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

by Cora May Williams

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.