CHAPTER VI.

DUTIES OF CHARITY AND SELF-SACRIFICE.

SUMMARY.

A retrospect of what distinguishes justice and charity.

=Duties of kindness.=--The lowest degree of charity is _kindness_: to wish others well leads to _doing_ them good.

=Civility.=--_Personal civility_; civility of the mind; civility of the heart.

=Modesty.=--Modesty is as much a duty to others as to ourselves.

=Peace among men.=--Analysis of Nicole's dissertation _on the means of preserving peace among men_.--Citations from Kant on _society virtues_.

=Duties of friendship.=--Citations from Aristotle and Kant.

=Duties of benevolence.=--_Duties minima_: services which cost nothing.--Hospitality with the ancients.

=Good deeds.=--Analysis of Seneca.

=Duties of benefactors.=--1, The benefaction consists rather in the sentiment than in the thing given; 2, one should not trouble one's self if the benefaction results in ingratitude; 3, degrees in benefactions: the necessary, the useful, the agreeable; 4, the manner of giving is often better than the gift itself; 5, one should not reproach benefactions; 6, benefaction consists sometimes in refusing; 7, benefaction should be disinterested.

=Duties of the person under obligation:=--1, Not to be too greedy; 2, a kindness should be accepted cheerfully; 3, one should remember a kindness.

=Kant's rules= regarding benevolence and gratitude.

=Precautions required by benevolence:= Cicero's rules.

=Self-sacrifice.=--Different forms of self-sacrifice: The life, the property, the morality of others, etc.; clemency; forgiveness of injuries; love of enemies.

We have said that charity consists, above all, in doing good to men, whilst justice consists in doing them no wrong. It is true, there is a _positive_ justice, as there is a _negative_ justice; and this positive justice consists also in doing good to men, but it is a good which is _due_ them, which belongs to them by right, and which is itself an acknowledgment of that due and that right.

The good done to others in the exercise of the duties of charity is, on the contrary, something we take from our own; it is a _gift_; whilst the good done in the name of justice, is always a _debt_.

The lowest degree of the duty of charity consists in what are called duties of _kindliness_.

=60. Duties of kindliness.=--The first step to arrive at _doing_ good to men, is to _wish_ them well. _Kindliness_ is the road to _benevolence_.

Kindliness is that disposition which induces us to give others pleasure; to rejoice over their good fortune, to make them happy themselves, if not by our own kindnesses, if that is not in our power, at least by outward demonstrations of sympathy and affection.

=61. Civility.=--The lowest degree of this virtue, consists in using gentle and amiable manners in our intercourse with others, in not repelling them by a gruff and unsociable disposition; in wounding no one's feelings by the affectation of contempt and raillery, etc. This kind of surface-virtue, which is confined to the outward, is what is called _civility_.

Civility is the _ensemble_ of the forms usage has established to regulate the habitual and daily relations of men with each other. It corresponds in society to the ceremonial of diplomatic life. To avoid the clashes which the rivalries of courts and powers would necessarily carry with them, a code of agreements was established which fix with precision the relations of the diplomatic agents. The same in social life. Civility is composed not of absolute and wholly material rules, but of forms fixed in a general way, yet more or less free in their application, and all the more pleasing as they are the more free. These forms, often laughed at when regarded superficially, have a serious value when we consider that they express the general duty whereby peace is established and maintained among men. (See Nicole, _Essais de morale_,[45] 1671.)

There is, then, in civility a principle which is _essential_ and a form which is _arbitrary_. Usage has everywhere established the form of bowing, for instance; everywhere there are conventional expressions wherewith to greet people according to their age, their sex; but these outward manifestations vary according to times and countries.

A distinction has been made between _personal_ civility and the civility of the _mind_ and _heart_. Civility properly so called is that of the outward manners; but it is worth very little if it is not sustained by the delicacy which says nothing wounding and the true kindliness which seeks to give pleasure: this is what is called civility of the mind and heart.

"The most amiable natural gifts, and the talents made most supple by education, change into defects and vices if they are not inspired by a feeling of kindness. Suppleness, then, is nothing else than perfidy; delicacy nothing else but cunning; this civility lavished upon everybody is nothing else than duplicity.... It is not enough to be a man of the world; one must also be a man of heart.... True civility is that which has its source in justice, in the respect for humanity; it is a form of charity; it is the luxury of virtue."[46]

=62. Modesty.=--One of the most essential parts of kindness is _modesty_. Modesty is certainly a duty we owe to ourselves; but it is also a duty we owe to others. Nothing more fatiguing than people who bring everything back to themselves, and can speak of nothing but themselves. It is not by appearing satisfied with your own accomplishments, but in having others satisfied with them, that you will please; and they will never find you more charming than when, completely forgetting yourself, you will be only occupied with them. To succeed in making them satisfied with themselves, is the true means of having them satisfied with you.

Among remarkable instances of modesty often cited, are those of Turenne and Catinat. The latter having sent in a report of the battle of Marsaglia, had so totally forgotten to mention himself that some one ingenuously asked: "Was the marshal present?"

=62= (_bis_). =Peace among men.=--"You have but a day to spend on earth," says Lamennais; "try to spend it in peace."[47]

Nicole has written an excellent treatise on _the means of preserving peace among men_ (_Essais de morale_, 1671). Let us give a resume of it.

Two causes, according to Nicole, produce disunion among men: "either _in wounding_ their feelings we cause them to withdraw from us, or, in _being wounded_ ourselves, we withdraw from them."

Consequently, "the only means of avoiding such divisions is not to wound the feelings of others, and not to feel one's self wounded by them."

1. If we look into the causes which generally give offense, we shall see that they may be reduced to two, which are: "to contradict people in their opinions, and to oppose their passions."

"1. _Opinions._--Men are naturally attached to their opinions, because they desire to rule over others: now we rule through the trust that is placed in us; it is a sort of empire to have one's opinions received by others.

"For this reason, when one seeks to combat the opinions of a man, one does him in some sort injury. It cannot be done without giving him to understand that he is mistaken; and he does not take pleasure in being mistaken. He who contradicts another on some point, pretends to more knowledge than has he whom he wishes to persuade; he thus presents to him two disagreeable ideas at the same time: one, that he is deficient in knowledge, and the other that he who corrects him surpasses him in intelligence."

One should, therefore, spare people in their opinions; but among these opinions there are some which must be treated with more regard than others:

"They are those advanced by no one particular person of the place where one may live, but which are established by universal approbation: in running against such opinions, one appears wishing to rise above all the rest."

Not that one should always scruple in conversation to show that one does not approve some opinions: that would be destroying society, instead of preserving it....

"But it is a thing worth pointing out how one may express his sentiments so gently and agreeably that they give no offense.... For very often it is not so much our sentiments that shock others, as the proud, presumptuous, passionate, disdainful, insulting manner in which we express them."

There are, then, several mistakes to be avoided:

(_a_) The first is _assumed superiority_, that is to say an imperious manner in the expression of one's sentiments, and which most persons resent, as much because it shows a proud and haughty soul, as because it indicates a domineering spirit tyrannizing over minds.

(_b_) The second is the decided and dogmatic manner in which an opinion is given; as if it could not be reasonably contradicted.

(_c_) _Vehemence_ does not belong to the mistakes we have just spoken of. It consists in conveying the impression that one is not only attached to one's sentiments from conviction, but also passionately, which furnishes many people a reason for suspecting the truth of those sentiments, thus inspiring in them a wholly contrary feeling.

(_d_) The contempt and insults which enter into disputes, are so obviously shocking, that it is not necessary to warn against them; but it may be well to remark that there are certain rudenesses and incivilities nearly akin to contempt, although they spring from another source. Change of opinion is in itself such a hard thing, and so contrary to nature, that we must not add to it other difficulties.

(_e_) Finally, _hardness_, which does not so much consist in the hardness of the terms employed as in the absence of certain softening words, also often shocks those thus addressed, because it implies a sort of indifference and contempt.

2. _Passions._--It is not enough to avoid contradicting people's opinions, or to do so cautiously only; one must also spare their _inclinations_ and their _passions_, because otherwise, it is impossible to avoid complaints, murmurs, and quarrels.

These inclinations are of three kinds: which may be called _just_, _indifferent_, and _unjust_.

(_a_) One should never really satisfy the unjust ones; but it is not always necessary to oppose them; for it is wounding others to make one's self conspicuous without particular reason.... One must always make amends for good and evil ... especially when there are others who could do it with better results than we.

Besides, "this same rule obliges us to choose the least offensive, the gentlest, the least irritating means."

(_b_) I call indifferent passions those the objects of which are not bad in themselves, although they may be sought after with a vicious adhesion. Now, in this sort of things we are at greater liberty to yield to the inclinations of others: 1, because we are not their judges; 2, because we do not know whether these affections are not necessary to them (leading them away from still more dangerous objects); 3, because these sorts of affections must be destroyed with prudence and circumspection; 4, because there is reason to fear we might do them more harm in indirectly opposing their innocent passions, than we should do them good in warning them against them.

(_c_) I call _just_ passions, those in which we are obliged to follow others by reason of some duty, although they might perhaps not be justified in requiring of us such deference.

The peace of society resting thus on reciprocal esteem and love, it is just that men should wish to be esteemed and loved, and should demand outward signs of esteem and love. Upon this rest the rules of civility established among men, and of which we have spoken above.

II. It is not enough to avoid wounding men's feelings, one should, moreover, not allow one's self to _feel wounded_ by them, when they themselves fail to treat us as we ought to treat them.

For it is impossible to practice inward peace, if we are so sensitive to all that may be done and said contrary to our inclinations and sentiments; and it is even difficult to prevent the inner dissatisfaction from showing itself outwardly, and inducing us to treat those who have shocked us in a manner calculated to shock them in their turn.

It is, then, necessary to avoid complaining of others, when one has been offended by them. In fact:

... Let us complain of others as much as we please, we shall generally only embitter them the more, without correcting them. We shall be accounted sensitive, proud, haughty ... and if those we complain of have any sort of skill, they will give such an aspect to things that the blame will fall back upon us.

We must then endeavor to establish our peace and quiet on our own reformation and on the moderation of our passions. We cannot dispose of the minds or the tongues of others ... we are enjoined to work on ourselves and to correct our own faults.

There is nothing more useful than to suppress one's complaining and resentment. It is the surest way to appease differences at their birth and prevent their increase; it is a charity we practice towards ourselves by procuring to ourselves the good of patience ... it is a charity we do to others in bearing with their foibles, in sparing them the little shame they have deserved, and the new faults they might commit in justifying themselves.

But it is not possible for us to observe outwardly such discretion, if we allow our resentment to work inwardly in all its force and violence. The outward complaints come from the inward, and it is very difficult to hold them back, if one's mind is full of them; they always escape and break through some opening or other.... We must, therefore, also quench the complaints which the soul engenders.

Among the subjects of complaint which other men give us, and which should be treated with contempt, Nicole points out particularly:

"False judgments, slander, rudeness, negligence, reserve, or want of confidence, ingratitude, disagreeable tempers, etc."

Let us merely repeat what he says of the unfavorable judgments of others regarding us:

"There is a ridiculous oddity in this spite which we feel when we hear of the unfavorable judgments and remarks made about us; for one must have very little knowledge of the world to suppose it generally possible that they would not be made. Princes are talked against in their ante-chambers; their servants mimic them. There is nothing so common as to speak of the defects of one's friends and pride one's self in pointing them frankly out to others. There are even occasions when this may be done innocently.... It is, therefore, ridiculous to expect being spared ... for there is no time when we may not be generally sure either that people talk or have talked about us otherwise than we should wish.... We show annoyance at these judgments when they are expressly reported to us ... yet the report itself adds next to nothing to the matter, for before it was made we ought to have been almost sure that we and our faults were unpleasantly commented on.... If this resentment were just, one would then have to be always angry, or never so, because it is unjust. But to keep very quiet, as we do, though we should know that there are people laughing at us, and to be disturbed and upset when we are told what we already knew, is a ridiculous foible."

=63. Social virtues--Kant's advice.=--Kant has also treated the duties of kindness towards men, under the title of _Social Virtues_.[48]

"It is a duty to one's self as well as to others to carry the commerce of life to the highest degree of moral perfection; not to _isolate_ one's self; not only to have the happiness of the world in view ideally, but to cultivate the means which indirectly lead to it; urbanity in social relations, gentleness, reciprocal love and respect, affability and propriety, thus adding the graces to virtue, for this also is a duty of virtue.

"These, it is true, are but external and accessory works, presenting a fine appearance of virtue, which, however, deceives no one, because every one knows how much to think of it. It is but a sort of small coin; but the effort we are obliged to make to bring this appearance as near to the truth as possible, helps the sentiment of virtue greatly along. An easy access, an amiable mode of speech, politeness, hospitality, that gentleness in controversy which keeps off all quarrel--all these forms of sociability are external obligations which put also the others under obligation, and which favor the sentiment of virtue in rendering it at least amiable.

"Here arises the question to know whether one can keep up friendly relations with the vicious.[49] One cannot avoid meeting them; for one would have to quit the world, and we are not ourselves competent judges in respect to them. But when vice becomes a scandal--that is to say, a public example of contempt of the strict laws of duty, thus carrying with it opprobrium--then one should stop all relations one may have had heretofore with the guilty person; for the continuation of this relation would deprive virtue of honor, and make of it a merchandise for the use of whoever were rich enough to corrupt parasites through the pleasures of good living."

=64. Duties of friendship.=--Besides the general duties of every kind which link us with all men, for the only reason that they are men, there are particular duties imposed on us toward those of our fellow-beings, to whom we are united by the bonds of friendship.

The duties of friendship have been admirably known and described by the ancients. We could not, therefore, treat this subject better here than by briefly recalling some few passages from Aristotle or Cicero.

According to Aristotle, there are three kinds of friendship: the friendship of _pleasure_, the friendship of _interest_, and the friendship of _virtue_. The latter is the only true one.

"There are three kinds of friendship.... The people who love each other from interested motives, for the use they are to each other, love each other, not for their own sakes, but only inasmuch as they get any good or profit from their mutual relations. It is the same with those who only love each other for pleasure's sake. When one loves from motives of pleasure only, one really seeks nothing else but this same pleasure. Such friendships are only indirect and accidental. They are very easily broken, because these pretended friends do not long remain the same.

"Utility, interest, have nothing fixed; they vary from one moment to another. The motive which originated the friendship disappearing, the friendship disappears as rapidly with it.

"The perfect friendship is that of virtuous people, and who resemble each other in their virtue; for these wish each other well, inasmuch as they are good; and I add that they are good in themselves. Those who wish their friends well from such a noble motive are the friends _par excellence_. Hence it is that the friendship of such generous hearts lasts as long as they remain good and virtuous themselves; now virtue is a substantial and durable thing. Each of the two friends is in the first place good in himself, and he is, moreover, good to all his friends, for good people are useful to each other, and also mutually agreeable to each other. Such a friendship unites, then, all the conditions. There is nothing more lovely. It is quite natural, however, that such friendships are very rare, because there are very few people of such a disposition. It requires, moreover, time and habit. The proverb is true which says that people can hardly know each other well, 'before having eaten together bushels of salt.' In the same way persons cannot be friends before having shown themselves worthy of affection, before reciprocal confidence is established." (Nicomachean Ethics, liv. viii., ch. vii.)

Friendship, according to Aristotle, consists in _loving_ rather than in _being loved_.

"Friendship, besides, consists much rather in loving than in being loved. The proof of it is the pleasure mothers experience in lavishing their love.... To love is, then, the great virtue of friends; it is thus that the most unequal of people may be friends; their mutual esteem renders them equals." (Ch. viii.)

Friendship gives rise to a number of delicate problems: they may be found discussed in great detail in Cicero's _Treatise on Friendship_.

=65. Kant's precepts touching friendship.=--Among the moderns, Kant is the only moral philosopher who has given friendship a place in practical morality. He has found new and delicate traits to add to the rules of the ancients. He insists above all on what he calls "the difficulties of friendship," and above all on the difficulty of conciliating "love and respect."

"To look at the moral aspect of the thing," he says, "it is certainly a duty to call a friend's attention to the mistakes he may commit; for it is done for his good, and is consequently a duty of love. But the friend, thus admonished, sees in the thing but a lack of esteem he had not expected, and thinks he has lost something in your mind; or, seeing himself thus observed and criticised, may at least be in constant fear of losing your esteem. Besides, the fact alone of being observed and censured, will already appear to him an offensive thing in itself.

"How much in adversity do we not wish for a friend, especially an effective friend, one finding in his own resources abundant means for helping us? Yet is it a very heavy burden to feel one's self responsible for the fortunes of another, and called to provide for his necessities.... Then if the one receives a kindness from the other, perhaps there may be yet reason to hope for perfect equality in love; but he could no longer expect perfect equality in respect; for being under obligation to one he cannot oblige in his turn, he feels himself manifestly one degree his inferior.... Friendship is something so tender that if one does not subject this reciprocal abandonment and interchange of thoughts to principles, to fixed rules, which prevent too great a familiarity and limit reciprocal love by the requirements of respect, it will see itself every instant threatened by some interruption.... In any case affection in friendship should not be a passion; for passion is blind in its choice, and evaporates with time.[50]

=66. Duties of benevolence.--Duties minima.=--From _kindness_ we pass to _benevolence_. The one resides in sentiment, the other in acts: the first consists in _wishing_ well, the second in _doing_ good.

The least degree of _benevolence_ consists in rendering to others those smaller services which cost us nothing, and which are helpful to them. It is what Puffendorf calls the _duties minima_ of benevolence.[51]

Cicero, in his _Treatise on duties_ (I., xvi.), gives several examples of this kind:

"To show the way to him who asks for it; to forbid no one the use of running water; to give fire to him who has need of it; to give advice in good faith to him who is in doubt."

Plutarch, in the same sense, says that the Romans never extinguished their lamps after their meals, and always left something on the table to accustom the servants of the house to the duties of humanity. By the law of Moses, the owner of a field was obliged always to leave some corner uncut and not glean the ears that had escaped the reapers. Finally, a Greek poet, Phocylides, expressed in the following lines this minimum of benevolence which every one can exercise:

"Give shelter to those who have none; lead the blind; be merciful to those who have suffered shipwreck; extend a helping hand to the fallen; assist those that have no one to help them out of danger."

Among these primitive duties, which cost him that fulfills them but little, the ancients put in the first rank _hospitality_. It is in fact a virtue of primitive times which exists especially among barbarous and savage peoples. In the poems of Homer we see to what degree the guest was held sacred; it is still so among the Arabs and the Indians of America. This virtue, on the contrary, seems to have disappeared with civilization. The reason of it is that among barbarous populations, where security is feeble, it was the point of honor which guaranteed the security of strangers. But as civilization becomes more complicated, as traveling increases, and security becomes greater, mercenary hospitality takes the place of free and private hospitality. Nevertheless, there can always remain some occasion for this primitive virtue in places isolated and separated from the great centres: this, for example, can still be seen in our days in the great wastes of America and Australia.

=67. Benefactions--Duties of the benefactor.=--The foregoing actions, however praiseworthy they may be, are too simple and too easy to be presented as real acts of benevolence. This term is reserved for the more difficult actions, which may cost us some real sacrifices more or less great, and which, moreover, are important services. These are what are called benefactions.

Seneca, in his _Treatise on benefactions_, has fixed the principles of benevolence:

1. Benefaction consists especially in the feeling which accompanies it, rather than in the thing given.

"What is a benefaction?" he asks; "it is an act of benevolence which procures joy to him who is the object of it and to him who exercises it: it is a voluntary and spontaneous act. It is then not at the thing done and given that we must look, but at the intention, because the benefaction does not consist in the gift or in the action, but in the disposition of him who gives. The proof of this difference is that the benefaction is always a good, whilst the thing done or given is neither a good nor an evil. The benefaction is then not the money that is counted out to you, the present that is made you; no more than the worship of the gods consists in its fattest victims, but in the uprightness and piety of their worshipers.

"One prefers a hand that opens easily to one that gives largely. He has done little for me, but he could not do any more. That other has given much, but he hesitated, he delayed, he groaned in giving, he gave with ostentation; he proclaimed his good deed; he did not care to please him whom he obliged: it is not to me he gave, it is to his vanity." (I., vi.)

2. One should do good without caring about ingrates.

"What is after all the wrong the ingrate does you? You have lost your good deed. But there remains to you the most precious part of it: the merit of having done it. There are services one should learn how to render without hope of returns, to people one may presume will be ungrateful, and whom one even knows to have been so. If, for example, I can save from a great peril the children of one who has been ungrateful to me, I shall not hesitate to do so." (I., x.)

3. There must be degrees in benefactions, and, having to choose, one must first give the _necessary_, then the _useful_, then the _agreeable_.

"The necessary," says Seneca, "is divided into three classes: the first comprises the things without which one cannot live (for example, to rescue a man from the sword of the enemy, from the rage of tyrants, from proscription, etc.); the second, those without which one should not live (such as liberty, honor, virtue); finally (3d class), our children, our wives, our household gods are objects dearer to us than life.--After the necessary comes the useful; it may be subdivided into a great number of species; it comprises money, honors, and above all the progress in the science of virtue.--Finally come the agreeable things which are innumerable.... Let us seek things which please because they are to the purpose; that are not common; that recall the donor; let us above all beware of useless presents." (I., xi.)

4. The manner of granting a benefit is more important than the benefit itself.

"The simplest rule to follow is to give as we should ourselves wish to be given to.

"One must above all give heartily, without hesitation ... after a refusal nothing so hard as irresolution.... The most agreeable kindnesses are those one does not expect, which flow naturally; which anticipate their need. It is better to anticipate the request. To forestall this trouble is doubling the good deed.

"There are people who spoil their greatest kindnesses by their silence, their slowness to speak which comes from constraint and moodiness; they promise with the same air with which they would refuse.... Their knit brows, their harangues, their disdain make one regret having obtained the promised thing.

"Nothing more disagreeable than to be a long time in suspense. There are persons who prefer giving up hope to languishing in expectation.... Promptness then enhances the good deed, and tardiness diminishes it." (II., ii-vi.)

5. One must not reproach good deeds.

"One of the first and most indispensable laws, is not to reproach or even recall to the mind of recipients one's kindnesses. The tacit agreement between the giver and the receiver is, that the one should immediately forget what he has given, and that the other should never forget what he has received. The frequent mention of kindnesses is a crushing weight to the soul."

6. Benevolence consists sometimes in refusing.

"If the thing asked for is prejudicial to him who asks for it, then benevolence consists no longer in giving, but in refusing. We should have more regard to the interests of the petitioner than to his wishes. As we refuse patients cold water, arms to angry persons, so should we also refuse a kindness to the most pressing requests, if that kindness is injurious to the interested person.... One should no less consider the end than the principle of kindnesses."

7. Benevolence must be disinterested.

"It is shameful to do good for any other motive than doing good. If one gave only in the hope of restitution, one would choose the richest in preference to the most worthy.... The least benevolent men would be those who had the best means for being benevolent: the rich, the great, the king, etc. ... As an insult is a thing one should for itself avoid, so benevolence is desirable for its own sake (xv.).... There is no benevolence where there is expectation of profit. I shall give so much; I shall receive so much: this is called a bargain." (xiv.)

We will put aside the other questions, more curious than useful, raised by Seneca (as, for example, whether one should give to the wicked; whether one may be his own benefactor; whether one may allow himself to be outdone by good deeds, etc.), and consider now the duties of the one under obligation.

=68. Duties of the person under obligation.=--_Gratitude._--After having expounded the duties of the benefactor, we have to ask ourselves what are those of the person under obligation. The principle of all is _gratitude_; that only comes after the kindness; but there are duties which precede the good deed or accompany it. We shall again cite here Seneca as authority. After having set forth the principles which should actuate the giver, he also sets forth those the receiver should be guided by.

1. The first principle is that we should not be too greedy and receive from any one, but only from those to whom we should like to give ourselves:

"It is a painful thing to be under obligations to people against one's will. Nothing sweeter, on the contrary, than to receive a kindness from a person one loves.... I must then choose the person of whom I consent to receive anything, and I should even be more particular in regard to kindness-creditors than to money-creditors; to the latter one need only return what he has received from them; this reimbursement done we have acquitted ourselves toward them; in the matter of kindnesses, on the contrary, one should pay more than what he has received."

2. A second rule is that from the moment one accepts a kindness, he must accept it cheerfully.

"When we have concluded to accept a kindness, let us do it cheerfully.... To accept a kindness with pleasure, is making the first payment of the interest (II., xxii.).--There are people who only consent to receive in secret; they wish neither witnesses to, nor confidants of, the obligations they are contracting. If the benefactor is bound to proclaim his kindness only inasmuch as its publicity will give pleasure to the person he obliges, the one receiving should, on the contrary, call together the crowd. One is at liberty not to accept what he blushes to receive (xxxiii.).... One of the lesser paradoxes of the stoics is, that in receiving a kindness cheerfully, one has already acquitted himself."

3. One must awaken the remembrance of a good deed: _to remember is already to acquit one's self_ (xxiv.).

"Which, according to you, is the most culpable, he who feels no gratitude for a kindness, or he who does not even keep it in mind?... It would seem that one thought very little about restitution when he has got so far as to forget the kindness.... To acquit one's self of a kindness, one needs means, some fortune; but the recollection of it is a gratitude which costs nothing. To withhold a payment which requires neither trouble nor riches, is inexcusable.... The objects memory is busy with never escape it; it only loses those it does not often revert to."

=69. Kant's rules touching benevolence and gratitude.=--To the maxims of the ancients which we have just summed up, let us add a few principles borrowed of a modern moralist, the philosopher Kant:

_Benevolence._--Benevolence, when one is rich, and finds in his superfluity the means of making others happy, should never be considered by the benefactor even a meritorious duty. The satisfaction he procures to himself thereby, and which does not cost him any sacrifice, is a means of filling himself with moral sentiments. Therefore must he carefully avoid looking as if he thought he was obliging others; for otherwise his kindness would no longer be one; since he would seem wishing to put under obligation the person to whom he grants it. He should, on the contrary, show himself under obligation, or as honored by the acceptance of his kindness, and consequently fulfill this duty as he would pay a debt he had contracted; or, what is still better, practice benevolence wholly in secret. This virtue is still greater when the means for being benevolent are restricted: it is then he deserves to be considered as _very rich_ morally. (Kant, _Doctrine de la Vertu_, trad. Fr., p. 128.)

_Gratitude._--Gratitude should be considered a _holy_ duty. We call, in fact, holy any moral object regarding which no act could entirely acquit one of the contracted obligation. Now there is no way of acquitting one's self of a benefit received, because he who receives it cannot refuse to him who grants it the merit and advantage of having been the first in showing his kindness.

The least degree of gratitude is to render to the benefactor _equivalent services_. It is, also, never to look upon a kindness received as upon a burden one would be glad to be rid of (under pretext that it places the one under obligation in a position inferior to that of his benefactor, which is wounding to his pride). One must, on the contrary, accept it as a moral kindness, that is to say, as furnishing us an opportunity to practice a virtue. (Ibid., p. 130, 132.)

=70. Precautions which benevolence requires.=--Benevolence should not be exercised without reserve and precaution. In abandoning one's self to it imprudently, one may do more harm than good. Cicero on this subject recommends three principal precautions:

"One must take care," he says:

"1. Lest, in wishing to do a person good, one does harm, either to him or to others;

"2. In the second place, let not our benevolence exceed our means;

"3. Finally, let every one be treated according to his deserts."

1. Those, in fact, whose benevolence injures him who is the object thereof, should be looked upon as flatterers, rather than generous men. Those who injure some, to be generous towards others (as, for example, to omit paying one's debts, in order to exercise charity), commit the same injustice as if they appropriated what belongs to others. Thus, when Sylla and Caesar transferred to strangers the property of lawful owners, they were not generous; liberality may exist then where justice is absent.

2. The second precaution is to exercise our benevolence according to our means. Those who wish to be more benevolent than they can afford, are in the first place unjust to their family; since the property, to the inheritance of which it has a right, goes thus over to strangers. Such generosity often leads, moreover, to the enriching of one's self at the expense of others, in order to provide for liberalities. One sees, thus, many people, more vain than generous, pass for being benevolent. It becomes then a borrowed virtue, which has more of vanity than liberality.

3. The third rule is, whilst dispensing our liberalities, to proportion them to merit; to consider the morals of him who is their object, the attachment he shows us, the different relations he may have with us; lastly, the services he may have rendered us. It were desirable he had all these titles to our benevolence; but if he has them not all, the greatest and largest in numbers should weigh most in the scales.

=71. Self-devotion--Self-abnegation--Sacrifice.=--When charity reaches the highest degree; when it requires we should give to others what we hold most dear--as, for instance, life, fortune, etc.--it takes another name and is called _devotion_, _self-abnegation_, _sacrifice_. These three words, with various shadings, express the idea of a precious gift of which one deprives himself to benefit others. One may devote one's self to others in various ways, in choosing for one's object either the life, or welfare, or liberty, or the morality and intelligence of others. Let us examine these various forms of devotion.

=72. The nature of the benefit.--Diverse forms of self-devotion.--The life, the welfare, the morality of others, etc.=--_Sacrificing one's life for others._--Justice requires we should not attack the life of others; charity requires more: it demands that we make every effort to save the life of our fellow-beings, even sometimes at the cost of our own.

This duty, which is a duty of charity for men in general, is a duty of justice for the physician and all those who have care of the sick. The physician owes his devotion to the patient, as the soldier owes his to his country. In both these cases _medical duty_, _military duty_, devotion is a strict duty. It is at the same time a duty towards men and a duty towards the profession. It is in both cases what may be called the _honor of the flag_. Thus do we every year see a certain number of young hospital physicians die, like soldiers on the field of honor.

The duty of attending the sick and being thereby exposed to contagion, falls alike on all who have chosen this profession: sisters of charity, the nurses, the male and female attendants in infirmaries. It is also a duty in the family; the parents owe themselves to their children; the servants themselves should assume in a certain measure the same responsibility, although it is the duty of the masters to spare them as much as possible. Moreover, it is known how common this devotion is, especially with mothers, and how many of them die of the illness they have contracted at the bedside of their children. In all these circumstances, it is of course not forbidden to be cautious, and wisdom requires one should not go beyond the strictly necessary; but the necessary is obligatory; and on whom should it fall more naturally than on the parents?

Besides the illnesses which threaten the lives of men, there are dangers more sudden, more violent, more terrible, which arise from the invasion of the forces of nature: fire and water are the most terrible; conflagrations, inundations, shipwrecks, catastrophes of all kinds imperil the lives of men.

Here the question is no longer one of slow and leisurely attentions. To save a life which a minute later will be extinguished, there is wanted a sudden resolution, a well-tested courage, and the will to risk one's life for that of another. In these terrible circumstances there are some men who seem to be more naturally called than others to sacrifice themselves; for example, firemen and sailors. It is certain that it is those who are the more familiar with the element it is necessary to combat, that are most called to do so, and for whom self-devotion becomes a greater duty. But it is not always possible to have them immediately at hand; in a sudden catastrophe, all must take their share of the peril; all must be ready to give their life for others if they can do so with some utility.

_Devotion towards the wretched._--Next to health and life, what men most esteem are material goods and that which is called fortune. Certainly, we should not encourage this estimation men have for material goods; one should as much as possible teach them to do without them; and the saying that happiness resides rather in a small competence than in riches, is most true. But it is not less true that the material things are absolutely necessary to life, and that the absence of these things is in every respect prejudicial to man, since health, life, and even the interests of the soul and mind, depend on these material goods. How can we educate ourselves without eating? How can we improve the heart and soul when want impels us to all sorts of temptations? Finally, suffering itself, though morality commands us to bear it with courage, is a legitimate object of sympathy. From all these considerations arises, for those who possess anything, the obligation to come to the assistance of those who have nothing: this is what is called _gift_. This obligation can be satisfied in many ways, but the mode should certainly consist with the dignity and responsibility of those who are the object of the gift. Experience has shown that an ill-understood charity encourages idleness and often rewards and perpetuates vice. It is therefore work which should above all be furnished to the poor: the loan should generally be preferred to the gift; but finally, whatever precautions one may take, and whatever be the causes of the misery, there comes always a moment when, in presence of hunger, illness, supreme want, one must give; must deprive himself for others. As to the particular rules which govern benevolence, we have given them above in speaking of benefactions.

_Consolations, exhortations, instructions._ After the duties toward the body come the duties toward the soul: and this distinction has place for others as for ourselves. It is not enough to insure and save the lives of men, and give them the daily bread; one must also nourish their souls, their intelligences, their moral weaknesses, which also need sustenance. Thence three different obligations: to _console_ the afflicted; to _exhort_ the weak; to _instruct_ the ignorant. The consoling of the afflicted is a virtue, which needs no rule, and does not admit of any. One does not console by order, by processes, by principles. Here the heart is better than strict laws. Listen to your heart; it will teach you how to be merciful without being indiscreet; how to touch without wounding; how to say enough without saying too much. In respect to poor people, one often consoles them by relieving their misery, and the duty here blends with benevolence. After the consolation come the _exhortations_. The duty here becomes more and more delicate. It is no easy thing to advise men; we have not even always a right to do so; for it is attributing to ourselves a certain superiority over them. This duty of exhortation is therefore an affectation of pride rather than an inspiration of fraternity. It is especially with children, with young people, that good exhortations properly made can be useful. In a few words, moderate and just, one may often recall to them their duties of respect towards themselves, and of economy, sobriety, devotion towards their relatives. Finally comes the duty of _instruction_. Here it is not the office of all, but only of those who are charged with this function. Yet may we contribute our share towards the instruction of children either by money-contributions, or by visiting the schools, or by encouragement-societies; in a word, by all sorts of auxiliary means. Such are the principal duties in regard to souls.

=73. Clemency.--Pardon of injuries.--Love of enemies.=--The foregoing duties consist not only in returning good for evil, but also in doing good to those who have not done us any. A superior degree of charity, which is called _generosity_, consists in returning good for evil, in forgiving the wicked,--not the wrong they have done to others, but the wrong they have done to ourselves. This, in the case of sovereigns, is called _clemency_. The saying of Louis XII. is well known, having pardoned the enemies he had had before taking the crown: "The king," said he, "should forget the injuries done to the duke of Orleans." The great Conde was moved to tears over Corneille's celebrated lines in _Cinna_:

"Let us be friends, Cinna; it is I who invite thee: I gave thee thy life as to my enemy, And despite the fury of thy cowardly designs, I still give it thee, as to my murderer."

The duty of returning good for evil goes even further than clemency and the pardon of injuries: for this is nothing more than to abstain from wronging one's enemies. But we should do more: we must be capable of doing good to our enemies when they deserve it, or need it; and further still, we should try to carry the virtue even so far as to interdict ourselves any feeling of pride, which would naturally arise in a heart great enough to avenge itself by benefits.

The philosopher Spinoza has admirably expressed this doctrine: "Hatred must be overcome not by hatred, but by love and generosity."

=74. Duties of kindness towards animals.=--Among the moralists, there are some who do not admit that we have any duties towards beings inferior to man, namely, animals; others, on the contrary, do not admit any duties towards any above man, consequently towards God; others, in fine, deny that man has any towards himself. There are scarcely any duties, except those towards our fellow-beings, that have not been questioned by one or the other of the moralists: some connecting the latter with the duties towards ourselves, or the duties towards God.

According to us, there are four classes of duties, and these four classes are not reducible the one to the other.[52]

No one can deny from a practical point of view that there are duties towards animals; for we know very well that it is not permitted to maltreat them or cause them unnecessary pain; and every enlightened conscience condemns cruelty to animals. Therefore can there be here question only of a speculative scruple. It can be very well seen that there is a duty here; but it is, they say, a duty towards ourselves; for it is our duty not to be cruel, and cruelty toward animals accustoms us too easily to cruelty toward men. But this is a very useless subtlety, and too roundabout a way to express a very simple thing. We prefer simply saying that kindness toward an animal is a duty toward that animal.

Besides, the reasons given against the duties toward animals, appear to us more specious than substantial. It is said that animals, having neither will nor intelligence, are not _persons_, but _things_; that, consequently, they have no _rights_, and that we can have no duties toward what has no rights.

These are inadmissible subtleties. One can, in law terms, divide all objects of nature into persons and things; and animals, not being persons, are things, in the sense that they can be _appropriated_. But, strictly speaking, can a being endowed with sensibility be called a thing? Is it true, moreover, that an animal has no intelligence, no will--that consequently it has not any vestige of personality? Is it true again that an animal has no kind of rights? This, in the first place, is to suppose what is in question. And, moreover, does not conscience say to us that an animal which has served us long years with affection has thereby acquired a certain right to our gratitude? And, finally, is it really true that we have only duties towards those that have duties towards us? That were a very perilous maxim in social morality. We are told not to be cruel to animals in order not to become cruel towards men. But if one were sure not to become cruel towards men, would it follow therefrom that it is permitted to be so towards animals? No, it will be said; but it is because cruelty, though its object be only animals, is in itself a vice, base and unworthy of man. One should not conclude from that, that cruelty is a direct crime against them. But for the same reason it might be maintained that we have no duties toward others, and only toward ourselves; injustice, cruelty, are odious vices in themselves; goodness and justice, noble qualities; we should shun the one and avoid the other out of respect for ourselves, and regardless of the object of these vices and virtues. If, despite these considerations, it is then thought better to make, nevertheless, a distinction between the duties toward others and those toward ourselves, there should for the same reason be made a distinct class of the duties toward animals. Finally, if we owe nothing to animals, it is not very clear why acts hypothetically indifferent should be treated as cruelties; nor why such acts should be considered as lowering and dishonoring the character.

On the whole, and to avoid all theoretical difficulties, it may be said that we have duties, if not toward animals, at least _in regard_ to animals.

Our duties in regard to animals, are they, however, of a kind to make us doubt our right to destroy or reduce them to servitude?

The destruction of animals may have two causes; it may be for our defense, it may be for our subsistence. As to the first there is no difficulty; the right of legitimate self-defense authorizes us to destroy what would otherwise destroy us. Between us and beasts injurious to man there is evidently a state of natural war, and in that state the law is that might makes right. This same law is the one which regulates the relations of the animals between themselves: it is also their law in regard to us. The lion, for instance, might not always be as tenderly inclined as the lion of Androcles or the lion of Florence: it would not be well to trust it. We need not, therefore, even theoretically, entertain any scruples concerning the destruction of injurious animals.

Is it the same with the destruction of animals intended for our nourishment? Is this destruction innocent, or must we, as did the Pythagoreans or Brahmins of old (for superstitious reasons, however), interdict all animal food?[53] This question has been so well solved by general usage that it is scarcely necessary to raise it. It is not likely men will ever think of giving up animal food, and no one regrets having eaten of a good roast. Yet for those who like to find out the reason of things, it is a problem to know whether we have the right to do what we do without remorse and scruples; and whether a universal and apparently indestructible practice is also a legitimate and innocent practice. Man, according to us, in living on flesh, is justified by nature herself, who made him a carnivorous creature. Every being is authorized to perform the acts which result from its organization.[54] The human organization, as the nature of the teeth and the whole digestive system indicate, is prepared to nourish itself with flesh. In many countries even all other nourishment is impossible; there are peoples whose very situation makes them necessarily hunters, fishermen, or shepherds; it is only in some countries highly favored, and, thanks to scientific cultivation, the result of civilization, that vegetable food could be made abundant enough to suffice, and hardly that for large masses of population; for we know quite well what disasters follow upon a scarcity of crops. What would be the result if the human race were deprived of half its means of subsistence? Add to this that, whatever may have been said against it, animal food mixed in a certain measure with vegetable food, is indispensable to the health and vigor of the human race.

As to the servitude of animals and the labor we impose on them, its justification lies first in the principle of legitimate self-defense, to which we have just now alluded. Many of our domestic races would, in a savage state, become veritable wild beasts. The wild hog is, they say, the wild boar; the wild dog, the jackal; the wild cat belongs to the leopard and tiger family. In reducing these sorts of animals to servitude, and in making of them companions and help-mates in our work, we thereby deliver ourselves from dangerous enemies. Domestication is better than destruction. Add to this, that if we except the first animals which have passed from the savage state to the domestic state (which, as to our domestic races, is lost in the night of time and escapes all responsibility), the present animals, born in servitude, know no other state, do not suffer from a want of liberty, and find even, thanks to our cares, a more certain subsistence than if they were free. They are, it is true, sacrificed by us to our wants, but they would be so by other animals in the savage state. Whether a sheep be eaten by men or wolves, it is not to be more pitied for that, one way or the other.

The right of man over animals being set aside, there remains an essential duty respecting them, namely: not to make them suffer without necessity.

Fontenelle relates that, having gone one day to see Malebranche,[55] at the fathers of the _Oratoire_, a dog of the house, big with young, entered the room and rolled about at the feet of the father. After having tried in vain to drive it away, Malebranche gave the dog a kick which caused it to utter a cry of pain and Fontenelle a cry of compassion: "Oh, pshaw!" said father Malebranche, coolly, "do you not know that these things do not feel?"

How could this philosopher be sure that _these things_ did not feel? Is not the animal organized in the same manner as man? Has he not the same senses, the same nervous system? Does he not give the same signs of impressions received? Why should not the cry of the animal express pain as does the cry of a child? When man is not perverted by custom, cruelty, or the spirit of system, he cannot see the sufferings of animals without suffering himself, a manifest proof that there is something in common between them and us, for sympathy is by reason of similitude.

Animals, then, suffer; this is undeniable; they have, like ourselves, a physical sensibility; but they have also a certain moral sensibility; they are capable of attachment, of gratitude, of fidelity; of love for their little ones, of reciprocal affection. From this physical and moral analogy between men and animals, there obviously results the obligation of inflicting upon them no useless suffering. Madame Necker de Saussure[56] relates the story of a child who, finding himself in a garden where a tamed quail was freely running about beside the cage of a bird of prey, yielded to the temptation of seizing the poor quail and giving it to the bird to devour. The hero of this adventure relates himself the punishment inflicted on him:

"At dinner--there was a great deal of company that day--the master of the house began to relate the scene, coolly and without any remarks, simply naming me. When he was through, there was a moment of general silence, where every one looked at me with a kind of horror. I heard some words exchanged among the guests, and without any one's directly speaking to me, I could understand that everybody thought me a monster."

Connected with the cruelty toward animals are certain barbarous games where animals are made to fight with each other for our pleasure. Such are the bull-fights in Spain; the cock-fights in England; we do not go so far as to rank the chase among inhuman games, because, on the one hand, it has for its object to destroy the animals injurious to our forests and crops, and to furnish us useful food; and on the other, it is an exercise favorable to health, and exercises certain faculties of the soul; but the chase must at least not be a massacre, and must have for its end utility.

Brutality toward the animals which render us the greatest services, and which we see every day loaded beyond their strength, and beaten to bear up under the load, is also an odious act, and doubly wrong, as it is both contrary to humanity and contrary to our interests, since these animals, overloaded and beaten, will not be long in succumbing to the violence of their persecutors.

Nor can we consider as absolutely indifferent the act of killing or selling (except in cases of extreme necessity) a domestic animal that has served us a long time, and whose attachment we have experienced. "Among the conquerors at the Olympic Games," the ancients tell us, "many share the distinctions which they receive with the horses which have helped to procure them; they provide for them a happy old age; they accord them an honorable burial, and sometimes even raise a monument over their graves."

"It is not reasonable," says Plutarch, "to use things which have life and feeling, as we would use a shoe or any other instrument, throwing it away when worn out and ruined by dint of service done; if it were for no other cause than to induce and stimulate us to constant compassion, we should accustom ourselves to gentleness and charitableness, even to performing the humblest offices of kindness; as for me, I should never have the heart to sell an ox who for a long time had ploughed my land, because, by reason of old age, he can no longer work."

A very serious question has been raised these latter times, namely, the question of _vivisection_, and how far, in a scientific point of view, we have a right to practice on living animals. The point is not to interdict to science what is the indispensable condition of its progress and propagation; but we should limit ourself to the strictly necessary, and not with revolting prodigality multiply sacrifices that are not absolutely useful.

One of the principal reasons for condemning cruelty toward animals, is that through the instinct of imitation and sympathy men may get into the habit of doing to others what they have seen practiced on animals. There is a story of a child who caused his brother to suffer the same death he had just seen inflicted on an animal.[57]

The men who are brutal toward animals are likewise so toward each other, and treat with the same cruelty their wives and children.

It is by reason of these considerations of social utility and humanity that the law in France decided to interfere to prevent and punish the bad treatment inflicted upon animals;[58] and the consequences of this measure have been most happy.