Kitabı oku: «Through Nature to God», sayfa 5

IX
Origin of Moral Ideas and Sentiments

Now, here at last, in encountering the ethical process at work, have we detected a breach of continuity? Has the moral sentiment been flung in from outside, or is it a natural result of the cosmic process we have been sketching? Clearly it is the latter. There has been no breach of continuity. When the prolongation of infancy produced the clan, there naturally arose reciprocal necessities of behaviour among the members of the clan, its mothers and children, its hunters and warriors. If such reciprocal necessities were to be disregarded the clan would dissolve, and dissolution would be general destruction. For, bear in mind, the clan, when once evolved, becomes the unit whose preservation is henceforth the permanent necessity. It is infancy that has made it so. A miscellaneous horde, with brief infancies for its younger members, may survive a very extensive slaughter; but in a clan, where the proportion of helpless children is much greater, and a considerable division of labour between nurses and warriors has become established, the case is different. An amount or degree of calamity sufficient to break up its organization will usually mean total ruin. Hence, when Nature's travail has at length brought forth the clan, its requirements forthwith become paramount, and each member's conduct from babyhood must conform to them. Natural selection henceforth invests her chief capital in the enterprise of preserving the clan. In that primitive social unit lie all the potentiality and promise of Human Society through untold future ages. So for age after age those clans in which the conduct of the individuals is best subordinated to the general welfare are sure to prevail over clans in which the subordination is less perfect. As the maternal instinct had been cultivated for thousands of generations before clanship came into existence, so for many succeeding ages of turbulence the patriotic instinct, which prompts to the defence of home, was cultivated under penalty of death. Clans defended by weakly loyal or cowardly warriors were sure to perish. Unflinching bravery and devoted patriotism were virtues necessary to the survival of the community, and were thus preserved until at the dawn of historic times, in the most grandly militant of clan societies, we find the word virtus connoting just these qualities, and no sooner does the fateful gulf yawn open in the forum than a Curtius joyfully leaps into it, that the commonwealth may be preserved from harm.

Now the moment a man's voluntary actions are determined by conscious or unconscious reference to a standard outside of himself and his selfish motives, he has entered the world of ethics, he has begun to live in a moral atmosphere. Egoism has ceased to be all in all, and altruism – it is an ugly-sounding word, but seems to be the only one available – altruism has begun to assert its claim to sovereignty. In the earlier and purely animal stages of existence it was right enough for each individual to pursue pleasure and avoid pain; it did not endanger the welfare of the species, but on the contrary it favoured that welfare; in its origin avoidance of pain was the surest safeguard for the perpetuation of life, and with due qualifications that is still the case. But as soon as sociality became established, and Nature's supreme end became the maintenance of the clan organization, the standard for the individual's conduct became shifted, permanently and forever shifted. Limits were interposed at which pleasure must be resigned and pain endured, even certain death encountered, for the sake of the clan; perhaps the individual did not always understand it in that way, but at all events it was for the sake of some rule recognized in the clan, some rule which, as his mother and all his kin had from his earliest childhood inculcated upon him, ought to be obeyed. This conception of ought, of obligation, of duty, of debt to something outside of self, resulted from the shifting of the standard of conduct outside of the individual's self. Once thus externalized, objectivized, the ethical standard demanded homage from the individual. It furnished the rule for a higher life than one dictated by mere selfishness. Speaking after the manner of naturalists, I here use the phrase "higher life" advisedly. It was the kind of life that was conducive to the preservation and further development of the highest form of animate existence that had been attained. It appears to me that we begin to find for ethics the most tremendous kind of sanction in the nature of the cosmic process.

A word of caution may be needed. It is not for a moment to be supposed that when primitive men began crudely shaping their conduct with reference to a standard outside of self, they did so as the result of meditation, or with any realizing sense of what they were doing. That has never been the method of evolution. Its results steal upon the world noiselessly and unobserved, and only after they have long been with us does reason employ itself upon them. The wolf does not eat the lamb because he regards a flesh diet as necessary to his health and activity, but because he is hungry, and, like Mr. Harold Skimpole, he likes lamb. It was no intellectual perception of needs and consequences that lengthened the maternal instinct with primeval mothers as the period of infancy lengthened. Nor was it any such intellectual perception that began to enthrone "I ought" in the place of "I wish." If in the world's recurrent crises Nature had waited to be served by the flickering lamp of reason, the story would not have been what it is. Her method has been, with the advent of a new situation, to modify the existing group of instincts; and this work she will not let be slighted; in her train follows the lictor with the symbols of death, and there is neither pity nor relenting. In the primeval warfare between clans, those in which the instincts were not so modified as to shift the standard of conduct outside of the individual's self must inevitably have succumbed and perished under the pressure of those in which the instincts had begun to experience such modification. The moral law grew up in the world not because anybody asked for it, but because it was needed for the world's work. If it is not a product of the cosmic process, it would be hard to find anything that could be so called.

X
The Cosmic Process exists purely for the Sake of Moral Ends

I have not undertaken to make my outline sketch of the genesis of Humanity approach to completeness, but only to present enough salient points to make a closely connected argument in showing how morality is evolved in the cosmic process and sanctioned by it. In a more complete sketch it would be necessary to say something about the genesis of Religion. One of the most interesting, and in my opinion one of the most profoundly significant, facts in the whole process of evolution is the first appearance of religious sentiment at very nearly the same stage at which the moral law began to grow up. To the differential attributes of Humanity already considered there needs to be added the possession of religious sentiment and religious ideas. We may safely say that this is the most important of all the distinctions between Man and other animals; for to say so is simply to epitomize the whole of human experience as recorded in history, art, and literature. Along with the rise from gregariousness to incipient sociality, along with the first stammerings of articulate speech, along with the dawning discrimination between right and wrong, came the earliest feeble groping toward a world beyond that which greets the senses, the first dim recognition of the Spiritual Power that is revealed in and through the visible and palpable realm of nature. And universally since that time the notion of Ethics has been inseparably associated with the notion of Religion, and the sanction for Ethics has been held to be closely related with the world beyond phenomena. There are philosophers who maintain that with the further progress of enlightenment this close relation will cease to be asserted, that Ethics will be divorced from Religion, and that the groping of the Human Soul after its God will be condemned as a mere survival from the errors of primitive savagery, a vain and idle reaching out toward a world of mere phantoms. I mention this opinion merely to express unqualified and total dissent from it. I believe it can be shown that one of the strongest implications of the doctrine of evolution is the Everlasting Reality of Religion.

But we have not time at present for entering upon so vast a subject. Let this reference suffice to show that it has not been passed over or forgotten in my theory of the genesis of Humanity. In an account of the evolution of the religious sentiment, its first appearance as coeval, or nearly so, with the beginnings of the ethical process would assume great importance. We have here been concerned purely with the ethical process itself, which we have found to be – as Huxley truly says in his footnote – part and parcel of the general process of evolution. Our historical survey of the genesis of Humanity seems to show very forcibly that a society of Human Souls living in conformity to a perfect Moral Law is the end toward which, ever since the time when our solar system was a patch of nebulous vapour, the cosmic process has been aiming. After our cooling planet had become the seat of organic life, the process of natural selection went on for long ages seemingly, but not really at random; for our retrospect shows that its ultimate tendency was towards singling out one creature and exalting his intelligence.

Now we have seen that this increase of intelligence itself, by entailing upon Man the helplessness of infancy, led directly to the production of those social conditions that called the ethical process into play and set it actively to work. Thus we may see the absurdity of trying to separate the moral nature of Man from the rest of his nature, and to assign for it a separate and independent history. The essential solidarity in the cosmic process will admit of no such fanciful detachment of one part from another. All parts are involved one in another. Again, the ethical process is not only part and parcel of the cosmic process, but it is its crown and consummation. Toward the spiritual perfection of Humanity the stupendous momentum of the cosmic process has all along been tending. That spiritual perfection is the true goal of evolution, the divine end that was involved in the beginning. When Huxley asks us to believe that "the cosmic process has no sort of relation to moral ends," I feel like replying with the question, "Does not the cosmic process exist purely for the sake of moral ends?" Subtract from the universe its ethical meaning, and nothing remains but an unreal phantom, the figment of false metaphysics.

We have now arrived at a position from which a glimmer of light is thrown upon some of the dark problems connected with the moral government of the world. We can begin to see why misery and wrongdoing are permitted to exist, and why the creative energy advances by such slow and tortuous methods toward the fulfilment of its divine purpose. In order to understand these things, we must ask, What is the ultimate goal of the ethical process? According to the utilitarian philosophy that goal is the completion of human happiness. But this interpretation soon refutes itself. A world of completed happiness might well be a world of quiescence, of stagnation, of automatism, of blankness; the dynamics of evolution would have no place in it. But suppose we say that the ultimate goal of the ethical process is the perfecting of human character? This form of statement contains far more than the other. Consummation of happiness is a natural outcome of the perfecting of character, but that perfecting can be achieved only through struggle, through discipline, through resistance. It is for him that overcometh that the crown of life is reserved. The consummate product of a world of evolution is the character that creates happiness, that is replete with dynamic possibilities of fresh life and activity in directions forever new. Such a character is the reflected image of God, and in it are contained the promise and potency of life everlasting.

No such character could be produced by any act of special creation in a garden of Eden. It must be the consummate efflorescence of long ages of evolution, and a world of evolution is necessarily characterized by slow processes, many of which to a looker-on seem like tentative experiments, with an enormous sacrifice of ephemeral forms of life. Thus while the Earth Spirit goes on, unhasting, yet unresting, weaving in the loom of Time the visible garment of God, we begin to see that even what look like failures and blemishes have been from the outset involved in the accomplishment of the all-wise and all-holy purpose, the perfecting of the spiritual Man in the likeness of his Heavenly Father.

These points will receive further indirect illustration as we complete our outline sketch of the cosmic process in the past. It is self-evident that in the production of an ethical character, altruistic feelings and impulses must coöperate. Let us look, then, for some of the beginnings of altruism in the course of the evolution of life.

XI
Maternity and the Evolution of Altruism

From an early period of the life-history of our planet, the preservation of the species had obviously become quite as imperative an end as the preservation of individuals; one is at first inclined to say more imperative, but if we pause long enough to remember that total failure to preserve individuals would be equivalent to immediate extinction of the species, we see that the one requirement is as indispensable as the other. Individuals must be preserved, and the struggle for life is between them; species must be preserved, and in the rivalry those have the best chance in which the offspring are either most redundant in numbers or are best cared for. In plants and animals of all but the higher types, the offspring are spores or seeds, larvæ or spawn, or self-maturing eggs. In the absence of parental care the persistence of the species is ensured by the enormous number of such offspring. A single codfish, in a single season, will lay six million eggs, nearly all of which perish, of course, or else in a few years the ocean could not hold all the codfishes. But the princess in the Arabian tale, who fought with the malignant Jinni, could not for her life pick up all the scattered seeds of the pomegranate; and in like manner of the codfish eggs, one in a million or so escapes and the species is maintained. But in the highest types of animal life in birds and mammals – with their four-chambered hearts, completely arterialized blood, and enhanced consciousness – parental care becomes effective in protecting the offspring, and the excessive production diminishes. With birds, the necessity of maintaining a high temperature for the eggs leads to the building of nests, to a division of labour in the securing of food, to the development of a temporary maternal instinct, and to conjugal alliances which in some birds last for a lifetime. As the eggs become effectively guarded the number diminishes, till instead of millions there are half a dozen. When it comes to her more valuable products, Nature is not such a reckless squanderer after all. So with mammals, for the most part the young are in litters of half a dozen or so; but in Man, with his prolonged and costly infancy parental care reaches its highest development and concentration in rearing children one by one.

From the dawn of life, I need hardly say, all the instincts that have contributed to the preservation of offspring must have been favoured and cultivated by natural selection, and in many cases even in types of life very remote from Humanity, such instincts have prompted to very different actions from such as would flow from the mere instinct of self-preservation. If you thrust your walking-stick into an ant-heap, and watch the wild hurry and confusion that ensues when part of the interior is laid bare, you will see that all the workers are busy in moving the larvæ into places of safety. It is not exactly a maternal instinct, for the workers are not mothers, but it is an altruistic instinct involving acts of self-devotion. So in the case of fish that ascend rivers or bays at spawning time, the actions of the whole shoal are determined by a temporarily predominant instinct that tends towards an altruistic result. In these and lower grades of life there is already something at work besides the mere struggle for life between individuals; there is something more than mere contention and slaughter; there is the effort towards cherishing another life than one's own. In these regions of animate existence we catch glimpses of the cosmic roots of love and self-sacrifice. For the simplest and rudest productions of Nature mere egoism might suffice, but to the achievement of any higher aim some adumbration of altruism was indispensable.

Before such divine things as love and self-sacrifice could spring up from their cosmic roots and put forth their efflorescence, it was necessary that conscious personal relations should become established between mother and infant. We have already observed the critical importance of these relations in the earliest stages of the evolution of human society. We may now add that the relation between mother and child must have furnished the first occasion for the sustained and regular development of the altruistic feelings. The capacity for unselfish devotion called forth in that relation could afterward be utilized in the conduct of individuals not thus related to one another.

Of all kinds of altruism the mother's was no doubt the earliest; it was the derivative source from which all other kinds were by slow degrees developed. In the evolution of these altruistic feelings, therefore, – feelings which are an absolutely indispensable constituent in the process of ethical development, – the first appearance of real maternity was an epoch of most profound interest and importance in the history of life upon the earth.

Now maternity, in the true and full sense of the word, is something which was not realized until a comparatively recent stage of the earth's history. God's highest work is never perfected save in the fulness of time. For countless ages there were parents and offspring before the slow but never aimless or wanton cosmic process had brought into existence the conscious personal relationship between mother and child. Protection of eggs and larvæ scarcely suffices for the evolution of true maternity; the relation of moth to caterpillar is certainly very far from being a prototype of it. What spectacle could be more dreary than that of the Jurassic period, with its lords of creation, the oviparous dinosaurs, crawling or bounding over the land, splashing amid the mighty waters, whizzing bat-like through the air, horrible brutes innumerable, with bulky bodies and tiny brains, clumsy, coarse in fibre, and cold-blooded.

 
"Dragons of the prime,
That tare each other in their slime."
 

The remnants of that far-off dismal age have been left behind in great abundance, and from them we can easily reconstruct the loathsome picture of a world of dominating egoism, whose redemption through the evolution of true maternity had not yet effectively begun. For such a world might Caliban's theology indeed seem fitted. Nearly nine tenths of our planet's past life-history, measured in duration, had passed away without achieving any higher result than this, – a fact which for impatient reformers may have in it some crumbs of consolation.

For, though the mills of God grind slowly, the cosmic process was aiming at something better than egoism and dinosaurs, and at some time during the long period of the Chalk deposits there began the tremendous world-wide rivalry between these dragons and the rising class of warm-blooded viviparous mammals which had hitherto played an insignificant part in the world. The very name of this class of animals is taken from the function of motherhood. The offspring of these "mammas" come into the world as recognizable personalities, so far developed that the relation between mother and child begins as a relation of personal affection. The new-born mammal is not an egg nor a caterpillar, but a baby, and the baby's dawning consciousness opens up a narrow horizon of sympathy and tenderness, a horizon of which the expansion shall in due course of ages reveal a new heaven and a new earth. At first the nascent altruism was crude enough, but it must have sufficed to make mutual understanding and cooperation more possible than before; it thus contributed to the advancement of mammalian intelligence, and prepared the way for gregariousness, by and by to culminate in sociality, as already described. In the history of creation the mammals were moderns, equipped with more effective means of ensuring survival than their oviparous antagonists. The development of complete mammality was no sudden thing. Some of the dinosaurs may have been ovoviviparous, like some modern serpents. The Australian duck-bill, a relic of the most ancient incipient mammality, is still oviparous; the opossum and kangaroo preserve the record of a stage when viviparousness was but partially achieved; but with the advent of the placental mammals the break with the old order of things was complete.

The results of the struggle are registered in the Eocene rocks. The ancient world had found its Waterloo. Gone were the dragons who so long had lorded it over both hemispheres, – brontosaurs, iguanodons, plesiosaurs, lælaps, pterodactyls, – all gone; their uncouth brood quite vanished from the earth, and nothing left alive as a reminder, save a few degenerate collateral kin, such as snakes and crocodiles, objects of dread and loathing to higher creatures. Never in the history of our planet has there been a more sweeping victory than that of the mammals, nor has Nature had any further occasion for victories of that sort. The mammal remains the highest type of animal existence, and subsequent progress has been shown in the perfecting of that type where most perfectible.