Ethics of force.

Preface

This little volume had its origin in a series of papers read to the Ethical Club of Washington, D.C., at the time just preceding and following the Spanish War. As it was designed that each should present its special topic with a degree of completeness, it was often necessary at the beginning of successive papers to outline the preceding. It is hoped that such repetitions are not greater than is desirable to keep the whole subject well in mind. While the chapters are in a sense independent, they relate to different phases of the same subject. The popular conceptions of heroism and patriotism are tremendous factors in every war. Differing widely as I do from these popular conceptions, any inference that I hold the things themselves at a lower valuation than others would be most erroneous. What I desire is that the conceptions be recast in the mold of the highest rationality.

To forestall any misconception as to my animus, it may be permissible to mention a circumstance to which I should not otherwise allude. It was my fortune, and in some respects my privilege, to serve in the ranks during the Civil War. Shortly after enlistment I had an attack of fever which nearly proved fatal. This was followed by a brief captivity, in which I had a taste of about all the forms of discomfort which could be had. A year

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PREFACE later a bullet, having deprived me of an important member, terminated my active service, but added many months to my hospital experience. After this I rounded out my military career with another fever. If not much glory fell to my share, I had certainly an almost unique opportunity of seeing war on its seamy side. In spite of this, I am sure that my attitude toward it is not in the least based upon personal grounds. It should be clear, too, that I cannot possibly lack appreciation of and sympathy for the soldier. I may indeed confess that I have not succeeded wholly in ridding myself of the irrational sentiment which attaches itself to the concepts “heroism” and “patriotism,” though these are not now satisfied by spelling the words with a capital letter nor by the bursting of firecrackers.

I am under no illusion that this book will have many readers or exert any remarkable influence. A few will, I trust, sympathize with my purpose and find in my labor of love some stimulus for further effort and fresher hope for the race. However this may be, every man born into the world owes it to himself to express, in some way, his deepest convictions ; and this debt I have endeavored to pay.

Contents

PAGE

I. Introduction i

II. The Ethics of Heroism ii

II

A hero, as defined by Worcester, is “a man distinguished for valor, or for war-like achievements, a great warrior, a brave man.” The bravery contemplated is animal daring exerted in the sphere of physical conflict ; it is brute courage employed in the destruction of life or property, whether for purpose of defense or plunder. From the beginnings of the race this kind of courage has been held in extraordinary esteem. In the progress of mankind other qualities have come in for a qualified admiration, but this quality in all times, among all races, tribes, and nations, has called for the instinctive and vociferous applause of men. Not those who add to the comfort, safety, and well-being of others, but they who inflict pain, injury, wounds, and death are the envy of men and the idols of women. The Homeric tale of Venus deserting her skillful and ingenious spouse for the red-handed Mars is fairly typical. Though like courage and endurance be required, he is no hero who merely constructs, but he who destroys. He may, indeed, be the defender of his tribe or clan, or its leader against a neighboring tribe, but even if successful, that alone brings but a qualified approbation. That which appeals to his fellows is the spectacular bravery which seeks opportunities to display itself, delights in fighting for the demonstration

1 1 of superiority, and in taking life and shedding blood as a dexterity. To complete the heroic ideal, he must bear his own life lightly and yield it up gayly where the chances go against him or his adversary proves to be the greater hero.

Here, indeed, is the fatal infirmity of the glory of combat. Every hero is doomed, sooner or later, through failing powers or uncontrollable circumstances, to defeat. The suitors in the Odyssey, brutal, repellent as they are, boastful, swaggering, cruel to the weak, were nevertheless heroes according to the definition, and fairly entitled to their high-sounding epithets. It is not for their cruelty or barbarity, for lack of skill or courage, that the poet holds them up for our disapprobation. It is merely that they had trespassed on the preserves of a still greater hero. Ulysses was no whit less savage or cruel, but he was stronger and more skillful in taking life.

Goliath was to the Israelites a savage monstrosity, but an unparalleled hero to the Philistines until his glory was appropriated by the shepherd lad. There were heroes of this type in David’s bodyguard also. Chancing to hear their leader sigh for a drink of water from a certain spring, they broke through the Philistine lines to obtain it. David, however, had other qualities than daring, and had no mind tp sacrifice his valuable material in any such feather-headed enterprise, and he turned the water on the ground in token of his disapproval of it. The story of the cavalier who sprang into the arena among the lions to rescue the glove of his lady is in point. The grain of sense which, in fact, he showed was in throwing the glove in her face. But while in history, romance, song, and folklore the hero has always been glorified, it is among the Norsemen that the apotheosis of courage has been attained. No higher ideal of happiness or reward in the future life was found than that their heroes should hack each other to pieces every day, to be restored again at night, that this grim joy might go on forever.

There is, however, another element in the heroic ideal, or at least in the popular conception of the hero. The man who is slain may be just as brave as his adversary, and only less skillful, but scant admiration is wasted on him. To win unstinted applause one must succeed. The hero is such only while he is victorious. Success does as a rule carry with it the idea of physical perfection. In primitive times, when the combat was determined solely by force, the hero must needs be the stronger man. If stratagem, surprise, concealment, or duplicity were factors, he must also excel in these ; if skill in the use of arms, that, too, must be superadded. Finally, mysterious virtues in the weapons themselves became an element in the conception. Supernatural aid seems only to heighten the admiration for the one who thus overcomes his adversary. The gods come to the rescue of the heroes in the Iliad, and David had the assistance of the all-powerful Jahveh. Durandal, the sword of Roland, possessed supernatural qualities in itself, and was first given to Charlemagne by an angel. When men came to fight on horseback their steeds shared semi-divine honors with them. In brief, as the facilities for taking life increased, it was necessary for the hero to be equipped with all the latest improvements. In the fine art of slaughter he must needs excel in his person, his characteristics, and his arms. Though bravery was a chief means of accomplishment, it was success that won applause, and it did not much matter how the factors contributing to it were proportioned to each other. It was a practical end or utility which was sought. It was merely a case of the survival of the fittest. The hero was the one who was better fitted than his opponents to resist the influences from without tending to the destruction of life.

But while physical courage has been the most applauded of human qualities, it has been the most common, I may say redundant. All men have not been heroes, because all cannot successfully compete with their fellows. Almost all men have desired to be, and have failed not for lack of courage but from the limitations of their physical organism. Only one in a group can stand at the head ; but never does a leader fall but plenty of his followers press eagerly forward to contend for the dangerous honor of taking his place. Never was a hope so forlorn that more men than enough have not dedicated their lives to the slender chance of its success. Lord Roberts gives a picturesque illustration where, at the relief of Lucknow, the guns had made a breach in a wall just large enough for a man to squeeze through. Scores of men raced for the opening, each one knowing perfectly that the winner would be shot dead as he passed through.

But in this form of courage the civilized man is not superior to the savage. He is probably decidedly inferior, but, because of his greater knowledge of the forces of nature, he is a far more formidable instrumentality for the destruction of life and property. Nor does man in any stage of culture possess this courage in a higher degree than the brutes. The reverse is the case ; and, indeed, the lower we descend in the scale, the more completely all moral considerations, all perceptions of consequence are eliminated, the more absolute, uncompromising, and inflexible it becomes. To this there are apparent exceptions, but these admit of easy explanations. The animals to whom we attribute gentleness and timidity, in a state of nature, will be found unprovided with the means of contending with the more savage and so-called courageous beasts on anything like equal terms. These will usually be found to have developed qualities which are an admirable substitute, — fleetness of foot or wing to enable them to escape pursuit, superior cunning, means of concealment or of occupying positions out of the reach of their antagonists. But even among these, displays of the most absolute daring are not at all rare. The wren, we are told on excellent authority, will “peck at the estridge and we know that the humming-bird, that tiny bit of darting color, does not hesitate, under certain circumstances, to attack the lord of creation. Among the savage and cruel sorts the same principle may be observed. The wolf is accused of cowardice where he really uses judgment. He has the intelligence to measure the resources of his antagonist, and by himself will not attack a creature for which he is no match. But with his fellows he attacks the most formidable antagonist, and does not shrink from the wholesale destruction around him, nor from pains.

l6 THE ETHICS OF FORCE

wounds, and death to himself. The lemming in his migrations stops at nothing ; woe to the man or animal that stands in the way of the stream rolling on to the sea to lose itself in the waves. Even ants will attack large animals or men, and by their numbers overcome them. In their battles with other tribes they show the most incredible hardihood. They do not stop for the loss of legs and wings and the most frightful wounds. When the mandibles of another have severed the head of one of these warriors from his body he gives up the fight.

If, now, we observe the line of development, we shall see why physical courage was at its height among the lower orders. In these life fairly swarms, while the means for its maintenance, apart from other forms of life, are wanting. We have, therefore, the alternative presented to the three men of Bristol city; “Us must eat we.” All life, indeed, subsists upon life, but here there are no removes, no disguises. It is a direct and square contest between two individuals as to which can and will eat the other. Even if the weaker should escape for a time through flight or concealment, his necessities drive him to attack another. Ultimately the strong will be pitted against the strong.

The food supply was for a long time almost the sole question, and remained so long after the advent of man. It is only in very recent times that any demand arose for clothing or for shelter other than that which nature furnished ready made. Eor an immeasurable period the activities of the globe were directed to two objects only, — the getting of food on the one hand, and to escape being converted into food on the other. Life was the stake, and to win was to use skillfully all the means provided and to fight to the bitter end. The will to sustain the pain, fatigue, uncertainty, and frightful alternatives must be supported by what we may call absolute physical courage. Probably it was entirely indifferent to danger because wholly unconscious of it. It shrank at no consequence because it perceived none. Combat was a mere commonplace, a function. Some mentality there must have been from the start, but no suggestion of a moral sense. To kill another for food was just as much a matter of course as it is for the housewife to cook the oatmeal for breakfast. Perhaps it should not be called courage, as there is nothing in the nature of man exactly corresponding to it. But it cannot be denied that it is the raw material out of which physical courage in man has been evolved. It adapted itself to existing conditions, as it has in man. It is true, too, that in proportion as courage in man has approached this pure and unqualified animal daring, — the instinctive response to appetite, — it has gained the greatest respect and applause.

Without attempting to follow the steps of its development, let us come to a much later period, where we find it divided broadly into two classes, — the carnivora and herbivora among mammals, — with a like distinction among birds, insects, and other creatures. The flesh eaters retain their ferocity almost in its primal vigor, but modified by experience and adapted to the changed conditions. Almost their sole mission in life is to seize and devour the vegetable eaters. The mechanism which fits them for this at the same time provides them a formidable defense l8 THE ETHICS OF FORCE

against attack. They do not, therefore, prey on each other, as a rule, — though they fight for other reasons, — and in general beyond the family we do not find them organized either for attack or defense.

The herbivora also subsist upon life, but in a form which probably experiences no pain, and which cannot escape, and offers no active resistance. The mechanism which enables them to secure and masticate their food is nearly useless for defense. They must, therefore, avoid attack through the keenness of their senses, by concealment, by simulation, by swiftness of motion, and by endurance. Some of them have developed somewhat formidable weapons, but in general inadequate for individual defense against the carnivora.

It would be, perhaps, a misuse of language to say that an animal shows its courage by running away and avoiding a fatal combat. Let us observe, nevertheless, that it has accomplished all that it could have done even by a successful combat. It could not eat or in any way make use of its antagonist. It is altogether a question of adapting means to ends. It is the old problem in a different form. Strength, cutting and tearing teeth, beak, claws, talons, compete with swift wing and foot, with concealment, alertness, and position of advantage. For these defenseless creatures to engage in voluntary combat with their pursuers would show complete misconception as to their powers or complete indifference to safety. It would be to act without motive, there being no conceivable object to be gained. It would result in the swift destruction not only of their species, but also of those who prey upon them. From the biological point of view.

the action of the so-called timid creature is entitled to just as much admiration as that of the flesh eater. Both, doubtless, act upon instinct, developed by heredity through countless generations, until it is almost automatic and infallible. That the flesh eater is oftener the winner means only that his class is perpetuated where otherwise it would perish. It is simply in the order of things. The one who escapes by avoiding conflict does not show a higher intelligence than his adversary, but he shows no less. Each uses such means as he has for his own preservation, and neither probably has any pride or emotion beyond bare content with the end achieved. I do not suppose the deer brags because he has outrun the wolf, nor the lion when he has carried off a cow. It is a mere function.

Nevertheless, we And among these grass eaters a new principle coming in, destined at a later stage to be

A lever to uplift the earth

And roll it in another course.

It is not quite the beginning of the principle of combination, but it is the beginning of society as distinguished from the family. The power of organization and associated effort is brought into the problem of life. In some cases, as with the buffalo, this is fairly adequate against all foes but man. Where no active resistance can be put forth, the security is greatly increased by having many individuals on the watch against a common danger ; and this was brought to a still higher degree of efficiency by having certain animals posted as sentries while the others fed or slept.

Following this organization for purpose of defense, probably, — though they may have been contemporaneous or even antecedent, — we find a few cases of combination for offensive purposes, as with the jackals, the wolves, and the dogs. These are individually weak as against some of the creatures on which they must depend for food. Possibly this is necessary for protection against still more powerful flesh eaters. There is no traceable moral element and no regard for consequences. There is no sympathy with the victim and no hatred. There is ferocity and implacability ; but this is a part of the game. It is a question of getting a meal with the smallest cost in fatigue and pain. We do, indeed, see among the cats a sort of sardonic humor, perhaps delight, in the sufferings of their victims, manifesting itself as play.

Now, in the organization we have noticed in both these classes, some sort of leadership is a necessity. The individual that has shown the greatest capacity for offense or defense becomes the leader. The qualification is determined by actual trial, in contest with his possible rivals. If he is not glorified as a hero, it is because the feeling of admiration is still undeveloped. At any rate, he gets all he could possibly ask, and all that his community has to bestow. In the contests which have settled his right to the leadership he has displayed just as much courage as the lion and tiger in theirs.

When man appeared on the earth, we may say with confidence, he did not differ much from his near relatives. He had the instinct of the herbivora for combination for the purpose of defense, and of the wolf and jackal for attack. He united the characteristics of both classes.

his food also coming from both. In the beginning he was in the main a flesh eater, but in course of time his food came more and more to consist of grains, vegetables, and nuts. The procurement of food, at the outset, constituted almost his sole employment. His contests with the great carnivora were waged with a double purpose, not only to avoid being eaten, but to add to his own food supply. With his unaided physical powers, hands and feet without claws, teeth unfitted for seizing and tearing, he was a feeble creature as compared with the cave bear and lion. Under these conditions his intelligence showed him the utility of combination. Altruism had no part in it, probably, this being no more than germinal in his organization. There was scarcely a glimmer of moral sense. There was no individual right of property, no sympathy with suffering, no remorse for wrongdoing, as there was no sense of right and wrong ; no idea of a superior power approving or condemning an act, no foresight, no dread of future retribution. His tools or weapons were such things as he could grasp with his hands, — stones or clubs. It was an absolute necessity that his group act in concert. After a while he learned how to fashion rude cutting and thrusting implements, knives, hatchets, spears of wood charred and hardened or tipped with bone or stone, and, later still, arrows. With his power to grasp, wield, and hurl these primitive weapons, his cunning and combined effort, he often overcame his most formidable antagonist, as evidenced by the bones remaining in the caves where he dwelt. There was great courage as well as skill in the use of his limited equipment, while in a great proportion of his contests he lost his life.

Into the leadership of this primitive community — the term “ drove ” would almost equally well designate it — the best man, after proving his title to that distinction by contests with his fellows, was inducted. The reward was the respect of the males and the admiration of the females. Three factors enter into the fitness of this man for leadership, — a high degree of physical perfection to insure the requisite strength, agility, and endurance, a high degree of animal daring, and skill in employing the resources at his command. These are all directed to strictly utilitarian ends. There is not yet any moral quality and, apart from their adaptation to desirable ends, nothing to admire. His courage is not different from that of any other animal, and because no longer the only or even chief means of accomplishing his ends, it must be less absolute than among the lower animals. The usefulness of the physical organism which fits him for the work he has to accomplish makes it to our eyes the standard of physical beauty ; but whether it would be so to a mind entirely outside and uninfluenced by this consideration we cannot say. Every race, in fact, adheres to its own standards, and the monstrosities of the one are the adornments and ideals of another. The hippopotamus, we must suppose, is as beautiful to his kind as man to his. Except for his usefulness, there is no reason to think the hero was agreeable, or that he was held in any high esteem. On his part there is no generosity, no devotion to the common good, except as this contributed to his own safety or gratification. All in all, we must conclude that heroes were a disagreeable necessity and, by our standards, gratuitously and abnormally offensive.

From the first we may suppose that men made some small provision for their future wants, as even the dog accumulates his heap of bones, the squirrel his store of nuts, and bees and ants their treasures. Man went a step farther. He discovered that certain animals could be domesticated and so preserved for an indefinite time for some future need, and that grains and vegetables could be multiplied by cultivation. But when he had thus begun these small accumulations one group of men immediately became an object of envy to another. Man has no more relish for persistent application than any other animal. Labor under all conditions is irksome, and under those then prevailing must have been well-nigh intolerable. Men preferred the stress and danger of battle with the chance of wounds and death to protracted and inglorious toil. No right in property was yet recognized. It was entirely legitimate for another group of men to possess themselves of these stores if they could. Those who had accumulated them might hold them if they could. The group thus became the new unit, and contests were between the latter rather than between individuals, as in the earlier times. The strong appropriated the weak, feeding upon them literally as well as figuratively.

It is not necessary to my purpose to trace the industrial history of man, or the development of what we call moral ideas, one of the first of these being probably the recognition of the right of property, individual and communal. Somewhere in their progress men came to realize that it cost less to produce what they needed than to take it from their neighbors. They were, indeed, quite ready for the latter whenever a specially tempting opportunity presented itseK ; but more and more they tended to some systematic industry as a regular and sure dependence. With the increase of experience and knowledge of the resources of nature, production has called for a constantly diminishing expenditure of fatigue and toil. The communities, on the other hand, have grown larger, partly through natural increase and partly through fusion of the groups. Just as individuals found security against a stronger individual by combination, so a small group found it against a larger one by combining with a third. At last we find great nations, occupying great territories and developing their resources. War has become a much more serious matter, and cannot be entered upon without long preparation and at vast expense, so great that the winner is still a loser. Meantime the idea of personal and property rights has been growing, and the rights themselves have been well defined. Following, but far behind these, as we should expect, comes the recognition of the rights of the communities among each other. Treaties, compacts, alliances, understandings of various kinds are entered into, — from selfish or prudential motives in the beginning, it may be conceded, but these finally become the basis of international law. Primarily this was to the advantage of the weaker state, but it eventually became equally advantageous to the stronger, as it furnished a standard of conduct and a basis for the settlement of disputes more economical than war. Meantime the principle of altruism, which in some incipient form existed far down in the scale of life, has been developing, until at last it is very active and far-reaching.

The weak and unfortunate are no longer eaten, but transferred to hospitals, asylums, and almshouses, and supported at the common expense. Wars are dreadfully oppressive and burdensome financially, but are waged at an ever-lessening destruction of life. They are not carried on in the old spirit at all. The wounded are not put to death, but treated by antiseptics and cared for as tenderly as the circumstances will permit. Captives are not reduced to servitude. Instead of wasting provinces, destroying cities and sowing them with salt, private prop- . erty is protected, at least in theory, and the public property preserved, especially the things which pertain to the higher civilization, such as libraries, schools, museums, hospitals, and art collections. Infants do not have their heads dashed against walls, nor are they tossed in sport from spear-point to spear-point, as in the old “strenuous ” days so beloved and mourned by some of our latter-day statesmen. Women are not outraged. Shops are not looted, but stand open, the merchants calmly dispensing their wares to the victors at extravagant prices. Consider the significance of a general, after a battle, borrowing ambulances of his enemy, as was done in the South African War. And now, at the end of nineteen centuries of Christianity, we have seen the most remarkable proposition in the history of the race put forth, not by some feeble nation, trembling before the threat of annihilation by a stronger, but by the most powerful ruler in the world, to form a tribunal in which all international disputes and misunderstandings shall be determined upon principles of right and equity, — in brief, that the golden rule be recognized by nations as well as individuals. This proposition, thus put forth, we have seen welcomed and favorably acted upon by the nations.

Now, let us observe in outline the development of life from its emergence to its highest manifestation. First, the condition where each individual was in active antagonism to every other, and where the victor became the sepulcher of the vanquished ; there was no composition and no alternative. Second, an element of intelligence which forecast the chances of success, — prudence or cowardice, if we so choose to designate it, — taking the direction of concealment, flight, or avoidance of the presence of the stronger, — cunning or strategy. Third, the organization of the weaker creatures against a stronger, for mutual defense. Fourth, organization for purposes of more efficient or economical production, in which we may include combinations like those of the wolves and dogs to capture game too powerful or too fleet for a single individual. Fifth, organization of the weaker communities against a stronger. Sixth, the coalescence of all communities into one large one for the regulation of national conduct, these large communities commonly determined as to their limits by some physical features, as mountains, deserts, or bodies of water, separating them more or less from other nations. Seventh, intercourse and trade relations between nations, and a code of rules recognizing and enforcing the rights of each.

Throughout this life history of the world physical courage has survived, but at each step it has undergone modification, and it has lost in importance. At a very early stage cunning and skill were as indispensable as mere daring. Neither of them in the beginning had any distinctive moral quality. Even in the heroic age, as sung by Homer, Ulysses received as much praise for his “much planning” as for his strength and daring. During that immensely long period, then, when the life of the world was dependent upon what may be called the natural supply and was unable to exploit the resources of the world or to multiply or add to the existing products, an immense value was set upon physical courage as a condition precedent to living at all. The conduct of man as well as the actions of the lower animals was determined by a rigorous necessity. But when it began to dawn upon man that the resources of nature are practically unlimited, and all we have to do is to help ourselves, other qualities became greatly more important than courage. Observation, invention, sagacity, judgment, self-control, patience, persistence became the allimportant factors. While the food question was still very pressing, the supply came through the industry of man instead of through the destruction of wild animals or other men. Regular, if primitive industries, arose, and rude commerce in the form of barter was found easier and more economical of pain and labor than the old distribution through combat and plunder.