness to pain, we infer, resembles our own. We may rightly restrict such recreations as foster an anti-social spirit in those who take part in them ; and for this reason it is justifiable to suppress prize-fighting, licentious plays and books, and exhibi- tions of cruelty. It is the binding force of sympathy that takes the place of the more galling bonds of primitive society; and, as those bonds have been relaxed, we cannot afford to allow any influence to 260 CONDUCT BOOK II exist which, tends to weaken that which has taken their place. Lastly, we may not restrict the research of curiosity. There is now no region of possible human inquiry, on the boundary of which we find the notice that trespassers will be prosecuted ; but these notice- boards have been but recently removed. From what has already been said, it will be seen that it does not at all follow that the restrictions imposed on research by the Church, were not salutary at the time they were imposed. If not themselves salutary, they were inseparable parts of a system that was not merely salutary, but necessary, for the preservation of the then social state. All difference of opinion is, as has been shown, incipiently disintegratory ; and, when the binding force that keeps society together, is not the interstitial cohesion of sympathy and tenderness, but coercion from above — a far more precarious agency — the disintegrating effect of difference of opinion is of great moment. Its centri- fugal action between man and man, not being counteracted by the gravitation of sympathy, would overpower mere pressure from without, and cannot, therefore, be permitted to exist. However much we may deplore the suppression of the researches of Koger Bacon, of Bruno, of Galileo, and of many another pioneer and martyr of Science, we cannot but recognise that scientific research is harmless in highly organised communities only ; and that the first necessity for a community is its own preservation. If Roger Bacon and Bruno, and other rare spirits of early times, who were so much in advance of those CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 261 times, had been permitted to carry on, unchecked, the researches which so attracted them, and have made their names immortal, it is possible, nay it is probable, that the result would have been a division of opinion that would have been altogether destruc- tive of the communities in which they lived ; and that, for every century that discovery was retarded by the destruction of their labours, a millennium would have elapsed, ere knowledge would have reached its present state of advancement. Active Spontaneous Morality The last phase of social conduct that is to be considered, is that by which we seek, not, as in those considered in the last section, to refrain from undue interference with the liberty of our neighbours to pursue their own inclinations, but actively to assist them in this endeavour. This, I repeat, is the lesson in which the dispensation of the New Testa- ment supplements the dispensation of the old. The decalogue, in as far as it defines our duty to our neighbour, is purely prohibitory. It prescribes what we may not do to him, but it says no word of active assistance. The new commandment is, ' Heal the sick ; cleanse the lepers ; raise the dead ; cast out devils ; preach the gospel to the poor.' In other words, our attitude to our neighbours is to be one, not merely of negative abstention from injury, but of active beneficence. We are to assist him in the conservation of his life, in the earning of his liveli- hood and the administration of his means, in gaining 262 CONDUCT BOOK II the esteem, approval, and love of his fellows, in rearing his children, in satisfying his curiosity, in satisfying his religious aspirations, and in obtaining opportunity for the exercise of his faculties generally. There are two main methods by which the welfare of others is aided. It is aided directly, by conduct addressed to this end, in individual cases ; and it is aided indirectly or vicariously, by the provision of funds to enable others to give assistance. Further, there is assistance given to others ad hoc, as occasion arises, when they are in manifest difficulty, and their straits appeal irresistibly to our sympathy ; and there is the organisation of a mechanism for giving assistance whenever the need for assistance may arise. In the first case, the aid is usually given directly ; in the second, more usually indirectly, or vicariously. The sympathetic impulse to aid others in preserv- ing their lives, is a very deeply rooted and wide- spread social instinct. It is shared with man by many of the social animals, though in the less organised animal societies it seems to be wanting. There are many well authenticated stories of help given to one another, in circumstances of danger and difficulty, by baboons, monkeys, rats, cattle, and even birds ; but other social animals — wolves, for instance, and hamsters, will fall upon a wounded comrade, tear him to pieces, and devour him. In the human race, and, indeed, in other social animals, the instinct is particularly developed towards the young ; and it is easy to see that the development of this instinctive desire has a direct bearing upon the ultimate motive of all conduct — the continuation of the race. If CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 263 society is to be preserved, and the race is to flourish, sedulous care must be taken to preserve the young ; and hence we find that a child that has temporarily or permanently lost its parents, finds a protector in every adult. Every one will snatch a child out of danger ; feed it if it is hungry ; wrap it up against the cold ; seek out its natural guardians if it has strayed ; and protect it against the consequences of its own inexperience and want of foresight. That protection and cherishing which is primarily bestowed upon the weakness of the child, becomes, by an easy process, transferred to the weak adult. Women, and the old of both sexes, are treated with tenderness. As far as they are concerned, part, at any rate, of the fierce competition and struggle for existence is suspended. They are not elbowed out of the way as a man would be, but way is made for them ; and we stand aside to let them take the easiest paths. The same tenderness is extended towards those who have strayed into danger, or become weakened from illness or accident. We do not look with indifierence upon him who is drowning ; or leave lying on the road the man who has been run over ; or leave by the way- side him who has fallen among thieves. We succour and help them according to their several necessities, urged thereto by the instinctive sympathetic desire, that is now under consideration. If it is true, as Meg Merrilies declares, that death quits all scores, equally true is it that severe illness suspends all antagonism. The illness, even of an enemy, demands a suspension of hostilities ; the illness of a friend calls out all our sympathies, and evokes action to help 264 CONDUCT BOOK II him ; tlae illness of a stranger, if he is within the sphere of our action, elicits from us kindly offices, even if they are limited to sympathetic inquiries only. Tlie aid that is given to others in the matter of livelihood, is apt to be restricted by the fierceness of the competition for livelihood that obtains in most societies ; but we are always glad to be of assistance, in this respect, to those whose competition we do not fear; and, to those whose means of livelihood altogether fail, especially if the failure is from no fault of their own, assistance is freely rendered. In nothing is the Christian doctrine more emphatic than in inculcating the duty of relieving the necessities of the poor ; and in no other direction is the sympathetic action of mankind more widely diffused, or more deeply engaged. The amount of money alone that is dis- tributed annually in this country, in relief of distress, is staggering ; and in personal service, the labour thus expended is enormous. In the foregoing respects, the duty of every one to contribute actively to the welfare of his fellows, is well recognised ; and is, on the whole, very well ful- filled ; but the next class of active duties — that of assisting our neighbours socially — is not so well appreciated. Yet if, as is universally allowed, it is our duty to help our neighbour in the one respect, I see no reason why it should not be equally re- cognised as a duty to help him in the other. It will surely be admitted that to secure the estimation, the approval, and the liking of our fellows, are conditions of the very highest importance to our well-being ; CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 265 and if it is our duty to our neighbours to assist their well-being in the matters of rescue from danger, pre- servation of health, and prevention of starvation, I see nothing to excuse us from the duty of forwarding their welfare by aiding them to secure the apprecia- tion of their fellows. If a man's conduct is such that it earns him our esteem, our approbation, or our liking, we owe to him the duty of expressing our applause, our approval, or our liking, as the case may be. Our appreciation is to be expressed freely and ungrudgingly, and is not to be suppressed or re- stricted on account of any hostility that we may feel towards him. More than this, we owe him, — in less degree, but we owe him, — the duty, not merely of expressing our appreciation, but of contradicting un- favourable criticism of him, if we regard it as untrue or unfair. Whether we are or are not bound to go beyond this, and make known to others, facts which would secure their appreciation also of him, must depend on time, place, and circumstance. We need not send the bellman round to proclaim his virtues ; but we may, and ought, if occasion arises, to say what we can in his favour. In the remaining departments of conduct, the obligation of assisting our fellows lies lightly upon us. We do not often have the opportunity of assist- ing people in their marital or parental relations, nor in aiding them in matters of religion. Churlishness in respect of withholding information in satisfac- tion of their legitimate curiosity, is not a frequent failing ; and most people possess sufficient good nature to take part in those recreations that are 266 CONDUCT BOOK II desired by others, but cannot be pursued without assistance. Active beneficence is, unhappily, often deficient. Widespread and deeply fixed as is the desire to cherish the young, and to preserve them from danger, the fact that some communities recognise a settled practice of infanticide, shows that it is not universal. Wide and deep as is the instinctive chivalry towards woman and old age, the existence of communities in which women are but slaves, and the old are slaughtered as useless incumbrances, shows us that the instinct is of late origin, and therefore not very firmly ingrained. The weak and ailing are cherished and protected, it is true, but the pity with which they are regarded is not always free from contempt ; and we see of how late origin the protective instinct towards them is, when we note how children despise, and even jeer at, the deformed ; towards whom, indeed, most people experience an instinctive re- pulsion, of which they are ashamed, and which they overcome ; but which, nevertheless, has to be overcome. Much discussion has taken place, of late years, as to the uneconomic and uneugenic results of the sedulous care that is taken of those who are bodily or mentally unfit to struggle for their own existence, and are a mere burden upon the society to which they belong. From time to time, radical proposals are made to deal with this burden by means of lethal chambers, and other drastic measures ; but such pro- posals ignore the deeply rooted sympathy, which is so characteristic and so vitally important a quality in CHAP. XVI CONFLICT OF INSTINCTS 267 social humanity ; and all such proposals are fore- doomed to failure. Nevertheless, it is well to re- member that in any direction conduct may be pushed to excess, and that whatever excess of care and luxury are lavished upon the unfit, is lavished at the expense of the fit, whose fitness is diminished, or at least is kept below what is possible, thereby. If we review these chapters on Social Conduct, we find that by far the greater part of the conduct that is imposed upon us by our membership of an organised community, may be summed up in the single word — Renunciation. To share the advantages of common life in any degree ; to taste the sweets of companion- ship ; to gain the advantage of common action against enemies ; of protection in helplessness ; of nurture in sickness ; of nourishing in poverty and starvation ; to enjoy the delights of being approved, admired, applauded, loved ; to attain the rarer and more refined satisfaction of rendering services to others ; to participate in the luxuries and glories of an advanced civilisation ; for all these advantages a price must be paid, and the price is renunciation. In many re- spects, every member of a community must renounce his liberty of action. He may no longer comport himself with the freedom and abandon that would be allowable to a solitary man. He must restrain himself in every direction, and on every occasion, in which he is associated with his fellows ; and a con- siderable share of his labours must be diverted from the service of his own individual welfare, to the service of the community to which he belongs. 268 CONDUCT BOOK II Although social life is of incalculable service to every individual who partakes in it, yet we must recognise that, to a considerable extent, and in con- siderable degree, social life is inimical, is even antagonistic, to individual life. On balance, indeed, the advantage, to the individual, of membership of a community, is incalculable ; but the advantage is on balance only. It does not extend through and through. The advantage must be paid for, and the reckoning is sometimes heavy. Moreover, it does not fall with equal incidence upon all, nor is the reckoning to be paid by any means proportionate to the benefit received. Those who obtain the greatest advantages from social life, sometimes get ofi" scot- free ; those who benefit least by it, have, in some cases, to pay most heavily for advantages that go mainly to others. The incapable, the feeble in body and mind, the drone, and the waster, enjoy very many of the advantages of social life, and contribute, in return, nothing to the advance, the security, the stability, or the welfare of the community that supports them. The reward of the toiler is by no means proportionate to the arduousness of his toil. It depends on many other considerations. For this reason, a certain proportion of every community is discontented, restless, and desirous to change, or even to subvert, the existing social order ; and the history of nations, in as far as it is not a history of external strife, is a history of internal strife — of eff'orts to distribute the advantages of social life, sometimes with greater evenness, sometimes with more reference to the exertions which make social life possible. CHAP. XVI CONFLICT OF INSTINCTS 269 Greater evenness of the distribution of social benefits is slowly being attained. More and more, the social advantages, of freedom from the fear of starvation, education, transport from place to place, security of life, liberty, and property, of rights and privileges of every description, of luxuries even, are becoming generally and more evenly diffused throughout all classes of the community. But the classes remain ; and every member of every class is dissatisfied with his position, and desires to rise higher in his class, or to rise into a higher class than his own. Such ambition is, on balance, salutary and beneficial to the community ; for, if every member of the community rises in the scale, the community as a whole rises, not merely in the scale of communities, but in an absolute sense. But the gain is still on balance only. It is accompanied by drawbacks, and one great and manifest drawback is the instability that is of necessity produced by restlessness and change. Hence, those who are impressed by the unequal distribution of wealth and other advantages, are for ever striving towards what seems to them greater justice ; and those who recognise the danger of instability and change, are for ever opposing and minimising change; and the resultant of the opposing forces is altogether salutary. The one tendency assures a constant advance towards a juster distribution ; the other secures that the advance shall be well considered, gradual, and attended with the least disturbance of stability and danger of disintegration. To the race, and, in the scheme of nature, it is the race alone that counts, the welfare of the 270 CONDUCT BOOK II community is paramount over the welfare of the individual. If, therefore, the community is to sur- vive, its citizens must be prepared to sacrifice, not only that moiety of their personal liberty that we have seen to be a necessary condition to social life, but, upon occasion, everything else, to the welfare of the community. They must be prepared to sacrifice luxuries, comfort, necessaries ; to undergo hardship, toil, privation ; to incur starvation, disease, the extremes of heat and cold, wounds and death itself, if the welfare of the community demands it. Hence, the welfare of the community and that of the individual are always to some degree opposed, and, on occasion, may become incompatible. When that occasion arises, it is necessary, for the survival of the race, that the individual should give way, and submit to be sacrificed for the welfare of the community. Renunciation, while always in some measure an element in, and a condition to, social life, is now and then demanded to the uttermost; and, unless the individual is prepared to pay the uttermost price, the community must perish, and with it must perish the stirp. Now, each course of conduct — that which serves the welfare and survival of the individual, and that which serves the welfare and survival of the community — has its own set of instinctive desires, which prompt to the appropriate conduct ; and since the several modes of conduct are always to some extent opposed ; and since, on occasion, this opposition rises to actual incompatibility ; the instincts also are opposed, and become, on occasion, incompatible. Of the two sets of instincts, the self-regarding are CHAP. XVI CONFLICT OF INSTINCTS 271 immeasurably older than the social, and, on that account, are the stronger. Yet for a time, which also is immeasurably great, although, in comparison with the duration of the self-regarding instincts, it is insignificant, the social instincts have been the more important. For no individual is indispensable to the survival of the society to which he belongs ; but the society is indispensable to the survival of every individual it contains. Therefore, when the two instincts, the self-regarding and the social, rise into acute antagonism, and become incompatible, it is essential to the survival of the stirp — the ultimate aim of all organic life — that the social instinct should preponderate over the self- regarding. The self- regarding instincts, being of so much greater antiquity, are naturally the stronger ; consequently, if the social instincts are to prevail over them, it is advisable, it may even be necessary, that the social should be reinforced by artificial or quasi-artificial aids ; and this we find to be the case. Pure patriotism — the mere desire to sacrifice oneself for the benefit of the community — is not yet become a sufficiently power- ful motive, in most natures, to overcome the desire for self-preservation. Hence it is reinforced by other motives, some of which are innate instincts, others inculcated under supernatural sanctions. Of the soldiers who fight gallantly for their country, a small proportion only are animated by pure patriotism. The larger number are actuated by the motives of emulation, of desire for admiration, of desire to avoid reprobation, of domination to the will of others ; all these motives are called in to reinforce the social 272 CONDUCT BOOK II instinct, and enable it to overpower the self-regarding instinct. In the more ordinary course of social life, the main opposition is between the self-regarding instinct, of pursuing our own ease and gratification by the indulgence of our selfish desires, and the social instinct, which demands self-restraint, and the avoid- ance of encroachment on the activities of others. In this case, as in the former, but in this case more particularly, the social instinct is reinforced by the sanctions of law and of religion. The law is a vast and complex scheme for preventing infractions of social regulations, that is to say for punishing those self- regarding encroachments on the activity of others, that are detrimental to the welfare of the community, but that the social instincts are not themselves sufficiently powerful to prevent. The law is, in fact, ancillary to the social instincts ; and its purpose is to make good the defect in their potency. The inculcations of the divine, in as far as they prescribe our duty to our neighbour, have the same general purpose as the provisions of the legislator ; from which they differ, first in their more general character, and in laying down the general rules that the law applies to individual cases ; and second, in the nature of the sanction, which is no longer fine and imprison- ment, but the displeasure of the Deity, and whatever consequences that displeasure may involve. From a biological point of view, therefore, morality is, in this department, the preponderance of social conduct over self- regarding conduct ; the practice of morality is difficult, because, and in as far as, self- regarding instincts are of much greater antiquity in CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 273 the race, and therefore more uniformly powerful in their incidence, than social instincts. The inculcation of morality under religious sanction, is a reinforcement of social instincts, rendered necessary by the relative weakness of these instincts, in comparison with those which are self-regarding. It is true that this re- inforcement of the social instincts does not cover the whole field of morality ; but it constitutes a very important part of morality. The remainder will be dealt with in considering the next field of conduct. CHAPTER XVII SOCIAL-RACIAL CONDUCT Chastity and Modesty There is a department of conduct of considerable extent, that owes its existence to motives that belong equally to the conservation of the community and the preservation of the race ; and conduct of this nature occupies a position intermediate between these two modes. This is conduct prompted by the instinct of Chastity, and its auxiliary, Sexual Modesty, a motive very different from that sup- pression of vainglory which goes by the name of Modesty in social conduct. The unit of social life is, as has already been insisted on, not the individual, but the family. It is in the cohesion of the family that social life originated. The earliest societies, and the most primitive societies, consist of the members of a single family ; and owe their preservation, in great part, to the sanctity that is attached to the family tie. The primitive state of society is a state of war — of conflict with other societies. This is the chief mode of struggle in the earlier stages of the social struggle for life ; and it is, no doubt, the mutual aid aff'orded 274 cHAP.xvii CHASTITY AND MODESTY 275 to one another by the members of a family, that brought about that cohesion of the family, after the age of self-conservation of its members was attained, that is the earliest stage of social life. If the society is to hold together, its internal conduct — the conduct of its members with respect to one another, — must be harmonious. A house divided against itself cannot stand. Strife between the members of a community is gregicidal. In advanced communities, the main occasion of internal strife is property. The vast majority of actions at law, which are the mode in which internal strife is now conducted, are actions with respect to the ownership of property. In many primitive communities, this cause of strife is eliminated, or reduced to a minimum, by the absence of the causa belli. There is little or no strife about property, because there is little or no property. The main forms of primitive wealth — lands, dwellings, cattle — are held in common by the tribe. The second cause of internecine strife is resentment against interference, by any one, with the liberty of any other. To this, in the last resort, all provocation, that is not sexual, may be reduced. Whatever check is exercised upon aggression of this description, is exercised mainly by the dread of retaliation upon the aggressor ; and to some extent, also, by dread of the disapprobation of the community. The third great source of internecine strife is sexual jealousy ; and in order that sexual jealousy, together with the strife that it occasions, may be minimised, various customs are prevalent in difierent primitive com- munities. I do not say that these customs have 276 CONDUCT BOOK n been deliberately or consciously instituted, for the set and understood purpose of minimising the strife that arises from sexual jealousy ; but that the fact that they do, in practice, minimise this source of strife, has given the communities, in which these customs prevail, an advantage in the struggle for life over those in which they, or customs of equal potency in preventing internal strife, did not prevail ; and hence, those communities in which the customs pre- vailed, have survived ; and those without this advantage have been extirpated. One of these customs is exogamy. There is no more fertile and pernicious source of internal strife among the members of any tribe, than a bloodthirsty competition between the young males, upon whom the tribe must largely depend in war, for the hands of the females ; and any custom which eradicates this cause of strife, must be of great service to the community in its struggle for life. If the girls of the tribe are taboo to the men of the tribe, strife on this account is eradicated ; and if, instead of rival courtship within the tribe, by which enmity and jealousy between both men and women is engendered and accentuated, there are raids upon neighbouring tribes for wives, it is clear that internecine strife on this account is minimised. Much controversy has taken place as to whether exogamy or endogamy was the original custom, or what is the primitive custom of marriage ; but if marriage customs are regarded from the point of view of the life- worthiness of the tribe, it seems probable, as indeed research indicates, that no custom is universal ; but that that CHAP, xv.i CHASTITY AND MODESTY 277 is adopted which best suits the circumstances of the adopting tribe. It is clear that, where polyandry prevails, sexual jealousy can scarcely exist ; and where tribes are isolated, or the tribal tie is loose, there exogamy can scarcely prevail ; but that in appropriate circumstances, in a tribe in which sexual jealousy is strongly developed, exogamy must tend strongly to the preservation of intra-tribal harmony. The importance of the sanctity of the family to the survival of the family (and therefore of the tribe, as an enlargement of the family, or an aggregation of families), renders the practice of monandry of great importance to the life-worthiness of the community. There is no instance of a community in which monandry is not prevalent, having risen from the lowest rank. There are instances of communities, that had reached a very high stage of civilisation, perishing and being blotted out, when the principle of monandry was seriously and widely infringed. Hence the communal importance of female chastity ; for female chastity is founded on, and is necessary to, monandry. The sexual jealousy of the male is an instinct that mankind shares with very many of the lower animals of all classes, all orders, and all grades ; and when a man is united for life to a woman, as is the custom in all communities of men that have risen above the lowest grade, the faithfulness of wives is a necessary condition of the internal peace of the community, and therefore of its survival. Now, the faithfulness of the wives can be secured in two ways, and in two only : — by the vigilance of the husbands, or by the disinclination of the wives to be unfaithful. 278 CONDUCT BOOK II Of these alternatives, the latter is manifestly by far the most economical. If the husband can secure the faithfulness of his wife only by incessant vigilance, his capacity of taking part in other modes of action is very seriously impaired ; and if all the husbands in a community have to occupy much of their time in this way, the community that contains them will stand no chance in the struggle for life, against one in which the inherent chastity of the women sets the men free to perfect themselves in warlike exercises, and to occupy themselves in securing, in other ways, their own welfare, and that of the tribe at large. Hence, those tribes in which the women are chaste by innate desire will, caeteris paribus, always prevail over those in which the women are chaste only by external compulsion. In other words, female chastity is a great national asset ; and will tend, by the action of natural selection, to be fixed and intensified in the women of every militant community. This may be the explanation of a curious fact that has been observed in some primitive communities — that the unmarried girls give themselves up to wanton licentiousness, while the married women are strictly faithful to the marriage tie. This seems to indicate that chastity originates in the married, and is at first confined to them, and spreads later to the unmarried women. A social state in which some of the women are under an obligation of strict chastity, while others are free from any such obligation, appears ipso facto unstable ; and it seems clear that the obligation of chastity would stand a much better chance of strict observance, if it were impartially CHAP, xvii CHASTITY 279 imposed upon all. It is, perhaps, for this reason that the state of things sketched above is rare ; and rarity in such a case probably means transience. Chastity confined to the married, seems inevitably to be a temporary stage of society : one that is likely to change in one of two directions. Either unchastity will spread from the single to the married, and the community will be at a disadvantage, and go under in the struggle with other communities ; or chastity will spread from the married to the single, and become the rule throughout the community. Hence, in all communities that have survived long enough to reach a moderate height of development, we find the rule of chastity prevails among women, both married and unmarried. We have seen that the weaker intensity of social instincts, that results from their inferior antiquity in the history of the race, to the self-regarding instincts, has led, in instance after instance, to the reinforce- ment of the social instinct by social sanctions. The reluctance of the individual to sacrifice his life, when required for the welfare of the community, is not left to be overcome by the mere force of the patriotic instinct. Lest this instinct should prove too weak, it is reinforced by others — by the dread of the dis- approbation, contempt, and revenge of the com- munity ; by the desire for approbation and admira- tion, even if posthumous only ; and by the desire for combat, which is still potent in some men. Similarly, the instinctive motive of chastity, which, as we see by comparison with the animals nearest in nature to ourselves, is of comparatively recent origin, and is 280 CONDUCT BOOK II liable, therefore, to lapse and fail under the stress of temptation, is reinforced by other motives. For lapses from chastity is reserved the most intense disapprobation that the female part of the community can entertain ; the most merciless disapprobation that it can express ; and the dread of incurring this disapprobation reinforces the innate instinct of chastity, with a sanction of terrible potency. This innate instinct varies much in efficiency, both in different races and in different individual women in the same race ; and in some is so lacking, in com- parison with the temptation to which the woman is subjected, that even when reinforced by all the terrors of the social sanction, it is insufficient to safeguard her chastity. A second reinforcement, a third motive for the preservation of chastity, has therefore come into existence — the religious sanction. Next to the holding of opinions destructive to itself, religion reserves its strongest reprobation for lapses from chastity, and relegates them to the blackest category of sin. Chastity in the male is by no means so much valued ; departures from it by the male meet with a far milder reprobation than those of the female sex. The ordinary explanation is that such lapses on the part of the male are of less social importance, since they do not introduce bastards into the family. It does not seem that this explanation covers the ground. So long as the number of the family is maintained, it does not appear to be important to the conservation of the community, that the children nurtured in a family should have but one father. In CHAP. XVII CHASTITY 281 fact, the recognition of step-children, and adopted children, shows that a family may well live united in a group, even though the children do not all own the same father ; and common sayings indicate that the family harmony suffers more when the mothers are different, than when the fathers are different. The greater tolerance of unchastity in the male seems rather to be correlated with the widespread practice of polygamy in primitive societies, and even in some, as the Mohammedan, of an advanced position in the scale of civilisation. The practice of polygamy naturally leads to, and is bound up with, an in- equality in the position of the wives. In every polygamous family there is usually one favourite wife, who is not merely the first in the husband's affections, but takes rank of the others, stands in what is looked on, and may be in law, a more intimate union with the husband than the other wives ; who are relegated to a position that approxi- mates, more or less closely, to concubinage. From this it is but a step to concubinage, or semi-marriage ; and, when this is permitted to the husband, it would seem pedantic to require him to confine his amours to those who are thus irregularly related to him, to the exclusion of those who are not related at all. It would be incorrect, probably, to say that jealousy in the female is less developed than in the male ; but it would seem that its expression is attended with consequences less disastrous to the community. It does not withdraw, as jealousy in the male tends to withdraw, the fighting and striving members of the community from these functions, in order that they 282 CONDUCT BOOK II may exercise watchfulness over the other sex, and safeguard the integrity of their honour. It is probable that it is in such considerations as these, that we shall find the origin of the greater laxity of the attitude of the community towards unchastity in the male — the recognition of the desirability of male chastity is of later origin ; and unchastity in the male is less detrimental to the welfare of the com- munity. Sexual Modesty Chastity and sexual modesty are closely related, but they are not inseparable. Chastity finds in modesty a powerful ally, but may exist without modesty ; and, while chastity is a matter of vital importance to the community, and therefore to the race, modesty, though much more nearly universal, is largely a matter of convention, of fashion, and of custom. Of all modes of conduct, sexual modesty is the most distinctively human. None of the lower animals appears to exhibit even a rudiment of it, and scarcely any race of human beings is totally destitute of modesty. The origin of sexual modesty is not diflicult to trace. It was pointed out years ago by Grant Allen, that those pleasures and pains that are occasioned by experiences the most directly concerned with the continuation of the race, and the preservation of the life of the individual, are, by common consent, held to be the most degraded ; while those are the most elevated, whose occasions are the most remote from SEXUAL MODESTY 283 these necessary functions. Of all functions, that of reproduction is the most fundamental, the most primordial, and, according to the law of Grant Allen, therefore the most degraded. To keep it in the background, to smother and conceal it under a mass of instincts more and more remote from it, though leading directly towards it, is the function of sexual modesty, and so effectually is this function performed, that the lowest, grossest, and most bestial of human passions is etherialised into one of the highest, the most refined, and the most admirable. Lust is trans- formed and refined into love. The essence of sexual modesty is concealment. Everything concerned in crude sexuality is to be concealed ; and, with the growth of modesty, conceal- ment is extended to matters more and more remote from concern with crude sexuality. The earliest mani- festation of modesty is a scanty loin-cloth — ' nothing much before, and rather less than half of that behind.' From the primary organs of reproduction, concealment spreads to the secondary ; and the first extension of modesty is the concealment of the breasts. From these beginnings, concealment is extended, from the hips to the ankles, and from the breast to the wrists, until, in some communities, modesty demands of a woman that she keep even her face concealed. In all times and places, there is a certain convention and fashion in the precise amount of concealment that modesty demands ; but everywhere there is a limit, to fall short of which incurs the reproach and the shame of immodesty. This limit is determined purely by convention ; and it is curious that the convention 284 CONDUCT BOOK II varies within surprisingly wide limits, even in the same society, on different occasions. To be seen in a decollete costume in the street, or in a bathing costume in the house, would be considered grossly immodest ; but there is nothing immodest in wearing these costumes in circumstances that convention has fixed as appropriate. Whatever concealment is practised under the instinct of modesty, must be stripped away before the reproductive function can be exercised ; and con- versely, any stripping away of concealment suggests, more or less remotely, an approach to the exercise of this function. Hence, any beginning of the removal of concealment is violently antagonistic to modesty, and is repelled and resisted, unless it take place in privacy. A modest woman is ashamed to be seen even with her hair down, or with her bodice un- fastened ; even though the garment beneath envelops her as completely as that which is loosened. Modesty demands that not only the person, but the conduct, shall be such as to ignore the existence of the reproductive function. Attitude, gesture, movement, conversation, must not only not suggest its existence, but must be conducted as if it did not exist. A modest woman keeps herself concealed when pregnancy is sufficiently advanced to be notice- able ; and this concealment extends from the primary function of reproduction to all its auxiliaries and approaches. The passion for concealment extends even to love itself, the most refined and sublimated mode of sexual passion. Love is not acknowledged, either to the loved object, or to the world at large. CHAP. XVII SEXUAL MODESTY 285 or even to the loving woman herself. Even the approaches of courtship are made under cover of other pretexts. The interviews so eagerly desired, must be contrived by manoeuvring, and sought osten- sibly for other ends. Even the adornments of the person, and the graces of demeanour, that are assumed for the purposes of sexual attraction, must be set down to some other motive ; and any allusion to their true purpose results in confusion and em- barrassment. The suppression of all manifestation of a state of mind is not without result upon the state of mind itself. It may conduce to either of two results. It may end in the actual temporary suppression of that state of mind ; or even in its permanent atrophy and disappearance ; or it may end in irregular and tumul- tuous manifestation. The suppression, under the influence of modesty and convention, of the mani- festation of love, or of grosser sexual desire, furnishes us with instances of both effects. Astonishing as it seems, it is nevertheless a fact testified to by frequent experience, that the oldest, most primordial, and most fundamental of desires — that in which all other desires have their root, and to which all others are subordinate and subsidiary, — may yet prove evanescent, and may disappear, leav- ing but few traces behind it. We cannot ignore the influence of the superior modesty of women, in bring- ing it about that they fall in love later, and more seldom, than do men. It is clear that, if this tendency is pushed to excess, it will end in the love of women being a passion so mild and transitory that it exerts 286 CONDUCT BOOK II little influence on their lives ; or even in their failure to fall in love at all. There is good reason to suppose that there is an increasing number of women in whom the capacity to fall in love is but little developed ; and who look upon their more fully equipped sisters with contempt. Moreover, it is certain that there is a large, and probably increasing number of women, who, whether single or married, never experience that grosser sexual desire which forms such an important part of the life of the male. In this respect, the more highly organised human communities exhibit an approximation to the highly organised communities of bees, wasps, and ants ; in which there are three sexes — males, females, and neuters, — the latter being females in whom the reproductive function remains undeveloped. It is curious that in these insect com- munities, the neutral females preponderate in number over the sexually perfect members of the community, and do all the work ; leaving to these no function but that of reproduction ; and in the most completely organised human communities, the females pre- ponderate in number ; large numbers of them ex- perience but mildly or not at all the normal craving of sex ; or at any rate, allow to the activities of sex but an insignificant portion of their lives ; and are claiming a larger share in the work of the community. In the male, the excessive action of modesty rarely or never leads to suppression of the sexual instinct. It does, however, not seldom embarrass him in the pursuit of courtship. It is for him to make opportunities for social contact, to show his hand, to press his attentions, to exhibit the ardour SEXUAL MODESTY 287 that he feels ; but in this endeavour he is constantly thwarted by his modesty, which compels him to conceal his passion. Love impels him to court the woman of his choice ; modesty inhibits him from open admiration. Even when time, place, and circum- stance are favourable ; even when he has gained a private interview, and longs to declare his passion ; modesty intervenes, and imposes an unconquerable obstacle. He is bold enough, and glib enough, when the object of his affections is not by ; but in her presence, modesty ties his tongue, confuses his mind, and makes his knees to shake ; and, without very positive encouragement, he may go away without effecting his purpose. CHAPTER XVIII RACIAL CONDUCT The third great department of conduct is that which is devoted to the end of continuing the race, and is, as has been said, probably the root from which all modes of conduct have grown. It is the ultimate end of all organic life, and the primary motive of all conduct. We have already seen that social life, while it is of enormous advantage in many ways to the in- dividual ; and enables him to reach a stage of develop- ment, and a pitch of happiness, that would be impossible to a solitary ; is yet, in some respects, antagonistic to the life of its individual components. Social life demands always self-restraint, and, on occasion, total self-sacrifice. The social instincts and the self-regarding instincts are always opposed, and sometimes become incompatible. What is true of social instincts is true in enhanced degree of repro- ductive instincts. From beginning to end, the process of reproduction is bound up with sacrifice of self on the part of the parent, and needs self-sacrifice for its fulfilment. Racial or reproductive conduct, although it is the 288 CHAP. XVIII COURTSHIP 289 ultimate end of all life, and although it dominates both self-regarding conduct and social conduct, and easily overbears and supersedes them, yet differs from them in being intermittent, and enacted at intervals only ; while the others are wellnigh continuous. Our vigilance over our own conservation may seldom relax, or we should soon suffer for the lapse. The greater part of our lives is spent in association, more or less intimate, with others ; and while that associa- tion exists, our social activities and restraints must be maintained. But courtship occupies us at intervals only, and during a very brief period of our lives ; the mere act of reproduction is of no long duration ; and the care of children does not begin until we are well into adult life ; occupies most of us, at intervals only, for a series of years ; and ceases with the approach of old age. As just intimated, racial conduct begins with the earliest approaches of courtship, and endures until all the children are established in life, and fitted to take up, in their turn, the task of continuing the race. Courtship In courtship, the desires and the conduct of the two sexes are not similar, but are complementary and reciprocal. In courtship, the male is active ; his role is to court, to pursue, to possess, to control, to protect, to love. The role of the female is passive. She desires to be courted, to be pursued, to be pos- sessed, controlled, protected, loved. This different apportionment of conduct in the two sexes is of u 290 CONDUCT BOOK II universal prevalence. It holds good, not only in the human race. Throughout the animal kingdom, and indeed in the vegetable world also, the female passively awaits the active approach of the male. The dis- tinction rests, no doubt, upon the ultimate and fundamental difference of the male and female elements — the sperm and the germ. The first is locomotor ; the second is non-locomotor. From the point of view of racial persistence, the individual is nothing but an apparatus for containing, protecting, and perfecting the sexual element or elements, and for bringing them together when they are mature. In those cases in which the germ and sperm are both elaborated in the same individual, that is, in true hermaphroditism, the individual is maritally neutral ; but wherever the sexes are separate, they partake of the nature of their own sexual elements. Biologically, the female is of no importance, except as the hostess and nurse of the germ ; the male is of no importance, except as the host and carrier of the sperm. Con- sequently, the marital role of the male is actively to search for, and pursue the female ; the marital role of the female is passively to await and expect the advances of the male. Consequent on this fundamental difference are certain others. For pursuit, greater ardour is necessary than for mere reception ; and the court- ing activity of the male is, throughout the whole animal kingdom, more ardent than that of the female ; and this greater ardour is correlated with certain other differences. Beino^ more ardent, men are less critical. No CHAP. XVIII COURTSHIP 291 doubt, women often fall in love with very inappro- priate objects ; but, not having the headlong ardour of the male, the female adolescent does not often emulate the calf-love of the male, which may be directed towards anything that has the shape and attributes of a woman ; and is as often fixed upon a woman old enough to be his mother, or impossibly diflferent in rank and station, or utterly unattractive to any one but himself, as upon a young and beautiful girl in his own rank of life. Attachments as inappro- priate, of the female, are not unknown ; but they are much less frequent. The greater passivity of the female allows of more careful selection, and the mesalliance of a woman is much rarer than that of a man. Though man attains to sexual maturity later than woman, and usually marries a woman younger than himself — disparity in the opposite direction is felt to be a little unnatural — yet he falls in love earlier and more readily. A young man is always liable to fall head over ears in love with any moderately attractive woman that he happens to meet ; but a woman passes by many a man who might be sup- posed to be attractive to her, before she loses her heart ; and usually does not fall in love till a later age than her brother. Again, consonantly with their natural ardour, men fall in love, not only early, but often. No doubt they are desolate when they are rejected, but their desolation is not usually long-lived. The cavity left in their affections, by the extraction of the beloved object, is soon filled up by the insertion of another. 292 CONDUCT BOOK II A man rarely niarries his first love. He may have loved a dozen or more before he makes his final selection ; and, consonantly, he is more fickle than woman. His affection is transferred without much difficulty, and with no long interval between, from one object to another. Woman loves, on the whole, later, less readily, less frequently, and with greater constancy. Many women have but a single arrow in their quiver, and if this misses the target, they are left weaponless. The multitude of attractive and admirable women who become old maids, are not left unmarried for want of off'ers. If we could learn their histories, we should find in each a tragedy. In earlier days they have loved, but their love was unsuccessful. The man they loved died ; or he jilted them ; or he turned out a scamp ; or relatives inter- fered for one reason or another ; or he was too poor ; or there was an estrangement — a misunderstanding that was never cleared up ; or, perchance, he was attached to some one else, and never looked their way. Some reason there was why her arrow missed its mark ; and having once given all her love, she had no more to give ; or, owing to the naturally greater constancy of the female, by the time her wound was healed, she had ceased to be attractive to marriageable men. To put the matter crudely, and with some exaggeration, when a woman loves, she loves one particular man, and must have him and no other ; when a man loves, he loves a woman — any woman who is sufficiently attractive — and if she is not available, he finds little difficulty in trans- ferring his afi'ections to another. Woman is by CHAP, xviii COURTSHIP 293 nature a monogamist ; man has in him the elements of a polygamist. As the desire of woman in courtship is of the passive class — is not to court, but to be courted ; not to pursue, but to be pursued ; not so much to control, protect, love, as to be controlled, protected, loved, — so her conduct is much less active than that of the man. It is mainly passive, but it is not wholly passive. As he pursues, she retires. Without retirement on her part, there can be no pursuit on his, and the rules of the game would not be observed. The first approach of courtship by man, is met by shrinking of the w^oman ; and man is so constituted, that this very shrinking increases his ardour. But shrinking is not the only activity exercised by the woman in courtship. While it is his to pursue, it is her part to allure ; and the peculiarity of the allure- ment is that it must be, or appear, undesigned and unintentional, or its effect is not merely lost, but reversed. Deliberate allurement, manifestly designed and intended, is not alluring, but repellent ; and yet, without some allurement, there will scarcely be courtship. It seems, therefore, that women are in a peculiarly hard case, and that no courtship could ever progress to a happy conclusion ; but it fortunately happens that many women are so attractive in face, figure, demeanour, or character, that these of them- selves constitute sufticient allurement ; and that men at the period, and in the pursuit, of courtship, are so blind, that allurements of the most transparently artificial character, appear to them unconscious and undesigned. 294 CONDUCT BOOK II While these are the respective parts of the man and the woman in courtship ; parts that are reciprocal, and complementary, and contrasted with each other ; yet it is very frequent for the man to exhibit some feminine qualities, and for the woman to exhibit some smack of masculine qualities in courtship. For the primary characters of sex to be commingled, or indefinite in their demarcation, is extremely rare. A true hermaphrodite is almost unknown. But the pseudo- hermaphrodite is not extremely rare. Occasionally, we find the secondary characters of sex misplaced, so that the male has the smooth face, the high-pitched voice, the mammary development, and the rounded contour of the female ; or the female has the facial hirsuteness, the deep voice, the want of mammary development, and the narrow hips of the male. The tertiary sexual qualities are very often commingled ; and what may be termed a mental hermaphrodism, is frequent enough. We find men with the characteristic womanly qualities of passivity ; of willingness to be controlled and protected rather than eagerness to control and protect ; of tact rather than domination ; of intuition rather than reasoning ; of sympathy and pity rather than of equity and justice. In such cases we find that, in courtship, the male practises allurement by finicking attention to dress ; the female pursues with some approach to the ardour of the male ; we find men who emulate women in the constancy of their affections ; and women who resemble men in the ease and frequency with which their afi'ections are transferred ; men who are fastidious, and fall in love but once, — women CHAP. XVIII COURTSHIP 295 who are far from being eclectic, and even are prone to mesalliance. The natural ardour of the male ensures that, in this sex, mere defect in the activity of courtship is infrequent. There are, indeed, those who are brought up from childhood to the prospect of joining a celibate priesthood, and whose activity in this respect is subdued and suppressed ; and it must be admitted that, in most cases at the present day, the suppression is surprisingly complete and effectual ; but the history of monasticism is one long record of broken vows and disappointed aspirations. Bishops, Archbishops, Popes, Kings, and Princes ; Philosophers, such as Jovinian and Erasmus ; Demagogues, such as Piers Plowman ; Fathers of the Church, such as Augustin and Chrysostom ; Monks, such as Dunstan ; Friars, such as Bonaventura ; and Councils of the Church ; deplored, in one continuous denunciation, extending over many centuries, the disorders, corruptions, and scandals of monastic bodies. Naturam expellas furca — . No doubt monastic and clerical vows of celibacy are better observed in these days, but outside of this class, the number of men who do not in early life exhibit activity in courtship, is very small indeed. It is true that, in the cases of a few distinguished men, of whom Macaulay is the most conspicuous example, there is no record of a love affair ; but then our record of their lives is probably incomplete. Even in such a misanthropist as Swift, courtship was not wanting, even in middle life ; and the total absence of the inclination must be extremely rare. Less infrequent in the courting activities of 296 CONDUCT BOOK II men, is the presence of a certain element of femininity, in a constancy, and inability of ready transfer of the affections, which is more characteristic of the female than of the male. Here and there we find a case, even in the male, in which a single unsuccessful courtship has led to permanent discontinuance of this mode of conduct, and subsidence into a life of voluntary celibacy. More frequent is excess of ardour on the one hand, and of fickleness on the other. There are men who pester the object of their affections with unwelcome attentions, long after the unwelcomeness has been plainly indicated to them ; and there are others who transfer their attentions with startling suddenness and frequency, from one object to another. Ordinarily, it needs a certain length of acquaintance to inspire a man with sufficient passion for a woman to initiate a serious courtship ; though good looks and attractive manners are always a stimulus to the desire of further acquaintance ; but there is no doubt of the occurrence, in some cases, of love at first sight ; and, in such cases, courtship begins simultaneously with acquaintanceship. From this it is but a step, though it is a long step, to courtship without any acquaintance at all. There are authentic cases in which a man has fallen in love with a woman, and has pursued her with the intention of courtship, upon the strength of her portrait, or even of an epistolary correspondence ; and it is not unknown for a man to be hopelessly attached to a woman he has never seen, with whom he has had no correspondence, and whom he does not recognise even when he meets her. Such conduct transcends the COURTSHIP 297 limits of the normal, and is not witnessed except in the insane, of whose insanity it is evidence. It is exceeded in abnormality by other cases, in which a man is in love with a woman who has no existence outside of his own imagination. Such a case has fallen under my own observation. In woman, defect, either original or acquired, of the activities of courtship, is much less rare than in men. As the normal activity is less, so the defect or absence of such activity is a less departure from the normal. There is an appreciable number of women who never fall in love at all ; who never exhibit any inclination towards any member of the opposite sex ; and who embrace a celibate, and even a conventual life, as their natural and congenial career. Much more frequent, however, are those women who fix their affection in early life upon a man, who either does not respond, or whom fate separates them from, either before or soon after marriage ; and thereupon renounce all effort, as they are destitute of all desire, to secure another suitor. That less facility of the transference of affection, which is a characteristic of the woman in comparison with the man, is in them exaggerated into im- possibility. Thenceforward they renounce all effort to attract the other sex. On the contrary, the courtship of a man repels and irks them ; and to avoid the discomfort, they may deliberately render themselves unattractive by the assumption of some unbecoming costume. Our foremothers in such circumstances, who did not wish to join a religious community, would assume a brevet rank, which 298 CONDUCT BOOK II conventionally rendered them as unapproachable as if they were married ; but this custom is now out of fashion ; and, if such women do not enter religion, they now trust to their own demeanour to repel possible suitors, and render courtship impracticable. On the other hand, excess of the activities of courtship in woman is by no means unknown. There are plenty of flirts who cannot become acquainted with a man without seeking to allure him into courtship ; who measure their success in life by the number of scalps they can hang upon their belts ; with whom neither the tie of their own marriage, nor the tie of friendship with the wives of their victims, nor even the repulsion which their wiles create in those who penetrate their object, is enough to keep from seeking to attract the courtship of every man they come across. Another way in which the activity of courtship becomes excessive in woman, is when it is prolonged, as it sometimes is, to an age at which it would, even if successful, no longer serve the purpose for which it exists. When women at, or beyond, the limit of child-bearing age, dress themselves as young girls, and exercise towards young men the allurements that they might appropriately have exercised five- and-twenty years before, we may fairly regard such activity as excessive ; and the ridicule and dis- approbation that such conduct incurs, is based upon the discernment of its incongruity with the ultimate end of courtship. When this mode of conduct is continued, not only beyond the menopause, but onward into actual senility, or when it is revived and becomes active at the age of sixty, or seventy. OHAP JEALOUS CONDUCT 299 then it is recognised as not merely excessive, but excessive beyond the bounds of sanity. For an old woman to fall in love, to ogle and leer, to lay herself out to attract the other sex, to flirt, and to indulge in the, playful sallies of a girl ; is felt to be no longer ridiculous. It is now become painful, and marks an advance from normal to morbid excess. Another mode of excess in the courting activity of women is exhibited, if active and evident allurement becomes preponderant over that passive attractiveness, which is the peculiar charm of woman. Such excess satisfies the definition of perversion of conduct, since it is conduct that tends to defeat the very instinct by which it is prompted. Jealous Conduct Diff'erent as the role and method of man are from those of woman in courtship, yet the aim of each is the same as that of the other. It is the exclusive possession of the aff"ection, of the paramount interest and regard, and finally of the person, of the loved object. What is desired is not merely possession, but exclusive possession. This is the aim of court- ship ; this is the desire that reigns paramount during courtship, and subsequently extends itself over married life ; and any interference with the exclusive possession, that is attained by successful courtship, arouses the lethal passion of jealousy, and the conduct that is prompted by jealousy. Jealous conduct is conduct directed towards obtaining and preserving exclusive possession, and 300 CONDUCT BOOK II resenting any infringement of this privilege ; and such conduct varies much in scope, in activity, and in mode of expression. By the scope of jealous conduct is meant the objects towards which it is directed. The desire of the lover is not merely to possess, but to obtain exclusive possession ; and to obtain exclusive pos- session not merely of the person, but of the affection ; and not merely of the affection, but of the regard and attention, of the loved object. The primary scope of jealousy is directed to excluding from the possession of the beloved object, all others of the opposite sex ; and efforts directed to this end constitute the crudest and most elementary mode of jealous conduct ; but this is far from being the limit of conduct prompted by jealousy. The jealous person demands the undivided and exclusive regard of the beloved, and is jealous not only of aflfection, but of attention, bestowed upon others — is jealous not only of attention bestowed upon other men by a woman, and upon other women by a man, but of attention bestowed upon persons of the same sex. Nay, jealousy does not stop short even at this. The jealous man is aggrieved at the aftection and attention bestowed by his wife upon their own child ; the jealous woman is jealous, not only of her lover's attention to other women, and of his friendships with other men, but resents his attachment to his dog, his gun, his book, and his favourite amusement. There are, indeed, those who confine the direction of their jealousy to these secondary extensions, and are more jealous of them than of persons of the same sex. CHAP. XVIII JEALOUS CONDUCT 301 That jealousy varies in activity, or in the intensity of the stimulus that provokes it, is a commonplace. There are men who can look with complacency upon the flirtations of their wives, and even regard actual unfaithfulness with indifference ; but it is rather remarkable that such toleration is much rarer in women. The woman who does not love her husband, and who carries on amours of her own, may yet be desperately jealous of the attentions of her husband to other women. Again, there are men who cannot endure to see their wives treat other men with even ordinary civility. To see his wife even smile at another man's witticisms, or appear interested in another man's conversation, excites, in such husbands, a fury of jealousy, and provokes an outburst of jealous conduct. Again, jealousy prompts, in different persons, to different manifestations. In some it provokes sulks, in others fury, according to the nature of the jealous person. By some, the resentment is directed against the spouse or the lover ; by others against the third party or thing that is believed to have engaged the affection or attention of the spouse or lover ; and by yet others, the revenge of jealousy is directed against the self; so that when, as not seldom happens, the jealousy rises to homicidal intensity, the jealous man may murder his wife or sweetheart, or the man to whom he thinks she is attached, or he may commit suicide ; and so, mutatis mutandis, with the woman. If the passion of jealousy does not reach the pitch of homicide, it prompts, in any case, to conduct that is antagonistic and hostile ; and the hostility and 302 CONDUCT BOOK II antagonism may be directed against either of the three parties concerned, or against any two, or against all of them. In the male, the primary antagonism is directed against the rival ; but of this we do not hear often, for there is a convention that a quarrel about a woman is to be attributed to some other motive. The injuring of the loved one, and of himself, by the jealous man, are about equally frequent ; and commonly the revenge includes both. By the woman, the injurious effect of jealousy is more often directed to the sacrifice of herself; but not infrequently it leads to attempts to injure the rival, which may range from mere depreciation of that rival's good looks, to destroying them by the aid of vitriol. It is much more rare in the woman than in the man, for revenge to be taken on the loved object. There is a peculiar occasion of jealousy, that is not infrequent, and that is not provoked by, or directed against, any particular third person ; that is aroused, not by any infringement of exclusive possession, but merely by inability to obtain exclusive possession of the loved object. A man loves a woman who does not respond to his advances, or, more commonly, who has given him some encouragement, but finds, on better acquaintance, that he is not her ideal, and refuses to respond any further to his attentions. In such cases, it often happens that the desire of exclusive possession is so strong in the man, that the mere denial of it, without any transference of the right to a third person, is enough to rouse him to frantic violence. ' If I cannot have her,' he says. OHAP. XVIII JEALOUS CONDUCT 303 ' no one else shall ' ; and he renders the prediction sure by murdering the object of his choice. It is remarkable that this particular manifestation of jealousy is confined to the lower strata of society, and is never displayed by men of birth and breeding. In yet other cases, that are not very rare, the passion for exclusive possession prompts to conduct destructive to the lives of both lovers, even though they are mutually attached, and neither contemplates the unfaithfulness of the other. We frequently witness cases of the double suicide of two lovers, to whose union some obstacle, that appears to them insuperable, is opposed. To speak of such acts as the outcome of jealousy, appears inappropriate, for we usually associate this term with the straying of the one party from the exclusive possession of the other ; but it is clear that exclusive possession is interfered with and negatived, as much by pre- vention of coming together, as by separation after union ; and it is interference with this desire of exclusive possession, that prompts the conduct in these cases of double suicide, as in cases of murder from motives of jealousy. This mode of conduct, also, is confined to persons low in the social scale. CHAPTER XIX MARITAL CONDUCT This mode of conduct need not detain us long. As in courtship, so in marriage, the parts of the sexes are complementary and reciprocal. It is the part of the husband to provide sustenance for the wife ; it is the part of the wife to apply, for the common use, the sustenance provided by the husband. It is the duty of both to provide mutual interest in each other's occupations; mutual congratulations in success; mutual consolation in misfortune ; mutual confidence towards each other ; mutual assistance as against the rest of the world ; mutual upholding of each other's reputation and credit ; mutual respect of one another's secrets ; reciprocal affection and kind ofifices. In these matters, defect is more frequent than excess. The husband may fail to provide the necessary sustenance for his wife. If his failure proceeds from an inability which applies equally to himself, the failure is in indirectly self-conservative, not in marital conduct ; but if he applies his means to his own sustenance and pleasure, and leaves his wife in want, or insufficiently provided for, the failure is 304 MARITAL CONDUCT 305 in the marital department of conduct ; and such failure is far from infrequent. On the other hand, the wife who applies the common fund of sustenance, provided by the husband, exclusively or mainly to her own satisfaction, is guilty of dereliction of marital conduct. The wife who spends in dress the house- keeping money, or pawns the furniture to obtain drink, is as much to blame, as the husband who spends on racing and betting, the wages that his wife needs for her support. A more frequent mode of marital neglect, and one almost as fertile in producing estrangement and un- happiness in the household, is absorption in interests that are not shared by the spouse, and failure to manifest interest in his or her occupations and amusements. When husband and wife have each their own hobbies, their particular and unshared friendships ; when their interests are separate ; when the wife shows no interest in the husband's success in his business or profession, the husband no interest in the wife's social triumphs or failures ; the purpose of marriage is unfulfilled, and each exhibits neglect of marital conduct. Such neglect is, unhappily, frequent enough ; and scarcely less frequent — indeed a part of the same mode of conduct — is failure of the manifesta- tions of affection, and of the reciprocation of kindly offices. A step beyond this conduct, and a long step, is actual depreciation and disparagement of one spouse by the other. How far this marks defect or disorder of conduct, depends on its mode and degree. The wife or the husband who consults doctor or solicitor, X 306 CONDUCT BOOK II in all the secrecy of professional confidence, with respect to the laches of husband or wife, pursues a source of conduct for which there may be a regrettable necessity ; even to consult in confidence some intimate friend may be allowable ; but to indulge in disparagement of husband or wife to acquaintances, or in mixed company, is a dereliction of marital conduct which incurs severe reprobation. Even to listen to such disparagement is not consistent with the maintenance of proper marital relations. More especially is it the duty of each spouse to preserve the respect of their children for the other. On the other hand, marital conduct may be excessive. The caresses and endearments which are right, and proper, and obligatory, to the marital relation, in private, are not to be carried on under the observation of others. The emphasised devotion to one another in public, of a married pair, excites disrespect ; and thus tends to diminish that con- sideration of each in the eyes of onlookers, that it is the object of the other to increase. Parental and Filial Conduct Parental conduct is the nourishing, cherishing, protection, and up-bringing of children, and in this the mother is the most immediately concerned : the father acts mainly through the intermediation of the mother. The desire for motherhood is experienced, and finds expression in motherly conduct, long before maternity becomes actual, and often enough when CHAP. XIX PARENTAL CONDUCT 307 maternity is altogether denied. It is, perhaps, not justifiable to regard the playing of little girls with dolls as wholly due to the instinct of motherhood. Much may be put down to imitation, and the desire to emulate the conduct of the adult ; and in this respect, playing with dolls is prompted by the same instinct as playing at keeping shops, at horses, and so forth ; but a part of the pleasure which little girls find in playing with dolls may no doubt be put down to a precocious display of the instinct of motherhood. Women' to whom maternity is denied, find satisfaction for their maternal instinct, sometimes in the adoption of the ofi'spring of others, sometimes in mothering a nephew, or other young relative, or even a stranger ; and if these outlets are denied to them, will lavish a quasi-maternal afi'ection on a lap- dog, a cat, or even a parrot, or a canary-bird. To every normally constituted woman, weakness and helplessness appeal with irresistible urgency for protection and cherishing ; and do not evoke the contempt that is apt to be mingled with masculine pity. Powerful as the instinct of motherhood is in the normal woman, there are women in w^hom it is defective; who neglect, and even ill-treat, their children, and the children of others who may be entrusted to their care ; and one of the most regular manifestations of the insanity that attacks some women about the time of child-birth, is the reversal of the instinct of motherhood, and the craving to destroy that life that they have just brought into existence. This very curious mode of conduct 308 CONDUCT BOOK II remains up to tlie present unaccountable ; but that it is founded deep in character, and is in some way connected with the instinct of motherhood, is shown by two very striking facts. In the first place, it is never exhibited by the male ; and in the second, it is shared with the human mothers by the females of many of the lower animals. Parturient dogs, rabbits, pigs, and other animals will, under certain circum- stances, destroy their new-born offspring ; and even the sheep will, as I have witnessed, butt and drive away a weakly lamb, refuse it its natural sustenance, and leave it to starve. If this horrible attitude were adopted towards those offspring only that were weak, and had little chance of attaining maturity, it would be biologically explicable ; but it is not so limited. The rabbit, the pig, and the dog destroy the whole of the litter, with impartial brutality ; and the human mother, in the insanity of the puerperium, destroys her child, however robust and promising that child may be. This remarkable reversal of the maternal instinct bears something the same relation to the normal, as Sadism bears to the crude sexual instinct. The line that divides excess of maternal instinct from the normal, is a fine one. Mothers who devote themselves to their children with such solicitude as to impair their own health, display a degree of maternal conduct that is excessive from the point of view of the individual ; but in the scheme of nature, it is the part of the parent to submit to sacrifice, and to welcome sacrifice, for the sake of the offspring, if such self-sacrifice conduces to the survival, or even to the welfare of the child. But such a degree of self- CHAl'. XIX PARENTAL CONDUCT 309 sacrifice on the part of the mother, as imperils the welfare of the child, by disenabling the mother from ffivinof the child the nurture and care that it needs, must be regarded as excessive. Such self-sacrifice is sometimes seen, in the exhaustion and impairment of health produced by nursing a sick child. A mode of maternal conduct that may be regarded as excessive, is seen in the spoiling of children by over-indulgent mothers. The function of maternity is to cherish, protect, and nourish the child, until it is fit to take its own part in the struggle for life. The common function of both parents is to prepare the offspring for this struggle, by education and direction of faculty. The two functions are to some extent incongruous, and even antagonistic. That the child may survive, its weakness must be supple- mented by the strength of the parent ; it must have much done for it that it is unable to do for itself; but if too much is done for it, it will never acquire the power of doing things for itself. That its faculties may develop, they must have scope for exercise ; but this exercise must be within the limits fixed by the membership of a community, which is inconsistent, as we have seen, with complete freedom. The proper upbringing of a child demands, therefore, a combina- tion of modes of action that are to some extent incongruous. While many things must be done for it, it must be encouraged and stimulated to do things for itself; and while some freedom of action must be allowed to it, this freedom must be checked and circumscribed by the common necessity of not interfering with the legitimate liberty of action of 310 CONDUCT BOOK II others. The over-indulgent parent spoils the child in both respects. The parent does for the child much that the child is capable of doing for itself, and thus the child's faculties remain, in these directions, undeveloped ; and the child is allowed freedom to encroach on the liberty of others, is encouraged in selfish and self-indulgent conduct, which unfits it for its position in its community. Hence spoilt children are, when they grow up, on the one hand incapable, since they are unaccustomed to the exercise of capacity ; and on the other un- popular, from their selfishness and want of considera- tion for others. Excess in the other direction becomes from time to time preponderant. Too much in the way of self- help is required of the child ; too little freedom of action is allowed to it. When the little Duke of Gloucester, the only child of Queen Anne who survived infancy, had a difiSculty in carrying his enormous hydrocephalic head upstairs, he was caned by his father until the stairs were surmounted ; and the instance is an extreme one, of a practice that has always prevailed, when the mode of conduct that we call Puritan has prevailed. Together with this compulsion of children to take upon them prematurely the burden of self-help, there goes, consistently, excessive prohibition of the exercise of faculty ; so that, not only is that exercise forbidden that interferes with the legitimate freedom of others, but, by anticipa- tion of motive, exercise of faculty is forbidden for its own sake ; and children are checked and limited in every direction by a comprehensive system of ' Don'ts ' CHAP. XIX FILIAL CONDUCT 311 and ' You mustn'ts ' applied to every mode of spontaneous activity. Since spontaneous activity is inherently pleasant, these prohibitions are easily extended to whatever activity is pleasant ; and it comes about under this regime, that children are urged and compelled to do what is distasteful, because it is distasteful to them ; and are prohibited from doing what is pleasant, because it is pleasant. The ill-consequences of this mode of training are less grave than those of the opposite mode. Children brought up under a Puritan regime, become, when adult, eminently capable. The ill-consequence of the training is shown chiefly in the reaction that is prone to follow when the stern hand of authority is removed. Then the long repressed craving for pleasurable activity is apt to break out in excessive manifestation ; and the riotous excesses of the adolescent who is suddenly freed from over-rigorous discipline, are sufficiently notorious. Filial conduct is the reciprocal of parental. As the part of the mother is to protect, nourish, and cherish the child ; so the part of the child is to be protected, nourished, and cherished by the mother ; and the corresponding conduct is purely passive, except in as far it requires a following and clinging to the mother on the part of the child. The reciprocal conduct of the child towards the father, whose conduct towards the child is rather directive than merely cherishing^ is obedience ; for without obedience on the part of the child, the tuition of the father would be of no eff"ect. 312 CONDUCT BOOK II Filial conduct, in respect of following the parent, and leaving to the parent the initiative in action, is often defective. Children are apt to be what is called wilful ; that is, to strike out modes of activity for themselves, without waiting for parental initiative. For satisfaction of curiosity, they play with fire and water, with razors and sharp tools ; they meddle ; they get into mischief; they wander, and get lost. It is often defective, too, in respect of obedience. That which is enjoined is not performed ; and that is done which is forbidden. Correct conduct in these respects, is, however, relative to the age and develop- ment of the child ; and the nice adaptation of mutual conduct, so that the child is allowed initiative as far as its safety permits, and is freed from the obligation of obedience as its own power of self- restraint develops, is often a matter of difiiculty. The usual tendency of the child is to arrogate to itself a premature initiative, and freedom from the bonds of obedience ; and for the parent to perpetuate the dependence of the child beyond what is necessary or useful ; but the reverse errors are not very infrequent. The parent carelessly allows the child to go its own way ; the child fails to assume a proper initiative, and remains in tutelage after the age of tutelage is past. Some parents there are, who never recognise the obligation of parenthood to guide and direct their children ; some children who remain children in adult age, and never dare assume the responsibility of deciding an important matter for themselves. As age advances, the respective parts of parent CHAP. XIX FILIAL CONDUCT 313 and child are first modified, and at length reversed. Command on the part of the parent is softened into exhortation ; and exhortation is modified into advice. Prohibition is replaced by warning, and warning by friendly caution. Then, after a period of discussion of modes of conduct on a basis of equality, comes a time when the aged parent needs protection, cherish- ing and nurture from the middle-aged child ; and the child looks for some surrender of initiative, some deference to his or her wishes, on the part of the parent. This is the course of nature ; but experience shows that it is often interfered with. There are parents who maintain, even to extreme old age, a tyrannical control over their children ; there are children who repudiate their obligations towards their aged parents, and would leave them destitute, in the absence of legal compulsion for their support. On the other hand, there are pious children, who devote, to the cherishing and support of a parent, years and energies that might well have been expended in the production and rearing of ofi'spring of their own ; and such conduct must be regarded, from the point of view of strict biology, as excessively filial. CHAPTER XX INDIRECTLY VITAL CONDUCT Under this head are included those^modes of conduct whose biologic importance is indirect. Some biologic importance, some influence on the life- worthiness of the individual, the community, or the stirp, it would seem they must have ; or it would be difficult to ac- count, on biologic grounds, for their existence ; but whatever influence they have on conservation, is indirect ; and it is from no avowed or recognised biologic motive that they are entered on. We shall find, in the course of our inquiry, that some of them have, in fact, great biologic importance, and are powerful factors in the preservation and survival of either the individual or the community ; and so, indirectly, of the stirp ; but their influence on this end is indirect. They are not undertaken from the motive of either self-conservation, or social or race conservation. Their pursuit depends on motives supplied ad hoc ; and whatever advantage they convey towards survival, is indirect, a quasi-incidental consequence of their pursuit ; unknown to, and unre- cognised by, the actor ; and would, in some cases, be heartily and honestly repudiated by him. The 314 CH. XX INDIRECTLY VITAL CONDUCT 315 scientific investigator would repudiate with scorn the suggestion that he is actuated by any motive of utiHty. Indeed, he has been known to propose the toast, ' Here's to the latest scientific discovery, and may it never be of any use to any one ' ; and though he knows from innumerable instances, that the most recondite scientific investigation is apt to bear un- expected fruit in utilitarian application, this applica- tion is incidental only. It was from no utilitarian motive that the investigation was pursued ; and the investigator himself often looks with indijQference on the utilitarian application of his discovery. Never- theless, were it not for the proved utility of investiga- tion, not the investigation only, but the investigator, would never have come into existence, as will pres- ently be shown. It is the indirect vital consequence of investigation, that alone renders possible the practice of investigation, and the existence of in- vestigators. The religious devotee would regard with abhorrence the suggestion that, in his devotion to his religion, the motive of utility has any place. Nor has it any place in his intention or knowledge ; but nevertheless, the inculcations of religion have a social utility, which is none the less powerful for being indirect ; and but for this utihty, it would be impossible to account, on biologic grounds, for the existence, in every community that is exposed to competition, of some religious belief, however grotesque ; some religious observance, however bar- barous, and 'prima facie anti-social. The indirectly vital modes of conduct are of four chief kinds — Recreative, Aesthetic, Investigative, 316 CONDUCT BOOK II and Religious. The four modes have manifest kin- ships, and two or more are often satisfied by the same act. Investigation is one mode of recreation ; the contemplation of beautiful things is another. The beauty of a thing often leads to its investiga- tion ; and religion at once satisfies our curiosity as to the origin and destination of men and things, and calls to its aid all the means we have of appealing to aesthetic appreciation. In attending a religious cere- monial, we gratify at once the instinct of religion or devotion, the need of exercising faculty, the apprecia- tion of beauty, and the dramatic sentiment. Recreative Conduct Recreative conduct consists of acts that are under- taken for the satisfaction of the mere exercise of faculty, and not primarily for the achievement of an end. Doubtless, in almost every recreative activity there is an end in view. Even in trundling a hoop, there is the end of keeping the hoop upright ; and even in playing patience with cards, or solitaire, there is a certain aim to be achieved in getting the cards into a certain sequence, or clearing the marbles off the board ; but these are not the primary aims of these recreations. The aim, even when achieved, is worthless. It serves no subsequent end. It con- tributes nothing to the sum of life. No one would undertake the exertion for the attainment of this end alone. If we wanted to arrange the cards in that particular order, it would be much easier to arrange them deliberately to that end, without observing the CHAP. XX RECREATIVE CONDUCT 317 rules of the game. If we wanted to get the marbles off the board, we could do so by turning it upside down, without going through the elaborate ceremonial of the game. The games are undertaken, not primarily for the purpose of achieving their ostensible ends, but for the purpose of exercising the faculties used in attaininsf these ends. The achievement of the end answers no purpose, and gives no pleasure. It does not in the least matter in what order the cards are arranged, or whether the marbles are on or off the board, or whether the hoop is upright or horizontal. What does matter, and what the game is undertaken for, is not to get these things done, but to do them in a particular way, in a way fenced about with restrictions which make the doing difficult, and compel the exercise of a certain skill ; and it is in the exercise of this skill that the pleasure consists, and that the purpose of the game exists. Whatever satisfaction is felt at the successful issue of the game, is derived, not from the end achieved — the arrange- ment that has been made of the cards, or what not — but in the fact that faculty has been successfully exercised — that evidence has been obtained of the possession of skill. Early in this book, a distinction was drawn be- tween play and work ; and it may be expected that the distinction between recreative, and what maybe termed remunerative, activity, should correspond therewith ; but it will be seen that it does not. Play was defined as that which is agreeable and congenial to do : work as that which is irksome ; and it matters not to this distinction whether the play or the work 318 CONDUCT BOOK II is or is not biologically remunerative. Work is usually so remunerative, or is intended and hoped to be remunerative, it is true ; for were it not, there would be little motive for undertaking an occupation that is uncongenial ; and play is usually biologically unremunerative, but by no means necessarily so ; for it may be that the occupation which serves the conservation, direct or indirect, of the individual, or of the community, or of the race, may be congenial and pleasurable. But occupation undertaken for these ends, though it may be play, is not recreation in the sense in which that term is used here, for it is directly biologically remunerative. It is undertaken, not merely for the sake of pleasurably exercising faculty, but for the sake of an end that is biologically important. Just as there may be play which is biologically remunerative, and is therefore not re- creation ; as, for instance, when a man earns his living by an occupation that is thoroughly congenial and delightful to him ; so there may be work which is recreative in character, as when a man undertakes the distasteful task of preparing his fishing tackle, or filling his cartridges, in preparation for the biologi- cally unremunerative occupation of fly-fishing or partridge shooting on the morrow. Work and play, as here used, are, therefore, not necessarily equivalent with remunerative and recreative activity respec- tively, but have special meanings, which seem to be justifiable. Recreative conduct, therefore, is conduct under- taken for the mere pleasure of exercising faculty, and without regard to any biologically useful end to be CHAP. XX RECREATIVE CONDUCT 319 served thereby ; and, thus understood, recreation is commonly divided into intellectual and physical, according as the faculties exercised are, predominantly, the rearrangement of ideas, or muscular co-ordinations. I say predominantly, for the pure exercise of either, without any intermixture of the other, is rare. Even in playing chess, which is sometimes taken as the type of intellectual recreation, the pieces have to be moved by co-ordinated muscular action ; even in composing verses, at least incipient movements of articulation must accompany the process. Similarly, all muscular exercise, even that of rowing, which is, perhaps, the most automatic, is dependent for rate, extent, and other components, on mental guidance. Nevertheless, there is a certain real distinction to be made between the recreation that is preponderantly mental, and employs muscular co-ordination as a mere subsidiary ; and recreation that is preponder- antly muscular, and needs mental exertion merely for guidance. If, however, recreative activity is forbidden, by its very nature, from undertaking tasks that shall be biologically remunerative, what sphere of action is open to it ? what regions can it occupy ? The regions are two. One mode of recreative conduct consists in pursuing modes of action that once had a biological importance, but have ceased to be im- portant, and these are comprehensively termed sports ; the other in surmounting difficulties artificially created for the mere purpose of surmounting them, and these satisfy the definition of games. In either case, the interest of emulation may be added, and 320 CONDUCT BOOK II usually is added ; and we seek in recreation to outdo our fellows, and so gain their applause, as an additional gratification. One moiety of recreative activity consists in tlie pursuit of archaic or obsolete occupations — in the return to a more primitive state of affairs. A large number of the recreations of civilised men are founded on the chase, which was a vital occupation in a less civilised state of society. A favourite recreation of children is in climbing trees, which was a vital exercise to their simian ancestors. Coaching, the serious business of a former generation, is the recrea- tion of the present. Camping-out and picnicking are returns to an obsolete mode of existence. In the adult, recreative activity is employed to expend the residue of energy that remains over after the vital needs are satisfied. The vital needs of children, and of young vertebrates generally, are satisfied wholly or mainly by the exertions of their parents ; and the greater portion of the abounding energies of the young is available for recreation, and is expended in recreation. With children, as with adults, a moiety of recreation consists in surmounting dijfficulties artificially created for the purpose of exercising faculty in surmounting them. The remaining moiety, which in adults consists in reviving archaic occupa- tions, is, in children, for the most part imitation of the occupations of adults ; and this is the principle underlying the childish recreations of keeping shop, nursing dolls, playing horses, making pastry, and so forth. As the vital activities of the lower animals consist chiefly in pursuit, in evading pursuit, and in CHAP. XX RECREATIVE CONDUCT 321 conflict ; so we see the recreative activity of puppies expended in chasing one another, and in friendly contests, in which they growl and spring at one another, biting each other's limbs and ears, with tender precaution against actually hurting ; so we see the recreative activity of the kitten expend itself in springing on the pretended prey that is represented by a dead leaf or a reel of cotton ; so we see kids butt at one another, with precautions against mutual injury. The moiety of recreative occupation which consists in the surmounting of artificial and conventional difficulties, created or imagined for the mere purpose of exercising faculty in overcoming them, includes all games, properly so called ; and in most games, the interest is enhanced by the introduction of emulation ; which is in part inspired by the instinct of combat, but in greater degree by that desire for admiration, and applause which we have seen to be such a powerful motive in human conduct. The natural and inherent interest of overcoming difficulties, is enhanced by the interest of overcoming an antagonist. Many recreations are of mixed character, and consist in following an archaic occupation fenced about with conventional restrictions. Foxes are hunted, not for the sake of killing them, but for the sake of overcoming the difficulties of killing them according to rule. The mere killing could be done more cheaply and expeditiously by shooting. Trout can be caught much more easily and certainly by the net or the worm than with the fly ; but, to render the occupation more recreative, it is made Y 322 CONDUCT BOOK II artificially difficult, so that skill may be exerted, and faculty exercised. Recreation is the natural mode of activity of the young, and, up to a certain age, is the sole mode of activity. To the young, it is of great importance ; for the exercise of faculty, in which recreation consists, is the most effectual means of educating and improving faculty ; and the more various the modes of recreation, the more widely is faculty developed in more numerous directions. Hence it is important that the young should have opportunity for recreation of very various kinds. In this respect, their recreations are very frequently defective. The children of the poor, especially in the slums of cities, are debarred by the circumstances of their lives from all but a very few modes of recreation. They have no toys ; they have no open spaces wherein to scamper at freedom ; they have no trees to climb ; no streams to wade in ; no mysteries of forest, glade, and copse to investigate ; no opportunity of acquainting themselves with the wonders of animal and vegetable life and growth. The children of the well-to-do, though they are less restricted, are still restricted unnecessarily. While at school, they are compelled to take part in certain conventional recreations, which, to many of the children are, though recreations, not play, but work ; since they are followed, not spontaneously because they are congenial, but from compulsion, being uncongenial. For these reasons, recreation is often deficient in the lives of the young. In the adult, recreation may be wanting, on account of the absorbing claims of remunerative employment. CHAP. XX RECREATIVE CONDUCT 323 It may be, and often is, that the service that a person can render to the community, is of so little value, that its poverty in quality must be compensated by quantity ; and in order to gain a livelihood, so much energy must be expended on vital activity, that none is left over for recreation. Again, there are people in whom recreation is deficient from want of knowledge, imagination, and practice. Until late in life, their energies have been wholly absorbed in the business of earning a livelihood ; and, when this is at length secure, they have lost the capacity of recreation : they have neither interest nor capability for any except vital occupations, and any attempt at recrea- tion results in mere boredom. In children, recreation can scarcely be excessive, for all recreation conduces to enhancement of faculty, and much of the school-time of children is occupied by action that may be regarded as directed recreation. It is action that, if not undertaken, is at any rate imposed, for the mere purpose of exercising faculty, and not for the direct biologic profit to be obtained from it. It may be regarded as a straining of the ordinary meaning of words, to speak of the school tasks of children as recreative, but this sense of incongruity is due to the failure to distinguish between recreation and play. Many school tasks are recreative, since they have no direct biological profit ; but they may or may not be play, according as they are or are not congenial to the scholar. Whether the devotion of an adult to recreation is excessive or not, depends on the demands of his vital necessities. If he is provided with these by the 324 CONDUCT BOOK II exertions of his predecessors, or by his own previous exertion, there is no reason why his whole time should not be given to recreative occupation ; but if he is dependent on his own exertions for his own livelihood and that of his family, and if he diverts his energies from this object to recreation, so that his livelihood is defective, then recreation is clearly excessive. The origin of recreative conduct is not far to seek. It is the mode of expending that energy that is left unexpended when the vital needs are satisfied. When physical safety is assured ; when the livelihood is gained, and the means are administered ; when the duty towards the community is done, and the marital and parental functions performed ; the energies may still be unexhausted. A residue of motion may still remain in the nervous system, unexpended, and demanding expenditure. This residue is available for expenditure in recreation. Moreover, in children, and those whose means of livelihood are capitalised, the drain on the energies, necessitated by vital needs, is small ; and the residue left for expenditure is not only available for recreation, but imperatively demands expenditure ; and such expenditure, even if it take the form of application to business, and so increasing the store of wealth, is really recreative. It is undertaken, not at the imperious demand of supplying vital needs, but because it is a congenial mode of employing faculty. Though recreation is not directly profitable in a biological sense, yet indirectly it is of great utility. It is in recreative activity that the young animal CHAP. XX AESTHETIC CONDUCT 325 learns to co-ordinate its movements, learns precision of action, acquires skill, obtains the necessary exercise of faculty that contributes to the growth of muscle, bone, nervous organisation, and general bodily efficiency ; and it is in recreative activity, which always takes a form widely different from that of the compulsory activity of earning the livelihood, that the adult broadens his mind, increases his capabilities, and preserves his health of both body and mind. Aesthetic Conduct From the point of view of pure biology — of the preservation of the stirp — the appreciation of beauty, and the considerable department of conduct that is based upon, and prompted by, the appreciation of beauty, are not easily explicable. Grace of motion, indeed, means ease of motion. It implies complete and efficient mastery over the movements, so that the maximum of effect is produced with the minimum of effort ; and it is clear that this is biologically advantageous. Caeteris paribus, graceful movement is economical movement. Form, again, is potential movement. We recognise form by ocular movements, and the application of the term ' graceful,' to form as well as to movement, rests upon an inarticulate, un- expressed recognition, that the appreciation of both is at bottom the same. The researches of Helmholtz into the nature of harmony, lead to the conclusion that those sounds are to us the most beautiful, in which the ratio of stimulation, to fatigue or dis- 326 CONDUCT BOOK II integration of tissue, is maximal ; and we may safely transfer this conclusion from sound to colour, and to other qualities. Beauty, therefore, in whatever form, means economy ; and the fact that beauty is not pursued for the sake of economy, does not detract in the least from its economical advantage ; any more than the fact that cleanliness is pursued for its own sake, and from dislike of dirt, detracts from its hygienic advantage. It must be admitted, however, that the economic advantage of beauty is not of sufficient magnitude to account for the appreciation of beauty, or for the enthusiasm that it inspires, and the eagerness with which it is pursued. The waste of effort in clumsy and awkward movements is rarely great enough to be material ; and the waste in contemplating ugly prospects, colours that swear at one another, or harsh and displeasing sounds, can scarcely ever be sufficient to determine the survival or non-survival of the contemplator. It must be acknowledged that the origin of aesthetic conduct is not to be found in biological advantage, and hence its proper inclusion among recreative activities. It has been shown that all forms of vital conduct owe their existence ultimately to the instinctive craving for the preservation of the stirp ; and it would be strange if the invocation of a second motive were needed to account for other conduct, even though this other conduct has, prima facie, no direct biological significance. Aesthetic conduct is no excep- tion to the rule that all conduct is ultimately based upon the motive of reproduction of the race. The earliest glimmerings of aesthetic conduct in the CHAP. AESTHETIC CONDUCT 327 human race, are exhibited in personal adornment for the attraction of the opposite sex ; and whatever aesthetic conduct is exhibited in the lower animals, whether in the decoration of their haunts by the bowei-birds ; in the display of their adornments by birds of beautiful plumage ; in the exhibition of brilliant colours, or graceful movements or attitudes, by o;:her animals ; are all limited to the period of courtship, if they are not also confined to the actual pursait of courtship. Aesthetic conduct owes its orio-.n, in fact, to the motive of sexual attraction ; and is the earliest, as it is the most efficient, means of purging the approaches of courtship of their grosser elements and signification, and elevating the whole process to a higher plane. Once the value of beauty, and the love of beauty, as aids to the funda- mental function of courtship, are established ; in process of time beauty becomes, by anticipation of motive, an end to be pursued for its own sake. Whatever its origin, the appreciation of beauty, like other secondary functions of life, varies within much wider limits than the primary functions. Few indeed are the men in whom proneness to fall in love, and to court, are not strongly developed ; few indeed the women who lack the instinct of mother- hood ; but people are frequent enough in whom the instinct of sacrificing self to the common welfare is deficient ; and frequent enough are those whose sense of beauty, in some or all respects, is crude, is defective, or is altogether wanting. Aesthetic conduct has two distinct aspects — the passive and the active. The one consists in the 328 CONDUCT BOOK II contemplation, the other in the creation, of beautiful things for the sake of their beauty ; and of these we find that the second cannot exist apart from the first, but the first can, and very often does, exist apart from the second. In some kinds of art, as music, poetry, and the drama, there is a third aspect — the utterance of beautiful things created previously, and it may be, by some one other than the utterer. This is a special ability, that cannot exist in the absence of the appreciation of beauty, but may well go with- out the ability to create, which is much rarer. If beauty consists, as is here contended, in the maximal ratio of stimulation to fatigue, then beauty will vary to difierent persons, according to the sensitiveness to stimulation, and to the proneness of tissue to waste when stimulated. Where sensitive- ness to stimulation is obtuse, there beauty will not be perceived unless stimulation is violent ; and to such people beauty of colour consists in crude, vivid, and primary colours — scarlet, crimson, blue, purple, orange, yellow, and so forth ; and the contrasts must be violent, or the stimulation will be insufiicient. Browns, greys, drabs, bufis, and secondary shades, produce, it is true, but little waste of tissue in their reception ; but they are so little stimulating that they fail to arouse a feeling of beauty in those who are not easily stimulated. To such people sounds will be beautiful that are loud and harsh, and thus are strongly stimulating : forms are beautiful that have strongly marked features — sharp contrasts — that exhibit exaggerated projections and cavities — and so forth. On the other hand, those who are CHAP. XX AESTHETIC CONDUCT 329 sensitive to stimulation, who are easily stimulated by slight impressions, will, as a rule, be those in whom strong stimulation is disintegrative. The two qualities almost of necessity go together ; and in such persons a high ratio of stimulation to the dis- integration of tissue that stimulation produces, must be gained in other ways. To persons so constituted, violent stimulation produces an excess of disintegra- tion ; and the ratio of stimulation to disintegration being then low, violent stimulation does not produce the satisfaction of beauty, but the reverse. To them, crude and vivid colours are not beautiful except in small areas ; glaring colours in a picture, or in dress, must not predominate ; but must be limited to small patches here and there. Loud and harsh sounds in music must be infrequent. But, since large areas of inconspicuous colours, long continuance of gentle sounds, flatness of surface, and monotony in any respect, are always fatiguing, fatigue must be mini- mised, and stimulation maximised, by variety in the gentler modes of stimulation. To such natures, beauty consists in variety of shades of inconspicuous colours ; in variety of tone and loudness of har- monious sounds ; in gentle transitions of form — in curves rather than in angles, in balance and pro- portion rather than in exaggeration and emphasis. There is, therefore, no universal standard of beauty in anything. All beauty is relative to the perceiver. That which is beautiful to the robust nature, which is stimulated and fatigued with difficulty, is ugly to the more refined nature, that is easily stimulated, and therefore discriminates between small diff'erences 330 CONDUCT BOOK II of stimulation ; and is readily fatigued, and there- fore intolerant of gross and crude stimulation ; while that which is beautiful to the latter nature, is merely insipid to the former. Those who say that they are no judges of pictures, for instance, or of music, but that they know what they like, incur the contempt of persons endowed by nature with greater powers of discrimination ; but for all that, express in homely terms the truth, that beauty is not absolute, but relative to the perceiver. At the same time, the ability to discriminate small differences, and thus to obtain increased stimulation from an impression that at first seems uniform ; and the ability to unify diverse impressions, and discover an underlying and fundamental unity, and thus diminish the fatigue that disconnected impressions produce ; are capable of increase by training and practice ; and thus the standard of beauty may undergo change ; but in changing, it still remains relative to individual capacity. The appreciation of beauty varies in different persons, not only relatively, with respect to the things that are regarded as beautiful, but absolutely, with respect to the gratification obtained from the contemplation of things that, to the individual, are beautiful. In other words, the capacity of appreciat- ing the ratio of stimulation to fatigue, varies very widely, both generally, and in respect of special modes of stimulation. There are natures so obtuse to stimulation, and so insensitive to fatigue, of the special senses, or of some of them, that all apprecia- tion of beauty, either generally, or in some special CHAP. XX AESTHETIC CONDUCT 331 respect, is in them absent and unattainable. The most gorgeous sunset is devoid of beauty, not only to the blind, but to the colour-blind. The most expressive music is devoid of beauty, not only to the deaf, but to the tone-deaf; and it is curious how limited the defect of a special sense may be. Macaulay, who had a keen appreciation of rhythm in words, of the balance of a verbal sentence, and of tone in verbal utterance, was utterly insensitive to musical tone, and could never distinguish one musical air from another. Even when there is no defect of special sense, there may be such obtuseness, such inappreciation of the ratio of stimulation to fatigue generally, that the appreciation of beauty is absent. To such people, nothing is beautiful. To them beauty does not exist ; and that large region of pleasure is denied to them. Persons thus constituted have usually compensation, in the extra degree of skill they possess in extracting benefit from circumstances. They are usually successful men and women of business. It seems as if the want of interest in beauty, set free their faculties for greater concentra- tion on the business of extracting benefit from circumstances ; and in some way contributed to their skill in this direction. A high development of interest in beauty, and especially in the active form of aesthetic conduct, which shows itself in the creation of beautiful things, and the interpretation of beautiful things created by others, is apt to go with sundry undesirable qualities — with an inability to extract benefit from circum- stances, with self-indulgence, self conceit, untruthful- 332 CONDUCT BOOK II ness and selfishness. That these undesirable qualities are not necessarily associated with the appreciation of beauty, and the capability of creating and interpreting beautiful things, is shown by many instances, in which the two sets of qualities are severed ; but that they are associated with a frequency that invites explanation, is shown no less by the history of many distinguished artists, than by the common experience of mankind. CHAPTER XXI INVESTIGATION An important set of indirectly vital activities is prompted by the instinct of Curiosity, and takes the form of investigation. This mode of conduct is not wholly free from biological significance ; on the contrary, it has a very high biological importance, inasmuch as it conduces more to progress, that is, to extension in the range and accuracy of adjustments to circumstances, than any other factor whatever. Curiosity prompts to investigation ; investigation leads to knowledge ; knowledge of circumstances is a necessary precedent to adjustment to circumstances, and to taking advantage of them. Whatever investigation into circumstances is conducted with the direct aim of taking advantage of these circum- stances, to advance the life -worthiness of the individual, the community, or the race, is a directly vital activity, and does not properly fall to be considered here; but it would be inconvenient to separate the consideration of investigation into two parts, and as it is in the main an indirectly vital activity, it may properly be examined with the non- vital modes of conduct. 333 334 CONDUCT BOOK II Curiosity, the desire to know, the motive of investigation, is a very primitive instinct ; and is shared with man by many of the lower animals, and even by some of a low grade of organisation. Curiosity is excited by the appearance of incon- gruity, or, what is, for the present purpose, much the same thing, the unfamiliar. As the young being gradually acquires consciousness, it finds itself in certain surroundings, in which it acquiesces, and with which it becomes familiarised. As long as these familiar surroundings remain unchanged, the attitude of acquiescence continues, and curiosity does not arise ; but the importation of novelty into the surroundings, either by the intrusion of some new feature into them, or by change of place on the part of the observer, at once excites curiosity, which in its turn prompts investigation. While unfamiliarity is the earliest excitant of curiosity, that which is unfamiliar excites curiosity, not because it is unfamiliar, but because, and as far as, it is incongruous with what is familiar. Removal from familiar surroundings, into surroundings that, though unfamiliar, are similar to those that are familiar, excites no curiosity. Intrusion of a new element into familiar surroundings excites no or little curiosity, if the new element is like the familiar elements. On the other hand, in surroundings that are thoroughly familiar, curiosity may be aroused, if incongruity is recognised. The observers who founded the science of astronomy, by investigating the relations of the celestial bodies, were not un- familiar with these bodies. They had been familiar CHAP, xxr INVESTIGATION 335 with the sun, moon, stars, and planets, from child- hood. What excited them to investigation was not any unfamiliarity, but the utter incongruity of the celestial bodies with terrestrial phenomena. Here were things that were incongruous with all the rest of familiar things — incongruous in their separateness and inaccessibility ; incongruous in their regular and gradual movements ; incongruous in their luminosity. It was these incongruities that excited curiosity, and led to investigation. No doubt investigation, like all other modes of action, has, in its origin, a biological significance. Every living being is adapted to live in certain surroundings ; and so long as those surroundings, to which it is adapted, remain unchanged, it is in safety, or in comparative safety ; but the importation into its surroundings of an unfamiliar element, is a potential danger ; and it is of vital consequence to the animal to know whether this potential danger is a real danger ; and, if so, what is the nature of the danger. If the animal passively awaits the manifestation of the danger, it is not in as advan- tageous a position to combat or elude the danger, as if it were forewarned of its nature, and mode and time of incidence. These factors can only be dis- covered by investigation ; and thus we see that the hatred of change, and the passion of curiosity, have, at bottom, the same origin — the appreciation of the danger that lurks in what is unfamiliar. Conserva- tism says, ' The unfamiliar is potentially dangerous, therefore let us destroy it.' Curiosity says, 'The unfamiliar is potentially dangerous and potentially 336 CONDUCT BOOK II profitable ; therefore let us investigate it to discover which potentiality is actual.' The attitude of con- servatism is unquestionably the safer. If what is unfamiliar is incontinently destroyed, its potential dangers are annihilated ; and, as far as they are concerned, safety is ensured. The attitude of curiosity is the more risky, but it is also more enterprising. It contains greater possibilities of danger ; but greater possibilities of benefit also. The investigator thrusts his hand into the jaws of danger, and whether his hand will be bitten off, or whether he will be able to withdraw it full of riches, he cannot know until the experiment has been made. Thus the conservative is safe, but unprogressive ; the path of investigation is strewn with the bones of rash investigators. The investigator is obnoxious to a double danger. Not only is his investigation in itself dangerous, in proportion to the strangeness of the matter that he is investigating, as exemplified in innumerable instances, from the death of the moth that investigates the flame, to the death of the X-ray operator from cancer ; but the investigator is in danger, also, from the animosity of his conservative fellow, whose self-preservative instinct is outraged by the toleration that the investigator displays towards the unfamiliar. It is clear, however, that every successful investiga- tion, fatal though it may be to the investigator, is advantageous to the community which has knowledge of the result of the investigation. The community will have learnt, at least, that the matter investigated is for certain dangerous, which was formerly in CHAP. XXI INVESTIGATION 337 doubt ; and can scarcely be without some indication of a way, or ways, in which the danger may be avoided. Communities in which investigators abound, will, therefore, have a very real advantage over those in which investigators are wanting ; and thus, in spite of the double disadvantage under which investigators lie, and of the discouragements that they sufier, the communities that produce them will prevail over other communities ; and in this way it will be secured that investigators will always be forthcoming. Occasionally, and in a minority of instances, that tends to increase as the common advantage of investigation becomes more and more recognised, investigation is advantageous to the investigator himself; and in isolated instances, in which the investigation leads to results that are immediately beneficial to large numbers, and the investigator is able to reap the fruits of his own investigation, the beneficial results to him are very great. For these reasons, investigation is secure of continuance ; but it is important to notice that the actual profit obtainable by the individual, is not the most potent motive prompting to investigation. The true and actuating motive, in the majority of cases, is pure curiosity — the desire to know — and although most of the investigations prompted by pure curiosity have no immediate biologic importance whatever, it is easy to see how the instinct of curiosity arose out of strictly biological conditions. For, in some cases, investigation possesses a biologic importance to the investigator ; and in very many cases it is of importance to the community to which he belongs ; 338 CONDUCT BOOK II and for these reasons, the instinct of curiosity, which prompts to investigation, is secure from extinction. But we have seen again and again how a mode of conduct that was originally followed for the attain- ment of some ulterior end, comes in course of time to be followed for its own sake, and without regard to its consequence. It is in accordance with this law of anticipation of motive, that investigation, originally pursued for the discovery of danger or of advantage, comes, in course of time, to be pursued for its own sake, and without regard to any biologic advantage to be gained thereby. The transition is, in this case, all the easier, since, in many cases, investigation, initiated for biologic reasons, attains no biologic result. The practice of investigation arises from the biologic importance of discovering whether an appearance, incongruous with familiar appearances, contains elements of danger. In consonance with the importance of this mode of action, arises the instinct — curiosity — which prompts it ; and the instinct, once established, prompts conduct for its own satisfaction, and regardless of the end for whose attainment it took its origin. Thus it comes about that phenomena of every order, from the doings of our next-door neighbours, to the movements of the most distant nebulae ; and from the arrangement of the pattern on a pot, to the arrangement of atoms in a molecule ; become objects of curiosity, and subjects of investigation. Curiosity is excited by incongruity with what is familiar ; and the aim of investigation is to reduce the incongruous to congruity. The dangers and the CHAP. XXI INVESTIGATION 339 securities of what is familiar, are known, or are believed to be known ; and with respect to them, the mind is at rest. But the dangers and securities of what is incongruous with the familiar are un- known, and infinite possibilities of danger may lurk therein. Hence, the incongruous is awe-inspiring and terrifying. A horse or a dog that witnesses a sheet of paper moved by the wind, is struck with terror at witnessing apparently spontaneous move- ment in an apparently inanimate thing. A human being who witnesses table-turning and ' levitation,' is inspired with precisely similar emotion from a similar cause. Awe and terror are painful, and arouse a keen desire to escape from them ; and hence the eagerness with which we strive to explain the incongruous ; that is, to bring it into congruity with what is familiar. This eagerness, originating with respect to things that inspire awe and terror, is, by anticipation of motive, extended to pheno- mena of all orders ; and, among the instincts that seem to be primitive, but are in fact doubly and trebly derivative, is that of finding explanations for phenomena. Our first endeavour, in presence of the unfamiliar, is to attain knowledge : and knowledge is attained by investigation. The unfamiliar thing is investigated ; that is, it is submitted to the examination of the senses. We look at it, listen to it, smell it, and perhaps taste it. We touch it and handle it, so as to ascertain its tangible qualities, — its hardness or softness ; its smoothness or roughness ; its brittleness or toughness ; its heaviness or lightness ; its rigidity 340 CONDUCT BOOK II or flexibility ; and when we have ascertained its qualities, we assign to it a place in the scheme of familiar things. We classify it as living or dead ; as organic or inorganic ; and within these classes, we classify it again, as noxious or innoxious, animal or vegetable, eatable or uneatable, beautiful or ugly, and so forth ; and this ascertainment of the qualities of a thing, its reduction into the scheme of known things, and the assignment of it to a place therein, is the acquirement of a knowledge of the thing. Explana- tion is applied, not to the statical, but to the dynamical aspect of things. We know what a thing is ; we explain how it became what it is. We know that it moves, and the path of its movement ; we explain how it comes to move, and to move in that path. Explanation is, in short, knowledge of causa- tion ; and this is the ultimate aim of all investigation. Knowledge of the statical aspect of things, however complete it may be, leaves us still unsatisfied. ' Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas.' Not until we can explain the causes of things, do we satisfy the restless spirit of inquiry ; and the biological significance of this unrest is manifest. Not until we have ascertained the causes of things, can we subdue them to our purposes. Not until we know how things happen, can we prevent or assist their happening ; and it is to make things happen, or to prevent their happening, that all our endeavours are directed ; for it is the happening or non -happening of events that determines the prevalence of the race, the welfare of the community, and the survival of the indi- vidual, from age to age, and from moment to moment. CHAP. XXI INVESTIGATION 341 The instinct of curiosity dififers very widely in different people, both as to its ardour and as to its direction ; and investigatory conduct shows corre- sponding differences. In ardour, there are all degrees ; from the incurious person who is content to accept every appearance at its surface value, without ever a thought of verification, or of attaining an amplifica- tion or a greater exactitude of knowledge ; who regards happenings as conditioned immediately by Fate, or by the will of the Deity, and seeks no inter- mediate or proximate causation ; and at the other are those who take nothing for granted, but find, in the most familiar or the most trifling appearance, a stimulus to investigation, that still increases in range and in exactitude, and regards every explana- tion as unsatisfactory, until it is itself explained. Primitive investigators are content if they acquire such a knowledge of a thing that they can recognise it on a new occasion, and attach a name to it : developed investigation demands an exact knowledge ol all its properties, physical, vital, chemical, electrical, and so forth. Primitive curiosity is content with the explanation that a thing is so because God wills it to be so : developed curiosity demands an explanation of the precise conditions under which alone a thing can come to be as it is, and an absolute and relative quantitative measurement of the conditions that produce a given quantity of effect. Primitive curiosity is content with a single step, and is complete if the immediate antecedents of a state of things are identified : developed curiosity is un- satisfied until a long series of causes has been dis- 342 CONDUCT BOOK II covered ; but both end alike in unexplainable mystery. The difference is that primitive curiosity is content to assert that mystery is unexplainable ; developed curiosity is for ever concerned to push the unexplain- able a step farther back. The direction of investigation seems to be determined, to some extent, by training and opportunity ; but more largely by innate capacity and character. A mighty mathematician would not necessarily make an expert bacteriologist ; nor would the discoverer of unsuspected philological truths be by any means as competent in discovering un- suspected chemical elements, or minor planets. The main types of investigators are the investigators of the concrete, and the investigators of the abstract ; and these practically correspond with the accumulators of knowledge, and the explainers. The first are the pioneers ; the second the completers. The first accumulate data for the others to utilise. The type of the first is Linnaeus ; the type of the second is Newton. Each is the complement of the other, and both are necessary to the advance of knowledge. Mere accumulation of facts, without corresponding explanation, is barren of result. It is of no biological utility. It achieves no mastery over events. Mere explanation without sufiicient accumulation of data, is more often wronor than right. It leads to crude hypothesis and erroneous generalisation. For in- vestigation to be fertile, the two modes must go hand in hand. Another division of investigators is into those who are curious of matters that are of immediate practical CHAP. XXI INVESTIGATION 343 moment, and have a direct bearing on human affairs ; and those who concern themselves mainly with matters remote from material interests. The division is a real one, but its boundaries are very- indistinct ; since affairs that are, for the moment, the most remote from human interests, may at any time prove to have an immediate practical bearing on daily life. The observation of the heavenly bodies rendered navigation possible ; and the recondite investigations of Clerk Maxwell into electric emana- tions, have resulted in the arrest of an escaped criminal. More material is the distinction between that investigation which is directed towards the doings of our fellows, and that which lies outside this range. The action of others is of the most immediate concern to all of us ; and curiosity with respect to it is felt by every one. Our first interest is in the action of others towards ourselves, but this is a matter that does not need to be investigated. It thrusts itself upon us, and makes itself felt; and action of this character has already been considered under the head of social conduct. Nor does the action of others on others, as a matter vitally affect- ing the welfare of others, or the stability of the community, fall to be considered in this place. Out- side and apart from these interests, there is another interest that we have in the doings of others — a curiosity to know of their doings, apart from any effect these doings may have on ourselves or others : a curiosity to know how they comported themselves in situations of danger, of difficulty, of complexity, 344 CONDUCT BOOK II of embarrassment, of novelty even, and to trace the course and effect of their conduct. It is clear that, in this way, we gain a vicarious experience, that may be of value to us in similar circumstances ; and it seems probable that in this biologic advantage, the interest in narrative and the drama may have had its origin. This view seems to gain corroboration from the way in which we identify ourselves with the protagonists of the narrative. As we read, or hear, or witness, the acting of the story, their troubles, their joys, their successes and reverses, their triumphs and humiliations, are our own. In the hero or heroine we recognise ourselves, and measure their doings by our own inclinations. In as far as we do not identify ourselves with the depicted characters of the narrative, we are actuated by sympathy with them : they are our friends, our brothers and sisters, our family, our intimates ; and all that happens to them, and all that they do, are of vital interest to us. Beyond this, we are interested in the story as a progressive process, tending towards a climacteric conclusion ; and the attainment of this conclusion is gratifying and satisfactory ; or, more accurately, the arrest and interruption of a progressive process is irksome and displeasing, and is to be overcome by pursuit to a settled end. The reason of this desire to learn the conclusion of a story once begun, is not far to seek. The whole conduct of mankind, and of all animate beings capable of conduct, is the pursuit of ends. It is in the pursuit of ends that all our lives are passed ; it is to the attainment of ends that all our energies are directed. Bafflement, interruption, CHAP. XXI INVESTIGATION 345 delay, in the pursuit of ends ; diversion from the direct pursuit ; are all irksome, displeasing, and disappointing ; and the smooth progress towards an aim, of whatever kind the aim may be, is gratifying and delightful. It is out of this that a large part, perhaps the largest part, of the interest of narrative is derived. The initial difficulty of a narrator is to arouse our interest in his story — to gain our sympathy for his characters — and his next task is to indicate the course they are travelling. Once he has succeeded in these objects, the rest is easy. When a moving object catches the eye, the natural impulse is to follow it until it comes to rest, or passes out of sight ; and once a story is on foot, we are interested in following it to its climax, or as far as circumstances allow. Although the interest in narrative and drama, that is common to the whole human race, is a purely recreative activity, extremely remote from biologic advantage, the preceding considerations enable us to trace its origin as a by-product of the biological struggle. It owes its existence in some small degree to self-interest, more largely to sympathy, and in still greater degree to that desire to pursue an end, merely for the pleasure which is inherent in the pursuit, whether the end itself is biologically advantageous or not. Conduct of this order, like aesthetic conduct, to which it is nearly allied, is three-fold. It may con- sist in the passive reception of narrative, or the passive witnessing of dramatic representation of a narrative ; or in the invention of a story ; or in the interpretation to third parties of a story invented by 346 CONDUCT BOOK II some one else. So close a similarity lias led to the inclusion of the labours of the creator of fiction, the dramatist, and the actor, among the fine arts. If by- fine art is meant the creation of beautiful thinefs, the inclusion is not justified ; for stories can fulfil their function, of engaging and maintaining interest, with- out containing any element of beauty ; but if by fine art is meant the pursuit, and the creation of interest in a recreation, then, no doubt, narrative and drama are fine arts ; but it is worth while to insist upon the distinction. CHAPTER XXII RELIGIOUS CONDUCT Keligious conduct is one of the indirectly vital modes of action, in that it has no direct bearing on life- worthiness ; though it resembles the other modes of action of this class, in having an indirect bearing that is of great importance. Religious conduct has intimate connections with other indirectly vital activities. It is intimately connected with aesthetic conduct ; for the religious emotion finds expression in architecture, in sculpture, in painting, in music, in richness of costume, in embroidered altar cloths, in stained windows, in every kind of combination of beauty of form, sound, and colour. Even the sense of smell is appealed to by the burning of incense ; even grace of motion takes its part, in religious dances, in the expression of religious emotion. Religious conduct has close relations, also, with investigation ; relations that are sometimes amicable, sometimes the reverse. Every religion expounds a theory of the cosmos, and ofi'ers explanations of events. Every religion upholds the accuracy of the knowledge it inculcates, and discourages investiga- tion that may tend to impugn the accuracy of 347 348 CONDUCT BOOK II that knowledge ; explains events by invoking the will of the Deity, and frowns upon other explana- tions. Conduct prompted by the religious instinct — the desire to propitiate a more or less exacting Deity, — is prima facie, inimical to self-conservation. Every religion inculcates, in greater or less degree, the practice of asceticism, self-denial, and self-sacrifice ; and valuable, and biologically advantageous, as these practices are, to the life- worthiness of the community, they are detrimental to that of the individual who practises them. When asceticism is pushed, as, under the promptings of the religious instinct, it often is pushed, to the actual damage to health and strength, its detriment to life- worthiness is manifest ; and, in as far as religious observance exceeds the time, effort, and energy, that can properly be be- stowed upon indirectly vital conduct, and encroaches upon those modes that are necessary to maintain the conservation of self, in so far it is detrimental to the individual. But the welfare of the individual is, as we have seen, not the ultimate purpose of life. In the scheme of nature, the welfare of the individual is a very secondary purpose, liable to be set aside at any moment, and sacrificed to the welfare of the community, and still more unceremoniously to the welfare of the race. The self-regarding instincts have, however, a very strong valency, and are prone to take precedence, in determining conduct, of both social and secondary-racial instincts. It is in re- inforcing these instincts, which are of so much more importance to the ultimate purpose of life, that CHAP. XXII RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 349 religious emotion, and the desires that it prompts, are of such great biological importance. For religious observance is inextricably bound up with social conduct, and with reproductive conduct ; and profoundly influences both. The foundation of social conduct has been shown to be self-restraint, and the foundation of reproductive conduct, self- sacrifice ; and every religion inculcates self-restraint, from the innumerable restrictions of taboo, to the decorum of church service ; every religion inculcates self-sacrifice, from the self-inflicted tortures of the fakeer, to the collection after service. The social advantage of the prevalence of a religion, to the community in which it prevails, consists, first and most, in the reinforcement and the sanction that religion gives to the practice of self- restraint generally. The association of mankind, as of other animals, in communities, requires and neces- sitates the forgoing of much of the spontaneous activity of each individual, in deference to the safety, the welfare, the comfort, and the' feelings of his fellows. The other two great vital activities — the self-regarding and the reproductive — are, as has already been shown, antagonistic to the social activities, which again detract from both, and yet serve both. The time, the energy, the share of life that are expended upon the conservation and ad- vancement of the community, are abstracted from being directly expended on the conservation of the self, and on the reproduction of the race. They are abstracted from direct expenditure on these aims, and expended on social conservation, so that, by 350 CONDUCT BOOK II means of the maintenance of a stable, compact, and efficient community, the conservation of the indi- viduals that compose it may be the more secure, and the continuation of the race the better ensured. In order that the ultimate aim of life — the evolution of a race of great staying power — may be most efficiently compassed, it is necessary that a nice balance should be preserved between the three primary modes of activity. But of these three modes, two have, from their much greater antiquity, a preponderance over the third ; and constantly tend, in consequence, to absorb the whole, or at any rate an undue share, of the life of the individual, to the detriment of the third, — the social department of conduct, — which is of co-ordinate importance, and cannot be neglected without injury to the other two. Hence, any influence which tends to preserve the balance, and to corro- borate and reinforce the social instincts ao^ainst the encroachment of the self-regarding and the repro- ductive, has a very high biological value ; and the community in which such an influence exists, will have an advantage, and will prevail against those in which it is absent. Hence we find that in every militant community — in every community that has had to sustain itself by strife with others, and has prevailed, some religion is a dominant factor. Those communities only are without religion, or allow to religion but a small share of influence, that are, like the Esquimaux, isolated, or protected in some way against competition ; and those nations in which religion has decayed, and its influence has subsided, have been uniformly unsuccessful in their struggle CHAP, xxii RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 351 against those in which religion has been powerful and influential ; while caeteris paribus, the fanatic- ally religious have been uniformly successful against those in whom religious fervour has been lukewarm. History is so full of illustrative instances, that it is not worth while to adduce them, for every reader can supply them for himself. The only communities that have reached a very high grade of organisation without the aid of religion, are those of the social insects ; and in these, one of the factors that conflicts with sociality is absent. It is highly significant that the only communities that have reached a high grade of organisation without the assistance of religion, are those in which almost the whole of the component individuals are sexually neuter. The drones are but temporary and adventi- tious constituents of the community, and there is but one fertile female ; so that, virtually, the community consists of neuters only. Hence, instead of three conflicting fundamental instincts, there are, in these communities, but two ; and the problem is vastly simplified. It is true that these neutral females have parental duties to fulfil, and possess corresponding instincts ; but on the other hand, the self-regarding and the social instincts are but little differentiated ; and the building of comb and the gathering of stores, that subserve the one purpose, are equally available for the other. The biological function of religion is, therefore, to exalt and inculcate social conduct, and to depre- ciate and restrain self-regarding and reproductive conduct. In the Jewish and Christian religions, 352 CONDUCT BOOK II which together influence a large proportion of the human race, the fundamental inculcations are those of the decalogue ; and these are occupied, first in establishing a sanction, and second in applying this sanction to the prohibition of such self-regarding con- duct as is antisocial. It is true, and it is surprising, that the decalogue inculcates no restriction of repro- ductive conduct, for the seventh commandment is directed against reproductive conduct not per se, but only in as far as it is antisocial ; but this omission from the decalogue is amply supplied, in the Hebrew code by the prohibitions in Leviticus, and in the Christian code by a body of doctrine, partly canonical and partly traditional, which is strongly regulative and restrictive of reproductive conduct. The en- forced celibacy of the clergy, and of the monastic orders, is not peculiar to Christianity, nor is it a mere ecclesiastical discipline, instituted for the wel- fare and aggrandisement of the Church. It rests upon a far deeper foundation. It is a manifestation of the fundamental function of religion, to frown upon, dis- countenance, and restrict the two other primary modes of conduct that conflict with social conduct. This is the biological function of religion. A large part of religious conduct is occupied with worship and religious observance, which seem remote from all biological implication ; but which have, nevertheless, their biological value, which is to emphasise and enforce the sanction under which the inculcations of religion are made. In order that these inculcations may be attended to, in order that the prohibitions of religion shall be observed. CHAP. XXII RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 353 and the exhortations carried out, there must be a sanction behind them, or they will be of no effect. This sanction is the power and will of the Deity to punish the disobedient and the recalcitrant ; and all religious observance has the effect — I do not say that it is deliberately designed to this end, but it has the effect — of impressing the observers with the power of the Deity, and His willingness to interfere in human affairs. No doubt, religious observance arises out of this very impression on the part of the observers. All religious observance is, in its origin, propitiatory, and arises out of the belief that the Deity is, or may be, ill-disposed towards His votaries, and must be pro- pitiated. The origin of religious observance is in the desire to propitiate a being who is malignant. I know of no primitive religion in which the deities are conceived as benevolent. As religion advances in grade, the deities advance from malignancy to a capricious indifference to the welfare of humanity, and it is at a very late stage in the evolution of man's concept of God, that He is regarded as bene- volent. Even in its latest and highest development, religious observance retains its propitiatory character, and is occupied largely in deprecating the vengeance, the ill-will, the severity, the justice, of the Arbiter of human destinies. The result of these observances is the creation and confirmation of a tremendous sanction, endorsing the exhortations and prohibitions of religion, and productive of a terror of neglecting them. The splendour of the buildings that are devoted to religious observance ; the elaborate cere- monial ; the impressive music ; the gorgeous decora- 2a 354 CONDUCT BOOK II tion ; the appeal to every sense ; impress upon the minds of the beholders a conviction of the profound importance of the function in which they are engaged ; of the might, majesty, dominion, and power of the Deity for whose service the whole is undertaken ; and of the appalling consequences that are likely to result from disregard of His behests. Religious conduct is, therefore, divisible into two categories — religious observance, whose object is the propitiation of the Deity, and the rendering of worship and honour ; and the carrying out of the behests that the religion inculcates. These behests vary in detail, and in their particular character, with each particular religion ; but common to them all is the inculcation of self-restraint, and the restriction of reproductive activity. In either category, religious conduct may be defective or excessive, and defect and excess, respectively, of the two modes of conduct, are by no means necessarily concurrent. It may, and often does happen, that religious observance is punctiliously complete, and may even be excessive, and yet that the moral restrictions that religion inculcates are utterly disregarded ; so that we witness the strange spectacle of a bandit or an assassin attending religious observance, and invoking divine assistance in the perpetration of a robbery or a murder. Again, we witness the punctilious adhesion to a high code of moral conduct in the absence of any religious observance, and combined with indifference, neglect, and even contempt, of religious ceremonial. Religious observance may be defective in two ways. It may be simply defective, either from lack CHAP. XXII RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 355 of what may be termed the reHgious instinct, or from lack of training and examj)le. This form of religious conduct, like other forms of indirectly vital conduct, exhibits extremely wide divergencies in different people. Just as there are people who have no appreciation of beauty, either generally, or in some particular, as beauty of sound, or colour, or form ; and are incapable of producing beautiful things of either of these kinds ; so there are people who have no pleasure in religious observance, either as taking part in it themselves, or as witnessing its perform- ance by others. Those whose minds have not risen to the conception of the existence of a Deity, naturally are not moved to action for the propitiation of a Deity. The irreligious, those who are indifferent to religion, who, denying, neglecting, or ignoring the existence of God, take no part in religious observance, are, for the most part, limited to dwellers in large towns, or to those who have passed the early and impressionable part of their lives in large towns. And the reason is manifest. In towns, the vast majority of things that engage attention are the work of men's hands. There is little that is not explainable by human agency. The great and im- pressive phenomena and forces of nature are not in evidence ; and such as there are, are presented, not in their elemental aspect, but as unimportant hindrances to human endeavour, such as rain and wind ; or as contributing to human needs, as river and sunshine. The unutterable sense of power and mystery that is evoked in the mind by the contem- plation of mountain, sea, forest, or illimitable plain ; 356 CONDUCT BOOK II by storm and flood ; by the wonders of vegetation and of wild animal life ; are unknown to the dwellers in a great city. His eyes are not uplifted to the sky. The day begins and ends, l)ut its duration is scarcely connected, in his mind, with the rising and setting of the sun, which he does not witness. The glories of sunrise and sunset, the forms and movement of clouds, the wonder and mystery of the stars, gain from him no attention. His interests are concen- trated on what is passing immediately around him, on the sayings and doings of his fellow-men, on what is enacted in the room or the street ; and extend no farther. What manifestly and directly aff'ects his life, and determines his successes and failures, are not natural forces, — heat and cold, rain and drought, climate and soil, vegetation and animal life ; — but the disposition and conduct of his fellow -men. Those things are not brought to his notice ; or, if they are, it is but by hearsay ; and they may be troublesome, but are not catastrophic incidents in his life. They do not strike at the roots of his existence ; they do not plainly affect his life-worthiness ; they do not call upon his vital activities ; and consequently, they do not imperatively demand from him, as they do from the countryman, a hypothesis of their origin. Hence, it is in towns that scepticism has its origin and its home. Unless religion is communicated by direct inculcation, the town-dweller knows nothing of it ; and even direct inculcation may not be easy, for the soil is not prepared for the seed. Hence, it is in large towns, mainly, that religious observance is defective, that the natural tendency to it is often CHAP. XXII RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 357 wanting, and that the exertions of the clergy meet with the least response. A curious defect in religious observance is its performance by deputy, or vicariously. Religious conduct, and the instincts which prompt it, resemble other indirectly vital instincts and modes of conduct, in exhibiting a great diversity of degree in different people. In some, the religious instinct, that is, the desire of religious observance, is evanescent ; in others it is very strongly developed. To some it is irksome ; to others, grateful. Moreover, it will happen, in the course of religious observance, that the propitiatory value of the observance of some will appear greater than that of others. The prayer of one is followed by fulfilment ; that of another is not. Or, what is the same thing for the purpose in hand, one person will arrogate to himself, or will be credited by others with, a superior efficacy in interpreting the will of the Deity, and especially in modifying His intentions. It is natural that, when such a belief in the superior efl&cacy of any one is established, his services should be invoked by others ; and it is natural, also, that such services should have a value, and should demand, and receive, remuneration. If the demand is sufficient, the possessor of this superior efficacy will be able to subsist entirely upon the contributions of the faithful ; and thus is established, in every community, that has advanced beyond a very rudimentary stage of organisation, a priesthood, subsisting on the profits of religious observance. The interests of the priest- hood, no less than the belief in the superior efficacy of their ministrations, will ensure that, more and 358 CONDUCT BOOK II more, the brunt and the burden of religious observ- ance will be undertaken by them ; while to the laity will be left merely the duty of chiming in with the priesthood, concurring with, and endorsing their observance, but taking no part beyond that of a chorus. In order that this subordinate function may be fixed and cemented upon the laity, and the distinction between them and the priesthood become wider, deeper, and more impassable, religious observ- ance will become more and more elaborate, more and more mysterious, until it may at length require years of training to perform with accuracy ; until it may at length be conducted with ceremonies, and even in a language, unintelHgible to the laity. By this time, the priesthood become, in common estima- tion, the sole repositories, not only of the power of propitiating the Deity, but of His intention and will ; and thus become the arbiters of the fate of the laity in every respect ; and their arrogance and exactions become intolerable. It has been shown supra that religion is an important biological asset in the life of a nation, and that caeteris paribus, the religious nation will prevail over the irreligious. It is now to be noticed that the dominance of a priesthood is detrimental to the life-worthiness of a nation, and that, caeteris paribus, the priest-ridden nation will go down before that which is not so dominated. For a priest-ridden nation is, of necessity, and by its constitution, poor, ignorant, and, what is biologically more important, divided in allegiance, in comparison with one in which the priesthood has little power. It is, in comparison, poor, because the advantageous CHAP. XXII RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 359 circumstances of the priesthood, which is an un- productive occupation, attract into its ranks a large proportion of the ambitious and the able members of the community ; leaving the productive part of the community, not only burdened with the support of an enormous number of non-producers, but starved of the ambitious and the able, who might otherwise be employed in enhancing productiveness. It is, in com- parison, ignorant, because the position of the priest- hood rests, in the last resort, upon an assumption that is unproved — the assumption of their superior knowledge of the designs of the Deity, and influence upon them. This assumption is unproved. It rests upon authority and prescription ; and the effect of investigation, in whatever direction it may be pushed, is to break down the influence of authority and prescription, and to issue, urbi et orhi, a writ of quo warranto. For this reason, the power and influence of a priesthood rests upon the suppression of investigation ; and in fact we find that, wherever priesthood has prevailed, — wherever a people has been priest-ridden — there investigation has been suppressed. I do not say — I am far from saying — that the suppression of investigation has been prompted by any conscious articulate notion, such as has just been formulated, of the effect of investiga- tion on the power of the priesthood. In this, as in so many other matters, it does not in the least follow that a course of conduct is followed because of any clear anticipation of the beneficial results that do in fact flow from it. It is followed because it is grateful, pleasurable, and congenial to the actor ; and the 360 CONDUCT BOOK II beneficial consequence may never be recognised or appreciated ; but the fact that it is beneficial goes to enhance the lifeworthiness of the actor, and to ensure that those who are prone to act in that way, shall survive and prevail over those who act otherwise. If there ever were a priesthood that approved and welcomed investigation into anything whatever, that priesthood would thereby be digging a pit for its own feet, and preparing for its own downfall. The only priesthoods that have prevailed, have been those that have discouraged investigation ; and it matters not to the efi'ect, whether the discouragement pro- ceeded from a clear foresight of the result of per- mitting investigation ; or from an unreasoned prejudice ; or, what is probably most often the case, from a dim and uneasy apprehension of some untoward result. That the Church should have ordered the destruction of the works of Aristotle, and even of Aquinas ; that it should have discountenanced Roger Bacon, burnt Bruno, and compelled Galileo to recant ; seem to be the very acme of unnecessary and wanton obscurantism ; but they were the expression of a sound and vital clerical instinct. Once permit the questioning of authority, upon any subject what- ever, and the very basis of authority is destroyed. Once admit the existence of doubt as to the validity of the most unimportant detail of doctrine ; it is the crack in the dam. It is but the breadth of a hair ; the water percolates through it but in dew ; but unless it is speedily amended, the whole dam will give way, and a roaring torrent will overwhelm the valley. The maintenance of a priesthood in plenary CHAP. XXII RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 361 power, must mean the preservation of ignorance in the nation that maintains that priesthood ; and in the struggle for existence among nations, caeteris 'paribus, the ignorant goes down before the instructed. Thirdly, a priest-ridden people is a people divided in allegiance. If we consider the factors, we see that it must be so. If we examine history, we find that it has been so. If we look around us, we find that it is so. The secular government and the priesthood struggle for supremacy ; and a large part of the energies of every young community, and of many communities that are well past their youth, is engaged in a conflict between the secular and the sacerdotal power. Such internecine strife detracts, of course, from the efficiency of the external strife with other tribes or nations, from which no tribe or nation is free for long ; and from the efficiency of the struggle with other circumstances, which never ceases. The particular form that the struggle for supremacy takes, or rather the pretext on which it turns, varies in difi'erent cases. The priesthood invariably claims exemption from military service and other burdens which the secular government requires of its subjects ; and one cause or pretext of quarrel is the limit of these exemptions. The priesthood invariably claims jurisdiction in certain matters ; and another cause or pretext of quarrel is the limit of this jurisdiction. Whatever the occasion of any particular quarrel, each party claims the allegiance to itself of the whole community, and thus allegiance is divided more or less unequally between them. 362 CONDUCT BOOK II From this digressive discussion of the origin and influence of priesthood let us return to that mode of religious observance which is conducted vicariously. We have seen how the priesthood tend more and more to monopolise religious observance, and to make it more and more unintelligible to the laity ; while the cono-regation tends more and more to become a mere utterer of aniens. On both sides the observance becomes mechanical ; but on the side of the laity it becomes not only mechanical, but impersonal ; and not only impersonal, but meaning- less. The worshipper who finds that his worship is taken out of his mouth, and conducted for him, and that he is denied all part except that of giving assent, is apt to consider that assent may be taken for granted, or given vicariously, or sufficiently signified by a pecuniary payment for a certain amount of ceremonial, which he is under no obligation to attend. First he purchases the services of an expert to perform for him his religious obligations ; and then, realising how mechanical these observances are become, he purchases or constructs a mechanism that can do all that is necessary without putting him to trouble ; and thus the fervent religious votary degenerates into the user of a prayer wheel. Excess of religious observance is not very easy to estimate. Being an indirectly vital mode of conduct, it must yield precedence to the directly vital activities, and be content with the occupation of that time, that remains over after vital needs are satisfied. It is obvious that this must be so, for, if the directly vital needs are not attended to, the individual will cHAP.xxu RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 363 perish, and religious observances will fail for want of an observer. This holds good, however, of self- conservative conduct only. The biological value of religion is in the encouragement that it affords to social conduct, at the expense mainly of reproductive conduct, but largely of self-conservative conduct also. It is in the inculcation and enforcement of self- restraint, that the biological value of religion consists ; and self-restraint, like any other mode of conduct, may be pushed to excess, and attain a degree of asceticism that endangers life. Among the primary self-conservative activities, is prehension of food, and the self-restraint that religion inculcates, is commonly extended to the practice of fasting, which may be pushed to an excess that endangers life. Another primary self-conservative activity is the maintenance of personal cleanliness, and the blind antagonism to self-conservation that is prompted by religion, may extend to personal cleanliness ; so that the grade of holiness may be measured by the degree in which personal cleanliness is disregarded, and even outraged. Thus the medieval Christian ascetics were notoriously dirty. Thomas a Becket was acclaimed a saint as soon as it was found that his body was swarming with vermin ; and to this day, the fanatics of some Asian religions are distinguished by their addiction to dirt. Self- conservation demands freedom from personal injury, and prompts the avoidance of pain, which is the signal of danger to life. The antagonism to self-conservation that is prompted by religion, teaches the suffering of pain rather than its avoidance ; and even goes farther, and prompts to 364 CONDUCT BOOK II the self-infliction of pain, injury, and even mutilation. Important mutilation, the amputation of hand or foot, or even of fingers, if widely practised as a religious rite, would be so disadvantageous, as to secure the failure of the community, in which it was practised, to survive ; but an innocuous mutilation would satisfy the religious craving for the defiance of self-conservation, without really impairing the life- worthiness of those on whom it is practised. Such a mutilation is circumcision ; and we find, accordingly, that circumcision, as a religious rite, is widely practised, and has obtained in several distinct communities. Whether the distortion of the feet of Chinese women had a religious origin, I do not know ; but such an origin seems more probable than the motive, il faut souffrir pour etre belle ; and the case of circumcision shows that the limitation to one sex does not negative its religious character. The modi- fication of the shape of the head, by compression of the skull in infancy, which has been found to prevail in certain primitive peoples, is, no doubt, a religious rite, on a level with circumcision. The same motive — the subordination of self- conservative conduct, in order that social conduct may have full play — inspires the various fantastic self-torturings of the religious devotee. This motive is at the root of the conduct of St. Simeon Stylites ; of the Flagellants ; the Trappists ; the fimatics who go for miles upon their knees ; who stare at the sun from the rising up of the same until the going down thereof; who cut themselves after their manner, with knives and lancets ; who lie upon spikes ; and CUAP. XXII RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 365 practise other ingenious modes of self-torment. Of course, it is not contended that the fanatics who inflict these injuries upon themselves, do so with any conscious intention of thereby favouring social conduct. What is contended is that self-restraint is of immense importance to the common welfare — to the very existence of the community — and social life is impossible without the exertion of self-restraint. Self-restraint having once become an ingredient in the mental constitution of mankind, the natural course of variation will ensure that in some indi- viduals it will be defective, and in others excessive ; and the instances adduced are instances of its excess. The priests of Baal, who cut themselves after their manner with knives and lancets, no more knew that they were exhibiting in excess a mode of conduct conducive to social welfare, than the child who eats till it is sick, knows that it is indulging to excess in a mode of conduct conducive to individual welfare ; or the blushing maiden, who shrinks from the gaze of her lover, knows that she is practising conduct that is conducive to racial continuance ; but these are the roots of the respective acts, nevertheless. The welfare and stability of the community are imperilled, no less by unbridled racial conduct, than by uncontrolled self-regarding conduct ; and religion, which is, biologically, an adjuvant to social con- servatism, is antagonistic no less to racial than to self-regarding conduct. Generally speaking, religions frown upon the reproductive function, and seek to keep it within bounds ; and this restriction, which is biologically valuable and advantageous, easily slips 366 CONDUCT BOOK ir into total prohibition, which is of course racially suicidal. Chastity is a social asset of high import- ance ; and religion, the guardian of social life, inculcates chastity among the primary obligations. Not realising its social function, but regarding its code as an absolute standard, religion often fails to recognise that there may be too much of a good thing, and is apt to inculcate, not chastity only, but celibacy. Universal celibacy would of course be racially destructive ; but such occasional and indi- vidual celibacy as some religions inculcate, is not to be deprecated, for it is an object-lesson of what is attainable. The inculcation of an austere chastity, which it is the function of religion to instil, might be met, explicitly or implicitly, with the objection that it is a counsel of perfection, to which mere man cannot be expected to attain. Such an objection is demolished if religion can point to votaries who are not merely chaste, but altogether celibate. Thus, although celibacy is prima facie biologically un- justifiable, yet occasional celibates within a com- munity have their social use, just as neuter insects, which, as solitaries, would become speedily extinct, become, as members of a community, vitally im- portant to the preservation of the race. Nor must it be forgotten that the celibate members of a nation are not wholly debarred from racial conduct in the wide sense. In many cases, the religious celibate, like the neuter insect, performs parental functions. For many generations in Western Europe, the educa- tion of the young was conducted solely by religious celibates. For centuries, the only schools were those CHAP. XXII RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 367 attached to the monasteries, and conducted by the monks. It is only within the memory of those now living, that religious celibates ceased to have the monopoly of teaching in our Universities ; and to this day, convent schools are among the best of teaching institutions. Excess may be exhibited, not only in observing the behests of religion, but also in devotion to its ceremonial. What frequency of prayer, and of attendance at public worship, is to be regarded as excessive, would be differently estimated by different persons ; but there are few who would not regard in this light the conduct of a young solicitor, who knelt in his father's waiting-room, and prayed aloud for the welfare and success of the clients who were there awaiting an interview with his father. The practice of saying grace before meat, and of invoking a bless- ing on what is about to be consumed, is decorous and seemly ; but when a person repeats a grace aloud before each mouthful that he eats, it can scarcely be denied that the ceremonial is excessive. It is curious that the patient who acted in this way was a young man who had been brought up by aggressively agnostic parents, and had been taught to despise and deride religious ceremonial of every kind. Biologically, therefore, the function of religion is to safeguard the community, by restricting those modes of action that conflict with social conduct. It is the inculcator of morality, of self-restraint, and of regard for others. If its inculcations are apt to become excessive, it is because religion does not recognise its biological function, and certainly would 368 CONDUCT BOOK II not admit that this function is its primary purpose. This is a matter that would be out of place to discuss here. It is quite beside the purpose of this book, and does not enter into its purview, which is to regard conduct from a'point of view strictly biological, to show the biological value of every mode of conduct, and how every mode of conduct can be accounted for on biological grounds. There is, however, another connexion between racial conduct and religion, besides that which has been noticed. Religion not only inculcates the restriction and limitation of racial conduct, but provides for it a substitute and an alternative. The enforcement of celibacy on the religious devotee, is not merely a sign and manifestation of the primary biologic function of religion, to promote and enhance social conduct by deprecating racial, as well as self- conservative conduct ; it is also a recognition of the vital principle that human energy and interest, if debarred from expending themselves in racial conduct, must find an outlet in some other direction. Religious observance provides an alternative, into which the amatory instinct can be easily and naturally diverted. The emotion, or instinctive desire, which finds expres- sion in courtship, is a vast body of vague feeling, which is at first undirected. It is not specifically directed towards any individual ; and may not have, at any rate at first, any sexual direction at all. It is a vague yearning for self-sacrifice ; for aesthetic display, and aesthetic contemplation ; for self-renun- ciation in its various manifestations ; for the donation of gifts, and the rendering of services ; for the ex- cHAP.xxn RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 369 pression of enthusiasm. It is a voluminous state of exaltation, that demands enthusiastic action. This is the state antecedent to falling in love ; and, if an object presents himself or herself, the torrent of emotion is directed into amatory passion. But, if no object appears, or if the selected object is denied, then religious observance yields a very passable sub- stitute for the expression of the emotion. Religious observance provides the sensuous atmosphere, the aesthetic surroundings, the call for self-renunciation, the means of expressing powerful and voluminous feeling, that the potential or disappointed lover needs. The madrigal is transmuted into the hymn ; that adornment of the person that should have gone to allure the beloved, now takes the shape of ecclesias- tical vestments ; the reverence that would have been paid to the loved, is transferred to a higher object ; the enthusiasm that would have been expended in courtship, is expressed in worship ; the gifts that would have been made, the services that would have been rendered to the loved one, are transferred to the Church. Hence we find that religious observance and courtship, are to some extent complementary, and are closely connected. We find, not only that celibacy is inculcated as a religious observance, but that religious ceremonial is most observed by the celibate. We find, not only that the most enthusi- astic clergy are celibate, even when celibacy of the clergy is not compulsory ; but that it is among celibates, and especially among the disappointed in love, that their most enthusiastic followers are found. We find that while women, to whom marriage means 2b 370 CONDUCT BOOK II SO much more than it means to men, are naturally more devoted to religious observance than men are ; celibate women are much more devoted than married women ; the maiden devotee loses much of her en- thusiasm when she marries ; and the girl who is disappointed in love, takes naturally to a life of religious observance. INDEX a Becket, Thomas, 100, 363 Absolute prodigality, 117 Accumulation, 33, 79, 120 Action, abundant, 9 automatic, 55, 58 crude, 68 deliberate, 50 elaborate, 68 elicited, 3, 14 habitual, 55 imitative, 64, 184, 193 impulsive, 50 instinctive, 12, 43 involuntary, 53 novel, 55, 64 original, 64 reasoned, 12, 43 scanty, 9 self-indulgent, 44, 169 self-restrained, 44, 169 spontaneous, 3 voluntary, 53 Active morality, 261 opposition, 104 Adaptation of action, 5, 14, 38 Administration of means, 115, 249 Admiration, 145, 147, 150 Adultery, 252 Adventurous conduct, 107 Aesthetic conduct, 85, 316, 325 Aggressive conduct, 246, 275 opposition, 104 Agoraphobia, 107 Albigenses, 193 Alcohol, 91 Allurement in courtship, 293, 299 Ambition, 129, 145, 152, 165, 237, 269 Amoeba, conduct of, 3 Anarchism, 164 Antagonism of authority and in- vestigation, 360 of religion and self-preservation, 349, 363 and racial conduct, 349, 352, 365 of social and self- preservative conduct, 220, 288 of social and racial conduct, 288 of self- preservative and racial conduct, 288 ways of meeting, 101, 103 Anthropoid ancestors of man, 108 Anticipation of motive, 31, 160, 171, 338 Ants, 83 Applause and conduct, 148-9, 156 Approval and morality, 145, 15G, 160, 169, 171, 173, 338 Ardour of male in courtship, 290, 295 Aristotle, 360 Arrogance, 149, 154 Asceticism, 47, 90, 100, 348, 363 Assault, 245 Astronomy, origin of, 334 Athletics and suicide, 172 Attention and conduct, 139, 142 / Authority and morality, 174 and investigation, 359, and religion, 359 Baal, priests of, 365 371 2b2 372 CONDUCT Baboons, social conduct of, 262 Backbiting, 251 Bacon, Francis, 147 Roger, 260, 360 Balfour, Sir G., on drink, 91 Baynes, General, 188 Beating the bounds, 32 Beauty, means economy, 336 Beaver, conduct of, 45, 120 Bees, instinct of, 15, 17, 134 reason of, 18, 38, 44, 62 Bell-ringing, instinctive, 34 Beneficence, 129, 261-6, 228 Benevolence, 182 Bibliophile, and theft, 122 Birds, instinct of, 17, 62 reason of, 21, 42, 62 social conduct of, 262 Bivalves, conduct of, 24 Black Dwarf, the, 132 Blacklegs, 167 Boasting, 150, 154 Borgia, 252 Bottom the weaver, 144 Bower-bird, 121 Bragging, 150, 154 Brinvilliers, Marquise, 232 Bruno, Giordano, 260, 360 Capital, origin of, 121 punishment, 199 Carelessness, 245 Carlyle, T., 154 Caste, 206 Cat, reason in, 39 Cattle, 41, 262 Celibacy, 295-7 and religion, 366, 369 Ceremonial, 316 Change of custom, 210, 213 of fashion, 217 Character, force of, 187, 219 Charm of manner, 185 Chartism, 163 Chastity, 146, 168, 274, 366 in the male, 280 social value of, 278 Children, protected by all, 263 Choice and reason, 46 Church bells, 34 Churchill, Lord R., 141 Circumcision, 364 Claustrophobia, 107, 110 Cleanliness, 99 Climbing trees, 320 Collecting, 33, 79, 120 Combat, instinct of, 80 Common Law, and custom, 200 Common life, inhibitory, 134-6 Companionship, necessity of, 130 Conceit, 145, 149 Concubinage, 261 Conduct, factors in, 7, 15, 25, 36, 47, 217 spontaneous, 6, 217 Conformity, 134, 191, 203, 254 Conscientiousness, excess of, 246 Conservatism, 335 Coprophagy, 89 Corporate action, 203 Coughing, 53 Counter-attack, 104 Courtship, 289 Criminal law, 13 Criminals, 175 Crowds, conduct of, 201 Crude action, 68 Curiosity, 28, 85, 260, 265, 333, 341 Custom, 129, 191, 205 et seq. Daintiness, 90 Dancer, Daniel, 119 Danger and curiosity, 335 conduct in, 101 Danger-cry, 102 Darwin, 80 Decalogue, the, 244, 249 Defaecation, 54 Deliberate action, 50 Deliberation, 52 Desire, 77 Diarists, indiscretions of, 137 Disapproval avoided, 155, 158, 169 how incurred, 155, 173, 243 Disease, 97 Disesteem, 145-7 INDEX 373 Dishonesty, 248 Dislike, 145 Disorder of conduct, 86 Divorce, 252 Dogs, 30, 102, 120, 123, 124 Dramatic interest, 85, 344 Dreyfus case, 163 Drunkards, kinds of, 94 Drunkenness, 92 Duelling, 201 Duty, 157 Earning of livelihood, 115 Eating, 78 Egotistic conduct, 226 Elaborate action, 5, 25 Elicited conduct, 5 Elicited morality, 129, 155, 243 Elicited social conduct, 128 Elwes, John, 119, 120 Endogamy, 276 Ends, 28, 30, 77, 79 Envy, 235 Epileptic automatism, 69 Esquimaux, 350 Esteem, 145-8 Evil speaking, 250 Examinations and suicide, 112 Exclusive possession, 299 Exogamy, 276 Explanation, meaning of, 240 Facility, 188 Factors in conduct, 7, 15 Failure, effects of, on others, 151 Faithfulness of wives, 277 Falling in love, 291 Falstaff, 146 Familiarity and curiosity, 334 Family, the social unit, 274 sanctity of, important, 277 Fashion, 129, 191, 254 Fashion and custom, 194-5 change of, 217 Fasting, 90 Female, in courtship, 289, 293 Fighting, honoured, 165 Filial conduct, 173, 311 First love, 292 Fishing, 321 Flight from danger, 103 Foker, Mr., 147 Food, selection of, 86 Force of character, 187, 219 Forks, 98 Fossilisation of reason, 30 Foundation of morality, 158, 202 Fox-hunting, 321 Freedom, and social life, 134 Friendship, 223 Galileo, 260, 360 Games, 197, 317, 321 Gentleman, natural, 184 Geophagy, 89 George IV., 198 Glory, desire for, 146 Gluttony, 90 Good manners, 184 Good spirits, 184 Grace of motion, 323 Habitual drunkenness, 92, 94 Hammurabi, 229 Hamster, 103, 262 Helmholtz, 325 Hermaphroditism, 294 Hermits, 131 High breeding, 251 Howard, John, 147 Hugiienots, 193 Idiocy, 89, 99, 114, 126 Illness, mollifying effect of, 263 Imbeciles, 99, 115, 126 Imbecility, moral, 178 Imitation, 64-7, 184 Income and expenditure, 115-18 Incongruity and curiosity, 334-8 Independence of character, 227 Indirectly vital conduct, 314 Inebriates, 95 Inebriety, 97 Infantile conduct, 4 Inheritance of acquired qualities, 60, 97 374 CONDUCT Inhibition, 46, 160 by attention, 139 social, 129, 133-6 Innovation, a source of weakness, 164 Inquisition, the, 175 Insect communities, 286 Insects, neuter, 286 Instinct, 12, 27, 80-86, 78, 83 disorder of, 86 self-regarding, 270, 288 Instinct of combat, 80 Instinct of property, 123 Instinct, social, 130 Instinctive action, 13, 44, 50, 59, 65-7 Instinctive and crude action, 69 Intolerance, religious, 253-8 Intoxication, 92 Investigation, 86, 315, 333-6, 342 and authority, 359 and religion, 359 Irreligion, in towns, 355 Jackdaw, hoarding by, 121 Jealous conduct, 299 Jealousy, 275, 300 Johnson, Dr. , on toleration, 256 Justice, 222 King, attacks on the, 161 Kittens, play in, 321 Knowledge, meaning of, 340 Kruger, President, 162 Lamb, Charles, 121 Latin, teaching of, 35, 206, 210 Law and custom, 200 object of, 272 Leading, 129, 186, 219 Liking, 145, 181 Linnaeus, 342 Liquidation of instinct, 36 Livelihood, earning, 115 Love, 283-5 at first sight, 296 Lowe, Robert, 141 Lust, 283 Macaulay, 295, 331 Malefactors, treatment of, 231 Maleficence, 129, 228 Marital conduct, 304 Marriage, mixed, 198 Martyrs, 172, 177 Matty, Miss, 250 Maxwell, Clerk, 343 Meanness, 118, 119, 227 Means, administration of, 115 Meg Merrilies, on death, 263 Misalliance, 146, 198, 291 Mill, J. S., on toleration, 256 Misanthropy, 129 Miserliness, 115-18 Modesty, sexual, 274, 283 Mohammedans, polygamy of, 281 Mole, reasoning in, 40 Monandry, 277 Monasticism, corruptions of, 295 Monkeys, social conduct of, 262 Monks, misconduct of, 131 Moral conduct, 155 Moral imbecility, 179 Morality and authority, 174 doctrine of, 173 elicited, 155, 242 foundation of, 158, 242 nature of, 272 spontaneous, 136, 167, 242, 261, 286 Morals and religion, 334 Motion, in nervous system, 4 Motive, anticipation of, 31, 160, 171, 338 Murder, 156, 245 Murderers, 231, 233 Mussels, 82 Mutilation and religion, 364 Napoleon, 147, 152, 163 Neuter insects, 286 New Dispensation, the, 252, 261 Newton, 342 Nidification, 17, 21, 37, 62 Notoriety, love of, 145 Obedience, filial, 311 INDEX 375 Obligation, sense of, 223 Obstinacy, 189 Occam's razor, 60, 61 Occasional drunkards, 96 Old maids, 292 Opinion, toleration of, 257 Oral expression, 136 Originality, 64 Overflow of instinct, 209 Paralysing eflfect of danger, 101, 105 of attention, 140-41 Paranoia, 246 Parental care, 173 conduct, 306 Paroxysmal drunkards, 95 Parturition, 53 Passive opposition, 104 Patriotism, 129, 163-6, 236-40 Pepys, 137 Perversion of conduct, 87 Philanthropy, 129, 240 Pickard, 67 Pilgrim Fathers, 193 Pious conduct, 313 Pitt, 238 Play, 71, 317, 322 Pleasure and liking, 182 Politicians, motives of, 165, 237 Polyandry, 276 Polygamy, 281 Popish Plot, 163 Pose, 142 Presence of others inhibitory, 136 Pride, 139, 145, 149 Priesthood, 295 Priest-ridden nations, 308 Primrose, Moses, 116 Privation of companionship, 130 Privilege, legal, 251 Prodigality, 49, 115 Property, 123 Provocation, 275 Punishment, 230 Puritan conduct, 49, 259, 310 Purposes, 77-81 Race, importance of, 172, 269 Racial conduct, 288 continuance, 80 instincts, 83 Rat, reason in, 40, 120-21, 262 Reason, 12 and choice, 46 increase of, 37 Reasoned imitation, 67 Reciprocation of conduct, 221 Recklessness, 245 Recreation and play, 317 importance of, 221, 324 Recreative conduct, 7, 84, 316-24 Reflex action, 6 Reid, Dr. Archdall, 91 Relative prodigality, 116-17 Religion and asceticism, 363 authority, 359 biological function of, 352, 367 investigation, 347, 359 morality, 157, 354 nature of, 86, 347 social value of, 315, 349 Religious ceremonial, 347, 352 conduct, 354, 362-7 instinct, 86 intolerance, 253-8 observance, 357 sanction, 352 Remuneration and work, 268, 318 Renunciation and social life, 267 Repetition of action, 56 Reproduction and self-sacrifice, 288 Retaliation, 225, 228 Reversal of conduct, 87, 313 of instinct, 87, 111, 308 Reward of toil, 268, 318 Richardson, novels of, 204 Right and wrong, 159, 161, 170-75 Robbery, 156 Robins, instinct of, 123 Roman law and custom, 200 Running, 61 Ruskin, 154 Sacrifice and social life, 257 Sanction, religious, 252, 271, 280 social, 271, 279 376 CONDUCT St. Dominic, 147 St. Francis, 147 St. Simeon Stylites, 364 Sanitation, duty of, 245 Satiation with drink, 93, 94 Scepticism, in towns, 356 Self-approval, 170 -conscious conduct, 179 -conservation, 79, 82, 88, 289 -control, 49, 93 -denial, 47 -depreciation, 152-4 -indulgence, 47, 134, 169 -injury. 111 -possession, 144 -regarding, and social instincts, 270, 288 -restraint, 47, 118, 169, 183, 243, 252, 288, 365 -sacrifice, 131, 257, 270, 288 -torture, 49 Sexual modesty, 274, 282-6 qualities, intermingled, 294, 296 Shadwell, Dr., 91 Sheep, why unintelligent, 41 Showing-off, 142 Shyness, 129, 143, 189, 250 Singing of birds, 62 Skating, 56 Skilful action, 73 Skill, 73 Skilled action, 73 Snails, eating of, 69 Sneezing, 53 Sobriety, 93 Social and self-regarding instincts, 270, 288 bees, 134 conduct, 128 inhibition, 129, 133 insects and religion, 351 Social instincts, 82, 129, 131-3 life, advantage of, 82, 288 Soldiers, popularity of, 165 Solitary confinement, 130 Spectator, the, 12 Spider, conduct of, 15, 18, 38, 44, 62 Spiders' webs, 15, 18, 37 Spoilt children, 309 Spontaneous action, 3, 25 conduct, 3 morality, 156, 167, 242-6, 261 patriotism, 163, 236 social conduct, 128 Sports, 319 Squirrel, hoarding by, 120 Stage fright, 141 Standard of beauty, 329 Starvation of the soul, 131 Stealing, 248 Stimulants, 91 Stirp, preservation of, 172, 314 Strife in societies, gregicidal, 275 Struggle for existence, 82 Suavity, 129, 181 Subordination, 129, 186 Success, effect of, 147, 234 Suicide, double, 302 from jealousy, 301 motives of, 112, 114, 247 Suttee, 198 Swift, Dean, 295 Swooning, a fashion, 204 Tact, 186, 251 Tests, religious, 253 Timidity, 107 Timon of Athens, 132 Tolerance, 253-8 Traitors, 162, 164, 239 Trappists, 364 Treason, 129, 161, 239 Unchastity, 168, 170-73 Uncleanliness, 100 Unemployment, 125 Unfamiliarity and curiosity, 334 Unskilful action, 73 Unskilled action, 73 Urination, 54 Uxorious conduct, 306 Valetudinarianism, 107 Vanity, 129, 145, 149 Vermin, 100 Vindictiveness, 225 INDEX 377 Violence, 246 Volition and conduct, 7 Voluntary action, 53, 57 Vomiting, 53, 90 Walking, 56, 61, 65 War, 274 Watt, James, 67 Weak, protection of, 262-6 Wealth, 269, 275 Wilfulness, 312 Will of the community, 259 William IV., 198 Witchcraft, 175 Woman, a monogamist, 293 Work and play, 71, 317, 322 and reward, 317 Writing, 56 Written and oral expression, 136 Wrong, nature of, 161 Yielding to force, 103 THE END Pfiniedhy R. & R. Claiuc, Limited, Edinburgh. BY THE SAME AUTHOR 8vo. I 2s. 6d. THE NERVOUS SYSTEM AND THE MIND A TREATISE ON THE DYNAMICS OF THE HUMAN ORGANISM CONTENTS Introduction. Part I. Functions of the Nervous System, A. Physical. Chap. I. The Nervous Discharge. II. The Nervous Resistance. B. Physiological. Chap. III. Muscular Actions, their Co-ordination and Inhibition. IV. Movements. V. Co-ordination of Movements. VI. The Nervous Mechanism of Co-ordination and Inhibition. Part II. Functions of the Nervous System. Psychological. Chap. VII. Conduct. VIII. The Nervous Mechanism of Conduct. Part III. Mind. Chap. IX. The Constitution of Mind. X. Thought. XI. Feeling. XII. Classification of Feelings, XIII. Classification of Feelings {continued). XIV. Classification of Feelings (coniinuect). Conclusion. 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