In dealing with a subject so indefinite in its limits as the progress of morals in the nineteenth century, it may be well to establish by a brief survey of previous facts some solid basis upon which to rest the discussion.
The notion of Duty or of moral obligation—i. e., of well-doing viewed in the abstract and outside of expediency—does not appear to have been brought forward by the Greek philosophers, to whom is mainly due the origin of our own conceptions with regard to morality.
Even Plato, who dealt with nearly all duties, while insisting especially upon the negative duty of committing no injustice or evil, even against one’s foes, nowhere systematically treats of Duty. Indeed, the Greek equivalent for the word did not exist in his time, and the notion was conveyed by a periphrase.
That morals have a bearing upon the welfare and character not only of the individual and of the family, but of the whole body politic, was however early recognized. Theognis, for instance, who lived in the sixth century B. C., stigmatized in the most energetic terms the evil influence exercised upon the destiny of nations by the immorality of the upper classes.
In the earlier schemes of civilization, where worship played a dominant political rôle, morals were regarded as under the protection of the sacred law. Worship and law were closely united in the government, and morals were included in these and governed by motives of expediency.
Man’s obligation to the Deity was then mainly confined to material offerings and propitiatory rites, whilst the law dealt with conduct in so far as order must be enforced, authority respected, and certain mutual rights recognized, if the welfare of the nation was to be maintained.
That the moral standards of these early societies were high cannot be doubted. Those which prevailed in ancient Egypt, as preserved to us in the maxims of sages, as well as in certain chapters of the sacred books, prove that the rule of conduct which was to insure to the subjects of the Pharaohs respect and popularity in this world and happiness in the world to come was in no way inferior to our own. The men who taught their contemporaries “Do not save thy life at the cost of another” had little to learn from the high-bred Parisians who recently escaped unhurt from the burning walls of the French Charity Bazaar.
For the Greek thinkers, however, who first systematically dealt with the subject, Ethics was a branch of Politics, i. e., the Science of Government. Aristotle, like Socrates and Plato, took for the starting point of his argument the sovereign good, or the idea of absolute well-being. All that man undertakes has an aim which, under analysis, is found to be the greatest advantage to him who is acting. Accordingly all knowledge tends to this end; and as all its elements are more or less connected, there must be one, the final end of which is essential; this is the political science which aims at the highest well-being not only of each man, but of man collectively, i. e., of society.
The nature of this highest “well-being,” which is generally termed “happiness,” gave rise among Greek philosophers to discussions which have been revived by modern thinkers.
It may therefore be stated that in ancient thought, at least until the time of the Stoics, morals and virtue were studied, whether in connection with religion or with politics, under the light of expediency rather than under that of abstract right, and that “they were discussed as functions more than as moral obligations.”
The fullness of significance which at present is conveyed in the word “Duty” is mainly due to the gradual and complex development of religious, legal, and philosophical modes of thought, in which certain human acts are regarded as enjoined and others as forbidden by a higher power, and in which conscience enters as an important and ever increasing factor. A sense of duty is the legitimate product of human nature under cultivation. But although we should look in vain among the ancients for the abstract notions which the words “Conscience, Duty, and Right” evoke in the modern mind, we find in groping our way up the stream of time that germs of these concepts had long lain concealed in the precepts of ancient moralists. The fact of virtue existed long before it was made the subject of theoretical systems, and if with the development of the reasoning faculty our moral code has been elaborated and our ethical terminology enriched, broadly speaking, the rules of conduct laid down by civilized men in the remote past and those which govern us to-day are, in kind, virtually the same. Thou shalt not kill; Thou shalt not steal; Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife; Thou shalt not bear false witness, are coeval with the beginnings of communities. It is in the scope and degree of their application—not in their nature—that mainly lies the difference existing in this respect between the past and the present.
In the highest stage of our moral development the unselfishness which seeks gratification in the welfare of others and in duty accomplished, at the cost of self, may in final analysis be reduced to a refined egoism. The motive held up to man by most moralists is still expediency. The reward, whether it is promised on this earth or in the world to come, is still a reward, and to the “greatest advantage of him who is acting.”
Moreover, moral standards to-day, as in the past, have a strong bearing upon political government, and it is in studying the development of democratic ideas that we may best follow the evolution of modern ethics as characteristic of our epoch; for to this development is due a higher sense of justice, the recognition of the rights of men and of the unimportance of the ego as compared with the race, all of which form distinctive features of the modern creed for which the words “altruism” and “humanitarianism” have been coined. It may also be said, to the honor of the present century, that there exists a growing tendency to accept abstract truth and right outside of expediency as standards of conduct, and to apply these regardless of sex, class, or persons according to the inflexible logic of a trained reason.
Two thousand years ago Christianity established itself upon the wreck of ancient civilizations, preserving that which in them was immortal. Grafted upon the Roman world, the gospel of democracy which it preached could be accepted as the official religion of the Empire only at the cost of its own purity. How could God and Mammon rule together? How could a Constantine rise to an understanding of the Teacher who said: “Ye know that they which are accounted to rule over the Gentiles exercise lordship over them, and their great ones exercise authority over them.... But so shall it not be among you; but whosoever will be great among you shall be your minister; and whosoever of you will be the chiefest shall be servant of all.” (St. Mark x. 42–44.) Christ had established religion among his followers as distinct from worship. The people soon relapsed into worship, whilst for the clergy theology took the place of religion.
With the alliance formed between Church and State in the Christian community, much of the Sermon on the Mount was necessarily forgotten; many of the parables in which the Teacher embodied his doctrine of justice, of tolerance, of love and humility, were to lose their living force. Under the banner of faith, conduct sank to the second rank. The dry subtleties of scholasticism helped to crush morality beneath the words and formulæ of a learned dialectic. Although for centuries the spirit of Christ continued to protect the weak and the lowly, although from the very body of the Church, then ever ready in its arrogance to cast its anathemas upon every effort of man to assert his freedom, sprang reformers who endeavored to restore to the gospel some of its early significance, the Church strayed ever farther from its founder. Was this because, as Michelet said, the reformers themselves needed reforming? Once more man found himself crushed under the law which Christ had declared was made for him, until, at last, in the forcible words of Mr. Darmesteter, of all the Teacher’s lessons Christian Rome seemed to remember only one, “Return unto Cæsar that which is Cæsar’s.” However fiercely monarchy might struggle against the temporal encroachments of the Church, it joined with it to repress the people. “Authority rested upon a mystery. Its right came from above. Power was divine. Obedience to it was a sacred duty and inquiry became a blasphemy.”
Then from the great schools and universities the developing intellect of Europe awakened to a sense of its rights. Suddenly there came inquiries into the reality of this spiritual power over human souls and over the human understanding which Rome claimed to be derived from Heaven. In its revolt against dogma, from Abélard and Arnold di Brescia to Huss and Wickliff, from Luther and Pascal to Voltaire and Rousseau, the human thought struggled for freedom under the banner of learning and of reason, and fought for the rights of the people against the privileged few. “I will not speak of tolerance,” cried Mirabeau, in his plea for the emancipation of the Jews in the National Convention (1791); “the freedom of conscience is a right so sacred that even the name of tolerance involves a species of tyranny.”
At the close of the last century, freedom at last planted its standard in Europe above the ruins of despotism. In the fiery torrent which swept away the ancient traditions of the Church, as well as those of the State, it seemed for a time as though religion as well as the church, right as well as might, must disappear from the surface of the earth, and that, in the smoke of battles and the revelry of reason, truth and morals must perish and anarchy prevail. But a moral rule is indispensable to society, and “Religion is after all but the highest expression of human science and of human conscience.” Its germ, innate in man, grows with his understanding in its constant strain to establish a relation between himself and the universe.
To the moral chaos that for a brief space followed the overthrow of the old order of things succeeded, in the beginning of this century, a period of readjustment, and now, in the words of a poet whose own mental processes are a type of those of his time, “Of a hopeless epoch is born a fearless age.”
After the absolute negations of the early years of the nineteenth century, after the violent controversies not only of arrogant science and of prejudiced faith, but of scientific and theological schools inter se which fill the serious literature of the last generations, a reconciliation between faith and science is taking place, a certain unity of thought is being reached with regard to conduct and to the rights of men. And the century, at its close, shows us the Protestant churchman less tenacious of his dogma, the Romanist less certain of the infallibility of Rome, the scholar less convinced of the infallibility of his science, the agnostic less boastful of his skepticism, the monarchist awakened from his dreams of a divine right of kings and of a preordained subjection of men, the socialist sobered of his revolutionary frenzy and repudiating the extremes of anarchy and nihilism born of his earlier teachings, all marching shoulder to shoulder under the banner of a broad tolerance toward a common goal, in a united effort to lift the masses from the depths of poverty, ignorance, vice, and often crime, to which centuries of repression seemed to consign them, and seeking in friendly coöperation to bring about a better social order.
For in our time has taken place a great broadening of the moral standpoint from which the old rules of conduct are in future to be applied. Toward the end of the last century the equality and fraternity of men was proclaimed to the European world and received a baptism of blood. This official declaration of the rights of men professed to be universal; but, like other dispensations that had preceded it, in its application it fell short of the democratic ideal. All men were declared equal, yet with striking inconsistency those who proclaimed the new creed held others in bondage, and race disqualification survived.
The honor of leading in the greatest moral reform which the world has seen is due to the French Revolutionary leaders. On February 2, 1794, the Convention decreed the abolition of slavery throughout the French colonies, and all slaves were admitted to the rights of citizenship. It was only in 1833 that slavery was abolished in the British colonies by Act of Parliament, and that coolie labor was substituted. In 1861 Emperor Alexander II., following the policy inaugurated by his father, Nicholas I., freed the serfs in Russia. It is a curious fact that the United States, which for many reasons might have been expected to lead in the movement, only followed in 1863. The terrible struggle of the public conscience against expediency and class interest, which then took place upon this continent, must form one of the most important lessons which this century will offer to posterity.
Right prevailed, and with this triumph of justice the human conscience, throwing aside casuistry and evasion for a time, faced its problems honestly and asserted its own sovereignty.
The consequences of the mighty struggle did not stop here. Once the principles of abstract justice established, not only against might but against tradition and expediency; once the rights not only of men (as in 1776 and in 1789), but of all men, recognized in a broader application of the principles of a true democracy, there came a tendency to extend its application to mankind at large; and women, who according to their station in life had hitherto been dealt with theoretically as either useful or ornamental possessions, began to find their place as members of the community. The rights of slaves as men had been officially proclaimed. The rights of women as citizens began to be discussed.
In the widespread shifting of levels which has taken place in the last hundred years, affecting directly and indirectly the moral progress of all classes of society, certain important elements have entered which cannot be overlooked in the present discussion, and which in future ages must stand as preëminently characteristic of the nineteenth century and the Anglo-Saxon ascendency.
The reign of machinery in the industrial world, the advent of steam, of electricity, of compressed air, as motors, have done away with the human machine. Whether in peace or in war the skilled workman has crowded him out. Labor-saving inventions have done away with the necessity for a multiplicity of hands. The need to-day is for trained heads. From evaporated fruit and canned meats to heat, light, and inter-communication, science is brought to bear upon every detail of existence. As an immediate consequence of the part necessarily played by learning in our industrial and commercial life under modern conditions, public education has become the mainspring of national prosperity. Freedom and public education have made our laboring classes the self-respecting, thinking people they are. The human automaton upon which formerly played the greed, the vice, the craft of others now holds a comparatively small place in the modern community, outside of Latin Europe. The “vile multitude,” as M. Thiers still stigmatized it (before he turned republican), no longer exists. The world has moved, and so have men.
“If the shuttle would weave of itself,” said Aristotle in his apology for slavery, “there would be no need of slaves.” The miracle, which seemed impossible to the founder of science, has been accomplished with the predicted result. The shuttle weaves of itself and slavery has disappeared.
Even in Oriental lands, under Anglo-Saxon supremacy the carrying out of great public works is stimulating a demand for education among the people, and the sum total of ignorance and poverty is gradually decreasing and making way for better conditions; for only a trained hand guided by a trained intellect can use the modern tools. This applies to agriculture as well as to industries.
In the rising tide of intellectual and material progress, woman has been carried along to a great extent unconsciously. It is a matter of grave doubt whether the early “suffragists” did more than be the first to recognize and herald the logical drift of contemporary events. It is through higher education that woman has quietly forged her way to the place she occupies in the modern community, and that she is claiming her share of the common heritage of freedom and independence. The prophecy embodied in Bulwer’s “Coming Race” is being realized. From year to year her sphere is broadening. She is fast becoming self-supporting. In education she already holds a leading place. Her influence as a moving force is becoming patent. It is officially recognized to a varying degree in certain parts of the civilized world,—England, New Zealand, Russia, and twenty-two of the United States, where she stands before the law not only in her relation to man as his mother, wife, or sister, but in a direct relation to society, as a reasoning being and as a citizen.
The increased self-respect born in woman’s mind of a consciousness of equal training and culture, the growing number of women whose ambitions have been stimulated to higher achievement, and the consequent increasing influence wielded by them in the community, suggest the thought that in time their legal status will be generally established, as it already is now in several localities.
Much leveling has taken place since the abolition of the “ancient régime,” not only in the relations of the various classes composing society, but in the relation of men and women. The process is still steadily going on. And it is not unreasonable to believe that, with the gradual elevation of the ideals of one half of the population,—that half which is in control of the early training of children of both sexes,—a common standard of character and morality may in time be acknowledged which will admit of but one rule by which the actions of mankind, without distinction of persons, class, or sex, may be measured. The fact that all distinction in favor of the privileged class has already been removed in the eyes of modern public opinion holds out such a hope. The casuistry which still discriminates between evil-doers can but retard moral progress, and the more earnestly modern parents urge upon their sons the same observance of the laws of hygiene and propriety, of truth and self respect, as they exact from their daughters, the nearer to true civilization will society reach.
The world is yet far from this goal. No legislative act has as yet saved society from the ravages of vice, sensuality, and greed, and to-day every degree of savagery and immorality still exists in so-called civilized countries. Education, taking the word in its broadest sense, can alone, by its refining influence, force the savage to give way before reasoning man. And it is by the constantly increasing proportion of educated, self-respecting men and women that the coarser instincts of the human race are being controlled and brought to yield to reason. By holding up the same standards of conduct to humanity, the important place occupied by casuistry and expediency, in the discussion of the ethical problems set before the moralist, may be reduced, and a logical facing of the serious issues to be met may follow. Such a result must tend to strengthen the marriage tie and the family relation, upon which rests the whole moral structure of society.
At present, modern casuistry, if it no longer seeks to justify falsehood and crime committed on behalf of Church or State, still exonerates, in the world of affairs, the high railroad official or the industrial magnate of an infraction of the higher code by which his own personal integrity is judged, provided that infraction is committed in the interest of his constituents. Many a man of high standing, whose personal honor is beyond suspicion and whose conscience would not allow him to take an unfair advantage of another, does not hesitate to transgress when dealing with rival corporate bodies or with public interests. Hence the corruption which prevails in public life to a degree dangerous to the commonwealth, and which is in direct contradiction with the professed standards of the age. Must we then think that living up to the highest moral standard is incompatible with business success, and agree with M. Jules Lemaître that “the attaining to moral perfection is really possible only in the solitude of literary or artistic pursuits, in the humility of manual labor, or in the dignity of such disinterested functions as those of priest or soldier”?
However this may be, new conditions have created new problems which the public conscience alone can solve—as it has already solved that of slavery and of race—with unflinching logic.
The human mind, if less concerned than it was in the days of Molina with polemics on the nature of the human will,—a question, by the way, which Rome after eleven years and thirty-three Councils dared not then settle,—or with theological controversies regarding the value of indulgences, is not yet at peace with itself. Indeed, for being less immaterial, the issues now before it for adjustment are, owing to their bearing upon practical life, all the more vital to the moral health of the body politic.
To the respective rights and duties of labor and capital our best thinkers must turn their attention before an equitable solution can be reached. That such a solution must be reached cannot be doubted, for the interests at stake are fundamental.
Whilst individualism in thought and in conduct asserts itself at every turn, never were the principles of organization so actively carried out among all classes of society. To the strain caused by the forming of trades unions and of united labor leagues for the protection of the wage-earner is now succeeding the danger produced by the concentration of capital in the hands of powerful corporations and the creation of mighty trusts, the undue extension of which in this country seems to threaten the prosperity of the nation and to add to its political corruption. As against these monopolies, public ownership and operation of common utilities is being successfully tried, notably in England and the British Colonies, and the honest municipalization of all community service, carried on as the post-office is carried on among us, results in positive benefit to the people, that is, in good wages and reduced taxes. To discuss these important problems would encroach upon the domain of political economy and social science; but there is no doubt that the public morality is closely dependent upon their solution.
Whether so-called civilized nations, whilst regarding murder as a capital offense and punishing dueling when indulged in by individuals, will long continue to train their best men at enormous expense, in order that in cold blood they may scientifically destroy the greatest possible number of other trained and equally good men; whether peaceful communities of practical tradesmen will some day cease to emulate barbarians in their rejoicings over the slaughter of so-called enemies whom they are individually prepared to befriend and whose prowess they are ready to extol, are glaring contradictions offered by the problem of war which must be left to future generations to reconcile. The leading part which the Anglo-Saxon race has taken in urging arbitration as a proper means of settling international differences places it in the foremost rank of civilization; whilst the Peace Conference proposed by one of Europe’s most powerful potentates, the Czar of Russia, must bring a ray of hope to the hearts of those who labor for the advent of universal peace.
Such are the great moral issues of the present day; and in these many minor ones are included. Everywhere and at all periods of history the theory of ethics has widely differed from practical conduct. The race conflict which is taking place in France as the result of the Dreyfus trial, more than a century after the emancipation of the Jews before the law was proclaimed, is a late illustration of this fact. To this, the corruption and failure of justice which recent exposures have revealed in the highest circles of republican France add peculiar significance. As already stated, the broad outlines established in precept remain unchanged, and it is in their logical application that lie all present growth and future hope.
To trace, even in sketchy outline, the debit and credit account of modern ideas upon the various subjects involved in the above mentioned issues would be a serious undertaking. A chapter must be devoted to each nation, for the moral progress of each differs as does its besetting sin. Moreover, every shade of opinion must be weighed and considered. Inherited traditional views are, in each modern mind, hopelessly interwoven with the new articles of a code of morals which public opinion is even now evolving from contemporary conditions. “Each of us,” says Edmond Schérer, “belongs to two civilizations, that which is coming and that which is going; and as we are accustomed to the first, we are poorly placed to judge or enjoy the latter.”
There never was an epoch when the struggle for existence was fiercer and when earthly possessions were more keenly prized. But despite the many survivals which still point to a semi-barbaric inheritance of selfishness descended through millenniums, a decided moral gain may, on the whole, be placed to the credit of our era. With the decrease of the sum total of ignorance, not only among the lower but among the upper classes, the sum total of well-doing and well-being has immeasurably increased.
The sympathy for suffering is more widespread than it has ever been. No middle-aged person can fail to note the rapid change which has taken place in the public mind with regard to the general treatment not only of children, but of animals. The present mode of dealing with school children according to their individual capacity, the trust in their honor which governs their relation to the teacher, the absence of any corporal punishment, form a recent departure in education well calculated to produce the best moral results.
The improvement of modern methods in relief work as well as in the treatment of vice—now viewed more in the light of a pathological condition than in that of a sin—must make this a memorable epoch in the ethical history of humanity. No branch of civilization has undergone greater change in modern times both in theory and practice than public and private charity. To-day the humanitarian endeavors to lift up the fallen and the needy, and almsgiving on the part of the well-to-do is fast becoming relegated to the category of a self-indulgence which is not to be encouraged. The distinction between the old methods and the new is given in the formula that “henceforth the chief test of charity will be the effect upon the recipient.” Any relief calculated to undermine self-reliance and independence is discouraged by those who have in view the prevention of our moral ills rather than their relief.
Indeed, the new school preaches scientific charity as against emotional charity. What it may have lost in impulse it has more than made up in effectiveness. The attempt to teach the needy to help themselves, the work of college settlements and of the organized efforts in the poorest and most neglected districts of large cities, with a view to fostering by personal contact and example habits of thrift and self-respect where those virtues are most lacking, are among the truest if more homely glories of the closing century.
Verily, never was a more thoughtful effort made everywhere to mitigate the cruel distinctions of race and sex, of wealth and poverty, and to “harmonize the social antagonisms” of modern life. Never was so much consideration given to the betterment of humanity, nor was the aggregate of earnestness so great.
In our more robust intellectual world the tree is judged by its fruit, and acts tell, not creed. The principle that well-doing, unless it is disinterested, forfeits its claim to the highest respect of men, is growing in strength, whilst the feeling is gaining ground among the thoughtful that in the development of personality may be found a sufficient motive for the exercise of virtue, and that character, not reward, being not having, are the highest aims.
If we resume the moral progress of the nineteenth century, allowing for its inconsistencies, carefully weighing its negative and positive results, and taking as a balance what is original in its contribution to the ethical development of the human race, we will find that this contribution mainly lies in the direction of tolerance and of altruism. This altruism is distinct from the charity of St. Vincent, which sacrificed self in a loving attempt to relieve individual distress. Such pure sacrifice, admirable as it is, is not only narrow in its scope, but because of its austerity must fail to survive in the struggle for existence. Modern altruism aims at removing the main cause of individual distress, and spends itself in educational efforts, in which the well-doer finds happiness in the consciousness of usefulness. It is also unlike the socialism of Condorcet, which reached down in an endeavor to make all institutions subservient to the interests of the poorer and most numerous classes, for it aims at lifting these to the highest possible plane. The mountain summits are not to be lowered, but the valleys are being filled. To raise the people, to build up, not to tear down, is the avowed end of all modern moral effort, and must ever stamp the humanitarian struggles of the present age as distinct from those of the eighteenth and preceding centuries.
With this we may claim an increase in individual freedom, and a perceptible tendency to a logical and ever broadening conception, not only of the rights, but of the duties of citizenship; to a more honest recognition of the place assigned by expediency to evil in the social and business intercourse of a practical life; to a growing scorn of casuistry, and to a stronger faith in the reality of right and of abstract truth as they are revealed in every thinking man’s heart, and the uniformity of which is reflected in the public conscience.