Samuel P. Orth - "The Armies of Labor"

Louisa May Alcott - "Jack and Jill"

John Lothrop Motley - "The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1567"

Clara Ingram Judson - "Mary Jane: Her Book"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: Problems of Conduct

D >> Durant Drake >> Problems of Conduct




Duty is the name we give virtue when she is opposed to inclination.
She is the representative at the helm of our conduct of all absent
or undeveloped impulses. The saints have no need of the concept; virtue
to them is easy and agreeable; they have learned the beauty of holiness
and have no unruly longings. Sometimes this happy adjustment of desire
to need has been won by severe struggle; the dangerous impulses have
been trained to come to heel through many a painful sacrifice. In other
cases an approximation to this ideal state is the result of early
training; by skillful guidance the growing boy or girl has had his
safe impulses fostered and his perilous desires atrophied with disuse.
The proverb, "Bring up a child in the way he should go, and when he
is old he will not depart there from," has much truth in it. But no
parent and no man himself can ever breathe quite safe; we can never
tell when some submerged animal instinct will rise up in us, stun all
our laboriously acquired morality into inactivity, and bring on
consequences that in any cool headed moment we should have
known enough to avoid. Thus duty, although she is the truest friend
and servant of happiness, figures as her foe. And some moralists,
realizing vividly the frequent need of opposing inclination, have
generalized the situation by saying that happiness cannot be our
end. "Foolish Word-monger and Motive grinder," shouts Carlyle,
"who in thy Logic-mill hast an earthly mechanism for the Godlike itself,
and wouldst fain grind me out Virtuefrom the husks of Pleasure,
I tell thee, Nay! Is the heroic inspiration we name Virtue but
some Passion, some bubble of the blood, bubbling in the direction
others PROFIT by? I know not; only this I know, If what thou namest
Happiness be our true aim, then are we all astray. 'Happy,' my brother?
First of all, what difference is it whether thou art happy or not!
'Happiness our being's end and aim,' all that very paltry speculation
is at bottom, if we will count well, not yet two centuries old in the
world" [Footnote: Sartor Resartus: "The Everlasting No" Past and
Present: "Happy" Leaving aside this last statement, which is an
irrelevant untruth, we probably feel an instinctive sympathy with
Carlyle, and a sort of shame that we should have thought of happiness
as the goal of conduct. Carlyle goes so far in his tirades as to call our
happiness-morality a "pig philosophy," which makes the universe out
to be a huge "swine's trough" from which mankind is trying to get the
maximum "pigs" wash. Again he calls it a "Mechanical Profit-and-Loss
theory" In such picturesque language he embodies a point of view
which in milder terms has been expressed by many.] But to say that we
must often oppose inclination in the name of duty is by no means to say
that we must do what in the end will make against happiness. The trouble
with inclination and passion is precisely that they are often ruiners of
happiness. The very real and frequent opposition of desire and duty is
no support of the view that duty is irrelevant to happiness, but quite
consistent with the rational account of morality-that dates at least back
to the ancient Greeks-which shows it to be the means to man's most
lasting and widespread happiness.

Must we deny that duty is the servant of happiness?

We may go on to point out various flaws in the doctrine, of which
Carlyle is one of the extreme representatives, that the account of
morality as a means to happiness is immoral and leads to shocking
results.

(1) The plausibility of the doctrine rests largely on its confusion
with the very different truth that we should not make happiness our
conscious aim. It is one of the surest fruits of experience that
happiness is best won by forgetting it; he that loses his life shall
truly find it. To think much of happiness slides inevitably over into
thinking too much of present happiness, and more of one's own than
others' happiness; it leads to what Spencer properly dubs "the pursuit
of happiness without regard to the conditions by fulfillment of which
happiness is to be achieved." Carlyle is practically on the right track
in bidding us think rather of duty, of work, of accomplishment. But
that is far from denying that these aims have their ultimate
justification in the happiness they forward. In order that remote ends
may be attained, it is often necessary to cease thinking of them and
concentrate the mind upon immediate means. To acquire unconsciousness
of manner, the last thing to do is to aim directly for it; to acquire
happiness, the worst procedure is to make it one's conscious quest.
Yet in the former case the attainment of the ease of manner sought,
and in the latter case the attainment of the happiest life for one's
self and those whom one's action affects is the touchstone which at
bottom determines the method to be adopted. The proper method, we
contend, is-morality. It is the method that Carlyle recommends. So
that in practice we agree with him, while parting with him in theory.

(2) Carlyle evidently has in mind usually the thought that it is one's
own happiness only that is put up as the end by the moralists he
opposes. This was pure misunderstanding, however, or perversity. Other
men's happiness has intrinsic worth (or IS intrinsic worth, for the
word and the phrase are synonymous) as truly as mine; and morality
is concerned quite as much with guiding the individual toward the general
good as toward his own ultimate welfare. To this point we must return,
merely mentioning here the fact that no reputable moralist now preaches
the selfish theory.

(3) A part of Carlyle's ammunition consists in the slurring
connotations which have grown up about the word "pleasure," and even
the word "happiness." Because of the practical need of opposing
immediate in the interests of remoter good, the various words that
designate intrinsic and immediate value have come to have a less worthy
sound in our ears than those words which indicate control for the sake
of more widespread or lasting interests-such as "prudence," "duty,"
and "virtue." Moreover, the word "pleasures" commonly connotes the
minor goods of life in contrast with the great joys, such as the
accomplishment of some worthy task or the service of those we love.
Again, it commonly connotes things passively enjoyed, rather than the
active joys of life, which are practically more important. So that
to condemn "pleasure" as an end arouses our instinctive sympathy. A
"pleasure" is any bit of immediate good, however involved with pain,
however transitory, and dangerous in its effects. "Happiness" generally
refers to a more permanent state of satisfaction, including comparative
freedom from pain; a stable and assured state of intrinsic worth, good
to reflection as well as to sense. Pleasures are easy enough to get,
but this safe state of happiness, full of rich positive worth, and
immune from pain both in action and in moments of retrospect, is far
from easy. Hence it is better to use the word "happiness" for our goal
than the word "pleasure." Carlyle, however, takes "happiness" in the
lower sense and rejects it in favor of what he calls "blessedness."
This gives him the advantage of seeming to have a new and superior
theory. But when we ask what "blessedness" is, it is apparent that
it can be nothing but what we call "happiness" or the living of life
in such a way as to lead to happiness.

(4) There is another important practical insight underlying the
protests of Carlyle and those of his ilk, namely, that it pays to
disregard the minor ills and discomforts of life and keep our thoughts
fixed on the big things. These minor ills do not matter much as they
pass; they are transient, and usually leave little pain for reflection.
It is the fear of them, the complaining about them, the shrinking from
them, the attending to them, that constitutes the greater part of their
badness. Carlyle has the same practical common sense that the Christian
Scientists show; but, as in their case, he lets his practical wisdom
confuse his theoretical insight.

Sympathize, then, as we all must with these anti-happiness preachers,
we may point out that their intuitions are quite compatible with a
sane view of the ultimate meaning of morality. If morality does not
exist for human welfare, what is it good for? And what else can welfare
ultimately be but happiness? Other proposed ends we shall presently
consider. But the happiness-account of morality leads to no dangerous
laxity. If any eudemonistic moralists have lived loosely, it was
because they did not realize what really makes for happiness or had
not strength of will to cleave to it, not because they saw happiness
as the criterion. An immature perception of this as the criterion without
a full recognition of its bearings may have misled some; it is possible
to see a general truth clearly and yet evaluate wrongly in concrete
situations. But the converse of the truth that morality makes for
happiness is the truth that the way to attain happiness is morality.
No lesson could be more salutary. Correct concrete evaluations are
more important than correct abstract generalizations, and Carlyle is
nearly always on the right side in the former. But his influence would
have been still more wholesome if he had added to his sound sermonizing
a sane and clearly analyzed theory.

Does the end justify the means?

Our account of morality may be called the eudemonistic account, from
the Greek eudemonia, happiness, or the teleological account, from
telos, an end. It asserts, that is, that morality is to be judged by
the end it subserves; that end is happiness. We have seen the sort
of protest that arises with respect to the word "happiness." We may
now note a danger that arises from the use of the concept "end"; it
finds expression in the familiar proverb, "The end justifies the means."
Conduct is to be judged by the end it subserves; therefore, if the
end is good any means may be used to attain it. This has been the defense
of much wrongdoing. The Jesuits who lied, slandered, cheated, and
murdered, to promote the interests of the Church, the McNamara
brothers, who dynamited buildings and bridges as a means toward the
final end of attaining for laborers a just share of the fruits of their
labor, the suffragettes who have been burning private houses, sticking
up mail-boxes, and breaking windows, have justified their crimes by
reference to the great ends they expected thereby to attain. What shall
we say to this plea?

(1) The motto means: Conduct in itself undesirable may be justified
IF the end attained is important enough to warrant it. In every case,
then, the question must arise: Is the end to be attained worth the
cost? To justify means that are intrinsically bad, it must be shown
that the end attained is so good as to overbalance this evil. WAS the
advancement of the Church worth the cost in human suffering,
estrangement, and bitterness that the Jesuits exacted? IS the
advancement of labor interests worth the destruction of property and
life, the fostering of class-enmity and of moral anarchism that the
criminal wing of the I. W. W. stands for? ARE votes for women worth
the similar evils which British suffragettes are drifting into? Sometimes
a cause is so important that almost any act is justified in its
advancement. But such cases are rare, at least in modern life. Always
there must be a balancing of good and evil. And the trouble with the
attitude of mind which we have illustrated is that the end sought is
usually not so all-important as to warrant the grave evils which its
seekers cause. When the Titanic was sinking, the boat's officers shot
several men who tried to jump into the lifeboats ahead of the women
and children. It was probably the only way to stop a mad panic stricken
rush, which would have endangered the lives of all as well as broken
the chivalrous code which is worth so much sacrifice. The evil of
shooting down unarmed and frightened men was great; but it was
undoubtedly justified by the end attained. Whether any of the other
instances mentioned are cases where the evil done would be similarly
justified by the end, if thereby attained, we shall not here discuss.
But the principle is evident. The end justifies evil means only if
it is so supremely good as to overbalance that evil.

(2) It is pertinent, however, to add two considerations. First, we
must feel sure that no less harmful means are available. And secondly,
we must feel sure that these evil means are really adapted to attain
the purpose. Is there no other way of securing votes for women than
by the hysterical and criminal pranks our British sisters have been
playing? And will those irritating acts actually forward their cause,
or tend to bring about a revulsion of feeling? Did the crimes of the
Jesuits make the Church triumphant? Not in the long run. Immediate
gains may often be won by unpleasant methods, as in the case of the
Titanic. But when the struggle is bound to be a long one, as in the
case of woman's suffrage and industrial justice, methods which (not
to beg the question) would ordinarily be criminal are seldom in the
end advantageous. The McNamara case hurt the I. W. W. sorely. Suffrage
legislation has possibly been retarded in Britain. And in both cases
there are probably more efficacious, as well as less harmful, ways
of attaining the desired end.

(3) It is strictly true that THE end, human welfare, justifies any
means necessary to attain it. Whatever pain must be caused to bring
about the greatest possible human happiness is thereby exempt from
reprobation. Whatever conduct is necessary for that supreme end BECOMES
morality, or virtue; for that is precisely what morality IS. For
example, it is undoubtedly necessary at times to murder, to steal,
and to lie for the sake of human welfare; in such cases these acts
are universally approved. Only, we give the acts in such cases new
names, that the words "murder," etc, may retain their air of
reprobation. We call murder of which we approve "capital punishment"
or "justifiable homicide" or "patriotic courage." If taking a man's
property without his consent is stealing, then the State steals; but,
approving the act, we call it "eminent domain."

(4) The motto has its chief danger, perhaps, in the tendency it
encourages to ignore remoter consequences for the sake of immediate
gain. This point we will consider under the following topic.

What is the justification of justice and chivalry?

If the greatest total of human happiness is the supreme end of conduct,
was not Caiaphas right in deeming it expedient that one man should
die for the people, even though he were innocent of all sin? Were not
the French army officers sane in preferring to make Dreyfus their
scapegoat rather than bring dishonor and shame upon their army? For
that matter, does not the aggregate of enjoyment of a score of cannibals
outweigh the suffering of the one man whom they have sacrificed to
their appetite, or the delirious excitement with which a brutal crowd
witnesses a lynching overbalance the pain of their solitary victim?
Yet our souls revolt against such things. We cry, ruat caelum, fiat
justitia! Justice is prior to all expediency! Is this irrational, or
can it be shown to be teleologically justifiable?

Justice is undoubtedly justifiable; and the only reason that we ever
hesitate to acknowledge it in any concrete case is that we tend to
overlook indirect and remote results and see only the immediate effect
of action. The harm done by injustice consists not merely in the pain
inflicted upon the victim. There is the sympathetic pain caused in
all those who are at all tender hearted. There is the sense of insecurity
caused in each by the realization that he too might some day be a
victim; when justice is not enforced no man is safe. There is the
stimulation given to human passions by one indulgence which will breed
a whole crop of pain. There is the danger that if injustice is allowed
in one case where a great good seems to warrant it, it will be
practiced in other cases where no such necessity exists. Men are not
to be trusted to judge clearly of relative advantages where their
passions are concerned; they must bind themselves by an inflexible
code. The cases cited are comparatively clear. No one would seriously
contend that cannibalism or lynching, the execution of Christ, or the
banishment of Dreyfus, made in the direction of the greatest happiness
of mankind. But it has been seriously urged that the insane and the
feeble and the morally worthless should be killed off, as they were
in some sterner ancient states. Why should we guarantee life and liberty
to such as are a useless drag upon the community, spend upon them
millions which might be spent for bringing joy and recreation to the
rest of us? Or again, if medical men need a living human victim to
experiment upon, in order to conquer some devastating disease, why
not pounce upon some good-for-nothing member of the community and force
him to undergo the pain? The considerations enumerated in the preceding
paragraph, however, bid us halt. Imagine the anxiety and the anguish
that would be caused if some commission were free to determine who
were insane or feeble or worthless enough to be put out of the way!
Or free to select a human victim for vivisection whenever experts deemed
it wise! The widespread horror and uneasiness of such a regime, the
callousness to suffering it would engender, the private revenges and
crimes that might insidiously creep in under the guise of public good,
are alone enough to render vicious such a procedure.

It is true that one person's suffering is less of an evil than the
suffering of many. The State, by universal consent, inflicts undeserved
suffering upon individuals when the social welfare seems to require
it; as when it takes away a man's beloved acre to built a railroad
or highway, or when it compels vaccination, or when it drafts soldiers
for the national defense and sends them to their death. When a man
volunteers to risk his life or to endure pain for his fellows we
rightly applaud his act. In such a case the ill effects above-mentioned
do not follow, and the gain is clear; in addition, the stimulating
value of the voluntary self-sacrifice is great. The American soldiers,
who risked their lives to rid Cuba and the world of yellow fever, by
offering themselves for inoculation with the disease, stand among the
world's heroes.

It is also true that "rights" are not primitive and transcendent; their
existence rests upon purely utilitarian grounds. The right to liberty
and life is limited by the community's welfare. So is the right to
property. But in estimating advantage we must beware of a superficial
calculation. The concept of justice, and the enthusiasm for it, have
been of enormous value to man's happiness. It is of extreme importance,
from a eudaemonistic standpoint, to cherish that ideal. Even if in
some individual case a greater general happiness would result from
infringing upon it, we cannot afford to do so; we should find ourselves
lapsing into less advantageous habits and incurring unforeseen
penalties.

Chivalry is in like case with justice. It might have seemed better
for the world that the able and distinguished men should have been
saved from the Titanic-some of them were men of considerable importance
in various lines of work-rather than less-needed women. But the effect
of the noble example in strengthening the will to sacrifice self for
others, and in maintaining our beautiful devotion to woman, was worth
the cost. Fox was right when he said, "Example avails ten times more
than precept." Even if the loss had been greater than it was, it would
have been better to incur it than to allow an exception to the code
of chivalry. Such codes are formed with infinite pains and are very
easily shattered; a little laxity here, a tolerated exception there,
and the selfishness and passions of men rise to the surface and undo
the work of years. AT ALL COSTS WE MUST MAINTAIN THE CODE. In the end
it pays. The greatest genius must run the risk of drowning in the
endeavor to save the life of some unknown person who may be a worthless
scamp. He may die and the scamp live, a great loss to the world. But
only so can the code of honor be maintained which in the long run adds
so much positive joy to man and saves him from so much pain.

In most instances, though not in some of those cited, the reward of
justice and chivalry is sufficient for the individual himself. As
Socrates said to Theodoras, [Footnote: Plato, Theoetetus, 176.] "The
penalty of injustice cannot be escaped. They do not see, in their
infatuation, that they are growing like the one and unlike the other,
by reason of their evil deeds; and the penalty is, that they lead a
life answering to the pattern which they resemble." "On the other
hand,"-to supplement Plato with Emerson, [Footnote: Essays, First
Series: "Spiritual Laws." Cf. George Eliot, in Romola: "The
contaminating effect of deeds often lies less in the commission than
the hero the avowal of a just and brave act, it will go unwitnessed
and unloved. One knows it himself and is pledged by it to sweetness
of peace and to nobleness of aim, which will prove in the end a better
proclamation of it than the relating of the incident." And, we may
add, a greater joy.]

But even in view of the cases where no apparent compensation comes
to the individual, the ideals of justice and chivalry, like the more
general concept of duty, are among the most valuable possessions of
man's fashioning. Cross our inclinations as they often do, cost dearly
as they sometimes will, the habit of unquestioning allegiance to them
is one of the greatest of all gains as means to the attainment by
mankind of a stable and assured happiness.

A brief discussion of the conflict of duty and inclination will be
found in Dewey and Tufts, Ethics, chap. XVII, first few pages.
Carlyle's declamations against happiness are too scattered and
unsystematic to make reference to specific chapters useful. The general
point of view may be found, more temperately stated, in F. H. Bradley's
Ethical Studies, the chapter entitled "Why Should I be Moral?"
Contemporary accounts of the nature of obligation will be found in
the International Journal of Ethics, vol. 22, p. 282; vol. 23, pp.
143, 323.

A discussion of the motto, "The end justifies the means" will be found
in F. Paulsen's System of Ethics, book II, and chap. I, sec. 4. The
justification of justice is treated in J. S. Mill's Utilitarianism,
chap. V. [in the consequent adjustment of our desires, the enlistment
of our self-interest on the side of falsity. The purifying influence
of public confession springs from the fact that by it the hope in lies
is forever swept away, and the soul recovers the noble attitude of
simplicity.]




CHAPTER IX


THE JUDGMENT OF CHARACTER

Wherein consists goodness of character?

Character is the sum of a man's tendencies to conduct. Our estimate
of a man's character is a sort of weather forecast of what he will
do in various situations. Goodness of character consists, then, of
such an organization of impulses as will lead to good acts-to acts
productive ultimately of a preponderance of intrinsic good, or happiness.
The blame and approval that attaches in our minds to certain acts becomes
attached also to the disposition that is fruitful of such acts. A good
man is he whose mind is so set and adjusted that it will turn away
from evil deeds and espouse the right. We can say, then, with Dewey
and Tufts, "Goodness consists in active interest in those things which
really bring happiness." [Footnote: Ethics, p. 396.] Similarly, Paulsen
writes, "Virtues may be defined as habits of the will and modes of
conduct which tend to promote the welfare of individual and collective
life." [Footnote: System of Ethics, Eng. p. 475.] And Santayana
puts it more tersely in the statement, "Goodness is that disposition
that is fruitful in happiness." [Footnote: Reason in Common Sense,
p. 144.] It is easy, then, to understand the enthusiasm that men feel
for goodness; it is the resultant of the passionate longing to be
delivered from the domination of evil impulses, the instinctive joy
in splendid and unselfish acts, the sense of relief and gratitude felt
toward those from whom one has nothing to fear. Contrariwise, the
shrinking from a bad man springs primarily from the dread of what he
may do, from the disgust which the sight of his foolish and ruinous
acts inspires and from various other reactions of the spectator which
we need not enumerate. If character were a sort of merely inward
possession, unconnected with conduct, we should not Jeel thus toward
it. Merely to FEEL virtuous is pleasant, but it is not important. Imputed
goodness must be judged by the kind of conduct it yields, and that
conduct in turn by its consequences. "By their fruits ye shall know
them." But this inward disposition, though important chiefly for its
effects, is more important therefore than we are apt to realize. "As
a man thinketh in his heart, so he is." The scientific study of
psychology has emphasized the fact, which is open to everyday
observation, that even secret thoughts and moods influence
inevitably a man's outward acts. What we do depends upon
what we have been thinking and imagining and feeling. The
Great Teacher was right when he bade men refrain not merely
from murder, but from angry thoughts; not merely from adultery,
but from lustful glances; not merely from perjury, but from the
desire to deceive. Epictetus puts it, "What we ought not to do
we should not even think of doing." And Marcus Aurelius writes,
"We should accustom ourselves to think upon othing that we
should hesitate to reveal to others if they asked to know it."
This is sound advice. Without attempting to settle the problem
of determinism or indeterminism, which falls properly within the
sphere of natural rather than of moral philosophy, it is evident
that our conduct is largely the result of that set of potentialities
which we call character, that our happiness is in great degree
shaped by our inward mental states.