THE MORAL SANCTION OR MORAL SENTIMENT.
ITS FUNCTIONS AND THE JUSTIFICATION OF
ITS CLAIMS TO SUPERIORITY.
I now proceed to consider more at length what are the precise functions
of the moral sentiment or moral sanction[1], and what is the justification
of the weight which we attach to it, or rather of the preference which
we assign to it, or feel that we ought to assign to it, over all the
other sanctions of conduct. We have already seen that the moral
sentiment or sanction is the feeling of satisfaction or dissatisfaction
which we experience when we reflect on our own acts, without any
reference to any external authority or external opinion. Now it is
important to ask whether this feeling is uniformly felt on the
occurrence of the same acts, or whether it ever varies, so that acts,
for instance, which are at one time viewed with satisfaction, are at
another time regarded with indifference or with positive
dissatisfaction. It would seem as if no man who reflects on ethical
subjects, and profits by the observation and experience of life, could
possibly answer this question in any other than one way. There must be
very few educated and reflective men who have not seen reason, with
advancing years, to alter their opinion on many of, at least, the minor
points of morality in which they were instructed as children. A familiar
instance occurs at once in the different way in which most of us view
card-playing or attendance at balls or theatres from the much stricter
views which prevailed in many respectable English households a
generation ago. On the other hand, excess in eating and drinking is
regarded with far less indulgence now than it was in the days of our
fathers and grandfathers. On these points, then, at least, and such as
these, it must be allowed that there is a variation of moral sentiment,
or, in other words, that the acts condemned or approved by the moral
sanction are not invariably the same. Moreover, any of us who are
accustomed to reason on moral questions, and can observe carefully the
processes through which the mind passes, will notice that there is
constantly going on a re-adjustment, so to speak, of our ethical
opinions, whether we are reviewing abstract questions of morality or the
specific acts of ourselves or others. We at one time think ourselves or
others more, and, at another time, less blameable for the self-same
acts, or we come to regard some particular class of acts in a different
light from what we used to do, either modifying our praise or blame, or,
in extreme cases, actually substituting one for the other. But, though
these facts are patent, and may be verified by any one in his experience
either of himself or others, there have actually been moralists who have
appeared to maintain the position that, when a man is unbiassed by
passion or interest, his moral judgments are and must be invariably the
same. This error has, undoubtedly, been largely fostered by the loose
and popular use of the terms conscience and moral sense. These terms,
and especially the word conscience, are often employed to designate a
sort of mysterious entity, supposed to have been implanted in the mind
by God Himself, and endowed by Him with the unique prerogative of
infallibility. Even so philosophical and sober a writer as Bishop Butler
has given some countenance to this extravagant supposition, and to the
exaggerated language which he employs on the prerogatives of conscience,
and to the emphatic manner in which he insists on the absolute, if not
the infallible, character of its decisions, may be traced much of the
misconception which still prevails on the subject. But we have only to
take account of the notorious fact that the consciences of two equally
conscientious men may point in entirely opposite directions, in order to
see that the decisions of conscience cannot, at all events, be credited
with infallibility. Those who denounce and those who defend religious
persecution, those who insist on the removal and those who insist on the
retention of religious disabilities, those who are in favour of and
those who are opposed to a relaxation of the marriage laws, those who
advocate a total abstention from intoxicating liquors and those who
allow of a moderate use of them,--men on both sides in these
controversies, or, at least, the majority of them, doubtless act
conscientiously, and yet, as they arrive at opposite conclusions, the
conscience of one side or other must be at fault. There is no act of
religious persecution, there are few acts of political or personal
cruelty, for which the authority of conscience might not be invoked. I
doubt not that Queen Mary acted as conscientiously in burning the
Reformers as they did in promulgating their opinions or we do in
condemning her acts. It is plain, then, not only that the decisions of
conscience are not infallible, but that they must, to a very large
extent, be relative to the circumstances and opinions of those who form
them. In any intelligible or tenable sense of the term, conscience
stands simply for the aggregate of our moral opinions reinforced by the
moral sanction of self-approbation or self-disapprobation. That we ought
to act in accordance with these opinions, and that we are acting wrongly
if we act in opposition to them, is a truism. 'Follow Conscience' is the
only safe guide, when the moment of action has arrived. But it is
equally important to insist on the fallibility of conscience, and to
urge men, by all means in their power, to be constantly improving and
instructing their consciences, or, in plain words, to review and,
wherever occasion offers, to correct their conceptions of right and
wrong. The 'plain, honest man' of Bishop Butler would, undoubtedly,
always follow his conscience, but it is by no means certain that his
conscience would always guide him rightly, and it is quite certain that
it would often prompt him differently from the consciences of other
'plain, honest men' trained elsewhere and under other circumstances. To
act contrary to our opinions of right and wrong would be treason to our
moral nature, but it does not follow that those opinions are not
susceptible of improvement and correction, or that it is not as much our
duty to take pains to form true opinions as to act in accordance with
our opinions when we have formed them.
[Footnote 1: I use the expressions 'moral sanction' and 'moral
sentiment' as equivalent terms, because the pleasures and pains, which
constitute the moral sanction, are inseparable, even in thought, from
the moral feeling. The moral feeling of self-approbation or
self-disapprobation cannot even be conceived apart from the pleasures or
pains which are attendant on it, and by means of which it reveals itself
to us.
It should be noticed that the expression 'moral sentiment' is habitually
used in two senses, as the equivalent (1) of the moral feeling only, (2)
of the entire moral process, which, as we shall see in the third
chapter, consists partly of a judgment, partly of a feeling. It is in
the latter sense, for instance, that we speak of the 'current moral
sentiment' of any given age or country, meaning the opinions then or
there prevalent on moral questions, reinforced by the feeling of
approbation or disapprobation. As, however, the moral feeling always
follows immediately and necessarily on the moral judgment, whenever that
judgment pronounces decisively for or against an action, and always
implies a previous judgment (I am here again obliged to anticipate the
discussion in chapter 3), the ambiguity is of no practical importance at
the present stage of our enquiry. It is almost needless to add that the
word 'sentiment,' when used alone, has the double meaning of a feeling
and an opinion, an ambiguity which is sometimes not without practical
inconvenience.]
The terms 'conscience' and 'moral sense' are very convenient expressions
for popular use, provided we always bear in mind that 'illuminate' or
'instruct' your 'conscience' or 'moral sense' is quite as essential a
rule as 'follow' your 'conscience' or 'moral sense.' But the scientific
moralist, in attempting to analyse the springs of moral action and to
detect the ultimate sanctions of conduct, would do well to avoid these
terms altogether. The analysis of moral as well as of intellectual acts
is often only obscured by our introducing the conception of 'faculties,'
and, in the present instance, it is far better to confine ourselves to
the expressions 'acts' of 'approbation or disapprobation,' 'satisfaction
or dissatisfaction,' which we shall hereafter attempt to analyse, than
to feign, or at least assume, certain 'faculties' or 'senses' as
distinct entities from which such acts are supposed to proceed. I shall,
therefore, in the sequel of this work, say little or nothing of
'conscience' or 'moral sense,' not because I think it desirable to
banish those words from popular terminology, but because I think that,
in an attempt to present the principles of ethics in a scientific form,
they introduce needless complexity and obscurity.
If the statements thus far made in this chapter be accepted, it follows
that the feelings of self-approbation and self-disapprobation, which
constitute the moral sanction, by no means invariably supervene on acts
of the same kind even in the case of the same individual, much less in
the case of different individuals, and that the acts which elicit the
moral sanction depend, to a considerable extent, on the circumstances
and education of the person who passes judgment on them. The moral
sanction, therefore, though it always consists in the feelings of
self-approbation, or self-disapprobation, of satisfaction or
dissatisfaction at one's own acts, is neither uniform, absolute, nor
infallible; but varies, as applied not only by different individuals but
by the same individual at different times, in relation to varying
conditions of education, temperament, nationality, and, generally, of
circumstances both external and internal. Lastly, it admits of constant
improvement and correction. How, then, it may be asked, do we justify
the application of this sanction, and why do we regard it as not only a
legitimate sanction of conduct, but as the most important of all
sanctions, and, in cases of conflict, the supreme and final sanction?
The answer to this question is that, if we regard an action as wrong, no
matter whether our opinion be correct or not, no external considerations
whatsoever can compensate us for acting contrary to our convictions.
Human nature, in its normal condition, is so constituted that the
remorse felt, when we look back upon a wrong action, far outweighs any
pleasure we may have derived from it, just as the satisfaction with
which we look back upon a right action far more than compensates for any
pain with which it may have been attended. The 'mens sibi conscia recti'
is the highest reward which a man can have, as, on the other hand, the
retrospect on base, unjust, or cruel actions constitutes the most acute
of torments. Now, when a man looks back upon his past actions, what he
regards is not so much the result of his acts as the intention and the
motives by which the intention was actuated. It is not, therefore, what
he would now think of the act so much as what he then thought of it that
is the object of his approbation or disapprobation. And, consequently,
even though his opinions as to the nature of the act may meanwhile have
undergone alteration, he approves or disapproves of what was his
intention at the moment of performing it and of the state of mind from
which it then proceeded. It is true that the subsequent results of our
acts and any change in our estimate of their moral character may
considerably modify the feelings with which we look back upon them, but,
still, in the main, it holds good that the approval or disapproval with
which we regard our past conduct depends rather upon the opinions of
right and wrong which we entertained at the moment of action than those
which we have come to entertain since. To have acted, at any time, in a
manner contrary to what we then supposed to be right leaves behind it a
trace of dissatisfaction and pain, which may, at any future time,
reappear to trouble and distress us; just as to have acted, in spite of
all conflicting considerations, in a manner which we then conceived to
be right, may, in after years, be a perennial source of pleasure and
satisfaction. It is characteristic of the pleasures and pains of
reflexion on our past acts (which pleasures and pains of reflexion may,
of course, connect themselves with other than purely moral
considerations), not only that they admit of being more intense than any
other pleasures and pains, but that, whenever there is any conflict
between the moral sanction and any other sanction, it is to the moral
sanction that they attach themselves. Thus, if a man has incurred
physical suffering, or braved the penalties of the law or the ill word
of society, in pursuance of a course of conduct which he deemed to be
right, he looks back upon his actions with satisfaction, and the more
important the actions, and the clearer his convictions of right and the
stronger the inducements to act otherwise, the more intense will his
satisfaction be. But no such satisfaction is felt, when a man has
sacrificed his convictions of right to avoid physical pain, or to escape
the penalties of the law, or to conciliate the goodwill of society; the
feeling, on the other hand, will be that of dissatisfaction with
himself, varying, according to circumstances, from regret to remorse.
And, if no similar remark has to be made with reference to the religious
sanction, it is because, in all the higher forms of religion, the
religious sanction is conceived of as applying to exactly the same
actions as the moral sanction. What a man himself deems right, that he
conceives God to approve of, and what he conceives God as disapproving
of, that he deems wrong. But in a religion in which God was not regarded
as holy, just, and true, or in which there was a plurality of gods, some
good and some evil, I conceive that a man would look back with
satisfaction, and not with dissatisfaction, on those acts in which he
had followed his own sense of right rather than the supposed will of the
Deity, just as, when there is a conflict between the two, he now
congratulates himself on having submitted to the claims of conscience
rather than to those of the law.
The justification, then, of that claim to superiority, which is asserted
by the moral sanction, consists, I conceive, in two circumstances:
first, that the pleasures and pains, the feelings of satisfaction and
dissatisfaction, of self-approbation and self-disapprobation, by means
of which it works, are, in the normally constituted mind, far more
intense and durable than any other pleasures and pains; secondly, that,
whenever this sanction comes into conflict with any other sanction, its
defeat is sure, on a careful retrospect of our acts, to bring regret or
remorse, whereas its victory is equally certain to bring pleasure and
satisfaction. We arrive, then, at the conclusion that it is the moral
sanction which is the distinctive guide of conduct, and to which we must
look, in the last resort, to enforce right action, while the other
sanctions are mainly valuable in so far as they reinforce the moral
sanction or correct its aberrations. A man must, ultimately, be the
judge of his own conduct, and, as he acts or does not act according to
his own best judgment, so he will subsequently feel satisfaction or
remorse; but these facts afford no reason why he should not take pains
to inform his judgment by all the means which physical knowledge, law,
society, and religion place at his disposal.