THE GENERAL NATURE OF THE SUBJECTS OF ENLIGHTENED MORAL
JUDGMENTS
THE subjects of moral judgments call for a very comprehensive
investigation, which will occupy the main part of this work. As
already said, we shall first discuss the general nature, and
afterwards the particular branches, of those phenomena which have a
tendency to evoke moral condemnation or moral praise; and in each case
our investigation will be both historical and explanatory. The present
chapter, however, will be neither the one nor the other. It seems
desirable to examine the general nature of the subjects of moral
valuation from the standpoint of the enlightened moral consciousness
before dealing with the influence which their various elements have
come to exercise upon moral judgments in the course of evolution. By
doing this, we shall be able, from the outset, to distinguish between
elements which are hardly discernible, or separable, at the lower
stages of mental development, as also to fix the terminology which
will be used in the future discussion.
Moral judgments are commonly said to be passed upon conduct and
character. This is a convenient mode of expression, but the terms need
an explanation.
Conduct has been defined sometimes as "acts adjusted to ends,"[1]
sometimes as acts that are not only adjusted to ends, but definitely
willed.[2] The latter definition is too {203} narrow for our present
purpose, because, as will be seen, it excludes from the province of
conduct many phenomena with reference to which moral judgments are
passed. The same may be said of the former definition also, which,
moreover, is unnecessarily wide, including as it does an immense
number of phenomena with which moral judgments are never concerned.
Though no definition of conduct could be restricted to such phenomena
as actually evoke moral emotions, the term "conduct" seems,
nevertheless, to suggest at least the possibility of moral valuation,
and is therefore hardly applicable to such "acts adjusted to ends" as
are performed by obviously irresponsible beings. It may be well first
to fix the meaning of the word "act."
[Footnote 1: Spencer, _Principles of Ethics_, i. 5.]
[Footnote 2: _E.g._, Mackenzie, _Manual of Ethics_, p. 85.]
According to Bentham, acts may be distinguished as external, or acts
of the body, and internal, or acts of the mind. "Thus, to strike is an
external or exterior act: to intend to strike, an internal or interior
one."[3] But this application of the word is neither popular nor
convenient. The term "act" suggests something besides intention,
whilst, at the same time, it suggests something besides muscular
contractions. To intend to strike is no act, nor are the movements
involved in an epileptic fit acts.
[Footnote 3: Bentham, _Principles of Morals and Legislation_, p. 73.]
An act comprises an event and its immediate mental cause. The event is
generally spoken of as the outward act, but this term seems to be too
narrow, since the intentional production of a mental fact--for
instance, a sensation, or an idea, or an emotion like joy or sorrow or
anger--may be properly styled an act. The objection will perhaps be
raised that I confound acts with their consequences, and that what I
call the "event" is, as Austin maintains, nothing but bodily
movements. But Austin himself admits that he must often speak of
"acts" when he means "acts and their consequences," since "most of the
names which seem to be names of acts, are names of acts, coupled with
certain of their consequences, {204} and it is not in our power to
discard these forms of speech."[4] I regard the so-called consequences
of acts, in so far as they are intended, as acts by themselves, or as
parts of acts.
[Footnote 4: Austin, _Lectures on Jurisprudence_, i. 427, 432 _sq._]
The very expression "outward act" implies that acts also have an inner
aspect. Intention, says Butler, "is part of the action itself."[5] By
intention I understand a volition or determination to realise the idea
of a certain event; hence there can be only one intention in one act.
Certain writers distinguish between the immediate and the remote
intentions of an act. Suppose that a tyrant, when his enemy jumped
into the sea to escape him, saved his victim from drowning with a view
to inflicting upon him more exquisite tortures. The immediate
intention, it is maintained, was to save the enemy from drowning, the
remote intention was to inflict upon him tortures.[6] But I should say
that, in this case, we have to distinguish between two acts, of which
the first was a means of producing the event belonging to the second,
and that, when the former was accomplished, the latter was still only
in preparation. A distinction has, moreover, been drawn between the
direct and the indirect intention of an act:--"If a Nihilist seeks to
blow up a train containing an Emperor and others, his direct intention
may be simply the destruction of the Emperor, but indirectly also he
intends the destruction of the others who are in the train, since he
is aware that their destruction will be necessarily included along
with that of the Emperor."[7] In this case we have two intentions,
and, so far as I can see, two acts, provided that the nihilist
succeeded in carrying out his intentions, namely (1) the blowing up of
the train, and (2) the killing of the emperor; the former of these
acts does not even necessarily involve the latter. But I fail to see
that there is any intention at all to kill other {205} persons.
Professor Sidgwick maintains that it would be thought absurd to say
that, in such a case, the nihilist "did not intend" to kill them;[8]
but the reason for this is simply the vagueness of language, and a
confusion between a psychical fact and the moral estimate of that
fact. It might be absurd to bring forward the nihilist's non-intention
as an extenuation of his crime; but it would hardly be correct to say
that he intended the death of other passengers, besides that of the
emperor, when he only intended the destruction of the train, though
this intention involved an extreme disregard of the various
consequences which were likely to follow. He knowingly exposed the
passengers to great danger; but if we speak of an intention on his
part to expose them to such a danger, we regard this exposure as an
act by itself.
[Footnote 5: Butler, 'Dissertation II. Of the Nature of Virtue,' in
_Analogy of Religion, &c._ p. 336.]
[Footnote 6: Mackenzie, _op. cit._ p. 60. The example is borrowed from
Stuart Mill, _Utilitarianism_, p. 27 note.]
[Footnote 7: Mackenzie, _op. cit._ p. 61. _Cf._ Sidgwick, _Methods of
Ethics_, p. 202, n. 1.]
[Footnote 8: Sidgwick, _op. cit._ p. 202, n. 1. On the subject of
"indirect intention," _cf._ also Bentham, _op. cit._ pp. 84, 86.]
A moral judgment may refer to a mere intention, independently of its
being realised or not. Moreover, the moral judgments which we pass on
acts do not really relate to the event, but to the intention. In this
point moralists of all schools seem to agree.[9] Even Stuart Mill, who
drew so sharp a distinction between the morality of the act and the
moral worth of the agent, admits that "the morality of the action
depends entirely upon the intention."[10] The event is of moral
importance only in so far as it indicates a decision which is final.
From the moral point of view there may be a considerable difference
between a resolution to do a certain thing in a distant future and a
resolution to do it immediately. However determined a person may be to
commit a crime, or to perform a good deed, the idea of the immediacy
of the event may, in the last moment, induce him to change his mind.
"The road to hell is paved with good intentions." External events are
generally the direct causes of our moral emotions; indeed, without the
_doing_ of harm and the _doing_ of good, the moral consciousness would
never {206} have come into existence. Hence the ineradicable tendency
to pass moral judgments upon acts, even though they really relate to
the final intentions involved in acts. It would be both inconvenient
and useless to deviate, in this respect, from the established
application of terms. And no misunderstanding can arise from such
application if it be borne in mind that by an "act," as the subject of
a moral judgment, is invariably understood the event _plus_ the
intention which produced it, and that the very same moral judgment as
is passed on acts would also, on due reflection, be recognised as
valid with reference to final decisions in cases where accidental
circumstances prevented the accomplishment of the act.
[Footnote 9: Sidgwick, _op. cit._ p. 201.]
[Footnote 10: Stuart Mill, _Utilitarianism_, p. 27 note. _Cf._ James
Mill, _Fragment on Mackintosh_, p. 376.]
It is in their capacity of volitions that intentions are subjects of
moral judgments. What is perfectly independent of the will is no
proper object of moral blame or moral praise. On the other hand, any
volition may have a moral value. But, so far as I can see, there are
volitions which are not intentions. A person is morally accountable
also for his deliberate wishes, and the reason for this is that a
deliberate wish is a volition. I am aware that, by calling deliberate
wishes "volitions," I offend against the terminology generally adopted
by psychologists. However, a deliberate wish is not only from a moral
point of view--as being a proper subject of moral valuation--but
psychologically as well, so closely akin to a decision, that there
must be a common term comprising both. In the realm of conations,
deliberate wishes and decisions form together a province by
themselves. In contradistinction to mere conative impulses, they are
expressions of a person's character, of his will. A deliberate wish
may just as well as a decision represent his "true self." It has been
argued that a person may will one thing and yet wish the opposite
thing. Locke observes:--"A man whom I cannot deny, may oblige me to
use persuasions to another, which, at the same time I am speaking, I
may wish may not prevail upon him. In this case it is plain the will
and desire run counter, I will the action that {207} tends one way,
whilst my desire tends another, and that the direct contrary way."[11]
Yet in this case I either do not intend to persuade the man, but only
to discharge my office by speaking to him words which are apt to have
a persuasive effect on him; or, if I do intend to persuade him, I do
not in the same moment feel any deliberate wish to the contrary,
although I may feel such a wish before or afterwards. We cannot
simultaneously have an intention to do a thing and a deliberate wish
not to do it.
[Footnote 11: Locke, _Essay concerning Human Understanding_, ii. 21.
30 (_Philosophical Works_, p. 219).]
If it is admitted that moral judgments are passed on acts simply in
virtue of their volitional character, it seems impossible to deny that
such judgments may be passed on the motives of acts as well. By
"motive" I understand a conation which "moves" the will, in other
words, the conative cause of a volition.[12] The motive itself may be,
or may not be, a volition. If it is, it obviously falls within the
sphere of moral valuation. The motive of an act may even be an
intention, but an intention belonging to another act. When Brutus
helped to kill Cæsar in order to save his country, his intention to
save his country was the cause, and therefore the motive, of his
intention to kill Cæsar. The fact that an intention frequently acts as
a motive has led some writers to the conclusion that the motive of an
act is a part of the intention. But if the intention of an act is part
of the act itself, and a motive is the cause of an intention, the
motive of an intention cannot be a part of that intention, since a
part cannot be the cause of the whole of which it forms a part.
[Footnote 12: "The term 'motive,'" says Professor Stout (_Groundwork
of Psychology_, p. 233 _sq._) "is ambiguous. It may refer to the
various conations which come into play in the process of deliberation
and tend to influence its result. Or it may refer to the conations
which we mentally assign as the ground or reason of our decision when
it has been fully formed." Motive, in the former sense of the term, is
not implied in what I here understand by motive. On the other hand, it
should be observed that there are motives not only for decisions, but
for deliberate wishes--another circumstance which shows the affinity
between these two classes of mental facts.]
But even motives which, being neither deliberate wishes {208} nor
intentions, consist of non-volitional conations, and, therefore, are
no proper subjects of moral valuation, may nevertheless indirectly
exercise much influence on moral judgments. Suppose that a person
without permission gratifies his hunger with food which is not his
own. The motive of his act is a non-volitional conation, an appetite,
and has consequently no moral value. Yet it must be taken into account
by him who judges upon the act. Other things being equal, the person
in question is less guilty in proportion as his hunger is more
intense. The moral judgment is modified by the pressure which the
non-volitional motive exercises upon the agent's will. The same is the
case when the motive of an act is the conative element involved in an
emotion. If a person commits a certain crime under the influence of
anger, he is not so blamable as if he commits the same crime in cold
blood. Thus, also, it is more meritorious to be kind to an enemy from
a feeling of duty, than to be kind to a friend from a feeling of love.
No man deserves blame or praise for the pressure of a non-volitional
conation upon his will, unless, indeed, such a pressure is due to
choice, or unless it might have been avoided with due foresight. But a
person may deserve blame or praise for not resisting that impulse, or
for allowing it to influence his will for evil or good.
It is true that moral judgments are commonly passed on acts without
much regard being paid to their motives;[13] but the reason for this
is only the superficiality of ordinary moral estimates. Moral
indignation and moral approval are, in the first place, aroused by
conspicuous facts, and, whilst the intention of an act is expressed in
the act itself, its motive is not. But a conscientious judge cannot,
like the multitude, be content with judging of the surface only.
Stuart Mill, in his famous statement that "the motive has nothing to
do with the morality of the action, though much with the worth of the
agent,"[14] has drawn a distinction {209} between acts and agents
which is foreign to the moral consciousness. It cannot be admitted
that "he who saves a fellow creature from drowning does what is
morally right, whether his motive be duty, or the hope of being paid
for his trouble." He ought, of course, to save the other person from
drowning, but at the same time he ought to save him from a better
motive than a wish for money. It may be that "he who betrays his
friend that trusts him is guilty of a crime, even if his object be to
serve another friend to whom he is under greater obligations";[15] but
surely his guilt would be greater if he betrayed his friend, say, in
order to gain some personal advantage thereby. Intentions and motives
are subjects of moral valuation not separately, but as a unity; and
the reason for this is that moral judgments are really passed upon men
as acting or willing, not upon acts or volitions in the abstract. It
is true that our detestation of an act is not always proportionate to
our moral condemnation of the agent; people do terrible things in
ignorance. But our detestation of an act is, properly speaking, a
moral emotion only in so far as it is directed against him who
committed the act, in his capacity of a moral agent. We are struck
with horror when we hear of a wolf eating a child, but we do not
morally condemn the wolf.
[Footnote 13: _Cf._ James Mill, _Fragment on Mackintosh_, p. 376;
Sidgwick, _op. cit._ p. 364.]
[Footnote 14: Stuart Mill, _Utilitarianism_, p. 26.]
[Footnote 15: _Ibid._ p. 26.]
A volition may have reference not only to the doing of a thing, but to
the abstaining from doing a thing. It may form part not only of an
act, but of a forbearance. A forbearance is morally equivalent to an
act, and the volition involved in it is equivalent to an intention.
"Sitting still, or holding one's peace," says Locke, "when walking or
speaking are proposed, though mere forbearances, requiring as much the
determination of the will, and being as often weighty in their
consequences as the contrary actions, may, on that consideration, well
enough pass for actions too."[16] Yet it is hardly correct to call
them acts. Bentham's division of acts into acts of commission {210}
and acts of omission or forbearance[17] is not to be recommended. A
not-doing I do not call an act, and the purpose of not doing I do not
call an intention.[18] But the fact remains that a forbearance
involves a distinct volition, which, as such, may be the subject of
moral judgment no less than the intention involved in an act.
[Footnote 16: Locke, _op. cit._ ii. 21, 28 (_Philosophical Works_,
p. 218).]
[Footnote 17: Bentham, _op. cit._ p. 72.]
[Footnote 18: _Cf._ Clark, _Analysis of Criminal Liability_, p. 42.]
Willing not to do a thing must be distinguished from not willing to do
a thing; forbearances must be distinguished from omissions. An
omission--in the restricted sense of the word--is characterised by the
absence of volition. It is, as Austin puts it, "the not doing a given
act, without adverting (at the time) to the act which is not
done."[19] Now moral judgments refer not only to willing, but to
not-willing as well, not only to acts and forbearances, but to
omissions. It is curious that this important point has been so little
noticed by writers on ethics, although it constitutes a distinct and
extremely frequent element in our moral judgments. It has been argued
that what is condemned in an omission is really a volition, not the
absence of a volition; that an omission is bad, not because the person
did not do something, but because he did something else, "or was in
such a condition that he could not will, and is condemned for the acts
which brought him into that condition."[20] In the latter case, of
course, the man cannot be condemned for his omission, since he cannot
be blamed for not doing what {211} he "could not will"; but to say
that an omission is condemned only on account of the performance of
some act is undoubtedly a psychological error. If a person forgets to
discharge a certain duty incumbent on him, say, to pay a debt, he is
censured, not for anything he did, but for what he omitted to do. He
is blamed for not doing a thing which he ought to have done, because
he did not think of it; he is blamed for his forgetfulness. In other
words, his guilt lies in his negligence.
[Footnote 19: Austin, _op. cit._ i. 438.]
[Footnote 20: Alexander, _Moral Order and Progress_, p. 34 _sq._ So,
also, Professor Sidgwick maintains (_op. cit._ p. 60) that "the proper
immediate objects of moral approval or disapproval would seem to be
always the results of a man's volitions so far as they were
intended--_i.e._, represented in thought as certain or probable
consequences of such volitions," and that, in cases of carelessness,
moral blame, strictly speaking, attaches to the agent, only "in so far
as his carelessness is the result of some wilful neglect of duty." A
similar view is taken by the moral philosophy of Roman Catholicism.
(Göpfert, _Moraltheologie_, i. 113). Binding, again, assumes (_Die
Normen_, ii. 105 _sqq._) that a person may have a volition without
having an idea of what he wills, and that carelessness implies a
volition of this kind. Otherwise, he says, the will could not be held
responsible for the result. But, as we shall see immediately, the
absence of a volition may very well be attributed to a defect of the
will, and the will thus be regarded as the cause of an unintended
event. To speak of a volition or will to do a thing of which the
person who wills it has no idea seems absurd.]
Closely related to negligence is heedlessness, the difference between
them being seemingly greater than it really is. Whilst the negligent
man omits an act which he ought to have done, because he does not
think of it, the heedless man does an act from which he ought to have
forborne, because he does not consider its probable or possible
consequences.[21] In the latter case there is acting, in the former
case there is absence of acting. But in both cases the moral judgment
refers to want of attention, in other words, to not-willing. The fault
of the negligent man is that he does not think of the act which he
ought to perform, the fault of the heedless man is that he does not
think of the probable or possible consequences of the act which he
performs. In rashness, again, the party adverts to the mischief which
his act may cause, but, from insufficient advertence assumes that it
will not ensue; the fault of the rash man is partial want of
attention.[22] Negligence, heedlessness, and rashness, are all
included under the common term "carelessness."
[Footnote 21: The meaning of the word "negligence," in the common use
of language, is very indefinite. It often stands for heedlessness as
well, or for carelessness. I use it here in the sense in which it was
applied by Austin (_op. cit._ i. 439 _sq._).]
[Footnote 22: Austin, _op. cit._ i. 440 _sq._ Clark, _op. cit._, p. 101.]
Our moral judgments of blame, however, are concerned with not-willing
only in so far as this not-willing is attributed to a defect of the
will, not to the influence of intellectual or other circumstances for
which no man can be held responsible. That power in a person which we
call his "will" is regarded by us as a cause, not only of {212} such
events as are intended, but of such events as we think that the person
"could" have prevented by his will. And just as, in the case of
volitions, the guilt of the party is affected by the pressure of
non-voluntary motives, so in the case of carelessness mental facts
falling outside the sphere of the will must be closely considered by
the conscientious judge. But nothing is harder than to apply this rule
in practice.
Equally difficult is it, in many cases, to decide whether a person's
behaviour is due to want of advertence, or is combined with a
knowledge of what his behaviour implies, or of the consequences which
may result from it--to decide whether it is due to carelessness, or to
something worse than carelessness. For him who refrains from
performing an obligatory act, though adverting to it, "negligent" is
certainly too mild an epithet, and he who knows that mischief will
probably result from his deed is certainly worse than heedless. Yet
even in such cases the immediate object of blame may be the absence of
a volition--not a want of attention, but a not-willing to do, or a
not-willing to refrain from doing, an act in spite of advertence to
what the act implies or to its consequences. I may abstain from
performing an obligatory act though I think of it, and yet, at the
same time, make no resolution not to perform it. So, too, if a man is
ruining his family by his drunkenness, he may be aware that he is
doing so, and yet he may do it without any volition to that effect. In
these cases the moral blame refers neither to negligence or
heedlessness, nor to any definite volition, but to disregard of one's
duty or of the interests of one's family. At the same time, the
transition from conscious omissions into forbearances, and the
transition from not-willing to refrain from doing into willing to do,
are easy and natural; hence the distinction between willing and
not-willing may be of little or no significance from an ethical point
of view. For this reason such consequences of an act as are foreseen
as certain or probable have commonly been included under the term
"intention,"[23] {213} often as a special branch of intention--"oblique,"
or "indirect," or "virtual" intention;[24] but, as was already noticed,
this terminology is hardly appropriate. I shall call such consequences
of an act as are foreseen by the agent, and such incidents as are
known by him to be involved in his act, "the known concomitants" of
the act. When the nihilist blows up the train containing an emperor
and others, with a view to killing the emperor, the extreme danger to
which he exposes the others is a known concomitant of his act. So,
also, in most crimes, the breach of law, as distinct from the act
intended, is a known concomitant of the act, inasmuch as the criminal,
though aware that his act is illegal, does not perform it for the
purpose of violating the law. As Bacon said, "no man doth a wrong for
the wrong's sake, but thereby to purchase himself profit, or pleasure,
or honour, or the like."[25]
[Footnote 23: _Cf._ Sidgwick, _op. cit._ p. 202.]
[Footnote 24: Bentham, _op. cit._ p. 84. Austin, _op. cit._ i. 480.
Clark, _op. cit._ pp. 97, 100.]
[Footnote 25: Bacon, 'Essay IV. Of Revenge' in _Essays_, p. 45. _Cf._
Grotius, _De jus belli et pacis_, ii. 20. 29. 1: "Vi quisquam gratis
malus est."]
Absence of volitions, like volitions themselves, give rise not only to
moral blame, but to moral praise. We may, for instance, applaud a
person for abstaining from doing a thing, beneficial to himself but
harmful to others, which, in similar circumstances, would have proved
too great a temptation to any ordinary man; and it does not
necessarily lessen his merit if the opposite alternative did not even
occur to his mind, and his abstinence, therefore could not possibly be
ascribed to a volition. Very frequently moral praise refers to known
concomitants of acts rather than to the acts themselves. The merit of
saving another person's life at the risk of losing one's own, really
lies in the fact that the knowledge of the danger did not prevent the
saver from performing his act; and the merit of the charitable man
really depends on the loss which he inflicts upon himself by giving
his property to the needy. In these and analogous cases of
self-sacrifice for a good end, the merit, strictly speaking, consists
in not-willing to {214} avoid a known concomitant of a beneficial act.
But there are instances, though much less frequent, in which moral
praise is bestowed on a person for not-willing to avoid a known
concomitant which is itself beneficial. Thus it may on certain
conditions be magnanimous of a person not to refrain from doing a
thing, though he knows that his deed will benefit somebody who has
injured him, and towards whom the average man in similar circumstances
would display resentment.
All these various elements into which the subjects of moral judgments
may be resolved, are included in the term "conduct." By a man's
conduct in a certain case is understood a volition, or the absence of
a volition in him--which is often, but not always or necessarily,
expressed in an act, forbearance, or omission--viewed with reference
to all such circumstances as may influence its moral character. In
order to form an accurate idea of these circumstances, it is necessary
to consider not only the case itself, but the man's character, if by
character is understood a person's will regarded as a continuous
entity.[26] The subject of a moral judgment is, strictly speaking, a
person's will conceived as the cause either of volitions or of the
absence of volitions; and, since a man's will or character is a
continuity, it is necessary that any judgment passed upon him in a
particular case, should take notice of his will as a whole, his
character. We impute a person's acts to _him_ only in so far as we
regard them as a result or manifestation of his character, as directly
or indirectly due to his will. Hume observes:--"Actions are, by their
very nature, temporary and perishing; and where they proceed not from
some _cause_ in the character and disposition of the person who
performed them, they can neither redound to his honour, if good; nor
infamy, if evil. . . . The person is not answerable for them; and as
they proceeded {215} from nothing in him, that is durable and
constant, and leave nothing of that nature behind them, it is
impossible he can, upon their account, become the object of punishment
or vengeance."[27] There is thus an intimate connection between
character and conduct as subjects of moral valuation. When judging of
a man's conduct in a special instance, we judge of his character, and
when judging of his character, we judge of his conduct in general.
[Footnote 26: _Cf._ Alexander, _op. cit._ p. 49: "Character is simply
that of which individual pieces of conduct are the manifestation." To
the word "character" has also been given a broader meaning. According
to John Grote (_Treatise on the Moral Ideals_, p. 442), a person's
character "is his habitual way of thinking, feeling, and acting."]
[Footnote 27: Hume, _Enquiry concerning Human Understanding_, viii. 2
(_Philosophical Works_, iv. 80). _Cf._ _Idem_, _Treatise of Human
Nature_, iii. 2 (_ibid._ ii. 191). See also Schopenhauer, _Die beiden
Grundprobleme der Ethik_ (_Sämmtliche Werke_, vol. vii.), pp. 123,
124, 281.]
It will perhaps be remarked that moral judgments are passed not only
on conduct and character, but on emotions and opinions; for instance,
that resentment in many cases is deemed wrong, and love of an enemy is
deemed praiseworthy, and that no punishment has been thought too
severe for heretics and unbelievers. But even in such instances the
object of blame or praise is really the will. The person who feels
resentment is censured because his will has not given a check to that
emotion, or because the hostile attitude of mind has led up to a
definite volition. Very frequently the irascible impulse in resentment
or the friendly impulse in kindly emotion develops into a volition to
inflict an injury or to bestow a benefit on its object; and the words
resentment and love themselves are often used to denote, not mere
emotions, but states of mind characterised by genuine volitions. An
emotion, or the absence of an emotion, may also, when viewed as a
symptom, give rise to, and be the apparent subject of, a moral
judgment. We are apt to blame a person whose feelings are not affected
by the news of a misfortune which has befallen his friend, because we
regard this as a sign of an uncharitable character. We may be
mistaken, of course. The same person might have been the first to try
to prevent the misfortune if it had been in his power; but we judge
from average cases.
As for opinions and beliefs, it may be said that they involve
responsibility in so far as they are supposed to {216} depend on the
will. Generally it is not so much the opinion itself but rather the
expression, or the outward consequence, of it that calls forth moral
indignation; and in any case the blame, strictly speaking, refers
either to such acts, or to the cause of the opinion within the will.
That a certain belief, or "unbelief," is never as such a proper object
of censure is recognised both by Catholic and Protestant theology.
Thomas Aquinas points out that the _sin_ of unbelief consists in
"contrary opposition to the faith, whereby one stands out against the
hearing of the faith, or even despises faith," and that, though such
unbelief itself is in the intellect, the cause of it is in the will.
And he adds that in those who have heard nothing of the faith,
unbelief has not the character of a sin, "but rather of a penalty,
inasmuch as such ignorance of divine things is a consequence of the
sin of our first parent."[28] Dr. Wardlaw likewise observes:--"The
Bible condemns no man for not knowing what he never heard of, or for
not believing what he could not know. . . . Ignorance is criminal only
when it arises from wilful inattention, or from aversion of heart to
truth. Unbelief involves guilt, when it is the effect and
manifestation of the same aversion--of a want of will to that which is
right and good."[29] To shut one's eyes to truth may be a heinous
wrong, but nobody is blamable for seeing nothing with his eyes
shut.
[Footnote 28: Thomas Aquinas, _Summa Theologica_, ii.-ii. 10. 1 _sq._]
[Footnote 29: Wardlaw, _Sermons on Man's Accountableness for his
Belief, &c._ p. 38.]
After these preliminary remarks, which refer to the scrutinising and
enlightened moral consciousness, we shall proceed to discuss in
detail, and from an evolutionary point of view, the various elements
of which the subjects of moral judgments consist.