(eBook PDF) A Concise Introduction to Ethics pdf

download

https://ebooksecure.com/product/ebook-pdf-a-concise-introduction-
to-ethics/

Download more ebook from https://ebooksecure.com

We believe these products will be a great fit for you. Click
the link to download now, or visit ebooksecure.com
to discover even more!

(eBook PDF) A Concise Introduction to Logic 13th

Edition

http://ebooksecure.com/product/ebook-pdf-a-concise-introduction-
to-logic-13th-edition/

(eBook PDF) A Concise Introduction to Linguistics 5th

Edition

http://ebooksecure.com/product/ebook-pdf-a-concise-introduction-
to-linguistics-5th-edition/

(eBook PDF) A Concise Introduction to World Religion

3rd Edition

http://ebooksecure.com/product/ebook-pdf-a-concise-introduction-
to-world-religion-3rd-edition/

(eBook PDF) A Concise Introduction to World Religions

4th Edition

http://ebooksecure.com/product/ebook-pdf-a-concise-introduction-
to-world-religions-4th-edition/
(eBook PDF) Weather: A Concise Introduction

http://ebooksecure.com/product/ebook-pdf-weather-a-concise-
introduction/

A Concise Introduction to Logic (14th Edition) Patrick

J. Hurley - eBook PDF

https://ebooksecure.com/download/a-concise-introduction-to-
logic-14th-edition-ebook-pdf/

(Original PDF) Canadian Democracy A Concise

Introduction

http://ebooksecure.com/product/original-pdf-canadian-democracy-a-
concise-introduction/

(eBook PDF) Mirror for Humanity: A Concise Introduction

to Cultural Anthropology 12th Edition

http://ebooksecure.com/product/ebook-pdf-mirror-for-humanity-a-
concise-introduction-to-cultural-anthropology-12th-edition/

(eBook PDF) Psychology: A Concise Introduction 5th

Edition

http://ebooksecure.com/product/ebook-pdf-psychology-a-concise-
introduction-5th-edition/
A Concise Introduction to Ethics
A Concise Introduction to Ethics

RUSS SHAFER-LANDAU
UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN AT MADISON
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the
University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing
worldwide. Oxford is a registered trademark of Oxford University Press in the UK and
certain other countries.

Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press

198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America.

© 2020 by Oxford University Press

For titles covered by Section 112 of the US Higher Education Opportunity Act, please
visit www.oup.com/us/he for the latest information about pricing and alternate formats.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in
writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under
terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning
reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department,
Oxford University Press, at the address above.

You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same
condition on any acquirer.

CIP data is on file at the Library of Congress

ISBN 9780190058173 (pbk.)
ISBN 9780190058180 (ebook)

987654321
Printed by LSC Communications, United States of America
 CONTENTS

Preface

CHAPTER 1. What Is Morality?

A. Conventional and Critical Morality
B. The Branches of Moral Philosophy
C. Moral Starting Points
D. Morality and Other Normative Systems
E. Morality and Religion
F. Conclusion
Key Terms and Concepts
Discussion Questions
Cases for Critical Reflection

CHAPTER 2. Moral Reasoning

A. Validity and Soundness
B. Necessary and Sufficient Conditions
C. Valid Argument Forms
D. Fallacies
E. Conclusion
Key Terms and Concepts
Discussion Questions

CHAPTER 3. Skepticism about Morality

A. Egoism
B. Relativism
C. Error Theory
D. Conclusion
Key Terms and Concepts
Discussion Questions
Cases for Critical Reflection

CHAPTER 4. The Good Life

 A. Hedonism
B. Desire Satisfaction Theory
C. Conclusion
Key Terms and Concepts
Discussion Questions
Cases for Critical Reflection

CHAPTER 5. Natural Law

A. The Theory and Its Attractions
B. Three Conceptions of Human Nature
C. Natural Purposes
D. The Doctrine of Double Effect
E. Conclusion
Key Terms and Concepts
Discussion Questions
Cases for Critical Reflection

CHAPTER 6. Consequentialism
A. The Nature of Consequentialism
B. The Attractions of Utilitarianism
C. Some Difficulties for Utilitarianism
D. Conclusion
Key Terms and Concepts
Discussion Questions
Cases for Critical Reflection

CHAPTER 7. Kantian Ethics

A. Consistency and Fairness
B. The Principle of Universalizability
C. Hypothetical and Categorical Imperatives
D. Assessing the Principle of Universalizability
E. Kant on Absolute Moral Duties
F. The Principle of Humanity
G. Conclusion
Key Terms and Concepts
Discussion Questions
Cases for Critical Reflection

CHAPTER 8. Social Contract Theory

A. The Background of the Social Contract Theory
B. The Prisoner’s Dilemma
 C. Cooperation and the State of Nature
D. The Advantages of Contractarianism
E. The Role of Consent
F. Disagreement among the Contractors
G. Conclusion
Key Terms and Concepts
Discussion Questions
Cases for Critical Reflection

CHAPTER 9. The Ethic of Prima Facie Duties

A. Ethical Pluralism and Prima Facie Duties
B. The Advantages of Ross’s View
C. A Problem for Ross’s View
D. Prima Facie Duties and the Testing of Moral Theories
E. Knowing the Right Thing to Do
F. Conclusion
Key Terms and Concepts
Discussion Questions
Cases for Critical Reflection

CHAPTER 10. Virtue Ethics

A. The Standard of Right Action
B. Moral Complexity
C. Moral Understanding
D. The Nature of Virtue
E. Does Virtue Ethics Offer Adequate Moral Guidance?
F. Who Are the Moral Role Models?
G. Conflict and Contradiction
H. The Priority Problem
I. Conclusion
Key Terms and Concepts
Discussion Questions
Cases for Critical Reflection

CHAPTER 11. Feminist Ethics and the Ethics of Care

A. The Elements of Feminist Ethics
B. The Ethics of Care
C. The Importance of Emotions
D. Against Unification
E. Partiality and Concreteness
 F. Downplaying Rights
G. Challenges for Feminist Ethics
H. Conclusion
Key Terms and Concepts
Discussion Questions
Cases for Critical Reflection

Suggestions for Further Reading

Appendix: The Truth about Philosophy Majors
Glossary
Index
 PREFACE

About This Book

I’ve designed this book for those who want a brief overview of moral
philosophy—those who might be at least mildly curious about ethical theory,
seeking to acquaint themselves with its core concerns without having to make
too heavy an investment. Moral philosophy is both deep and wide-ranging, so
what you’re about to get is just the first, and hardly the final, word on these
vital matters. That said, I’ve done my best to identify the core views and
issues that deserve your attention, and to offer an accessible and largely even-
handed appreciation of the pros and cons associated with each topic.
After providing an overview of moral philosophy in Chapter 1 and an
introduction to moral reasoning in Chapter 2, we get right down to it in
Chapter 3. There, we encounter three distinct kinds of skepticism about
morality, and discuss both their central motivations and some serious
difficulties they face. Chapter 4 focuses on various conceptions of the good
life. Chapters 5 through 11 are devoted to the most compelling ethical
theories that have appeared in Western Philosophy: natural law theory,
consequentialism, Kantianism, social contract theory, ethical pluralism, virtue
ethics, and feminist ethics. As you’ll soon discover, each of these theories is
based on a deeply plausible idea about the nature of morality. You’ll also
find, however, that when these ideas are developed into coherent theories,
they almost inevitably come into conflict with other ideas we hold dear.
Each of these chapters contains a helpful grouping of Key Terms and
Concepts, which gather together those terms that are placed in bold in the
text. I define each such term when first using it, and all of them are defined
once more in the Glossary, for ease of reference. The chapters also contains a
battery of Discussion Questions that are intended to prompt more complex
thinking about the material. There are also Cases for Critical Reflection,
which encourage you to apply what you’ve learned. Some of these cases are
taken directly from the headlines; others are thought experiments that are
designed to test the implications of the views under scrutiny. My wonderful
research assistant, Emma Prendergast, is responsible for having created these
cases.

Instructor’s Manual and Student Resources

Ben Schwan prepared this book’s very substantial online resources; once
you’ve had a look, I expect you’ll agree that he has done a superb job. The
Oxford University Press Ancillary Resource Center (ARC) designed to
support this book offers students free access to self-quizzes, flash cards, and
web links to sites of further interest. In addition, the ARC also houses a
password-protected Instructor’s Manual, Computerized Test Bank, and
PowerPoint lecture outlines. The manual itself has a “pen and paper” test
bank of multiple-choice and essay questions, glossary, and case studies with
accompanying discussion questions. For more information please visit
http://www.oup.com/us/shafer-landau.
Learning Management System (LMS) cartridges are available in formats
compatible with any LMS in use at your college or university and include the
following:
The Instructor’s Manual and Computerized Test Bank
Student Resources
For more information, please contact your Oxford University Press
representative or call 1-800-280-0280.

Acknowledgments
As always, Robert Miller has been a dream editor to work with; his assistant
at OUP, Sydney Keen, has been an absolute delight, capable in every way.
I’d also like to express my gratitude to the fine philosophers who offered
needed guidance and such constructive criticism when reviewing the
manuscript:
Luke Amentas, St. Johns University
Robert Farley, Hillsborough Community College
Bob Fischer, Texas State
Theodore Gracyk, Minnesota State
 Max Latona, Anselm College
Philip Robbins, University of Missouri
My aim for this book is to give a lot of bang for the buck, conveying
much of what is essential to moral philosophy in a compact and accessible
way. I’m sure I haven’t always hit the target. If you have ideas for how this
book might be improved, please let me know: russshaferlandau@gmail.com.
 Not for Profit. All for Education.
Oxford University Press USA is a not-for-profit publisher dedicated to
offering the highest quality textbooks at the best possible prices. We
believe that it is important to provide everyone with access to superior
textbooks at affordable prices. Oxford University Press textbooks are
30%–70% less expensive than comparable books from commercial
publishers.

The press is a department of the University of Oxford, and our

publishing proudly serves the university’s mission: promoting
excellence in research, scholarship, and education around the globe. We
do not publish in order to generate revenue: we generate revenue in
order to publish and also to fund scholarships, provide start-up grants to
early-stage researchers, and refurbish libraries.

What does this mean to you?

It means that Oxford University Press USA published this book to best
support your studies while also being mindful of your wallet.
 CHAPTER 1

What Is Morality?

efore investing yourself in the study of an academic subject, it would

B be useful to first have some idea of what you are getting yourself into.
One way—sometimes the best—to gain such an understanding is by
considering a definition. When you open your trigonometry text or chemistry
handbook, you’ll likely be given, very early on, a definition of the area you
are about to study. So, as a responsible author, I would seem to have a duty
now to present you with a definition of morality.
I’d certainly like to. But I can’t. There is no widely agreed-on definition
of morality. The absence of a definition does not leave us entirely in the dark,
however. (After all, no one has yet been able to offer informative definitions
of literature, or life, or art, and yet we know a great deal about those things.)
Indeed, we can get a good sense of our subject matter by doing these four
things:
1. Being clear about the difference between conventional and critical
morality
2. Distinguishing the different branches of moral philosophy and their
central questions
3. Identifying starting points for moral thinking
4. Contrasting morality with other systems of guidance, including
religious ones
Let’s get to work!
A. Conventional and Critical Morality
Suppose you take a sociology or an anthropology course, and you get to a
unit on the morality of the cultures you’ve been studying. You’ll likely focus
on the patterns of behavior to be found in the cultures, their accepted ideas
about right and wrong, and the sorts of character traits that these cultures find
admirable. These are the elements of what we can call conventional
morality—the system of widely accepted rules and principles, created by and
for human beings, that members of a culture or society use to govern their
own lives and to assess the actions and the motivations of others. The
elements of conventional morality can be known by any astute social
observer, since gaining such knowledge is a matter of appreciating what most
people in a society or culture actually take to be right or wrong.
Conventional morality can differ from society to society. The
conventional morality of Saudi Arabia forbids women from publicly
contradicting their husbands or brothers, while Denmark’s conventional
morality allows this. People in the United States would think it immoral to
leave a restaurant without tipping a good waiter or bartender, while such
behavior in many other societies is perfectly OK.
When I write about morality in this book, I am not referring to
conventional morality. I am assuming that some social standards—even those
that are long-standing and very popular—can be morally mistaken. (We’ll
examine this assumption in Chapter 3.B.) After all, the set of traditional
principles that are widely shared within a culture or society are the result of
human decisions, agreements, and practices, all of which are sometimes
based on misunderstandings, irrationality, bias, or superstition. So when I talk
about morality from this point on, I will be referring to moral standards that
are not rooted in widespread endorsement, but rather are independent of
conventional morality and can be used to critically evaluate its merits.
It’s possible, of course, that conventional morality is all there is. But this
would be a very surprising discovery. Most of us assume, as I will do, that
the popularity of a moral view is not a guarantee of its truth. We could be
wrong on this point, but until we have a chance to consider the matter in
detail, I think it best to assume that conventional morality can sometimes be
mistaken. If so, then there may be some independent, critical morality that
(1) does not have its origin in social agreements; (2) is untainted by mistaken
beliefs, irrationality, or popular prejudices; and (3) can serve as the true
standard for determining when conventional morality has got it right and
when it has fallen into error. That is the morality whose nature we are going
to explore in this book.

B. The Branches of Moral Philosophy

As I’m sure you know, there are lots of moral questions. So it might help to
impose some organization on them. This will enable us to see the basic
contours of moral philosophy and also to better appreciate the fundamental
questions in each part of the field you are about to study.
There are three core areas of moral philosophy:
1. Value theory: What is the good life? What is worth pursuing for its
own sake? How do we improve our lot in life? What is happiness, and
is it the very same thing as well-being?
2. Normative ethics: What are our fundamental moral duties? What
makes right actions right? Which character traits count as virtues, which
as vices, and why? Who should our role models be? Do the ends always
justify the means, or are there certain types of action that should never
be done under any circumstances?
3. Metaethics: What is the status of moral claims and advice? Can ethical
theories, moral principles, or specific moral verdicts be true? If so, what
makes them true? Can we gain moral wisdom? If so, how? Do we
always have good reason to do our moral duty?
This book is for the most part devoted to issues in normative ethics, which
take up the whole of Chapters 5 through 11. Chapter 4 focuses on value
theory, while Chapter 3 is given over largely to metaethics. Chapter 2
concerns logic and good reasoning; the lessons of that chapter apply to all
branches of moral philosophy, and well beyond.

C. Moral Starting Points

One of the puzzles about moral thinking is knowing where to begin. Some
skeptics about morality deny that there are any proper starting points for
ethical reflection. They believe that moral reasoning is simply a way of
rationalizing our biases and gut feelings. This outlook encourages us to be lax
in moral argument and, worse, supports an attitude that no moral views are
any better than others. While this sort of skepticism might be true, we
shouldn’t regard it as the default view of ethics. We should accept it only as a
last resort.
In the meantime, let’s consider some fairly plausible ethical assumptions,
claims that can get us started in our moral thinking. The point of the exercise
is to soften you up to the idea that we are not just spinning our wheels when
thinking morally. There are reasonable constraints that can guide us when
thinking about how to live. Here are some of them:
Neither the law nor tradition is immune from moral criticism. The law
does not have the final word on what is right and wrong. Neither does
tradition. Actions that are legal, or customary, are sometimes morally
mistaken.
Everyone is morally fallible. Everyone has some mistaken ethical views,
and no human being is wholly wise when it comes to moral matters.
Friendship is valuable. Having friends is a good thing. Friendships add
value to your life. You are better off when there are people you care
deeply about, and who care deeply about you.
We are not obligated to do the impossible. Morality can demand only so
much of us. Moral standards that are impossible to meet are illegitimate.
Morality must respect our limitations.
Children bear less moral responsibility than adults. Moral responsibility
assumes an ability on our part to understand options, to make decisions
in an informed way, and to let our decisions guide our behavior. The
fewer of these abilities you have, the less blameworthy you are for any
harm you might cause.
Justice is a very important moral good. Any moral theory that treats
justice as irrelevant is deeply suspect. It is important that we get what we
deserve, and that we are treated fairly.
Deliberately hurting other people requires justification. The default
position in ethics is this: do no harm. It is sometimes morally acceptable
to harm others, but there must be an excellent reason for doing so or else
the harmful behavior is unjustified.
Equals ought to be treated equally. People who are alike in all relevant
respects should get similar treatment. When this fails to happen—when
 racist or sexist policies are enacted, for instance—then something has
gone wrong.
Self-interest isn’t the only ethical consideration. How well-off we are is
important. But it isn’t the only thing of moral importance. Morality
sometimes calls on us to set aside our own interests for the sake of
others.
Agony is bad. Excruciating physical or emotional pain is bad. It may
sometimes be appropriate to cause such extreme suffering, but doing so
requires a very powerful justification.
Might doesn’t make right. People in power can get away with lots of
things that the rest of us can’t. That doesn’t justify what they do. That a
person can escape punishment is one thing—whether his actions are
morally acceptable is another.
Free and informed requests prevent rights violations. If, with eyes wide
open and no one twisting your arm, you ask someone to do something
for you, and she does it, then your rights have not been violated—even if
you end up hurt as a result.
There are a number of points to make about these claims.
First, this short list isn’t meant to be exhaustive. It could be made much
longer.
Second, I am not claiming that the items on this list are beyond criticism.
I am saying only that each one is very plausible. Hard thinking might weaken
our confidence in some cases. The point, though, is that without such
scrutiny, it is perfectly reasonable to begin our moral thinking with the items
on this list.
Third, many of these claims require interpretation in order to apply them
in a satisfying way. When we say, for instance, that equals ought to be treated
equally, we leave all of the interesting questions open. (What makes people
equals? Can we treat people equally without treating them in precisely the
same way? And so on.)
Not only do we have a variety of plausible starting points for our ethical
investigations; we also have a number of obviously poor beginnings for
moral thinking. A morality that celebrates genocide, torture, treachery,
sadism, hostility, and slavery is, depending on how you look at it, either no
morality at all or a deeply failed one. Any morality worth the name will place
some importance on justice, fairness, kindness, and reasonableness. Just how
much importance, and how to balance things in cases of conflict—that is
where the real philosophy gets done.

D. Morality and Other Normative Systems

We can also better understand morality by contrasting its principles with
those of other normative systems. A normative system is made up of a set of
norms—standards for how we ought to behave, ideals to aim for, and rules
that we should not break.
There are many such systems, but let’s restrict our focus to four of the
most important of them: those that govern the law, etiquette, self-interest, and
tradition. The fact that a law tells us to do something does not settle the
question of whether morality gives its stamp of approval. Some immoral acts
(like cheating on a spouse) are not illegal. And some illegal acts (such as
voicing criticism of a dictator) are not immoral. Certainly, many laws require
what morality requires and forbid what morality forbids. But the fit is hardly
perfect, and that shows that morality is something different from the law.
That a legislature passed a bill is not enough to show that the bill is morally
acceptable.
We see the same imperfect fit when it comes to standards of etiquette.
Forks are supposed to be set to the left of a plate, but it isn’t immoral to set
them on the right. Good manners are not the same thing as morally good
conduct. Morality sometimes requires us not to be polite or gracious, as when
someone threatens your children or happily tells you a racist joke. So the
standards of etiquette can depart from those of morality.
The same is true when it comes to the standards of self-interest. Think of
all of the people who have gotten ahead in life by betraying others, lying
about their past, breaking the rules that others are following. It’s an unhappy
thought, but a very commonsensical one: you sometimes can advance your
interests by acting immorally. And those who behave virtuously are
sometimes punished, rather than rewarded, for it. Whistle blowers who reveal
a company’s or a government official’s corruption are often attacked for their
efforts, sued to the point of bankruptcy, and targeted for their courageous
behavior. Though the relation between self-interest and morality is contested,
it is a plausible starting point to assume that morality can sometimes require
us to sacrifice our well-being, and that we can sometimes improve our lot in
life by acting unethically. Unless this is shown to be mistaken—something
that would require a lot of complex moral thinking, if it could be done at all
—we are right to think that the standards of morality are not the very same as
those of self-interest. (We will see a challenge to this view when considering
ethical egoism in Chapter 3.A.)
Finally, morality is also distinct from tradition. That a practice has been
around a long time does not automatically make it moral. Morality sometimes
requires a break with the past, as it did when people called for the abolition of
slavery or for allowing women to vote. The longevity of a practice is not a
foolproof test of its morality.

E. Morality and Religion

Because many people look to religion for moral guidance, it is important to
understand the relation between morality and religion, and to explain why, in
the pages to follow, I will not be relying on religious commitments to present
and assess the views under discussion.
Many people have the following thought: if God does not exist, then
morality is a sham. The only legitimate source of morality is God’s
commands. On this view, atheism—the belief that God does not exist—
spells the doom of morality.
The underlying idea seems to be this: because morality is a set of norms,
there must be someone with the authority to create them. Without God, there
is no one but we human beings to make up the moral law. And we lack the
needed authority to do the work. Our say-so doesn’t make things right; our
disapproval cannot make things wrong. We are limited in understanding and
bound to make mistakes. A morality built upon our imperfections would lack
credibility.
This vision of God’s role in morality—as its ultimate author, the one who
makes up the moral code—rests on a crucial assumption: that morality must
be created by someone. Personal confession: I don’t understand why this
assumption is appealing. But that may be just one of my many limitations. In
any event, those who do like the view I’ve just sketched will find themselves
embracing the Divine Command Theory:
An act is morally required just because it is commanded by God, and
 immoral just because God forbids it.
I think that this is the natural, default view for a religious believer when
thinking of God’s relation to morality. It first received an airing in Western
philosophy in a short dialogue by Plato called the Euthyphro, where Socrates
interrogates the title character and asks the following question: “Do the gods
love actions because they are pious, or are actions pious because the gods
love them?”
With a few substitutions, we can get a newer version of Socrates’s
question that is more relevant to our topic: “Does God command us to do
actions because they are morally right, or are actions morally right because
God commands them?” The Divine Command Theory answers our new
question by affirming the second option. But this view is not without its
problems.
There are two of them. The first is obvious. The Divine Command
Theory makes morality depend on God’s commands. Yet God may not exist.
For the moment, though, let’s just assume that God does exist, and see what
follows.
To appreciate the second problem, imagine the point at which God is
choosing a morality for us. God contemplates the nature of rape, torture, and
treachery. What does He see? Being omniscient (all-knowing), God sees
such actions for what they are. Crucially, He sees nothing wrong with them.
They are, at this point, morally neutral. Nothing, as yet, is right or wrong.
But God did, at some point, make a decision. He forbade rape, theft, and
most kinds of killing. If the Divine Command Theory is correct, then He
didn’t forbid them because they were immoral. Did God have reasons for His
decisions, or not?
If the Divine Command Theory is true, then there is trouble either way. If
God lacks reasons for His commands—if there is no solid basis supporting
His decisions to prohibit certain things and require others—then God’s
decisions are arbitrary. It would be as if God were creating morality by a coin
toss. But that is surely implausible. That sort of God would be capricious, and
thus imperfect.
So a perfect God must have had excellent reasons for laying down the
moral law as He did. But then it seems that these reasons, and not God’s
commands, are what makes actions right or wrong. Actions are not right
because God commands them. Whatever reasons support God’s choices also
explain why actions have the moral status they do.
Suppose, for instance, that God really did forbid us from torturing others,
and that God had very good reasons for doing so. Although we can’t presume
to know God’s thoughts, let’s just assume for now that God based His
decision on the fact that torture is extremely painful, humiliating, and an
attack on a defenseless person. Assuming that these are the relevant reasons,
then these reasons are enough to explain why torture is immoral. Torture is
wrong because it is extremely painful, humiliating, and so on.
God’s condemnation does not turn a morally neutral action into an
immoral one. Rather, God recognizes what is already bad about torture. There
is something in the very nature of torture that makes it morally suspect. To
avoid portraying God as arbitrary, we must assume that He issues commands
based on the best possible reasons. And here are the best possible reasons:
God sees that an action such as torture is immoral, sees, with perfect
understanding, that such things as kindness and compassion are good, and
then issues the divine commands on the basis of this flawless insight. This
picture preserves God’s omniscience and integrity. But it comes at the
expense of the Divine Command Theory, and God’s authorship of the moral
law.
And after all, what is the alternative? If there is nothing intrinsically
wrong with rape or theft, then God could just as well have required that we
do such things. He could have forbidden us to be generous or thoughtful. But
this makes a mockery of morality, and of our view of God as morally perfect.
This point is expressed by
The Divine Perfection Argument
1. If the Divine Command Theory is true, then a morally perfect God could
have created a flawless morality that required us to rape, steal, and kill,
and forbade us from any acts of kindness or generosity.
2. A morally perfect God could not have issued such commands—anyone
who did so would be morally imperfect.
Therefore,
3. The Divine Command Theory is false.
 The first premise is certainly true. The Divine Command Theory says that
God’s choices wholly determine morality, and that nothing determines God’s
choices. And the second premise is highly plausible. A moral code that
required such horrific acts, and forbade such good ones, could not be
authored by someone worthy of love and worship, someone fit to serve as a
model of moral perfection.
Now suppose that God exists but is not the author of the moral law. God
could still play a crucial role in morality—not by being its inventor, but by
being its infallible reporter and our expert guide. God knows everything—
including every single detail of the moral law. And if God is all-loving, then
God will want to share some of that wisdom with us. How will He do it? By
means of revelation, either personal and direct (say, by talking to you or
giving you signs of certain kinds), or by indirect means (say, by inspiring the
authors of a sacred scripture).
God doesn’t have to be the author of morality in order to play a vital role
in teaching us how to live. We can see this by considering an analogy.
Imagine a perfectly accurate thermometer. If we wanted to know the
temperature, we’d look to this device. But the thermometer is not creating the
temperature. It is recording it in an error-free way. If we reject the Divine
Command Theory, then God is playing a similar role regarding morality. He
is not creating the moral law. He is telling us what it is, in a way that is never
mistaken.
There are some worries, of course. Here are some worth considering:
Those who are not religious will need to look elsewhere for moral
guidance.
And they may be right to do so, because God may not exist.
Even if God exists, there are still two serious problems for those who
seek divine guidance:
We must select a source of religious wisdom from among many choices.
We must know how to interpret that source.
These two problems can be illustrated by working through the popular
Argument from Religious Authority
 1. If the Bible prohibits abortion, then abortion is immoral.
2. The Bible prohibits abortion.
Therefore,
3. Abortion is immoral.
The first premise asserts the moral authority of the Bible. But which
bible? Different religions offer us different sacred texts, whose details
sometimes contradict one another. So we must choose. There is presumably
one right choice and many wrong ones. The odds are stacked against us.
Premise 1 is plausible only if God has authored the Bible or has dictated
its terms. Religious believers therefore have to make a case that this is so.
They must justify the claims that God exists, that God has communicated
with humanity, and that their favorite sacred scripture is the one that contains
God’s wisdom. It won’t be easy to do this.
If God is all-powerful, then He could provide some extremely clear,
undeniable evidence to settle these matters, evidence that would convince
agnostics, atheists, and members of competing religions. But God has thus far
chosen not to do this. That makes defense of premise 1 especially tricky.
And the challenges don’t end there. Even if theists—those who believe
that God exists—can adequately defend the first premise, and so justify the
selection of their preferred bible, there is the further matter of how to
interpret the sacred text. Neither the Hebrew nor the Christian scriptures, for
instance, ever explicitly mentions abortion, much less prohibits it. Thus, even
if you wanted to adopt a literal reading of those scriptures, problems will
arise. There will be many important topics (such as abortion) that are never
mentioned in the crucial text. Those that are mentioned may receive
contradictory treatments (consider, as an early example, the literally
incompatible creation stories of Genesis chapters 1 and 2). There may also be
morally troubling advice on offer (think of the passages in Leviticus that
permit slavery and the subordination of women, or those that require killing
adulterers and disrespectful children).
Yet if we move away from a literal reading, we are faced with countless
possibilities for interpreting the biblical texts. Believers must choose among
them, and justify their choice in the face of a wide number of conflicting
approaches. A defense of premise 2 is, therefore, no easy matter.
 To summarize: those who seek divine guidance in trying to lead a moral
life may succeed. But several conditions must be met. It must be the case that
(1) God exists, and (2) that we can be justified in believing this. (3) Theists
must be justified in selecting a particular source of religious and moral
wisdom, such as the Koran, the Book of Mormon, or the Christian scriptures.
Theists must also (4) defend specific interpretations of those sources.
This is a daunting list. Yet philosophy is full of such lists, and the
difficulty of a project is not, by itself, proof of its failure. Religious believers
have their work cut out for them, no doubt of it. But then so does
everyone else.
In the rest of the book, I do not make use of specifically religious claims.
There are two reasons for this. First, we have seen the many challenges to the
assumption that morality is based on religion, and it is worthwhile seeing
how far we can get without having to rely on that assumption. Second, there
is important precedent among religious philosophers for thinking that God
gave us reason and understanding in order to make the fundamental truths of
morality available to everyone. After all, a caring God would want even
nonbelievers to understand the immorality of rape and genocide, and to
appreciate the goodness of generosity and loving kindness.

F. Conclusion
Although it has proven difficult to come up with a sharp definition of
morality, we can take several steps to help us get a better understanding of
what we’ll be focusing on for the remainder of this book. There is first of all
the distinction between conventional and critical morality, where the former
includes the moral views and practices that are actually accepted by a society
or culture, and the latter represents moral standards that are free of the errors
that sometimes infect conventional morality. Understanding the three
branches of moral philosophy—value theory, normative ethics, and
metaethics—can also help us to focus on our target. Identifying a set of
plausible starting points for moral thinking can do the same. We can also
come to appreciate what morality is by seeing what it is not—here, the
contrast with other normative systems, such as the law, etiquette, self-interest,
and tradition, may be helpful. Finally, while many people look to religion for
moral guidance, there are some problems with doing so on the basis of the
divine command theory, and there are, in any event, several hurdles that
theists need to overcome in order to assure themselves that such reliance is
appropriate.

Key Terms and Concepts

Atheism
Conventional morality
Critical morality
Divine command theory
Metaethics
Normative ethics
Normative system
Norm
Omniscient
Theist
Value theory

Discussion Questions
1. Can you think of a good definition of morality?
2. What are some elements of conventional morality that you think are
morally mistaken? Be sure to provide the reasons that support your verdict.
3. Do you agree with all of the starting points for moral thinking that were
provided in section 1.C? If not, explain why. Can you think of any other
plausible starting points?
4. Many people think that the standards of self-interest and morality can
conflict. Do you agree? What reasons do you have for your response?
5. Critically assess the Divine Perfection argument. Do you think that it
succeeds? Why or why not?
6. For theists: What evidence might be used to identify one sacred scripture
as more reliable than another? And what standards should be used for
defending one interpretation of a sacred text over a competing
interpretation? For atheists and agnostics: if one does not base morality on
religion, what is the source of morality? Must it be a matter of personal or
group opinion? If so, why? If not, why not?
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
desired. Why should ambition seek more than this, and why are so
many hopeless hearts cooped up in the squalid city?
Here comes Jeanie down from the “loft,” looking fresher and
prettier than ever in her dry wincey dress, with a little bit of blue
ribbon at the throat. The tea is ready; her mother has fried some of
the trout, and the snowy table is loaded with thick white scones, thin
oatmeal cakes, home-made bramble jelly, and the freshest butter.
Kings may be blest; but what hungry man needs more than this?
The shepherd, too, is well-read, for does not Steele and Addison’s
“Spectator” stand there on the shelf, along with Sir Walter Scott,
Robert Burns, and the Bible? With fare like this for body and mind,
man may indeed become “the noblest work of God.”
But an hour has passed, too quickly; the rain has cleared at last,
and away to the south and west the clouds are lifting in the sunset.
Yonder, under the clear green sky, glistens the treacherous silver of
the Solway, and as far again beyond it in the evening light rises the
dark side of Skiddaw, in Cumberland. The gravel at the door lies
glistening after the shower, the yellow marigolds in the little plot are
bright and opening, and the moorland air is perfumed with mint and
bog-myrtle. A hearty handshake, then, from the shepherd, a warm
pressing to return soon from his goodwife, a pleasant smile from
Jeanie, and the road must be taken down hill with a swinging step.
 IN KILT AND PLAID.

A
ll dust has been swept from the causeways by the clear wind
from the firth, as if in preparation for this great gala-day of
the North. Unusual stir and movement fill the streets of the
quiet Highland town, and the bright sunshine glitters everywhere on
jewelled dirk and brooch and skeandhu. The clean pavements are
ringing far and near with the quick, light step of the Highlander, and,
from the number of tartans to be seen, it might almost be thought
that the Fiery Cross was abroad, as in days of old, for the gathering
of the clans.

Sad enough are the memories here of the last war summons of
the chiefs. High-hearted, indeed, was the town on the morning when
the clans marched forth under “Bonnie Prince Charlie” to do battle
for the Stuart cause. But before an April day had passed, the gates
received again, flying from fatal Culloden, the remnants of the
broken chivalry of the North, and the streets themselves shook
under the thunder of the Lowland guns.
The wounds of the past, however, are healed, the feuds are
forgotten, and the clouds of that bygone sorrow have been blown
away by the winds of time. A lighter occasion now has brought
gaiety to the town, and the heroes of the hour go decked with no
ominous white cockade. Already in the distance the wild playing of
the pipes can be heard, and at the sound the kilted clansmen hurry
faster along the streets; for the business of the day is on the
greensward, and the hill folk, gentle and simple, are gathering from
far and near to witness the Highland games.
 A fair and appropriate scene is the tourney-ground, with the
mountains looking down upon it, purple and silent—the Olympus of
the North. The eager crowd gathers thick already, like bees, round
the barricade. Little knots of friends there, from glens among the
hills, discuss the chances of their village hero. Many a swarthy
mountaineer is to be seen, of pure Celtic blood, clear eyed and clean
limbed, from far-off mountain clachan. Gamekeepers and ghillies
there are, without number, in gala-day garb. And the townspeople
themselves appear in crowds. On every side is to be heard the
emotional Gaelic of the hills, beside the sweet English speech for
which the town is famous, and only sometimes one catches the
broader accent of a Lowland tongue.
The lists have just been cleared, and the “chieftain” of the day
has gathered his henchmen around him. The games are about to
begin.
Yonder go the pipers, half a dozen of them, their ribbons and
tartans streaming on the wind. Featly they step together to the quick
tune of the shrill mountain march they are playing. Deftly they turn
in a body at the boundary, and brightly the cairngorms of their broad
silver shoulder-brooches flash all at once in the sun. No wonder it is
that the Highlander has the tread of a prince, accustomed as he is to
the spring of the heather beneath his feet, and to music like that in
the air. The Highland garb, too, can hardly fail to be picturesque
when it is worn by stalwart fellows like these.
The programme of the games is very full, and several
competitions are therefore carried on at the same time. Here a
dozen fleet youths speed past on the half-mile racecourse. Some
lithe ghillies yonder are doing hop, step, and leap to an astonishing
distance. And, farther off, five brawny fellows are preparing to “put”
the heavy ball. Out of the tent close by come some sinewy men, well
stripped for the encounter, to try a bout of wrestling. A pair at a
time, they wind their strong arms about each other, and each strains
and heaves to give his rival a fall. One man scowls, and another
smiles as he picks himself up after his overthrow—the sympathy of
the crowd goes largely by these signs. Most, however, display the
greatest good-humour, and every one must obey the ruling of the
umpire. Gradually the two stoutest and heaviest men overcome the
rest; and at last, the only champions remaining, they stand up to
engage each other. The grey-headed man has some joke to make as
he hitches up his belt before closing, and the bystanders laugh
heartily at his pleasantry; but his opponent evidently looks upon the
contest too seriously for that. Hither and thither they stagger in “the
grips,” the back of each as rigid as a plank at an angle of forty-five
degrees. More than once they loosen hold for a breath, and again
grasp each other, till at last, by dint of sheer strength, the grey-
headed wrestler draws the younger man to himself, and, with a
sudden toss, throws him clear upon the ground.
The slim youths at the pole-vaulting look like white swallows as
they swing high into the air on their long staves to clear the bar; and
a roar of applause from the far end of the lists, where the dogged
“tug of war” has been going on, tells that one of the teams of heavy
fellows straining at the rope has been hauled over the brink into the
dividing ditch. The brawny giants who were throwing the axle a little
while ago are just now breathing themselves, and will be tossing the
mighty caber by and by. And ever and anon throughout the day
there float upon the breeze the wild strains of the competing pipers
—pibrochs and strathspeys and “hurricanes of Highland reels.”
Meanwhile the grand pavilion has filled. Lord and lady, earl and
marquis and duke are there. And beside these are others, heads of
families, who count their chieftainship, it may be, through ten
centuries, and who are to be called neither esquire nor lord, but just
—— of that Ilk. Chiefs by right of blood, they need no other title
than their name.
The presence of so much that is noble and illustrious lends a
feudal interest to the games, and imports to the rivalry something of
that desire to appear well in the eyes of the chief which was once so
powerful an influence in the Highlands. The young ghillie here, who
has out-stripped all but one competitor at throwing the hammer,
feels the stimulus of this. He knows not only that his sweetheart’s
eyes are bent eagerly upon him from the barrier at hand, but that he
has a chance of distinguishing himself before his master and “her
ladyship,” who are watching from under the awning yonder. So he
breathes on his hands, takes a firm grasp of the long ash handle,
and, vigorously whirling the heavy iron ball round his head, sends it
with all his strength across the lists. How far has it gone? They chalk
the distance up on a board—95½ feet. There is a clapping of hands
from the crowd, and a waving of white kerchiefs from the pavilion.
He is sure of winning now, and the shy, pretty face at the barrier
flushes with innocent pride. Is he not her hero?
There, on the low platform before the judges, go the dancers,
two after two. They are trimly dressed for the performance, and
wear the thin, low-heeled Highland shoes, while the breasts of some
of them are fairly panoplied in gold and silver medals won at former
contests. Mostly young lads, it is wonderful how neatly they perform
every step, turning featly with now one arm in the air and now the
other. Cleverly they go through the famous sword dance over
crossed claymores, and in the wild whirl of the Reel o’ Tulloch seem
to reach the acme of the art.
 But in the friendly rivalry of skill and strength the day wears on.
The races in sacks and over obstacles, as well as the somewhat
rough “bumping in the ring,” have all been decided; the “best
dressed Highlander” has received his meed of applause; and the sun
at last dips down behind the hills. Presently, as the mountain-sides
beyond the river are growing grey, and their shadows gather upon
the lists, the spectators melt by degrees from the barricades, and in
a slow stream move back into the town. By and by the Assembly
Rooms will be lit up, and carriages will begin to arrive with fair
freights for the great Caledonian Ball. But, long before that, the
upland roads will be covered with pedestrians and small mountain
conveyances with family parties—simple folk, all pleased heartily
with their long day’s enjoyment, and wending their way to far-off
homes among the glens, where they will talk for another
twelvemonth of the great feats done at the gathering here by
Duncan or Fergus or Hamish.
 AT THE FOOT OF BEN LEDI.

S
it here in the stern of the boat, and let her drift out on the
glassy waters of the loch. After the long sultry heat of the
day it is refreshing to let one’s fingers trail in these cool
waters, and to watch the reflection of the hills above darkening in
the crystal depths below. Happy just now must be the speckled trout
that dwell in the loch’s clear depths; and when the fiery-flowering
sun rolls ablaze in the zenith there are few mortals who will not envy
the cool green domain of the salmon king. But now that the sunset
has died away upon the hills, like “the watch-fires of departing
angels,” a breath of air begins mysteriously to stir along the shore,
and from the undergrowth about the streamlet that runs close by
into the loch, blackbird and water-ousel send forth more liquid
pipings. The cuckoos, that all day long have been calling to each
other across loch and strath, now with a more restful “chuck! chu-
chu, chu, chuck!” are flitting, grey flakes, from coppice to coppice,
preparatory to settling for the night The grouse-cocks’ challenge,
“kibeck, kibeck, kibeck!” can still be heard from their tourney-ground
on the moraine at the moor’s edge; and from the heath above still
comes the silvery “whorl-whorl-whorl” of the whaup. These sounds
can be heard far off in the stillness of the dusk.

But listen to this mighty beating of the waters, and look yonder!
From the shadow of the hazels on the loch’s margin comes the royal
bird of Juno, pursuing his mate. In his eager haste he has left the
water, and with outstretched neck, beating air and loch into foam
with his silver wings, he rushes after her. She, with the tantalising
coyness of her sex, has also risen from the water, and, streaming
across the loch, keeps undiminished the distance between herself
and her pursuer. At this, finding his efforts vain, he gives up the
chase, subsiding upon the surface with a force which sends the
foam-waves curling high about his breast. Disdainfully he turns his
back upon the fair, and, without once inclining his proud black beak
in her direction, makes steadily for the shore. This, however, does
not please the lady. She turns, looks after her inconstant lover, and,
meeting with no response, begins slowly to sail in his direction.
Suddenly again at this, with snowy pinions erect, neck curved
gallantly back, and the calm waters foaming round his breast, he
surges after her, ploughing up the loch into shining furrows. Again
the coy dame flees, again and again the same amorous manœuvres
are gone through, and when night itself falls, the splendid birds will
still be dallying over their long-certain courtship. No plebeian affair is
the mating of these imperial denizens of the loch. Seldom do mortals
witness even this wooing of the swans.
More commonplace, though not, perhaps, less happy, are the
three brown ducks and their attentive drake, which having, one after
another, splashed themselves methodically on the flat stone by the
margin of the loch, now swim off in a string for home. Young trout
are making silver circles in the water as they leap at flies under the
grassy bank; and the keen-winged little swallows that skim the
surface, sometimes tip the glassy wave with foot or wing.
Before the daylight fades there are beautiful colours to be seen
on shore. The fresh young reeds that rise at hand like a green mist
out of the water deepen to a purple tint nearer the margin. The
march dyke that comes down to the shallows is covered with the red
chain-mail of a small-leaved ivy; and the gean-tree beside it, that a
week or two ago raised into the blue sky creamy coral-branches of
blossom, still retains something of its fragile loveliness. On the stony
meadow beyond, the golden whinflower is fading now, but is being
replaced by the paler yellow splendour of the broom. The rich blush-
purple of some heathy banks betrays the delicate blossom of the
blaeberry, and patches of brown show where the young bracken are
uncurling their rusty tips.
 And silent and fair on the mountain descends the shadowy veil
of night. Darkening high up there against the sapphire heaven, the
dome-topped hill, keeping watch with the stars, has treasured for
twenty centuries strange memories of an older world. Whether or
not, in the earth’s green spring, it served as a spot of offering for
some primeval race, no man now can tell. But long before the infant
Christ drew breath among the far-off Jewish hills, grave Druid priests
ascended here to offer worship to their Unknown God. On the holy
Beltane eve, the First of May, the concourse gathered from near and
far, and as the sun, the divine sign-manual set in the heavens, arose
out of the east, they welcomed his rising with an offering of fire.
From sea to sea across dim Scotland, from the storm-cloven peaks
of Arran to the sentinel dome of the Bass, could be seen this
mountain summit; and from every side the awed inhabitants, as they
looked up and beheld the clear fire-jewel glittering on Ben Ledi’s
brow, knew that Heaven had once more favoured them with the
sacred gift of flame. For the light on the mountain-top, like the altar
fires of the Chaldean seers on the hills of the East of old, was
understood to be kindled by the hand of God; every hearth in the
land had been quenched, and the people waited for the new Bal-
tein, or Baal-fire from Heaven, for another year.
Rude these people may have been—though that is by no means
certain,—but few races on earth have had a nobler place of worship
than this altar-mountain, which they called the Hill of God.
The climber on Ben Ledi to-day passes, near the summit, the
scene of a sad, more modern story. On the shoulder of the mountain
lies a small, dark tarn. It is but a few yards in width, yet once it
acted a part in a terrible tragedy. Amid the snows of winter, and
under a leaden heaven, a funeral party was crossing the ridge, when
there was a crash; the slow wail of the pipes changed into a shriek
of terror, and a hundred mourners, with the dead they were
carrying, sank in the icy waters to rise no more. That single moment
sufficed to leave sixty women husbandless in Glen Finglas below. No
tablet on that wind-swept moor records the half-forgotten disaster;
only the eerie lapping of the lochlet’s waves fills the discoverer with
strange foreboding; and at dusk, it is said, the lonely ptarmigan may
be seen, like souls of the departed, haunting the fatal spot.
On a knoll at the mountain foot, where the Leny leaves Loch
Lubnaig, lies the little Highland burial-place to which the clansmen
were bearing their dead comrade. Only a low stone wall now
remains round the few quiet graves; but here once stood the chapel
of St Bride, and from the Gothic arch of its doorway Scott, in his
“Lady of the Lake,” describes the issuing of a blithesome rout, gay
with pipe-music and laughter, when the dripping messenger of
Roderick Dhu rushed up and thrust into the hand of the new-made
groom the Fiery Cross of the Macgregors—
“The muster place is Lanrick mead;
Speed forth the signal! Norman, speed!”

Well did the poet paint the parting of bride and groom; and to-day
on the mossy stones of the little burial-place are to be read the
wistful words of many who have bid each other since then a last
good-bye. Surely the arcana of earth’s divinest happiness is only
opened by the golden key of love. Sweet, indeed, must be that
companionship which unclasps not with resignation even when
sunset is fading upon the hills of life, and the shadows are coming in
regretful eyes, but would fain stretch forth its yearnings through the
pathways of a Hereafter. Simple and lacking excitement may be the
lives of the folk who dwell under these hills, but something of the
sublime surely is latent in hearts whose hopes extend beyond a time
when heaven and earth shall have passed away.
 CADZOW FOREST.

H
igh on the edge of the crumbling cliff here, like the grey eyrie
of some keen-winged falcon, hangs the ruined keep of
Cadzow. Bowered and all but hidden by the leafy
luxuriance of “the oak and the ash and the bonnie ivy-tree,” with the
Evan roaring down its rocky bed far below at the foot of the sheer
precipice, there is enough left of this ancestral home of the
Hamiltons to give some idea of its ancient strength. Perched where it
was unassailable on one side save by foes who had the gift of wings;
on the other hand, the deep moss-grown moat and the massive
remains of thick walls tell how secure a refuge it gave to its
possessors. Secluded, too, in the depths of the old Caledonian
forest, the fastness had endless facilities for secret communication
and for safe hiding in case of necessity, and the deeds of its owners
need have been subject to the curiosity of prying eye. Who can tell
what captives have languished in the dungeons into which now, at
places through the broken arch, the sunshine makes its way? Birds
have built their nests, and twitter joyously about their callow young,
where once only the sighs of the prisoner were heard and the iron
clank of his chain. Alas! he had not the linnet’s wing to fly out and
speed away along these sunny woodland paths.

But not vindictive above their peers were the chiefs of the
ancient race that held these baronies. Rather has the gleam of
romance come here to lighten the records of their gloomy age. For it
was within these walls, tradition says, that Queen Mary found an
asylum upon the night following that of her escape from Loch Leven
Castle—a tradition the more likely to be true since the Hamilton
Palace of that day was but a rude square tower. And it is easy to
imagine how in that sweet May morning, the second of her new-
born liberty and of her fresh-reviving hopes, the eyes of the fair
unfortunate Queen may have filled with tears of happiness as she
gazed from this casement forth upon the green waving forests and
the silver Evan in its gorge below, and heard in the courtyard and
the woods behind the tramp of horses and the ring of arms. Alas!
whatever her frailties, she suffered sorely for them. There are few
perhaps whose errors lie so much at the door of circumstance. From
the Rout of Solway, which heralded her birth, to the last sad scene
at Fotheringay, her life was a walk of tears; and the student of her
reign is tempted to think that had she been a less lovable woman
she might have been a more successful queen. That was the last
gleam of sunshine in her life, the eleven days between Loch Leven
and Langside. Short was the respite, but it must have been sweet,
and doubtless these Hamiltons made chivalrous hosts. They fought
for her gallantly at anyrate, if in vain, for they were the foremost to
rush against her enemies’ spears in the steep narrow lane at
Langside.
And at last she rode away from this place, surrounded by a
brave little troop of nobles, their armour glancing in the sun as they
caracoled off along these grassy forest glades. Then amid the
restored quiet, only the whisper of the woods about them and the
murmur of the river far below, the women waited here, listening.
Presently, sudden and ominous, they heard a sound in the distance
—cannonading near Glasgow, ten miles away. The Queen had been
intercepted on her journey to Dunbarton. There was not much of the
sound, and it died feebly.
Hours afterwards, anxious waiting hours, down these forest
avenues, slowly, with drooping crest and broken spear, came riding
the lord of the castle, haggard, and almost alone. For of the gallant
gentlemen who had followed him to Langside many had fallen upon
the field, and the rest were scattered and fleeing for their lives.
 What sorrowings then for those who would never return must
there have been within these walls—what aching hearts for those
who had escaped! The smoke of the houses in Clydesdale, fired by
the victorious army of the Regent, could almost be seen from here;
and day after day news came of friends taken and friends in flight,
until it was whispered that the Queen herself was a prisoner in the
hands of the English Warden. A weary and anxious time it must have
been; but the danger passed, and the hour of reprisal came.
Through these woods, according to the tradition preserved by Sir
Walter Scott, on a January afternoon less than two years after the
battle of Langside, a hunting-party was returning to the castle. Amid
the fast-falling shadows of the winter day they were bringing home
their quarry—the wild bull whose race still roams these glades; and
the guests and huntsmen were making merry over the success of
their sport. There was the jingle, too, of hawk-bells, and the bark of
hounds in leash. But their lord rode in front, silent, with clenched
hand and clouded brow. He had not forgotten the misfortune that
had befallen his house, and news of a fresh insult had but lately
quickened his anger over it. The estate of one of his kinsmen,
Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh, had been confiscated to a favourite of
the Regent, and the new possessor, it was said, had used his power
with such severity, in turning out Bothwellhaugh’s wife and new-born
infant on a freezing night, that the poor lady had become furiously
mad. Brooding darkly and bitterly on these evils, the chief was
drawing near the castle, when there was suddenly heard
approaching the heavy gallop of a horse, and in another moment
Bothwellhaugh sprang to the earth before him. His face was wild and
pale, and his steed, bespattered with foam and blood, drooped its
head in exhaustion. Vengeance swift and dire had fallen upon the
Regent, and, twenty miles away, in Linlithgow Palace, the birthplace
of the sister he had dethroned, he lay dying. It is for a higher Judge
than man to say whether his death was that of a martyr or of a
miscreant; but at the time there were not wanting those who held
that Bothwellhaugh satisfied with one blow his own private feud and
the wrath of heaven over the distresses of the Queen. The brass
matchlock, curiously enough a rude sort of rifle, with which the deed
was done, lies yet in the palace of the Hamiltons.
Three hundred years ago and more it all happened, and the
moss grows dark and velvety now on the ruined bridge over which
once rang the hoofs of Queen Mary’s steed; but the grey and broken
walls, silent amid the warm summer sunshine, recall these memories
of the past. There could be no sweeter spot to linger near. Foamy
branches of hawthorn in spring fill the air here with their fragrance;
and in the woodland aisles lie fair beds of speedwell, blue as
miniature lakes. Under the dry, crumbling banks, too, among tufts of
delicate fern, are to be seen the misty, purple-flowering nettle and
the soft green shoots of brier. Overhead, in summer luxuriance,
spread the broad, palm-like fronds of the chestnut; close by, the soft
greenery of the beech lets the tinted sunshine through; and amid
them rises the dark and sombre pine. But, venerable above all, on
these rolling forest lands, the shattered girth of many an ancient oak
still witnesses to an age that may have seen the rites of the Druids.
Monarchs of the primeval wilds, these gigantic trees, garlanded now
with the green leaf of another year, need acres each for the spread
of their mighty roots; while as withies in comparison appear the
cedars of a century.
And down these forest avenues, the home of his sires from
immemorial time, where his hoof sinks deep in the primeval sward,
and there is no rival to answer his hoarse bellow of defiance, comes
the lordly Caledonian bull. Never yet has the race been tamed, and
the cream-white hide and black muzzle, horn, and hoof bespeak the
strain of its ancient blood. There is a popular belief, indeed, that
when the white cattle become extinct the house of Hamilton will
pass away. Here, then, in the forgotten solitude, where seldom along
the grassy woodland ways comes the foot of the human wanderer,
the mountain bull keeps guard with his herd over the scene of that
old and sorrowful story.
 A FISHER TOWN.

K
een and strong, and steady to-night in the gathering dusk, the
wind is coming up the firth out of the east. Darkling clouds
roll low along the sky, and, before the breeze, the waves in
their unnumbered hosts, like dark hussars white-crested, ride past to
break upon the beach-sands yonder inland at Fort George. The full,
deep gale brings with it out of the shadowy east the health of a
hundred tumbling seas, and sets the glad life dancing in lip, and eye,
and heart; while the music of the rushing waves, like the drums of
far-off armies, stirs the soul with the daring of great purposes. Little
need, therefore, is there to pity the fisher women and children far
out at the ebb-tide edge gathering bait among the reefs. Clear are
their eyes as the sea-pools over which they bend, and while sun and
wind have made their skins brown as the wet sand itself, many a
drawing-room beauty would give her diamonds for such a wealth of
raven hair. Even at this distance the happy voices of the children, a
pleasant murmur, speak of free and simple hearts. Sport on, happy
children! Rejoice in your brown brood, simple mothers! Not yours
are the pale cheek and the wasted form, the lifeless eye and the
languid step. Sometimes, it may be, when the winds rise and the
waves come thundering upon the beach, there are anxious hours for
you because of husband or father tossing out there somewhere in
the darkness; sometimes, alas! a sore heart and many tears when
the little knot of sad and silent men come up from the beach and lay
gently upon its pillow the pale wet face that will speak to you no
more. But yours, at least, are not the fetid atmosphere of cities and
their weary miles of pavement; for you the smile of Heaven is not
veiled by a sin-black pall of smoke; and when the dark angel does
come to your humble dwellings, and the last “Good-byes!” have to
be said, it is not amid the heartless roar and the squalor of city
streets, but amid the sweet, salt smell, and listening to the strange
and solemn “calling” of the sea.

A race by themselves are these fisher-folk, mixing little with the

people of the upper town, and keeping very much by customs of
their own. Danish, very likely, or Norse, in origin, their blood remains
all but as pure yet as it was when their forefathers landed on these
shores. Seven miles to the eastward along the coast, where the
white sand-line gleams on the horizon, in places exposed by the
shifting dunes, are still to be found the remains of villages which
belonged to the ancestors of these folk, and by these remains—
bronze pins, fish-hooks, broken pottery, and shell heaps—it seems
clear that the ancient villagers lived very much the same life as is
lived here to-day. Only, of late years the steamship and the School
Board have made some invasions upon traditional ideas.
At hand, spread on the bent-grass to dry, and brown as seaweed
itself, lie miles of fishing-nets, with their rows of worn cork floats; for
the herring fishery of the season is over, the west coast boats have
gone home through the Canal, and the gear is being laid by for the
winter. In the end of April it will be wanted again for the Loch Fyne
fishing, but it will be the end of June before the herring nets are
used on the east coast again. The good woman coming up the shore
below with her creel and pail of bait—mussels, sand-worms, and
silver-gleaming needle-fish—is going now to bait for the later white-
fishing the “long lines,” with their hundreds of hooks, which her
husband and his sons will take out to set before daylight. To-morrow
morning, when the boat comes home, she will have to fill her creel
with the haddocks, and sell them along the country-side; or perhaps
the fish will be bought at auction by the curers, to be smoked with
the smoke of fragrant fir-cones into succulent, appetising
“speldings.”
The quay-head in the morning, when the fish auction is going
on, makes a characteristic sight, and displays the only occasion on
which anything like business wakens in the quiet place.
The boats have come in with the running tide, and lie moored to
great iron rings in the landing-place. Curious names they have,
mostly double—the “Elspat and Ann,” or the “Ann and Margaret”—
probably to represent the wives or sweethearts of two partners. In
the boats themselves lie together heaps of lines, ropes, and sails,
with fish gleaming here and there among them; while the quay is
littered with oars and spars and cables, enough to make walking a
fine art. The fish have been lifted out of each boat by its crew, and
when the women have divided them into glittering heaps—a heap
for each man and one for the boat—the skipper sells the boat’s
heap, and its price settles that of the others. Here the shrewd
bargaining power of the fisher-folk comes out, trained, as it is, by
the narrow path they tread between means and ends; while here the
women who have no man’s hand to bring them home the harvest of
the deep contrive to find their bread by buying the fish they will
afterwards retail. The whole transaction is primitive in the extreme,
but one that sufficiently serves its purpose.
A life of which this is the busiest scene may appear monotonous
to the dweller in cities, but again and again there come hours of
stern excitement which prove the manhood of the race. There have
been times when every boat of the fishing fleet as it came rushing
ashore had to be caught, at peril of life and limb, breast-deep in the
furious surf, and landed safely with its occupants. Yet men are ever
most plentiful when the work is most dangerous, and never yet has
the lifeboat lacked a crew.
Once, indeed, a few years ago it happened that the men, all but
one or two, were away at the fishing, when word was brought that a
Norwegian timber-ship was going to pieces on the treacherous
shifting sands yonder, seven miles away. A tremendous surf was
beating upon the beach, and the lifeboat coxswain and crew were
riding the storm out, cabled to their herring-nets somewhere in the
North Sea. In the upper town, however, there was visiting his
brother just then the captain of an East Indiaman, home upon
holiday, and the message was handed to him as he sat at breakfast.
In half an hour, sailor-like, he had the lifeboat out, manned with a
scratch crew of volunteers, and run down the beach. Then began
the difficulty and peril. By strong and willing hands the boat was run
out into the surf, but again and again she was caught by a huge
wave and driven back. Three-quarters of an hour’s hard rowing it
took to pull her out to the fourth sea. A little longer, and she hoisted
her sail, and went plunging off into the howling wilderness of
waters.
Would she accomplish her mission? Would she and the brave
hearts on board her ever themselves come back? Old men and
fishers’ wives watched her from the quay-head till she disappeared
among the waves, and then they waited, anxious and fearful.
The day passed without tidings of her, and at last night began to
fall. The anxiety of the watchers had become intense, when
suddenly some one caught a glimpse of white bows gleaming far out
over the waves. There she was, clearly now, coming like a sea-bird
through the driving spray. Who could tell whether she had won or
lost lives? Presently her thwarts were seen black with men. She had
accomplished her mission; but the question yet remained—how were
they to be landed? Alas! all might yet be lost in the terrible surf.
There was a strong hand at the helm, however; the full tide had
covered the bar, and, with a single swoop, she shot into the harbour,
every man safe, amid the wild huzzas of the waiting throng.
One glad heart there was too full for words. Among the ringing
cheers, as the crowd made way for its hero, she could only in silence
take her husband’s arm. It was the captain’s wife.