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3. We find, too, the analogue of that wider appeal to nature which
suffused the Stoic doctrine with religious feeling. In the above brief
recapitulation of the steps in the self-realization doctrine I have
omitted this aspect, as I wished to confine myself to the ethical
doctrine pure and simple. But Green conceives of the Divine Consciousness
as already having before it the consummation toward which man strives in
his efforts at self-realization; he regards man as working toward the
attainment of a Divine Purpose. The self-realizationist may prefer,
sometimes, to use language more abstract. He may say: "Man's
consciousness of himself as a member of society involves a reference to a
cosmic order." [Footnote: MUIRHEAD, The Elements of Ethics, Book I,
chapter in, Sec 10.] But the difference of language scarcely carries with
it a substantial difference of thought. [Footnote: "Though the
philosopher as such may shun the term 'God' on account of its
anthropomorphic associations, and may prefer to speak of the 'conscious
principle,' or of the 'universal self,' yet the latter has in substance
the same meaning as the former." FITE, _An Introductory Study of
Ethics_, chapter xiii, Sec 4.]

4. As the appeal to human nature, or to nature in a broader sense, left
the norm for the guidance of human actions somewhat vague, so the appeal
to the principle of self-realization seems to leave one without very
definite guidance. There may easily arise disputes touching what
capacities are to be realized, and in what degree.

124. IS THE DOCTRINE MORE EGOISTIC?--One difference between the
principles of following nature, striving to attain to perfection, and
aiming at self-realization seems to force itself upon our notice. On the
surface, at least, the last doctrine appears to stand out as more
distinctly egoistic. The very name has an egoistic flavor; the doctrine
bases itself upon the satisfaction of desire; nor do its advocates
hesitate to emphasize that the satisfaction sought is the satisfaction of
the agent desiring. In the chapter on Egoism [Footnote: Chapter xxiv.] I
have cited some utterances which sound egoistic, and such citations might
be multiplied.

Nevertheless, from this egoistic root springs a flower which disseminates
the perfume of a saintly self-abnegation. How is this seeming miracle
accomplished?

The transition is brought about through a chain of reasoning which is
subtle and ingenious in the extreme. Must we not admit that in all
purposive action--the only action with which the moralist need concern
himself--there is a striving to realize or satisfy desire in the
attainment of some object? And if the desires of a mind or self converge
upon some object, does not its realization imply the satisfaction or
realization of the desires of that mind or self? Furthermore, if our
desires have as their root our capacities--for we can desire nothing that
it is not in us to desire--is not the realization of desire the
realization of capacity? Does it not follow, hence, that every mind or
self, in all purposive action, is striving, either blunderingly or with
far-sighted intelligence, to attain to self-satisfaction, which means, to
the realization of its capacities? Finally, as men are by nature social
creatures, how can a man fully realize his capacities without becoming a
truly unselfish being? Unselfishness appears to be the inevitable goal of
the strivings for self-satisfaction of an unselfish self.

125. WHY AIM TO REALIZE CAPACITIES?--This reasoning appears highly
satisfactory in two very different ways. It seems, on the one hand, to
stop the mouth of the egoist, who insists that his own advantage is his
only proper aim. It assures him that he is throughout seeking his own
advantage, when he aims at self-realization. On the other hand, it
assures the man to whom egoism appears repellant and immoral, that self-
realization implies that one must love one's neighbor as oneself. The
immemorial quarrel between self-love and benevolence appears to be
adjusted to the mutual satisfaction of both parties.

Is the reasoning unassailable? There are two steps in it which appear to
demand a closer scrutiny. One is the transition from desire to capacity;
the other, the assumption that he who follows an unselfish impulse may
properly be said to aim at self-satisfaction, and to exercise no self-
denial.

As to the first. Our desires may have their roots in our capacities, but
desires and capacities are, nevertheless, not the same thing.

Men do actually strive to realize their desires--a desire is nothing else
than such a striving for realization or satisfaction. But it cannot be
said that men generally strive to realize their capacities, except to the
limited degree in which their capacities may happen to be expressed in
actual desires. Capacities may lie dormant, and the man in whom they lie
dormant need not on that account feel dissatisfied, as does the man whose
desires are not realized. Self-realization, as understood by the school
of thinkers which advocates it, implies much more than the satisfaction
of desire. It implies the multiplication of desires and their
satisfaction. On what ground shall we persuade the contented egoist, who
has but a handful of commonplace desires and finds it possible to satisfy
most of them, that it is better to call into being a multitude of wants
many of which will probably remain unrealized? He may point out that the
divine discontent is apt to leave the idealist and the reformer as lean
as Cassius. All of which does not prove that the self-realizationist is
not right in exhorting men to develop their capacities in the direction
of the pattern which he holds in view; but it does seem to prove that the
path to self-realization, in this sense, is not necessarily the path to
self-satisfaction. "The good" has come to mean more than that which
satisfies desire. How shall we persuade men that it is their duty to make
this good their end?

126. THE PROBLEM OF SELF-SACRIFICE.--As for the second point. He who
makes his moral aim self-satisfaction can scarcely be expected to
advocate self-sacrifice.

Accordingly, we find among self-realizationists, a tendency to repudiate
altogether what may properly be called self-denial. "Anything conceived
as good in such a way that the agent acts for the sake of it," said
Green, [Footnote: Prolegomena, Sec 92.] "must be conceived as his own
good." "A moment's consideration will show," writes Professor Fite, in
his clear and attractive book, [Footnote: An Introductory Study of
Ethics, chapter viii, Sec 5.] "that, for self-sacrifice in any absolute
sense, no ground of obligation is conceivable. Unless I am in some way
interested in the object [Footnote: I.e., unless I desire the object.]
whose attainment is set before me as a duty, it seems to be
psychologically impossible that I should ever strive for it."

Now we do seem compelled to concede that, unless a man desires an end, he
cannot will that end. Anything that is selected as an end, and striven
for, must be desired. And the attainment of the end implies, of course,
the satisfaction of that particular desire. But, admitting all this, is
not the question left open whether some desires may not be sacrificed to
others; and whether, indeed, a whole extensive system of desires may not,
on occasion, be sacrificed to a single desire? In this case, may not the
transaction properly be called self-sacrifice? Suppose the desire to
serve one's neighbor, if satisfied, prevents the realization of a
multitude of other desires of the same agent. Is it certain that its
satisfaction does not imply self-denial?

127. SELF-SATISFACTION AND SELF-SACRIFICE.--The argument to prove that it
is not really self-sacrifice may follow divers paths.

Thus, it may be argued that, since the proper end of a rational being is
his own permanent good, the sacrifice of such goods as do not conduce to
this end is not self-sacrifice. Sensual pleasures, the satisfaction of
vanity or ambition, the accomplishment of a vengeful purpose, an
excessive preoccupation with one's own interests as contrasted with those
of others--such things as these, it is claimed, do not permanently
satisfy. That the so-called man of pleasure is a man upon whom pleasures
pall, and that he who seeks too earnestly to save his own life is apt to
lose it, has been reiterated by a long line of professional and lay
moralists from Buddha to Tolstoi. The refuge from the discontent arising
out of the attempt to quench one's thirst by sipping at transient
delights has always been found in altruism under some guise. The self-
realizationists may claim that certain things are given up in order that
other things more permanently satisfying to the self may be attained, and
may deny that this is any renunciation of self-satisfaction. [Footnote:
GREEN, op. cit., Sec 176.]

Again. It may be argued that men's interests do not conflict as widely as
is commonly supposed. To be sure, two men may have to struggle with each
other for the pleasure of eating a given apple, of making a pecuniary
profit, of obtaining a coveted post, of being the first authority in a
given science or art, of securing the affections of a particular woman.
Here one man's loss seems to be another man's gain. But two men may enjoy
seeing a child eat an apple, or a deserving man profit, or their common
candidate win the election, or their favorite artist honored, or their
beloved nephew accepted by the lady of his choice. If one desires certain
things, and certain things only, there seems no reason why one's desires
should not be in harmony with those of others.

The things best worth having, it is claimed, do not admit of being
competed for. [Footnote: GREEN, _Prolegomena to Ethics_, Sec Sec 244-
245.] If my aim is unselfish devotion to humanity, how can I lose if my
neighbor attains in the same running? Do virtuous men, in so far as they
are virtuous, stand in each other's light? Are there not as many prizes
as there are competitors? As long as I remain in this field I may seek
self-satisfaction without scruple. I satisfy another's desire in
satisfying my own. By benevolence I lose nothing.

The list of things which one may forego without self-sacrifice has been
made a long one. Even the realization of capacities highly valued by
cultivated men has been brought into it:

"No conflict," writes Professor Seth, [Footnote: _A Study of Ethical
Principles_, Part II, chapter ii, Sec 4, Edinburgh, 1911, p. 286.] "is
possible between the ends of the individual and those of society. The
individual may be called upon to sacrifice, for example, his opportunity
of esthetic or intellectual culture; but in that very sacrifice lies his
opportunity of moral culture, of true self-realization."

128. CAN MORAL SELF-SACRIFICE BE A DUTY?--To this position one is tempted
to demur until two questions have found a satisfactory answer:

1. Is it true that there is no sacrifice of self-realization or self-
satisfaction, properly so called, where all other desires and impulses
are sacrificed to the one desire to do right?

2. Is it not conceivable, at least, that obedience to an unselfish
impulse may result even in the sacrifice of the opportunities of moral
culture in general? Can it, then, be called self-realization?

Touching the first question it may plausibly be maintained that the
desires of the self are many and various, and that the satisfaction of an
altruistic impulse may imply the sacrifice of so many of them that the
self may very doubtfully be said to attain to permanent satisfaction when
the impulse is realized. Aristotle's hero, who, in dying for his country,
chooses the more "honorable" for himself, [Footnote: _Ethics_, Book
IX, chapter viii, Sec 12.] can hardly be said in that one act to have
accomplished a state of permanent satisfaction or well-being for the self
whose being was, in that act, brought to an abrupt termination. Certain
Stoics seem to have taught that virtue is its own adequate reward and
that nothing else matters; but this has not been the verdict of moralists
generally. Paley, who writes like an unblushing egoist, [Footnote: See Sec
96.] we may pass over; but even Kant, a thinker of a very different
complexion, appears to regard the mere doing of a right act as not a
sufficient reward for the doer. He looks for the act to be crowned with
happiness in a life to come, thus saving it from being mere self-
sacrifice.

The second question one approaches with some hesitation. "No moralist,"
writes Professor Sidgwick, [Footnote: _The Methods of Ethics_,
Introduction.] "has ever directed an individual to promote the virtue of
others except in so far as this promotion is compatible with, or rather
involved in, the complete realization of virtue in himself." It appears
rash to admit to be a duty that which as high an authority as Sidgwick
maintains no moralist has ever ventured to advise. Still, it is
permissible to adduce an illustration taken from actual life, and to ask
the reader to form his opinion independently.

A girl, anxious to provide her younger sister with a better lot, enters a
factory and gives up her life to labor of a monotonous and mind-
destroying character, amid sordid and more or less degrading
surroundings. The act is a heroic one, but is it clear that it conduces
to the self-realization, not of the sister, but of the agent herself? The
influence of surroundings counts for much. High impulses may, under such
pressure, come to be repressed.

"Capacity for the nobler feelings," writes Mill, [Footnote:
_Utilitarianism_, chapter iii] "is in most natures a very tender
plant, easily killed, not only by hostile influences, but by mere want of
sustenance; and in the majority of young persons it speedily dies away if
the occupations to which their position in life has devoted them, and the
society into which it has thrown them, are not favorable to keeping that
higher capacity in exercise. Men lose their high aspirations as they lose
their intellectual tastes, because they have not time or opportunity for
indulging them; and they addict themselves to inferior pleasures, not
because they deliberately prefer them, but because they are either the
only ones to which they have access, or the only ones they are any longer
capable of enjoying."

In other words, one may put oneself into a situation in which self-
realization appears to be made a most difficult and problematic goal. Nor
does it seem inconceivable that one should do this for the sake of
another's good. Hence, even if we restrict the meaning of the word "self-
sacrifice" to the sacrifice of the "real" or moral self, the
impossibility of self-sacrifice scarcely appears to have been proved; the
impossibility of a conflict between the ends of the individual and of
society does not appear to be indubitably established.

129. SELF-SACRIFICE AND THE IDENTITY OF SELVES.--Can it be maintained
upon any other grounds than those adduced above? One line of argument
remains open to us. We may maintain that, while two bodies are two
because they occupy two portions of space, two minds, as not in space,
cannot thus be held apart, and we may conclude that "the many individuals
composing the race are not really many, but one." [Footnote: Fite, _An
Introductory Study of Ethics_, chapter xii.] I suppose that he who can
take this position will find it natural to argue that any act which
serves the interests of any self must be regarded as serving the
interests of every self, and thus cannot be considered as sacrificing the
interests of any self.

To these transcendental heights, however, comparatively few will be able
to climb. To men generally it will still appear that Peter's love to Paul
is not identical with Peter's love to Peter; and that Peter may act in
such a way that, on the whole, he loses, while Paul gains. That the
interests of Peter and Paul, as developed social beings and members of a
civilized community, are less likely to be in conflict than those of
their primitive cave-dwelling forerunners may be freely conceded. But
from such relative harmony to a complete identity of interests seems a
far cry.

130. QUESTIONS WHICH SEEM TO BE LEFT OPEN.--Evidently, the self-
realization doctrine is a great advance upon the doctrine of following
nature. The self-realizationist realizes that man's nature is in the
making, and he is not blind to the difficulty of the task of determining
just what the real demands of human nature are.

This leads to his laying much stress upon the gradual development of
systems of rights and duties as they emerge under the actual conditions
to which human societies are subjected in the course of their evolution.
He reads history with comprehending eyes, and reverences the human reason
as crystallized in social institutions. Hence, the divergence of the
moral standards which obtain in different ages and among different
peoples does not seem to him a baffling mystery. He can find a relative
justification for each, and yet hold to an ideal in the light of which
each must be judged.

It may be questioned, however, whether the edifice which he erects can be
based wholly upon the appeal to the self which ostensibly furnishes the
groundwork of the doctrine. We may ask whether such an appeal can:

(1) Prescribe to the individual in what measure his various capacities
should be realized.

(2) Show that it is reasonable to awaken dormant capacities, and thus
multiply desires.

(3) Justify social acts which certainly appear to be self-sacrificing,
and which the moral judgments of men generally do not hesitate to
approve.



CHAPTER XXVII

THE ETHICS OF EVOLUTION


131. THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE TITLE.--The title, "The Ethics of
Evolution," seems to assume that the evolutionist, frankly accepting
himself as such, must be prepared to join some school of the moralists
different from other schools, and basing itself upon evolutionary
doctrine.

That the ethical views of individuals and of communities of men may
undergo a process of evolution or development is palpable. The ethical
notions of the child are not those of the man, nor are the moral ideas of
primitive races identical with those of races more advanced
intellectually and morally.

But it is one thing to maintain that morals may be in evolution in
individuals and in communities, and quite another to hold that the
acceptance of the doctrine of evolution, broadly taken, forces upon one
some new norm by which human actions may be judged. It was possible for
as ardent an evolutionist as Huxley to hold that evolution and ethics are
not merely independent, but are actually at war with one another, the
competitive struggle for existence characteristic of the one giving place
in the other to a new principle in which the rights of the weak and the
helpless attain express recognition. [Footnote: HUXLEY, _Evolution and
Ethics_, New York, 1894. See, especially, the _Prolegomena_.] And
Sidgwick, that clearest of thinkers, maintains [Footnote: _The Methods
of Ethics_, Book I, chapter vi, Sec 2.] that we have no reason to assume
that it is our duty as moral beings simply to accelerate the pace in the
direction already marked out by evolution.

It should be remembered that the word evolution may be used equivocally.
It is not evident that all evolution is in the direction of a life, brute
or human, that we commonly recognize as higher. There is retrogression,
as well as progress, where such retrogression is favored by environment.
We may call this, if we please, _devolution_. Were the conditions of
his life very unfavorable, man could not live as he now lives; and,
indeed, were they sufficiently unfavorable--for example, if the earth
cooled off to a certain point--he could not live at all, but would have
to give place to a lowlier creature better fitted to the conditions. Must
the man who foresees this end approaching strive to hasten its arrival,
or should he oppose it? In a decadent society, to come nearer to the
problems which concern us in ethics, must a man strive to realize the
social will expressed in progressive decadence? Should he hasten the
decline of the community?

That those who study man as a moral being, like those who study man in
any of his other aspects, will be more or less influenced in their
outlook by the broadening of the horizon which results from a study of
what the students of the evolutionary process have to tell us, may be
conceded. But when we admit this, we do not necessarily have to look for
a new norm by which to judge conduct. We seem, rather, forced to ask
ourselves how this broadening of the horizon affects the norms which have
heretofore appealed to men as reasonable. To be sure, any evolutionist
has, in the capacity of a moralist, the right to suggest a new norm. But,
in that case, he must, like any other moralist, convince us that it is a
reasonable one.

132. EVOLUTION AND THE SCHOOLS OF THE MORALISTS.--Those who have
suggested the norms discussed above, no one would think of as greatly
influenced in their ethical teaching by the doctrine of evolution. Locke,
Price, Butler and Sidgwick; Aristippus and Epicurus; Paley and Hobbes;
Bentham and Mill; Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius; Janet, Green, and the
rest, no one would be inclined to class simply as evolutionary moralists.
Some of them never thought of evolution at all. How would it affect their
standards of right and wrong were evolution expressly taken into account?
Would the standards have to be abandoned? Or would the men, as broader
men, merely have to revise some of their moral judgments?

(1) It might be supposed that the acceptance of evolutionary doctrine
would bring into being a grave problem for the intuitionist, at least. If
the body and mind of man are products of evolution, must we not admit as
much of man's moral intuitions? Then why not admit that these may be
replaced some day by other moral intuitions to be evolved in an unknown
future?

He who reasons thus should bear in mind that Sidgwick, who by no means
repudiated the doctrine of evolution, was an intuitionist, and placed his
ultimate moral intuitions on a par with such mathematical intuitions as
that two and two make four. If all intuitions are a product of evolution,
Sidgwick might claim that the moral intuitions he accepts fare no worse
than those elementary mathematical truths which we accept without
question and without reflection. And he might maintain that an appeal to
evolution need cast no greater doubt upon ultimate moral truth than upon
mathematical. If intuitionism in all its forms is to be rejected, it
seems as though it must be done upon some other ground than an appeal to
evolution.

(2) As to the egoist. It is not easy to see how the appeal to evolution
need disconcert him. Should he be so foolish as to maintain that egoism
is always, in fact, necessary and unavoidable on the part of every living
creature, he might easily be refuted by a reference to the actual life of
the brutes, where altruism can be shown to play no insignificant role.
But if he simply maintains that the only _reasonable_ principle for
a man to adopt is egoism, he may continue to do so. He makes the self and
its satisfactions his end. How can it concern him to learn how the self
came to be what it is, or what it will be in the distant future? He
panders to the present self; he may assume that it will be reasonable to
pander at the appropriate time to the self that is to be, whatever its
nature.

(3) The utilitarian remains such whether he makes the greatest good of
the greatest number to consist in pleasure or in some other end, such as
self-preservation. Some utilitarians, who have been inclined to emphasize
the good of man, rather than to extend even to the brutes the goods to be
distributed, may be influenced to extend the sphere of duties, if they
will listen to the evolutionist, who cannot well leave out of view
humbler creatures. [Footnote: "Thus we shall not go wrong in attributing
to the higher animals in their simple social life, not only the
elementary feelings, the loves and hates, sympathies and jealousies which
underlie all forms of society, but also in a rudimentary stage the
intelligence which enables those feelings to direct the operations of the
animal so as best to gratify them." HOBHOUSE, _Ethics in Evolution_,
chapter i, Sec 4.]

He may broaden his sympathies. But this need not compel him to abandon
his fundamental doctrine.

(4) A very similar conclusion may be drawn, when we consider the
influence of an acceptance of the doctrine of evolution upon those who
would turn to man's nature, to perfection, or to self-realization, as
furnishing the norm of human conduct.

A Marcus Aurelius could, with little reference to evolution, accept man's
nature, or Nature in the wider sense, as marking out for man the round of
his duties. A modern Darwinian might fall back upon much the same
standard, while clearly conscious of the fact that man's nature is not
something unchangeable, and while inclined to view Nature in general with
different eyes from those of the Roman Stoic. No sensible evolutionist
would maintain that a creature of a given species should act in defiance
of all the instincts of creatures of that type, merely on the ground that
species may be involved in a process of progressive development.