Books: A Handbook of Ethical Theory
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George Stuart Fullerton >> A Handbook of Ethical Theory
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36. THE WILL AND DEFERRED ACTION.--It remains to speak briefly of one
point touching the nature of will. It has been suggested that the
decision is the psychic fact corresponding to the release of nervous
energy which relieves the tension of desire. It is the beginning of
action, of realization. But what shall we say of resolves which cannot at
once be carried out in action? Of decisions the realization of which is
deferred? I may long debate the matter and then determine to pay a bill
when it comes due next month. The decision is made; but, for a time, at
least, nothing happens. How can I here speak of the beginning of action?
The action does not at once begin, yet it is, in a sense, initiated. The
struggle of conflicting considerations has ceased; the man is "set" for
action in a certain direction. For the time being the matter is settled,
and only an external circumstance prevents the resolve from being carried
out. The psychic factor is widely different from that of mere desire, and
is not recognized to be different from that present in volition which at
once issues in action.
CHAPTER XII
THE PERMANENT WILL
37. CONSCIOUSLY CHOSEN ENDS.--Our volitions, deliberate, less deliberate,
and those verging upon what scarcely deserves the name of volition, weave
themselves into complicated patterns, which find their expression in long
series of the most varied activities. The nature of the pattern as a
whole may be determined by the deliberate selection of an end, and to
that the other choices which enter into the complex may be subordinate.
Thus, a man may decide that he can afford to give himself the pleasure of
a long walk through the country before taking the train at the next town.
During the course of the ramble he may make a number of more or less
conscious decisions not incompatible with the purpose he originally
embraced--to take this bit of road or that, to loiter in the shade, to
climb a hill that he may enjoy a view, to hasten lest he find himself too
late in arriving at his destination. These decisions may require little
deliberation; they spring into being at the call of the moment, are not
preceded by deliberation, and leave little trace in the memory. They may
be made semi-consciously, and while the mind is largely occupied with
other things, with thoughts of the past or the future, with other scenes
suggested by the landscape, or with the flowers which skirt the road.
Nevertheless, we would not hesitate to call them decisions.
May we apply the word in speaking of the single steps made by the
traveler as he advances? His feet seem to move of themselves and to make
no demands at all upon his attention.
Yet it is not strictly true to say that they move of themselves. They are
under control, and the successive steps follow upon each other not
without direction. They serve as expressions of the will to take the
walk, and they are adjusted to the end consciously held in view. That
attention is not fixed upon the individual steps does not remove them
from the sphere of the voluntary, in a proper sense of the words. They
are expressions of the man's will, even if they be not the result of a
conscious series of deliberations and decisions. Whether we shall use the
term decision in connection with the single step is rather a question of
verbal usage than of the determination of fact. We have seen that
decisions shade down gradually, from those quite unmistakable and
characteristic, to occurrences far less characteristic and more
disputable. The consciousness of deliberation and decision does not
disappear abruptly at some point in the series. It fades away, as the
light of day gradually passes, through twilight, into the shades of
night. And actions not directly recognizable as consciously voluntary may
be obviously under voluntary control. They weave themselves, with actions
more palpably voluntary and higher in the scale, into those complicated
patterns determined by the conscious selection of an end. As long as they
serve their purpose, and require no effort, they may remain inconspicuous
and unconsidered. But, as soon as a check is met with, attention is
directed upon them and they become the subject of conscious voluntary
control.
38. ENDS NOT CONSCIOUSLY CHOSEN.--In the above illustration the end
which determines the character of a long chain of actions has been
deliberately chosen. It is a consciously selected end. When, however, we
contemplate critically the lives of our fellow-men, we seem to become
aware of the fact that many of them act in unconsciousness of the
ultimate end upon which their actions converge. The attention is taken up
with minor decisions, and takes no note of the permanent trend of the
will.
Thus, the selfish man may be unaware of the significance of the whole
series of choices which he makes in a day; the malicious man may not
realize that he is animated by the settled purpose to injure his
neighbors; one may be law-abiding without ever having resolved to obey
the laws through the course of a life. If called upon to account for this
or that subordinate decision, each may exhaust his ingenuity in assigning
false causes, while ignoring the permanent attitude of the will revealed
in the series of decisions as a whole and giving them what consistency
they possess.
Hence, the choice of ends, as well as the adoption of means to the
attainment of ends, may reveal itself either in conscious deliberate
decisions, or in the working of obscure impulses which do not emerge into
the light. Even in the latter case, we have not to do with what is wholly
beyond the sphere of intelligent voluntary control. The selfish man may
be made aware that he is selfish; the malicious man, that he is
malicious; and each may deliberately take steps to remedy the defect
revealed.
When we understand the word "will" in the broad sense indicated in the
preceding pages, we see that a man's habits may justly be regarded as
expressions of the man's will. That, through repetition, his actions have
become almost automatic does not remove them from the sphere of the
volitional. That he does not clearly see, or that he misconceives, the
significance of his habits, and may acquiesce in them even though they be
injurious to him, does not make them the less willed, so long as he
follows them. It is only when he actively endeavors to control or modify
a habit that he may be said to will its opposite.
39. THE CHOICE OF IDEALS.--Nor is it too much to bring under the head of
willing the attitudes of approval and disapproval taken by man in
contemplating certain occurrences, actual or possible, which lie beyond
the confines of the field within which he can exercise control. The field
of control, direct and indirect, is as we have seen a broad one, but it
has its limits, and many of the things he would like to see accomplished
or prevented lie without it.
A man's will may be set upon the preservation of his health, he may
strive to attain that end, and circumstances may condemn him to a life of
invalidism. He would be healthy if he could, but his strivings are
overruled. Or he may earnestly pursue the attainment of wealth, and may
end in bankruptcy. He has the will to be rich, but that will is
frustrated.
It is the same when we consider his attitude toward the decisions and
actions of other men. By mere willing he cannot condition another's
choice. But by willing he can often influence indirectly the volitions of
his fellows. He can enlighten or misinform, persuade or threaten, reward
or punish. In many ways he can weight the scale of his neighbor's mind.
But such influences are not all-powerful, and only within limits can we
bend other wills to follow a course prescribed for them by our own.
Nevertheless, even beyond those limits, the attitude of a man's mind
toward the actions of his neighbor may be a volitional one. His will may
be for them or against them; he may approve or disapprove, command or
prohibit. We know quite well that commands and prohibitions laid upon
children and servants will not always be effective, yet we issue general
commands and prohibitions, as though assuming unlimited control. It is
quite in accordance with usage to speak of a man as willing an end, even
where it is clearly recognized that the will to attain does not guarantee
attainment. The man does what he can; could he do more he would do so; in
his helplessness the attitude of the will persists unchanged.
It is obvious that, in this large sense of the word "will," we may speak
of a man as continuing to will or to approve a given end, even when he is
not willing or approving anything, in a narrower sense of the words, at
this or that moment. We speak of a man as inspired by the permanent will
to be rich, although at many times during the day, and certainly during
his hours of sleep, no act of volition with such an end in view has an
actual existence.
No man always thinks of the permanent ends which he has selected as
controls to his actions. They are selected, they pass from his mind, and,
when they recur to it again, the selection is reaffirmed. But, whether he
is actually thinking about the ends in question or not, the settled trend
of his will is expressed in them.
This settled trend of the will, even when scarcely recognized by the man
himself, may be vastly more significant than the passing individual
decision, although the latter be accompanied by clear consciousness. In
certain cases the latter is a true exponent of character, but not
infrequently it is not. It may be the result of a whim, of an irrational
impulse little congruous with a man's nature. It may be the outcome of
some misconception and in contradiction with what the man would will, if
enlightened. The individual volition appears only to disappear; it may
leave no apparent trace. The permanent will indicates a habit of mind, a
way of acting, which may be expected to make its influence felt with the
persistency of that which exerts a steady pressure. To refuse it the name
of will seems arbitrary and unjustifiable.
In the permanent will is expressed the _character_ of the man. This
character is reflected in his _ideals_. Sometimes ideals are clearly
recognized and deliberately chosen. Sometimes a man is little aware of
the nature of the ideals which control his strivings. He may be said to
choose, but to choose more or less blindly. But, whether he chooses with
clear vision or without it, he may choose well or ill.
CHAPTER XIII
THE OBJECT IN DESIRE AND WILL
40. THE OBJECT AS END TO BE REALIZED.--The expression "the object before
the mind in desiring and willing" is not free from ambiguity. It may be
used in referring to the idea, the psychic fact, which is present when
one desires or wills. Or it may be used to indicate the future fact which
is the realization of the idea, that which the idea points to as its end.
The idea and the end are, of course, not identical, but they are related.
The idea mirrors the end, foreshadows it. In the attempt to explain a
voluntary act we may turn either to the one or to the other; we may
regard the idea as the efficient cause which has resulted in the act, or
we may account for the act by pointing out the end it was purposed to
attain. There is no reason why we should not recognize both the efficient
cause and the final cause, or end.
The latter has been the subject of more or less mystification. How, it
has been asked, can an end, which does not, as yet, exist, be a cause
which sets in motion the apparatus that brings about its own existence?
[Footnote: See JANET, _Les Causes Finales_, Paris, 1901, p. 1, ff.]
The difficulty is a gratuitous one. It lies in the confusion of the final
cause or end, with the efficient cause. When we realize that the
expression "final cause" means simply that which is purposed, or accepted
as an end, objections to it fall away. That, in desire and will, in all
their higher manifestations, at least, there is consciousness of an end,
there can be no question.
If we attempt to give more than a vague physical explanation of actions
due to blind impulse, we are compelled to refer to the idea, the psychic
fact present, as efficient cause. Not so when we are concerned with
actions of a higher order. We constantly refer such actions to the ends
they have in view. We regard them as satisfactorily explained when we
have pointed out the end upon which they are directed.
To the moralist it is of the utmost importance to know what ends men
actually choose, and what they may be induced to choose. He is concerned
with conduct, which is intelligent and purposive action. Conduct may be
studied without entering upon an investigation of the efficient causes,
whether physical or mental, which are the antecedents of action of any
kind. Such matters one may leave to the physiologist and the
psychologist.
Accordingly, when I speak of "the object" in desiring and willing, I
shall use the word to indicate the end held in view, that toward which
the creature desiring or willing strives.
41. HUMAN NATURE AND THE OBJECTS CHOSEN.--What objects do men actually
desire and will to attain? To give a detailed account of them appears to
be a hopeless and profitless task.
I take up my pen, I write, I turn to a book; I look at my watch, change
my position, stretch, walk up and down, speak to some one who is present,
smile or give vent to irritation; I sit down to a meal, eat of this dish
rather than of that, go out to visit a place of amusement, respond to the
appeal of the beggar in the street--in short, I fill my day with a
thousand actions the most diverse, which follow each other without
intermission.
Each of these actions may be the object of desire and will. No novel,
however realistic, however prolix in its descriptions, can give us more
than the barest outlines of the course of life followed by the personages
it attempts to portray. A touch here, a touch there, and a character is
indicated. No more, for more would be intolerable.
It is significant, however, that the few points touched upon can serve to
give an idea of a character. Not-withstanding their diversity, volitions
fall into classes; it is quite possible to indicate in a general way the
kind of choices a given creature may be impelled to make. They are a
revelation of the nature of the creature choosing. That beings differing
in their nature should be impelled to different courses of action can
surprise no one. Cats have no temptation to wander in herds; the
exhibition of pugnacity in a sheep would strike us with wonder.
To every kind of creature its nature: and, although individuals within a
kind differ more or less from one another, we look for approximation to a
type. So it is with man. The expression "human nature," so much in the
mouths of certain moralists ancient and modern, although somewhat vague,
is not without its significance. To it we refer in passing a judgment
upon individual human beings, and we regard as abnormal those who vary
widely from the type.
42. THE INSTINCTS AND IMPULSES OF MAN.--In sketching for us the outlines
of this distinctively human nature, the psychologist proceeds to an
enumeration of the fundamental instincts and general innate tendencies of
man, and he draws up a list of the emotions which correspond to them. He
mentions the instincts of flight, repulsion, curiosity, pugnacity, self-
abasement, self-assertion, the parental instinct, the instinct of sex,
the instinct for food, that for acquisition, etc. He points out that man
is by nature open to sympathy, is suggestible, and has the impulse to
play. In such instincts and inborn general tendencies, blending and
reinforcing or opposing and inhibiting one another, he sees the forces
which give their direction to desire and will; which select, out of all
possible objects, those which are to become objects for man.
It is not necessary here to discuss the nature of instinct, to
distinguish between an instinct and a more general inborn tendency, or to
attempt a complete list of the instincts and inborn tendencies of man.
Nor need I ask whether every choice made by a human being can be traced,
directly or indirectly, to one or more of the instincts and other
tendencies given in the above or in any similar list. In explaining the
individual choices which men make, or the desires to which they are
subject, there is much scope for the ingenuity of the psychologist.
But of the significance for human life of the impulses mentioned there
can be no question. What would the life of a man be if he could feel no
fear or repulsion? Could there be a development of knowledge in the
absence of curiosity? How long would the race endure if the parental
instinct were wholly lacking? What would become of a man who never
desired food? Could a human society of any sort exist if there were no
sympathy or tender feeling, no impulse to seek the company of other men?
It is men, such as they are, endowed with the qualities which distinguish
man, who associate themselves into communities, and the customs and laws
of such reflect the fundamental impulses in which they had their origin.
43. THE STUDY OF MAN'S INSTINCTS IMPORTANT.--That a careful study of
human nature is of the utmost importance to the moralist is palpable. He
must not prescribe for man a rule of conduct which it is not in man to
follow. He must not set before him, as inducements to actions, objects
which it is impossible for him to desire and, hence, to choose.
To be sure, the main traits of human nature were pretty well recognized
many centuries before the modern science of psychology had its birth. Had
they not been, man could not have had rational dealings with his fellow-
man; could not effectively have persuaded and threatened, rewarded and
punished, and, in short, set in motion all the machinery which is at the
service of one man when he wants to influence the conduct of another. But
moralists ancient and modern have made serious blunders through an
imperfect understanding of the impulses natural to man; and the modern
psychologist, without claiming to be a wholly original or an infallible
guide, may be of no little service in helping us to detect them.
Thus, it was possible for as shrewd an observer of man as Aristotle to
explain the affection of a man for his child by regarding it as an
extension of self-love, the child being, in a sense, a part of the
parent. [Footnote: _Ethics_, Book VIII, chapter xii.] Aristotle's
quaint explanation of the fact that maternal affection is apt to be
stronger than paternal is an error of a kindred nature. [Footnote:
_Ibid_., Book IX, chapter vii.] And the ancient egoists, [Footnote:
See the answer to Epicurus in the _Discourses of Epictetus_,
translated by LONG, London, 1890, pp. 69-70.] in setting before man their
selfish and anti-social ideal of human conduct, made their appeal, not to
the whole man, but only to a part of him. The normal man, whether savage
or civilized, whether ancient or modern, cannot desire a life filled only
with the objects which they set before him. Nor is the modern moralist,
or as he prefers to style himself, "immoralist," Nietzsche, [Footnote: A
sketch of Nietzsche's doctrine is given later, see chapter xxix.] guilty
of less gross a blunder. He rails at morality as commonly understood,
calling it "the morality of the herd," and he recommends isolation, the
repression of sympathy, and a contempt for one's fellows. To be sure, the
"herd" is a scornful, rhetorical expression,--what Bentham would have
called a "question-begging epithet,"--for men do not, properly speaking,
live in herds; but they do normally live in human societies of some sort,
and they have the instincts and impulses which fit them to do so. The
repression of such instincts and impulses does violence to their nature,
and he who advocates other than a social morality should advocate it for
some creature other than man. Man is a social creature, and, among the
objects of his desire and will, he must give a prominent place to some
which are distinctively social.
44. THE BEWILDERING MULTIPLICITY OF THE OBJECTS OF DESIRE, AND THE EFFORT
TO FIND AN UNDERLYING UNITY.--The mere enumeration of the characteristics
which have been adduced as instincts or fundamental innate tendencies of
man is enough to reveal the truth that man is not merely the subject of
_desire_, but of _desires_; that is to say, his impulses are
directed upon objects widely different from each other.
And when we call to mind that the concepts of the instincts and
fundamental tendencies of human nature, as thus enumerated, are products
of abstraction and generalization--are general notions gathered from the
numberless concrete instances of desire and will furnished by our
observation--we are forced to realize that the objects which individual
men set before themselves in desiring and willing are really endlessly
varied.
All men are not equally moved by fear, anger, repulsion, tender emotion,
or sympathy. Nor do all men find the same things the objects of their
fear, anger, repulsion, and the rest. The desire for food is an
abstraction; in the concrete, this man eagerly accepts an oyster, and
that one turns from it in disgust. In order to deal successfully with our
fellow-man, we must not merely know man. We must know men.
Furthermore, not only do individuals set their affections upon different
objects, but the same person at different stages of his development
desires widely different things. What is a temptation to the boy has no
attraction for the man. What fills the savage with longings may inspire
in the product of a high civilization no other feeling than repulsion.
And what is true of the individual is true of men in the mass. The
objects of desire and of endeavor are not the same in communities of all
orders. Each kind of man has its own nature, which differs in some
respects from that of each other kind, and dictates what shall be, for
this or that man, an object of desire and will. No two men desire
precisely the same thing in all particulars. Yet each is a man, and is
endowed with the usual complement of human instincts.
The process of abstraction and generalization which resulted in the
above-mentioned list of the elements which enter into the constitution of
human nature is, nevertheless, not without its uses. It serves to order,
to some extent, at least, the bewildering variety of the phenomena
presented to us when we view the broad field of the desires and volitions
of all sorts and conditions of men. Men's choices fall into _kinds_;
there is similiarity in difference. We do not approach an unknown man
with the feeling that he is a wholly unknown quantity. He is, at least, a
man, and we know something of men. We have _some_ notion how to go
at him.
But the ordering of the motley multiplicity of men's desires by a
reference to the fundamental instincts of man stops far short of a
complete unification. We are left with a number of distinct and
apparently irreducible impulses and tendencies on our hands. If it is
useful to go so far, may it not be much more useful to go still farther?
Aristotle divided things eligible into those eligible in themselves and
those eligible for the sake of something else. How it would illuminate
the field of action, if it were discovered that men ultimately desire but
one thing, and choose all other things on account of it! Would the
discovery not facilitate immensely our dealings with our fellows,
suggesting new possibilities of control? A notorious instance of the
attempt to conjure away the bewildering diversity in men's desires and
choices lies in the selection of pleasure as the one thing eligible in
itself, the unique ultimate object of human action. Of this object we
have, so far, taken no account.
CHAPTER XIV
INTENTION AND MOTIVE
45. COMPLEX ENDS.--I may desire to clear my throat and may do so. The
action is a trivial one, is over in a moment, and is forgotten. On the
other hand, I may desire to spend my summer on the sea-coast, to grow
rich in business, to attain to high social position, or to satisfy
political ambition.
When the object is of this complicated description, there may easily be
elements in it which, considered alone, I should not desire at all.
The summer on the New Jersey coast may make for health. But it may entail
mosquitoes, uncomfortable rooms, unaccustomed food, the lack of wonted
occupations, and a distasteful association at close quarters with
neighbors not of one's choosing. The road to wealth is an arduous one.
The envied social station may imply the swallowing of many rebuffs. The
way of the politician is hard.
One may desire, _on the whole_, one of these objects, or a thousand
like them; but there are, obviously, many things comprised in the whole,
or unavoidably bound up with it, that cannot attract, and are not
eligible for their own sake.
46. INTENTION.--An object chosen and realized may bring in its train an
indefinite series of consequences foreseen or unforeseen.
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