Mr. Spencer expressly recognizes that there exists (1) an ideal code of

conduct, formulating the conduct of the completely adapted man in the

completely evolved society. Such a code is called absolute ethics as

distinguished from relative ethics--a code the injunctions of which

are alone to be considered "as absolutely right, in contrast with those

that are relatively right or least wrong, and which, as a system of

ideal conduct, is to serve as a standard for our guidance in solving,

as well as we can, the problems of real conduct" (p. 275 of the Data of

Ethics). "The ideal code deals, it will be observed, with the behavior

of the completely adapted man in a completely evolved society." This

ideal as elsewhere stated, is "an ideal social being so constituted

that his spontaneous activities are congruous with the conditions

imposed by the social environment formed by other such beings.... The

ultimate man is one in whom there is a correspondence between all

the promptings of his nature and all the requirements of his life as

carried on in society" (p. 275). Furthermore, "to make the ideal man

serve as a standard, he has to be defined _in terms of the conditions

which his nature fulfill_--in terms of the objective requisites which

must be met before conduct can be right" (p. 179). "Hence it is

manifest that we must consider the ideal man as existing in the ideal

social state" (p. 280).

Here we have in the most express terms the recognition of a final and

permanent standard with reference to which the nature of happiness is

determined, and the standard is one of social relationships. To be

sure it is claimed that the standard is one which results in greatest

happiness, but every ethical theory has always claimed that the ideal

moral condition would be accompanied by the maximum possible happiness.

2. The ideal state is defined with reference to the end of evolution.

That is, Spencer defines pleasure from an independent standard instead

of using pleasure as the standard. This standard is to be got at by

considering that idea of "fully evolved conduct" given by the theory of

evolution. This fully evolved conduct implies: (i.) Greatest possible

quantity of life, both in length and breadth; (ii.) Similar maintenance

of life in progeny; and (iii.) Life in which there is no interference

of actions by one with those of another, and, indeed, life in which

the "members of a society" give material help in the achievement of

ends, thus rendering the "lives of all more complete". (See Chap. II

of Data of Ethics). Furthermore, the "complete life here identified

with the ideally moral life" may be otherwise defined as a life of

perfect equilibrium (p. 74), or balance of functions (p. 90), and this

considered not simply with reference to the individual, but also with

reference to the relation of the individual to society. "Complete life

in a complete society is but another name for complete equilibrium

between the co-ordinated activities of each social unit and those of

the aggregate of units" (p. 74, and the whole of chap. V. See also

pp. 169-170 for the position that the end is a society in which each

individual has full functions freely exercised in due harmony, and is,

p. 100, "the spontaneous exercise of duly proportioned faculties").

3. Not only is pleasure thus determined by an objective standard of

"complete living in a complete society" but it is expressly recognized

that _as things are now, pleasure is not a perfect guide to, or even

test of action_. And this difficulty is thought to be removed by

reference to the ideal state in which right action and happiness will

fully coincide.

The failure of pleasure as a perfect test and guide of right conduct,

comes out in at least three cases:--

1. There is the conflict of one set of pleasures with another, or of

present happiness with future, one lot having to be surrendered for the

sake of another. This is wrong, since pleasure as such is good, and,

although a fact at present, exists only on account of the incomplete

development of society. When there is "complete adjustment of humanity

to the social state there will be recognition of the truth that actions

are completely right only when, besides being conducive to future

happiness, special and general, they are immediately pleasurable, and

that painfulness, not only ultimate but proximate, is the concomitant

of actions which are wrong" (p. 29. See for various cases in which

"pleasures are not connected with actions which must be performed" and

for the statement that this difficulty will be removed in an ideal

state of society, p. 77; pp. 85-87; pp. 98-99).

2. There is also, at present, a conflict of individual happiness with

social welfare. In the first place, as long as there exist antagonistic

societies, the individual is called upon to sacrifice his own happiness

to that of others, but "such moralities are, by their definition, shown

to belong to incomplete conduct; not to conduct that is fully evolved"

(See pp. 133-137). Furthermore, there will be conflict of claims, and

consequent compromises between one's own pleasure and that of others

(p. 148), until there is a society in which there is "complete living

through voluntary co-operation", this implying negatively that one

shall not interfere with another and shall fulfill contracts, and

positively that men shall spontaneously help to aid one another lives

beyond any specified agreement (pp. 146-149).

3. There is, at present, a conflict of obligation with pleasure.

Needed activities, in other words, have often to be performed under a

pressure, which either lessens the pleasure of the action, or brings

pain, the act being performed, however, to avoid a greater pain (so

that this point really comes under the first head). But "the remoulding

of human nature into fitness for the requirements of social life, must

eventually make all needful activities pleasurable, while it makes

displeasurable all activities at variance with these requirements" (p.

183). "The things now done with dislike, through sense of obligation,

will be done then with immediate liking" (p. 84, and p. 186; and pp.

255-256). All the quotations on these various points are simply so many

recognitions that pleasure and pain as such are not tests of morality,

but that they become so when morality is independently realized.

Pleasure is _not_ now a test of conduct, but becomes such a test as

fast as activity becomes full and complete! What is this but to admit

(what was claimed in Sec. XIII) that activity itself is what man wants;

not _mere_ activity, but the activity which belongs to man as man,

and which therefore has for its realized content all man's practical

relationships.

Of Spencer's conception of the ideal as something not now

realized, but to be some time or other realized once for

all, we have said nothing. But see below, Sec. 64, and also

Alexander, Op. cit., pp. 264-277, and also James, Unitarian

Review, Vol. XXII., pp. 212-213.

We have attempted, above, to deal with evolutionary

ethics only in the one point of its supposed connection

with pleasure as a standard. Accounts and criticisms

of a broader scope will be found in Darwin, Descent

of Man; Martineau, Op. cit., Vol. II, pp. 335-393;

Schurman, Ethical Import of Darwinism; Sorley, Ethics of

Naturalism, chapters V, and VI; Stephen, Science of Ethics,

particularly pp. 31-34; 78-89; 359-379; Royce, Religious

Aspect of Philosophy, pp. 74-85; Everett, Poetry, Comedy

and Duty, Essay on the New Ethics; Seth in Mind, Jan. 1889,

on Evolution of Morality; Dewey, Andover Review, Vol. VII,

p. 570; Hyslop, Ibid., Vol. IX, p. 348.

XXVII.

Formal Ethics.

We come now to the ethical theories which attempt to find the good

not only in the will itself, but in the will irrespective of any end

to be reached by the will. The typical instance of such theories is

the Kantian, and we shall, therefore, make that the basis of our

examination. Kant's theory, however, is primarily a theory not of the

good, but of the nature of duty, and that makes a statement of his

doctrine somewhat more difficult.

"The concept of good and evil must not be determined

before the moral law (of which it seems as if it must be

the foundation), but only after it and by means of it"

(Abbott's Trans., p. 154).

Separating, as far as we can, his theory of the good from that of duty,

we get the following results:

1. Goodness belongs to the will, and to that alone. "Nothing can

possibly be conceived, in the world or out of it, which can be called

good without qualification except a good will." The will is not good

because of what it brings about, or what it is fitted to bring about;

that is, it is not good on account of its adaptation to any end outside

of itself. It is good in itself. "It is like a jewel which shines by

its own light, having its whole value in itself."

2. The good, then, is not to be found in any _object_ of will or of

desire, nor in the will _so far as it is directed towards an end

outside itself_. For the will to be moved by inclination or by desire

is for it to be moved for the sake of some external end, which,

moreover, is always pleasure (Kant, _i. e._, agrees with the hedonists

regarding the object of desire, but on that very ground denies that

pleasure is the good or the desirable). If, then, no object of desire

can be the motive of a good will, what is its motive? Evidently only

some principle derived from the will itself. The good will is the will

which acts from regard to its own law.

3. What is the nature of this law? All objects of desire (_i. e._, all

material) have been excluded from it. It must, therefore, be purely

formal. The only content of the law of the good will is the _idea of

law itself_. The good will acts from reverences for law as _law_. It

not only acts _in conformity with law_, but has the conception of law

as its directing spring.

4. There must, however, be some application of this motive of law in

general to particular motives or acts. This is secured as follows: The

idea of law carries with it the idea of universality or self-identity.

To act from the idea of law is then so to act that the motive of action

can be generalized--made a motive for all conduct. The good will is

the _legislative_ will; the will whose motive can be made a law for

conduct universally. The question in a specific case is then: Can your

motive here be made universal, _i. e._, a law? If the action is bad,

determined by an object of desire, it will be contingent and variable,

since pleasures are different to different persons and to the same

person from moment to moment. The will is good, then, when its motive

(or maxim) is to be found solely in the _legislative form_ of the

action, or in its fitness to be generalized into a universal principle

of conduct, and the law of the good will is: "Act so that the maxim

of thy will can always at the same time hold good as a principle of

universal legislation" (Abbott's Trans., p. 119; also p. 55).

5. The application may be illustrated by the following cases:

(_a_) Some one, wearied by what he conceives to be the entire misery

of life proposes to commit suicide, but he asks himself whether this

maxim based on the principle of self-love could become a universal law

of nature; and "we see at once that a system of nature in which the

very feeling, whose office is to compel men to the preservation of

life, should lead men by a universal law to death, cannot be conceived

without contradiction". That is to say, the principle of the motive

which would lead a man to suicide cannot be generalized without

becoming contradictory--it cannot be made a law universal.

(_b_) An individual wishes to borrow money which he knows that he

cannot repay. Can the maxim of this act be universalized? Evidently

not: "a system of nature in which it should be a universal law to

promise without performing, for the sake of private good, would

contradict itself, for then no one would believe the promise--the

promise itself would become impossible as well as the end it had in

view."

(_c_) A man finds that he has certain powers, but is disinclined to

develop them. Can he make the maxim of such conduct a universal law? He

cannot _will_ that it should become universal. "As a rational being, he

must will that his faculties be developed."

(_d_) A prosperous individual is disinclined to relieve the misery

of others. Can his maxim be generalized? "It is impossible to _will_

that such a principle should have the universal validity of a law of

nature. For a will which resolved this would contradict itself, in as

much as many cases might occur in which one would have need of the love

and sympathy of others, and in which, by such a law of nature, sprung

from his own will, he would deprive himself of all hope of the aid he

desires."

In conclusion, then, the good is the good will itself, and the will is

good in virtue of the bare form of its action, independently of all

special material willed.

See Abbott's trans., pp. 9-46; 105-120. Caird's Critical

Philosophy of Kant, Vol. II, pp. 171-181; 209-212.

XXVIII.

Relation of this Theory to Hedonism.

The Kantian theory, as already noticed, agrees in its psychology with

hedonism. It holds that pleasures are the objects of desire. But it

reverses the conclusion which hedonism draws from this fact _as to the

desirable_. Since pleasures are the object of desire, and pleasures can

give no law, no universality to action, the end of action must be found

wholly _outside_ the pleasures, and wholly outside the desires. It can

be found only in the bare law of the will itself.

1. Hedonism finds the end of conduct, or the desirable, wholly

determined by the various particular desires which a man happens to

have; Kantianism holds that to discover the end of conduct, we must

wholly exclude the desires.

2. Hedonism holds that the rightness of conduct is determined wholly by

its consequences; Kantianism holds that the consequences have nothing

to do with the rightness of an act, but that it is decided wholly by

the motive of the act.

From this contrast, we may anticipate both our criticism of the Kantian

theory and our conception of the true end of action. The fundamental

error of hedonism and Kantianism is the same--the supposition that

desires are for pleasure only. Let it be recognized that desires

are for objects conceived as satisfying or developing the self, and

that pleasure is incidental to this fulfillment of the capacities

of self, and we have the means of escaping the one-sidedness of

Kantianism as well as of hedonism. We can see that the end is neither

the procuring of particular pleasures through the various desires,

nor action from the mere idea of abstract law in general, but that it

is the _satisfaction of desires according to law_. The desire in its

particular character does not give the law; this, as we saw in our

criticism of hedonism, is to take away all law from conduct and to

leave us at the mercy of our chance desires as they come and go. On

the other hand the law is not something wholly apart from the desires.

This, as we shall see, is equally to deprive us of a law capable of

governing conduct. The law is the law of the desires themselves--the

harmony and adjustment of desires necessary to make them instruments in

fulfilling the special destiny or business of the agent.

From the same point of view we can see that the criterion is found

neither in the consequences of our acts _as pleasures_, nor _apart from

consequences_. It is found indeed in the consequences of acts, _but in

their complete consequences_:--those upon the agent and society, as

helping or hindering them in fulfillment of their respective functions.

XXIX.

Criticism of Kantian Criterion of Conduct.

1. _With reference to the unification of the conduct of the

individual._ Of pleasure as the object of desire, we need now say

nothing further, but may proceed at once to the criticism of the theory

that the will, acting according to the mere idea of law in general, is

the end of man and hence that it is the criterion of the rightness or

wrongness of his acts. We shall attempt to show that such an end is

wholly empty, and that it fails (as much as hedonism) to unify conduct

or to place any specific act as to its morality.

The difficulty of the end proposed by Kant is that it is an

abstraction; that it is remote. The hedonist leaves out one element

from conduct, and takes into account the merely particular or

individualistic side; the Kantian abstracts the opposite element--the

merely universal. The formal universal, or universal stripped of all

particular content, has, considered as an end of action, at least three

defects.

I. It is an end which would make impossible that very conduct of which

it is taken to be the end--that is, moral conduct. In denying that

pleasure is the end of action, we took pains to show that it (or rather

the feeling due to the tension between pleasure of a state considered

better and the pain of the experienced worse state) is a necessary

element in the force impelling to action. The mere conception of an

end is purely intellectual; there is nothing in it to move to action.

It must be _felt_ as valuable, as worth having, and as more valuable

than the present condition before it can induce to action. It must

_interest_, in a word, and thus excite desire. But if feeling is, as

Kant declares, to be excluded from the motive to action, because it

is pathological or related to pleasure as the object of desire, how

can there be any force moving to action? The mind seems to be set over

against a purely theoretical idea of an end, with nothing to connect

the mind with the end. Unless the end interests, unless it arouses

emotion, why should the agent ever aim at it? And if the law does

excite feeling or desire, must not this, on Kant's theory, be desire

for pleasure and thus vitiate the morality of the act? We seem to

be in a dilemma, one side of which makes moral action impossible by

taking away all inducing force, while the other makes it impossible by

introducing an immoral factor into the motive.

Kant attempts to escape from this difficulty by claiming that there

is one feeling which is rational, and not sensuous in quality, being

excited not by the conception of pleasure or pain, but by that of the

moral law itself. This is the feeling of reverence, and through this

feeling we can be moved to moral action. Waiving the question whether

the mere idea of law in general would be capable of arousing any moral

sentiment--or, putting the matter from the other side, whether Kant

gives us a true account of the feeling of reverence--it is clear that

this admission is fatal to Kant's theory. If desire or feeling as such

is sensuous (or _pathological_, as Kant terms it), what right have we

to make this one exception? And if we can make this one exception, why

not others? If it is possible in the case of reverence, why not in

the case, say, of patriotism, or of friendship, or of philanthropy,

or of love--or even of curiosity, or of indignation, or of desire

for approbation? Kant's separation of reverence, as the one moral

sentiment from all others as pathological, is wholly arbitrary. The

only distinction we can draw is of the feelings as they well up

naturally in reaction upon stimuli, sentiments not conceived and thus

neither moral nor immoral, and sentiments as transformed by ends of

action, in which case all without exception may be moral or immoral,

according to the character of the end. The Kantian separation is not

only arbitrary psychologically, but is false historically. So far is

it from true that the only moral sentiment is reverence for law, that

men must have been moved toward action for centuries by motives of

love and hate and social regard, before they became capable of such

an abstract feeling as reverence. And it may be questioned whether

this feeling, as Kant treats it, is even the highest or ultimate form

of moral sentiment--whether it is not transitional to love, in which

there is complete union of the individual interest on one hand, and the

objective end on the other.

For these criticisms at greater length, see Caird, Critical

Philosophy of Kant, Vol. II, Bk. II, ch. IV.

II. The Kantian end would not bring about any system in conduct--on

the contrary, it would tend to differences and collisions. What is

required to give unity to the sphere of conduct is, as we have seen,

a principle which shall comprehend all the motives to action, giving

each its due place in contributing to the whole--a universal which

shall organize the various particular acts into a harmonious system.

Now Kant's conception of the good does not lead to such result. We

may even say that it makes it impossible. According to Kant each act

must be considered independently of every other, and must be capable

of generalization on its own account. Each motive of action must be

capable of being _itself_ a universal law of nature. Each particular

rule of action is thus made absolute, and we are left not with one

universal which comprehends all particulars in their relations to one

another, but literally with a lot of universals. These not only fail

to have a unity, but each, as absolute, must contradict some other. If

the principles always to tell the truth and always to preserve life

are universal _in themselves_, and not universal simply _through their

relation to some total and controlling principle of life_, it must be

impossible to reconcile them when they come into conflict.

See Caird, Op. cit., Vol. II, pp. 187-190, and p. 215.

_Cf._ "Treated as universal and without exception, even

two such commands as _e. g._, 'Thou shalt not steal,' and

'Thou shalt not kill,' must ultimately come into conflict

with each other; for, if all other interests are to be

postponed to the maintenance of the rights of property,

it is impossible that all other interests should also be

postponed to the preservation of human life--and to make

either property or life an absolute end is to raise a

particular into a universal, to treat a part as if it were

a whole. But the true moral vindication of each particular

interest cannot be found in elevating it into something

universal and absolute, but only in determining its place

in relation to the others in a complete system of morality."

III. The principle is so empty of all content that it does not enable

us to judge of any specific act.

A caution should be noticed here, which is equally

applicable to the criticism of hedonism: When it is said

that the end does not enable us to judge of specific

acts, the objection is not that the _theory_ (Kantianism

or hedonism, as the case may be) does not give us rules

for moral conduct. It is not the business of any theory,

however correct as a theory, to lay down rules for conduct.

The theory has simply to discover what the _end_ is, and it

is the end in view which determines specific acts. It is

no more the business of ethics to tell what in particular

a man ought to do, than it is of trigonometry to survey

land. But trigonometry must state the principles by which

land _is_ surveyed, and so ethics must state the end by

which conduct _is_ governed. The objection to hedonism and

Kantianism is that the end they give does not _itself_

stand in any practical relation to conduct. We do not

object to Kantianism because the _theory_ does not help us

as to specific acts, but because the _end_, formal law,

does not help us, while the real moral end must determine

the whole of conduct.

Suppose a man thrown into the complex surroundings of life with an

intelligence fully developed, but with no previous knowledge of right

or wrong, or of the prevailing moral code. He is to know, however,

that goodness is to be found in the good will, and that the good will

is the will moved by the mere idea of the universality of law. Can

we imagine such an one deriving from his knowledge any idea of what

concrete ends he ought to pursue and what to avoid? He is surrounded

by special circumstances calling for special acts, and all he knows is

that _whatever_ he does is to be done from respect for its universal

or legislative quality. What community is there between this principle

and _what_ he is to do? There is no bridge from the mere thought of

universal law to any concrete end coming under the law. There is no

common principle out of which grows the conception of law on one hand,

and of the various special ends of action, on the other.

Suppose, however, that ends are independently suggested or proposed,

will the Kantian conception serve to _test_ their moral fitness? Will

the conception that the end must be capable of being generalized

tell us whether this or that end is one to be followed? The fact

is, that there is no end whatever that _in or by itself_, cannot be

considered as self-identical, or as universal. If we presuppose a

certain rule, or if we presuppose a certain moral order, it may be

true that a given motive cannot be universalized without coming into

conflict with this presupposed rule or order. But aside from some

moral system into connection with which a proposed end may be brought,

for purposes of comparison, lying is just as capable as truth-telling

of generalization. There is no more contradiction in the motive of

universal stealing than there is in that of universal honesty--unless

there is as standard some order or system of things into which the

proposed action is to fit as a member. And this makes not the bare

universality of the act, but the system, the real criterion for

determining the morality of the act.

Thus Mill remarks, regarding Kant's four illustrations

(_Ante_, p. 80), that Kant really has to employ utilitarian

considerations to decide whether the act is moral or not.

For the foregoing criticisms, see Bradley, Ethical Studies,

Essay IV; Caird, Op. cit., Vol. II, pp. 185-186, and

212-214, and, indeed, the whole of ch. II of Bk. II.

XXX.

Criticism of Kantian Criterion of Conduct.

2. _With reference to the furnishing of a common good or end._ If

the Kantian end is so formal and empty as not to enable us to bring

into relation with one another the various acts of one individual, we

may agree, without argument, that it does not provide us with an end

which shall unify the acts of different men into a connected order

of conduct. The moral end, the acting from regard for law as law,

is presented to each individual by himself, entirely apart from his

relations to others. That he has such relations may, indeed, furnish

additional material to which the law must be applied, but is something

to which the character of the law is wholly indifferent. The end is not

in itself a social end, and it is a mere accident if in any case social

considerations have to be taken into account. It is of the very quality

of the end that it appeals to the individual as an isolated individual.

It is interesting to note the way in which Kant, without

expressly giving up the purely formal character of the

moral end, gives it more and more content, and that content

social. The moral law is not imposed by any external

authority, but by the rational will itself. To be conscious

of a universal self-imposed law is to be conscious of

one's self as having a universal aspect. The source of

the law and its end are both in the will--in the rational

self. Thus man is an end to himself, for the rational self

is man. Such a being is a person--"Rational beings are

_persons_, because their nature marks them out as ends

in themselves, _i. e._, as beings who should never be

used merely as means.... Such beings are not ends simply

_for us_, whose existence as brought about by our action

has value, but _objective ends_, _i. e._, beings whose

existence is an end in itself, an end for which no other

end can be substituted so as to reduce it to a mere means."

Thus, we get a second formula. "Always treat humanity,

both in your own person and in the person of others, as an

end and never merely as a means." (Abbott's Trans., pp.

46-47; Caird, Op. cit., Vol. II, 219). Here the criterion

of action is no longer the bare self-consistency of its

motive, but its consistency with the rational nature of

the agent, that which constitutes him a person. And, too,

"the will of every rational being is likewise a universally

law-giving will." (Abbott, p. 49). The conception of

humanity embodied in others as well as in one's self is

introduced, and thus our criterion is socialized. Even now,

however, we have a lot of persons, each of whom has to

be considered as an end in himself, rather than a social

unity as to which every individual has an equal and common

reference. Kant advances to this latter idea in his notion

of a "Kingdom of ends." "We get the idea of a complete and

systematically connected totality of all ends--a whole

system of rational beings as ends in themselves as well

as of the special ends which each of them may set up for

himself--_i.e._, a kingdom of ends.... Morality is the

reference of all deeds to the legislation which alone can

make such a kingdom possible." (See Abbott's Trans., pp.

51-52). This transformation of a mere formal universal into

a society or kingdom of persons--while not sufficiently

analyzed as Kant states it (see Caird, Vol. II, pp.

225-226)--gives us truly a social criterion, and we shall

hereafter meet something resembling it as the true ideal.

As finally stated, it does not differ in essential content

from Mill's individual who "conceives of himself only as

a member of a body," or from Spencer's free man in a free

society.

XXXI.

Value of Kantian Theory.

We must not leave the Kantian theory with the impression that it is

simply the caprice of a philosopher's brain. In two respects, at least,

it presents us, as we shall see, with elements that must be adopted;

and even where false it is highly instructive.

Kant's fundamental error is in his conception that all desires or

inclinations are for private pleasure, and are, therefore, to be

excluded from the conception of the moral end. Kant's conclusion,

accordingly, that the good will is purely formal follows inevitably

if ever it is granted that there is any intrinsic opposition between

inclination as such, and reason or moral law as such. If there is such

an opposition, _all_ desire must be excluded from relation to the

end. We cannot make a compromise by distinguishing between higher and

lower desires. On the contrary, if the end is to have content, it must

include all desires, leaving out none as in itself base or unworthy.

Kant's great negative service was showing that the ascetic principle

logically results in pure formalism--meaning by ascetic principle that

which disconnects inclinations from moral action.

Kant's positive service was, first, his clear insight into the fact

that the good is to be found only in activity; that the will itself,

and nothing beyond itself, is the end; and that to adopt any other

doctrine, is to adopt an immoral principle, since it is to subordinate

the will (character, self and personality), to some outside end.

His second great service was in showing the necessity of putting in

abeyance the immediate satisfaction of each desire as it happens to

arise, and of subordinating it to some law not to be found in the

particular desire. He showed that not the particular desire, but only

the desire as controlled by the idea of law could be the motive of

moral action. And if he fell into the error of holding that this meant

that the desire must be excluded from the moral motive, this error does

not make it less true that every particular desire must be controlled

by a universal law. The truth of asceticism is that the desire must be

checked until subordinated to the activity of the whole man. See Caird,

Op. cit., Vol. II, p. 200; pp. 203-207; 226-227.

XXXII.

The Problem and Its Solution.

If we gather together the results of our observations of hedonism and

of Kantianism we get something like the following problem and solution

in outline. The end of action, or the good, is the realized will, the

developed or satisfied self. This satisfied self is found neither in

the getting of a lot of pleasures through the satisfaction of desires

just as they happen to arise, nor in obedience to law simply because

it is law. It is found in _satisfaction of desires according to law_.

This law, however, is not something external to the desires, but is

their own law. Each desire is only one striving of character for larger

action, and the only way in which it can really find satisfaction

(that is, pass from inward striving into outward action) is _as_ a

manifestation of character. A desire, taken as a desire for its own

apparent or direct end _only_, is an abstraction. It is a desire for

an entire and continuous activity, and its satisfaction requires that

it fitted into this entire and continuous activity; that it be made

conformable to the conditions which will bring the whole man into

action. It is this fitting-in which is the law of the desire--the

'universal' controlling its particular nature. This 'fitting-in' is no

mechanical shearing off, nor stretching out, but a reconstruction of

the natural desire till it becomes an expression of the whole man. The

problem then is to find that special form of character, of self, which

includes and transforms all special desires. This form of character is

at once the Good and the Law of man.

We cannot be content with the notion that the end is the satisfaction

of the self, a satisfaction at once including and subordinating the

ends of the particular desire. This tells us nothing positive--however

valuable it may be negatively in warning us against one-sided

notions--until we know _what_ that whole self is, and _in what_

concretely its satisfaction consists. As the first step towards such a

more concrete formula, we may say:

XXXIII.

The Moral End or the Good is the Realization by a Person and as a

Person of Individuality.

In saying that this realization is _by a person_ and _as a person_ we

are saying nothing new. We are simply repeating what we have already

learned about moral conduct (Sec. III). Conduct is not that which

simply reaches certain consequences--a bullet shot from a rifle does

that; there is conduct only when the consequences are foreseen; made

the reason of action. A person is a being capable of conduct--a being

capable of proposing to himself ends and of attempting to realize them.

But what is the meaning of the rest of the formula? What do we mean by

individuality? We may distinguish two factors--or better two aspects,

two sides--in individuality. On one side, it means special disposition,

temperament, gifts, bent, or inclination; on the other side, it means

special station, situation, limitations, surroundings, opportunities,

etc. Or, let us say, it means _specific capacity_ and _specific

environment_. Each of these elements, apart from the other, is a bare

abstraction and without reality. Nor is it strictly correct to say that

individuality is constituted by these two factors _together_. It is

rather, as intimated above, that each is individuality looked at from a

certain point of view, from within or from without.

If we are apt to identify individuality with the inner side alone, with

capacity apart from its surroundings, a little reflection will show

the error. Even the most devoted adherent of "self-culture" would not

hold that a gift could be developed, or a disposition manifested, in

isolation from all exterior circumstances. Let the disposition, the

gift be what it may (amiable or irascible, a talent for music or for

abstract science, or for engineering), its existence, to say nothing of

its culture, apart from some surroundings is bare nonsense. If a person

shuts himself up in a closet or goes out into the desert the better

to cultivate his capacities, there is still the desert or the closet

there; and it is as conditioned by them, and with reference to them

that he must cultivate himself. For more is true than that, as a matter

of fact, no man can wholly withdraw himself from surroundings; the

important point is that the manner and the purpose of exercising his

capacity is always _relative_ to and _dependent_ upon the surroundings.

Apart from the environment the capacity is mere emptiness; the exercise

of capacity is always establishing a relation to something exterior to

itself. All we can say of capacity apart from environment is that _if_

certain circumstances were supplied, there would be something there. We

call a capacity _capability_, possibility, as if for the very purpose

of emphasizing the necessity of external supplementing.

We get the same fact, on the other side, by calling to mind that

circumstances, environment are not indifferent or irrelevant to

individuality. The difference between one individual and another lies

as much in the station in which each is placed as in the capacity

of each. That is to say, environment enters into individuality as a

constituent factor, helping make it what it is.

On the other hand, it is capacity which makes the environment really an

environment _to_ the individual.

The environment is not simply the facts which happen objectively to lie

about an agent; it is such part of the facts as may be _related_ to

the capacity and the disposition and gifts of the agent. Two members

of the same family may have what, to the outward eye, are exactly

the same surroundings, and yet each may draw from these surroundings

wholly unlike stimulus, material and motives. Each has a different

environment, made different by his own mode of selection; by the

different way in which his interests and desires play upon the plastic

material about him. It is not, then, the environment as physical of

which we are speaking, but as it appeals to consciousness, as it is

affected by the make-up of the agent. This is the _practical_ or

_moral_ environment. The environment is not, then, what is then and

there present in space. To the Christian martyr the sufferings of his

master, and the rewards of faithfulness to come to himself were more

real parts of his environment than the stake and fire. A Darwin or a

Wallace may find his environment in South America or the Philippine

Islands--or, indeed, in every fact of a certain sort wherever found

upon the earth or in whatever geological era. A man of philanthropic

instincts may find _his_ environment among Indians or Congo negroes.

Whatever, however near or remote in time and space, an individual's

capacities and needs relate him to, is his environment. The moment we

realize that only what one conceives as proper material for calling out

and expressing some internal capacity is a part of his surroundings,

we see not only that capacity depends upon environment, but that

environment depends upon capacity. In other words, we see that each in

itself is an abstraction, and that the real thing is the individual who

is constituted by capacity and environment in their relation to one

another.

_Function_ is a term which we may use to express union of the two sides

of individuality. The idea of function is that of an active relation

established between power of doing, on one side, and something to

be done on the other. To exercise a function as a student is not to

cultivate tastes and possibilities internally; it is also to meet

external demands, the demands of fact, of teachers, of others needing

knowledge. The citizen exercises his function not simply in cultivating

sentiments of patriotism within; one has to meet the needs of the

city, the country in which one lives. The realization of an artistic

function is not poring over emotions of beauty pumped up within one's

self; it is the exercise of some calling. On the other hand, it hardly

needs saying that the function of a student, a citizen, an artist, is

not exercised in bare conformity to certain external requirements.

Without the inner disposition and inclination, we call conduct dead,

perfunctory, hypocritical. An activity is not functional, unless it is

organic, expressing the life of the agent.

A function thus includes two sides--the external and the internal--and

reduces them to elements in one activity. We get an analogy in

any animal function. The digestive function includes the material

appropriated, just as much as it does the organ appropriating. It is

the service, the work which the organ does _in_ appropriating material.

So, morally, function is capacity _in action_; environment transformed

into an element in personal service.

Thus we get another formula for the moral end:

The performance by a person of his specific function, this function

consisting in an activity which realizes wants and powers with

reference to their peculiar surroundings.

XXXIV.

Moral Functions as Interests.

If morality consists in the exercise of one's _specific_ functions, it

follows that no _detailed_ account of the content of the moral end can

possibly be given. This content is thoroughly individual or infinite.

It is concrete to the core, including every detail of conduct, and this

not in a rigid formula, but in the movement of life. All we can do is,

by abstraction, to select some of the main features of the end, such as

the more common and the more permanent. While each individual has his

own particular functions, which can no more be exhausted by definition

or description than the qualities of any other individual object, it is

also true that we can recognize certain typical functions to be found

permanently and in all. These make, as it were, the skeleton of the

moral end which each clothes with his own flesh and blood.

Functions are _interests_--objective interests were not the term

tautological. Interests have three traits worth special mention.

1. They are _active_. An interest is not an emotion produced from

without. It is the reaction of the emotion to the object. Interest is

identified, in ordinary speech, with attention; we _take_ an interest,

or, if we say simply 'interested,' that involves some excitation,

some action just beginning. We talk of a man's interests, meaning his

occupations or range of activities.

2. They are _objective_. The emotion aroused goes out to some object,

and is fixed upon that; we are always interested _in something_. The

active element of interest is precisely that which takes it out of the

inner mood itself and gives it a terminus, an end in an object.

3. An interest is _satisfaction_. It is its own reward. It is not a

striving for something unrealized, or a mere condition of tension.

It is the satisfaction in some object which the mind already has.

This object may be possessed in some greater or less degree, in

full realization or in faint grasp, but interest attaches to it as

possessed. This differentiates it from desire, even where otherwise

the states are the same. Desire refers to the lack, to what is not

present to the mind. One state of mind may be called both interest in,

and desire for, knowledge, but desire emphasizes the unknown, while

interest is on account of the finding of self, of intelligence, in

the object. Interest is the union in feeling, through action, of self

and an object. An interest in life is had when a man can practically

identify himself with some object lying beyond his immediate or already

acquired self and thus be led to further expression of himself.

To have an interest, then, is to be alert, to have an object, and to

find satisfaction in an activity which brings this object home to self.

Not every interest carries with it _complete_ satisfaction.

But no interest can be wholly thwarted. The purer the

interest, the more the interest is in the object for its

own sake, and not for that of some ulterior consequence,

the more the interest fulfills itself. "It is better to

have loved and lost than never to have loved at all", and

love is simply the highest power of interest--interest

freed from all extrinsic stuff.

Of the interests, two abstract forms may be recognized, interest in

persons and interest in things. And these may be subdivided: Interest

in persons: interest in _self_ and _others_. Interest in things--into

their contemplation (_knowledge_) and into their production (_art_).

And art again may be either productive of things to be contemplated

(fine art), or useful--manufactures, industry, etc. The moral end,

then, or the Good will consist in the exercise of these interests,

varied as they may be in each individual by the special turn which his

capacities and opportunities take.

XXXV.

The Exercise of Interests as the Moral End.

Let us now, as a means of rendering our conception of the moral end

more concrete, consider briefly each of the forms of interest.

1. Interest in self. We must free ourselves from any notion that an

interest in self is non-moral, if not actually immoral. The latter

position is seldom consciously assumed, but it is not uncommon to

have interest in self, under the name of prudence, marked off from

the moral sphere. Interest in self, if the interest is pure, is just

as much an interest in the moral end as interest in anything or

anybody else. Interest in self may take the form of selfishness, or of

sentimentalism; but this is only an _impure_ interest, an interest not

in self, but in some consequences to which the self may be directed.

Interest in self may take many forms, according to the side of self

which is the object of attention, and according to the range of the

self taken into account. A _rudimentary_ form is prudence, but even

this, instead of being non-moral, is, in proper place and degree,

moral, as moral as benevolence; and, if not in its proper place,

immoral. From such an interest there are all stages up to the interest

in self as it most deeply and broadly is, the sense of honor, moral

dignity, self-respect, conscientiousness, that attempt to be and

to make the most of one's self, which is at the very root of moral

endeavor.

The ground that is usually given for making the distinction

between Prudence, Self-Regard, Self-Love as non-moral,

and Benevolence, Altruism etc., as moral, is that in the

former case a mere regard for one's own advantage dictates

proper conduct, while in the latter case there must be a

positive virtuous intent. We may, for example, be pointed

to some cool calculating man who takes care of his health

and his property, who indeed is generally 'prudent',

because he sees that it is for his advantage, and be told

that while such an end is not immoral it is certainly not

moral. But in return it must be asked what is meant here by

advantage? If by it is meant private pleasure, or advantage

over somebody else, then this conduct does not spring

from interest in self at all, but from interest in some

exterior consequence, and as springing from such an impure

interest is not simply non-moral, but positively immoral.

On the other hand, if 'advantage' means regard for one's

whole function, one's place in the moral order, then such

interest in self is moral. Care for bodily health in the

interest of efficiency in conduct is supremely moral beside

reckless disregard of it in the interest of some supposed

higher or more spiritual function.

If it is meant that conduct is immoral because it springs

from some interest on the part of the agent, the reply

is that all conduct must so arise, and that any other

supposition leads us immediately into asceticism and into

formalism.

2. Interest in others. The generic form of interest in others is

sympathy, this being specified by the various forms of social

organization of which the individual is a member. A person is, we have

seen, one who can conceive of ends and can act to realize these ends.

Only a person, therefore, can conceive of others as ends, and so have

true sympathy.

It is not meant, of course, that animals do not

perform acts which, _de facto_, are altruistic or even

self-sacrificing. What is meant is that the animal does

not act from the _idea_ of others of his kind as ends in

themselves. If the animal does so act, it cannot be denied

the name of person.

True interest in others is pure, or disinterested, in the sense of

having no reference to some further and external consequence to one's

self. Interest in others need not be moral (or pure) any more than

interest in self is necessarily immoral (or impure). It is a mistake

to distinguish interest in self as _egoistic_ and interest in others

as _altruistic_. Genuine interests, whatever their object, are both

egoistic and altruistic. They are egoistic simply because they _are

interests_--imply satisfaction in a realized end. If man is truly

a social being, constituted by his relationships to others, then

social action must inevitably realize himself, and be, in that sense,

egoistic. And on the other hand, if the individual's interest in

himself is in himself _as_ a member of society, then such interest is

thoroughly altruistic. In fact, the very idea of altruism is likely to

carry a false impression when it is so much insisted upon, as it is

nowadays in popular literature, as the essence of morality. The term as

used seems to imply that the mere giving up of one's self to others,

as others, is somehow moral. Just as there may be an immoral interest

in self, so there may be an immoral 'altruism.' It is immoral in any

case to sacrifice the actual relationships in the case, those which

demand action, to some feeling outside themselves--as immoral when the

feeling to which the sacrifice is offered up is labelled 'benevolence',

as when it is termed 'greediness'. It is no excuse when a man gives

unwisely to a beggar that he feels benevolent. _Moral_ benevolence is

the feeling directed toward a certain end which is known to be the

fit or right end, the end which expresses the situation. The question

is as to the _aim_ in giving. Apart from this aim, the act is simply

relieving the agent's own feelings and has no moral quality. Rather

it is immoral; for feelings do have a moral _capacity_, that is, a

relation to ends of action, and hence to satisfy them on their account,

to deprive them of their practical reference, is bad. Aside from what

this illustrates, there is a tendency in the present emphasis of

altruism to erect the principle of charity, in a sense which implies

continued social inequality, and social slavery, or undue dependence

of one upon another, into a fundamental moral principle. It is well

to "do good" to others, but it is much better to do this by securing

for them the freedom which makes it possible for them to get along in

the future without such 'altruism' from others. There is what has been

well termed an "egotism of renunciation"; a desire to do for others

which, at bottom, is simply an attempt to regulate their conduct. Much

of altruism is an egoism of a larger radius, and its tendency is to

"manufacture a gigantic self", as in the case where a father sacrifices

everything for his children or a wife for her husband.

See Caird, Op. cit., Vol. II, p. 402. See also Hinton, The

Law Breaker, p. 287: "The real meaning of the difficulty

about a word for "regard for others" is that we do not want

it. It would mislead us if we had it. It is not a regard

for _others_ that we need, but simply a _true_ regard, a

regard to the facts, to nature; it is only a truth to facts

in our regard, and its nature is obscured by a reference to

"others", as if that were the essential point.... It is not

as being for others, but as being _true_, that the regard

for others is demanded."

Some ethical writers have gone to the other extreme and held that all

benevolence is a disguised or an enlightened selfishness, since having

a necessary reference to self. The reference to self must be admitted;

unless the action springs from an interest of the agent himself the act

may be outwardly useful, but cannot be moral. But the argument alluded

to inverts the true relation involved. If a man's interests are such

that he can find satisfaction only in the satisfaction of others, what

an absurdity to say that his acting from these interests is selfish!

The very fact of such identity of self with others in his interest is

the proof of his unselfishness.

See Leslie Stephen, Science of Ethics, p. 241, for an

admirable discussion of this difficulty. When it is said

that your pain is painful to me, he says, the inference

is often "insinuated that I dislike your pain because

it is painful to me in some special relation. I do not

dislike it _as_ your pain, but in virtue of some particular

consequence, such, for example, as its making you less

able to render me a service. In that case _I do not really

object to your pain as your pain at all_, but only to some

removable and accidental consequences." (And see his whole

treatment of sympathy, pp. 230-245). The whole question is

shown to come to this: Is my interest in, my sympathy with,

your joy and sorrow as such, or in your joy and sorrow as

contributing to mine? If the latter, of course the interest

is selfish, not being an interest in others at all. But

if the former, then the fact that such sympathy involves

one's own satisfaction is the best proof that man is not

selfishly constructed. When Stephen goes on to say that

such sympathy does not involve the existence of a real

unity larger than the individual, he seems to me to misread

his own facts, probably because he conceives of this unity

as some abstract or external thing.

Discussion regarding self-love and benevolence, or, in

modern phrase, egoism and altruism, has been rife in

English ethics since the time of Hobbes, and especially of

Shaftesbury and Butler. See, in particular, the Sermons

of the latter, which gave the central point of discussion

for almost a century. With reference to the special

weakness of this point of view, with its co-ordination

of two independent principles, see Green, Philosophical

Works, Vol. III, pp. 99-104. The essential lack (the lack

which we have tried to make good in the definition of

individuality as the union of capacity and surroundings

in function), was the failure to analyze the idea of the

individual. Individuality being defined as an exclusive

principle, the inevitable result was either (i.) the

"disguised selfishness" theory; or (ii.) the assumption of

two fundamentally different principles in man. The ordinary

distinction between prudence and virtue is an echo of the

latter theory. Then, finally, (iii.) a third principle,

generally called conscience by Butler, was brought in as

umpire in the conflict of prudence and virtue.

Suggestive modern treatment of the matter, from a variety

of points of view, will be found in Spencer, Data of

Ethics, chs. XI-XIII; Stephen, Op. cit., ch. VI; Sidgwick,

Op. cit., Bk. V, ch. VII; Royce, Op. cit., ch. IV; Sorley,

Ethics of Naturalism, pp. 134-150; Alexander, Op. cit., pp.

172-180; Caird, Op. cit., Vol. II, pp. 400-405; Paulsen,

System der Ethik, pp. 295-311.

3. Interest in Science and Art. Man is interested in the world about

him; the knowledge of the nature and relations of this world become one

of his most absorbing pursuits. Man identifies himself with the meaning

of this world to the point that he can be satisfied only as he spells

out and reads its meaning. (See, for example, Browning's "Grammarian's

Funeral".) The scientific interest is no less a controlling motive

of man than the personal interest. This knowledge is not a means for

having agreeable sensations; it is not dilettanteism or "love of

culture"; it is interest in the large and goodly frame of things. And

so it is with art; man has interests which can be satisfied only in the

reconstruction of nature in the way of the useful and the beautiful.

I have made no distinction between 'fine' and 'useful' art.

The discussion of this question does not belong here, but

the rigid separation of them in æsthetic theory seems to me

to have no justification. Both are products of intelligence

in the service of interests, and the only difference is in

the range of intelligence and interests concerned. 'Use'

is a _limited_ service and hence implies an external end;

beauty is complete use or service, and hence not mere use

at all, but self-expression. Historically, all art which

has not been merely sentimental and 'literary' has sprung

from interest in good workmanship in the realizing of an

idea.

It seems as if here interests violated their general law, and, in the

case of use at least, were an interest in some ulterior end. But it

may be questioned whether a carpenter whose aim was consciously beyond

the work he was doing, would be a good workman--and this whether the

further end is his own private advantage, or social benefit at large.

The thought of the further benefit to self and of the utility to accrue

to some one else, will, if it becomes a _part_ of what he is doing,

undoubtedly intensify his interest--it must do so, for it enlarges

its content. But to _identify_ one's own or another's well-being with

work, and to make the work a mere _means_ to this welfare, are two

quite different things. The good artisan "has his heart in his work".

His self-respect makes it necessary for him to respect this technical

or artistic capacity, and to do the best by it that he can without

scrimping or lowering. To a good business man business is not the mere

means to money-making; and it is sentimentalism (and hence immoral) to

demand that it be a mere means to the good of society. The business, if

it is a moral one (and _any_ business, _so far_ as it is thus carried

on, is moral), is carried on for the sake of the activity itself, as a

realizing of capacity in a specific situation.

XXXVI.

The Moral Quality of Science.

We seem, however, to meet here, in relation to science and art, a

difficulty which threatens our whole theory. Can it be claimed, it may

be asked, that devotion to science or art constitutes goodness in the

same sense that devotion to the interests of one's family or state

constitutes it? No one doubts that a good father or a good citizen is a

good man, in so far forth. Are we ready to say that a good chemist or

good carpenter, or good musician is, in so far, a good man? In a word,

is there not a reference to the good of persons present in one case and

absent in another, and does not its absence preclude the scientific and

artistic activities from any share, _as such_, in the moral end?

It must be remembered that the moral end does not refer to some

consequence which happens, _de facto_, to be reached. It refers to an

end _willed_; _i.e._, to an idea held to and realized as an idea. And

this fact shows us the way to meet the query, in part at least. If,

when we say good carpenter, or good merchant, we are speaking from the

standpoint of results, independently of the idea conceived as end in

the mind of the agent; if we mean simply, 'we like what that man does',

then the term good has no moral value. A man may paint 'good' pictures

and not be, in so far, a good man, but in this sense a man may _do_ a

great deal of 'good', and yet not be a good man. It was agreed at the

outset that moral goodness pertains to the kind of idea or end which a

man clings to, and not to what he happens to effect visibly to others.

If a scientific man pursues truth as a mere means to reputation, to

wealth, etc., we do not (or should not) hesitate to call him immoral.

This does not mean that if he _thinks_ of the reputation,

or of wealth, he is immoral, for he may foresee wealth and

the reputation as necessarily bound up in what he is doing;

it may become a part of the end. It means that if knowledge

of truth is a _mere means_ to an end beyond it, the man is

immoral.

What reason is there why we should not call him moral if he does his

work for its own sake, from interest in this cause which takes him

outside his "own miserable individuality", in Mill's phrase? After all,

the phrase a 'good father' means but a character manifesting itself in

certain relations, as is right according to these relations; the phrase

has moral significance not in itself, but with reference to the end

aimed at by character. And so it is with the phrase 'a good carpenter.'

That also means devotion of character to certain outer relations for

their own sake. These relations may not be so important, but that is

not lack of moral meaning.

XXXVII.

Adjustment to Environment.

So far we have been discussing the moral ideal in terms of its inner

side--capacity, interest. We shall now discuss it on its outer or

objective side--as 'adjustment to environment' in the phrase made

familiar by the evolutionists. Certain cautions, however, must be noted

in the use of the phrase. We must keep clearly in mind the relativity

of environment to inner capacity; that it exists only as one element of

function. Even a plant must do something more than adjust itself _to_

a fixed environment; it must assert itself _against_ its surroundings,

subordinating them and transforming them into material and nutriment;

and, on the surface of things, it is evident that _transformation_ of

existing circumstances is moral duty rather than mere reproduction of

them. The environment must be plastic to the ends of the agent.

But admitting that environment is made what it is by the powers

and aims of the agent, what sense shall we attribute to the term

adjustment? Not bare conformity to circumstances, nor bare external

reproduction of them, even when circumstances are taken in their proper

moral meaning. The child in the family who simply adjusts himself _to_

his relationships in the family, may be living a moral life only in

outward seeming. The citizen of the state may transgress no laws of

the state, he may punctiliously fulfill every contract, and yet be a

selfish man. True adjustment must consist in _willing_ the maintenance

and development of moral surroundings as _one's own end_. The child

must take the spirit of the family into himself and live out this

spirit according to his special membership in the family. So a soldier

in the army, a friend in a mutual association, etc. Adjustment to

intellectual environment is not mere conformity of ideas to facts. It

is the living assimilation of these facts into one's own intellectual

life, and maintaining and asserting them as _truth_.

There are environments existing prior to the activities of any

individual agent; the family, for example, is prior to the moral

activity of a child born into it, but the point is to see that

'adjustment', to have a moral sense, means _making the environment a

reality for one's self_. A true description of the case would say that

the child takes for his own end, ends already existing for the wills

of others. And, in making them his own, he creates and supports for

himself an environment that already exists for others. In such cases

there is no special transformation of the existing environment; there

is simply the process of making it the environment for one's self. So

in learning, the child simply appropriates to himself the intellectual

environment already in existence for others. But in the activity of

the man of science there is more than such personal reproduction and

creation; there is increase, or even reconstruction of the prior

environment. While the ordinary citizen hardly does more than make his

own the environment of ends and interests already sustained in the

wills of others, the moral reformer may remake the whole. But whether

one case or the other, adjustment is not outer conformity; it is living

realization of certain relations in and through the will of the agent.

XXXVIII.

The Moral End is the Realization of a Community of Wills.

Since the performance of function is, on the other side, the creation,

perpetuation, and further development of an environment, of relations

to the wills of others, its performance _is a common good_. It

satisfies others who participate in the environment. The member of the

family, of the state, etc., in exercising his function, contributes to

the whole of which he is a member by realizing its spirit in himself.

But the question discussed in section XXXVI recurs under another

aspect. Granting that the satisfying of personal interests realizes a

common good, what shall we say of the impersonal interests--interests

in science and art. Is the good carpenter or chemist not only in so

far a good man, but also a good social member? In other words, does

every form of moral activity realize a common good, or is the moral end

partly social, partly non-social?

One objection sometimes brought to the doctrine that the

moral end is entirely social, may be now briefly dismissed.

This is the objection that a man has moral duties toward

_himself_. Certainly, but what of _himself_? If he is

essentially a social member, his duties toward himself have

a social basis and bearing. The only relevant question is

whether one is wholly a social member--whether scientific

and artistic activities may not be non-social.

The ground here taken is that the moral end is wholly social. This

does not mean that science and art are means to some social welfare

beyond themselves. We have already stated that even the production of

utilities must, as moral, be its own end. The position then is that

intellectual and artistic interests _are themselves_ social, when

considered in the completeness of their relations--that interest in

the development of intelligence is, in and of itself, interest in the

well-being of society.

Unless this be true there is no moral end at all, but only moral

ends. There is no comprehensive unity in life, but a number of ends

which, being irreducible to a common principle, must be combined on the

best principle of compromise available. We have no 'The Good', but an

aggregate of fragmentary ends.

It helps nothing to say that this necessary unity is

found in the _self_ to be realized, unless we are pointed

to something in the self that unites the social and

non-social functions. Our objection is that the separation

of intellectual interests from social makes a chasm in the

self.

For the same reason it follows that in the case of a collision of

social with intellectual ends--say the conflict of a man's interests as

a member of a family with his interests in new scientific discovery--no

reconciliation is possible. If the interests are forms of social

interest, there is a common end in both, on the basis of which the

conflict can be resolved. While such considerations do not prove that

there is but one end, and that social, they may well make us hesitate

about carelessly taking a position of which they are the logical

consequence.

Of course, every one recognizes that a certain amount of scientific and

artistic interest is social in character. A certain amount of interest

in truth, or in intelligence, a certain amount of susceptibility to

beauty, a certain amount of devotion to utility, are universally

recognized to be necessary to make judicious, agreeable and efficient

social members. The whole system of modern education has meaning only

on this supposition.

More than this: A certain amount of intelligence, and a certain amount

of susceptibility to embodied ideals, _must_ exist to give moral

conduct. A moral end is, as we have seen, always a _conception_, an

idea. The very act of bringing conduct out of the impulsive into the

moral sphere, depends upon the development of intelligence so as to

transform a feeling into the perception of a situation. And, as we

watch moral development from childhood to maturity, is it not evident

that progress consists in power to conceive of larger and better

defined ends? to analyze the situation which demands active response,

the function which needs exercise, into specific relations, instead of

taking it partially or even upon some one else's say so? Conduct, so

far as not based upon an intelligent recognition and realization of the

relationships involved, is either sentimental, or _merely_ habitual--in

the former case immoral, and in the latter failing of the complete

morality possible.

If the necessary part played in conduct by artistic cultivation is not

so plain, it is largely because 'Art' has been made such an unreal

Fetich--a sort of superfine and extraneous polish to be acquired only

by specially cultivated people. In reality, living is itself the

supreme art; it requires fineness of touch; skill and thoroughness

of workmanship; susceptible response and delicate adjustment to a

situation apart from reflective analysis; instinctive perception of

the proper harmonies of act and act, of man and man. Active art is the

embodiment of ideals; the clothing of ideas otherwise abstract in their

peculiar and fit garb of concrete outward detail; passive art is the

quick and accurate response to such embodiments as are already made.

What were human conduct without the one and the other?

Granting the necessity of knowledge and of its artistic application

in conduct, the question arises as to where the line is to be drawn.

Evidently, if anywhere, at specialisms, remote philosophic or

mathematical endeavors; life-times spent in inventive attempts without

appreciable outcome. But to draw the line is not easy. The remote of

one generation is the social tool of the next; the abstract mathematics

and physics of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries are the great

social forces of the nineteenth--the locomotive, the telegraph,

the telephone, etc. And how, in any case, can we tell a scientific

investigator that up to a certain experiment or calculation his work

may be social, beyond that, not? All that we can say is that beyond a

certain point its social character is not obvious to sense and that

the work must be carried on by faith.

Thus it is that we dispose of objections like Bradley's (Ethical

Studies, p. 202): "Nothing is easier than to suppose a life of art or

speculation which, as far as we can see, though true to itself, has, so

far as others are concerned, been sheer waste or even loss, and which

knew that it was so." That we can not _see_ any social _result_ in such

cases has nothing to do with the question whether or not the interests

themselves are social. We may imagine a life of philanthropic activity,

say of devotion to emancipation of slaves in a country wholly given

over to slavery, or of a teacher in an unenlightened country, which,

as far as we can see, (though, in this case, as in the one referred

to by Mr. Bradley, everything depends upon how far we _can_ see) has

been sheer waste, so far as influence on others is concerned. The point

is whether in such cases the life lived is not one of devotion to the

interests of humanity as such.

We have been trying to show that everyone admits that

science and art, up to a certain point, are social, and

that to draw a line where they cease to be so, is in

reality to draw a line where we cease to _see_ their social

character. That we should cease to _see_ it, is necessary

in the case of almost every advance. Just because the new

scientific movement is new, we can realize its social

effects only afterwards. But it may be questioned whether

the motive which actuates the man of science is not, when

fully realized, a _faith_ in the social bearing of what he

is doing. If we were to go into a metaphysical analysis,

the question would have to be raised whether a barely

intellectual fact or theory be not a pure abstraction--an

unreality if kept apart entirely from the activities of men

in relation to one another.

XXXIX.

Science and Art as Necessary Factors of Social Welfare.

Let us consider the problem on its other side. What kind of an interest

is our interest in persons, our distinctively social interest? Suppose

we attempt to separate our interests in truth, beauty, and use from

our interest in persons: _What remains in the persons to be interested

in?_ Is not a necessary part of out interest in persons, an interest in

them as beings fulfilling their respective intellectual and artistic

capacities; and if we cut this out of our social interest, have we

not maimed and stunted our interest in persons? We wish the fullest

life possible to ourselves and to others. And the fullest life means

largely a complete and free development of capacities in knowledge

and production--production of beauty and use. Our interest in others

is not satisfied as long as their intelligence is cramped, their

appreciation of truth feeble, their emotions hard and uncomprehensive,

their powers of production compressed. To will their true good is to

will the freeing of all such gifts to the highest degree. Shall we

say that their true good requires that they shall go to the point of

understanding algebra, but not quaternions, of understanding ordinary

mechanics, but not to working out an electro-magnetic theory of light?

to ability to appreciate ordinary chords and tunes, but not to the

attempt to make further developments in music?

And this throws light upon the case referred to by Mr. Bradley.

_Social_ welfare demands that the individual be permitted to devote

himself to the fulfilling of _any_ scientific or artistic capacity that

he finds within himself--provided, of course, it does not conflict

with some more important capacity--irrespective of results. To say to

a man: You may devote yourself to this gift, provided you demonstrate

beforehand its social bearing, would be to talk nonsense. The new

discovery is not yet made. It is absolutely required by the interests

of a progressive society that it allow freedom to the individual to

develop such functions as he finds in himself, irrespective of any

_proved_ social effect. Here, as elsewhere, morality works by faith,

not by sight.

Indeed the ordinary conception of social interests, of benevolence,

needs a large over-hauling. It is practically equivalent to doing

something directly for others--to one form or another of charity.

But this is only negative morality. A true social interest is that

which wills for others freedom from dependence on our _direct_ help,

which wills to them the self-directed power of exercising, in and by

themselves, their own functions. Any will short of this is not social

but selfish, willing the dependence of others that we may continue

benignly altruistic. The idea of "giving pleasure" to others, "making

others happy", if it means anything else than securing conditions so

that they may act freely in their own satisfaction, means slavery.

As society advances, social interest must consist more and more in

free devotion to intelligence for its own sake, to science, art and

industry, and in rejoicing in the exercise of such freedom by others.

Meantime, it is truth which makes free.

See Spencer, Data of Ethics, pp. 249-257, where this

doctrine is stated with great force.

Where, finally, does the social character of science and art come

in? Just here: they are elements in the perfection of individuality,

and they are elements whose very nature is to be moving, not rigid;

distributed from one to another and not monopolistic possessions. If

there are forms of science and art which, at present, are static, being

merely owned collections of facts, as one may have a collection of

butterflies in a frame, or of etchings in a closed portfolio, this is

not because they are science and art, but imperfect science and art.

To complete their scientific and artistic character is to set these

facts in motion; to hurl them against the world of physical forces

till new instruments of man's activity are formed, and to set them in

circulation so that others may also participate in their truth and

rejoice in their beauty. So far as scientific or artistic attainments

are treasured as individual possessions, so far it _is_ true that

they are not social--but so far it is _also_ true that they are

immoral: indeed that they are not fully scientific or artistic, being

subordinated to having certain sensations.

The intellectual movement of the last four or five centuries has

resulted in an infinite specialization in methods, and in an immense

accumulation of fact. It is quite true, since the diversity of fact

and of method has not yet been brought to an organic unity, that their

social bearing is not yet realized. But when the unity is attained (as

attained it must be if there is unity in the object of knowledge), it

will pass into a corresponding unity of practice. And then the question

as to the social character of even the most specialized knowledge will

seem absurd. It will be to ask whether men can coöperate better when

they do not know than when they do know what they want. Meantime the

intellectual confusion, and the resulting divorce of knowledge from

practice, exists. But this constitutes a part of the environment of

which action must take heed. It makes it one of the pressing duties

that every man of intelligence should do his part in bringing out the

public and common aspects of knowledge. _The_ duty of the present is

the socializing of intelligence--the realizing of its bearing upon

social practice.

XL.

The Ethical Postulate.

We have attempted to show that the various interests are social in

their very nature. We have not attempted to show that this can be

seen or proved in any given case. On the contrary, in most, if not

all cases, the agent acts from a faith that, in realizing his own

capacity, he will satisfy the needs of society. If he were asked to

_prove_ that his devotion to his function were right because certain to

promote social good, he might well reply: "That is none of my affair.

I have only to work myself out as strength and opportunity are given

me, and let the results take care of themselves. I did not make the

world, and if it turns out that devotion to the capacity which was

given me, and loyalty to the surroundings in which I find myself do

not result in good, I do not hold myself responsible. But, after all,

I cannot believe that it will so turn out. What is really good for me

_must_ turn out good for all, or else there is no good in the world

at all." The basis, in a word, of moral conduct, with respect to the

exercise of function, is a faith that moral self-satisfaction (that

is, satisfaction in accordance with the performance of function as

already defined) means social satisfaction--or the faith that self and

others make a true community. Now such faith or conviction is at the

basis of all moral conduct--not simply of the scientific or artistic.

Interest in self must mean belief in one's business, conviction of its

legitimacy and worth, even prior to any sensible demonstration. Under

any circumstances, such demonstration can extend only to past action;

the social efficiency of any new end must be a matter of faith. Where

such faith is wanting, action becomes halting and character weak.

Forcible action fails, and its place is taken by a feeble idealism, of

vague longing for that which is not, or by a pessimistic and fruitless

discontent with things as they are--leading, in either case, to

neglect of actual and pressing duty. The basis of moral strength is

_limitation_, the resolve to be one's self only, and to be loyal to the

actual powers and surroundings of that self. The saying of Carlyle's

about doing the "duty that lies nearest", and of Goethe's that "America

is here or nowhere", both imply that faith in the existing moral

capacity and environment is the basis of conduct. All fruitful and

sound human endeavor roots in the conviction that there is something

absolutely worth while, something 'divine' in the demands imposed by

one's actual situation and powers. In the great moral heroes of the

world the conviction of the worth of their destiny, and of what they

were meant to do, has amounted to a kind of fatalism. They have done

not simply what they _could_ do, but what they _must_ do.

On the other hand, effective social interest is based upon what is

vaguely called 'faith in humanity', or, more specifically, belief

in the value of each man's individuality, belief in some particular

function which he might exercise, given appropriate conditions and

stimuli. Moral interest in others must be an interest in their

possibilities, rather than in their accomplishments; or, better, in

their accomplishments so far as these testify to a fulfilling of

function--to a working out of capacity. Sympathy and work for men which

do not grow out of faith in them are a perfunctory and unfertile sort

of thing.

This faith is generally analyzed no further; it is left as faith in

one's 'calling' or in 'humanity'. But what is meant is just this:

in the performing of such special service as each is capable of,

there is to be found not only the satisfaction of self, but also

the satisfaction of the entire moral order, the furthering of the

community in which one lives. All moral conduct is based upon such a

faith; and _moral theory must recognize this as the postulate upon

which it rests_. In calling it a postulate, we do not mean that it is a

postulate which our theory makes or must make in order to be a theory;

but that, through analysis, theory _finds that moral practice makes

this postulate_, and that with its reality the reality end value of

conduct are bound up.

In calling it a postulate we do not mean to call it unprovable, much

less unverifiable, for moral experience is itself, so far as it goes,

its verification. But we mean that the further consideration of this

postulate, its demonstration or (if the case so be) its refutation,

do not belong to the realm of ethics as such. Each branch of human

experience rests upon some presupposition which, _for that branch_, is

ultimate. The further inquiry into such presuppositions belong not to

mathematics, or physics, or ethics, but to metaphysics.

Unless, then, we are to extend our ethical theory to inquire into the

possibility and value of moral experience, unless, that is, we are to

make an excursion into the metaphysics of ethics, we have here reached

our foundation. The ethical postulate, the presupposition involved in

conduct, is this:

IN THE REALIZATION OF INDIVIDUALITY THERE IS FOUND ALSO THE NEEDED

REALIZATION OF SOME COMMUNITY OF PERSONS OF WHICH THE INDIVIDUAL IS A

MEMBER; AND, CONVERSELY, THE AGENT WHO DULY SATISFIES THE COMMUNITY IN

WHICH HE SHARES, BY THAT SAME CONDUCT SATISFIES HIMSELF.

Otherwise put, the postulate is that there is a community of persons; a

good which realized by the will of one is made not private but public.

It is this unity of individuals as respects the end of action, this

existence of a practical common good, that makes what we call the moral

order of the world.

Shakespeare has stated the postulate--

To thine ownself be true;

And it must follow, as the night the day,

Thou can'st not then be false to any man.

Its significance may be further developed by comparing it with the

scientific postulate.

All science rests upon the conviction of the thorough-going and

permanent unity of the world of objects known--a unity which is

sometimes termed the 'uniformity of nature' or the 'reign of law';

without this conviction that objects are not mere isolated and

transitory appearances, but are connected together in a system by laws

or relations, science would be an impossibility. Moral experience

_makes for the world of practice_ an assumption analogous in kind to

that which intellectual experience makes for the world of knowledge.

And just as it is not the affair of science, as such, or even of logic

(the theory of science) to justify this presupposition of science, or

to do more than show its presence in intellectual experience, so it is

not the business of conduct, or even of ethics (the theory of conduct)

to justify what we have termed the 'ethical postulate'. In each case

the further inquiry belongs to metaphysics.

XLI.

Does the End Proposed Serve as a Criterion of Conduct?

We have now concluded that an end which may be termed indifferently

'The Realization of Individuality', 'The Performance of Specific

Functions', 'The Satisfaction of Interests', 'The Realization of a

Community of Individuals' is the moral end. Will this end serve the

two aims (see Sec. XVI) required of a criterion, or standard: (1) Will

it unify individual conduct? (2) Will it afford a common good? We have

just been endeavoring to show that it does both of these things; that

as the realization of one's specific capacity, it unifies individual

conduct, and that, as the performance of function, it serves to satisfy

the entire community. To take up just these points, accordingly, would

involve a repetition of what has been said, and we shall therefore take

up instead some aspects of the individual and social unity of conduct,

not already considered.

1. The System of Individual Conduct. We must be careful not to

interpret the idea of specific function too rigidly or abstractly. It

does not mean that each one has some supreme mission in life to which

everything else must be sacrificed--that a man is to be an artist,

or a soldier, or a student, or a day-laborer and nothing else. On

the contrary, the idea of function is that which comprehends all the

various sides of life, and it cannot be narrowed below the meaning we

have already given: the due adjustment of capacity and surroundings.

Wherever there is any capacity or any circumstance, no matter how

trivial, there is something included in the exercise of function,

and, therefore to be satisfied--according to its place, of course,

in the whole of life. Amusements and all the minor details of life

are included within the scope of morality. They are elements in the

exercise of function, and their insignificance and triviality does not

exclude them from the grasp of duty and of the good. It is a mistake to

suppose that because it is optional or indifferent--as it constantly

is--what acts among the minor details of life are to be done or left

undone, or unimportant whether they are done or left undone at all,

therefore such acts have no moral value. Morality consists in treating

them just as they are--if they are slight or trivial they are to be

performed as slight and trivial. Morality does not simply permit the

performance of such acts, but demands it. To try to make, in the

interests of duty, a serious matter out of every detail of life would

be immoral--as much so, in kind, as to make light of momentous matters.

See Alexander, Op. cit. pp. 53-54.

Bradley, Op. cit., pp, 194-197.

Consider, also, how this conception of the end stands in definite

relation to concrete acts; how it explains the possibility of decision

as to whether this or that proposed act is right. We do not have to

trace the connection of the act with some end beyond, as pleasure, or

abstract law. We have only to analyze the _act itself_. We have certain

definite and wholly concrete facts; the given capacity of the person at

the given moment, and his given surroundings. The judgment as to the

nature of these facts is, in and of itself, a judgment as to the act

to be done. The question is not: What is the probability that this act

will result in the balance of maximum pleasure; it is not what general

rule can we hunt up under which to bring this case. It is simply:

_What is this case?_ The moral act is not that which satisfies some

far-away principle, hedonistic or transcendental. It is that which

meets the present, actual situation. Difficulties indeed, arise, but

they are simply the difficulty of resolving a complex case; they are

intellectual, not moral. The case made out, the moral end stands forth.

No extraneous manipulation, to bring the case under some foreign end,

is required.

And this suggests the elasticity of the criterion. In fact moral

conduct is entirely individualized. It is where, when, how and of whom.

There has been much useless discussion as to the absolute or relative

character of morals--useless because the terms absolute and relative

are not defined. If absolute is taken to mean immobile and rigid, it is

anything but desirable that morals should be absolute. If the physical

world is a scene of movement, in which there is no rest, it is a poor

compliment to pay the moral world to conceive of it as static and

lifeless. A rigid criterion in a world of developing social relations

would speedily prove no criterion at all. It would be an abstract

rule, taking no account of the individualized character of each act;

its individuality of capacity and of surroundings, of time, place and

relationships involved. A truly absolute criterion is one which adjusts

itself to each case according to the specific nature of the case; one

which moves with the moving world. On the other hand, if relative means

uncertain in application, changing in time and place without reason for

change in the facts themselves, then certainly the criterion is not

relative. If it means taking note of all concrete relations involved,

it _is_ relative. The absoluteness, in fine, of the standard of action

consists not in some rigid statement, but in never-failing application.

Universality here, as elsewhere, resides not in a thing, but in a way,

a method of action. The absolute standard is the one applicable to all

deeds, and the conception of the exercise of function is thus absolute,

covering all conduct from the mainly impulsive action of the savage to

the most complex reaches of modern life.

Aristotle's well known theory of the 'mean' seems to have

its bearing here. "It is possible," he says (Peters' trans.

of Ethics, p. 46), "to feel fear, confidence, desire,

anger, pity, and generally to be affected pleasantly

and painfully, either too much or too little--in either

case wrongfully; but to be affected thus at the right

_times_, and on the right _occasions_, and toward the

right _persons_, and with the right _object_ and in the

right _fashions_, is the mean course and the best course,

and these are characteristics of virtue." The right time,

occasion, person, purpose and fashion--what is it but the

complete individualization of conduct in order to meet

the whole demands of the whole situation, instead of some

abstraction? And what else do we mean by fit, due, proper,

right action, but that which just hits the mark, without

falling short or deflecting, and, to mix the metaphor,

without slopping over?

2. The system of social conduct, or common good. Moral conduct springs

from the faith that all right action is social and its purpose is

to justify this faith by working out the social values involved. The

term 'moral community' can mean only a unity of action, made what it

is by the co-operating activities of diverse individuals. There is

unity in the work of a factory, not in spite of, but _because of_ the

division of labor. Each workman forms the unity not by doing the same

that everybody else does, or by trying to do the whole, but by doing

his specific part. The unity is the one activity which their varied

activities make. And so it is with the moral activity of society and

the activities of individuals. The more individualized the functions,

the more perfect the unity. (See section LII.)

The exercise of function by an agent serves, then, both to define and

to unite him. It makes him a _distinct_ social member at the same time

that it makes him a _member_. Possession of peculiar capacities, and

special surroundings mark one person off from another and make him

an individual; and the due adjustment of capacities to surroundings

(in the exercise of function) effects, therefore, the realization of

individuality--the realization of what we specifically are as distinct

from others. At the same time, this distinction is not isolation;

the exercise of function is the performing of a special _service_

without which the social whole is defective. Individuality means

not separation, but defined position in a whole; special aptitude in

constituting the whole.

We are now in a position to take up the consideration of the two other

fundamental ethical conceptions--obligation and freedom. These ideas

answer respectively to the two sides of the exercise of function. On

the one hand, the performing of a function realizes the social whole.

Man is thus 'bound' by the relations necessary to constitute this

whole. He is subject to the conditions which the existence and growth

of the social unity impose. He is, in a word, under _obligation_; the

performance of his function is duty owed to the community of which he

is a member.

But on the other hand, activity in the way of function realizes the

individual; it is what makes him an individual, or distinct person.

In the performance of his own function the agent satisfies his own

interests and gains power. In it is found his _freedom_.

Obligation thus corresponds to the _social_ satisfaction, freedom to

the _self_-satisfaction, involved in the exercise of function; and

they can no more be separated from each other than the correlative

satisfaction can be. One has to realize himself as a member of a

community. In this fact are found both freedom and duty.