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 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
 
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 MY PROFESSIONAL LEADER 
 
 G. H. SAVAGE, M.D., F.RC.R 
 
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 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 
 
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 Introduction. 
 
 Part I. Functions of the Nervous System, 
 
 A. Physical. 
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 VI. The Nervous Mechanism of Co-ordination and 
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 XIII. Classification of Feelings {continued). 
 
 XIV. Classification of Feelings (coniinuect). 
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