}Oll CSforttcU Utttoetaitg Siihrarg Dtltaca. S^eiii lack BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND THE GIFT OF HENRY W. SAGE 1891 >uk copy the call No. and give to the hm-arian. HOME USE RULES All Books subject to Recall • All borrowers must regis- ....f. ,# ter in the library to borrow t ' books for home use. FEB 6 1948 M turned at end of college year for inspection and t TCb 5 [J/Q B R Limited books must be re- ^^ turned within the four week limit and not renewed. - Students must return all books before leaving town. l|jl¥f'«Mi(#"*8T^fflBfi i tf Officers should arrange for the return of books wanted during their absence from town. Volumes of periodicals ' \:i- and of pamphlets are held < in the^ library as much as " possible. For special pur- poses they are given out for """' a limited time. Borrowers should not use their library privileges for - the benefit of other persons. Books of special value and gift books, when the giver wishes it, are not allowed to circulate. « Readers are asked to re- port all cases of bocfks " marked or mutilated. JH not deface books by marks and writing. Cornell University Library BJ1011 .H66 3 1924 028 960 024 olin The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924028960024 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA • MADRAS MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK ■ BOSTON • CHICAGO DALLAS • SAN FRANCISCO THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. TORONTO SELF AND NEIGHBOUR ^n Ethical Study BY EDWARD W. HIRST M.A.(LOND.), B.Sc.(OX0N.) MACMILLAN AND CO.. LIMITED ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON 1919 4. ^.s%'SQ,x^ COPYRIGHT GLASGOW ; PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY TRESS BV ROBERT MACI-EHOSE AND CO. l.TD. TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER AND TO MY WIFE i^crav 6e wpocTKapTtpovvTti . . , Ty KOivtavif. Ads of the Apostles, ch. ii. v. 42. ' Come, I will make this continent indissoluble, I will make the most splendid race the sun ever shone upon, I will make Divine magnetic land With the love of comrades, The life-long love of comrades.' Walt Whitman. ' For life, with all it yields of joy and woe. And hope and fear. . . Is just our chance o' the prize of learning love, How love might be, hath been indeed, and is.' Browning. 'Tous les corps ensemble, et tous les esprits ensemble, et toutes leurs productions, ne valent pas le moindre mouvement de charitd, car elle est d'un ordre infiniment plus dlevd' Pascal : Mission et grandeur de Jisus-Christ. PREFACE The object of this book is to give an old principle of conduct a strengthened basis. It seems desirable to attempt this in view of the period of Reconstruction which is now dawn- ing. ' Nowhere,' says Prof. Percy Gardner in a recent work, ' is reconstruction more necessary than in the ethical foundations of conduct. How unsatisfactory these founda- tions have been in modern States, the course of the war itself has shown, when every nation has been accusing its opponent of utter want of principle.' In addition to the special demand of the present crisis, the fact that in popular thought the test of goodness has increasingly come to be social, calls for a reconsideration of traditional moral theory, which since the time of Hume has been mostly individualistic in its cast. This discrepancy between moral ideals is also revealed whenever Philosophical and Christian Ethics are compared. Such divergence is a source of perplexity to many, especially to junior Theological students, as the writer can bear witness from a ten years' experience of teaching. It is hoped, therefore, that this Essay may succeed in supplying the principle of Fraternity with a somewhat firmer foundation, that it may harmonise scientific with popular views of conduct, and that it may lessen, if not entirely remove, the gap that has too long existed between the ethics of theory and of authority. viii PREFACE Accordingly, it seemed necessary for our purpose first to pass in review representative ethical systems, in order that their individualism, and consequent inadequacy, might be made apparent. This portion of the work does not, of course, pretend to be exhaustive. On the contrary, I have tried to make it as brief as possible, partly because it traverses ground which has frequently been worked over, and partly because a longer treatment might overstrain the patience of the reader. But it appeared advisable to take some account of the chief moral theories, in order to define our special problem, and to reveal the necessity for the discussion that follows in Part II. As the reader will discover, the author is indebted to many sources of help. He has tried to make due acknow- ledgment. Now and again he has ventured to reproduce at some length other writers' criticisms, when these have become more or less standardised, and where they serve merely to speed the incidental progress of the argument. Not least among his helpers have been those thinkers whom he has been unable always to follow. He would like to record in particular his obligation to the writings of Dr. Hastings Rashdall. It is hoped that these frequent refer- ences to philosophical literature may be not unwelcome, especially to younger students, and that, for them, the work may serve the purpose in some degree of a supplementary text-book. In conclusion, the writer desires to express his thanks to those who have assisted him in the preparation of this volume for the press. Chap. VI. in Part II. was originally contributed as an article to Mind, and appears here by permission of the Editor. To his friends. Dr. H. J. Watt, Revs. T. M. Watt, A. C. Hill and J. Murphy, M.A., B.D., the PREFACE ix last-named of whom made the Indf x, the author is indebted for much stimulus. Dr. R. A. Duff of the University of Glasgow, in spite of his busy life and exacting duties, most generously helped in the revision of the proof, and removed from the text many faults of expression. Nor is the writer forgetful of the guidance and encouragement he received at an earlier stage in Oxford from Prof. J. A. Stewart. Quite recently he had the good fortune also to have the type- script copy of this work read by Prof. J. S. Mackenzie, who gave valuable advice, and suggested certain alterations and additions without which the book would be much more imperfect than it is. His assistance was as kind as it was useful. E. W. HIRST. JORDANHILL, GLASGOW, January, 1919. CONTENTS TAGE INTRODUCTION xiii FART I INADEQUACY OF THE DOCTRINE OF GOOD AS PRIVATE CHAPTER I Egoism i CHAPTER II Universalistic Hedonism 13 CHAPTER III Perceptional Intuitionism 18 CHAPTER IV The Kantian Ethic 30 CHAPTER V Quasi-Social Intuitionism 41 CHAPTER VI Spencer's Conciliation -------- 49, xi xii CONTENTS PART II GOODNESS AS COMMUNITY CHAPTER I PAGE The Ethical Recognition of the 'Alter' - - - - 6o CHAPTER II Green's Doctrine of Common Good 82 CHAPTER III The Teaching of Green -and D'Arcv Examined - - 91 CHAPTER IV Common Good as Community no CHAPTER V Common Good as Community {concluded) - - - - 118 CHAPTER VI The Psychology of Inter-subjectivk Intercourse - - 133 CHAPTER VII Conscience and Community - - 152 CHAPTER VIII The Metaphysic of Community 172 CHAPTER IX The Metaphysic of Community {concluded) - - - - 212 CHAPTER X The Principle of Community Applied - - - - 258 APPENDIX 281 INDEX 287 INTRODUCTION The work that follows is a study in ethical theory. Its first part is historical and critical ; its second portion is a short essay in the Reconstruction of ethical doctrine. A review of the chief classical theories of morals will reveal in them, we think, the presence of a common defect. They are defective, as we try to show, in that they regard virtue, like health, as something which refers essentially to the individual, and which can be privately attained : they imply that a man may be good in himself and all alone. ' The Kantian, and indeed nearly aU modern, theory,' says a recent writer, ' rests on the assumption that the individual is an end in himself.' * Few, of course, would dispute the fact that the individual is an end in himself in the sense that he is a moral agent, and is subject only to the constraint of his own conscience. Morahsts, however, have tradition- ally regarded the individual as an end in himself in a sense which seems to us inadmissible. They have virtually conceived his life as isolated and detached, and have supposed that, Uke some Robinson Crusoe, he could be good aU alone. It is not, of course, suggested that the standard writers on ethics consciously contemplate the individual as a Robinson Crusoe. On the contrary, they make ample recognition of the fact that the individual lives his life in society. Indeed, any theory which did not in some manner take account of this social environment would surely be fantastic. All schools of ethical thought acknowledge that a man has neighbours. Even those thinkers who favour a doctrine of Egoism admit the existence and import- 1 Mr. G. D. H. Cole. xiv INTRODUCTION " ance of Society ; though, for Egoism, neighbours are no more than means to the good or the happiness of the indi- vidual, who is not simply an end in himself, but actually becomes the only end, and holds the monopoly of what is good. The social references made by moralists of other schools are not as significant for ethics as they appear to be. For it is still maintained that the self can be moral apart from any attitude to his neighbour. Any such attitude is but incidental, and not essential, to one's morality. Goodness is thus regarded, if not as monopersonal, at least as uniper- sonal. And it follows from this position that, when the self is good, he is good with a goodness different from that which he practises towards his neighbours. The goodness which is his own is ethical in its nature ; the goodness which he seeks to confer on others is not in the same sense moral. In the one case, for instance, duty may constitute goodness ; in the other case, happiness. If, however, there be one ' end ' for self and another for neighbour, we are saddled with a serious dualism. This contradiction has been emphasised by Dr. Hastings Rash- dall, who has characterised it as a DuaUsm of the Practical Reason. Usually such an expression has been employed to describe a moral conflict of a somewhat different type, viz. the opposition which often occurs in the individual's own life between duty and interest. It is with such a mean- ing that Sidgwick uses it in the last chapter of his Methods of Ethics. The duaUsm, however, that emerges between the ' ends ' of self and neighbour respectively is the more serious in its nature, in that it challenges the consistency not of one's practice alone, but of one's whole ethical theory. We must not be deceived by the apparently social nature of the teaching of certain well-known Schools of Ethics. The Moral Sense School in particular make much of the duty of Benevolence and the principle of Sympathy. But their recognition of the social affections has, as we shall try to show, a psychological rather than an ethical importance : they really teach a doctrine of moral individualism. It is, INTRODUCTION xv of course, strange that in such writers as Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, Butler, Hume, and Adam "Smith there should be abundant recognition of the interaction between the indi- vidual and his neighbours, and yet no sense of the problem which such interaction raises, nor any inkling of that vital ethical unity of ' ego ' with ' alter ' which seems to be the essence of goodness. To these old thinkers, as also to more recent moralists, our neighbours are of no more importance than to present incidental claims to our Conscience, or to be the mere objects of our Compassion. Now it seems to us that this interaction of the self with his neighbour, which is of such consequence for psychology as to make all psychology Social Psychology, must be signifi- cant also for Ethics. As the natural and adequate object for a self is not so much a ' thing ' as another self, so this inevitable relationship between selves would seem to be the subject-matter of Ethics, whose task it is to determine what attitude between the individual and his neighbour is ideal. It is curious that even Kant, while acknowledging that the individual is a self in a world of selves, should neverthe- less fail to draw out of this interpersonal relationship its full ethical significance. Goodness, for Kant, is no more than something which can be made appUcable to each person ; and between self and neighbour there remains a chasm which is not reaUy bridged. It is our aim in this book to show that goodness is not merely some form of similar activity of self and neighbour, but is reaUy an attitude of each to the other, the promotion indeed of a spiritual unity. Goodness, in a word, is Com- munity. In Part II. we shall begin with a reference to the ancient and widespread acceptance which this ideal of Community has enjoyed in popular thought as distinguished from academic theory. We shall note the support which it re- ceived from certain philosophers like Plato, Aristotle, Rousseau, and Comte. Separate chapters will be devoted to the exposition and criticism of the doctrine of Common xvi INTRODUCTION Good as it was held by the late T. H. Green, and as it is still taught by such writers as Dr. C. F. D'Arcy. We shall ourselves offer an exposition of Community, in the course of which we shall discuss at length the Golden Rule as the practical embodiment of the principle. Certain critical questions will be considered, such as that of the relation of love to its so-called content ; if love is the only good, what, it will be asked, does love do ? A foundation for this principle of Community, both in Psychology and Metaphysics, will, of course, be necessary. It must be shown, first of all, that love between self and neighbfiur is a possible and natural form of human activity ; and in! this connection a somewhat prolonged inquiry will be made into the nature of inter-subjective intercourse. We hope to estabUsh the positions that the individual knows himself and his neighbour by a co-intuition ; that such knowledge is organised into the system of the great Instincts, such as the Parental Instinct ; that in the case, for instance, of the recognition by the parent of her child, perception of the alter ego is facilitated by a certain pre- judiced observation, which is really ' apperception.' But the extreme tenderness with which the recognition of offspring is accompanied reveals the existence of preju- dice of another kind which is very significant for our purpose. The mother not only knows her child, but ' feels for ' it : she regards it with a care which is at least equal to that with which she regards herself : indeed, she acts for it as for her- self. This type of sympathy naturally tended to extend itself beyond the bounds of the Family. It was felt and practised in relation to members of the same Tribe. The individual clansman ' stood by his kin.' Out of fear for, or loyalty to, his Chief the constituent unit in the Tribe was concerned to maintain the common good of his people. As time passed by, tribal devotion developed into a wider loyalty, and a regard even for the interests of humanity began to express itself in the form of a Conscience, — ^which, as it has been said, was but ' an imitation of Tribal Govern- ment set up in the breast ' of the individual. INTRODUCTION xvii But we have to prove not merely that it is possible for a man to love his neighbours. There is a question which is still more fundamental, viz. whether one's neighbour exists. For his existence seems jeopardised by certain metaphysical theories like that of Absolute Idealism, according to which finite souls seem sometimes to be regarded as nothing more than illusory appearances in a Solipsistic Experience. We shall have to discuss this matter at some length before arriving at our conclusion that finite selves are real. The subject of the inter-relations of persons will next fall to be considered. We shall describe the social unity as Super-Organic rather than Organic. Finite selves, how- ever, do not form a system which is ontologically self- sufficient ; and we shall be compelled to postulate a Ground for this system of selves as a sufficient reason for all that it sustains. Justification will be offered for regarding this ground as Personal, and its activity as Creative. The various types of love by which souls are drawn together will next be considered, such as sexual attraction, friendship, philanthropy, and parental affection. We shall suggest that sex-love and friendship, in proportion as they become fully developed, tend to approximate to the parental model and to become ' protective ' ; and we shall give reasons for considering the last as the typical form of attraction between one human being and another. This protective type of love, which in the first instance js shown by a parent to a child, has latent in it a tendency to universality, and any feeling of human brotherhood seems but an extension of domestic solicitude. We shall discuss how far this, pro- tective principle is adumbrated by Nature, and shall gO' on to inquire whether it receives any ultimate justification from the constitution of the Universe. This investigation into the validity of the principle of Community will involve our taking up the subject of Value.* While we seek a basis of Value in Metaphysics, we do not think that it can be found there alone, independently * For references to the subject of Value see pp. 158, 165 sq., 245 sq., 255 sq. xviii INTRODUCTION of Ethics or Psychology. As the whole man is involved in the appreciation of value, so the sciences of mind, of conduct, and of being in general are all needed for the determination of the valuable. If the valuable be regarded as the desirable, then it must, on the one hand, have some relation to what is, or can be, desired ; and, on the other hand, it must involve some reference to the nature X)f the Universe as a whole. It is true that the desirable may come to be apprehended with a certain immediacy, and may seem to be possessed of an inherent authority. But the so-called intuitions of conscience reveal within themselves elements that may be called ' religious ' or ' metaphysical ' according to the point of view. The feeling of ' constraint ' in conscience, which seems to be a survival or relic of the tribal mind, implies a certain religious outlook upon the world, and has in fact been described as the voice of God in the soul. When thought tries to express in speculative form this ' faith ' which is implicit in conscience, it discovers how dependent morality is upon the nature of the Universe. It is easy to see, for instance, that in a Universe of a certain type the practice of brotherhood wOuld be impossible, or irrelevant. In this way Ethics depends upon Metaphysics, as well as bases itself upon Psychology. But there is, in addition, a certain reaction, so to speak, of Ethics upon Metaphysics. For the world that yields the possibility of goodness must itself be so far good. Reality that allows of morality must itself be in one sense moral. And the mind inevitably tends to attribute to Reality the goodness which is based upon it. In our exercise of parental solicitude we find it easy to conceive of the Deity as a Father. His created world reveals His ' protective ' activity. The Universe is thus a moral product, and, from this point of view, the ought and the is are indistinguishable. This belief in the supreme Father makes brotherhood reasonable. Faith in Him helps us to conceive of humanity not only as a unity, but as a family. Men must by their own choice be brothers, because the Universe has constituted them such. They must honour with their wills the status which is theirs by INTRODUCTION xix nature. Thus Love both receives ifom, and gives to, Reality a rationale. A short chapter on the Application of the Principle of Community will bring the work to a close. We shall con- sider the bearing of Love on personal, social, industrial, national, and international life. In conclusion, we shall argue that Brotherhood cannot be a mere matter of social polity or economic system, but is rather the manifestation of a certain spirit which depends for its vitality and inspira- tion upon the energy of that reUgious Faith which is implicit in Conscience. PART I INADEQUACY OF THE DOCTRINE OF GOOD AS PRIVATE CHAPTER I EGOISM It has been often observed that the crucial problem of ethics is the passage from the good of the individual to the good of his neighbour. All good, of course, is the good of an individual in the sense that his duty is to seek it, and that it has its origin in his will. But such good, as to its content, must have some relation, negative or positive, to the good of others ; and any ethical theory stands or falls by its successful treatment or otherwise of just this relation. We shall endeavour to show that the typical ethical systems, being reaUy systems which regard good as ' private,' cannot satisfactorily make this transition from self to neighbour. Attempts have often been made to effect the transition, but their failure is evidenced by a constantly recurring ' dualism of the practical reason' which seems inevitable and remains unresolved. At the risk of repeating much that is already known to the student of ethics, we will, in the interests of a systematic discussion, begin by a considera- tion of the position of the ' alter ' in Hedonism. We begin with Egoistic Hedonism as being in some ways the simplest case. However irrational the view may be, thfere have been thinkers who have maintained that the ultimate end of each individual's action should be his own greatest happi- H.S.N. A 2 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR ness.^ This position may be abundantly illustrated from the British Moralists. In his Deontology, for example, Bentham explicitly says that we are to seek the happiness of others on account of its conduciveness to our own. In vol. i. ch. xii. there is a discussion of what is called ' Extra- regarding Prudence,' and the conclusion arrived at is that the ' principle of self ' produces the social affections, and uses them as its instrument. ' Self-regarding calculation cannot leave out of view the happiness of others.' We further read in vol. ii. ch. i. p. 35 that ' Though a man's happiness is naturally and necessarily his primary and ultimate object, yet that happiness is so dependent on the conduct of others towards him, as to make the regulation and direction of the conduct of others towards him an object of prudential care.' Though we cannot be quite certain how far these are Bentham's own statements, they are nevertheless in accordance with his general view. Paley, too, in his work on the Principles of Moral and Political Philosophy (1785), bk. i. ch vii., defines virtue as ' the doing good to mankind, in obedience to the will of God and for the sake of everlasting happiness,' adding that the good, i.e. the happiness of mankind, is the subject, but one's own everlasting happiness is the motive, of human virtue. That is to say, we must pursue the happiness of others in order to secure and further pleasure for ourselves. Paley's system differs from Bentham's in being more ' theo- logical,' since he insists that rewards and punishments after death should enter into the calculation. All those thinkers who, Mke Bentham and Paley, tirge the pursuit of the general happiness as the means for further- ing one's own, are really Egoists. The early Utilitarians were of this class. Being ' Psychological Hedonists,' and maintaining that the individual must always act for his own pleasure, their ' utilitarianism ' was simply egoism thinly veiled. And the coincidence of the public with the private 1 Prof. Henry Sidgwick, indeed, regarded Egoism as one of the ' Methods ' of Ethics, EGOISM 3 happiness was based either on enjpirican or theological grounds. John Brown, writing on the Motives to Virtue (1751), held with John Clarke and Gay that the only reason or motive by which individuals can possibly be persuaded to the practice of virtue must be ' the feeUng immediate, or the prospect of future, private happiness.' ^ Tucker also agrees with Gay that, human nature being essentially egoistic, it is impossible to vindicate objectively altruistic conduct without taking into account the future life. The foregoing type of Egoism uses the ' social affections ' as the instrument of private happiness. But in Hobbes we have an Egoism of a somewhat different kind.® Accord- ing to Hobbes, men are essentially anti-social, and desire always the subjugation of their fellows. Notwithstanding, however, that in his opinion the end of action is the preservation of the individual, he nevertheless held that ' as reason is no less a part of human nature than any other faculty or affection of the mind,' duties to others are pre- scribed as the rational method of securing the egoistic end. Apparently this is supposed to make Egoism ' rational.' But that this is not really the case will be seen, when we remember that, according to Hobbes in the Leviathan, there is nothing simply and absolutely good or evil. ' What- ever is the object of any man's appetite or desire, that it is which he for his part caUeth " good," and the object of his hate and aversion " evil." ' But as man's one desire is for power, the interest of this very egoistic impulse of the individual will necessarily demand the prevention of the internecine strife consequent on such a desire if unrestrained. To secure this needful peace, wisdom ^ This coincidence was based on such empirical facts as the pleasures ol sympathy, whether natural, or artificial (so to speak) through association. ^ His distinctive position is that only Religion, ' the lively and active beUef of an aU-seeing and all-powerful God, who will hereafter make men happy or miserable according as they designedly promote or violate the happiness of their fellow-creatures ' — only this will make the naturally selfish man benevolent. ' Cf. Albee, History of English Utilitarianism, p. 171. 4 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR prescribes government by a monarch whose will as to his subjects' duties is universal and absolute. For the sake, therefore, of peace and self-defence, a man should be willing along with others to hand over to the sovereign his personal freedom and his right to all things. It becomes the func- tion of the civil power thereafter to direct the actions of men to the common benefit. Now this doctrine of Hobbes, in spite of appearances to the contrary, effects no real rationalisation of Egoistic action. Hobbes accepts it as a psychological truth that the individual must always act in his own interest and for his own preservation. To recognise the wiU of the monarch as supplying ' objective ' guidance for conduct is simply the device of a wisdom that thinks to take the best means to accomplish its end. But such guidance is ' objective ' only in the sense that it is the constraint of an external authority, and not in the sense that it is universally and inherently reasonable. Indeed, Hobbes leaves us without an ethic and gives no reasoned support -,ior his Egoism. Thus we cannot agree with Albee ^ that in Hobbes' Egoism there is any ' objectivity ' worth the name. Nor does it appear that Egoism can ever have ' objec- tivity.' In so far as Egoism claims to be an ' ethic,' and not a psychology of desire, it teaches that what one ' ought ' to pursue is the greatest good of oneself — which is usually regarded as meaning one's own greatest happiness. But it would be impossible to universaUse such a good, not merely because one's own happiness is necessarily unique in its nature, but because the position of the ' alter ' is thereby mortgaged, so to speak, and reduced to the status of a mere ' means ' to the good of a particular ego. It is im- possible, thereafter, to rehabilitate the ' alter ' without a certain irrationality. Modern moralists have not been slow to point this out. Thus Dr. Hastings Rashdall remarks : ' It can, I believe, be shown that all Egoism (whether the good be conceived of as Pleasure or anj^hing else) is absolutely and irredeemably irrational, since it ^ History of English UHUtarianism, p. 383. EGOISM 5 involves a contradiction. Good mejns " ought to be pur- sued," and Egoism makes it reasonable for me to assert that " my good is the only thing to be pursued," while it pronounces that my neighbour is right in denying that proposition and in asserting that his pleasure is the only thing to be pursued. Therefore contradictory proposi- tions are both true.' ^ Much the same criticism, as Dr. Rashdall acknowledges, had been previously made by Dr. G. E. Moore in his Principia Ethica, p. 99 : ' If, there- fore, it is true of any single man's " interest " or " happi- ness " that it ought to be'his sole ultimate end, this can ■ only mean that that man's " interest " or " happiness " is the sole good, the Universal Good, and the only thing that anybody ought to aim at.' Thus Egoism may be said to teach a doctrine of Ethical Sohpsism and in this way to lead either to unreahty or contradiction. It leads to unreality if it implies that there are no other people in the world besides the Egoist in question ; otherwise it leads to con- tradiction by maintaining that any particular Egoist both should and should not seek to promote the good of another. But this Une of criticism is by no means merely a modern one. We find it stated as long ago as Cumberland, who in the De Legibus Naturae (V. xvi. 2) quaintly writes : ^ ' If right reason instructs Titius that his greatest happiness, which he is to pursue as his ultimate end, consists in the enjoyment of a plenary property in the possessions, and in the absolute dominion over the persons of Seius and Sempronius and of all others, right reason cannot dictate to Seius and Sempronius that their happiness, the object of their pursuits {i.e. the object which they are morally justified in pursuing), consists in the enjoyment of plenary ' Ethics (People's Books), p. 63, note 2. Dr. Rashdall has expressed the same criticism more recently : ' I say that A's good is the only good in the world and ought to be promoted by everyone, including B, and at the same time I say that B should think his own good as the only good in the world. Egoism, therefore, involves an internal contradiction.' Cf. Conscience and Christ, Duckworth, p. 137, note. = Quoted by F. C. Sharp in Mind, N.S., No. 83. 6 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR property in the possessions and dominion over the person of Titius and of all others. For these contain a manifest contradiction.' And Cumberland concludes, ' Therefore only one of these dictates can be supposed true. But since there is no cause why the happiness of one of these should be his ultimate end {i.e. the end which he is morally justi- fied in pursuing as his all-inclusive end) rather than that the happiness of another should likewise be his ultimate end, we may conclude that reason dictates to neither that he should propose to himself his own happiness only as his greatest end.' It follows, therefore, from what has just been said that Egoism has not only no doctrine of the ' alter ' which is satisfactory, but that the existence of the ' alter ' becomes such an embarrassment to the theory as to make it con- tradictory and absurd. Egoism must consequently be abandoned as an impossible doctrine of the good in conduct. It may be weU to notice that there is a type of Altruism which involves the same kind of contradictoriness as that of Egoism. All those views which maintain that it is a duty to seek the ' good ' of another involve an inherent absurdity similar to that just considered. The result is an Ethical SoUpsism in the sense that the good to be pursued and promoted is the good of some other person than your- self, and for whom you exist a,s a mere means. We may add a few remarks on Egoism in German Philosophy as represented in particular by Stirner and Nietzsche. Our quotations of Stirner are taken from the English translation of The Ego and his Own. Sometimes Stirner seems to deprecate even a theory of conduct, sa5iing that a man is ' called ' to nothing (p. 435), and that there is no ' should-be self ' (p. 438), adding that ' one is not capable for anjrthing that one does not really do.' But of course the very work itself from which these quotations are taken is an effort to show a certain course of conduct to be ' right ' or ' reasonable.' And an ideal is impMcit in the determina- tion the author makes not to be the slave of his appetites (p. 445), and the recognition that even smugglers could EGOISM 7 substitute for their instinctive egoism ' an account ' of their doings (p. 437). What Stirner contends for is that each one should care, not so much for his own happiness, as his own freedom, Ufe, property, etc. Much of his work is a bitter con- demnation of all such forms of authority as exist in the institutions of State, Church, Class, in Social Opinion, or Moral Traditions. These things are aU t5nrannical ' spooks ' : they are ghostly reahties that obsess the mind of the indi- vidual. Even ' Man ' or Humanity is an abstraction to which the individual is wrongly called to sacrifice himself. The business of the Ego is to concern himself solely with his own, in antagonism to every kind of authority that would enslave him. ' Become each of you an almighty Ego ' (p. 216). There is no right as distinguished from might, save that the only ' right ' procedure is that the individual should do whatever he has the power to do (pp. 248, 249, and 274). The world exists simply ' to quiet the hunger of my Egoism ' (p. 394). Other persons likewise exist only to be used (p. 415). ' No one is my equal, but I regard him equally with aU other beings as my property ' (p. 414). There is a good deal of Stirner's argument which is beside the point. He makes the common mistake of confusing what may be called the ontological and the ethical self. An3rthing a man does is of course necessarily ' his own ' in the sense that it is his deed and not the deed of another. But the mere activity of the Ego is not, as Stirner often seems to imply, the same as Egoism. A man is not egoistic or selfish merely because he nourishes himself (cf. p. 171). Neither is a man 'who cares about God' (p. 213) necessarily self-interested because the ' caring ' is his own. Egoism as such arises only through a certain attitude of the Ego to others whereby the latter are exploited. There is of course in other parts of Stirner's work abundant proof, as the foregoing extracts wiU show, that he advocates a thorough subordination of all other selves to the interests of one self. In pursuing his argument for Egoism he draws sharp 8 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR contrasts between Man and individual men ; Human Reason and private reason or ' unreason ' so-called ; the freedom of the State and individual Uberty ; Property as legally constituted by Society and property as a personal possession.^ These contrasts axe drawn too absolutely and are based upon a false opposition. It is easy to see, for instance, that you cannot separate ' Man ' from indi- vidual man, or secure any freedom for the single person which is not buttressed by Society, or obtain any property for self into which social factors have not entered. The whole of Stirner's argument, however, impHes a psychology and a metaphysic which are (as we hope here- after to show) false. He does, of course, accept the exist- ence of other selves in addition to that of the Ego, but he does this only to deny them ethical significance. That denial involves a doctrine of Ethical Solipsism like that which we have already considered in connection with British Egoism, with its inevitable duahsm or contradiction. As we saw, it asserts that my good is the only thing to be pursued, and at the same time allows that my neighbour would be right in densdng such a proposition and in substituting his own good for mine. A ' union ' (p. 415) of individuals on this basis would not be hkely to endure long. It is a question how far the view of Stirner is reproduced in Nietzsche. The two writers are of course vastly differ- ent in many ways. Dr. Figgis ^ insists that they teach a different doctrine. ' The superman, as the creator of a high culture, is a very different ideal from the ego with aU the world for his box of toys.' ' That the ideal is dif- ferent in many respects may be granted : it is differently approached and differently worked out. But we beUeve that, as teachers of Egoism, Stirner and Nietzsche reduce to very much the same thing. A certain difficulty, of course, arises from the literary form in which the latter embodied his teaching — a style which, while having its 1 Cf. pp. 326, 329. " In The Will to Freedom (Longmans, 1917), p. 208 sq. ' Op. cit. p. 210. EGOISM 9 own charm, is at times ambiguous and even cryptic. Inter- preters differ,! for instance, as to the kiftd of ' power ' which Nietzsche regeirded as the characteristic possession of his Supermen. But the main outUnes of his teaching are clear. Nietzsche denies the doctrine of human equaUty.^ Some men, he says, are of mediocre nature and capacity, and should be allowed to live their own lives among their own class or ' herd,' amenable to their own rules of conduct. The function of such a class, to which most of the people of the world belong, is subsidiary. They are ' the foundation upon which a higher species may live their higher life — upon which they can stand.' ' The justification of the levelled-down species is ' that it exists for the service of a higher and sovereign race which stands upon it and can only be elevated upon its shoulders to the task which it is destined to perform.' * This higher race of Supermen is ' a kind of conquering and ruhng natures,' a yea-saying race with an overflow of energy ' for beauty, bravery, culture and manners.' For such a race a special code of behaviour is appropriate. ' The leaders of the herd require a funda- mentally different valuation for their actions, as do also the independent ones or the beasts of prey.' ^ The Supermen are the embodiment of the ' Will to Power.' This, however, is not the same as the will to pleasure.* It is denied by some interpreters '' that the ' power ' in question refers to brute strength, although Nietzsche's language at times has a suggestion of this. The ' power ' of the Superman is generally taken by expositors as meaning at least the power of a rich, self-reliant, and adventurous personality. He must have a wealth and strength of instincts. Not that impxilses should be allowed to grow wild. The Superman, indeed, gives himself to stern discipline until he has sub- jected his impulses to harmonious organisation. » Wolf, The Philosophy of Nietzsche, p. 98. * Will to Power, vol. ii. p. 312 (Eng. tran.). ' Op. cit. p. 329. * Op. cit. p. 328. 6 Op. cit. vol. i. p. 237. ° Op. cit. vol. ii. p. 205. ' By Dr. Wolf, op. cit. 10 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR Nietzsche sometimes writes as though the differences of order or rank among men are determined by native capa- city, and remarks that one's place in any order ' is not any- thing to be either proud or ashamed of — but just a fact to be recognised.' ^ Beethoven, for instance, is mentioned as a specimen of the super-race — as are Goethe, Shakespeare, etc. It is true of course that Beethoven could not have achieved the composition of the ' Immortal Ninth ' without a hfe- long discipline such as a Superman is supposed to undergo. But it is also true that mere discipline could never have produced the Choral S3anphony. Beethoven was bom and not made. And so far as Beethoven exemphfies the order of Superman, such a race is largely independent of the will and is not ethically constituted. But it is also clear that Nietzsche beheved that men could fit themselves for being Supermen.^ In accordance with this we must hold that mediocrity and aristocracy respectively are not determined merely by condition, capacity, or endowment, but also by the character of the wiU which determines a man to occupy his appropriate rank. The Superman is such because he harmonises his wealth of instincts in a ' noble ' way. Beyond this point we have not much guidance from Nietzsche, and in traversing the rest of the way we must be guided by what seems to us the logic of his position. He admits that every instinct is a sort of thirst for power. He appears also to admit that instincts differ in their quality, for he says ' higher man is a combination of the monster and the superman.' * And he admits at one and the same time that ' man should lead his passions by a bridle, ' * and that ' the strong nature never does anything against his grain.' " How are these various sayings to be reconciled ? Is the ' grain ' of a man's nature an actual tendency, or is it a norm ? That it cannot be an actual or undisciplined tendency seems evident ; not merely on the ground that Nietzsche 1 Cp. Wolf, op. cit. p. 93. 2 Qp ^n p JJ2. ' Will to Power, Dionysius, vol. ii. p. 405. ^ Ibid. p. 346. ' Op. cit. p. 341. EGOISM II advocates stern discipline for the Superman, but also on the ground that discipline would seem to be necessary in view of the internecine struggle for power among the instincts. The struggle will call for decision. One of the instincts must come out ' on top ' ; if not permanently, yet alternately. What then is the criterion of the rich, full life supposed to be characteristic of the Superman ? What is the principle in accordance with which the instincts in conflict must be harmonised ? Nietzsche denies that it is happiness. It can scarcely mean the gratification of each instinct in its turn ; for this would realise no such ideal of ' strength ' or ' culture ' as that by which Nietzsche identifies the Superman. It would therefore seem to mean such a gratification of instinct as will realise abnormal power of body and mind, and give physical, artistic, or intellectual mastery among men. This is an ideal which of course will involve discipHne and self-sacrifice. But it is an ideal which has for its aim the realisation or assertion of the self or ego through the culture which it achieves in the aforementioned respects. And it is an egoistic ideal ; for in the quest of health, beauty, or knowledge there is nothing which essentially involves the realisation of similar goods for your neighbour. Nietzsche, indeed, very pertin- ently observed that the choice spirits of the world would be ' cold,' masterly and ' lonely.' ^ This is not to say, of course, that they would not live in a populated world. Not only does he suppose a race of Supermen,^ but he takes it for granted that there will be hosts of mediocre men. He even goes so far as to admit * that the Supermen will bless the mediocre by the overflowing of their rich personaUties. But this can mean only that the mediocre will experience some of the beneficial effects of the culture of the Supermen, since in a social world no one can pursue, attain, and enjoy any form of good quite alone. There is no proof of any closer identification of the interests of the mediocre and ' Will to Power, vol. ii. p. 384. ' At any rate, at times lie supposes such a race. ' Will to Power, vol. i. p. 309. 12 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR the Supermen. The mediocre merely receive crumbs that fall from the Superman's table. For the rest, the Super- man's ' end ' is personal and private ; it is his own exclusive self which he seeks to realise. And this seems to us to lead once again to an Ethical Sohpsism. There has, it may be added, been much controversy as to whether Nietzsche really taught that there could be a race of, or only a few, Supermen. We think that logically there can be only one Superman. For, once more, if the aim of the Superman is to secure merely his own culture, he can only look on all other people, even on other would-be Supermen, as instrumental to his own end. And any other such Superman must be imagined to take the same point of view (which, however, he cannot do without contradiction). Logically, there can be but one Master, all other men being his slaves. We propose in a later chapter to discuss this position of Ethical Solipsism to which we have reduced the teaching of Nietzsche, and in particular to refer to the distinction he draws between the ethical status of the Supermen and the mediocre. CHAPTER II UNIVERSALISTIC HEDONISM Having considered the failure of Egoism to provide any satisfactory account of the relation between ' ego ' and ' alter,' we go on to inquire into the position of the ' alter ' in Universalistic Hedonism or Utihtarianism. It is generally agreed that J. S. MUl failed in his effort to effect the transition from ' each for himself ' to ' each for all.' As his arguments have so often been dealt with and exhaustively criticised, it is unnecessary to repeat either them or their refutation. Our purpose will be better served if we take such ' proofs ' of Utilitarianism as Henry SiDGWiCK, for instance, used, and in the light of them con- sider especially the crucial question of the relationship of ' ego ' and ' alter ' ; for the transition from the pursuit of the happiness of the ' ego ' to that of the ' alter ' is by him attempted to be effected on the basis of reason. The effort to prove the rationality of the pursuit of the general happiness had been made earher than Sidgwick. We find the beginnings of such a proof in Grotius. There are also suggestions of a like argument in Henry More, though he himself appears finally to consider virtue as the affair of the individual, and to be possible even though only one man existed in the world. The attempt to show that the pursuit of the general happiness is rational, was, however, more explicitly made by Richard Cumberland in his De Legibus Naturae. In ch. V. sect. xix. of that work we read : ' If any man rightly judge that the common good of all who act according to the rule of reason is a greater good than the good or 13 14 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR happiness of one man (and this is no more than to judge the whole to be greater than its part) there is no doubt but that God thinks the same.' The doctrine of Henry Sidgwick resembles that of Cumberland, for both maintain that the general happiness should be promoted on the ground that the general good is 'greater' than the good of the individual, the ideal in Sidgwick's case being the production of ' the greatest amount of happiness on the whole,' with its implied assump- tion .that all pleasures and pains are capable of being compared quantitatively with one another.^ The general happiness, therefore, is to be preferred to the happiness of the individual on the ground that a quantitative Whole is greater than its Part. It is in this way that Sidgwick commends to an Egoist (whose principle of self-love is declared to be also rational) the ' general good ' as the ' end to which the action of a reasonable agent as such ought to be directed.' This alleged rationality of Utilitarianism falls now to be examined, and we think it will appear that such ration- ality is after all far to seek. At the outset, it may be well to clear the ground of certain ambiguities or irrelevancies in Sidgwick's exposi- tion. Nobody questions, or at least very few, that ' good ' is universal in the sense that it is something which must be practicable for all. This is the formal principle of right- ness which Kant enunciated in his Categorical Imperative. Whatever ' right ' may turn out to be, it is conceived to be something which is applicable to, and performable by, everyone in the same circumstances. Or as Sidgwick himself expresses it, ' If therefore I judge any action to be right for myself I impHcitly judge it to be right for any other person whose nature and circumstances do not differ from my own in some important respects.' ^ This is much the same as to say that man is ' an end in himself,' or a moral being ; and it is axiomatic in most moral systems. It is a position which would be questioned only by some such ^Methods of Ethics, 6th edit. p. 413. ^Op. cit. p. 209. UNIVERSALISTIC HEDONISM 15 doctrine as that of Nietzsche, who restricted the opportunity of excellence to certain select souls. No one therefore contests seriously the principle that man is an end in himself though we doubt whether it is intuitive, and whether it can be established apart from a metaphysical discussion such as we hope to offer later. This principle, however, appears to us to have no pecuUar bearing on UtiHtari- anism, much as Sidgwick seems to use it in his attempted proof. Can, then, the good of man be regarded as Universal Happiness in the sense, first of all, that each one is con- templated as pursuing his own happiness ? In reply to this it must be said that if each one pursue merely his own happiness, he must do so either in complete isolation, or by exploiting in some way the happiness of his neighbour. The facts of life, however, make the isolated quest im- possible ; and to use another's happiness as means to one's own brings us back to the Egoism which we dealt with and rejected in the previous chapter. Suppose, however, we say with Sidgwick that it is reason- able for the individual to seek the General Happiness on the ground that the happiness of a Whole, or of a majority thereof, is greater than that of a Part. In this case it is evident that the ground alleged provides no basis for argu- ment. Happiness as the Good is considered ' in entire abstraction from the nature of the being for whom it is good, and the question of more or less is all that remains.' ^ It is clear that individuals cannot thus be regarded as of no more significance than to supply units of happiness to the happiness sum, or to subtract amounts therefrom. Indi- viduals, of course, from one point of view are units, and as being numerable are parts of a quantitative Whole. But this aspect of humanity is comparatively superficial. We have just seen that men are much more than integers, that in truth they are ' ends in themselves,' as Sidgwick himself with strange inconsistency implies. It is true he allows that, while there may be different ways of distributing ' Albee, History of English Utilitarianism, p. 405. i6 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR the same quantum of happiness among the same number of people, the principle of seeking the greatest happiness on the whole suggests some system of ' just ' or ' right ' distribution, such as is imphed by Bentham's formula of equality : ' everybody to count for one and nobody for more than one.' ^ But if the only ' right ' procedure is to do that which will realise the greatest happiness on the whole, which according to Sidgwick means the maxi- mum quantity, ' equal ' distribution would be right only if it attained that end. The end might conceivably be real- ised by an unequal, or even by a partial and exclusive, distribution. Indeed Sidgwick himself recognises that there may be special grounds for beheving that more good may be obtained by seeking the good of one person rather than that of another. Thus it is imphed that the vocation of some is to be a mere means to the happiness of others ; which is the same as to say that they have no ' end ' in them- selves and are without ethical status. It is easy to see that on occasion this may lead in practice to heartless tyranny and misery. ' Under the (Utihtarian) formula a superior race or order could plead strong justification, not indeed for causing useless pain to the inferior, but for systemati- cally postponing the inferior's claims to happiness to its own.' ^ To be a mere means to the happiness of others implies, therefore, not simply that the happiness of some is purposely diminished, but that it may be actually negatived. Such people exist to be suppressed. They are not only to be treated as C37phers, but presumably are to regard themselves as such. It is also conceivable that there may be persons who have no abihty to augment or promote the general happiness in any measure. If there be such persons, they of course cannot be supposed to be under any obhgation to seek such an end. Thus in the Utihtarian theory strange contradictions emerge. One of these has been pointed out by Dr. Rash- ^ Methods of Ethics, 6th edit. pp. 416, 417. * Green's Proleg. to Ethics, bk. iii. ch. iii. par, 314, UNIVERSALISTIC HEDONISM 17 dall.^ ' It is pronounced right and reasonable for A to make sacrifices of his own happiness *to the good of B ; yet, in considering what is B's good, he is to treat him as a being for whom it is right and reasonable to Mve solely for his own happiness, to have no desire gratified but his desire for pleasure.' In other words ' good ' means one thing for ' ego,' another thing for ' alter,' the end for ' ego ' being to do what is right and reasonable as such, and the end for ' alter ' being ' happiness.' And indeed any form of thoroughgoing Altruism or living absolutely for others leads to similar contradiction. But it would seem that there are other contradictions, and a further diversity in respect of ends of ' action.' The end for some of the ' aJteri ' is to allow their happiness to be diminished ; others must not merely practice self-sacrifice but accept self-stultification, for it is their destiny to reaHse that they have no part in the ' good ' (happiness). Others again may neither receive happiness nor be able to confer it. Such a reductio ad absurdum points to a radical defect in the theory. Nor does it seem that, so long as happiness is accepted as the good of life, it would ever be possible satisfactorily to adjust the relations between ' ego ' and ' alter.' The result is inevitable dualism and worse. ' Good ' must mean the same for each and all. More- over, as we hope to show, the good of one must be con- sistent with the good of each and aU, and even imply it. Good must be such that no one can seek it for himself with- out thereby seeking it for his neighbour. In short. Good must be ' common ' ; or, as we prefer to say, it must be ' community.' Thus goodness is of universal appUcation because primarily it means the spiritual unity of mankind. ' Theory of Good and Evil, vol. i. p. 55. H.S.N. CHAPTER III PERCEPTIONAL INTUITIONISM We have next to consider the Intuitional School with a view to discovering whether it is able any more satisfactorily to effect the passage from 'ego' to 'alter.' For while, in Intuitionism, Good is conceived as something which belongs to the individual as such, there is nevertheless the recogni- tion that the individual has social relations. Indeed, it is considered that the Moral Sense writers show an advance upon Hobbes in just this particular. They remedy a fatal defect in the Hobbesian psychology and make it clear that the individual, so far from inevitably acting from egoistic motives, is capable of disinterested action for the well- being of others. In this respect the psychology of the Moral Sense School is so far truer to the facts. But we think it will appear that, while the psychology of Percep- tional Intuitionism is more adequate than that of Egoism, it is yet unsatisfactory and tends only to add to the ethical difficulties of the system. Let us, however, pass in review the teachings of the chief representatives of the School .which we are venturing to describe, with some inaccuracy, as the School of Perceptional Intuitionism. The first writer we will consider is Shaftesbury. Accord- ing to him, all creatures are parts of a universal systera of things, each species of creature forming a particular system within the whole and each individual mind possessing a con- stitution made to answer a certain end. Each species and each individual is designed to contribute to the good of the whole system of things. This view of the nature of man as forming a constitution is of course not an original one, i8 PERCEPTIONAL INTUITIONISM 19 but Shaftesbury is the first British moralist to make much of the conception. He holds that msfii's nature forms a constitution ; that it is a ' fabric ' ; that there is order and S5mimetry in the soul ; that ' parts and proportions ' obtain between the passions such as subsist between the organs of the body.i He classifies into three kinds the possible affections by which the mind may be moved : (i) The Natural Affections, which tend to the good of the Pubhc. (2) The Self-Affections, which lead to the good of the Private. (3) The Uimatural Affections, which tend to the good neither of Public nor Private. This prominent recognition of the existence in man of altruistic impulses is quite characteristic of Shaftesbury and of his School. Such a review of the Passions of human nature is conducted by him with the object of showing that, as the mind is a constitution, a certain ' economy ' of the Passions must be observed. Between the ' parts ' there must be mutual relation and mutual dependence. In harmony with this mutual relationship the degrees of the exercise of the passions must be deUcately determined. Balance between the natural and self affections is essential. The one kind of good cannot safely be sought if the other kind suffers detriment : the natural affections can be exercised fruitfully only as the self-affections have play, and vice versd. That the two kinds of good are perfectly compatible and mutually necessary was held by Cumber- land. This coincidence between Public and Private Good Shaftesbury attempted to prove at length. His proof is more or less of an inductive character, though towards the end of the Inquiry concerning Virtue and Merit he assigns a theological reason for the coincidence. It is when the passions of human nature subserve the interests of each other that, according to Shaftesbury, man Hves ' naturally.' ' This is of course a normative conception. ' Parts and proportions ' do not actually exist, but are intended to exist 20 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR He supports the Stoic idea that true Ufa is hfe according to nature, though he regards the natural Ufe not so much as the ideal hfe, teleologicaUy speaking, but as the normal hfe. He has Uttle conception of ' natural ' hfe as some future condition to be realised possibly through long processes of self-denial, but he looks on it rather as a type to be aimed at and preserved. This balance, then, of the auctions constitutes, for Shaftesbury, virtue. Sometimes, how- ever, he speaks as though the exercise of one order of affection in human nature, i.e. the ' natvual affections,' constituted virtue. ' A creature is only supposed good, when the good or ill of the System to which he has relation is the immediate object of some Passion or Affection moving him ' — though possibly he praises such an exercise of the affection as an illustration of ' balance.' But Shaftesbury has also a supplementary doctrine. He finds that virtue is more than a particular state of the affections.^ He believes it to consist in a reflex attitude of the mind towards its affections, and the particular medium by which these affections were viewed came to be known as the ' Moral Sense.' Is this Sense merely a medium of information making us aware of the poise of the passions ? It is evidently more than this, for while Shaftesbury allows that all men have a sense of right and wrong as regards capacity to discern what makes for good or ill to the species, he mostly means that only those have a sense of right and wrong in whom the good or ill of the species provokes ' concern.' * The Moral Sense is more than a capacity for observation ; it is a power of reaction also. It is a medium of knowledge of the right and a feeling of desire for it : it is a source of knowledge and a spring of action. HuTCHESON goes so far as often to identify virtue with Benevolence. He says in the System of Moral Philosophy : ' Disinterested love to others — a benevolent universal in- stinct — ^is the spring of virtuous action.' The Moral Sense in his view is merely a critical faculty, i.e. the criterion of virtue, benevolence being both the source and standard of 1 See Appendix to this chapter, note a. ' Ibid, note b. PERCEPTIONAL INTUITIONISM 2I virtue. The Moral Sense supplies ' justif5dng reasons,' the ' exciting reasons ' being instincts and affections. Now by ' benevolence ' Hutcheson means regard for the happiness of others, and remarks that ' the several affections which are approved, though in different degrees, yet all agree in one general character of tendency to the happiness of others. ..." But what is especially interesting and significant for our purpose is that Hutcheson tended to recommend the beneficent Ufe on the ground of its consistency with the interest of the individual. He observes in the System that our moral faculty needs ' corroborating ' by a knowledge that a Governing Mind and a moral adminis- tration will bring about a perfect coincidence between pubhc and private good. This view, which is for the most part inspired by Natural Theology, he shares with Shaftesbury. Both confess that sometimes authority for the moral sense must be shown elsewhere — by having recovirse to a law outside that given by human nature itself, viz. to a Law of a Divine Superior promtdgated with sanctions of reward and punishment. The moral sense needs ' corroboration,' as Hutcheson puts it, by religious belief. Butler derived from Shaftesbury — apart from any more ultimate source — the conception of human nature as form- ing a system or constitution, and in defining the meaning of such a conception remarks that the idea of a system ' is a one or a whole, made up of several parts ; but yet that the several parts even considered as a whole, do not complete the idea, unless in the notion of a whole, you include the relations and respects which those parts have to each other.' Appetites, Passions, Affections, and the principle of Reflec- tion constitute in the Butlerian psychology the several ' parts ' of our nature. Now Butler sometimes speaks of Benevolence as though it were one of the particular Passions, as, e.g. in the following passage from the nth Sermon : ' every particular affection, benevolence among the rest, is subservient to self-love by being the instrument of private enjoyment ; ... in one respect benevolence 22 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR contributes more to private interest, i.e. enjo57ment or satisfaction, than any other of the particular common affections, as it is in a degree its own gratification.' Accord- ing to such a view benevolence is not a superior or regulative principle : it is on the same footing with other passions save that it secures its satisfaction to some extent other- wise than by exhausting itself in an external object. But in Serm. I. he appears to draw a distinction between bene- volence (together with self-love) and the particular passions. He says ' the several,, passions and affections, which are distinct both from benevolence and self-love, do in general contribute and lead us to pubhc good, as really as to private,' and goes on to say fiurther, ' men have various appetites, passions, and particular affections, quite distinct both from self-love and from benevolence ; . . . some of them seem most immediately to respect others, or tend to pubKc good ; others of them most immediately to respect self, or tend to private good.' Language of this kind seems to imply that, hke self-love, benevolence is a principle having a position of superiority. And indeed in Serm. XII. Butler speaks of benevolence and self-love as ' the two general affections,' and goes on to remark that benevolence may be the strongest principle in a man's heart and ' strong enough to be the guide of his actions, so as to denominate him a good and virtuous man.' In Serm. V. on ' Compassion ' Butler calls the principle of benevolence ' that higher principle of reason.' Thus sometimes benevolence seems to be one of the particular passions and subservient to self-love ; at another time it is regarded as a regulative principle. Assuming the latter to be the characteristic position, we then notice that the superior principles amount to three .1 The teaching of the three Sermons on Human Nature is quite unambiguous as to the supremacy of Conscience — there is one superior ' principle of reflection or conscience.' There is, however, a statement in the nth Sermon which appears to make Self-love supreme : ' it may be allowed,' says Butler, ' that our ideas of happiness and misery are * J e. Benevolence, Seli-Love, and Conscience. PERCEPTIONAL INTUITIONISM 23 of all our ideas the nearest and most important to us ; that they will, nay, if you please, that they ought to prevail over those of order. . . . Let it be allowed, though virtue or moral rectitude does indeed consist in afEection to and pursuit of what is right and good, as such ; yet that when we sit down in a cool hour, we can neither justify to our- selves this or any other pursuit, tiU we are convinced that it will be for our happiness, or at least not contrary to it.' But Butler also often implies that the principles of reflec- tion and self-love are coincident in the long run. What rank, then, does Butler attribute to Benevolence ? We have seen that sometimes he regards it as a particular affection subordinate to self-love, and therefore to con- science ; at other times he conceives of it as a superior and regulative principle. And if a regulative principle, what is its rank in relation to self-love and conscience ? In the first three Sermons it appears to be inferior to conscience and on an equality with self-love. ' There is a natural principle of benevolence in man which is in some degree to society what self-love is to the individual.' When, however, we take Sermon V. on ' Compassion,' he makes a distinction between benevolence as a settled reasonable principle otherwise called pubUc-spirit, and compassion as an ' under-affection.' In a previous Sermon he calls compassion ' momentary love.' And in the dis- course on ' Compassion ' he observes that in default of benevolence operating as a general reasonable principle owing to weakness, the impulse of compassion, which after the manner of an appetite seeks satisfaction in an appro- priate object — such as the family, or circle of friends, native land, or sufferings and distresses — plays the part of an assistant or substitute to benevolence regarded as a higher principle of reason. Again in Sermon XL he distinguishes between love of our neighbour as a ' virtuous principle ' and as a ' natural affection.' In Sermon XII., however, benevolence, considered as a reasonable principle rather than as a ' natural affection,' is regarded by Butler as even superior to conscience. He says that it is itself ' the temper 24 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR of virtue,' and remarks : ' when benevolence is said to be the sum of virtue, it is not spoken of as a bhnd propension, but as a principle in reasonable creatures, and so to be directed by their reason.' The end of such benevolence is 'the greatest pubhc good.' ' Reasonable good-will, and right behaviour towards our feUow-creatures, are in a manner the same.' He also points out that ' the common virtues, and the common vices of mankind, may be traced up to benevolence, or the want of it.' Further, ' benevolence seems in the strictest sense to include in it all that is good and worthy.' It is true that in a footnote to Sermon XII, Butler quahfies his statements in the text by sa5dng ' there are certain dispositions of mind, and certain actions, which are in themselves approved or disapproved by mankind, abstracted from the consideration of their tendency to the happiness or misery of the world ; approved or dis- approved by reflection, by that principle within, which is the guide of life, the judge of right and wrong.' In the Dissertation on the Nature oj Virtue, pubhshed ten years later than the Sermons, he holds to the view expressed in the note and apparently reverses the opinions given in Sermon XII. He says ' it may be proper to observe that benevolence, and the want of it, singly considered, are in no sort the whole of virtue and vice.' It is only fair to add, however, that in the Dissertation he appears to regard benevolence as a disposition merely to make happy, and remarks that on the aforementioned supposition, crimes might be excusable ' for it is certain that some of the most shocking instances of injustice, adultery, murder, perjury, and even of persecution, may, in many supposable cases, not have the appearance of being hkely to produce an over- balance of misery in the present state ; perhaps sometimes may have the contrary appearance.' But in Sermon XII. benevolence is regarded not exactly as a disposition to make happy ; it is rather ' good-will,' and the end of benevolence is declared, as we saw, to be ' the greatest public good.' Price combats the view that benevolence comprises the whole of virtue : ' we cannot avoid pronouncing there is PERCEPTIONAL INTUITIONISM 25 intrinsic rectitude in keeping faith and insincerity and intrinsic evil in the contrary.' The heads of rectitude are stated by Price to be such as duty to God, self-love, benefi- cence, gratitude, veracity, promise-keeping, justice. He goes on, however, to speak of the love of God, the love of man, and true self-love as the three great principles, and with somewhat greater inconsistency says : ' What will be most beneficial, or productive of the greatest public good, I acknowledge to be the most general and leading con- sideration in all our enquiries concerning right ; and so important is it, when the public interest depending is very considerable, that it may set aside every obhgation which would otherwise arise from the common rules of justice, from promises, private interest, friendship, gratitude, and all particular attachments and connexions.' Now it is easy to see that in Perceptional Intuitionism there is abundant recognition of the socicil relations of the individual. From Shaftesbury on to Butler the individual is conceived as existing in society. We have found that Shaftesbury regards the connection between the individual and society as organic in its nature : together they form a social system. Hutcheson, even more than Shaftesbury, emphasises social activity — so much so as to identify good- ness with benevolence. In Butler there is ample recogni- tion of the many ways in which self and neighbour inter- act. Not to speak of the prominent position accorded to benevolence, there is imphcit even in his ' conscience ' a social reference, so far as the sense of good or iU desert points to the expectation of approval or disapproval at the hands of one's fellows. But this recognition of the ' alter,' although a distinct ethical advance, only creates difficulties for Perceptional Intuitionism. To exhibit these difficulties fully it will be better to begin with Hutcheson, who in some ways presents the simplest case. He, as we have seen, quite unambiguously identifies goodness with benevolence and makes happiness the end of benevolence. So far so good. There is in this view an essential importance 26 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR assigned to the ' alter.' But when Hutcheson makes the happiness of the ' alter ' the supreme end of action he is at once landed in all the characteristic difficulties that beset the UtiUtarian. For he has to show cause why the ' ego ' should make the happiness of the ' alter ' his pursuit ; and the problem is specially acute on the supposition that the happiness of the two may conflict. Sometimes, as we saw, he justifies to the ' ego ' the pursuit of the general happi- ness on the ground that only in that way is the happiness of the ' ego ' made secure. And the proof for this coincidence is the usual theological one. In which case we are saddled with all the contradictions of Egoism. Sometimes the coincidence between the general and the individual happi- ness is estabUshed in a more subtle way than by religious sanctions. Hutcheson often writes as though the benevol- ent life should be hved on the ground that such conduct brings much pleasure to the moral sense of the individual. The resolution into Egoism is here still apparent, but it is somewhat disguised. This position among others had been previously held by Shaftesbury, the ambiguity of whose teaching we have already noticed. It is possible to read Shaftesbury so as to conclude that the end of action is the pleasure of the moral sense. For he makes of the Moral Sense at times more than a power of observation. It is a power of reaction — an abiUty to feel ' concern ' for ' good ' and a ' desire ' for it ; indeed, a reflex attitude of the mind towards ' affections ' ; in short, an ' affection for an affection.' At other times he speaks as though virtue consisted in the ' balance ' between the private and pubhc affections. And at yet other times he writes as though the public aSec- tions were alone virtuous. But whether in the individual it is the activity of the moral sense, or the preservation of harmony in his nature that is the end, yet as regards the duty to the ' alter ' the object, according to Shaftesbury, must be the promotion of happiness. It may not be the case that he expHcitly declares ' happiness ' to be the end of the ' natural affections,' but the idea is impUcit. PERCEPTIONAL INTUITIONISM 27 The ambiguities and contradictions in Shaftesbury's view will be sufficiently clear. There seems to be more than one end for the individual to aim at, and a different end which he must try to secure for his neighboior. If as regards his neighbour he must pursue happiness, then surely he should propose a similar end for himself. But in case there is a discrepancy between his own and others' happiness, it is not clear that the pleasures of his moral sense wiU always preserve the coincidence. And if he should aim at ' harmony ' as the essence of virtue, he should, if con- sistent, aim at promoting a similar end in his neighbour. Otherwise there is dualism. Indeed, the very distinction between the ' natural ' and the ' self ' affections in Shaftesbury is an ominous begging of the question. We have the same gratuitious supposition in Butler, where it is assumed that benevolence and self- love are opposites. This distinction is the outcome of a vicious psychology. For in truth we are moved by Instincts which in themselves are neither selfish nor un- selfish, but are directed to their appropriate objects. There is no instinct which would seem to be excited primarily by a mere idea, like that of the happiness of oneself or of others. Such an idea as that of Self-love so-called is a late growth, and would appear to be a comparatively rare Sentiment.^ The normal operation of many of the instincts cuts right across this distinction between self and other. Specially is this so with such a primary instinct as the parental, in which any antithesis between the interest of self and of offspring is usually made impossible by the functional unity of the instinct. And in fact this distinction between self-love and benevol- ence proves nothing but an embarrassment to Intuitionism. For in addition to the reconcilement that is necessary between the individual and the general happiness — a re- concilement that cannot be allowed to be effected by theo- logical considerations, nor brought about by the gratuitous supposition that benevolence brings much pleasure to the 1 Cf. McDougall, Social Psychology, p. i6l sq. gth edit. 28 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR individual's moral sense or conscience — ^in addition, we say, to the problem of reconciling self-love and benevolence, the question is very much complicated by the introduction of this moral sense or conscience. We have already noted the ambiguities in Butler. What we are now concerned with is the contradictions. For, on any view of Butler, he seems to propound one end for the ' ego ' and another end for ' alter,' save, of course, where he appears to make Self-love the superior principle. In that case the result is Egoism, with all its irrationalism. As regards the possible h5^othesis that he makes Benevolence the supreme principle — though he does not exphcitly define what he means by the ' public good ' (which is the ' end ' of Benevolence considered as a ' reasonable principle '), — ^it wiU be clear from his calhng such a principle of Benevolence ' reasonable ' that he regards the duty of the ' ego ' to be ' reasonable ' action. This duality of end as between ' ego ' and ' alter ' comes out still more clearly when Conscience is taken as the supreme principle, as it is in the first three Sermons. For then the duty of the individual is to obey his conscience, while the end for ' alter ' is happiness. We are not now concerned to point out the circular nature of Butler's argument. Suffice it to record in passing that he holds both that ' right ' is what conscience approves and that what conscience approves is ' right.' Our chief business, however, is to show that the recog- nition of the ' alter ' in Perceptional Intxoitioiusm, while so far psychologically sound, is really not essential to it as an ethical theory. For Intuitionism is stiU individual- istic. This may not be so true in Shaftesbury's case if you regard his view of the organic nature of society. But even in Hutcheson the devotion to the good of others is rather instrumental to one's own good than valuable per se. And though Butler all the time views the individual in a social setting, the ' alter ' always appears to be used purely as a ' setting ' — as an instrument for developing the moral life of the individual, for whom a moral life woiild still be possible though the ' alter ' were withdrawn. Butler PERCEPTIONAL INTUITIONISM 29 is therefore really an individualist in Ethics, although his psychology makes a certain recognition of social impulses in man. A few words may be added, in conclusion, as to the defec- tive use made by the Perceptional Intuitionists of the idea of a Constitution. In applying that idea to the nature of man they were, of course, following Plato who, in book iv. of the Republic, declares that the just man has harmon- ised into a unity the higher, intermediate, and lower parts of the soul known as Reason, Spirit, and Appetite on the basis of the supremacy of the first-named. This hier- archical view of the impulses or principles of the soul is especially conspicuous in Butler, who regards one of them as naturally supreme, and others as naturally ' under- affections.' It will be obvious that the conception, besides leading to such difficulties as we have already considered, has difficulties of its own which others * have pointed out, and which appear to us to vitiate also the schemes of moralists much more modern than Butler, e.g. that of Martineau in his Types of Ethical Theory, bk. ii. ch. vi. An ' under-affection,' if inferior at all, is surely essentially so, and as such cannot ever be exercised without compro- mise, even though it be given the preference over another impulse which is regarded as still more inferior. If impvilses differ in rank, if some are ' higher ' and some ' lower,' if some are good and others bad or merely less good, nothing can ever make such an inferior impulse good, or quite acquit of moral blame anyone who acts therefrom. The truth is, of course, that appetites, passions, and affections, when considered merely as ' parts ' of human nature, are in them- selves neither right nor wrong. They are in themselves ethically indifferent and intrinsically unmoral. We hope, hereafter, to show that this notion of a Constitution should be applied not to man considered as an isolated individual, but to men regarded as destined to form an ideal ethical community, bound together by mutual love between all the members thereof. ^e.g. E. Caird. CHAPTER IV THE KANTIAN ETHIC We next proceed to discuss Philosophical Intuitionism as we have it in Kant. The special purpose of our inquiry relates to the position of the ' alter ' in the Kantian system. This particular problem we will lead up to by a brief ex- position of Kant's ethical teaching. We may start with that most important statement of his that there is nothing in the world good without qualification except a good will. Other goods, such as talents, gifts of fortune, are of value only as they are swayed by the good will : they are condi- tional goods. The good will is not good because of its fitness to achieve some object : it is good in itself. And as a good which is good in itself it is disclosed to us by Reason. ' All moral conceptions have their seat and origin completely a friori in the reason.' ^ That is to say, the morality of an action belongs, not to its content, but to Reason as its actuating principle. Actions materially the same may be done from selfishness, or direct incHnation even. Nevertheless, they fall short of being moral. They must pro- ceed from the motive of Duty, the notion of which, according to Kant, is the same as that of the Good Will except that it imphes in addition the idea of subjective restrictions and hindrances. ' Duty is the necessity of acting from respect for the law.' ' Respect for the law is not a motive to morality but is morality itself ' ^ ' Respect ' of this sort is the conception of a worth which thwarts self-love, and it is felt for the law as immediately ^ Abbot : Kant's Theory oj Ethics, p. 28. ^ Abbot : Kant's Theory of Ethics, ' Critique of Practical Reason,' p. 168, 30 THE KANTIAN ETHIC 31 determinative of the will without reg^d to any effect. The ' good will ' thus comes to mean the universal con- formity of actions to law as such. In other words, I am never to act otherwise than so that I could also wiU that my maxim should become a universal law. Such a law is valid, not from subjective causes, as is the pleasant, but on objective grounds that obtain for every rational being as such. ' As morality serves as a law for us only because we are rational beings, it must hold for all rational beings ' ^ The validity of the law is indepen- dent of contingent conditions and originates a priori from the general concept of a rational being. UnMke laws in nature, moral laws are conceptions of laws. To act in accordance with them is to have a will, and inasmuch as this will employs reason to deduce actions from principles, it is called ' practical reason.' As this will in its actual working need not accord with reason, we have to recognise a distinction between the principles of right as objectively necessary and as subjectively contingent. These objective laws as related to a will not thoroughly good are conceived as enforcing an obh'gation. Such an obHgation may be termed a command of Reason and formulated as an Im- perative. Now all imperatives command, either hypo- thetically or categorically, the former describing the practi- cal necessity of a possible action as a means to an end that is optional, the latter representing actions which are absolutely, i.e. objectively necessary, apart from reference to any ulterior end. The imperatives of skill and prud- ence are analytical propositions ; for in wilUng the end, we virtually will the means, and the end moreover is optional. But the Categorical Imperative leaves the will no option and is as follows : ' Act only on that maxim whereby thou canst at the same time wiU that it should become a universal law.' The sublimity and intrinsic dignity of the command are considered so much the more evident, the less the subjective impulses favour it, and, indeed, the more they oppose it, these latter being able neither to weaken ' Abbot, op. cit. p. 66 32 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR the obligation of the law nor to diminish its validity. And Kant in the ' Critique of the Practical Reason ' ^ dis- tinguishes the truly moral feehng as not one of pleasure or pain but purely of interest in the law of reason, and as suppl5dng obedience with a motive. Reason then is an 'end in itself.' All objects of the inclinations have but a conditional worth, depending for their value on their being means to the satisfaction of the incMnations, which incHnations are so far from possessing absolute worth that we may well wish ourselves without them. Things, again, are simply ' means,' since they possess oiHy relative value. Persons, alone, are ends in themselves. Accordingly, since all persons are equally absolute ends, we discover another objective principle whose imperative may be worded : ' So act as to treat humanity, whether in thine own person or in that of any other, in every case as an end withal never as means only.' From this form of imperative we pass by a natural transi- tion to the idea of the wiU of every rational being as a uni- versally legislative wiU, the will being both the subject and author of law. Were the will not in this way supreme lawgiver as well as servant of objective principle, it would be dependent upon some interest, and would be conditional, not absolute — empirical, not a priori. This conception of rational beings as giving themselves universal laws leads to the further conception of ' a kingdom of ends.' A rational being belongs to the kingdom of ends as a member when, although giving universal laws in it, he is also himself subject to these laws. He belongs to it as sovereign when, while giving laws, he is not subject to the wiU of any other. Kant remarks that these three modes of presenting the principle of morality are at bottom only so many formulae of the very same law, and that each of itself involves the other two. The difference between them is as to category : the first expressing unity of the form of will (its univers- ality) ; the second, pluraUty of the matter in reference to 1 Abbot, op. cit. pp. 168-173. THE KANTIAN ETHIC 33 the number of the objects ; and the thiid, totality, as these objects are viewed as forming a system. The formula of universality is the most suitable as a criterion of the moral law ; but for securing subjective appreciation of the moral law, all three modes are useful. So much, then, may serve by way of a very brief state- ment of the Kantian doctrine. We proceed now to attempt to unfold its implications and estimate its vaHdity. Taking the first version of the Categorical Imperative, we are told that morahty is action which can be universal- ised. The exact meaning, however, of such a criterion is not very clear. Explained in one way, the criterion is impossible of application. For if the action to be universal- ised is indeed an action in all its concreteness, then it is safe to say that such an action, so far from being universal- isable, will never occur again, either in the life of the indi- vidual himself — or of any other individual. The concrete act has in it, by reason of its time, place, manner, circum- stances, a particularity of content which makes it unique. No exact repetition is possible ; the situation wiU never recur. And though the criterion be taken as only sup- posing repetition by an unlimited number of individuals, such repetition would 3deld universahty merely of a formal kind, and it would assume that whatever is right for A must be right for B, C, D, etc. Does Kant's criterion aim at anything more than this ? Evidently he intended it to mean more. By his first version of the Categorical Imperative he is saying not merely that morality is a universal thing, but even that it is this element of universality which makes morality.^ Thus the criterion of goodness becomes one with its content : the universaUsing wiU is the moral will. In concrete language. Stealing, Promise-breaking, etc., are wrong because they can- not be universaUsed. Morality is made thereby dependent on a certain abihty to will, wrong being a kind of inabiUty * ' The substance ol the (moral) law consists of the conception oi what is universally vaUd, and its contents are of course nothing else than its uni- versal vahdity . ' Schopenhauer, The Basis of Morality (trans. Bullock) , p. 60. H.S.N. c 34 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR to will — ^in fact, a species of contradiction. Smcide, for example, is declared wrong, because the attempt to regard it as universaHsed would reveal a certain contradiction — it would, it is said, involve willing that the sensation intended for the continuance of hfe should be used for its destruction. Promise-breaking is likewise shown to be wrong, because the attempt to make it a uniform practice would result in promises never being made. If promises are never made, they can never be broken. Consequently the actual volition that promise-breaking should become general involves a contradiction: it is to determine that at the same time something shall be and not be. Kant remarks that the contradiction Mes in some cases in the mere conception that the practice should be universahsed ; in other cases, in the will that it should be so. This contradiction in our will, Kant further says, is ' at once a will that a certain principle should be necessary objectively as a universal law and at the same time a will that sub- jectively it should not have the force of universal law, but admit of exceptions.' In other words, it is the incon- sistency of willing that the law should remain in force and yet in our own case should be suspended to suit incHnation. When we look more closely at these so-called contradic- tions in the will, we find that they differ somewhat in their nature. Rashdall has pointed out some of the ambiguities.^ If in willing promise-breaking the contradiction arises from the fact that to will such a practice as universal would mean that no promises would be made, then the contradiction may be regarded as an ' internal ' one. ' We cannot rationally will something to be done which wiU make it impossible to observe the very rule we wiU.' ^ It is the contradiction of willing a universal which would in fact have the effect of making impossible the particular instance. But it is clear, as Rashdall points out, that the inconsistency which thus emerges really depends upon an order of things, upon the constitution of nature and society, to which no ^ Theory of Good and Evil, bk. i. ch. v. <'0p. cit. p. 114. THE KANTIAN ETHIC 35 reference is made in Kant's formula, and which he thought to leave out of consideration. On the other hand, the contradiction of wiUing the non- development of our faculties woiild seem to be of a more ' external ' nature. A universal iUiterateness is contra- dictory only because it is a result which would be inconsistent with a state of society which we should call good. Again, if the inconsistency be that of wiUing that a moral law should be generally observed except in our own case, not even in this instance is the inconsistency of a purely formal character. Indeed, Schopenhauer has very acutely shown that this particular kind of inability to will proceeds from a fundamental egoism in our nature.^ ' My egoism decides for justice and lovingkindness ; not from any wish to practise these virtues, but because it desires to experience them.' * It is easy to see that in Kant's first formula the boundaries of the merely formal are transcended. It has often been pointed out that any act can be universaUsed without inconsistency so long as you regard the action only in itself or in its immediate consequences. But this, of course, is an unjustifiable act of abstraction. You cannot universalise an action save as you postulate a number of other beings Mke yourself living in the same world who will be able to do as you do. But so to universaUse an action does not even yet give you a true ethical universal. It does not really transcend the particular. No doubt such a test recognises to some extent the importance of the social factor in the deter- mination of conduct. But the social reference is only indirect. A supposes B, C, and D to act as he does in order that he may thereby safeguard his own judgment against partiality. Such a notion of universahty is the merely formal one of uniformity, and is, in our opinion, insufficient. Indeed, from the point of view of doing what is right, as distinguished from knowing it, the ' alter ' is thereby made an ethical superfluity. It seems on this view that A can act rightly though B, C, and D do not actually exist, or though ' The Basis of Morality, ch. v. » Op. cit. p. 83. 36 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR they exist and act wrongly. B, C, and D have no more direct relation to the conduct of A than to act as a check to the latter's hability to personal prejudice. The business of B is regarded as being only that of repetition ; he has to repeat the act of A, as the business of C is to repeat the acts of B and A. Thus our examination of Kant's first criterion, so far from presenting any satisfactory doctrine of the ' alter,' shows that the ' alter ' is nothing more than a duplicate ' ego.' Merely to generalise an action over a community of persons renders the action as such no more right than if it were done by one individual alone. The mere fact that 5000 speak the truth does not make it any more right for any one of the 5000 to speak truth. To regard the ' alter ' as in this way only another ' ego ' is practi- cally to deprive the ' alter ' of ethical importance. We are therefore driven to the conclusion that in his first formula Kant regards ' goodness ' as pertaining solely to the individual, and as unipersonal in its nature, and that he fails to give any satisfactory doctrine of the ' alter.' We now go on to examine the second formula of the Categorical Imperative : ' So act as to treat humanity, whether in thine own person or in that of another, in any case as an end withal, never as a means only.' We cannot but regard it as a great advance when Kant passes from the ideas of law and universality and identifies morahty with the activity of the self as such. The abstraction of a single element of consciousness — such as volition (in the form of deeds) — and its selection as being the exclusive medium of morality seemed arbitrary. Nothing less than the total activity of the self can be at -work in moral, or any other form of experience. In the second formula the social reference is more expUcit than before. The notion of humanity is brought in ; the individual is regarded as being in some relation to other members of humanity, and each is severally regarded as an ' end.' Moreover, there is some slight recognition of ethical activity as being inter-personal : we are called upon THE KANTIAN ETHIC 37 to treat other persons as ' ends.' But when we inquire as to what is implied by this treatmeni; of another person as an ' end,' Kant is clearer as to what we must not do than as to what our positive course of action should be. He holds that we cannot directly further another's perfec- tion. AU we can do is to remove any hindrances to his self-realisation. For the rest, we may contribute to the happiness of our neighbour. As regards our own treat- ment of ourselves as ends, that hes in seeking our own perfection or moraMty — a purely individual pursuit. A certain dualism is therefore disclosed as between the treat- ment of ourselves as ends and of others as ends — the end for ' ego ' being morahty— but for ' alter,' happiness. In spite of appearances to the contrary there is no real relationship of an ethical kind estabUshed between ' ego ' and ' alter.' The implication still is that selves are independent and that morality is unipersonal. There is no organic relation of ' alter ' to ' ego.' Indeed, in treating another as an ' end ' there is the impMcation that such end is unipersonal. There is no sort of notion of a common good as between self and neighbour — no idea that ' good ' for neighbour and ' good ' for self are mutually involved. Thus far Kant's "view is that the single self can be as really moral as the self in association with other selves, and the standpoint of the second formula does not materially differ from that of the first. We therefore pass to the third formula : ' Act as a member of a kingdom of ends.' By ' kingdom,' Kant says, ' I under- stand the union of different rational beings in a system by common laws, i.e. a kingdom which may be called a kingdom of ends, since what these laws have in view is just the rela- tion of these beings to one another as ends and means.' Now at first sight it seems as though Kant in his third formula progressed far beyond the stage reached by the second formula. And certainly it is a great advance at last to have reached the idea of a ' kingdom ' or 'system ' of selves. We have presented to us a social community of beings each of whom is reciprocally end and means to the others. 38 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR But when we inquire more deeply, we find that this system of selves is such only because of having ' common laws.' There is no real suggestion that the selves are a unity in any other sense than that they are all alike subject to the same idea of duty. Throughout Kant still conceives the self as a monad, able to attain ethical perfection by itself. And we are left with the dilemma that either the ' alter ' is ethicEdly redundant, or, if of any significance for morality, only helps to create difficulty for Kant's theory by giving rise to a duaUsm. And the root error is, as we have said, that Kant implies that ' each individual, as a moral or rational being is Eilone with himself, and that it is only through his sensuous or outward life that he comes into contact with others.'* And the significance of aU this in moral theory is that with Kant, 'in spite of his idea of a Kingdom of Ends, reverence before the abstract law is still treated as the essential and necessary form of moral sentiment.' * It is an interesting inquiry how far the knowledge of another, self is pui'e or empirical. In this connection we may refer to a note of Caird's where he says : ' this rational nature reveals itself, not in an isolated conscious- ness of self, or in a consciousness of self in which he abstracts from all relation to objects, but in a conscious- ness of self in distinction from, yet in relation to, other objects which we also recognise as self-conscious beings. The not-self, the consciousness of which is necessary to the development of a moral consciousness, is another self, or rather a society of selves in which the individual is a member.' ^ And from the psychological point of view the consciousness of self and of others grows as a unity. From the beginning there is in each of us a ' latent socius.' It certainly seems clear that the adequate ' object ' for a self is not a ' thing,' but another self. Now this is significant for ethics. Each is a self only in a world of selves. Instinct and Intelligence bring about • Caird The Critical Philosophy of Kant, vol. ii. p. 366. * Op. cit. p. 266. ' Op. cit. p. 217 n. THE KANTIAN ETHIC 39 between man and man many forms of combination. And society in so many ways appears organic that it may seem like Hobbesian atomism to suggest that selves are at war. But you need only reflect upon the phenomena of evil in the world to find that its existence is owing to the developed ego-centric activity of selves whose orbits are in different planes. Each self tends to regard itself as a whole and as the whole, all other selves being deemed but ' parts ' thereof. The desideratum is a union of selves and a ' good ' that is ' common ' in the sense that it is unattainable apart from the good of another, — a good for self which is realised in seeking another's good, i.e. a ' unity ' rather than a ' uniformity.' Much might be said, further, on the well-known defects of the Kantian Ethic — its formalism and its rigourism. But there is less need to dwell on these matters inasmuch as they are exhaustively dealt with in most text-books on Ethics. Much might be said especially respecting Kant's rigouristic exclusion of inchnation from the ethical experi- ence. His mistake lay, of course, in his false psychology of desire. He held, as Rashdall says, that the motive of action is always pleasure, except in one case, i.e. where one acts from respect for the idea of law. But as a matter of fact, our desires are directed not to pleasure as such, but to objects. And these desires for objects, so far from being hostile to morahty, are just the matter with which morality clothes itself, or from which it originates. As to the rigourism of Kant, and the duahsm between duty and inchnation, we would hold, on the contrary, that ethical love is not exclusive and independent of pathological love so-called. Indeed, it is through the domestic and parental instincts that love finds its develop- ment.i Any and every form of affection, so far from 1 ' Pure, abstract conceptions a priori, withoiit real contents, and without any kind of empirical basis can never move, at any rate, men." Schopen- hauer, Basis of Morality, p. 64. ' Where the Will is affected by no motive, there in truth it can be as little active as a stone is able to leave its place without being pushed or puUed.' Op. cit. p. 99. 40 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR impairing the purity of ethical love, may go to sustain and enrich it. Of the three versions of the Categorical Imperative we must therefore regard the third as the most adequate. Yet the ethical teaching of Kant is radically vitiated by an imperfect doctrine of personality — i.e. that selves are impervious spiritual monads. CHAPTER V QUASI-SOCIAL INTUITIONISM We have now to consider a species of Intuitionism which makes a certain recognition of the social factor. Both Hume and Adam Smith are famous for the use which they made of the principle of Sympathy in human nature. Thpre is the difficulty in Hume that the ethical views of the Treatise and of the Enquiry respectively are somewhat different, especially in relation to the doctrine of Sympathy. And though Himie wished his opinions to be taken from the Enquiry rather than from the Treatise, yet it is necessary to take the Treatise also into account if we would com- pletely represent him. Hume. Holding, as he does in the Treatise on Human Nature, that to have ' a sense of virtue is nothing but to feel a satis- faction of a particular kind from the contemplation of a character,' Hume may so far be classed as a member of the School of Moral Sense. A very full account of the way in which the ' sentiment ' of morals works is given by him at the close of bk. iii. pt. iii. sect. i. of the Treatise, where we read : ' Every quahty of the mind is denominated virtuous, which gives pleasure by the mere survey ; as every quaUty, which produces pain, is called vicious. This pleasure and this pain may arise from four different sources. For we reap a pleasure from the view of a character, which is naturally fitted to be useful to others, or to the person himself, or which is agreeable to others, or to the person 41 42 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR himself. One may, perhaps, be surprised, that amidst all these interests and pleasures, we shotold forget our own, which touch us so nearly on every other occasion. But we shall easily satisfy ourselves on this head, when we consider, that every particular person's pleasure and interest being different, it is impossible men could ever agree in their sentiments and judgments, unless they chose some common point of view, from which they might survey their object, and which might cause it to appear the same to all of them» Now, in judging of characters, the only interest or pleasure which appears the same to every spectator, is that of the person himself, whose character is examined ; or that of persons, who have a connection with him. . . . Such interests and pleasures . . . are alone . . . the standard of virtue and morality.' Now these ' interests and pleasures ' are, according to Hume, apprehended by us through sympathy. He explains that S3mipathy is ' nothing but the conversion of an idea into an impression by the force of the imagination.'* All ideas, he maintains, are borrowed from impressions, which differ only in respect of the degree of force and vivacity with which they strike the mind. If, then, an idea of a sentiment or passion felt by others be sufficiently ' enhvened.'he thinks it approaches the force of an im- pression, and may thus become in the, sympathiser the very sentiment or passion. It is after this manner," he remarks, that we enter so deeply into the opinions and affections of others, whenever we discover them.^ Hume says ^ sympathy with the uneasiness of others leads us to condemn injustice, and sympathy with pubMc in- terest is the source of our moral approval of justice. And, speaking generally, it is to sympathy that he ascribes ' our sentiment of morals.' * ' Moral distinctions arise, in great measure, from the 1 T. bk-. ii. pt. iii. sect. vi. *See Appendix, Note a, for further instances ot the action of Sympathy. ' T. bk. iii. pt. ii. sect. ii. * See Appendix, Note b. QUASI-SOCIAL INTUITIONISM 43 tendency of qualities and characters .to the interests of society, and that 'tis our concern for that interest which makes us approve or disapprove of them. Now we have no such extensive concern for society but from s5nTipathy ; and consequently, 'tis that principle, which takes us so far out of ourselves, as to give us the same pleasure or uneasiness in the characters of others, as if they had a tendency to our own advantage or loss.' That this ' sympathy ' is nothing more than a feat of the imagination, Hume shows by remarking that ' my sympathy with another may give me the sentiment of pain and disapprobation, when any object is presented, that has a tendency to give him uneasiness ; tho' I may not be wiUing to sacrifice anything of my own interest, or cross any of my passions, for his satisfaction. A house may displease me by being ill-contrived for the convenience of the owner ; and yet I may refuse to give a shining towards the re-building of it.' 1 Hxmie observes that all virtues which tend to the public good derive all their merit from our sjonpathy with those who reap any advantage from them, as the virtues which have a tendency to the good of the person possessed of them derive their merit from our sympathy with him.* In the Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals we read : ' wherever we go, whatever we reflect on or converse about, everything still presents us with the view of human happiness or misery, and excites in our breast a S3mipathetic movement of pleasure or uneasiness.' * But in the Enquiry Hume uses the term S37mpathy as practi- cally synon5mious with benevolence. We are told,* indeed, that all men have ' this affection of humanity ' and that it can ' alone be the foundation of morals.' He elsewhere speaks of it as a ' benevolent instinct ' and a ' fellow feehng with human happiness,' and also calls it ' social sympathy.' To sum up, Hume regards ' sjnnpathy ' in the Treatise as 1 r. bk. iii. pt. iii. sect. i. ^ Id. sect. vi. ' Pt. ii. sect. V. * Pt. i. sect. ix. 44 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR a purely mental exercise, ethically neutral. And such an operation is necessary to make what is agreeable or useful to others to be approved by ourselves. We approve it by sup- posing ourselves directly affected. The contrast, however, between the ' agreeable ' and the ' useful ' does not seem real ; for Hume understands by ' useful ' whatever is useful for producing pleasure, and the ' agreeable ' is simply that which is productive of pleasure. The ethical doctrine of the Treatise thus appears to reduce itself ultimately to this : what we approve is pleasure, pleasure to the individual himself or to other men. But so far are we from an exercise of altruistic feeling that, when we approve of other men's happiness, we do so only in the imagination that we our- selves are the subjects of that happiness. And therefore it is our own happiness that we really approve. The principle of sympathy, then, as it is used by Hume, has no ethical significance. The only importance it has for him, in the Treatise at any rate, is psychological. He uses it to account for the way in which the transference is effected from the desire for, and approval of, our own pleasure to the approval of the pleasure of others. And though in the Enquiry there is not so much about S3mtipathy, he asks, however, ' what theory of morals can ever serve any useful purpose, unless it can show by a particular detail, that all the duties which it recommends are also the true interest of each individual ? ' But with a strange inconsistency he insists elsewhere in the Enquiry on a feehng for the happiness of mankind ' as both the criterion and the motive to right actions.' So that in his reference to ' social sympathy ' the term ' S5niipathy ' in the later work would seem to imply more than the merely neutral operation which appeared to be its meaning in the Treatise. In thus adopting what is practi- cally Altruistic Hedonism, Hume, of course, becomes liable to all those objections which we have already brought against the Utilitarian doctrine of the relation between ' ego ' and ' alter.' QUASI-SOCIAL INTUITIONISM 45 Adam Smith. * In his Theory of the Moral Sentiments Adam Smith remarks (pt. vii. sect. iii. ch. iii.) that ' sympathy, a power which has always been taken notice of, and with which the mind is manifestly endowed,' is sufficient to account for ' the principle of approbation.' He is quite clear that as a soUtary creature cut off from the rest of his species man could never pass a moral judgment on himself ; Society is necessary in order to hold the mirror up to his hfe. As Dugald Stewart says in his critical memoir of the author, the fundamental contention of the theory is that the primary objects of our moral perceptions are the actions of other men, and that our moral judgments with respect to our own conduct are only applications to ourselves of decisions which we have already passed on the conduct of our neigh- bours. Perhaps the clearest and briefest statement of the position is given by Adam Smith in pt. iii. ch. i., where he says : ' The principle by which we naturally either approve or disapprove of our own conduct, seems to be altogether the same with that by which we exercise the hke judgments concerning the conduct of other people. We either approve or disapprove of the conduct of another man, according as we feel that, when we bring his case home to ourselves, we either can or cannot entirely sympathise with the senti- ments and motives which directed it. And, in the same manner, we either approve or disapprove of our own conduct, according as we feel that, when we place ourselves in the situation of another man, and view it, as it were, with his eyes and from his station, we either can or cannot entirely enter into and S5mipathise with the sentiments and motives which influenced it. We can never survey our own sentiments and motives, we can never form any judgment concerning them, unless we remove ourselves, as it were, from our own natural station, and endeavour to view them as at a certain distance from us. But we can do this in no other way than by endeavouring to view them with the eyes of other people, or as other people are likely 46 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR to view them. Whatever judgment we can foim concerning them, accordingly, must always bear some secret reference, either to what are, or to what, upon a certain condition, would be, or to what, we imagine, ought to be the judgment of others. We endeavour to examine our own conduct as we imagine any other fair and impartial spectator would examine it. If, upon placing ourselves in his situation, we thoroughly enter into all the passions and motives which influenced it, we approve of it, by S5anpathy with the appro- bation of this supposed equitable judge. If otherwise, we enter into his disapprobation and condemn it.' In pt. iii. ch. iii. Adam Smith makes it clear that ulti- mately it is to the impartial spectator that sjmipathy must be directed. We may be biassed in our view as to what we feel inclined to sympathise with in our neighbour, as well as in our view of what we feel our neighbour would sympa- thise with in us. In other words, the spectator whose standpoint we take by sympathy must be supposed impartial — a third party who has no bias toward the special interest either of the individual or his neighbour. When a man approves his own conduct, he divides himself, as it were, into two persons, one of whom is to be regarded as the impartial spectator who judges our motives,^ enters into the gratitude of those who receive the benefit of our actions, observes that our conduct harmonises with general rules, and notes the utihty of our behaviour to the general happiness.^ Adam Smith is concerned to show that S5mipathy, as he uses it, cannot be regarded as a selfish principle. In pt. vii. sect. iii. ch. i. we read : ' When I sympathise with your sorrow or your indignation, it may be pretended, indeed, that my emotion is founded on self-love, because it arises from bringing your case home to myself, from putting myself in your situation . . . But though sympathy is very properly said to arise from an imaginary change of situations with the person principally concerned, yet this imaginary change is not supposed to happen to me in my own person and • See Appendix to this chapter. Note c and Note d. * Ibid. Note e. QUASI-SOCIAL INTUITIONISM 47 character, but in that of the person with whom I sjnnpa- thise. When I condole with you for the loss of your only son ... I do not consider what I . . . should suffer if I had a son and if that son . . . die ; but I consider what I should suffer if I was really you ; and I not only change circum- stances with you but I change persons and characters. My grief, therefore, is entirely upon your account, and not in the least upon my own. It is not, therefore, in the least selfish.' It is noteworthy that throughout his ethical treatise Adam Smith seldom discusses what may be called the ' standard ' of goodness. He is occupied throughout with the consideration of the criterion of morahty, though he also says much about rewards and punishments as its ' sanctions.' Probably it would be truer to say that he tries to merge standard and criterion in one : virtue is what can be S5anpathised with, and it is through sympathy that virtue is discerned and approved. When we consider carefully what this moralist intends by ' sympathy,' we find that he appears to mean Httle more than the abiUty with which the mind can reflect or reconstruct within itself the experience of another mind. It is, in short, the power to feel like another person. Following on this sjnnpathy of ' view,' so to speak, there ensues approval or disapproval. But sympathy does not account for this approval or disapproval, but rather makes sure that approval or disapproval shall be uninfluenced by egoistic bias. It is therefore nothing more, as thus employed, than a device for clarifying one's judgment and freeing it from prejudice. And no doubt this conception of the ' impartial spectator ' is most useful as a corrective of illusion in the moral judgment, which is ever Uable to be deceived by private views. So far, then, sympathy does nothing more than correct the moral judgment ; it neither creates it nor accounts for it. The ' spectator,' judging impartially, must be guided by some principle. Such judgment is either based on reasons or is intuitive. And that Adam Smith was not altogether obUvious of this appears in a significant remark in pt. iii. 48 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR ch. ii. : ' Nature accordingly has endowed him (man) not only with a desire of being approved of, but with a desire of being what ought to be approved of.' This passage seems to allow that there may be an approbation by others which is wrong, and that sympathy should be regulated by an ideal. Indeed, our author goes on to admit that to be praised and to be praiseworthy are different things : to be the object of sjan- pathy is not necessarily to be worthy of S5mipathy. And in one place he confesses that the first principles of right and wrong are the object of immediate sense and feehng. Sympathy, then, appears to serve no other function than that of correcting individual bias ; and Adam Smith con- siders that this function can be so well discharged that it is possible to feel so much like others as to imagine that we are changing, not only circumstances, but even character and personality. It is to be presumed that this imagina- tion does not become so vivid as to produce illusion, for unless personal identity and individual differences are maintained the very possibility of S5anpathy will be destroyed. While therefore there is, as in Hume, abun- dant recognition by Adam Smith of the existence and the importance of the ' alter,' he does not so conceive the ' alter ' as to make his importance essential to the theory of the moral standard. Sympathy is never more than an aid to the detection of what is right or good. ' It is never con- stitutive of it.i 1 See Appendix to this chapter, Note /. CHAPTER VI SPENCER'S CONCILIATION In attempting any estimate of the ethical teaching of Herbert Spencer with the special view of discovering the vaHdity of his theory of the ' alter,' we are met at the outset with the inconsistency that exists between his earHer and later opinions. In his Social Statics he may be said to hold some- thing Uke a doctrine of Moral Sense. ' On reviewing the claims of the Moral Sense doctrine, it appears that there is an a priori reason for expecting the first principles of social morahty to originate in some feeling, power, or faculty of the individual.' ^ He also declares that we have ' an instinct of personal rights,' and that the sentiment of justice is nothing but ' a sympathetic affection of the instinct of personal rights.' Of course everything depends upon what is meant by ' sjmipathy.' And it would appear that he makes justice, or the instinct for the personal rights of others, to be no more than the ' reflex function,' as he terms it, of the instinct of personal rights. Thus he holds that those who have the strongest sense of their own rights will have the strongest sense of the rights of their neigh- bours. But it is impossible out of an ' instinct of personal rights,' which Spencer confesses is a ' purely selfish instinct,' to develop an unselfish regard for others. The ' sympathy ' which is supposed to effect the transition is either a feeling for, or a feeling like, others. If it is a genuine feeling for others, it is difi&cult to see how such altruism can originate from what is confessedly selfish. And if it is 1 Edit. 1868, p. 43. H.S.N. 49 D 50 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR merely a feeling like others, such neutral sympathy will of itself be incapable of generating any ethical ' sense ' of others' rights. Spencer's mature views on Morals are to be obtained from his Principles of Ethics. In Justice, which is part iv. of this work,i he gives a psychological account of the develop- ment of the sentiment of justice, which, he thinks, originates in egoistic feelings such as the fear of retaliation, of social dishke, of legal punishment, of so-caUed divine vengeance. These kinds of fear check the primitive tendency to pursue the objects of desire without regard to the interests of fellow-men ; they produce a pro-altruistic sentiment of justice, the genuine altruistic sentiment of justice being induced by sympathy arising from gregarious Ufe. It may be remarked, in passing, that such an origin for altruism is suspect, for egoistic feelings could not generate it, and the ' S5mipathy ' induced by gregarious existence is not a feeling /o?', but only a feeling like, others. Spencer goes on to say that this principle of justice may be expressed as ' the freedom of each, limited by the like freedom of all,' and remarks that it is but ' a conscious response to certain necessary relations in the order of nature.' ^ It is difficult, however, to see how the mere consciousness of the laws of nature (which are positive laws) can have any ethical quahty. If the laws of Evolution naturally tend to race-maintenance and race-development, the only sense in which we can ' co-operate ' appears to be in our having a conscious understanding of an evolution which proceeds inevitably. Further, Spencer lays himself open to the oft-repeated criticism that orgaiuc evolution itself could not originate the notion of justice ; for justice as the principle of non- interference is the very opposite of the actual process of evolution, which, by destrosdng those organisms which are * Published before parts ii. and iii., though, twelve years after the Data of Ethics. ^Justice, p. 6i, SPENCER'S CONCILIATION 51 not strong enough to survive the struggle for existence, ' interferes ' to the fullest possible extent. And he fails to reaUse that not only is non-interference contrary to biological evolution, but it is also an impracticable ideal; for ' conduct of every kind has social effects and may thus tend to Hmit the freedom of other men.'^ Moreover, there are factors in evolution to which he was blind, or which he did not sufficiently stress, but to which modern biologists are attaching increasing importance. We hope to refer to this re-reading of the law of struggle later on, and so, in the meanwhile, will only point out that development has taken place in Nature through a process of ' interference ' of a kind quite different from that akeady mentioned. Conflict between species there undoubtedly is, but success in the conflict has come to that species whose members have known best how to ' interfere ' with one another benevolently, whether by affording gregarious help, or by an increasing use of the principle of motherhood. Even Spencer himself is compelled to acknowledge that each member of a herd of gregarious animals receives the benefits and evils not only of ' its own nature and con- sequent conduct,' but of the nature and consequent conduct of some or aU of the other members of the herd.^ And certainly it is by such benevolent ' interfer- ence ' that aU the members gradually attain a real freedom of equaUty, as distinguished from an artificial freedom of mutual, but self-destructive, independence. When, however, we come to the Data of Ethics, which is part i. of the Principles of Ethics, we find Spencer going so far as to say (p. 147), ' the hmit of evolution of conduct is . . . not reached until, beyond avoidance of direct and indirect injuries to others, there are spontaneous efforts to further the welfare of others.' And he agrees that altruism is characteristic of human life, and that men consider more and more the maintenance, not merely of themselves, but of the race. Chaps, xi. and xii. of the ' Sorley, The Moral Life, p. 105. ' Cf. Sidgwick, Ethics of Green, Spencer, and Martineau, p. 258. 52 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR Data are devoted to proving that Egoism and Altruism are both necessary and co-essential. It thus appears that in the Data Spencer leaves behind the evolutionary principle of the struggle for existence ; he adopts as the ruling idea of conduct the maintenance of the race rather than that merely of the individual. We must make as great as possible ' the lives of each and aU, aUke in length and breadth.' ^ Again, ' the hfe of the social organism must, as an end, rank above the hves of its units.'* Of course, if organic evolution is simply a struggle for survival and an ehmina- tion of the unfit, this concern for the welfare of the race cannot originate from what is confessedly merely a selfish concern. That evolution wiU take on, as mankind develops, a more and more altruistic character is certainly not proved by the ordinary premises of evolution, as these are con- ceived by Spencer. And, indeed, Huxley afterwards did not hesitate to maintain a dualism between biological and ethical life — a dualism which, as we hope to show later, disappears with a truer conception of what evolution in Nature reaUy implies. Confessing in the Preface to vol. ii. of the Principles of Ethics (parts v. and vi.) that ' the doctrine of Evolu- tion has not furnished guidance to the extent I had hoped,' Spencer tries to effect the transition from egoism to altruism by a psychological method. Contending that ' sentient existence can evolve only on condition that pleasure-giving acts are life-sustaining acts,' — a. condition which he takes for granted rather than proves, — he pro- ceeds to describe pleasures as the correlatives of actions conducive to the welfare of the organism, pains as indicative of what is injurious to it. Thereafter pleasure is definitely acknowledged to be the end of action, the imphcation being that it is the pleasure of the individual which corresponds to the well-being of his own organism. The problem at once arises as to the reason why, or the extent to which, the individual should surrender his own pleasure for the sake of that of others, as, for instance, in time of war. This ^ Data of Ethics, Chap. viii. par. 48, edit. 1890, ^Op. cit. par. 49 SPENCER'S CONCILIATION 53 problem Spencer attempts to solve by frying to establish a coincidence between the happiness of the individual and that of society. It will appear, hereafter, that all the coincidence that Spencer succeeds in estabhshing is based on the contention that the happiness of other people is a means of furthering that of the individual, which is really the ultimate end.'^ It follows that if the individual is called on by his fellows to make a sacrifice, he wiU not, and should not, make it, save as it conduces to his own happiness to do so. But it is difficult to see how the individual can, on these lines, ever be brought to make the sacrifice of his own hfe. Spencer, of course, has no difficulty, in his chapters on Egoism and Altruism respectively, in proving that in various ways ' the weU-being of each rises and falls with the weU-being of all.' He shows that this is so in the spheres of family, industrial, and communal hfe. ' The improve- ment of others, physically, intellectually, and morally, personally concerns each ; since their imperfections tell in raising the cost of aU the comniodities he buys, in increas- ing the taxes and rates he pays, and in the losses of time, trouble, and money, daily brought on him by others' carelessness, stupidity, or unconscientiousness.' ^ Spencer then proceeds to examine in chap. xiii. on ' Trial and Compromise ' the contention that, from the standpoint of pure reason, the happiness of others has as an object of pursuit no less a claim upon each than personal happiness. And his conclusion is that the greatest-happiness formula can only mean that each should have that happiness which is due to his own efforts ; in other words, that the claims of each should be regarded by aU. That is to say, ' the utiMtarian altruism becomes a duly qualified egoism.' And it is easy to see that on this interpretation the ' alter ' is in no intimate way related to the ' ego,' but is treated simply ^ Data of Ethics, p. 134. Sidgwick [Ethics of Green, Spencer, and Marlineau) holds that according to Spencer general happiness is the end, but confesses that he is ambiguous (p. 218). ^ Data of Ethics, ch. xii. p. 211. 54 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR as a unit capable of having a happiness which as a quantum is conceived as shareable in equal amounts. But Spencer goes on to show (p. 231 sq.) that the assumption that happiness admits of distribution in this way is untenable, and as a proof he instances those pleasures which are insepar- able from the maintenance of the physique in an unimpaired state, and the pleasures of successful action. If, however, the general happiness be supposed to be the exclusive end for each, Spencer contends that the sum entirely disappears, inasmuch as, if aU are to be givers of happiness, none could be left to be receivers of it. This is, of course, an application of what has been called the Dualism of the Practical Reason. ' Obviously,' he says, ' there must be egoistic pleasure somewhere, before there can be the altruistic pleasure caused by sympathy with it.' And he infers that the happiness of all can be best achieved by each pursuing his own happiness. Nay each must be more egoistic than altruistic in order to achieve the greatest sum of happiness, in that sympathetic pleasures must ever be less intense than the pleasures with which there is sympathy {D. of E. p. 228). Spencer further demonstrates that ' pure altruism ' is suicidal. ' As fast as men adapt themselves to the require- ments of social life, so fast will the demands for efforts on their behalf diminish ' (p. 230) . Indeed, ' acceptance from others of the results of their activities can take place only on condition of reUnquishing the pleasures derived from his own activities ' (ibid.) . The postulate of ' pure altruism ' also involves the mis- taken behef that happiness, or its means or conditions, can be transferred. Pleasures that accompany normal functioning or successful action cannot, as already stated, be transferred. Spencer again employs this DuaUsm of the Practical Reason to show that ' pure altruism ' would involve the contradiction of each one's being at the same time a sacrificer and yet a receiver of happiness. In accordance with Kant's maxim, he holds that ' pure altruism ' cannot be ' universal- SPENCER'S CONCILIATION 55 ised ' without such a contradiction. ' While a man is so unseliish as willingly to yield up the l5enefit for which he has laboured, he is so selfish as wiUingly to let others yield up to him the benefits they have kboured for. To make pure altruism possible for all, each must be at once ex- tremely unegoistic and extremely egoistic. As a giver, he must have no thought for self ; as a receiver, no thought for others. . . . The sympathy which is so solicitous for others as wiUingly to injure self in benefiting them, cannot at the same time be so regardless of others as to accept benefits which they injure themselves in giving' (pp. 233-4). Spencer supposes that 'each, instead of enjopng such pleasures as come to him, or such consumable appliances to pleasure as he has worked for, or such occasions for pleasure as reward his efforts, relinquishes these to a single other, or adds them to a common stock from which others benefit.' What will result in such a case ? He holds that the distribution of happiness will be left unchanged, unless the act of transfer increase the quantity of that which is transferred. And as against this possibility it cannot be thought that ' the kind of pleasure, or of pleasure-yielding things, which each receives in exchange from another, or from the aggregate of others, is one which he appreciates more than that for which he laboured. To assume this,' says Spencer, ' is to assume that each labours directly for the thing which he enjoys less, rather than for the thing which he enjoys more, which is absurd.' There is, however, stiU the possibihty that while the exchanged or distributed pleasure of the egoistic kind remains the same in amount for each, there is added to it the altruistic pleasure accom- panying the exchange. ' But,' he adds, ' if the trans- action is universal, it is one through which each becomes giver and receiver to equal extents — there is merely a tacit exchange, either direct or roundabout. Each becomes altniistic in no greater degree than is imphed by being eqtiitable ; and each, having nothing to exalt his happiness, sympathetically or otherwise, cannot be a source of sympa- thetic happiness to others ' (pp. 233-5) • 56 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR Spencer gives a summary of his arguments on pp. 236-7, and concludes that ' the need for a compromise between egoism and altruism is thus made conspicuous, though they are both essential.' He arrives at this compromise in the following way : ' General happiness is to be achieved mainly through the adequate pursuit of their own happi- nesses by individuals ; while, reciprocally, the happinesses of individuals are to be achieved in part by their pursuit of the general happiness.' He adds that through the industrial system there has been developed a voluntary co-operation —an exchange of services under agreement accompanied by a degree of aggressions one upon another, along with an increase of sympathy through which services have been exchanged beyond agreement. ' The more distinct asser- tion of individual claims and more rigorous apportioning of personal enjoyments to efforts expended, have gone hand in hand with growth of that negative altruism shown in equitable conduct and that positive altruism shown in gratuitous aid.' Of the foregoing ' ConciUation ' Spencer gives a rough draft in an ' Appendix.' The true nature of the concihation is contained in a nutshell in the following question and answer. He asks ' How is there achieved that conciliation between the egoisin of the parent, which is essential to production and fostering of offspring, and the altruism by which that fostering is effected ? ' And he repUes, ' The answer is simple. There has from the beginning been arising, and has arisen more and more to a higher and higher stage, such constitution in each creature as entailed egoistic gratification in performing the altruistic action.' Of course the ' conciliation ' which Spencer supposes he has effected is no real concihation at all. He merely states that the happiness of the ' ego ' depends upon his seeking also the happiness of the ' alter.' But there is no ' altruism ' worthy of the name in seeking the happiness of the ' alter ' with a view to increasing one's own happiness. For the ' alter ' in relation to the ' ego ' possesses no more status than that of a mere ' means,' and no reconcilement as between SPENCER'S CONCILIATION 57 ' ego ' and ' alter ' is necessary, or would have any meaning. Spencer does not hesitate to describe (App. p. 295) modern philanthropy and modern sense of justice as ' the pursuit of altruistic pleasure ' which has become ' a higher order of egoistic pleasure.' And when he goes on to say (App. p. 296), that ' altruism in the future will increase as it has increased in the past,' all he means by ' altruism ' is a ' capacity for receiving much personal pleasure from fur- thering the welfare of others ' ; and thus ' the identification of altruism with egoism ' is nothing more than the idea that ' personal gratification wiU be derived from achieving the gratification of others.' And as evolution advances, ' this transformation of altruistic gratifications into egoistic ones, will be carried very much further ; and an average larger share in the happiness of each individual will depend on the consciousness of the well-being of other individuals.' But, as we have already said, there is no ' concihation ' in such a solution, for there has ceased to be anything requiring conciliation, once the ' alter ' has been deprived of any independent ethical status. Spencer goes on, in furtherance of this scheme of so- called conciliation (which when called by its right name is but ' indirect egoism ') , to explain that the growth of s3Tn- pathy and the growth of happiness in society will act and react upon one another. But if sympathy means, as he says it means, ' a state of the individual, of pleasure or pain, according to the states of surrounding beings,' it seems impossible that a mere feeling like other people could generate any altru- istic feehng/or others, any genuine desire to improve their conditions. If it removes misery from the lives of others, if it decreases the causes of human unhappiness, it does so only because the reflection of others' happiness is happier for the subject than the reflection of misery — ^though Dr. Rashdall suggests that ' if sjnnpathy with another's pain be painful, it would follow that we must necessarily seek to expel it from consciousness, as soon as it appears ; and there are generally quicker ways of effecting that expulsion 58 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR than the reUef of the suffering which occasions it.' ^ And this holds good even if it be the pain of another's self-sacrifice that is in question. Spencerian ' S5anpathy ' operates only in the interest of ' indirect egoism ' and effects no real concihation. And, moreover, in using ' sjnnpathy ' to effect the so-called concihation, Spencer's psychology would seem to be inadequate. When he declares (ch. xiv. p. 255) that ' the power of representing in idea the mental states of others, which during the process of adaptation has had the function of mitigating suffering, must, as the suffering falls to a minimum, come to have almost whoUy the function of mutually exalting men's enjo5maents by giving every one a vivid intuition of his neighbour's enjoyments,' and when he adds ' that with an increasing predominance of pleasure, participation in others' consciousnesses becomes a gain of pleasure to all,' he does not recognise that this yield of pleasure from the contemplation of the pleasure of others does, as a matter of fact, involve a S5mipathy which is not a mere reflection of others' states but a delight in those states as states of others. Spencer's ' concihation,' then, really amounts to the predominance of an enlightened egoism. Of course the ' egoism ' need not be ' direct ' or ' conscious.' ' The concihation of egoism and altruism wiU eventually become such that, though the altruistic pleasure, as being a part of the consciousness of one who experiences it, can never be other than egoistic, it wiU not be consciously egoistic ' (ch. xiv. pp. 250-1). It will, we hope, now be sufficiently clear that the ethics of Spencer suppress out of significant existence the ' alter ego.' And the so-called conciliation is unworthy of the name. If we take now the other part of the compromise — the part already considered being ' that the happinesses of individuals are to be achieved in part by their pursuit of the general happiness ' — we find that, according to Spencer, ' general happiness ' is to be achieved mainly through the adequate pursuit of their own happiness by individuals. ' Theory of Good and Evil, ii. p. 380. SPENCER'S CONCILIATION 59 Spencer uses the expression ' genera^ happiness ' some- what ambiguously. It cannot be said that by ' general ' he means ' universal ' happiness, for though he does not directly face the problem, yet a discrepancy between the general happiness and the happiness of this or that indi- vidual is not altogether precluded. Probably, where the choice had to be made, he would decide in favour of the general happiness, taking an external and quantitative view of happiness. So long as ' greater ' happiness is realisable it does not appear to matter who is happy and who is not. Self-sacrifice would of course be necessary on this view — and Spencer's hedonistic psychology does not admit of it. And ethically it would mean that some individuals exist solely for the happiness of others — a view which in another form effects the suppression of the significant existence of the ' alter ego.' ^ ^ See Appendix to this chapter for a summary of the views of Leslie Stephen. PART II GOODNESS AS COMMUNITY CHAPTER I THE ETHICAL RECOGNITION OF THE ' ALTER ' It is somewhat paradoxical that, while there is in the British Moralists abundant recognition of the psychological importance of the ' alter ' for theory, there is at the same time either a total denial, or only a partial avowal, of his ethical status. In such a theory as that of Hobbes, for instance, the existence of individuals as a social background is essen- tially impUed. Indeed, it is the very fact that these are regarded as striving with any particular individual for dominance, which gives Hobbes his special problem. But the social reference of his theory is merely psycho- logical. Ethically, it is anti-social ; the ' alter ' exists, not simply to be ignored, but actually to be kept at bay, circumvented, and restrained. In other moralists there is by way of reaction from Hobbes a much less negative view of the status of the ' alter.' There is plentiful recognition, by the Moral Sense school, for instance, that even Hobbes' psychology is defective, that the ' alter ' not only exists, but that ' ego ' is bound to ' alter ' by certain ' affections ' or ' principles.' As we have already seen, Shaftesbury regards the relation of the individual to society as more or less organic, and holds that in the former the ' public affections ' are as real psychologically, and as important ethically, as the ' private affections.' Hutcheson goes even further 60 ETHICAL RECOGNITION OF THE ' ALTER ' 6i than Shaftesbury in his recognition of^ the value of the benevolent affections. The teaching of Butler is, as already noted, rather ambiguous, but he gives high place to benevolence both as a principle in human nature and as a determinant of right conduct. But, after all, these admissions of the Moral Sense thinkers and their successors carry us only a httle way. For after they have recognised the close psychological relationship existing between the individual and his neighbours, they allow to the latter only an inferior ethical position. The vocation of the former is to gratify his moral sense or to obey his conscience ; the ' alter,' on the contrary, is a mere subject for happiness. No doubt a defective psychology must bear some of the blame for this unsatisfactory result. In the view taken of human nature ' ego ' and ' alter ' are not inti- mately brought together, and for ethical theory they are likewise kept from any close connection. The distinction made between the social and the private affections is too rigid, and therefore unreal. Assuming with McDougaU ^ that Instincts are the prime movers of human activity, we find that their operation takes no account of this separation artificially made between one life and another. They all regard more or less both the hfe of the self and that of others with greater or less directness. In themselves they are neither ' interested ' nor ' disinterested.' Now on the basis of such instincts the mind tends to bring into its activity system and organisation. The most important of the instincts from this point of view is the Parental, for out of it is developed ' the most conspicuous of these greater systems ' * — ^viz. Love. In the Parental Instinct, and in the Sentiment of Love developed from it, the chasm between the hfe of self and that of other is bridged : ' ego ' and ' alter ' are not treated as opposed, but are merged. This Instinct and the Sentiment based thereon both func- tion as a unity. There are not consciously distinguished two 1 a. Social Psychology, passim. ' Shand, Foundations of Character, p. 35. 62 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR principles — regard for self and regard for others. No doubt it is possible, as will be seen hereafter (chap, vi.), through the process of reflection to arrive at a Sentiment of Self- Love,^ and to regard merely our own interest or happiness as a definite object of pursuit ; as it may be possible to gener- ate a Sentiment of pure Altruism and aim at the interest or happiness of others only. But such developments lead to ethical difficulties which are insurmountable. We hold that the true Self-love is not a mere regard for our own happiness, and that the true Benevolence is not an exclusive consideration for that of others, as though these two prin- ciples were purely hedonistic and functioned in independ- ence and opposition. The ethical love of self and of others, if conceived in harmony with a psychology of the Parental instinct, is a matter of mutual impUcation — which is only another way of sa5dng that moral good is common good. In an article on ' The Notion of a Common Good ' * Miss F. R. Shields remarks that ' it is a formal and essential characteristic of the good to be common,' by which she appears to mean that good is something which is the same, i.e. hke, for everyone. But this surely is to apply to good- ness the mere criterion of ' universaUty,' which is an inadequate test of objectivity. Good regarded merely as ' universal ' or ' universaUsable ' goes back to the old morahsts and their individuahstic ideas (just passed under review) which, by regarding men atomically, were vitiated both as to their psychology and their metaphysic. Miss Shields, however, goes on, much more correctly we think, to explain that Good is ' common ' in the further sense that it refers to a ' unity ' between individuals. ' There is a unity which is not that of bare number at all, and the kind of difference that is supposed to be relevant in dis- cussing the Common Good disappears whenever the relation of love arises.' ' It is Good in this sense of Community which we describe as ' common.' Such a Good, being 1 Based, according to McDougall (Social Psych, p. 64), on the instinct of Self-Display. ' Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, 1913-14. ' Ibid. ETHICAL RECOGNITION OF THE ' ALTER ' 63 community, recognises the ethical status qi the ' alter ' and that of the ' ego ' as mutually implicated. Before, however, we proceed to discuss at length the nature of Good so interpreted, it is desirable to inquire how far such an interpretation is in accord with actual moral opinion, or whether, on the contrary, it is merely fantastic. When, therefore, we turn from the academic atmo- sphere of mere theory and breathe the fresh air of the actual moral ideas of men, we find that from its very origin onwards goodness has been more or less identified with the practice of communal behaviour. ' Morality is in its origin group- morality.' ^ ' In early society the individual is nothing apart from his community . . . land is communally owned, . . . etc.^ ' The main categorical imperative is " Stand by thy kin." ' ' It wiU be seen, therefore, that morality began in the form of community of spirit and with such conduct as was dictated by such a spirit. Each indi- vidual learned to act for other as for self, the integrity of the family or tribe being the prime consideration. Hobhouse and Westermarck show how the Hfe of the tribe or clan developed into the larger life of the State, either by adhesion or natural growth, or by both. The State as to its origin and early constitution is an enlarged family, and a feehng of soUdarity of hfe is felt by its citizens. Among the Jewish people, for instance, there was a strong sense of corporate personahty. ' The unit for moraUty and rehgion is not so much the individual as the group to which he belongs, whether this be, for particular purposes, the family, the local community, or the nation.' * At this point it is interesting to inqioire how far the great Greek philosophers endorsed this old idea of communal Ufe. Both Plato and Aristotle regarded the individual as ethically incomplete apart from the City-State of which he was a member. Indeed we owe to Plato one of the great- est of hterary works, in which he sketched the constitution * Hobhouse, Morals in Evolution (edit. 1915), p. 233. « Op. cit. p. 352. ' Op. cit. p. 447. • Robinson, Religious Ideas of the Old Testament, p. 87. 64 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR of an ideal society. In the Republic it is clearly society, and not the individual, which is taken as the unit ; the individual fulfils his function only as he serves the society. No doubt this emphasis on the unitary nature of the State was connected with Plato's metaphysic of Reality. Accord- ing to the famous theory of Ideas, Reality consists of Universal Essences (subordinated to the controlhng Idea of the Good) . Since, therefore, the Universal or the General alone was real, the individual was real only in a derived or partial manner. Thus it comes about that for Plato mankind is more real than men, and thus it is that Society or the State is given an importance superior to that of the single member or citizen. As the Good is the Idea which articulates all other Ideas, the function of the State, as also of any individual member thereof, is the realisation of the ' Good.' This ' Good ' is apprehended by the individual through the ' rational ' part of his nature, and in the State by ' guardians,' whose special vocation it is to mediate by their philosophic wisdom such saving knowledge to the community. Other ' parts ' of the soul are inferior and subordinate to the rational element, as are other orders in the State auxihary to the ' guardian ' class. There is a hierarchy of faculty or function both in the mind of the individual and in the classes of the TToKii. In the mind, there are ' reason,' ' spirit,' and appetite ; in the State, there are ' counsellors,' ' soldiers,' and ' labourers.' Now it was doubtless Plato's aim to organise his ideal society for the attainment of a good that should be really common. Indeed in bk. v. of the Republic he draws out an analogy between the ideal society and the bodily organism with a view to showing their similarity in respect of perfec- tion of sympathy. ' Is not that the best-ordered State which most nearly approaches to the condition of the individual — as in the body, when but a finger is hurt, the whole frame, drawn towards the soul and forming one realm under the ruhng power therein, feels the hurt and S5mipa- thizes all together with the part affected, and we say that the ETHICAL RECOGNITION OF THE ' ALTER ' 65 man has a pain in his finger ? ' ^ And it is acknowledged that in the best ordered State there is the nearest approach to the common feeling just described. The ' community,' indeed, is a unity of pleasures and pains ' where all the citizens are glad or sorry on the same occasions.' But whatever S5m3pathy may be possible in the State, as Plato conceives it, whatever sharing of pleasures and pains, it is clear that a genuine community — a community of will on the part of all the individuals — ^would be pre- cluded. No doubt in the ideal State there wiU be division of labour. Each man, each class, best serves society when each does the task for which each is best fitted. But it is one thing to divide ' labour ' ; it is another thing to assign a monopoly of virtue. And Plato restricts the knowledge of virtue for the most part to the ' guardians.' The ' labourers ' are nothing more than instruments in the State ; they have neither poMtical power nor the capacity for goodness, save that they are called perpetually to exhibit the virtue of self-restraint. That Plato could ever deal with a class of individuals as though they were nothing more than limbs of an organism, or tools for a user, is owing partly to a radical fault in his psychology. There is something essentially vicious about the notion of a hierarchy of faculties. In examining the ethics of Butler we said something in criticism of this ancient notion. If any ' part ' of human nature is essentially base, nothing can ever elevate it, nor can it ever be indulged with- out compromise. The truth is, of course, that human nature is a unity. There is no purely ' rational,' and no purely ' irrational ' or ' non-rational,' part. When the mind acts, it acts as a whole. It is cognitive, affective, and cona- tive in any one of its activities. Plato, however, seems to have regarded virtue as primarily a cognitive exercise. The knowledge of goodness was, he thought, a special discipline ; for the ' Ideas,' by the contemplation of which this knowledge was gained, were conceived by Plato after the analogy of the concepts of mathematics, by which science ' Republic, bk. v. (Jowett's trans.), p. 3-^4. H.S.N. K 66 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR he was greatly influenced. It f oUows therefore that for such a knowledge of virtue peculiar capacity and training are both necessary. But virtue, by general consent, does not depend upon any such native endowment, but upon the quality of the will, upon personahty as such. Man as man is an ethical being. True community must accordingly be a community of hearts, a unity of interests and wiUs. Justice, in Plato's sense, will not accomphsh this. It is true that Plato realised the need of disinterestedness among the guardians ; and he thinks to promote this by external means, such as the aboHtion of private posses- sions in property, wives, and children. He had the acumen to see that differences in the State ' commonly originate - in a disagreement about the use of the terms " meiun " and " tuum." ' ^ The condition of family life in Plato's time, and especially the status of women, left much to be desired. The institution of marriage did httle to elevate womanhood. In proposing free-love Plato was but making use of ideas that were famihar, and seeking to bring sexual and domestic life into closer relation to patriotism. Modern family life, no doubt, also tends to detach itself from relation to the common good and to find its end selfishly within itself. But this is no reason for aboMshing the family as an institution. For hfe in the family is capable of affording a training in service to the community, and in fact does usually give such an education. What is required is not the abolition but the socialisation of the institution. The same is true of private property. To do away with the distinction of ' meum ' and ' tuum ' will no more of itself bring the hearts of men together than will the recognition of the rights of possession necessarily promote envy and greed. Legislation of itself will neither eliminate the divisive spirit nor create good-wiU. What is required is a social, as distinguished from a private or selfish, will. And * Republic, bk. v. ' As the guardians have nothing but their persons which they can call their own, suits and complaints will have no existence among them ; they will be free from all those quarrels of which money and children or relations are the occasion.' ETHICAL RECOGNITION OF THE ' ALTER ' 67 such a will must not be limited to any one class but diHused through the whole community. A caste morality, when so understood, becomes self-contradictory. Finally, the ideal society which Plato contemplates is after all a sort of enlarged city-state. Apparently, outside its boundaries there are ' foreigners.' What the relation of the RepubUc to foreigners should be is not definitely dis- cussed,^ but the important position assigned to the soldier class in the Republic has a sinister significance. Plato seems to imply that the relation between those within and those without the State must be one of conflict. Wonderful, therefore, as is his contribution to the idea of socialised conduct, it nevertheless falls short of a doctrine of humani- tarianism. Passing to Aristotle, we find at the outset a somewhat striking difference from Plato in respect of the transcendent nature of the ' good.' Aristotle brings the good into much closer relation to actual hfe. Indeed, we owe to him the important truth that the good is bound up with the actual constitution of man, and that virtue is a potenti- ality of human nature itself, in so far as reason may be made to operate through the instincts and appetites of the soul. The life of desire, however irrational it may be thought to be in itself, may become a ' partaker ' of reason, in so far as it submits to its rule.* Human good, however, is an exercise, as distinguished from a passive state, of the soul.' This exercise must be with a view to virtue or excellence of the most perfect degree. For, like strength or health, virtue may become perverted through excess or defect of training. Goodness, in fact, Uke Beauty, involves a law of harmony or proportion. Aristotle accordingly teaches that practical virtue is a mean between extremes, though a mean of which reason is the determination. The good, however, which can be attained in this way, the good of practical life, is not, for Aristotle, the only or 1 Cf. C. Delisle Bums, Greek Ideals, p. 315. *Nic. Eth. bk. i. 1102'. ' ^«X^s ivepyeia, Nic. Eth. IO98'. 68 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR the highest good. To achieve that we must transcend our sensible nature and attain to a form of hfe which is entirely rational. The final goal of endeavour to which practical virtue leads is a life of Theoretical Wisdom, gained through Contemplation or Insight {dewpla). This contemplation is the pure activity of the truly divine element in the nature of man, and may be said to yield the knowledge of God himself. We may remark in passing that this distinction between what is called ethical and dianoetic virtue involves an unsatisfactory dualism. It reproduces the mistake of the Platonic psychology in attributing excellence or otherwise to the activity of a mere ' part ' of the soul. This leads in turn to the same unsatisfactory distinction between types of virtue, such as the ethical and the dianoetic, the former of which is made auxiliary to the latter. Virtue, on the contrary, is a certain quality of the will, or an attitude of the whole personaUty ; and as such, goodness is one and the same in its essence, at all times, and for different individuals. It is unnecessary for our purpose to discuss very fully Aristotle's doctrine of the Mean. But its obvious mistakes and exaggerations proceed from a radical error, kin to the foregoing, with regard to the ' locus ' of virtue. It removes the seat of goodness too far from the region of motive and makes rightness apparently a quantity. No doubt good- ness has a quantitative aspect, but quantity is not of its essence. Aristotle acknowledges that the position of the Mean shifts according to circumstances. What it is impor- tant to note is that in determining the right measure of one's conduct regard must be had to the motives of the self, and in particular to the attitude of the self to other selves. Temperance, for instance, has a quantitative aspect ; but questions of food, drink, and sexuality cannot be decided without regard to personal ideals and social responsibilities. Truthfulness also depends not so much on fideUty to fact as on the relations subsisting between men : it takes two people at least to provide a situation for veracity. The ETHICAL RECOGNITION OF THE ' ALTER ' 69 decision as to the need and extent of 1 Courage is clearly connected with the determination of duty, and that again depends upon the claims which society addresses to the individual. It is unnecessary to point out the social reference underlying such exhibitions of virtue, so called, as are described by Aristotle under the names of LiberaUty, Magnificence, and Great-Mindedness. But Aristotle himself is quick to recognise this social reference, for he reahses that there is a sense in which Virtue means Justice. ' He is the best of men who practises virtue not merely in his own person, but towards his neighbours.' ^ A stiU more remarkable recognition of the importance of the social factor is made in his discussion (in bk. viii. of the Nic. Ethics) of the virtue of Friendship. It is a common- place with Aristotle that virtue can develop only in the State, though he does not, as Plato tended to do, subordinate the individual entirely to its interests. The State is neces- sary to supply the citizen with opportunities for conduct, and with education for the discharge of his duty. The function of Justice is to contribute to the good order of the State. It is Friendship, however, which effects the inner union of the citizens. Friendship is ' the bond of social communities.' With a remarkable insight Aristotle declares that ' if citizens be friends, they have no need of justice, but though they be just, they need friendship also, and that principle which is most truly just is thought to partake of the nature of friendship ' {km (plXwv /mev ovtwu ovSev Sel SiKaioavvt]^, SiKaioi S' oi/rey Trpoa-Seovrai (biXlas, Koi twv SiKaiwv TO /uaXtara (piXtKov elvai SoKei. Bk. viii. I. 1155") • To promote such Friendship must, he adds, be the supreme concern of the legislator. Now when we go on to inquire more closely into the basis of this union of the citizens, we find in Aristotle a wonderful contribution to that doctrine of Community which we hope to develop hereafter. True Friendship is declared not to be based on ' utihty ' or ' pleasure,' but to consist in ' wishing good to another for that other's sake.' Practi- 1 Nic. Eth. 1130', bk. v. 1-2. 7<3 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR cally this means that true community is a spirit, and not a matter of legal institution as with Plato. Disinterestedness is promoted, not by the aboMtion of property or private homes, but rather by the inner bond of soul with soul. In this teaching Aristotle surely advances beyond his master. It is also interesting to see that Aristotle finds a basis for this highest form of human association in what we may call rehgion. ' The good man is to his friend as to himself, friend being but a name for a second self : ' {-n-poi eaurov e-^ei o a-TTOVoaioi, Kai irpog tov (plXov, erepos yap avTOf 6 (biXos ea-Tiv. Nic. Eth. bk. ix. 9. 1170''). Now in so far as this intimate association is an association in goodness (cf. bk. viii. ch. v.), goodness being interpreted as the contemplative activity of the divine function of the soul, it would seem that human fellowship is founded thus far on a rehgious basis. We propose to enter more fully later into a discussion of the ground of community. Mean- while, in criticism of Aristotle, we will merely note that Oewpia scarcely provides sufficiently for that intimacy of union between men which seems requisite. Indeed, there are not wanting passages in Aristotle where he speaks of the good man, in this highest exercise of contemplation, as being ' self-sufficient.' Such a man, while needing the necessaries of life, is supposed not to need other men, at any rate to present occasions for the exercise of this supreme activity. It must not be forgotten also that the bounds of this community of man with man were rather rigidly circum- scribed. Since the citizens were supposed to be ' friends,' the State must be small, — a City- State, in fact, Uke Athens. It was also regarded, in error, as being self-sufficient and independent. And, as has been remarked,^ this idea of exclusive States has proved the precursor of an unfortunate tradition of which the outcome has been international hostihty and suspicion. The Greek City- State was exclu- sive even within its own borders, for it did not enfranchise its slaves. Thus, in spite of the important and suggestive ' Cf. C. Delisle Bums on Greek Ideals, p. 257. ETHICAL RECOGNITION OF THE ' ALTER ' 71 anticipations of community in Aristotle, the notion was in these ways encompassed with hmitation. With the decay of the Greek City-State the idea of Com- munity was rescued and preserved by the Stoics, who boldly gave it a world-wide extension and proclaimed a doctrine of universaJism. They were led to do this by their principle that ' Reason ' was common to all men, and that in con- sequence men were aU ' akin by nature.' ' If our reason is common,' says Marcus AureHus, ' there is a common law, as reason commands us what to do and what not to do ; and if there is a common law we are feUow-citizens ; and if this is so, we are members of some pohtical community — the world is in a manner a state.' ^ We have the same sentiment in Epictetus : ' You are a citizen and a part of the world . . . The duty of a citizen is in nothing to consider his own interest distinct from that of others, as the hand or foot, if they possessed reason and understood the law of nature, would do and wish nothing that had not some relation to the rest of the body.' ^ The Stoics, then, viewed the world as the City of Man in which all ahke, whether slaves or barbarians, were citizens. From this view was derived the idea of a law of Nature appHcable to all men, and in particular a conception of the natural equality of all men, notions which have had great and lasting influence on civilisation. It is significant for our purpose that the message of Stoicism to the world was a doctrine of the solidarity of humanity, and that the principle on which the individual should act was that of being a citizen of the City of Man. We realise herefrom how ancient and distinguished is the notion of community as determining the conduct of men. There are indications in Stoicism that the conception of human sohdarity was at times less external and more inti- mate than has been mentioned. It amounted practically to brotherhood for those thinkers who regarded the ' reason ' which is common to aU men as kin with the Reason that 1 M. Aurelius, Commentarii, iv. 4 (quoted by Westermarck) . • Arrian, ii. 10 (quoted by I^cky, Hist, of European Morals, p. 254). 72 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR pervades the Universe. At any rate, the unity of human hfe was knit with the unity of the life of the Whole and was thus made organic. If we refrain from describing such human soUdarity as brotherhood, it is simply because the Stoic metaphysic favoured a Pan-Logism rather than a Theism. It is unnecessary to point out that this doctrine of world- citizenship actually became under Christian auspices a doctrine of brotherhood — an ultimate principle of conduct which has survived and extended itself through the centuries. But as in Christianity this principle is based on authority and bound up with certain characteristic religious doctrines, it is necessary that we should inquire how far such a principle is scientifically justifiable. In the eighteenth century of our era a remarkable and suggestive anticipation of the principle of community was contained in the idea of a ' General Will ' {volonte gdnerale) ■ enunciated by Rotjsseau in his Social Contract (1762). * Rousseau was really seeking to determine the principle of political obUgation. He reahsed and taught that govern- ment must be by consent of the governed, upon whose suffrages all political decisions must fundamentally rest.* Rousseau, however, had the insight to see that, while the consent of the governed was so far a sufficient principle of legahty, it was possible for that consent to attain such a quaHty as to make political acts and decisions not only legal, but moral. In other words, the consent of the governed need be in itself no more than a ' will of all ' {volontd de tons) — i.e. a sum of particular wills ; if, however, it become a 1 Prof. J. S. Mackenzie discusses at length this conception of a ' General Will ' in his new Outlines of Social Philosophy, bk. i. ch. ii. pp. 51 sq. ^ Rousseau held that this ' general will ' is implied as a basis in the very existence of the State, sajdng in words which have become classic, ' each of us puts his person and all his power in common under the supreme direction of the general will, and, in our corporate capacity, we receive each member as an indivisible part of the whole. At once, in place of the individual personahty of each contracting party, this act of association creates a moral and collective body, composed of as many members as the assembly contains votes, and receiving from this act its unity, its common identity, its life and its will.' Social Contract, bk. i. ch. vi. ETHICAL RECOGNITION OF THE ' ALTER ' 73 ' general will,' then is it not only ' the source of the laws, but constitutes for all the members of the State, in their relations to one another and to it, the rule of what is just or unjust.' ^ Now it is not necessary to suppose that the mere existence of the State imphes more than a ' general will ' in the sense of common interest. The State is found by its citizens to be a mutually convenient institution.* Nevertheless a perfect State would imply the existence behind it of a social wiU that was really ' general ' in the sense of Rousseau's definition. And so it must be recognised that his conception of a ' general will ' is in itself valuable and profound. He actually speaks of it as a ' single ' will,' and declares it to be indestructible, and also infallible. Its function is to substitute ' reason ' for ' instinct,' ' duty ' for ' impulse,' intelligence and humanity for stupidity and animality.* Its object is ' the common good.' It is not directed to any particular act, but is general in its object as weU as its essence.^ In short, the general will is the will of the individual citizen, which has for its end not any private interest, but the universal good. Indeed Rousseau in other writings of his allows that its scope is world-wide.* It is obvious that in this conception of a ' general will ' we have imphcit that idea of Community whose claim to be the supreme moral principle the writer seeks to sub- stantiate in the present work. And it is clear that Rousseau himself was weU aware of its ethical character. ' The most general will is sdways the most just,' he declares.' He calls the State ' a moral body ' which guarantees ' moral ' Hberty instead of natural freedom. The ' general will ' 1 Discourse on Political Economy. * Rousseau regarded it as a safeguard for the individual against his own and his neighbour's selfishness. ^ Social Contract, bk. iv. ch. i. * Op. cit. bk. i. ch. viii. ^Op. cit. bk. ii. ch. iv. "' . . . the great city of the world becomes the body politic, whose general will is always the law of nature, and of which the different States and peoples are individual members.' Discourse on Political Economy. ' Op. cit. 74 SELf AND NEIGHBOUR is a law ' graven on the hearts of the citizens ' : it keeps people in the ways that are right, and forms the standard for legisla- tion.^ From this point of view the State is regarded by Rousseau as a moral being, and ethical and poHtical philosophy are identified — democracy and moraUty being asstuned to be one as to their essential principle. This' we regard as a profound and significant discovery. Politics has its normative aspect ; and if the object of government is to reahse perfectly the ' general wiU,' then this can be attained only as each citizen moralises his own wiU and makes it ' general.' But Rousseau did not work out this conception of the ' corporate self ' {le moi commun) on its ethical side. It is our hope that in the present essay we may be able somewhat to develop the conception from the purely ethical point of view. Rousseau, however, is not quite consistent. There are passages in his writings which make against this ethical interpretation of the ' general wiU,' as when, for instance, obedience to the ' general will ' is said to be capable of being ' forced,' ^ a remark which points to a particularistic and materiaHstic conception of ' will.' Again, he allows that the social compact may be revoked,^ which appears to make the ' general wiU ' optional and not obhgatory, conventional and not really fundamental. But these defects need not be noticed too seriously. Suffice it that in the notion of a ' general will ' Rousseau outlined a great moral conception. It is further significant that such a will was supposed to operate through feehng rather than intelli- gence, and in particular through a love of equality with others {amour de soi) rather than through a love of the exclusive self {amour propre) . We may add a word as to certain other defects in Rousseau's conception. It is unnecessary to remark that democracy, as we know it, is not the perfect thing which this high ethical view of the ' wiU ' on which it is based would lead us to suppose. Indeed, the actual ' will ' which * Social Contract, bk. ii. ch. xii. * Op. cit. bk. i. ch. vii. ' Op. cit. bk. iii. ch. xviii. ETHICAL RECOGNITION OF THE ' ALTER ' 75 keeps the State together is probably 'much less august. And throughout, Rousseau appears altogether too opti- mistic in regard to the goodness of human nature, and insufficiently allows for the assertion of particular wills and the lapse into ego-centric action. Now and then, it is true, he warns us that ' the particular wiU tends, by its very nature, to partiaUty,' and that ' aU peoples have a kind of centrifugal force that makes them continually act one against another, and tend to aggrandise themselves at their neighbours' expense, Uke the vortices of Descartes.' ^ But he usually attributes all such errors to mistakes of judgment rather than of heart — another instance of his superficial optimism. A further inconsistency seems to be latent in his remark that the general will is found by counting votes. ^ But if the ' general will ' is a moral attitude, votes can only express it ; they cannot create it. Rousseau admits that the ' general will ' need not be unanimous, though if it is the ultimate principle of morahty it must surely be a universal will in the sense that it is the duty of every man to will it. The ' general will,' if a moral will, should be the will of all. In other words, each should wiU the good of each and all. But, so far as we can see, Rousseau never shows why this should be so : he never estabHshes an obligation as such. It is true that in his chapter on ' Civil ReUgion ' he tries to give the State ' a basis to rest on.' But he appears to look upon rehgion as supplying only a sanction to the ' general will,' not as giving it a rationale. If it be said that the individual may be trusted to exercise a ' general wiU ' on account of the essential goodness of his nature, the expectation is refuted by facts. There appears to be no other reason furnished by Roussea,u why the ego-centric man shoiild generahse his will, except that by consenting to a social life lie will share the benefits with his fellows of a certain ' preservation ' and happiness of hfe. If then ' the general wiU,' in spite of its promise, turns out to be not really a communal will, but merely a conven- 1 Ojj. cit, bk. ii. ch. ix. * Op. oit. bk. iv. ch. ii. ^6 SELF A^D NEIGHBOUR tional compact between individuals among whom there is no inner or essential union, Rousseau is to this extent unsatisfying.^ A remarkable protest, however, was made against this individualism of the eighteenth century by another French- man, AuGUSTE CoMTE. Hitherto the conception of the social unity, especially in Rousseau and his British predecessors, had been too much that of a mere aggregate of individuals. Moreover, society was regarded as static, to be modelled according to certain dogmatic ideas. A vast improvement on these old conceptions was made by Comte. Comte taught that Humanity was a great Organic Body whose Being was continuous throughout a long past unto a distant future. In this colossal Body, aHve in the present, are contained the hves of the dead, as also in potentiaUty the hves of all posterity. Helped by the science of Biology, and in particular by the doctrine of Evolution, Comte had no difficulty in ascribing to society the attributes of growth and development. Humanity is clearly under the influence of its own past, near and remote, and it gathers up those influences and exerts them upon its own future. And, so far as Comte taught this truth, he makes a great advance on Rousseau, and offers an important contribution to the science of society, claiming, indeed, to be a pioneer in Sociology, the name of which was his own invention. We shall have occasion later on to consider at some length the propriety of applying the idea of an organism to human society. Sometimes Comte adopts the view that the social unity is Super- organic, and that the individual's independence must be recognised. But for the most part he regards individuals as no more than organs of the 1 ' The real objection to the term ' general will ' is that in so far as it is will it is not general, and in so far as it is general it is not will. The common good is explicitly willed by a minority of thinking and public-spirited individuals. What is general is more undefined and perhaps indefinable, a participation in the variegated mass of psychological forces out of which the actions and development of the community emerge.' L. T. Hobhouse, Metaph. Theory of the State, p. 126. ETHICAL RECOGNITION OF THE ' ALTER ' 'j'j Great Being [Grand, Eire). From tljis point of view Humanity is alone real, the individual being an abstraction. The value of the Comtian conception is in this way, it seems to us, discounted. The doctrine of the Great Being was further invalidated by the Positivist philosophy with which it was aUied, and to which a brief reference may here be made. Discarding metaphysics as a stage of development which humanity in its growth has passed, Comte held that the mind must cease its search for transcendent causes and Mmit itself to ' positive ' knowledge, i.e. the knowledge of phenomena in respect of their relations of resemblance, coexistence, and sequence. The Great Being itself is accepted as a datum and treated as though it were seK-suf&cient and eternal. But this hmitation of knowledge is quite unsatisfactory. As has been pointed out.^ Comte is obhged to become meta- physical in his endeavour to escape from metaphysic. The dictum that only phenomena can be known itself pre- sumes a knowledge of what is not phenomenal. It is itself a metaphysical declaration, however unjustifiable. That it is unjustifiable is evident from the fact that Positivism attains no adequate unity of system. And to achieve some sort of unity of world- view is in truth the object of meta- physics. So long as metaphysics is represented as being a search for transcendental causes, it is possible by a narrow interpretation of ' cause ' to maUgn the true character of that study, which is no other than the attempt to think things together. The effort to find a principle of unity is so inevitable that no one who thinks at all can escape it. He who endeavours to escape it finds, as was the case with Comte, that in the very attempt he becomes metaphysical in spite of himself. Comte, then, leaves Humanity and Natmre standing over against one another without any adequate unification. The life of mankind is as real as the phenomena of Nature. Yet neither Man nor Nature is independent the one of the 1 Cf. Caird, Social Philosophy of Comte, pp. lai sq. 78 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR other, nor is either self-sufficient. And yet, according to the Comtian view, man, as has been said,^ ' appears in the universe Uke a moral Melchizedek without ancestry, owing everything to himself, his own Providence, bringing into the universe for the first time the qualities which merit the attribute divine.' Sometimes Comte confesses the independence of Nature and regards it as out of relation to Man, as ' an external fatality.' At other times, he feels the need of relating Nature to Man, and then he explains the function of the former to be one of subservience to human interests. Know- ledge of Nature thus becomes a tool for human aims, and the only justification for science is its social utiHty. It is sufficiently clear that the relations between Man and Nature cry out for some explanatory principle of unity. Not only is the Uf e of Humanity abstracted too much by Comte from that of Nature, but it is itself a somewhat abstract conception. No one denies at this time of day that men, past, present, and future, are bound together in some sort of unity. Moreover, there is something wholesome in the Comtian regard for the dead as a subject for our reverence and gratitude, as there is also in the Comtian sense of obliga- tion to the future of the race. Our debt to our ancestors and our duty to posterity will always need emphasis. When, however, Comte ascribes to the Grand Eire divine attri- butes, and constitutes it an object of worship, he does that for which he has no ontological justification. Humanity is not shown to be self-sufficient or self-existent ; it has no personality of its own, except metaphorically ; it cannot be said even to be eternal, — ^part of it is yet to be, and its perpetual existence can be no more than an assumption. Moreover, it is confessedly imperfect and needs help. It is this service of humanity, indeed, which is taken to be the supreme ethical obhgation. As we ourselves hold an opinion which is somewhat similar, it is desirable to distinguish clearly the Comtian ethic. There is at the outset in Comte's exposition a fallacious ' Pringle-Pattison, Idea of Cod, p. 153. ETHICAL RECOGNITION OF THE ' ALTER ' 79 assumption that the science of conduct^ is of the same sort as that of society, that the duty of men to each other is settled by the actual relations in which they subsist one with another. Granted that men Uve perforce in the closest unity, that their fortunes, physical, mental, and moral, are Unked together, so that they have a common experience of iU- or well-being, this fact does not in itself settle their duty to each other. Moreover, it should be understood that these experiences in which aU men share are social in a non-moral sense. Regarded in this manner, life is necessarily social. That is to say, we suffer and enjoy in common. No man hveth to himself. The amenities and the dis- abUities of hf e are all shared. And the tendency is for life, so viewed, to become more corporate and social, if for no other reason than that of pubhc convenience. Men act, possess, and enjoy in common, municipally, nationally, and internationally. There results from this type of com- munity of hfe an enhancement of material and mental existence. But it seems to us shallow optimism on the part of Comte to suppose that this outward community neces- sarily begets what is reaUy different — an inner community of heart, a unity of aim and motive, a reciprocation of Love. And he admits that ' the social instincts would never gain the mastery were they not sustained and called into constant exercise by the economy of the external world, an influence which at the same time checks the power of the selfish instincts.' * But why should these so-called ' social instincts ' gain the mastery ? ' To the Positivist the object of Morals is to make our sympathetic instincts preponderate as far as possible over the selfish instincts ; social feeUngs over personal feehngs.' ^ But it must be said that Comte gave no sort of proof of the obhgation to effect this end, unless, as Martineau suggests,^ that obhgation is considered to be based on intuitive conviction, in which case the basis • General View of Positivism, p. 17 (Bridges' trans.). « Op. cit. pp. 67-68. ' Types of Ethical Theory (3rd edit.), i. p. 502. 8o SELF AND NEIGHBOUR of his ethics is scarcely ' positivistic' What is more, the predominance of the S3anpathetic or altruistic attitude, as Comte understood it, would lead to absurdity and contra- diction. To seek in this way to Uve for others would mean in one sense a duaUsm of ends — duty for ' ego,' the accept- ance of service by ' alter ' ; which latter end would conflict with ' duty ' in so far as the ' alter ' considered himself as ' ego ' in relation to others to whom he must render service. Thorough-going altruism of this kind defeats itself. The blame for this error of Comte's must be laid at the door of his inadequate psychology of human nature. It is a vicious division to split up that nature into two kinds of impulse, egoistic and altruistic. With a psychology of this type the attempt to reach a satisfactory ethic is prejudiced from the start. Certainly no doctrine of a common interest can on these lines be attained. In one sense man is always egoistic, in that, whatever he does, his • ego ' is always active. In the same kind of sense he is always social, in that whatever he does, be it good or evil, his actions affect others. But in the ethical sense of the terms he is, so far as the mere impulses of his nature go, neither egoistic nor altruistic. As we have said, both Egoism and Altruism are, so to speak, artificial develop- ments and exaggerated tendencies, according as the sole interest of self or of others is elevated, or attempted to be elevated, into an end. Had Comte considered carefully the characteristic Instincts of human nature, especially the parental instinct, he would have seen how the Uves of self and of other become a unity without chasm or break of interest. From this it follows that the Sentiment of Love, developed from such an instinct, reconciles, not so much the happiness of self and of other, as interests which are much more central. Love effects a union of hearts, a merging of ' wills ' ; and such a union, as we hope to show, is the best guarantee of other forms of reconciliation. Had Comte realised the importance in this connection of the parental instinct, his view of the relation between family life and virtue would have been clearer. It is not. ETHICAL RECOGNITION OF THE ' ALTER ' 8i for instance, woman as such who is. the symbol or ' original source of all moral influence/ * nor is ' the first germ of social feeling seen in the affection of the child for its parents.' ^ We believe that family life supphes the instinctive basis of morahty, because it effects a natural unity of interest between the members. Yet parenthood is the source of that unity rather than the conjugal relation ; and even brotherhood depends upon parenthood as the ground of fraternity. But we must now pass on to consider at length the doctrine of Common Good as it has been expHcitly held by philosophers of a more recent date — especially by T. H. Green. Afterwards we must ourselves try to give the doctrine a less exceptionable and more constructive statement. 1 General View of Positivism, p. 239 (2nd edit. 1880). Cf. Kidd, Science of Power, p. 230. 2 Op. cit. p. 70. CHAPTER II GREEN'S DOCTRINE OF COMMON GOOD The late Prof. T. H. Green's Prolegomena to Ethics is of course one of the standard treatises in English on the subject of Moral Philosophy.* Taking as his basis the meta- physics of Absolute Ideahsm he attempts to build thereon an ethical superstructure. We are not primarily concerned with Absolute Ideahsm as a metaphysical theory, but it is necessary to draw attention, if only briefly, to the principles which Green uses as the foundation of his doctrine. These principles, stated in their simplest terms, may be thus summarised. Reason in man is constitutive, not only of the world which he knows, but also of his knowledge of that world. It is the source ahke of relations between pheno- mena and of our apprehension of them. Our consciousness of a world of experience is not the product of that world of which it is the consciousness,~but is rather the reproduc- tion in us of that eternal consciousness for which the world eternally exists. Reason, which is the source ahke of ' nature ' and our knowledge of nature, is the source also of our nioral nature. Whereas it is usual to say that the motive makes the man. Green holds rather that man makes his own motive. Motive is ' the presentation of a want by a self-conscious subject to himself, and with it the idea of a self-satisfaction to be attained in the filhng of the want ' (bk. ii. ch. i. p. 94, edit. 1883). A motive is thus always the desire for personal good in some form or other, and in 1 In his Principles of Political Obligation also Green regards Good as Common, and relates it to those civil rights and institutions in which it is safeguarded and expressed. 82 GREEN'S DOCTRINE OF COMMON GOOD 83 all desires the one seK-conscious soul or. subject seeks ever and always its own good. As the mind is supposed to give reality to objects of knowledge, so it gives reality to objects of desire ; just as it constitutes the former into a world of experience, so it introduces unity and system into the latter. What difference there may be between the two cases Green denotes by the descriptions ' speculative thought ' and ' practical thought,' — which respectively, he remarks, are only ' different ways in which the consciousness of self ex- presses itself, one being the effort of such consciousness to take the world into itself, the other its effort to carry itself out into the world ' (p. 142). ' Self-satisfaction,' then, ' is the form of every object willed ; but the filling of that form, the character of that in which self-satisfaction is sought, ranging from sensual pleasure to the fulfilment of a vocation conceived as given by God, makes the object what it really is. It is on the specific difference of the objects willed under the general form of self-satisfaction that the quality of the will must depend. It is here therefore that we must seek for the basis of distinction between goodness and badness of will ' (bk. iii. ch. i. p. 161). From the foregoing it foUows that good in an ethical sense is good for a ' self ' ; or, as Green puts it, ' our ulti- mate standard of worth is an ideal of personal worth ' (bk. iii. ch. ii. p. 193). But what is a 'person'? Green remarks that without a Society there are no persons. ' Such society is founded on the recognition by persons of each other, and their interest in each other as persons, i.e. as beings who are ends to themselves, who are consciously determined to action by the conception of themselves as that for the sake of which they act. . . . Some practical recognition of personality by another, of an " I " by a " Thou," and a " Thou " by an " I," is necessary to any practical consciousness of it ' (bk. iii. ch. ii. p. 200). In chap. iii. of bk. iii. Green proceeds to expound at length his doctrine of Common Good as an idea of which Reason is said to be the source. We have just seen that according 84 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR to Green we can realise ourselves as persons only in a society of persons, and that apart from other persons the idea of our own personahty would be impossible. He goes on to explain more fully the part played by other persons in one's own seU-reahsation. Interest in others is not merely the recognition of dependence upon them for the gratifica- tion of the desires of the self, but ' interests in the good of those other persons, interests which cannot be satisfied without the consciousness that those other persons are satisfied.' No one can 'contemplate himself as in a better state, or on the way to the best, without contemplating others, not merely as a means to that better state, but as sharing it with him' {op. cit. p. 210). And, as already mentioned, it is through reason that we are conscious of ourselves and of others as ourselves ; it is reason which is the source at once of the estabhshment of equal practical rules in a common interest and of self-imposed subjection to those rules ; and it is this same reason which in the early history of mankind brought about the primitive associations of family, community, state, and nation. In short, reason, or 'the self- objectifying consciousness of man,' expresses itself socially in the institutions of a common life, which institutions may therefore be regarded as the ' form and body of reason as practical in men' (p. 216) . The tendency of this idea of Common Good — an idea which Green holds to be imphed in the most primitive human society — ^is to include as participators all who have deaMngs with each other and can communicate as ' I ' and ' Thou.' And the range of persons between whom this community obtains ever tends to widen. Green acknowledges the value, as contributing to the realisation of Common Good, of the idea of ' justice ' con- tained in Ulpian and the Institutes, and of the famous maxim of the UtiHtarians that ' Every man should count for one and no one for more than one.' For the latter, if we set aside its usual hedonistic associations, is so far an approxi- mation to the notion of Common Good that it practically claims for every person the right to be deemed an end of GREEN'S DOCTRINE OF COMMON GOOD 85 absolute worth, though, of course, in strict hedonism of the Bentham tj^e the equality signified by ftie maxim obtains between units of pleasure rather than between persons. Green, however, holds that reason, operative both in the mind of man and in institutions, tends more and more to the realisation of the principle that the true good is the good not of any one alone, but the good of one only as it is also the good of each and of all. The institution which he adduces as exemplifying such a condition of social good is the family. In the family the interests of ' ego ' and ' alter ' are identified. From the very beginning of human experience, therefore, there is no such distinction of good for self and good for others as that upon which philosophers are wont to lay so much stress. Instances of a similar community of good are furnished by the Ufe of the church and the nation. Green goes on to characterise this Common Good a httle more precisely. He is ambiguous ; but on the whole he contends that in its nature it is non-material. It is only when the good is identified with pleasure that the distinc- tion between good for self and good for others has any meaning. It is, he says, equally detrimental to the idea of common good that good should be thought to consist of objects that admit of being competed for, and of which one person may possess more and another less. He therefore declares (bk. iii. ch. iv. p. 262), ' the only good in the pursuit of which there can be no competition of interests, the only good which is really common to all who may pursue it, is that which consists in the universal will to be good — in the settled disposition on each man's part to make the most and best of humanity in his own person and in the persons of others.' In other words, good, in order to be common, must be ' a state of mind or character of which the attainment, or approach to attainment, by each is itself a contribution to its attainment by every one else ' (p. 263). He proceeds to explain further that such a state of mind is an interest in the perfecting of man, or the reahsation of the powers of the human soul (bk. iii. 86 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR ch. V. p. 302), and that such an interest is an interest in an object which can be attained in common. Unity thus effected is inner and essential, and therefore quite different from the merely external union promoted by trade, conquest, or social pleasure, and which, it is scarcely necessary to say, is ever liable to be sundered. Such a unity is further described as a union of aU men in one society of equals, a society ' of which the members owe reciprocal services to each other, simply as man to man' (p. 301). Again, Common Good is ' good in the effort after which there can be no competition between man and man, of which the pursuit by any individual is an equal service to others and to himself ' (p. 305). Green points out that in Greece Ufe in the community exemphfied the pursuit of such good, albeit unconsciously. By reaHsing the faculties of his soul a man was directing himself to an ' object which in fact was common to him with all men, without possibiUty of competition for it, without distinction of Greek or Barbarian, bond or free ' (P- 305)- What then, more precisely, is this object, which Green so often declares is ' in its own nature common to all ' ? We conclude the exposition by summing up all the some- what conflicting statements. Sometimes he speaks of it as ' the reciprocal claim of aU upon all to be helped in the effort after a perfect life.' Sometimes he caUs it 'the full realisation of the capacities of the human soul,' and at other times describes the good as a form of weU-being which is common to the individual desiring it with others (p. 308). Such well-being is exemplified in, and realised by, the institutions of family, tribe, and state. ^ Again, the ideal life is declared to be a ' will of all which is the wiU of each.' Only those actions are moral which either ' express,' or ' tend to promote,' that wiU on the part of aU men which has perfection for its object (bk. iv. ch. i. p. 317). Yet again, in bk. iv. ch. ii.. Green identifies good conduct with the fulfilment of our station and its duties. 1 These are dealt with at length in his Principles of Political Obligation. GREEN'S DOCTRINE OF COMMON GOOD 87 Dr. C. F. D'Arcy in his Short Study of Ethics adopts the principle of Common Good. Quoting'Sidgwick's remark that such a doctrine of good is contradictory of common sense, Dr. D'Arcy himself recognises that it is opposed to that principle of competition which seems to be the law of progress. And he accordingly abandons the attempt to estabMsh the principle of Common Good on any foundation so doubtful as that of the ' essential sociality of men.' He contends that the proof of the principle is metaphysical. ' It does not need to Hnger unproved until the natiu'al history of ethical phenomena has been completed.' But he is quite clear that reason alone can never supply the answer to the question, ' Why am I bound to regard others ? ' ' The fact remains that reason cannot escape the circle of the self. Every man is, as a reasonable being, his own end. . . . What the man seeks in the effort of will is some end which he selects as his personal good, some object with which he identifies his personal satisfaction. The will is by nature egoistic. ... It does not foUow, however, that because every man is an end to himself that therefore every other man is an end to him. The scientific use of reason provides no principle capable of proving such a proposi- tion' (part i. ch. vi. p. 58). And D'Arcy argues that it is necessary to transcend seK in order to reduce it to the position of one in a multitude of equally important selves. Raising in pt. ii. ch. iii. p. 100 the crucial question of the coincidence of Egoism and Altruism he observes : ' If the end of conduct were equally an end for all persons, so that in reahsing himself the man at the same time reahses others, and in realising others he reahses himself, the apparent opposition between egoism and altruism would be shown to be an illusion. ... If the good, the true end of conduct, is absolute, it must be good for self and good for all.' And he concludes that the supreme ethical principle may be stated as follows : ' No person can be truly reaUsed unless by an end which reahses every person ; or shortly, The good of each is the good of all ; or again, Th^ true good is a common good.' 88 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR What, then, is the line of proof by which this writer seeks to establish the principle that true good is common ? We may give his argument in his own words : ' The personahty of God carries with it the existence of an Absolute End to which the whole course of Nature is relative. This End is the Absolute Good, and is the dominating principle of the whole process of the world. The Personal element in the Divine Nature also imphes man's kinship with God, and, along with our necessary belief in God's transcendent unity, forces us to find in the Absolute Good the common necessary end, to the attainment of which aU our powers should be directed ' (pt. i. ch. vi. p. 57).! Or, more briefly, since all persons are one in God, the end of one is the end of all. The End of the Universe is the End of man. The Absolute Good is the true Good for every person (p. 52). Oixr author further remarks that ' Faith in the Good as one and the same for all spiritual beings, as much the Good for God as for men, is the high ethical creed which Hfts our common human life from earth to heaven.' Dr. D'Arcy's practical deduction from the doctrine of a Common Good is that it leads to a ' social universe.' If all selves are one in God, what is good for one is good for all, and consequently the cosmos in which each self finds its reahsation must be the same for aU. And he concludes : ' Thus we reach the idea of a social universe in which every person's capabihties shall receive their full reahsation, and in which every person's realisation shall contribute to every other person's realisation. This is the Ultimate or Ideal End ' (pt. ii. ch. 3, pp. 104-105). Dr. D'Arcy points out that sin and imperfection will gener- ally assume the form of unfairness. An institution may be found to be imperfect through its unfairly imposing a burden on some as compared with others. Unfairness is a breach of the social principle, one person being treated as though 1 Again, ' If all Persons form a true community, then the end of one must be the end of each and of the whole. All Persons ... are One in God. Hence the Good for the whole is the Good for every separate member.' Pt. ii. ch. iii. p. 102. GREEN'S DOCTRINE OF COMMON GOOD 89 he were a mere means to relieve another man of his burden. 1 Dr. D'Arcy repeats (pt. ii. ch. v. p. 124) his conviction that the view that society is an organism cannot be rendered appHcable to the facts. ' The essential egoism of every individual mind is a perpetual protest against it. No man can really regard himself, or even think himself, as the mere correlative of aU other men. . . . For himself each one is, by the very constitution of his intellectual nature, the ultimate unit of his own world of experience. He can only think society as organic by subordinating other persons to himself in thought, and regarding them for the time, not as subjects, but as objects.' Dr. D'Arcy repeats his teaching that ' the one conception which can unify the good by identifying personal good with common good is the conception of a transcendent principle of unity forming a bond of union among all persons ' (p. 124). ' It is, then, because man must seek the source of his being and his connexion with his fellows in his relation with God, that all goods must be identified. The good of each man is the good of every man, because aU are one in God ' {ib.). Again, ' when the man and his duty are traced to their source in God, the distinction vanishes, and all duties Eire found to be at once duties to self, to others, and to God' (p. 125). In pt. ii. ch. xii. Dr. D'Arcy explains how the ethical principle embodies itself in institutions : ' The very first principle involved in every social arrangement is associa- tion, or union with a view to some end conceived as common. ' ' It is surely obvious that the very possibility of such institu- tions as the Family, Church, State, demands, to some degree at aU events, the seeking by the individual of a common good' (p. 193). 'So far as any institution or society is coherent, it is moral. . . . Morality is the principle of ^ ' In determining any action the interests of others should count for as much as the agent's own. Every person should be treated as an end in himself, and not as a means to the agent's advantage ' (pt. ii. ch. iv. p. 1 19) — he should be treated in accordance, that is to say, with the Golden Rule. 90 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR cohesion in society and in every social institution ' (p. 195). ' There must ... be a certain amount of good in all social institutions simply because they are social, because, that is, they involve the coherence of a group of individuals. A gang of thieves must contain men who are good according to a certain standard, or it could not be a gang' (p. 196). ' An institution is good in so far as it is social, in so far, that is, as it is a means of identifying private and common good. An institution is bad if, hke piracy for instance, it is anti- social, if it is a means, that is, of putting the good of one group of individuals in direct antagonism to the good of another group ' (p. 197). CHAPTER III THE TEACHING OF GREEN AND D'ARCY EXAMINED Green's metafhysic, so far from lending support to his doctrine of Common Good, would seem to be even an embarrassment. At the outset he declares Reason to be the source aUke of the world that we know, and of our knowledge thereof ; of the relations between phenomena, and our apprehension of them. He categorically asserts that knowledge is ' of matters of fact or relation.' Moreover, this ' reason,' or ' knowledge,' or ' consciousness ' of a world of experience, is the reproduction in us of that eternal consciousness for which the world exists. He further says that it is through reason that we are conscious of ourselves and of others as ourselves. Smrely in aU this there is confusion. For if reason is the knowledge of matters of fact or relation, how can we be conscious of ourselves, since we are, strictly speaking, neither a ' fact ' nor a ' relation ' ? And even suppose we could be considered a ' fact,' we could be so only as we were a ' fact ' for an eternal Consciousness and an absolute Knower. In other words, our own existence would be merely an existence for Other — even for the Abso- lute. But this would be to compromise, if it did not quite destroy, any degree of self-existence on our part. And the conception of a good common to others and ourselves would be meaningless when the ' ego ' in any real sense no longer existed. When once the ' real ' is regarded as the mani- festation of Absolute Reason, then the so-caUed independent ' world ' and the self-existent ' ego ' are both ahke illusory. It will follow also that Green's metaphysic fails to account 91 92 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR for the existence of other selves and our power to know them. Sidgwick has remarked that if knowledge is, as Green declares, ' of matters of fact or relation,' then it is impossible to know Infinite Intelligence or an Eternal Knower, for such a being is neither a ' fact ' nor a ' relation.' But apart from that, it would be impossible to prove the existence of others, or to account for our power to know them. For they are neither a ' fact ' nor a ' relation.' And yet Green asserts that it is ' through reason ' that we are con- scious of ourselves and of others as ourselves. But if it is reason which constitutes our experience and which gives us a world to know, neither we ourselves nor others can be the product of the reason, or intelligible by means of it, since neither we nor others are an ' experience ' or a ' world,' but the source of both. On Green's premisses it is impos- sible alike that others should be in any independent sense, or that they should be knowable. And thus his metaphysic seems prejudicial to the doctrine of Common Good. Further, Green not only declares that it is through Reason that we are conscious of ourselves and of others as ourselves, but he makes Reason also the source of the idea of Common Good. It is, he says (bk. iii. ch. iii.), reason which is the source at once of the establishment of equal practical rules in a common interest and of seK-imposed subjection to those rules ; it is, indeed, the same reason which in the early history of mankind brought about those primitive associations of family, community, state, and nation. In fact, the social institutions of common life are declared to be ' the form and body of reason as practical in men' (p. 216). Though Green emphasised our indebtedness to Greek intellectual categories, it is clear that at any rate the institu- tion of the family, which embodies the idea of Common Good, is something different from an intellectual category, and it is certainly, as an institution, much older than Greek civilisa- tion. CaU the family an idea of reason if you Hke — but it is more truly a form of ' life,' and only some category of TEACHING OF GREEN AND D'ARCY 93 life can do justice to its reality. Whether you can consis- tently call the family and the common good which it embodies ' rational,' depends of course on the meaning of the term. But the functions which Green usually assigns to reason are far more cognitive than conative or vital. For it is said to be the source both of our knowledge of the world and of the world that we know; of the relations between phenomena and of our knowledge of them. More modern representatives of Green's school like Dr. Bosanquet would call reason the principle of non-contradiction. The real is the coherent, and what is truly coherent forms a self- consistent whole. Reason, in other words, is simply ' the spirit of totality.' But all this appears to confuse the issue. Suppose for the sake of argument that it is through reason we make the world that we know and the knowledge we have of that world, suppose reason is the source alike of the relations between phenomena and our knowledge of them, whence are we who are in the world and who know the world ? Whence are we who know and establish the relations between phenomena ? It is clear we cannot ourselves be one of those relations, or one of those phenomena, for it is we who constitute both. Whence, then, come the con- stituters of knowledge ? The family too is a form of ' Mfe ' rather than of thought. It is not a ' principle ' of coherence, but living beings cohering : it is not the expres- sion of the ' spirit of totahty,' it is living beings forming a whole of a unique kind. An intellectuahst metaphysic cannot do justice to such facts, for it invariably distorts them, substituting an intellectual relation for a form of life. By his criterion of coherence the Absolute Idealist thinks to explain all the facts, and to account for the family and such common good as is embodied therein. But it will be clear on reflection that the ' whole ' which is the product of reason is not a ' living ' whole such as is the harmonious family. In a rational ' whole ' the parts have no real independence ; they are what they are in virtue of the ' whole ' to which they are related. But a social 94 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR whole like the family is not a whole of ' things ' or ' facts ' or ' elements ' — ^but sui generis. It is a whole of ' selves,' i.e. a whole of ' wholes,' of which each has existence and meaning. And the love which unites the various members of the family does not, like some mere logical principle, coordinate ' things ' : it does not organise into one a multi- tude of particulars which apart from this unity would have in themselves neither being nor significance. On the con- trary, love coordinates selves and unites persons ; it pro- duces in different souls an identical hfe-interest ; it effects in a variety of individuals a unanimity of aim. We cannot, therefore, agree that Common Good is a ' rational ' category, or that Green has provided it with a satisfactory meta- physical basis. And we are glad to note that Dr. D'Arcy in his Short Study of Ethics appears to coincide with this criticism, for he confesses that a man can think society as organic only in so far as he subordinates other persons to himself in thought, and regards them for the time being as objects rather than subjects. Dr. D'Arcy admits that, so far from this being the case, other people are inalienably 'subjects,' and that the attempt to consider them otherwise is merely a feat of logical abstraction. It is necessary to add a word as to Green's -psychology. Green declares that in all desires the one self-conscious soul or subject seeks ever and always its own good. Self- satisfaction is the form of every object willed. As the mind is supposed to give reahty to objects of knowledge, in the same way it gives reality to objects of desire. These desires are systematised and unified by the self, so that all desires are desires of the self in the sense that they owe their existence to its formative activity, and receive their direction and objective from the self-conscious subject. The self in ' desiring ' is seeking some further state of self which Green describes as ' self-satisfaction.' Accordingly, the desire for ' good ' is a desire for true self-satisfaction or self-realisation, an essential condition of which is found to be the communal nature of such ' good. ' Now it may at the outset be allowed to Green that there TEACHING OF GREEN AND D'ARCY 95 is a sense in which all desire is a desire for the satisfaction of a self. It cannot, indeed, be denied that, as Green says, the desires of a rational being differ from those of an animal in that the former are accompanied by consciousness, and are modified in different ways by intelligence. On this account the desires of a self must always be different from the desires of a mere animal. The latter seeks an animal's satisfaction, and the former seeks self-satisfaction in the sense that it seeks the satisfaction of a self and all that that imphes. There is in this, however, no implication of an ethical nature, for good and bad desires are equally the desires of a self as distinguished from a mere animal. And with this signification there can be no harm in saying that ' self-satisfaction is the form of every object willed,' though the statement amounts to very Httle. It seems to mean that all desires are conscious and personal phenomena. We agree, too, with Sidgwick in his view that these desires, though they are desires of a self, do not there- fore receive their being and content from the self. The action of self- consciousness may modify them in various ways, as we have allowed, but does not therefore consti- tute them what they are. Green erroneously argued that, because a human motive differs from an animal ' want,' inasmuch as the former is the desire of a self- conscious being, therefore self-consciousness gives the desire its existence, content, and intensity. But desire is in these respects conditioned by the nature of our physical organism. And even with regard to the more character- istically human emotions, such as love, envy, and jealousy, these, as Sidgwick points out, are felt by animals, and ' no reason is suggested why a reproduction of the eternal consciousness should have these emotions, independently of the conditions of the animal organism to which it is subject.'! What can be the meaning of ' self-satisfaction ' on Green's theory ? In so far as the seK to be satisfied is the self- distinguishing and combining consciousness, surely such ' Ethics of Green, Spencer, and Martineau, p. 35. 96 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR a self is satisfied by any act of knowledge or movement of desire. If, however, the self to be satisfied is some ideal state, the question arises whether this is attainable by a present desire, or realisable in the future fulfilment of desire. On the whole we believe that Green considered that the good of the self lay in some state of future satisfac- tion. But this notion of an abiding satisfaction of the seK in the future raises the question whether such a satisfaction pertains to the individual self. For Green beUeves that the self-conscious personality partakes of the nature of the ' eternal.' If this is reaUy so, if the finite consciousness is but a reproduction of the eternal consciousness, if the self is reaUy ' timeless,' the idea of a satisfaction in the future for such a seK is, to say the least, incongruous. ' Desires are certainly in time, and the object of desire must be conceived of as future. It is, therefore, not easy to see how the satisfaction of a self which is not in time can be made into a motive for conduct, or how we can at a definite moment of time introduce a change into that which is timeless.' ^ Indeed, as Sidgwick also urges, ^ the whole idea of the pro- gress of such a self in time is impossible. And in so far as the finite self expresses ' the eternal consciousness,' this is ' eternally in reahty all that the human spirit is in possi- bility, and no conceivable perfections could be added to it.' ^ The idea of the attaiimient in time of an ' abiding good ' is in this case stiU more incongruous. And if this abiding good be held to be attained in some better state of humanity as a whole, we are faced with another difficult problem in psychology. For Green holds that in aU desire the self- conscious agent necessarily seeks satisfaction for himself. If then the desire for abiding good is tantamount to the desire for ' a better state of humanity,' ' by what process can we pass,' asks Sidgwick, ' from the form of unqualified egoism under which the true end of the moral agent is represented to us on one page, to the unmediated univer- 1 Rashdall, Theory of Good and Evil, bk. i. p. 39. 2 Ethics of Green, etc., p. 5i- ° Op. cit. p. 53. TEACHING OF GREEN AND D'ARCY 97 salism which we find suddenly substituted for it on another?'^ • And this leads us to question the validity, as distinguished from the possibility, of Green's psychology. Admitting for the sake of argument that the self can desire an abiding and a future good, it is seriously questionable whether in desire it seeks the satisfaction of itself. Rashdall has developed this criticism at length {Theory of G. and E. bk. i. p. 39 sq). Green's psychology is egoistic without being hedonistic. ' The motive of every action is some future state of my own consciousness.' What we directly desire, according tp Green, is not an ' object,' much less some state of our neighbours' consciousness, but rather satisfaction for ourselves; and we desire objects or the good of our neighbotirs only in so far as these may subserve our own ' satisfaction.' This variety of egoistic psychology is exposed to the same charge of hysieron-proteron, says Rashdall, as Hedonism is. ' Unless I looked upon my neighbour's good as a thing for which I cared, or which possessed intrinsic value apart from any effect upon me, I should not think it a good state of mind for me to contribute or to have contributed to that good.' ' It is precisely the unselfishness of the action which I find good.' ' If I cared for my neighbour's welfare merely as a means to my own edification, I should not be unselfish ' (Rashdall, op. cit. pp. 40-41). So-called altruistic action loses aU its meaning, if its motive is simply the attaimnent of some state of the agent's own consciousness. And Green's psychology makes quite impossible that doctrine of Common Good to which he gives such ethical importance. There can be no such thing as Common Good if the motive to action be always the satisfaction of oneself. Upon such an egoistic founda- tion you cannot build a communal superstructure. For Common Good thereby becomes a means merely to personal satisfaction, and ' good ' of that kind is neither a true good, nor is it really 'common.' It is 'good' only as a means, and it is ' common ' only in the sense that actions » op. cit. p. 56. H.S.N. G 98 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR socially useful are made to minister to the agent's own satisfaction. Green's psychology is, in a word, destructive of his ethics. And it was bound so to be. For any psycho- logy that distinguishes between 'ego' and 'alter,' as the term ' self-satisfaction ' by its very implication does, is doomed to render impossible any basis for an ethical doctrine of Common Good. If the motive of desire be always egoistic — if it be even purely altruistic — then you can never satisfactorily negotiate the passage from good for self to good for 'alter,' or vice versa. It remains to be seen if a more adequate psychology be not inter-personal, if, in other words, the ' socius ' be not in reality latent in some form in the ' ego.' ^ We now go on to discuss, from the ethical point of view, the value of Green's doctrine of Common Good. And at the outset it is necessary to obtain a clear idea of what he means by ' good,' for until this is obtained it is impossible to be sure whether his doctrine of community is valid. Unfortunately, his teaching is by no means free from ambi- guity. Roughly speaking, he seems to have two doctrines. Much of his language goes to support the view that good is ' perfection. ' By ' perfection ' he understands ' the realisation of its capabilities on the part of the human soul.' And it is noteworthy that in bk. iii. ch. i. Green definitely includes among these capabihties the pursuit of the arts and sciences. And again, in ch. v. of bk. iii., he declares that the essential forms in which the will for true good must appear are, among other things, ' the will to know what is true, and to make what is beautiful.' Again, in bk. iv. ch. iv., he further re- marks that the arts, exhibiting as they do some of the capabilities of man, help along with other things to define the end of action. At other times he goes so far as to declare (bk. iv. ch. iv.) that we can form no possible conception of what the ultimate perfection of the human spirit would be. * We quite agree with Muirhead when he says in his Elements of Ethics, p. 154, ' It is °"^y ^® involved in one's own that one can desire one's neighbour's good ; it is only as his good enters into my conception of my good, that I can make it an object o* desire and of volition.' TEACHING OF GREEN AND D'ARCY 99 But this of course is a doctrine of nesci^ence, and is quite useless ; for if we do not know what the end of action is, how can we possibly find out even the direction of it, or adopt means for its realisation ? ^ In the same chapter, however, and almost in the same breath, he reiterates his previous statement that the development of faculties by the arts and sciences ' must be a necessary constituent in any life which a man presents to himself as one in which he can find satisfaction.' Now if we adopt this view of ' good,' if we regard it as the realisation of the moral, intellectual, and aesthetic powers of the human soul, it is difficult to see how the principle of community can belong to such a good. For, as Sidgwick has pointed out, it would be necessarily a form of good involving great inequahties between different persons. It would, of course, be impossible to secure equality in a good of this type, unless at the same time you secured an equality of opportunity in men's chances of education, and so forth. And even if equahty of opportunity were obtained, it would be worth Uttle in ensuring that the equality would be lasting and maintained to the end, for almost ever5rthing would depend upon the way in which opportunities were used, and this again would depend upon native capacity, which is notoriously unequal in different men. Indeed, so much depends on that native capacity that it is truer to say that the man makes his opportunity than that opportunity makes the man. So that if the good of life is a mixture of moral, intellectual, and aesthetic quali- ties or attainments, it goes without sa5dng that a good of this kind would be characterised by much variety and inequality of possession. And thus Green's criterion that true good does not admit of being competed for would be negatived. 2 * In his Principles of Political Obligation Green maintains that certain civil rights and institutions condition and embody the Good and give it a ' filling.' They do not, however, thereby determine its nature, but, as it seems to us, are themselves determined by it. Good must have its own meaning. ' a. Sidgwick, Ethics of Green, pp. 69 sq. 100 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR Of course such good might be ' common ' in the sense that it would have social effects, just as acts, inspired by quite selfish motives, have often social advantages. And no one can pursue the arts and sciences without in some way, however unintentionally, benefiting his neighbours. He may even resolve that his culture should be socially useful, much as the Greek strove to be ' brave,' ' honest,' and ' pure ' for the sake of the State. But so long as good is identified with the perfection of the faculties of a man, it does not appear that it could be an3^hing more than similar: it could hardly be com- mon in the strict sense of the term. All men may seek the realisation of their powers, but in this way they would, if successful, attain a hke good rather than a common good. The reahsation of A's faculties does not necessarily and essentially implicate B. B may, of course, feel in indirect ways the benefit of A's culture, but in no proper sense is he a partner in it. In one place Green speaks as though the essence of the perfection of mankind were ' a good will on the part of all persons,' which, he adds, we can promote only indirectly, since ' all that one man can do to make another better is to remove obstacles, and supply conditions favourable to the formation of a good character.' But the possession of a ' good will ' by all persons no more realises a good that is strictly ' common ' than does the reahsation of each man's capabilities. In both cases you have a number of men doing similar things, and possibly exercising some influence over one another, but without any essential identity of interest. By merely multipl5dng the persons possessed of the idea you do not, says Sidgwick, get beyond a will ' possessed by some abstract idea of goodness.' And he carries the criticism further by remarking that ' the question " What is good ? " is not adequately answered by sa3dng that it is the will to promote the will to be good in mankind. . . . Am I to regard nothing as truly good, as an ultimate object of rational aim for me, except this very choice of nothing but this state of will in TEACHING OF GREEN AND D'ARCY i61 others ? . . . Suppose us all willing the p. 172. * Theory of Good and Evil, vol. i. p. 178, note. 156 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR ' really something in itself and in the nature of things : not arbitrary or factitious . . . constituted from without, or dependent on custom, fancy, or will : not even on the Supreme Will itself, which can no way govern it : but being necessarily good, is governed by it, and ever uniform with it.' 1 Diversity in individual opinions compromises neither the ' impartiality ' nor the ' consistency ' of moral judgments. Their impartiahty and independence of individual opinion may not, and do not, prevent actual differences of indi- vidual view, due to personal circumstances and causes. And as for the criterion of consistency, no doubt the verdicts of the colour-blind disagree with those of the normal-sighted, but such disagreement does not disprove the existence of normahty in human vision ; it only shows the possibility of perversion in the case of some whose organ of sight is judged pecuhar. Nor is the apparent inconsist- ency of moral judgments due to different verdicts on the same case. Absolute inconsistency can be established only where the cases are proved to have been regarded in exactly the same way. But such proof is impossible, if for no other reason than that in concrete experience cases never are precisely the same. To expect such a state of things would be to demand in the sphere of human activity a uniformity which is quite unsuitable, because mechanicEil. It is to be remembered in passing that Adam Smith tried to correct these diversities of judgment in the Moral Sense — due to the partiality of thought caused by the agent's self-love — ^by his doctrine of Sympathy with the judg- ments of an ideal and impartial spectator. But it does not seem possible to do away altogether with all instances of diversity. Some of the so-called inconsistencies are natural and inevitable. Nor does Dr. RashdaU obviate them by his own theory of Conscience. There is, however, one grave weakness in the Moral Sense doctrine. As has often been indicated, it does not suffi- ciently secure the authority of morality : it does not 1 CharactefisHcs, ii. 267. CONSCIENCE AND COMMUNITY 157 differentiate the Moral from the Aesthetic judgment in respect of the quality of obligation usually ascribed to the former. Shaftesbiiry, indeed, makes httle difference in this respect between the two kinds of knowledge. In the Inquiry he writes : ' When we say, therefore, of a creature that he has wholly lost the sense of right and wrong, we suppose that being able to discern the Good or 111 of the species he has at the same time no concern for either.' Shaftesbury does not sufficiently emphasise this element of ' concern ' distinctive of the moral conscious- ness. But it is an experience of this kind, an experience of constraint, which is an essential characteristic of the ethical, as it is not of the aesthetic, judgment. The term ' sense ' suggests rather ' passivity ' (not absolutely so, of course), though as expounded by Shaftesbury the Moral Sense is a spring of action, a strong motive, and a bias of man's nature towards conduct of a particular kind. No doubt, those whose aesthetic taste is bad will feel more or less ' constrained ' by the antagonistic judgments of their fellows who accept different canons, or come to different conclusions. In the same way, those who are not normal in their moral taste will to some extent be ' constrained ' by the pressure exerted by a different ethical fashion. But when all similarity between the two types of judgment has been allowed for, it will be found that the ' obligation ' to cultivate correct views on art differs essentially from the duty of manifesting right conduct. For correct aesthetic opinions seem to depend on a certain involuntary factor, on ' a kind of mental capacity,' ^ and this fact considerably modifies their obHgatory nature. Moreover, the obligation to a right aesthetic taste concerns chiefly the inteUigence, whereas that of the moral judgment exercises a direct constraint over the will. Accordingly, moral judgments deal with the regulation of life as a whole, and have to decide what place the cultivation of art and the formation of a good aesthetic taste shall take relatively to that whole. Thus moral obligation is of an absolute kind ; its 1 Rashdall, Thiory of Good and Evil, vol. i. p. 183, note. 158 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR authority is complete and supreme. We say a man ' ought ' to do right as we do not say he ' ought ' to think correctly about art ; nor do we blame those whose aesthetic judg- ment is at fault as we condemn those whose conduct is bad. Shaftesbury, it is to be admitted, has little to say respect- ing the 'claims' of the Moral Sense when these are no longer presented by sheer strength. For one thing, he overlooks the power of the ' self-affections ' and their tendency to assert themselves to such an extent as to disturb the 'balance' of the passions. He, therefore, is practically silent about the need for self-denial and the obligatoriness of virtue. And yet, is it possible on merely psychological hues to get much further, in the discovery of moral authority, than the Aesthetic Intuitionists reached ? Sooner or later the mind must arrive at what, for direct experience, is simply an ultimate value. Indeed, it is interesting to- see that Dr. Rashdall, ' rationahst ' as he is in his psychology of conscience, coincides in this view. ' We have no reason for beheving anyihing,' he says, ' except the fact that we cannot help beheving it.'^ He also observes that ' the exist- ence of a distinct category of moral obligation or value must be a matter of immediate consciousness.' * Duty is duty, he insists, simply because it is ' an inexpugnable notion.' ^ Even Butler, the champion of the magisterial function of conscience, does not proceed far beyond this point. He does no more to secure the authority of con- science than by naming it ' a principle of reflection ' whose ' superiority ' is self-evident, and whose supremacy is ' natural.'* In other words, ' he gives a mere psychology of the moral hfe. . . . He is willing in the main to rest in the immediate and authoritative approval of conscience, with- out investigating the object of its approval or the basis of its authority.'* Surely, as a matter of immediate experience, this is all the authority that can be got. But it is not all the authority we need, nor all that is obtainable. Indeed, ' 7s Conscience an Emotion ? p. 39. * Op. cit. p. 74. ' Op. cit. p. 39. • Sermon on Human Nature, ii. ^ Seth, Ethical Principles, 9th edit. p. 177. CONSCIENCE AND COMMUNITY 159 both Shaftesbury and Hutcheson confess that the authority for the Moral Sense must be found elsewhere, by having recourse to a law outside that given by human nature, i.e. to the law of a Divine Superior promulgated with sanctions of reward and punishment. Hutcheson, in particular, remarks that the Moral Sense needs ' corroborating ' by religious belief, and that ' the word " obHgation " is some- times taken for a strong motive of interest constituted by the will of some potent Superior to engage us to act as he requires.' This seems to base obUgation on the constraint exerted by the hedonistic motive. But he goes on to say : ' in describing the Superior who can constitute obligation we not only include sufficient force or power, but also a just right to govern : and this justice or right will lead again to a moral faculty.' In such a passage Hutcheson seems to realise the need for a justification of the magis- terial function which he ascribes to the Moral Sense. This Moral Sense, he affirms in his System of Moral Philosophy, possesses ' a dignity and commanding nature of which we are immediately conscious.' Such a statement, however, having been written several years later than Butler's Sermons, may reflect their teaching. So much, then, may be said regarding the School of Moral Sense and its view of the objectivity and authority of moral judgments. II It is necessary, in the second place, to examine the views of those who regard Conscience as essentially Rational or Intellectual in nature. This view has been most recently luged by Dr. Hastings Rashdall, whose lectures and pubUshed works have placed aU students of ethics under lasting obHgation, and whose contributions to the psychology of Conscience, in particular, deserve the fullest respect and the most careful examination. Nevertheless, the writer finds it difficvilt to accept his teaching on the nature of Conscience as it is developed in the chapter on ' Reason and Feeling ' in the Theory of Good and Evil, and latterly i6o SELF AND NEIGHBOUR in his book Is Conscience an Emotion? Dr. Rashdall strenuously maintains that only as moral judgments are the work of Reason can their objectivity and authority be assured. Reason, he says, enunciates for our moral guidance certain axioms, — ^which turn out to be those maxims of ' Equity ' and ' Rational Benevolence ' of which Sidgwick makes so much use in his Methods of Ethics. But no sooner have these been mentioned than the author admits that they are only quantitative principles, and have no direct relation to the nature of conduct : they concern only the distribution of good after its nature has been other- wise determined. The question whether such quantitative maxims are of primary and essential importance in Ethics will depend on the nature of good. To ascribe to them •such an importance involves at least that good shall be quantitative and measurable. The axiom that the greater good ought always to be preferred to the less is really inapplicable unless goods are commensurable, both within the hfe of the individual and also as between the individual and the community. Any qualitative differ- ences of good must be expressible in terms of quantity. Other individuals, also, become of no more significance than to supply additional units to the aggregate of good. Even the axiom of Equity that ' one man's good is of as much intrinsic worth as the like good of another ' becomes cogent in itself only as ' Hke ' means ' equal quantities of.' This attempt to make a rigorously quantitative appMca- tion of the axioms of Ethics reveals, we think, its own irrelevance. The axiom of Equity, for instance, which regards as of equal worth equal quantities of good in the lives of different men, affords no sanction for the act whereby a man in battle gives his Hfe for his neighbour, and thus, so far from ' equating ' or merging his ' good,' negatives and ehminates it.* Neither does the axiom show any relation 1 Clearly he eliminates his own good. Nor by dying does he equate it with an increased aggregate of good, save on the difficult supposition that his mere death makes a contribution of maximal quantity. Besides, do men die to swell an aggregate ? CONSCIENCE AND COMMUNITY i6i to the real crux of the ethical problem. The individual is prone to prefer his own good to that of others, not because it is quantitatively superior, but reaUy because he has a bias that leads him to exalt his own claims and to subor- dinate those of the rest of society. This is a quahtative experience of superior worth, and no merely quantitative considerations can show it to be unreasonable. For it is a case where the ' part ' is supposed greater than the ' whole ' ; in other words, where the individual uses society as a means to his own ends. Dr. Rashdall seems at first* to contend for this rigor- ously quantitative apphcation of the axioms, though he afterwards appears to shrink from it, as when he says that ' goods ' are commensinrable ' oiily for the purpose of choos- ing between them.' He instances the case of a man's having a sum of money to spend, and being in doubt as to whether it is best spent on Churches, Colleges, or Hospitals. Strictly speaking, on Dr. RashdaU's view, the man's duty can be decided only by statistics of the results in each case. What is more, any man having the same sum of money to give ought to allot it in the same way. Duty, if it differs at aU, does not differ for individuals, but only according to the amount of substance to be used or energy to be expended. Now if goods are commensurable ' only for the purposes of choice,' such a condition does not appear to be more than a practical limitation. There does not seem anything in this restriction to forbid their being reaUy commensur- able at any time, and, in spite of what Dr. Rashdall says, there does not appear to be any reason why ' a certain amount of one good shoiold not be regarded as a sufficient and satisfactory substitute for another,' much in the same way as a sovereign may be expressed in paper, gold, silver, or copper.^ Which form value takes would then seem to ^ Theory of Good and Evil, vol. ii. ch. i. ' Indeed, Dr. Rashdall categorically says :' ... it is always right to choose the greater good. Such a doctrine implies that goods of all kinds can be compared, that we can place goods of all kinds on a single scale, and assign to each its value relatively to the rest.' Theory of Good and Evil, ii. 38. H.S.N. L i62 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR depend on ' taste ' — in which case the teaching in question would seem to reduce itself to a particularly crude form of the Moral Sense doctrine ! Another difficulty is created by Dr. Rashdall's contention that this choice between ' goods ' applies only to the effect of our conduct on other people, ^ and that, as far as the individual is concerned, there is really only one ' good,' i.e. his duty.^ ' For the agent himself it can never, we have admitted, be right to prefer his own lower to his own higher good, for the simple reason that to do right is always his own highest good.' ' But why, if there is a sole good for 'ego,' should not good also be sole for ' alter ' ? Otherwise we have a glaring instance of that Dualism of the Practical Reason to which our author has drawn attention in another place. No doubt we constantly compare alternative ways of acting, but in such comparisons we do not measure ' goods ' against one another, but rather ways of realising, promoting, or expressing good. Dr. Rashdall admits * that eating and drinking are good only as conducive to virtue. And our choice as to what will be so conducive is Hmited. The content of a man's natural satisfaction is settled for him by his instincts, and cannot be quantitatively trans- posed or varied. Conceivably, some persons may get more happiness from Art than from pleasures of the table, but unless they ate and drank, their very joy in Art would soon fail. And Dr. Rashdall goes far when he allows, as he does, that the ' raw-material ' of virtue and of vice is the same. Where some choice as to the line of his duty is necessary, the agent must primarily take into account, on the one hand, his circumstances and opportunities, and on the other, his abilities, and then make his actions organic with some controlling purpose. And though, in our opinion, there is only one intrinsic good — duty or virtue — yet, as Dr. Moore has shown in his Principia Ethica by means of his principle of ' organic unities,' good may take the form of a ' whole,' containing as ' parts ' constituents which in them- 1 Theory of Good and Evil, ii. pp. 42, 43. 2 Ibid. " Op. cit. p. 46. * Op. cit. p. 40. CONSCIENCE AND COMMUNITY 163 selves are not ' goods,' but, nevertheless, inseparable from the good. If, for instance, ' man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn,' it is easy to see how man's love to man will include and guarantee human happiness. For the rest, it may be granted that virtue has a quantitative aspect, as has the life of the body ; but in neither case does it follow that quantity is of the essence of either. In a recent work,i however. Dr. Rashdall admits that the real ethical judgment is not primarily quantitative in character, but is rather ' a judgment of value which affirms that such and such things are good.' What these things are he hints * when, in stating that pleasures differ in quality, he declares that aesthetic culture and intellectual activity are essentially higher forms of good than eating,^ and that goodness or the good will possesses the highest intrinsic value of all. And the judgment which asserts these superiorities, he says, ' must be a judgment of Reason.'* ' The notion of intrinsic superiority or right to prevail — which is impUed in calling the experience " higher " — is something more than an emotion ; it is an intellectual concept.' ^ Now it seems to the writer that the intelUgence which gives such verdicts must, at least, lack objectivity. For it is not the common view that we are more moral when we are thinking than when we are eating, or that ethical quality attaches to the mere form of activity, the traditional opinion being that moral quaUty resides in the motive. Once let moral quahty depend upon the inherent nature of our activity as inteDectual or physiological, then it will foUow that none of our so-called lower forms of activity Hke eating can be indulged without compromise, nor any of our so-called higher forms exercised without merit. Yet clearly there are times when the only moral proceeding is to eat food, and when it would be wrong to prefer the study of Plato to the work of mastication. The inferiority of a drunken debauch, which is described as a lower pleasure, 1 Is Conscience an Emotion ? p. 43. ' Op. cit. p. 44. 3 Op. cit. p. 75. * Op. cit. p. 184. s Op. cit. p. 186. i64 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR does not arise from its sensuous nature, but from its un- social motive. A similar physical breakdown, arising from the accidental taking of a drug, would not be condemned as immoral. And conversely the so-called higher pleasures of art and culture are higher only because they tend to be less immediately selfish, though there is such a thing as an anti-social aestheticism, and there are also clever scoundrels. But apart from the question whether such judgments of value are correct or incorrect, it is far from clear that value is ' an intellectual concept,' or that moral objectivity is founded on the Reason. For no consciousness is purely cognitive, and it is impossible that a ' thought-satisfactori- ness ' should exist in the mind separate and alone. Rather does it seem that consciousness is primarily appetitive in nature, uses thought in its service, and is, moreover, affectively toned. Dr. Rashdall admits this to some extent when he says, ' Invariably moral judgments imply facts of feeling as part of their ground.' ^ But he goes on to dis- count this admission by saying, ' those feeUngs need not be the feeUngs of the person making the judgment,' and he implies that they are an ' object ' rather than an essential constituent of the judging process. ' They are part of what the moral judgment pronounces to have value.' ^ It is, says Dr. Rashdall, because I know what pain is that I condemn the sticking of pins into other persons. But to stick pins into a man is wrong not on the mere ground that ' it hurts.' Doctors and dentists hurt others and are not condemned. It is surely through the influence of a certain social instinct within us that we are led to condemn the arbitrary infliction of pain, as we are led to approve its infliction when the intention is beneficent ; just as, for the same reason, we approve the squeamishness felt in relation to cannibalistic practices, but disapprove ' a closely anal- ogous repulsion ' connected with the work of dissection.' * Theory of Good and Evil, vol. i. p. 154. ' Op. cit. p. 155. ' Is Conscience an Emotion ? p. 152, and Theory of Good and Evil, vol. i. p. 156. CONSCIENCE AND COMMUNITY 165 Yet, when we come to inquire more closely into his psychology of such approval and disapproval, Dr. Rashdall insists that ' the judgment of value ... is not dictated by the feelings,' ^ which are, it would seem, never more than the object of the judgment ; and he further contends that there may be persons who pronounce such judgments with- out any accompanying feeUng whatsoever. ^ ' To know that an act causes pain in others,' he says, ' is all that I want to enable me to condemn it.' * It is clear from this that feehng is not regarded as having any organic or essential part in the consciousness of value. We do no more than judge about feeUng. This view seems indefensible. It appears to imply, as we have just remarked, that there can exist a purely critical consciousness, feeling entering not as an actual experience, but as merely remembered or imagined. And, in addition to this difficulty, we fail to understand how an affective state, whether remembered or imagined, could be evaluated by a purely cognitive consciousness. ' The proposition that pleasure is good and pain bad ... is one,' we are told, ' that can be assented to without any emotion whatever.' * Surely the problem is here conceived in a purely abstract manner. It is always some concrete pleasure or pain on which we pass judgment, not, as it seems to us, on the ground of a mere rational principle, but rather because of its furtherance or hind- rance of some great life-interest ; and this from the psycho- logical point of view is a process in which feeUng or emotion plays an essential part. Curiously enough in one place Dr. Rashdall remarks, ' Even our most abstract thinking is dominated by purpose or interest of some kind.'" And yet after admitting that it is always the fvilfilment of some desire that is pronounced satisfactory,* he maintains that the part of our nature which is satisfied is the ' intellect.' ' ' Theory of Good and Evil, vol. i. p. 164. ' Op. cit. i. p. 169. » Op. cit. i. 169 sq. * Theory of Good and Evil, i. p. 170. ' Op. cit. i. p. ITS. * Is Conscience an Emotion ? p. 174. ' Op. cit. p 177 i66 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR Whatever similarity may exist between the judgment of value and the judgment of fact. Dr. Rashdall stresses the resemblances too strongly. 'An object which has merely a meaning for thought, i.e. significance, cannot possess value as such. It must in addition have a meaning for practical experience — ^it must have some biological significance, it must relate itself to the satisfaction of some vital need.' ^ ' The worth-judgment of an individual ' expresses ' the " affective-voUtional " meaning of an object for the subject.' ^ And while the two kinds of judgment may also be too widely separated, there remains the distinction between ' judgments all of whose elements may be theoretically apprehended, and judgments which contain constituents which demand an emotional constatation.' ^ It is unnecessary, in this connection, to inquire whether in the worth-experience the element of feehng or desire is the more fundamental, whether in the affective-volitional process it is a ' need ' or an ' interest ' which is sought to be satisfied. Suffice it to say, the affective element is essential to the value-consciousness.* The ' Rational ' school of morahsts emphasise one ele- ment in the appreciation of virtue, but err in maldng it exclusive. Though the Moral Sense doctrine is defective, yet in stressing the affective element it recognises the pres- ence of a factor essential to moral experience. Conscience, whatever it is, must, at least, involve the activity of the whole nature ; and we must, therefore, look for any explanation of it, not to emotion alone, nor to intelligence alone, but along the hues of the mind's whole development. ' J. L. M'lntjTre, Proceedings AHsto. Soc. 1904-5. ' W. M. Urban, Valuation, p. 28. » • The Problem of the Value-judgment,' D. W. Fisher, Phil. Rev. Nov. I913- • ' The values of life are found and enjoyed by us rather than rationally apprehended : and though thought is active in the formation of judgments of value, it does not play an exclusive part.' Galloway, Phil, of Relig. p. 358. CONSCIENCE AND COMMUNITY 167 III Now it is clear that the mind never works by ' faculty,' but as a whole. One psychosis differs from another, not because it contains any element lacking to the other, but only in respect of its complexity of development. As Mr. A. F. Shand has shown, ' mental activity tends, at first unconsciously, afterwards consciously, to produce and sustain system and organisation.' There is, for instance, the system of the primary emotions and appetites on which our characters are built up. There are the more complex systems formed out of emotions, their excitants, and tend- encies, which may be called Sentiments, of which Love and Hate are t5^ical examples. The Sentiment of Love, in the form of parental affection, is the primitive senti- ment of human nature, based, as it is, upon instincts which are biologically of fundamental importance. The Parental Sentiment is at first operative in the small family group. Subsequently, as the family group comes to be extended by natural growth, intermarriage, and the adhesion of outsiders, the Parental Sentiment enlarges to the more comprehensive Tribal Sentiment. All research goes to show that it was out of this Tribal Sentiment that MoraUty was born. Morahty is, in its origin, ' group-morality,' and the fundamental moral principle was ' Thou shalt stand by thy kin,' ' tribal custom being the first rule of duty.' If, then, Conscience in its primitive form is a regard for the Tribe, its approval and disapproval, it wiU be obvious that, as Westermarck says,^ ' there can be no moral truth in the sense in which the term is generally used.' That is to say, there can be no deeds which as such are intrinsically right, ' right ' being at first simply the individual's (prob- ably selfish) regard for what the Tribe demands or prohibits in the interest of its own biological survival. As Hobhouse reminds us, rules of conduct have ' arisen under the condi- tions of group-morahty, and are tarnished with the brutalities ' Origin and Development of Moral Ideas, vol. i. p. 17. i68 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR incident to the struggle for existence. They have been infected by gross conceptions of magical influence and spiri- tual resentments.' ^ But, in spite of the bewildering variety of these rules and their mixed origin, behind them aU is the supreme obligation imposed by blood-relationship and neighbourhood to maintain loyalty to the clan. It is clear that there may be as many different systems of customary rule as there are tribes, and that the only ethical objectivity possible wUl be found, not in the detailed practices of the groups, but in that spirit of loyalty common to them all. True, the objectivity was Mmited, in that the devotion was restricted to each group. Absolute objectivity, in the case of such a Sentiment, would mean that the object of devotion was so widened as to include a number of groups within a larger unity, until humanity itself was , encircled. Thus objectivity in ethics takes the form, not of univers- ality (which belongs rather to ' rule ' or ' law '), but of unity. As morality in its beginnings is based on the fact of blood-relationship, so its growth, by the inclusion of wider groups into its scope, is negotiated by an extension of the same basis of kinship. Dr. Rashdall remarks : ' I am much more interested in one individual or small group of indi- viduals than in thousands of others who are known to me merely as human beings enumerated in the census. It is only my Reason which objects to such partiaUty.' ^ By ' Reason ' is here meant the axiom of Equity : — ' one man's good is of equal intrinsic value with the hke good of another.' Now, while undoubtedly this idea of ' equality ' has done noteworthy service in Law and PoUtics from the days of the Roman Stoics to the time of the French Revolution and after, and is still a notion with which we have to work, the narrow scope of the original tribal sentiment would seem to have been widened, not, indeed, by an avoidance of ideas (for intellectual processes play an important part ' Morals in Evolution, p. 547 (one vol. edit.). ^ Is Conscience an Emotion ? p. 162. CONSCIENCE AND COMMUNITY 169 in the development of sentiments),* but by thought congru- ous to the character of the sentiment.* And it seems to us that the widening has taken place, not by means of any conception so quantitative as that of equality, but by the more ' vital ' notion of the unity of those outside with those inside the group. The Stoic based his teaching of world-citizenship on the ground that all men were alike the inhabitants of one and the same city, even the city of Zeus. ' Thou art a citizen of the world and a part of it.' ^ The notion of the ' equaUty ' of all races before the law, usually regarded as the offspring of Stoic teaching, would seem to depend on the more fundamental idea characteristic of Stoicism that, underlying the life of all men, there is a ' unity,' i.e. the presence in Nature and Humanity of an all-pervading Divine Spirit or Reason. ' The whole universe which you see around you, comprising all things both divine and human, is one. We are members of one great body. Nature has made us relatives when it begat us from the same materials and for the same destinies.' ^ Again, ' Slave yourself, will you not bear with your own brother ? he has Zeus as his forefather, is a son of the same loins as yourself and the same descent.' * Some may and do regard this development of the Tribal into the Humanitarian Sentiment as due to ' Reason ' interpreted as ' the impulse toward a coherent whole.' ^ But Reason so understood is scarcely the same ' Reason ' as interpreted by Dr. Rashdall, much as he commends Prof. Hobhouse's teaching.* Reason, according to the former, is ' intellectual ' rather than conative ; it is ' the faculty of apprehending axiomatic truths.' ' Whatever we call the ' ' All intellectual and voluntary processes are elicited by the system of some impulse, emotion, or sentiment, and subordinated to its end.' Shand, Foundations of Character, p. 67. ' Moral reason evolves from the instincts and emotions in interaction with each other and with the cognitive processes.' Art. on ' Conscience as Reason and as Emotion,' Phil. Review, Sept. 1916. " Arrian, Discourses of Epictetus, ii. 10. ' Seneca, Ep. xcv. * Epictetus, quoted by Hobhouse, Morals in Evolution, p. 564. 5 Hobhouse, op. clt. p. 577. • Is Conscience an Emotion ? p. 83. ' Op. cit. p. 134. 170 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR universalising tendency by which Tribal develops into Humanitarian Sentiment, the ' whole ' thereby effected is not a union of different ' things ' into a concept, but a unification of ' selves ' by love. In such a ' whole ' the ' parts ' exist in some sense for themselves. And the en- largement of the simplest societies does not proceed by means of the influence of any idea like that of equahty, but by the notion of an expanding unity, based, at first, upon blood- relationship, intermarriage, and neighbourhood.* Conscience, therefore, is in its origin ' an imitation of Tribal government set up in the breast ' of the individual. The social pressure of the Tribe exerted through the Chief gave to the Tribal Sentiment an element of constraint— a constraint of fear which, united with that of the love implicit in tribal loyalty, gave to such a conscience its authority. From the very beginning, however, a reUgious form of constraint was exerted through the Totem which expressly guarded the unity of the Tribe. Men feared to offend against the community on grounds of religious scruple ; for they shrank from bringing disaster on the people or incurring the anger of their god ^ by any act of ' irreverence.' Nations came to have their national gods. The patriotism of Greece and Rome rested on a religious basis. Both Stoicism and Christianity found their doctrine of universal brotherhood on the doctrine of a Divine Fatherhood, though this is differently conceived in the two cases. Indeed, Rehgion and Morality have always been inseparably coimected and reciprocally influential. Thus the Rehgious Sentiment, by combining with the Moral Sentiment, adds to the latter that element of Reverence which is peculiarly characteristic of conscience as we know it.* Shaftesbury was, therefore, suggestive when he spoke of conscience as a reflected sense, by means of which there 1 The worship of a physically universal object like the sun or moon tended to destroy tribal narrowness. Cf. Galloway, Phil, of Religion, p. 1 13. " Galloway, op. cit. p. 196. ' Cf. Mellone, Principles of Psychology, p. 255. CONSCIENCE AND COMMUNITY 171 arises ' another kind of Affection towards those very Affec- tions themselves {i.e., Pity, Kindness etc.), which have been already felt and are now become the subject of a new hking or dishke.' To the point, also, is the remark of Rauh : ' Notre vrai guide n'est ni I'instinct, ni une pensee transcendante, c'est la- reflexion sur I'instinct.' ^ In this ' Reverence ' are mingled the restraint of Fear and the Impulse of Love in different proportions accord- ing to the nature of the rehgious attitude. And thus Con- science passes over into a Reverence for, or Faith in, Humanity as being a unity. Whether this attitude is justified, and the authority of conscience, so interpreted, established, is a question for a Metaphysic of Ethics. Even the leaders of the Moral Sense school, as we have seen, felt the need for a speculative vindication of their position. From the point of view of consciousness, obUgation is a matter of direct experience : duty is ' intuited,' as we say. Its fuU ground can be made good only by subsequent theorising ; and in this sense, of course, every morahst is a ' rationahst.' How we come to know what is right is one question ; how we know that what we take to be right is ' really ' so, is another and yet necessary question. * Quoted by Rashdall, Theory of Good and Evil, vol. i. p. 155, note. CHAPTER VIII THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY Having adopted Love as the supreme ethical principle, we now proceed to inquire how far such an ethic can be metaphysically justified. We hope to show that a reasoned view of the Universe is not inconsistent with, but even gives support to, the doctrine of morals already advanced. Now the world as given in common experience presents the form, superficially at any rate, of a miiltiphcity of objects. Primitive thought was impressed primarily by the variety that is in the world, was indeed bewildered by it. The earliest thinkers conceived of this variety as a multitude of material things. It was only later that the con- ception of many ' souls' was added to that of many ' things.' And not primitive thought alone, but the modern mind appears to be impressed first of all by the appearance, at any rate, of a plurahty of existences. Accordingly, it is from the fact of this observed plurality that speculation on the ultimate nature of the world usually takes its rise. Prima facie, the world is a multipKcity. The question remains whether the world is reaUy and finally so. It has been held that this aspect of multiplicity is a final reality, and that the world is composed of a number of separate existences. Such is the theory of PluraUsm, of which we must now give some account. It is essential to strict Pluralism that the ' reals ' of which the world is made up should be absolutely independent. They may be regarded as independent ' things ' or ' souls,' or even as a number of units which are in part material and in part spiritual. 172 THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 173 If these reals are ' things/ then, being independent, they must be self-contained and self-suf&cing. Leibnitz con- tended, indeed, that every ultimately real thing is a self- contained whole, and has within itself the ground of the sequence of its own states. But this, to say the least, is a very difficult conception. The multiplicity wdth which we are dealing would become, according to such a view, a multi- plicity of absolutes. And the difficulty of this conception is only increased if for the sake of argument we suppose that the reals are material things. As such they must, of course, be independent of experience. And yet, were it not for experience, and, in particular, experience of our own permanent self-existence, we could not refer to ' things,' which have a similar self -identity, or attribute any meaning to the notion of ' thinghood.' Nay, what is even more serious, we could make no sort of reference to the reals at all, if to be real is to be a ' thing ' ; nor could we form even a philosophy about them. Both Pluralists and Pluralism would be impossible. Nor does it promise more success to regard the indepen- dent 'reals' as 'souls.' Attempts have been made, of which that of Leibnitz is a famous example, to combine Pluralism Vidth Idealism, and to maintain that the universe consists of a number of independent ' spirits ' or ' persons.' Each of these souls must, by h5^othesis, be self-contained and self-sufficient. The existence and qualities of one soul must be regarded as independent of the existence and quaUties of another soul. Indeed, to be quite consistent, we should have to regard each soul as not only independent, but as absolute. We should, therefore, again be saddled with the impossible conception of a multiplicity of absolutes, albeit each absolute was a spirit. Moreover, that each soul is an absolute does not accord with the experience of any known soul. In actual experience no soul finds that it is self-contained or self-sufficient, but that, on the contrary, it depends in various ways on the not-self as well as upon other selves. This interdependence Leib- nitz himself practically confessed by having to supplement 174 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR his theory by such an hypothesis as that of Pre-established Harmony. It gives no help to consider each of these independent reals as partly spiritual and partly material. Difficulties are only increased if to each ' soul ' you add a material embodiment. For then you are confronted with the special problem of the interaction of the material and the spiritual, the difficulty of which is evidenced by such a fantastic theory as that of Occasionalism propounded for its eluci- dation. Then again, the idea of a different world for each separate soul is, in the light of modern science, quite grotesque. Indeed, a different world for each different soul would make impossible not only science, but all intercourse whatsoever. The environment of each soul would in such a case be unique : there would be no identical world having common features for all. And we have already observed that souls that are independent are imprisoned and sundered. Between them no communication would be practicable. As Royce says, even a link between two absolutely indepen- dent reals would be not a ' link,' but another real being.^ Plurahsm, therefore, contradicts both ordinary experi- ence and science. Science testifies that the world is a coherent unity, of which the phenomena of cause and effect are a simple proof. For however we understand the notion of ' Transeunt Causahty,' whether as an influence which is really immanent in the things between which causal action is supposed to pass, or otherwise, at least the changes that take place in the states of a thing are certainly related to changes in other things with which it must form part of a connected system. To account for the coincidence of the changes between supposedly independent reals, and for the appear- ance at least of interaction, Leibnitz had recourse, as we say, to the theory of Pre-estabUshed Harmony, whereby from all eternity the monads, really independent, have been pre-determined to act in concert. This theory, while trying to avoid the hypothesis of direct interaction between the monads, really admits interaction in another form, • Royce, The World and the Individual, vol. i. p. 128. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 175 as has been pointed out. For God is said to negotiate the coincidence of the changes of things, and in thus inter- vening He acts upon the monads and interacts between them.* A modern Pluralist like Prof. G. H. Howison fails in a similar way to make his theory consistent, for he too postulates for finite selves a Divine centre and Divine end. And it is, in short, the inability of Plurahsm to account for inter- action amongst the reals which disqualifies it as a satis- factory metaphysical system. Moreover, the phenomena of social intercourse, as already observed, are an additional evidence of how much persons interdepend, and how much they contribute to one another's hves. Such intercourse would be impossible, did not they possess common natures and inhabit the same world of fact. Lotze, a sometime monadist, came to acknowledge that, if things are really discontinuous, they cannot exert upon one another any mutual influence, and he adopted the view that the aforesaid ' transeunt action ' is really immanent action in One real Being. StiU more recently Dr. James Ward in his Realm of Ends has submitted Pluralism to a S5mipathetic examination. He points out that the theory, to be consistent, must postulate both the pre-existence and the self-existence of the monads,^ demands which appear to us to create insoluble difficulties, as we have already tried to show. Dr. Ward himself remarks in particular on the difficulty created for a spiritualistic Pluralism by the phenomena of birth and death. Sometimes, however, he himself appears to attribute to the monads a power of interaction and mutual adaptation,^ which, to us, is inexplicable, if they are really and entirely self- existent ; and, in opposition to Lotze's criticism of 'transeunt action,' he goes far* towards endowing ' persons,' as dis- tinguished from ' things,' with a perception and spontaneity such as makes them capable of ' sympathetic rapport.' 1 ' . . . Leibnitz forgets the independent self-subsistence of the monads when he treats them as created by God and speaks of them as " fulgura- tions " of the divine. . . .' Pringle-Pattison, Idea of God, p. 386. 2 Realm of Ends, p. 204, note. ' Op. cit. p. 70. * Op. cit. p. 219. 176 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR Such sympathetic rapport is possible, of course, only if the persons have common characters, and live and interact in the same ordered world. Even the least ethical form of S37mpathetic rapport — even the mere intercourse with one another — presupposes this minimum condition. A higher form of correspondence would but strengthen the need for a deeper unity. Dr. Ward, however, in the end leaves us in no doubt of the inadequacy of Pluralism as a meta- physical system. It is true he objects to Lotze's Monism, but only to prefer Theism. ' An ontological plurality that is yet somehow a cosmological unity seems clearly to suggest some ground beyond itself.' ^ We need, in other words, a Unity that shall explain how the Many come to be, how they carry on together an ordered hfe, and how they are able to conceive and pursue ends in common. That Reality con- sists at least of individuals is a truth which is weU empha- sised by PluraUsm, and which in our opinion is not to be surrendered. But the distinctness of individuals is not equivalent to their isolation, and their unity in some sense is an equally important truth, which we must seek further to expound. We now go on to discuss how this Unity of the Many must be regarded. We must at the outset take some notice of that influential school of thought which maintains that Reality is essentially One and Spiritual. This metaphysi- cal theory has been called Singularism — a term used first by Kiilpe as the correlative of Pluralism, and later em- ployed in the same sense by Dr. James Ward in his work entitled The Realm of Ends. There might of course be, as indeed there has been, a Materialistic Singularism, accord- ing to which matter is the ultimate and only reality. Such a view has had its supporters both in ancient and modern times ; but as it is a theory which denies to mind or spirit any essential existence, it has not commended itself gener- ally, nor is it now widely held. Singularism may there- fore be taken as a convenient name for that system of thought which regards Reality as a Spiritual and all-inclusive Whole. 1 Op. cit. p. 241. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 177 Though the theory has its roots much earUer, yet to all in- tents and purposes it is largely a nineteenth century growth. Fichte, SchelUng, and Hegel developed the doctrine of Singu- larism in Germany, but important expositions in EngUsh have been given by Green, E. Caird, Bradley, Bosanquet, and Royce. The history of the origin of this Idealism goes back as far as Plato, but its proximate beginning may be traced at least from Kant. It is unnecessary for our purpose to do more than merely refer to the epoch-making work of Kant in his critical examination of Knowledge. Suffice it to say that he estabhshed the importance of the function of the Reason in relation to experience, showing how the manifold of sense is unified by the forms of thought. The consistency of his system was impaired, however, by certain dualistic elements. His successors carried his work to a further stage, and Hegel made Reason, not merely inter- pretative, but constitutive, of Reality. The Rational is the Real, as the Real is the Rational. For Hegel, the law of our thinking is the law of nature. ' Things ' so-called are thought-determinations. The movement of Reason is the movement of the World. This movement, or dia- lectical evolution, proceeds by the three stages of thesis, antithesis, and synthesis, and its concrete nature is to distinguish differences in order to reunite them in a higher unity. It is these moments of thought that make the universe, and make it what it is. Dr. Bosanquet in his Gifford Lecttu-es gives us a modern account of this type of IdeaUsm. It is rigorously ' Logical ' and is based upon the principle of non-contradiction. Con- tradiction being taken as a mark of um-eaUty, the real must be the coherent, and that which is truly coherent will have the character of a self-consistent whole. The mind, unable to rest in a contradiction, must perforce resolve it by unit- ing opposed qualities within a wider and more comprehensive content, i.e. within a ' world.' ReaUty, in short, is a spiritual and all-inclusive Whole having the identity of a differentiated system. And because ' the ultimate tendency of thought is not to generalise but to constitute a world,' such a Whole H.S.N, }i 178 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR is the expression of Reason. Indeed, he calls reason ' the spirit of totality,' and the aforementioned criterion of non- contradiction becomes in its actual working the operative principle, not of metaphysical thought merely, but also of life. The World thus formed is an Individual Whole. Indeed, says Dr. Bosanquet, ' there can be only one Individual and that the Individual, the Absolute.' * Yet he is careful to insist that such a Unity does not exclude ' parts ' or ' differences ' ; indeed it includes them. In other words, the Universal is not ' abstract ' but ' concrete ' in its nature. Moreover, such parts or differences are regarded as adding richness to the Whole. Not that they have any real inde- pendence of the Whole ; for they exist in it and in fact constitute it, not by any sort of addition or integration, but by incorporation. Being incorporated with the Whole, they have neither meaning nor existence apart therefrom. The Unity at once constitutes, and is constituted by, the differences. The determination of part by Whole and Whole by part is reciprocal. The late Professor Josiah Royce gave another brilliant exposition of Absolute Idealism in his two volumes on The World and the Individual. His argument is based upon the 'nature of ideas. ' An idea appears in consciousness as having the significance of an act of will.' ^ It is the expression of a ' purpose ' ; knowledge and will are one. Royce often calls this volitional idea a 'meaning,' which has both an internal and external reference. The Internal Meaning is the content of an idea on its conscious side ; the External Meaning is the tendency of the idea towards full and complete embodiment in a world of related meanings. ' Our IdeaUsm maintains that if the whole meaning and intent of any finite instant of Ufe is fully developed and perfectly embodied, this Whole Meaning of the instant becomes identical with the Universe, with the Absolute, with the Ufe of God.' * Royce explains that such an Abso- 1 Principle of Individuality and Value, p. 68. ' The World and the Individual, vol. i. p. 23. ' Op. cit. vol. ii. p. 271, THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 179 lute expresses itself essentially in an infinity of ' meanings,' ' interests,' ' longings,' ' life-plans,' aad ' selves ' (for he appears to use all these terms practically synon3miously) ; and each of these finite forms expresses the Absolute in a unique way. ' The simplest conceivable structure of the Absolute Life would be stateable only in terms of an infin- itely great variety of t5^es of purpose and of fulfilment, intertwined in the most complex fashion.' ^ And such an Absolute is, according to Royce, ' the complete embodi- ment, in individual form and in final fulfilment,' of any particular purpose or idea.^ Such examples of modern Singularism are sufficient for the object we have in view. Royce and Bosanquet elabor- ate their views in a way that is remarkable alike for its intellectual brilliance and its moral persuasiveness. But the question remains whether, after aU, Singularists succeed in giving a satisfactory account of the kind of Unity of which we are in search. We can only say in reply that Singularism appears to us unacceptable, and go on to add some of the reasons for our rejection of the theory. Singularism, then, fails because it conceives the Unity of Reality as nothing more than a Unity of Experience, whatever that may turn out to mean. Most Idealists agree that Reality is Experience, and forthwith proceed to explain the content of this Experience. Bradley says it is ' Sentience ' ; ' Royce regards it as ' Meaning ' or ' Purpose ' ; Bosanquet speaks of it as ' Thought.' It is sometimes contended that Absolute Idealists interpret experience too exclusively as cognitive in its nature, and that they are therefore guilty of abstracting from the actual content of consciousness. There is probably some ground for the charge, and Bradley's ' Sentience ' at any rate seems an abstraction. Royce, however, maintains the unity of know- ing and willing, and attributes to ideas a dynamic power. Bosanquet also definitely repudiates the charge that he ' op. cit. vol. ii. p. 298. ^ Op. cit. vol. i. p. 339. " Appearance and Reality, p. 144, 2nd edit, i8o SELF AND NEIGHBOUR conceives experience as merely cognitive and static* In spite of these repudiations, however, these writers often suggest that the ideal of experience is to grasp the whole in the unity of a perfectly informed insight.* But though we do not press the charge of abstraction at this preliminary stage, we urge it resolutely at a later point. If Singularists do not abstract ' knowledge ' from its actual mental content in experience, they certainly seem to us guilty of a more flagrant abstraction. They separate the ' knowledge,' or the ' purpose,' from the self which is the subject of the knowledge and the author of the purpose. They isolate ' experience ' from its experient. And to do so is really to falsify the experience and to prejudice from the start the conclusion which these thinkers subsequently reach. We know nothing of ' purposes,' ' life-plans,' ' mean- ings,' or ' thoughts,' apart from a subject conceiving them. Bradley regards the self as an intellectual construction ; but the self as a subject of experience is surely a presupposition of the very process which would explain it away.^ Royce talks of ' meanings ' as though they were independent ' reals ' of which the world is full, whereas nothing is more certain than that ' meanings ' or ' purposes ' are impossible apart from a self that can construct them and carry them through. ' The emphasis laid on the purposive character of the idea is really inconsistent with the vanishing nature which would characterise the mere idea (were such possible) which is not a part of the hfe of mind.' * Purpose imphes continuity, and the continuity of one and the same self. Bosanquet makes a strenuous attempt to detach ' experi- ence ' from finite experients. He would resolve the conscious- ness of self -hood into coenaesthetic feeMng. ' It may be,' iCf. Principle of Individuality, p. 372, note i. ' Royce, The World and the Individual, vol. i. pp. 397, 399. ' ' The sell which ideally construes experience can only do so by distin- guishing and referring differences to an identity. . . . Without a conscious self which maintains its identity in different states of consciousness the process of construing could never have a beginning.' Galloway, Principles of Religious Development, pp. 283, 284. ' W. R. Sorley, ' The Two IdeaUsms,' Hibbert Journal, July, 1904. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY i8i he says, ' that this formal distinctness (of selves) depends on what are at bottom unessential limitations — limitations not grounded on the nature of mind, such as the fact of differ- ences of vital feeUng, depending as a rule on the belonging of different selves to different bodies.' ^ And the presump- tion is that, given a sufficiently analogous mental content between ' ego ' and ' alter,' distinctions of self-hood will be swallowed up by a unity of experience. By thus merging subjects in the content of their experience, which may supposedly be common to a number of persons, it is sought to obviate the difficulties presented by the independence or exclusiveness of selves. No doubt coenaesthetic feeHng has much to do with our consciousness of self-identity. In order to recognise ourselves as the same persons we make use of our somatic feeUngs. We know ourselves to be the same persons by our general bodily sensations, — just as we feel ourselves to be strange when these have undergone modification through illness. Yet coenaesthetic experience is nothing more than a means to the recognition of our self-identity : it is not that in which self-hood inherently consists. Indeed, this very coenaesthesia implies a subject to whom it is presented. And even when the content of this coenaesthesia varies, with the result that the subject feels himself to be a different man, the break is not absolute, for old psychical materials are used in the new experience, which materials were formerly the property of the same existential subject.* The attempt to resolve the self into its content shows itself beset with difficulty, when Dr. Bosanquet tries to explain how finite centres come to be. They are said to be ' deuni- versahsed ' from the Whole. Souls are declared to be made by the environment's ' coming aHve ' in some way in responsive centres. These finite wills ' elicit ' their content from out of the Whole. ' The Whole, active in the mind, operates upon what is before the mind as a criticism and a demand.' At the same time, ' the soul,' he says, ' is not to 1 Value and Destiny of the Individual, p. 47. * Cf. Merrington, Problem of Personality, p. 179. i82 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR be contrasted as a detached agent with its constituent externality on the one hand or with the hfe of the absolute on the other.' ^ It is ' continuous ' with the Absolute in the sense that it is a ' thread ' or ' fibre ' of the absolute hfe, a ' stream ' or ' tide ' moving in the one great flood. We cannot see that this process of the ' moulding ' of souls is a satisfactory explanation of their genesis and spon- taneity. We fail to understand how at the same time they can both make, and be made by, their environment. How can the Whole, as understood by Dr. Bosanquet, being a Unity whose parts are reciprocally determined, both furnish the finite will with a content to ehcit and the independence to ehcit it ? The attempt to detach a ' content ' of experience from its ' centre ' is doomed to failure, just as it is equally fatal to isolate the ' centre ' from its ' content.' Neither is anything without the other. The self is a subject of experience. But what it is to be such an experient can be known only in so far as one is an experient. It is not a knowledge which is communicable : it cannot be objectivised in general terms. It is rather the knowledge of a direct insight. And while there are common and universal elements in the experience of any one subject, yet each subject by reason of its own individuahty qualifies that experience in a unique way. Such subjects are distinct from one another, not merely ' formally ' or numerically, but quahtatively.^ They are a ' focahsation of the universe which is nowhere . . . repeated.' ^ And any theory that fails to recognise the distinct existence of finite selves, and artificially organises a world of the so-called ' content of experience,' falls into an unreal Monism. Dr. Bosanquet in a recent Sjmiposium * tries hard to justify his attribution to finite individuals of a merely adjectival mode of being. He argues that because a mind 1 Value and Destiny of the Individual, p. 129. ' Individuals are ' formally distinct, because they are really different.' Pringle-Pattison, Idea of God, p. 267. » Ibid. * At the Aristotelian Society, July, 1918. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 183 or self is surrounded by a world of other minds or selves, its identity is 'lateral' rather than numerical and linear, and is indeed really so wide as to be co-extensive with the Absolute Intelligence. But this so-called lateral identity is not, as Prof. Stout shows, identity in the usual sense. Minds do not thus merge except in and for the thought of some particular mind, which, in the very effort to effect this communal identity, of necessity gives expression to its own individuaUty through the unity of apperception. But in regarding Reality as a Unity of Experience there is a further development of this unsound process of Abstrac- tion. Not only is experience severed from an experient subject, but a particular element of that experience is hypostasised and made the Absolute Reality. Hence the Absolute is spoken of as ' The Idea,' Universal ' Thought,' ' Reason,' or ' Consciousness.' And this hypostasised ' Thought ' is often regarded as identical in its dialectical movement with the historical movement of fact. Logic and Life are made one and the same.^ It is difficult, however, to see how the inherent development of a hypostasised Reason can constitute the World. For the essential work of Reason is said to be the unification of difference ; its movement is by thesis, antithesis, and synthesis. In other words A is not fuUy defined except as being ' not (not- A).' It will be evident that the only opposition which this move- ment of thought inherently supplies and overcomes is the opposition of ' contradiction ' : which is tantamount to confessing that Logic in itself cannot get away from the abstract . Identity with which it starts. As Ward has pointed out, it cannot of itself tell you more than that A is ' not (not- A),' and cannot therefore 5deld the concrete ' Many.' But ' Nature,' which Hegel opposes to Spirit, is siorely a contrary, and not a contradictory, opposite. From the manifold of fact you may be led to the underlying Unity, but once you reach such a One you cannot retrace your steps. No doubt this is the characteristic defect of all IdeaUsm. Out of ' universals ' you can never extract the 1 Cf. Pringle-Pattison, Hegelianism and Personality, passim. i84 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR concrete ' this ' or ' that,' nor from mere ' relations ' or mere ' quahties,' nor even from a combination of these, construct actual ' things ' in their unique individuality. Dr. Bosanquet seeks to obviate this criticism by his idea of what he caUs a ' Concrete Universal.' But this idea would seem to be fatal to the attempt to derive the world from ' Thought,' for, as has been remarked,^ this Concrete Universal turns out to be not a ' universal ' at all, but a Universe. Neither does Royce succeed in effecting a logical develop- ment" of Reahty out of finite, ' meanings.' ' The essence of the Real,' he declares, ' is to be individual.' * But the Individual (or Whole), so interpreted, has no inferen- tial connection with so-caUed individuals, but includes them, and, to our mind, displaces and swamps them. In his disparagement of general concepts' Royce substitutes,' not a concept that is more general, but something that is not a concept at all, — actually a World. No doubt par- ticular individuals are nothing in isolation, but they are distinct, even when fully integrated, and are unique in spite of their possessing common characteristics. Indeed, it is by abstracting from their unique differences, by neglect- ing their peculiarities, that we actually obtain the notion of these general characters. Therefore the particular individual must be ' real,' if only partially. The supposi- tion of his being illusory is impossible. At least he is a true ' appearance,' if nothing more.* But the existence and integrity of these finite selves seem to us gravely compromised by the views of Bosanquet and Royce. For we hold that these thinkers, in so far as they beheve in the reality of any self, or thinker, or agent, leave us with only one such self, thinker, or agent. The Unity of Experience with which they identify Reality is 1 By Prof. Alexander (Feb. 1917) in his Giflford Lectures on ' Space-Time and Deity.' " The World and the Individual, vol. i. p. 348. " Op. cit. p. 347. * Cf . Pringle-Pattison, Idea of God, p. 277. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 185 not only Whole; it is also Sole. There is a Sole Will, a Sole Thought, a Sole Self. Absoltrte IdeaUsm is Sohp- sistic. Not that it is represented to be so, or intended to be so. But it is the inevitable fate of a Singularistic system. Where the Sohpsism precisely comes in is a httle difficult to determine on account of the ambiguities which beset the different theories of Singtdarism. Sometimes it is said that the whole of Reahty is the extension and fulfil- ment of the thought of the finite individual. If so, then the world with all that is in it, including all other so-caUed selves, would be the property or creation of just that particular individual. Bradley confesses that ' even the Absolute is my reaUty, as my state of mind.' ^ ' What I feel is the all-inclusive universe,' * though he denies that this ' state of mind ' or this ' feeling ' forbids the existence of more and other than itself. What this ' not-myself ' can be is not very clear. Bradley says it must be ' inanimate ' ; but how this is possible is difficult to understand if reality is experience, and if experience is sentience. According to Bradley the existence of other souls is known by their bodies.* But if, as does not on this h3^othesis seem possible, the bodies of others are extra-mental, then to argue from other bodies to other selves is to argue in a circle, for the former imply the latter, — the very meaning of ' other body ' being that it is the physical manifestation of a self or person. And if the bodies of others are not extra-mental, — a presupposition that is more in keeping with Bradley's premises, — ^then the existence of others can be no more than a state of the thinker's consciousness. Others in that case do not exist for them- selves, but for the one self that thinks them. Royce, as we have seen, starts from the ' idea,' ' meaning,' or 'purpose/ of the finite self. Reality, accordingly, consists of that ' meaning ' entirely fulfilled, of a ' self ' fuUy inte- grated. Hence a strict interpretation of Royce's initial posi- tion would, in our opinion, necessitate the degradation of ^ Appearance and Reality, p. 258. « Op. cit. p. 253. » Op. cit. p. 255. i86 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR other selves to the status of stages in the ' purpose ' of a particular finite self, or of contents of his full ' idea.' ^ It is a prominent doctrine of Royce's that the knowledge of other selves is prior to the knowledge of our own self. From the genetic and temporal point of view this may be true. Metaphysically it seems to be unsound in itself, and also out of harmony with his theory of Reality as above explained. For the knowledge of other selves is after all our knowledge : it is a knowledge which we have, and which is formed by us. Consequently our own exist- ence and our knowledge thereof are to some extent imphed throughout and from the first. So much so, that meta- physicians have usually inferred the knowledge of the exist- ence of other selves from our own self-knowledge, rather than otherwise. Such an inference may be unjustifiable. We beHeve it indeed to be so. For the argument seems to be alike circular whether we base the knowledge of self on that of others, or that of others on that of self. Even the infer- ence we make to the existence of others on the basis of their bodily movements, 2 the manifestation of their ideas, their opposition, rivalry, jealousy, and so forth, really assumes the very thing we suppose to be matter of proof. And if we start from the existence of other selves and proceed therefrom to estabUsh our own existence, the argument is similarly fallacious. As we have already said, we assume the existence and knowledge of our selves in the very pro- cess by which we know other selves. Nor do we see that Royce can consistently maintain the priority of the know- ledge of other selves, if our previous exposition of his teaching be correct. For if our charge of solipsism be borne out, if it is true that the world is the complete fulfilment of 'my idea,' then there are no other selves to know as selves ; the rest of the world is merely the object of my thought, and nothing exists save as it is ' my thought.' ^ Cf . D'Arcy, Short Study of Ethics, p. 46. ' When a subject is thought, it becomes ipso facto an object and loses its essence.' ' Bradley says : ' I arrive at other souls by means of other bodies ' (Appearance and Reality, p. 255). But that there are other ' bodies ' is itself an assumption, so far, at any rate, as they are taken to be real. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 187 But most Singularists would resent such an interpre- tation of their theory. They would repudiate the view that because the Absolute is ' my state,' it is merely and only so. They contend, what may so far be granted, that ' my state ' is not in itself a self-sufficient Whole, but implies much more than itself. It cannot be exclusive and inde- pendent. It must find its place in a wider Whole. My finite and partial experience, says Bradley, involves ' a direct all-embracing experience.' ^ ' My "mine,"' he adds, ' becomes a feature in the great "mine" which includes all "mines."' Now we do not quarrel with this argument in so far as there is in it a movement from a finite and depen- dent self to a self that is Infinite and Absolute. What we demur to is the way in which the transition is generally made by Singularists, and the Solipsistic result. We have already referred to the artificial abstraction which Singular- ists make when they take as their fundamental reality a mere aspect of the content of the self, such as ' thought,' ' sentience,' ' will,' or even ' experience.' We have further to complain that the transition from finite ' thought,' ' will,' ' sentience,' or ' experience ' is a simple hjrpostasising of any of such elements into its supposed perfection. Thus what is taken as Absolute is ' Thought,' ' Will,' or ' Experience.' When we start in this way from what is unreal, there cannot be much confidence as to the ' reahty ' of the result. But in addition to this objection, it is to be noted that the Absolute Self or Subject is ' all-inclusive,' and the Absolute Experience is ' all-embracing.' And we contend that a Singularist, once he has made the transi- tion from the finite and partial to the Infinite and All- Comprehensive, so interprets the resultant Whole as to make it really negate the partial and the finite. It is true he recognises the existence of the partial and the finite, but, as we think, in words only. A Self that ' includes ' all other selves really annihilates them ; an Experience that embraces all other experiences virtually negates them. For what is it to be a self ? It is to possess an independent centre of ' Appearance and Reality, p. 253. i8$ SELF AND NEIGHBOUR consciousness. The ' centre ' must be independent in the sense that it subsists for itself. It is not situate on the circumference, or within the circle of the consciousness of someone else. My own consciousness cannot be a part of another person's consciousness. It is true that in the same consciousness one state of mind may include, overlap, or coexist with another state of mind. We may, indeed, have different ' selves ' in the sense of different mental states, and even different ' personalities ' or ' characters.' But unless there were a central and permanent self, these differ- ences could not be obtained,^ nor rendered operative, nor would they be recognised as such either by ourselves or by spectators. What, however, is quite unknown in experi- ence is any instance of one conscious centre ' including ' another.* And we have therefore no warrant from analogy for the Singularist conception of an Absolute Self or Experi- ence which is ' inclusive ' of other selves or experiences. A Consciousness which consists of many consciousnesses is a purely gratuitous supposition, for which such experience as we have to go upon furnishes no ground. And we cannot therefore escape the conclusion that the Absolute Self must reaUy be the Sole Self, and the Absolute Experience the Sole Experience, and the Absolute Will the Sole Will. This result is also necessitated by the criterion of ReaHty which Singularists use. The Real being regarded as the Rational, and the function of Reason being supposed to be the unification of difference. Logic and Life are indifferently spoken of as movements towards integration. Logic indeed is defined by Bosanquet as the spirit of totality, and the nisus towards the Whole. The one test of the reality of the Whole is that it should be perfectly self-coherent : there must be no differences which resist unification. The Whole, in other words, is conceived by these thinkers more or less after the analogy of an organic unity. Hence, »Seep. i8i. 2 We do not mean that the conscious centre cannot ' include,' in various degrees of intimacy, the ' experience ' of another conscious centre. What we deny is that one such centre can include another such centre. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 189 if the Whole is taken to be a Self, or a Will, or an Experience, it is a Self, a Will, an Experience •wihich contains all other selves, wills, or experiences within itself. A few quotations will bear this out. We have such a clear statement as that by Royce, who declares ' The whole world of truth and being must exist only as present ... to the unity of a single consciousness, which includes both our own and all finite conscious mean- ings in one final eternally present insight.' ^ Again, he says of the Divine Will that ' it includes within itself my own wiU.' ^ He also remarks that every fact in the Universe — ^the individual's will being such a fact — ^is connected with every other fact by a relation of reciprocal determination. Accordingly Royce attributes true Individuality only to the Whole.* Any ' will ' of the so-called individual is really willed by the Whole, and so is free only in the sense that in the nature of the case there can be nothing outside the Whole to determine it. Any finite ' will ' is thus the ex- pression or aspect of the one Infinite Will, which is thus really the only WiU — just as any finite knowledge is a part of ' the eternally present insight,' which is really the only knowledge strictly speaking. There is a similar Solipsism in the teaching of Dr. Bosan- quet. It is true that he recognises in some way ' the formal distinctness of selves.'* But that recognition is worth little in view of his suggestion that such distinctness would disappear, if their content became identical. ' At their strongest they become confluent.' Hence he speaks of the soul as ' a thread or fibre of the absolute life,' as a 'stream or tide within a great flood ' ; and categorically states that ' it has no barrier of division against the absolute, with which it is continuous.' He refuses to go so far as to regard finite selves as even ' members ' of the Absolute.' The ' The World and the Individual, vol. i. p. 397. * Op. cit. vol. ii. p. 330. ' ' The essence of the Real is to be Individual.' Op. cit. vol. i. p. 348. * Value and Destiny of the Individual, p. 47. * Cf . Pringle-Pattison, Idea of God, p. 270, igo SELF AND NEIGHBOUR whole trend of his language is in the direction of Monism. And where there is virtually but one Thought, one Will, one Consciousness, the Monism is SoHpsistic. That there are other ' thoughts,' ' wills,' or ' consciousnesses ' must be regarded as illusory appearance. For the theory requires that these apparently independent thoughts, wills, or consciousnesses should be the varied operations of the Absolute Solipsist which ' includes ' in its own thought, will, or consciousness, finite aspects of such experience. This thoroughly monistic doctrine of Bosanquet's is found also in his earlier work on The Philosophical Theory of the State, where he hkens the social unity to the hfe of an organism. He first finds the structure of the mind to be organic, as is evident in the formation of ' Appercipient Masses.' ^ He observes that minds and society are really the same fabric regarded from different points of view.^ So the social whole is ' a continuous or self-identical being, pervading a system of differences and realised only in them,' ^ and through the action of consciousness this whole is present in every part. Dr. Bosanquet accordingly is unable to conceive of any will of an individual that is not based upon the will of the Whole — ^which is the individual's true nature.* The life of all men is destined to form an ever more closely knit organic unity, owing to the ' logic of social growth.' The seeming isolation of minds is fallacious appearance. In reaUty there is only One Mind and One Will. It is this Identity of Life which Bosanquet makes the ground of political obligation and the source of rights and duties, as in his Gifford Lectures he makes it the basis of a more enlightened Justice than that which is dictated by the theory of 'relational individuahsm.' Throughout his writings, indeed, Bosanquet seems to suggest that this metaphysical or existential identity of all minds or selves in One Mind or Self is the only ground of poUtical obliga- tion and ethical conduct. With all respect due to so brilliant a writer we must • op. cit. p. 165. 2 op. cit. p. 17. » op. cit. p. 175. « op. cit. p. 177. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 191 confess our inability to accept his position. We cannot see that a ' common interest,' conceived either poUtically or ethically, depends on the assumed principle of the organic unity of all conscious Hfe. Bosanquet says — to use his own words — ' the Pure WiU cannot be separated from the Real Will.' * And in his Gifford Lectures too he often appears to confuse logic with morals, as he had earlier identified logic and pohtics. Logic, regarded as the spirit of totality, is at once the law of social growth and the essence of ethical love. There is one principle alike of Hfe, of government, and of conduct, — the principle of coherence in its ever-increasing degree. Such a logic of identity, so far from being a support either to politics or to ethics, appears to us to spell their destruction. If a man really governs himself, as according to this organic theory of the State he is supposed to do, at least he does not ' govern ' * in any political sense of the term. He is merely involved in a change which, chameleon-like, is executed by the social organism. The so-called ' real ' will is not a will of the individual as commonly understood. ' The conception of an abstract self willing an abstract good will never be an explanation of why and when the actual citizen should loyally identify himself with the positive commands of a very concrete government, enforcing measures whose ultimate conformity to his own " true " nature he may not unreasonably refuse to take for granted.' * The actual citizen has, we think, good reasons of another kind why he should obey the decisions of a majority in a State, which he may not agree with, or even think rational. His obedience is based, in the first place, on the fundamental value of the State as an institution.* His further consent to majority-rule depends * op. cit. p. 262. 2 In other words, there is no real reconciliation oi the authority of the individual and that of society, for on such a theory the individual does not really exist. ' Maciver, Community, p. 421. * ' It is not merely because the majority has also the greater force. It is finally because there is a will more ultimate than the will of the State, the will to maintain it.' Op. cit. p. 136. ' The will of society may be radically opposed to my own, and yet I must 192 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR upon the security which in the long run is thereby obtained. This security lies in the safety of a multitude of counsellors, not so much because wisdom is thereby pooled, but rather because the wider the clash of wills, the less is the risk of what is the chief menace to social security — selfish or sectional legislation. The risk, of course, is reduced to a minimum where the majority represents not a clash, but a union, of wills in the general interest. If the organic theory of Society is prejudicial to politics, so is it also to conduct. There can be no love, in any inteUigible sense of the term, between the parts of the same organism. Being one by constitution, they perforce remain one. Singularity of being renders love impossible. Love imphes indeed an identity of interest, but such identity is meaningless, unless there exist selves sufficiently inde- pendent of one another to eiUow of, and to caU for, a moral union. At this point, however, it seems necessary to give this comparison of the social unity to an organism a some- what closer examination. And in this connection we have the advantage of a valuable discussion of the subject by Dr. J. S. Mackenzie in his Introduction to Social Philosophy. According to Dr. Mackenzie, an organism ' is a system in which the parts become what they are by virtue of their relations to the whole, and in which the parts yet retain a certain relative independence.' Further, ' in every true organism the relation of the parts to the whole must be intrinsic ' ; and, again, ' its development takes place from within.' ^ It is clear, as Dr. Mackenzie says, that the crucial question is as to the degree and nature of the independence of the parts. A mere collection of parts is hot an organic whole, nor are the parts thereof entirely lost, as in a chemical obey. It may even be my duty to obey, and normally it is so, even though I think the law wrong, because society must be kept together. . . . The only sense, therefore, in which I am conforming to my own will, in obedience, is that of two evils I prefer the lesser." Hobhouse, The Meta- physical Theory of the State, p. 59. 1 Op. cit. pp. 143, 161, 162, THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 193 unity. Yet that they are ' lost ' to some extent seems inevitable. Dr. McTaggart criticises the aforementioned criteria of an organism as given by Dr. Mackenzie, in particular the point that ' the relations of the parts in an organism are intrinsic' This criterion, it is said, does not amount to more than the assertion of complete reciprocal determina- tion,^ a truth, it is added, which scarcely anybody would deny. And certainly most people nowadays will readUy grant that the individual is very largely made what he is by the society to which he belongs, as indeed the society itself is dependent in turn upon the individuals who compose it. It will clear the ground of a good deal of misunderstand- ing, if the reciprocal influence of the individual upon society, and vice versd, be acknowledged at the outset. And, of course, the parts even of a machine have a kind of reciprocal influence upon the whole, and vice versd. For this reason Dr. McTaggart rejects this criterion of ' intrinsic relations ' as the essential attribute of an organism and its parts. But, on the other hand, he seems to us to err in wresting the word ' intrinsic ' from its full context in Dr. Mackenzie's exposition. For the latter safeguards his meaning by explaining that the ' intrinsic relation of parts within a variable system is possible on the supposition of a development from within towards an end which is included in the idea of the system.' * Now this idea of development from within towards an immanent end seems to us essential for the true conception of an organism. In a machine, the relations of the parts may be intrinsic, but those relations are externally adjusted, i.e. they are not adjusted by the machine itself. In an organism, however, the parts are subject to an inner adjustment by the organism itself. And this fact implies that the parts are predetermined to a position of subordination in reference to the whole. The parts not only exist in the whole, they exist for it and exist by it. An organism may do without a cell, but a • studies in Hegelian Cosmology, p. i8i. * Introduction to Social Philosophy, p. 164. H.S.N. N 194 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR cell apart from the organism would have neither status nor existence.* The question, of course, is whether a man in relation to society is in the position of the cell in relation to the organism. And it is because we cannot attribute to the individual person the same degree and kind of subordination as we attribute to a cell that we are compelled to differ from those who regard the social unity as organic. We are unable to regard the ideal social unity as organic, if by that is meant that the function of the individual is to promote the well-being of society in the same way that a cell contributes to the well-being of the body. For the cell, as already pointed out, has such a position of subordination that its own well-being and even existence depend upon the organism as a whole. Those who hold that ' the end of an organism is within itself,' and also Uken the social unity to an organism, appear to relegate the individual to the same subordinate position as that of the cell. Dr. McTaggart maintains that ' the real problem is between those who admit and those who deny that society is an end in itself.' ^ And he himself appears to hold that the end of the individual is society, substituting for Dr. Mackenzie's criterion of an organism a criterion which he thinks less ambiguous, viz. — that in an organic unity like that of society ' the unity is the end of its parts.' Now we consider that this definition main- tains the aforesaid subordinate status of the individual in relation to society, and falsely hkens it to that of a cell in relation to its organism. No doubt it is true that the individual who, as is admitted, Mves in society and to an important extent by society, should also live for society. But there is ambiguity in the last preposition, as there is lurking ambiguity in Dr. McTaggart's criterion. To say that society is the end of the ' parts ' or individuals, appears 1 It is said that there are ' Iree-living ' cells {e.g. the white corpuscles of the blood) ; but whatever independence they have, they have it onty within the organism. ' Studies in Hegelian Cosmology, p. i86. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 195 to mean that the individuals should live solely to promote the well-being of society, i.e. of other men, — ^if we are to avoid making a mere abstraction of the end. And this does not appear to differ radically from Chemism, where the parts become lost in the whole. For if there is an end for which the individual can hve, and in which his own good is not necessarily preserved or represented (in the same way in which there is a general well-being of the body that an indi- vidual cell might not necessarily share), then the end is transcendent of the individual, whose status is merely sub- ordinate and whose effort ancillary. Dr. McTaggart indeed confesses that, where the end is the unity of the parts, the parts ' are a means ' ^ to such an end. Now it seenis to us that, though the parts may survive as elements in the end, this is no more significant than the survival in some form of the parts in a chemical unity, if the parts in the organic unity are ' means ' to it. It is true that the parts in a chemical unity are lost to observation, and that, on the contrary, the individuals who share the social unity can be identified. Yet the visibility of the individuals does not make them less a ' means ' to a whole than are the lost parts of a chemical unity. And the whole tendency of the argument that would assimilate the social unity to the Ufe of an organism seems, in fact, to hken it to the unity of a chemical product, and to be practically indistinguishable from a doctrine of Monism. We do not, of course, mean that a Chemical and an Organic Unity are the same. The development of a chemical unity is not always from within ; the new product may be arti- ficially brought about by external interference. Moreover, in the new product the combining elements are lost as separ- ate elements. We merely mean that the parts of a chemical unity and those of an organic unity resemble one another in having a subordinate position in relation to the whole. The former are ' means ' to the result, and the latter are ' instruments ' for the promotion of the unity. And it further seems to us that the organic view of society 196 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR is monistic in essence. Of course if Monism describes ' a simple unity in which there is no real difference of parts,' ^ then a Monistic unity must be distinguished from an Organic. But a Monism that excludes all differences has not been at any rate a common belief, and Dr. Mackenzie allows to Monism a certain differentiation of its single system. He insists, however, that the nature of aU its parts is predeter- mined by the whole.^ ' The parts are what they are simply because the whole is what it is.' ' The question arises whether the ' parts ' of an organism have any more ' inde- pendence ' than the parts of a monistic whole. We think not. The individuals in a society, supposed organic, are in very truth made by their society. They exist in it, by it, and for it. The existence of a ceU in independence of the organism to which it belongs would be both meaningless and impossible. But we hold that it is quite possible for the individual to Uve a Ufe of his own, and indeed in antagonism to the interests of society. And even if it is the true function of the individual to Uve a ' social ' life, that kind of life is social only in respect to its content. In its origin and initia- tion it is individual . The aforesaid Monistic doctrine seems to us to lead to results that are unsatisfactory, both poMticaUy and ethically. PoUtically, such a doctrine makes the State to be the ' end '" of the individual. In the name of the State the individual may lie coerced, neglected, sacrificed, slaughtered, if thereby it is thought the State may achieve its ideals. We see an illustration of this point of view in the current Prussian exaltation of the State and its disparagement as ' cannon- fodder ' of the soldiers who die for it. Ethically, such a doctrine is unsatisfactory, for it implies that the ' end ' of the individual is the well-being of other men. This is a form of Altruism which is irrational because self-contra- dictory. And it is as mischievous as it is false. It is equally false, poUtically and ethically, to say that society exists for the individual. That is an Egoism in Politics and Ethics which is fast being discarded. * Mackenzie, op. cit. p. 144. " Op. cit. p. 143. ' Op. cit. p. 145. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 197 But it is necessary to reject the aforementioned doctrine of the essential subordination of the individual. For if the function of the part is to be a means to the whole, then, since the whole, in the case of society, consists of other men, the result can only be, as we saw, self-contradictory. Some individuals thereby become ' means ' to others, and we are landed once again in a dualism of the practical reason. Nay, more than that, it is to argue in a circle ; ' for if the fulfilment of each lies in the service of all, each becomes a means to the ends of others who yet are themselves but means.' * Moreover, the parts in the social unity are themselves ' wholes.' Not only have they such a power of reaction against a society as has any cell in relation to its organism, but this reaction can be self-initiated. Dr. Mackenzie allows to the individual an independent life although he is the expression of his society. ^ . But he likens that independ- ence of society to the independence of the individual's own will ; the former is the expression of his society's life, it is said, as the latter is the expression of his character. But if the individual's independence of society is to be like that of his will, then it cannot be the mere expression of his society's life. The character, of which his will is the ex- pression, is his own ; at any and every moment, the character makes the will, and the will makes the character. The char- acter is not prior to the will, either psychologically or logically. Neither is there any such priority of the society's life. The individual, as distinguished from a cell in an organism, is a self-acting unit in the whole. For this reason the development of society is not a development from within, as is the case with a biological organism. In the latter instance, it is truer to say that the whole dictates growth to the parts, than the parts to the whole. In human society the growth is owing sometimes very largely to the spontaneous ^ Cf. Maciver, Community, p. 91. * Intro, to Social Philosophy, p. 174. In his recently published Outlines of Social Philosophy Dr. Mackenzie says quite frankly (p. 50), ' If it (human society) is an organism, it is at least an organism of organisms, each one of which has a Ufe of its own.' igS SELF AND NEIGHBOUR (not absolutely so, of course) activity of a single, strong personality. We cannot, therefore, agree that in society the unity is the end of the individuals. The parts do not exist for the whole merely and only. They exist in addition for themselves. And because they exist for themselves as well as for the whole ; because, indeed, they are wholes, not within a transcendent and all-embracing Whole, but along- side other wholes ; because, strictly speaking, they are not ' parts ' at all in any organic sense of the term, the social unity must be regarded not as Organic, but as Super- organic. And surely this is what might be expected. If the biological is a higher form of unity than the chemical, then we need not be surprised to find a form of unity sur- passing the biological. In a chemical "unity the ' parts ' are lost in the whole. In an organism they survive, but are subordinate to the whole. It is natural to look for a unity that shall unite not ' parts ' in a whole, but ' wholes ' them- selves. Accordingly, society is a system whose ' parts ' are, each of them, self-conscious individuals. Indeed the world-view to which we are being compelled is one of increasing complexity, and yet increasing unity, in the structure of the universe. We cannot here enter upon a discussion of the theories of Modern Physics with respect to the constitution of Matter. But influential scientists of the present day incline to the idea that matter consists of ' specks of electrified ether,' of a number of electrons in violent oscillation. If this hypothesis be true, then it suggests that the inorganic world, that any so-called physical substance, is, as to its smallest particle, a unity of parts, where the parts, of whatever nature they may be considered to be, and however minute, mutually act and react upon one another. Interaction of parts in a whole seems to obtain then in the so-called material realm. We therefore find this principle of interaction to obtain at every stage of Reahty. Physics, Chemistry, Biology all testify to the existence in some manner of the principle. THE MEtAPHYSiC OF COMMUNITY 19^ The relations between men illustrate the same principle in a transcendent form. Human society is not Organic, but Super-organic. Working on the lines of analogy we should expect that the Ufe of God would present the supreme instance of interaction, and we hope later to show how the idea of a Trinity in Unity expresses the notion of society in its intensest form. Meanwhile we define the sense in which society can be the ' end ' of its parts. It can be their ' end ' only as they are Us ' end.' That is to say, it is the duty of the individual to promote the good of society because to do so is to pro- mote his own, and he cannot promote his own save as he promotes the good of others. For man is both individual and social ; individual as to the source of his obligation, and social as to the content of duty. Moral good is community of will. It is Love. And as the object of Love is the crea- tion of Love, it will be readily seen how true is the paradox that society is the ' end ' of its ' parts ' only as the ' parts ' are the ' end ' of it. The purpose of social development is acknowledged by general consent to be ' some form of human well-being.' * And if aU we contend for is true, it is impos- sible, as McTaggart suggests,^ that this should fall outside society. For though the ' good ' is always the good of an individual, an individual's good is to • seek that of his neighbour. In this connection a brief reference may be made to the view, held by Durkheim and other French sociologists, that the social unity possesses a ' mind ' or ' soul.' Durkheim speaks of society as a ' synthesis of particular conscious- nesses.' ^ He says that ' the collective consciousness is the highest form of the psychic life, since it is the conscious- ness of the consciousnesses.' * It is unnecessary for our purpose to refer to the epistemology and the philosophy of religion peculiar to the School. We beheve that this • Mackenzie, Intro, to Social Philosophy, p. 1 76. " Studies in Hegelian Cosmology, p. 184. ' Elementary Forms of Religious Life, p. 424. * Op. cit. p. 444. 20O SELF AND NEIGHBOUR social ' mind ' or ' soul ' has no reality in the stnct sense. We can and do speak of the ' mind ' or ' soul ' of a people, but only by way of metaphor. What we really mean is that there is a type of feeling, thinking, or wiUing which is common to a great number of individuals ^ and may become characteristic. To that common ' spirit ' or tradition any individual may contribute only a portion, possibly an insignificant portion, sometimes a distinctive share. But all these contributions, like and unhke, go to make up the total natiure of a people's ' Kultur.' We have indeed already acknowledged the reciprocal influence that exists between the individual and society. Neither is independent of the other. We are clear by this time that the individual is nothing apart from the society to which he belongs. But this indebtedness must not be misunderstood or exaggerated. For the society to which the individual is so indebted is not itself a super-individual, having a consciousness of its own distinct from the consciousnesses of the individuals that compose it. ' Society,' in fact, is nothing more than a name for a mass of individuals in a certain grouping. It has no existence apart from these individuals. Of course the individuals, in order that they may constitute a ' society,' sustain relations. But these ' relations ' are merely the relations subsisting between individuals : they have no distinctive or substantial existence of their own : they cannot be abstracted from the individuals they 'relate.' The same may be said of the ' collective representations ' which are said by this school of thinkers to determine ' truth ' for the individual member of the group. Such ' representations ' are themselves, if anything at all, the thoughts of individuals in the first instance. For the rest, we may say that, however closely the bonds of the individual and the community may be aonceived, those bonds exist always between different individuals, and any transcendence of these differences must be along the lines of a moral, and not of an ontological, unity. We have now seen, after examination, that Reality ^ Maciver, Community, p. 8i. THE METAPHYSIC of COMMUNITY 2OI cannot be adequately described as a mere Unity of Experi- ence, whether that Experience be sailed Thought, Will, Feeling, or Conscious Life. We have seen reason to conclude that you cannot abstract experience from the experient, however little you are able to isolate the experient from his experience. The abstraction of either from the other can be effected only in speculative imagination ; reaUy, they are mutually involved. We saw fvirther that, if you cannot separate experience from the experient, neither can you regard ReaHty as con- sisting merely of one Experient and his Experience. We will now indicate our objections to Solipsism a little more fuUy. So far, our rejection of Solipsism has been implicitly on the ground of its absurdity. We contented ourselves with showing that according to Solipsism other selves become no more than ' objects ' for our own thought, and we assumed that this was a reductio ad absurdum. And in order to make such an argimient more cogent, if possible, it is only necessary to point out that, if SoKpsism is true, the very attempt to conduct such an argument must be absurd, since Solipsism must logically be speechless : on this h5^othesis there is, in the nature of the case, nobody to whom the Solipsistic Experient can address an argument. Let us, however, assume that the writer is the Sole Experi- ent of the Universe ; for all speculation, in the true Carte- sian manner, must start from the Experient. Now as soon as this assumption is made, the writer realises its inherent impossibility. His experience is of such a nature that it cannot be the Experience of a Sole Experient. It is contra- dictory to his absolute sohtude even to conceive of the existence of other selves, though they are no more than ' objects.' The very fact that he has to conceive of other ' selves ' in any way whatever is inconsistent with thorough- going Solipsism. It is evident, however, that a supposed solitary Experient has, as a matter of fact, to make reference to ' others ' in his experience, imphcitly or exphcitly. We are here dealing. 202 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR of course, with a psychological commonplace, and have perhaps sufficiently shown already the social implicates of all experience. But we may again point out that, from its very start, experience is bound up with the recognition of other personalities. There is, to begin with, the recognition of the mother and nurse, even before th,e child has attained to any sort of reflective self-consciousness. This recognition is quite expHcit. Indeed, throughout life most people are engrossed by the interests of their families, and only less concerned with the affairs of their friends, neighbours, and feUow-citizens. When we come to consider the implicit recognition of the existence of others in one's experience, we are impressed by the abundance of the evidence. We have already shown how our emotional life is linked up with the lives of other people as spectators, critics or partners, and even rivals. Jealousy,. Love, Ambition, Pride, are all examples of types of Emotion or Sentiment which would be meaning- less under the Solipsistic h37pothesis. Making an examination of experience in its cognitive aspect, we see its implication of the social factor to be just as essential. ' In experience as subjective,' says Dr. James Ward, ' we find only the particular and contingent ; in experience as objective we find always the universal and necessary.' * But it is doubtful if in a supposed subjective experience we should find even the ' particular and contin- gent,' for a ' particular ' and ' contingent ' could only be known as such in contrast with a ' universal ' and a ' necessary ' also known. So far as we can imagine a purely subjective experience, we could conceive only of the recurrence of similar features in the content accompanied by the apprehen- sion of the occurrence of dissimilar features. An experient might conceivably go through a process of induction and arrive at notions possessing a certain kind of generality, but these ' general ' notions would be neither ' universal ' nor ' necessary,' and would therefore lack any true objec- tivity, as commonly understood. A ' notion ' or a ' uni- 1 Realm of Ends, p. 123. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 203 formity' of occurrence which was a notion or a uniformity only for a single experient would not be experience in the accepted sense ; it would not even be a knowledge of the ' particular ' or the ' contingent ' as such. It would consist of purely private states of a mind, unvocal and in- communicable and without significance beyond themselves. Knowledge, on the contrary, must be a knowledge of what we caU ' truth,' and truth is knowledge that is neces- sary and universal. Its necessity and universality mean, at any rate, that the experience called ' knowledge ' must be the same for other minds, who can be confronted with the same facts. Indeed, the very meaning of a ' fact ' is that it is an event that is cognisable by many knowers. We should refuse to call an event a fact, if it was incap- able of such a social endorsement. And the ' laws ' relating to the facts, or exhibited by them, are ' laws ' because, for one thing, they are vindicated in the experience of other observers, present, past, or future. All this suggests that knowledge has a social function as well as a social reference. It is at once established by inter-subjective intercourse and an instrument thereof. What all minds agree in accepting as true becomes at the same time a means to their community. Royce points out in a very suggestive chapter of his Gifford Lectures^ that ' our belief in the reality of Nature.. . . is inseparably bound up with our beUef in the existence of our fellow-men ' ; that ' we conceive Nature as known or as knowable to our fellow-men,' and that what is not so is hallucination. He goes on to state that just as in industry we use Nature for human ends, so in knowledge, even in scientific knowledge, our apprehension of Nature is in the interests of practice. ' Science is an extension into the realms of theory of precisely the control over Nature that we seek when we use tools.' And the very interests that make our ' science and our art grow are interests in Man.' * Men needed ' plans of action/ and it was this need that led them to scrutinise Nature and to extract therefrom ' uniformities ' 1 The World and the Individual, vol. ii. pp. i66, 167, 168. ^Op. cit. p. 181. 204 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR or ' laws.' The weather, the heavens, the seasons, were studied primarily with a view to such practical interests as the growing of food, navigation, and commerce. The more careful calculations of science simply extend the range and power of our control over Nature, but their original motive is stiU social.^ Indeed, the most abstract conceptions of the thinker are the instruments whereby man seeks to make his conquest over Nature more complete. It may not at first sight be easy to detect the relation that subsists between the discovery of a new star and the closer co-oper- ation of man with man. Nevertheless, we agree, knowledge of any kind, however abstruse, cannot free itself from ;ts ancient social function. And however remote from practical human interests knowledge of the more abstract kind may seem, yet we never can tell what powers of prediction it may not give. For the world in which men live and move and co-operate, being of necessity supposed systematic in character, cannot possess any ' part ' or ' particular ' which can be dismissed as indifferent to the concerns of men. The most recondite fact, the most remote instance of a uni- formity, must have some bearing, direct or indirect, on those ends for which men hve, and for which they co-operate. For since men are members of a ' world,' and that world, as we have seen, a common world, nothing in that world can be totally out of relation to anything else, nor can it indeed be quite unrelated to men and their con- cerns. And we contend that the ' world ' in which men live and co-operate subserves that very practice of co- operation. Knowledge is not only a means of fellowship, considered from the purely historical and psychological point of view ; it is so logically. The world exists for men ; men do not exist for the world. If what we have said as to the logical priority of the self to experience be correct, then experience is for experients rather than vice versd. Men are the masters, and the environment is their servant. For of course it is necessaiy to suppose the existence of a Nature, an Environment, a World-System or Ground of Common * op. cit. p. 197. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 205 Experience. But whatever this World-System or Nature may be, and whatever meaning of its own it may possess, that meaning cannot be regarded as independent of the natiure and purpose of the selves for whom the System exists, and whose co-operation it makes possible ; — a truth which may be otherwise expressed by the sa3dng that Man is organic to Nature.^ But we are here digressing from our main task a little too far. The point which we are concerned primarily to establish is that in the experience of an experient there is a social reference, and this we have just seen is so pronounced in the case of knowledge as to reveal the instrumental func- tion of Truth. ^ But hitherto our argtmient for the existence of other minds has been largely psychologicEil in character, and we must now go on to ask how far this presumed reality of other selves is logically justified. We can say, at any rate, that other selves ' appear ' to be real. The question is whether such appearance is false or true. If it were a quite false appearance, there would be something inherently absurd in a sohpsistic experience whose content is essentially social in its implications. A social content in a sohpsistic consciousness would constitute an inherent contradiction. If the existence of other selves is a psychological postulate, there is some presumption that it is metaphysically true. Suppose that these other selves, to which the experience of the ' ego ' so constantly refers, are illusory; suppose that, uuhke the ' ego,' they have no ' existence for self ' ; then they, having no substantiaUty or reality of their own, are merely phases of the experience of the 'ego,' which is engaged in 'the meaningless task of practising unceasing deceptions upon itself. In fact, the experience of any self is based throughout upon the presumption that there really exist other selves. And if this presumption were thought by any self to be unjustified, experience of any kind would become to him impossible, so 1 Pringle-Pattison, Idea of God, p. 178. ' This does not necessaxily compromise Truth's objectivity. 2o6 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR essential are these social implicates. This is only another way of saying that we know others by the same process by which we know ourselves. Our own existence and that of others are irnmediately known rather than inferred. In- deed, they are known directly and together. We may not be conscious of ourselves and of others with equal vividness at all times. But the co-intuition, so to speak, of both is compatible with differences in the vividness with which either is realised. From the temporal and genetic point of view the consciousness of other selves may be prior ; at any rate it may be more vivid in the early stages of experience. The child directs himself towards his mother and nurse. And yet in recognising the exist- ence of those around him the child has some consciousness of his own existence too ; for it is a sense of need that sends him to his mother or nurse, and in this sense of need there is a consciousness of self, however vague. Thus, even from the first, we are conscious of others and ourselves together. Attempts have often been made to ' infer ' the existence of others from our own existence. Royce maintains even that our own existence is an inference from that of others. We arrive at it by a ' contrast-effect,'* or by a triadic process of ' Interpretation.' We may grant much of what Royce says as to the dependence of the consciousness of our own existence upon that of our fellows. But it is easy to see that it is a case of co-intuition after aU. The child would not know the meaning of others' existence, had he not some consciousness of the meaning of his own existence. And, indeed, in his observation and imitation of others he is urged on by the needs of his own life, however vaguely reahsed. His very anxiety to ' display himself over against others ' ^ proves that the knowledge of his own self-existence is latent all the time. It is a hopelessly circular argument to try to create the ' ego ' out of a vague social consciousness. Enough has been said in another chapter respecting Royce's triadic process of 'Interpretation' to show its unsatisfactory nature. Equally hopeless is it to try to infer the existence ' The World and the Individual, vol. ii. p. 260. ^ Op. cit. p. 262. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 207 of others from the consciousness of our own existence. Many say with Bradley, ' I arrive at* other soids by means of their bodies.' But what if their bodies are states of my consciousness only, as seems necessary to a rigorous doctrine of Absolute Idealism ? ^ Moreover, and in any case, the argument is circular ; for when you notice some one's ' body,' you have noticed the body of ' some one.' We must therefore abandon the attempt to arrive at the existence of other selves by any logical process. Psycho- logically, self and other are implicated in one and the same experience. This is particularly manifest in the typical case of any important Instinct. For instinct — as, for instance, that of parenthood or sex — is a total working. Its end or object is organic with its affective and other elements. The feelings and outworkings of paternity are inseparable from the cognition of the child. So, metaphysi- cally, the reality of self and that of others are given together in the same experience. We know ourselves, not separately from our knowledge of others, nor others separately from our knowledge of ourselves, but both by a Co-intuition. Other- wise, experience itself would be inexpUcable. Thus at length we have arrived at the position that Reality is not so much a Unity of Experience, as some have maintained, but rather a Unity of Experients in their experience.^ Thus the cogito ergo sum of Descartes becomes cogito ergo sum et es et est. We have now to go on to determine the inter-relations of these Experients or Persons. Our examination of PluraUsm showed us that it is impossible to conceive the existence of a number of individuals without inter-relations. And thus our metaphysical theory will be a form of what is sometimes called ' Relational Individualism.' Perhaps we can best arrive at a satisfactory doctrine by first consider- ing the views of Dr. McTaggart on the inter-relations of persons. As will be expected, we subscribe heartily to his 1 Cf. ' Does my Neighbour Exist ? ' by W. H. Johnston, Princeton Theol. Review, Oct. 191 6. 2 The term ' experience ' is used in this connection throughout in its objective significance. 2o8 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR opinions on the integrity of the self and the reality of indi- vidual persons. What we have now to consider at some length is his theory of the unity which binds persons together. We agree with him that, whatever this unity may be, it must not be such as ' to destroy the individual in favour of the unity.' ^ Accordingly, with him we refuse to regard it as ' Chemistic,' or even as ' Organic' And yet, save that the ' parts ' of the unity are regarded as conscious individuals, it would seem to be assimilated by McTaggart to the Organic type. Following Hegel he regards the relationship between the 'parts ' and the ' whole ' as being complementary and reciprocal, and as marked by strict logical equality. ' The plurality has no meaning except to express the unity, and the unity has no meaning except to unify the plurality.' * The unity which connects the parts must be in each part — ' all in every part.' Now, if the unitj' is in each part — and McTaggart says it is necessary that ' the whole of the unity shall be in each individual ' ' — then the true con- clusion would seem to be that each of the ' parts,' ' indi- viduals,' or 'selves' should be itself the Absolute, as is admitted.* This would give us, as Pringle-Pattison has pointed out,^ as many Absolutes as Particulars. But surely such an Absolute ' part ' or ' self ' could not be regarded as in relation with any other ' part ' or ' self ' except by a compromise of its Absoluteness. For to exist in relation is to some extent to be determined. But if, on the other hand, the ' parts ' be taken as consti- tuting an Absolute, only when they are viewed as a unified Whole, and as having no meaning at all but their unity, then further difficulties occur. The union of the ' parts ' cannot constitute an Absolute, for these, as a matter of fact, are conscious finite individuals. It must therefore be their unity which is the Absolute. But such a unity is a mere abstraction. It is a bond which binds individuals and yet is not an individual. It cannot in this case be ' studies in Hegelian Cosmology, p. 13. ^ Op. cit. p. 19. » Op. cit. p. 13. * Op. cit. p. 36. 5 i^n gj Qgn^ p_ 293, THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 209 conscious, for we have no experience of consciousness apart from personality. It must therefore be an unconscious bond, and, if this means anything at ah, it must apparently be a material tie, or otherwise nothing. But the Absolute cannot be a ' material tie,' for matter at least exists for spirit. We have just remarked that the ' parts,', regarded as conscious individuals, are finite. It is obvious that much depends upon that. However much so-called pure thought may demand that the ' parts ' have a logical equality with their unity, yet as a matter of fact the ' parts ' are compassed with finitude. Dr. McTaggart confesses this,^ but regards the finitude as of the nature of ' appearance ' only. Yet the appearance cannot but be based upon a measure of truth. And even supposing this character of appearance be granted, it is a puzzle ' why a timeless and perfect Absolute should appear as changeable and imperfect selves.' To say that it must so appear is sheer dogmatism, as it seems to us. To say that it does so appear is a state- ment which cannot be satisfactorily harmonised with the verdict of experience. This doctrine of a reciprocal and complementary relation- ship between ' parts ' and ' whole ' cannot be accepted. The ' parts ' are not in logical equahty with the ' whole,' and vice versd. To Eillow that the ' parts ' are conscious individuals vitiates such a doctrine at the outset, even on the author's tacit admission. ' The Absolute,' he says, ' must be differentiated into persons, because no other differentiations have vitality to stand against ■ a perfect unity.' * But if they have ' vitahty ' of this kind, they are possessed of ' independence.' There must be more in them than the mere unity — even power to withstand and resist the unity. Thus the unity cannot fully express them or explain them, and must be inadequate. The ' whole ' and the ' parts ' cannot therefore be in complementary and reciprocal relationship. There are the other considerations already referred to 1 studies in Hegelian Cosmology, p. 36. ' Op. cit. p. 17. H.S.N. o 210 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR respecting the ' finitude ' of the ' parts,' which overthrow the idea of a logical equality between the ' parts ' and the ' whole.' We will not dwell on the fact that Dr. McTaggart's view involves, as he confesses, the pre-existence of the conscious individuals or selves. The evidence as to this, derived from consciousness, is far from convincing. That the identical self has pre-existed is hardly proved by such experiences as quickness of recognition of persons, faUing in love at first sight, and so forth. But, to pass from this, it is beyond debate that the human self is compassed with limitations in many directions, is subject to changing moods, alterations of point of view, and is restricted in both range and measure of knowledge. It is insufficient of itself to sustain its own nature : it neither makes nor prolongs its own existence. For much of its knowledge, emotion, and activity it depends upon other selves. A system of such selves is neither self-sustaining nor self-explanatory. Rather does it call for explanation. Even if we regard all this finitude as apparent merely — ^which, however, in our opinion it is impossible to do — ^it is still inexplicable why a so-called Absolute system should make this show of limitation. A system of mere illusions seems impossible. And if the finitude is real (and some reality at least it must have), then a system of finite reals cannot be Absolute. To suppose that it could be would be to assume the self-contradictory. Whatever be the system that unites individuals of such a sort, it is not self-supporting or self-explanatory. It is ontologicaUy dependent and derived. Why and how should there be such conscious individuals existing in relation ? Both they and the system that permits of their interaction are ' in the air,' in impossible suspense, unless we can find an explanation of their being as they are. Now, according to our view, it is useless to seek for their cause in a mere system that is more comprehensive than the system in which they exist. A system which allows of the interaction of selves cannot be the source of the selves thiat interact. For the system is for the selves as the selves THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 211 are not for it. Certainly, as Dr. McTaggart says, it is not in them as they are in it. And this is because the system is the instrument or ground of their interaction. This is the only sense in which we can speak of the unity existing for the individuals, as they do not exist for it. Their unity, if it is to mean anj^hing apart from them, must signify the ground or system which holds them together. Now a system of finite selves is itself finite. It is onto- logically in dependence along with the dependent individuals. Since we cannot suppose that there is any more comprehen- sive system which can account for a finite system of finite selves — ^indeed no ' system ' can account for a ' self ' — we must consequently seek the explanation in a transcendent Self or Selves from whom the finite selves and their system could be derived. We are compelled to find a Unity, and that a Personal Unity, which shall be logically prior to the individuals of which it is the unity. There can ultimately be no adequate ground for spiritual reals and their system, save one which is itself Spiritual. For the ground must contain within itself the sufficient reason for all that issues therefrom. Thus we are led to postulate an all-sustaining Spiritual Whole, which from analogy we can only regard as a Self or Person, in dependence on Whom all other ' wholes ' or ' selves,' live, move, and have their being and inter-being. CHAPTER IX THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY {Concluded) The foregoing hypothesis of a transcendent Self upon Whom all other selves depend for their existence and nature will be justified by the extent to which it is consistent and explanatory. According to this view the Supreme Self does not simply coexist along with finite selves ; rather do these exist in and through Him. On account of this relation of dependence finite selves are regarded as being ' created ' by the transcendent Self. This ' creation ' need not be conceived as an ' act ' in time,^ but it must nevertheless be thought of as an expression of the Divine nature. As such it is a manifestation, not of power merely, but of power ethically revealed. For, in the first place, the Creator is not dependent upon the spirits He creates, as they are upon Him. His nature, therefore, must be regarded, from an ontological point of view, as being self-sufficient. That He brings into being spirits besides Himself must accordingly be, on His part, an act that is a voluntary impartation. He imparts to others their existence. And since, as we saw above, we are obhged to acknowledge the fact of human self-hood with its power of self-initiating activity, the gift He imparts to His creatures is that of creatorship. He makes man in His own image. He reproduces His Hke. But in so surround- ing Himself with ' creators ' His act of impartation is also an act of limitation, though of self-Kmitation. He shares His glory with others. Not only so, for since He sustains 1 For a further discussion see p. 252. To date ' Creation ' is to conceive it anthropomorphically ; it is to imply that God who made a world with time-conditions is Himself limited by the conditions which He made. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 213 in being finite selves and the system or world in which they Uve, creation becomes a great act* of ' protection.' God, from this point of view, is a Father. As imparting His glory, as Umiting Himself through that impartation, and as protecting the creatures He has made. He possesses quaUties that are ethical, the qualities in fact which we usually associate with love. It may be said, as it sometimes is said, that the facts, so-called, of the universe disprove the hypothesis of a God of Love. But it must be remembered that, in accordance with the idea of creation, the world is only partly the work ' of the Supreme Creator. God originates the system in which finite creative spirits five. But a certain dominion in that system, a power of use and control, He delegates to men. The ethical quality of the world will, therefore, be largely determined by the sort of use men make of the things and creatures over which they rule. Many of the so-called damning facts — ^we do not say aU — are not a condem- nation of the Supreme Creator, but of those human agents who misuse their divine gift. To this subject we will return. The Creationist theory of Reality is illuminated, we think, by the ethical corollary that God is Love. We should expect that a God of Love wotdd deUght in the communica- tion of Love, and express Himself in the creation of beings who could be the subjects of it. So far as analogies from human life may guide us, love grows from heart to heart. It has, of course, a development in its own intrinsic quality — ^which, however, is a kind of growth that we cannot ascribe to such an ethically perfect being as we suppose God to be. But even in human Mfe love matures best when it widens and broadens in its scope, when it manifests itself, not merely in an intense devotion to two or three, but in an extension to a larger circle. An increase of love, as it affects God, must take the form of bringing about an increase in the number of lovers, who may share His own blessedness. It is just here that a Creationist metaphysic seems to us to give a better explanation of ReaUty than Singularism. To the latter, the existence in Reahty of the element of 214 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR diversity is always more or less of a mysterious problem. Absolute Idealists cannot answer the question why the One should express itself as Many. Bradley himself has confessed his inability to explain ' the fact of actual fragmentariness.' Most Singularist writers content themselves with the dog- matic assertion that ' unity in diversity ' is the highest category of explanation, that it- is the very nature of the Real so to express itself, and so forth. But the more the character of this diversity is disclosed, the more amazing it seems that the Absolute should take just such forms. One feels this amazement particularly in reading Royce. He shows hc^ the Absolute expresses itself, in the form now of this human purpose, now of that, in purposes which in turn are the completion of previous pmposes, and so on ad infinitum. In short, ' the Absolute Life includes an infinity of longings, each of which ... is a consciousness of imperfection and finitude seeking its relative fulfilment in some other finite act or state.' * What is more, there is, says Royce, a warfare between good and evil within the divine Ufe itself.^ Through human sorrow and error the divine hfe strives after its goal — a goal, however, which, sub specie aeternitatis, it already possesses. Why the Absolute should strive after what it already has in possession is certainly mysterious. It is mysterious, even though this One Being takes the form of an infinite number of mani- festations. And one cannot read of the Absolute's leveahng its perfection through countless finite purposes, longings, strivings, and struggles, without asking. Why all this fag, this bother ? It does not satisfy our queries to be told dogmatically that such is the nature of the Absolute, and that the matter must be left at that. Singularism has no adequate explanation of the fact /of difference. But we suggest that on the Creationist theory the aspect of multi- plicity becomes reasonable. That a God of love should express Himself in the creation of creatures who can them- selves love does not at least seem unreasonable. ^ The World and the Individual, vol. ii. p. 298. ' Op. cit. vol. ii. p. 398. THE METAPHYSiC OF COMMUNITY 21^ Such creatures, as we have already imphed, will them- selves be ' creators ' ; they will possess the power of self- initiating activity and be made in the divine image. Other- wise they could not be the subjects and authors of love. They have therefore a measinre of independence^ No doubt the creation of finite selves who are themselves agents imposes a limitation on the Creator. But this would, we have said, be a self-limitation. The idea of a self-Umita- tion in the Divine Being is doubtless a difficulty for thought. The intellect seems unable to explain how in the same Universe there can be more than one Will, or to solve the dilemma propounded by Bradley : — ' If God is, I am not ; and if I am, God is not.' But if inteUigence cannot take us farther, is it not because it has inherent limitations in its endeavour to comprehend Reahty ? Agnosticism of this kind does not discredit the reason, which, indeed, employs itself to ^discover its own shortcomings and to point the way to a solution of problems such as transcends, but does not ignore, the intelligence. And if the self- limitation involved in the creation of other wills by the supreme Creative WiU is a puzzle for speculative thought, it finds an ethical explanation in the conception of a God of Love. The intellect may fail to see any meaning in the multiplication of selves. But it is just such multi- phcation that gives Love its opportunity, and is such an exercise of creative activity as seems consistent with Divine character so explained. Those who wonder how in the same world there can be room for both God and man misconceive the problem. From a spatial point of view the interpenetrability of mind with mind seems impossible. And no doubt as a centre of existence one mind excludes another. Other- wise, it is the glory of one will that it can merge with another will, and yet retain its independence of centre. Beings that are distinct find an enhancement of their exist- ence in a union of heart or interest. Indeed, this power of interpenetration has always been accepted as a mark of mental and moral greatness. ' We should call those "great 2i6 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR personalities," not who were most shut up within a world of their own — these would rather be madmen or idiots — but those whom we should call men of universal genius, such as Plato or Shakespeare or Goethe, in whom we find the least eccentricity, the least restricted capacity of sharing the thoughts and feehngs of others.' ^ And as it is with mental excellence, so it is with moral exaltation. The man who identifies his Ufe-interest with increasing numbers of people of different natures and circumstances rises to higher heights of greatness. The ethical wUl, so far from finding the existence of other wills the obstinate problem which it is to the intellect, finds, on the contrary, that these other wills present an opportunity. A mother does not feel herself diminished in any way because her soul goes out to the soul of her child. Indeed, it is the very merging of her soul with that of her cMld which brings to her an enhancement of existence. And, generally speaking, men feel an exalta- tion of experience in proportion to their power to inter- penetrate for good the fives of their feUows. Analogously, God is truly God when regarded as the loving Father of many children. The intellect, we admit, cannot form a systematic whole out of God and man. But such a Whole presents no difficulty on the view that the interpenetrative wiU of a Divine Father makes His children one with Him- self by His love. These selves, who owe their nature and existence to the Creative Love of God, are obviously finite. Dr. McTaggart found it difficult, if not impossible, on his theory to account for the fact that selves are weak, changefvil, and subject to the hmitations of time. These difiicxilties, we think, are not so great on the present theory. The selves are created, and also the system in which they subsist. The world-system in which they five, move, and have their being is for their sake. They are organic to it, and it is instru- mental to them. These selves hving in the same world possess common characters. They have a fellowship of knowledge and feeling. Moreover, they are surrounded by 1 Webb, Problems in the Relations of God and Man, p. 279. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY ZI7 other creatures who aid their evolution and themselves wait for the manifestation of the sons of God. These selves and the system in which they subsist bear finitude on their very face. They axe created and limited. It is always possible to say that both selves and system might have been different, and in particular that the finite spirits might have been so made as to be independent of the vicissitude of life as we know it, and specially of the processes of birth, age, and death. But there may be something absurd in the supposi- tion. The creation of creatures of flesh and blood, subject to the Hmitations of time, may be the means by which in the long run most love cotdd be seciored. It may be reasonable to suppose that, better than the creation of a certain number of perpetually existing spirits, is the creation of such creatures as can themselves propagate their kind in time. Indeed, this propagating power is a devolution on the part of the Divine of some of His own creative energy. And exercised by man in the ethical manner in which it should be, it be- comes a display of love's activity. It is also the means by which other possible subjects of love are brought into being. Thus sexual reproduction is not merely an imitation of the Divine origination of hfe, but it is the method by which God has delegated to man the privilege of peopling the universe with potential lovers. Human parenthood, in other words, is both the copy of Divine Fatherhood and the way by which God increases His own family. But at this point it seems necessary to consider at some length the precise relationship of the different t5T)es of Love, in particular the nature and the mutual relations of Sexual love. Friendship, and the Love that is truly and intrinsically ethical. Sexual love in itself is not ethical, and it cannot so far be more than a mere adumbration of Divine Love. It is the attraction of the male to the female, based funda- mentally on physiological differences (which, however, are complementary) and facihtated by characteiistic ' charms ' — such as strength of body or mind in the male, beauty of form or manner in the female. The attraction is exerted in a quasi-mechanical way, and the rapprochement of the parties 2i8 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR is more or less involuntary. There is thus so far nothing moral, strictly speaking, in the sex relationship. Nor at the same time is there anjrthing intrinsically ' immoral ' or selfish. The sexual reaction is in itself unmoral, and ethically neutral. Of course it may easily enough become moral or immoral, according as it is used for universal or private ends. When it becomes nothing more than the mere gratification of the desires of the two parties concerned, then it tends to be exercised in disregard of the interests of others, i.e. of a wider circle, and so becomes selfish. It is the Greek epws in its degenerate form.^ Similarly Friendship {(pikla) is in itself neither truly moral nor immoral. It may, hke sexual love, become either. It may, in other words, minister to the well-being of society, or it may be indulged selfishly in disregard of the claims of neighbours. But in itself, like sexual love, it is unmoral. It is, as Hegel said, ' a relationship which is tinged with particularity.' Men are friends, as he said, ' not so much directly as objectively, through some substantial bond of union in a third thing, in fundamental principles, studies, knowledge.' The bond, however, between friends is con- stituted, not only by something objective, but sometimes by affinities of disposition, or even by the attraction of opposite quahties of mind or character. The main point, however, in Friendship is the particularity of its basis of attraction. It is the attachment of one man to another for certain reasons that are peculiar and contingent. Thus it is primarily a special, and not a universal, relation between man and man. It may seem at this stage that we have lost touch with the psychological origin of love, as it was sketched in a previous chapter. We there tried to show that the psychological basis of love, defined as community of man with man, was to be found in the parental instinct. What is the relation of parental love to sexual love and to friendship, and of all ' Ipois, of course, had often a much higher content, as in Plato. Nor is the word of itself a base word. It connotes primarily the ' passionate ' aspect of love. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 219 three to the love we call Community ? Is there any psychological affinity or continuity ? And if so, what are the reasons for beUeving that parental love, developed into the form of community, is the generator of that form of conduct which is finally valid ? As above explained, sexual love, so far from adumbrating the love of God, or even the ethical love of man for man, seems unique and unmoral in itself. And yet, while we agree that in the mind there are many instincts, we are sure that these instincts, however separately they appear to operate, do not really function independently : they are instincts of one and the same mind. So far as the mind has a tendency to systematise its activity, and we believe it has such a tendency, it will more or less coordinate these instincts under the control of some com- prehensive and permanent Sentiment. The Parental ' In- stinct ' is indeed really a Sentiment : it includes within itself a variety of emotions and reactions. In comparison with it the Appetite of Sex is neither so comprehensive nor so permanent ; it may even pass from fitful activity into comparative abeyance. Physiologically, sexual intercourse is a means to an end — reproduction and parentage, and a siimlar subordination tends to be observed in the mind. The Sentiment of Parental Love tends to systematise other activities and organise them into a unity. Thus even the love of the opposite sex is gradually influenced more or less by such a Sentiment, and becomes tinged with parental affection.* In a true marriage the husband and wife become ' protective,' the one to the other : in their terms of endearment they often use diminutives. In some cases the relationship of sex becomes almost transmuted into a simulated relationship of parent and child. Each is ' child ' to the other ; so that the ' boy ' and ' girl ' character of each of the partners to the other constitutes the poetry of a long and affectionate unioij, of which the child-features survive sometimes to old age. It goes almost ^ Schopenhauer in his Metaphysics of Love contends that sexual attraction is the unconscious influence of the Will to Live seeking to ' protect ' the future offspring. 220 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR without saying that the relationship also of Friendship feels the influence of the Parental Sentiment. Indeed, one of the chief offices of Friendship is to afford a mutual strengthening and protection to each of the partners in the relation. Friends proverbially look after one another ; and the closer and firmer the friendship, the more is the protective impulse felt by each of the subjects. The chang- ing situations of hfe, the difficulties and needs of each one sustaining the relationship, call out the latent ' parent ' that is in the breast of every true friend. But not only do Sexuality and Friendship tend to become assimilated to the Parental Instinct or Sentiment ; a further development ensues. Husband, Wife, or Friends do not merely become ' parental ' to one another, limiting their interest to one another. The Home and the Social Circle usually cease to monopoHse the operation of the ' protective ' instinct, and provide an education for its extended manifestation.^ Solicitude widens in its scope until it embraces many who are outside the spheres of its original reference. In this respect the Parental Senti- ment transcends both Sexual activity and' Friendship. Normally, sexual activity is Urnited to the intercourse of the same two people ; the number of one's friends is also limited and, as Aristotle pointed out, must be so in the nature of the case. But the Parental Sentiment has latent in it the principle of universality. And therefore it is only through this transmutation of Marriage and Friend- ship by alliance with the Parental Sentiment that they can transcend their Mmitations and attain universality. Indeed, a Marriage which is merely sexual and is without this universal principle sinks to a purely animal condition. Likewise, a Friendship which considers only the interests of the parties concerned degenerates into a form of social selfishness. As one has put it, you cannot appreciate even the Hhes of the field until you have the sense of the absolute in everything. Nor can the institutions of Marriage and ' The function of Education in this connection is well expounded in Competition ; A Study in Human Motivt, Macmillan, 191 7. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 221 Friendship become worthy of human life till they are, as above explained, universalised and so moralised. In this way a man must become wedded to the race, as SEiints used to marry the Church and make Her their bride ; moreover, he must find in all men his friends in the sense that nothing human must be alien to him. In short. Marriage and Friendship, to be ethical, must embody the principle of Community. And thus it comes about that these loves of sex and affinity can both adumbrate and manifest the very love of God. If our psychology of Community is correct, it wiU follow that what is sometimes termed the universal Brotherhood of man is itself an extension of the Parental Instinct or Sentiment. This may seem at first strangp. The relation between brothers, it may be said, is different from that of parent and chUd. It is, however, matter of common ex- perience that an instinct may be stimulated by objects other than its usual excitants,^ and thus there is no reason why a person other than one's child should not call into activity the Parental Sentiment. Moreover, it is to be remembered that after all brothers are one flesh through sharing a common parentage. They do not originate the unity that binds them, but they participate in it. And in so far as they feel towards one another, as true brothers do in some form or another, the impulse to nourish and protect, they are each of them ' parent ' to the other. Thus it comes about that by extending solicitude to our neighbours we can manifest a virtually parental regard. And when we appeal to experience and inquire into the actual attitude of brothers, in so far as they are truly fraternal, we find that they feel for one another just this very regard, consideration, and soHcitude. Each is ' protective ' to the other. At this point it may be well to define further the nature of ethical love by distinguishing it from Philanthropy, so-called. According to its etymology, philanthropy should ' Among certain species of fishes, for instance, the male discharges some maternal functions neglected by the female. 222 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR mean the ' love of man.' ^ Moreover, it is ' protective,' and therefore allied with the parental instinct. The im- pulses of pity and compassion are ' maternal ' in their nature. But the scope of philanthropy is limited. It seeks to confer on others a good which is more or less physical. It regards other men as subjects of happiness or misery, and seeks to succour them when they are helpless, poor, hungry, enslaved, ox afflicted. As far as it goes, the ' philanthropic ' point of view is valid, for man is partly physical in his nature and is a creature of feeling. And philanthropy of this sort must certainly on occasion be an expression of ethical love. Nevertheless, it is by itself inadequate. We treat the self-hood of others in far too external a fashion, if we are concerned merely to safeguard their health of body, their Uberty as subjects, their freedom as citizens. Man is more than body, than feehng, than intelhgence, — ^he is a self, a person. Philanthropy, by itself and alone, actually tends to encourage an unhealthy and unethical social condition. It turns one section of society into ' givers ' and another into ' receivers,' and is liable to beget in the former a consciousness of superiority, and in the latter a sense of inferiority. It is this ' philanthropic ' type of love which Max Stirner has in view when he says : ' The affectionate one's service can be had only by begging, be it by my lamentable appearance, by my need of help, my misery, my suffering.' What can I offer him for his assistance ? Nothing ! I must accept it as a present. . . . What paltriness and beggarliness does it not take to accept gifts year in and year out without service in return . . . ? ' ^ Nietzsche also pours scorn on the gospel of pity and on the ' pitiful,' in the sense that he disapproves of any senti- mental encouragement of the ' bungled and the botched,' regarding it as a kind of charity which ' turns the world into a hospital, so that everybody may be everybody else's nurse.'* 1 (pCKavBpuTrla occurs in Esdras and Maccabees in the sense of kindness of superiors to inferiors, especially as shown by monarchs. ^ The Ego and His Own, Eng. tran. p. 413. 3 Quoted by Wolf, Philosophy of Nietzsche, p. 100. Compare also ' If THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 223 This protest of Nietzsche's is quite justified as against the philanthropy which merely succours the poor, the sick and diseased, the insane, and makes no attempt to do away with the avoidable causes of these Uls ; which does not seek to instil into others the truly ethical love that would make impossible all forms of excess and injustice. A thoroughly ' loving ' society in this latter sense would be temperate, wise, mutually considerate and just. The philanthropy that does nothing more than care for the wounded who fall in the social and economic battle is not sufficiently ethical. Otherwise it would try to abolish the battle. True love will not express itself so much in multiplying ambulances as in eUminating the causes of the casualties. And from this point of view we can even use the seemingly extravagant language of Nietzsche and condemn that love of neighbour which seeks only to soften his sufferings, and does not try to remove the causes of his ills. Love of the higher and truer type seeks to propagate itself ; it endeavours to create ' lovers.' Now all lovers will be ' givers ' (as they will also be 'receivers'). And in proportion to the eUmination of selfishness from the spheres of personal, social, industrial, national, and international hfe, so will there be a diminu- tion of those distresses which call for the ' philanthropic ' expression of the love of others. Love will thus take more and more the form of a reciprocal exchange between men of every kind of means to well-being. To this extent philan- thropy so-caUed and ' community ' will vary in inverse proportion. As the truer love of man increases, the merely ' pitiful ' forms of love will decrease, other things being equal. With regard to the Greek words epws, (piKla, and cpiKav- dpoDTTia, whose precise meanings of course varied, not one of the three contained the exact content which we seek to describe as ethical love. In the later pre-Christian and the early Christian centuries, however, there came into vogue a word one does good merely out ot pity, it is one's self and not one's neighbour that one is succouring. Pity does not depend upon maxims, but upon emotions.' WiU to Power, i. 29^. 224 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR bearing the significance of that love which from another point of view we have called ' community,' to wit, ayairri i — a word which, more than e/)co? or <^i\'ia, expresses the idea of an attachment to others which is less purely instinctive, less dependent on accidental circumstances, or on such affinities as those of common taste ; a word, in short, which is more ' reverent ' " of personality as such. It is somewhat dangerous to designate this attachment of man to man as man by the term ' altruism,' for such a word is ambiguous and easily gives rise to a misunder- standing like that fallen into by Nietzsche. He was continu- ally protesting against ' love ' on the ground that it meant that the individual must sacrifice himself for his neigh- bour's good. It is sufficient to remark that if the practice of a love of this kind became general, there would soon be few neighbours left for whom a man could sacrifice. Such a notion of love implies not the ' sacrifice,' but the stultification, of the self, and speUs disaster. Love regarded as Community seeks no ' good ' of the ' alter ' which is separate from that of the ' ego ' and finally prejudicial to it. Separateness of good is an idea incompatible with love, which indeed piursues a good in which the highest interests of both ' ego ' and ' alter ' are merged and reconciled. ' Ego ' and ' alter ' love one another as themselves. They are and remain distinct individuals, but their wills are one. Their union is based, not on the mere attractions of sex or friendship, nor on the appeal of suffering to compassion, but on the objective and universal ground of man's fellow- ship with man. ^ Dr. B. B. Warfleld in the Princeton Theol. Rev. (Jan. and April, 1918) shows that the different aspects of love denoted by ip^v, ^iXcic, and iyairfv are respectively its passion, pleasureableness, and preciousness. S.yaTq.v is found in Classical Greek, but is not common; iyaTi) seems confined to sacred writings. The Septuagint, New Testament, and Christian Fathers redeem drfairav from any low or general sense and give it an ethical connotation. ^ * Cf. Trench, New Testament Synonyms. ' W. Prellwitz traces the word back to an Old-Aryan root Po (Old-Indian Pa) bearing the sense of " protecting " ; hence ayaicbi " protecting," and the denominative d7airdu " entertain," or as in Homer, " welcome." ' Warfield, op. cit. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 225 This Community will, as we have elsewhere said, express itself in mutual service, but not necSSsarily in an equival- ence of actions, as Nietzsche seemed to think. ^ No exact requital would be either desirable or possible. The best form of reciprocity of ser%dce would be the way in which the capacity of one man supplements the need of another. It is better indeed to supplement than to ' requite ' actions. We must now, however, consider whether man's fellow- ship with man is finally reasonable. We seem to have travelled a long way from our psychology of brotherhood and its connection with the parental instinct. Can this doctrine of universal brotherhood be metaphysically justi- fied ? So far we have maintained, we trust justifiably, that Reality consists of Selves subsisting in the same System, by virtue of which they interact. What this System reaUy is and how it is related to the Whole is an important question, of course ; but it is one into which we cannot go. It is sufficient for our purpose that this System of experients with their experience should be acknowledged to depehd upon a supreme Experient, whose ' experience ' in some way such a System is. We regard this ' experience ' as creative in its nature. Perhaps we have already said suffi- cient as to the impUcations of such creative experience. Nor is it necessary further to contrast this view of God with the Roycean conception, which regards the divine experi- ence as ' organic' " In our opinion Royce does not satis- factorily show why the Absolute would be incomplete without finite expression, though we agree that without such expres- ■ sion it is incomplete. Nor does he, as we have already said, satisfy us by his doctrine of the ' inclusion ' of the finite self in a ' sole completely integrated Self.' ^ We cannot understand such ' inclusion.' We have indicated reasons why Creationism seems to us to shed light on just these problems. If the world is ' purposive ' in its nature, and if Creation, as we contend, is an ethical act, even a ' Cf. Will to Power , vol. ii. p. 344 {tr. Ludovici). * Cf. World and the Individual, vol. ii. p. 447. ' Op. cit. vol. ii. p. 447. H.S.N. P 226 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR manifestation of the love of God, then we think these twin problems of the ' expression ' and the ' inclusion ' of the finite become more lucid. Being ourselves an ' expression ' of the creative experience we naturally cannot understand the experience itself.* But so far as there is an analogy to it, it may be found in the exercise of parenthood. The integration of the life of the parent with his several children is not accomphshed at the expense of the individuality either of himself or of any of his offspring. The ' many ' of the family are made a unity by love. Ward suggests an analogy to the creative experience in the activity of genius.* But the products of genius are ' dead ' products, so to speak. Still we follow Ward in his final contention that the world and the selves that are in it ' exist somehow in and through ' a transcendent Being. Whatever the nature of this transcendence may be, both the world and the selves within it share a state of dependence. Further, between the world and the selves within it there is a certain inter- connection. We do not conceive of the selves without their world or system, nor of the world or system without the selves. Indeed, each is ' organic ' to the other.^ According to this view of the organic relationship of the world to the selves that are in it, we regard the former as supplying more than a mere ground for the existence and interaction of the latter. Indeed, we consider the ' world ' as instrumental to a telos realisable in and by the selves. When we ask what the facts reveal as to this ' world,' we accept from Science the doctrine of Evolution. Now the phenomena of which this doctrine takes account show at least the existence of a process of development towards an end in Nature and Life. It is when an attempt is made to read the character of this process that disagreement arises. For a long time it was said that the law of this process was one of survival through conflict, by which the strongest fighter emerged supreme. This suggested that, in so far ' Cf. Ward, Realm of Ends, pp. 232, 245. ^ Op. cit. pp. 238-9. 2 Cf. Pringle-Pattison, Idea of God, p. 178. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 227 as human conduct could be moulded, it should be fashioned in accordance with such a biological law. Ruthless competi- tion thus appeared to be prescribed as an ethical standard. Huxley, however, took the bold course ^ of maintaining that the conduct of men should reverse the supposed trend of the evolutionary process — a solution which of course created fresh problems of its own. Huxley's view, indeed, institutes a vast breach between animate existence and human life : it splits the world in twain. Such a dualistic explanation of the universe involves serious difficulties. If you deny the organic relationship between man and his world, you are forced to explain why such separate worlds have neverthe- less so much association and interconnection. But we are not shut up to such a hopeless task. According to more recent views, the ' law ' of Hfe in the lower world of animals has been formerly somewhat mis- conceived, or at least not adequately presented. For one thing, the behaviour of animals has been regarded with too much anthropomorphism. It is, for instance, a misnomer to call the depredations of wild beasts ' cruel ' or ' ruthless.' These creatures slay, it is true, but do not ' murder.' And probably their killing inflicts on their victims nothing hke the amount of pain we are apt to suppose.* Indeed, there is a mercy in the arrangement by which the numbers of certain appallingly prolific fishes and animals are thinned by stronger or more cunning neighbours, who use them as food. Further, it is important to reaUse that in this so-called struggle of hfe with hfe the conflict is normally between members not of the same, but of different, species.* There is therefore in this state of things no analogy with, or support for, what is sometimes called ' the biological neces- sity of war ' between men. On the contrary, this sacrifice of a lower order of Hfe to the good of a higher may, from ' Evolution and Ethics. ' Deshumbert {La morale fondie sur les lois de la Nature) points out that this sacrifice of life among insects and animals is mostly painless. ^ Chalmers Mitchell, Evolution and the War ; J. A. Thomson, Biology and the War. 228 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR one point of view, be regarded as a faint adumbration of a principle of service which is bmlt into the structure of the universe. A good deal of this ' struggle for Mfe ' is directed primarily not against other creatures but against ' fate,' or an unfriendly environment.! And such a struggle has promoted the very opposite of internecine strife. It has, in the first place, caused animals to herd together ; for they found out that by combining they stood a better chance of survival than by maintaining isolated and separate Uves. Indeed, Darwin himself, in the opening chapters of the Origin of Species, warns us that the phrase ' struggle for existence ' must be applied in its large and metaphorical sense, including the dependence of one being on another, and success in leaving progeny. ' Those individuals,' he said, ' which took the greatest pleasure in society would best escape various dangers, whilst those that cared least for their comrades and lived solitary, would perish in greater numbers.' The first command of Evolution in the Mght of these facts may be worded ' Thou shalt mass, segregate, combine, grow large.' " But in the next place, it is success in leaving progeny that appears to have most determined the progress of life. If you are to have something higher than insects, viz. ani- mals with a degree of intelligence, these higher creatures will need a prolonged period of immaturity, and therefore more ' mothering.' ' Insects are mature almost as soon as they emerge. Higher and more intelligent t57pes are born immature, and therefore motherhood has been necessary to the predominance of the intelligent types over the non- inteUigent. Man, being at birth most helpless, is mothered 1 This is shown to be specially true of Plant Life in an article on ' The Struggle for Existence and-Mutual Aid,' Hibbert Journal, Jan. 1918. ^ Drummond, Ascent of Man, p. 309. ' Sutherland, Origin and Growth of the Moral Instinct. M. Deshumbert {op. cit.) gives many instances of maternal care in insects, birds, and fishes, as also of co-operation among animals and men. But we do not see how he reconciles the interests of ' ego ' and ' alter ' in his ideal of fully developed Life. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 229 as no other form of life is. The victory of the human type in the world is thus from this point ofView a victory of love. As regards the development of man in history, the habits of society proceeded from the first on the analogy of the herding of animals for protection. Men Hved in groups. This group-life was a widening of the life of the family, and it is easy to see in it an extension of that protective instinct of which the family is the natural expression. And we may sum up our account of the process of civiUsation by the succinct statement that ' the whole course of history is in its main features the emergence of the type that is capable of union, and the subjugation or absorption of tj^es less capable of consohdation ' — a statement of which the truth seems Mkely to be borne out by the issue of the present world-war. Indeed, it has come to be accepted as a Law of Sociology that ' in civilised society the struggle is not for life but for a land of life, and the goal of the struggle is attain- able not in direct conflict with others but by their direct and indirect aid.' ^ In the hght of this brief sketch of the Evolutionary process we are able to come to some conclusion as to the relation of Nature to Man. We disagree with those who describe Nature as ' immoral.' But we cannot, on the other hand, endorse the view of others who attribute to her processes a moral character. MoraUty and Immorality belong to Man ; they imply consciousness, reflection, vohtion. And yet it would be scarcely sufficient to speak of Nature as ethically neutral, for, if there is no morality as such in her activities, there is at any rate the adumbration of it. She is fuU of unconscious and instinctive foreshadowings of love. What she foreshadows comes to full expression in Man. In this way Nature is organic to Man. It has been sometimes the fashion to contrast ' the struggle for one's own life ' with ' the struggle for the life of others,' and to say that Nature exempUfies both pro- cesses.^ We beUeve this to be a false and dangerous anti- thesis. It is better to say that Nature is more or less ' pro- tective ' in all her ways. Parenthood, the Family, the Herd, ' Maciver, Community, p. 383. ^ Drummond, Ascent of Man. i^o SELF AND NEIGHBOUR the Group, etc., are all evidences of this far-reaching principle. The instinct to ' protect ' is scarcely synon57mous with ' the struggle for the Hfe of others,' for the protector and the protected are not sundered so sharply as the latter phrase would seem to suggest. The struggle is not for others merely and only, but for others along with ourselves. The struggle for one's own hfe, therefore, is not necessarily excluded. Indeed, it is clearly compatible, and sometimes definitely included, as when a parent animal becomes fierce and dangerous in the defence of offspring. This incorpora- tion of the struggle for others in that for self is doubtless not very stable or permanent. Disintegration always threatens. In animals, indeed, this disintegration and consequent detachment of the struggle for self is only too common. They easily become fierce on their own account : they are ' wild ' animals. The protective principle in them is not reflective enough, or strong enough, to exercise a controUing power over those impulses which so easily swing away in the direction of self. All this, of course, has its counterpart in human life. Men find it hard to let ' the ape and tiger die.' They too, with of course no such excuse as we can plead for animals, often detach regard for self from any organic connection with regard for others, and make it an independent and dominant sentiment. Men thus become ' selfish,' and such selfishness is of the nature of evil. Perhaps at this point we may fittingly interject a fuller reference to the nature of evil, which our present theory seems to make more lucid than does, for instance, Singularism. The Singularist regards ' good ' as perfection of structure in the Real, and ' evil ' as a mutilation or contradiction of that perfection. But it is difficult to reahse how in the Singularist's ' Whole ' any ' contradiction ' could possibly arise, seeing that the ' parts ' exert on each other in this Whole a reciprocal determination. Good and Evil on this hypothesis must both be ' real,' and they must both be consistent as facts. The facts or events of a bad man's life, for instance, are no more 'contradictory' than those of a THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 231 good man's experience. ' If a gasometer were substituted for the tower of Salisbury Cathe^al, the new building would be a different unity from the old one, and a much less beautiful unity. . . . But I cannot see that the new building would be less of a unity, more self-contradictory, or less real.' ^ The floor of a criminal's ceU enters as an item of experience into his life just as truly as did the sumptu- ous carpet of his former drawing-room. In days of disgrace he mingles with his feUows just as actually as in days of honour. From this point of view there is no ' contradic- tion ' between one kind of conduct and another. And if the difference between good and evil be made to depend upon their relative systematic character, it turns out to be quite impossible to distinguish good from evil on the principle of coherence in activity. Often a plan of evil action has a content much more highly systematised than that of a series of good deeds, witness the elaboration of detail which sometimes conditions the perpetration of a crime. The ideal of systematisation, so far from reaKsing ' goodness,' brings about on the Singularist h5^othesis a kind of perfec- tion which belongs not to the individual will, but to ' wUls ' and their ' content.' And these are aU so fully related as to form a ' Whole ' which may be very ' complete,' but which is worthless, because it is abstract and artificial. On the Creationist theory, evil arises from a contradiction of a peculiar kind — a contradiction of ' wills ' and not of ' facts.' For such a theory seeks to prove that a Supreme Self is the ground and origin of other selves and of the system in which they subsist. Each of these depen- dent selves is regarded as having existence and meaning for itself. In this sense each of these selves forms a ' whole.' In the interaction of such ' wholes ' there is a tendency for any one of them to fly off at a tangent, so to speak. This tendency to detachment and ego-centric 1 McTaggart in Mind, July 1912, p. 419. It may be said that the unity of purpose in a Cathedral is ' contradicted ' by that ol a Gasometer. But those two unities seem incompatible only in the sense that they cannot simultaneously occupy the same place in reality. They are neither of them in themselves incompatible with reality. 232 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR action we have just noted. Any one of the selves may be- come so interested in itself as to desire to assume a position out of all normal relation to the other selves or ' wholes ' with which in existence it is conjoined. It is no uncommon occurrence for one such ' whole ' so to treat its neighbour ' wholes ' as to try to make them merely subservient or contributory to its own life. A Singularist may call such a process ' logical ' in that it realises a certain totality. But men usually regard it as the negation of morality, and the very essence of evil. It is nothing else than that treatment of another as a mere means which Kant enunciated in the form of a criterion of evil. Briefly, evil is ego-centric life. When this hostile and exclusive attitude is taken up against the Supreme Self on whom the subordinate self with its neighbours depends, then it is more than evil — even sin. Sin is the ego-centric exclusion of God. But it is necessary to consider a little more fuUy the relation of the dependent selves to one another. Their exis- tence together in the same world or system provides the possibility of their interaction. The fact of this interaction implies again their possession of similar natures. Their mutual intercourse involves their having like senses and a like understanding. Such similarity does not seem prima facie incompatible with much dissimilarity in other respects. And experience reveals as a matter of fact the existence of many differences in regard to location in the world, physical characteristics, mental capacity, etc. Indeed, it is possible to accept much of what Nietzsche wrote in emphasis of the inequaUty which naturally distinguishes men from one another. Our own doctrine is able to accept and endorse the saying that ' it takes all sorts to make a world.' The matter in dispute relates not to the fact of diversity in human life but to its extent. Is the inequality of men essential and radical ? Nietzsche thinks so. Hence his doctrine of aristocracy and mediocrity. The Supermen, he says, are superior in their essential nature to the members of the herd and can reasonably claim a different ethical code. We need not discuss whether the Supermen form a race THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 233 or a set of individuals. For ourselves we believe the logic of the position necessitates a single Superman, and an Ethical Solipsism. And as we behave that Stirner's egoism leads to the same result — an Ethical Sohpsism — ^we need not embark on the controversy as to whether, or how far, Nietzsche owes anything to Stirner. As far as our discus- sion is concerned, the problem raised by these thinkers reduces itself to the critical question whether it is reasonable that all other human beings — ^it is immaterial whether they be called a mediocre class or not — should be regarded as of an essentially inferior nature and status, when compared with the nature and status of but one individual, who subordin- ates all the rest to the reaUsation of the good of his own life. It may be argued that there is enough similarity in the nature of all men to make such a proceeding unreasonable. It is, however, not enough to say that all men have, for instance, a similar bodily organisation. For the slave- owner trades upon this very fact, lashes the skin of his victims, and sells their living flesh. Nor do we think it is sufficient to say that all men have a similar mental consti- tution. That the slave-driver and his victim understand one another does not seem enough in itself to condemn his oppression. Nor does it appear enough to add that, as each man is a possessor of ' reason,' each should be an end in himself and never a mere ' means.' Much depends, of course, on what is meant by ' reason.' In Kant's use it tended to denote a faculty, however universally possessed, pertaining to the individual,^ with the implied doctrine of the impervious nature of the self. And we do not in this case get much beyond the position that men have a similar mental constitution. What makes the teaching of Stirner and Nietzsche finally untenable is the truth, already sufficiently estab- lished we trust, that all men have more than a similar constitution, that they have, indeed, also an identity of origin, and that they all alike participate in the Divine nature. They are entitled to what is sometimes 1 Cf. Ward, Realm of Ends, p. 127. 234 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR called ' an equality of consideration,' because, having this common origin, and equally sharing this Divine nature, their status is essentially the same. Men are relatives, as Seneca said, because they have been begotten from the same materials. Having come forth from one and the same womb, men share in a common dignity. Doctrines of human superiority and inferiority are incon- sistent with this fundamental relationship of man with man. As it is a unity of material, so to speak, which accounts for the instinctive love of parent for child, so it also justifies the attachment of the children to one another. In Christianity, brotherly love is only the second command- ment because, unable to stand by itself, it is based on the primary requirement of a supreme love to God as the Father of all. Neighbour must be loved as self must be loved ; and self must be loved not as a monad, but as the child of the Heavenly Father. No one can love himself as such a ' child,' recognising as he thereby does his relationship to the Father of his brethren, who does not at the same time chng to other men as brothers. If he does not so cUng, he has forgotten his own ' childhood ' and what it involved. It is this fundamental and essential unity of all men in God which is the rationale of love, and it is this unity which makes ' good ' a really ' common ' thing. It wiU now be seen why we deal with the instincts of human nature differently from Nietzsche. We hold that, what- ever their relative strength may be, they are not to be gratified according to their mere strength. Nor is any one of them to be selected at random as in itself more ' real ' or valuable than the others, such as the Instinct of Pug- nacity. It is possible, as McDougall has told us,* for the mind to work up a Sentiment of Self-love based on the Instinct of Self-Display, or consciousness of power or skill. But if what we have been saying is true, the Instinct of Protection, as seen in Parenthood, and extended to Brother- hood, has a final ' reaUty,' to which the other instincts cannot lay claim ; and it is fitted to become a norm of action • Social Psychology, p. 64. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 235 in accordance with which the other instincts will find their proper regulation and subHmation. 'There will, for instance, always be an impulse in us of self-preservation, but it will find its function in association and in harmony with the social principle. There will be no ' cool self-love ' as a principle independent of, or co-ordinate with, the love of others. All love will be love of others, and regard for self will be harmonised with, and subordinated to, this. This subordination may necessitate what is called ' self- sacrifice.' The sacrifice of the self may, as in war, involve the surrender of bodily life with all its associated happiness. But can this sacrifice be interpreted as in any way a regard for the self ? An act of self-sacrifice, to be morally justified, must be an act of self-com- pletion. The self-sacrifice must not merely lead to self- reaUsation ; the two must be identified in the same deed. Can we trace this identification ? We can say, in the first place, that so far as such sacrifice is an expression of love, the individual realises himself in his loss. He has lost a ' self ' which otherwise would have been conceived purely as an individual and detached self, and has gained a more concrete ' self ' which merges its good in that of God and neighbour. And we can say even more than this. Though we hold that love is the one intrinsic good, yet with Dr. Moore in his Princi-pia Ethica we also hold that good takes the form of a ' whole ' containing as ' parts ' constituents which in themselves are not ' goods,' but which are, never- theless, inseparable from ' the good.' We believe that in this guarded sense happiness is ' part ' of the good. By this principle of Organic Unities love, which has intrinsic value, cannot operate save as it organises into its activity, as parts of a whole, states of consciousness like happiness which may not themselves have intrinsic value. The lover who loves is such a one as experience shows him to be ; and when he loves, he does so, not as an abstraction, but under the conditions, mental and physical, of his actual empirical nature. He loves as a creature of flesh and 236 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR blood, and he organises into the activity • of his love the very flesh and blood which he partly is. Hence man's love to his neighbour will involve a respect for those condi- tions which tend to the latter 's happiness, for in seeking to make his neighbour a lover he wiU necessarily seek also to endow him with that material equipment which will increase his efficiency as a lover and therefore as a man. Conversely, hate of others tends to bring about their misery. When this close and intimate connection of love with happiness is realised, it will be perceived that the test question — ^whether an eternity of love at the cost of con- tinual pain would be ethically satisfactory — ^is really mean- ingless and self-contradictory, supposing the conditions of such an eternal Ufe to have any analogy with hfe in the present. It is, of course, not to be denied that, in the present un- equally ethical condition of society, a virtuous individual may suffer. ' I altogether decline,' says Dr. Rashdall, ' to pro- nounce evSalfjLoiv, or in the highest possible degree "blessed," a man who has enjoyed twenty years of unbroken Virtue in a loathsome dungeon, cut off from books or human society, and afflicted by perpetual toothache or a succession of other tortures.' ^ Now we may point out that in propor- tion as there is a growth of love in society, so will the inflic- tion of just such tortures on the innocent tend to decrease. Indeed, the sorrow of hfe for the most part springs, directly or indirectly, from a failure somewhere of ethical love. Were there no selfishness, there would be no injustice done either to the lives of others through disregard, or to one's own life through ignorance, carelessness, or indulgence. Mankind would know nothing of the misery incurred by the activity of such poisons as alcohol and S5^hilis. The world would never experience the suffering which arises from greed in private, social, national, and international Mfe, nor would they feel the pains that hatred inflicts in a variety of forms. Indeed, the very need for sacrifice of hfe in war would have departed, for a state of world-wide love woiild preclude war of any and every kind. ' Theory of Good and Evil, vol. ii. p. 39. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 237 All this is well and exhaustively brought out by Maciver in his interesting work on Communtty : a Sociological Study (pp. 338 sq.). He points out that the more Society substitutes co-operation for the various methods of antagonism and competition, the more does it effect an economy of its Ufe and resources. ' What is true of the relations of individuals is true of the relations of their communities : in both aUke . . . the more the struggle is a struggle for life, a direct struggle of Uving thing against living thing, the less is Ufe itself fulfilled ; the more each is set against each, the less does the inclusive whole attain ; the greater the energy expended in extrinsic conflict, the more does society become an exchange of losses instead of the exchange of gains.' We ourselves hold, however, that the substitution of co-operation for competition, to be perfect, must come about, not merely through the growth of intelligence in men, but rather through the development of an ethical spirit. Maciver apparently identifies the latter with the growth of what he calls ' personahty,' a term which, in this connection, seems to raise a question rather than to settle one. There is one passage,^ however, where he describes the attaiinment of personality as ' the progressive union of sociaHty and individuality,' and speaks of the only enduring self as ' a focus of social values.' It would therefore appear that Community, in the sociological sense of an association of men bound together by objective interests, depends for its perfect development upon that inner ethical community of mind with mind which we ourselves have identified with love. The attain- ment of a common interest, which in this way is really ' primary ' and ethical, would realise ' the greatest social economy.' * Thus there is in love a tendency to create conditions which make for the abolition of those inequahties in the happiness of different people, — ^inequalities which make it so hard to reconcile self-sacrifice with self-realisa- tion, and so difficult to unify the love of self with the love of others. But something stiU remains to be said. In spite 1 Maciver, Community, p. 320. 2 pp. cit. p. 357. 238 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR of the tendency in love to bring about a harmony in the world between the complete good of society and the individual, cases occur, and occur at present ^ in large numbers, where the individual by his self-saciifice may realise love as the intrinsic good only at the cost of earthly life and happiness. Moreover, there may be inevitable Umits in the present world to the tendency which exists in love to effect a recon- cilement of love and happiness. Dr. Bosanquet in his Some Suggestions in Ethics bases the rationality of self-sacrifice on the ground that surrender is thereby made to impersonal values like truth, beauty, etc. He allows that such a ground may necessitate the sacrifice of others as well as of oneself. Indeed, it would seem to follow from this position that sacrifice might possibly become so universal that persons might cease to be, and only values remain, — which is surely a curious result. Values, we con- tend, are not impersonal : they are for, of, and in persons. Accordingly, the problem of self-sacrifice resolves itself into the question of the extent to which one person is justified in giving precedence to, or Uving for, others. There is a tradition for such precedence in minor matters of social behaviour. Where nothing serious is at stake, such slight repression of self is both good form and wholesome discipline. And, indeed, in more serious circumstances, acts of great sacrifice, like that of giving one's life to save a child, are traditionally regarded as noble. That such deeds shine with splendour is unquestionable, even in cases where the sacrifice may on reflection be regarded as too great. The splendour arises from the repression of any exclusive love of the self, just as in minor social behaviour deference to others is approved. Yet in a fully moralised act of self-sacrifice there is always evident a more or less complete co-ordination of the interests of self with those of others. And then it becomes a question whether sometimes it may not be more moral to refrain from surrendering Mfe. Dr. Bosanquet admits that under certain circumstances — in a desperate military adventure, for instance — it is better to safeguard 1 In the Great European War. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 239 some lives and risk others. It is not a question of a man's consulting his own safety, but rather of the way in which the widest interests may be promoted. Each person has to decide by what degree of sacrifice he may reaUse the greatest amount of community among men. In the pre- sent war, ill thousands upon thousands of instances, the sacrifice has been to the uttermost. This raises the question of Immortality. We hold that the many acts of self-sacrifice, such as occur in death on the battle-field, in oppressed, tortured, and martyred virtue, can becomes instances of self-completion only on the con- dition that there is a future Ufe where virtue will have its due reward. Not that Immortality is merely for the purpose of eking out deficiencies in happiness, or of redressing the balance of joy which was disturbed in the present world. Such a view is egoistic and hedonistic.^ It is rather that the facts of life show the need for a world which will be so perfect that ' good ' will be ' complete,' as it is not complete now, — a world, that is, which will allow of the reaUsation of intrinsic good in harmony with every capacity and with the environment, which must, of course, be supposed social. What ' lovers ' desiderate is that they may love unhindered by any defect in themselves or their world, and that they may continue their love in a. perfect society." Our meta- physic, we think, supplies ground for this desire for, and beUef in. Immortality. We have accepted the principle of the solidarity of all life in God. The love of man for man cannot be sundered from the love of God for man. Any self which merges its good in the life of neighbour and of God will both sohdify and perpetuate its own interest. This argument is so natural to man that it dates from the ancient thought of the Hebrews. It was this very principle ' Comte's protest against a merely personal and selfish immortality was justified. ^ Dr. Bosanquet {Social and International Ideals, p. 52) tends to regard this doctrine of immortality as a doctrine of ' compensation.' Com- pensation, he says, is in this connection immoral, for it can never transform evil into good. But in our view immortality does not ' compensate ' good, but completes it by removing all its hindrances. 240 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR of union with God which gave basis to their hope of survival after death. God, they said, was not the God of the dead but of the hving. Arguing as they did from the analogy of the parental instinct and its operation in earthly hfe, they felt that a Heavenly Father could not at any time desert His own, or aUow His children to perish. We must now bring this discussion of the Metaphysic of Community to a close by a short inquiry as to whether Love has what is called ' Value,' and, if so, how that value is based and apprehended. At the outset of our inquiry we must briefly take notice of the doctrine that value is something so entirely objective as to be independent of consciousness. It is held that Beauty, Truth, and Goodness are existent solely in ' things.' Now we may allow that things have such and such an ' order,' or ' consistency,' or ' consequences.' But even to attribute to things these characteristics reveals the activity of a consciousness. In- deed, to make a proposition about things at aU is to bring a consciousness to bear upon them. Even to say that things are is the assertion of a consciousness. Much more is the work of consciousness evident when things are declared to be not only S5mimetrical, or consistent, or productive of certain effects, but also ' beautiful,' ' true,' or ' good.' If you identify moral values with ' consequences,' then you thereby destroy those values ; for a so-called bad conse- quence is as really a consequence as a so-called good one. No reason remains for distinguishing effects.- Any distinction made between effects is usually on account of their being painful or pleasurable, fortunate or unfortunate, good or evil. The reference in all this to consciousness is unmistakable, for we know nothing of pain or pleasure, fortune or ill-fortune, good or evil, in things. In short, the very idea of value as ' abstractly objective ' is inherently absurd : ' objectivity ' is meaningless in that ' which is not an object.' * In this sense we may say that Nature knows no values. ' Pickard-Cambridge, ' On our Knowledge ol Value,' Proceedings of Aristot. Society, 1916, p. 27. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 241 And just as you cannot base Value on Physics, neither can you found it on Biology. That such and such a biological process tends to survival says nothing, as Moore has pointed out,* about the ethical character of that process, or the intrinsic value of what survives. What is ' more evolved ' is not necessarily ' better,' nor, if it is, is it ' better ' because ' more evolved.' ' Survival- Value ' is therefore an unjustifiable expression. At this point it may be advantageous to use as a sort of text for our discourse the maxim of T. H. Green that ' All values are relative to values for, of, or in a person.' ^ We are prepared already to accept the principle that values are relative to values at least for a person. Are values also in a person ? Henry Sidgwick maintained * that nothing has value except the conscious states of conscious beings, and that therefore the good is some form of desirable con- scious life. Bosanquet * criticises this position on the ground that it seems to attach value to a state of consciousness as such, and treats ' objects ' as mere means to the character of that consciousness. ' Truth of a thought does not mean,' he says, ' that a mental state is so.' Now Sidgwick scarcely meant that because all value is conscious value the value lies in this mere aspect of consciousness. He quaUfied the consciousness by saying it must be at least pleasurable. Still there was a tendency in Sidgwick's exposition to de- tach this pleasant consciousness from the objects with which it was associated, and to make it abstract. When we say that value is value ' in a,' or ' of a,' consciousness, we do not mean that consciousness in itself is valuable, for a pure abstraction cannot possess value of itself. All we intend is that the valuable should lie in some content or activity of a consciousness. Love, which we regard as possessing intrinsic value, is a state of consciousness, not cognitive, affective, or conative by itself, but a state of consciousness in which these aspects are all contained, and one which has 1 Principia Ethica, chap. ii. ' Prolegomena to Ethics, par. 184. 2 Methods of Ethics, book. iii. ch. 14. * Principle of Individuality and Value, vol. i. p. 305 sq. H.S.N. Q 243 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR reference to other persons, who are regarded as capable of having a similar state of consciousness. We agree with Bosanquet that you cannot value states of consciousness apart from what they ' mean ' in respect of the objective world, but we caimot foUow him in his contention that the ' meaning ' of any state of consciousness involves the universe. Certainly any such state, and indeed any event whatsoever, involves the whole of existence of which it itself is but a fragmentary part.^ To regard the problem in this manner is not to evaluate, but to relate, not to estimate the worth of an5^hing, but to assert the ontological interdependence of aU things. It is, in short, to confuse Ethics with Logic. No doubt there is a certain 'value ' attaching to a consistent conception of the universe, to the attainment of the idea of a Cosmos. But we submit that it is the kind of value that belongs to the contemplation of anything neat or harmonious, such as a well-executed painting or a S5nTimetrical work of art. Bosanquet's ' Individual,' to which alone he attributes value, is merely a ' perfection of structure,' and by a sound instinct, as it seems to us, he regards it as ' not morally good in the ordi- nary sense'; 2 though how, in this case, you can make it the standard for valuing anything else, as Bosanquet beheves, is difficult to understand. This valuable ' Individual ' is the product of thought of a speculative kind, and an abstraction apart from the individual producing it. The thought process of which such a conception is the product depends on special mental capacity and has no direct or essential relation to the wiU. Whatever ' value ' there is in such a process cannot be universahsed, and whatever worth there is in the product is such value as Ues in the alleged harmony of this world-view. Now we submit that this kind of value is not ethical. Ethical value apphes to conduct, and conduct is the activity of an individual in the ordinary sense of the term. It is 1 You cannot value states of mind without comprehending the world of which they are dependent fragments. Op. cit. p. 308, 2 Op. cii. p. 310, THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 243 true that such an individual lives, moves, and has his being within the Whole and is dependent upon that Whole, as we have tried to make clear. He has, nevertheless, a distinct- ness of existence and a separate consciousness. Indeed, we know nothing at all of consciousness save as it belongs to individuals. And it is the activity of this distinct and con- scious individual that we evaluate. If the standard of value were structural perfection, then of course only the complete Whole of Being would have value, and fragments, their share of value in proportion. But this, we hold, is not the meaning of value in moral judgments as actually deUvered. For one thing, we commonly attribute moral value to that which might have been other than it is. But the ' Indi- vidual ' can never be otherwise than it is. Further, it is, as we have already said, impossible to distinguish good from evil on the principle of mere coherence in activity. Often a confessed evil deed has a content much more highly systematised than that possessed by a good deed.^ Absol- utists make a further mistake, as it seems to us, in conceiv- ing conduct as concerned primarily with ' objects,' or with a ' content.' Of course you can systematise ' objects ' in various ways, as you can also vary the detail of the content of your actions. But the degree of this systematisation, or the extent of this variation, never reveals the difference between good and evil. We agree that good and evil are formed out of the same ' stuff ' in the sense that they use the same instincts and desires as their ' raw material,' so to speak. What by common consent, however, distin- guishes the good from the evil person is not the content but the motive of his actions. Morality, in other words, is a certain attitude of the conscious self. Almost on the last page of The Value and Destiny of the Individual Dr. Bosanquet refers to ' love ' as the typical self-transcendence. Now Love is essentially an attitude of self to self and is impossible apart from the distinct existence and integrity * It may be said that an ' evil ' deed is in conflict with a larger system. But it is difficult to see how such ' conflict ' can arise in a Whole of Reality of which the parts are reciprocally determined. 244 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR of selves. It is not ' things ' which set the problem of life for persons, as Dr. Bosanquet suggests. ' Negative ' things like pain, conflict, and sacrifice arise for the most part, in the ultimate analysis, out of the relations of persons. Man's inhumanity to man is, in one form or another, the chief source of these ' problems of hfe.' The moral problem, in short, is a problem of the interrelation of selves. It is in the direction of this social interaction that we shall find the way to the 'value' of which we are in search. As a matter of history, it was precisely the behaviour of the individual among the members of his group or tribe that formed the subject of moral judgment. The rules of conduct were various, and the origin of any particular duty prescribed sometimes lay in the weird beliefs of the tribe. But the supreme test of good conduct was loyalty to the group or clan. But can we, for this reason, rest oiur ethical values on Sociology ? It has been said that the mores can make anything right. But it is obvious that a line of conduct is not objectively valuable, not validly valuable, merely because it happens to have been historically valued. It may be said that nevertheless the standards of goodness are in the mores. And so they are, if no more is meant than that the vaUd values are potential in the actual values ciurent at any period of history, and capable of being evolved out of them. But it does not foUow that a value is objec- tively real merely because it has been subjectively cherished in the history of a race. Nor is it justifiable, as Mr. Pickard-Cambridge has shown,* to base Value only on Psychology. ' Not aU desires, enjo5anents, choices, etc., imply an intrinsic value in that which is desired, enjoyed, or chosen, but only those that are " right " : and this rightness is not even then the medium whereby we know their goodness, for we know objects as good even when we don't desire or enjoy or choose them thus " rightly," or even at all.' ^ We cannot 1 ' On our Knowledge of Value,' Proceedings of the Arisi. Soc. 1916. * Ibid. p. 27. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 245 therefore accept, at least without quahfication, the identifi- cation by Ehrenfels of the Valuable with the Desired. It seems true that we know what is valuable even when we do not desire it. But this much may be granted to the position of Ehrenfels, that the Valuable has so much relation to desire that it is generally regarded as the Desirable, i.e. as what ought to be desired. In other words, the subjective experience of value cannot be alto- gether divorced from the existence of a need or desire of which the value in question is a satisfaction. Of course we may know ' about ' a value, i.e. we may know that it exists and is a vahd value, without experiencing any specific emotion in relation to such knowledge. We may, for instance, know that love or rehgion (Mr. Pickard-Cambridge's instances) are valuable without actually desiring them. But this is not to prove that they have no relation to desire, when they are actually experienced as values. The fact that the first experience of love brings ' shyness,' and that religious observance requires at first to be enjoined as a duty does not involve the further fact that conjugal devo- tion will not be felt with passionate ardour, or that the soul will not grow faint with longing for the courts of the House of God (Ps. Ixxxiv. 2) . The Valuable may not be the Desired, but may nevertheless be the Desirable. But having allowed so much to the contention of Ehrenfels we hold, as against him, that though the subjective appreciation of the Valuable involves desire, the value thus appreciated does not wholly depend on the desire to which it is related or of which it is a fulfilment. The distinction, indeed, between the desired and the desirable impUes the existence of a norm by which desires should be regulated. We should learn to desire the values that are true or vaUd. We must therefore turn away both from Sociology and Psychology elsewhere to complete the basis of the morally valuable. Can we found an Ethic upon Metaphysics ? This is denied by many, and in particular by Dr. Moore {Principia Ethica, p. 114). It is said that we cannot infer what is ' good ' from what is 'real.' And we may so far agree with him that the 246 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR is and the ought are distinct and different, and that it is impossible to derive the ought from that which merely is. The Naturalistic Fallacy so-called is indeed a fallacy. We cannot say that an action is right, good, or valuable merely because it happens in a certain way. But when Dr. Moore says that goodness is not a property which we can take up in our hands,^ that it is not physical, but on the contrary the verdict of a mind, he practically admits that existence does not comprise only the existence of ' things.' He allows that the one who makes the ethical judgment is real. The judger exists as well as that upon which he pronounces judgment. And this seems to us an important imphcation. It is a tacit confession that the world of reality includes among its existences the existence of persons. It points away from a merely naturalistic metaphysic. And indeed existence is a pale category. To oppose the is to the ougM, as though you were opposing to ethical values a number of things that merely are, is to perpetrate a false abstraction. The merely ' exist- ent ' does not exist. By Moore's own confession selves or persons also exist, and they must be counted as truly part of reahty as are ' things.' . The world is not a world merely of ' experience,' or even of ' experiences,' but of experients and their experience. We must therefore not oppose the is to the ought, but rather inquire whether the judgment of value is independent of the judgment of fact. Looked at- in this way we see at once that the independence cannot be absolute. It is misleading to say, as Moore says, that the judgment of value is not existential in any way, or contains no refer- ence to fact. Both kinds of judgment in so far as they are ' judgments ' have significance, and possess meaning. As judgments, they are made by the same mind. And as made by the same mind, they imply the use of the same principles of thought, and they imply the same world. Both refer to ' fact,' but in a different way. In the ethical judgment we evaluate ' facts ' considered as the ' actions ' ' Principia Ethica, p. 124. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 247 of another experient. It is true we evaluate also ' things.' But these we call good in a special sense. They are good as ' means ' rather than intrinsically good. To Ehrenfels and Meinong we are indebted for this useful distinction of Wirkungswerthe and Eigenwerthe. Thus we can speak of a book, of a house, or of health as all being good in the former sense. Not only ' things ' but actions may have this working value too, though we ourselves prefer to describe such values as ' instrumental,' by which term we indicate that what is a means, so- called, to intrinsic good is not a ' cause ' but a potential part thereof.^ We have suggested that even Truth itself is such an instrumental value. In the ethical judgment as such we approve of acts as possessing intrinsic value. But it is obvious that in attributing this value to acts we imply that it is possible and applicable. Yet goodness would neither be possible nor applicable, unless we judged that the conditions of its possibiUty existed.' If, for instance, we came to the conclusion that nothing existed but matter, however self-contradictory it may seem to pass such a judgment ; if we decided that there was no such thing as a continuous self possessing identity, no such thing as a free agent, it is obvious that ' actions.' as such, could not be performed, and that no ethical judgments as usually understood would be applicable to such a world. A judg- ment about goodness, to be vaUd, cannot be made in any sort of world ; it must have meaning in reference to a definite world possessing such and such a constitution. The ought is in this way dependent upon the is. Nor can the subject of an ethical judgment detach itself any more loosely from reality. Dr. Moore does not seem to us quite unambiguous in suggesting that an imaginary ' Cf . Moore, PHncipia Ethica, p. 29. * It is possible to use ' good ' in a wider sense than that of ' ought,' and say, e.g. of the world as a whole, that things might be ' better ' than they are ; but even under this interpretation the reference to actuality is unescapable. Moreover, in the idea of ' better ' it is a question whether the notion of morally better persons does not play a chief, if not the sole, part. 248 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR Utopia may be as useful for the purposes of Ethics* as a more sober metaphysical construction of Reality. If meta- physical speculations are useful for Ethics in proportion to their ' wildness,' it seems as if the reality of the subject of an ethical judgment were of no consequence. If this is the meaning which our author intends, if, in other words, he means, as some of his language appears to imply, that we may attach the predicate ' good ' to what is pturely fictitious, then we are unable to agree. It may be granted to Dr. Moore that what is good is not so merely because it is real as such. And possibly this may be the whole of his mean- ing. But in any case we would urge that the subject of the ethical judgment cannot be so ' wildly ' conceived as to be out of touch with reaUty. We have already seen the necessity of relating the ethical predicate to reality. It is inconceivable that the subject should exist in a sphere that is not real ; for how, otherwise, could the subject and predicate of a value-judgment be brought together in an affirmative proposition so as to have any significance ? What is delared ' good ' must be good in some universe, and the universe in which it exists must be the same universe in which it has its ' goodness.' It is true that what is declared ' good ' may not be actu- ally existent at a particular time or place. But at any rate it must be possible ; and, as being possible, it must be capable of becoming real. Dr. Moore himself admits that Ethics has to do with ' what ought to exist, whether it exists or not.' What ought to exist presumably may exist. But it is necessary to consider a httle more fully the implications of the expression — ' what ought to exist, whether it exists or not.' There is, of course, contained in it the idea that the ought and the is have no necessary connection or relation. And we have admitted just now that there may be ' good ' which is not existent at a par- ticular time or place. But ' good ' of this sort is dependent for its existence on the human will. This ' good ' which ought to exist may not be forthcoming at aU owing to the ' Principia Ethica, p. 121. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 249 defection of that will. But it is not sufficient to argue from such a circumstance that therefore l^ie ought is independent of the is. It is dependent on the is, as we have just seen, since it is something that is possible and, as desirable, related to desire. But it is dependent on the is in the more fundamental sense that the ' good ' which man's wiU should create is really prescribed to him by the world of which he is a part. For what is that world ? It is not merely existent, but is, as we saw, an expression of creative purpose. Creation itself, we submit, is a moral procedure.^ It involves self-limitation on the part of the Creator with a view to the organisation and sustentation of a world of finite spirits. Creation, therefore, is the forth-putting of 'protective' energy. Accordingly the Universe is no mere is ; it embodies a will of a certain quality. It is, in religious language, the activity of a Father who supports in being all His offspring. Dr. Moore's antithesis between 'fact' and 'value' is there- fore artificial. For ReaUty so explained has character and is inherently valuable. To man, however, made as he is ' in the image of God,' it is given to honour that value, and to conduct himself as an obedient child of his Father. This wiU mean, from the ethical point of view, that in his intercourse with his feUow-creatures he must not violate, but respect, that Protective System by which he and all men are maintEiined in existence. We agree with Dr. Moore that the possibihty of a good's becoming real is a very difficult idea on the Absolutist supposition that there is an Eternal Reality which is at once the sole reality and the sole good.^ If Reality is eternally one, complete, and good, then it would appear to follow that ' no results of our actions can have any value whatever,' if indeed any actions in the usual sense are really possible at all. We cannot add any reality to what is the sole reaUty, nor any goodness to what is actually, and once for all, perfect. Perhaps we have already said enough in rejection of the Singularist view of ReaHty. In our opinion the Singularist 1 Cl. Introduction, xviii. •" Principia Ethica, p. ii8. 250 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR interprets ' perfection ' in a non-ethical sense. The ' per- fection ' he teaches is a mere ' perfection of structure.' A perfection of this sort obviously cannot be added to. But holding, as we do, that the perfection of the universe is not primarily ontological in its significance, but purposive and ethical, we maintain also that what is purposive is capable of an increasing realisation. Reason led us to the idea of a Supreme Experient who sustains aU other experients and their experience. We regarded this transcendent Experient as a Creator. The work of Creation, we- saw, was one of impartation and ' pro- tection.' God in His creative energy shows His ethical nature ; He is a God of Love. In this love of God we find not only the source of the world, but its motive and end. Love is self-propagating. God desires to bring many sons unto glory, — to give existence to creatures capable of them- selves being lovers. ReaUty, therefore, can grow in the sense that the purpose of creation can be attained more and more. In proportion as finite selves become subjects of love, the more will the Divine aim be accompUshed. Nor must aU this human love be described as an ' addition ' to the love of God, which in its own nature and quality must be supposed perfect. Human love does not supplement or eke out the deficiency of the Divine Love ; it merely shares in it. The richness of a father's nature is not jeopar- dised by the children's love. In a sense they ' give ' their love to their parent ; but of the love which they give he is the indirect source and the inspirer. Much more directly is the Divine Father the source and inspirer of the love of His creatures. The term ' addition ' is too quantitative and discrete in its associations to describe the relation of a child's love to its parent. Love is shared, participated in, propagated, but not added. You can ' add ' the number of lovers, but you cannot strictly speaking ' add ' their love ; for the only increase of which love is susceptible, apart from growth in intensity, is its increase by reciproca- tion. Eight members of a family have not, because they are eight, twice the amount of love possessed by four mem- THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 251 bers of a family, but their community is greater in the extent of its range. . Supposing God to be a Being of Power and Love, and through that Power and Love the Creator of finite beings who may share and extend such love, we must in the next place try to throw some light on the relation between the Creator and His created world. If the created world is the expression of His Love, is it a necessary expression or otherwise ? Some thinkers hold the former view. They maintain that the world, if not an eternal existence, is at any rate an eternal manifestation of the Divine nature, for, otherwise, it is supposed that God would have no object for His love, and therefore no love. Moreover, the idea of a creation in time has its own difficulties. In particular, a creation in time seems to imply an arbitrariness of impulse in the Eternal God. What are we to say to these contrasted views of Creation ? In the first place, the idea of the world as the eternal manifestation of God may seem at first sight to establish between them a satisfactory relationship. We appear, on the one hand, to avoid the difficulty caused by supposing, not only that there was a time when the world was not, with the accompanying implication that during that time the Creative impulse in God was quiescent, but that the creative act, when it did take place, was merely ' an incident in the Divine Existence.' And, on the other hand, if the world is God's eternal manifestation. He is then conceived, not as a pale abstraction, not as a contentless Absolute, ' not as a mere One or a mere subject,' but as a nature that is infinitely rich. God thus becomes, it is said,* a self- reveaHng and self-imparting God. ' The Infinite exists in and through the finite, the finite in and through the Infinite.' This conception of the world as a Divine Eternal mani- festation does certainly seem to escape difficulties which are considered to beset the opposing view. But it has serious difficulties of its own. For one thing, it reveals the influence of the logical bias of which the theory of * Cf. Pringle-Pattison, Idea of God, lect. xvi. passim. 252 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR Singularism is a result. It is, in other words, an application of what is called the ' concrete universal.' And a cognitive law or process appears to us a less adequate guide towards the understanding of loltimate problems than do the more conative or personal experiences of activity, such as occur in the production of a work of art, or, still better, in the generation and nurture of children. Moreover, it seems to us almost as difficult to conceive of the world as an eternal manifestation as it does to conceive of it as eternEdly existent, ^s a ' manifestation ' the world possesses the same finite character which it has as an ' existence.' And if it is difficult to regard a finite world as for ever chained to God, or coeval with Him, it is also difficult to regard such a world as an eterucil manifestation. Undoubtedly the world has finite aspects, incessant changes, and so forth. But it does not ease the problem, in our judgment, to throw these finite aspects and changes into the hfe of God. You simply have in another form the alleged arbitrariness of a creative act that takes place in time. In other words, you bring finitude into the essential hfe of God. And if, on the other view of creation, you could always ask ' Why should God feel the sudden impulse to create ? ' on this view you can ask really the same kind of question, ' Why should God initiate within Himself changes Hke a chameleon ? ' In preferring the idea of what is sometimes spoken of as ' a creation in time ' we are aware of the objection that it makes creation an arbitrary act on the part of God. But we do not think such an objection insurmountable. The difficulty has arisen through the ambiguity of the word ' time.' Too often time is conceived as merely ' clock- time,' and creation, accordingly, as an event that could be assigned a certain date in the past. But if in this way you give a date to creation, you imply that before creation clock-time, time as men conceive it, was in operation. And this seems contradictory. And if it is absurd to take crea- tion as an ' event ' that can be dated, it seems Ukewise absurd to regard God as under the Hmitation of clock- time, and as waiting for the arrival of a certain minute when THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 253 He could initiate the creative act.* This is surely to use a false anthropomorphism in order*to understand the ways of God. It stands to reason that anthropomorphism can help us only to a limited extent in trying to conceive the creative process. Men are themselves products of creation, and it is not to be expected that they should have the pre- cise experience of which they are products. All that can be expected is that human experience should adumbrate or reflect the Divine experience. And the utmost approach that men can make in this direction seems to be through the generative activity of the mind or the body. The essential difference, however, between the view we hold and the idea of creation as an eternal manifestation, is that we do not maintain, as does the latter view, that God is as dependent on the world as the world is on God. He is necessary to the world's existence, but it is not necessary to His existence. Are we left then with the idea of God as a Divine Eremite, so to speak, existing in icy isolation ? And are we to regard the sole occupation of God as that of Speculative Contemplation, as Aristotle thought ? Certainly, as he said, the gods cannot be supposed to form contracts, or restore deposits, or to give money. We are not, however, shut up to this alternative. If we again take analogy as our guide, we find that the Hfe of man takes the form of the family.^ We have seen reason to beheve that the growth of the moral idea in the world has lain in the direc- tion of the extension of the family idea, to the end that the whole world should be embraced in a brotherhood. Now the love wherebj' a family is bound together is an experience of what may be called interpenetration. In proportion as the family develops the intensity of its love, so does the interpenetration increase in its thoroughness. The many members have but a single heart. The existence of each member of the family remains distinct and unimpaired, but all separateness of interest tends to be lost. Now if 1 Cf . Augustine's distinction ' cum tempore, non in tempore.' (Pringle- Pattison, op. cit. p. 303.) * Of course the primitive family was a more or less confused unity. 254 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR we are to conceive of the Divine Nature by the help of human analogies, one must conceive of it as reahsing the essence of the family idea in a pre-eminent form. God must embody the ideal degree of interpenetration. Nettle- ship, referring to the condition of perfect love, remarks : ' So far as we can conceive such a state, it would be one in which there would be no individuals at all, in the sense in which individuahty means mutual exclusion : there would be a universal being in and for another : where being took the form of consciousness, it would be the conscious- ness of " another " which was also " oneself " — a common consciousness.' ^ And, so far as we can construct the life of God after the likeness of the himian family, we must conceive the Divine nature as presenting the supreme example of such a unity. That unity must accordingly be a unity of society so close and harmonious that no human analogy can shadow it more than dimly. A unity in duality would not be a perfectly ethical conception, since each ' centre ' might love the other with partiality, and therefore selfishly. A unity in trinity would realise and maintain the absolute imparti- ality and ethical perfection of love. In such a Trinity the three ' centres ' are not necessarily to be conceived as three individuals. The relationship is rather that of the most utter identity of wiU compatible with such a degree of distinctness of consciousness as to make the identity moral. In this Unity in Trinity we have that perfect model of love which it is the task of all human life and every human institution to imitate. And it is interesting to note that the idea of a Divine Trinity has been a matter of defin- ite belief to multitudes of inteihgent people. In proportion as men, societies, and nations can attain a perfection of interpenetration of which the Trinity is the supreme type, so in proportion will heaven descend to earth, and God indwell the Ufe of man. What then, in conclusion, are our reasons for maintaining that men should live in community, should 'protect,' should ' Philosophical Remains, p. 42. THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 255 love, one another ? Briefly, we do not base ' values ' only on ' facts.' We hold in accordance with our Creationist meta- physic that the very constitution of the universe is an embodiment of value. The unity in which all men subsist is a unity of which God is the originator and sustainer, of which, in a word, Divine love is the meaning. Being created brothers by nature, men must become brothers by choice. To repudiate brotherhood is to defeat the meaning and purpose of the.universe. This does not necessitate that men, in order to be moral, must grasp by metaphysical speculation the fundamental unity in which they subsist. It is sufficient that they should apprehend that unity through religion. In this way moraUty is the child of faith. ' The good,' said Spinoza, ' which each one who follows virtue desires for himself, he also desires for other men, and the more so the more know- ledge he has of God ' [Ethics, pt. iv. prop, xxxvii). Nor need this element of faith implicit in duty surprise us. As a matter of fact, the alliance between duty and faith is one of the commonplace truths of sociology. At the early dawn of history, in the rise of moral consciousness, conduct and religion were merged : in primitive society morality and piety were undistinguished. The customs of the tribe constituted the content of the duty of the individual member, and their observance was regarded with a sacred awe. No doubt some of this awe was inspired by the might of the clan or group as mediated through the power of the Chief. But it is none the less true that the customs of the tribe possessed sanctity because they were thought to be protected by Magic or Taboo. The transgression of tribal tradition was avoided as being dangerous. The Spirit, or the God of the tribe, would avenge the disobedience. And thus it came about that the codes of behaviour pre- valent in these early groups of men were invested with a sanctity of which a crude form of religion was the source. Historically, then, duty has always been more or less allied with piety. After customs had developed into ' laws,' these laws were still regarded as more or less ' divine.' To 256 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR realise that 'law,' whether ethically or politically conceived, was more or less suffused with reUgion, one need only remember the respect felt for law in Greece and Rome. Patriotism, for their citizens, was a form of piety. In the case of the Jus naturale an undoubted religious basis was provided by the Stoic Panlogism, or the doctrine of a universally immanent Reason. It is unnecessary to add that Christianity regards laws of conduct as Divine commands. In a former chapter we have probably said enough to show that Conscience cannot be taken to be a separate ' faculty ' of human natmre. Neither can it be identified with any partictilar aspect of mental activity. It is and must be the reaction of the whole man upon his experience. That that reaction should be more than a merely moral one is not only borne out by history, but is to be expected on the ground of the capacity of human nature. The ' whole man ' who judges of actions judges also of the nature of all reality, including what is sometimes called super- sensible reality. These judgments may be crude enough, but they are more or less rehgious in their character. A decision as to duty is therefore bound up in some sort of way with a view of the relation of human life to the nature and meaning of the universe. The individual in his ' conscience ' reflects the demands of the various groups of which he is a member. The customs, traditions, or rules of behaviour present themselves to him as ' imperatives,' simply because he reveres or fears the authority behind them. As primitive man ' sancti- fied ' the mores by a reverence for the Spirit or God of his tribe, so modern man bows down to the authority behind his laws. He makes a ' god ' of pubHc opinion ; he deifies ' Order ' ; he attributes to the magistrate or prince a divine right ; he makes a religion of devotion to his country But the authority which unifies and sanctifies the laws oi city or country in this way is somewhat external and arti^ ficial. The tribe, for instance, maintains its solidarity and safeguards its customs, not because of any inherent relation- THE METAPHYSIC OF COMMUNITY 257 ship between the members, but simply because of restraints imposed by belief in the same Totem* or Spirit. Similarly men worship their Nation because, for one thing, they were born within the same geographical boundary, or are heirs to the same traditions. It is possible, however, for the mind to find a ground of unity between men which shall be at once deeper in its nature and wider in its range. The extension of the bounds of association, as eiIso the deepening of its basis, is mediated by the discovery of new common interests which are at once more general and more vital or essential. Of all such common interests surely ReHgion is the most important and insistent. Changes take place in the conception of the character of the object of worship. The causes of these changes is, of course, a large subject in itself. Suffice it to say here that the tendency has been to rid the notion of Deity of the particularity which aUied Him with the pro- tection or inspiration of a mere individual, or tribe, or race, or nation. Being the Father of one man, or a few men, God is gradually realised to be the Father of all men. A further discovery is that God is not external to, but immanent in, man, who thereupon ceases to be His slave and becomes His child. A universal Fatherhood has, as its natural corollary, a universal brotherhood of man. Such a religious faith is easy neither to attain nor to retain ; but being attained it binds men to men by inward bonds and relates them through a fundamental unity of nature. However narrow and arbitrary the actual imperatives of conscience may be found to be, it has such a faith as that aforesaid impHcit in its nature. When, however, such a faith has become expHcit, when conscience is informed by a belief in God as the Father of all men, and in men as members of one and the same Divine family, then will conscience have become the veritable voice of God in the soul. CHAPTER X THE PRINCIPLE OF COMMUNITY APPLIED It follows, as one of the first and most obvious consequences of the view of moreds which we have been trying to maintain, that there are no virtues which are merely personal or private.! Accordingly we shall have to revise the doctrine of the Virtues as these have been traditionally maintained ever since the days of Plato. Not that the so-called Cardinal Virtues — Wisdom, Courage, Temperance, Justice — ^have ever escaped criticism as a list of the moral excellences of the soul. They are at the outset based upon a superficial psychology. As man had three functions or aspects, — cognitive, active, and appetitive, so it was thought that corresponding excellences suited these different functions. The intellect being regarded as the ' highest ' faculty of man, Wisdom was made the condition of all virtue and the chief feature of the moral life. Courage was the virtue of the man who repressed the emotion of Fear. Temperance was the virtue of moderation in relation to the desire of the lower appetites for gratification, Justice came to be regarded as the virtue which regulated our dealings with other people.* Now it will be obvious that, since the division of mental life into ' functions ' is an abstract operation, and since in concrete experience ' the whole man ' is always at work, the attempt to base differences of virtue on the differences of psychological function involved is mistaken. There is no 1 ' All virtues are really social ; or more properly, the distinction between social and self-regarding virtues is a false one.' Green, Principles of Political Obligation, Works, vol. ii. p. 550. ' It is not of course meant that this was its exact meaning in Plato. 258 THE PRINCIPLE OF COMMUNITY APPLIED 259 separate exercise of the Reason, or of the Emotions, or of the Appetites. Rather are Reason, Emotion, and Appetite in some form present in any and every mental operation. And as regards Justice, too, this is an attitude which, so far from excluding the exercise of the other virtues, wisdom, courage, or temperance, often definitely implies them. For Justice must be wise, courageous, and temperate. Thus the super- ficial psychological basis of the virtues inevitably leads to confusion. There is also the special difficulty involved in the pecu- Harly Greek tradition of assigning superior virtue to the exercise of the Reason. In so far as Wisdom means ordi- nary intellectual acumen, it is largely involuntary, and would not now be deemed a ' virtue ' * so much as a ' gift.' There is a wisdom too which, in the sense of Prudence, knows how to devise the best means to attain an end. This kind of sagacity, again, is to be regarded rather as a ' gift ' than a ' virtue ' ; for the most abandoned scoundrel has to exercise wisdom in this sense. It is obvious that the prudence which can control present impulses with a view to the attain- ment of a future end has no intrinsic moral quality. Even Butler's ' cool self-love,' which puts the brake on passion, is not entirely good merely because it acts as a brake. Its intrinsic goodness must be determined by the motive that lies behind its inhibition of impulse. And thus we are led to the view that virtue must belong to Wisdom because of its choice of the right end. Such a choice, it is needless to say, is essentially different from a merely speculative activity of the Reason. We have already seen that ' thinking ' as a mere activity has no ethical superiority over any other form of activity. We are not necessarily more moral when we are thinking than when we are eating." Good or evil resides in the quality of the will which motives our various activities. The only Wisdom which is virtuous, therefore, must be the wisdom which apprehends the supreme end of life and » That is, a Virtue in its modem ethical sense. " Regarded merely as processes, not as aims. 26o SELF AND NEIGHBOUR cleaves to it. Such an attitude may be called ' Conscien- tiousness.' It is obvious, however, that this attitude is not any specific virtue, but a characteristic of virtuous life generally. Indeed, it is an attitude that is religious rather than purely ethical. We have probably said enough to show that none of the so-called Cardinal Virtues is strictly personal or private. Courage and Temperance may be manifested in adjusting our relations with others. And even Wisdom cannot retain any purely private significance. Butler's champion- ship of Prudence was good, in so far as it taught that a far- seeing ■ regard to one's happiness on the whole was to be preferred to momentary rashness. But such a control is imperfectly moraUsed in Butler's scheme. It -is a control in the interest of the happiness of the individual ; indeed, he defined it as a ' due concern about our own interest or happiness,' and such happiness is related in no satisfactory way by Butler to the individual's duty. Sometimes it is made subordinate ; sometimes it is made the supreme end ; ambiguities, indeed, which have been already fully brought out. But the gravest defect of the Butlerian Self-love is that, conceiving that ' love ' as a love of happiness, he does not regard the love of self as in any organic relation to the love of the ' alter.' The ' self is conceived by Butler as an abstract self, desiring an abstract happiness,' whereas ' the self that I love, that is the self that I know, is my self holding intercourse, having reciprocal relations, with a community of other selves.' ' Moreover, interest ' in ' the self and its happiness is clearly a secondary thing and implies certain primary interests ' of ' the self, ' without which there could be no interest " in " self.' * Such primary interests, as Ward says, are the ' interests of a self, though a self as yet without knowledge of itself, and so without any reflex interest in itself, in other words, without any self- conscious interest in its interests.' ' We have already shown that among these primary interests the parental ^ Waxd, Realm of Ends, -pp. 342-3. ^Wzrd, op. cit. ^ Ibid. THE PRINCIPLE OF COMMUNITY APPLIED 261 instinct has an important place. So that the ' self ' we love is a self bound by instinctive interests to the life of other selves. This truth suggests that, as the self cannot be really isolated from other selves, so no valid doctrine of self-love can be attained except along lines which are also social. Self-love must be organised with the love of others. If the foregoing argument is sound, then we must abandon the scheme of the Cardinal Virtues as traditionally explained, and with it the view that there can be any merely private virtue. Instead of confining the social aspect of virtue to Justice we must regard all goodness as interpersonal. The individual must be courageous and temperate, not for his own sake merely, but for the sake of others. The question arises, however, whether the social aspect of virtue is adequately expressed by the notion of Justice. The conception of Justice is, of course, ancient and wide- spread, and much has been written as to the impKcations of the term. Without reproducing these discussions at any length we may say that, generally speaking, the aim of Justice is to give to others their due as citizens, or to prevent the infringement of their rights.* This latter and negative aspect is probably primary. For it was as an act of tribal vengeance and protection that Justice first began. Neither the member of the tribe nor the tribe itself must be allowed to suffer hurt. And it was the tribe as a whole that took the punitive and preventive measures indicated by early justice. From this point of view justice is a legal thing — it is ' the vindication of right through the administration of Law.' Finally, the object of such justice was to safe- guard the tribe or the individual in the possession of certain ' rights ' or external privileges. It may therefore conduce to clearness to describe Justice as primarily aiming at a good of others which is external, negative, and legal. No doubt this same ' legal justice ' may be criticised as ' just ' or ' unjust,' and we may speak of a ' just ' man without any association of legal ideas. But ' ideal ' justice, which such uses of the term imply, is really synonymous with the 1 ' The hindrance of hindrances,' as it is sometimes said. 262 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR virtuous, or the righteous, or the good in general, and the narrower signification of the term is the stricter. It follows that justice of the legal kind can attempt Uttle more than to secure to the citizens the possession of certain external and indirect advantages. And these advantages are at first construed negatively. The citizen, for instance, must be protected against any injury to his life, property, reputation, and so forth. The object of Justice may, in a word, be said to be the safeguarding of the liberty of the subject. Such ' liberty,' however, came to be interpreted as demanding so much more than ' freedom from inter- ference ' that it gradually gave way to the more concrete ideal of the ' equaUty ' of the citizens, — an equality of course that was relative and proportionate, rather than absolute and exact. This ideal, again, came to be more and more positively conceived, as the reahsation increased of what the concrete equality of the citizens demanded. And this problem of Distributive Justice is, needless to say, not yet in a state of final solution .^ But it is necessary after all to realise that the function of Justice is partial and imperfect. ^ Its object is to see that the citizen suffers no harm; its method is coercive, and its motive is primarily that of self-preservation. Justice, in a word, is a kind of legal expedient. It is imperfect in its method and partial in its aim. And something more is necessary fully to realise social virtue. Indeed, the union of men must not be dependent merely on a coercive basis, nor must it be entered into simply as a matter of mutual expediency. There must, in short, be a willingness not merely to give our neighbour his due as a citizen, but to seek his good as a man. There must be a definite and positive desire voluntarily to promote that good. As Aristotle 1 For an excellent account of Justice as the primary aim of a State see bk. ii. chs. iv. and v. of Prof. J. S. Mackenzie's new Outlines of Social Philosophy. " ' It is not the business of compulsion to make men good and just, but the guarantee of protection for him who acts justly is a condition under which men may make themselves good and just.' L. T. Hobhouse, The Metaphysical Theory of the State, p. 60, note. THE PRINCIPLE OF COMMUNITY APPLIED 263 said, ' If citizens be friends, they have no need of justice, but though they be just, they need friendship also.' * It is, of course, important that we should realise what this ' friendship ' should mean, if it is to become an adequate relationship. It can, of course, be nothing less than an attachment of man to man as such ; and since friendship traditionally belongs to a special social relation, the wider relation is often described by some other term, such as Benevolence or Philanthropy. These terms, however, have acquired misleading and unfortunate associations. They are, of course, positive in their signification ; they denote the will to seek actively the ' good ' of others, and to seek it more or less voluntarily. But inasmuch as the ' good ' they contemplate is for the most part external in its nature, they do not aim at providing more than certain desirable physical conditions. The Philanthropist, for instance, reheves poverty, heals the sick, secures asylum for the orphaned and the aged. He deals with social sufferings as and when he finds them, and is not expected to do more than supply external con- ditions of amehoration. His work is considered to be completed, if he secures food for the destitute, shelter for the outcast, and health for the aflflicted. The ' good ' he does affects primarily the bodies of men,* and as it is mostly of an external nature, it is a kind of good which may be effected by mere gifts of money distributed by the mechanism of charitable institutions. There may not be in the donor any motive higher than a desire to be freed from the pain caused by the reflected pain of others, or any feeUng more permanent than that of pity stimiilated by suffering, and reUeved when that suffering gives way to happiness. Philanthropy so-called is, however, not an adequate love of man. Its aims as such are too superficial. No doubt ' Nic. Ethics, viii. i. » It is not denied that a philanthropist may seek the intellectual good of others, nor is it of course meant that his philanthropy may not proceed from a profound moral feeling. 264 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR the good that we seek for others must ' include,' as we have tried to show,^ such ' good ' as the philanthropist contemplates; but in itself it must be a good that is spiritual and inward. We cannot, of course, seek the good of others in any sense that would prevent their being themselves authors of good.- Rather shall we best seek their good by promoting that authorship. And this means that the aim of ' lovers ' of men is the multipUcation of like lovers — a view which we are glad to note has the support of the late Prof. Royce. ' The first duty of love is to produce love.' ' The parables and the sermon on the Mount emph?isise . . . two things ; — First, that it is indeed the business of every lover of his neighbour to help other men by rendering them also lovers. The duty to one's neighbour is the requirement to use aU fitting means — example, precept, kindhness, non-resistance, heroism, patience, courage, strenuousness — all means that tend to make the neighbour himself one of the lovers.' ^ This interpretation of the duty of love is endorsed also by Dr. Rashdall.* Happily we have an instance of a Community in which such mutual love was manifested. The early disciples of Christ, we read, ' continued steadfastly in fellowship ' * {koivoovIo.) , a fellowship, indeed, in which there was ' one heart and soul,' and which expressed itself on occasion in a mutual sharing of each other's goods. It is obvious that in a community of lovers, such as obtained in the first days of the Christian Church, there is possible a relationship far more intimate than that which would be practicable in a community of mere citizens bound together by the more external ties of justice. The utmost at which Justice can aim is to secure a more and more perfect equahty, an ideal which may be attained without involving any inner cohesion of the citizens themselves. Love can attain all that Justice can secure, and does so, not 1 Cf. ' Principle of Organic Unities,' Principia Ethica, passim. ' Problem of Christianity, vol. i. pp. 85, 89. ' Conscience and Christ, p. 126. ' Acts of the Apostles, ch. ii. v. 42. THE PRINCIPLE OF COMMUNITY APPLIED 265 of constraint, but willingly, and as a natural consequence. For Love effects a unity of souls, and sjach a unity includes as its implicates ever5d;hing that the ideal of Equality strives to reach, as the greater includes the less. What is, further, a unity of souls wiU secure a more wholesome type of Equality, or a better adjustment of the circumstances of different men than any merely quantitative or external measurement of conditions could possibly do. Virtue, then, instead of being fourfold, reduces to one principle with two aspects. Virtue is always interpersonal or social in its reference. In its aspect of Justice it seeks to render to others their due, and to interpret their rights legally, externally, and negatively. In its aspect of Love, it seeks to effect such a voluntary union with man as man as in aU things to act for other as for self, and in acting for self to act also for other. It may be desirable at this point to show how all other virtues are manifestations of Love. Such a virtue, for instance, as Veracity is not an affair of mere speech which is entirely independent of any motive of benevolence in the speaker. Truthfulness is a matter not primarily of words, but of the use which it is desired to make of words. And it is instruc- tive to note that, according to variation of motive, a state- ment is given with added comments, or allowed to pass with the minimum of detail, or altered with secret reserva- tions so important as to render the statement in its bare- ness actually misleading. In the Middle Ages it was thought quite venial to equivocate. You were at liberty to give words what meaning you liked in your own mind. You could even utter an affirmative oath, and yet retract it in a whispering voice or under the cover of a cough. It will be obvious from all this that it is impossible for words to convey the truth independently of their motive. For as is the motive, so will be the quantity and the emphasis of speech. Indeed, so httle have the mere words to do with veracity that sometimes total silence is a form of lying. Falsehood, in fact, is an egoistic use of any medium by which thought is communicated. Accordingly, if we cannot 266 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR speak the truth except in love, it may sometimes happen that this very motive may dictate a certain reticence of speech, and even an actual concealment of facts. People put children off with fictions in relation to sexual questions, for instance. Nor do we scruple to keep from invalids news about themselves or others which, if imparted, might bring about a fatal collapse. Kant, indeed, held that it would be a crime to tell a ' falsehood ' to a murderer who asked us whether our friend, of whom he was in pursuit, had taken refuge in our own house. But such is not the general view. Where ' deception ' is designed to benefit, or not to hurt, the person ' deceived,' common sense concedes that it may sometimes be right. Of course, such a kind of deception is easily open to abuse, and has in fact been abused. We may falsify our speech merely to give pleasure, as is done in flattery. But flattery, of course, is mistaken kindness. We rightly ' deceive ' an invalid or a child only in an emergency, and for a brief period, and always in their real interest. It is of the essence of a he that we mislead our neighbour for his hurt. Truthfulness, on the contrary, is such a use of speech as will bless our neighbour. And it stands to reason that this very motive of love will usually respect an objective standard of truth, in so far as it is possible to give a purely detached and impersonal view of facts. For it is of the very essence of love in ordinary relations to facilitate human intercourse and to promote good faith. The same love which dictates some concealment of the facts in the case of invahds dictates an unquahfied presentation in normal conditions. For this reason, such concealment would be quite innocuous ; nor would the really benevolent ever become ' suspect ' in ordinary social Hfe. We have already explained that this unity of man with his neighbour is apprehended by the conscience with a certain ' reverence.' And in the present chapter we have reduced the ancient virtue of wisdom to a conscientious appreciation of the supreme principle of conduct. This reverence for the unity of mankind, we saw, originated in the old reverence for the Chief as maintaining the sohdarity THE PRINCIPLE OF COMMUNITY APPLIED 267 of the clan. It was suffused with a more distinct religious feeling in the Stoics, who viewed the wj^rld of things and men as in some sense divine. We have ourselves tried to show that men are a unity in God. It would therefore seem impossible altogether to separate this love of man for man from a certain attitude of reverence towards that Divine Person in whom aU men have their being and unity. Indeed, Augustine went so far as to reduce all the virtues to the Love of God. And we ourselves are of opinion that apart from the love of God the love of man lacks both basis and inspiration. To this extent MoraUty is vitally dependent on Religion. Nevertheless, it would not be right on this account to merge Morality in Religion, and to reduce all virtues to Reverence or to the Love of God. There might conceivably be a Religion without Morality, as in the case of a Robinson Crusoe on a desert island. Moreover, Morality is a sufficiently. intelhgible discipline in itself, and demands a certain independence of exposition and applica- tion. In so far, however, as it is a ' life ' rather than a science, its progress, we think, is to be sought, in view of the strength of the egocentric tendencies of human nature, in an increasingly close alliance with the practice of ReUgion. Having adopted for our metaphysic a form of what is sometimes called ' relational individuaUsm,' we are con- fronted with the special problems of Divine transcendence and immanence. We have tried to show in what way God is transcendent of us. Can we add anything as to the mean- ing of Divine immanence, especially as this indwelling may be facilitated by the activity of our own will ? When we say that the practice of morality is dependent upon religion, we mean, of course, that we are more easily impelled to a life of love, according as we recognise our relation to God and make it influential. No doubt it is difficult in such a connection to distinguish between that part of the Divine influence which is dependent, and that which is not depend- ent, upon our own will. God, however, is not so immanent in us as entirely to displace our personality. Nor is He in us in such a way as to exert an irresistible control. 268 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR Probably the analogy of a great friendship like that of Tennyson and Hallam may help us. Hallam's spirit grew incorporate with Tennyson's, and gave it, as the latter said, strength and purity. • Whatever way my days decline, I felt and feel, tho' left alone. His being working in mine own, The footsteps of his life in mine.' Perhaps the influence of the Spirit of God in the elevation of the human soul is httle more mysterious in itself than this. This immanence of the Divine is made real and operative for the human soul by its Faith. When Faith in God is in this way united with the practice of Love, allTvho cherish such faith and practise such love form a Church. The ideal condition of humanity, therefore, from this point of view, is that of a universal Church. We are compelled, however, carefully to distinguish such a Church from the ' beloved Community ' as understood by Royce.^ Accord- ing to the latter conception ' all are made " one " by the common bond of love.' * This conscious spiritual com- munity is said to be ' the sole possessor of the means of grace, and is the essential source of the salvation of the individual.' ^ Indeed, ' the being whom Paul called Jesus Christ was in essence the spirit of the universal community.' * Also, in the Parable of the Prodigal Son the ' father is . . . simply the incarnation of the spirit of the Community.' * It is clear that ' the beloved Community,' so explained, is for Royce the supreme object of loyalty. Indeed, for him, loyalty includes both the ideas of Faith and Love. The object of Love (Charity) is not different from the object of Faith under this interpretation, simply because Royce' identifies the soul of society with the Divine Being, influ- ^ In his Problem of Christianity and The Hope of the Community. ' Problem of Christianity, vol. i. p. 95. ' Op. cit. p. 357. • The Hope of the Community, p. 48. ^ Problem of Christianity, vol. i. p. 353. THE PRINCIPLE OF COMMUNITY APPLIED 269 enced, as he is, by an absolutist metaphysic. Our own metaphysic obliges us to refuse to the Roycean conception of the social unity the attributes of a Chturch. We are wil- ing to acknowledge that the idea of a ' beloved Community ' is a moral conception. But in itself Charity (in the Pauhne sense) cannot ' save,' or provide its own energy, or supply its own inspiration. Charity must be allied TOth Faith in Him on whom the Community depends. Such faith ' worketh by love.' The Kingdom of Heaven is therefore not so much ' the community of God's beloved ' * as the community of those that love God, and is indeed a Church. Such a Church is not a mere ecclesiastical organisation. It is a world-wide community of lovers who beHeve in God. Not but that such a community will need for the expression of its life many kinds of organisation. And before we pro- ceed to consider some of the aspects of the hfe of such a community, we may say, once for all, that the function of the community regarded as a Church, in relation to its various institutions and organisations, is to supply that spirit of faith and love which shall inform every type of activity, pohtical, social, or industrial. The business of this Church is to give an increasing ethical bias to the collective will, and to create moral personahty. Now it is obvious that such a Community must express itself in the form of the State, if for no other reason than that its interests and activities must be organised, controlled, and administered. Indeed, whatever institutions the Com- munity has (and it wiU have many), all such institutions will need a central institution which can co-ordinate and adjust their relations. The ideal that first suggests itself as the realisation of such a purpose is that of a World-State. It is, however, at this point that we encounter the opposed notion of the State as a sovereign and independent political entity, of which the doctrine was sketched in outUne by Fichte, and developed and applied by Treitschke. Recent German political philosophy has maintained that the State so conceived is an expression merely of Power, that its sole • Problem of Christianity, vol. i. p. 351. 270 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR business is to be strong and to attain predominance. Obviously such a State can never embody the spirit of a world-wide brotherhood of man. Indeed, its existence would make against the promotion of such a brotherhood, and would prevent the spread of love. This is allowed by such militarist writers as Von Bernhardi, who does not hesitate to restrict morality to the intercourse of individuals, . and to exclude its application to the action of the State. The ground on which it is claimed that the State is above moraUty is the assertion that there is no jurisdiction over the State, and no superior tribunal at whose bar the State may be arraigned. It is sufficient to reply that the obliga- tion to practise morahty does not rest upon the existence of a power that can physically enforce the obligation. And though at present there may exist no Inter-State tribunal possessing such a pohce-force, such a tribunal exists in so far as the rest of humanity outside the State concerned pass judgments of approval or condemnation. The whole world is a court of appeal, although as yet its opinion is unorganised and unfocused.^ Besides, there is a great inconsistency in this doctrine of State sovereignty. It is preached along with a doctrine of individual sub- ordination. The individual in his private capacity must be wiUing to do or sacrifice an3rthing if it will help the State. But these same individuals, it is maintained, when looked^ at in the mass, must give place to no one.^ Surely, if it is right for the individual to merge his interest in the larger life of the State, it is only right that the State should in turn merge its interests in the larger life of the world. It is mere un- reason to say that the single individual must love his neigh- bour as himself, and to deny that he should do so when he is acting in concert with other individuals, or as a member of a group. The State, indeed, is itself from one point of view a unit, in that it organises and expresses the many- sided Ufe of a community of people. But as it focuses that iCf. Hobhouse, Metaphysical Theory of the State, p. in. ' These criticisms have been made at length by Sorley, Rashdall, and others in The International Crisis : The Theory of the State (Milford, 1916). THE PRINCIPLE OF COMMUNITY APPLIED 271 life in different aspects, so must it focus also the morality of that community. As a unit anrong other similar units it must aim to realise a brotherhood between the nations, a ' parUament of men, a federation of the world.' Such a comprehensive federation of States^ is the natural expression of the spirit of universal brotherhood. A great World-State would be probably too unwieldy to be possible. But good-will being postulated, ^ a League of Nations may be expected to administer the affairs of the world almost as efficiently. Nothing less, however, than some form of International Goverrmient will reahse the moral aims of humanity. It is through the estabHshment of some such form of International Government that the mutual claims of nations must be adjusted. For by this higher and more extended type of legislation the settlement of international disputes can be effected in the interest of no one State, powerful or otherwise, but in the interests of mankind. The moral welfare of humanity must in this way be brought to influ- ence the decision of all particular cases of disagreement between peoples. Especially is International Government necessary to adjust the economic life of aU peoples. So inter-connected is the trade of the world that it is impossible that the industrial conditions of any one country should be ideally arranged apart from a like arrangement in other countries. To this end universal free trade should be instituted. There should be no economic barriers between peoples, and no radically unequal conditions of labour as between the workers of different lands. International economic legis- lation is an indispensable prehminary to the realisation of a healthy industrial life in any one nation. The interests of the whole community are bound up with the well-being of any section of it, and vice versd. ' A Federation of the World is of course the ideal ; a League of Nations is an approach thereto. Cf. Mackenzie, Outlines of Social Philosophy, p. 207. ^ Apart from a universal communal sentiment, such a proposed organisa- tion could not enjoy stability and permanence. 272 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR It may be desirable at this stage to give the principle of brotherhood as expressed in Industrial life a somewhat fuller exposition. To treat another as a ' brother ' is more than to treat him merely as an ' equal.' It is true that the idea of the essential equality of men is a very old one. It was especially favoured by the Stoics. The slave, they said,. is of the same nature as his master. Indeed, it was the common possession of ' reason ' which was alleged by the Stoics, and particularly by Cicero, to constitute the basis of human equality. The same notion is prominent in the writings of the Christian Fathers, and especially in Gregory the Great, who admonishes great men to remember that ' by nature we are all equal ' — omnes namque natura aequales sumus?- And this idea has played a great part in the history of civiUsation. It was dramatically re-emphasised during the French Revolution by the First Article of the Declara- tion of the Assembly in 1789, which affirmed that ' men are born and remain free and equal in rights ' ; and also by the Declaration of the Convention in 1793, whose Article iii. states, ' AU men are equal by nature and before the law.' It was the root conception of Administrative Justice that it should be 'equal,' i.e. impartial. The principle of self- goverimient, too, was supposed to rest on the understanding that every normal man was regarded as equally possessed of reason and of the capacity to control and direct his own life. And yet this idea of Equality, while it has done great service, and while we may still have to use it for many a long day, is really, as will have been already gathered, a makeshift. Its inadequacy is indeed inevitable from the outset, for you cannot measure human nature, which is essentially qualitative, by a quantitative standard. There is, of course, no sort of physical equahty between men. In matters of emotion, intelHgence, and will the diversity of men is proverbial. It is also as hopeless to try to find equality in human circumstances, for people must live in different countries, climates, and conditions. Nor is it » Dr. A. J. Carlyle has expounded this idea very fully. THE PRINCIPLE OF COMMUNITY APPLIED 273 possible to secure equality in occupations, for Utopia will need both scavengers and scholars. Equality of Oppor- tunity is advocated by some, and this at least is a plausible ideal. But ' to give everybody reaUy equal opportunities the State would have to supply every child with an equally good mother.'^ And it would be fooUsh to treat men alike without regard to differences of sex, race, health, and sanity. Further, opportunity is never merely an external thing. It is rather what people make of it than what it makes of them ; and this, not merely because people differ in native genius, but also because they differ in their sense of responsibility. Whatever initial equahty of opportunity may be possible for the purpose of classifying men, it cannot be more than crude and momentary, for diversity of endow- ment and morale wiU at once demand diversity of oppor- tunity. In Utopia different people wiU need to do different things, and will require different kinds of chances for learn- ing those different things. And as there would be no guarantee that each would wish to do that which the Com- munity considered him best fitted to do, the ideal of equahty would not in itself prevent humanity from becoming dis- integrated into a multitude of detached, struggHng, and competing individuals. In a word. Equality is an inadequate ideal, based on the imperfect motive of Justice. The really impartial treatment of others which is implied by the Golden Rule is possible, only when all men are regarded as a unity and bound together by the bonds of love. ' The heart and soul of all men being one, this bitterness of his and mine ceases. His is mine. I am my brother and my brother is me.' ^ Now the rule of procedure befitting a brotherhood may be expressed thus : ' From everyone accord- ing to his ability, to everyone according to his needs.' This is thought by some to be a rather dangerous maxim, and it is proposed to obviate the danger by substituting ' services ' for ' needs.' But under ideal conditions no one would be pauperised by being merely the receiver of the ' Rashdall, Theory of Good and Evil, vol. i. p. 230. ' Emerson, Essay on Compensation. H.S.N, S 274 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR bounty of others, nor would anyone's independence be compromised. For all would be ' givers ' as well as ' receivers,' each giving of the kind that he has, and receiving of the kind of which he is in want. Such an arrangement would of course bring about great inequalities. But aJl such inequalities would be cheerfully accepted by a Com- munity whose moral unity was perfect. Diversity and in- equality would indeed be recognised as actually contributing to the common good. In an ideal commonwealth, where consideration of one another is quite impartial, and where all men feel their unity, there will be an eagerness both to give and to receive. Each one wiU receive eagerly that he may the better give. And if it should be that a gift to the uttermost is required of a man — even the gift of his blood as in the time of war — the principle of the solidarity of life will inspire him as no abstract principle of equality could. Having been given innumerable blessings for which he never laboured, he accepts sufferings and death on behalf of others, realising himself through his sacrifice in a fuller life here and hereafter. The alternative principle of a reward for services encounters great difficulties in any attempt to apply it. It is only necessary to refer the reader to some such discussion of these difficulties as Dr. Rashdall, for instance, gives in his Theory of Good and Evil. No common measure, as he says, can be used to form a comparative estimate of different kinds of services, such as intellectual and manual labour. Further, the utility of services depends to a great extent on a person's ability ; but it would seem to be unfair to reward ability, as this is mostly involuntary. And if you try to reward the moral qualities revealed in work, these again are difficult to estimate for such a purpose. It is not easy to say how much of the value of a piece of work is due to superior good-will, and how much is traceable to superior capacity. Moreover, the very idea of rewarding moral excellence by physical good reveals the incommensurability of these two kinds of value. Thus, without prolonging a discussion of the subject, we are led to accept as the ideal THE PRINCIPLE OF COMMUNITY APPLIED 275 principle for a brotherhood, the distribution of goods not according to ' merit ' so much as according to ' needs,' as these are socially determined.^ This principle was adopted long ago by Plato, and in more recent times by Ruskin, who maintained that wealth is an instrument of life and is to be shared co-operatively as in a household. Now it is this ideal of brotherhood which must determine not only the political relations of men already referred to, but also and especially their industrial relations. It is an interesting and important question to inquire what would be the exact form of the organisation of industry necessary for the reahsation of this ideal of brotherhood. The subject is, of course, a large one, and nothing more than the briefest discussion can here be entered upon. It will be sufficient, indeed, if attention be called to the principles that must determine a solution of the social and economic problem. In these days, when sectionalist tendencies in the State threaten to assert themselves, it cannot be too strongly emphasised that the ideal of brotherhood in work and wealth can never be reaUsed by the aggressive dominance of any one group, such as that of so-called Producers or Con- sumers, of Capital or Labour, of Hand-workers or Brain- workers. The object of Guild Socialism, for instance, appears to be to get the management of industry under the control of the Trades themselves; the function of Society would be merely to own the means of production. Each so-called class, however, exists for the whole Society, as the Society exists for it. This implies the further principle that there must be partnership in work, as there must be reciprocity in service. No doubt one of the chief grievances of the Wage-earner, for instance, is his present position of insecurity and servitude. The ideal of brotherhood de- mands that there should be accorded to the wage-earner a greater dignity of status, in the direction of a closer associa- 1 Dr. Bosanquet comes to the conclusion that in the last resort Ideal Justice cannot rest on any merely individualistic claims to reward according to needs or capacity for service, but must depend on ' imperative public good, enjoining functional differences with differences of equipment,' H.S.N, S2 276 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR tion in the conduct of the industry to which he devotes his hfe and power.^ As one nation should co-operate with another nation in the industrial service of the world, so the same principle of co-operation should bind together aU types of workers in the industry of any one land. How far these principles will lead to a radical reorganisa- tion of the methods of commercial life is an important question. At one time it was thought that the ideal of brotherhood could be reahsed only in a so-called Commun- istic condition of society wherein property would not be ' private,' but shared in common by all. Now there can be no question that in a brotherhood property should at least be socially used ; for, as against the misleading doctrine of Locke, property is for the most part socially created. In early civilisation it was owned in common by the group. It is clear, however, that the conditions of modern Ufe make it impossible that property should be owned in the same way now. A thoroughgoing Communism is quite impracticable. In determining the exact degree of the social ownership of property we have to remember our guiding principle, which considers all such questions from the point of view of character. What conditions, in other words, will best pro- mote character, i.e. love? for we have already endorsed the maxim that wealth is designed to be an instrument of life and that property is the tool of love. The Brotherhood must, of comrse, consist of a community of owners, each having something to give. Should they exercise this ownership collectively and jointly ? or should they each possess an amount of property ? It is not a question of whether property wiU be owned for ' power ' rather than ' use,' 2 since selfishness must be assumed to be impossible in a brotherhood. It is rather the question whether a system of common or of private property will best train and express 1 ' Autonomy might be gradually extended as the men developed powers of initiative and organising skiU. This would not mean that industry could dispense with leadership, but that leadership would become con- stitutional instead of autocratic' Competition: A Study in Human Motive, p. 215. * Cf. Property : its Duties and Rights (Macmillan, 1913). THE PRINCIPLE OF COMMUNITY APPLIED 277 character. A certain amount of socialisation of property is found increasingly to be convenient. Whether the socialisation should be complete is a question partly for the future. But it is not altogether a future question, for the supreme test of ' convenience ' must be a moral test. In the last resort the most ' convenient ' way of holding property is the system by which love will be best revealed and developed. Love, of course, like everything else, stands in need of suitable culture. It needs training in respect of dehberation, foresight, independence, and creative origin- ality. There must be individuality in the production of wealth, as there may be expected to be individuality in the consumption of it. For the culture of character, therefore, a measure of private property would seem to be essential.* What, however, is of supreme importance for our subject is the fact that the aforementioned sociaUsation of wealth is usually regarded as a merely poUtical question. But a legal title, though it assign all property to the people, can never really sociahse wealth. Wealth may be owned by the Municipality or the State without any accompan5dng social spirit animating the minds of the owners. Under such circumstances the wealth would be owned in common, and yet enjoyed ' separately.' There would be no bond of love. And such a system of ownership would be ' conveni- ent ' only in a materiahstic, i.e. a selfish, sense. Now no economic system justifies itself unless it makes the members, not richer, or more comfortable, so much as ' better,' men. And thus the supreme problem of ownership becomes a matter not of legal title, but of motives and ideals. It is not so much the question ' Whose is an5d;hing ? ' but rather ' Whose is the privilege of service ' ? In other words, love transcends ' rights.' From this point of view it will be seen that the ideal social order cannot be purely an affair of legislation, but is more especially the concern of ethics. It depends, indeed, ^ If property is for consumption only, not only may the will of the indi- vidual go untrained, but the production of property may in the long run be jeopardised in different ways. 278 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR upon a spirit rather than a system. In the last resort it depends upon the hearts of the people themselves. A Brotherhood can be constituted only as men are themselves brothers indeed. The same may be said of the ideal of Democracy. Democracy has had its critics, who declared that it was disintegrating, having a strong tendency to individualism. It may be said by way of defence that the participation of the citizen in the government of his country tends to give strength and unity to the democratic body.' And this may be granted. Nevertheless it should be recog- nised that such participation is more or less imperfect, until the souls of a people are really united in heart. A true democracy is a spiritual unity. The democratic will can possess noble quality only as it is the expression of such a spiritual unity. In the absence of the spirit of brotherhood every attempt to reconstruct the social order must surely fail. The recon- struction must be inward — in the hearts of men — ^rather than outward — ^by means of legislation. Otherwise, every merely economic or political system will break down through the failure of the human factor — ^through the inabiUty of the individual to abandon the competitive spirit, or to eschew selfish ambition, or to subordinate and sacrifice himself on occasion. Herein we see the vital interconnection of Economics and Politics with Ethics. The success of Commerce or of Goverrraient is finally determined by the character of the workers or the citizens. No Community is perfect without the spirit of ' community.' This leads to practical problems, with the mention of which we must bring our Essay to a close. How may this essential spirit of community — the feeling of brotherhood — be obtained and shed abroad among men ? What hope is there that mankind will improve ? At this point an objection is encountered, to which a brief reference may be made. It was urged by Nietzsche, and > Cf. An Address by Prof. John Maccunn on the ' Democratic Ideal in History.' THE PRINCIPLE OF COMMUNITY APPLIED* 279 has been urged by others, that the practice of humanitarian ethics is precisely what will tend to retard the improvement of the human race. In our effort to become more humane it is alleged that we shall become more degenerately human. Kindness is declared to be a mistake. It is said that by stepping in to protect the weak we are dangerously reversing the method of Nature, and preventing the destruction of certain stocks which are detrimental to the physique of future generations. In reply, we may say that in so far as the Eugenic ideal aims at the production of men of perfect strength of body and brain, it is doubtful if we know enough of the laws of heredity to ensure the production of such t3^es. As for the type itself, no standard of perfection is satisfactory which is not above all things moral. But we submit that there is no antagonism between the morality of ethical love and the kind of perfection of human nature which Eugenists favour. It is, indeed, a begging of the question to assume that the practice of Love promotes the increase of the unfit. If Love were a mere philanthropy, dealing only with the sick, the defective, the imbecile, and the poor as and when it finds them, there might be some ground in the Eugenists' contention. True ethical Love, however, does not simply care for the unfit when it dis- covers them ; it seeks to prevent their creation ; it deals with causes, not with effects.* A society made up of persons who care for others as for themselves would be a society without selfish excesses or injurious appetites. There would be no Alcoholism, no Profligacy, no Greed. And a society that worships neither Bacchus, Venus, Mammon, nor Mars would be practically a perfect society. It is Alcohol, Sexual Vice, and Economic Pressure and Injustice that fill our Hospitals, Asylums, and Almshouses. When men become humane enough to act for others as for themselves, they will eUminate from society the action of racial poisons, as 1 Dr. Bosanquet, in reinterpreting the function ol the Charity Organisa- tion Society, makes ' charity ' mean ' helpfulness, ' and thus likens it very closely, as it seems to us, to the general ethical obligation which obtains between man and man. Cf. Social and International Ideals, ch. vii. 28o SELF AND NEIGHBOUR they will also remove a burden of economic anxiety from the shoulders of their fellows. The blood of the race will become cleaner, and the minds and hearts of all men more serene and pure. It is not the excess of love which is retarding the progress of the race ; it is the lack of it, the lack of a consideration for others which is sufficiently enlightened and unselfish. Once the heart of man becomes regenerated, the regeneration of his body is sooner or later ensured. How far the improvement of the race will take place through the influence of heredity, and how far through environmental changes is, of course, an important question. It is the wise business of man, however, to substitute for the clumsy and ruthless process of Natural selection the higher process of a Purposive or Ethical selection. Indeed, selection is most purposive, when it is inspired not merely by a sanitary end, but by a moral ideal. Thus we come back to the supremely important practical question as to the means by which Love may be begotten in the hearts of men. If we declare these means to be Education, that term must be understood in its largest sense. Chief among the forces that socialise the nature of man is the education that comes from the cultivation of the Religious Ufe. For, as we have said, it is pre-eminently in Religion that man realises the bond that binds him to his fellow. For however interconnected by various ties of secular interest human Uves may be, not until man realises by an active faith that God is the universal Father, — not until then does he also realise with vividness and power that his neighbour is his brother. APPENDIX PART I. CHAPTER III Note a, p. 20. ' We call any creature worthy or virtuous, when it can have the notion of a public interest, and can attain the speculation or science of what is morally good or iU. If a crea- ture be generous, kind, constant, compassionate ; yet if he cannot reflect on what he himself does, or sees others do, so as to take notice of what is worthy or honest ; and make that notice or conception of worth and honesty to be an object of his affection ; he has not the character of being virtuous, for thus and no otherwise he is capable of having a sense of Right and Wrong. Actions themselves and Affections of Pity, Kind- ness, Gratitude and their contraries, being brought into the mind by Reflection, become objects. So that by means of this re- flected sense there arises another kind of Affection towards those very Affections themselves which have been already felt, and are now become the subject of a new Uking or disUke.' . Note b, p. 20. ' If there be any sense of right and wrong which an absolute wicked creature has not, it must consist in a real anti- pathy or aversion to Injustice or Wrong, and in a real Affection or Love towards Equity and Right for its own sake and on account of its own natural Beauty and Worth.' PART I. CHAPTER V Note a, p. 42. Pity, for example, is explained by sympathy. ' We have a lively idea of ever5d:hing related to us. All human creatures are related to us by resemblance. Their persons, therefore, their interests, their pains and pleasures must strike upon us in a lively manner, and produce an emotion similar to the original one ; since a lively idea is easily converted into an impression.' Treatise, bk. ii. pt. ii. sec. 7. 281 282 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR ' If this be trae in general, it must be more so of affliction and sorrow. These have always a stronger and more lasting influ- ence than any pleasure or enjoyment.' Ihid. Hume ascribes to sympathy the resemblance of thought be- tween men of the same nation, and the way in which we reflect the hatred, resentment, esteem, love, courage, mirth and melan- choly of others. Treatise, bk. ii. pt. i. sec. xi. In bk. ii. pt. ii. sec. v. of the Treatise Hume remarks upon the force of sympathy throughout the whole animal creation, and upon the easy communication of sentiments from one thinking being to another. ' We can form no wish, which has not a refer- ence to society. . . . Whatever other passions we may be actuated by ; pride, ambition, avarice, curiosity, revenge or lust ; the soul or animating principle of them all is sjnnpathy ; nor would they have any force, were we to abstract entirely from the thoughts and sentiments of others.' Note 6, p. 42. Hume says that allegiance, the laws of nations, modesty, good-manners, being mere contrivances for the interest of society, win our esteem through securing our sjraipathy, The good of society, where our own interest is not concerned, or that of our friends, pleases only by sympathy. Treatise, bk. iii. pt. iii. sec. i. Note c, p. 46. Adam Smith is quite expHcit in pt. vii. sect. iii. ch. iii. : ' When we approve of any character or action, the sentiments which we feel are . . . derived from four sources, which are in some respects different from one another, (i) We sympathise with the motives of the agent. (2) We enter into the gratitude of those who receive the benefit of his actions. (3) We observe that his conduct has been agreeable to the general rules by which these two sjmipathies generally act. (4) When we consider such actions as making a part of a system of behaviour which tends to promote the happiness either of the individual or of the society, they appear to derive a beauty from this utility, not unlike that which we ascribe to any well-contrived machine.' Note d, p. 46. In a note to pt. i. sect. iii. ch. i. Adam Smith remarks that the sentiment of approbation properly consists in observing that there is a perfect coincidence between the passion under examination and the passion of the spectator. Th^ he repeats at end of pt. ii. sect. i. Note e, p. 46. ■ As for the nature of the motives of which by sympathy we approve Adam Smith says little or nothing, except that it is their 'propriety' (pt. iv. ch. ii.). Dugald Stewart APPENDIX 283 remarks that by the propriety of any affection or passion ex- hibited by another person is to be undeiistood its suitableness to the object which excites it. Of this suitableness I can judge only from the coincidence of the affection with that which I feel, when I conceive myself in the same circumstances ; and the perception of this coincidence is the foundation of the sentiment of moral approbation. The second sentiment in approbation is the regard of merit. ' As our sense of the propriety of conduct arises from what I shall caU a direct S3mipathy with the affections and motives of the person who acts, so our sense of its merit arises from what I shall caU an indirect S3mipathy with the gratitude of the person who is, if I may say so, acted upon.' Part ii. sect. i. ch. v. A third sentiment felt in approving character or conduct is a feeling of harmony with general rules. These ' general rules ' are formed (pt. iii. ch. iv.) ' by finding from experience that all actions of a certain kind, or circumstanced in a certain manner, are approved or disapproved of.' In other words, sympathy is exercised with the aid of intelligence. In the fourth place Adam Smith remarks that our approval of character and conduct is accompanied by a sense that such character or conduct is beautiful, in that it is useful for the general happiness. Thus, as he remarks in the conclusion to pt. vi., our sense of the utUity of virtues joins with our sense of their propriety, and constitutes always a considerable, frequently the greater, part of our approbation of those virtues ; though in pt. iv. ch. ii. he strongly affirms that the usefulness of any disposition of mind is seldom the first ground of our approbation, and that the senti- ment of approbation always involves in it a sense of propriety quite distinct from the perception of utility. Noief, p. 48. Selby Bigge remarks {British Moralists, Introd. p. lix.) : ' Adam Smith rejects the transfusion and communicated vivacity of feelings as the foundation of sympathy, and dispenses with all Hume's elaborate machinery for transferring into our- selves the pleasure of another person in things useful to him. . . . We approve of another's passions when we observe that we entirely sympathise with them ; we approve of our own passions when we are able to think that an impartial spectator can sympathise with them, and the effect of this sympathy is that every member of society tries to lower or raise his passions to that pitch at which the ordinary spectator can sjrmpathise with them {i.e. propriety). . . . This reveals a view of the organic unity of 284 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR social feeling based on common circumstances and conditions of life and well-being, which is a great advance on anything which had fallen from his benevolent or utilitarian predecessors. . . . It was an age of facile individuahsm, and men started from a conception of society as built up of individuals equipped each with a complete moral faculty. The idea of the individual conscience as only emerging from the social conscience, the idea of society as the whole from which the individual disentangles himself, and in which alone he can find himself, which is the central idea of Adam Smith's system, was a notable return to a more concrete method of thought. ... He anticipated a theory ... of the " social self," and it is a social self which enables us to effect, not only an imaginary change of situation with the persons chiefly concerned, but a complete identification of our own person and character with that of another person.' We agree that Adam Smith's recognition of the importance of the social factor marks a great step in advance of his prede- cessors in one direction at any rate ; but, as we observe, that recognition appears to us to be more in the interests of the dis- covery of the ' criterion ' than the ' standard ' of virtue. Adam Smith seems to us to make this sympathetic identification of our- selves with others mostly a ' means ' only to the cognition of what is right or good. He does not seem to us to regard it as having an essential relalion to the nature of virtue itself : he does not make sjmipathetic identification an end in itself And for that reason we are obliged to see in this direction a greater approximation to tnie goodness in the ideas of some of Smith's predecessors, hke Hume, Hutcheson, and Shaftesbury, who lay great emphasis on benevolence and the ' pubhc ' affections ; though, as we have also seen, the connection of ' ego ' and ' alter ' is by these thinkers very imperfectly and loosely conceived, being based, in fact, on an individualism which makes it impossible satisfactorily to effect any junction between self and other. But all these imperfect ideas of the relation of ' alter ' to ' ego ' only point the way to a theory that should be adequate. PART I. CHAPTER VI LESLIE STEPHEN Leslie Stephen in his Science of Ethics (1882), hke Spencer, founds upon an evolutionary theory of ethics. His leading con- ception is that society forms an organism, which develops its APPENDIX 285 vitality and vigour through long processes of growth. The indi- vidual proves his fitness for membership in this organism in proportion as he develops a certain type of character suitable to the conditions of an ' efficient and healthy social tissue.' ' We may say that moraUty is a statement of the conditions of social welfare . . . morahty is the sum of the preservative instincts of a society.' p. 217. We therefore look to see if Stephen is any more successful than Spencer in effecting the transition from ' ego ' to ' alter ' and in reconciling their interests at the same time. Stephen, at the outset, is not less hedonistic in his psychology than Spencer, and unequivocally declares on p. 42 that ' conduct is determined by feeling ; we fly from pain ; we seek pleasure. . . . Nobody who has ever had a toothache . . . will deny that he avoids pain as such and seeks pleasure as such.' This view is repeated on p. 354 : ' A moral agent must have a reason for morcd action, and the reason must clearly have some relation to his happiness.' Also on p. 353 Stephen says : ' If we ask, " Why does a man act in such a way under given circumstances ? " the immediate answer must always be in the form " Because it is pleasant. . . ." This must in all cases give the reason of his conduct.' And Stephen takes the ' pleasant ' to be correspondent to the ' socially efficient,' much as Spencer regards pleasure as the mental equivalent of biological well-being. Stephen remarks that, if we ask why an action is pleasant, we must show by way of answer how a man's character comes to be constituted in that particular way, — ^we must expound the relations which the agent bears to the whole system of which he forms a part. Now Stephen is quite aUve to the existence and urgency of our particular problem. In stating, on p. 217, that virtue is a condition of social welfare, he asks — ' But why should I be virtu- ous, or what are the motives by which the conformity of the individual is or may be secured ? ' Again, on p. 219 he asks, ' Is not the admission of the possibility of self-sacrifice inconsist- ent with the assertion that all conduct is determined by the feel- ings of the agent, and therefore, as it woxild seem, by his own pains and pleasures ? ' And the problem thus formulated is not really faced by Stephen till towards the close of his treatise. It is true that in chap. vi. he strongly insists on the importance of sympathy, and he emphasises the truth that that action does not always make the individual happiest which promises the most happiness to him personally, but that on the contrary those who seek to make others happy are as a rule themselves the happiest. And 286 SELF AND NEIGHBOUR Stephen would seem to justify the cultivation of the sympathetic instincts on this egoistic ground; yet he is careful to insist that though the sympathetic find happiness through their S3mi- pathy, they are genuinely sympathetic nevertheless — that is to say, they directly and consciously seek to make others happy. But it is not, as we have said, till the end of his work that Stephen really comes to close grips with the problem of sympathy as involving self-sacrifice. On p. 429 he confesses that ' not merely heroic virtue, but even virtue of the ordinary kind, demands real sacrifices on some occasions. When we say to a man " This is right," we cannot also say invariably and unhesi- tatingly, " This wiU be for your happiness." The cold-hearted and grovelling nature has an argument which, from its own point of view, is not only victorious in practice, but logically unanswer- able.' And Stephen admits that ' in a vast number of cases the sympathies are so feeble and intermittent as to supply no motive capable of encountering the tremendous force of downright selfishness in a torpid nature.' And in the end he allows that, if any person avers that he gets more pleasure from doing wrong than from doing right, and if he cares for nothing but his own pleasure, then there is no way of proving that it is worth while for him to alter his nature. On p. 430 there is the following frank statement : ' the attempt to estabUsh an absolute coinci- dence between virtue and happiness is in ethics what the attempt- ing to square the circle or to discover perpetual motion are in geometry and mechanics.' Thus Evolutionary Ethics is unable to prove a harmony between the happiness of the individual and that of society, or to supply a doctrine of common good. Either the happiness of society is the end, and then you cannot preserve the ethical status and claims of the individual and show to him a reason for his being ' moral ' ; or the happiness of the individual is the end, and then other men in becoming instrumental to the happiness of one individual Ukewise lose their independent ethical status and interests. INDEX Absolute, The, in Singularism, 187 sq., 208. Affections, The, in Shaftesbury, ^ 19 sq., 60, 153, 158. oyairij, 224. Albee, 3 w, 4, 15 n. Alexander, 140 n, 184. ' Alter,' in Community, 122, 224. in Egoism, 6. in Hedonism, i, 4. in UniversaUstic Hedonism, 13. in Perceptional Intuitionism, 18, 25 sq. in Kant, 36. in Adam Smith, 48. in Spencer, 56 sq. in LesUe Stephen, App. 284. Knowledge of, by Inference, 134 ; by Intuition, 135 sq. ; by Interpretation, 140. Altruism, 6, 17, 196, 224. in Spencer, 51 sq., 54. and Egoism, 52, 56 sq., 80, 87, 106. Pure, Spencer, 54 ; Comte, 80. Pure, Sentiment of, 62. Aristotle, 63, 67 sq., 253, 262. Arrian, Discourses of Epicietus, 169. Augustine, 253 «, 267. Baldwin, Mark, on Imitation, 135. Barbour, G. F., 116. Benevolence, in Butler, 21 sq., 60. and Virtue, Hutcheson, 20, 25. 287 Bentham, 2. Bosanquet, 93, 120, 177, 180, 184, 188 sq., 238, 239 n. 241 sq., 275 n, 279 n. Bradley, 179, 180, 185, 186 n, 207, 214. Brotherhood, in Community, 225, 270, 272, 275 sq. in Stoicism and Christianity, 72. Brown, John, 3, 3 n. Butler, 21 sq., 28, 61, 158, 259 sq. Cadoux, A., 126 sq. Caird, E., 38, 123, 136. Carlyle, A. J., 272 n. CausaUty, Transeunt, 174. Chemism, 195. Church, 268. City-State, 67, 70. Clarke, John, 3. Samuel, 106 sq., 119 sq. Ccenaesthesia, 181. Coherence, (D'Arcy), 104 sq., 120. Communism, 276. Community, 17, 62 sq., 102 sq., 117, 119, 120, 122. in ApostoUc Church, 264 ; Aris- totle, 69 sq. ; Green, loi ; Rousseau, 72 sq.; Stoics, 71. Conscience and, 152. as Interpersonal, 121. and Love, 122, 129 sq., 150, 219, 237. and Universal Brotherhood, 221, 225. 288 INDEX Community, Metaphysic of, 172 sq., 225. Psychological Justification of, 133- Comte, Auguste, 76 sq., 239 n. Conscience, 152, 166, 167, 256. in Butler, 22. and Community, 152 sq. Rational or Intellectual, 159 sq., 166. as Reason and Emotion, 169 n. and Tribal Sentiment, 170. Constitution, 29. Creationism, 213 sq., 225, 231, 251 sq. Cumberland, 5 sq., 13, 19. D'Arcy, C. F., 87 sq., 94, 104, 186 M. Darwin, 228. Descartes, 207. Deshumbert, 227. Desires, Socialisation of, 129. Drummond, Henry, 228, 229. Dualism of the Practical Reason, 54, 121, 162, 197- Durkheim, 199. Egoism, 2 n, 35, 128, 196. in Hobbes, 3 sq. ; Nietzsche, 8 sq. ; Stimer, 6 sq. and Altruism, 80 ; in D'Arcy, 87 ; Spencer, 52, 56, 58. Ehrenfels, 245, 247. Einfuhlung, 151. Emerson, 273. Emotion, Tender, 142 sq. Emotions, Social Reference of, 134- Ends, Kingdom of, 32, 37 sq. Persons as, 32, 37, 84, 89 n, 102. Realm of, 175. Epictetus, 169. Equality, Human, 9, i58 sq., 265, 272. Equity, Axiom of, 160 sq., 168. Ethics, Evolutionary, App. 286. Eucken, Rudolph, 105. Eugenism, 279. Evolution, 226 sq. ; in Spencer, 50 sq. ; Comte, 76. Faith and Morality, 255, 269. Family, The, in Community, 253 ; Green, 85, 92, 93 sq., loi sq., 120 ; Plato, 66. and Group-life, 229. Fichte, 269. Figgis, Dr., on Nietzsche, 8. Fisher, D. W., 166. Fite, Warner, 145 sq. Friendship, 218, 263. and Community, (Aristotle), 69 sq. Galloway, Dr., 166 n, 170, 180 n. Gay, 3. Geddes and Thomson, 140. God, Fatherhood of, 257. Immanence of, 267 sq. as Love, 213 sq. Protective, 213. The Spiritual Whole, 211. The Supreme Creator, 212 sq. The Transcendent Self, 212. Good, The Absolute, 88, 106, 108. Common, 17, 39, 62, 102, 109, no sq., 119; in Barbour, 116; D'Arcy, 87 sq., 104, 106 ; Green, 82 sq., 97 sq. ; Shields, 62. Interpersonal, 119, 261. Government, International, 271. Green, T. H., 82 sq., 91, 103, 120, 241, 258 w. Metaphysic of, 91 sq. Psychology of, 94 sq. Gregarious Action, 144. Grotius, 13. Happiness, Desire for, 121 sq. The General, 13 sq. ; Spencer, 59. INDEX 289 Harmony, Pre-established, 174. Hedonism, Altruistic, Hume, 44. Egoistic, I sq. in Leslie Stephen, App. 284 sq. Universalistic, 13. Hedonists, Psychological, 2. Hegel, 177, 183, 208. Hobbes, 3 sq., 18, 60. Hobhouse, L. T., 63, 76 n, 167, 169, 262 n, 270 n. Howison, G. H., 175. Humanity, in Comte, 76 sq. Hume, 41 sq., App. 281 sq. Hutcheson, 20, 25 sq., 60, 152, 159- Huxley, 52, 227. Idealism, Absolute, 82, 178, 207, 214. Imitation, in Baldwin, 135 sq., 144. Immortality, 239. Imperative, Categorical, 14, 31, 33. 36. Individual and Society, 25, 45, 193 sq., 199 sq. Individualism, Relational, 207, 267. Instinct, 207. Parental, 27, 61, 62, 80, 102 sq., 139, 147, 150, 219. Parental, as Protective, 143, 230, 234. Instincts, 27, 130, 234. in Nietzsche, 10 sq. ; Spencer, 49 ; MacdougaU, 61 ; Comte, 79- System of, Shand, 139. Interaction, Principle of, 198, 199- Interests, 121 sq., 260. and Pleasures, Hume, 42. Interpretation, Triadical, 140, 206. Intuitionism, Perceptional, 18 sq. Philosophical, 30 sq. puasi-Social, 41 sq. Intuitionists, Aesthetic, 152 sq., Johnston, W. H., 207 n. Judgment, Moral and Aesthetic, 157- Justice, 261 sq. in Aristotle, 69 ; Plato, 258 ; Rousseau, 72, 73 ; Spencer, 50 sq. Kant, 14, 30 sq., 39, 114, 133, 177, 232. Knowledge as Social, 203 sq. KOLv