In modern States, in which this struggle is on the whole behind us, our district or locality asserts its full indifference. Its “negative” here becomes a “positive.” That is to say, on the whole, [1] and under some reasonable reservations as to evidence of intention to accept duties, and to renounce incompatible ones, men are full members of the district to which they choose to belong. The challenge thrown down by the indifference of space has resulted in a recognition of universal humanity. Our district is our neighbourhood. We will look a little more closely at the ethical idea implied. We notice at once, at least in English experience, that each of us belongs to a variety of districts which are concentric as regards him. Each of these districts represents a different purpose, and we are told that for practical purposes great confusion results. But it is a useful training to be made aware of the distinct purpose of each {307} organised locality which surrounds us—to have the care of our health, of public order, of education, of the relief of the destitute, and of religion according to our view of it, represented by different, or possibly different, boundary lines on the map. Each of these boundaries indicates some common element of thought and feeling—some common interest—in the mind of the neighbourhood, and the difference of the boundaries, where they differ—the difference, e.g., between the civil and ecclesiastical parish—may have a long growth of ideas behind it. At any rate, all these are moral or physical needs, which, like our household necessities, draw us out of ourselves, and reveal us to ourselves as cases of a larger mind.
[1] Settlement, scholarships, fellowships, and charities generally, “close” to localities, and perhaps domicile, maintain qualifications in contradiction with actual residence, and in case of allegiance even depending in part on birth. But some fixity is, of course, convenient; and I believe that intention plus residence will cancel almost any opposing qualification.
Every locality, then, is, however imperfectly and unconsciously, a body which has a mind. It is, as an idea which enters into us, the spiritual reflection of our adjacent surroundings, both human and natural, as the family is of our animal parentage. The neighbourhood is for the mind its immediate picture of the world, the frame into which its further vista of society as a whole must be fitted, or, in other words, its sphere of direct relations. The family is a group of natural relations; but the neighbourhood consists of relations which are as natural in a different way, not through blood, but through contact. It is not a selection, but rather a specimen of life as a whole, for it must include as a rule all the necessary elements of the social fabric. It includes all that comes to us by direct sense-perception from day to day; all our chance meetings and dealings with those outside our household, and probably the nearer {308} and more reliable illustrations of all social and political problems. For it is a context of life which we know and feel in its total working, which is impossible with what we only gather from writings or from hearsay.
As such a reflection of our direct surroundings, it colours our whole basis of feeling, A peculiar tinge of happiness, anxiety, depression, or resolution attaches to the streets or fields which we pass through day by day, and the faces which we meet. How far these feelings are true interpretations of what we see, and how far they spring from superficial or sentimental associations, is one of the greatest tests of the mind and heart. Do we see the body of a soul, the symbols of character and happiness, in the houses, the streets, the tillage, the workshops, or the gardens?
No other element of mind can be the substitute for the neighbourhood. It is the faith in which we live, so far as embodied in our contact with a sensuous world. It is a microcosm of humanity, in which, by the very indifference of space, we are liable to the direct impact of all possible factors. It is particularly the sphere of charity and courtesy, of the right behaviour in immediate human relations of all possible kinds.
The District or Neighbourhood, in short, as an ethical idea, is the unity of the region with which we are in sensuous contact, as the family is that of the world bound to us by blood or daily needs. Local self-government, for example, acquires a peculiar character from the possibilities of intimate knowledge of each other among those who carry it on. A man’s whole way of living {309} is in question when he sets up to be locally prominent, and though the result may often be corruption or vulgarity, [1] these are only the failure of what, at its best, is a true type of the relation of fellow-citizens.
[1] The recriminations or interested intimacies of a vestry or parish council rest at bottom on the personal knowledge which, rightly used, gives security to local life.
As with the family, we may illustrate the significance of Neighbourhood by the case in which it fails to be duly recognised, and that in which nothing else is recognised.
To a great extent, in the life of modern cities, especially when supplemented by suburban residence, the principle is disregarded. In a great city, the actual neighbourhood is more than can be dealt with, and has often no distinctive physical character—at least no attractiveness—and the idea of a special relation to it falls away. The fact, indeed, is less universal than is often asserted, and nearness in space, together with local government, retain and will retain a certain predominance over the mind. The total disregard of an ethical purpose connecting us with the surroundings nearest to us in bodily presence, tends to deprive the general life of its vitality, its sensuous health, strength, and beauty. In many ways, circuitous perhaps, but ultimately effective, it may be that this factor of immediacy will regain a proper place in the national mind. We may observe that in as far as electoral districts are treated as mere circumscriptions of such and such numbers of electors, the life of a neighbourhood is disregarded. To make the constituency a mere {310} number (Hare’s scheme) would be the climax of this tendency.
In the ancient City-state, on the other hand, the district was all powerful. The State was almost a sensuous fact. The members of the State were essentially friends and neighbours, who for business or pleasure were meeting all day long. When the district thus absorbs the State, there is a want of what we call freedom, though there may be enough of sensuous unconstraint. The State and its ideal purposes are not clearly set above all flesh and blood. A great legal system is not created till the State ceases to be a neighbourhood. Individual intimacy [1] and the “hard case” obscure the idea of universal law. The possibility of representative government, of a political faith which does not work by sight, is not conceived. The district, as a natural fact, was at first only a degree more liberating than the natural fact of kinship. [2] It was not conceived that man, as man, belonged “neither to this place nor to Jerusalem.” With the ideal unity of a modern nation such conceptions harmonise much more readily, and the neighbourhood can lend them flesh and blood without hiding them.
[1] Imagine a Roman or English judge being addressed as Demosthenes, in his speech against Pantaenetus, addressed (in his client’s name) the Athenian jury: “I know I have a hurried gait and a loud voice, and it annoys people; but I am as I was made, and I have a right to justice all the same.” It sounds like a speech to a jury of schoolboys.
[2] P. 300 above.
5. “Class” is in democratic countries no longer a political institution. A man’s vote is secured to him on a minimum qualification, and his practical influence and acceptance depend neither on {311} birth nor on occupation, but on the power which he can exercise by his qualities or his possessions. This is a consequence of the recognition of humanity as such, and has its bad side and its good side according to the baseness and nobility of the influences which tell de facto upon human nature. It is horrible, we may say, that influence should belong to wealth without any security whatever for a discharge of social function. But this, given human nature as it is to-day, is a result of the same causes which enable us to boast, with some truth, that a man ranks in the general world by his powers, character, and behaviour, and that we do not know or care whether his livelihood comes to him as a miner or as a duke. Wealth has weight because people give it weight; but no one need give weight to wealth in politics or social intercourse unless he likes. It is a consequence, then, of the recognition of free humanity that “class” no longer is an institution in political right as such, while in social intercourse, though it practically exists as an institution, it claims to be an expression of what people are in character and behaviour, and its differences are not annexed by any iron bond to differences of occupation. [1]
[1] It may be taken as proved that a “gentleman” can make his living as a labourer or mechanic—at least in the U.S.A., where irrational tradition is weaker than in England—and remain a gentleman in the drawing-room sense of the term as well as in essentials. This being so, there can be no inherent impossibility in men born and bred as labourers or mechanics realising the same qualities. It would be cant, I think, to say that full equality of social class, full pleasantness and freedom of intercourse, could be attained without those qualities.
But though occupation no longer determines either social or political class, in the sense of {312} gradation by any formal bond, yet it remains and must always remain a determinant of class in a narrower sense, and one of the main ideas which constitute the ethical structure of the mind.
The necessities which we compared roughly to time and space—the proximate permanent group and the adjacent locality—give a value to man’s animal routine, and a significance to the area of his every-day perceptions. It is when the division of labour, the requital of one service by a different one, becomes prominent in a community, that a further grasp is laid upon the distinctive capacities of the individual consciousness, in which must be reckoned the surroundings which constitute its horizon of possibilities. We still answer the general question, “What is he?” by naming a man’s industry or profession. The family and the neighbourhood sustain and colour the individual life, but the vocation stamps and moulds it. The more definite and articulate summons of the organising world—in which of course intelligence is active, ever discerning new purposes in old routine—elicits a deeper response from, or takes a more concrete shape in, the particular centre of consciousness. The individual has his own nature communicated to him as he is summoned to fit himself for rendering a distinctive service to the common good. He becomes “something”; an incarnation of a factor in the social idea.
The Roman word “class,” which the English language has adopted, not for every separate employment, but for the character and position roughly connected with a whole group of employments, has an origin worth recalling. Plato’s classes {313} were “genera” = clans, extended families. The German classes were “Stände” = statuses, positions, estates (compare the French “état,” which practically = trade). But the Roman “classis” was “a summoning” to public service; the first and second classes were the first and second summonings; [1] then indeed to military service in an order based on wealth. But the idea may survive. Our “class” may be thought of as the group or body in which we are called out for distinctive service.
[1] Mommsen Rom. Hist., i. 101, E. tr. The “classicus” was the trumpet.
One’s class, then, in the sense in which it indicates the type of position and service involved in one’s occupation, approaches very near the centre of one’s individuality. In principle, as an ethical idea, it takes the man or woman beyond the family and the neighbourhood; and for the same reason takes him deeper into himself. He acquires in it a complex of qualities and capacities which put a special point upon the general need of making a livelihood for the support of his household. In principle, his individual service is the social mind, as it takes, in his consciousness, the shape demanded by the logic of the social whole. He is “a public worker” [1] by doing the service which society demands of him. And just because the service is in principle something particular, unique, and distinctive, he feels himself in it to be a member of a unity held together by differences. And in this sense the bond of social union is not in similarity, but in the highest degree of individuality or specialisation, the ultimate point of which would be to feel that I am rendering {314} to society a service which is necessary, and which no one but me can render—the closest conceivable tie, and yet one, which in a sense, really exists in every case. Your special powers and functions supply my need, and my special powers and functions supply your need, and each of us recognises this and rejoices in it. This ethical idea of unique service, or the service of a unique class, involves of course a more or less conscious identity in difference. That is to say, the individual’s mind is not reduced to his special service, or he would be a machine. Rather, the whole social consciousness is present in him, but present in a modified form, according to the point of view from which it is looking. The problem is simply put by Plato’s diagrammatic scheme of classes. The statesman’s function is to be wise for the community; the carpenter’s to carpenter for the community. But plainly the community for which the statesman knows that he has to be wise, must include the carpenter’s life and the conditions of his work, and the community for which the carpenter knows that he has to work must include some of the order and organisation which belong to it in the statesman’s vision. The individual, in short, is unique, or belongs to a unique class, not as an atom, but as a case of a law, or term of a connection. This is what is meant by individuality in the true sense; the character of a unit which has a great deal that, being his very self, cannot be divided from him; not one which has so little that there is nothing by subtraction of which he can be imagined less. Such individuality is in a sense the whole ethical idea, but more particularly is embodied in {315} the idea of a vocation. Our vocation, like our neighbourhood, and usually of course in connection with it, stamps both mind and body; and what we consider most intimately ourself is really the structure of ethical ideas which we are describing, with the feelings and habits in which they are rooted, but none of which are unmodified by them.
[1] Greek δημιοῦργος [demiourgos], “artisan.” Homer speaks of “those who are public workers—the soothsayer, the doctor, and the carpenter.”
Like the other ideas of which we have spoken, the idea of class or specialised function may be illustrated both by the extreme in which it is nothing, and the extreme in which it is everything. The less a society is differentiated—the less that, considered as a mind, it has developed intense and determinate capacities—the more its structure repeats itself from household to household, [1] and fails to exhibit lines of formation pervading the community as a whole. Dicey’s The Peasant State [2] gives an idea of a social mind thus undifferentiated, without classes, without ambitions, and without interests. Both in this case and in that of the Boers of the Transvaal it would be rash for an outsider to pronounce dogmatically on the value of the life which is achieved. But as cases of social formation and of social minds, they illustrate our present theme. To say that there is no specialised function, is the same as to say that there is no developed intelligence.
[1] Durkheim’s “Segmentary Structure,” De la Division, p. 190.
[2] See also H. Bosanquet, Standard of Life, p. 8.
“Class” appears to be everything, an absolute and inflexible rule of precedence and privilege, when it has lost or has not gained the power of accommodating itself to function, and function to social logic. Such denials of free adjustment, of {316} the career open to talents, may take the form of a confusion of the principle of class with that of birth, or even with that of private property. In the former case function and position are inherited, in the latter they are bought and sold. The two confusions may even be combined, as when public functions are inherited like or with a house or an estate. [1] Such a “class” system may be an oppression to its members, [2] or to the community, or to both. But the essence of the evil is that a function of mind is divorced from its characteristic of free logical adaptation within the social system. The institution has become ossified; and instead of moulding itself, like a theory or a living organism, to the facts and needs which it is there to meet, it nails itself to an alien principle, and becomes a fallacy in social logic, or a dead organ in the social body.
[1] As in the judicial privileges of the Baron of Bradwardine and his likes.
[2] The hereditary executioner in Maurus Jokai’s novel, Die schöne Michal.
In both of these extreme cases individuality is minimised. In the former the individual does not pretend to any high capacity. In the latter he pretends to a considerable capacity, but this being cut apart from the principle of the whole, and pretending to be everything in itself to exist absolutely or for its own sake has lost the connection which gave it value, and becomes a mere pretension.
There is a strange and sad institution in which, it may be suggested, the two extremes of error are combined. This is the institution of “the {317} poor” as a class, representing, as an ethical idea in the modern mind, a permanent object of compassion and self-sacrifice. “Poverty,” it has been said, “has become a status.” The “déclassés” have become a social class, with the passive social function of stimulating the goodness of others. [1] Let any one consider carefully, from the point of view which regards ethical ideas as an embodiment of human or social purposes, the offertory sentences of the Church of England. It is needless to press the criticism, for no one would be likely to deny that here we have ideas gathered from other soils and climates, and rightly applicable only in the spirit, but not in the letter. “Give alms of thy goods, and never turn thy face from any poor man; and then the face of the Lord shall not be turned away from thee.” “He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord, and look, what he layeth out it shall be paid him again.” The victims of misfortune in a small community, under strict regulations, as were the Jews, for the promotion of industry, are one thing. The recognition of a class marked by the function of dependence—to use a contradictory expression—in a vast community whose industrial organisation rests on the individual will, is another thing. The idea of pity and self-denial, inherited, I presume, largely from the Jewish scriptures as also from the New Testament, has tended, in the modern world, to become mechanical, and combine with a false class-conception. All who know the inner life of evangelical Christians a {318} generation ago will admit that, among earnest persons of this type, the notion of the tithe—the devotion of one tenth or more of the income to purposes of religion or benevolence—had been inherited as a guiding idea, representing an end valuable per se, almost according to the letter of the offertory. I am not suggesting any vulgar charge of other-worldliness, but recalling a genuine conviction that the surrender of a portion of income to a less fortunate class of the community was in itself desirable and a religious duty.
[1] The incurably sick and helpless in all ranks of society do, no doubt, rightly fulfil such a passive function.
It would not be difficult to show that the true and highest idea of Christian charity is remote from this conception of a dependent status as inherent in a certain portion of society. What seems to be needed here, as in so many aspects of morality and religion, is to combine the inspiration and abandon of the modern mind with the definiteness of purpose and lucidity of plan that characterised the ancient City-state.
Socialism, at its best, [1] unites with recent political economy and with those who try to “organise” or rationalise charity, in challenging the preconception that poverty must be recognised as a permanent class-function. And this brave denial may remain written to its credit when the controversies of immediate method are forgotten.
[1] I cannot think that in detail its advocates are consistent with their principles on this point. But controversy is not my object here.
We may attempt to indicate in a few words the direction in which the ethical idea incarnate in the institution of the “poor” is tending to supplement and modify itself as clearer notions of a commonwealth arise. It may be observed, by {319} way of introduction, that we cruelly misconceive the Greek mind when we ascribe to it a want of love and compassion, because we miss in its utterances the religious note of devotion to the poor. [1] To a great extent the truest idea of charity was presupposed in the very axioms of a Greek commonwealth. The Greek spoke little of “the poor,” because he recognised no such status. [2] It would have meant to him a functionless class, a dislocation of the body politic. This, in fact, is what it did mean when pauperism began to press upon the Greeks, and the philosopher [3] at once diagnoses the evil, and uses the term, “people without means,” i.e. without ways of supporting themselves, instead of the older word, which rather suggests the “object of ‘charity’”. To get them back into a function, “a means,” is the course which ipso facto rises before him; not to create a new ethical idea for their sake qua déclassés.
[1] Not altogether true, of course. In Homer “all strangers and poor men come from Zeus.”
[2] It is a mistake to treat all these problems as automatically solved for the ancients by slavery. The citizen population had enough dependence on industrial life to be liable to disaster from its dislocation, and that this happened so little was a true success while it lasted.
[3] Aristotle, Politics, 1320, d. 29. The older word is πτωχός [ptochos], “one who crouches or cringes, a beggar”; it always had a bad sense till it was ennobled in the Gospels (Liddell and Scott). Aristotle’s word is ἄπορος [aporos], “without ways and means.” Different from both is πένης [penes], for which we have no proper word, having spoilt “poor” by the idea of dependence. It means a poor man in the sense of one who is not rich enough to live without working. The speeches in which Poverty πενία [penia] defends her merits against Wealth, and in distinction from Beggary πτώχεια [ptocheia], in Aristophanes’ Plutus, are fine, though mixed with fallacies.
The full modern conception of the “poor” as {320} an institution, if they must be an institution, ought at least to avoid the pitfall of acquiescence. Granting the fire and love of the Christian mind to be a gain, yet its object must be brought into relation with the true meaning of a mind or a commonwealth. Devotion to man at his weakest must not be separated from devotion to the possibilities of man at his strongest—possibilities either existent or at least symbolised in the most unhappy of the functionless poor. Self-sacrifice for the poor should not mean a tribute to the maintenance of a vicious status, but an abiding and pervading sense of the claims which the weaker humanity has to be made strong.
6. The Nation-State, we have already suggested, is the widest organisation which has the common experience necessary to found a common life. This is why it is recognised as absolute in power over the individual, and as his representative and champion in the affairs of the world outside. It is obvious that there can be but one such absolute power in relation to any one person; and that, so far as the world is organised, there must be one; and, in fact, his discharge from one allegiance can only be effected by his acceptance of another. The analysis of the previous chapter releases us from the task of setting out the elements which combine in the Nation-State, as the conception of sovereign and ultimate adjustment between the spheres which realise the elements of our ethical life. It should be noted, however, that the principles of the family, the district, and the class, not only enter into the nation in these definite shapes, but affect the general fabric of {321} the national State through the sense of race, of country, and of a pervading standard of life and culture. The reaction of ideal unity on the natural conditions of a state is exemplified by the tendency to substitute ideal frontiers—a meridian or a parallel [1]—for frontiers determined by natural boundaries.
[1] See, e.g., the map of North America.
The Nation-State as an ethical idea is, then, a faith or a purpose—we might say a mission, were not the word too narrow and too aggressive. It seems to be less to its inhabitant than the City-state to its citizens; but that is greatly because, as happens with the higher achievements of mind, it includes too much to be readily apprehended. The modern nation is a history and a religion rather than a clear cut idea. Its power as an idea-force is not known till it is tried. How little the outsider, and even members of the community concerned, were able to gauge beforehand the strength of the sentiment and conception that pervaded the United States through the war of secession. [1] The place of the idea of the Nation-State in the whole of ethical ideas may be illustrated by the Greek conception of Happiness, as that organisation of aims, whatever it may be which permits the fullest harmony to life. The State, as such, we saw, is limited to the office of maintaining the external conditions of a good life; but the conditions cannot be conceived without reference to the life for which they exist, and {322} it is true, therefore, to say that the conception of the Nation-State involves at least an outline of the life to which, as a power, it is instrumental. The State, in short, cannot be understood apart from the nation, nor the conditions from the life, although in exerting political force it is important to distinguish them. As an ethical idea, the idea of a purpose, it is essential to hold the two sides together, if we are not to walk blindly.
[2] The dangers besetting the French Republic to-day (December, 1898) are, in essence, tests applied to the strength of a national idea. If the idea cannot maintain itself, we must reluctantly suppose that it ought not—that the common life has not the necessary depth.
7. Our analysis of the Nation-State suggests a point of view which may be applied to the vexed question of whether State action is to be judged by the same moral tests as private action.
The first step is to get a clear idea of the nature of State action. It must be confined, one would think, to what is done in the name of the State, and by something approaching to an act of will on its part as a State. We only pass moral judgment on individuals in respect of their acts of will, and we ought to extend the same justice to a State. The question is complicated by the fact that a State has, as its accredited agents, individuals whose acts it must normally avow. But it can hardly be saddled with moral responsibility for their personal misdoings, except under circumstances which are barely conceivable. [1] The State, as such, can have no ends but public ends; and in practice it has none but what its organs conceive to be public ends. If an agent, even under the order of his executive superior, commits a breach of morality, bona fide in order to what he conceives to be a public end desired by the State, he and his superior are certainly {323} blamable, but the immorality can hardly be laid at the door of the public will.
[1] i.e. That it should actually order a theft, murder, or the like.
Indeed, a strict definition of State action might raise a difficulty like that of defining the General Will—if the act was immoral, can the State, as such, really have willed it? And waiving this as a mere refinement, it still seems clear that the selfishness or sensuality, which has at least a good deal to do with the immorality of private actions, can hardly be present in an act of the public will, in the same sense as in a private volition. The State, as such, certainly cannot be guilty of personal immorality, and it is hard to see how it can commit theft or murder in the sense in which these are moral offences. To speak of the question as if it concerned the conduct of statesmen and their agents, instead of the volition of a State as such, seems to introduce confusion. We are discussing the parallel between public and private acts, and we are asked to begin by treating the public acts as private.
It may be said that this distinction between public and private acts leads to the casuistry of pure intention. We are saying, it will be urged, that the State remains pure, because its will is on the whole towards a public interest, whatever crimes its agents may commit. And, no doubt, this line is often taken in practice. A successful agent finds his evil deeds are winked at; an unsuccessful one is disavowed. In either case the State pleads innocence. But this danger cannot alter the conditions of a moral action, and we cannot impute that as an action to the State, of which it knew no particulars, which it never {324} willed, and which can hardly indeed be the object of a public will. It has a duty to see to the character of its agents and punish their excesses; but the conditions under which it is true that qui facit per alium facit per se, can seldom apply to a public body with regard to actions of its agent which are not of a nature to embody public ends.
Promises and treaties, however, are acts which embody public ends. And here the State, on its side, is bound to maintain good faith; but still its agent is likely to go wrong if he mixes up the obligations of the State with his private honour. The question for him, if he has to keep or break a public undertaking, is, to what is the State substantially bound, not to what extent would he be bound if he had made the promise or engagement in question in his private capacity? He, or the power which is to act, must consider the obligations and aims of the State, as a whole, and work for the best fulfilment of them as a whole. The question may be parallel to that of a private case of honour, but it is not his honour nor his promise that is in question. Just so, if he introduces his private conscience about religion or morality into his public acts on behalf of the State, he may cause frightful persecutions or disasters. The religious persecutions, and our position in India, supply examples.
The State, then, exists to promote good life, and what it does cannot be morally indifferent; but its actions cannot be identified with the deeds of its agents, or morally judged as private volitions are judged. Its acts proper are always public acts, {325} and it cannot, as a State, act within the relations of private life in which organised morality exists. It has no determinate function in a larger community, but is itself the supreme community; the guardian of a whole moral world, but not a factor within an organised moral world. Moral relations presuppose an organised life; but such a life is only within the State, not in relations between the State and other communities.
But all this, it may be urged, is beside the question. The question is not, can a State be a moral individual (though this is certainly one question)? but, does an interest of State justify what would otherwise be immorality or wrong-doing on the part of an officer of State?
Again, I think, we must distinguish between acts essentially private and acts essentially public. To steal or murder, to lie, or to commit personal immorality, for instance, as we said, cannot be a public act. Such acts cannot embody a general interest willed by the public will. A State agent who commits them in pursuit of information or to secure a diplomatic result cannot be justified on the ground that they are not his acts but the State’s; and they are as immoral in him as in anyone else. Ultimately, indeed, it may be true that there is no act which is incapable of justification, supposing some extreme alternative; and in this sense, but in this sense only, it might be that, treating the interest of a commonwealth like any other ethically imperative interest, such acts might be relatively capable of justification. But this justification would only mean that some supreme interest was subserved by them, and would have {326} no special relation to the supposed public character of the interest. It is then a case of the conflict of duties. And the commoner occurrence, which results in doubtful acts, probably is that an agent, charged with some public service, finds it easiest to promote it by some act of rascality, and acts on his idea. But over readiness to make capital out of an apparent conflict of duties is neither made worse nor better by the fact that one of the duties is the service of the State. [1]
[1] Cruelty, it has been said, is a good deal owing to laziness. It is more comfortable to sit in the shade rubbing red pepper into a man’s eyes to make him confess than to run about in the sun collecting evidence. I quote from memory, from a lecture, I think, by Mr. Leslie Stephen.
A public act which inflicts loss, such as war, confiscation, the repudiation of a debt, is wholly different from murder or theft. It is not the act of a private person. It is not a violation of law. [1] It can hardly be motived by private malice or cupidity in the strict sense, and it is not a breach of an established moral order by a being within it and dependent upon it for the organisation and protection of his daily life. It is the act of a supreme power, which has ultimate responsibility for protecting the form of life of which it is the guardian, and which is not itself protected by any scheme of functions or relations, such as prescribes a course for the reconciliation of rights and secures its effectiveness. The means adopted by such a supreme power to discharge its responsibilities as a whole, are of course subject to criticism as respects the conception of good which they {327} imply and their appropriateness to the task of realising it. But it is mere confusion to apply to them names borrowed from analogous acts of individuals within communities, to impute them, as it were, to individuals under dyslogistic predicates and to pass moral judgment upon them in the same sense as on private acts. The nearest approach which we can imagine to public immorality would be when the organs which act for the State, as such, exhibit in their public action, on its behalf, a narrow, selfish or brutal [2] conception of the interest of the State as a whole, in which, so far as can be judged, public opinion at the time agrees. In such a case the State, as such, may really be said to be acting immorally, i.e. in contravention of its main duty to sustain the conditions of as much good life as possible. This case must be distinguished, if I am right, from the case in which the individuals, acting as the public authority, are corrupted in their own private interests [3] not shared with the public. For then the case would rather be that the State, the organ of the public good, had not been given a chance to speak, but had simply been defrauded by those who spoke in its name.
[1] An act which violates its own law is not an act of the State. And the State is not subject to the law of any other State.
[2] e.g. If, with the knowledge of Parliament, and without a protest from it, a price were offered for the killing of a hostile statesman or general.
[3] e.g. Bribed by a foreign potentate, or pursuing Stock Exchange interests.
We do not suggest, then, that the action of States is beyond moral criticism, nor that action of individuals in their interest is above or below morality, except in the sense in which one moral claim has constantly to be postponed to another. But we {328} deny that States can be treated as the actors in private immoralities which their agents permit themselves in the alleged interest of the State; or, again, can be bound by the private honour and conscience of such agents; and we deny, moreover, that the avowed public acts of sovereign powers, which cause loss or injury, can be imputed to individuals under the names of private offences; that someone is guilty of murder when a country carries on war, or of theft when it adopts the policy of repudiation, confiscation, or annexation.
8. It is obvious that the idea of humanity, of the world of intelligent beings on the surface of our earth, conceived as a unity, must hold such a place in any tolerably complete philosophical thinking, as in some way to control the idea of particular States, and to sum up the purposes and possibilities of human life. The idea of humanity is universal, and whatever limits we have tacitly in mind—whatever limits the Greek thinker had in mind while he based his ethics on the distinction between man and beast—yet, when we rely on the idea of man as man, we are committed to treat in some way of the world of mankind.
(a) The first point which forces itself upon our attention is, that the idea which we tacitly entertain when we refer to humanity, is not true of the greater part of mankind. No doubt, we are quite aware of imperfection and inconsistency in the family and the State. But here, in the case of mankind, the problem reaches an acuter form. According to the current ideas of our civilisation, a great part of the lives which {329} are being lived and have been lived by mankind are not lives worth living, in the sense of embodying qualities for which life seems valuable to us. [1] It is true that, in all to whom we give the name of man, we suppose a possibility of such living, in the sense that they have an intelligence distinguishable from that of animals. But it is a possibility which, for the most part, has been very slightly realised, and which involves no conscious connection, so far as we can see, with any realisation. Our idea of man is not formed by simple enumeration, but by framing a law which explains the less perfect and consistent facts with reference to the more perfect and more consistent facts.
[1] This idea is embodied in the doctrine of Salvation confined to the few, and contains perhaps a similar error. But it has a prima facie truth.
(b) This being so, it seems to follow that the object of our ethical idea of humanity is not really mankind as a single community. Putting aside the impossibilities arising from succession in time, we see that no such identical experience can be presupposed in all mankind as is necessary to effective membership of a common society and exercise of a general will. It does not follow from this that there can be no general recognition of the rights arising from the capacities for good life which belong to man as man. Though insufficient, as variously and imperfectly realised, to be the basis of an effective community, they may, as far as realised, be a common element or tissue of connection, running through the more concrete experience on which effective communities {330} rest. Such a relation as that of England and India brings the matter home. Englishmen cannot make one effective self-governed community with the Indian populations. It would be misery and inefficiency to both sides. But our State can recognise the primary rights of humanity as determined in the life of its Indian subjects, and enforce or respect these rights, whether India be a dependency or an independent community. The problem is not unlike that raised by the idea of a universal language. As a substitute for national languages, it would mean a dead level of intelligence unsuited to every actual national mind, the destruction of literature and poetry. As an addition to existing languages, or more simply, if it became customary for every people to be acquainted with the tongues of other nations, there would be a common understanding no less firm, and a vast gain of appreciation and enjoyment, a levelling up instead of levelling down. The recognition of human rights through communities founded on organic unity of experience may be compared in just these terms to the idea of a universal society including the entire human race.
(c) The contrast between humanity and mankind has always uttered itself through a dichotomous mode of expression—Jew and Gentile, Greek [1] and barbarian, Mussulman and infidel, Christian {331} and heathen, white civilisations and the black and yellow races. It will be noted at once that some of these divisions contradict each other, and this fact may suggest the probability that to every people its own life has seemed the crown of things, and the remainder of mankind only the remainder. Such a suggestion may have a real bearing on our problem, and we will return to it. In the meantime, however, it is plain that humanity [2] as an ethical idea is a type or a problem rather than a fact. It means certain qualities, at once realised in what we take to be the crown of the race, and including a sensibility to the claims of the race as such. Sensibility to the claims of the race as such, is least of all qualities common to the race as such. The respect of States and individuals for humanity is then, after all, in its essence, a duty to maintain a type of life, not general, but the best we know, which we call the most human, and in accordance with it to recognise and deal with the rights of alien individuals and communities. This conception is opposed to the treatment of all individual human beings as members of an identical community having identical capacities and rights. It follows our general conviction that not numbers but qualities determine the value of life. But qualities, of course, become self-contradictory if they fail to meet the demands imposed on them by numbers.
And thus we recur to a suggestion noted {332} above. Every people, as a rule, seems to find contentment in its own type of life. This cannot contradict, for us, the imperativeness of our own sense of the best. But it may make us cautious as to the general theory of progress, and ready to admit that one type of humanity cannot cover the whole ground of the possibilities of human nature. Our action must, no doubt, be guided by what we can understand of human needs, and this must depend ultimately on our own type of life. But it makes a difference whether we start from the hypothesis that our civilisation as such stands for the goal of progress, or admit that there is a necessity for covering the whole ground of human nature. And it may be that, as the ground is covered, our States may go the way which others have gone, without, however, leaving things as they are. If the State, moreover, is not ultimate nor above criticism, no more is any given idea of humanity; and reference to “the interests of mankind” only names the problem, which is to find out what those interests are, in terms of human qualities to be realised.
[1] It is remarkable that a limitation of the earth’s surface, raising an idea of unity, has always, I believe, been presupposed. For the Greeks, Delphi was the centre of the earth; for us, the earth being a sphere and returning into itself, gives a certainty that it does not stretch away to infinity, so making unity of its inhabitants inconceivable. The remark, I think, is Kant’s.
[2] “Humanity” = “humaneness.” Scotch “Humanities” = Greek and Latin. Oxford “Literae humaniores” = classics and philosophy. Greek φιλάνθρωπον [philanthropon], a sense of what is due to man, e.g. of poetical justice.
(d) Neither the State, however, nor the idea of humanity, nor the interests of mankind, are the last word of theory. And even political theory must so far point ahead as to show that it knows where to look for its continuation. We have taken Society and the State throughout to have their value in the human capacities which they are the means of realising, in which realisation their social aspect is an inevitable condition (for human nature is not complete in solitude), but is not by itself, in its form of multitudes, the end. {333} There is, therefore, no breach of continuity when the immediate participation of numbers, the direct moulding of life by the claims and relations of selves, falls away, and the human mind, consolidated and sustained by society, goes further on its path in removing contradictions and shaping its world and itself into unity. Art, philosophy, and religion, though in a sense the very life-blood of society, are not and could not be directly fashioned to meet the needs and uses of the multitude, and their aim is not in that sense “social.” They should rather be regarded as a continuation, within and founded upon the commonwealth, of the work which the commonwealth begins in realising human nature; as fuller utterances of the same universal self which the “general will” reveals in more precarious forms; and as in the same sense implicit in the consciousness of all, being an inheritance which is theirs so far as they can take possession of it.
We have thus attempted to trace in outline the content of the self, implied, but imperfectly and variously reached, in the actual individual consciousness. It is because of this implication, carrying the sense that something more than we are is imperative upon us, that self-government has a meaning, and that freedom—the non-obstruction of capacities—is to be found in a system which lays burdens on the untamed self and “forces us to be free.” What we feel as mere force cannot as such be freedom; but in our subtle and complex natures the recognition of a force may, as we have tried to explain, sustain, regularise, and reawaken the operation of {334} a consciousness of good, which we rejoice to see maintained, if our intelligence fails of itself to maintain it, against indolence, incompetence, and rebellion, even if they are our own. This is the root of self-government, and true political government is self-government.
INDEX.
A.
Absolutism, Administrative, 63.
Actual Will, contrast Real Will, 118.
Albion, Launch of, 96 note.
Alexander, Prof., 174 n.
All and each, as Society and Individual, 81, 180.
Will of All dist. General Will, 111.
Allness, Judgment of, 112.
Altruism in H. Spencer, 24.
and Egoism, 47, 81, 83.
Amiel, cit, 236 note.
Analysis of motive, fallacy of, 291 ff.
Anglo-Saxon race, 301.
Anthropology in Hegel, 254.
Appercipient masses, 165 ff.
cpd. social groups, 169.
Aristocracy, Monarchy and Democracy, 284.
Aristotle, 5 ff., 32, 129 ff., 295 note.
on the poor, 319 note.
Army, opp. crowd, 160 ff.
Art, how far a social good, 333.
Artisan or public worker, 313 note.
Association, of persons and of ideas, 156 ff.
see ORGANISATION.
Athens, 115.
Attention, 216, see AUTOMATISM, APPERCIPIENT.
Austin, theory of Law, 261.
Authority of Society over Individual in Mill, 62.
Automatism in society, 183, ch. viii.
Autonomy, in Greece, 4.
moral, in Plato, 253.
B.
Bagehot, Physics and Politics, 19.
Baldwin, Prof., Social and Ethical Interpretations, 44, 253.
Baron of Bradwardine, 316.
Beauty, reconciliation of Nature and State (Schiller), 237.
Beccaria, 56.
Bentham, 56 ff., 82, 180.
Bequest, power of, 272.
Biology and Sociology, 21 ff.
double influence on Sociology, 23 ff.
Birth, surviving as qualification, 306 note.
Boeckh, 33 note.
Bona fides, in political theory, 192.
Bourgeois Society (in Hegel), 27, 269, 273 ff.
Boot and Shoe Operatives, Trade Report, 279 note.
Bradley, F.H., Principles of Logic, 49 note.
on Punishment, 222.
Ethical Studies, 267 note.
Büchsenschütz, 33 note.
Buckle, 28,
Burlamaqui, 132.
Butcher, Prof, (on Nature), Aristotle’s Theory of Poetry and Fine
Art 131.
C.
Calvin at Geneva, 61.
Capacities, social, distinction of, 168, 173.
Cash nexus, 276.
Causation, physical, in human life, 31.
Cause, idea of, in Sociology, 21.
Charity Organisers, 318.
Christian consciousness, 263.
Church of England, offertory, 317.
Church and State, 285.
Cicero, 10.
Citizen of the World, 8.
City and town, distinguished in, Rousseau, 92 note.
City-State, 36, 116.
as a district, 310.
Civil condition, in Rousseau, 97, 100.
Civil Dispute, 262 note.
Civil Government Locke, 101.
Civil Liberty, in Rousseau, 97.
Civilisation of Christendom, 137, 195.
Class, 278, 310 ff.
derivation, 312.
its absence, 315.
Classes in community, 7, 30.
Clan v. Family, 272.
Closed Commercial State, Fichte, 246.
Codification, 276 note.
Collectivism, uncritical, 70, 181.
Commonwealth and Soul, 6.
Comparative Politics, 41.
Competition and Co-operation, 24 ff.
Compulsion ch. viii.,
in elementary education, 67.
Comte, 18 ff., 41.
Conditions and purpose, in Greek thinkers, 32.
which come close to life, 198.
Conditions, man and his, 31.
Conscience, morality of, 259.
in public acts, 324.
Consciousness of Kind, 43.
Consent, in Locke, 101.
Constituencies, of mere numbers, 309.
Constraint and self-assertion, 58.
Continuity, idea of, 23.
Contract, true province of, 260, see STATUS.
Contrat Social, see ROUSSEAU.
in Kant, 244.
in Fichte, 245.
in Hegel, 239, 261.
Convention, Law treated as, 8.
Co-operative Societies, 280 note.
Corporation, or Trade Society, 278.,
Cosmopolitanism, 9.
Crawford, Marion, Corleone, 226 note.
Crime, sociological analysis of, 37.
Criminal offence, 262 note.
Crowd, 160 ff.
mind of a, 43.
Culture, 275.
Curtius, E., on Peloponnese, 33 note.
Czar, the (in 1818), 248.
D.
Dante, 31.
Decadence in Rousseau, 85.
Déclassés as a class, 317.
De Coulanges, La Cité Antique, 44.
Demarcation between self-regarding and other regarding action, 64, 68, 76.
Democracy, see ARISTOCRACY.
Democratic principle, 74, 284.
true d. passion, 98.
De Morgan, Prof., Budget of Paradoxes, 20.
Despotic Government, 53.
Deterrent, see PUNISHMENT.
Dicey, The Peasant State, 315.
Difference and Identity compared with Invention and Imitation, 46.
Dijon, Academy of, 85.
District, the, as Ethical Idea, 304 ff.,
Division of Labour, 278.
Dress, 8.
Dreyfus-Brisac, M., editor of Contrat Social, 101.
Duncker, 33 note.
Duproix, Kant et Fichte, 236 ff.
Durkheim, E., Annee Sociologique, 30
De la Division du Travail Social, 34, 37 ff., 43, 220 ff., 227 note, 315.
Duty, dist. right and obligation, 208 ff.
E.
Each, see ALL. Economic view of History, 28. facts, pressure of, 30. world, the, 275. Egoism, see ALTRUISM. Émile, Rousseau’s, 98 note. Emma, Jane Austen’s, 162. End and means in society, 81, 180 ff. of Society and the State, 181. English people, the, 116. Epicureanism, 9. Epiphenomena, 29. Equality and Inequality, natural in Rousseau, 87. Equivalence of punishment and offence, 228. États, 278 note. Eternal Relations, in Montesquieu, 59. Ethical purpose of Philosophy, 50. obligation, paradox of, 55, 139. aspect negative in Spencer and Huxley, 72-3, cp. 124. use and wont, 259. ideas, ch. xi. Être de raison, State is not, 95. “Evangel of a Contrat Social” 14. Examination in Elementary Education, 67. Extenuating circumstances, 231. External aspect of action, 64, 188 ff.
F.
Family meal, the, 301.
Family, monogamous, in Mill, 66, 269 ff., ch. xi.
Faust, 97 note.
Fichte, on Kant, 190 note, ch. ix.
Fiction, historical of contract in Rousseau, 91 ff., 98.
Force, in relation to end of State, ch. viii.
Foreigners Court at Rome, 10.
Form and Matter, in life of peoples, 32.
Freedom, see ROUSSEAU.
Rousseau’s idea of, 237 ff.
and thought (Hegel), 240.
as understood by Kant and Fichte (Hegel), 247.
Freeman, Comparative Politics, 42.
French Republic, 321 note.
Friendly Societies, 280 note.
Fries, 249.
Frontiers, ideal, 321.
Fyffe, History of Modern Europe, 248.
G.
Geddes, Prof. Patrick, “Parasitism,” 26.
“Regional Survey,” 48 note.
General Will, 59, 93, ch. v.
“always right,” 121.
see SOVEREIGNTY.
misunderstanding about (Hegel), 240.
Geneva, Calvin at, 61.
Geneva and Rousseau, 86.
Genevese, Rousseau’s father a, 98.
Giddings, Prof., Principles of Sociology, 18, 51.
Goethe, 41.
Götz, 237.
Golden Age, the, 129.
Good, meaning of, 182.
Good Will, see CONSCIENCE, MORALITY.
Government Departments, legislation by, 285.
Graduation of Punishment, 228.
Gravitation, 19.
Green, T.H., Principles of Political Obligation, 93, 110, 137,
141, 144, 188 ff., 203, 213, 227.
principle of State interference, 193.
criticism of Hegel, 288 ff.
Greeks, poor among, 319.
Grotius, 59.
H.
Happiness, Greek idea of, 321.
Hardenberg, 248.
Hare’s scheme, 310.
Hegel, 13, 27, 203, chs. ix. and x.
Henrici cit. by Green, 203.
Herder, 237.
Herodotus, 136.
Hesiod, 129.
Hindrance of hindrances, in State action, 192 ff., 199.
History of Aesthetic, 235.
Hobbes, 13, 59, 77, 93, 104 ff.
Holland, Prof., 56.
Homer, 31, 135.
Honour, private, in public acts, 324.
Household, 271.
Housing of poor, 198-9.
Howard, “the Philanthropist,” 56.
Humanity, and man, 328 ff.
compared with idea of universal language, 330.
dichotomous appellations for, 330.
Huxley, Prof., Evolution and Ethics, 26 ff., 73.
I.
Ideal, 274.
Ideas, influence of, in economic sphere, 30.
and community, 7.
Identity, see DIFFERENCE.
Imitation and Invention, 43, 211, 252 ff.
Immorality, prevention of, by law, 65.
Indifference of space, 305.
Individual, fuller and narrower meaning of term, 79.
independent existence of, 95.
Individualism, 70, 79, 80, 181.
Individuality, in Mill, 61, cp. 79, 125.
limits of, 176.
highest point of, 313 ff.
Individual Mind, see MIND.
Industrial world, the, 275.
Inequality, see EQUALITY.
Influence, Rousseau’s double, 16.
Insanity, as loss of systematic control, 163.
Institutions, ch. xi., real nature of, 170 ff.
Intention, in theory of State coercion, 188 ff.
Interference by State, ch. viii.
Irreligion, prevention of, by law, 65.
Isonomy, in Greece, 4.
J.
Jacobi, at Geneva, 237.
James, Prof. W., 140, 164.
Joint-stock company and community compared, 76.
Jokai, Maurus, Die Schöne Michal, 316.
Jurisprudence, 34 ff.
Juristic meaning of liberty, 135.
Justice, administration of, 276.
K.
Kant, 13, 59, 190, ch. ix., 263.
Klassenkampf, 275 note.
Klinger, Sturm und Drang, 237.
Kinship and Neighbourhood, struggle of principles, 305.
Kotzebue, murder of, 248.
Krause cit. by Green, 203.
L.
Labourer, an English, and the State, 292. Law of Nature (and of Nations), 10. Law, sociological analysis of, 37. and sentiment, 38. Law, province of, in Mill, 63. Le Bon G., Psychologie des Foules, 43. Legislation, idea of, in Rousseau, 117 ff. Le Play, 28. Letter of the Law, 259, 276. Lévy, Bruhl M., 236 ff. Liberty, ch. vi. in Bentham, 57 ff. Mill’s Liberty, 60 ff. “real”, in Mill, 69. in Spencer and Seeley, 71, 133. see NATURAL, CIVIL, MORAL, JURISTIC. “the quality of man,” 99, 118, 126. in Locke, 101. on convicts chains, 142 note. bare and determinate Liberty contrasted, 194 ff. Life, human, some of its elements, 31. Limitation of earth’s surface, Kant on, 330 note. Locality, mind of, 307. Loch, C.S., 142 note. Locke, 13, 101, 104 ff. Logic of social progress, 258. Lucinde, Schlegel’s, 271.
M.
Mafia, the, 226. Maine, origin of penal law, 227 note. Majority, will of, 4, 5. “tyranny of,” 75, 240. Marriage, prohibition suggested by Mill, 68, 271. Married Women’s Property, 272. Marx, 28, 29 note. Materialism, 28 ff. Matter and form, in life of peoples, 32. Maximisation, 187. Means, see END. Medical Charities of London, 290 note. Merrie England, 129 note. Metternich, 249. Mill, J.S., 60 ff., 82, 118, 190, 194. Mind and body of community, 7. as a structure of systems, 173. as a reflection of society, 174. see ASSOCIATION, ORGANISATION, APPERCIPIENT MASSES. subjective and objective, 254-5. absolute, 255. of Society, 296. Minority, see MAJORITY. Mommsen, 313 note. Monarchy, 284. see ARISTOCRACY. Monasticism, 302. Montesquieu, 13, 40, 59. Moral freedom in Rousseau, 98, 100. Morality, province of, in Mill, 63. of conscience, 259. of State action, 322. Moralität, 265.
N.
Napoleon, 294.
Nation-State, 3, n, 116, 321 ff.
Natural Law, 133 note.
Natural Liberty in Rousseau, 97.
Natural Right, 10 ff., 59.
on biological basis, 70.
Nature, 128 ff.
in Aristotle, 130 ff.
as self-assertion, 27.
State of, in Rousseau, 86.
in Burlamaqui, 132.
Neighbourhood, see KINSHIP, 308.
Nettleship, R.L., 79 note, 146.
Newman, W.L., edition of Aristotle’s Politics, 33 note.
New Testament, 10.
Newton, Sir Isaac, 20.
Nihilism, Administrative, see ABSOLUTISM.
O.
Obligation, ethical and political, 55.
enforcement of moral, 67 ff.
dist. right, 206.
Offer for Sale, a public matter, 278.
Organisation of ideas or persons opp. Association, 156 ff., 162.
Organism, comparison of society to, in Fichte, 245.
Origin of Inequality (Rousseau’s Discourse), 86.
“Others,” in Society, 58, 66, 83, 113, 182, 207.
see INTERFERENCE.
P.
Parsimony, political, 185. Paternal Government, 270. Pattison, Rev. Mark, on Calvin, 60. Person or Persona in Law and Politics, 12, 93, 104. Phenomenology, 254 note. Philanthropy and public honours, 219 note. Philosopher, ancient, compared with Sociologist, 18. Philosophical Theory described, 1. Philosophy, purpose of, 50. relation to social good, 333. of Right (or Law) of Kant, 243. of Hegel, 247 ff. its position in Philosophy of Mind, 522 ff. of Fichte, 244. Pirate, the (Scott), 162. Plato, 5 ff., 20, 27, 32, 55, 74 note, 131, 139, 142, 218 note, 221, 253, 297. Police State, 273. Political Economy, 27, 273. Political Obligation, paradox of, 55. Political Speculation, in 17th century, Politics and Science, relations of, 5. Poor, the, as a class, 316, 320. Poore, G.V., Rural Hygiene, 34 note. Dwelling House, 233 note. Position in society, dist. Right and Obligation, 205. Property, 260, 302. Proportional systems, Stout on, 165. Protection, mere, as function of the State, 276. of children’s earnings, 272. Protestant consciousness, 263. Psychology, a natural science, 49. two tendencies in, 51. Public or State action, dist. private, 322. Public opinion, 287. Publicity of discussion, 285. Punishment, ch. viii., 37 ff., 220 ff. right of capital, in Rousseau, 90. Purposes and conditions in Greek philosophers, 32. Pyramids, 278.
R.
“Real” Will, ch. v., and Actual, contrasted, 118. Rebellion, duty of, 213-4. Re-establishment of Sciences and Arts (Rousseau’s Discourse), 85. Referendum, 105 note. Reformation of offenders, see PUNISHMENT. Religion and State, 285, 333. Repetition, 44. Representation of the People, 104. Representative Government, 115, 244. Republic of Plato criticised, 274. Republic of San Marino, 106. Retribution, see PUNISHMENT. Return to Nature, 8, 23. Returns in Social Science, 42 note. Revolution, French, 14. Reward, 217 ff. Richard the Second, Shakespeare’s, 12. Right, science of, 34 ff. see PHILOSOPHY OF RIGHT. of first occupant, 99. dist. obligation, 206. unrecognized, 210. Rights, natural, 35 ff. in Bentham and Spencer, 70 ff. in Rousseau, 99. system of, 127, 201 ff. negative basis of, 191. sphere of, 258-9. Ritchie, Prof., Natural Rights, 12, 14 note, 88. Rogers, J.D., 17 note. Roman Jurisprudence, 10. Roman Rule, 10. Rousseau, 13 40, 59, 70 note, 74, chs. iv. and v., 142 note. his idea of freedom, 237-8. on force and right, 238 n., 282. Ruskin (quoted) 252 n.
S.
St. Paul, 29. Salamis, 115. Scheme, general, in thought and in society, 162 ff. unconscious operation of, 166. Schiller, Rauber and Letters on Aesthetic Education, 237. Scott, Sir Walter, 162. Seamanship, Technical training in, 192 note. Seeley, J., 42 note, 133. Self, the given, 143. Self-assertion and self-restraint, 27, 72. Self-government, ch. iii., 101, 139, 155, 134, 334 Self-improvement as freedom, 144 ff. Self-mastery, Plato’s account of, 139. Self-regarding conduct, 62 ff. Shakespeare, 31. Sidgwick, Prof., 44, 88. Similarities, etc., in social consciousness, 43. Sittlichkeit, see Moralität. Slavery, 8, 69. Social contract, 59, ch. vi. see “Contrat Social“ groups compared with appercipient masses, 169. Logic, 43. observance = ethical use and wont, 259. Physics, 20. Spirit, 40, 122. Science, ch. ii. Socialism, 318. Society as self-restraint, 27, 73. for Greeks implies self-assertion, 73 note. as a psychical whole, 175, 178. and Individual, demarcation between, 62, 64. relation to plurality of individuals, 176. dist. State, 184. as restraint, 27. compared with animal species, 23. compared with individual organism, 24. as viewed by Philosophy, 50. Sociologists, criticism of, 21 ff. Sociology, ch. ii. Socrates, 5 ff., 265. Sophists, 265. Soul and Commonwealth, 6, see MIND. Sources in Sociology, 47. Sovereign, fallacy respecting, in Rousseau, 94 ff. nature of, 103, 108. Sovereignty, as exercise of General Will, 232 ff. of people, 282. Spencer, Herbert, 24 ff., 69 ff., 82, 145. Spinoza, 14 ff. Standard of Life, 30. Stände, 278 note. State, see CITY-STATE AND NATION-STATE. dist. Bourgeois Society, 27, 93, 273. not an abstraction, 95. inclusive notion of, 150 ff. interference by, ch. viii. analysis of, ch. x. dist. Society, 184. v. Nature, 237. actual and ideal, 250. political organism, 269, 280 ff. and Religion, 285. Regulation, 277. Statistics, 42. Status to Contract, Durkheim, 277. Steinthal, 164. Stephen, Mr. Leslie, on cruelty, 326 note. Stoicism, 9, 263. Stout, G.F., Analytic Psychology, 49, 162 note, 165 note. Struggle for life, 23. Subjectivity, 274. Successes in social research, not due to Sociology, 22. Suggestion in Society, 45, 183. Super-organic, 26. Supply and Demand, 277 ff. Survival of fittest, see STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. Sutherland, A., Origin and Growth of the Moral Instinct, 27 note.
T.
Tacitus, Annals and Germania, 129.
Tarde, G., 43 note, 44 ff.
Teleological character of Philosophy, 52.
Themistocles, 114.
Theories of the first look, 80, 82, 96, 144.
Theory, society compared to, 258.
Thomson’s Seasons, 237.
Thring, Life of, 197 note.
Thucydides, 218 note.
Tithe, the, 318.
Trade Societies, 277, 279 ff., 283.
Traffic returns, French, 43.
Training for Seamanship, 192 note.
Transvaal, 315.
Truth, meaning of, 182.
U.
Uniqueness of service, 25, 314.
United States of America, 284, 321.
Units, Delimitation of political, 185.
Unity of Social Mind, 177.
Universal good and common good, 110.
Judgment dist. Judgment of Allness, 112 ff.
Self, realised not solely in State, 332 ff.
Universe of Discourse, 163.
Unlawful Games, Statutes respecting, 66.
V.
Valet, the psychological, 292.
Vegetarianism, 8.
Vengeance dist. retribution, 227.
Vico, New Science, 13, 17, 40.
Virtue, 268.
W.
Wallace, Prof. W., Lectures and Essays, 85.
Hegel’s Philosophy of Mind, 249, 265.
War, dist. hunting, 212.
Wartburg, demonstration at, 248.
Water-drinking, 8.
Webb, Mr. and Mrs., 22 note.
Wilhelm Meister’s Lehrjahre cit., 273 note.
Will, Real or General, 96, ch. v.
in Hobbes and Locke contrasted, 106.
of All contrasted with General, 111.
Real with Actual, 118.
that wills itself, 146.
implies a whole, 177.
particular, how universalised, 267.
see SOVEREIGNTY, SOCIAL OBSERVANCE.
Wycliffite cry, 12.