Morals and the Evolution of Man

by Max Simon Nordau

It is a mere mirage, the reflection of an earthly state of affairs in the heavens, to assume that the universe is governed by an authority devoid of responsibility, which imposes on its subjects, that is to say men, laws and instructions, discipline and order.

It is a form of anthropomorphism, the most widespread and stubborn of errors in thought among those men who try to understand the unintelligible, and are content with the most unfounded explanation which their naïve imagination freely invents for them. This same anthropomorphism, not even at a loss to solve the problem of the origin and essence of the universe, replies unhesitatingly that God by an act of volition created it out of nothing to prove to Himself His own omnipotence and omniscience; in like manner it has no scruple in ascribing the phenomenon of Morality to a creative act of God's, and makes Ethics, which properly speaking form the chief part of psychology, anthropology and sociology, a subdivision of theology, that is, of anthropomorphic mythology.

Critical Reason, which realizes that deceptive fictions are not true thought, but dreams—not the result of ripe intellectual effort, but of the childish play of the imagination, seeks the roots of Morality not in the air or in the ether, but in the solid earth; not in some indemonstrable, transcendental sphere, but in an obvious need of human nature. The biological necessities of the species, which can only survive by dint of living in communities, sufficiently explain the origin of the feeling of joint responsibility, of consideration for one's neighbour, of the concepts Good and Evil and of conscience; and we have no use for the dogmas of revealed Morality derived from some fabulous, supernatural source, or for the Kantian categorical imperative.

Morality, understood as a form of joint responsibility, determines the inner and outer relations of the individual to the community; that is to say, to as much of it as he comes in immediate contact with, to wit, his neighbour. Morality provides him with the notions of Duty and Right, of the consideration he owes his neighbour and of that which he may demand from his neighbour. It is customary to look upon Rights and Duties as opposites. This is mere indolence of thought. Right and Duty are supplementary, forming together one concept. They are in reality one and the same thing regarded from different points of view. My Duty is the subjective form of my neighbour's Right; my Right the subjective form of other people's Duty. That which is Duty, when I have to do it out of consideration for others, becomes my Right, when others have to do it out of consideration for me.

Respect for the personality of others, which is the feeling from which the concept of Right and Duty emanates, seems to be a late and noble product of Morality and a particularly praiseworthy victory of prescient intelligence over selfishness. This factor of our consciousness which determines our will and which gradually becomes an instinct, is really only a special application of the law of least resistance which governs all organic life. We have no selfless, ideal respect for the personality of another; but, made wise by experience and observation, we assume that that other has the power to resist and to retaliate if a wrong is done to him or he is injured; hence we avoid, to the best of our ability, actions to which he is likely to object, so as not to come into conflict with him, because to overcome his opposition would require effort and expose us to danger. Respect for the personality of another and for his rights may be expressed by a mechanical formula which runs as follows: this respect varies directly as the real or supposed might of the other person, and inversely as our own real or supposed might.

The society of which he is a member, and which makes his existence possible, prescribes to the individual the laws governing his moral conduct. That which a community at any given time approves and demands, rejects or forbids, constitutes the precept whereby its members regulate their conduct, and offers ample security for their conscience.

The concepts Good and Bad originate simultaneously with society; they are the form in which its actual conditions of existence are conveyed to the consciousness of its members. The only immutable thing about them is the fact of their continued existence. Without the coercive discipline of a rule conducive to the common weal and governing the mutual relations between its members, no society could be imagined to exist, unless its members were all similar in nature, reacted in an identical fashion to all impressions and possessed the same feelings and sensations, the same inclinations and the same impulses of volition. In that case no difference could ever arise between one individual and another, or between an individual and the community, which would have to be smoothed over by the moral law emanating from the community and controlling the individual, or be suppressed by the community's order. Every individual could be left to the guidance of his own instincts, for he would know himself always to be in agreement with the community; no consideration for others need hamper or modify his actions; he could behave just as if he were alone in the world. But as individuals differ from one another, feel, think and want different things, collisions in which they hurt, cripple or even kill one another are the inevitable consequence of their opposing movements; and the interference of the moral law is absolutely necessary to polarize these movements and guide them into parallel courses, so that they do not run counter to one another.

But Good and Bad derive not only their existence but their measure and their significance from the views of the community. They are therefore not absolute but variable; they are not an immutable standard amid the ever-changing conditions of humanity, a rule by which the value of the actions and aims of mortals are indisputably determined, but are subject to the laws of evolution in society and therefore in a constant state of flux. At different times and in different places they present the most varied aspects. What is virtue here and now may have been vice formerly and at another spot, and vice versa. In the royal family of ancient Egypt marriage between brothers and sisters was the prescribed custom. We call this incest and it fills us with horror. To the sons of Egypt it seemed meritorious and constituted a claim to special veneration. The Babylonians and Canaanites burnt their first-born in Moloch's fiery furnace, and this sacrifice was accounted a highly praiseworthy act of piety and of the fear of God. The Spartans taught their sons, their future warriors, the art of stealing without being caught; and he who did this most cleverly achieved the most flattering recognition. The Cherusci butchered the Roman prisoners taken from the legions of Varus as a sacrifice to their tribal gods, and a noble-minded and brave man like Arminius considered this absolutely honourable and knightly. The Aztecs, who had undeniably attained an advanced degree of civilization, at high festivals used with obsidian knives to cut open the breasts of human sacrifices on the altars of their gods, and tear the heart out of their living bodies. That was an action finding favour in the sight of the gods, and the people watched it with awe and those mystic emotions which religious rites are intended to arouse.

Moral law in Europe, during the Middle Ages and almost up to modern times, permitted, and even ordained, the punishment by horrible torture and death of those whose religious convictions differed from the teaching of the established church; and with its consent supposed witches were sent to the stake. In feudal times the most terrible and revolting of crimes was felony—that is, a breach of faith on the part of the vassal against his overlord—and no torture was too cruel as a punishment. Nobles, who had so delicate a sense of honour that for a wry look or the accidental touch of an elbow they would draw their swords, enunciated the principle: "the king's blood does not defile," and vied with each other in forcing their daughters upon the king as concubines. Until Wilberforce roused the English conscience at the end of the eighteenth century, and Schölcher did the same in France in the middle of the nineteenth, slavery was considered a state of affairs which a moral community could tolerate. The North American descendants of those Puritans whom no persecution and no martyrdom could prevent from leading a life consonant with the dictates of their conscience, did not scruple to exercise proprietary rights over human beings who, in the case of octoroons and even of quadroons, did not even differ from them in colour, supposing that difference of colour could be considered an excuse. The code, which began with the "Declaration of Rights," contained heavy penalties for those who helped a slave to escape. Men, whose uprightness no one could doubt, did not hesitate to set bloodhounds on the track of an escaped nigger, and four years of a bloody civil war were needed before refractory slave-owners were forced to acknowledge the immorality of forced labour.

These examples have been taken from the customs of civilized nations. Amongst races that have not attained the high degree of development to which the white man has risen, we meet with much more revolting deviations from the moral law obtaining among white men. Tribes are known in which the commandment, "Honour thy father and thy mother," is interpreted so, that the children kill and eat their parents as soon as the latter have attained a considerable age. The North American Indians, who had a well developed sense of honour, were capable of chivalrous feelings and kept their word with absolute loyalty, used to torture helpless prisoners and scalp their defeated enemies, even the women. Among the Dyaks, who are under Dutch rule and are familiar with the laws and customs of Christian Europe, a marriageable youth must first cut off a human being's head before he is allowed to wed. He need not overcome his victim in honourable combat; he may creep upon him surreptitiously, and even fall upon him in his sleep and murder him in cowardly fashion without danger to himself.