WHY MORAL JUDGMENTS ARE PASSED ON CONDUCT AND CHARACTER--MORAL
VALUATION AND FREE-WILL
WE have examined the general nature of the subjects of moral judgments
from an evolutionary point of view. We have seen that such judgments
are essentially passed on conduct and character, and that allowance is
made for the various elements of which conduct and character are
composed in proportion as the moral judgment is scrutinising and
enlightened. But an important question still calls for an answer, the
question, Why is this so? We cannot content ourselves with the bare
fact that nothing but the will is morally good or bad. We must try to
explain it.
After what has been said above the explanation is not far to seek.
Moral judgments are passed on conduct and character, because such
judgments spring from moral emotions; because the moral emotions are
retributive emotions; because a retributive emotion is a reactive
attitude of mind, either kindly or hostile, towards a living being (or
something looked upon in the light of a living being), regarded as a
cause of pleasure or as a cause of pain; and because a living being is
regarded as a true cause of pleasure or pain only in so far as this
feeling is assumed to be caused by its will. The correctness of this
explanation I consider to be proved by the fact that not only moral
emotions, but non-moral retributive emotions as well, are felt with
reference to phenomena {315} exactly similar in nature to those on
which moral judgments are passed.
Like moral indignation, the emotion of revenge can be felt only
towards a sentient being, or towards something which is believed to be
sentient. We may be angry with inanimate things for a moment, but such
anger cannot last; it disappears as soon as we reflect that the thing
in question is incapable of feeling pain. Even a dog which, in playing
with another dog, hurts itself, for instance, by running into a tree,
changes its angry attitude immediately it notices the real nature of
that which caused it pain.[1]
[Footnote 1: Hiram Stanley, _Studies in the Evolutionary Psychology of
Feeling_, p. 154 _sq._]
Equivalent to injuries resulting from inanimate things are injuries
resulting accidentally from animate beings. If my arm or my foot gives
a push to my neighbour, and he is convinced that the push was neither
intended nor foreseen nor due to any carelessness whatever on my part,
surely he cannot feel angry with me. Why not? Professor Bain answers
this question as follows:--"Aware that absolute inviolability is
impossible in this world, and that we are all exposed by turns to
accidental injuries from our fellows, we have our minds disciplined to
let unintended evil go by without satisfaction of inflicting some
counter evil upon the offender."[2] Perhaps another answer would be
that an accidental injury in no way affects the "self-feeling" of the
sufferer. But neither of these explanations goes to the root of the
question. Let us once more remember that even a dog distinguishes
between being stumbled over and being kicked; and this can neither be
the result of discipline, nor have anything to do with the feeling of
self-regarding pride.[3] The reason is that the dog scents an enemy in
the person who kicks him, but not in the one who stumbles. My
neighbour, more clearly still, makes a distinction between a part of
my body and myself as a {316} volitional being, and finds that _I_ am
no proper object of resentment when the cause of the hurt was merely
my arm or my foot. An event is attributed to _me_ as its cause only in
proportion as it is considered to have been brought about by my will;
and _I_, regarded as a volitional and sensitive entity, can be a
proper object of resentment only as a cause of pain.
[Footnote 2: Bain, _Emotions and the Will_, p. 185.]
[Footnote 3: The Koussa Kafirs, according to Lichtenstein (_Travels in
Southern Africa_, i. 254), expect a similar discrimination from the
elephant; for "if an elephant is killed . . . they seek to exculpate
themselves towards the dead animal, by declaring to him solemnly, that
the thing happened entirely by accident, not by design."]
We can hardly feel disposed to resent injuries inflicted upon us by
animals, little children, or madmen, when we recognise their inability
to judge of the nature of their acts. They are not the real causes of
the mischief resulting from their deeds, since they neither intended
nor foresaw nor could have foreseen it. "Why," says the Stoic, "do you
bear with the delirium of a sick man, or the ravings of a madman, or
the impudent blows of a child? Because, of course, they evidently do
not know what they are doing. . . . . Would anyone think himself to be
in his perfect mind if he were to return kicks to a mule or bites to a
dog?"[4] Hartley observes, "As we improve in observation and
experience, and in the faculty of analysing the actions of animals, we
perceive that brutes and children, and even adults in certain
circumstances, have little or no share in the actions referred to
them."[5]
[Footnote 4: Seneca, _De ira_, iii. 26 _sq._]
[Footnote 5: Hartley, _Observations on Man_, i. 493.]
Deliberate resentment considers the motives of acts. Suppose that a
man tells us an untruth. Our feelings towards him are not the same if
he did it in order to save our life as if he did it for his own
benefit. Moreover, our anger abates, or ceases altogether, if we find
that he who injured us acted under compulsion, or under the influence
or a non-volitional impulse, too strong for any ordinary man to
resist. Then, the main cause or the injury was not his will, conceived
as a continuous entity. It yielded to the will of somebody else,
reluctantly, as it were out of necessity, or to a powerful conation
which forms no part of his real self. He was merely an instrument in
another's hands, or he was "beside himself," "beyond himself," "out of
his {317} mind." When we are angry, says Montaigne, "it is passion
that speaks, and not we."[6] The religious psychology of the ancient
Greeks ascribed acts committed upon sudden excitement of mind to the
_Ate_ which bewilders the mind and betrays the man into deeds which,
in his sober senses, he is heartily sorry for. Hence the Ate has in
its train the _Litae_--the humble prayers of repentance, which must
make good, before gods and men, whatever has been done amiss.[7] The
Vedic singer apologises, "It is not our own will, Varuna, that leads
us astray, but some seduction--wine, anger, dice, and our folly."[8]
In the Andaman Islands violent outbreaks of ill-temper or resentment
are looked upon as the result of a temporary "possession," and the
victim is, for the time being, considered unaccountable for his
actions.[9] Madness, as we have seen, is frequently attributed to
demoniacal possession. In ancient Ireland, again, it was believed to
be often brought on by malignant magical agency, usually the work of
some druid, hence in the Glosses to the Senchus Mór a madman is
repeatedly described as one "upon whom the magic wisp has been
thrown."[10] What a person does in madness is not an act committed by
_him_.
"Was 't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes? Never Hamlet:
If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away,
And when he's not himself does wrong Laertes,
Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it.
Who does it, then? His madness: if 't be so,
Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd;
His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy."[11]
[Footnote 6: Montaigne, _Essais_, ii. 31 (_[OE]uvres_, p. 396).]
[Footnote 7: _Iliad_, ix. 505 _sqq._ Müller, _Dissertations on the
Eumenides_, p. 108.]
[Footnote 8: _Rig-Veda_, vii. 86. 6.]
[Footnote 9: Man, in _Jour. Anthrop. Inst._ xii. 111.]
[Footnote 10: Joyce, _Social History of Ancient Ireland_, i. 224.]
[Footnote 11: Shakespeare, _Hamlet_, v. 2.]
We resent not only acts and volitions, but also omissions, though
generally less severely; and when a hurt is attributed to want of
foresight, our resentment is, _ceteris paribus_, proportionate to the
degree of carelessness {318} which we lay to the offender's charge. A
person appears to us as the cause of an injury which we think he could
have prevented by his will. But a hurt resulting from carelessness is
not to the same extent as an intentional injury caused by the will.
And the less foresight could have been expected in a given case, the
smaller share has the will in the production of the event.
Our resentment is increased by a repetition of the injury, and reaches
its height when we find that our adversary nourishes habitual ill-will
towards us. On the other hand, as we have noticed in a previous
chapter,[12] the injured party is not deaf to the prayer for
forgiveness which springs from genuine repentance. Like moral
indignation, non-moral resentment takes into consideration the
character of the injurer.
[Footnote 12: _Supra_, ch. iii.]
Passing to the emotion of gratitude, we find a similar resemblance
between the phenomena which give rise to this emotion and those which
call forth moral approval. We may feel some kind of retributive
affection for inanimate objects which have given us pleasure; "a man
grows fond of a snuff-box, of a pen-knife, of a staff which he has
long made use of, and conceives something like a real love and
affection for them."[13] But gratitude, involving a desire to please
the benefactor, can reasonably be felt towards such objects only as
are themselves capable of feeling pleasure. Moreover, on due
deliberation we do not feel grateful to a person who benefits us by
pure accident. Since gratitude is directed towards the assumed cause
of pleasure, and since a person is regarded as a cause only in his
capacity of a volitional being, gratitude presupposes that the
pleasure shall be due to his will. For the same reason motives are
also taken into consideration by the benefited party. As Hutcheson
observes, "bounty from a donor apprehended as morally evil, or
extorted by force, or conferred with some view of self-interest, will
not procure real good-will; nay, it may raise indignation."[14] {319}
Like moral approval, gratitude may be called forth not only by acts
and volitions, but by absence of volitions, in so far as this absence
is traceable to a good disposition of will. And, like the moral judge,
the grateful man is, in his retributive feeling, influenced by the
notion he forms of the benefactor's character.
[Footnote 13: Adam Smith, _Theory of Moral Sentiments_, p. 136.]
[Footnote 14: Hutcheson, _Inquiry concerning Moral Good and Evil_,
p. 157.]
The cognitions by which non-moral resentment and gratitude are
determined are thus, as regards their general nature, precisely
similar to those which determine moral indignation and approval.
Whether moral or non-moral, a retributive emotion is essentially
directed towards a sensitive and volitional entity, or self, conceived
of as the cause of pleasure or the cause of pain. This solves a
problem which necessarily baffles solution in the hands of those who
fail to recognise the emotional origin of moral judgments, and which,
when considered at all, has, I think, never been fully understood by
those who have essayed it. It has been argued, for instance, that
moral praise and blame are not applied to inanimate things and those
who commit involuntary deeds, because they are administered only
"where they are capable of producing some effect";[15] that moral
judgment is concerned with the question of compulsion, because "only
when a man acts morally of his own free will is society sure of
him";[16] that we do not regard a lunatic as responsible, because we
know that "his mind is so diseased that it is impossible by moral
reprobation alone to change his character so that it maybe
subsequently relied upon."[17] The bestowal of moral praise or blame
on such or such an object is thus attributed to utilitarian
calculation;[18] whereas in reality it is determined by the nature of
the moral emotion which lies at the bottom of the judgment. And, as
Stuart Mill observes (though he never seems to have realised the full
import of his objection), whilst we may administer praise and blame
with the express design of influencing conduct, "no anticipation of
salutary effects {320} from our feeling will ever avail to give us the
feeling itself."[19]
[Footnote 15: James Mill, _Fragment on Mackintosh_, p. 370.]
[Footnote 16: Ziegler, _Social Ethics_, p. 56 _sq._]
[Footnote 17: Clifford, _Lectures and Essays_, p. 296.]
[Footnote 18: See also James Mill, _op. cit._ pp. 261, 262, 375.]
[Footnote 19: Stuart Mill, in a note to James Mill's _Analysis of the
Phenomena of the Human Mind_, ii. 323.]
* * * * *
The nature of the moral emotions also gives us the key to another
important problem--a problem which has called forth endless
controversies--namely, the co-existence of moral responsibility with
the general law of cause and effect. It has been argued that
responsibility, and moral judgments generally, are inconsistent with
the notion that the human will is determined by causes; that "either
free-will is a fact, or moral judgment a delusion." The argument has
been well summed up by Sir Leslie Stephen as follows:--"Moral
responsibility, it is said, implies freedom. A man is only responsible
for that which he causes. Now the _causa causæ_ is also the _causa
causati_. If I am caused as well as cause, the cause of me is the
cause of my conduct; I am only a passive link in the chain which
transmits the force. Thus, as each individual is the product of
something external to himself, his responsibility is really shifted to
that something. The universe or the first cause is alone responsible,
and since it is responsible to itself alone, responsibility becomes a
mere illusion."[20] We are told that, if determinism were true, human
beings would be no more proper subjects of moral valuation than are
inanimate things; that the application of moral praise and blame would
be "in itself as absurd as to applaud the sunrise or be angry at the
rain";[21] that the only admiration which the virtuous man might
deserve would be the kind of admiration "which we justly accord to a
well-made machine."[22] Nor are these inferences from the doctrine of
determinism only weapons forged by its opponents; they are shared by
many of its own adherents. Richard Owen and his followers maintained
that, since a man's character is made _for_ him, not _by_ him, there
is no justice in punishing {321} him for what he cannot help.[23] To
Stuart Mill responsibility simply means liability to punishment,
inflicted for a utilitarian purpose.[24] So also Prof. Sidgwick--whose
attitude towards the free-will theory is that of a sceptic--argues
that the common retributive view of punishment, and the ordinary
notions of "merit," "demerit," and "responsibility," involve the
assumption that the will is free, and that these terms, if used at
all, have to be used in new significations. "If the wrong act," he
says, "and the bad qualities of character manifested in it, are
conceived as the necessary effects of causes antecedent or external to
the existence of the agent, the moral responsibility--in the ordinary
sense--for the mischief caused by them can no longer rest on him. At
the same time, the Determinist can give to the terms 'ill-desert' and
'responsibility' a signification which is not only clear and definite,
but, from an utilitarian point of view, the only suitable meaning. In
this view, if I affirm that A is responsible for a harmful act, I mean
that it is right to punish him for it; primarily, in order that the
fear of punishment may prevent him and others from committing similar
acts in future."[25]
[Footnote 20: Leslie Stephen, _Science of Ethics_, p. 285.]
[Footnote 21: Martineau, _Types of Ethical Theory_, ii. 41 _sq._]
[Footnote 22: Balfour, _Foundations of Belief_, p. 25.]
[Footnote 23: Stuart Mill, _Examination of Sir William Hamilton's
Philosophy_, p. 506.]
[Footnote 24: _Ibid._ p. 506 _sqq._]
[Footnote 25: Sidgwick, _Methods of Ethics_, p. 71 _sq._]
If these conclusions are correct it is obvious that, whether the
infliction of punishment be justifiable or not, the _feeling_ of moral
indignation or moral approval is, from the deterministic point of
view, absurd. And yet, as a matter of fact, these emotions are felt by
determinists and libertarians alike. Apparently, they are not in the
least affected by the notion that the human will is subject to the
general law of cause and effect. Emotions are always determined by
specific cognitions, and last only as long as the influence of those
cognitions lasts. It makes me sorry to hear that some evil has
befallen a friend; but my sorrow disappears at once when I find that
the rumour was false. I get angry with a person who hurts me; but my
anger subsides as soon as I recognise that the hurt was purely
accidental. My indignation is aroused by an {322} atrocious crime; but
it ceases entirely when I hear that the agent was mad. On the other
hand, however convinced I am that a person's conduct and character are
in every detail a product of causes, that does not prevent me from
feeling towards him retributive emotions--either anger or gratitude,
or moral resentment or approval. Hence I conclude that a retributive
emotion is not essentially determined by the cognition of free-will. I
hold that Spinoza is mistaken in his assumption that men feel more
love or hatred towards one another than towards anything else, because
they think themselves to be free.[26] And I attribute the conception
that moral valuation is inconsistent with determinism either to a
failure to recognise the emotional origin of moral judgments or to
insufficient insight into the true nature of the moral emotions. At
the same time it seems easy to explain the fallacy which lies at the
bottom of that conception.
[Footnote 26: Spinoza, _Ethica_, iii. 49, Note.]
We have seen that the object of moral approval and disapproval is the
will, and that a person's responsibility is lessened in proportion as
his will is exposed to the pressure of non-volitional conations. Full
responsibility thus presupposes freedom from such pressure, and,
particularly, freedom from external compulsion. Hence the inference
that it also presupposes freedom from causation, and that complete
determination involves complete irresponsibility. Compulsion is
confounded with causation; and this confusion is due to the fact that
the cause which determines the will is actually looked upon in the
light of a constraining power outside the will.
The popular mind has a strong belief in the law of cause and effect.
When reflecting on the matter, it admits that everything which happens
in this world has a cause; and if the natural cause is hidden, it
readily calls in a supernatural cause to account for the event. Now,
in the case of human volitions the chain of causation is often
particularly obscure; as Spinoza said, whilst men are conscious of
their volitions and desires, they "never even {323} dream, in their
ignorance, of the causes which have disposed them so to wish and
desire."[27] Hence, when in a philosophic mood, they are liable to
attribute their acts to the influence of an external power ruling over
human affairs, a god or an all-powerful fate. No doubt, Providence and
Fate[28] may effect their purposes without the will of man as their
tool; what happens "by chance," being frequently no less wonderful
than any decree of a human will, may likewise be traced to a
supernatural cause. But, on the other hand, the fact that the deeds of
men are generally preceded by volitions, is so obvious that it could
not escape even the simplest mind--indeed, so strongly are primitive
men impressed by this fact that they are apt to attribute every event
to a will. Acknowledging, then, the connection between volition and
deed, the fatalist regards the former only as an instrument in the
hands of a force outside the agent, which compels his will to execute
its plans. Sometimes it reaches its goal in a way quite unforeseen by
the agent himself. Muhammed said, "When God hath ordered a creature to
die in any particular place, He causeth his wants to direct him to
that place";[29] and it is a popular saying throughout Islam that
"whenas Destiny descends she blindeth human sight."[30] Sometimes the
external power causes its victim to will its decree, by exciting in
him some irresistible passion, as when Zeus urged Clytemnestra to the
slaughter of Agamemnon; or the volitions of a person are themselves
regarded as decreed by that power. In Wärend, in Sweden, when somebody
has killed another, as also when the manslayer himself suffers the
penalty of death, the women say, full of compassion, "Well, this was
his destiny, to be sure," or "Poor fellow, it was a pitiful fate."[31]
In one of the Pahlavi texts the following words are put into the mouth
of the Spirit of {324} Wisdom:--"Even with the might and powerfulness
of wisdom and knowledge, even then it is not possible to contend with
destiny. Because, when predestination as to virtue, or as to the
reverse, comes forth, the wise becomes wanting in duty, and the astute
in evil becomes intelligent; the faint-hearted becomes braver, and the
braver becomes faint-hearted; the diligent becomes lazy, and the lazy
acts diligently. Just as is predestined as to the matter, the cause
enters into it, and thrusts out everything else."[32]
[Footnote 27: _Ibid._ pt. i. Appendix.]
[Footnote 28: In a Pahlavi text fate is defined as "that which is
ordained from the beginning," and divine providence as that which the
sacred beings "also grant otherwise" (_Dînâ-î Maînôg-î Khirad_,
xxiv. 6 _sq._).]
[Footnote 29: Lane, _Arabian Society in the Middle Ages_, p. 6.]
[Footnote 30: Burton, in his translation of the _Arabian Nights_, i.
62, n. 2.]
[Footnote 31: Hyltén-Cavallius, _Wärend och Wirdarne_, i. 206.]
[Footnote 32: _Dînâ-î Maînôg-î Khirad_, xxiii. 3 _sqq._]
Nor is it only the popular mind that, when human volitions are
concerned, interprets causation as compulsion. Even such philosophers
as Hamilton[33] and Mansel[34] seemed quite unable to distinguish
between determinism and fatalism. Professor Laurie likewise
observes:--"Determinism is the term adopted of late years to veil
fatalism and confound issues . . . . Freedom or fate, these are the
sole alternatives."[35] Surely, it is those who identify determinism
with fatalism that "confound issues." And a similar confusion lurks
behind the main argument which has been adduced in support of
free-will. It is said that "I ought" implies "I can," and that men are
not accountable for what they cannot avoid. This is perfectly true if
by "cannot" is meant compulsion, and by "can" freedom from compulsion.
But it is certainly not true if "I can" is intended to mean that "I"
am a first cause, not determined by anything else.
[Footnote 33: Hamilton, _Lectures on Metaphysics_, ii. 410 _sqq._]
[Footnote 34: Mansel, _Prolegomena Logica_, p. 329 _sqq._]
[Footnote 35: Laurie, _Ethica_, pp. 307, 319.]
When a person's will is believed to be constrained by a power outside
him, he can obviously not be held responsible for what he does under
the influence of such constraint. We are responsible only for that
which is due to our will. A licentious man who has grown up in a
corrupt society is less blamable than an equally licentious man who
has always lived under conditions favourable to virtue; and if we hear
of a criminal that he was kidnapped as a child by a band of
pickpockets and trained to their profession, we {325} no doubt look
upon him with some indulgence. In these cases, however, it may be said
that, though the person's conduct is largely due to the influence of
external circumstances upon his will, this influence was not
irresistible, that he might have saved himself with an effort of will,
and that consequently he is not wholly irresponsible. But in the case
of a restraining destiny no escape is possible; the compulsion is
complete. Hence the logical outcome of radical fatalism is a denial of
all moral imputability, and a repudiation of all moral judgment.[36]
[Footnote 36: Of the inhabitants of North-Eastern Africa, Munzinger
observes (_Ostafrikanische Studien_, p. 66):--"Seien sie Christen,
Heiden, odor Mohammedaner, schreiben sie Leben und Tod, Glück und
Unglück, Tugend und Verbrechen der unmittelbaren Hand Gottes zu. Mit
dieser blinder Nothwendigkeit entschuldigt sich der Missethäter,
tröstet sich der Unglückliche." _Cf._ also Doughty, _Arabia Deserta_,
i. 155, on the Bedouins. However, men are not philosophers in the
ordinary practice of life, hence the fatalist is generally as ready as
anybody else to judge on his neighbour's conduct. According to various
ancient writers, the power of destiny is limited so as not to exclude
personal responsibility (see Schmidt, _Ethik der alten Griechen_, i.
59 _sq._).]
Not so with determinism. Whilst fatalism presupposes the existence of
a person who is constrained by an outward power, determinism regards
the person himself as in every respect a product of causes. It does
not assume any part of his will to have existed previous to his
formation by these causes; his will is not constrained by them, it is
made by them. When we say of a person that he is influenced by
external circumstances or subdued by fate, we regard _him_ as existing
independently of that which influences or subdues him, we attribute to
him an innate character which is acted upon from the outside. He would
have been different if he had grown up under different conditions of
life, or if fate had left him alone. But it would be absolutely
meaningless to say that he would be different if the causes to which
he owes his existence had been different; for instance, if he were the
offspring of different parents. This shows that we distinguish between
the original self of a person and the self which is partly innate and
partly the product of external circumstances. His innate character
belongs to his original {326} self; and, strictly speaking, it is on
the innate character only that the scrutinising moral judge, so far as
possible, passes his judgment, carefully considering the degree of
pressure to which it has been exposed both from the non-voluntary part
of the individual himself and from the outside world.[37] According to
the fatalist, the innate character is _compelled_; hence personal
responsibility is out of the question. According to the determinist
the innate character is _caused_; but this has nothing whatever to do
with the question of responsibility. The moral emotions are no more
concerned with the origin of the innate character than the aesthetic
emotions are concerned with the origin of the beautiful object. In
their capacity of retributive emotions, the moral emotions are
essentially directed towards sensitive and volitional entities
conceived, not as uncaused themselves, but only as causes of pleasure
or pain.
[Footnote 37: That the proper subject of moral judgment is the innate
character was emphasised by Schopenhauer in his prize-essays on _Die
Freiheit des Willens_ (_Sämmtliche Werke_, vii. 83 _sqq._) and _Die
Grundlage der Moral_ (_ibid._ vii. 273 _sqq._). The innate character,
he says, that real core of the whole man, contains the germ of all his
virtues and vices. And though Schopenhauer be mistaken in his
statement that a person's character always remains the same, it seems
to me indisputable that the succeeding changes to which it may be
subject are imputable to _him_ only in so far as they are caused by
his innate character.]