Progressive Morality by Thomas Fowler
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Thomas Fowler >> Progressive Morality
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My conclusion may, perhaps, be illustrated and enforced by one further
consideration. It generally happens, in the progress of society, that,
after a number of rules of conduct have been accumulated, they become
enshrined in some sacred book, some code, or, at least, some constant
and authoritative tradition. In this manner they may be stereotyped for
ages. Now, after a time, these rules, especially if they are numerous
and minute, become unsuited, at least in part, to the altered
circumstances of the society, and probably bear hardly on many of the
individuals composing it. When this condition of things is beginning to
be intolerable, there often arises the social reformer, and what is the
course which he pursues? He endeavours to shew how unsuitable the rules
have become to attain the ends which they were originally intended to
compass, in how much better a manner other rules would attain these
objects, how grievously the present rules bear on many classes and
individuals in the state, how unequal they are in their incidence, at
what a disadvantage they place the community in comparison with
neighbouring communities, how easily they may be altered, and the like.
In fact, the considerations which he urges may all be included in the
one argument that the existing rules are opposed to the well-being of
the state, and that the advantages resulting from their abrogation will
more than compensate for any disturbance of existing relations which may
ensue from the change. Apart from force, or mere rant, rhetoric, or
imposture, it is difficult to see what other resource the reformer has
open to him. And, in those cases where there is no accumulation of
antiquated rules and no need of the individual reformer, but where
society at large has the happy knack of imperceptibly accommodating its
practice and principles of action to altered circumstances, there can be
no doubt that it is by considerations of well-being, half conscious
though the process of application may be, that the change is directed.
The plastic power by which men accommodate their actions and even their
maxims of conduct to modifications in surrounding circumstances is one
of the advantages which they gain by the progress of civilisation. In
ancient society the tyranny of custom is often almost absolute. In
modern society changes, which would otherwise require the drastic hand
of the reformer, are often quietly effected by the gradual and almost
imperceptible action of the people themselves. It is thus that the
equity branch of English law, and much of our case law, grew up, giving
expression to changes which had already occurred in the current of
popular opinion. It is thus that the obligation of 'gentlemen' to offer,
on the slightest provocation, and to accept, without questioning, a
'challenge' to take each other's lives, has, in most civilized
countries, now grown obsolete, having gradually become enfeebled
together with the exaggerated military spirit which gave it birth. It is
thus also that, with an increase of the industrial spirit, with softened
manners, and with that quickening of our sympathetic nature which has
gradually been effected by the teaching of Christianity, a strong
sentiment against slavery, a respect for human life as such, a regard
for the weak, the suffering, the oppressed, and many tender feelings of
a similar kind, have almost insensibly been developed as an essential
element in modern civilisation.
These considerations naturally lead me to notice the two different ways
in which the test of conduct may be, and as a fact is, applied. One mode
is the conscious and intentional application of it by the reflective
man. The other is the semi-conscious and almost instinctive application
of it by the community at large. In morals, as in the arts, men, almost
without knowing it, are constantly re-adjusting their means to their
ends, feeling their way to some tentative solution of a new difficulty
or a better solution of an old one, shaping their conduct with reference
to the special needs of the situation in which they are placed. It is
thus, for the most part, that new circumstances develope new rules, and
that the simple maxims of a primitive people are gradually replaced by
the multifarious code of law and morals with which we are now familiar.
The guiding principle throughout the process is the conception of their
own good, comprehending, as it does, not only ease, personal comfort,
and gratification of the various appetites and desires, which, in the
early stages of society, are the preponderating considerations, but also
those higher constituents of welfare, both individual and social, which
attain an ever-increasing importance as society advances, such as are
the development of the moral, the intellectual, and the aesthetic
faculties; the purification of the religious sentiments, the expansion
of the sympathetic feelings, the diffusion of liberty and prosperity,
the consolidation of national unity, the elevation of human life. This
principle works throughout the community, actuating some men in its
higher, others in its lower forms; but, except where the force of
tradition or prejudice is too strong for it, invariably moulding conduct
into accordance with the more complex requirements of advancing
civilisation. Its action, of course, is not wholly advantageous. Growing
needs and more complicated relations suggest to men fresh devices for
compassing their selfish ends, such as the various forms of fraud,
forgery, and conspiracy, as well as more enlarged or more effective
schemes of beneficence, stricter or more intelligent applications of the
principle of justice, and possibilities of higher and freer developments
of their faculties. But, on the whole, and setting aside as exceptional
certain periods of retrogression, such as the decline of the Roman
Empire, the evolution of society seems to be attended by the progress of
morality, and specially by the amelioration of social relations, whether
between individuals, families, or states. The intelligence that
apprehends the greater good re-acts upon the desire to attain it, and
the result is the combination of more rational aims with a purer
interest in the pursuit of them.
This tendency in society at large to modify and re-adjust its conduct in
conformity with fuller and more improved conceptions of well-being,
which are themselves suggested by a growing experience, is reinforced,
especially in the later stages of civilisation, by the consciously
reflective action of philosophers and reformers. It is the function of
these classes not only to give expression to the thoughts which are
working obscurely in the minds of other men, but also to detect those
aspects and bearings of conduct which are not obvious to the general
intelligence. This task is effected partly by tracing actions to their
indirect and remote results, partly by more distinctly realising their
results, whether immediate or remote, direct or indirect, and partly by
generalising them, that is to say, by considering what would happen to
society if men generally were to act in that manner. Thus, take the case
of lying. In primitive states of society, and even in some more advanced
nations, no great opprobrium attaches to telling a lie. In ancient
Greece, for instance, veracity by no means occupied the same prominent
position among the virtues that it does among ourselves, and, even now,
Teutonic races are generally credited with a peculiar sensitiveness on
the subject of truthfulness. This improved sentiment as regards veracity
is, no doubt, partly due to the realisation of its importance and of the
inconveniences which result from the breaches of it, especially in
commercial affairs, by the members of a community at large; but it must
also, to a great extent, have been produced by the definite teaching
conveyed in books, and by moral and religious instructors. Follow out a
lie to all its consequences, realise the feelings of the person deceived
by it, when he has discovered the deception, above all, consider what
would be the result if men were commonly to deceive one another, and no
man could place any dependence on the information which his neighbour
gave him; and then a falsehood excites very different feelings from what
it does when regarded simply as an isolated act. Or, again, take the
evasion of taxes. There is probably, even yet, no country in which the
popular sentiment on this subject is sufficiently enlightened and
severe. A man smuggles a box of cigars, or evades paying a tax for his
dog, or makes an insufficient return of his income, and few of his
neighbours, if the fact come to their knowledge, think the worse of him.
The character and consequences of the action are not obvious, and hence
they do not perceive what, on reflexion, or, if guided by proper
instruction, they could hardly fail to realise, that the act is really a
theft, only practised on the community at large instead of on an
individual member of it, and that, if every one were to act in the same
way, the collection of taxes and, consequently, the administration and
defence of the country, the maintenance of its army and navy, its
police, its harbours and roads, would become an impossibility, and it
would quickly relapse into barbarism. Other familiar instances of the
advantage to be derived from the conscious and intentional application
of the reasoning powers to matters of conduct may be found in the
successive reforms of the penal code of any civilized country, or in the
abolition of slavery. Punishment is, in all very early stages of
society, capricious, mostly unregulated by any definite customs or
enactments, and, consequently, often disproportioned, either in the way
of excess or defect, to the character of the offence. As the community
advances in complexity and intelligence, successive reformers arise who
attempt, by definite enactment, to regulate the amount of punishment due
to each description of offence, and, from time to time, to increase or
diminish, as occasion seems to require, the severity of the existing
code. The considerations by which, at least in our own time, these
reforms are determined are such as these: the adequacy or inadequacy of
the punishment to deter men from the commission of the offence, the
tendency of excessive punishment to produce a reaction of sentiment in
favour of the criminal, and a reluctance on the part of the judge or
jury to convict, the superfluous suffering inflicted by that part of the
punishment which is in excess of the requirements of the case, due
publicity and notoriety as a means of warning others, the reform of the
criminal himself, and so on. All these considerations, it will be
observed, are derived from tracing the effects of the punishment either
on the criminal himself, or on persons who are under a similar
temptation to commit the crime, or on the sentiment of society at large,
or of that portion of society which is connected with the administration
of justice, and it is only by the exercise of great circumspection, and
of a keen intelligence on the part of the statesman, the jurist, or the
moralist, that grave errors can be avoided, and an adequate estimate of
the probable results can be formed. The mere instinct of the community,
unmodified and uncorrected by the conscious speculations of its more
thoughtful members, would be in much danger of either causing a large
amount of needless suffering to the criminal, or of seriously
diminishing the security of society. It would almost certainly be guilty
of grave inequalities in the apportionment of punishment to specific
crimes. The history of slavery similarly shews the importance of the
functions of the moralist and the reformer. It must have been at the
suggestion of some prominent member of a tribe, whose intelligence was
in advance of that of his fellows, that men first took to capturing
their defeated enemies, with a view to future service, instead of
slaughtering them on the field of battle. And we know that, in the time
of Plato and Aristotle, there had already arisen a strong sentiment
against the enslaving of Greeks by Greeks, originating probably in the
instinctive sympathy of race, but quickened and fostered, doubtless, by
the superior capacity which men possess of realising suffering and
misfortune in those who are constituted and endowed like themselves, by
the new conception of a Pan-hellenic unity, and by the vivid sense
which, on reflexion, the citizens of each state must have entertained of
their own liability to be reduced, in turn, to the same condition. In
modern times, the movement which has led to the entire abolition of
slavery in civilized countries owes much, undoubtedly, to the softened
manners and wider sympathies of a society largely transformed by the
combined operation of Christianity and culture, but it has been
promoted, to no inconsiderable degree, by conscious reflexion and direct
argument. Social and religious reasons, derived from the community of
nature and origin in man, reinforced by a vivid realisation of the
sufferings of others, and appealing forcibly to the tender and
sympathetic feelings, have co-operated with the economical
considerations drawn from the wastefulness and comparative inefficiency
of slave labour, and with what may be called the self-regarding reason
of the hardening and debasing effect of slave-owning on the character of
the slave-owner himself.
It will be sufficient, in this connexion, simply to allude to the ideals
of mercy, purity, humility, long-suffering, and self-denial, which are
pourtrayed in the Christian teaching and have, ever since the early days
of Christianity, exercised so vast and powerful an influence on large
sections of mankind.
There is, of course, a process of constant Interaction going on between
the two elements in the constitution of moral sentiment which I have
been attempting to describe. The circumstances, opinions, and feelings
of the society of which he is a member, must necessarily contribute to
determine the opinions and feelings, the character and aims, of the
moralist or the reformer. In turn, the moralist or reformer modifies,
corrects, and elevates the current moral sentiment of those who are
brought within the influence of his work. And this result is usually a
permanent one. When the average moral sentiment on a particular point of
conduct has been consciously raised, and the change is fully realised,
it seldom happens that it afterwards recedes, though the automatic or
semi-conscious adaptations of society to new needs and circumstances,
when regarded from a more general point of view, are not infrequently
found to be regressive as well as progressive. Thus, though we may
imagine the distinctions between the different classes of society
becoming more numerous or more accentuated (as I believe to have
actually occurred in England during the present century), or the evasion
of taxation becoming more general than it at present is, we can hardly
conceive a recurrence to slavery, or a needless increase in the severity
of punishments, or a revival of the hard-drinking habits of the last
century. When society is fully aware of its moral gains, it is not
likely knowingly to surrender them. Hence, allowing for occasional
oscillations and for possible exceptions in certain departments of
conduct, morality, as a whole, almost necessarily advances with the
general progress of intelligence.
It is not altogether easy to adjust the respective claims of society at
large and of the individual thinker in the constitution of moral theory,
or, in other words, to determine the limits within which the speculative
moralist may legitimately endeavour to reform the existing moral
sentiment. It is plain that it must be open to the moralist, and, in
fact, to every intelligent citizen, to criticize the current morality,
or else moral progress, even if it took place at all, would, on many
points of conduct, be exceedingly slow. But, on the other hand, it is
equally plain that a constant discussion of the accepted rules of
conduct would weaken the moral sentiment, lessen the sense of
obligation, and suggest a general uncertainty as to the validity of the
maxims which, in their relations to one another, men usually take for
granted. Hence, though it would be almost fatal to moral progress to
discourage speculation on moral topics, the moralist must always bear in
mind that his task is one which is not lightly to be undertaken, and
that, with an exception to be noticed presently, the presumption should
always be in favour of existing rules of conduct. If for no other
reason, this presumption ought to be made on the practical ground that a
disturbance of the moral sentiment on one point is likely to weaken its
force generally, and, before we expose men to this danger, we ought to
have some adequate justification. But there is also the speculative
ground that any given society, and indeed mankind generally, has been
engaged for ages in feeling its way, instinctively or semi-consciously,
towards a solution of the self-same problems which the philosopher is
attempting to solve consciously and of set purpose. That, on the whole,
a society has solved these problems in the manner best suited to its
existing needs and circumstances may fairly be taken for granted, and,
even where the ethical stand-point of the reformer is very superior to
the stand-point of the society which he wishes to reform, he will be
wise in endeavouring to introduce his reforms gradually, and, if
possible, in connexion with principles already acknowledged, rather than
in attempting to effect a moral revolution, the ultimate results of
which it may be impossible to foresee. The work of the moralist is,
therefore, best regarded as corrective of, and supplementary to, the
work which mankind is constantly doing for itself, and not as
antagonistic to it. The method is the same in both cases: only it is
applied semi-consciously, and merely as occasions suggest it, in the one
case; consciously and spontaneously in the other. In both cases alike
the guiding principle, whether of action or of speculation upon action,
is the adaptation of conduct to surrounding circumstances, physical and
social, with a view to promote, to the utmost extent possible, the
well-being of the individual and of the society of which he is a member.
Where the interests of the individual and of the society clash, society,
that is to say, a man's fellow-citizens, usually approves, as we saw in
the last chapter, of the sacrifice of individual to social interests, a
course of conduct which is also, on reflexion, usually stamped by the
individual's own approbation, and hence we may say briefly that their
tendency to promote or impair the welfare of society is the test by
which, in different ways, all actions are estimated alike by the
philosopher, in his hours of speculation, and by the community at large,
in the practical work of life.
In laying down the principle that the presumption of the moralist should
always be in favour of existing rules of conduct, I intimated that there
was one exception to this principle. The exception includes all those
cases which are legitimate, though not obvious, applications of existing
rules, and to which, therefore, the ordinary moral sentiment does not
attach in the same way that it does to the plainer and more direct
applications. Thus, if it can be shewn, as it undoubtedly can be, that
smuggling falls under the head of stealing, and holding out false hopes
under that of lying, the moralist need take no account of the lax moral
sentiment which exists with regard to these practices, though, of
course, in estimating the guilt of the individual as distinct from the
character of the act, due allowance must be made for his imperfect
appreciation of the moral bearings of his conduct. This exception, as
will be found in the next chapter, covers, and therefore at once
justifies, a large proportion of the criticisms which, in the present
advanced stage of morality, when the more fundamental principles have
been already settled, it is still open to us to make.
It remains now to enquire what is the justification of the test
propounded in this chapter. I do not found it on any external
considerations, whether of Law or Revelation, both of which, I conceive,
presuppose morality, but on the very make and constitution of our
nature. The justification of the moral test and the source of the moral
feeling are alike, I conceive, to be discovered by an examination of
human nature, and, so far as that nature has a divine origin, so far is
the origin of morality divine. Whatever the ultimate source of morality
may be, to us, at all events, it can only be known as revealed or
reflected in ourselves. What, then, is it in the constitution of our
nature, which leads us to aim at the well-being of ourselves and those
around us, and to measure our own conduct and that of others by the
extent to which it promotes these ends? In answering this question, I
must give a brief account of the ultimate principles of human nature,
though this account has been partly anticipated in the last chapter.
Human nature, in its last analysis, seems, so far as it is concerned
with action, to consist of certain impulses or feelings, and a power of
comparing with one another the results which follow from the
gratification of these feelings, which power reacts upon the several
feelings themselves by way of intensifying, checking, or controlling
them. This power we call Reason. The feelings themselves fall into two
principal groups, the egoistic or self-regarding feelings, which centre
in a man's self, and are developed by his personal needs, and the
altruistic or sympathetic feelings, which centre in others and are
developed by the social surroundings in which he finds himself placed.
These two groups of feelings, I conceive, were independent of one
another from the first, or at least as soon as man could be called man,
and neither of them admits of being resolved into the other. As the one
was developed by and adapted to personal needs, so the other was
developed by and adapted to the manifold requirements of family or
tribal life, which, from the first, was inseparable from the life of the
individual. Intermediate between these two groups of feelings, the
purely self-regarding and the purely sympathetic, and derived probably
from the interaction of both, is another group, which may be called the
semi-social group. This group includes shame, love of reputation, love
of notoriety, desire of fame, and the like, but, on analysis, it will be
found that all these feelings admit of being referred to two heads, the
love of approbation and the fear of disapprobation. Lastly, if any of
our desires or feelings are thwarted by the intentional action of other
men, the result in our minds is a feeling which we call Resentment, and
which, though it regards others, is, unlike the sympathetic feelings, a
malevolent and not a benevolent feeling. It is important, in considering
the economy of human nature, to notice that Resentment, as is also the
case with the love of cruelty, is a secondary not a primary, a derived
not an original affection of our minds; for, apart from the desire to
gratify some self-regarding or sympathetic feeling, or disappointment
when that desire is not gratified, there is, I conceive, no such thing
as ill-feeling in one human being towards another. Resentment is
properly a reflex form of sympathy or self-regard, arising when our
sympathetic feelings are wounded by an injury done to another, or our
self-regarding desires are frustrated by an injury done to ourselves;
when, in fact, any emotional element in our nature is, by the
intentional intervention of another, disappointed of attaining its end.
Each of these groups of feelings admits of being studied apart, though
in the actual conduct of life they are seldom found to operate alone,
and each, under the continued action of reason, assumes a form or forms
in which its various elements are brought into harmonious working with
each other, so as best to promote the ends which the whole group
subserves. These forms, thus rationalised or moralised, if I may be
allowed the use of such expressions, are, in the case of the
self-regarding feelings, self-respect and rational self-love; in the
case of the sympathetic feelings, rational benevolence; in the case of
the semi-social feelings, a reasonable regard for the opinion of others;
and in the case of the resentful feelings, a sense of justice. These
higher forms of the several groups of feelings themselves require to be
harmonised, before man can satisfy the needs of his nature as a whole.
And, when co-ordinated under the control of reason, they become a
rational desire for the combined welfare of the individual and of
society, or, if we choose to use different but equivalent expressions,
of the individual considered as an unit of society, or of society
considered as including the individual. In a settled state of existence,
the interests of the individual and of society, even leaving out of
account the pleasures and pains of the moral sanction, are, for the most
part, identical. If an individual pursues a selfish course of conduct,
neglecting the interests and feelings of others, he is almost certain to
suffer for it in the long run. And the prosperity and general well-being
of the community in which they live is, to citizens, living a normal
life and pursuing ordinary avocations, an essential condition of their
own prosperity and well-being. On the other hand, it is by each man
attending to his own business and directing his efforts to the promotion
of his own interests or those of his family, his firm, or whatever may
be the smaller social aggregate in which his work chiefly lies, that the
interests of the community at large are best secured. Men whose time is
mainly taken up with philanthropic enterprises are very likely to
neglect the duties which lie immediately before them. 'To learn and
labour truly to get mine own living, and to do my duty in that state of
life, unto which it shall please God to call me' is a very homely, but
it is an essential lesson. That the great mass of the citizens of a
country should lay it well to heart, and act habitually on it, is the
first condition of national prosperity. Of course, this primary regard
to our own interests, or those of the persons with whom we are more
immediately connected, must be limited by wider considerations. A man
has duties, not only to himself and his own family, but to his
neighbours, to the various institutions with which he is connected, to
his town, his country, mankind at large, and even the whole sentient
creation. How far these should limit each other or a man's individual or
family interests is a question by no means easy to answer, and is the
main problem which each man has to be perpetually solving for himself,
and society at large for us all. There is hardly any waking hour in
which we have not to attempt to settle rival claims of this kind, and,
according as we settle them to our own satisfaction or not, so have we
peace or trouble of mind. No one can reasonably deny that the more
immediate interests of the individual and of the various social
aggregates, including society at large, are frequently in conflict. It
seems to me, I must confess, that it is also futile to deny that there
are occasions, though such occasions may be rare, in which even a man's
interests in the long run are incompatible with his social duties. To
take one or two instances. It may sometimes be for the good of society
that a man should speak out his mind freely on some question of private
conduct or public policy, though his utterances may be on the unpopular
side or offend persons of consideration and influence. The man performs
what he conceives to be his duty, but he knows that, in doing so, he is
sacrificing his prospects. Or, again, he is invited to join in some
popular movement which he believes to be of a questionable or pernicious
tendency, and, because he believes that to take part in it would be
untrue to his own convictions and possibly harmful to others, he
refrains from doing so, at the risk of losing preferment, or custom, or
patronage. Then, we are all familiar with the difficulties in which men
are often placed, when they have to record a vote; their convictions and
the claims of the public service being on one side, and their own
interests and prospects on the other. In all these cases it is true
that, if their moral nature be in a healthy condition, they approve, on
reflexion, of having taken the more generous course, while it is often a
matter of life-long regret if they have sacrificed their nobler impulses
to their selfish interests. And, taking into account these
after-feelings of self-approbation and self-disapprobation, it is often
the case, and is always the case where these feelings are very strong,
that a man gains more happiness, in the long run, by following the path
of duty and obeying his social impulses than by confining himself to the
narrow view which would be dictated by a cool calculation of what is
most likely to conduce to his own private good. But, where the moral
feelings are not strong, and still more where they are almost in
abeyance, I fear that the theory that virtue and happiness are
invariably coincident will hardly be supported by a candid examination
of facts. To some men, I fear it must be acknowledged, present wealth
and power and dignity are more than a sufficient recompense for any
remorse which they may continue to feel for past greed or lack of
candour or truthfulness. These considerations will serve to shew the
immense importance of moral education, alike in the family, the school,
and the state. If we are to depend on men acting rightly, and with a due
regard to wider interests than their own, we must take pains to develope
in them moral feelings sufficiently strong and sensitive to make the
reflexion on wrong or selfish acts more painful to them than the
sacrifice which is needed for dutiful and generous conduct. So far as
society, through its various instruments of law and opinion, of
education and domestic influences, can effect this object, so far will
it promote its own security and advancement.
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