Elements of Morals Part 30

Aristotle finds also in courage an excellent opportunity to apply his celebrated theory of the golden mean. Courage is for him a medium between temerity and cowardice. But it is not the too much or too little in danger which determines what we ought to call courage. There are cases where one may be obliged to brave the greatest possible danger without being for that rash; other cases where, on the contrary, one has the right to avoid the least possible peril without being for that a coward. The true principle is that one should brave necessary perils, be they ever so great; and likewise avoid useless perils, be they ever so slight. Yet, the question of degree should not be wholly overlooked. There are some perils which, without being necessary, it is useful to brave (were it but to train one's self for greater ones). Such are, for example, the dangers connected with bodily exercises. Peril and utility must, of course, be compared with each other; for example, he who from considerations of utility would wish to avoid all kinds of perils, will be wanting in courage; and he who, on the contrary, would lightly brave an extreme peril, will naturally deserve to be called rash. Thus must we first consider the nature of the peril, and, secondly, the degree.

=159. Civic courage.=--Although military courage is the most brilliant and popular form of courage, it may be asked whether there is not a higher and n.o.bler form still, namely, civic courage.

Cicero, who, to say the truth, was not sufficiently disinterested in the matter, persists in showing that civic virtues are equal to military virtues, and demand an equal amount of courage and energy.[124] A firm and high-souled man, he says, has no trouble in difficult circ.u.mstances, to preserve his presence of mind and the free use of his reason, to provide in advance against events, and to be always ready for action when necessary.

This is a sort of courage more difficult perhaps than the one required in a hand-to-hand struggle with the enemy. Civic life, besides, has itself trials which often imperil one's existence.

Antiquity has left us innumerable and admirable examples of civic courage against tyranny. Helvidius Priscus was thought to look with disapproval upon Vespasian's administration. The latter sent him word to keep away from the Senate: "It is in thy power," replied Helvidius, "to forbid my belonging to the Senate, but as long as I belong to it, I shall attend it."--"Go, then," said the emperor, "but hold thy tongue."--"If thou ask me no questions I will make thee no answers."--"But I must ask thee questions."--"And I must answer thee what I think just."--"If thou dost, I shall have thee put to death."--"When have I said to thee that I was immortal?" But nothing ever surpa.s.sed the intrepidity of Socrates, either before the Thirty Tyrants who wished to interdict him free speech,[125] or before the people's tribunals which condemned him to death:

Plato in his _Apology_ makes him say: "If you were to tell me now, 'Socrates, we will not listen to Anytus: we send thee back absolved on condition that thou ceasest philosophizing and givest up thy accustomed researches,' I should answer you without hesitation, 'O Athenians, I honor and love you, but I shall obey G.o.d before I obey you.'"

Then, after having been condemned to death, he closes with these admirable words:

"I bear my accusers, and those who have condemned me, no resentment, although they did not seek my good, but rather to injure me. But I shall ask of them one favor: I beg you, when my children shall be grown up, to persecute them as I have myself persecuted you, if you see that they prefer riches to virtue.... If you grant us this favor, I and my children shall have but to praise your justice. But it is time we go each our way: I to die, you to live. Which of us has the better part, you or I? This is known to none but G.o.d."

=160. Patience.=--One of the most difficult forms of courage is that which consists not only in braving or repelling a threatening danger (which presupposes some effort and activity), but in bearing without anger, without any sign of vain revolt, the ills and pains of life: this is _patience_. There is a kind of patience which is but a part of our duty in regard to others: one must learn to bear a great deal from others, they having often a great deal to bear from us. But we speak here of that inner patience which is our strength in grief; the patience of the invalid in his daily sufferings; that of the poor man in his poverty; the patience, in short, which all must exercise amidst the innumerable and inevitable accidents of life. It is, above all, that sort of virtue which the Stoics meant when they said with Epictetus: "You should not wish things to happen as you want them; but you should wish them as they do happen." A maxim which Descartes translated substantially, saying: "My maxim is rather to try to overcome myself than fortune, and rather to change my own wishes than to change the order of the world." Which he explained by saying:

"If we regard the goods which lie outside of us as unattainable as those we are deprived of from our birth, we shall no more grieve at not possessing them, than we should in not possessing the empires of China or Mexico; and, making, as it is said, a virtue of necessity, we shall not any more desire to be healthy when ill, or to be free when in prison, than we desire now to have bodies of as incorruptible a stuff as diamonds, or to have wings to fly with like birds."[126]

It is this kind of courage which at every moment of life is most in requisition, and which is the rarest; for there will be found plenty of men capable of braving death when the occasion presents itself; but to bear with resignation the inevitable and constantly renewed ills of human life, is a virtue all the more rare as one is scarcely ever ashamed of its opposite vice. One would blush to fear peril, one does not blush for rebelling against destiny; one is willing to die if necessary, but not to be thwarted. Yet will it be admitted that to succ.u.mb under the weight of destiny, is a kind of cowardice. It is for this reason that it would be justly said that suicide is also a cowardly act; for whilst it is true that it demands a certain physical courage, it is also true that the moral courage which bears the ills of life is of a still higher order.

"You take a journey to Olympia," says Epictetus, "to behold the work of Phidias, and each of you thinks it a misfortune to die without a knowledge of such things; and will you have no inclination to see and understand those works, for which there is no need to take a journey; but which are ready and at hand, even to those who bestow no pains!

Will you never perceive what you are, or for what you were born, or for what purpose you are admitted to behold this spectacle? But there are in life some things unpleasant and difficult. And are there none at Olympia? Are you not heated? Are you not crowded? Are you not without good conveniences for bathing? Are you not wet through, when it happens to rain? Do you not have uproar and noise, and other disagreeable circ.u.mstances? But, I suppose, by comparing all these with the merit of the spectacle, you support and endure them. Well, and have you not received faculties by which you may support every event? Have you not received greatness of soul? Have you not received a manly spirit? Have you not received patience? What signifies to me anything that happens, while my soul is above it? What shall disconcert or trouble or appear grievous to me? Shall I not use my powers to that purpose for which I received them; but lament and groan at every casualty?"[127]

But we should not confound true strength, true courage, true patience, with false strength and ridiculous obstinacy.

"An acquaintance of mine," says again Epictetus, "had, for no reason, determined to starve himself to death. I went the third day, and inquired what was the matter. He answered: 'I am determined.'--'Well; but what is your motive? For, if your determination be right, we will stay, and a.s.sist your departure; but if unreasonable, change it.'--'We ought to keep our determinations.'--'What do you mean, sir? Not all of them; but such as are right. Else, if you should fancy that it is night, if this be your principle, do not change, but persist and say, "We ought to keep to our determinations." 'What do you mean, sir? Not to all of them. Why do you not begin by first laying the foundation, inquiring whether your determination be a sound one, or not; and then build your firmness and constancy upon it. For, if you lay a rotten and crazy foundation, you must not build; since the greater and more weighty the superstructure, the sooner will it fall. Without any reason you are withdrawing from us, out of life, a friend, a companion, a fellow-citizen both of the greater and the lesser city; and while you are committing murder, and destroying an innocent person, you say, "We must keep to our determinations." Suppose, by any means, it should ever come into your head to kill me; must you keep to such a determination?'

"With difficulty this person was, however, at last convinced; but there are some at present, whom there is no convincing ... a fool will neither bend nor break."[128]

=161. Moderation.=--The ancients always a.s.sociated with patience in adversity another kind of courage, no less rare and difficult, namely, moderation in prosperity. It was for them, in some respects, one and the same virtue, exercised in two opposite conditions, and this is what they call _equanimity_.

"Now, during our prosperity," says Cicero, "and while things flow agreeably to our desire, we ought, with great care, to avoid pride and arrogance; for, as it discovers weakness not to bear adversity with equanimity, so also with prosperity. That equanimity, in every condition of life, is a n.o.ble attribute, and that uniform expression of countenance which we find recorded of Socrates, and also of Caius Laelius. Panaetius tells us, his scholar and friend, Africa.n.u.s, used to say that as horses, grown unruly by being in frequent engagements, are delivered over to be tamed by horse-breakers, thus men, who grow riotous and self-sufficient by prosperity, ought, as it were, to be exercised in the traverse[129] of reason and philosophy, that they may learn the inconstancy of human affairs and the uncertainty of fortune.[130]

Nothing occurs more frequently among the ancient poets and moralists than this idea of the vicissitude of human things. The metaphor of Fortune's wheel, which sometimes lowers to the greatest depth those it raised highest, is well known. We need scarcely dwell upon this commonplace saying which has never, for an instant, ceased to be true; although the more regular conditions of modern society have introduced more security and uniformity in life, at least for those who live wisely and with moderation. Yet is no one secure against the changes of fortune; there are unexpected elevations as there are sudden falls; and firmness in either bad or good fortune will always be necessary.

=162. Equality of temper; anger.=--To equality of temper or possession of one's self, there is still another obligation attached: that of avoiding anger, a pa.s.sion which the ancients with reason considered the principle of courage,[131] but which of itself is without any rules, and is more proper to beasts than men. Aristotle has described the irascible disposition with great accuracy. He justly distinguishes two kinds of anger; one where a man is easily carried away, and as easily appeased again, and the other where resentment is nursed and kept up for a long time. The first is the irascible disposition; the second, the splenetic or vindictive disposition.

"Irascible men," says Aristotle, "are easily angered, with improper objects, on improper occasions, and too much; but their anger quickly ceases, and this is the best point in their character. And this is the case with them, because they do not restrain their anger, but retaliate openly and visibly, because of their impetuosity, and then they become calm.--But the bitter are difficult to be appeased, and retain their anger a long time, for they repress their rage; but there comes a cessation, when they have retaliated; for revenge makes their anger cease, because it produces pleasure instead of the previous pain. But if they do not get revenge, they feel a weight of disappointment: for, owing to its not showing itself, no one reasons with them; and there is need of time for a man to digest his anger within him. Persons of this character are very troublesome to themselves, and to their best friends."[132]

Seneca, in his treatise on _Anger_, has conclusively shown all the evils this pa.s.sion carries with it, and of which Horace justly said: "Anger is a short madness."

Yet, if anger is an evil, apathy, absolute indifference, is far from being a good. Whilst there is a brutal and beastly anger, there is also a n.o.ble, a _generous anger_, namely, that which is at the service of n.o.ble sentiments. Plato describes it in the following terms:

"When we are convinced that injustice has been done us, does it not plead the cause of what appears to it to be just? Instead of allowing itself to be overcome by hunger, by cold, by all sorts of ill-treatments, does it not overcome them? It never ceases a moment to make generous efforts toward obtaining satisfaction, and nothing but death depriving it of its power, or reason persuading or silencing it, as the shepherd silences his dog, can stop it."[133]

Aristotle also approves of this generous anger, and blames those with souls too cold:

"One can only call stupid those who cannot be aroused to anger about things where real anger ought to be felt.... He who does not then get angry appears insensible and ignorant of what just indignation means.

One might even believe him, since he has no feeling of courage, unable to defend himself when necessary. But it is the cowardice of the slave's to accept an insult and to allow his kin to be attacked with impunity."[134]

But that which is not easy, as Aristotle remarks, is to find an exact and proper medium between apathy and violence:

"It is difficult to determine with accuracy the manner, the persons, the occasions, and the length of time for which one ought to be angry, and at what point one ceases to act rightly or wrongly. For he who transgresses the limit a little is not blamed, whether it be on the side of excess or deficiency: and we sometimes praise those who fall short, and call them meek; and we call the irascible manly, as being able to govern ... the decision must be left to particular cases, and to the moral sense."[135]

=163. Personal dignity.=--A generous anger, as has been seen, has its principle in the sentiment of _personal dignity_, with which the _duty of self-respect_ is connected.

Man's free will is what essentially const.i.tutes the dignity of human nature, the moral personality. Man's duty toward himself as a moral personality is then dependent upon his will.

This duty of self-respect, of the moral personality, has been admirably expressed by Kant, and we can do no better than transcribe here the pa.s.sage:

"Man, considered as an animal, is a being of but mediocre importance, and is not worth any more than other animals. His utility and worth is that of any marketable thing.--But, considered as a personality, he is priceless; he is possessed of a _dignity_ which can claim the respect of all other reasonable creatures, and which allows him to measure himself with each of them, and consider himself their equal.

"But this respect, which he has a right to exact of every other man, he should not despoil himself of. He can, and should, therefore, estimate himself both in ratio to his greatness and littleness, according as he considers himself a sensuous being (in his animal nature), or an intelligent being (in his moral nature). But as he should not only consider himself as a person in general, but also as an individual man, his lesser worth as animal-man should not impair the consciousness he has of his dignity as reasonable man, and he must hold on to the moral estimate he makes of himself as such. In other words, he should not pursue his aims in a lowly and servile manner, as if he solicited favors: this would be abdicating his dignity; he should always uphold within himself the consciousness of the n.o.bility of his moral faculties, for it is this estimate of one's self which const.i.tutes the duty of man toward himself.

"The consciousness and conviction of our little moral worth, compared with what the law requires of us, is moral humility. The contrary consciousness and conviction, namely, the persuading ourselves, for want of this comparison, that we are of very great worth, may be called the pride of virtue.--To reject all claim to any moral worth whatsoever, in the hope of acquiring thereby a hidden worth, is a false moral humility and an abas.e.m.e.nt of the mind. To undervalue one's own moral worth for the purpose of obtaining thereby the favor of another (through hypocrisy or flattery, namely), is also a false humility, and, moreover, an abas.e.m.e.nt of one's personality. True humility should of necessity be the result of an exact and sincere comparison of one's self with the moral law (with its sanct.i.ty and severity). This duty relative to the human dignity in our personality may be more or less clearly stated in the following precepts: Be no man's slave; let not your rights be trampled under foot; contract no debts for which you cannot give full security; accept no gifts which you can do without; be neither a parasite, nor a flatterer, nor a beggar; complaints and lamentations, even a single cry wrung from us by bodily pain, are things unworthy of us (still more unworthy if the pain is deserved).

Therefore is a criminal's death enn.o.bled by the firmness with which he meets it. Can he who makes himself a worm complain if he be crushed?"[136]

=164. True and false pride.=--We should, however, not confound a true and n.o.ble _pride_, without which man is but a thing and a slave, with a pa.s.sion which looks like it, but which is but its phantom; I mean _false pride_. True pride is the just feeling man has of his moral dignity, and which interdicts him to humble the human personality in others, or to allow it to be humbled in himself. False pride is the exaggerated feeling we entertain in regard to our own advantages and superiority over other men. True pride is related to what there is sacred and divine in us; false pride, on the contrary, feeds and grows fat on the trifling and petty concerns of our mere individuality. There is in man, the stoics said, an inner G.o.d: the human essence, namely, of which the individual is but the depository, and which he ought to keep sacred and holy as a divine host.

This respect for the human personality, religious morality calls holiness; worldly morality calls it honor; it is one and the same principle under different forms; it is the idea of something sacred in us which we must neither stain nor debase. True pride rests then on what there is common among all men, on what makes them equals. False pride, on the contrary, regards chiefly our peculiarities, and what we call more especially our own. True pride asks for nothing more than to be free from oppression; false pride wants to oppress others. True pride is n.o.ble; false pride, brutal and insolent. Of course it has its degrees according to the nature of the advantages of which it boasts. The pride, for example, which boasts of material advantages, is the grossest of all; pride of birth and ancestry is more pardonable, but if he who is proud of them shows it too much he becomes disgusting, and true pride will have a right to protect itself against that kind of false pride. He, again, who is proud of his intellectual advantages is less blameworthy than the former, for these advantages belong, at least, to his personality; but as they are not due to the man, and as, however great they may be, they have still their weak sides, this also is an inexcusable pride. The pride which might appear to be the most pardonable is the pride of virtue, if there were not in some respects a sort of contradiction of terms in drawing advantage and honor from a good the essentiality of which consists in self-forgetfulness and the pure and simple observance of the law.

The diminutive of false pride is _vanity_. False pride looks to great things, at least to such as appear great to men; vanity boasts of the smallest. False pride is insulting; vanity wounding. The one is odious, the other ridiculous. The lowest order of vanity is _foppishness_, or the vanity of external advantages--the person, the toilet, superficial accomplishments. This diminutive of false pride is one of the most pitiable of pa.s.sions, and should be combated by manly efforts.

=165. Modesty.=--The virtue opposed to false pride, and which, besides, is nowise irreconcilable with true pride, is modesty, a correct feeling, namely, of one's just worth. Morality does not forbid us a proper estimate of our merits; these merits, besides, having but a relative value, and representing but faintly the high ideal we should always keep before our eyes. To fail to appreciate the advantages we owe to nature, is often indicative only of laziness and apathy. He who depreciates himself is not disposed to turn what there is in him to account. This self-depreciation, in order to avoid the responsibility of using his faculties, is often but a subterfuge and the sophistry of indolence. There is nothing contrary to duty in the acknowledgment of our worth, so long as we do not boast of it, but thank Providence for it, and put to use the gifts it has conferred on us. If, on the contrary, the question is of virtues we have acquired by our own efforts, the satisfaction we experience from it is but the just recompense of these efforts; and such a feeling could not be condemned; for such condemnation would be a virtual protest against the moral conscience, which consists as much in the satisfaction we derive from good actions as in the regrets which accompany the bad.

Unquestionably, "the left hand should not know what the right hand doeth;"

which means that we should not everywhere proclaim aloud our good actions, and that we should as much as possible forget them. But this forgetting should not go so far as indifference; for our morality depends upon our consciousness.

But if it is lawful for man to rejoice over his natural or acquired gifts, it is on the condition that he do not exaggerate their import: this is easy enough if we compare ourselves to those who are still better gifted than we are, or think of what we should and could do with greater efforts, more courage, better will; or in recognizing the narrow scope, limits, and defects of these gifts, or in keeping, above all, our eyes more open to our faults than our good qualities. Beware of the beam of the Gospel.

Modesty should not only be external, but internal also; externally, it is above all a duty we owe others, whom we should not humble by our superior advantages; internally, it is a duty to ourselves, for we should not deceive ourselves about our own worth. One is sometimes modest externally without being so internally, and conversely. I may pretend before men to have no great opinion of myself, whilst internally I am full of conceit: this is sheer hypocrisy. I may, on the other hand, externally attribute to myself advantages which my conscience altogether denies: this is bragging.

One should be modest both inwardly and outwardly, in words and actions.

But how, in what manner, and to what degree must we be modest? It is impossible in matters so delicate to establish definite rules, and the decision must be left to our own judgment.

There is another virtue to be distinguished from modesty, namely, _humility_. Humility should not be an abas.e.m.e.nt; for it is never a virtue in man to lower himself. But, even as dignity and true pride are virtues which spring from a proper sense of human greatness, so humility is a virtue which springs from a proper sense of human weakness. Remember that thou art a man and do not degrade thyself: this is self-respect. Remember that thou art but a man and do not allow thyself to indulge in vain pride; this is humility. Modesty relates to the individual; humility to human nature in general. As to that false humility which consists in lowering one's self before men unnecessarily, and without any occasion for it (like Tartufe, for example:

"Yes, brother, I am a sinner and a wretch!"[137]),

it is but the falsehood of virtue, and should be rejected by all manly and generous morality.

=166. Duties relative to sentiment.=--A last point which should not be neglected is this: has man, as far as he is endowed with moral sensibility--that is to say, as far as he is a susceptible being--capable of love, enthusiasm, affection, any duties toward himself?

Kant maintains that love cannot be an object of duty; that no one is obliged to love: that sentiment is phenomenal and belongs to the order of nature, and can neither be produced nor prevented; that, consequently, it has nothing to do with morals. The only love admitted by Kant in morals is what he calls _practical_ love: namely, the love which consists in actions and does others good, or any kind of sentiment accompanying benevolence, provided it be a disinterested sentiment. "All other love," he says in his odd and energetic language, "is _pathological_," that is, sickly.

Kant, no doubt, is right if he means that false sentimentality or feeble softness,[138] which the poet Gilbert has so well described, and which the enervating literature of the latter part of the eighteenth century made so ridiculous. We should take care not to fall into an effeminate tenderness or a silly philanthropy which sacrifices justice to a mawkish sensibility.

But all danger and defects set aside, there still remains the question whether we owe anything to our own heart, and whether the only thing directly commanded us, be action.

It is quite true that it is not an effect of our will if our heart is more or less tender, more or less sympathetic. Nature has made some souls gentle and amiable, others austere and cold, others again heroic and hard, etc.; the moralists should not forget these differences, and the degree of sensibility obligatory on all cannot be absolutely determined. But there are two facts which certainly oblige us to put some restrictions upon Kant's too harsh doctrine. The first is that moral emotion (affection, enthusiasm for the beautiful, for our country) is never wholly absent in any human soul; the second is that sensibility does not altogether lie outside our will. We can smother our good feelings as we can smother our evil pa.s.sions; we can also cultivate them, develop them, encourage them; give them a greater or less share in our lives, by placing ourselves in circ.u.mstances which favor them. For example, say such or such a person is but slightly endowed with sensibility or sympathy for the sufferings of the wretched; yet is it impossible that he be entirely deprived of them: let him overcome his repugnance and indifference; let him visit the poor, put himself at the service of human misery; the dormant sympathy will inevitably awaken in his heart. By this fact alone will he be enabled to do good with more ease, and raise his soul to a higher degree of perfection and beauty.