Morals and the Evolution of Man Part 5

Therefore he is more sure of success than if he entrusted his cause to fallible human judges. But from the moment that the duel ceases to be regarded as a means of arriving at the verdict of G.o.d, nothing can be urged in its defence, and that it nevertheless persists is a fact that can only be accounted for by the inadequacy of the current laws.

It really is astonis.h.i.+ng that the Law does not yet appraise honour at its true value. Educated people almost unanimously regret and condemn the backwardness of the Law in this respect, all the more so because the tremendous development of the respectable, as well as of the disreputable, Press facilitates and aggravates libel to a hitherto undreamed-of extent, and no defence can overtake the slander which is quickly spread broadcast. Doubtless public opinion will urge that measures be taken to bring the Law into line with the views now held on all sides on the significance of honour, its defencelessness and its need for protection. That this has not yet been done is due to the slowness with which the Law adapts itself to the demands of a Morality which grows ever more profound and more refined. Law, which originally devoted itself only to the crudest material interests, very slowly extends the range of its protection, but it does so continually, with an ever-widening embrace, including more and more delicate, more and more n.o.ble, possessions, taking into consideration ever higher and ever finer needs. What early legislator would have thought of man's needing protection not only against murder, grievous bodily harm and maltreatment, but also against the dangers due to ignorance and carelessness in light-heartedly spreading infectious diseases, and contaminating water and the air? Who would have dreamed in former times that positive Law would consider the sensitiveness of nerves, desire for beauty, dislike of ugliness and forbid disturbing street noises, protect the countryside from wicked disfigurement, and prevent the construction of buildings which would spoil the artistic architectural plan of a city?

These little traits, these concessions to personal demands, which to a coa.r.s.e mind do not seem obviously justified, go to prove that positive Law continues to grow beyond the bounds of its unavoidably crude materialism, and strives to rise into the regions of the unwritten law of the Peripatetics, where ideal possessions are of more importance than those which have traditionally come within the scope of criminal and civil Law. Law and Custom have a natural tendency to approach more and more nearly to one another, to become merged in one another where the line that divides them is but faintly indicated. The closer the union between them, the more perfect is the Morality of a society. Absolute perfection would be reached if Law, which has been derived by differentiation from Morality, should, after a protracted period of development, return to its source and be completely merged again in Morality. But that is a dream which can never be realized as long as man is const.i.tuted as he is at the present time. Enthusiasts have dreamed of it, and in their imagination have seen an anarchical and lawless society in which no positive Law, no sanctions of force were needed, and in which the understanding and conscience of individuals would suffice to ensure the rule of good faith and goodness, and the curbing of selfishness. As far as man can tell we shall never attain this Utopia. We shall never be able to do without positive Law, not only on account of undeveloped and perverse natures, in which animalism has the upper hand of humanity, and which must be kept under strict discipline, but because a sure guide is needed in cases of doubt and irresolution which confuse even the good, nay, the best, men when pa.s.sion and violent desire, with their heavy thunderclouds, darken the outlook of Reason, and judgment wavers amid the hurly-burly of a spiritual tempest. All that we may hope for and should desire is that Law should be filled with the spirit of Morality and embrace as many moral ideas as possible.

It lies in the nature of the thing that Morality was never clearly and definitely formulated, for as soon as this was done it a.s.sumed the character of Law. It remained general and slightly vague, it spoke to men in such indefinite terms as "good," "virtue," "duty," "love of one's neighbour," "unselfishness," "patience"--terms into which everyone can read the meaning which suits his thoughts and feelings. Mankind has never lacked moral teachers. The Indian Shastras and the Chings, Confucius and Meng Tse, the prophets of Israel and Ben Sirach, Plato and the wise men of the Stoics, the Zend Avesta, Jesus and Paul, the platonic ethics of Nicomachus, those of Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius, thousands of years ago preached the principles which exhaust the whole field of Morality, and beyond the essentials of which none of the later moralists have gone; neither the "Imitation of Christ" nor Ibn Bachia, Spinoza, the Scotch school and Kant, up to Wundt and Guyau.

But what about the effect of the doctrines which they advocated gently or pa.s.sionately, adducing proofs or uttering threats? To lend weight to them they either appealed to G.o.d, threatening mankind with His wrath and vengeance, or to Reason, which, according to them, could advise man only for his good. Perhaps they could intimidate those who had blind faith and convince the reasonable. But there are many of little faith, and more still who are unreasonable, and on these the persuasion, warnings and conclusions of the Moralists had no effect. For these it was imperative to clothe the minimum of Morality, the minimum without which no society can exist, in the definite form of laws, and so create the Law to which the weapons of the community lend compelling force. Thus the whole material of Ethics is divided into Morality and Law. The Theologians and Scholiasts who trace all binding rules of human conduct back to revelations of the Divine Will recognized on principle only one single law: but the aspect of practical life made even them distinguish between the "_lex indicativa_" and the "_lex praeceptiva_," between an indication or counsel and precept or command. The "_lex indicativa_" is Morality, the "_lex praeceptiva_" is the Law.

Codes are the normal expression of the Law. Not all Law is formulated in this way, for there is a recognized Law of custom, but all laws, codified or not, become a part of the prevailing Law. Naturally, and as is only reasonable, all Law is pre-existent in the consciousness of the majority, and the law-giver's role is limited to setting down in paragraphs universally acknowledged principles dictated by public opinion. However, there are an appreciable number of historical instances in which this procedure is reversed; the law-giver, without inquiring whether his ideas were in accord with the general conscience, arbitrarily clothed his dictates to the community in paragraphs which it had to accept as Law. It is clear that this procedure is extremely risky. Even if the law-giver possesses superior wisdom, even if he is far in advance of his people and his age, even if his intentions are of the best, there is grave danger that the moral feeling of the people will revolt against the laws thus forced on them. Outwardly they yield to the pressure of public authority, but they obey the Law with a keen inner sense of opposition; a chasm yawns between conscience and the practice of the Law, ideas of Morality and Law become confused, the moral foundation of all laws totters, and the public gets into the habit of regarding the Law as something alien and hostile, which cannot be disregarded with impunity, but which it is not only not culpable, but even meritorious to evade.

An enormous amount has been written on the subject of what a law is, and all this literature expresses in endless words very few and, almost without exception, very mediocre thoughts. I should consider it an unpardonable waste of time to devote any considerable s.p.a.ce to this rubbish, either in order merely to quote opinions or to investigate and confute them. Perhaps the best thing said of the laws is Hobbes's description: Civil Law (the law of the country) is nothing but a guarantee of natural Law. It is true that this definition implies a supposition: the existence of natural Law which, however, is not binding in itself but requires the sanctions of the law of the country.

Moreover, it is only correct if we add the limitation that it does not guarantee all natural Law, but only a part of it. Hobbes is also forced by his definition of the law of a country to explain what he means by natural Law, and he does not evade this duty. "Natural Law," he says, "is the decree of true Reason (_ratiocinatio recta_) with regard to what we must do and what avoid for our self-preservation.... Transgression of natural Laws is due to false Reason (_ratiocinatio falsa_)."

In spite of its vagueness this explanation of Hobbes's shows that what he really means by natural Law is Morality, and in this respect his views on the relation of natural Law to civil Law, that is, of Morality to Law, practically coincide with mine. Nevertheless, he ign.o.bly denies the moral decency of his doctrine of Law when later on he coldly and dryly remarks: All that the state commands is just, all that it forbids is unjust. Saying this he stupidly and obsequiously makes the civil code the source of Law, whereas by his own definition Law (he says "Natural Law") is the source of the civil code. It is more pardonable for Pusendorf, a formal jurist, to say: "Law is the decree (_decretum_) with which a superior binds his subject (_sibi subjectum_)." That interpretation of Law is possible if it is considered from outside; it is a means of coercion in the hands of the mighty to subjugate the dependant; this point of view ignores the essential; but Pusendorf has no concern with this, for he makes no claim to be a philosopher, he keeps within the bounds of juridical practice.

The Bishop of Seville, Saint Isidor, the most respected theologian of the time between the last patristic writers and St. Thomas Aquinas, gives the following definition of Law: "Law is an inst.i.tution (_const.i.tutio_) made by the people, by which the n.o.bles (_majores natu_), together with the common folk, have given a sanction to some ordinance." This says little about the essence of Law, but it leads to the question of the origin of laws. On this subject, too, whole libraries full of books have been written since the time of Plato and Aristotle; luckily, for the most part, they now only serve as food for moths and worms.

From this tangle of hair-splitting and sophistry, from this muddle of syllogisms, dogmatism and deep-sounding phrases which mean nothing at all, one thought emerges pretty clearly, to wit, that only the highest authority in the State has the right to make laws. On this point there is perfect unanimity; and that is natural, for it is so obvious that it has no need to be circ.u.mstantially investigated and proved in the fifty thousand books that have been written on the subject. It is perfectly clear that one cannot possibly force all the members of a state to obey certain commands and prohibitions which the Law contains, unless one is stronger than each one of them, and therefore the Law must necessarily emanate from the highest power in the state. It is beside the point to obscure this simplest and most transparent fact by questions as to the right of the law-giver. He needs no theoretical right since he has the might. To use Kant's expression, positive Law is not a creation of the mind ([Greek: noumenon]), it is a phenomenon; its existence is a matter of empiricism, not of reason; it is a matter of fact and is under no obligation to justify itself intellectually to the intellect. No law-giver has ever troubled to tack on a preamble or an addition to the law he promulgates proving that he has the right to enact it.

But in the literature dealing with this matter opinions differ widely as to who embodies or possesses the highest power in the state. According to some it is the king, because he wields the sword and therefore can enforce unconditional obedience; according to others it is the Church, because the Law, to be binding, must be moral, and Morality is established by G.o.d since the Church is the representative of G.o.d on earth. Others again regard the people as a whole as the highest power, because without their a.s.sent no law can prevail, and because even the king only has the power of which the people divests itself to transfer it to him. History has advanced beyond this quarrel.

To-day no one dares to dispute the fact that the nation alone is qualified to enact laws for itself through the agency of its chosen representatives, and that no law can be binding for the people without their explicit or tacit consent. In Switzerland, where they have inst.i.tuted the referendum, the people by their vote can repudiate a law, made by their representatives in their name, before it comes into force; and in the other const.i.tutional states they have recourse to the following expedient: whenever a law is promulgated which seems inacceptable to them, at the next Parliamentary election they vote for men who are pledged to do away with it. The people have the power to make laws, therefore they also have the right to do so, and they do not hesitate to revolt if this right is tampered with. In recent times no nation outside Russia has submitted to having laws forced on it, in framing which it has not co-operated, and which it has not expressly accepted. The United States tore themselves away from the Mother Country with the cry: "No taxation without representation!" and more than a hundred years before that the English people had irrefutably proved to the Stuart king, Charles I, that he had no right to make and unmake laws, by condemning him in a court of law with legal formalities and then having his head cut off by a masked executioner.

The legal code is the concrete form of the Law, and the Law is the crystallization of the most material part of Morality. And as Morality binds every member of the community, as man is only tolerated in the community on condition that he respects Morality, it is a matter of logic that he should also respect the Law; that is to say, that he must not only submit to it because he fears punishment if he fails to do so, but that he must feel obedience to the Law to be part of his Morality, that he must act lawfully at the dictate of his own conscience, and not because of the threat of the power of the state. This might be enunciated as a principle without reservation and without limitation, if in practice the laws always were, as in theory they should be, moral.

But this is not necessarily the case. The law is a form, and every form can be abused by filling it with unlawful contents. If an unscrupulous adulterator of wine fills a champagne bottle of the usual shape, complete with metalled and wired cork and a label recommending it, with some disgusting mixture and puts it on the market, he is severely punished for adulteration of food and infringement of the law protecting trade marks. But if the government publish in the _Gazette_ foolish, risky, and perhaps absolutely immoral orders in the form of a law, duly arranged in chapters, articles and paragraphs, as the people are accustomed to seeing their moral laws expressed, who impugns them for it?

The examples of this in history are only too numerous. To this category belong all laws seeking to maintain the validity of state authority at the expense of the natural rights of thinking and feeling men, e.g. all religious persecutions, the maltreatment of socialists, excise laws and duties which hamper freedom of work and movement, or are tantamount to robbing a particular man or all citizens. As a rule, laws of this kind can be imposed upon the people only in a despotically ruled state, since the people in this case has no share in legislation; but const.i.tutional government is no guarantee against it, for parliamentary majorities can be forced to enact tyrannical laws, by fanning the flame of national or party fanaticism, by encouraging prejudices, or by intimidation; this is proved by Bismarck's May laws and Socialist laws, and also by the laws pa.s.sed by the National a.s.sembly at Versailles against the rebels of the Commune and against Paris. Obedience to such laws cannot reasonably be demanded. Only a Hobbes will dispute this, for whom "everything that the state commands is just, everything that it prohibits is unjust," or the Digest according to which "_quod principi placuit, legis habet vigorem_"

(what pleases the ruler has the force of law). Legal enactments, though they be immoral, are yet formal Law; as a matter of fact, however, they are wrong, and even if their originator has the power by brute force to secure obedience to them, no man who tries to evade them and to get them abolished will be accused of immorality.

A trivial objection strikes one at once. Only a despotic megalomaniac will forbid his subjects to make representations in the proper quarters, and in the proper way, for the purpose of getting a bad law abrogated; but as long as it is in force it must be obeyed. For if every citizen were allowed to make a selection of the laws according to his choice, acquiescing in some and rejecting others, this would lead straight to anarchy. The reply to this is that anarchy, although a terrible evil, is notwithstanding a lesser one than an immoral law, that is, a law which sins against Morality. For the maintenance of law and order which the State guarantees is only preferable to anarchy because it enables individuals to live together in peace, and guarantees liberty of movement and respect for persons, life and property. But if the State acts wrongly, and interferes in the feelings and convictions of individuals, if it uses brute force to compel them to actions and abstentions against which all the good in them rebels, then its law and order is law and disorder, and it is the State itself which brings about a condition of anarchy by making force the ruling factor in the life of the individual. For the latter it is all one whether he has to yield to the force of the State or that of his neighbour. Nay, more, his position is worse in a condition of anarchy caused by the State, than in that which existed before the State was formed, because it is easier to meet force with force, when this emanates from an individual who is one's equal, than when it is exercised by the superior organization of the State. The State which enacts immoral laws denies its own principle and causes its own dissolution.

The intellectual constructions of the eighteenth century, of which the most famous is J. J. Rousseau's "Social Contract," are not taken literally by anyone nowadays. n.o.body seriously believes that one day individuals living in a state of nature banded themselves together and made a contract, by virtue of which they renounced certain liberties and rights and transferred them to a superior authority which was to rule them so as to promote the general welfare, peace and happiness. But if the procedure was not quite so simple as this, at least it is certain that the State undertakes the task which Rousseau expressly prescribes as its aim. If, however, through its fault, the fault of its legislation, the welfare of the community suffers, and peace and happiness are not promoted but hindered, disturbed and destroyed, then every citizen has the moral right to revolt against the State and paralyse its pernicious might; not because it has broken a formal contract with its citizens, but because it has become inimical to the peaceful life of mankind, the purpose of every social community. If anyone is troubled at the thought that there is no reliable standard whereby to test the morality of a law and no place indicated where such a measure can be applied, he may take comfort by remembering that all Morality is surrendered to the feelings and judgment of the majority and has no other sanction than this. History teaches us that the majority does not acquit itself too badly of its duty. Public opinion suffices to maintain Morality at a certain level in a community. And if public opinion is capable of ensuring respect for the unwritten law of Morality without the sanctions of State Law, it may surely be recognized as a fit judge of the morality of a law. That is the theory of the right of citizens to defend themselves by all means, even by force, against immoral laws. Practically, it is of no importance, because nowadays, at least in all progressive and liberally governed States, the people have const.i.tutional means at their disposal to prevent or quickly to rid themselves of laws that are obnoxious.

Morality includes the Law, whereas Law is only a part of Morality. Owing to its coercive nature, the Law is obliged to be concrete and material and to ignore all the imponderable, barely perceptible, spiritual and dream-like things which hover round Morality, surround it with an atmosphere and transport it beyond definite boundaries into the realm of the unconscious and visionary. The total exclusion of the element of feeling which Morality includes, const.i.tutes the most profound difference between it and the Law. Law protects order but knows no love.

The separation of Law from Morality is due to the pressure of selfishness which thinks it has made the greatest possible concession when it rises to the height of saying with Ulpian: "_Neminem laedere.

Suum cuique reddere. Honeste vivere._" Injure no one; that is, refrain from the ruthless use of force; render to each his own; that is, do not retain in rascally fas.h.i.+on what belongs to another; live honourably; that is, give no offence to your neighbour by disorderly conduct and depravity.

Well and good. At a pinch one can live like that. But the words pity, kindness, love of one's neighbour do not occur in Ulpian's pithy statements, and the Law knows nothing of them.

The Law guards each man's well-earned possessions, but it bids no one make sacrifices. Morality can demand these. It can insist that the individual should freely, and urged by his own inner impulse, impose sacrifices upon himself, reduce his possessions in favour of another, disturb his personal comfort at any moment, perhaps even risk his life; that is to say, that of his own free will he should do just those things from which the Law carefully s.h.i.+elds him. Where the Law says: injure no one! Morality says often enough: injure yourself to do good to your neighbour. Where the Law says: to each man his own! Morality not seldom says: to each man your own if he needs it more than you do. Morality counts on the existence of a quality of which the Law has no need: Sympathy. To be moral we must feel in our own being at the time, or retrospectively, the subjective experiences of our neighbour, with the same quality of emotion that he feels; his pain must be our pain, as his pleasure must be our pleasure. For the man who cannot do this--who realizes in his mind the circ.u.mstances of his neighbour only as an image, and without the concomitant note of feeling--it is impossible to rise to the height of Morality. It is not his fault, for the gift of sympathy is an organic disposition, which you either do or do not possess, which you can develop or suppress, but which you cannot create if it is lacking. Nevertheless, the lack of sympathy is a pitiable infirmity, for it prevents a man from scaling the heights of Morality.

To respect the Law is to practise a wise selfishness. To act morally is to divest oneself of selfishness and attain the privilege of unselfishness. To behave in strict accordance with the Law earns the merited praise of civic blamelessness. But to act morally is a virtue which is of incomparably higher quality than that of mere blamelessness. The law-abiding man, the honest man, is praised as having been "_Integer vitae sceleris purus_." That is an acceptable epitaph.

But the man of active Morality, willingly suffering for others, provides an example which reconciles millions to the hards.h.i.+ps of life. The former is a worthy man, but the latter is a saint.

CHAPTER V

INDIVIDUAL MORALITY AND COLLECTIVE IMMORALITY

Men, who would be deeply offended if their Morality were called into question, quite coolly investigate the problem as to whether the State in its actions and omissions is bound by the same moral laws as the individual, and the majority of them come to the conclusion that in its relation to other States, the State must not be guided, that is to say, hampered, by moral considerations. They go further than this and not only liberate the State in its dealings with other countries from the trammels of Morality, but claim for the government the privilege of standing beyond and above the moral law in the conduct of public affairs, because to their mind both foreign and home politics move on a different plane to that of ethics. If anyone objects to this shameless contention, its advocates contemptuously dismiss him with the disdainful remark: "That is the drivel of a layman, and no man of science would waste his time on it." And if you were to reply: "Your views are those of gaolbirds who try after the event to hatch a theory justifying their misdeeds," they would probably shrug their shoulders and murmur scornfully: "The man is obviously mad."

Professorial wisdom has formulated pedantically what practical politicians, the heads of states and leading ministers have thought, said and done. Napoleon remarked at St. Helena to Count de Las Cases, who respectfully notes the fact in his "_Memorial de Sainte Helene_": "The actions of a ruler who labours for the community, must be distinguished from those of a private individual who is free to indulge his feelings; policy permits, nay, commands, the one to do what in the case of the other would often be inexcusable." Perhaps it was under the influence of this remark, with which he, no doubt, was familiar, that Professor Nisard one day in a lecture at the Sorbonne in Paris propounded the theory that there was a dual Morality, one public or political, the other private, and that these two did not follow the same rules. That was shortly after the Coup d'Etat of Napoleon III, and it was easy to descry, in the words of the celebrated professor of literary history, obsequiousness towards the new Emperor and the effort of a courtier to excuse the violence which the Emperor had just done to the const.i.tution he had sworn to uphold. Nisard was one of the ornaments of the university, a teacher of youth, who was as popular as he was respected. But the sound ethical feeling of his hearers revolted against the depravity of the principles he had just enunciated, and the violent expression of their indignation drove him in shame and disgrace from his chair and out of the lecture hall.

Macchiavelli is the most famous advocate of the Immorality of the State and the right of politics to be unethical, and his name is identified with this infamous theory. An enormous amount has been written about the Florentine statesman, his book of the "Prince" and the doctrines he advances in it; among these works those in which his theories are endorsed preponderate to a horrifying extent over those which oppose and refute them. Mohl and Paul Janet have furnished us with the best abstracts of these very numerous writings, and I refer the reader to them. Here I can only dwell on the main points of the investigation.

Macchiavelli writes: "A man who wishes to be perfectly good is without doubt in danger among those who are not good. It is therefore advisable that a prince should learn not always to be good, so as to be able to put these rules of life into practice, or not, as circ.u.mstances may demand." "A prince cannot maintain loyalty to a treaty if it become dangerous to his interests." In short, the prince not only may, but must, do what is in his own interests. He need not stop to think whether his actions are honest. The only measure of their worth and appropriateness is the profit they promise. Their success always justifies them, only their failure proves them to be bad.

The most revolting thing in the arguments of the "Prince" is the equanimity with which the author adduces them. Never does he let slip a word of excitement, never does an indication of feeling appear. He treats his subject not as an investigation of principles to which one adopts a mental att.i.tude and which one should approve or disapprove, but as a description of existing facts which arouse one's emotions as little as, for instance, the enumeration of the qualities and characteristics of a mineral. It has been said in his defence that his book is a concrete study, the presentation of the character of Caesar Borgia, of his psychology and of his principles of government; and that Macchiavelli wished to give an objective account of the philosophy of the events he had observed, but did not wish to judge them subjectively; and this, if for no other reason, because an expression of his own opinion would have been too dangerous for him. It is further urged that his personal views are revealed in the treatise on Livy.

This defence, however, is far from convincing. In the "Prince"

Macchiavelli maintains the same unconcerned and cool note that prevails in his account of the treacherous a.s.sa.s.sinations perpetrated in Senigaglia by his hero Caesar Borgia. The only personal feeling, which peeps out occasionally in both works, is a certain perverse, aesthetic satisfaction, experienced by the artist with the eye of a connoisseur who lingers over a work of nature, perfect in its way, and delights in the harmony of actions which, with absolute logic, almost with mathematical precision, result from the definite premise supplied by a certain character. Des Esseintes, the ideal aesthete invented by Joris Karl Huysmans, may appraise the worth of a monster solely by its beauty, without a thought for its morality. But by such apprais.e.m.e.nt he cuts himself off from the community of men, though he, in his arrogance, being morally insane, may abuse them as philistines.

Since it first appeared, Macchiavellism has found disciples and admirers in every age; and these, in liberating politics from all fetters of Morality, go further than its originator. The German jurist of the century of the Reformation, Schoppe (1576-1649), declares sententiously that politics differ from Morality and have their own principles, just as Morality has: he considers that the chief difference between them is that the latter takes as its subject of study that which should be; the former, that which is. For this one phrase this pedant, who has otherwise rightly deserved oblivion, has some claim to be remembered.

For here he consigns Morality to the realm of pure thought, of theoretical and meditative idealism, while for politics he claims the sphere of practical reality and shows the first dim dawning of that practical policy (_Realpolitik_) which, two hundred and fifty years later, was to be as the light of the sun to statesmen.

The Frenchman, Gabriel Naude, almost a contemporary of Schoppe's, const.i.tuted himself the champion of Coups d'Etat, if they promised political advantages; further, he justifies and praises the Night of Saint Bartholomew, a very energetic measure taken in his lifetime to put an end to the religious strife which was weakening France and causing the government much embarra.s.sment; his only regret is that the happy idea of slaughtering all the Huguenots was not carried out more completely; in other words, that the ma.s.sacre of the obnoxious Protestants was not continued until they had been completely wiped out.

Even in Descartes, who confessed to a somewhat shady opportunism in questions of state and, for instance, concedes reasonable and moral justification to Absolutism, we find the depressing statement: "Against the enemy one is, so to speak ('_quasi_'), permitted to do anything," a conscious and determined denial of the Christian commandment "Love thine enemies," which perhaps demands too much of the average man and can only be expected from saints, but which, anyway, contains an exhortation for all the world at least to be just to one's enemies and act according to the dictates of Morality.

D'Holbach does not beat about the bush, but declares roundly: "In politics the only crime is not to succeed." Even Macchiavelli did not express it as baldly as that. To quote the Duke of La Rochefoucauld, he at least pays virtue the compliment of hypocrisy, for he gives this advice: "Do (the evil which is profitable) and excuse it afterwards."

This is a paraphrase of the old advice given by a pettifogging lawyer for the benefit of the criminal: "If you have done it, deny it," and of the well-known phrase of Frederick the Great which runs something like this: "If I have a desire for a foreign country, I begin by seizing it, then I send for lawyers who prove that I had a right to it." This, then, was the opinion of that king who wrote an "Anti-Macchiavelli," of whom, however, Paul Janet neatly remarks: "Nothing is more typical of Macchiavellism than as heir presumptive to the throne to refute Macchiavelli's principles, and then as ruling monarch to apply them with the more determination."

For the sake of the incorruptible Morality which Kant defends in his little work "_Vom ewigen Frieden_" ("Of Eternal Peace"), he may be forgiven for his weakly worldly wisdom in following up the "Critique of Pure Reason" with the "Critique of Practical Reason." In "_Vom ewigen Frieden_" he bravely demands harmony between Politics and Morality. More sweepingly than the English proverb, "Honesty is the best policy," he demonstrates that honesty is better than policy. It is an old tradition of all governments, and especially of diplomacy, to affect secrecy, since their inavowable intrigues shun the light of day and the eye of outsiders. To-day the democracy in all const.i.tutional states demands that foreign policy should be given full publicity. Kant expressed his opinion shortly and sharply a hundred and fifty years ago: "All political actions which cannot be made public are unjust." In the eighteenth century, in which he lived and which began with the war of the Spanish Succession, went on to the wars of Frederick the Great, and ended with the war of the Coalition against the French Revolution, he does not dare to make a definite claim that force should be expelled from inter-state relations and Law put in its place, but he does say, if somewhat timidly, that one may "dream of" an ideal in which the quarrels of nations are adjusted, like those of private persons, by laws which have been framed and approved by all. Kant is a comforting exception amid the many teachers of const.i.tutional law who are almost unanimously Macchiavellian in their att.i.tude, and who regard his point of view with contemptuous and condescending leniency because he was an unworldly philosopher, a theorist in politics.

The English and Scottish moral philosophers, from Locke to J. S. Mill and Herbert Spencer, are all untainted by Macchiavellism and recognize only one Morality for the state as for the individual, for political as for private action. But it must be admitted that their doctrines have not yet been generally a.s.similated by the consciousness of their own people. Now, as ever, it is a fundamental principle of English law that "the king can do no wrong." That means that the king, the embodiment and epitome of the state, as the source of Law is Law itself, and is superior to all the laws of the country, which is a still more drastic paraphrase of the doctrine of the Digest: "_quod principi placuit legis habet vigorem_"; every whim of the potentate has the force of law, and the English have coined the horrible phrase, "My country, right or wrong," a dictum which allows ruthless deceivers of the people and destroyers of their country to hide their most appalling misdeeds beneath the mask of patriotism and to disguise deeds worthy of a criminal in the habiliments of virtue.

Real patriotism demands that a true citizen and an honourable man should with might and main, even at the price of his life, oppose any injustice about to be committed by his government and his misguided compatriots; and, further, that he should strive to maintain his country in the path of Right and Morality even if, as sometimes happens, in a dispute between his nation and a foreign one the latter has Right and Morality on its side. On the plea of inevitable partiality a judge may refuse to try a case in which a near relative of his is involved. That is a permissible concession to that human imperfection which causes reason to fall silent when feeling raises its voice; and justice does not suffer, for there are other judges who can take the seat that has been voluntarily vacated. No citizen has the right to evade the duty of judging his country, because, if he fails, there is no other judge who can be put in his place and fulfil his duty. Every citizen is personally responsible for the just and moral behaviour of his community, responsible to his own conscience, to his nation, to the world, to the present and to the future; and if he is powerless to prevent depravity and misdeeds, he must at least solemnly and loudly condemn them, as this is his only means of avoiding joint responsibility for the infamy. If he fails to do this, the public crime becomes his personal crime as well.

The elder Brutus, so much and so justly admired by the Romans, is an example to all, for without mercy he handed his own flesh and blood over to the executioner, when according to the law his life was forfeit. The state has no greater claim to indulgence and mercy than had Brutus's son, if knowingly and intentionally it indulges in vice. For if you allow the dictum, "Right or wrong, my country," to be valid, then you must also apply it to the state of filibusterers that once existed in the Antilles, and must demand of its citizens that their patriotism should approve and defend theft, piracy, rape and a.s.sa.s.sination, for the systematic perpetration of which their state was founded.

In contrast with this wretched "My country, right or wrong," the inflexible dictum of the ancients stands out: "_Fiat just.i.tia, pereat mundus!_" (Let justice be done though the world peris.h.!.+). And what does most honour to the French Revolution is the phrase so often mocked by political profiteers: "Sooner shall the colonies perish than a principle!" That was the standpoint of the prophets of Israel, who truly did not love their people less than do the wretched scoundrels who shout "hurray!" and yell songs, when their country deals Morality and Right a brutal blow, because the leaders think that this will profit the country, or themselves.

Frederick the Great and Napoleon, as heads of the state, acted in accordance with Macchiavelli's views. At their time this was expressed by saying that they were guided by the necessities of the state. In the second half of the nineteenth century Macchiavellism received the name of practical policy (_Realpolitik_). The despisers of Morality, who call the misdeeds of the state _Realpolitik_, apparently do not know that this one word implies a very comprehensive admission. To their idea _Realpolitik_ is a policy which reckons only with realities, not with desires, yearnings or hope, or as Schoppe brutally expresses it: with that which is, not with that which ought to be. It is active in the domain of facts, not in that of principles.

But, according to the advocates of _Realpolitik_, facts and realities mean nothing but the sole rule of interest, selfishness, ruthlessness, force, cunning and contempt for all foreign rights; whereas fairness, justice, the curbing and suppression of one's own desires, consideration for one's neighbour, love of mankind--all these are phrases, or let us rather say ideals, which are to be found, not in the world, but in the brains of a small minority of enthusiasts without influence. He who confesses to such views, to whom the worst impulses alone are real, while he relegates Morality to the sphere of the unreal, of visions far from reality, is a pessimist as long as his convictions remain theory; but if he puts them into practice, or urges the leaders of the state to do so, then he is an evildoer who breaks the moral law as soon as it appears unaccompanied by the police, the prison and the gallows. In private life a man with such views is a criminal who obeys his evil instincts whenever he may hope to evade the law of the state. The bandit, who is clever enough to manage so that police and court of justice cannot touch him, is a practical politician, for the riches he acquires by theft, robbery and murder are realities; the criminal code is but a sc.r.a.p of paper, something visionary, as long as its minions do not seize him by the collar.

The immorality of politics, the way in which the foundations of Morality are ignored by the state, is the natural consequence of the power of rulers; for in them all the original instincts of the human beast still untamed by moral law are exaggerated by the intense realization of their loftiness, the glory and the ill.u.s.triousness of their position, and they are not forced by wholesome fear of the means of coercion wielded by the moral administration to control themselves, to exercise and develop their organic powers of inhibition. The elevation of this fact of the Immorality of the state to a theory that the state is not bound by moral law, is derived from the conception which philosophers of all ages, from ancient times to the present day, have formed of the character and the purpose of the state. Plato, in the Republic, maintains the omnipotence of the state, which nothing and no one can limit; and Aristotle, not rising to such heights of error as his master, says more soberly: "It is a grave mistake to believe that every citizen is his own master." The Italian philosopher Filangieri considers the guiding principle and motive power of the state to be "love of power," which a fool three centuries later called the "will to power," whereupon other fools declared this to be a brand-new discovery.

Hegel goes farthest of all in his idolatry of the state; according to him the state is not alone moral, but Morality itself, just as G.o.d is according to the theologians. As it would be arrogant blasphemy to characterize anything that G.o.d ordains as immoral, as it would be nonsensical to wish to impose upon G.o.d a moral law from outside, not emanating from Him, to which He would have to submit even against His will, so it is reprehensible to judge the actions of the state by the standard of individual Morality; and it is equally absurd to admit any moral coercion imposed on the state from outside, any guiding principle other than the law of its necessities and the logic which indicates the means needed to attain the necessary end.

According to Treitschke the state is the highest form of human existence; nothing higher than the state exists. He has never asked himself the question whether, after all, humanity itself is not superior to the state which is the form, a form, of its existence and therefore not its essence.

From his conviction that the state is the highest thing existing, Treitschke concludes that certain moral duties, e.g. that of self-sacrifice, cannot possibly exist for the state. "The individual is to sacrifice himself for the sake of a higher community of which he is a member; but the state is itself the highest thing in the outer community of mankind, therefore it can never be confronted with the duty of self-destruction."

How obvious that seems! How grossly mistaken it is all the same! First of all the state is not the highest thing; there is something higher, and that is humanity; if then we recognize a moral duty of self-sacrifice for humanity, theoretically this duty may arise just as much for the state as for the individual.