CHAPTER XI.

DUTIES TOWARD ONE'S SELF--DUTIES RELATIVE TO THE BODY.

SUMMARY.

=Have we duties toward ourselves?=--The person of a man should not only be sacred to others, it also should be so to himself.

Even though man ceased to be in any relation with other men (as, for example, in a desert island), he would still have duties to perform.

=The duty of self-preservation.--Suicide.=--Arguments of Rousseau for and against suicide.

The different standpoints from which one may condemn suicide: 1, either as contrary to the duties toward men; 2, or to the duties toward God; 3, or, lastly, to the duties toward ourselves.

Kant's fundamental argument against suicide:

"Man cannot abdicate his personality as long as he has duties to perform, which is the same as to say, as long as he lives."

Case of conscience.--Not to confound suicide with self-sacrifice.

Of voluntary mutilations and of the duty to avoid injuring one's health. That this duty should be understood in a wide sense, and not as an encouragement to constant preoccupation about the condition of one's body.

Of cleanliness.

=Other duties concerning the body.--Temperance.=--Temperance recommended for two reasons: 1, as necessary to health, and consequently as a corollary to the duty of self-preservation; 2, as necessary to human dignity, which, through intemperance, falls below the brute.

Of the moderate use of sensual pleasures. That we should elevate them by attaching to them ideas and sentiments.

Other virtues: Decency, modesty, propriety, etc.

=131. Have we duties toward ourselves?=--This has been disputed, and it seems rather strange that it should have been. No one, say the jurists, binds himself to himself; no one does himself injustice, they say again. In short, man belongs to himself: is not that the first of ownerships, and the basis of all the others?

"No," replies Victor Cousin, "from man's being free and belonging to himself, it is not to be concluded that he has all power over himself. From the fact alone that he is endowed with both liberty and intelligence, I, on the contrary, conclude that he cannot, without failing in his duty, degrade his liberty any more than he can degrade his intelligence. Liberty is not only sacred to others; it is so in itself.

"This obligation imposed on the moral personality to respect itself, it is not I who established it; I cannot, therefore, destroy it. Is the respect I have for myself founded on one of those arbitrary agreements which cease to be when the two parties freely renounce it? Are the two contracting parties here I and myself? No; there is one of the parties that is not I, namely, humanity itself, the moral personality, the human essence which does not belong to me, which is not my property, which I can no more degrade or wound in myself than I can in others. There is not even any agreement here or contract.

"Finally, man would still have duties, even though he ceased to be in any relation with other men. As long as he has any intelligence and liberty left, the idea of right remains in him, and with that idea, duty. If he were all at once thrown upon a desert island, duty would still follow him there."[89]

Kant has likewise defended the existence of the duties of man toward himself.

"Supposing," he says, "that there were no duties of this kind, there would not be any duties then of any kind; for I can only think myself under obligations to others, so far as I am under obligations to myself.... Thus do people say, when the question is to save a man or his life: I owe this to myself; I owe it to myself to cultivate such dispositions of mind as make of me a fit member of society (_Doctrine de la vertu_, trad. franc. de Barni, p. 70)."

=132. Duties concerning the body.--Duty of self-preservation.=--The duties toward one's self are generally divided into two classes: duties _toward the body_, duties _toward the soul_. Kant justly criticised this distinction, and asks how can there be any obligations toward the body--that is to say, toward a mass of matter--which, apart from the soul, is nothing better than any of the rough bodies which surround us. Kant proposes to substitute for this distinction the following: duties of man toward himself as an _animal_ (that is, united to animality by the corporeal functions), and the duties of man toward himself as a _moral being_.

Considered as an animal, man is united to a body, and this union of soul and body is what is called life. Hence a first duty which may be considered a fundamental duty, and the basis of all the others, namely, the duty of self-preservation. It is, in fact, obvious that the fulfillment of all our other duties rests on this prior one.

Before being a duty, self-preservation is for man an instinct, and even so energetic and so universal an instinct that there would seem to be very little need to transform it into duty: so much so is it an instinct that man has rather to combat in himself the cowardly tendency which attaches him to life, than that which induces him to seek death. Yet does it happen, and unfortunately too often, that men, crazed by despair, come to believe that they have a right to free themselves of life: this is what is called suicide. It is, therefore, very important in morals to combat this fatal idea, and to teach men that, even though life ceases to be a pleasure, there is still a moral obligation which they cannot escape.

=133. Suicide.--J. J. Rousseau and Kant.=--The question of suicide was treated with great ability by J. J. Rousseau in one of his most celebrated works. He put into the mouth of two personages, on the one side, the apology for, and on the other, the condemnation of suicide. We will not cite here these two pieces, the eloquence of which is somewhat declamatory, but we will give an abstract of the principal arguments presented on each side in favor of its own position.

_Arguments in favor of suicide._--1. It is said that life is not our own because it was given us.--Not so, for, just because it was given us, is it our own. God has given us arms, and yet we allow them to be cut off when necessary.

2. Man, it is said, is a soldier on sentry on earth: he should not leave his post without orders.--So be it; but misfortune is precisely that order which informs me that I have nothing more to do here below.

3. Suicide, it is said again, is rebellion against Providence.--But how? it is not to escape its laws one puts an end to one's life; it is to execute them the better: in whatever place the soul may be, it will always be under God's government.

4. "If thy slave attempted to kill himself," says Socrates to Cebes in the _Phaedo_, "wouldst thou not punish him for trying unjustly to deprive thee of thy property?"--Good Socrates, what sayest thou? Does one no longer belong to God when dead? Thou art quite wrong; thou shouldst have said: "If thou puttest on thy slave a garment which is in his way in the service he owes thee, wouldst thou punish him for laying this garment aside in order the better to serve thee?"

5. It is said that life is never an evil.--Yet has nature implanted in us so great a horror of death that life to certain beings must surely be an evil, since they resolve to renounce it.

6. It is said that suicide is a cowardice.--How many cowards, then, among the ancients! Arria, Eponina, Lucretia, Brutus, Cato! Certainly there is courage in suffering the evils one cannot avoid; but it were insanity to suffer voluntarily those from which one can free himself.

7. There are unquestionably duties that should attach us to life.--But he who is a burden to every one, and of no use to himself, why should he not have a right to quit a place where his complaints are importunate and his sufferings useless?

8. Why should it be allowable to get cured of the gout and not of life? If we consider the will of God, what evil is there for us to combat, that he has not himself sent us? Are we not permitted, then, to change the nature of any thing because all that is, is as he wished it?

9. "Thou shall not kill," says the Decalogue.--But if this commandment is to be taken literally, one should kill neither criminals nor enemies.

Next comes the answer of my lord Edward, namely, J. J. Rousseau:

_Arguments against suicide._--1. If life has no moral end, one can unquestionably free one's self from it when it is too painful: if it has one, it is not permitted to set it arbitrary limits.

2. The wish to die does not constitute a right to die; otherwise, a similar wish might justify all crimes.

3. Thou sayest: Life is an evil; but if thou hast the courage to bear it, thou wilt some day say: Life is a good.

4. Physical pain may in extreme cases deprive one of the use of reason and will; but moral pain should be borne bravely.

5. No man is wholly useless; he has always some duties to fulfill.

It has been justly observed, we think, that this second letter is feebler than the first, and that Rousseau displayed more talent in justifying suicide than in combating it; at any rate, the following peroration will always be considered an admirable passage to quote:

"Listen to me, thou foolish youth: thou art dear to me, I pity thy errors. If thou hast at the bottom of thy heart the least feeling of virtue left, come to me, let me teach thee to love life. Every time thou shalt be tempted to put an end to it, say to thyself: 'Let me do one more good deed before I die!' Then go and seek some poverty to relieve, some misfortune to console, some oppressed wretch to protect. If this contemplation does not stop thee to-day, it will stop thee to-morrow, or the day after, or perhaps for the rest of thy life. If it does not stop thee, go then and die; for thou art not worthy to live."

Suicide may be considered from three different standpoints, which are all three involved and blended in the preceding discussion:

1. Suicide is a transgression of our duty toward other men (inasmuch as, however miserable, one can always render some service to others).

2. Suicide is contrary to our duties toward God (inasmuch as man abandons thereby, without being relieved of it, the post intrusted to him in this world).

3. Finally--and this is for us here the essential point--suicide is a violation of the duty of man toward himself; as, all other considerations set aside, he is bound to self-preservation as a moral personality, and has no right whatsoever upon himself.

_Kant's discussion._--Kant is, of all philosophers, the one who most insisted on this latter view of the matter, and developed it with the greatest force.

"It seems absurd," he says, "that man could do himself injury." (_Volenti non fit injuria._[90]) Thus did the stoic regard it as a prerogative of the sage, to be able, quietly and of his own free will, to step out of this life as he would out of a room full of smoke. But this very courage, this strength of soul which enables us to brave death, revealing to us a something man prizes more than life, should have been to him [the stoic] all the greater incentive not to destroy in himself a being endowed with a faculty so great, so superior to all the most powerful of sensuous motives, and consequently not to deprive himself of life.

Man cannot abdicate his personality as long as there are duties for him, consequently as long as he lives; and there is contradiction in granting him the right of freeing himself from all obligation--that is to say, acting as freely as if he had no need of any kind of permission. To annihilate in one's own person the subject of morality, is to extirpate from the world as much as possible the existence of morality itself; it is disposing of one's self as of an instrument, for a simply arbitrary end; it is lowering humanity in one's own person.

=134. Resume of the discussion on suicide.=--From the above point of view the sophisms of Saint-Preux in J. J. Rousseau are easily controverted. I can cut my arm off, you say; why can I not destroy my body?--But in destroying a withered or mortified arm, I nowise injure the human personality, which remains within me entire; and, on the contrary, I deliver the moral personality within me of a physical trouble which deprives it of its liberty.

I can, you say, avoid pain: no one is obliged to bear a toothache, if he can free himself from it.--Yes, unquestionably; but in finding a remedy for physical pain, instead of wronging the moral personality of man, I free it, on the contrary, of the evils which, in crushing it, tend to debase it. Besides, there are, moreover, pains from which it is not right to free one's self. For example, it is not right to leave the sickbed of one dear to us because his pains are unbearable.

But life is full of misery, and, in certain cases, the evil is without any compensation.--The question is not whether life is agreeable or painful: it might be a question, if pleasure were the end of life; but if this end is duty, there are no circumstances, however painful, which do not leave room for the possibility of fulfilling a duty.

It is a sophism, they say, to call suicide a cowardice; for it requires a great deal of courage to take one's life.--No one denies that there is a certain amount of physical courage coupled with taking one's life; but there is a still greater courage, a moral courage, in braving pain, poverty, slavery. Suicide is therefore a relative cowardice. It matters not, moreover, whether suicide be a brave or a cowardly act; what is certain is, that man cannot destroy within himself the agent subject to the law of duty without implicitly denying this law and all there is within contained.

Finally, it will be said that the moral personality is distinct from the body, and that in destroying the body, one does not injure the personality. But we shall answer, that the only personality of which we can dispose, and of which we have the care, is that which is actually united to our physical body. It is that very personality that has duties to perform; it is that which we cannot sacrifice to a state of things absolutely unknown to us.

As to our duties toward others, there is no one that has absolutely no service to render to his fellow-men; and each of us is always able to render them the greatest of services, namely, to give them the example of virtue, courage, gentleness, and patience. Finally, in respect to God, if we look upon life as a trial, man has no right to free himself of this trial before it is ended; if we look upon it as a punishment, we have no right to cut short its duration as long as nature has not pronounced on it. Can we not, then, it is asked, change any thing in the order of things, since all is disposed by God?--Certainly we can; we can, as we see fit, modify things, but not persons.

God, it is said again, has given us life: we can, then, do with it what we like.--But life is not purely a gift, an absolute gift: it is bound up in the moral personality which is not in our power, and which is not to be considered a thing to traffic with, give away, or destroy.

To admit the legitimacy of suicide, is to admit that man belongs to himself as a _thing_ belongs to its master; it is implicitly to admit the right to traffic with one's own personality and, according to Kant's energetic expression, "to treat one's self as a means and not as an end."

=135. Suicide from a sense of honor.=--All suicide, having for its motive the escape from pain (exception being made, of course, of suicides caused by insanity), should be condemned without qualification. But is it the same with suicides instigated by a feeling of honor, either to avoid an outrage one is threatened with, or to escape the shame of an outrage one has suffered?

We should certainly not blame too severely acts that have their source in purity and greatness of soul, and in such matters it is yet better to forgive the excess, than accustom one's mind, by too cold reasoning, to look upon dishonor with patience or complacency. After all, the love of life speaks enough for itself without its being necessary to give it too much encouragement. Nevertheless, to consider the matter closely, it is certain that no one is responsible for acts he has not consented to; that, consequently, an act imposed on us by force, cannot inflict real dishonor; that ill-natured interpretations should have no weight with a strong mind, and that conscience is the only judge.

"We should," says St. Augustin, speaking of Lucretia's suicide, "resist the temptation of suicide when we have no crime to atone for.... Why should a man who has done no harm to another, do some to himself? Is he justified in killing an innocent man in his own person, to prevent the real criminal from perpetrating his design, and would he criminally cut short his own life for fear it be cut short by another?"[91]

With still greater reason will suicide be condemned in cases where shame, if there is any, can make reparation. Let us, for example, suppose the case of a merchant obliged to suspend payments. This suspension may be caused by overwhelming circumstances, as, for example, unforeseen physical catastrophes, or negligence, imprudence, or even dishonesty on the part of the merchant. In the first case, the merchant is obviously innocent,[92] and, as we have already remarked, it is an outward and not a real shame. Instead of giving way before a misfortune, he should, on the contrary, strive against it and find in himself the means to repair the damage. If, on the contrary, it is through his own fault, through dissipation, laziness, etc., that the trouble was brought about, he is all the more obliged to make honorable amends, and by his courage and energy rehabilitate himself. If, finally, the evil is still graver, if he failed through lack of honor, he owes it to himself to expiate his fault, for in trying by suicide to escape a merited shame, he only eschews a well-deserved punishment.

Modern conscience refuses even to admire without reserve, the noblest and most generous of suicides, those, namely, occasioned by the grief over a great cause lost: I mean Cato's suicide. The capital error of this kind of suicides (laying aside the reasons already pointed out), is to think that a cause can be lost. On the one hand, there is never any reason strong enough to persuade any one that what is lost to-day, is definitively lost; and if each of those who belong to that cause should kill himself, he would only contribute his share toward the loss of that cause. Besides, even supposing a cause to be definitively and absolutely lost, the honor of humanity requires none the less that the cause be faithfully and inviolably represented to the end by its adherents: for if they do not serve thereby their own cause, they serve at least that of loyalty, fidelity, and honor, which is the highest of all. Certainly an act as impressive as was Cato's, shows how far man can carry the devotion to a creed, and such heroism elevates the soul: thus may we admire it as an individual act, but not as an example to be followed. For, although it presents itself to us under a heroic form, it is, after all, nothing but an escape from responsibility.

=136. Suicide and sacrifice.=--One should not confound with suicide, the voluntary death--that is to say, the death dared and even sought after for the sake of humanity, the family, country, truth. For instance, Eustache de Saint Pierre and his companions, Curtius, d'Assas, voluntarily sought or accepted death when they could have avoided it. Are these suicides? If we carried the matter as far as that, all devotion would have to be suppressed altogether. For the height of devotion is to brave death; and one would have to condemn even the man who exposes himself to a simple peril, since he has no assurance that this peril may not lead him to death. But it is evident that the suicide deserving condemnation is that which has for its source either selfishness, or fear, or a false sense of honor. To carry the subject further would be sacrificing other more important duties, and giving to selfishness itself the appearance and prestige of virtue.

=137. Mutilations and mortifications.--Care of one's health.=--One of the obvious consequences of the duty of self-preservation, is to avoid voluntary mutilations. For example, those who mutilate themselves to escape military service, fail first in their duty to their country, and next in their duty to themselves. For, the body being the instrument of the soul, it is forbidden to destroy any part of it without necessity. This is partial suicide.

Must we count among the number of voluntary mutilations, the religious mortifications or macerations by which the devout manifest their piety? If it can be proved that such practices are injurious to health, it is certain that they should be condemned from a moral point of view. But if they are nothing more than self-imposed privations of pleasure, no one can disapprove of them. For man is always permitted to give up this or that pleasure. Thus abstention from animal-flesh which the school of Pythagoras taught its adepts, can not be considered contrary to the duty of self-preservation, as long as it cannot be demonstrated that this diet is unfavorable to health.

Besides, this duty not to injure one's health, must itself be understood in a large and general sense. Otherwise, taken too strictly, it would become a narrow and selfish preoccupation, unworthy of man. One should select and regularly observe such diet as, from general or personal experience, would seem most suitable to the preservation of health; but, this principle once established, precautions too minute and circumspect lower man in the estimation of others, and, if nothing more, give him a tinge of the ridiculous, which he ought to avoid. One should therefore not take as a model the Italian Cornaro, who had a pair of scales at his meals to weigh his food and drink, although this method, it is said, prolonged his life to a hundred years. The learned Kant himself, although he was very high-minded, carried the rules he had laid down for his health to extravagant minuteness. For example, in order to spare his chest, he had made it a rule, never to breathe through his mouth when in the street, and, to faithfully observe this rule, he always walked alone, so as not to be obliged to speak. Care carried to such minute details falls into a sort of littleness very unbecoming a being destined for higher thoughts than mere physical self-preservation. One may say of such exaggerated prudence what Rousseau, though most inappropriately, said of medicine: "It prevents illness less than it inspires us with the fear of it; it does not so much ward off death as it gives us beforehand a taste of it; it wears life out instead of prolonging it; and even if it did prolong it, it would still be to the prejudice of the race, since it takes us away from society by the cares it lays upon us, and from our duties by the fear it inspires us with."[93]

But, if too minute attention to health is not to be recommended, one cannot be too observant, within a reasonable measure, of course, of the obligation to follow a sensible and moderate diet, which is as favorable to the mind as it is to the body. Hygiene, in this respect, forms no inconsiderable part of morals.

To avoid sitting up late; to avoid too long or too rich repasts; to make an even distribution of one's time; to get up early; to dress moderately warm: are measures recommended by prudence; this, however, does not exclude the liberty of doing away with these rules when more important ones are necessary. The principle consists in not granting the body too much, which is the best means of strengthening it.

The ancients attached a vast importance to the strength and beauty of the body; and for this reason they encouraged gymnastics; these were an essential part of their education. This taste for physical exercise seems to be reviving at the present day; it enters more and more into our public education, and its good results are already felt. Men should, as much as possible, reserve some time and leisure for such exercises; for they not only impart strength, health, and skill to the body, but they accustom the soul to courage, preparing it by degrees to encounter more serious perils; the same may be said of military exercises.

=138. Cleanliness.=--Among the virtues belonging to the duty of self-preservation, there is one which a philosopher of the XVIII. century considered the first and the mother of all the others, namely, _cleanliness_. This is saying much; and it may be thought that Volney, in his moral catechism, exaggerated somewhat this virtue. It is, however, one of very great importance, for its opposite is especially repugnant. Cleanliness, moreover, in addition to the part it plays, as we know, in the preservation of health, is often indicative of other virtues of a higher order. Cleanliness presupposes order, a certain delicacy of habits, a certain dignity; it is really the first condition of civilization; wherever we meet with it, it announces that higher wants than those of mere animality have been or are soon to be felt; wherever it is wanting, we may be certain that civilization is only apparent, and that it has yet many deficiencies to supply.

=139. Other duties in regard to the body.--Temperance.=--We have just seen that man has no right to destroy his body, or mutilate it, or, in short, uselessly to reduce or enfeeble its power; in a word, he must not voluntarily injure his physical functions: for, in impairing himself as a physical being, he thereby injures his personality, which is the principle of all morality. But there are two things to be distinguished in the functions of the human body: on one side, their utility, and on the other, the pleasure which attends their healthful exercise. The same function may be exercised with more or less pleasure on the side of the senses. Hence a moral problem: What is to be granted to the pleasures of the senses?--Certainly for the proper exercise of their functions a certain sensuous agreeableness is necessary; a good appetite, for instance, is a pleasant seasoning which excites and facilitates digestion. Nevertheless, we all know that there is not an exact and continued proportion between the pleasure of the senses and physiological necessity; we know that enjoyment may by far exceed necessity, and that health even often requires a certain limitation in enjoyment.

We know, for example, that the pleasures of the palate may be far more sought after and prolonged than is necessary for the gratification of the appetite. Man needs very little to live on; but he can continue to tickle his palate long after his hunger is satisfied. Thirst, in particular, has given rise to a multitude of refinements invented by human industry, and which are but very distantly related to the principle which has given them birth. Wine and alcoholic drinks, which, used in moderation, may be useful tonics, are stimulants demanding a constant renewal: the more they are indulged in, the more they provoke and captivate the imagination.

From this disproportion and incongruity which exist between the pleasures of the senses and the real wants of the body, arise vices, certain habits, namely, which sacrifice want to pleasure, and the consequence of which is the depravation and ruin of the natural functions. Pleasure, in fact, is, in a certain measure, the auxiliary, and in some sort, the interpreter of nature; but beyond a certain limit, it can only satiate itself at the expense of the legitimate function, and by solidarity, at the expense of all the others. Thus too much eating destroys the digestive functions; stimulating drinks burn the stomach and seriously injure the nervous system. The same, and with still graver consequences, attends upon the pleasures attached to the function of reproduction.

"Who would," says Bossuet, "dare think of other excesses which reveal themselves in a still more dangerous manner? Who, I say, would dare speak of them, or dare think of them, since they cannot be spoken of without shame nor thought of without peril, though it be but to condemn them? O God, once more, who would dare speak of this deep and shameful plague of nature, this concupiscence which binds the soul to the body with bonds so tender and so violent--bonds man can scarcely defend himself against, and which cause such frightful disorders among the human race! Woe to the earth! woe to the earth, from whose secret passions rise continually vapors so thick and black, concealing from us both sky and light, but of which we are reminded through the lightnings and thunder-bolts they send forth against the corruption of the human race!"[94]

The abuse of the pleasures of the senses is in general called _intemperance_, and the proper use of these pleasures, _temperance_. Gormandizing is the abuse of the pleasures of eating; intoxication or drunkenness, the abuse of the pleasures of drinking; immodesty or lust, the abuse of the pleasures attached to the reproduction of the species. The opposites of these three vices are, to the first two, _sobriety_, to the last, _chastity_.

The duty of temperance is enforced by two considerations: 1, intemperance being, as experience shows, the ruination of health, is thereby contrary to the duty of self-preservation; 2, intemperance destroying the intellectual faculties, and making us unfit for any energetic and manly action, is contrary to the duty imposed on us to respect our moral faculties and protect against all injury within us the free personality which constitutes the essence of humanity.

Kant does not admit that the first of these considerations--that, namely, which is deduced from the interest of our health--has any validity in morals: "Vice," he says, "should not be judged from the damage it does to man, for to resist it would then be resisting it for reasons of comfort and commodity, which could never be a principle to found a duty on, but only a measure of prudence." This is true; but if we have in the foregoing pages established that self-preservation is one of man's duties, that he should not destroy his health or abridge his life, an evident corollary of this principle is to avoid intemperance, because intemperance abridges life. This consideration is then as legitimate from the standpoint of morality as from that of interest.

The ancients have spoken admirably about temperance. Socrates in particular, in Xenophon's _Memorabilia_, showed clearly that temperance makes of man a free man, and intemperance, a brute and a slave.

"Tell me, Eutydemus, thinkest thou not that liberty is a precious and honorable thing for an individual and for a State?--It is the most precious of all.--Thinkest thou him then who allows himself to be overruled by the pleasures of the body, and thereby disabled from doing good, a free man?--Not the least.--Perhaps callest thou liberty the power to do good, and servitude the being prevented from it by obstacles.--Precisely.--The intemperate then appear to thee as slaves?--Yes, by Jupiter, and rightly so.--What thinkest thou of masters who hinder the doing good, and oblige one to do wrong.--It is, by Jupiter, the worst possible kind.--And which is the worst of servitudes?--To my mind that which subjects us to the worst masters.--Then is intemperance the worst of servitudes?--So I think."

Plato, on his side, in a charming picture brings out with force the insatiableness of sensual passions:

"See," says Socrates, "if the temperate man and the disorderly man are not like two men having each a large number of casks: the casks of the one are in good condition and full, one with wine, another with honey, a third with milk, and others with other liquors; these liquors, moreover, are rare and hard to get; they cost infinite trouble to obtain; their owner having once filled his barrels, pours henceforth nothing more into them; he has no longer any anxiety concerning them, and is perfectly at ease. The other can, it is true, procure the same liquors, but only with difficulty; his casks, moreover, being leaky and rotten, he is obliged to fill them constantly, day and night, lest he be devoured by burning pains. This picture being an image of both lives, canst thou say that that of the libertine is happier than that of the temperate man?"

A second consideration which may be added to the preceding one is, that the intemperate man, seeking pleasure, does not find it; pleasure passionately pursued changes even into pain: "Intemperance," says Montaigne, "is the pest of voluptuousness, whilst temperance is its seasoning." This view of the matter is especially that in which the epicurean moralists delight; they always, in morals, compare one pleasure with another; but it also holds good for those who place duty above pleasure, for it is likewise a duty to prefer a pure, simple, delicate pleasure, to a violent, disorderly, or vulgar pleasure. From this standpoint, we may say with Plato, in his Philebus, that the purest pleasures are not the strongest, and even that the stronger and more ardent a pleasure may be, the nearer it approaches a change into pain. Now, all other duty set aside, one should principally seek the pleasures which are not mixed with pain, because they are the most natural and the most legitimate of all: thus is it that the pleasure we derive from a satisfied appetite is a proper pleasure, however humble it be, whilst the pleasure which carries with it satiety and disgust, indicates by that very fact, that it is against nature, or at least goes beyond nature. Virtue requires, then, that we prefer the first to the second.

=140. The pleasures of the senses.=--But provided one is content with moderate pleasures, is it allowed to enjoy the pleasures of the senses, or must we rather turn our mind, will, and soul, from them, and rest content with the satisfied want? Montaigne, that naive child of nature, supports the first proposition; Saint Augustine, the apostle of free grace, advocates the second. "Nature," says Montaigne, "has maternally provided that the actions she enjoins upon us for the satisfaction of our wants be also pleasurable, and she invites us thereto not only through reason, but also by the appetite: it is not right to corrupt her rules." Not only did Montaigne authorize the pleasure of the senses, but he also favored one's delighting in it:

"It should be fitly studied, enjoyed, dwelt upon, to show ourselves worthily thankful to him who dispenses it.... To that degree, did I myself follow this precept that in order that the pleasure of sleeping should not stupidly escape me, I found it well in former days, to have myself disturbed in my sleep, that I might catch the feeling of it.... Is there any gratification of the senses? I do not allow them to have it all to themselves; I associate my soul with it, not to lose itself in it, but to find itself in it.... It estimates, thereby, how much it owes God for putting the body at its own disposal, allowing it to enjoy in order and completeness the soft and agreeable functions whereby it pleased him to compensate us by his mercy for the pains his justice inflicts on us in its turn."

St. Augustine looks at the thing from an entirely different standpoint:

"Thou hast taught me, O my God," he says, "to look upon food as upon a remedy. But when I pass from the suffering of hunger to the repose of satiety, even in this passage from the one to the other does concupiscence lay its snares for me; for this passage is a pleasure, and there is no other means to reach the end which by necessity we must reach. And although real hunger and thirst--eating and drinking be but a matter of health, yet does pleasure join itself thereto as a dangerous companion, and sometimes it even takes the lead and induces me to do from a sense of pleasure, what I only wish to do for my health. What is enough for health, is not enough for pleasure, and it is often difficult to decide whether it is the wants of the body that require to be met, or the deceiving voluptuousness of concupiscence which subjugates us. In this incertitude our miserable soul rejoices because she finds therein a defense and an excuse, and, not knowing what is sufficient for the maintenance of health, she places the interests of voluptuousness under the shadow of this pretext. Every day I endeavor to resist its temptations and invoke thy hand to save me, and I lay at thy feet my incertitudes, because, alas! my resolution is not yet strong enough."

It will be seen that the two moralists use both the same principle (namely, the will of Providence) to arrive at entirely different conclusions. According to one, pleasure was instituted by God only as a means to arrive at the satisfaction of bodily wants. It is, then, this satisfaction alone we should have in view. According to the other, God allowing necessity to be accompanied by pleasure, invites us thereby to enjoy pleasure. It seems to us that the two moralists fall here into an excess: for, according to us, we should not too much distrust pleasure nor delight in it too much: pleasure, not being an evil in itself, there is no reason why we should reproach ourselves for enjoying it: for it is as essential to the nature of our being as life itself. We may even say that pleasure is already a superior degree of existence, and it is for this reason that the animal is found to be superior to the plant. The scruples of St. Augustine in regard to pleasure are, therefore, exaggerated. On the other hand, I do not approve of Montaigne's refinement either; it is not proper to bring the reflective faculties to bear upon sensual pleasures in order to enhance them: to have one's self waked up in order to take cognizance of the sweetness of sleep is an unjustifiable refinement of sensuality unless one admits pleasure to be the end of life. In one word, it is necessary here to avoid at the same time exaggerated _scruples_ and _self-gratification_, as occupying the mind more than is necessary with what has but a very inferior value.[95]

Providence, besides, has furnished us means to enhance the pleasures of the senses by mingling with them the pleasures of the mind or heart. "Banquets," says Kant, "have, besides the physical pleasure they procure us, something that tends to a moral end, namely, to bring together a certain number of people, and to maintain among them an extended interchange of kindly feelings."

And this austere moralist does not hesitate to lay down certain rules which should preside over refined festivities. We shall be pardoned if we reproduce here some of his witty remarks on that subject. "The good cheer," he says, "which best accords with humanity, is a good repast in good company; a company which Chesterfield says should not fall below the number of the Graces, nor exceed that of the Muses.... On the contrary, large assemblages and festivities are altogether in bad taste.... To eat alone is unwholesome for a philosophic scholar: it is no restoration, it is rather exhaustion; it is a labor, and not a play revivifying thought. The man who eats alone loses gradually his cheerfulness; he recovers it, on the contrary, when the intermittent jests of a guest give him a new subject of animation which, alone, he would not have been able to discover." Kant further requires, "that the repast should end with laughter, which, if it is loud and hearty, is a sort of compliment to nature." Then, after having given rules for table-talk, he concludes by saying: "However insignificant these laws of polite society may appear, especially when compared to morality properly so called, they are, nevertheless, a garment which becomes virtue, and which may be recommended in all seriousness. In fact, thanks to these laws, sensual pleasures are ennobled and increased by mixing with them intellectual pleasures. It is the same with those other pleasures related to the purest and noblest sentiments of the heart, and which, thanks to this alliance, may be reconciled with perfect chastity.

=141. The exterior bearing.--Propriety.--Decorum.=--Temperance should not be confined to the inner man; it should manifest itself outwardly through acts, words, through proper bearing and attitudes: this is what is called _decency_; the principal part of which is _modesty_.

"We must not," says Cicero, "mind the cynics and certain stoics who turn us into ridicule and reproach us for being ashamed to speak of things that have nothing shameful in themselves. As for us, let us follow nature, and abstain from all that might wound the eyes or ears. Let our bearing, gait, our looks, gestures, be always true to decency.... There are two things to be avoided: soft and effeminate airs, and a boorish and uncouth appearance."[96]

The ancients justly attached great importance to the outward appearance and countenance; they regarded it as the sign of the freeman.

"There are," says Cicero, "two kinds of beauty: the one, grace; the other, dignity. Grace belongs to woman, dignity to man. We should, therefore, interdict ourselves all that could belie that dignity, either in dress, bearing, or gesture. There are movements among our wrestlers which are sometimes displeasing, and certain gestures of our comedians which are somewhat ridiculous; they would both recommend themselves to the public better by simplicity and decency. One should be neither uncouth nor over-refined; in regard to dress, the most modest is the best. Avoid, likewise, in your gait, either that excessive slowness (reminding one of the imposing gravity of sacred pomps), or too much haste, which is a sure sign of light-headedness and thoughtlessness."[97]

These counsels will not appear minute to those who know that the soul is always ready to fall in with the body, and that the inner man sets himself naturally to the outer man. Disorder in manners, dress, words, bring insensibly with them disorder in thought, and the outward dignity is but the reflection of the dignity of the soul.