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Complete works of Charles Darwin, Biography, Quotes
The Descent Of Man
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COMPARISON OF THE MENTAL POWERS OF MAN AND THE LOWER ANIMALS–continued.
The moral sense–Fundamental proposition–The qualities of social animals–
Origin of sociability–Struggle between opposed instincts–Man a social
animal–The more enduring social instincts conquer other less persistent
instincts–The social virtues alone regarded by savages–The self-regarding
virtues acquired at a later stage of development–The importance of the
judgment of the members of the same community on conduct–Transmission of
moral tendencies–Summary.
I fully subscribe to the judgment of those writers (1. See, for instance,
on this subject, Quatrefages, 'Unite de l'Espece Humaine,' 1861, p. 21,
etc.) who maintain that of all the differences between man and the lower
animals, the moral sense or conscience is by far the most important. This
sense, as Mackintosh (2. 'Dissertation an Ethical Philosophy,' 1837, p.
231, etc.) remarks, "has a rightful supremacy over every other principle of
human action"; it is summed up in that short but imperious word "ought," so
full of high significance. It is the most noble of all the attributes of
man, leading him without a moment's hesitation to risk his life for that of
a fellow-creature; or after due deliberation, impelled simply by the deep
feeling of right or duty, to sacrifice it in some great cause. Immanuel
Kant exclaims, "Duty! Wondrous thought, that workest neither by fond
insinuation, flattery, nor by any threat, but merely by holding up thy
naked law in the soul, and so extorting for thyself always reverence, if
not always obedience; before whom all appetites are dumb, however secretly
they rebel; whence thy original?" (3. 'Metaphysics of Ethics,' translated
by J.W. Semple, Edinburgh, 1836, p. 136.)
This great question has been discussed by many writers (4. Mr. Bain gives
a list ('Mental and Moral Science,' 1868, pp. 543-725) of twenty-six
British authors who have written on this subject, and whose names are
familiar to every reader; to these, Mr. Bain's own name, and those of Mr.
Lecky, Mr. Shadworth Hodgson, Sir J. Lubbock, and others, might be added.)
of consummate ability; and my sole excuse for touching on it, is the
impossibility of here passing it over; and because, as far as I know, no
one has approached it exclusively from the side of natural history. The
investigation possesses, also, some independent interest, as an attempt to
see how far the study of the lower animals throws light on one of the
highest psychical faculties of man.
The following proposition seems to me in a high degree probable–namely,
that any animal whatever, endowed with well-marked social instincts (5.
Sir B. Brodie, after observing that man is a social animal ('Psychological
Enquiries,' 1854, p. 192), asks the pregnant question, "ought not this to
settle the disputed question as to the existence of a moral sense?"
Similar ideas have probably occurred to many persons, as they did long ago
to Marcus Aurelius. Mr. J.S. Mill speaks, in his celebrated work,
'Utilitarianism,' (1864, pp. 45, 46), of the social feelings as a "powerful
natural sentiment," and as "the natural basis of sentiment for utilitarian
morality." Again he says, "Like the other acquired capacities above
referred to, the moral faculty, if not a part of our nature, is a natural
out-growth from it; capable, like them, in a certain small degree of
springing up spontaneously." But in opposition to all this, he also
remarks, "if, as in my own belief, the moral feelings are not innate, but
acquired, they are not for that reason less natural." It is with
hesitation that I venture to differ at all from so profound a thinker, but
it can hardly be disputed that the social feelings are instinctive or
innate in the lower animals; and why should they not be so in man? Mr.
Bain (see, for instance, 'The Emotions and the Will,' 1865, p. 481) and
others believe that the moral sense is acquired by each individual during
his lifetime. On the general theory of evolution this is at least
extremely improbable. The ignoring of all transmitted mental qualities
will, as it seems to me, be hereafter judged as a most serious blemish in
the works of Mr. Mill.), the parental and filial affections being here
included, would inevitably acquire a moral sense or conscience, as soon as
its intellectual powers had become as well, or nearly as well developed, as
in man. For, FIRSTLY, the social instincts lead an animal to take pleasure
in the society of its fellows, to feel a certain amount of sympathy with
them, and to perform various services for them. The services may be of a
definite and evidently instinctive nature; or there may be only a wish and
readiness, as with most of the higher social animals, to aid their fellows
in certain general ways. But these feelings and services are by no means
extended to all the individuals of the same species, only to those of the
same association. SECONDLY, as soon as the mental faculties had become
highly developed, images of all past actions and motives would be
incessantly passing through the brain of each individual: and that feeling
of dissatisfaction, or even misery, which invariably results, as we shall
hereafter see, from any unsatisfied instinct, would arise, as often as it
was perceived that the enduring and always present social instinct had
yielded to some other instinct, at the time stronger, but neither enduring
in its nature, nor leaving behind it a very vivid impression. It is clear
that many instinctive desires, such as that of hunger, are in their nature
of short duration; and after being satisfied, are not readily or vividly
recalled. THIRDLY, after the power of language had been acquired, and the
wishes of the community could be expressed, the common opinion how each
member ought to act for the public good, would naturally become in a
paramount degree the guide to action. But it should be borne in mind that
however great weight we may attribute to public opinion, our regard for the
approbation and disapprobation of our fellows depends on sympathy, which,
as we shall see, forms an essential part of the social instinct, and is
indeed its foundation-stone. LASTLY, habit in the individual would
ultimately play a very important part in guiding the conduct of each
member; for the social instinct, together with sympathy, is, like any other
instinct, greatly strengthened by habit, and so consequently would be
obedience to the wishes and judgment of the community. These several
subordinate propositions must now be discussed, and some of them at
considerable length.
It may be well first to premise that I do not wish to maintain that any
strictly social animal, if its intellectual faculties were to become as
active and as highly developed as in man, would acquire exactly the same
moral sense as ours. In the same manner as various animals have some sense
of beauty, though they admire widely-different objects, so they might have
a sense of right and wrong, though led by it to follow widely different
lines of conduct. If, for instance, to take an extreme case, men were
reared under precisely the same conditions as hive-bees, there can hardly
be a doubt that our unmarried females would, like the worker-bees, think it
a sacred duty to kill their brothers, and mothers would strive to kill
their fertile daughters; and no one would think of interfering. (6. Mr.
H. Sidgwick remarks, in an able discussion on this subject (the 'Academy,'
June 15, 1872, p. 231), "a superior bee, we may feel sure, would aspire to
a milder solution of the population question." Judging, however, from the
habits of many or most savages, man solves the problem by female
infanticide, polyandry and promiscuous intercourse; therefore it may well
be doubted whether it would be by a milder method. Miss Cobbe, in
commenting ('Darwinism in Morals,' 'Theological Review,' April 1872, pp.
188-191) on the same illustration, says, the PRINCIPLES of social duty
would be thus reversed; and by this, I presume, she means that the
fulfilment of a social duty would tend to the injury of individuals; but
she overlooks the fact, which she would doubtless admit, that the instincts
of the bee have been acquired for the good of the community. She goes so
far as to say that if the theory of ethics advocated in this chapter were
ever generally accepted, "I cannot but believe that in the hour of their
triumph would be sounded the knell of the virtue of mankind!" It is to be
hoped that the belief in the permanence of virtue on this earth is not held
by many persons on so weak a tenure.) Nevertheless, the bee, or any other
social animal, would gain in our supposed case, as it appears to me, some
feeling of right or wrong, or a conscience. For each individual would have
an inward sense of possessing certain stronger or more enduring instincts,
and others less strong or enduring; so that there would often be a struggle
as to which impulse should be followed; and satisfaction, dissatisfaction,
or even misery would be felt, as past impressions were compared during
their incessant passage through the mind. In this case an inward monitor
would tell the animal that it would have been better to have followed the
one impulse rather than the other. The one course ought to have been
followed, and the other ought not; the one would have been right and the
other wrong; but to these terms I shall recur.
SOCIABILITY.
Animals of many kinds are social; we find even distinct species living
together; for example, some American monkeys; and united flocks of rooks,
jackdaws, and starlings. Man shews the same feeling in his strong love for
the dog, which the dog returns with interest. Every one must have noticed
how miserable horses, dogs, sheep, etc., are when separated from their
companions, and what strong mutual affection the two former kinds, at
least, shew on their reunion. It is curious to speculate on the feelings
of a dog, who will rest peacefully for hours in a room with his master or
any of the family, without the least notice being taken of him; but if left
for a short time by himself, barks or howls dismally. We will confine our
attention to the higher social animals; and pass over insects, although
some of these are social, and aid one another in many important ways. The
most common mutual service in the higher animals is to warn one another of
danger by means of the united senses of all. Every sportsman knows, as Dr.
Jaeger remarks (7. 'Die Darwin'sche Theorie,' s. 101.), how difficult it
is to approach animals in a herd or troop. Wild horses and cattle do not,
I believe, make any danger-signal; but the attitude of any one of them who
first discovers an enemy, warns the others. Rabbits stamp loudly on the
ground with their hind-feet as a signal: sheep and chamois do the same
with their forefeet, uttering likewise a whistle. Many birds, and some
mammals, post sentinels, which in the case of seals are said (8. Mr. R.
Brown in 'Proc. Zoolog. Soc.' 1868, p. 409.) generally to be the females.
The leader of a troop of monkeys acts as the sentinel, and utters cries
expressive both of danger and of safety. (9. Brehm, 'Thierleben,' B. i.
1864, s. 52, 79. For the case of the monkeys extracting thorns from each
other, see s. 54. With respect to the Hamadryas turning over stones, the
fact is given (s. 76), on the evidence of Alvarez, whose observations Brehm
thinks quite trustworthy. For the cases of the old male baboons attacking
the dogs, see s. 79; and with respect to the eagle, s. 56.) Social animals
perform many little services for each other: horses nibble, and cows lick
each other, on any spot which itches: monkeys search each other for
external parasites; and Brehm states that after a troop of the
Cercopithecus griseo-viridis has rushed through a thorny brake, each monkey
stretches itself on a branch, and another monkey sitting by,
"conscientiously" examines its fur, and extracts every thorn or burr.
Animals also render more important services to one another: thus wolves
and some other beasts of prey hunt in packs, and aid one another in
attacking their victims. Pelicans fish in concert. The Hamadryas baboons
turn over stones to find insects, etc.; and when they come to a large one,
as many as can stand round, turn it over together and share the booty.
Social animals mutually defend each other. Bull bisons in N. America, when
there is danger, drive the cows and calves into the middle of the herd,
whilst they defend the outside. I shall also in a future chapter give an
account of two young wild bulls at Chillingham attacking an old one in
concert, and of two stallions together trying to drive away a third
stallion from a troop of mares. In Abyssinia, Brehm encountered a great
troop of baboons who were crossing a valley: some had already ascended the
opposite mountain, and some were still in the valley; the latter were
attacked by the dogs, but the old males immediately hurried down from the
rocks, and with mouths widely opened, roared so fearfully, that the dogs
quickly drew back. They were again encouraged to the attack; but by this
time all the baboons had reascended the heights, excepting a young one,
about six months old, who, loudly calling for aid, climbed on a block of
rock, and was surrounded. Now one of the largest males, a true hero, came
down again from the mountain, slowly went to the young one, coaxed him, and
triumphantly led him away–the dogs being too much astonished to make an
attack. I cannot resist giving another scene which was witnessed by this
same naturalist; an eagle seized a young Cercopithecus, which, by clinging
to a branch, was not at once carried off; it cried loudly for assistance,
upon which the other members of the troop, with much uproar, rushed to the
rescue, surrounded the eagle, and pulled out so many feathers, that he no
longer thought of his prey, but only how to escape. This eagle, as Brehm
remarks, assuredly would never again attack a single monkey of a troop.
(10. Mr. Belt gives the case of a spider-monkey (Ateles) in Nicaragua,
which was heard screaming for nearly two hours in the forest, and was found
with an eagle perched close by it. The bird apparently feared to attack as
long as it remained face to face; and Mr. Belt believes, from what he has
seen of the habits of these monkeys, that they protect themselves from
eagles by keeping two or three together. 'The Naturalist in Nicaragua,'
1874, p. 118.)
It is certain that associated animals have a feeling of love for each
other, which is not felt by non-social adult animals. How far in most
cases they actually sympathise in the pains and pleasures of others, is
more doubtful, especially with respect to pleasures. Mr. Buxton, however,
who had excellent means of observation (11. 'Annals and Magazine of
Natural History,' November 1868, p. 382.), states that his macaws, which
lived free in Norfolk, took "an extravagant interest" in a pair with a
nest; and whenever the female left it, she was surrounded by a troop
"screaming horrible acclamations in her honour." It is often difficult to
judge whether animals have any feeling for the sufferings of others of
their kind. Who can say what cows feel, when they surround and stare
intently on a dying or dead companion; apparently, however, as Houzeau
remarks, they feel no pity. That animals sometimes are far from feeling
any sympathy is too certain; for they will expel a wounded animal from the
herd, or gore or worry it to death. This is almost the blackest fact in
natural history, unless, indeed, the explanation which has been suggested
is true, that their instinct or reason leads them to expel an injured
companion, lest beasts of prey, including man, should be tempted to follow
the troop. In this case their conduct is not much worse than that of the
North American Indians, who leave their feeble comrades to perish on the
plains; or the Fijians, who, when their parents get old, or fall ill, bury
them alive. (12. Sir J. Lubbock, 'Prehistoric Times,' 2nd ed., p. 446.)
Many animals, however, certainly sympathise with each other's distress or
danger. This is the case even with birds. Captain Stansbury (13. As
quoted by Mr. L.H. Morgan, 'The American Beaver,' 1868, p. 272. Capt.
Stansbury also gives an interesting account of the manner in which a very
young pelican, carried away by a strong stream, was guided and encouraged
in its attempts to reach the shore by half a dozen old birds.) found on a
salt lake in Utah an old and completely blind pelican, which was very fat,
and must have been well fed for a long time by his companions. Mr. Blyth,
as he informs me, saw Indian crows feeding two or three of their companions
which were blind; and I have heard of an analogous case with the domestic
cock. We may, if we choose, call these actions instinctive; but such cases
are much too rare for the development of any special instinct. (14. As
Mr. Bain states, "effective aid to a sufferer springs from sympathy
proper:" 'Mental and Moral Science,' 1868, p. 245.) I have myself seen a
dog, who never passed a cat who lay sick in a basket, and was a great
friend of his, without giving her a few licks with his tongue, the surest
sign of kind feeling in a dog.
It must be called sympathy that leads a courageous dog to fly at any one
who strikes his master, as he certainly will. I saw a person pretending to
beat a lady, who had a very timid little dog on her lap, and the trial had
never been made before; the little creature instantly jumped away, but
after the pretended beating was over, it was really pathetic to see how
perseveringly he tried to lick his mistress's face, and comfort her. Brehm
(15. 'Thierleben,' B. i. s. 85.) states that when a baboon in confinement
was pursued to be punished, the others tried to protect him. It must have
been sympathy in the cases above given which led the baboons and
Cercopitheci to defend their young comrades from the dogs and the eagle. I
will give only one other instance of sympathetic and heroic conduct, in the
case of a little American monkey. Several years ago a keeper at the
Zoological Gardens shewed me some deep and scarcely healed wounds on the
nape of his own neck, inflicted on him, whilst kneeling on the floor, by a
fierce baboon. The little American monkey, who was a warm friend of this
keeper, lived in the same large compartment, and was dreadfully afraid of
the great baboon. Nevertheless, as soon as he saw his friend in peril, he
rushed to the rescue, and by screams and bites so distracted the baboon
that the man was able to escape, after, as the surgeon thought, running
great risk of his life.
Besides love and sympathy, animals exhibit other qualities connected with
the social instincts, which in us would be called moral; and I agree with
Agassiz (16. 'De l'Espece et de la Classe,' 1869, p. 97.) that dogs
possess something very like a conscience.
Dogs possess some power of self-command, and this does not appear to be
wholly the result of fear. As Braubach (17. 'Die Darwin'sche Art-Lehre,'
1869, s. 54.) remarks, they will refrain from stealing food in the absence
of their master. They have long been accepted as the very type of fidelity
and obedience. But the elephant is likewise very faithful to his driver or
keeper, and probably considers him as the leader of the herd. Dr. Hooker
informs me that an elephant, which he was riding in India, became so deeply
bogged that he remained stuck fast until the next day, when he was
extricated by men with ropes. Under such circumstances elephants will
seize with their trunks any object, dead or alive, to place under their
knees, to prevent their sinking deeper in the mud; and the driver was
dreadfully afraid lest the animal should have seized Dr. Hooker and crushed
him to death. But the driver himself, as Dr. Hooker was assured, ran no
risk. This forbearance under an emergency so dreadful for a heavy animal,
is a wonderful proof of noble fidelity. (18. See also Hooker's 'Himalayan
Journals,' vol. ii. 1854, p. 333.)
All animals living in a body, which defend themselves or attack their
enemies in concert, must indeed be in some degree faithful to one another;
and those that follow a leader must be in some degree obedient. When the
baboons in Abyssinia (19. Brehm, 'Thierleben,' B. i. s. 76.) plunder a
garden, they silently follow their leader; and if an imprudent young animal
makes a noise, he receives a slap from the others to teach him silence and
obedience. Mr. Galton, who has had excellent opportunities for observing
the half-wild cattle in S. Africa, says (20. See his extremely interesting
paper on 'Gregariousness in Cattle, and in Man,' 'Macmillan's Magazine,'
Feb. 1871, p. 353.), that they cannot endure even a momentary separation
from the herd. They are essentially slavish, and accept the common
determination, seeking no better lot than to be led by any one ox who has
enough self-reliance to accept the position. The men who break in these
animals for harness, watch assiduously for those who, by grazing apart,
shew a self-reliant disposition, and these they train as fore-oxen. Mr.
Galton adds that such animals are rare and valuable; and if many were born
they would soon be eliminated, as lions are always on the look-out for the
individuals which wander from the herd.
With respect to the impulse which leads certain animals to associate
together, and to aid one another in many ways, we may infer that in most
cases they are impelled by the same sense of satisfaction or pleasure which
they experience in performing other instinctive actions; or by the same
sense of dissatisfaction as when other instinctive actions are checked. We
see this in innumerable instances, and it is illustrated in a striking
manner by the acquired instincts of our domesticated animals; thus a young
shepherd-dog delights in driving and running round a flock of sheep, but
not in worrying them; a young fox-hound delights in hunting a fox, whilst
some other kinds of dogs, as I have witnessed, utterly disregard foxes.
What a strong feeling of inward satisfaction must impel a bird, so full of
activity, to brood day after day over her eggs. Migratory birds are quite
miserable if stopped from migrating; perhaps they enjoy starting on their
long flight; but it is hard to believe that the poor pinioned goose,
described by Audubon, which started on foot at the proper time for its
journey of probably more than a thousand miles, could have felt any joy in
doing so. Some instincts are determined solely by painful feelings, as by
fear, which leads to self-preservation, and is in some cases directed
towards special enemies. No one, I presume, can analyse the sensations of
pleasure or pain. In many instances, however, it is probable that
instincts are persistently followed from the mere force of inheritance,
without the stimulus of either pleasure or pain. A young pointer, when it
first scents game, apparently cannot help pointing. A squirrel in a cage
who pats the nuts which it cannot eat, as if to bury them in the ground,
can hardly be thought to act thus, either from pleasure or pain. Hence the
common assumption that men must be impelled to every action by experiencing
some pleasure or pain may be erroneous. Although a habit may be blindly
and implicitly followed, independently of any pleasure or pain felt at the
moment, yet if it be forcibly and abruptly checked, a vague sense of
dissatisfaction is generally experienced.
It has often been assumed that animals were in the first place rendered
social, and that they feel as a consequence uncomfortable when separated
from each other, and comfortable whilst together; but it is a more probable
view that these sensations were first developed, in order that those
animals which would profit by living in society, should be induced to live
together, in the same manner as the sense of hunger and the pleasure of
eating were, no doubt, first acquired in order to induce animals to eat.
The feeling of pleasure from society is probably an extension of the
parental or filial affections, since the social instinct seems to be
developed by the young remaining for a long time with their parents; and
this extension may be attributed in part to habit, but chiefly to natural
selection. With those animals which were benefited by living in close
association, the individuals which took the greatest pleasure in society
would best escape various dangers, whilst those that cared least for their
comrades, and lived solitary, would perish in greater numbers. With
respect to the origin of the parental and filial affections, which
apparently lie at the base of the social instincts, we know not the steps
by which they have been gained; but we may infer that it has been to a
large extent through natural selection. So it has almost certainly been
with the unusual and opposite feeling of hatred between the nearest
relations, as with the worker-bees which kill their brother drones, and
with the queen-bees which kill their daughter-queens; the desire to destroy
their nearest relations having been in this case of service to the
community. Parental affection, or some feeling which replaces it, has been
developed in certain animals extremely low in the scale, for example, in
star-fishes and spiders. It is also occasionally present in a few members
alone in a whole group of animals, as in the genus Forficula, or earwigs.
The all-important emotion of sympathy is distinct from that of love. A
mother may passionately love her sleeping and passive infant, but she can
hardly at such times be said to feel sympathy for it. The love of a man
for his dog is distinct from sympathy, and so is that of a dog for his
master. Adam Smith formerly argued, as has Mr. Bain recently, that the
basis of sympathy lies in our strong retentiveness of former states of pain
or pleasure. Hence, "the sight of another person enduring hunger, cold,
fatigue, revives in us some recollection of these states, which are painful
even in idea." We are thus impelled to relieve the sufferings of another,
in order that our own painful feelings may be at the same time relieved.
In like manner we are led to participate in the pleasures of others. (21.
See the first and striking chapter in Adam Smith's 'Theory of Moral
Sentiments.' Also 'Mr. Bain's Mental and Moral Science,' 1868, pp. 244,
and 275-282. Mr. Bain states, that, "sympathy is, indirectly, a source of
pleasure to the sympathiser"; and he accounts for this through reciprocity.
He remarks that "the person benefited, or others in his stead, may make up,
by sympathy and good offices returned, for all the sacrifice." But if, as
appears to be the case, sympathy is strictly an instinct, its exercise
would give direct pleasure, in the same manner as the exercise, as before
remarked, of almost every other instinct.) But I cannot see how this view
explains the fact that sympathy is excited, in an immeasurably stronger
degree, by a beloved, than by an indifferent person. The mere sight of
suffering, independently of love, would suffice to call up in us vivid
recollections and associations. The explanation may lie in the fact that,
with all animals, sympathy is directed solely towards the members of the
same community, and therefore towards known, and more or less beloved
members, but not to all the individuals of the same species. This fact is
not more surprising than that the fears of many animals should be directed
against special enemies. Species which are not social, such as lions and
tigers, no doubt feel sympathy for the suffering of their own young, but
not for that of any other animal. With mankind, selfishness, experience,
and imitation, probably add, as Mr. Bain has shewn, to the power of
sympathy; for we are led by the hope of receiving good in return to perform
acts of sympathetic kindness to others; and sympathy is much strengthened
by habit. In however complex a manner this feeling may have originated, as
it is one of high importance to all those animals which aid and defend one
another, it will have been increased through natural selection; for those
communities, which included the greatest number of the most sympathetic
members, would flourish best, and rear the greatest number of offspring.
It is, however, impossible to decide in many cases whether certain social
instincts have been acquired through natural selection, or are the indirect
result of other instincts and faculties, such as sympathy, reason,
experience, and a tendency to imitation; or again, whether they are simply
the result of long-continued habit. So remarkable an instinct as the
placing sentinels to warn the community of danger, can hardly have been the
indirect result of any of these faculties; it must, therefore, have been
directly acquired. On the other hand, the habit followed by the males of
some social animals of defending the community, and of attacking their
enemies or their prey in concert, may perhaps have originated from mutual
sympathy; but courage, and in most cases strength, must have been
previously acquired, probably through natural selection.
Of the various instincts and habits, some are much stronger than others;
that is, some either give more pleasure in their performance, and more
distress in their prevention, than others; or, which is probably quite as
important, they are, through inheritance, more persistently followed,
without exciting any special feeling of pleasure or pain. We are ourselves
conscious that some habits are much more difficult to cure or change than
others. Hence a struggle may often be observed in animals between
different instincts, or between an instinct and some habitual disposition;
as when a dog rushes after a hare, is rebuked, pauses, hesitates, pursues
again, or returns ashamed to his master; or as between the love of a female
dog for her young puppies and for her master,–for she may be seen to slink
away to them, as if half ashamed of not accompanying her master. But the
most curious instance known to me of one instinct getting the better of
another, is the migratory instinct conquering the maternal instinct. The
former is wonderfully strong; a confined bird will at the proper season
beat her breast against the wires of her cage, until it is bare and bloody.
It causes young salmon to leap out of the fresh water, in which they could
continue to exist, and thus unintentionally to commit suicide. Every one
knows how strong the maternal instinct is, leading even timid birds to face
great danger, though with hesitation, and in opposition to the instinct of
self-preservation. Nevertheless, the migratory instinct is so powerful,
that late in the autumn swallows, house-martins, and swifts frequently
desert their tender young, leaving them to perish miserably in their nests.
(22. This fact, the Rev. L. Jenyns states (see his edition of 'White's
Nat. Hist. of Selborne,' 1853, p. 204) was first recorded by the
illustrious Jenner, in 'Phil. Transact.' 1824, and has since been confirmed
by several observers, especially by Mr. Blackwall. This latter careful
observer examined, late in the autumn, during two years, thirty-six nests;
he found that twelve contained young dead birds, five contained eggs on the
point of being hatched, and three, eggs not nearly hatched. Many birds,
not yet old enough for a prolonged flight, are likewise deserted and left
behind. See Blackwall, 'Researches in Zoology,' 1834, pp. 108, 118. For
some additional evidence, although this is not wanted, see Leroy, 'Lettres
Phil.' 1802, p. 217. For Swifts, Gould's 'Introduction to the Birds of
Great Britain,' 1823, p. 5. Similar cases have been observed in Canada by
Mr. Adams; 'Pop. Science Review,' July 1873, p. 283.)
We can perceive that an instinctive impulse, if it be in any way more
beneficial to a species than some other or opposed instinct, would be
rendered the more potent of the two through natural selection; for the
individuals which had it most strongly developed would survive in larger
numbers. Whether this is the case with the migratory in comparison with
the maternal instinct, may be doubted. The great persistence, or steady
action of the former at certain seasons of the year during the whole day,
may give it for a time paramount force.
MAN A SOCIAL ANIMAL.
Every one will admit that man is a social being. We see this in his
dislike of solitude, and in his wish for society beyond that of his own
family. Solitary confinement is one of the severest punishments which can
be inflicted. Some authors suppose that man primevally lived in single
families; but at the present day, though single families, or only two or
three together, roam the solitudes of some savage lands, they always, as
far as I can discover, hold friendly relations with other families
inhabiting the same district. Such families occasionally meet in council,
and unite for their common defence. It is no argument against savage man
being a social animal, that the tribes inhabiting adjacent districts are
almost always at war with each other; for the social instincts never extend
to all the individuals of the same species. Judging from the analogy of
the majority of the Quadrumana, it is probable that the early ape-like
progenitors of man were likewise social; but this is not of much importance
for us. Although man, as he now exists, has few special instincts, having
lost any which his early progenitors may have possessed, this is no reason
why he should not have retained from an extremely remote period some degree
of instinctive love and sympathy for his fellows. We are indeed all
conscious that we do possess such sympathetic feelings (23. Hume remarks
('An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals,' edit. of 1751, p. 132),
"There seems a necessity for confessing that the happiness and misery of
others are not spectacles altogether indifferent to us, but that the view
of the former…communicates a secret joy; the appearance of the latter…
throws a melancholy damp over the imagination."); but our consciousness
does not tell us whether they are instinctive, having originated long ago
in the same manner as with the lower animals, or whether they have been
acquired by each of us during our early years. As man is a social animal,
it is almost certain that he would inherit a tendency to be faithful to his
comrades, and obedient to the leader of his tribe; for these qualities are
common to most social animals. He would consequently possess some capacity
for self-command. He would from an inherited tendency be willing to
defend, in concert with others, his fellow-men; and would be ready to aid
them in any way, which did not too greatly interfere with his own welfare
or his own strong desires.
The social animals which stand at the bottom of the scale are guided almost
exclusively, and those which stand higher in the scale are largely guided,
by special instincts in the aid which they give to the members of the same
community; but they are likewise in part impelled by mutual love and
sympathy, assisted apparently by some amount of reason. Although man, as
just remarked, has no special instincts to tell him how to aid his fellow-
men, he still has the impulse, and with his improved intellectual faculties
would naturally be much guided in this respect by reason and experience.
Instinctive sympathy would also cause him to value highly the approbation
of his fellows; for, as Mr. Bain has clearly shewn (24. 'Mental and Moral
Science,' 1868, p. 254.), the love of praise and the strong feeling of
glory, and the still stronger horror of scorn and infamy, "are due to the
workings of sympathy." Consequently man would be influenced in the highest
degree by the wishes, approbation, and blame of his fellow-men, as
expressed by their gestures and language. Thus the social instincts, which
must have been acquired by man in a very rude state, and probably even by
his early ape-like progenitors, still give the impulse to some of his best
actions; but his actions are in a higher degree determined by the expressed
wishes and judgment of his fellow-men, and unfortunately very often by his
own strong selfish desires. But as love, sympathy and self-command become
strengthened by habit, and as the power of reasoning becomes clearer, so
that man can value justly the judgments of his fellows, he will feel
himself impelled, apart from any transitory pleasure or pain, to certain
lines of conduct. He might then declare–not that any barbarian or
uncultivated man could thus think–I am the supreme judge of my own
conduct, and in the words of Kant, I will not in my own person violate the
dignity of humanity.
THE MORE ENDURING SOCIAL INSTINCTS CONQUER THE LESS PERSISTENT INSTINCTS.
We have not, however, as yet considered the main point, on which, from our
present point of view, the whole question of the moral sense turns. Why
should a man feel that he ought to obey one instinctive desire rather than
another? Why is he bitterly regretful, if he has yielded to a strong sense
of self-preservation, and has not risked his life to save that of a fellow-
creature? or why does he regret having stolen food from hunger?
It is evident in the first place, that with mankind the instinctive
impulses have different degrees of strength; a savage will risk his own
life to save that of a member of the same community, but will be wholly
indifferent about a stranger: a young and timid mother urged by the
maternal instinct will, without a moment's hesitation, run the greatest
danger for her own infant, but not for a mere fellow-creature.
Nevertheless many a civilised man, or even boy, who never before risked his
life for another, but full of courage and sympathy, has disregarded the
instinct of self-preservation, and plunged at once into a torrent to save a
drowning man, though a stranger. In this case man is impelled by the same
instinctive motive, which made the heroic little American monkey, formerly
described, save his keeper, by attacking the great and dreaded baboon.
Such actions as the above appear to be the simple result of the greater
strength of the social or maternal instincts rather than that of any other
instinct or motive; for they are performed too instantaneously for
reflection, or for pleasure or pain to be felt at the time; though, if
prevented by any cause, distress or even misery might be felt. In a timid
man, on the other hand, the instinct of self-preservation might be so
strong, that he would be unable to force himself to run any such risk,
perhaps not even for his own child.
I am aware that some persons maintain that actions performed impulsively,
as in the above cases, do not come under the dominion of the moral sense,
and cannot be called moral. They confine this term to actions done
deliberately, after a victory over opposing desires, or when prompted by
some exalted motive. But it appears scarcely possible to draw any clear
line of distinction of this kind. (25. I refer here to the distinction
between what has been called MATERIAL and FORMAL morality. I am glad to
find that Professor Huxley ('Critiques and Addresses,' 1873, p. 287) takes
the same view on this subject as I do. Mr. Leslie Stephen remarks ('Essays
on Freethinking and Plain Speaking,' 1873, p. 83), "the metaphysical
distinction, between material and formal morality is as irrelevant as other
such distinctions.") As far as exalted motives are concerned, many
instances have been recorded of savages, destitute of any feeling of
general benevolence towards mankind, and not guided by any religious
motive, who have deliberately sacrificed their lives as prisoners(26. I
have given one such case, namely of three Patagonian Indians who preferred
being shot, one after the other, to betraying the plans of their companions
in war ('Journal of Researches,' 1845, p. 103).), rather than betray their
comrades; and surely their conduct ought to be considered as moral. As far
as deliberation, and the victory over opposing motives are concerned,
animals may be seen doubting between opposed instincts, in rescuing their
offspring or comrades from danger; yet their actions, though done for the
good of others, are not called moral. Moreover, anything performed very
often by us, will at last be done without deliberation or hesitation, and
can then hardly be distinguished from an instinct; yet surely no one will
pretend that such an action ceases to be moral. On the contrary, we all
feel that an act cannot be considered as perfect, or as performed in the
most noble manner, unless it be done impulsively, without deliberation or
effort, in the same manner as by a man in whom the requisite qualities are
innate. He who is forced to overcome his fear or want of sympathy before
he acts, deserves, however, in one way higher credit than the man whose
innate disposition leads him to a good act without effort. As we cannot
distinguish between motives, we rank all actions of a certain class as
moral, if performed by a moral being. A moral being is one who is capable
of comparing his past and future actions or motives, and of approving or
disapproving of them. We have no reason to suppose that any of the lower
animals have this capacity; therefore, when a Newfoundland dog drags a
child out of the water, or a monkey faces danger to rescue its comrade, or
takes charge of an orphan monkey, we do not call its conduct moral. But in
the case of man, who alone can with certainty be ranked as a moral being,
actions of a certain class are called moral, whether performed
deliberately, after a struggle with opposing motives, or impulsively
through instinct, or from the effects of slowly-gained habit.
But to return to our more immediate subject. Although some instincts are
more powerful than others, and thus lead to corresponding actions, yet it
is untenable, that in man the social instincts (including the love of
praise and fear of blame) possess greater strength, or have, through long
habit, acquired greater strength than the instincts of self-preservation,
hunger, lust, vengeance, etc. Why then does man regret, even though trying
to banish such regret, that he has followed the one natural impulse rather
than the other; and why does he further feel that he ought to regret his
conduct? Man in this respect differs profoundly from the lower animals.
Nevertheless we can, I think, see with some degree of clearness the reason
of this difference.
Man, from the activity of his mental faculties, cannot avoid reflection:
past impressions and images are incessantly and clearly passing through his
mind. Now with those animals which live permanently in a body, the social
instincts are ever present and persistent. Such animals are always ready
to utter the danger-signal, to defend the community, and to give aid to
their fellows in accordance with their habits; they feel at all times,
without the stimulus of any special passion or desire, some degree of love
and sympathy for them; they are unhappy if long separated from them, and
always happy to be again in their company. So it is with ourselves. Even
when we are quite alone, how often do we think with pleasure or pain of
what others think of us,–of their imagined approbation or disapprobation;
and this all follows from sympathy, a fundamental element of the social
instincts. A man who possessed no trace of such instincts would be an
unnatural monster. On the other hand, the desire to satisfy hunger, or any
passion such as vengeance, is in its nature temporary, and can for a time
be fully satisfied. Nor is it easy, perhaps hardly possible, to call up
with complete vividness the feeling, for instance, of hunger; nor indeed,
as has often been remarked, of any suffering. The instinct of self-
preservation is not felt except in the presence of danger; and many a
coward has thought himself brave until he has met his enemy face to face.
The wish for another man's property is perhaps as persistent a desire as
any that can be named; but even in this case the satisfaction of actual
possession is generally a weaker feeling than the desire: many a thief, if
not a habitual one, after success has wondered why he stole some article.
(27. Enmity or hatred seems also to be a highly persistent feeling, perhaps
more so than any other that can be named. Envy is defined as hatred of
another for some excellence or success; and Bacon insists (Essay ix.), "Of
all other affections envy is the most importune and continual." Dogs are
very apt to hate both strange men and strange dogs, especially if they live
near at hand, but do not belong to the same family, tribe, or clan; this
feeling would thus seem to be innate, and is certainly a most persistent
one. It seems to be the complement and converse of the true social
instinct. From what we hear of savages, it would appear that something of
the same kind holds good with them. If this be so, it would be a small
step in any one to transfer such feelings to any member of the same tribe
if he had done him an injury and had become his enemy. Nor is it probable
that the primitive conscience would reproach a man for injuring his enemy;
rather it would reproach him, if he had not revenged himself. To do good
in return for evil, to love your enemy, is a height of morality to which it
may be doubted whether the social instincts would, by themselves, have ever
led us. It is necessary that these instincts, together with sympathy,
should have been highly cultivated and extended by the aid of reason,
instruction, and the love or fear of God, before any such golden rule would
ever be thought of and obeyed.)
A man cannot prevent past impressions often repassing through his mind; he
will thus be driven to make a comparison between the impressions of past
hunger, vengeance satisfied, or danger shunned at other men's cost, with
the almost ever-present instinct of sympathy, and with his early knowledge
of what others consider as praiseworthy or blameable. This knowledge
cannot be banished from his mind, and from instinctive sympathy is esteemed
of great moment. He will then feel as if he had been baulked in following
a present instinct or habit, and this with all animals causes
dissatisfaction, or even misery.
The above case of the swallow affords an illustration, though of a reversed
nature, of a temporary though for the time strongly persistent instinct
conquering another instinct, which is usually dominant over all others. At
the proper season these birds seem all day long to be impressed with the
desire to migrate; their habits change; they become restless, are noisy and
congregate in flocks. Whilst the mother-bird is feeding, or brooding over
her nestlings, the maternal instinct is probably stronger than the
migratory; but the instinct which is the more persistent gains the victory,
and at last, at a moment when her young ones are not in sight, she takes
flight and deserts them. When arrived at the end of her long journey, and
the migratory instinct has ceased to act, what an agony of remorse the bird
would feel, if, from being endowed with great mental activity, she could
not prevent the image constantly passing through her mind, of her young
ones perishing in the bleak north from cold and hunger.
At the moment of action, man will no doubt be apt to follow the stronger
impulse; and though this may occasionally prompt him to the noblest deeds,
it will more commonly lead him to gratify his own desires at the expense of
other men. But after their gratification when past and weaker impressions
are judged by the ever-enduring social instinct, and by his deep regard for
the good opinion of his fellows, retribution will surely come. He will
then feel remorse, repentance, regret, or shame; this latter feeling,
however, relates almost exclusively to the judgment of others. He will
consequently resolve more or less firmly to act differently for the future;
and this is conscience; for conscience looks backwards, and serves as a
guide for the future.
The nature and strength of the feelings which we call regret, shame,
repentance or remorse, depend apparently not only on the strength of the
violated instinct, but partly on the strength of the temptation, and often
still more on the judgment of our fellows. How far each man values the
appreciation of others, depends on the strength of his innate or acquired
feeling of sympathy; and on his own capacity for reasoning out the remote
consequences of his acts. Another element is most important, although not
necessary, the reverence or fear of the Gods, or Spirits believed in by
each man: and this applies especially in cases of remorse. Several
critics have objected that though some slight regret or repentance may be
explained by the view advocated in this chapter, it is impossible thus to
account for the soul-shaking feeling of remorse. But I can see little
force in this objection. My critics do not define what they mean by
remorse, and I can find no definition implying more than an overwhelming
sense of repentance. Remorse seems to bear the same relation to
repentance, as rage does to anger, or agony to pain. It is far from
strange that an instinct so strong and so generally admired, as maternal
love, should, if disobeyed, lead to the deepest misery, as soon as the
impression of the past cause of disobedience is weakened. Even when an
action is opposed to no special instinct, merely to know that our friends
and equals despise us for it is enough to cause great misery. Who can
doubt that the refusal to fight a duel through fear has caused many men an
agony of shame? Many a Hindoo, it is said, has been stirred to the bottom
of his soul by having partaken of unclean food. Here is another case of
what must, I think, be called remorse. Dr. Landor acted as a magistrate in
West Australia, and relates (28. 'Insanity in Relation to Law,' Ontario,
United States, 1871, p. 1.), that a native on his farm, after losing one of
his wives from disease, came and said that, "he was going to a distant
tribe to spear a woman, to satisfy his sense of duty to his wife. I told
him that if he did so, I would send him to prison for life. He remained
about the farm for some months, but got exceedingly thin, and complained
that he could not rest or eat, that his wife's spirit was haunting him,
because he had not taken a life for hers. I was inexorable, and assured
him that nothing should save him if he did." Nevertheless the man
disappeared for more than a year, and then returned in high condition; and
his other wife told Dr. Landor that her husband had taken the life of a
woman belonging to a distant tribe; but it was impossible to obtain legal
evidence of the act. The breach of a rule held sacred by the tribe, will
thus, as it seems, give rise to the deepest feelings,–and this quite apart
from the social instincts, excepting in so far as the rule is grounded on
the judgment of the community. How so many strange superstitions have
arisen throughout the world we know not; nor can we tell how some real and
great crimes, such as incest, have come to be held in an abhorrence (which
is not however quite universal) by the lowest savages. It is even doubtful
whether in some tribes incest would be looked on with greater horror, than
would the marriage of a man with a woman bearing the same name, though not
a relation. "To violate this law is a crime which the Australians hold in
the greatest abhorrence, in this agreeing exactly with certain tribes of
North America. When the question is put in either district, is it worse to
kill a girl of a foreign tribe, or to marry a girl of one's own, an answer
just opposite to ours would be given without hesitation." (29. E.B.
Tylor, in 'Contemporary Review,' April 1873, p. 707.) We may, therefore,
reject the belief, lately insisted on by some writers, that the abhorrence
of incest is due to our possessing a special God-implanted conscience. On
the whole it is intelligible, that a man urged by so powerful a sentiment
as remorse, though arising as above explained, should be led to act in a
manner, which he has been taught to believe serves as an expiation, such as
delivering himself up to justice.
Man prompted by his conscience, will through long habit acquire such
perfect self-command, that his desires and passions will at last yield
instantly and without a struggle to his social sympathies and instincts,
including his feeling for the judgment of his fellows. The still hungry,
or the still revengeful man will not think of stealing food, or of wreaking
his vengeance. It is possible, or as we shall hereafter see, even
probable, that the habit of self-command may, like other habits, be
inherited. Thus at last man comes to feel, through acquired and perhaps
inherited habit, that it is best for him to obey his more persistent
impulses. The imperious word "ought" seems merely to imply the
consciousness of the existence of a rule of conduct, however it may have
originated. Formerly it must have been often vehemently urged that an
insulted gentleman OUGHT to fight a duel. We even say that a pointer OUGHT
to point, and a retriever to retrieve game. If they fail to do so, they
fail in their duty and act wrongly.
If any desire or instinct leading to an action opposed to the good of
others still appears, when recalled to mind, as strong as, or stronger
than, the social instinct, a man will feel no keen regret at having
followed it; but he will be conscious that if his conduct were known to his
fellows, it would meet with their disapprobation; and few are so destitute
of sympathy as not to feel discomfort when this is realised. If he has no
such sympathy, and if his desires leading to bad actions are at the time
strong, and when recalled are not over-mastered by the persistent social
instincts, and the judgment of others, then he is essentially a bad man
(30. Dr. Prosper Despine, in his Psychologie Naturelle, 1868 (tom. i. p.
243; tom. ii. p. 169) gives many curious cases of the worst criminals, who
apparently have been entirely destitute of conscience.); and the sole
restraining motive left is the fear of punishment, and the conviction that
in the long run it would be best for his own selfish interests to regard
the good of others rather than his own.
It is obvious that every one may with an easy conscience gratify his own
desires, if they do not interfere with his social instincts, that is with
the good of others; but in order to be quite free from self-reproach, or at
least of anxiety, it is almost necessary for him to avoid the
disapprobation, whether reasonable or not, of his fellow-men. Nor must he
break through the fixed habits of his life, especially if these are
supported by reason; for if he does, he will assuredly feel
dissatisfaction. He must likewise avoid the reprobation of the one God or
gods in whom, according to his knowledge or superstition, he may believe;
but in this case the additional fear of divine punishment often supervenes.
THE STRICTLY SOCIAL VIRTUES AT FIRST ALONE REGARDED.
The above view of the origin and nature of the moral sense, which tells us
what we ought to do, and of the conscience which reproves us if we disobey
it, accords well with what we see of the early and undeveloped condition of
this faculty in mankind. The virtues which must be practised, at least
generally, by rude men, so that they may associate in a body, are those
which are still recognised as the most important. But they are practised
almost exclusively in relation to the men of the same tribe; and their
opposites are not regarded as crimes in relation to the men of other
tribes. No tribe could hold together if murder, robbery, treachery, etc.,
were common; consequently such crimes within the limits of the same tribe
"are branded with everlasting infamy" (31. See an able article in the
'North British Review,' 1867, p. 395. See also Mr. W. Bagehot's articles
on the Importance of Obedience and Coherence to Primitive Man, in the
'Fortnightly Review,' 1867, p. 529, and 1868, p. 457, etc.); but excite no
such sentiment beyond these limits. A North-American Indian is well
pleased with himself, and is honoured by others, when he scalps a man of
another tribe; and a Dyak cuts off the head of an unoffending person, and
dries it as a trophy. The murder of infants has prevailed on the largest
scale throughout the world (32. The fullest account which I have met with
is by Dr. Gerland, in his 'Ueber den Aussterben der Naturvolker,' 1868; but
I shall have to recur to the subject of infanticide in a future chapter.),
and has met with no reproach; but infanticide, especially of females, has
been thought to be good for the tribe, or at least not injurious. Suicide
during former times was not generally considered as a crime (33. See the
very interesting discussion on suicide in Lecky's 'History of European
Morals,' vol. i. 1869, p. 223. With respect to savages, Mr. Winwood Reade
informs me that the negroes of West Africa often commit suicide. It is
well known how common it was amongst the miserable aborigines of South
America after the Spanish conquest. For New Zealand, see the voyage of the
"Novara," and for the Aleutian Islands, Muller, as quoted by Houzeau, 'Les
Facultes Mentales,' etc., tom. ii. p. 136.), but rather, from the courage
displayed, as an honourable act; and it is still practised by some semi-
civilised and savage nations without reproach, for it does not obviously
concern others of the tribe. It has been recorded that an Indian Thug
conscientiously regretted that he had not robbed and strangled as many
travellers as did his father before him. In a rude state of civilisation
the robbery of strangers is, indeed, generally considered as honourable.
Slavery, although in some ways beneficial during ancient times (34. See
Mr. Bagehot, 'Physics and Politics,' 1872, p. 72.), is a great crime; yet
it was not so regarded until quite recently, even by the most civilised
nations. And this was especially the case, because the slaves belonged in
general to a race different from that of their masters. As barbarians do
not regard the opinion of their women, wives are commonly treated like
slaves. Most savages are utterly indifferent to the sufferings of
strangers, or even delight in witnessing them. It is well known that the
women and children of the North-American Indians aided in torturing their
enemies. Some savages take a horrid pleasure in cruelty to animals (35.
See, for instance, Mr. Hamilton's account of the Kaffirs, 'Anthropological
Review,' 1870, p. xv.), and humanity is an unknown virtue. Nevertheless,
besides the family affections, kindness is common, especially during
sickness, between the members of the same tribe, and is sometimes extended
beyond these limits. Mungo Park's touching account of the kindness of the
negro women of the interior to him is well known. Many instances could be
given of the noble fidelity of savages towards each other, but not to
strangers; common experience justifies the maxim of the Spaniard, "Never,
never trust an Indian." There cannot be fidelity without truth; and this
fundamental virtue is not rare between the members of the same tribe: thus
Mungo Park heard the negro women teaching their young children to love the
truth. This, again, is one of the virtues which becomes so deeply rooted
in the mind, that it is sometimes practised by savages, even at a high
cost, towards strangers; but to lie to your enemy has rarely been thought a
sin, as the history of modern diplomacy too plainly shews. As soon as a
tribe has a recognised leader, disobedience becomes a crime, and even
abject submission is looked at as a sacred virtue.
As during rude times no man can be useful or faithful to his tribe without
courage, this quality has universally been placed in the highest rank; and
although in civilised countries a good yet timid man may be far more useful
to the community than a brave one, we cannot help instinctively honouring
the latter above a coward, however benevolent. Prudence, on the other
hand, which does not concern the welfare of others, though a very useful
virtue, has never been highly esteemed. As no man can practise the virtues
necessary for the welfare of his tribe without self-sacrifice, self-
command, and the power of endurance, these qualities have been at all times
highly and most justly valued. The American savage voluntarily submits to
the most horrid tortures without a groan, to prove and strengthen his
fortitude and courage; and we cannot help admiring him, or even an Indian
Fakir, who, from a foolish religious motive, swings suspended by a hook
buried in his flesh.
The other so-called self-regarding virtues, which do not obviously, though
they may really, affect the welfare of the tribe, have never been esteemed
by savages, though now highly appreciated by civilised nations. The
greatest intemperance is no reproach with savages. Utter licentiousness,
and unnatural crimes, prevail to an astounding extent. (36. Mr. M'Lennan
has given ('Primitive Marriage,' 1865, p. 176) a good collection of facts
on this head.) As soon, however, as marriage, whether polygamous, or
monogamous, becomes common, jealousy will lead to the inculcation of female
virtue; and this, being honoured, will tend to spread to the unmarried
females. How slowly it spreads to the male sex, we see at the present day.
Chastity eminently requires self-command; therefore it has been honoured
from a very early period in the moral history of civilised man. As a
consequence of this, the senseless practice of celibacy has been ranked
from a remote period as a virtue.
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text:
— Los Angeles Issue #30
laura and kate mulleavy
interview and photography by OLIVIER ZAHM
family pictures courtesy of RODARTE
Two California sisters, Laura and Kate Mulleavy, put Los Angeles on the fashion map in 2005 when they created the Rodarte label. They won instant international recognition for their dark, feminist, deconstructed clothing, influenced by science-fiction, anime, and horror films, as well as by a DIY anti-conformism. What wasn't evident in their style, they made visible in Woodshock, their 2017 film starring Kirsten Dunst, which was partly shot in a redwood forest. The film reveals the deep psychological influence of California's natural landscape on their style.
ACTRESS KIRSTEN DUNST ON THE SET OF WOODSHOCK, 2015, PHOTO AUTUMN DE WILDE
OLIVIER ZAHM — Are you guys from Los Angeles?
LAURA MULLEAVY — Our parents are from Los Angeles; both grew up in LA. My dad's family is fifth generation from Sierra Madre, which is a small mountain town in Los Angeles. But my sister and I grew up in Northern California, in Santa Cruz. Our parents were both going to Humboldt State University — which is the area where we shot our movie — and then my dad got his doctorate from Berkeley. When we got older, we came to LA.
OLIVIER ZAHM — Your movie, Woodshock, has incredible forests, mountains, lakes — is that where you grew up?
KATE MULLEAVY — We grew up in redwood country… near Big Sur. Where we shot them, farther up, in Humboldt [County, California], they're some of the largest living organisms on the planet. They're huge. The ones in Big Sur, which people are more familiar with, are tiny compared to those in Humboldt. It's an out-of-body experience to see these trees. I always tell people what a soulful experience it is to see them. It's like what astronauts say about going into space and realizing how small they are in the grander scheme. People have introspective moments in the presence of these trees because they're thousands of years old, and they only exist on a small strip of land in California, and nowhere else in the world.
OLIVIER ZAHM — What did your parents do?
KATE MULLEAVY — Our dad's a botanist. He's a mushroom expert… He worked on every kind of mushroom. He studied small ones, slime molds, fungi. The ones that are dangerous. You know, between hallucinogenic, edible, and poisonous…
LAURA MULLEAVY — Our friends always ask my dad to identify mushrooms for them. I always thought of my dad as a scientist. Only later in life did I realize the artistic process of science. Nowadays, people are more tuned in to the things my dad was studying, which are linked to greater questions about the universe, nature, biology.
KATE MULLEAVY — Spores are such a weird, prehistoric concept, yet they have a connection to the life process.
LAURA MULLEAVY — The people we grew up around were mushroom experts. You could just go out in the woods and pick them.
KATE MULLEAVY — They grow really well there. We have pictures of my parents leading mushroom hunts in Berkeley, when my dad was getting his doctorate. He always said we had a funny parallel in fashion: our first collection was inspired by mushrooms.
VICTORIA AND WILLIAM MULLEAVY (KATE AND LAURA'S PARENTS), 1971 PHOTO WILLIAM MULLEAVY
OLIVIER ZAHM — I had no idea that your fashion was related to mushrooms!
LAURA MULLEAVY — Yeah.
KATE MULLEAVY — From the very beginning. When we first did our collection, we went to the Vogue offices, and André Leon Talley was in the room with Anna Wintour. We were just out of school and didn't know anything. I remember saying something like, "This dress is inspired by a fungal shelf." André Leon Talley couldn't believe it.
LAURA MULLEAVY — He said, "In all my years, I've never heard that before." [Laughs]
KATE MULLEAVY — Later, we said, "This dress is inspired by redwood bark." That was the early stage. As you do things more and more, your voice evolves, and you find the things that inspire you. Nature was a huge inspiration for us.
OLIVIER ZAHM — And nature is back, in your movie.
KATE MULLEAVY — The fragility and violence of nature, and the connection to human psychology. For us, the film was about an interior experience of life and death, from a woman's perspective.
OLIVIER ZAHM — Fragility, anxiety … a spectrum of emotions — which is sometimes more difficult for men to understand.
LAURA MULLEAVY — Yeah. It's different. Women are different.
KATE MULLEAVY — We saw the rerelease of 2001: A Space Odyssey last night, at the Cinerama Dome, in Hollywood, and what you're seeing in the film is the closest thing to what my dad experienced in the '60s when he saw 2001. There's no digital remastering. They restored the actual film and projected it in 70mm. You see all the flaws. Watching it, I felt it was a great example of how you can let go of narrative logic and communicate something greater about the human experience and emotions — even though the film is about the logic of HAL, a computer. I realized how masculine HAL's perspective was.
OLIVIER ZAHM — Gender difference: men going into space, remote exploration, versus women on earth, and inside their emotions…
LAURA MULLEAVY — Well, these roles are all socially and psychologically created, and in them, the idea of reproduction and exploration have been separated: men explore externally, and women have internal exploration. But women have never really been able to vocalize it.
OLIVIER ZAHM — Is that what you've tried to express?
KATE MULLEAVY — One of the challenges for us, when we were working on our film, was how to show a woman having an existential crisis. In our film, Kirsten Dunst's character takes a mind-altering substance, which leads to her death, although some people might see it as the opposite of death and more like a transcendent state of ecstasy. Her crisis is one of the tropes you notice whenever a woman is represented in film or literature, particularly a woman who takes drugs, which often leads to the worst possible scenario.
LAURA MULLEAVY — So, in our film, a woman takes something and puts into question not only the peril and the fragility of life, but also of nature, and the idea that human beings are essentially destructive. Whether it's toward ourselves or the earth. People might not know this, but where we shot the film, over 90% of those redwoods had been torn down.
KATE MULLEAVY — Logging was the biggest industry in California — bigger than the Gold Rush. In the 1800s, most of the California economy was based on cutting down redwoods. That was happening through the 1990s, and still happens. Now there are interventions to try to save the tiny percentage left. We had this idea of creating a psychological experience where someone internalizes that violence, and then she goes through a transformation in different versions of death. Slowly she disconnects from the world around her, so there's no inner connection, no connection with the characters around her, and more and more she retreats inward.
OLIVIER ZAHM — Were you trying to explore a feminine character that didn't have to connect to men?
LAURA MULLEAVY — Yes. And it was very difficult because if we brought a man into view, people immediately wanted to know about that guy and what's the connexion with her. But that's not the point of the movie. Men are there, but they're a mystery because she doesn't understand them. That was a hurdle to get over because people are used to seeing characters whose social roles mean something. In this film, they didn't mean what was expected.
OLIVIER ZAHM — It also seems to be a story about isolation. Here in California, there is always an attraction for escapism, disappearance.
KATE MULLEAVY — Well, you should see where we shot it. There's a lot of that there.
LAURA MULLEAVY — If I set up phone calls with people from around the world, Pacific Standard Time is the most difficult time to set up for anybody.
KATE MULLEAVY — This attraction is the power of nature. All the way into the Mojave Desert, which, along with giant redwoods, offers some of the most dynamic landscapes in the world, and all in one state.
OLIVIER ZAHM — So, could your fashion be described as artisanal?
KATE MULLEAVY — Well, we're emotional about the clothes we make, but there's always an idea behind it. Sometimes, a collection looks beautiful to the eye, but the viewpoint behind it is always, for us, conceptual. The clothes aren't necessarily heavy-handed in their aesthetic or conceptual approach. What makes our clothes unique is that there's usually something slightly off-focus.
OLIVIER ZAHM — How so?
KATE MULLEAVY — When it's pretty, it isn't simply a pretty, elegant dress. It can be that, but then it can go somewhere weird. And it might not work on a red carpet. Sometimes, it may seem like red-carpet apparel, but then people might think it doesn't quite have that very ladylike thing red-carpet clothes are supposed to have, especially if the inspiration for a specific collection was something a bit different.
LAURA MULLEAVY — That's our style.
KATE MULLEAVY — The collections that are the most "us" have things that are slightly off about them. I think that has a lot to do with growing up here.
OLIVIER ZAHM — There's something scary about nature here, putting almost everyone in a state of psychic isolation.
LAURA MULLEAVY — It's also kind of addictive. The hard part is to leave it. Now that fashion has become so global, there's less of the straightforward interaction, and you find it easier to stay away because people everywhere have things at their fingertips.
KATE MULLEAVY — A few years ago, we did a collection that spoke about what you just said about the scariness of nature. People might not realize that LA is right near Angeles National Forest. In about a 40-minute drive, you enter an entirely different world. The collection we did was inspired by Death Valley and this really crazy transformation myth that we made up, in which a woman goes into the desert and is reborn as a condor. It all happened in the desert.
OLIVIER ZAHM — How did that influence the collection?
KATE MULLEAVY — All the pieces and materials were hand-burned and sandpapered — all heavily reworked. We were burning fabric, and I kept thinking, "This is my worst nightmare." But I knew it was going to be interesting.
LAURA MULLEAVY — All of the fabrics were aged.
KATE MULLEAVY — Then, all of a sudden, there was a giant wildfire in the forest.
LAURA MULLEAVY — The following morning, everywhere around, cars were covered in ash. But the fire wasn't near us. The wind brought the ashes in. And Alexandre de Betak, who produces our shows, was in town and kept saying, "What's the inspiration for the show?" We said: "Welcome to the wildfires in LA. That's what this collection is about: fire." It was crazy that he could experience that.
KATE MULLEAVY — He set off green smoke during the show.
OLIVIER ZAHM — There's a dreamy aspect to your fashion, but also something dystopian…
LAURA MULLEAVY — Yeah, the two things go together, always.
KATE MULLEAVY — Our film wasn't one you'd watch and say, "Oh, there are all these fashion clothes in the movie." Yet the film does relate to us as designers. The beauty and thoughtfulness of the aesthetic, if you really look at it, is also about something inherently disturbing, about what I was saying earlier: the capacity for human violence, and what that means.
OLIVIER ZAHM — What do you like in fashion design?
KATE MULLEAVY — It's an exciting medium to work in, especially if there's something you're trying to say. One aspect of clothes which is interesting for us, is their function as a form of social commentary, as a means to liberate yourself and change how people look at you.
KATE MULLEAVY — Well, when we made the movie, we didn't realize how much we had to say about being a woman.
LAURA MULLEAVY — We couldn't even fit everything into one film, either. I thought, "Okay, we have to do a second one."
KATE MULLEAVY — I remember being on set with Laura, and we were shooting the scenes of Kirsten Dunst looking in the kitchen cabinets and then in the bathroom. We'd spent three or four days on set. We were meticulous because Kirsten, Laura, and I all knew we were saying a lot about the domestic space, and about being trapped in it as a woman, and what it's like to be a woman, and how people hear your voice,
or lack of voice. I remember saying to Laura, "I didn't realize this movie had such a feminist perspective."
OLIVIER ZAHM — What's the difference for you between working on a fashion collection or a film?
KATE MULLEAVY — There's a huge difference! A film is very emotional. When you finish a movie, you feel like you've given away a secret about yourself. And maybe it's one you didn't really want to share, but you did. Then it feels like an emotional experience. At one screening in LA — and everyone has different experiences when you screen a film — one woman, who came out crying, said to us: "My mother died recently, and I've had no words to explain what grief felt like. And watching this movie, for me, I felt like I had no sense of time … and the film captured how I feel." That's when
I realized the power of filmmaking. Although in fashion shows, you touch people in different ways. We have creative conversations with people who are very close to us. We share something more primal in fashion, maybe.
OLIVIER ZAHM — But as designers from Los Angeles, you've brought together the cinema and fashion worlds, not to mention their main common point: the red carpet. And the costumes… Because you've done costumes for films. Yet it seems there's not so much connection between them anymore.
KATE MULLEAVY — People forget how important costume design is to films, and how it changes the way you think about a character. That's so crazy.
LAURA MULLEAVY — In the film community, costume might be the least important of the creative guilds. I think it's because it's considered women's work. I grew up loving film because you're transported by the way something or someone looked.
OLIVIER ZAHM — For example?
LAURA MULLEAVY — I loved Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo and The Birds when I was young, not just for the films, but also the costumes.
KATE MULLEAVY — They also tell the story. In The Birds, Tippi Hedren's perfect little green suit is ripped apart by birds.
LAURA MULLEAVY — I'll never forget the Alexander McQueen show that referenced Hitchcock's blondes. And Tom Ford referencing Rainer Werner Fassbinder's The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant. After all, designers and film directors are just telling stories. And women's stories, too.
RODARTE STUDIO E 12TH ST LOS ANGELES CA 90023
michael chow
by Donatien Grau
by Olivier Zahm
dewain valentine
zoe latta
cover #1 gucci
best of women
by Ola Rindal
cover #2 miumiu
by Hans Feurer
deleuze and california
by John Jefferson Selve
traffic alert by kira bunse
by Kira Bunse
best of men by Andreas Larsson
by Andreas Larsson
benjamin millepied
cover #3 comme des garçons
by Eli Russell Linnetz
cover #4 balenciaga
by Juergen Teller
arts district matador by benedict brink
by Benedict Brink
by Sophie-Anne Delhomme
by Dorothée Perret
martine syms
by Maurizio Cattelan and Marta Papini
cover #5 mike kelley
mike kelley
norman m. klein
by Cecelia Stucker and Olivier Zahm
by Bill Powers
by Francois Perrin
jessica koslow and scott barry
joseph geiskopf
jonathan gold
by Emilien Crespo
peter shire
arrow de wilde
by Cameron McCool
cover #6 golden goose deluxe brand
by Rob Kulisek
torbjørn rødland
shaun caley regen
shahryar nashat
cover #7 alex israel
by Alex Israel
jeffrey deitch
by Eviana Hartman
aaron rose
cover #8 calvin klein
by Brett Lloyd
gary simmons
cover #9 kenneth anger
jim heimann
cover #10 balmain
by Sandy Kim
cover #11 givenchy
by Suffo Moncloa
cover #12 saint laurent
by Pierre-Ange Carlotti
lisa eisner
by Aaron Rose
the strick house
cover #13 emporio armani
light and space
by Max Farago
alex knost
by Paige Silveria
cover #14 zegna couture xxx
by Vava Ribeiro
andrea zittel
paul mccarthy and damon mccarthy

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
Crime / Jefferson Park / Local Crime Report / Neighborhoods
Historic crime lows reported in area burglaries, robberies
by nadignewspapers@aol.com · January 16, 2015
The fact that there were about 100 fewer burglaries reported in the 16th (Jefferson Park) Police District in 2014 than in the previous year helps in overall crime-fighting efforts, according to 16 District commander Roger Bay.
"That frees officers up to be out on active patrol to pursue more criminals," Bay said. A report of a burglary requires officers to canvass a neighborhood in search of witnesses and evidence, including video footage from nearby surveillance cameras, he said.
Final statistics for 2014 are not available, but the number of burglaries reported decreased from 719 in 2013 to about 615 in 2014. "We're looking at the lowest number of burglaries since 1975," Bay said.
Also reaching near-historic lows in the district was the number of reported robberies, which decreased from 142 in 2013 to about 115 in 2014. The number of burglaries reported last year was about 300 fewer than in 1991.
One explanation for the decline in robberies and burglaries could be that the district and adjacent suburban agencies have been doing a good job of working together to catch offenders, Bay said. "We share information because criminals don't care about borders," he said.
Two crime categories in which the district experienced an increase are murders, from four in 2013 to eight in 2014, and criminal sexual assaults, from 21 to about 40.
Arrests have been made in seven of the reported homicides, and in each of the incidents the victim and the suspect knew each other, Bay said. The only unsolved homicide involved a pizza delivery driver who was killed during a robbery in November.
Although figures are unavailable for some years, it is believed that the number of murders in the district last year tied the previous high, Bay said.
Nearly all of the reported sexual assaults were acquaintance-related, Bay said. He said the district is planning to increase its crisis intervention training in an effort to help officers better recognize victims of domestic abuse and offer them assistance.
Bay said that the district follows up with all victims of domestic violence. He said that in some instances a victim may initially refuse to seek an order of protection but may agree to do so later.
Bay also said that the number of motor vehicle thefts reported in 2014 was about 400, down from 509 in 2013 and 645 in 2012.
The district's goals for this year include expanding its bike patrol program and having Cook County Forest Preserve District officers attend some of the beat meetings which cover neighborhoods next to forest preserve trails, Bay said.
Meanwhile, at the Dec. 16 meeting of the 16th District Advisory Committee, six officers were honored for their role in the arrest of three men who were charged in the murder of a homeless man, whose body was found on Oct. 14 in a dumpster in the 4800 block of North Avondale Avenue. The officers who received the district's Officer of the Month Award are Peter White, Jimmy Xentaras, Nick Redelsperger, Eric Bellomy, Tom Surma and Mike Kaczynski.
Redelsperger and Bellomy recognized two of the suspects from surveillance footage of the fatal beating of the man, according to police. Police have described the suspects as partially homeless, as they reportedly would stay with relatives on some occasions.
One of the suspects was arrested at a computer lab which he was visiting at Wright College, and the other was apprehended after he was seen walking along a railroad embankment in Jefferson Park, police said. The third suspect was arrested by 18th (Near North) District officers.
Changes, growth recognized at Palmer
Local Crime from 16th District 12-14-16
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I stopped wearing my Fitbit.
Why? I can't say for sure, but I had become increasingly annoyed with wearing a tracking device 24/7. The more tracking devices that entered the market, the less I wanted to wear mine. I realize this makes no sense; shouldn't I want to track my steps now more than ever because the devices keep improving? Won't having the data and understanding my habits continue to benefit my health? Maybe, maybe not.
I was an early adopter of fitness tracking, acquiring the original Fitbit in September 2010. At the time, I was working on the [no longer existing] Google Health product and we integrated Fitbit into our platform. The idea of quantified self was new to me and I was excited to check out the devices and the data. I ran a team challenge at work using our new Fitbits, complete with t-shirts and prizes for the most active people.
Even more important than having the data, I found myself changing behaviors to make sure I hit the 10K step goal each day. I took the stairs more, ran more often, and added mid-day walk breaks to my day whenever possible. Many of my friends became my 'friends' on the Fitbit platform, adding extra motivation to hit the goals and to 'beat' others that week. I was hooked.
After about a year and a half, I found myself less interested in tracking and hated that I often forgot the Fitbit on my jeans when I went to workout. When my Fitbit charger broke, I didn't have it replaced and decided to forget about tracking for a while.
Fast forward to 2013. Fitbit was in v3 on the clip-on trackers and had added the hugely popular Flex wristband. I jumped back on the bandwagon and purchased the Fitbit One, which was definitely an improvement over the original. My favorite part? It counted flights of stairs - a really enjoyable metric after hard trail runs. 389 flights over 10 miles? Awesome.
Soon after, activity trackers started appearing out of the woodwork with each company creating its own version. While the new trackers added diversity to the market and choice for consumers, they also spread the users (and my Fitbit friends) more widely across platforms. Over time, many Fitbit friends migrated to other trackers or went inactive, which left me feeling less invested in using the app. I honestly didn't realize how much I cared about the social part of fitness tracking until this began to happen.
By the time fall 2014 came around, I still liked the overall Fitbit platform and the data it provided but my excitement for tracking every step had disappeared. Some friends had joined or re-activated their Fitbit use, but even that wasn't keeping me invested anymore. Add that to feeling annoyed with wearing the clip, and I found myself wondering why I continued to put it on everyday. So I stopped.
Every day since then, my brain has told me to put on the Fitbit, to move it to my running clothes, and to glance at the app to see how many steps I've taken. I didn't realize how much I thought about the Fitbit until I stopped wearing it - I've realized I literally thought about the Fitbit all the time. Isn't it funny how such a little, optional activity tracker can start to rule day-to-day thoughts?
That said, I'm happy about the thoughts and behaviors that have become second nature because of this device. I almost always take the stairs to my third floor office, I walk to cafes that are farther away at lunch, and I make sure to get some activity in on non-running days. I'm extremely aware of my daily activity level in a good way.
Going forward, I have yet to decide if I'd rather have an open platform tracking device or if I want to be completely free of activity data. Would integrating all fitness tracker brands into one social platform be more engaging? What if a single company could import fitness data from all tracking platforms, allowing users to interact regardless of which tracking device they chose?
Even if I don't go back to wearing a tracker in the future, I'm glad I used one for so long. My behavior has truly changed over time thanks to the Fitbit.
Tell me: Do you wear a fitness tracker? Does the social part matter to you? Do you think it changes your behavior?
I've got a Fitbit and, like you, was an early adopter of the technology. I'm definitely in a season where my priorities are changing - I put away my scale for a bit and am highly contemplating the Fitbit being the next thing to go.
Interesting that you like the Jawbone a lot better. I was thinking I'd feel the same about any tracker, but maybe not. I didn't know it integrated with Strava.
I was an early adopter of the FitBit, but largely forgot about it when the clip broke and I had no way to wear it anymore. Plus, mine never registered a single stair in the entire time I wore it. Then I got a Nike FuelBand about a year ago and it's been a much better fit for me given that a) I wear it on my wrist all the time, b) it syncs with the Nike Running app, and c) it syncs with the Nike Training Club app. I was disappointed when they announced they weren't going to be updating it anymore.
Still, I'm a solitary exerciser, and I've never really used the social aspect of either the FitBit or the FuelBand, although I do enjoy the ability to do challenges with my sister through both the FuelBand and Nike Running.
My original one didn't do stairs, but the new version did so I enjoyed that change. It's cool to know that you like a different one, I was thinking I'd feel the same about any tracker.
I never purchased a fitness tracker. I do however, always wear my garmin when I run. I just bought the iPhone 6 and it has a built in tracker. I find myself opening the app to see my steps. It's funny how addicting it can be!
Oh yes - not giving up the Garmin anytime soon! :) And yes, so addicting.
I use Garmin and Strava, but lately am suffering from tracking fatigue. The only thing I care to measure occasionally are specific pieces of data, like Strava segments on a course or fast laps around the track, which I can do with a simple stopwatch. The only other data that may be useful to me is heart rate recovery time.
I can see that - I still love my Garmin and Strava, but the additional layer of tracking on top of it didn't feel worth it anymore.
I have never used a fitness tracker before, but I noticed on my iphone 6 there is a health app with tracking built in which is kind of cool. Fun to view your stats after a big run haha. Only tracking that I do is garmin watch on runs. Otherwise I don't use anything - just seems like way too much work to me.
If I got a fitness tracker for free, I'd probably wear it, but I'd never pay for one. I think the technology is great, particularly for people who rarely move. For people like you and I, who are quite active on our own, it seems a little excessive.
That's a great point. I bought them for my parents to encourage them to do more activity and that was part of the reason I kept using it for so long, because we could see each other's steps. My mom still feels like it's useful, but I feel like I'm getting the exercise anyway that it's not necessary.


text:
Q: Storing UUID in HSQLDB database I wish to store UUIDs created using java.util.UUID in a HSQLDB database.
The obvious option is to simply store them as strings (in the code they will probably just be treated as such), i.e. varchar(36).
What other options should I consider for this, considering issues such as database size and query speed (neither of which are a huge concern due to the volume of data involved, but I would like to consider them at least)

A: You have a few options:

*

*Store it as a VARCHAR(36), as you already have suggested.  This will take 36 bytes (288 bits) of storage per UUID, not counting overhead.

*Store each UUID in two BIGINT columns, one for the least-significant bits and one for the most-significant bits; use UUID#getLeastSignificantBits() and UUID#getMostSignificantBits() to grab each part and store it appropriately.  This will take 128 bits of storage per UUID, not counting any overhead.

*Store each UUID as an OBJECT; this stores it as the binary serialized version of the UUID class.  I have no idea how much space this takes up; I'd have to run a test to see what the default serialized form of a Java UUID is.

The upsides and downsides of each approach is based on how you're passing the UUIDs around your app -- if you're passing them around as their string-equivalents, then the downside of requiring double the storage capacity for the VARCHAR(36) approach is probably outweighed by not having to convert them each time you do a DB query or update.  If you're passing them around as native UUIDs, then the BIGINT method probably is pretty low-overhead.
Oh, and it's nice that you're looking to consider speed and storage space issues, but as many better than me have said, it's also good that you recognize that these might not be critically important given the amount of data your app will be storing and maintaining.  As always, micro-optimization for the sake of performance is only important if not doing so leads to unacceptable cost or performance.  Otherwise, these two issues -- the storage space of the UUIDs, and the time it takes to maintain and query them in the DB -- are reasonably low-importance given the cheap cost of storage and the ability of DB indices to make your life much easier. :)

A: *

*I would recommend char(36) instead of varchar(36).  Not sure about hsqldb, but in many DBMS char is a little faster.

*For lookups, if the DBMS is smart, then you can use an integer value to "get closer" to your UUID.
For example, add an int column to your table as well as the char(36).  When you insert into your table, insert the uuid.hashCode() into the int column.  Then your searches can be like this
WHERE intCol = ? and uuid = ?
As I said, if hsqldb is smart like mysql or sql server, it will narrow the search by the intCol and then only compare at most a few values by the uuid.  We use this trick to search through million+ record tables by string, and it is essentially as fast as an integer lookup.

A: Using BINARY(16) is another possibility. Less storage space than character types. Use CREATE TYPE UUID .. or CREATE DOMAIN UUID .. as suggested above.

A: HSQLDB has a built-in UUID type. Use that
CREATE TABLE t (
  id UUID PRIMARY KEY
);

A: I think the easiest thing to do would be to create your own domain thus creating your own UUID "type" (not really a type, but almost).
You also should consider the answer to this question (especially if you plan to use it instead of a "normal" primary key)
INT, BIGINT or UUID/GUID in HSQLDB? (deleted by community ...)
HSQLDB: Domain Creation and Manipulation

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


Where everyone in the first division gets assigned their rooms.
This is where you can find your captain doing all the paper work and plotting future attacks and what not.
This is where everyone in the 1st division comes and trains and what not.
where everyone in the second division gets assigned their rooms.
this is where everyone in the 2nd division comes and trains and what not.
where everyone in the fourth division gets assigned their rooms.
this is where everyone in the 4th division comes and trains and what not.
where everyone in the fifth division gets assigned their rooms.
This is where everyone in the 5th division comes and trains and what not.
Where everyone in the seventh division gets assigned their rooms.
where everyone in the eighth division gets assigned their rooms.
where everyone in the ninth division gets assigned their rooms.
his is where you can find your captain doing all the paper work and plotting future attacks and what not.
This is where everyone in the 9th division comes and trains and what not.
this is where all Lieutenants come and submit all their paper work to be reviewed by the Head Captain.
where everyone in the tenth division gets assigned their rooms.
where everyone in the eleventh division gets assigned their rooms.
This is where everyone in the 11th division comes and trains and what not.
where everyone in the twelfth division gets assigned their rooms.
This is where everyone in the 12th division comes and trains and what not.
This is where you find most of your captain and members of the 12th Division doing research on anything and everything. This center was first founded by xxdarkxx, former Captain of 12th Division.
Where everyone in the 13th division gets assigned their rooms.
This is where everyone in the 13th division comes and trains and what not.
To join this group you have to be the top best of the best and must be recommended by all 13 court guard Captains.
Same as always: To join the Kido Corps you have to show high level in education and must be recommended by your assigned Division Captain.
Only Captains and/or Lieutenants that have been promoted by the members of Central 46 may join this Legendary group. Members are known to be the best of the best and are unstoppable.
This is where all Captains meet and plan and talk about important issues.
this is where all Captains and lieutenants come to have a nice meal and just have free talk and do what ever they please.
This is where the Head Captain comes and does his work and what not, and if anyone has any problems they come to complain.
Much is known about them, but we still don't know the true power they posses. Everyone is warned.
Here you may post and do everything you want that has to do with Spamming and such.
Here you can talk about games, TV shows or Multimedia in general.
Here you can show your friends the art you've drawn or cool pics you found somewhere.
Here you can show us your self-written Bleach related stories. You may post Non-Bleach related stories too.


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Should You Get a Hebrew Tattoo? - Breaking Israel News | Latest News. Biblical Perspective.
Despite a Biblical prohibition against tattoos, numerous people are tattooing their bodies with Hebrew letters. The reasons for this trend are probably as varied as the words and designs they choose.
From ancient Egypt to the Philippines and the Andes, tattoos have historically served as permanent markings indicating social status, religious affiliation, and military rank and accomplishments. Women have used tattoos to beautify their bodies. Slaves bore markings that identified their owners.
Biblically, the commandment prohibiting tattoos (Leviticus 19:28) alluded to the idea that our bodies are holy vessels and should not be mutilated or changed in any permanent way. However, over the past two decades or so, there has been a marked increase in people getting tattooed with Hebrew letters, words, and even Biblical verses.
While observant Jews note the Biblical prohibition against getting a tattoo, ancient commentators had differing opinions regarding this commandment. The Talmud debates whether tattooing God's name or the name of another deity is problematic.
Many celebrities who have gotten Hebrew tattoos have publicly shared various reasons for this phenomenon. Some have rekindled their faith. Others want to connect to the ancient Holy language of Hebrew, the Jewish people, or their culture.
French Olympic medalist swimmer Fabian Gilot has on his upper bicep the words "ani klum bil'adeihem" (אני כלום בלעדיהים), meaning, "I am nothing without them". In an interview with Tablet, he said the tattoo was in honor his grandmother's husband, Max Goldschmidt, who survived Auschwitz during the Holocaust.
American actress Génesis Rodríguez has a "hamsa" (mystical hand) tattoo, which symbolizes protection against the evil eye, covering her entire foot. In the middle of the design appears the Hebrew word "chai" (חי), which means "life", in the center of a Jewish star.
Sandra Solomon, a former Muslim who converted to Christianity, tattooed the Hebrew word "Yisrael" (ישראל) – "Israel" on her back. Born in the Palestinian city of Ramallah, raised in Saudi Arabia and presently a resident of Canada, Solomon (not her birth name) is the niece of Saher Habash, one of the founders of the anti-Israel Fatah party. Today, she is a public advocate for Israel.
Roni Segal, the academic adviser for Israel Institute of Biblical Studies, an online language academy, has advice for all the famous and not-so-famous people interested in getting a Hebrew tattoo. "Before you permanently engrave your body with letters or words from the Holy language, it is probably a good idea to study that language and gain at least a basic understanding of the Hebrew language," she suggested.
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