Inferences, in an inquiry of this kind, may be drawn from what is recorded of—the modes of life, and the domestic usages, and the amusements of a people; or from the characteristics of their worship; or from the popular feeling, whether of approbation, surprise, or abhorrence, that is excited by the actions of public persons.
Valid information also is to be gathered from the enactments of a people whose moral condition is under inquiry. This sort of material is either that which is fixed, and has been consigned to the executive, by legislative authority; or that which floats at large in those ethical writings which have taken a permanent place in the literature of the country. In deriving inferences from the first—namely, the sanctioned laws of a people, several distinctions must be observed; for we must not bring forward antiquated laws; and in examining recent enactments, the political circumstances of the time must not be forgotten, for the momentary interests of parties, or of individuals, not seldom produce legislative decisions that are altogether anomalous, as to the condition of the people. Often mere chance has had sway in senates, and may have exercised more influence in the grave business of law-making than the sage and solemn forms of the place would seem to bespeak.
But it must be with the last-named source of information only that we shall now have to do. What we say is this—That, with due caution, substantial information relative to the moral and intellectual condition of a people, may be collected from the ethical writings that have been accepted and approved among them. This proposition carries several important consequences, and it may be well to illustrate it by some examples.
Every hortatory composition contains, explicitly or by implication, two fixed points, which it is the business of the inquirer to ascertain. One of these is much more readily found than the other; yet there exists a means of measuring the distance between the two; so that the one being determined, the other also may be discovered:—for example, The first point ascertainable in an ethical composition is—the system of morals, or the standard of excellence which the author has imagined, and which he recommends and enforces. This point may be termed the ideal level of the writer’s mind in morals, and it is in most cases quite easy to be fixed. The second, and less obvious point, and that which is the very object of our inquiries, is—the actual state of morals among those whom the writer addresses, and which may be called the real level of popular morals. Our business then is to find this last or unknown point, by measuring the distance between the two. Now this distance is more or less distinctly indicated by the tone of every ethical composition. We have then in our problem three terms: one known, one demanded, and a middle term, connecting the two, which remains to be worked out of the materials before us.
The distinctness of the indications from which our middle, or measuring term, is to be formed, will vary greatly in different cases. In works of a philosophical cast they will be extremely faint, and perhaps not available for our purpose; while in treatises that are of a simple and popular character, and which consist of precise exhortations—reproofs and advices—there will be little difficulty in drawing the inferences we are in search of. It will be found, also, that serious writers are more safe guides than those that indulge in satire; for the satirist seeks for extremes.
We say that writings of a philosophic or moral cast, and in which there occurs no allusion to events or to individual persons, may nevertheless be made available as the materials of history.—Two or three instances will show what we mean. We take our first example from a book which is as abstract in its form and style as any that could be found; and give, in brief, the purport of a section on Magnanimity, in Aristotle’s Ethics.
Magnanimity, says Aristotle, is a quality conversant with what is great. But what things are these? He then may properly be termed magnanimous who deems himself worthy of great things, and who is so, in truth. For he who thus deems of himself without cause is a fool. He whose merits are equal only to a humble station, and who thus thinks of himself, is called wise, not magnanimous; for magnanimity belongs to what is actually great. In like manner, as handsomeness belongs only to height of stature; those who are small, may be comely, or symmetrical, but not handsome. On the other hand, one who falsely deems himself to possess great merit, is called vain—a term which can never properly belong to those who are truly great. Again; one who under-rates his merits is mean-spirited, whether his real deserts be great, moderate, or slender; since he still thinks that less than he possesses is his due: especially is he pusillanimous who thus disparages great qualities in himself; for what would such a man do if destitute of that merit? He, therefore, who is truly magnanimous, is of necessity a good man; and whatever there is great in any virtue belongs to him. It befits not him to flee, wringing his hands, nor to do wrong to any one; for why should he commit unworthy actions to whom nothing great can be added?—Wherefore this greatness of soul seems to be a sort of ornament to all the virtues—enhancing all of them, and not, by any means, consisting without them. True greatness of soul is therefore rare, since it demands the perfection of probity and goodness. Magnanimity is peculiarly displayed both in honour and in disgrace; for the great man, when surrounded by opulence and by assiduous attendants, experiences only a moderate happiness; since what he enjoys is not more than what befits him; or perhaps, not so much; for virtue can hardly ever be said to possess its due reward. The honours bestowed upon him he therefore calmly admits as being, though not equal to his merits, the utmost that those around him have to bestow; while ordinary or mean praises he utterly contemns; for of such he deems himself undeserving. In like manner he despises disgrace; for he knows that it is unjustly cast upon him. Thus, in prosperity he is not elated; in adversity not dejected.
Without attempting to draw inferences too far from a passage like this, it may fairly be said to indicate the existence of popular notions of moral greatness, more refined than those of nations merely warlike; and far exalted above those of a people—merely commercial. The writer must, in his own country, have seen examples of heroic virtue which approached the perfect image he exhibits. One is not surprised to learn that he belonged to the race which produced Aristides, Cimon, Epaminondas, and Phocion. It is observable that Aristotle’s magnanimous man is decked only with the honours that befit a citizen, or a distinguished leader in a republic—not with the gaudy shows of oriental despotism: it is not deemed a becoming part of his hero’s glory that millions of his species should lay in the dust at his feet. We may also fairly remark, that this acute thinker had evidently no idea of that peculiar sentiment which is engendered, in great minds, by an habitual reference to the moral attributes of the Deity: his hero is a purely mundane person; or, if we might so accommodate the term—he is atheistical. Neither did his notion of moral greatness include that humility which springs from a sense of delinquency, or imperfection, in the sight of the Supreme Lawgiver and Judge. If ideas of this class had at all been known to the Greeks of that age, or if they had come within the writer’s view, he would assuredly have included them among his definitions, whether he thought them worthy of commendation, or not so. For his manner is to omit no abstract idea that bears any relation to his topic.
To what extent sentiments like those mentioned by Aristotle were prevalent in his times, it is not easy to ascertain from the passage just quoted; since the treatise in which it appears is of an abstract, not of a hortatory character; yet it contains one expression which, on the principle of our present argument, we should call a term of measurement; he says, that true magnanimity is exceedingly rare, or hard to be attained; in other words, that it was much easier to find, among the writer’s countrymen, an Alcibiades than an Epaminondas. But the historical significance of a passage like this will best appear by bringing it into comparison with a quotation, on a similar topic, from the most eminent of the Roman moralists.
Cicero’s Treatise, De Officiis, is abstract rather than hortatory; and yet, compared with the Ethics of Aristotle, it is less metaphysical, and it approaches nearer to the modern idea of a practical work. Without designedly painting the manners, or formally estimating the morals of his times, this great writer furnishes, in his various compositions, many indications from which the state of both may be inferred. Of all social bonds, none, he says, can be found more weighty or more dear, than that which binds each one of us to our country. Dear are our parents, dear our children, relatives, friends; but in our country are centred the endearments of all—for which, what good man would hesitate to die, if his death might promote its interests? Whence the more detestable is the ferocity of those who, by every crime, rend their country; and who have ever been busied in accomplishing its ruin. Actions performed magnanimously and courageously we are wont to applaud, as it were, with a fuller mouth. Hence the themes of orators on Marathon, Salamis, Platæa, Thermopylæ, Leuctra; hence our Cocles, hence the Decii, hence Cnæus and Publius Scipio, hence Marcellus, and others without number; for the Roman people especially excels in greatness of soul. Indeed, our love of military glory is declared by the fact, that our statues are adorned with the garb of the warrior. But that elevation of soul which displays itself in dangers and labours, if it wants probity—if it contends not for public, but private advantages, becomes a vice. Not merely is it not a virtue, but is rather to be deemed a ferocity—repulsive to human nature. Well therefore is fortitude defined by the Stoics, when they say, it is ‘virtue defending right.’ Wherefore no man who has attained the praise of fortitude has been renowned for treachery or mischief; for nothing can be laudable which is unjust. Those, therefore, are to be esteemed valiant and magnanimous, not who commit, but who repress wrongs. That true and wise greatness of soul, which is indeed laudable and consonant to nature, regards deeds more than fame; and would rather be, than seem illustrious. And he is not to be reckoned among great men who is dependent upon the erring opinion of the thoughtless multitude. For lofty spirits, always thirsting for glory, are easily driven on to what is unjust. And it is indeed hard to find one who, while he undergoes labours and dangers, does not seek glory as the wages of his exploits.