In my last lecture I tried to give an account in general terms of the framework of the moral life and of the way in which the main ethical notions are related to one another and to the constitution of human nature. We saw that the raw material of the moral life consists of the interests and inclinations, impulses and desires which have their roots in man's animal nature, and that its goal is the production of a way of life in which this material would be so adjusted and ordered that the persons, whose the interests and desires are, will find the maximum expression and satisfaction of their nature. We also saw how, in the process of trying to conceive and realise this ideal, systems of ends and rules of conduct come to be formulated, and how they are related to one another within the life of the moral agent and the pattern of the moral ideal.

I spoke of this process as if individuals or groups of individuals arrived at their conception of the good life as the result of the slow and painful process which has been called the dialectic of experience, that is, the process by which men arrive, as the result of trial and error, through failure and disappointment and partial success, at their idea of what will satisfy their nature and its needs. But while I believe this is what has happened in the history of the race, it certainly has not happened in the experience of any man known to history or anthropology. Men are not born adults into a community with no history, a community in which they would have to start with, the raw material of human nature, and, without guidance or direction, discover their own rules for integrating this material into a coherent whole or personality. Each of us found in existence and embodied in the institutions and behaviour patterns which constitute the way of life of his people, the accumulated results of the slowly garnered wisdom of his ancestors, who have for many ages been engaged in trying to solve the moral problems with which every son of Adam is called on to deal anew. The individual arrives on the scene after many of the problems have already received partial and tentative solutions, and these solutions have been embodied in a way of life which is imposed upon him and recommended to him with the authority of those whom he respects most, and perhaps with the authority of a divine sanction as well. Moreover, as embodied in the institutions and customs of the social environment in which his mind develops, they mould his habits of thinking and feeling about certain matters, and largely contribute to make him the individual that he is, before he is in a position to think these matters out for himself; so that to the demands that the way of life of his people makes on him there is an answering echo in his own conscience.

What we find, then, is that the raw material of human nature which has to be organised into conformity with the moral and social ideal is the same everywhere and for all people; and the formal ideal at which they aim, that which gives direction to their moral and social efforts, when conceived in quite general terms, is also the same for all men. In other words, the starting-point, the problem and the goal are the same for all. But between the starting-point and the goal there are the solutions at which different peoples have arrived in their attempts to give concrete expression to the ideal, and to embody it in a way of life. It is these concrete and detailed articulations of the formal ideal, that is operative or embodied ideals, which provide practical guidance and prescribe the detailed duties and obligations of the moral agent.

Thus, in considering the moral life, we have (1) to look back to human nature and its needs as that which sets our problem; we have (2) to look forward to the formal ideal conceived in abstract and general terms, such as the good for man, the greatest good of the greatest number, the good of the self as a whole, the system of moral rules, or whatever other term we use to describe the standard of moral judgement. In between these we have (3) the embodied or operative ideals, which are attempts to bring (1) into line with (2), or to embody (2) in (1). But as we saw in the last lecture, we have to deal not merely with needs or desires but with persons, and to pass judgement not merely on acts but on agents; and the persons are related to other persons, the agents members of a community. Therefore the embodied or operative ideal has both a personal and a social aspect; and, while the two can and should be distinguished, they cannot be separated or understood apart from one another.

It is with these embodiments of the moral and social ideal that I shall be largely concerned in these lectures. Their importance for ethical theory seems to me considerable and largely neglected. Apart from them, the formal ideal, in whatever terms we conceive it, is apt to remain nebulous and abstract, and gives little practical guidance to the moral agent. Indeed, until we try to embody an ideal in a detailed way of life, we do not really grasp its nature or requirements. In our attempts to embody it, we may find that we have to modify our conception of it, not because it is too ideal but because it is not ideal enough, because, e.g., its elements are mutually incompatible in the sense that the realisation of one is inconsistent with the realisation of another. So that we discover whether an ideal is really a good ideal only in our efforts to realise it through trying to embody it in a relatively coherent way of life.

No doubt all embodiments of the moral ideal are partial and imperfect, and point beyond themselves to something more complete in the light of which they can be criticised and improved. They all lack the coherence and rationality of the neat and tidy pattern which I tried to put before you in general terms in my last lecture. They are efforts after unity and coherence rather than their complete achievement. Progress in moral insight or in enlightenment consists largely in seeing that the requirements of the formal ideal, which different people are trying to express in their ways of life, are only incompletely embodied in their systems of institutions, and therefore point beyond them and demand their modification. For it is what people find good but incomplete and so pointing beyond itself that suggests the line of advance towards a more adequate operative ideal. But before we can get beyond existing ideals, we must make our own the spirit which finds expression in them. Even the moral hero, let alone the ordinary man, is the child of his age, and how far he gets depends on the point from which he starts. Newton once said that he could not have done what he did if he had not stood on the shoulders of giants. The work and insight of the moral giants of the past are embodied, partially and imperfectly no doubt, in the operative ideals of their peoples. Before we can hope to stand on their shoulders we must sit at their feet, and learn what they have to teach us, as it has been formulated, not in vague general terms, but in the detailed arrangements of moral and social institutions with their rights and duties and obligations.

The ways of life of different peoples I regard as experiments, more or less successful, at giving concrete embodiment to the formal moral ideal. Each of them is the result of a co-operative effort on the part of a group of people related by bonds of neighbourhood, and often of kinship, to work out a way of living which will satisfy the main needs of man, his needs as a moral and social and rational being, as well as his material needs. I call these ways of life or operative ideals with which we shall be concerned experiments in living, in conceiving and living the good life, because they seem to be the nearest approach we can get to experiments in moral and social science. From the nature of the case we can never get genuine experiments in the social sciences, but in the variety of the operative ideals or ways of life, which different people have worked out, we get as good a substitute for experiments as the nature of moral and social facts will permit.1 Whether we say that God or nature has been experimenting with different ways of life, or that different people have been left alone to experiment for themselves, to work out their own salvation, we find many peoples who have been isolated or relatively isolated from outside contact for long periods—it may be generations, it may be centuries, it may be millennia—working out their own conception of the good life. The results of their efforts should be of interest and value to all students of the social sciences, but especially to students of psychology and ethics. As I have already suggested, they seem to me to provide important data for moral and social theory, and to be worthy of much more serious consideration than they usually receive.

It is true that these experiments are largely blind in the sense that they have not been deliberately planned or consciously thought out. That does not mean that they are not rational, but their rationality is implicit and unreflective rather than conscious or reflective. No doubt outstanding individuals from time to time played their part in developing them, and they contain no idea or ideal which has not originated in some mind, and all modifications of them are also the work of individual minds. But these modifications often come about because the frustration to which existing conditions give rise removes the incentives which keep certain institutions going, rather than because the new state of affairs is consciously before the minds of those who help to bring it about. It is indeed probable that the requirements of the formal ideal are more often present in the minds of men negatively as a dissatisfaction with their existing way of life rather than positively as a consciously entertained ideal.

It is also true that the good life, as a particular people conceive it and articulate it in their operative ideal, is never lived fully or completely realised in practice. I am concerned, however, not with their actual conduct or the extent to which they realise their ideal of the good life in their actual living, but rather with their conception of the good life, with their operative ideal itself, the ideal in the light of which they pass moral judgements and think of their duties and obligations.

Operative ideals, the results of the experiments of particular Peoples in conceiving the good life and embodying their conceptions in the detailed structures of ways of life, thus act as links between the formal ideal and the particular desires and interests of human nature which provide its constituent elements. They serve the double purpose of giving concrete form to the demands which the requirements of the ideal make on the desires, and of moulding and organising the desires into some partial conformity to the requirements of the ideal. But between the separate desires and interests of individuals on the one hand, and the operative ideals on the other, there is interposed yet another link, namely institutions. They too perform a mediating function. They help to mould the particular desires of individuals into harmony with the pattern of the operative ideal and to interpret its requirements to the desires rooted in man's instinctive nature. They are better able to perform these functions because they are relatively permanent and usually handed on from one generation to another. They help to mould the desiring nature of man and to provide for its satisfaction as so moulded; while they are themselves modified through their interaction with one another within the framework of the operative ideal. Institutions also mediate between the individual and the society of which he is a member. The main impact of society on the individual is seldom direct. It is mediated through institutions which are the simplest forms of the co-operation between individuals which man's social nature makes essential. Operative ideals find expression in systems of interrelated and mutually adjusted institutions, so that most of the demands which the operative ideal makes on the individual come to him through the medium of institutions.

Thus between the formal ideal and the particular desires and interests of men there are two intermediate links, institutions and operative ideals. Accordingly, before giving illustrations of the operative ideals or experiments in living of different primitive peoples, I propose to devote this lecture to considering the nature and functions of institutions and operative ideals, and the importance for our understanding of morality of the way in which they mediate between human nature and needs, on the one side, and the moral ideal conceived in general terms, on the other. This should enable us to realise what we should look for as relevant to our ethical enquiries when we come to consider particular ways of life in detail. It should also help to give concreteness to our discussion of moral questions, and to show us how intimate is the relation between the moral and the social ideals as they operate in practice in the lives of men and societies.

Let us begin our analysis of the structure of operative ideals by considering the nature of institutions and their relation to human needs and interests. An institution is a pattern or framework of personal relationships within which a number of people co-operate, over a period of time and subject to certain rules, to satisfy a need, fulfil a purpose or realise a value.2 Examples of such institutions are a family, a canoe crew, a hunting expedition, a war party, a religious society. Some of the needs which these institutions are intended to satisfy are recurrent and some continuous. Some are transitory and some permanent. And of the institutions themselves some are organised on the basis of kinship, others on the basis of neighbourhood and others on the basis of common interests. Some are permanent and compulsory: one is born into them and can leave them only by death. Others are voluntary and temporary, and so on. Each of these institutions lays down an ideal pattern of behaviour, determining the rights and duties of the individuals who take part in it, what they must do and what they must refrain from doing, and what benefits they can claim. In some simple institutions in which the number of people who co-operate is small, the relation between the welfare of all and the good of each is specially obvious. Moreover, the members are often bound together by ties of loyalty and affection; and rules are usually not very much in evidence; for most members are prepared to do more and to exact less than the rules strictly interpreted would require of them. Thus though rules are involved in the structure of such institutions and though their observance is necessary for their effective functioning, they state the minimum which is required to keep the institutions going rather than the maximum which the members are prepared to do.

In the simpler conditions of primitive life, if not always in the more complex conditions of advanced societies, all who co-operate in an institution know the purpose or value which it fulfils, as well as the rules which govern the relations between the individuals who take part in it, and which determine the rights and duties of each. The purpose is a common or conjoint purpose in the sense that each of the individuals concerned expects some satisfaction from the successful working of the institution and some disappointment from its failure. But the satisfactions which different individuals expect need not necessarily be identical. While some of the values to be realised may be common to all the individuals, others may be enjoyed by some only; so that the duties of one become the privileges of another. For example, the values which husband and wife derive from the family may be in part common, such as a common interest in the children and home, and in part different but complementary, like their mutual interest in and services to one another. Similarly, chief and commoner, leader and follower in a war party, owner and hand in a canoe crew, priest and layman in a religious society have different duties to perform and expect somewhat different advantages in return. But each recognises that it is his interest as well as that of others that the institution should function successfully, though it may be his interest mainly or even only because he has a direct interest in the welfare of others. The driving force which keeps an institution going is the desires and interests of those who take part in it. It is necessary, therefore, that each of them should recognise it as good, and this involves that it should give him something which he wants in return for the duties and restrictions it imposes on him. If he is to play his part, a part which he and others recognise as necessary to the successful working of the institution, he must regard the whole arrangement, including the price paid in the way of restrictions and duties and the benefits received in the way of satisfactions and privileges, as worth while.

Now the individual finds institutions already in existence among his people. They serve to stimulate his interests and awaken his powers. They set before him ideals to pursue and ways in which to pursue them. Thus they at once control and direct human nature and try to shape it to their requirements. They point out to the individual how his desires must find expression if they are to be satisfied at all. If, for example, a man wants to have a wife and family and the status and satisfactions and services which go with them, the required pattern, which shows him how to proceed, is available in the marriage regulations and family arrangements which his people have developed. These socially approved and prescribed patterns make clear to him the duties and obligations which he must accept, as well as the rights and privileges which he may claim. In the same way, there are ideal patterns indicating how his other needs and interests, whether for agricultural produce, for taking vengeance on his enemy or for conciliating or controlling supernatural powers, are to be realised and satisfied—the things which he must do and which he must not do, the obligations to others which he must undertake and the rights which he must respect, as well as the rewards and compensations which he may claim if he complies with the prescribed regulations.

In a primitive society, at any rate, most of a man's duties and obligations and the rules which impose them are laid down in the ideal patterns of behaviour determining the co-operation of individuals in institutions; and what gives the rules their authority and what makes the duties obligatory is that they are necessary if the institutions are to function effectively, that is, if the needs, individual and social, are to be satisfied and the values realised. There are, no doubt, in every society individuals so constituted that they do not fit easily or well into the institutions of their people. Most societies have evolved roles which they assign to the more pronounced of these misfits. Otherwise they just become rebels against the established order and have to be dealt with as such. But there are many degrees between being ideally suited to and completely happy in a station and being a complete misfit. Unless the institutions of a people supply the great majority of its members with stations and ideals to which they can, without too great discomfort and too much frustration, adapt themselves, it contains the seeds of disintegration within itself.

In any relatively stable society, the majority of the citizens must find the way of life of their people on the whole good. This does not mean that they regard it as completely satisfactory or incapable of further improvement, or that it does not involve a great deal of preventable human misery and unhappiness. What it does mean is that they believe that, if all or even the great majority of the members of the society were to carry out their duties, pursue their ends and reap their rewards according to the spirit of their institutions, the resulting state of affairs would be worth while. It is true that an individual finds the institutions and way of life of his people good partly because he has been brought up under them and his habits have been formed by them. He may never have thought of any other; and he may regard many of their defects and the resultant evils and frustrations as inevitable, part of the human lot, due to causes which are beyond human control. But this by itself is not a sufficient explanation for his acceptance of their demands. He must also find that they work, in the sense that they provide some satisfaction for his main needs. It is because he in this sense finds the institutions of his people on the whole good, that he accepts the demands they make on him as right, and the duties they impose as obligatory: he recognises them as conditions or parts of a scheme which he regards as good both for himself and for his people.

Let us look briefly at some of the main needs or classes of needs which are at the basis of the most fundamental institutions—the needs for which some provision must be made in any way of life which is to be reasonably satisfactory. To begin with, man has certain biological needs which must be satisfied if he is to survive and prosper. These include the need for a place in which to reside and work, for food and shelter and safety, and for a mate. For the satisfaction of these needs the individual requires the co-operation of others; and, in order that this co-operation may be effective, certain conditions must be fulfilled. There must be a certain amount of goodwill and mutual trust between those who co-operate. They must submit to certain restraints and restrictions, recognise certain rights on the part of others and fulfil certain duties. In other words, there must be rules governing the behaviour of those who co-operate. If, e.g., all or even a considerable number of them were to allow their acquisitive or pugnacious tendencies or their sex impulses to express themselves without restraint, or if they did not respect the life and property of their fellows, and made no efforts to fulfil their part in joint-undertakings, the possibility of co-operation would be at an end. Accordingly, round the attempts to satisfy these needs there has grown up a network of institutions in which what are regarded by the people concerned as the rules of the sort of co-operation necessary to satisfy the needs are embodied. Some of these rules are peculiar to particular institutions; others are more general conditions of the possibility of any form of co-operation; but even the more general rules seem to have been accepted in the first instance as conditions of particular forms of co-operation and the functioning of particular institutions, and to have been gradually extended to other relations and wider circles. Moreover, they may continue for a long time to be recognised as right in the service of one institution or in one set of relations and not in another in which their observance would have equally desirable results.

But even if we had a society with a system of institutions which made provision for the biological needs of man, i.e. for food and shelter, protection and reproduction, and such harmony among its members as would enable them to co-operate sufficiently to realise these provisions, it would be much nearer the merely animal level than any society known among men. For man has many needs and interests other than the merely biological. The satisfaction of these other needs may be less necessary for mere survival, but it is no less necessary if man is to be satisfied. For these other needs are no less deepseated in human nature. It is indeed difficult in practice to separate these additional needs sharply from the merely biological; for some of them help to determine the forms which the satisfaction of the biological needs takes, because they can be satisfied at all only if the biological needs are satisfied in some ways and not in others. For example, man, however primitive, is not satisfied by getting sufficient nourishment to keep him alive and healthy. He wants food cooked and seasoned and served with some order and decency; and he may refuse food which is wholesome enough, if these other requirements are not satisfied. Moreover he may want company to enjoy it with him; he may desire to offer hospitality to friend or stranger; he may also want to offer some of his food to his gods. Such and many others are the needs which food may help to satisfy; and if they are not satisfied, not only does the individual remain unsatisfied, but he may even refuse the food however wholesome it may be. This means that the appetite for food, as it exists in man, cannot be satisfied by mere food; and that if the appetite is to be fully satisfied many other needs have to be satisfied too. What has to be satisfied is not a need but a person, a person with other needs besides that for mere food. Similar considerations apply to the satisfaction of the other biological and non-biological needs and their relations to one another.3

It is for this reason that it is so difficult to discover what a particular need requires for its satisfaction. We are apt to think that it requires what it seems to require among ourselves, under the institutions and cultural conditions of our own people. But other men with needs and natures like our own have found and are finding satisfaction for them in many other and very different ways, and all of them believe that their own way of satisfying them is what the needs require. We cannot say on a priori grounds that human nature or any of its needs can be satisfied only in a particular way, when there are men and societies scattered throughout the world supplying evidence that this is not so.4 What will finally and fully satisfy human nature and its needs can be learned only by experience, and experience works by experiment, actual and ideal, and not by a priori considerations. Hence the value of studying the experiments which men have actually made, and the institutions and ways of life which they have developed and found good.

Let me mention just a few of the more fundamental non-biological needs which are common to all men, and specially relevant to our problem. We have seen that man needs the co-operation of his fellows to satisfy even his biological needs, but he also finds their companionship and friendship good in itself. He wants their esteem and approval, their assent to his views, and their favourable emotional reaction to his conduct. Whether this is due, as some think, to his having been brought up in a family in intimate relations with others, or whether, as others think, it is an innate characteristic, we need not enquire. In either case, it is so urgent a need that to be deprived of its satisfaction, whether by being driven away from the company of his fellows or being treated by them with scorn or ridicule, is one of the most cruel forms of punishment.5 Among primitives, the need for the company and the favourable attitude of his fellows is one of the strongest weapons which society has against the individual who refuses to comply with the pattern of their way of life. It becomes even more powerful when the community of which he considers himself a member includes not only his contemporaries but also their dead ancestors. In such circumstances, expulsion from the society of the living members of his people may carry with it sentence of exclusion from their company in the afterworld as well, a fate which in the opinion of some tribes is worse than death itself. Among all peoples, however, whether civilised or primitive, man desires the companionship, the fellowship and the friendship of others as one of the conditions of any life which is worth while. It is, of course, true that a man may trust his own insight against the considered opinion of his fellows, and may go his own way despite their disapproval, but he is discontented unless he can persuade them, or at least some of them, to share his beliefs and value judgements.

But, as we have already noted, man not only needs the co-operation, and desires the favourable attitude of his fellows, he has also a natural interest in their welfare and happiness. Other things being equal, he desires the good of those with whom he comes in contact. This spontaneous urge of man to promote the well-being of others, which is recognised by Aristotle and Butler, Hume and Green, McDougall and Campbell6 and many others, has to compete with his other interests and is at times overwhelmed by them. Its expression is apt to be controlled and directed by social forces, which stimulate its expression along certain lines and repress it along others. Its range may be circumscribed by ignorance, lack of imagination and of opportunities for contact, but it is always there ready to assert itself whenever the conditions are favourable for its expression. All that we know of primitive man goes to confirm that this is as true of him as of civilised man. Observers are agreed that altruism is as natural to the primitive as egoism. A recognition of man's natural or disinterested desire to promote the good of those with whom he comes in contact seems to me essential for the understanding of many moral and social facts.

From our present point of view the importance of these social desires and interests is not so much that they form the bases of specific institutions as that they tend to manifest themselves in every institution. Wherever men are brought into close contact with one another, they tend to develop social sentiments and mutual helpfulness and loyalty. It is true that these are often more in evidence in some institutions than in others, even within the same society. But in all of them they serve a double purpose. On the one hand, so far as they assert themselves at all, they tend to modify institutions into line with their requirements, thus eliminating their harsher aspects. On the other hand, they help to produce a cohesion and solidarity, a mutual trust and goodwill, which enable institutions to function effectively.

All men also desire security; and this desire expresses itself in two main forms which give rise to two different types of institution. The one is concerned with protection from our fellow-men both within and outside our community; and it gives rise to institutions to maintain internal order and to provide protection from external enemies. The other is concerned with protection against the hazards and hardships which are, or are believed to be, due to causes beyond human control; and it gives rise to institutions which express man's attitude to the powers that rule his world. Men in all societies known to us feel a need for at-one-ment with these powers. However they conceive them and by whatever means they try to conciliate or control them, they are never a matter of indifference to them.

Another need which is common to all societies and finds expression in institutions, which may be specially designed to meet the need or which may be intended primarily to serve other purposes, is education. No society allows its young to grow up without guidance. They all desire to pass on to the new generation the accumulated skill and wisdom of their ancestors.

Again, the men of every age and civilisation of which we have knowledge have some interest in order and beauty. Even the most primitive men embellish their stone implements. They decorate their canoes and spears and spades. They enjoy song and dance and rhythm. They are capable of being bored, and to find refreshment they resort to games and other forms of amusement. In fact, even the most primitive people pay so much attention to what Linton calls ‘non-utilitarian embroideries’ that he justly concludes that, whatever else we may say of them, we cannot describe them as utilitarians.7

Moreover, all men have a desire for knowledge, a desire to explore and understand the things with which they come in contact. True it is sometimes held that primitive men are pragmatists and have no interest in knowledge for its own sake; but this is difficult to reconcile with the fact that many of them take a keen interest in observing plants which they do not use for food, and animals which they neither use nor fear. They want explanations of events and happenings, however crude from our point of view may be some of the explanations which will satisfy their curiosity. Some of them take an intense interest in trying to discover how new things work, and all of them have interest in gossip. They want to know what other people are thinking and feeling and doing; and they seem to derive a satisfaction from this knowledge, even when it has no further or utilitarian value.8

Now round these and many other social and spiritual needs and aspirations, as well as round the merely biological, there have grown up institutions, ideal patterns of behaviour to be followed, to ensure their satisfaction and fulfilment. The needs which I have been describing are common to all men; and, therefore, if we defined an institution with reference to the need which it satisfies, the basic institutions of mankind would be everywhere the same. But there is no one-to-one correspondence between institutions and needs or interests. One institution may and often does satisfy more than one need, and the same need may be satisfied at least in part by more than one institution. Moreover, when a new need arises there is a tendency to attach the provision for meeting it to an existing institution rather than create a new one; and so the same need may be provided for by different institutions in different societies. Therefore, while all peoples have institutions to satisfy all their basic needs, the same institutions do not satisfy the same needs everywhere. An institution as a rule also involves not only overt activities but also the manipulation of part of the natural environment, the use of tools and implements. It has, therefore, a visible and external aspect; but it exists not so much in such external arrangements as in habits of thinking and feeling, and in the attitudes of individuals to their fellows and their external environment.

But though the institutions of different peoples vary considerably in the bases of their organisation, in the ideal patterns of behaviour which they prescribe and in the external arrangements to which they give rise, every people has developed institutions to fulfil the different functions which I have indicated, to meet their biological, their social and their spiritual needs. They have all been faced with the same basic problems. They have solved them well or ill, but solve them they must, some on pain of extinction, others on pain of major unhappiness. And, however much the institution which satisfies a particular need may differ in details from people to people, and whatever be the purpose of the institution, whether economic advantage, protection from enemies or religious peace of mind, all institutions involve co-operation between individuals, and, among primitive people at any rate, the relations between the individuals who co-operate are, and are recognised as being personal relations, and the demands which an institution makes on him are regarded by the individual as duties which he owes to the others.

Now no operative ideal or way of life is a mere aggregate of institutions or unrelated patterns of behaviour; just as no personality is a mere aggregate of needs and desires. Accordingly, the most fundamental question which has to be considered in trying to understand the nature of a way of life concerns the manner in which institutions and the patterns of behaviour which they involve are related to one another within the framework of the social order, just as the most important question in considering the personal ideal of an individual concerns the way in which different values and interests are related to one another within it. As we have seen, if the different needs of men are to be satisfied, if their different interests are to be realised, they must be fitted into a pattern. Similarly, the institutions of a society must be interwoven into a relatively coherent way of life.

The need for this adjustment of institutions, the forms which it takes, and the way in which it takes place, follow from conditions which we have already described. The function of institutions is to provide for the satisfaction of the needs and desires of men. These needs and desires can find expression and satisfaction in many different ways. Some ways of satisfying one need conflict with, others are compatible with and may even help towards, the satisfaction of other needs. Therefore, the requirements of the institutions which have been developed to satisfy them may conflict with or may reinforce one another. Accordingly, if the individuals whose the needs are, are to be on the whole satisfied, the institutions which Provide for their satisfaction must be mutually adjusted, so as to avoid major clashes between their requirements. This adjustment takes the form partly of fitting the incompatible requirements of different institutions into a temporal pattern, so that the demands of the institutions concerned with, e.g., the need for food, for protection, for revenge, for religious peace of mind, give rise to a time sequence of activities which will at least not clash with one another and may reinforce one another; and partly of arranging institutions and the needs which they serve in an order of precedence whereby the relative importance of their requirements may be determined, if they clash with one another. In the course of these adjustments institutions develop other and still more intimate connections which make them interdependent in ways which we shall consider later.

The mutual interaction of institutions within the framework of an operative ideal or way of life is not the only factor which helps to determine the forms which they take. We also find a process of mutual interaction between human needs, which as we have seen are not entirely plastic, and the institutions which provide for their satisfaction. And both these forms of interaction, between different institutions and between institutions and needs, are not only going on all the time and mutually modifying one another, but they also take place in interaction with the natural environment of the society concerned. Accordingly, the forms which institutions take are determined partly by the needs which they satisfy, partly by the natural environment to which they are responses, and partly by the way of life in which they are elements. It is the fact that, within limits, human nature and needs are plastic and modifiable which makes this mutual adjustment of institutions possible. The fact that they are modifiable only within limits makes the adjustment difficult, and helps to determine the part which institutions play in the structure of operative ideals. Progress in the operative ideal of a people, therefore, consists mainly in the growing coherence of the pattern which results from the interaction within it of the three factors: human nature, natural environment and institutions. This adjustment, however, is never perfeet nor is the resulting pattern of the operative ideal completely coherent. The friction and consequent frustration which remain point the way to further progress and fresh adjustments.

How then does this adjustment of institutions take place? It takes place through the interaction of their requirements in the minds of individuals. Institutions, as we have seen, exist primarily as habits of thinking and feeling and acting in the minds of individuals. This is their common meeting-ground where they mutually modify one another. It is the requirements of individuals which they meet more or less adequately, and it is the appeal which they make to individuals which keeps them going. The same individual takes part in the working of many institutions, and they all make demands on him which have somehow to be adjusted. It is true that the normal human being has a great capacity for entertaining inconsistent beliefs, adopting inconsistent attitudes and behaving in inconsistent ways in different contexts and connections, especially as long as the inconsistent elements can be kept in water-tight compartments and do not come into open and conscious conflict. But though the average man, whether primitive or civilised, is only partially and intermittently rational, he is still aware of himself as one amid the variety of his beliefs and attitudes and activities, and there are therefore limits to the inconsistencies which he can harbour. Accordingly, though institutions may in the first instance develop independently, if in practice the requirements of one frustrate those of another, or if two require incompatible lines of conduct in the same situation, some adjustment of their claims is necessary in the interests both of peace of mind and of effective action. Moreover, the individual who forms certain habits of thinking and feeling and acting in the service of one institution has a tendency to carry them with him when he behaves as a member of others; so that there tends to be a certain affinity or congruity of spirit between the different institutions of a particular people. In other words, the mutual adjustment of institutions takes place in the same way and for the same reason as the ends desired by an individual tend to become integrated into systems or patterns, that is because men are self-conscious, aware of themselves as one amid the variety of their experiences and activities, and therefore desire some measure of consistency in their way of life; and the ideal towards which this mutual adjustment tends both in the case of institutions and the desires which they serve is a form of life with a unitary pattern corresponding to the unity of the self as self-conscious.

Accordingly, if the individuals who co-operate in them are to be on the whole satisfied, institutions must be at least so adjusted as to be compossible. But this adjustment does not normally take place at the conscious or reflective level, much less as the result of deliberate planning. Among most peoples there is much uncritical acceptance of and unquestioning allegiance to traditional ways of life; and the individuals who are frustrated by traditional institutions seldom think out the causes of their condition. Nevertheless, they feel the discomfort and the frustration, and in time these undermine the incentives which keep the institutions going, and so lead to their modification or decay. Moreover, as we shall see in detail later, institutions are so connected that the satisfactions gained in one provide the incentives necessary to do the duties required by another or others; and therefore changes in one indirectly produce changes in others. It is true that people do not normally think out these interconnections between their institutions, and that even when they deliberately change one they seldom realise the indirect effects which this will produce in others. Still less is this so, when the changes come about unconsciously as the result of the frustration to which a particular institution leads. Nevertheless, the interconnections are there and operative, and as a result changes in one institution lead to changes in others which are neither foreseen nor desired. The clearest evidence of this is to be found in the effects produced on the ways of life of primitive peoples by their contact with more advanced civilisations, but it can be illustrated from the way of life of any people. As a result of these interconnections of institutions, we cannot understand the ways in which they work or the incentives which keep them going, the responses which they evoke or the judgements which are passed on them, unless we consider them in their relations to one another within the context of the way of life of which they form parts.

In recent years a great deal has been written about the way in which institutions, and especially the institutions of primitive peoples, are integrated into structural patterns constituting ways of life or patterns of culture. But different authorities are apt to mean different things by such terms as the ‘pattern of a culture’ or the ‘integration of a way of life’, and it is essential that we should distinguish between these different meanings; for their implications for moral and social theory are different, and the evidence in support of them seems to vary in cogency.

Functional anthropologists, like Malinowski and Radcliffe-Brown, mean by the integration or unity of a culture that its different institutions interlock and interpenetrate in the sense that the satisfactions gained in one provide incentives to the performance of the duties required by others. For example, the requirements of a family and the satisfactions it provides may be the motives for performing the duties of economic or agricultural institutions; or participation in religious ceremonies may foster the spirit of goodwill which is necessary for performing the duties required by social institutions. In this way, the different institutions of a particular people interweave and support one another, with the result that we cannot understand one without taking account of others and it may be of the whole of which they are parts. The evidence in support of this contention seems to me overwhelming and conclusive. We shall find many examples of it in our account of primitive societies; and, as the way in which this interlocking takes place varies from people to people, I shall postpone further illustration of it till we meet actual instances of it in their concrete context. Meantime, I want to consider what precisely is involved in the concept of this integration or interpenetration of institutions, and to distinguish it from other and, as it seems to me, less cogent conceptions regarding patterns of culture.

The integration of institutions in a way of life to which the functional anthropologists call attention does not necessarily mean that the parts of a way of life are all different expressions of one principle, or that they are logically connected, or even that a particular institution might not fit equally well into another pattern or way of life. It means only that they are Psychologically connected in the minds of the individual members of the society, in the habits of thinking and feeling and acting which have grown up in relation to them; and that as a result they have become so adjusted that their requirements are not only compatible, but that they mutually support one another. It means in fact that the pattern of the way of life is the objective counterpart of the unity of the minds or personalities of the individual members who share it. Neither is usually, or perhaps ever, completely coherent, and such unity as they have is usually below the conscious or reflective level, but the one is the measure of the other.

Other anthropologists, like Benedict and Mead, regard the unity or integration of a pattern of culture as meaning that the culture is the consistent expression of a particular attitude of mind or spirit, or of the dominance of one or a particular set of values. I do not think that they distinguish clearly between these two grounds of integration. For instance, of the three examples of ‘patterns of culture’ given by Miss Benedict in her book with that title, one—that of the Pueblo—has as its unifying principle the spirit of moderation. Miss Benedict traces in detail how this spirit or attitude finds expression in every sphere of their life and modifies the nature of institutions, which they have in common with or have even borrowed from their neighbours who are much more given to excesses. But while this attitude, the high value which they attach to self-restraint and moderation, gives a certain unity and consistency to their culture, it neither determines what their institutions should be nor what duties they should require. All that it demands is that, whatever they do, they should not carry it to excess nor get too excited about it. Now this is quite different from the functional interdependence whereby the different institutions of a people dovetail into and support one another in the way described by Malinowski and Radcliffe-Brown; and it still leaves unanswered the question with which we are primarily concerned, namely: What determines the particular duties of individuals? For what the spirit of moderation determines is not so much what people should do as certain characteristics of how they should do it. It is true that a dominant spirit or attitude leaves its mark on all the institutions of a people. It may even rule out certain institutions as being inconsistent with it;9 but it is a common characteristic rather than an interconnecting principle, an abstract rather than a concrete universal; and, therefore, it does not bring to light the principle by which duties are determined, the principle which guides the choice of the moral agent.

Another of the cultures examined by Miss Benedict is characterised not so much by a dominant attitude like moderation, as by an exaggerated and one-sided emphasis on one of man's primary interests or impulses, that of self-assertion. This emphasis leads to an attitude of self-reliant individualism, competition and even aggressiveness. This exaggerated value placed on one interest gives some consistency to a culture, but it also may express itself in many different ways of life, or through many different institutions among different peoples. It may reveal itself, for example, in the warlike activities of some Indian tribes or the acquisitive tendencies of some capitalistic societies, as well as in the accumulation of wealth to be destroyed in self-glorification and the discomfiture of one's neighbour, as among the Kwakiutl.10 But, like the dominant attitude of the Pueblo, it does not determine what the institutions of a people should be, or what duties they should require, but only the spirit in which the duties should be performed.

Nevertheless, this dominance of one interest differs from the attitude of moderation which characterises the Pueblo culture in one important respect. The latter is quite consistent with the satisfaction of all the main human interests, as long as this is done with moderation, but the dominance of one interest like self-assertion is not. If the latter is carried to its extreme or ideal limit, it becomes destructive of any way of life. As Miss Benedict herself points out, it is only the chieftain class who could pursue it in Kwakiutl, and they could do it only because the conditions under which the community found themselves made living easy and provided a surplus of wealth in addition to what was required for normal consumption. What is more important, even they could only carry it out within limits which were consistent with some satisfaction of other interests. If they exceeded these limits, their followers would not provide them with the wherewithal to continue their destructive pastime. The same considerations apply to an even more marked degree to the natives of Dobu, the third people whose way of life is analysed by Miss Benedict.

I dwell on these considerations for three reasons. First, I want to point out the difference between such patterns of culture, whether they result from a dominant attitude or from the special position given to one interest, and those which are due to the functional interdependence of the institutions of a society and which result from an attempt to satisfy human nature as a whole.

Secondly, Miss Benedict and those who share her view hold that different societies are not engaged in doing or trying to do the same thing. There are, they contend, so many different possible interests or values, any one of which may be given the dominant position, that no society can pursue them all. Each society has therefore to make a selection and seek to realise the particular values which it has chosen. According to this view, different societies do not just arrive at different solutions of the same problem. Even their problems are different. As Miss Benedict puts it, “they are travelling along different roads in pursuit of different ends”,11 and therefore the results of their efforts are “incommensurable”.

Now this seems to me a mistaken conception. All societies seem to me to be trying to satisfy human nature as a whole, and, therefore, trying to go in the same direction towards the same goal. Of course, the results of their efforts are different, but the nature and needs of man provide a basis of comparison between them. It may well be that this nature and those needs may be satisfied in more than one form of life, and certainly we are not in a position today to say that any one form of life which has been worked out in detail is just right, and all others merely wrong. Therefore, those anthropologists who emphasise this aspect are justified in insisting on the desirability of tolerance towards those who have made, or are making, social experiments, and on the need for an empirical attitude which would learn from the experiments which have been made, as against a priori speculation, as to the ways in which it is or is not possible to satisfy human nature.

There are, however, ways in which we may test the adequacy of ways of life which have the kind of unity described by Miss Benedict. We may, e.g., consider whether a way of life whose unity is based on the dominance of a particular attitude or interest contains the seeds of disintegration within itself in the sense that its principle is incapable of being universalised without disastrous consequences.12 This is true, e.g., of the exaggerated self-assertion of the Kwakiutl. A particular personality may be integrated on this principle, but the result is liable to be unstable, because it fails to satisfy the whole nature of the individual. It is even more unsatisfactory as the basis of a social order; for a society in which everybody consistently acted on it would disintegrate in anarchy. When it is applied to the relations between societies, as it unfortunately so often still is, the results are no less disastrous. Moreover, while we get a few societies to whose ways of life one dominant attitude or major interest gives a certain unity and consistency, even Miss Benedict admits13 that this is probably not true of all; and to get the measure of consistency, which she attributes to the ways of life of the peoples whom she describes with such charm, Miss Benedict, as Boas points out in his introduction to her book,14 chose a few rather extreme examples; and even these she presents in a somewhat one-sided way.15 The impression which is apt to be left by her presentation is that primitive societies are more consistent than any societies in fact are.

Thirdly, when all allowance has been made for these considerations, views such as Miss Benedict's emphasise an important point of principle, namely, that there is a spirit or an attitude of mind which pervades the institutions or the way of life of a particular people, and that they cannot be understood unless we enter into and appreciate this inner attitude. There is a certain affinity between the institutions of a particular people which makes them different from what they would be among other peoples however much their external arrangements may resemble one another.16 Nevertheless, the network of institutions which constitutes the way of life of a people is seldom the expression of one principle or a logically consistent whole. It is more often a compromise based on the limitation and mutual adjustment of different principles, a psychological unity which is the result of the dovetailing and interlocking of interests rather than a logically coherent whole. Its unity or adequacy can only be considered in the light of the nature of man for which it is an attempt to provide.

It is of course easy, either for an individual or a society, to get consistency by subordinating every other consideration to one particular interest or value; but this will not give the comprehensiveness necessary to satisfy all the needs of the individual, much less those of all the individuals who constitute a society. Accordingly, the mutual adjustment of institutions while a necessary is not a sufficient condition of a satisfactory form of life. All the institutions in which a form of life is embodied may be perfectly adjusted, but it may nevertheless fail to make adequate provision for some or even for many of the most fundamental needs of man. And therefore, as I have said, the interaction between human needs and institutions is as important for the development of a satisfactory social order as is the interaction of institutions with one another; for if the way of life which the institutions of a society constitute fails either to make adequate provision for the main needs of its members or imposes on them, or on too many of them, such restraints and restrictions as leave them frustrated and unhappy, it contains a source of contradiction within itself which makes its permanence unlikely. This is specially so among the smaller and simpler peoples who have little political authority or organised force which would enable them to impose a way of life on recalcitrant members. If, therefore, the pattern of their way of life is to be complied with, it must provide compensations and rewards which are obvious and attractive to the majority of their members.

These considerations, no doubt, also explain why we sometimes find institutions which are not so much consistent with the other institutions of the people whose they are, in the sense of being based on the same principles with them, as complementary to them in the sense that they provide an outlet for impulses and desires which are frustrated by, or given inadequate expression in their main institutions. For example, we sometimes find as a regular institution periods of licence, occasions when the usual restraints of ordinary life are removed. Such institutions cannot be integrated with the other institutions of the people concerned as parts of one consistent whole. Open conflict can only be prevented by keeping such activities to stated periods. This, however, does not reconcile them with the requirements of other institutions whose rules have to be suspended while these activities are taking place; and this is not integration but failure to integrate.

The integration or mutual adjustment of institutions is so important because it is the incompatible demands which institutions make on individuals that give rise to the most acute conflicts of duties and clashes of loyalties. These conflicts give rise to moral perplexity, perplexity as to what is right, what ought to be done. These are quite different from the ordinary moral conflicts in which a man has no doubt what his duty is, but finds it so opposed to his inclinations that he is tempted not to do it. Conflicts of duties are common enough among all peoples whether primitive or civilised. They arise, e.g., between what a man regards as his duty to the family which he has created, his wife and children, and his duty to the family to which he originally belonged, his kin by blood; or between his duty to his friend, to whom he has sworn lifelong loyalty, and that to his clan or group, who may be at war with those of his friend. Sometimes, indeed, we find conflicting principles at the very core of a way of life, between its most fundamental institutions;17 and unless some adjustments were made, some compromise arrived at, the very foundations of the society would crumble. But despite such adjustments, conflicts do from time to time occur, and they are a source of weakness to the society and of unhappiness to its members. For conflicts between the institutions of a society tend to be repeated in the Personalities of its members. They are due to inconsistencies not only in the social pattern, but also in the personal ideals and minds of its individual members; for, as we have seen, the one is the counterpart of the other.

If the adjustments in the way of life of a society were regarded as perfect, there would be no stimulus to or hope of further progress, except as the result of outside interference, whether in the way of contact with other people or a change in the natural environment. But while such outside influences have often proved an effective stimulus to change in the way of life of a people, whether in the way of progress or regress there are at least two other factors which tend to bring about such changes. One is the pressure of the needs and interests of human nature which are inadequately provided for by existing institutions; the other is the conflict of the requirements of different institutions which are based on principles inadequately adjusted to one another. Both these forces are probably operative all the time in every society. It is true that in some primitive societies they operate slowly and imperceptibly; but we are assured on good authority18 that there is no society, regarding whose condition over any length of time we have reliable evidence, in which such changes are not found to be taking place.

In every society, then, we find ideal patterns of behaviour embodied in working institutions. The institutions are part fact, part idea; for none of them ever in practice completely embodies its ideal. These institutions are mutually adjusted through their interaction in the minds of the individual members of the society, but again this adjustment is never perfect. The way of life which they constitute, therefore, points to an ideal which it only partially embodies. We can thus distinguish between the formal ideal which cannot be described in detail but only in such general terms as the good for man, or the greatest good of the greatest number, or the good of the self as a whole, and an operative ideal which is embodied in the system of institutions of a particular people.

Even within the embodied or operative ideal and its constituent institutions, the form of life which has been conceived in detail, there are still further distinctions to be drawn. We may distinguish between the spirit and the letter of a way of life or an institution; for the spirit can never completely find expression in rules or patterns of behaviour. Indeed if men as a whole were not prepared to act in the spirit of an institution, and do more than the rules require from them, it is doubtful if any institution would function effectively. We may thus distinguish between the minimum requirements of an institution or way of life in the sense of that short of which the individual is regarded as blameworthy, and the ideal demands of the best that the individual can conceive, or that for which his fellows would regard him as praiseworthy; and there are many stages between these limits. Moreover, individuals enter some more some less into the spirit of their institutions. There is a great difference between the requirements of an institution or operative ideal as it is conceived by the best men in their best moments and as it is conceived by ordinary men in their average moments. There is also a wide variety in the powers of mind and imagination of the different members of any society, and, therefore, some see much further and appreciate more clearly the relation between what is required of them in particular circumstances and the good of their society as a whole.

If the view which I have been suggesting is sound in principle, it follows that the personal and the social ideal, and moral and social theory, should not be so sharply separated as is often done. But though it seems to me important to recognise the intimate relation between them, it is no less important not to confuse them.

What, then, is the difference between the points of view of moral and social theory? To any way of life or any piece of conduct, there are, as we have seen, two sides: an inner and spiritual side, a side of motives, beliefs and attitudes of mind, and an outer and visible side of rules and ends and patterns of behaviour. Though the two sides are inseparable, they can and should be distinguished. Morality is concerned with both sides. It is concerned both with the actions or courses of conduct which are right and with the motives from which they should be done. Social theory is concerned mainly with the outer aspect, the structure of society, its ideal patterns of behaviour, systems of rights and duties, considered in abstraction from the spirit or attitude or motives of the individuals who fulfil the duties and claim the rights. Thus the concern of morality with the outer side, the side of rightness, of rules and ideal patterns, brings it into close connection with social theory; but its emphasis on the inner side, the side of motives, distinguishes it from social theory. Its concern with the inner side is the distinguishing characteristic of morality; and it is to the inner side that moral goodness in the strict sense belongs. In these lectures I am mainly concerned with the outer aspect, the ideals which different peoples consider good and the rules which they regard as right. It is, therefore, all the more necessary to insist here that no ideal pattern, no rules, no system of rights and duties will give us the whole of what is morally required of us. It is also required of us that we should adopt certain attitudes and act from certain motives. Even if a man knows what is right, and in that sense what his duty is, he may do it, if he does it at all, in a spirit of generosity and goodwill, perhaps even doing more and exacting less than others have a right to expect; or he may do it in a halting and niggardly manner, doing the minimum which he can without being blameworthy, and doing even that from fear of unpleasant consequences. While this makes no difference to the outer aspect or to what is regarded as right, it makes all the difference to the moral value of the actions and the agent.

It is of course true that it is the inner aspect, the motives of individuals, which makes a way of life a reality and keeps its institutions functioning; and, therefore, no complete account can be given of them without reference to this inner side. Nevertheless, not only may we for certain purposes consider the structural pattern of a way of life by itself in abstraction from the motives which keep it going, as is done by social theory, but we have to do so when we are trying to discover or understand what is right. But while insisting that this is only one aspect of the ethical problem, and that there is another aspect which distinguishes ethical from social theory, it is no less important to recognise that morality has this outer and visible aspect, that it is concerned with the principles on which we discover what is right, and that this brings it into a very intimate relationship to social theory.

Even from the outer aspect, the point of view of what is right or what ought to be done, there is a difference between the individual and the social ideal. It is true that the social ideal exists only in the minds of individuals, in their habits of thinking and feeling, in the judgements they pass and the ideals they entertain, but the whole of it does not normally exist in any one mind. The parts of it which exist in different minds overlap in all sorts of intricate ways, but normally no individual has sufficient knowledge and experience to cover the whole social pattern. And even if he had, it would not be his duty to realise it all. As far as its requirements from him are concerned, the individual sees the social ideal from a particular point of view, a point of view determined by his station and his gifts. No doubt in the simple conditions of many primitive societies there is less difference between the ideal as it is conceived by different individuals and, therefore, less difference between the personal and the social ideal than there is in the more complex and advanced societies. The members of a primitive or any small society normally recognise the identity of their own good and that of their people, even though they may find the requirements of their society very much opposed to their inclinations or their immediate advantage. Nevertheless, even in the simplest and least complex societies, there is sufficient differentiation of function to make some variation in the ideals of different individuals inevitable. For example, the ideal for a war leader differs from that for his followers; where there is a difference of rank, the ideal for a commoner is not the same as that for a chief; and in no case is the ideal the same for a man and a woman.

Moreover, the social ideal involves elements which are not necessary for the realisation of the personal ideals of many of its members. For example, the needs of at least some adults could be met and their ideals realised without any reference to the coming into being, the education and training of other individuals who will carry on the society; but the needs of the society could not be met nor the social ideal realised without such a reference.

Acceptance of such a close connection as is here suggested between the moral and social ideals and between moral and social theory would, no doubt, have the effect of making moral philosophy more difficult and perhaps more controversial, or at least controversial in a different sense; for on this view there may not be so much unanimity about the judgements of value which constitute its data as many writers on ethics are apt to take for granted. It would, however, make it more concrete and less academic and perhaps more helpful to the moral agent, especially in a society like our own, which is not only rapidly changing but trying consciously to reconstruct many of its institutions; and which, therefore, presents the individual with moral problems which mere goodwill, however necessary and important, will not alone enable him to solve.

It may be objected, however, that the primary business of ethics is not to give practical guidance to the moral agent, but to understand and explain the nature of morality. With this contention I am in entire agreement. Ethics is a theoretical enquiry. It is not its business to tell the moral agent what his duties are, or on what principles he should base his moral judgements. Its business is rather to bring to light the principle or principles on which he does in fact base his most considered moral judgements and, if there is more than one principle, to show the relation between them. Nothing which I have said is inconsistent with this. What I am contending is that the principle or principles on which the moral agent bases his judgements must be principles which give practical guidance. Otherwise they would not serve his purpose, which is to discover what he ought to do in particular circumstances. Unless the moral agent's procedure, even in his most reflective moments and his most considered judgements, is irrational and arbitrary, unless, that is, the moral life is a chaos of unrelated particular judgements, it must involve or proceed according to some principle or principles, even though these may at times be operative in the mind of the moral agent rather than consciously before it. My contention is that these principles are principles which give practical guidance, and that, therefore, unless the principles brought to light by ethical theory are principles which supply such guidance, the theorist has not done his work thoroughly. It seems to me that much recent ethical writing and many recent ethical theories are too abstract and general, too remote from the concrete facts of the moral life as it is lived from day to day. This is one of the reasons why I want to bring it into closer relation to social theory and to social institutions in connection with which men have, and recognise that they have, particular rights and duties, privileges and responsibilities. But I am concerned with the social ideal and social structure, not for their own intrinsic interest, but because they set the individual his moral duties and obligations.

Do I suggest, then, I may be asked, that there are no moral rules which have a general application, rules which are the conditions of the functioning of all institutions or ways of life, rules which apply to all relations between persons, and which therefore do not derive their justification or authority from any particular institution or way of life or specific relation between persons? I shall return to the nature of moral rules and their place in the moral life after I have considered the ways of life of some representative primitive peoples. Meantime I shall confine myself to four observations. (1) There are general rules which are the conditions of effective co-operation anywhere, and they tend to be recognised as right by all peoples; but the limits within which they are recognised, the interpretation which is placed on them, and the exceptions to them which are regarded as right, vary from people to people. The forms which these variations take not only find expression in, but tend to be determined by, institutions and the interrelation of institutions within ways of life. What in practice constitutes the most difficult and perplexing problem is not so much what rules should be generally recognised, but which should give way when their requirements clash, and in what circumstances it is right to make exceptions to them; and this cannot be understood by considering the rules in general terms by themselves, but by reference to the way of life in which they are embodied. It is their relation to the institutions which constitute this way of life which gives the rules concreteness, and explains how they function in determining the duties and obligations which are regarded as binding. (2) Even the more general moral rules are recognised as right in the first instance in the relations between those who co-operate in particular institutions; and it is only when the form of life to which they give rise is found good in the working of these institutions that the rules are gradually extended to other institutions and relations, and in the end to all relations between persons. This seems to be the way in which mankind arrived at the rules which are regarded as generally binding. (3) Not only among the less enlightened peoples, but at all stages of moral development, higher ideals and more stringent rules tend to be regarded as binding in the relations between members of small and simple institutions. Every new step in moral enlightenment seems to take place within such groups; and much progress in moral insight consists in the recognition that the ideals and rules which are binding within the narrower group not only admit of, but demand a wider application; and with this recognition comes a truer grasp of the ideals and rules themselves. But once they are recognised as binding in one set of relations, a powerful lever is provided which can be used to enforce recognition of them in other relations. (4) In view of these considerations, while I have no wish to belittle, much less to deny, the importance of rules in the moral life, I am not at all satisfied that, in our original moral reflection, we think in terms of general rules to anything like the extent which some writers on ethics suggest. It seems to me that we think much more often in terms of the relations between individuals who co-operate in institutions, and the conditions which are necessary for the development of their personalities and the realisation of their purposes; and, while the working of these institutions and the satisfaction of these conditions presuppose rules, and can be expressed largely, if not entirely, in terms of rules, it is they themselves which justify both the rules and the exceptions to them which are considered right.

Accordingly, I think the most fruitful way of approaching moral rules is through considering the nature of institutions and the rules which their functioning requires, and seeing how institutions and their rules are related to one another in a way of life. This will enable us to see how the ways of life, which their institutions in their interrelation constitute, explain and justify both the rules and the exceptions to them which different peoples regard as right. I propose, therefore, to devote the next few lectures to describing the institutions and ways of life of some representative primitive peoples in order to show how they explain and justify the rules which they regard as right and the form of the ends which they regard as good.

Before beginning this description I want to sum up the results of this lecture so as to bring out the characteristics of the ways of life of different peoples which are specially relevant to our ethical enquiries. A way of life or an operative ideal is an exceedingly complex system of interrelated and mutually adjusted elements. Looked at from the outside, it is embodied in a system of institutions which dovetail into and mutually modify and support one another. Looked at from the inside, it is the expression of a certain spirit or attitude of mind. And there is an affinity between the inner and the outer aspects. For a system of institutions both expresses and encourages a certain type of character or personality; and a spirit or attitude of mind finds expression more naturally and more adequately in certain types of institutions. But while the inner and the outer aspects are the subjective and the objective counterparts of one another, it is on the inner side that the connections and the mutual adjustment of the factors take place. To such a way of life we may apply the double test of comprehensiveness and consistency, i.e. adequacy to provide for the main needs or interests of those who share it, and freedom from internal disharmony. Moreover, the conception of such a way of life is developed in relation to the natural and supernatural environment of those who entertain it, and therefore the ideas which they entertain about their environment help to determine their operative ideal.

If these contentions are sound, no element in a way of life, whether end or act, interest or rule, plan or policy, can be completely understood or have final judgement of value passed on it except in its context. It does not contain the ground of its goodness or its rightness within itself. The work of moral deliberation consists in placing the possible alternatives open to the individual in the widest possible context to discover which of them is best fitted to maintain or promote the way of life which is his operative ideal. An end is morally good not because considered in isolation it seems to be so, but because it fits into, and is an expression of the spirit of, this way of life. A rule is morally right not because considered in abstraction it seems to be so, but because it is a condition of realising and maintaining this way of life. The way of life itself stands for the good which is the source of moral obligations; and we accept its demands as binding because, our nature being constituted as it is, we cannot do otherwise. When we carefully contemplate the form of life which we take to be the good for man, we cannot help recognising its requirements as obligatory on us. I cannot seriously think that on careful consideration we can regard anything as obligatory unless it seems to us on the whole better than any possible alternative would be. But what is on the whole better is determined not by the characteristics or consequences of particular acts in abstraction or isolation, but by their place in the context of the form of life of which they are parts.