Instinct As A Sanction

( Originally Published 1922 )

Moral responsibility is a pain and burden man has in vain sought to escape. Anything seems preferable to the assumption of moral responsibility. In his efforts to escape it man has invented many conceptions to lull his social consciousness to sleep. It is this desire that gave rise to the old conception of tribal responsibility. The individual could feel himself free free in the sense of freedom from moral responsibility since his acts and fate had already been determined by the acts and fate of his family. The same desire is largely responsible for the popularity of fatalism in the Orient. This desire is without doubt one of the great factors that make for the passive satisfaction and ease that go with the rigors of army discipline. The most rigid determinism seems preferable to the assumption of responsibility.

This desire to escape responsibility has also led man to invoke sanctions of various sorts. If he can only find something that will determine once for all what he should do in order to shift the responsibility of his acts to "sanctions," "categorical imperatives," or "moral principles," he will have relieved himself from a great load. It is so much easier to act in this way than to discover what is good.

The desire of man to discover sanctions or unquestioned values and to act in accordance with them is not without advantages. Perhaps most of us act in a nobler way when we act in accordance with these values than when we try to determine the value of an act for ourselves; for "categorical imperatives" are usually the pronouncements of the best moral consciousness of the age. When one acts in accordance with them, he acts usually in accordance with the best principles of conduct that society has discovered.

"Categorical imperatives," sanctions, or unquestioned values not only have this advantage. In addition they save man the unbearable burden of forever deciding issues as they arise. Life would be needlessly complex and difficult if each issue had to be decided as it arose. "Moral principles," therefore, not only make for a high moral tone in our activities, but they aid us greatly in simplifying life's problems.

While this is true, "categorical imperatives" are full of dangers. In this they share a characteristic that is common to all commands that come to us from a hidden source, and that are obeyed irrespective of the consequences involved. It is in obedience to such commands that many of the worst crimes are perpetrated. In obedience to such commands nations have set out to extend their religion or culture to all the others, and have left in the wake of their armies only horror and desolation, It is in obedience to such commands that nations resent to the last man a slur on their "honor." It is in obedience to such commands that the "respectable" members of a community draw their clothes tightly around them as they pass the unfortunates who have committed a breach of their immutable law.

In these ways "categorical imperatives" have made for chauvinism, bigotry, narrowness, and lack of sympathy. They give such an assurance to one, regarding the rightness and justness of his acts, that it is hard for him to evaluate his activities in terms other than in those of a fulfilment of the supposed law. It thus hap-pens that the development of the moral consciousness of an age is often hindered by premature crystallizations into immutable laws. One, therefore, should be very careful of all "categorical imperatives" and should use them with a considerable degree of caution.

In view of this great desire to escape moral responsibility by shifting it to moral principles and sanctions of various sorts, it is not surprising that the powerful sanction given instincts by common usage, religion, philosophy, and science should be used as a moral principle to determine right and wrong. This use of instinct as a sanction shares in the evils that have been pointed out regarding the use of sanctions in general in so far as we tend to justify a course of behavior be-cause it is instinctive, or an institution because it is regarded as rooted in or moulded by instinct, rather than in terms of the effect of the activity or institution.

In many respects, however, the use of instinct as a sanction gives rise to effects quite different from the effects that follow from the use of categorical imperatives. Categorical imperatives, as the products of reflection, are clear cut; and can be understood by all who will listen. Consequently, they make for definiteness and even narrowness in one's judgments. With instincts it is the reverse. Instincts are indefinite. There is no clear definition of the instinctive, much less is there clear understanding of what instincts would have. They are usually identified with the deep-seated, and are regarded as the sources of those activities that are the expressions of our real personality. They therefore exalt the personal and the incommunicable. As a consequence, they make sanctions too personal and indefinite to afford the common ground necessary for the building of a harmonious body of social practices and ideals.

This is admirably illustrated by the opposite justifications the radical and the conservative get from this use of instinct. The conservative sees in instinct the justification of the existing order: the radical, a call to battle for the reconstruction of society.

This should not be surprising in view of the hidden nature of instinct. Since there is no definite criterion of the instinctive, and since instincts are supposed to be the deep-lying motive forces that form the basis of one's real personality, we should expect that this use of instinct should turn out to be more a justification to one's prepossessions than a guide to new ideas and conceptions.

Hence, the conservatives satisfied with existing institutions and customs regard them as expressions of instincts; for they are in answer to the cherished values and purposes of the conservative. Since existing institutions are what they have found of value and satisfactory, they hold the institutions are what human nature has found satisfactory. They are thus inclined to close their eyes to obvious evils in them; for they are willing to admit that the existing order is not perfect, but they insist that it is better than it would be if we dared to change it for an order less natural to human nature. Hence, they reject all innovations as contrary to human nature, and as likely to produce greater evils than those that are produced by the existing order, which is so clearly rooted in man's original nature.

With this confidence of the conservatives that institutions are rooted in original nature, there goes a supercilious toleration of reformers, and a calm assurance that their cherished institutions are assured perpetuation since they are rooted in original nature, safe and secure against any attack of the agitator. If one wishes to find an illustration of this he need but engage a small group of intellectuals in a discussion of the vital questions of to-day. If a radical change is suggested, there is sure to be some one in the group to pity the one making the suggestion for his ignorance of human nature, and to attempt to rule out the suggestion as counter to human nature. If this person happens to be inclined toward conservatism, he will at the same time prove conclusively to himself that the existing order will continue to exist since human nature does not change.

In so far as this attitude rests on the assumption that our institutions are rooted and grounded in human nature, it is possible to invoke in its support the views of men whose opinions carry considerable weight. McDougall is a vigorous champion of this position. Indeed, McDougall does not hesitate to claim that all the complex mental life of society is determined and shaped by man's native equipment of instincts and capacities.* In line with this, he tells us that we may be quite sure that in a nation of long-settled population the customs and institutions will be a reflection of the innate tendencies of the people, for the innate characters of a people, so situated, may be regarded as exerting a selective influence on all cultural modifications and variations which have taken place. The variations that were distasteful were eliminated, while those that were pleasing were favored and were al-lowed to evolve further. As a result of this process of cultural variation and selection by the innate characters of the race, the institutions at last come to represent to a great extent the innate tendencies of the population.

The authority of Thorndike may likewise be invoked in support of the thesis that institutions and customs are rooted in our original nature. According to Thorndike, "The behavior of man in the family, in business, in the state, in religion, and in every other affair of life is rooted in his unlearned original equipment of instincts and capacities." j "Human inter-course and institutions are as surely rooted and grounded in original nature as man's struggle with the rest of nature for food and safety."

Marshall is perhaps of all writers the most firmly convinced that our institutions and customs are reflections of our innate tendencies. According to him men naturally and automatically obey laws against murder, adultery, and theft. "It is clear, then," he writes, "that these ethical impulses against lying, theft, murder, and adultery are of instinctive origin, although they are of late origin and have arisen only co-ordinately with the advance of higher civilization." * There are even instincts of patriotism and for a monogamous marital life. Yet in spite of the instinctive foundations for our moral and ethical attitudes, he tells us that some writers have found it easy to make men believe they act as they do from motives of self-interest. For this reason it is difficult to show men that "the laws they follow would not exist did they not fit in with the social impulses of instinctive origin."

If our institutions, customs, moral ideas, and culture in general are in answer to innate tendencies and desires, they may well be regarded as amply justified. For what further justification can we wish for them than that they answer to human desires and needs? After all, that is their purpose. They are to serve human needs, and what serves them is, at least from the human point of view, satisfactory; for we as human beings can have only human likes and dislikes. Nor should we wish our morals and customs to be otherwise. They should be in answer to our needs just as the morals and customs of a lion should be in answer to the needs and desires of a lion.

In so far as it is held that institutions and customs should express our innate tendencies, the reformer or radical agrees with the above. He takes exception, however, to the statement that institutions are so rooted. In fact, instead of regarding them as an expression of our innate tendencies, he regards them as repressions of them. It is on account of these repressions that social evils exist and the individual is denied the full development that is his by right. As an anti-dote to these evils, he urges a full release of the instinctive energies of man, and a working over of our social organization so that this may become possible.

The radical has no difficulty in making a very plausible protest against existing culture as being ill adapted to our supply of innate characters. In fact, the same argument which shows the relevance of instincts for ethics may be used to show that man is not adapted to existing culture. The conclusion of the radical seems the natural one to draw from the argument.

This argument, it is to be remembered, rests on the assumption that man inherits, as the result of long periods spent in subhuman stages of development and in states of savagery, a number of instincts, and it holds that as a result of this long process of adaptation (whether brought about by the direct adaptation of the species to its environment or by the selective influence of the environment on the spontaneous variations within the heredity chromatin) the instincts of man have at last been limited to those characters that are adapted to the conditions of living in which he has spent practically his whole career.

The environment of man has undergone profound changes during the last hundred years or so. Civilization is still young. As a result of the rapid change in culture, man finds himself with a culture that is far removed from the instincts that proved their fitness for survival in an environment extremely different from that in which they are expected to function. Since, however, it is not possible for us to change our instincts, it is urged that our institutions must be changed in order to suit our stock of innate and inherited impulses.

If our instincts are regarded as adaptations, or as adapted, to a life of savagery, it is not surprising that grave fears should be expressed regarding the fitness of human nature for civilization.* It is also 'easy to see that, since instincts are supposed to be forces and guides that have made for good in the lives of our ancestors, the evils of the present society should be regarded as due to the thwarting and repression of instincts. Accordingly it is urged that we should allow our instincts to function naturally.

Above all things, it is held that the thwarting or repression of them must be prevented.t The creative energies of man must be released. If this is done, human nature may be trusted to express itself in the ways that will be most satisfactory to the human race.

This attitude finds an excellent illustration in Parker, who holds that man inherits all his motives and desires. "Man is born into this world accompanied by a rich psychical disposition, which furnishes him ready-made all his motives for conduct, all his desires economic or wasteful, moral and depraved, crass or aesthetic. He can show a demand for nothing that is not prompted by this galaxy of instincts."

In spite of the claim that all motives are furnished by instincts "ready-made," he does not hesitate to claim that all instincts have value no matter how unreasoning and irrational they may appear to us for they are the modes of conduct that have made for good in the lives of our ancestors.

He admits that at times it may be necessary to repress one of these instinct motives. This, however, is highly unfortunate, as it is sure to entail a loss somewhere. In fact, we may infer from his writings that the repression has become necessary as a result of the corrupting influence of society. It is as a result of the injustices and thwarting influence of society that men act criminally.

It is when society attempts to balk the expression of the instinctive tendencies that there is aroused in man an unreasoning revolt, which upturns if possible the restrictions.f How seriously he regards the evils of repression and the consequent revolt may be seen in the following:

"The instincts and their emotions coupled with an obedient body lay down in scientific and exact description the motives which must and will determine human conduct. If a physical environment sets itself against the expression of these instinct motives, the human organism is fully and efficiently prepared for a tenacious and destructive revolt against the environment, and if this antagonism persist, the organism is ready to destroy itself and disappear as a species if it fails of a psychical mutation, which would make the perverted order endurable."

Quite similar views are expressed by Wallas. According to Wallas man suffers from a state of "balked" disposition, because the impulses, inherited from a previous stage of culture, are not adequately stimulated. For example, in savagery there was an abundance of fear-exciting stimuli. In modern society there are few. Consequently, man suffers from a store of pent-up fear impulse, which should be released. As a result man has to invent many situations in order that this state of "balked" disposition may be relieved. Hence, the popularity of the aerial railways, which serve as an admirable release for the expression of the fear impulse.

Another illustration of "balked" disposition, Wallas thinks, is afforded in the unsatisfactory condition of children in charity schools. Children so reared are denied the gratification of the instinct for property. As a consequence of this thwarting of an instinct, the children suffer from bad health and character. To improve these, one need but allow the children to own trinkets of various sorts. But if this is not done we may be sure the ill effects that arise from a state of "balked" disposition will continue.

Taking this a step further, Hocking bases the right of society to exist on the assumption that its existence is necessary for the full development of the instinct of the will to power. Putting this in Wallas's language: Without society the instinct of will to power could not be satisfied. Consequently, states of "balked" disposition would arise. Therefore society has a right to exist. Thus society is endowed with the right to exist because it acts as a suitable stimulus to bring about the complete development of the individual.* To such an extent has been the group opposed to its members !

The foregoing attitudes seem to be based on the following assumptions:

(1) The evils of society are largely due to the repressions that are practised.

(2) If instincts were allowed to function naturally most evils would be eliminated.

(3) The maximum development of one's innate capacities and tendencies is desirable.

I wish to examine these assumptions in the order given.

On account of our romantic conceptions regarding original nature, repression has come to have an ugly sound. When an impulse is repressed we are inclined to believe that stubborn and blind society is blocking the expression of a tendency that would be of great worth if allowed to function naturally. On the other hand, if it is not allowed this expression, we are taught to believe that it becomes a hidden evil, which works its harm and destruction in the dark.

It does not seem to occur to many of us that the repressions of innate impulses may be necessary on account of the evil nature of the impulse so convinced are we that the evil is due to the repression.

Perhaps Freud has done as much as any one to make us realize the evils of repressions. Yet he clearly recognizes the necessity of them for the moral life, and those who are inclined to charge all our evils to repressions would do well to ponder the following statement by him:

"Whenever the community suspends its reproach, the suppression of evil desires also ceases, and men commit acts of cruelty, treachery, deception, and brutality, the very possibility of which would have been considered incompatible with their level of culture."

It is because we did not recognize the social nature of the moral, and the rôle that the repressions of society plays in maintaining the moral life of the community, he says, that we became so shocked at the deeds of soldiers. We felt that the soldiers had degenerated, that they had fallen, when as a matter of fact they acted as they did only because they were encouraged "to withdraw for a time from the existing pressure of civilization and to sanction a passing gratification of their suppressed impulses."

Parker acknowledges a debt of gratitude to Freud for his insight into the labor unrest among the I. W. W.'s. He makes a similar acknowledgment regarding the works of Thorndike. Yet he does not seem to have been affected in the least by the warnings of these writers against his romantic conception of human nature. The warning of Freud has already been indicated. That of Thorndike is equally as strong.

Thorndike does not hesitate to state that some innate impulses should be crushed and if possible eliminated, for some innate characters are good and some are evil. Sufficient proof of this statement he thinks is to be found in the fact that original nature includes such tendencies as maternal love, curiosity, and cruelty.

When one thinks of the great variety in the tendencies in original nature, the tendency on the part of young children to torture young animals, to tease each other, the cruel impulses in adults, the impulses to lie, steal, and kill, one should not hesitate to conclude that the repressions are practised on account of the evil nature of innate impulses rather than evil being the result of the repressions. If all our impulses were good, there would be no greater attempt to sup-press them than there is now to suppress maternal love. It is only because some impulses are evil that society practises repressions.

We should not be too hasty to conclude from this that repressions are invariably the repressions of evil instincts. It is quite possible that some instincts are repressed which should not be, and that others are repressed in unwise ways. On the other hand, it is certain that, if all impulses were allowed full freedom, the resulting evils would be many times greater than those that are caused by repressions.

It is, however, the claim of those who put great emphasis on the evils of repressions that evil results, even though we may not be able to detect it, and that the need of the expression of innate tendencies is real, even though the expression may appear irrational and even harmful. The fact that the tendencies are products of evolution is sufficient proof of their value. If we are unable to detect their value, this is not to be taken as an indication of the fact that they are of no value, but rather as an indication of the fact that our knowledge is limited and powers of perception dull. So believers in a Universe ordered by a Transcendental power making for good have always held. We may well be unable to pierce the veils of mystery and see the good behind phenomena that appear to us evil, but we may be quite sure that the good is discover-able if we could only see through the mystery.

This is the attitude of the evolutionist, who seems to think that the operation of the law of the "survival of the fit" has been so perfect that all the unfit have been eliminated. It is from such assumptions that instincts get a powerful sanction. But such assumptions should not be accepted uncritically. Nature does not seem so economical in her works as to make all her modifications and products of use. It seems true rather that she makes millions of products for the mere love of creation, and far from it being true that only the useful survive, all tend to survive unless driven to the wall by competition or by an insurmountable obstacle. Of what use is the tendency or instinct of certain ants to rear the larva of beetles, in spite of the fact that the beetles eat the young ants, or the tendency of the moth to fly into the flame and to death?

We cannot infer therefore that a tendency or impulse is good because it has survived. Of what use are the paroxysms of fear which we experience when confronted suddenly with an overwhelming danger? They serve only to inhibit effective response to the situation. Yet they have survived. All we can infer, then, from the fact of survival is that the survivors have not been loaded too heavily with harmful tendencies, that they have not been confronted with competition too severe or obstacles which proved insurmountable. All we can say regarding a tendency, on the basis of survival, is that it was not sufficiently harmful to bring about the destruction of the species. Let no one urge, therefore, that since the tendencies have survived they are useful.

Such considerations as these, however, have little weight with the romanticist. If the expression of innate tendencies result in evil, it is because they have been placed in an artificial environment, and prevented from expressing themselves naturally. If we would permit them to function naturally, then the good for which they exist would become apparent. It is therefore urged that the instincts be given an opportunity to function naturally.

The difficulty here is that there is no clear definition of the natural. Some seem to mean by it the primitive adaptations of the organism, that is, the adaptations of the organism to primitive conditions of living. Others seem to mean by it the needs and desires which are most intimately related to our bodies. By others it is regarded as the fundamental. Still others seem to regard the natural expression as the undirected response a laissez-faire attitude.

Though there may be this lack of agreement regarding the meaning of the natural, there is general agreement among this group of writers that the evils of our society are due to the artificial setting of our instincts; and that in order to remedy the evils we must provide a more natural setting for them. That such programmes suffer from indefiniteness should be apparent from a consideration of the lack of agreement regarding the natural.

The tendency to identify the natural with the primitive is seen in many of the writers referred to in the above. It is the assumption that Wallas makes when he states that the instincts are related intelligibly to the conditions that confronted our remote ancestors. It is the assumption that Veblen makes when he expresses fear of the fitness of present institutions, since man is naturally adapted to a state of savagery.

The tendency to identify the natural with the primitive finds expression in Hall's attitude toward what he terms the artificiality of manhood and the naturalness of youth. One can almost hear in the following a "back to nature" plea or at least the stuff out of which such pleas are made :

" Our sentiments are oversubtilized and sophisticated and reduced to puny reactions to music and appreciation of art, that are nine parts of criticism and one part of appreciation. What we have felt is second-hand, bookish, shop-worn, and the heart is parched and bankrupt." "Happily for our craft, the child and youth appear at the truly psychological moment, freighted, as they are, body and soul with reminiscences of what we were so fast losing. Despite our lessening fecundity, our overschooling, 'city-fiction,' and spoiling, the affectations we instil and the repressions we practise, they are still the light and hope of the world especially to us, who would know more of the soul of man and would penetrate to its deeper strata and study its origins."

It would seem, then, from the above views that man is better adapted to primitive life, that is, to a life of savagery, than to our own. What we should do, then, is to modify our culture in such ways that it will pro-vide once more the environment to which our instincts adjusted themselves in the remote past. We should not settle this question by a priori reasoning. For on the one hand there are the reasons just stated. On the other hand, it seems unreasonable to suppose that man is better adapted to a culture which he leaves than to one which he has created. The fact that he abandons one way of living for another should be evidence that the preferred way is a way that answers more completely his needs and desires.

An examination of primitive culture lends weight to the latter supposition. We should not let the romanticism of those who plead in various ways for a "back to nature" lead us to regard the life of man in primitive culture as ideal. There is a popular fancy which pictures the life of primitive man as free from restraints. In a sense he is free from many of the restraints that bind us. His limited feelings of personality find adequate expression in the customs of his tribe. His interests are limited to his group. He has no feeling of humanity.* Naturally, then, he is spared many of the moral conflicts and feelings of restraint that we experience. We should not conclude, however, that the Iack of moral conflicts or restraints is due to the perfection of primitive man or to the perfection of his environment and adjustments. We need to guard ourselves against this, for there is always a tendency to regard the absence of moral restraint as evidence of moral perfection. It is thus that the modern Shintoist concludes that the first inhabitants of the world were pure and holy because they are represented as a people who had no moral commandments.

Absence of moral restraint, is not necessarily an indication of moral perfection or of an ideal adjustment.

"Neither primitive nor totemic man shows the faintest trace of what we should strictly speaking call humanity. He gives evidence merely of attachment to the nearest associates, of horde or tribe, such as is foreshadowed even among animals of social habits. In addition, he exhibits a friendly readiness to render assistance when danger threatens at the hands of strangers."

It may as well be an indication of the absence of moral feelings. This is probably most often the case. No-where do we find such a complete absence of moral restraint as among the non-gregarious animals; yet no one would maintain that the moral life of a tiger is better suited to the needs of man than the moral life of man. Also, the lack of moral conflicts in man may often be due to the fact that he has not reached a stage of culture in which his good is identified with the good of the group. It is beyond doubt often due to the fact that the environment, both social and physical, in which he is placed presents so few possibilities for varied action that the necessary material for conflicts, that is, the balancing of one good against an-other, is not provided.

Primitive man may, then, for various reasons be free from feelings of moral restraint and from moral conflicts, and yet be none the better for the freedom. But, however much one may be inclined to value this freedom, it is more than offset in primitive culture by superstitious fears which make necessary suffering and tortures of all kinds. These fears seem to indicate that after all the primitive is not perfectly adapted or adjusted to his environment. If he were, why should he feel the necessity of subjecting youth to the cruel rites of initiation? Or why the cruel piacular rites? Or why do men inflict upon themselves unbelievable tortures? Why also the frequency of suicide? Why the selection of the insane to act as priests, shamans, or medicine-men?

The more deeply we penetrate into the life of primitive man, the darker and gloomier it becomes. We see there pictures of suffering voluntarily endured that seem beyond the power of man to bear. Yet the sufferings they inflict upon themselves, the rites they observe, and their horrifying fears of the world of spirits are no doubt the natural responses of human nature when subjected to the conditions in which these phenomena take place. But in spite of this these responses seem no less undesirable and disastrous than the natural response of the moth to the flame.

It is hard to understand how any one can hold that man is better adapted to a life of savagery than he is to the comforts, plenty, and freedom from fears of evil spirits that obtain in modern culture. Surely no one would have been inclined to think so, had it not been for the conception of instincts as hard-and-fast entities craving for a particular mode of expression or activity. Without such a conception we should have made without hesitation the obvious inference that man with his increase in knowledge and power has made the world more nearly to suit him than it was when he was engaged in a desperate struggle for existence.

There is no reason to suppose, then, that the evils of modern society will be eliminated or made less by the natural expression of instincts, if by the natural is meant the primitive. As a matter of fact, there is no reason to suppose that the responses made in our culture are less natural than those made by the savage. For instance, what would be less natural than the discarding of a gun for a club? Or what could be more unnatural than discarding our training in manners, aesthetic appreciations, and in other preferred ways of living for the manners and tastes of primitive man. Regarded in this way, we see there is no need to worry regarding the artificiality of our culture or to fear that we are leaving behind our instincts. The responses we make are the natural responses man makes when subjected to the conditions of modern life, and there is no reason to suppose that these responses are less natural than the responses man made in a state of savagery.

Closely akin to the conception which exalts the primitive as the natural is the conception which exalts the fundamental as the natural. A response or activity is regarded as good because it is fundamental. The more fundamental the greater the value of the act.

This assumption underlies Veblen's criticism of sports. Veblen recognizes that if an activity is a response of an instinct it has a good claim to be valued. The life of sports, he admits, meets this requirement, and hence should be valued. Yet he hesitates to do so. He does not fully approve of sports. He bases his disapproval on the ground that they are counter to the more fundamental instinct of workmanship. Hence they cannot be justified. Thus he writes:

"The ultimate norm to which appeal is taken is the instinct of workmanship, which is an instinct more fundamental, of more ancient prescription, than the propensity to predatory emulation. The latter is but a special development of the instinct of workmanship, a variant relatively late and ephemeral in spite of its absolute antiquity. . . . Tested by this ulterior norm of life, predatory emulation, and therefore the life of sport, falls short."

Veblen does not take the trouble to tell us why we should prefer the fundamental and the essential. It is true the instinct of workmanship may be regarded as the necessary condition of survival and therefore of sport itself. In this sense it may well be held that the instinct of workmanship should carry greater weight than the less essential activity involved in the life of sport. We should not forget, however, that the necessary, in order to be valued, must be valued for something. We do not value it for being necessary or essential. Nor do we value it for being what may be termed a necessary evil. It is only when the necessary is necessary for the realization of something regarded as good that we value it.

Thus when Veblen prizes the instinct of workmanship as being of a more fundamental nature than the instinct of sportsmanship, and condemns the instinct of sportsmanship because it is less fundamental, he may be condemning the activities for which the activities due to the instinct of workmanship are valued. Apart from the life of sports the life of work may be of no value. It may well be that it is only because of the life of sport that life is of value. Consequently, the instinct of workmanship, the fundamental, the essential, may be a mere means for the life of sports, and without value in its own right.

Trotter only carries further the tendency to prize the fundamental and necessary more highly than the less fundamental and unnecessary when he rejects the human point of view for the more fundamental point of view of biology. Indeed, he severely criticises Freud for assuming the human point of view and seems to think that Freud's conclusions are invalidated by this assumption as if Freud should treat human beings from the point of view of the ox or cow.

"However much one may be impressed," Trotter says, "with the greatness of the edifice which Freud has built up by the soundness of his architecture, one may scarcely fail, on coming into it from the bracing atmosphere of the biological sciences, to be oppressed by the odor of humanity." "One finds everywhere a tendency to the acceptance of human standards, and even sometimes to human pretensions, which cannot fail to produce a certain uneasiness as to the validity, if not of his doctrines, at any rate of the forms in which they are expounded."

Perhaps Trotter wishes to suggest to Freud that he treat his patients, not as men, but as members of the more fundamental group of primates. To do so would be no more absurd than the moral lessons that are drawn for us from the animal world. Yet writers are not lacking who do this. In fact, Hall states explicitly "that true types of character can be determined only by studying the animal world."

It would seem from these writers that we should abandon the human point of view and that we should look for our values and ethical guidance in the tendencies and characters that are common to all life. The more wide-spread, the more fundamental the tendency, the greater is its value, and the more to be prized. It is doubtful, however, if it is really possible for us to discard the human point of view in this way. After all, we are human beings and we must value those things which human beings value. Our pleasures and pains are the pleasures and pains of human beings. It is hardly possible that the "bracing atmosphere of biology" can make us feel "oppressed with the odor of humanity." We cannot have the desires and needs of a bear or lion; nor can we hope to find in observations of their behavior the basis for our moral code. What are good morals for the lion are not good morals for man.

There is no reason, therefore, that we should prefer the natural in the sense of the more fundamental or essential. It may be necessary that man act in certain ways in order that he may act in other ways. But this is very different from saying that the fundamental is of greater value. Nor can we infer that a character is of more value or furnishes us a guide for ethics be-cause it is found in a large number of species. For, as has been pointed out, our values are necessarily the values of human beings, and our morals the morals of human beings. Our ethics must, therefore, be based on human needs, desires, and ideals rather than on the codes of conduct of the animal world.

The fundamental is not only identified with the necessary conditions and with characters that are common to a large number of species. It is at times identified with the wants, impulses, and desires which follow most closely the lines laid down by physical structure and needs. The wants that are born of bodily needs are regarded as more fundamental than those that are born of social contacts. This seems to be the criterion Parker has in mind when he says that the "instincts coupled with an obedient body lay down in scientific and exact description the motives which must and will determine human conduct." Hence, to avoid the evils of repression and to insure the good that comes from the natural expression of instincts, we must study physical needs and structure.

This seems marvellously simple. But does the contemplation of the structure and needs of the body give us definite information as to how instincts should function? Do they "lay down in scientific and exact description the motives which should determine human conduct"? The answer must be in the negative. The body and its needs tell us very little. To be sure, there are physiological processes which must be cared for. We must take food, and we may take it for granted that the organs should be used. But how shall they be used? And how much? These are the important questions, and regarding them the structure of the body and its emotions tell us little. Even less do they tell us regarding the value and function of the impulses not born of physical needs, that is, of the impulses that are born of social contacts. How impulses of this nature shall be expressed the emotions and structure of the body have nothing to say. Nor can we infer that such emotions as fear, anger, and the affections, that follow from bodily needs, are of greater value than the emotions of patriotism and loyalty, or the sentiments that cover lofty ideals.

There is no reason, therefore, to suppose that the natural in the sense of being those activities and values that result most directly from bodily needs furnishes us with a key to values or a guide to behavior; for in the first place it is not definite, and in the second place values other than those that are indicated may prove to be of greater value than those that are.

There is yet another conception of the natural that is exerting a profound influence in our social theories and practices. I refer to the laissez-faire attitude regarding the expression of the instincts and impulses, which seems to assume that any employment of intelligent control of behavior or of social movements is unnatural. We, especially our intellects, need do nothing. To, get the best results, we need simply give our instincts full opportunity to work out their own salvation and that of the race. Given such freedom, social progress, it is held, is sure to result.

Bergson's treatment of the intellect and instinct furnishes the philosophic background on which these conceptions are based.

One very noticeable characteristic of Bergson's writings is his disparaging attitude toward the intellect and his exalting of intuition. The intellect, he tells us, falsifies through its efforts to spatialize the non-spatial. To the cumbersome attempts of the intellect to predict to peep into the future Bergson opposes the marvellous insights of intuition, or disinterested instinct. He is greatly impressed with the activities of certain insects, which seem to him the unimpeded manifestations of the Elan Vital. He, therefore, urges that we put no longer our trust in the intellect which falsifies, but to look at life intuitively in order to see it as it really is.

The same contrast that Bergson makes between the intellect and instinct has been made by Pope in verse:

"Say, where full instinct is th' unerring guide,
What Pope or Council can they need beside?
Reason, however able, cool at best
Cares not for service, or but serves when prest,
Stays 'til we call, and then not often near;
But honest instinct comes a volunteer,
Sure never to o'er-shoot, but just to hit:
While still too wide or short is human wit;
Sure by quick nature happiness to gain,
Which heavier reason labors in vain,
This too serves always, reason never long;
One must go right, the other may go wrong.
See then the acting and comparing powers,
One is then nature, which are two in ours
And reason raised o'er instinct as you can,
In this 'tis God directs, in that 'tis man!"

What we need, it may be inferred from Bergson's writings, as from the above poem, is to give ourselves up to the direction of instinct with the assurance that in so doing we will realize ends and obtain knowledge that are beyond the reach of the cumbersome and laborious intellectual processes.

I do not say that Bergson advocates this, or even that this is a just inference to draw from his writings as a whole. He does not fail to set forth certain advantages of the intellect, which, after all, he recognizes to be our instrument of knowledge, however unfortunate we may be in having such an instrument. It is, however, possible to draw the above conclusions from his writings. They may be regarded as following from his attack on the intellect in Time and Free Will and later in Creative Evolution. They also follow from his exalting as free those acts which spring from the wells of our personality undetermined by conscious ends.* They may be drawn from his genuine admiration of the working of instinct and emphasis on intuition in Creative Evolution and in An Introduction to Metaphysics.

That these consequences may be drawn from Berg-son's writings is evinced by the fact that they are drawn by the French Syndicalists, who find in Bergson's philosophy a justification of their own attitude toward intelligent control and prediction.

Scott, who treats at some length the connection between Bergson's philosophy and the Syndicalist movement,t represents the mission of Sorel, the leader of the Syndicalists, as follows:

"The mission of Sorel, as he himself has conceived it, appears to be, not to tell the working classes about the new régime they are to prepare; not to tell them what it is to be and how it is all to come; but to tell them just what it will not be, if they plan it, and to warn them not to have to do with the intellectual bourgeoisie who profess to plan it for them. Mr. Ramsey MacDonald did not overstate the case, when he said in 1912, six years after the appearance of Reflections on Violence: 'Sorel says quite candidly, "I cannot tell you what is going to happen, I am mainly interested in getting action." The reformist syndicalist says, 'act wisely'; the syndicalist revolutionary of which Sorel is the teacher and philosopher, and above all the poet, says, 'Do not bother about the adverb, be quite sure of the verb; you need not necessarily act wisely, but in the name of everything you hold good and dear, act.' "

The Syndicalist seems to feel that if he can only get activity, if he can get the masses to break through the mass of customs, traditions, and institutions that are preventing the natural and complete expression of instincts, the people equipped with their instincts and intuitions will be able to adjust themselves to the new conditions just as if instincts were mystical guides existing complete in the souls of each of us.

It is not surprising, then, that the Syndicalists should see in Bergson's disparaging attitude toward the intellect a justification of their own. They have no need for programmes. Their contempt for the peeping of intelligence into the future and for the falsifications of conceptual knowledge is as great as Bergson's. They too wish to let themselves freely move on the onward rush of the Elan Vital. They do not care to found their movement on a study of consequences likely to follow from its success. Indeed, it is just this study they hold which has been responsible for the failure of re-form movements in the past. Action is the need of the hour. If that can be secured the instincts of the masses may be trusted to take care of the future.

This supreme confidence in instincts to guide the individual is not limited to those radicals who are willing to trust anything that promises to aid them in destroying the existing order. It finds expression also in the schools. The education of the child is to be founded on his instincts in the belief that what the child needs is an opportunity for self-expression. The teacher is not to, direct the child. His task is to provide suitable stimuli to bring out natural expressions from the child, and to aid the child in the realization of the ends which have been thus evoked.

There are, of course, many practical difficulties which prevent the full realization of this programme. But these are considered unavoidable difficulties, which must be taken into consideration. They do not affect the general attitude that the maximum and most satisfactory development of the child will result from its natural and undirected expression of its impulses and desires.

The advocates of this position do not seem to take into consideration that activities are always responses to exciting stimuli, and that by changing the stimuli the response is changed. Hence, there is always the problem what stimuli shall be presented, for it may be taken for granted that the response will always be the natural response given the conditions which evoke it.

The use of the natural in the sense of undirected may be attacked in another way. We should not be too sure that the natural way to rear a child is to leave it alone to act as may be determined by a sort of "mystical" guide within it. The natural thing for a child to do is to give heed to instruction, and the natural procedure of the interested adult is to give advice and instruction. Without this the child would be compelled to go through a long and laborious process of hit and miss in order to learn the responses and adjustments that are most satisfying. To follow a laissez-faire policy would be to convert the advantage of plasticity into a disadvantage.

We may be greatly impressed with the perfection of the responses and adaptations of the lower animals, which are supposed to be determined by the free play of instinct, and the working of intelligence when contrasted to that of instinct may appear in an unfavorable light, but after all intelligence is our instrument of knowledge, and it is therefore natural for us to act in an intelligent manner, that is, attempt to predict, to foresee consequences, and direct the factors under our control so that the end we desire may be accomplished. Hence, nothing would be more unnatural than for us to abandon our instrument of control, to cease our efforts to bring about conditions which we desire. The natural tendencies of an intelligent being are counter to a laissez-faire policy, as well as the interest of the child who needs to be taught.

We thus see that the writers who condemn society for its repressions and urge that we permit a more natural expression of our instincts do not give us a clear knowledge of the natural; while what they seem to identify with the natural turns out upon examination to be undesirable as norms of conduct.

If we take the common tendency to identify the natural with the primitive we find no reason to regard the modes of behavior that have been abandoned as more natural, or of greater value, than the preferred ones. Nor have we been able to find that the more fundamental is more natural, or of greater value, than the less fundamental. If we seek a definition of the natural in physical needs and impulses, we find little that is of ethical or moral significance. If the natural is regarded as the undirected expression, we find that this turns out to be merely an abandonment of the rôle of intelligence, which is highly unnatural to the intelligent being and detrimental to the creature deprived of the control.

If the writers referred to had given greater thought to defining the natural, they would have seen that the natural, like the fit, has reference to the setting in which the behavior or phenomena occurs. It is no less natural for a man in our culture to use a rifle than it is for a man in primitive culture to use a club. Both act naturally. It would be unnatural if a man in our society went out to hunt tigers with a club when a rifle was at his command. So it is with other cultural contributions. We react to the cultural setting in which we are placed just as it is natural for human nature to react given the conditions. Our behavior is no less natural than that of the most primitive savage. The fear that our culture is becoming too artificial and the fear that we are leaving behind too far our instincts are unwarranted. The instincts of man are responding as naturally in our culture as they have in any culture. The difference in his responses is not due to the fact that man is responding unnaturally, but to differences in the exciting stimuli. Whatever our responses may be they are always the natural responses of an organism under the given conditions.

Obviously, the natural if so regarded cannot furnish ethical guidance, for every act becomes a natural act. Whereas it is the task of ethics to furnish us the means by which acts can be evaluated more intelligently. Some acts are good, some are indifferent, some bad. If this were not true there would be no point to ethical discussions. We only engage in ethical discussions when we recognize the existence of good and bad acts. Hence, if it turns out that all acts are natural, the natural loses all value as a norm.

On the other hand, we have found that no matter how the natural is defined, it cannot be identified with the good, since it is only some natural acts that are good. Others are bad. Sufficient proof of this is furnished in the indisputably natural behavior of the moth when it flies into the flame, or in the more complex behavior of certain ants that rear the larva of beetles, only to see the beetles devour their own young.

Behavior of this sort cannot on any pretext be regarded as good. Yet our romanticists continue to prize the natural and to condemn many niceties of culture as unnatural. They hold up the natural man, and place beside him in scorn the man of culture and polish. In doing this, they must have in mind the natural man of Rousseau. They forget that the natural man partakes as much of the nature of the Nietzschean ideal. It would be well for those who exalt the natural man to have at times before them the natural man of Nietzsche. Hocking has made an illuminating contrast of the two types:

"The natural man of the Nietzschean ideal is a very different person from the natural man of Rousseau: he is far more strenuous, far more acquainted with pain and hardness. But like his predecessor he finds his law within himself, and defines his good as the venting of his energies upon the world. He is a hater of Christianity chiefly because Christianity seems to him to curb the salutary surgical processes of nature his surgery. He has the grim optimism which most rejoices to proclaim the goodness of things when he finds the world red in fang and claw-his fang and claw.... We have now . . . an immense demonstration of the working of this type of liberation. And we, who look on, and have made use of that same faith in our own public and economic life, cannot quit ourselves of taking part in the process by which the whole Western world in horror and lamentation shall revise its judgment."

The third assumption, namely, that the maximum development should be desired, has a host of adherents who accept it as obvious. To the multitude a defense of it seems unnecessary. But it is defended by the more thoughtful and critical in two ways which are in themselves very different.

For example, it is defended by Hocking on the assumption that we are born with a mass of instincts which have a right to the fullest possible development and expression. One gets the idea from his defense of this position that instincts are ,"little voices" crying to be heard and longing for a particular goal. Whether he regards them in this way or not, it is certain that he regards them as forces or characters which are entitled to the maximum development. Indeed, this is the assumption that underlies his defense of the right of the state. The state, he tells us, is necessary for the full development of the instinct of will to power. Therefore, it is justified.

Justification or defense of the programme of maxi-mum development in the above way is emphatically rejected by Ritchie, who is a severe critic of this revival of the theory of "Natural Rights." Yet he, too, holds that the maximum development is good, and even endows the individual with a "right" to the fullest possible development. This "right" he bases on the assumption that since every individual is potentially a sharer in the consciousness of universal reason, he is entitled to the fullest possible development and realization of his potentialities.

These positions do not seem tenable. Suppose there are, as Hocking seems to think, a mass of innate tendencies or characters longing for expression, it is hard to see why this should endow them with a "right" to expression. Many desires and longings are denied such "rights." We have been able to discover no good reason for supposing that a desire should be endowed with "rights" because it is innate. Nor does it follow that an individual has a right to share actually because he shares potentially. If this were true, ethics would become hopelessly confused. For here again all distinctions are destroyed. Whatever may be exists potentially, but it is just the task of ethics to deter-mine which of the many and contradictory potentialities shall be actualized.

It is the position of Hocking, however, that is of interest, for it is based on the assumption of specific instincts with "rights" to expression and development, and he seems committed to the view that the maximum development will be realized through the fullest development possible for each instinct. But can the maximum development be realized in this way?

It is true that the possibility of bringing it about in the above way begins to grow impressive if we accept the explanation Wallas gives of the unsatisfactory condition of children reared in charity schools. Children so reared are denied an expression of their instinct for property. Hence, their poor condition. But we begin to entertain doubts regarding the possibility of realizing maximum development through the fullest expression of all instincts, when this same author ac-counts for the popularity of aerial railways in terms of the instinct of fear which is being "balked" in modern society by the scarcity of fear arousing situations. One begins to think that maximum development involves the fullest possible expression of our "instinct for grief"; or even that it may include the fullest possible expression of our "instinct for pain." Yet actualization of such instincts and capacities is no guaranty of development. Indeed, their actualization and development can take place only at the expense of other instincts and capacities. For instance, gratification of the "instinct for fear" prevents the gratification of the "instinct for mastery"; to grieve thwarts the "expansive instinct"; to suffer pain thwarts the instinctive love for ease and comfort.

It therefore becomes apparent that it is the expression of some instincts in some ways that makes for development. If the maximum development is what we wish, we must obtain it through the use of intelligence as a regulator and director of our activities, rather than by allowing the free and unimpeded expression of instincts or innate impulses. Hence, instincts cannot get a sanction on the assumption that the maximum development is realized through the natural expression of our innate tendencies.

The conception just criticised is dangerous for social solidarity. It is true that Hocking used this conception to justify the existence of the state. But this is not the only conclusion to draw. Indeed, it is not the most obvious one. Hocking's conclusion is perhaps an indication of his contentment with present conditions. But people who are profoundly discontented will hardly draw the same conclusion. They will hold rather that the state is a burden to free and natural expression of our instincts, and as such is detrimental to our highest good. Hence, the burden should be made as light as possible; for the hope of progress and better adaptations depends on the opportunity given the individual to develop freely as may be determined by the deep characters that underlie his personality. Hence, the state, instead of being regarded as a means for the development of the instincts, is looked upon as a thwarting and repressive agency. This position is maintained by Russell in his Principles of Social Reconstruction. It is the free individual on whom progress depends. All the state can do is to deprive the individual of as little freedom as possible.

However much Russell might take issue with Hocking regarding the state as a necessary agency for the development of all the instincts, he would agree that the maximum development of the individual is good, and should be desired. But, after all, should we de-sire the maximum development? Why should we assume that the maximum development is good? Let us consider human life in general. The amount of human life can be greatly increased, but are we to follow Ella Wheeler Wilcox in assuming that this is an indication of millions of unborn infants offering one grand lamentation for the light of day? And are we to assume that these lamentations should influence us to bring about the greatest possible amount of life? Maeterlinck seems to have a keener insight when in The Betrothal he emphasizes so effectively the right of infants to be well born, rather than to mere birth. The amount of life can no doubt be greatly increased, but are we sure that the increase would make the sum total of life of more value? It is quite possible that a smaller amount of life, lived more intensely and more uniformly pleasant, is of far greater value than a large amount of life that is barely worth the living.

So it is with all development. It is quite possible that less development in some directions will make the final product of far more worth than it would be if the maximum development of all had been accomplished. It is also quite possible that the development of some at the expense of others, whether we are dealing with individuals, instincts, or tendencies, will make for a more satisfactory development and possibly even a greater development than the less though equal development of all.

These possibilities do not seem to be entertained by the directors of our educational policies or by social uplifters. They are so convinced that every man should be educated, that all should develop to the utmost, that they do not stop to pay attention to the ultimate effects such a policy if carried through would have on society at large. Or if they do show a desire to evaluate their programmes in terms of its consequences, they assume at once that an educated man, a man who has developed to the utmost, a man of refined sensibilities and of culture, is of greater value to the community than one not so highly developed. Hence, they strain every resource in order that all may be educated.

In this policy they do not seem to consider the necessity of hewers of wood and drawers of water. Or else they think it possible to actualize the sensibilities of this class and yet have contented the peaceful labor. Whether this is true or not, their attitude indicates that they think it better to have all potentialities realized even if it means only discontent and unhappiness for the individual and social unrest and strife for the group at large. For is not a Socrates unhappy and discontented better than a satisfied pig? Perhaps. But is not labor, satisfied, contented though stolid and insensitive, better than labor, dissatisfied, discontented, wide awake to the appearance of all injustices and for this reason unhappy if not miserable? There is one "Natural Right" we all possess. We have the right to expect that opportunity for the satisfaction of desires and appreciations shall go hand in hand with the rendering actual our capacities for such enjoyments. It is this right that educators should have in mind when they insist on the realization of all capacities for enjoyment, even though they are perfectly well aware that opportunity cannot be given for the enjoyment of the capacity. For it is as a result of their programme that there occur repressions and disintegration of character of the worst kind.

How our own cultural group will be affected if all peoples reach a maximum degree of development should concern us.

Yet social uplifters of broad sympathies would no doubt be inclined to extend their programme of maxi-mum development to include all living forms if it could be shown that other living forms are capable of such development even if it should be detrimental to the interest of the human race. For why should maxi-mum development be confined to the human race? Since development is good, why should man wish to limit this good by his own interest?

For example, let us suppose that we have discovered a way to make useful laborers out of monkeys, and that it should be discovered later that by education they can be made into creatures of refined sensibilities and our competitive consumers. The policy of maximum development would demand that they be made into competitors; for why should we deny monkeys this development? Is not an educated monkey better than an uneducated one? The fact that we lose the benefit of their labor, and must compete with them for the wealth of the world does not matter. It is the maximum development that we desire. What effect this may have on the human race is not to be considered. To do so would be simply an indication of our selfishness and narrowness. Away with such egoism ! We must look at development in a large way.

People who have become so imbued with the bracing atmosphere of the biological sciences that the odor of humanity is oppressive may perhaps feel this way. But to those of us who frankly assume the human point of view, such a programme seems little less than madness. To place the same value on the development of all species ignores the fact that we are human beings with human interests and needs to provide for, which in many cases conflict with the interests of other species.

The assumption that all tendencies, impulses, and capacities in the human being should be developed is equally untenable, as well as the assumption that we can wish for the development of all. The development of certain capacities and tendencies is incompatible with that of others. It becomes necessary that we choose those tendencies that are to find expression. Nor do we make this choice by an arbitrary act of will. Our choice depends largely on the training and environmental conditions to which we have been subjected. We are no more able to ignore our past training in our evaluations than we are to ignore the fact that we are human beings. As human beings we have the values of human beings. As products of a certain history we have the values that human beings have when subjected to certain conditions. There is no need to assume, then, an air of broadness in reference to the development of all capacities. Such an assumption would seem to indicate that we regard ourselves as speaking for the human race when as a matter of fact each one of us can speak for only that bit of human nature which he represents, as it has been moulded by the various factors that have made each one of us what we are. Our desires are fixed in this process. We cannot desire that all capacities be developed. We can desire only those capacities to be developed that we value. What capacities we value depend on our original nature and the conditions which have affected mean that the same original nature may if treated in one way come to possess one set of values, and if treated in another way another set. This may seem obvious. Yet its obviousness seems to have been missed by a great number of writers, who seem to feel that within one there is a store of innate impulses and desires longing for expression. If the above truth had been grasped this group of writers would have discovered that social evils cannot be regarded as due to the repression of these forces, or social goods, to their natural expression or maximum development. In brief, they would have recognized that social programmes cannot be discovered in the supposed will of these hidden entities.

The conception of instincts as creators of psychic tension, of entities longing for expression, is not limited to writers who wish to found their programmes for social reform on the sanction of instinct. It is the conception of many writers who feel that they can interpret culture and social behavior in terms of the various manifestations and thwartings of these forces. This is the assumption that students who wish to give a psychological interpretation of culture too often adopt. An examination of these attempts should make all the more obvious the rôle that has been assigned to original nature and the fact that our desires and values are the products of the give-and-take relations we sustain to our environment rather than the expression or unfolding of certain innate characters, which are supposed to possess certain longings and. de sires irrespective of the situation in which they are placed.