A Review of the Systems of Ethics Founded on the Theory of Evolution

by Cora May Williams

THE IDEAL AND THE WAY OF ITS ATTAINMENT

Mr. Stephen questions the possibility of our determining at all what a state of ideal morality should be. I should contend, on the contrary, that there would be little disagreement in opinions as to what the ideal should be, but that rather our chief difficulties must lie in the determination of the course to be pursued in order to attain to the ideal. The profligate, it is true, will not be likely to acknowledge that self-control and faithfulness are parts of an ideal condition if he thinks that the acknowledgment binds him in any way to faithfulness and self-control in his own conduct; and the dishonest man will be chary of admitting that honesty is desirable if his consciousness suggests that he ought therefore to practise unvarying honesty himself. But the dishonest man is generally very thoroughly convinced of the desirability of honor and uprightness in every one else; and the profligate also is generally both among the loudest in his denunciation of unfaithfulness in those he feels should be true to him, and sufficiently ready to acknowledge the social advantages of principles opposite to his own, if you can but convince him that it is only a matter of pure theory you are discussing, which will doubtless never be put in practice by society as a whole, and which in no way interferes with your thorough approval of his own action. So, too, the cruel, the rough, and the rude, will easily confess that unselfishness, unfailing kindness, tact, and consideration in the rest of society, are what the world needs. Did these virtues exist, there would be no need of the choice between evils now necessary. That which really troubles us is this choice, the difficulty of ascertaining just what course is the best, which brings us nearest to our ideal, assists most effectually in hastening development towards that goal. For there is no course, under existing conditions, which is wholly advantageous to society, none which does not involve some evil. It follows, from this, that it is insufficient to show that any particular course involves some advantage to some one in order to demonstrate that it is the right one, as also that it is insufficient to show that a course involves evil to some one in order to demonstrate that it is wrong. It is not proved that, because the restraint of any particular desire or passion is attended with pain to the individual, it is wrong. The argument has often been, and is still, advanced—seemingly with the idea that it is conclusive—that the indulgence of physical passion in youth tends to sobriety and steadiness in later years; and, with a similar idea apparently, a dramatic critic falls into a rhapsody over the manner in which the characters in a recent play come out "purified by the evil" they have wrought or endured.[275] But even if this argument were scientifically sound, it would not prove the desirability of self-indulgence, since not the individual alone is to be considered. The argument is, however, erroneous. With advancing years comes in general, in any case, a diminution of passion, or at least a greater admixture of reason; but apart from this, indulgence tends to increase desire and tendency, except as excess may lead to morbid conditions, or the disregard of higher instincts to disappointment and cynicism. When we are told, in another play than the one mentioned above, and apparently with the idea that the statement is an excuse, that the hero could find no other outlet for the exuberance of his youth than the seduction of an innocent girl, we may see no reason to doubt the assertion, but we may question whether society has not a right, nevertheless, to suppress a little of such exuberance or turn it into other channels. The man born with fierce and ungovernable fury in his disposition may likewise feel a strong propensity to express the exuberance of his youth in a murder or two; but I see no reason why society should permit him to do so. The passion of anger is also a perfectly natural one, and the ungovernable fury which led to murder was not an exception with our ancestors of the savage plane, but the rule. Not all natural passion is to be indulged simply because it is natural; and even the fact that a tendency is good in moderation and under certain restrictions is no proof that it is good or to be indulged in immoderation, or without these restrictions. It can have been only by restriction of the natural savage fury that this fury grew less prominent in character. The cannibal transported into civilized society may still have a strong and perfectly natural hunger for my spareribs, but that is no sufficient reason why he should get them. Jack the Ripper is endowed, evidently, with a very passionate love for his human vivisection, and finds it an outlet for an exuberance which also bubbles out otherwise in many ways; yet I think society will be justified in putting a peremptory end to that exuberance, when it gets the opportunity.

Morality is indeed a matter of welfare, and so, of the gratification of desire and tendency; but neither the present alone, nor the single individual in preference to all the rest of society, is to be considered. Effort should be exerted continually for the reduction of pain to a minimum, in every respect possible, with regard to the individual and the minority as well as with regard to the majority, though the greater good and the greater number must always take precedence. The rule of the majority may be asserted to be moral in that it is the best possible expedient where there is disagreement of desires. The necessity for choice between evils is the origin of the principle of the Greatest Good to the Greatest Number, and this, as has been said, covers all the ground, if rightly applied. But it offers a temptation to stop with the mere comparison of two sums of individuals and degrees of happiness for the time being, without taking into the problem the wider results of a particular choice to society as a whole, through habit and personal influence. The consideration of these last important factors has led, on the other hand, to such rules as that of Kant,—"Act so that the maxims of thy will might be taken as the principle of universal action"; and this rule, because it goes deeper, is less likely to lead to error. The moral requirement of continual effort to find the best method of reducing the evil still remaining, of recompensing the individual and the minority for the good of which they are necessarily deprived, needs especial emphasis; for the continual direction of attention to effort for progress, even where no outward change is, for the moment, possible, constitutes an inward progress in character which is ever ready to issue in external progress the instant opportunity presents itself. Present pain to individuals is the sign of imperfection in those permitting it and those suffering it, and must result in increase of tendency in this direction of imperfection unless it takes place only in spite of the most vigorous effort for its prevention. Even the reformer must choose that to which he would chiefly apply his endeavor, with some necessary withdrawal of effort from other directions. Yet the neglect of any present opportunity of reform or benefit, though it may sometimes be necessitated for the gain of some more important future good, is still an outer, and also, especially, an inner evil, which can be compensated only by a high degree of superiority in the future good to be obtained. As the man who, perhaps from the fear of failing in thoroughness, leaves all original work until middle age, is likely to find his power of originality much deteriorated by that time, so the man who is cruel to-day, in order to be kind in some wider respect later on, is likely to find, on the final arrival of opportunity, if the period through which the unkindness is exercised be a long one, that his capacity for kindness has diminished. Every neglect of present opportunity is a loss to character as well as an external loss. When the present good passed over for the sake of the future includes the welfare of whole lives, the question of choice and the postponement of good becomes still graver; when it includes generations, we need to consider earnestly before we take on ourselves the responsibility of a choice that shall prefer the future. I cannot agree with those who believe or practically live out the idea that the present generation is only or chiefly for the sake of the future generation, the parents only for the sake of their children, or the individual only for the sake of society as a whole. We need to remember that the race includes present and future, and parents and children, and has no existence outside the individuals that compose it. It is difficult to reconcile the many conflicting principles; and thus it appears that morality is not easy, even where earnest desire for it exists, and that different views with regard to it may be conscientiously held. The difficulty only increases the duty of continual endeavor to reconcile the many different conditions of happiness and welfare.

We come thus naturally to a question of the day,—the contest between the Individualist and the Socialist.

What has already been said makes it sufficiently evident that, if Individualism is to be maintained at all, it cannot be upheld on the ground that the doings of the individual are of no importance to society, and his sins may therefore not be interfered with by society. In "Social Statics," Mr. Spencer secures freedom for "personal vice" by turning his principle that a man has a right to seek his own ends as long as he does not prevent others from the pursuit of their ends, into the entirely different one, that a man has a right to seek a certain end if he does not prevent others from seeking the same end.[276] The argument in this form is applied to drunkenness, but it could as well be used to prove the moral rightness of murder or any other crime, the sole condition being that the murderer did not prevent others from committing the crime also.

Nor is the Individualism less self-contradictory which bases its theory on the principle that it is the office of civil law to guard the rights of the individual. What individual? All individuals? If so, then assuredly it is the duty of the State to see that the laborer is paid a fair price for his work.

Nor can it be shown, as Höffding asserts, that intellectual labor benefits the whole of society, while manual labor is less valuable because it is for a few. The intellectual laborer knows well of what value to him and his ilk is the manual labor which feeds him, clothes him, and manufactures the thousand and one things necessary for his comfort, leaving him leisure to pursue his studies with all material wants provided for. The satisfaction of our material wants is the very first requisite of life, without which intellectual labor would be an impossibility.

There are, however, many degrees and shades of Individualism. As Höffding says, Individualism may be identical with Egoism, but it need not be so. And, moreover, as has been noticed, the adherents of theories of Egoistic Morals are not necessarily adherents of any theory of selfishness.

The theories bearing the name of Socialism are also very various,—quite as much so as those included under the head of Individualism. It is, therefore, both confusing to consider Socialism without some notice of the distinction between these various phases of theory, and is likely to lead to protest from one side or the other. But no single party of Socialists can be treated exclusively as "the" Socialists; a minority of the party cannot expect to be regarded as anything but a minority.

Of the tendency to represent the whole of the present order of society as utterly bad,—a tendency not confined to the Socialist party, but nevertheless strongly developed in many parts of it,—considerable has already been said. As Höffding remarks, it is difficult to perceive how, in an utterly corrupt society, any foundation may be found on which to build the almost flawless society the Socialist proposes to institute. If the course of evolution has hitherto been propitious to the increase of evil, it is difficult to find any scientific grounds for a belief that evolution will now proceed to favor the good. If man, as a being possessing reason, has hitherto chosen, in increasing degree, injustice towards his fellow-man, it is scarcely possible for any one who proceeds upon the supposition of constancy in the action of man as a part of nature to hope that future events will exhibit exactly opposite characters. Assuredly, we are far enough from the goal yet, but in order to demonstrate this fact it is not necessary to prove that we are worse than any previous age has been. The tendency to lay stress, by every means, on present evil, in the endeavor to impress its reality and undesirability upon the mind of society, is comprehensible; and doubtless, too, as the troubles of the individual are likely to appear to himself among the hardest possible, so to those on whom the evils of the age press most severely these are likely to seem greater than the evils of any other times. But this method of regarding history is not the less erroneous. "In the age of chivalry men had at least a common ideal," said a Socialist to me, not long since. But what an ideal! And unity of purpose is not by any means necessarily a sign of a high plane. It may, on the contrary, signify stupidity, lack of the power of independent thought. The first result of thought on any particular subject is sure to be a division of opinion, although mutual criticism gradually evolves harmony from the strife, and brings about a degree of unity again, on a higher plane; for the mutual criticism is sure to have been of intellectual use. The Socialists themselves have demonstrated the fact that division of opinion necessarily arises when men begin to think upon any question, for with the development of their party many different phases of socialistic theory have appeared. The history of the division of the Church into sects, and of the mutual criticism of these sects, has been the history of religious progress.

With some Socialists, again, the already criticised idea of a "return to nature" plays a conspicuous part. But we have never departed from nature; we are as much a part of nature, as natural, as we ever were. Or, if we are to return, who shall tell us at just what point we leave the "artificial" and arrive at the "natural"? There are no stopping-places, no stations or pauses, in the scale of evolution. There is only continual change by inappreciable increments. The theory of evolution carries with it no significance which could authorize us to consider that we had arrived at our goal at one point rather than at another. And, again, if we are to give up the artificial customs of later development and return to earlier habits, then customs of altruistic action, as the most distinctive and characteristic of later forms of conduct, must be chiefly affected. If, however, by a return to nature is meant the adoption of a simpler mode of life in some classes in order that a less simple but more healthful one may become possible in other classes, the question of the desirability of such a change is, of course, open to discussion; but let us consider it under these terms then. To designate the proposed mode of life as a return to the natural, thus making present modes of life artificial, is to smuggle in an illegitimate assumption against the latter.

It is the habit of a portion of the Socialist party to represent the laborer as the epitome of all the virtues, the capitalist as his moral opposite. This view cannot be other than erroneous, considered from any standpoint. Moral evil cannot affect one part of a closely united society without affecting the other parts also, though it may assume different forms in different parts. This should be, in reality, the Socialist's strongest argument, and is, indeed, one which he constantly makes use of in other connections. If the steady labor of one class is often associated with certain virtues, there are many elements of its surroundings which tend to develop and encourage certain vices also; and if, on the other hand, excessive wealth is often the condition, as well as the result, of selfishness, still the relief from material anxieties may be used, on the other hand, as opportunity for other useful labor, and leaves room, indeed, for a development of finer intellectual and moral qualities. To reply that much greater good would accompany other conditions is irrelevant; for we are not now comparing actualities with ideals, but one class of people with another under existing circumstances.

A somewhat similar phase of idea to that just considered is found in the agitation against machinery. This agitation is not of recent date, however; it began over two centuries ago, and would, if it had succeeded, have deprived the world of nearly all the comforts and conveniences which have, since then, become possible. Doubtless the abolishment of machinery would temporarily furnish labor to all the unemployed. Indeed, it has been computed, from facts supplied by the statistical bureau of Berlin, that it would require about double the number of inhabitants now on the face of the globe to perform the labor accomplished by the steam works of the principal civilized lands. But the increase of the earth's inhabitants depends, to a great extent, on the favorable or unfavorable circumstances of the environment; and we cannot suppose otherwise than that the sudden accession of abundant means of livelihood would cause a very great acceleration of the rate of increase and so a speedy return of the old problem. Even supposing that a certain recklessness of sexual indulgence would be done away with under better circumstances which afforded access to other means of pleasure than the purely physical, this over-indulgence leads quite as often to sterility and disease as to excess of offspring. Habit and opinion not being matters of instantaneous or even rapid change, the new order of society would very largely depend upon the character and ideas acquired under the old order, and population must increase with a rapidity fostered by an immense multiplication of regular marriages, and by more healthful surroundings for offspring at all ages. Unchecked, as hitherto, by the excessive mortality due to famine, filth, and neglect, it must soon arrive at a point where the questions of competition again present themselves. But machinery is a relative term. Every tool and device for lightening labor is, in fact, a machine, and takes, by definition, from the labor of the world. When, therefore, we should find ourselves face to face with the former conditions, I do not see that any consistent course would lie before us but the doing away with our more complicated tools, and, later, with our less complicated ones, and so on, as the increase of the world's inhabitants brought again and again the recurrence of questions of competition, until we should arrive, at length, at that ancient state of things where all transport would be made by porters, land ploughed by the pointed stick, and clothes—if we consented to withdraw labor from the cultivation of the earth for the manufacture of such luxuries—would require for the preparation of each garment several weeks, months, or even years of work. I do not see where else the theory of the abolishment of machinery for the sake of supplying labor to the unemployed can logically and practically lead, especially as the withdrawal of machinery must mean, in the end, the withdrawal of those opportunities for cultivating the arts and sciences which the leisure from merely mechanical pursuits alone can give. Under more primitive conditions of labor, the ignorance of the masses must spread more and more, until its widening circle must take in the great majority of men, as was the case when these primitive conditions prevailed. In other words, the abolishment of machinery means social retrogression, and, if affording temporary relief, leaves the race, in the end, on a lower plane of evolution, with the work of advancement to its former plane all to do over again.

And this brings us to the consideration of another point, namely, the agitation against luxury,—an agitation carried on not, like that against machinery, by only a portion, if a considerable portion, of the Socialist party, but by that party as a whole. We may inquire, then, as to what luxury is. The Socialists find considerable trouble in defining it; they generally content themselves with the word alone, leaving it undefined or referring, with a general indefiniteness, to "velvets, jewels, and laces," or "diamonds and silks"; the German Socialists have sometimes shown particular antipathy to the glacé glove; and a society of English Socialists listened, not long ago, to a lecture in which, as an example of the reforms proposed by Socialism, it was prophesied that the evening-dresses of the future would be made of more lasting though not less delicate and beautiful material. This last would assuredly be desirable, if it could be carried out; but it remains to be seen in how far it is practicable. The things which are the most delicate, whether they be clothing or other articles, are ordinarily likewise the most perishable; the union of delicacy of texture with endurance is a problem that can be solved only by gradual improvement if at all; and it is probable that it can be solved only relatively in some cases and not at all in others; yet there are few people who will not find delicacy an attribute of beauty. Few will disagree with M. de Laveleye that beauty of costume must consist rather in harmony of colors and purity of line than in the mere costliness of the goods; however, in a large number of cases, excess of price corresponds to some actual superiority of color, durability, or texture, in the goods. Doubtless it is true that some things (M. de Laveleye instances opium) may cost much money and yet be useless or even harmful; but this very limited assertion cannot, by any logical method, be converted into an assertion that the price of an article is an argument against it. Even the extra price demanded and paid for novelties corresponds to an actual, general desire for variety, and if this is often carried too far, the fact still remains that the want is inherent in all human nature, indeed, in all life, and cannot be entirely disregarded. The proposal of M. de Laveleye to reinstitute a national dress is, for this reason, a foolish and inartistic one. No two people are suited to exactly the same costume; and the more society develops the more the individual shows a desire for individuality in dress. No nation with a sense of beauty will ever consent to eternal sameness.

Luxury is relative, as M. de Laveleye himself acknowledges. We might define it, as he does at one point,[277] by excess of price or labor expended. In that case, such articles as those African dresses which it takes several years to manufacture would assuredly come under the head of luxuries, and must, as such, be condemned from the standpoint of the tribal plane of advancement; though they are not equal in texture or taste of ornamentation to many of the cheapest of English goods, within the reach of all but the very poorest. What are, with Europeans, the bare necessities, or comforts of lowest grade, represent the extreme of luxury to the Africans on whose plane our ancestors once stood. Many of the things which are regarded by the average individual of to-day as indispensable—every-day comforts—were within the reach of only the wealthy few, a century ago, and could be had only as rare and choice articles, to be preserved with the greatest care. The comforts of a century ago represent, again, the luxuries of a preceding age, and so on. Almost all products of labor are costly and rare before they can become cheap and abundant. Had our ancestors entertained a socialistic prejudice against the luxuries of their age, and resolved, with one accord, to forego their manufacture as supplying only artificial needs, we should not have had them to-day; but it is doubtful whether the social problem would be any nearer solution than it is. The agitation against machinery, at least, is ill combined with an agitation against luxury; for every removal of machinery must make luxuries out of what were, before, mere comforts, and advance the things now regarded as necessities to the plane of the present comforts, as far as expenditure of labor is regarded. M. de Laveleye distinguishes between rational and primitive needs and irrational, "superfluous," or "spurious," ones; and he defines the rational ones as those which reason asserts and hygiene determines.[278] But from the merely hygienic point of view, every need bears with it, by its very existence, a title to some consideration, health and the gratification of desires being most intimately connected. Certainly luxury is not necessarily inconsistent with the most healthy physique, or the longest life. Many of the things ordinarily looked upon as luxuries present unusually favorable conditions for health. Nor can the question be decided by arbitrarily pronouncing all desires for luxury "spurious." To M. de Laveleye and a minority of others they may appear so; but what right has the individual to the assumption that all needs beyond his own are spurious? Even the poorer classes of society would, for the most part, be very glad to possess the luxuries of the rich, and find them desirable; in other words, those desires which M. de Laveleye pronounces spurious appertain to very nearly all human beings who have at all formed a conception of their possibility. The savage does not desire what we term luxury in as far as he knows nothing of it. The argument that luxury is wrong or irrational simply because men once were able to do without it is by no means conclusive. The conditions of life, the employments of human beings, are far different now from those of the time when men "lived in houses of osier." "Primitive" the desire for luxury may not be; but if we attempt to determine what is primitive in man, we shall meet with excessive difficulties. And again, if we decide the question on the basis of any assumption against the non-primitive, we must, in all consistency, exclude, as has already been said, all higher ethical emotion and the love of art and science; none of these can be pronounced primitive. Possibly we might define hunger, thirst, sexual appetite, and the desire for a comfortable degree of warmth, as the most primitive human needs; and these, indeed, are soon satisfied; but the man who has no needs beyond these can not represent the social ideal. The whole history of civilization from century to century is the history of the formation of new needs and the gradual satisfaction of these in larger and larger circles, until their objects, from costly and hardly obtainable rarities, have become articles of common use. With this course of development, coarseness has decreased, refinement and taste have become more general. Nor can we, as has before been stated, divide the human being into his separate desires and functions, and assume that he can get rid of this or that one without influencing all. The desires of the human being are of organic growth, and the desire for luxury has an organic connection with the taste and refinement with which it has grown. It is impossible that the love of beauty in general should develop without the appearance of a desire for beauty in the details of every-day life,—in utensils, clothing, surroundings of every sort; as it is impossible, also, that this desire for beauty in particulars should be dispensed with without a corresponding retrogression in refinement and love of beauty in general. One of the chief expenses of American entertainments is the profusion of flowers used in decoration, and often most artistically arranged; and whatever else may be said on the subject, the pleasure derived from them can scarcely be termed spurious or irrational. Not all large sums spent by the rich are given for mere display or for sensuality; they may be spent for scientific experiments on a large scale, like those of Edison, for travel, for books, for statuary and fine pictures, for fine architecture, for rich tapestries and carpets, and even in great measure for appliances and methods that secure greater cleanliness and more healthful ways of living altogether. Nor are the appliances of art and culture as desirable in huge museums or draughty and ill-ventilated libraries, or anywhere else where the individual is forced into the noise and numerous other annoyances of a promiscuous crowd, as in his own home, arranged according to his own peculiarities of taste, and associated with all the joys of love and domestic freedom. When sympathy has become so general and so strong that not only men but women also can find their best intellectual enjoyment in public places, these reasons will cease to be of any force, but at present they have even moral force; and since inherent character is a matter of evolution, a condition of general sympathy and mutual consideration, and even of universal common decency, must be of slow growth. It may further be said, in particular, that there is no material more used by artists than the so-much-decried velvet; again, many people of taste, who otherwise spend money for little more than the necessities of life, find a peculiar delight in the delicacy of fine laces, and are willing to forego many other pleasures in order to possess them. George Eliot's Dorothea, otherwise simple of habit, content with her plain wool gown, found a peculiar fascination in the colors of an emerald bracelet, and numerous persons confess to a similar pleasure in the changing rainbow of the diamond, or the clear blue of the sapphire. These desires and pleasures exist; they exist in people of comparative taste; they exist as the result of human progress; they are not confined to a few individuals; and they cannot be dismissed with a mere arbitrary definition of them as "artificial," "superfluous," "irrational," or "spurious."

The more cultivated Socialist complains of the lack of taste in society; and an artist who is also a Socialist not long ago expressed his regret that art was at present "unable to prevent" the wearing of unbecoming forms of dress, etc. But we trust that this is not a hint that socialistic government would undertake to decree what forms of dress should be adopted; and we scarcely think that it could supply taste itself to all people, or render differences of taste impossible. Taste is, like everything else, a matter of evolution; it must make its experiments, and undergo many failures for every step in advance. The modern average of taste is as much in advance upon the average of our savage ancestors as the modern average of morals is an advance upon savage morals. The ideal of taste is, by definition, above the average; and it may be doubted whether the time will ever come when there will not be both degrees and differences of taste, and also an æsthetic superiority of taste among those who devote their lives to art that will render the average "poor" to them.

If, then, we are to condemn luxury on any tenable scientific grounds, we must face the fact that it is an organic feature of the progress of human society in intellectual and moral character, and a part of human happiness; and we must show, over against these undeniable facts, outweighing reasons for condemning it. The matter is more difficult than a superficial Utilitarianism perceives.

The question seems to be one of the relinquishment of certain things on the part of one class, in order that another may be elevated to a higher plane. Certainly, no one can deny that the present misery and degradation in society is a moral wrong, and that it is our duty to seek some method by which it may be removed as speedily as possible. But what is the degree of relinquishment which will suffice to raise all the poor to a plane of comfort? Without defining the tastes for the refinements or elegancies of life as "spurious," or, except as they are personally injurious or associated with idleness, as in themselves bad, we must admit that there are many exaggerations of expenditure for the mere pleasure of the moment to a very small minority of individuals, which, in view of the joys the same sums might secure for multitudes, cannot be justified. But suppose that we do away with the spending of immense sums for the entertainment of princes and potentates, with the lavishing of wealth on a single dinner, on a single reception, on carriages built for the mere purpose of carrying a single millionaire bride to the church-door, and with the other expenses of this order; shall we be able, as a result, to supply all the destitute with comforts? Or to what length must we go, to what grade of luxury must we descend in our reforms, in order to secure this? It would certainly not be for the general good that society as a whole should relinquish all the refinements that it has won in its evolution and be reduced to a mere bread-and-butter level in the equalizing process. Beyond the superficial utilitarian comparison of the two classes we have to consider also the welfare of society as a whole. If we cannot morally defend the sacrifice of the general good to one class, neither can we defend its sacrifice to another class.

And here we come again to the population question. It is foolish to suppose that character, as already formed, at any period, in adults, as inherited correlative with physical organization, and as further influenced by the contact of children with parents, husbands with wives, friends with friends, and classes with classes, could be changed in the twinkling of an eye. It is foolish to suppose that men would become all at once, with the accession of comfort, wise, prudent, self-controlled, and unselfish. On the contrary, those unused to prosperity are generally the ones who use it least well when their lot is suddenly changed. Many would not perceive or realize what results their action would have on the condition of future generations, and many would not care as long as they themselves escaped those results. We cannot, therefore, conceive otherwise than that the rate of increase of population would suffer an immense acceleration, were prosperity to be all at once secured to all classes. Supposing, then, that the equalization of wealth, or that even comfort to the poorer classes, were possible without a return to too primitive a standard of life for all society, would the reform be a permanent one?

The population question is one that the majority of Socialists systematically avoid. But however avoided theoretically, it cannot be avoided when we come to practice; and for this reason practical men are likely to steer clear of theories that take no account of it. There is a reason for this almost universal avoidance of the population question by Socialists; it is, in fact, a question which stands in the way of the very large majority of socialistic projects. But even the more advanced of Socialists take but little notice of its importance. At a recent meeting of the London Fabian Society, a large number present seemed to agree with a member who argued that population might be left to take its own course since "there is only a tendency" to too rapid increase. Naturally, there is only a tendency to increase beyond the food supply, since beyond this limit comes—death from privation and disease; and since even beyond the limit of comfort come morbid conditions which gradually bring death. If the theory of the Fabian in question is not laisser faire, then I do not know what is. But the population question never has solved itself and never will; it can only be solved by definite intention.

At the same discussion mentioned above, another debater objected to any decrease in the size of the families of laborers, on the ground that such decrease would tend to lower wages and so also to lower the standard of life. But the payment of higher wages, either on an average to correspond with an actual average of larger families, or in particular cases in view of the size of family in these cases, can never constitute a raising of the standard of life; on the contrary, the wages would be paid on the old standard for the individual, and competition would be increased by the actual increase of population. The standard of life is, and can be, raised only as a higher standard for the individual is demanded and obtained.

But to these various arguments may be objected by the Socialists that under socialistic government the whole environment of human society would be changed, and so the old rules would be of no force. And this brings us to another point.

A word continually in the mouth of certain of the Socialists is "environment." Man is what he is, say they, by virtue of his environment. Change the environment, and he must change. The present bad condition of things is due to the environment; crime is the effect of poverty, selfishness of competition; therefore, we have but to introduce the socialistic form of government in order to do away with poverty and crime at the same time with competition. The argument is attractive and seems to solve the question as easily and indisputably as if it were a mere elementary problem in Geometry. But the solution does not at all harmonize with the course of analysis followed in this essay. From the idea of an individual introduced into social conditions where poverty is absent, it generalizes to the whole of society introduced to a new set of laws. It forgets, in its definition of environment, that men themselves are the most important factor of the environment, and that, in order to change the environment, one must change the moral character of men with respect to each other. The whole argument makes the mistake of choosing the one of two concomitants as alone cause and regarding the other as alone effect. It is perfectly true that, if you can abolish poverty, you will also have abolished crime and sin; and, without looking farther, the Socialist regards this as conclusive evidence that the system he proposes is logically demonstrated to be the right and sure cure for present evil; but it may be added that it is quite equally true that, if you can abolish crime and sin, you will have abolished poverty, also; and then it may be further said that neither can be abolished, as a whole, first, in order that the other may be gotten rid of through its disappearance. Competition is no more the cause of selfishness, than selfishness is the cause of competition; the present legal system, the present form of government is no more the cause of the evils in society than the other evils in society are the cause of the defects in the present form of government. Man's nature is no more the effect of the social environment than the social conditions are the effect of his nature. Extreme poverty and crime or vice work reciprocally for each other's increase, or they increase and decrease with what may be termed oscillations; poverty results in vice and vice in poverty, or vice in poverty, and poverty again in vice; in the individual, either may be primary, may precede the other. It is as true that you must change men's characters in order to change all the outer evils of the environment as it is that you must change the outer evils in order to change men's characters. It is as true that you must get rid of crime and vice in order to get rid of poverty as it is that you must get rid of poverty in order to get rid of crime and vice. Here is the new version of the serpent with its tail in its mouth; but here it is not a symbol of eternity, but of evolution. There is no one cause of the evils in society, but all existing things are interdependent conditions. There is, therefore, no possibility of getting rid of any one of them at one stroke, its abolishment to be followed by the disappearance of the others; as they increase, so they must decrease,—by reciprocal action, or complex action and reaction.

If we imagine, for a moment, a whole society of savages suddenly introduced to a set of ideal laws by—we will say—some one individual from out an ideal society, who proclaims these laws and then returns to his own land, we shall not be able to imagine such laws remaining in force for any great length of time. If we suppose our own ancestors of the stone age introduced to our own laws by some one from out the present century returning to them as Mark Twain's Yankee returned to the court of King Arthur, we shall not imagine those laws as very long binding; and nothing could be truer to facts of psychology than the gigantic tragedy with which Mr. Clemens' book closes. No set of ideal laws introduced to an inideal society can be regarded as the "environment" of that society, which shall render it ideal. The more democratic a country, the more the passing, even, of a law or measure depends on the general sentiment; but many laws have been passed and many measures of government projected which have failed completely in administration because they were too far in advance of the general moral status. External morality of institutions and internal morality of character in society as a union of many individuals can only increase together, and gradually, by reciprocal action. In other words, the evolution necessary to the attainment of any ideal condition where poverty and crime are eliminated must be internal as well as external; and this is a fact that few Socialists recognize, at least practically, and that even the Fabians, accepting as they do the theory of evolution, continually fail to take account of in the application of their theories. They have indeed received the theory of evolution as regards external institutions; but, with perhaps a few exceptions, they have not regarded it in its inner, psychical significance. This is made evident by the continual recurrence of such references and remarks as we have criticised, which trace all evil to our "artificial system," refer to character as bad because "saturated with immoral principles by our commercial system,"[279] and reckon upon a change in this "artificial system" which, first accomplished, will cause a revolution in character. The acknowledgment of the necessity of evolution is, for the most part, forgotten in practical discussion; and the reason of this forgetfulness is easily understood from just the fact noticed—that the evolution, the necessity of which is recognized, is the mere external one of state institutions. Character is regarded in any case as a dependent, an effect; and this is in accordance with the old theory of the will as passive and as determined by the rest of nature, never as the active and independent factor determining and instituting. Thus, even a Fabian is likely to look with only half-approval at institutions like the Society for Ethical Culture, which has for its first object the cultivation of character; and many Socialists, until very lately the great majority, have regarded all improvements which did not bear directly towards Socialism as mere temporizing. The socialistic government was to be first established, and this would perform all the reforms necessary; or, rather, evils would disappear of themselves when once it was established. Fortunately, Socialism is itself undergoing an evolution.

But again, even those Socialists who talk of an evolution up to "socialistic forms" are continually found representing the ease with which government might, at present, take over the business of the nation. This is the natural result of the fact that the evolution recognized as necessary is only that of institutions, not that of character. The perception, on the other hand, that character is not, at present, capable of receiving or administering a socialistic form of government, is the reason of much of the resistance opposed to a party which, whatever a very small minority may claim as to theory, is practically endeavoring to force a system of government upon peoples not prepared for carrying it out with success. There are few governments, as yet, where even the democratic idea has sufficiently taken root to render the people at all used to self-government; and where they exist, the good they confer is not unmixed. I am not advancing an argument against democracy; but the defects of human nature which render its benefits of a mixed character must hinder in an incomparably greater measure a scheme which would place all power, even to the control of all wealth, in the hands of the administration; in other words, Socialism, if introduced to-day, could no more get rid of poverty and crime than democracy can get rid of them; and the gulf between the old and the new order being so great a one, the danger attending the new institutions would be particularly great. As Höffding remarks, it is not proved, because we intrust many things to state-government (with mixed good and evil) that it would be well to intrust the management of all matters to it. The Socialists propose to secure the perfection of system by making the government responsible to the people and the executive responsible to the government; but in democratic governments this principle is already carried out. Are we to suppose that the possession of still greater power and so still larger opportunities for fraud would afford the people greater security? Or how could the responsibility of the legislative and administrative functions to the people be still better secured than it is anywhere at present? The power of the people might be extended to include interference with both functions. But the socialistic government must, in any case, be excessively complicated; even Bellamy, whose government is much simplified by the supposition of the immediate attainment of an ideal character through the action of the social "environment," designates the scheme as "very elaborate." The difficulties of direct interference with the legislative functions in countries larger than Switzerland (where the referendum is occasionally resorted to), the difficulties of deciding on evidence before the court of the whole country in cases where the power of deposition might be used, the labor of arriving at a general verdict about which there should be no dispute, the strife and party feeling which must be thus continually engendered in the contest of opinions as long as men have not attained to an ideal character, would be likely, if such powers of national interference were often exercised, to keep the country in a state of continual uproar; while, on the other hand, if peace were purchased at the sacrifice of the power of direct interference, the machinery of state would no more than at present secure the nation from fraud, which must be greater as the power in the hands of a socialistic government would be larger. To the man of principle, it would doubtless appear foolish as well as wrong to sacrifice position, comparative comfort, and the esteem of fellow-citizens, for mere gain in wealth by dishonest means; but as long as there are many men by whom temporary gratification is often preferred even at the sacrifice of more lasting pleasure, and selfish pleasure is of more account than public esteem, as long as there are men to whom the element of excitement in crime is an attraction, as long as women are often unscrupulous and men the slaves of passion, as long as there are those who find the power to command by means of wealth more desirable than security in moderation, and as long as there remain others who will bow down to wealth fraudulently acquired, as long, too, as there are countries anywhere upon the earth in which malefactors may find refuge, the chances of fraud under a socialistic government are large. They must be particularly large where "inordinate luxury and the hope of it" are abolished; for, leaving out of account all question as to the morality of luxury, there are undoubtedly many men who desire as much of it as they can obtain. Bellamy discreetly supposes his ideal government to be adopted at once by all nations, thus paying no attention to the obviously very different degrees of social development represented by those different nations. But as long as any communication of trade whatever existed with nations still under the old régime, ingenuity could devise ways of theft, and foreign lands would constitute a goal for the enjoyment of the spoil. There are, and will be for very many years yet, plenty of places of refuge for the clever thief. Moreover, communication and commerce with other lands not only being necessary but becoming daily more and more desirable, a law excluding all foreigners would be difficult to establish; and this being the case, the social equilibrium must be continually disturbed, and inner character affected by the influx from other nations.

There is another general objection to socialistic schemes which bears on the point of their application to present conditions, namely, their arbitrary nature, the manner in which they would decide summarily many questions on which society is at present most at variance and different individuals entertain the most conflicting opinions, the comparative value of which can be tested only by experiment. This feature of Socialism is inseparable from the general condition of things. Many feel, therefore, and feel with reason, that sympathy is not yet sufficiently general and strong to warrant the entrusting of all interests of the individual to a majority of his fellow-men. It is even a question whether free scientific investigation would not be imperilled if some Socialists had their way. It is not long since that I heard an "evolutionary" Socialist expressing his opinion emphatically that the waste of time and energy in the pursuit of ambitions never to be realized was so undesirable that he questioned whether the individual ought to be permitted to choose a vocation in which it is believed he will fail. But the element of interest that causes a man to choose a given occupation is the very factor which most often results in efficient labor; and it is the testimony of many that the perseverance possible through love of their work has prevailed in direct opposition to the predictions of onlookers. Thousands of men have succeeded against all expectations. It is by no means those who apparently possess most ability who succeed best or profit the world most by their work. There are projects of arbitrariness very similar in sort and nearly as great in degree in all the Socialistic schemes in which the questions of the day are furnished with cut and dried answers. It is strange, for instance, that American advocates of women's right to a free choice of a vocation have failed to discover with what dexterity Bellamy avoids the whole question of women's capacity, by the discreetly blind remark that they are not only inferior to men in strength, but "further disqualified in special ways" (a formula which the author finds so successful that he repeats the words in a subsequent essay), while he appears practically to side with the Conservatives in thought on the matter. The government of Bellamy provides, furthermore, that one can change his vocation only up to the age of thirty-five, and even to this date only "under proper restrictions"; the experience of mankind has shown, however, that a man's best inspirations may come to him after this age, and lead to a development of talents heretofore unsuspected even by himself. The "aids to choice" in a state may be as numerous as you like; but they can never give a man of thirty the experience and mental development of the man of thirty-five, thirty-seven, or forty. The assistance which the judgment of others can give in the choice of a vocation is, for the most part, of little use to the adult; and whatever the minor advantages of an elimination of the certain amount of disturbance consequent on changes of occupation, the harm to society of restriction on efforts in any direction of useful labor must more than counterbalance these.

The method of newspaper-editing in Bellamy's state is also peculiar. The people who desire any special interest to be brought before the public choose an editor, establish a newspaper "reflecting their opinions and devoted especially to their locality, trade, or profession," and when the editor fails to give satisfaction in his publications, simply "remove him." This method would, I fear, scarcely meet the desires of any editor possessed with a brain, and to whom his profession was something more than a matter of mere automatism.

Indeed, the whole order of Bellamy's state is of too military and automatic a character; though it is easy, in a work of fiction, to represent the members of his industrial army as universally content and universally virtuous.

It is in consequence of the more or less distinct perception that, for all these reasons, human nature of the present time is unsuited to the absolute coöperation involved in Socialism, that many Individualists advocate a continuation of the system of competition. From ancient savagery up to our present half-civilization has been a gradual evolution, not of government with character as its effect, but of government and character as coördinates, or (if we view them in another light) as advancing by mutual action and reaction; and our future must constitute a like gradual evolution (though with continual acceleration of velocity) of character and government as coördinates; the attempt of individuals or parties to force one of these coördinates before the other must always result in failure. It is true, as Mr. Grant Allen stated in a lecture before the London Fabians—designed as refutation of the Individualistic theory that competition is necessary for the best social evolution—that natural selection favors coöperation,[280] that is, that those societies in which the efforts of individuals are most supplemented by the aid of others, have the best chance of life and health both as wholes and in their individual units; but this fact does not do away with the necessity of the evolution of coöperation coördinate with character. "We know now," says another Fabian, "that in natural selection at the stage of development where the existence of civilized man is at stake, the units selected from are not individuals but societies."[281] This, however, we do not know. Natural selection acts on cell, on individual, and on all the various social units to which men combine, in their multiplicity of relations. It does not cease to act on individuals because it acts also on social organizations, any more than it ceases to act on cells in acting on organisms as wholes; it is only true that the line of the preservation of the individual and that of the preservation of the whole of society approach each other more and more nearly with social progress. The tendency of the whole of social evolution has been one of increasing coöperation coördinate with increasing social instinct or sympathy in all its complex relations and dependences; and with the attainment of the maximum of sympathy we can not well imagine or suppose anything else than the maximum of coöperation. On the other hand, the gradual nature of social evolution up to this maximum, and the contest of differing opinions, secures a sufficient experiment, and so the protection of the people from tyranny under another name; for it is not the emotional nature of man alone which must grow to greater harmony, it is also his intellectual nature; as opinions are brought nearer and nearer to each other by mutual criticism, men become more capable of coöperation; and this intellectual agreement represents the line of adjustment or natural selection, since it is the conclusion reached by means of experience—the common knowledge bought through the practical application of various principles. A tribe of savages would be incapable of administration of the government of our so-called civilized states, as also of obedience to it:—both because the individual would rebel in opinion and in emotion at the barriers imposed by it, and because the functions of administration in the hands of savages would tend to injustice that would be greater as the sphere of government exceeded that to which the tribe had been used; and for similar reasons, the present age is incapable of that maximum of coöperation in all relations which is involved in Socialism. Even the æsthetic use of wealth, moderation and taste in enjoyment, must be learned by degrees; it cannot be infused by any government. The savage envies, in our more civilized states, chiefly the opportunities for the gorging of good things and for self-adornment which they afford; and the savage lack of self-control where alcohol is concerned, is proverbial; the average of more civilized societies shows a much greater self-control and moderation in the face of opportunities of purely sensual gratification, and a much greater love of more æsthetic and more moral pleasures. Or rather, we should perhaps say, as before, the sensuality becomes more refined, and is gratified in more moral ways, through its organization with higher instincts. It is not among the wealthier classes, who have had the use of wealth, that taste is poorest; on the contrary, the average of taste is smaller, the outlay for foolish ornament of all sorts larger in proportion to means, in the poorer classes; and were these classes to come without change of character into possession of considerable means of enjoyment, it is to be suspected that expenditure for tasteless adornments would, in many cases, and especially among the women, precede and exceed expenditure for higher things.

And this brings me to a more especial consideration of that very large portion of the Socialist party who acknowledge no necessity for an evolution up to Socialism in any sense, but desire a revolution. Bellamy distinctly denies the necessity of an evolution, and many of his followers agree with him on this point; but the revolution he believes in and hopes for is a bloodless and peaceful one. To this conception the preceding objections sufficiently apply.

A revolution in the ordinary sense of the word is always, however, the sign of powerful opposition between two parties, of which one may gain the immediate ascendancy by force; but will surely be exposed, afterwards, to the long-enduring hatred, opposition, and revenge of a strong minority, that will make itself felt with an energy greatly increased by the vindictiveness which naturally follows on war and defeat. France is still suffering from her revolutions even at this length of time after their occurrence. Where the people have no vote and real influence upon the government, and even the expression of opinion is restricted by law, so that to gain an influence is practically impossible, a political revolution may take place; but its results, both immediate and remote, must contain a very large modicum of evil even if some advance is accomplished by it. A revolution to obtain the establishment of absolute coöperation would be self-contradictory, and the self-contradiction of character implied in it would result in its failure; it could not happen in a country at all prepared for absolute coöperation, or even for a very high degree of coöperation. A revolution in any country at the present time would have to reckon with all sorts of depraved tastes and vicious characters, matters of organization and inheritance which neither in the individual, nor in the line of descent, could be gotten rid of in a day; which must, indeed, affect society for many generations, and before they could be eradicated would do away with Socialism or destroy its success. Poverty and crime cannot be banished by any device of mere legislation; only with time and by gradual means can they be gotten rid of.

Socialism is, then, as a whole, too impetuous, if Individualism is, as a whole, too reluctant. But Socialism is undergoing an evolution, as has been said. Arising as the voice of the poor, the oppressed, the miserable, the hungry, it has made itself heard and has materially modified public opinion, while it has, at the same time, been itself modified, according to the universal law of the equilibration of forces. Forced by necessity practically, and gradually altered by criticism as to theory, it is coming to give its energies less and less to a consideration of the final socialistic government which should do away with the necessity of further reforms because accomplishing an immediate and universal one, and devoting them more and more to present measures of reform, many of which are simply liberal measures proposed by non-Socialists and such as would have had no meaning to the majority of Socialists of a few years past, or would have been regarded by them as useless temporizing. In its mutual action and reaction with Individualism, it will doubtless still more modify and be modified, so that more and more ground for united action will be won. The cause of the laborer is the most urgent of our times; but increase of wages will be of very little use except as it is steadily accompanied by aids to knowledge and self-direction, aids in the formation of character, in the use of self and of the means of enjoyment; otherwise, the laborer must continually defeat his own cause, and renew the old problems.

The education of self-control must begin with the child. The education of the child is never to be considered by itself; the child is not one individual and the adult another, neither is there any dividing line between childhood and maturity; and that which the individual is to become in later life he must grow towards as a child. The habits which the man would exercise the child must learn. In Germany, where the military spirit prevails, implicit obedience to authority is ranked among the highest virtues, and habits of strict military discipline are carried into the family as well as exercised in all public relations. In countries where more democratic ideas are strong, the older methods are giving way to milder ones. These sometimes degenerate into the opposite extreme of careless indulgence, with bad results; but taken on the average, their beneficial influence is seen in the greater alertness, originality, and openness of the children brought up under them. Frankness and originality are on the average incompatible with harsh or stern treatment; the latter is more likely to generate craftiness, fawning hypocrisy, or an unloving and unlovable rigidity of character; and any of these qualities is compatible with secret self-indulgence in any form, wherever this is possible. Only an education in freedom can teach the use of freedom. The old, hard, religious idea of "breaking the will" (the natural outcome of a religion based on blind faith, "fear," and unquestioning obedience) was a sad blunder; what we need is not less but more will, with better direction of it. True, the wisdom of experience must always guide the young; but its guidance, to attain the best results, should make itself as little felt as authority as possible, and should withdraw into the background as early as possible. Not that it should degenerate into slipshod yielding to importunities, but that it should endeavor to give reasons rather than mere rules of conduct, to instil principles and ideas rather than laws, and so to develop the power of self-direction. It is often objected that the young child is incapable of comprehending principles; but so is the infant incapable of comprehending speech, and yet it is through the use of speech to the infant that comprehension is gradually attained; as sounds are fixed in the receptive memory of the infant, and slowly acquire meaning, so ethical principles, simply stated, may be communicated, and will be better and better understood as the child develops. This method of instruction is, rightly understood, as far from weakness as it is from tyranny and dogmatism; indeed, no method demands in the instructor so much care, thought, and patience. It must be judicious and consistent, never capricious, and its fundamental principle must be the cultivation of justice through justice, and so of kindness through kindness. Especially should the young be prepared in the home, by self-knowledge, for the trials and temptations which menace in the world outside, through the passions of maturity. To the earnest man or woman, nothing appears more trivial than the false shame which hinders, even in the home and between parents and children, the moral discussion of some of the most important of human relations for good or evil. To the pure all things are pure; but, unfortunately, it is also true that to the impure all things are impure. Nothing is more injurious to children than the morbid curiosity stimulated through the secrecy and deception which are ordinarily practised, and which inspires them with the sense of a mystery that is half criminal, half sacred. Curiosity grows under such tuition, a disproportionate interest is awakened and often comes to be satisfied from sources outside the home, with an admixture of deplorable vulgarity, the influence of which is not soon lost. Such a tuition tends, not to purity of thought, but to impurity, and often directly to vice. The mystery with which natural, and what may be perfectly moral, relations is thus invested, is often the source of a fatal attraction to ignorant youth. What we need to make out of our children is not puppets of which the world as well as ourselves may pull the wires, but earnest and self-comprehending men and women, self-reliant and fearless because life is no strange country filled with unknown shadows and pitfalls, but a pleasant land, whose dangers, known, may be avoided, and the road through which leads to a comprehended and desirable goal.

Parental power was once held sacred and beyond interference; nevertheless the use made of it does not seem to have been always a sacred one. The Roman law allowed parents to put their children to death. The modern state has tended, on the other hand, to take away more and more power from the parents, extending its protection to the helpless child. And this is well; the child, as well as the adult, should have the right of protection against abuse. Nevertheless, the theories which would relegate the whole education and care of the child to the state must be regarded as too extreme. Whatever disadvantages there may be in the government of parents, especially at the present day when the education of women is still so inadequate, there is yet nothing which the child cannot better miss out of his education than the influence of parental love, the lack of which no state institution can ever supply. Granted that parental government is of a most mistaken sort in some cases, and that it is not perfect in any case, it still remains true that family affection furnishes one of mankind's greatest joys, and that the love of the parent should, and even does, on the average, make the best protection and educator weak and clinging childhood can have. No one who has at all studied the condition of children in orphan asylums and other institutions under the care of the state, can have failed to notice, even in those institutions managed with the greatest kindness, the immense difference in happiness and attractiveness between their inmates and the children used to family love and mother's caresses. The lack of love makes the child unlovable. The fundamental method of reform lies, not in the withdrawal of all power from parents, but rather in the better preparation of men, and especially of women, to fulfil the duties of parentage. Such a preparation must consist, however, less in any particular study than in such general physical, intellectual, and moral discipline and education as shall expand all the powers in health and harmony, thus securing to children a good physical inheritance and an early guidance both wise and moral. A higher morality must particularly emphasize the fact that not self alone or even merely the two parties to a marriage are to be considered; that the welfare of possible offspring must be regarded; and that, therefore, marriage with the morally unfit is a crime against future generations as well as against self, and marriage of the physically unfit, where offspring are permitted, is equally a wrong. The old idea, encouraged in women, that it was a good and noble use of life to "marry a man in order to reform him," is beginning to go out of vogue; and future standards will not tolerate the present social dogma that, however much of a profligate a man may have been, whatever associates he may have affected, however he may have betrayed the innocent and debauched his own moral sense, he is still fit to mate with any pure and good woman.

The necessity of a better physical and intellectual education for the mothers of the race, as a preparation for the adequate performance of their duties, must be, at the present time, especially emphasized. The task of the mother in the early training of children is one that requires practical knowledge of the world, broad views, and that power of judgment which is possible only through mental discipline. Superstition, narrowness, subjection to tradition and dogma, are incompatible with efficient motherhood. The education must, then, be real, no cramming with stale facts and staler theories; it must advance with the science of the day, and deal with its vital questions.

But the standpoint which regards women only as means to ends outside themselves, which calculates all the advantages to be permitted them by the measure alone of their usefulness to husbands or children, is a poor one. To afford to all individuals the full and free development of capacity must be the ideal of society. The ancient conceptions which laid little emphasis practically, whatever they might do theoretically, upon the woman's right to opportunities for her own sake, which made meekness and self-abnegation her chief virtues, and fixed its regard always upon future generations in her case, is one that cannot be defended from a higher ethical standpoint. If no man lives unto himself alone, neither should any man, or woman either, be expected to spend his life merely as a means to others and having no end in himself. Every human being has a right to a share in the general privileges and pleasures. For their own sake, and that of society as a whole, as well as for that of their immediate friends and family, women should share equally with men the benefits of mental culture, its æsthetic enjoyments, its consolations and distractions, and the calm and self-poise bestowed by its broad outlook. To women as well as to men applies what has already been said of the folly and sin of ignorance of the world. We have only to look at France in order to perceive the evils of a system which brings girls to maturity in a condition of seclusion, ignorance, and dependence, and then suddenly launches them upon society wholly unprepared to withstand the temptations it presents. The evil results of a less degree of the same system are visible all over the world. On the other hand, it is in just that country—America—where women have had the most freedom, that they are also most capable of enduring freedom, and that their civilizing influence is most visible. They are not the less womanly for this liberty, and society is very much the better for it. Indeed, their attractiveness and the power they wield through it is not equalled in any other country. "I wonder," writes George Eliot, "whether the subtle measuring of forces will ever come to measure the force there would be in one beautiful woman whose mind was as noble as her face was beautiful—who made a man's passion for her rush in one current with all the great aims of his life." "It is terrible—the keen, bright eye of a woman when it has once been turned with admiration on what is severely true; but then the severely true rarely comes within its range of vision."

The questions of marriage and prostitution may be reduced to the single question of the desirability of monogamy. No one can well deny the evils attending the existence of a class of prostitutes isolated from moral associations, despised and ill-treated, daily sinking lower and lower through this isolation, and contaminating, by their influence, those who come in contact with them. The practical question is, then, would it be well for society as a whole to assume another attitude, of open approval, towards prostitution, to admit those who are now outcasts to a position on a par with faithful wives and pure maidens. This was the position of Athenian prostitutes, and it existed together with, we may suppose, comparative chastity on the part of maidens and faithfulness on the part of wives. These, however, did not take part in the social life of the men, but lived in seclusion in their homes; it would be impossible to accord a similar position to prostitutes in modern society unless with the practical surrender of any demand or expectancy of faithfulness on the part of wives, or of chastity on the part of maidens. Even in France, where the position of prostitutes most nearly approximates the Athenian, a very distinct dividing-line is drawn between the demi-monde and the rest of society; and, indeed, special precautions are taken to secure the chastity of girls. In like manner, purity might perhaps still be secured in girls, after the admission of prostitutes to a position of equality with other women, by a convent education and the greatest watchfulness; but the lack of self-dependence would be likely to be followed, as it now so often is in France, only in far greater degree, by excesses after the attainment of comparative self-direction with marriage. The profligate soon tires of the prostitute, and desires higher game; unbridled license begets morbid passion; the sense of honor is blunted; the pure cease to be safe except as far as they are able, by self-control and self-defence, to protect themselves; and for such self-poise only an education of freedom, of knowledge of the world and of self, can prepare. Nor could even such a system of seclusion as we have imagined exist for any length of time side by side with the full acceptance of prostitution as perfectly honorable and right; the two things are self-contradictory and incompatible; in France, faithfulness is not less desired of wives than in other countries. Indeed, the majority of men in civilized countries would never consent to a system of general promiscuity; they desire women, that is, a large number of women, a sufficient number to supply them with wives, to remain pure, whatever liberty they demand for themselves. The whole progress of society has been in the direction of monogamy, and the reason of this is obvious: as reason and taste develop, man ceases to be satisfied with the mere enjoyments of the animal; he develops higher powers and instincts which also demand their satisfaction; these powers, too, are not separate entities, but are organized with the more primitive capacities and the whole organization becomes another through their appearance. As the social instinct grows, and intellect comes to take a higher place, the mere or chiefly physical passion felt between the sexes of lower species becomes the higher human love, an organized instinct in which all the moral and intellectual desires, the highest aims and emotions of the individual are fused to a whole. Moreover, momentary pleasure becomes, with social progress, indeed with all evolution, less and less the ruling power; man, above all creatures, comes to demand enduring sources of satisfaction. Faithfulness in love is as necessary to perfect satisfaction as is faithfulness in friendship; and the long as well as the close companionship of congenial natures is now, and must more and more become, the spring of our highest human joys. Disappointment in marriage may incline the individual to doubt, by a universalization from his own case,—to which disappointment is prone,—whether life-long love and faithfulness are possible; but he still must feel that this is the ideal. It has been said that men are naturally polygamous, women monogamous; but this statement is obviously erroneous, since men by no means favor general polygamy; even the savage is capable of jealousy, and men have continually used the superior power they have possessed in law and public opinion to emphasize the exclusive claim they have upon the women they take to wife. It is only true that, having also had the power in their hands of refusing a like faithfulness to that which they demand from women, they have used this power to their own advantage. Women desire faithful love on the part of men quite as much as men desire it on the part of women; and women are quite as capable of physical excesses and of fickleness as are men, when the restraints of public opinion and social law are once broken over.

A condition of promiscuity is impossible in an ideal society, and can never be the goal towards which we tend. Men would not submit to it in the women they loved; and if it is not possible for wives, then we have left us only the alternative of prostitution in its present form, increasingly worse in character as the ideal of faithfulness is more universally demanded and more completely carried out in wives, and the necessary coördinate social ostracism and disgrace of the prostitute increases. But this also cannot assuredly be our ideal; the increasing misery of the class of prostitutes is not a thing to be sought. The whole theory which tolerates prostitution is, in fact, illogical and only devised as a prop for the selfishness of men, who are content to take their pleasure at the expense of so much misery. The same thing cannot be, as some one has said, at once right for the man to demand and infamous for the woman to permit. Where the act is one to which both sexes are necessary, it must, if it be right at all, be right for both, and if it is wrong, then wrong for both. And this would remain true even if it were proved that, because of greater strength or for any other reason, the sexual passion of men ought not to be restrained; for, the responsibility of the prostitute's misery is thus laid at the door of men; if the women who ply this traffic are prompted by no passion, but only compelled by destitution, then the blame of their unhappy compulsion to such a traffic rests more than ever on the heads of those who furnish the demand to which their supply answers. In any case, the man is an accessory before the fact to a thing which he acknowledges wrong on the part of its performer.

But the plea that passion is stronger in the man for an act which dates back to the point in evolution where sexual propagation first began, and which has been performed equally by both sexes through all the range of species up to man, and even equally by both sexes of the human species except during the comparatively short period of higher civilization, is absurd. The difference between the sexes in degree of sexual gratification is, among those who transmit their instincts to offspring, not great even under civilization. There is probably more excess in marriage than outside it. But apart from this fact, the fact of cross-heredity is to be taken into consideration. The sexual is no more than any other instinct a separate part of the individual character; it is organically interwoven with all other instincts and tendencies; and it is scarcely supposable that thus fused with the rest of character, it would not be subject, as all other traits, to cross-inheritance from father to daughter as well as from mother to son,—that the father's life would not, in many cases, affect his daughter's propensities, and the mother's life her son's. This a priori reasoning is supported by facts of observation, among which those of pathology and criminology are naturally the most marked. Man is an animal; but, as we have said before, he is not a beast, nor does he need to imitate the beasts. He has his own social organization and must determine his own moral laws. The old theory, that any restraint at all of sexual passion is a crime against nature, and likely to result in great physical evil, is now exploded. Even if it were true that some evil to the individual was always the result of any restraint, the good of the individual is not the absolute criterion of right, and cannot stand against the claim of society as a whole; the unrestrained indulgence of sexual passion could no more be justified on this ground, and because of the fact that it is a natural instinct, than the absolute indulgence of anger can be justified because anger is a natural passion, and its expression doubtless a great satisfaction and relief to the individual. But very many medical men, and among them such men as Professor Krafft-Ebbing, the German authority on nervous diseases, are now denying that self-restraint has such evil results as have been attributed to it. Krafft-Ebbing says, on the contrary, that while physical excess is very often the precursor of harm, self-restraint is seldom so, except in cases of abnormal and morbid appetite.[282]

In other countries than the United States and England, the plea of "poetry" or "romance" is often heard in defence of prostitution, and as an excuse for the seduction of pure women. But if this is poetry, which must so end in the bitter misery, the shame, degradation, despair, and even often the utter destruction of its heroines, then, in the name of pity, let us have less of poetry and more of common humanity. To a man of anything but selfish instincts, "poetry" or "romance" could never be an excuse for connivance at such misery, either by direct act or in any way by influence. Nor is the poetry or romance of the highest order, in any case. There is no romance so powerful, no poetry so thrilling, nor any passion so strong, as that to which all the springs of intellectual aspiration and moral aim converge, and which draws its sweetness and force from a purity tainted by no degradation of ideals, galled by no bitter and humiliating recollections, checked by no self-consciousness of concealment and deceit. Compared with such a feeling, the romance of the "man of the world" is tame and flat, his poetry but the doggerel jingle of the third-rate variety-show. Physical passion the human being shares with every dog and other brute down to nearly the lowest forms of animal life; love is as truly of higher species as the æsthetic sense of the artist is of higher nature than the delight of the savage in gauds. The old idea that strong emotion of any kind was incompatible with perfect morality has already been sufficiently discussed. But this delusion has been the excuse of many a life of profound selfishness. It has led to the theory that the artistic nature must necessarily be unrestrained in the gratification of its impulses, and has furnished the libertine with a fine sense of kinship with the poet through the imitation of his sins. Perhaps the poetry of the lives of Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning has been to the world as great a gratification and of as high worth as any that they ever wrote on paper. It has dispelled once and forever the false theory of the necessities of the artistic temperament, and has enabled us to perceive the higher beauty of enduring love.

It is often urged in defence of the sexual sins of the poet or the musician, that they are natural to his temperament and that, moreover, he must be acquainted with all phases of life. But why is it not also urged, then, that he ought to be at liberty to give way to ungoverned fury, if he has inherited a tendency in that direction, or that he is justified in committing murder, arson, and all the other crimes in the catalogue for the sake of the experience and the greater power of portrayal thus gained? If the excuse suffices for one crime against the welfare of human beings, it should suffice also for others. Dickens might possibly have been able to draw the character of Bill Sykes, to depict his crime and the succeeding emotions with greater power and faithfulness, had he himself experienced all that which he wished to portray; nevertheless, society cannot concede that he would have been justified in killing for the sake of his art; and neither can it concede, from a higher ethical standpoint, that any other act in direct opposition to the general welfare is justifiable for the sake of art. It may be possible for the artist, by torturing a slave to death, to paint a more realistic picture of dying agony; but however glorious the art, the man of finer sense and stronger sympathies must be revolted by it. Society can even better miss a little of its art than take it at the price of human misery.

But it is to be questioned whether the artist does not lose as much as he gains, or even more, by an immoral license of any sort. True, the artist must know human nature; but the best portrayers of criminal characters have not themselves been criminals; and if ever we should have a murderer-poet, we should in all probability feel the lack, in his verse, of various things, among these of the higher realism which comprehends higher as well as lower types. It is impossible to be merely the spectator of one's own life even if one is an artist; and especially is this true where passion is concerned. The emotions one feels, the acts one performs, must mould one's character, one's thought, opinion, the mental world in which one lives, and so one's creative genius. Nature is by no means all dunghill or reptile-haunted swamp, or even common kitchen; she has also her seas and mountains, and skies, her fields and woods, and even her sunny gardens and dainty parlors. The snow-mountain glowing under the flush of dawn is as real as the reeking dunghill; but the power to appreciate and portray the one may be lost by too close association with the other, as the fine sense of smell is dulled by sojourning in foul odors. To the rake, the character of the self-controlled and virtuous becomes incomprehensible and chimerical; and his attempts to represent it are likely to be tinged with an atmosphere of unreality. Of this we have much evidence in literature. To raise oneself to the higher standard in practice and comprehension requires an effort; but it is comparatively easy to allow oneself to sink to a level for which generations of one's ancestors has prepared innate if latent tendencies. On the other hand, though we desire to know men and things through art, we desire to keep with us through its aid, above all, that which most pleases us in the actual world—the beautiful in form, coloring, and idea, in nature outside man and in man himself; the good, if it is the truly good, and not cant or hypocrisy, is also the beautiful, and the loss of the power to portray it is a large one. And beyond the more easily definable loss which we have noticed, there is a still further one, felt in a subtle tone, a shade, an atmosphere; and which, if closely knit with our moral perceptions, is still an æsthetic as well as a moral one. The evolution of morality, could, indeed, no more take place without leaving its impress on art than without leaving it on humor. The higher sense of humor, in very proportion to its keenness, experiences a revulsion at the grotesque and gross vulgarity which passes for humor among the savage and half-civilized; and with time, the immoral comes to revolt too much to permit of æsthetic enjoyment. Had Dickens been a murderer himself, instead of the tender-hearted man he was, the world would doubtless have lost in every way æsthetically as well as morally by the fact. The old theory of the total emancipation of art from all claims of morality cannot be maintained from even the æsthetic standpoint, and certainly not from the ethical standpoint. Art has every right to be non-moral (if that which delights innocently is ever anything but positively moral), but it has none to be immoral,—to use the mighty power it possesses in the cause of evil of any sort.

Nor is it even true that all nature belongs to art. In all its history, sculpture has never, except in a few isolated cases, reproduced the forms of the withered and decrepit. The painter of the extreme realistic school may occasionally portray the scenes of the dissecting-room, but pictures of sores and ulcers are left to adorn the pages of medical works or patent-medicine advertisements. There are moral sores and ulcers as little suited to artistic literature, and belonging properly to works on social healing alone. The depiction of evil in due proportion and with such limitations belongs to the accurate representation of human character. But let its portrayal include no sin against man; let not the artist dip his hands in the dunghill, for humanity's sake and also for his art's sake; lest his picture reek of it, and we find the offal mixed with the colors.

The cant and superstition with which marriage has often been invested has doubtless been the source of the rebellion of many vigorous and original minds from the old morality; the morality founded on tradition and not on reason and sympathy has always this disadvantage. Undoubtedly, the sale of human flesh for gold or any other sordid consideration, is evil, whether done under the sanction of the marriage-law or without it. Undoubtedly also, the marriage-rite performs no miracle or magic spell, as the superstition of the past has imagined. Nevertheless, it is of importance as a civil contract, a public acknowledgment, which furnishes data to the state, and places it in a position to protect any injured party, and to fix the responsibility for the maintenance and education of offspring. Considering the number of individuals whose welfare is seriously concerned in these most intimate relations of life, with all their passions, the state cannot relinquish this right of arbitration, which should especially be employed for the protection of the weaker individuals concerned—the wife and children. Unfortunately, it has, as yet, too often been used rather in securing the power of tyranny and abuse than in protecting. This fact is perceptible even in modern law, as, for instance, in the unequal divorce-laws of England, and in the fact that wife-beaters are often treated with great leniency by English magistrates, while the man who abuses his mistress is liable to relatively severe punishment as having no especial power over the latter. It is, undoubtedly, the result of such laws, together with other evils incidental to the average of marriages under the present conditions of human character, that on some sides a theory has grown up in favor of the total abolition of marriage. But neither in its general application, nor in this particular instance, is the Anarchistic conception which finds the source of all evil in law, scientifically justifiable. The conditions of the evil lie in human nature itself, in the incompleteness of its evolution; of the present stage the injustice of present law is a part. The remedy lies, therefore, as far as the law is concerned, in its correction, not in its abolishment.

The ideal of love is enduring faithfulness. But when that ideal is not only unfulfilled, but marriage brings, instead of happiness, only misery, shall the bond be indissoluble, difficult, or easy to loose?

In countries where women are wholly dependent upon men, perfect facility of divorce means substantially the power of repudiation on the part of men. As long as women are incapable of efficient self-support, the advantage of very easy divorce lies largely on the side of the husband. Marriage concerns, in any case, the welfare, not of one person alone but that of husband, wife, and children, and society as a whole must place some restrictions on the selfish action of the individual which may be to the lasting disadvantage of all others concerned. But as society advances, as the education and social independence of women increase, too great stringency becomes undesirable, its advantages continually diminish in comparison with its disadvantages. Forced family relations where all the affection that might render them for the good of those thus related is lacking, are obviously in themselves undesirable, and in most cases where wife and children can be provided for independently of such relations, an evil to be avoided. Assuredly, it is undesirable that the moral should be tied indissolubly, or practically so, to the immoral,—that a mother, for instance, should not only be forced to bring forth children to a father whose evil qualities they may inherit, but be compelled to endure the further ruin of their character through his influence, besides bearing the personal agony of the enforced companionship with a man whose principles she can but despise. But all character is at present faulty; and a desire for perfection in husband or wife therefore certain to disappointment; hence, the relinquishment of all divorce-restrictions whatsoever is too likely to lead to promiscuity; and unless such appears desirable to society, neither public opinion nor state-law can place the power of repudiation in the hands of individuals. It is a choice of evils; the state must take human nature as it finds it, and deal with it on this basis. It has sometimes been proposed to make some substitution for the old form of marriage, as, for instance, by the adoption of a period of probation, of two, three, or five years' marriage before the signing of the final life-contract; by this method, it was proposed to obviate the necessity for divorce. As far as this last proposal is concerned, it may be remarked that applications for divorce are by no means always made in the earlier period of married life, and that, furthermore, any such arrangement would offer the very best opportunities for the unscrupulous libertine.

But beyond this, it may be repeated that, as Höffding has said, it is not in the nature of love worthy the name to calculate the possibility of its own ending, and that the highest form of love is enduring. Enduring relation must, then, form the ideal on which we must fix our eyes, even while failing to attain it; divorce, while given in cases where union seems no longer desirable, must be looked upon as indicating a failure of marriage to fulfil its end. The influence of an ideal held in mind is the continual moulding of reality to a form more nearly resembling it. But to descend to a form of contract which starts with the assumption of separation as possible or probable is to lose sight of the ideal, to relinquish it from imagination, and to do away with its influence upon public opinion, and so upon the evolution of institutions and habits. We certainly need better divorce-laws and the wider recognition of the desirability of divorce in many cases, but not the practical acceptance of an ideal of promiscuity.

The plan of such short contracts could never be carried out practically for any length of time, in any modern civilized society. Even if adopted for a time, it would speedily be abolished. Man naturally desires and takes means of enforcing, at first with the lower means of compulsion, then with the higher through the sympathies themselves, faithfulness in woman; woman also, and equally, desires faithfulness in man, but is not able to secure it. The gradual growth of woman's social independence must, however, place her more and more in a position to know of the life of men and to enforce the faithfulness she desires; that is, to punish unfaithfulness with the same penalties of disability for marriage by which men have hitherto enforced faithfulness in women. We may easily perceive that this is the direction of development. In countries where women are wholly dependent upon men, the character of a suitor in any respect is a thing little inquired into, the chief object of the parents, who ordinarily have the most to say about the matter, being to secure a husband for the girl at any cost. With the progress of society, women become less and less ready to accept the known drunkard or the confessed libertine, and it is only the seclusion of women and their consequent ignorance of the lives of men that makes marriage, at present, still comparatively easy to the discreet and clever profligate. The coördinate increase of regard for purity in wives with the aggravation of the character of prostitution, supposed above for the sake of the discussion, is possible only up to a certain point, as an oscillation in one direction resistance to which is continually accumulating, and must result in reaction in the opposite direction. The two principles are mutually contradictory, incompatible, and impossible as enduring factors in the same society. The growth of a more widely diffused and stronger sentiment against prostitution and in favor of faithfulness has, indeed, as yet led chiefly to the greater exclusion of prostitutes from association with the rest of society, and made profligacy more and more secret; but, at the same time, the gradually increasing sympathy has formed an accumulating resistance which is rapidly taking shape in the realization that the prostitute is not more guilty in furnishing the supply than is the man whose demand makes self-profanation a source of income, that the misery of prostitution is immoral, and that the only remedy is prevention. There is no alternative to this remedy that progress can realize except, as has been shown, general promiscuity. It is best, then, that we should make up our minds between these two and act accordingly; for the action of every individual tells, for good or ill, upon society as a whole. What is the ideal? I think the answer is plain; no man who has any conception of the higher joys of love which is also friendship, intellectual companionship, can hesitate; and if this is so, then duty is plain also. No man has a right to deplore the evil by word who encourages it in any way by his act.

It is sometimes averred by those who oppose the economic independence and educational equality of women with men, that women can mingle with the world on a plane of equality with men only at the sacrifice of all the chivalry and admiration which men now give to women. But this objection opposes every step of women's progress, from the harem upwards, and every step has proved its falseness. True, in the lands where women are freest, they are less favored with insincere and fulsome compliments, with vows and protestations which, when put to the test, mean nothing, or worse than nothing. The case is, however, far otherwise with the attentions which mark sincere regard, and the consideration paid by physical strength to comparative weakness. It would, indeed, be peculiar if higher intellectual powers, a clearer insight into the "severely true," the cultivation of that nobility of character which results from self-knowledge through knowledge of others and the habit of self-reliance, should render women less attractive. The pioneers in any cause need to be the hardier individuals, and so are often those who please little æsthetically; and the kicks and scoffs of the world may take from the disposition what little grace it at first possessed; but this does not prove the moral rightness of the kicks and scoffs, or the moral culpability of those who dare to adhere to their purpose in spite of them. In the countries where excessive difficulties are placed in the way of women's work in the higher professions (there are very few placed in the way of her overwork in other directions), these have resulted naturally in the suppression of effort on the part of the majority of the more finely constituted and more sensitive, and have left the field to the hardier and less fine; but in the United States, where women are freest in every way, they have lost neither in natural grace nor in the attention and regard of men; on the contrary, they have gained in both, and they have, furthermore, left the mark of their refining influence on the whole civilization of the country. As long as women are weaker than men physically, a higher moral standard must have regard for this weakness. When, through a more healthful life, women become more nearly equal to men in endurance, certain forms of attention will be less necessary, and will, doubtless, fall off somewhat, only to make room for a higher plane of mutual helpfulness. Yet I doubt whether the time will ever come when the grace and beauty of women, the associations of love and the memories of family affection, will not stir men of finer fibre to peculiar kindness, repaid as the appreciation of women can well repay.

There is another protest—which comes especially from the party that most exclaims against the evils of competition—against the "superstitious" respect for age. The reason is, obviously, that age tends by nature to conservatism. But the evils of the struggle for existence are not those alone of outward conditions; these are often far less hard than the bitter spirit of mental antagonism that sears and saddens the heart. Youth is daring and originative; middle age is less venturesome, but it possesses, on the other hand, a wider range of experience. Between youth and youth, or youth and middle age, the battle is more equal. But age no longer possesses the power to cope with the world physically or mentally; it is fixed in habit, and apt to follow one accustomed round of thought; we are certainly not likely to convince it by violence. It has borne its share of violence and has done its part in the battle. It has advanced with its generation, though it may not be able to advance any longer with ours. Our ideal should certainly be that of forbearance, not of intolerance towards it.

Modern opinion is becoming dissatisfied with the old methods of dealing with criminals—with the methods which continually return the criminal to society not bettered by incarceration, and ready to commit all manner of crimes again. Both the protection of society and the welfare of the criminal would be better served by a course of discipline that should only then give him back to society when he is fitted to live in harmony with it and to enjoy the advantages conferred by such harmony. Recent experiments in reformatories have demonstrated the immense advantage of methods which attempt something like this. Among the improved reformatories for children, many of them without walls, bolts, or bars, some have sent out cured from eighty to eighty-five per cent of the offenders committed to them. The Elmira reformatory deals especially with offenders sentenced for their first state's prison offence, and its method is at once eminently humane and remarkably successful. Offenders may be sent to it at the discretion of the judges. It contains three grades. Members of the first of these wear better clothing, eat better food, enjoy various special privileges, and are used, to some extent, as officers and monitors for the other grades. Members of the second grade are less well provided for and honored than those of the first; and members of the third grade are worst clothed and fed, and have the fewest privileges. Every man who enters the prison is submitted to a minute examination as to his antecedents, his mental, moral, and physical condition and capabilities. He is then placed in the second grade, from which he may go up or down, according to his work and conduct. Eight hours' work a day are required, and compulsory school is held in the evening, at which the common English branches are taught, and elementary instruction given in Law, Political Economy, Ethics, etc. Discussion and thought on the subjects taught are encouraged, and everything possible is done to awaken interest. "Perfect" work and conduct for six months—the standard of "perfection" is high—and a mark of 75 in a scale of 100 in the school secure a man advance into the next higher grade; and the same standard maintained for six months in the highest grade entitle a man to release on parole; so that the term of imprisonment need not exceed a year. The man must be willing, industrious, good-tempered, obedient, energetic, who gets release in this time. Work is found for every man released; he is closely watched for six months more, and if his conduct does not keep up the standard required, he is returned to the reformatory and must begin over again; if, on the other hand, his conduct and work, an attested report of which must be handed in each month, is satisfactory for these six months, he is honorably discharged. The obdurate malefactors serve out their full sentence, as they would in state's prison. Of those who go out from the institution, eighty per cent return to society reformed; and the superintendent is of the opinion that this percentage could still be raised were the time of detention made indeterminate and wholly dependent upon reform. All prison reformers are coming to recognize the desirability of such indeterminate sentences. The work of the men at Elmira pays over two-thirds of the expenses of the institution, and even if we consider only dollars and cents, this method of dealing with crime is evidently the cheapest; for under the old method we have to take into account the expenses of the later crimes of the men released without improvement of character. The method of parole of first offenders, newly introduced into France, and in use to some extent in other countries also, seems to have rather less to recommend it, except in special cases; since the moral, intellectual, and industrial discipline of the reformatory are lacking.

In all such reformatory work it may be remarked that hard labor and stringent discipline, as well as consistent kindness, are found absolutely necessary; and it is to be noted that the disinclination of criminals for labor and regularity of life is one of the greatest obstacles in the way of their reform.[283] Judge Green quotes from Mr. Hough on this point: "Those who are in control of penal institutions meet with no more pernicious influence than that exerted by certain well-meaning but mistaken philanthropists who are impelled by kindly hearts to slop over with sentiment. No criminal is so hard to reach as the one who fancies himself injured or has a grievance against society. Aside from treatment that compels him to feel resentment, there is no one thing that will so quickly bring this feeling as to have some tender-hearted, benevolent person tell him that they think his penalty is far more severe than his offence warrants, especially now that he has promised to pray regularly and abandon his wicked ways."[284] In connection with this point, we may notice Bellamy's theory of crime as Atavism, to be treated in the hospitals. Whether or not we regard crime as disease, a distinction must be drawn between the disease that may be regarded as physical weakness and that which does not necessarily imply such weakness, though it may imply some physical defect in the sense that the psychical characteristic has always its physical coördinate. We may call the places where our criminals are treated prisons, or we may call them hospitals; but the name will not alter the fact that crime, and even the crime the tendency to which manifests itself early in life and is most incorrigible, needs, for the most part, a wholly different treatment from that pursued with the sick or the insane. Discipline and labor may come into play in the insane asylum, and medicine and hygiene in the prison; but the methods are, nevertheless, widely separated, and need to be so in order to attain any success. Bellamy's conception of the character of the criminal by nature—such as he imagines as alone existing under the conditions of his ideal state—as rarely untruthful, does not at all accord with the facts of Psychology and Criminology. Total unreliability is one of the chief characteristics of the criminal by nature. He lies even where there is nothing to be gained by lying and often much to be lost; he lies apparently for the mere pleasure of lying; or he is crafty and cunning, and the smallest gain suffices to furnish him with a motive for falsehood. In mankind, as a whole, the love of truth, one of the latest developments of the moral sense, is likewise one of those earliest lost in any moral deterioration; and to suppose men, as a rule, strictly truthful and yet capable of committing crimes of any sort, especially in a general ideal state of society and morals, is to suppose a psychological contradiction. Moreover, the antipathy of the criminal to undergoing the penalty of his crime would still remain as long as the discipline and labor of the places for criminal treatment were not abolished; and even the restrictions of incarceration would render the penalty disagreeable, since liberty is always preferable to confinement. And if we consider the indefinite sentence, which all prison reformers now regard as the first condition of the successful treatment of crime, to be introduced, the reasons for pleading "Not Guilty" would by no means be removed. But I doubt whether a society of high moral development would sanction the doubling of the penalty which Bellamy conceives, as the punishment of simply a lie to escape it.

The question of capital punishment is more difficult than at first glance appears. One of the arguments often advanced in opposition to this form of punishment is that the fear of it is no preventive of the crime of murder (for which alone, in times of peace, it is still imposed in civilized countries), since murder still takes place. But the argument in this form is practically worthless; we might as well say that art exhibitions do nothing to form taste, since many people who visit them are still lacking in æsthetic feeling. The fact that men have gone away from public executions and committed murder is more to the purpose, as an indication that the influence of the spectacle is probably a bad one. As to the private execution within prison-walls, it is difficult to suppose that the mere knowledge of it could arouse a desire for blood, as the sight of it may be imagined to do. If we abandon capital punishment on this ground merely, ought we not, in consistency, to do away with all representations of violent death on the stage and all description of it in fiction, since these things must affect the imagination full as vividly. The gladiatorial shows of Rome were doubtless undesirable from a humanitarian point of view, not only in themselves, but also in their results; and it might be undesirable for most individuals to accustom themselves to the spectacle of the butchering of their meat; but, whether or not we agree with the vegetarians as to the social significance and influence of the use of animal-food (necessarily, of course, we must concede that every fact has an influence of some sort, and in some degree, upon the mind), it can scarcely be claimed that the mere knowledge that beeves are slaughtered somewhere is likely to influence the mind to such an extent as to lead to a morbid desire to imitate the deed; nor, the stimulating excitement of the actual spectacle of execution lacking, is it likely that the mere knowledge of its actuality should incite to the taking of human life. On the contrary, it appears far more likely that the would-be murderer should connect the thought of it with the possibilities of his own future in case of detection and arrest, and that he should, thus, be rather deterred from crime by it.

The vital questions appear to be whether we have a right thus to sacrifice life, and whether the evil which the murderer brings upon society may not be better prevented in some other way. Leaving out of consideration, for a moment, a point which will be considered later, the two questions will be seen to resolve themselves into one. If I should perceive an innocent man about to be murdered by a villain, who was on the point of plunging his knife into his victim's heart, and I had in my hand at the time a loaded revolver, my duty would be plain. I should have no choice as to the responsibility for one man's life; only the choice would be left me as to which life I would be responsible for; and to spare the murderer would be to make myself an accomplice in the murder. The responsibility lies with every society to do the utmost in its power to prevent the murder of citizens who are, in the majority of cases, better men than their murderer; and the life, even, of the murderer cannot stand out against the life of better men. If, then, the death sentence is the best preventive of murder, and society refuses to inflict it nevertheless, it makes itself the accomplice of the murderer as much as is the man who stands by and permits the knife to be plunged into the victim's heart, rather than shoot down its wielder. It is not mercy that spares the guilty to sacrifice the innocent. If, then, we must be responsible for the death of any man, let it be for that of the murderer rather than for that of his victims. It is easy enough to say, as do some on this point, that it should never become a principle of society to do evil in order that good may come; but as long as there are conflicting conditions in society, there can be no choice of absolute good; the only choice is between lesser and greater evils. Forgetting this, and looking only on the one side of the question on which their sympathy has especially been excited, reformers are sometimes guilty of choosing the greater evil in order that a lesser good may come. It is, therefore, not sufficient to brand capital punishment "a relic of barbarism," in order to prove that it should be abolished.

The problem of prevention of murder includes various elements: it includes the question of the possible repetition of the crime by the individual on trial, the question of his influence by precept and example, and that of his possible propagation of offspring who may inherit his evil propensities; and it also includes the question of the check of fear in other would-be murderers.

It has been claimed that imprisonment for life would act as an effectual preventive in all these respects. There may be, however, various objections to this penalty. In the first place, an unconditional life-sentence without hope of pardon is difficult to establish, especially in democratic countries; and its justice is doubtful, in case it were possible. Even if sentences of this sort were to be passed, pity would be likely to interfere later with their execution. And then the momentous question arises as to whether it would always be well-directed pity. The men in whom the right of pardon is vested are not always wise in their use of it, and in democratic countries they are guided to a considerable extent by the will of importunate portions of society which is often still less wise. The sentimentality which now vents itself in loading down violent criminals with flowers, fruit, gifts of all sorts, letters, photographs, commiserations for their "misfortune," and even offers of marriage, is likely to stand in the way of the safety of society in case the murderer lives. This sentimentality, which in many countries exalts the criminal into a hero, and in France turns the police court into a fashionable place of amusement, were it not to be followed by the dread ending which the sterner members of society exact, and were the hope of pardon still open, might invest arrest with even some attractions to the murderer, who is frequently a hero in his own eyes. The prominence of a desire for notoriety is evident in criminals of the Jack-the-Ripper and other types. The sentimentality which is unable to distinguish between a legitimate mercy, and the mercy to the individual which amounts to the worst of cruelty to many others, is, indeed, a continual danger to society and a hindrance to useful reforms.

Again, if the criminal be condemned to life-imprisonment, there is always the possibility of his escape to be considered, and the fact that he will probably stick at nothing to accomplish his escape. The dangers of ultimate success may not be so large; our prisons are nowadays strongly built, the warders and other officers are very seldom open to bribes, and the proportion of escapes is extremely small. Nevertheless, the hopelessness of a life-sentence must constitute a strong motive for the stimulation of effort and ingenuity; and it can scarcely be hoped that a man who has not before hesitated at murder, and who has no greater penalty to fear in case of any number of repetitions of the crime, will hesitate when his liberty and all it means to him of freedom from irksome discipline and restraint of vice, is at stake. And in case of escape society has to fear, not only repetitions of the crime, but also the numberless and complex workings of the criminal's influence on others, and the propagation of offspring who may inherit his evil propensities.

And, furthermore, if the sentence of life-imprisonment is carried out, the murderer's influence on the other tenants of the prison is to be considered, in case he is not kept in solitary confinement. The preservation of a large number of desperate criminals, in contact with the less corrupt ones whose reform is being attempted, has many objections. Criminals have more than once stated that they learned their worst principles from companions in prison, and many of our prisons and many of our reformatories have been called mere schools of vice. Moreover, in maintaining our desperate criminals, we are spending large sums for their comfort while hundreds of better men are left to starve, and thousands are more poorly clothed and fed.

The fact that murder has not increased in some countries where the death-sentence has been abolished may be admitted as evidence in the matter, but cannot be regarded, alone, as conclusive. For, first, that which is for the general good in one country may not be so in another, the national temperament, form of government, and general habits of which are different. And, furthermore, it may be said that, although statistics undoubtedly must have some meaning in all cases, the complication of social conditions renders it often difficult to say just what the significance may be in the particular case. In the diminution of murders, other circumstances may have been at work which would have lessened the number even if the death-sentence had not been abolished. At least, experiments with regard to the abolition of the death-penalty have been too few to render any categorical assertion on the subject possible.

But some of the above-stated objections to the abolition of capital punishment might be removed by the provision of separate prisons for malefactors condemned to life-imprisonment, with separate wards according to the moral condition of the prisoners, little communication being allowed between even those in the same ward, or communication only under supervision, and such instruction being given as would enable the individual to occupy the hours not devoted to labor in study, reading, or other mental recreation.

Green, in his book on crime, calls attention to the very undesirable vindictiveness sometimes aroused, by sentence of death, in the minds of the condemned and of his friends, and notices the general evil of the feeling in the minds of criminals that the state is their deadly foe, defiance of the laws being thus raised to the plane of legitimate warfare upon an enemy. The Hon. John J. Wheeler, in a paper quoted by Green, lays especial stress on the desirability of convincing the criminal that not revenge but the protection of society is aimed at in state-punishment.

Again, the question may be asked whether the sentimental tendency to regard the criminal as a hero is not fostered by the death-sentence—whether the pity aroused at so extreme a fate would not be inclined to take a less harmful form if the treatment of the criminal were at once firm and humane but less sensational. Doubtless, the glory of crime and half its attractiveness for a large class of morbid criminals would be departed, if we could come to regard the latter with commiseration as of a lower and abnormal type of humanity and to treat them as such. But it must be remembered that society, as a whole, is yet far from so scientific a conception; and that combined firmness and kindness of treatment is difficult to secure, both in prison-officials and in those officers who have the power of pardon at present placed in their hands. We need obviously many reforms in our system of sentence and pardon, as well as in the management of our prisons. We need more men like Mr. Brockway of Elmira, Mr. Wardwell of Virginia, and those other modern reformers of prison-life whose office is to them a matter of humanity and not merely of business. And especially, we need more firmness in society as a whole; sympathy and mercy may be evils in the path of human progress when they deteriorate into a weakness which sacrifices the innocent in a mistaken humanity towards the guilty. In order to be well directed, sympathy must consider all men, and not the individual alone; only then is it an unmitigated good.

But as for the argument noticed above with regard to the employment of large sums of money for the maintenance of the criminal classes while the class of honest laborers is yet in destitution, it cannot be considered, on close inspection, as of great weight. Certainly it would not be well to maintain the criminal in luxury while other reforms were waiting. But if we act on the principle of deferring all less important reforms until all the more important ones are accomplished, we shall be in danger of not reforming at all. Any reform that is well-timed and possible is important; for the complication of social relations makes all reforms of weight in their wider significance. No reforms can or should be made in a lump; improvement must come from all sides and little by little; sympathy must be consistent and influence social conditions in every direction gradually as it gradually increases. It is the superficial Utilitarianism which bids us wait such a reform as this, though possible, for another,—the same sort of Utilitarianism which advocates the introduction of the Spartan custom of preserving only well-formed and vigorous infants, and advises the administration of painless poisons to those hopelessly ill and suffering. All these things have their relation to character, and, therefore, to other social evils, or reforms.

And here we are brought finally to the consideration of the point hitherto left out of account,—a point which bears, however, a strong argument; namely, the fact of the possible condemnation of innocent men to death. Even since the limitation of capital punishment to cases of murder the innocent have been hung or guillotined in mistake for the guilty. And for such mistakes there is no reparation; the grave never gives up its dead. Men have sometimes been discovered to be innocent in spite of the strongest evidence against them; human observation is defective, human memory fallible, human character—especially such as often appears in evidence against the murderer—by no means always strictly honorable and honest. Even confessions of guilt have sometimes been proved false. As with regard to other propositions to place the power of the life or death of individuals in the hands of their fellow men, the question presents itself as to whether the use of so great power is not dangerous. And this appears to me the decisive point of our inquiry.

Societies are being formed for the abolition of capital punishment, and feeling is growing strong in its favor. Let us hope, however, that the reformers will adopt a policy stringent and judicious as well as merciful;—that they will not forget that, in order to render the preservation of the murderer harmless to society we need other reforms in law and prison management.

In general, it may be said of all questions, that the conflict between the principles of justice and mercy, known to theological Ethics, resolves itself, from a higher point of view, into the question of justice only. The mercy which is not justice, is either mercy to one at the expense of others, or mercy that spares the offender in one respect to his own greater disadvantage in another. The ideal character is thus at once gentle and strong.

We have followed the development of altruism from egoism up to the point where the thought of punishment ensuing upon the non-performance of duty ceases to play a large part in the motive to action, the reward of the pleasure of others and of their gratitude and love forming a complex motive. But beyond even the incentives of love there lies still a higher motive which, in cases of conflict, must figure as the highest morally. In an ideal state, the social sanction could not conflict with duty; but until we reach such a state, the independence of moral motive must be observed, the moral man must do what appears to him right, in spite of public opinion. The course has its dangers, and the principle must be carried out with caution, the questions involving such a course be carefully considered from all sides and in all lights. But when this has been done, the sense of duty remains supreme. In the ideal man, the consciousness of duty performed should constitute the strongest pleasure, the consciousness of failure in duty the severest pain. This is the solution of the problem Ibsen gives us in "Rosmersholm"; society has not advanced from savagery by permitting all pleasures which the individual desires; nor can it advance further towards the ideal by permitting the individual to choose those pleasures which the future shall regard as evidence of our present semi-barbarous state, since they are pleasures inimical to the peace of others and the general good of society; as in the past, so in the present and future, the harmony between pleasure and duty (that is between the conflicting pleasures of individuals) can be attained only by habit which shall bring the desires of the individual into harmony with duty. Thus only can all desires, the happiness of all individuals, attain to harmony,—to "full" equilibrium.

And this leads me to remark that we have reason to doubt the moral conviction of very many who protest against the "immoral" and "superstitious" restriction of personal pleasure in certain directions. Were such individuals morally convinced, were duty to their fellow men really uppermost in their minds, they would not choose darkness and secrecy for their deeds, but after careful and thorough statement of their opinions and reasons would show the earnestness of their belief by open act. The man whose moral conviction is to him the highest duty does not fear public opinion, but dares to follow that which seems to him right, in the face of slander; therefore, we suspect the man who hides his deeds, of seeking his own pleasure and not that of society as a whole.

"Conscience is harder than our enemies,
Knows more, accuses with more nicety,
Nor needs to question Rumor if we fall
Below the perfect level of our thought.
I fear no outward arbiter,"

says Don Silva in "The Spanish Gypsy."

But for our encouragement, let us contemplate the heroic characters which progress has developed. From these we may take hope and courage, in these we may find the best results of the moral evolution of our race, and the promise of the better future which man alone can work out by ever-renewed effort. The love of such characters, and even the knowledge that they exist, is the highest joy of human association, a joy which the present age may feel in a degree that no former age has known; and herein lies the greater beauty of the present time over all others. The thought of such characters can sustain us even in our own self-doubt. What man has done, man can do. Nay, he shall do more, much more.

The question as to the final destruction of the human race, whether by sudden catastrophe or slow decay, can little affect happiness, at present, or for very many ages to come. As yet, evolution is in the direction of a greater harmony that means continually greater pleasure to life. We have not reached our maximum, we are evolving upwards towards it. The pessimist is fond of making much of the final end of our planet; but the healthy and successful will be happy in spite of future ages, and the extent and degree of happiness will continue to increase for such an immense period of time that there is no reason for considering the destruction of our race as exerting any important influence on ethical theory. The loss of our faith in individual immortality is a far greater source of present pain. It leaves death a harder sorrow;—but it lends life new meaning. The good we strive for lies no longer in a world of dreams on the other side the grave; it is brought down to earth and waits to be realized by human hands, through human labor. We are called on to forsake the finer egoism that centred all its care on self-salvation, for a love of our own kind that shall triumph over death, and leave its impress on the joy of generations to come. There is something lost in the dissolution of the old faith to us who were reared in it. The hope of restitution, to the individual, from supernatural cause, here or hereafter, is forever done away with. There is no restitution. In our favorite novel, when the doors are closed and the lights extinguished, that some unspeakable sorrow may hide itself in darkness and silence, we can always turn back the leaves till we are again in the midst of light and music and dancing, and the heart for which the tragic knife is pitilessly sharpening in the hand of Destiny, is yet untouched. But in the book of Reality, there is no turning back; the pages are burned before our eyes as we read. Sooner or later, we all of us reach the point where that which made life most worth living has passed away from us forever. There is no help save the knowledge of the fact, that shall make us all draw closer in sympathy and by mutual kindness render loss less bitter. As we accept the Truth, and bow our head to the Inevitable, we may learn a less narrow happiness for this life and for the Hereafter, from the great pioneers of Scientific Doubt and pure Humanitarianism, one of whom has written:—

"Oh, may I join the choir invisible
Of those immortal dead who live again
In minds made better by their presence; live
In pulses stirred to generosity,
In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn
For miserable aims that end with self,
In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,
And with their mild persistence urge man's search
To vaster issues.
So to live is heaven:
To make undying music in the world,
Breathing as beauteous order that controls
With growing sway the growing life of man.

*....*....*....*

This is life to come,
Which martyred men have made more glorious
For us who strive to follow. May I reach
That purest heaven, be to other souls
The cup of strength in some great agony,
Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love,
Beget the smiles that have no cruelty,—
Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,
And in diffusion ever more intense.
So shall I join the choir invisible,
Whose music is the gladness of the world."