ANALYSIS OF THE PRINCIPAL MORAL CONCEPTS
WE have assumed that the moral concepts are essentially
generalisations of tendencies in certain phenomena to call forth moral
emotions. We have further assumed that there are two kinds of moral
emotions: indignation and approval. If these assumptions hold good,
either indignation or approval must be at the bottom of every moral
concept. That such is really the case will, I think, become evident
from the present chapter, in which the principal of those concepts
will be analysed.
Our analysis will be concerned with moral concepts formed by the
civilised mind. Whilst the most representative of English terms for
moral estimates have equivalents in the other European languages, I do
not take upon myself to decide to what extent they have equivalents in
non-European tongues. That all existing peoples, even the very lowest,
have moral emotions is as certain as that they have customs, and there
can be no doubt that they give expression to those emotions in their
speech. But it is another question how far their emotions have led to
such generalisations as are implied in moral concepts. Concerning the
Fuegians M. Hyades observes, "Les idées abstraites sont chez eux à peu
près nulles. Il est difficile de définir exactement ce qu'ils
appellent un homme bon et un homme méchant; mais à coup sûr ils n'ont
pas la notion de ce qui est bon ou mauvais, abstraction faite de
l'individu ou de l'objet auquel ils appliqueraient l'un ou l'autre
{132} de ces attributs."[1] The language of the Californian Karok,
though rich in its vocabulary, is said to possess no equivalent for
"virtue."[2] In the aboriginal tongues of the highlanders of Central
India "there seem to be no expressions for abstract ideas, the few
such which they possess being derived from the Hindí. . . . . The
nomenclature of religious ceremony, of moral qualities, and of nearly
all the arts of life they possess, are all Hindí."[3] On a strict
examination of the language of the Tonga Islanders, Mariner could
discover "no words essentially expressive of some of the higher
qualities of human merit, as virtue, justice, humanity; nor of the
contrary, as vice, injustice, cruelty, &c. They have indeed
expressions for these ideas," he adds, but these expressions "are
equally applicable to other things. To express a virtuous or good man,
they would say, _tangata lillé_, a good man, or _tangata loto lillé_,
a man with a good mind; but the word lillé, good (unlike our word
virtuous), is equally applicable to an axe, canoe, or anything
else."[4] Of the Australian natives about Botany Bay and Port Jackson
Collins wrote, "That they have ideas of a distinction between good and
bad is evident from their having terms in their language significant
of these qualities." A fish of which they never ate, was _wee-re_, or
bad, whereas the kangaroo was _bood-yer-re_, or good; and these
expressions were used not only for qualities which they perceived by
their senses, but for all kinds of badness and goodness, and were the
only terms they had for wrong and right. "Their enemies were wee-re;
their friends bood-yer-re. On our speaking of cannibalism, they
expressed great horror at the mention, and said it was wee-re. On
seeing any of our people punished or reproved for ill-treating them,
they expressed their approbation, and said it was bood-yer-re, it was
right."[5]
[Footnote 1: Hyades and Deniker, _Mission scientifique du Cap Horn_,
vii. 251.]
[Footnote 2: Powers, _Tribes of California_, p. 22.]
[Footnote 3: Forsyth, _Highlands of Central India_, p. 139.]
[Footnote 4: Mariner, _Natives of the Tonga Islands_, ii. 147 _sq._]
[Footnote 5: Collins, _English Colony in New South Wales_, i. 548 _sq._]
{133} Considering, moreover, that even the European languages make use
of such general terms as "good" and "bad" for the purpose of
expressing moral qualities, it seems likely that, originally, moral
concepts were not clearly differentiated from other more comprehensive
generalisations, and that they assumed a more definite shape only by
slow degrees. At the same time we must not expect to find the
beginning of this process reflected in the vocabularies of languages.
There is every reason to believe that a savage practically
distinguishes between the "badness" of a man and the "badness" of a
piece of food, although he may form no clear idea of the distinction.
As Professor Wundt observes, "the phenomena of language do not admit
of direct translation back again into ethical processes: the ideas
themselves are different from their vehicles of expression, and here
as everywhere the external mark is later than the internal act for
which it stands."[6] Language is a rough generaliser; even superficial
resemblance between different phenomena often suffices to establish
linguistic identity between them. Compare the rightness of a line with
the rightness of conduct, the wrongness of an opinion with the
wrongness of an act. And notice the different significations given to
the verb "ought" in the following sentences:--"They ought to be in
town by this time, as the train left Paris last night"; "If you wish
to be healthy you ought to rise early"; "You ought always to speak the
truth." Though it may be shown that in these statements the predicate
"ought" signifies something which they all have in common--the
reference to a rule,[7]--we must by no means assume that this
constitutes the essence of the moral "ought," or gives us the clue to
its origin.
[Footnote 6: Wundt, _Ethik_, p. 36 (English translation, p. 44).]
[Footnote 7: _Cf._ Stephen, _Liberty, Equality, Fraternity_,
p. 343 _sq._]
Discarding all questions of etymology as irrelevant to our subject,[8]
we shall, in our analysis of moral concepts, {134} endeavour to fix
the true import of each concept by examining how, and under what
circumstances, the term expressing it is generally applied. We shall
restrict ourselves to the principal, typical terms which are used as
predicates in moral judgments. If we succeed in proving that they are
all fundamentally derived from either moral indignation or moral
approval, there can be no reasonable doubt as to the origin of the
rest.
[Footnote 8: The attempt to apply the philological method to an
examination of moral concepts has, in my opinion, proved a
failure--which may be seen from Mr. Baynes' book on _The Idea of God
and the Moral Sense in the Light of Language_.]
The tendency in a phenomenon to arouse moral indignation is directly
expressed by the term _bad_, and a disposition of mind which is
characterised by some special kind of badness is called _vice_.
Closely allied to the term "bad" is the term _wrong_. But there is a
difference in the use of these words. Whilst "bad" may be applied both
to a person's character and to his conduct, only his conduct may be
said to be "wrong." The reason for this is that the concept of moral
wrongness is modelled on the idea of a moral law, the breach of which
is regarded as "wrong." And, by laying down a moral law, we only
enjoin a certain mode of conduct; we do not command a person to have a
certain character.
The moral law is expressed by the term _ought_, a term which, in
modern ethics, generally occupies a central position among moral
predicates. The notion which it embodies is frequently looked upon as
ultimate and incapable of analysis--"too elementary" (to quote
Professor Sidgwick) "to admit of any formal definition."[9] This view,
I think, instead of simplifying the matter, has been one of the chief
causes of the prevailing confusion in ethical thought.
[Footnote 9: Sidgwick, _Methods of Ethics_, p. 33.]
Far from being a simple notion, "ought" appears to me clearly
decomposable, even though it have a special flavour of its own. First
of all, it expresses a conation. When I feel that I ought to do a
thing, I experience an impulse to do it, even though some opposite
impulse may finally determine my action. And when I say to another
man, "You ought to do this, or that," there is certainly implied {135}
a purpose to influence his action in a certain direction. In the
notion of _duty_, the ethical import of which is identical with that
of "ought," this conative element is not so obvious.
Closely connected with the conative nature of "ought" is the
imperative character it is apt to assume. But, though frequently used
imperatively, "ought" is not necessarily and essentially imperative.
Even if the "ought" which I address to myself, in a figurative sense,
may be styled a command, it is hardly appropriate to speak of a
present command with reference to past actions. The common phrase,
"You ought to have done this, or that," cannot be called a
command.
The conation expressed in "ought" is determined by the idea that the
mode of conduct which ought to be performed is not, or will possibly
not be, performed. It is also this idea of its not being performed
that determines the emotion which gives to "ought" the character of a
moral predicate. The doing of what ought not to be done, or the
omission of what ought not to be omitted, is apt to call forth moral
indignation--this is the most essential fact involved in the notion of
"ought." Every "ought"-judgment contains implicitly a negation. Nobody
would ever have dreamt of laying down a moral rule if the idea of its
transgression had not presented itself to his mind. We may reverse the
words of the Apostle,[10] and say that where no transgression is,
there is no law. When Solon was asked why he had specified no
punishment for one who had murdered a father, he replied that he
supposed it could not occur to any man to commit such a crime.[11]
Similarly, the modern Shintoist concludes that the primæval Japanese
were pure and holy from the fact that they are represented as a people
who had no moral commandments.[12] It is this prohibitive character of
"ought" that has imparted to duty that idea of antagonism to
inclination which has found its most famous expression {136} in the
Kantian ethics, and which made Bentham look upon the word itself as
having in it "something disagreeable and repulsive."[13] It is the
intrinsic connection between "ought" and "wrong" that has given to
duty the most prominent place in ethical speculation whenever moral
pessimism has been predominant. Whilst the ancient Greeks, with whom
happiness was the state of nature, never spoke of duty, but held
virtue to be the Supreme Good, Christianity, on the other hand, which
looked upon man as a being born and bred in sin, regarded morals
pre-eminently as the science of duty. Then, again, in modern times,
Kant's categorical imperative came as a reaction against that moral
optimism which once more had given the preference to virtue,
considering everything in the world or in humanity as beautiful and
good from the very beginning.[14] It is also worth noting that the
feeling of self-complacency connected with the consciousness of having
acted in accordance with the law of duty, has no distinctively
expressive name in ordinary language, while the opposite feeling is
known by so familiar and distinctive a term as "remorse." This is not,
as has been said,[15] "a significant indication of the moral condition
of mankind," but a significant indication of the true import of the
notion of duty itself.
[Footnote 10: _Romans_, iv. 15.]
[Footnote 11: Diogenes Laërtius, _Solon_, 10. Cicero, _Pro S. Roscio
Amerino_, 25.]
[Footnote 12: Griffis, _Religions of Japan_, p. 72.]
[Footnote 13: Bentham, _Deontoiogy_, i. 10.]
[Footnote 14: Ziegler, _Social Ethics_, pp. 22, 75 _sq._]
[Footnote 15: Murray, _Introduction to Ethics_, p. 108.]
It is not, then, in the emotion of approval that we must seek for the
origin of this concept. We may undoubtedly applaud him who is faithful
to his duty, but the idea of duty involves no applause. There is no
contradiction in the omission of an act being disapproved of and the
performance of it being praised. "Ought" and "duty" express only the
tendency of an omission to call forth disapproval, and say nothing
about the consequences of the act's performance. The conscientious man
refuses the homage paid to him, by saying, "I have only done my duty."
Duty is a "stern {137} lawgiver," who threatens with punishment, but
promises no reward.[16]
[Footnote 16: The intrinsic connection between duty and disapproval
has previously been noticed by Stuart Mill (in a note to James Mill's
_Analysis of the Human Mind_, ii. 325), according to whom "no case can
be pointed out in which we consider anything as a duty, and any act or
omission as immoral or wrong, without regarding the person who commits
the wrong and violates the duty as a fit object of punishment." _Cf._
also Bain, _Emotions and the Will_, ch. 15, and Gizycki, _Introduction
to the Study of Ethics_, English adaptation by Stanton Coit, p. 102
_sq._]
The ideas of "ought" and "duty" thus spring from the same source as
the ideas of "bad" and "wrong." To say that a man ought to do a thing
is, so far as the morality of his action is concerned, the very same
thing as to say that it is bad, or wrong, of him not to do it--in
other words, that the not-doing of it has a tendency to call forth
moral disapproval.
"Wrong" is popularly regarded as the opposite of _right_, and they are
really contradictories, but only within the sphere of positive moral
valuation. We do not call the actions of irresponsible beings, like
animals or infants, "right," although they are not wrong; nor do we
pronounce morally indifferent actions of responsible beings to be
"right," unless we wish thereby especially to mark their moral value
as not being wrong. An act which is permissible is of course not
wrong, and so far it may be said to be right; but it would be more
accurate to say that people have _a_ right to do it. The adjective
"right," in its strict sense, refers to cases from which the
indifferent is excluded. A right action is, on a given occasion, _the_
right action, and other alternatives are wrong. "Right" is thus
closely related to "ought," but at the same time "right" and
"obligatory" are not identical. I cannot quite subscribe to the view
of Professor Sidgwick, that "in the recognition of conduct as 'right'
is involved an authoritative prescription to do it."[17] What is right
is in accordance with the moral law; the adjective "right" means that
duty is fulfilled. It is true that the super-obligatory also is right.
But "right" takes no notice of the super-obligatory as distinct from
the obligatory, and what goes {138} beyond duty always involves the
fulfilment of some duty. It may be admitted to be "not only right,"
but not to be more right. Right has no comparative. A duty is either
fulfilled or not, and unless it be perfectly fulfilled the conduct is
wrong. There are degrees of wrongness and of goodness, as the moral
indignation and the moral approval may be stronger or weaker, but
there are no degrees of rightness.
[Footnote 17: Sidgwick, _op. cit._ p. 106.]
The fact that the right action is a duty fulfilled accounts for the
erroneous opinion so generally held by ethical writers that "right" is
intrinsically connected with moral approval.[18] The choice of the
right alternative may give us satisfaction and call forth in us an
emotion of approval. This emotion may be the motive for our pointing
out the rightness of the act, and the judgment in which we do so may
even intrinsically contain applause. The manner in which the judgment
"That is right," is pronounced, often shows that it is meant to be an
expression of praise. But this does not imply that the concept "right"
by itself has reference to moral approval and involves praise. It only
means that in one word is expressed a certain concept--the concept
that a duty is fulfilled--_plus_ an emotion of approval. That "right"
_per se_ involves no praise is obvious from the fact that we regard it
as perfectly right to pay a debt and to keep a promise, or to abstain
from killing, robbing, or lying, although such acts or omissions
generally have no tendency whatever to evoke in us an emotion of moral
approval.
[Footnote 18: Hutcheson, _Essay on the Nature and Conduct of the
Passions and Affections, with Illustrations on the Moral Sense_, p.
279. Clifford, _Lectures and Essays_, pp. 294, 304 _sq._ Fowler and
Wilson, _Principles of Morals_, ii. 199. Alexander, _Moral Order and
Progress_, p. 399.]
The concept of "right," then, as implying that the opposite mode of
conduct would have been wrong, ultimately derives its moral
significance from moral disapproval. This may seem strange considering
that "right" is commonly looked upon as positive and "wrong" as its
negation. But we must remember that language and popular conceptions
in these matters start {139} from the notion of a moral rule or
command. It is a matter of paramount importance that such modes of
conduct as are apt to arouse moral indignation should be avoided.
People try to prevent them by prohibitions and injunctions, often
emphasised by threats of penalties for the transgressors. The whole
moral and social discipline is based upon commands; customs are rules
of conduct, and so are laws. It is natural, then, that the notion of a
command should figure uppermost in popular conceptions of morality.
Obedience to the command is right, a breach of it is wrong. But the
fact which gives birth to the command itself is the indignation called
forth by the act which the command forbids, or by the omission of that
which it enjoins.
I have spoken here of "right" as an adjective. Used as a substantive,
to denote _a right_, it also, in whatever sense it be used, expresses
a concept which is rooted in the emotion of moral disapproval. To have
a right to do a thing is to be allowed to do it, either by positive
law, in the case of a legal right, or by the moral law, in the case of
a moral right; in other words, to have a moral right to do a thing
means that it is not wrong to do it. But generally the concept of "a
right" means something more than this. From the fact that an act is
allowable, that it is not wrong, it follows, as a rule, that it ought
not to be prevented, that no hindrance ought to be put in the way of
its performance; and this character of inviolability is largely
included in the very concepts of rights. That a man has a right to
live does not merely mean that he commits no wrong by supporting his
life, but it chiefly means that it would be wrong of other people to
prevent him from living, that it is their duty not to kill him, or
even, as the case may be, that it is their duty to help him to live.
And in order to constitute a right in him, the duty in question must
be a duty _to him_. That a right belonging to A is not merely a duty
incumbent on B, but a duty _to_ A incumbent on B, will become evident
from an example. To kill another {140} person's slave may be condemned
as an injury done to the slave himself, in which case it is a duty to
the slave not to kill him; or to kill another person's slave may be
condemned on account of the loss it causes to the master, in which
case it is deemed a duty to the master not to kill the slave. In the
latter case we can hardly say that the duty of not killing the slave
constitutes a right to live in the slave--it only constitutes a right
in the master to retain his slave alive, not to be deprived of him by
an act causing his death.
So commonly does the conception of a right belonging to a person
contain the idea of a duty which other persons owe him, that it seems
necessary to point out the existence of rights in which no such idea
is involved. A man's right to defend his country, for instance, does
not intrinsically imply that it is wrong of the enemy to disable him
from doing so. But, on the other hand, there are rights which are
nothing else than duties towards those who have the rights. A right is
not always a person's right to a certain activity, or to abstaining
from a certain activity; it may have exclusive reference to other
people's acts or omissions. That a man has the right to be rewarded by
his country only means that his country is under an obligation to
reward him. That a father has a right to be obeyed by his children
only means that it is a duty incumbent on his children to obey him.
That a person has the right of bodily integrity only means that it is
wrong to inflict on him a bodily injury. These rights may, no doubt,
if violated, give rise to certain rights of activity: a man may have a
right to claim the reward which is due to him, a father to exact from
his children the obedience which they owe him, a person who is wronged
to defend himself. But the rights of claiming a reward, of exacting
obedience, of resisting wrong, are certainly not identical with the
rights of being rewarded, of being obeyed, of not being
wronged.
It is commonly said that rights have their corresponding duties. But
if this expression is to be used, it must be {141} remembered that the
duty which "corresponds" to a right, as a matter of fact, is either
included in that right or simply identical with it. The identity
between the right and the duty, then, consists in this, that the
notion of a right belonging to a person is identical with the notion
of a duty towards him. Rights and duties are not identical in the
sense that it is always a duty to insist on a right, though this has
been urged.[19] If anybody prevents me from making use of my right it
may no doubt be deemed a duty on my part not to tolerate the wrong
committed against me, but nothing of the kind is involved in the
concept of a right. And the same may be said with reference to the
assertion that a right to do a thing is always, at the same time, a
duty to do it--an assertion which is a consequence of the doctrine
that there is nothing morally indifferent and nothing that goes beyond
duty; in other words, that all conduct of responsible beings is either
wrong or obligatory. Even if this doctrine were psychologically
correct--which it is not--even if there were a constant coincidence
between the acts which a person has a right to perform and acts which
it is his duty to perform, that would not constitute identity between
the concepts of rights and duties. According to the meaning of a
right, A's right may be B's duty towards A, but A's right cannot be
A's duty towards B or anybody else.
[Footnote 19: Alexander, _op. cit._ p. 146 _sq._]
Closely connected with the notions of wrongness and rightness are the
notions of _injustice_ and _justice_. Injustice, indeed, is a kind of
wrongness. To be unjust is always to be unjust to somebody, and this
implies a doing of wrong to somebody, a violation of somebody's right.
"Justice," again, is a kind of rightness. It involves the notion that
a duty to somebody, a duty corresponding to a right, is fulfilled;[20]
we say that justice "demands" that it should be fulfilled. As an act
is "right" if its omission {142} is wrong, so an act is "just," in the
strict sense of the word, if its omission is unjust. But, like the
adjective "right," the adjective "just" is also sometimes used in a
wider sense, to denote that something is "not unjust." As
non-obligatory acts that are "not wrong" can hardly be denied to be
"right," so non-obligatory acts that are "not unjust" can hardly be
denied to be "just," although they are not demanded by justice.
[Footnote 20: According to the _Institutiones_ of Justinian (i. 1. 1)
"justice is the constant and perpetual will to render to each one his
right,"--"justitia est constans et perpetua voluntas jus suum cuique
tribuens."]
At the same time, "injustice" and "justice" are not simply other names
for violating or respecting rights. Whenever we style an act "unjust,"
we emphasise that it involves partiality. We do not denominate murder
and robbery unjust, but wrong or criminal, because the partiality
involved in their commission is quite obscured by their general
wrongness or criminality; but we at once admit their gross injustice
when we consider that the murderer and robber indulged their own
inclinations with utter disregard of their neighbours' rights. And we
look upon "unjust" as an exceedingly appropriate term for a judge who
condemns an innocent man with the intention to save the culprit, and
for an employer who keeps for himself a profit which he ought to share
with his employees. Again, when we style an act "just," in the strict
sense of the term, we point out that an undue preference would have
been shown to somebody by its omission. It is true that, as Adam Smith
observes, "we may often fulfil all the rules of justice by sitting
still and doing nothing,"[21] and that the man who barely abstains
from violating either the person or the estate or the reputation of
his neighbours so far does justice to them; but in such a case we
hardly apply the epithet "just," simply because there is no reason for
emphasising the partiality involved in the opposite mode of conduct.
On the other hand, we say it is just, or, more emphatically, that
justice demands, that the innocent should not suffer in the place of
the guilty, or that the employer should give his employees all their
dues.
[Footnote 21: Adam Smith, _Theory of Moral Sentiments_, p. 117.]
It is necessary to note that the impartiality which justice {143}
demands is impartiality within the recognised order of rights, whether
these rights themselves have a partial origin or not. A father is
unjust if he gives away property to one of his children in preference
to others, in case all of them are recognised to have a right to an
equal share in his property, even though it be only a conditional
right; and a man is unjust if he keeps for himself a profit to which
another man has an equal right. But in a society which regards slavery
as a morally permissible institution, a man is not necessarily deemed
unjust if he beats a slave in a case where it would have been wrong to
beat a freeman. However, in the case of unequal rights, justice admits
of no greater difference of treatment than what the difference in
rights implies. It may be just to punish a man who by a crime has
forfeited that right to be protected from wilfully inflicted pain
which every law-abiding citizen possesses, but it is unjust to extend
the inequality between his condition and the condition of others
beyond the inequality of their rights by inflicting upon him a
punishment which is unduly severe.
It is the emphasis laid on the duty of impartiality that gives justice
a special prominence in connection with punishments and rewards. A
man's rights depend to a great extent upon his actions. Other things
being equal, the criminal has not the same rights to inviolability as
regards reputation, or freedom, or property, or life, as the innocent
man; the miser and egoist have not the same rights as the benefactor
and the philanthropist. On these differences in rights due to
differences in conduct, the terms "just" and "unjust" lay stress; for
in such cases an injustice would have been committed if the rights had
been equal. When we say of a criminal that he has been "justly"
imprisoned we point out that he was no victim of undue partiality, as
he had forfeited the general right to freedom on account of his crime.
When we say of a benefactor that he has been "justly" rewarded, we
point out that no favour was partially bestowed upon him in preference
to others, as he had acquired the special right of being rewarded. But
the {144} "justice" of a punishment or a reward, strictly speaking,
involves something more than this; as we have seen, what is strictly
"just" is always the discharge of a duty corresponding to a right
which would have been in a partial manner disregarded by a
transgression of the duty. If it is just that a person should be
rewarded, he ought to be rewarded, and to fulfil this duty is to do
him justice. Again, if it is just that a person should be punished, he
ought to be punished, and his not being punished is an injustice to
other persons. It is an injustice towards all those whose condemnation
of the wrong act finds its recognised expression in the punishment,
inasmuch as their rightful claim that the criminal should be punished,
their right of resisting wrong, is thereby violated in favour of the
wrong-doer. Moreover, his not being punished is an injustice towards
other criminals, who have been punished for similar acts, in so far as
they have a right to demand that no undue preference should be shown
to anybody whose guilt is equal to theirs. Retributive justice may
admit of a certain latitude as to the retribution. It may be a matter
of small concern from the community's point of view whether men are
fined or imprisoned for the commission of a certain crime. But it may
be a demand of justice that, under equal circumstances, all of them
should be punished with the same severity, since the crime has equally
affected their rights.
The emphasis which "injustice" lays on the partiality of a certain
mode of conduct always involves a condemnation of that partiality.
Like every other kind of wrongness, "injustice" is thus a concept
which is obviously based on the emotion of moral disapproval. And so
is the concept of "justice," whether it involves the notion that an
injustice would be committed if a certain duty were not fulfilled, or
it is simply used to denote that a certain mode of conduct is "not
unjust." But there is yet another sense in which the word "just" is
applied. It may emphasise the impartiality of an act in a tone of
praise. Considering how difficult it is to be perfectly impartial and
to give every man his due, especially when one's own interests are
{145} concerned, it is only natural that men should be applauded for
being just, and consequently that to call a person just should often
be to praise him. So, also, "justice" is used as the name for a
virtue, "the mistress and queen of all virtues."[22] But all this does
not imply that an emotion of moral approval enters into the concept of
justice. It only means that one word is used to express a certain
concept--a concept which, as we have seen, ultimately derives its
import from moral disapproval--_plus_ an emotion of approval. That the
concept of justice by itself involves no reference to the emotion of
moral approval appears from the fact that it is no praise to say of an
act that it is "only just."
[Footnote 22: Cicero, _De officiis_, iii. 6.]
* * * * *
From the concepts springing from moral disapproval we pass to those
springing from moral approval. Foremost among these ranks the concept
_good_.[23]
[Footnote 23: Professor Bain, who takes a very legal view of the moral
consciousness, maintains (_Emotions and the Will_, p. 292) that
"positive good deeds and self-sacrifice . . . transcend the region of
morality proper, and occupy a sphere of their own." A similar opinion
has been expressed by Prof. Durkheim (_Division du travail social_),
and, more recently, by Dr. Lagerborg, in his interesting essay, 'La
nature de la morale' (_Revue internationale de Sociologie_, xi. 466).
Prof. Durkheim argues (p. 30) that it would be "contraire à toute
méthode" to include under the same heading acts which are obligatory
and acts which are objects of admiration, and at the same time exempt
from all regulation. "Si donc, pour rester fidèle à l'usage, on
réserve aux premiers la qualification de moraux, on ne saurait la
donner également aux seconds." But I fail to see that ordinary usage
recognises regulation as the test of morality. On the contrary, terms
like "goodness" and "virtue," though having no reference whatever to
any moral rule, have always hitherto been applied to qualities
avowedly moral.]
Though "good," being affixed to a great variety of objects, takes
different shades of meaning in different cases, there is one
characteristic common to everything called "good." This is hardly, as
Mr. Spencer maintains,[24] its quality of being well adapted to a
given end. It is true that the good knife is one which will cut, the
good gun one which carries far and true. But I fail to see that "good"
in a moral sense involves any idea of an adaptation to a given
purpose, and, by calling conduct {146} "good," we certainly do not mean
that it "conduces to life in each and all." "Good" simply expresses
approval or praise of something on account of some quality which it
possesses. A house is praised as "good" because it fulfils the end
desired, a wine because it has an agreeable taste, a man on account of
his moral worth. "Good," as a moral epithet, involves a praise which
is the outward expression of the emotion of moral approval, and is
affixed to a subject of moral valuation on account of its tendency to
call forth such an emotion.
[Footnote 24: Spencer, _Principles of Ethics_, i. 21 _sqq._]
"Good" has commonly been identified with "right," but such an
identification is incorrect. A father does right in supporting his
young children, inasmuch as he, by supporting them, discharges a duty
incumbent upon him, but we do not say that he does a good deed by
supporting them, or that it is good of him to do so. Nor do we call it
good of a man not to kill or rob his neighbours, although his conduct
is so far right. The antithesis between right and wrong is, in a
certain sense at least, contradictory, the antithesis between good and
bad is only contrary. Every act--provided that it falls within the
sphere of positive moral valuation--that is not wrong is right, but
every act that is not bad is not necessarily good. Just as we may say
of a thing that it is "not bad," and yet refuse to call it "good," so
we may object to calling the simple discharge of a duty "good,"
although the opposite mode of conduct would be bad. On the other hand,
no confusion of ethical concepts is involved in attributing goodness
to the performance of a duty, or, in other words, praising a man for
an act the omission of which would have incurred blame. To say of one
and the same act that it is right and that it is good, really means
that we look upon it from different points of view. Since moral praise
expresses a benevolent attitude of mind, it is commendable for a man
not to be niggard in his acknowledgment of other people's right
conduct; whereas, self-praise being objectionable, only the other
point of view is deemed proper when he passes a {147} judgment upon
himself. He may say, without incurring censure, "I have done my duty,
I have done what is right," but hardly, "I have done a good deed"; and
it would be particularly obnoxious to say, "I am a good man." The best
man even refuses to be called good by others:--"Why callest thou me
good? there is none good but one, that is, God."[25]
[Footnote 25: _St. Matthew_, xix. 17.]
Whilst "goodness" is the general expression for moral praise, _virtue_
denotes a disposition of mind which is characterised by some special
kind of goodness. He who is habitually temperate possesses the virtue
of temperance, he who is habitually just the virtue of justice. And
even when a man is simply said to be "virtuous," this epithet is given
to him, more or less distinctly, with reference to some branch of
goodness which constitutes his virtue. A Supreme Being, to whom is
attributed perfect goodness, is not called virtuous, but
good.
It was the opinion of Aristotle that virtue is imperfect so long as
the agent cannot do the virtuous action without a conflict of
impulses. Others maintain, on the contrary, that virtue essentially
expresses effort, resistance, and conquest. It has been represented as
"mediation through pain";[26] according to Kant, it is "the moral
disposition in struggle."[27] But I do not see that virtue presupposes
struggle, nor that it is lessened by being exercised with little or no
effort. A virtue consists in the disposition to will or not to will
acts of a certain kind, and is by no means reduced by the fact that no
rival impulses make themselves felt. It is true that by struggle and
conquest a man may display more virtue, namely, the virtue of
self-restraint in addition to the virtue gained by it. The vigorous
and successful contest against temptation constitutes a virtue by
itself. For instance, the quality of mind which is exhibited in a
habitual and victorious effort to conquer strong sexual passions is a
virtue distinguishable from that of chastity. But even this virtue of
{148} resisting seductive impulses is not greater, _ceteris paribus_,
in proportion as the victory is more difficult. Take two men with
equally strong passions and equally exposed to temptations, who
earnestly endeavour to lead a chaste life. He who succeeds with less
struggle, thanks to his greater power of will, is surely inferior
neither in chastity nor in self-restraint. Suppose, again, that the
two men were exposed to different degrees of temptation. He who
overcomes the greater temptation _displays_ more self-restraint; yet
the other man may possess this virtue in an equal degree, and his
chastity is certainly not made greater thereby. He may have more
merit, but merit is not necessarily proportionate to virtue.
[Footnote 26: Laurie, _Ethica_, p. 253 _sqq._]
[Footnote 27: Kant, _Kritik der praktischen Vernunft_, i. 1. 3
(_Sämmtliche Werke_, v. 89).]
The virtues are broad generalisations of mental dispositions which, on
the whole, are regarded as laudable. Owing to their stereotyped
character, it easily happens, in individual cases, that the possession
of a virtue confers no merit upon the possessor; and, at least from
the point of view of the enlightened moral consciousness, a man's
virtues are no exact gauge of his moral worth. In order to form a just
opinion of the value of a person's character, we must take into
account the strength of his instinctive desires and the motives of his
conduct. There are virtues that pay no regard to this. A sober man,
who has no taste for intoxicants, possesses the virtue of sobriety in
no less degree than a man whose sobriety is the result of a difficult
conquest over a strong desire. He who is brave with a view to be
applauded is not, as regards the virtue of courage, inferior to him
who faces dangers merely from a feeling of duty. The only thing that
the possession of a virtue presupposes is that it should have been
tried and tested. We cannot say that people unacquainted with
intoxicants possess the virtue of sobriety, and that a man who never
had anything to spend distinguishes himself for frugality. For to
attribute a virtue to somebody is always to bestow upon him some
degree of praise, and it is no praise, only irony, to say of a man
that he "makes a virtue of necessity."
{149} Attempts have been made to reconcile the Aristotelian and the
Kantian views of the relation between virtue and effort, by saying
that virtue is the harmony won and merit is the winning of it.[28]
This presupposes that a man to whom virtue is natural has had his
fights. But, surely, it is not always so. Who could affirm that every
temperate, or charitable, or just man has acquired the virtue only as
a result of inward struggle? There are people to whom some virtues at
least are natural from the beginning, and others who acquire them with
a minimum of effort.
[Footnote 28: Dewey, _Study of Ethics_, p. 133 _sq._ Simmel,
_Einleitung in die Moralwissenschaft_, i. 228. _Cf._ also Shaftesbury
'Inquiry concerning Virtue and Merit,' i. 2. 4, in _Characteristicks_,
ii. 36 _sqq._]
There has been much discussion about the relation between virtue and
duty. It has been said that "they are co-extensive, the former
describing conduct by the quality of the agent's mind, the latter by
the nature of the act performed";[29] that they express the same
ideal, virtue subjectively, duty objectively;[30] or that virtue, in
its proper sense, is "the quality of character that fits for the
discharge of duty," and that it "only lives in the performance of
duty."[31] At the same time it is admitted that "the distinctive mark
of virtue seems to lie in what is beyond duty," and that "though every
virtue is a duty, and every duty a virtue, there are certain actions
to which it is more natural to apply the term virtuous."[32] Prof.
Sidgwick, again, in his elaborate chapter on 'Virtue and Duty,'
remarks that he has "thought it best to employ the terms so that
virtuous conduct may include the performance of duty as well as
whatever good actions may be commonly thought to go beyond duty;
though recognising that virtue in its ordinary use is most
conspicuously manifested in the latter."[33]
[Footnote 29: Alexander, _op. cit._ p. 244.]
[Footnote 30: Grote, _Treatise on the Moral Ideals_, p. 22. _Cf._
Seth, _Study of Ethical Principles_, p. 239.]
[Footnote 31: Muirhead, _Elements of Ethics_, p. 190 n.*]
[Footnote 32: Alexander, _op. cit._ p. 243 _sq._]
[Footnote 33: Sidgwick, _op. cit._ p. 221.]
It can be no matter of surprise that those who regard the notion of
"duty" as incapable of being analysed, or {150} who fail to recognise
its true import, are embarrassed by its relation to virtue. We do not
call it a virtue if a man habitually abstains from killing or robbing,
or pays his debts, or performs a great number of other duties. We do
call chastity and temperance and justice virtues, although we regard
it as obligatory on a man to be chaste, temperate, just. We also call
hospitality, generosity, and charity virtues in cases where they go
beyond the strict limits of duty. "The relation of virtue and duty is
complicated," says Professor Alexander.[34] "In its common use each
term seems to include something excluded from the other," observes
Professor Sidgwick.[35] But, indeed, the relation is not complicated,
for there is no other intrinsic relation between them than their
common antagonism to "wrong." That something is a duty implies that
its non-performance tends to evoke moral indignation, that it is a
virtue implies that its performance tends to evoke moral approval.
That the virtues actually cover a comparatively large field of the
province of duty is simply owing to their being dispositions of mind.
We may praise the habits of justice and gratitude, even though we find
nothing praiseworthy in an isolated just or grateful act.
[Footnote 34: Alexander, _op. cit._ p. 244.]
[Footnote 35: Sidgwick, _op. cit._ p. 219.]
There has been no less confusion with regard to the relation between
duty and _merit_. Like the notions of "good" and "virtue," the
"meritorious" derives its origin from the emotion of moral approval;
but while the former merely express a tendency to give rise to such an
emotion, "meritorious" implies that the object to which it refers
merits praise, that it has a just claim to praise, or, in other words,
that it ought to be recognised as good. This makes the term
"meritorious" more emphatic than the term "good," but at the same time
it narrows its province in a peculiar way. Just as the expression that
something ought to be done implies the idea of its not being done, so
the word "meritorious" suggests the idea of goodness which may fail of
due recognition. And as it is meaningless to speak of duty in a case
where the {151} opposite mode of conduct is entirely out of the
question, so it would be an absurdity to attribute merit to somebody
for an act the goodness of which is universally admitted. Thus
"meritorious" involves a restriction. It would be almost blasphemous
to call the acts of a God conceived to be infinitely good meritorious,
since it would suggest a limitation of his goodness.
The emphatic claim to praiseworthiness made by the "meritorious" has
rendered it objectionable to a great number of moralists. It has been
identified with the "super-obligatory"--a conception which is to many
an abomination. From what has been said above, however, it is manifest
that they are not identical. As the discharge of a duty may be
regarded as a good act, so it may also be regarded as an act which
ought to be recognised as good. Practically, no doubt, there is a
certain antagonism between duty and merit. We praise, and, especially,
we regard as deserving praise, only what is above the average,[36] and
we censure what is below it. No merit is conferred upon him who
performs a duty which is seldom transgressed, or the transgression of
which would actually incur punishment or censure. We do not think that
a man ought to be praised for what his own interest prompts him to
perform; and, since the transgression of a moral command which is
usually obeyed is generally censured or punished, there is under
ordinary circumstances nothing meritorious in performing a duty. But
though thus probably most acts which are deemed meritorious fall
outside the limits of duty as roughly drawn by the popular mind, we
are on the other hand often disposed to attribute merit to a man on
account of an act which, from a strict point of view, is his duty, but
a duty which most people, under the same circumstances, would have
left undischarged. This shows that the antagonism between duty and
merit is not absolute. And in the concept of merit _per se_ no such
antagonism is involved.
[Footnote 36: Merit, as Professor Alexander puts it (_op. cit._ p.
196), "expresses the interval which separates the meritorious from the
average."]
{152} I confess that I fail to grasp what those writers really mean
who identify the "meritorious" with the "super-obligatory," and at the
same time deny the existence of any super-obligatory. Do they shut
their eyes to the important psychical fact indicated by the term
"merit," or do they look upon it as a chimera inconsistent with a
sufficiently enlightened moral consciousness? For my own part, I
cannot see how the moral consciousness could dispense with the idea
that there are actions which merit praise or reward, which ought to be
praised or rewarded. The denial of merit can be defended from a purely
theological point of view, but then only with regard to man's relation
to God. It is obvious that a fallen being who is sinning even when he
does his best, could not be recognised as good by God and could have
no merit. But it is hardly just, nor is it practically possible, that
a man should measure his fellow-man by a superhuman standard of
perfection, and try to suppress the natural emotion of moral approval
and the claims springing from it, by persuading himself that there is
no mortal being who ever does anything which ought to be recognised as
good.
Quite distinct from the question of merit, then, is that of the
_super-obligatory_. Can a man do more than his duty, or, in other
words, is there anything good which is not at the same time a duty?
The answer depends on the contents given to the commandments of duty,
hence it may vary without affecting the concept of duty itself. If we
consider that there is an obligation on every man to promote the
general happiness to the very utmost of his ability, we must also
maintain that nobody can ever do anything good beyond his duty. The
same is the case if we regard "self-realisation," or a "normal"
exercise of his natural functions, as a man's fundamental duty. In all
these cases "to aim at acting beyond obligation," as Price puts
it,[37] is "the same with aiming at acting contrary to obligation, and
doing more than is fit to be done, the same with doing wrong." It can
hardly be denied, however, {153} that those who hold similar views have
actually two standards of duty, one by which they measure man and his
doings in the abstract, with reference to a certain ideal of life
which they please to identify with duty, and another by which they are
guided in their practical moral judgments upon their own and their
neighbours' conduct. The conscientious man is apt to judge himself
more severely than he judges others, partly because he knows his own
case better than theirs,[38] and partly because he is naturally afraid
of being intolerant and unjust. He may indeed be unwilling to admit
that he ever can do more than his duty, seeing how difficult it is
even to do what he ought to do, and impressed, as he would be, with
the feeling of his own shortcomings. Yet I do not see how he could
conscientiously deny that he has omitted to do many praiseworthy or
heroic deeds without holding himself blamable for such omissions.
[Footnote 37: Price, _Review of the Principal Questions in Morals_,
p. 204 _sq._]
[Footnote 38: _Cf._ Sidgwick, _op. cit._ p. 221.]
Professor Sidgwick observes that "we should not deny that it is, in
some sense, a man's strict duty to do whatever action he judges most
excellent, so far as it is in his power."[39] This, as it seems to me,
is not a matter of course, and nothing of the kind is involved in the
notion of duty itself. We must not confound the moral law with the
moral ideal. Duty is the minimum of morality, the supreme moral ideal
of the best man is the maximum of it. Those who sum up the whole of
morality in the word "ought" identify the minimum and the maximum, but
I fail to see that morality is better for this. Rather it is worse.
The recognition of a "super-obligatory" does not lower the moral
ideal; on the contrary it raises it, or at any rate makes it more
possible to vindicate the moral law and to administer it justly. It is
nowadays a recognised principle in legislation that a law loses part
of its weight if it cannot be strictly enforced. If the realisation of
the highest moral ideal is commanded by a moral law, such a law will
always remain a dead letter, and morality will gain nothing. Far above
the anxious {154} effort to fulfil the commandments of duty stands the
free and lofty aspiration to live up to an ideal, which, unattainable
as it may be, threatens neither with blame nor remorse him who fails
to reach its summits. Does not experience show that those whose
thoughts are constantly occupied with the prescriptions of duty are
apt to become hard and intolerant?
[Footnote 39: _Ibid._ p. 219.]
Those who deny the existence of anything morally "praiseworthy" which
is not a duty, are also generally liable to deny the existence of
anything morally _indifferent_ in the conduct of responsible beings.
The "super-obligatory" and the "indifferent" have this in common, that
they are "ultra-obligatory," and the denial of the one as well as of
the other is an expression of the same tendency to look upon the moral
law as the sole fact of the moral consciousness. Even Utilitarianism
cannot consistently admit of anything indifferent within the province
of moral valuation, since two opposite modes of conduct can hardly
produce absolutely the same sum of happiness. Such a repudiation of
the "indifferent" being quite contrary to the morality of common
sense, which, after all, no ethical theory can afford to neglect,
considerable ingenuity has been wasted on vain attempts to show that
the "indifferent" is nothing but a rude popular conception unable to
keep its ground against a thoroughgoing examination. Professor Ziegler
ironically asks:--"Such outward matters as eating and drinking are
surely morally indifferent? And yet is eating and drinking too much,
is spending too much time in outdoor exercise, is lounging idly about,
morally indifferent? or, on the other hand, is it morally allowable or
wholesome to reduce oneself and make oneself weak and ill by fasting,
or to become a hypochondriac by continually staying indoors?"[40] This
argument, however, involves a confusion of different volitions. The
fact that eating or drinking generally, or eating or drinking too much
or too little, are no matters of indifference, surely does not prevent
{155} eating or drinking on some certain occasion from being
indifferent. Mr. Bradley again observes:--"It is right and a duty that
the sphere of indifferent detail should exist. It is a duty that I
should develop my nature by private choice therein. Therefore,
_because_ that is a duty, it is a duty _not_ to make a duty of every
detail; and thus in every detail I have done my duty."[41] This
statement also shows a curious confusion of entirely different facts.
It may be very true that it is a duty to recognise certain actions as
indifferent. This is one thing by itself. But it is quite another
thing to perform those actions. And if it is a duty to recognise
certain actions as indifferent how could it possibly at the same time
be held a duty to perform them?
[Footnote 40: Ziegler, _op. cit._ p. 85.]
[Footnote 41: Bradley, _Ethical Studies_, p. 195, n. 1.]
It has been maintained that the sphere of the indifferent forms the
totality of "ought"; that when the same end may be reached by a
variety of means, an action may be indifferent merely in relation to
the choice of means, but not so far as regards the attainment of the
end, and hence is only apparently indifferent.[42] "If it is my moral
duty to go from one town to another," says Mr. Bradley, "and there are
two roads which are equally good, it is indifferent to the proposed
moral duty _which_ road I take; it is not indifferent _that_ I do take
one or the other; and whichever road I do take, I am doing my duty on it,
and hence it is far from indifferent: my walking on road A is a matter
of duty in reference to the end, though not a matter of duty if you
consider it against walking on road B; and so with B--but I can escape
the sphere of duty neither on A nor on B." All this is true, but forms
no argument against the "indifferent." The statement, "You ought to go
to the town and to take either road A or B," refers to two volitions
which are regarded as wrong, namely, the volition not to go to the
town at all, and the volition to take any road not A or B; and it
{156} refers also to two pairs of volitions in reference to which it
indicates that the choice between the volitions constituting each pair
is indifferent. You may choose to take road A or not to take it; you
may choose to take road B or not to take it. The "indifferent" is
always an alternative between contradictories. It can therefore never
form part of an "ought"-totality, being itself a totality as complete
as possible. This is somewhat disguised by a judgment which makes an
obligation of a choice between A and B, but becomes conspicuous if we
consider a simple case of indifference. Suppose that it is considered
indifferent whether you speak or do not speak on a certain occasion.
What is here the "ought" that forms the totality of the indifferent?
Would there be any sense in saying that you ought either to speak or
not to speak? or is the alternative, speaking--not speaking, only a
link in an indefinite chain of alternatives, each of which is by
itself indifferent, in a relative sense, but the sum of which forms
the "ought"? You may be permitted--it will perhaps be argued--in a
given moment to speak or to abstain from speaking, to write or to
abstain from writing, to read or to abstain from reading, and so on;
but however wide the province of the permissible may be, there must
always be a limit inside which you ought to remain. That you do this
or that may be a matter of indifference, but only of relative
indifference, for it is not indifferent what you do on the whole;
hence there is nothing absolutely indifferent. Such an argument,
however, involves a misapprehension of the true meaning of the
"indifferent." The predicate expressing indifference refers to certain
definite volitions and their contradictories, not to the whole of a
man's conduct in a certain moment. The whole of a man's conduct is
never indifferent. But neither is the whole of a man's conduct ever
wrong. In the moment when a murderer kills his victim he is fulfilling
an endless number of duties: he abstains from stealing, lying,
committing adultery, suicide, and so on. The predicate "wrong" only
marks the moral {157} character of a special mode of conduct. Why
should not the indifferent be allowed to do the same?
[Footnote 42: Simmel, _op. cit._ i. 35 _sqq._ Alexander, _op. cit._
p. 50 _sqq._ Murray, _op. cit._ p. 26 _sq._ Bradley, _op. cit._
p. 195 _sq._]
It has, finally, been observed that the so-called "indifferent" is
something "the morality of which can only be individually
determined."[43] This remark calls attention to the fact that no mode
of conduct can be regarded as indifferent without a careful
consideration of individual circumstances, and that much which is
apparently indifferent is not really so. This, however, does not
involve an abolition of the indifferent. Such an abolition would be
the extreme of moral intolerance. He who tried to put it into practice
would be the most insupportable of beings, and to himself life would
be unbearable. Fortunately, such a man has never existed. The attempts
to make every action, even the most trivial, of responsible beings a
matter of moral concern, are only theoretical fancies without
practical bearing, a hollow and flattering tribute to the idol of
Duty.
[Footnote 43: Martensen, _Christian Ethics_, p. 415.]