PHILOSOPHICAL INTUITIONISM
§ 1. Is there, then, no possibility of attaining, by a more profound
and discriminating examination of our common moral thought, to real
ethical axioms--intuitive propositions of real clearness and certainty?
This question leads us to the examination of that third phase of the
intuitive method, which was called Philosophical Intuitionism.[280] For
we conceive it as the aim of a philosopher, as such, to do somewhat
more than define and formulate the common moral opinions of mankind.
His function is to tell men what they ought to think, rather than
what they do think: he is expected to transcend Common Sense in his
premises, and is allowed a certain divergence from Common Sense in his
conclusions. It is true that the limits of this deviation are firmly,
though indefinitely, fixed: the truth of a philosopher’s premises
will always be tested by the acceptability of his conclusions: if
in any important point he be found in flagrant conflict with common
opinion, his method is likely to be declared invalid. Still, though
he is expected to establish and concatenate at least the main part of
the commonly accepted moral rules, he is not necessarily bound to take
them as the basis on which his own system is constructed. Rather, we
should expect that the history of Moral Philosophy--so far at least
as those whom we may call orthodox thinkers are concerned--would be a
history of attempts to enunciate, in full breadth and clearness, those
primary intuitions of Reason, by the scientific application of which
the common moral thought of mankind may be at once systematised and
corrected.
And this is to some extent the case. But Moral Philosophy, or
philosophy as applied to Morality, has had other tasks to occupy
it, even more profoundly difficult than that of penetrating to the
fundamental principles of Duty. In modern times especially, it has
admitted the necessity of demonstrating the harmony of Duty with
Interest; that is, with the Happiness or Welfare of the agent on
whom the duty in each case is imposed. It has also undertaken to
determine the relation of Right or Good generally to the world
of actual existence: a task which could hardly be satisfactorily
accomplished without an adequate explanation of the existence of Evil.
It has further been distracted by questions which, in my view, are of
psychological rather than ethical importance, as to the ‘innateness’
of our notions of Duty, and the origin of the faculty that furnishes
them. With their attention concentrated on these difficult subjects,
each of which has been mixed up in various ways with the discussion
of fundamental moral intuitions, philosophers have too easily been
led to satisfy themselves with ethical formulæ which implicitly
accept the morality of Common Sense _en bloc_, ignoring its defects;
and merely express a certain view of the relation of this morality
to the individual mind or to the universe of actual existence.
Perhaps also they have been hampered by the fear (not, as we have
seen, unfounded) of losing the support given by ‘general assent’ if
they set before themselves and their readers too rigid a standard
of scientific precision. Still, in spite of all these drawbacks, we
find that philosophers have provided us with a considerable number
of comprehensive moral propositions, put forward as certain and
self-evident, and such as at first sight may seem well adapted to serve
as the first principles of scientific morality.
§ 2. But here a word of caution seems required, which has been somewhat
anticipated in earlier chapters, but on which it is particularly
needful to lay stress at this point of our discussion: against a
certain class of sham-axioms, which are very apt to offer themselves
to the mind that is earnestly seeking for a philosophical synthesis of
practical rules, and to delude the unwary with a tempting aspect of
clear self-evidence. These are principles which appear certain and
self-evident because they are substantially tautological: because,
when examined, they are found to affirm no more than that it is right
to do that which is--in a certain department of life, under certain
circumstances and conditions--right to be done. One important lesson
which the history of moral philosophy teaches is that, in this region,
even powerful intellects are liable to acquiesce in tautologies of this
kind; sometimes expanded into circular reasonings, sometimes hidden
in the recesses of an obscure notion, often lying so near the surface
that, when once they have been exposed, it is hard to understand how
they could ever have presented themselves as important.
Let us turn, for illustration’s sake, to the time-honoured Cardinal
Virtues. If we are told that the dictates of Wisdom and Temperance
may be summed up in clear and certain principles, and that these are
respectively,
(1) It is right to act rationally,
(2) It is right that the Lower parts of our nature should be governed
by the Higher,
we do not at first feel that we are not obtaining valuable information.
But when we find (cf. _ante_, chap. xi. § 3) that “acting rationally”
is merely another phrase for “doing what we see to be right,” and,
again, that the “higher part” of our nature to which the rest are to
submit is explained to be Reason, so that “acting temperately” is
only “acting rationally” under the condition of special non-rational
impulses needing to be resisted, the tautology of our “principles” is
obvious. Similarly when we are asked to accept as the principle of
Justice “that we ought to give every man his own,” the definition seems
plausible--until it appears that we cannot define “his own” except as
equivalent to “that which it is right he should have.”
The definitions quoted may be found in modern writers: but it
seems worthy of remark that throughout the ethical speculation of
Greece,[281] such universal affirmations as are presented to us
concerning Virtue or Good conduct seem almost always to be propositions
which can only be defended from the charge of tautology, if they are
understood as definitions of the problem to be solved, and not as
attempts at its solution. For example, Plato and Aristotle appear to
offer as constructive moralists the scientific knowledge on ethical
matters of which Socrates proclaimed the absence; knowledge, that is,
of the Good and Bad in human life. And they seem to be agreed that such
Good as can be realised in the concrete life of men and communities
is chiefly Virtue,--or (as Aristotle more precisely puts it) the
_exercise_ of Virtue: so that the practical part of ethical science
must consist mainly in the knowledge of Virtue. If, however, we ask
how we are to ascertain the kind of conduct which is properly to be
called Virtuous, it does not seem that Plato can tell us more of each
virtue in turn than that it consists in (1) the knowledge of what is
Good in certain circumstances and relations, and (2) such a harmony of
the different elements of man’s appetitive nature, that their resultant
impulse may be always in accordance with this knowledge. But it is just
this knowledge (or at least its principles and method) that we are
expecting him to give us: and to explain to us instead the different
exigencies under which we need it, in no way satisfies our expectation.
Nor, again, does Aristotle bring us much nearer such knowledge by
telling us that the Good in conduct is to be found somewhere between
different kinds of Bad. This at best only indicates the _whereabouts_
of Virtue: it does not give us a method for finding it.
On the Stoic system,[282] as constructed by Zeno and Chrysippus, it is
perhaps unfair to pronounce decisively, from the accounts given of it
by adversaries like Plutarch, and such semi-intelligent expositors as
Cicero, Diogenes Laertius, and Stobæus. But, as far as we can judge
of it, we must pronounce the exposition of its general principles
a complicated enchainment of circular reasonings, by which the
inquirer is continually deluded with an apparent approach to practical
conclusions, and continually led back to the point from which he set
out.
The most characteristic formula of Stoicism seems to have been that
declaring ‘Life according to Nature’ to be the ultimate end of action.
The spring of the motion that sustained this life was in the vegetable
creation a mere unfelt impulse: in animals it was impulse accompanied
with sensation: in man it was the direction of Reason, which in him
was naturally supreme over all merely blind irrational impulses.
What then does Reason direct? ‘To live according to Nature’ is one
answer: and thus we get the circular exposition of ethical doctrine
in its simplest form. Sometimes, however, we are told that it is
‘Life according to Virtue’: which leads us into the circle already
noticed in the Platonic-Aristotelian philosophy; as Virtue, by the
Stoics also, is only defined as knowledge of Good and Bad in different
circumstances and relations. Indeed, this latter circle is given by the
Stoics more neatly and perfectly: for with Plato and Aristotle Virtue
was not the _sole_, but only the _chief_ content of the notion Good,
in its application to human life: but in the view of Stoicism the two
notions are absolutely coincident. The result, then, is that Virtue
is knowledge of what is good and ought to be sought or chosen, and of
what is bad and ought to be shunned or rejected: while at the same time
there is nothing good or properly choice-worthy, nothing bad or truly
formidable, except Virtue and Vice respectively. But if Virtue is thus
declared to be a science that has no object except itself, the notion
is inevitably emptied of all practical content. In order, therefore, to
avoid this result and to reconcile their system with common sense, the
Stoics explained that there were other things in human life which were
in a manner preferable, though not strictly good, including in this
class the primary objects of men’s normal impulses. On what principle
then are we to select these objects when our impulses are conflicting
or ambiguous? If we can get an answer to this question, we shall at
length have come to something practical. But here again the Stoic could
find no other general answer except either that we were to choose what
was Reasonable, or that we were to act in accordance with Nature: each
of which answers obviously brings us back into the original circle at a
different point.[283]
In Butler’s use of the Stoic formula, this circular reasoning seems to
be avoided: but it is so only so long as the intrinsic reasonableness
of right conduct is ignored or suppressed. Butler assumes with his
opponents that it is reasonable to live according to Nature, and argues
that Conscience or the faculty that imposes moral rules is naturally
supreme in man. It is therefore reasonable to obey Conscience. But
are the rules that Conscience lays down merely known to us as the
dictates of arbitrary authority, and not as in themselves reasonable?
This would give a surely dangerous absoluteness of authority to the
possibly unenlightened conscience of any individual: and Butler is
much too cautious to do this: in fact, in more than one passage of the
_Analogy_[284] he expressly adopts the doctrine of Clarke, that the
true rules of morality are essentially reasonable. But if Conscience
is, after all, Reason applied to Practice, then Butler’s argument seems
to bend itself into the old circle: ‘it is reasonable to live according
to Nature, and it is natural to live according to Reason.’
In the next chapter I shall have to call attention to another logical
circle into which we are liable to slide, if we refer to the Good or
Perfection, whether of the agent or of others, in giving an account
of any special virtue; if we allow ourselves, in explaining Good or
Perfection, to use the general notion of virtue (which is commonly
regarded as an important element of either). Meanwhile I have already
given, perhaps, more than sufficient illustration of one of the most
important dangers that beset the students of Ethics. In the laudable
attempt to escape from the doubtfulness, disputableness, and apparent
arbitrariness of current moral opinions, he is liable to take refuge in
principles that are incontrovertible but tautological and insignificant.
§ 3. Can we then, between this Scylla and Charybdis of ethical inquiry,
avoiding on the one hand doctrines that merely bring us back to common
opinion with all its imperfections, and on the other hand doctrines
that lead us round in a circle, find any way of obtaining self-evident
moral principles of real significance? It would be disheartening
to have to regard as altogether illusory the strong instinct of
Common Sense that points to the existence of such principles, and
the deliberate convictions of the long line of moralists who have
enunciated them. At the same time, the more we extend our knowledge
of man and his environment, the more we realise the vast variety of
human natures and circumstances that have existed in different ages
and countries, the less disposed we are to believe that there is any
definite code of absolute rules, applicable to all human beings without
exception. And we shall find, I think, that the truth lies between
these two conclusions. There are certain absolute practical principles,
the truth of which, when they are explicitly stated, is manifest; but
they are of too abstract a nature, and too universal in their scope,
to enable us to ascertain by immediate application of them what we
ought to do in any particular case; particular duties have still to be
determined by some other method.
One such principle was given in chap. i. § 3 of this Book; where I
pointed out that whatever action any of us judges to be right for
himself, he implicitly judges to be right for all similar persons in
similar circumstances. Or, as we may otherwise put it, ‘if a kind of
conduct that is right (or wrong) for me is not right (or wrong) for
some one else, it must be on the ground of some difference between the
two cases, other than the fact that I and he are different persons.’
A corresponding proposition may be stated with equal truth in respect
of what ought to be done _to_--not _by_--different individuals. These
principles have been most widely recognised, not in their most abstract
and universal form, but in their special application to the situation
of two (or more) individuals similarly related to each other: as so
applied, they appear in what is popularly known as the Golden Rule, ‘Do
to others as you would have them do to you.’ This formula is obviously
unprecise in statement; for one might wish for another’s co-operation
in sin, and be willing to reciprocate it. Nor is it even true to say
that we ought to do to others only what we think it right for them to
do to us; for no one will deny that there may be differences in the
circumstances--and even in the natures--of two individuals, _A_ and
_B_, which would make it wrong for _A_ to treat _B_ in the way in which
it is right for _B_ to treat _A_. In short the self-evident principle
strictly stated must take some such negative form as this; ‘it cannot
be right for _A_ to treat _B_ in a manner in which it would be wrong
for _B_ to treat _A_, merely on the ground that they are two different
individuals, and without there being any difference between the natures
or circumstances of the two which can be stated as a reasonable ground
for difference of treatment.’ Such a principle manifestly does not give
complete guidance--indeed its effect, strictly speaking, is merely to
throw a definite _onus probandi_ on the man who applies to another a
treatment of which he would complain if applied to himself; but Common
Sense has amply recognised the practical importance of the maxim: and
its truth, so far as it goes, appears to me self-evident.
A somewhat different application of the same fundamental principle that
individuals in similar conditions should be treated similarly finds
its sphere in the ordinary administration of Law, or (as we say) of
‘Justice.’ Accordingly in § 1 of chap. v. of this Book I drew attention
to ‘impartiality in the application of general rules,’ as an important
element in the common notion of Justice; indeed, there ultimately
appeared to be no other element which could be intuitively known with
perfect clearness and certainty. Here again it must be plain that this
precept of impartiality is insufficient for the complete determination
of just conduct, as it does not help us to decide what kind of rules
should be thus impartially applied; though all admit the importance of
excluding from government, and human conduct generally, all conscious
partiality and ‘respect of persons.’
The principle just discussed, which seems to be more or less clearly
implied in the common notion of ‘fairness’ or ‘equity,’ is obtained
by considering the similarity of the individuals that make up a
Logical Whole or Genus. There are others, no less important, which
emerge in the consideration of the similar parts of a Mathematical or
Quantitative Whole. Such a Whole is presented in the common notion
of the Good--or, as is sometimes said, ‘good on the whole’--of any
individual human being. The proposition ‘that one ought to aim at
one’s own good’ is sometimes given as the maxim of Rational Self-love
or Prudence: but as so stated it does not clearly avoid tautology;
since we may define ‘good’ as ‘what one ought to aim at.’ If, however,
we say ‘one’s good on the whole,’ the addition suggests a principle
which, when explicitly stated, is, at any rate, not tautological. I
have already referred to this principle[285] as that ‘of impartial
concern for all parts of our conscious life’:--we might express it
concisely by saying ‘that Hereafter _as such_ is to be regarded neither
less nor more than Now.’ It is not, of course, meant that the good of
the present may not reasonably be preferred to that of the future on
account of its greater certainty: or again, that a week ten years hence
may not be more important to us than a week now, through an increase in
our means or capacities of happiness. All that the principle affirms
is that the mere difference of priority and posteriority in time is
not a reasonable ground for having more regard to the consciousness of
one moment that to that of another. The form in which it practically
presents itself to most men is ‘that a smaller present good is not to
be preferred to a greater future good’ (allowing for difference of
certainty): since Prudence is generally exercised in restraining a
present desire (the object or satisfaction of which we commonly regard
as _pro tanto_ ‘a good’), on account of the remoter consequences of
gratifying it. The commonest view of the principle would no doubt be
that the present _pleasure_ or _happiness_ is reasonably to be foregone
with the view of obtaining greater pleasure or happiness hereafter: but
the principle need not be restricted to a hedonistic application; it is
equally applicable to any other interpretation of ‘one’s own good,’ in
which good is conceived as a mathematical whole, of which the integrant
parts are realised in different parts or moments of a lifetime.
And therefore it is perhaps better to distinguish it here from the
principle ‘that Pleasure is the sole Ultimate Good,’ which does not
seem to have any logical connexion with it.
So far we have only been considering the ‘Good on the Whole’ of a
single individual: but just as this notion is constructed by comparison
and integration of the different ‘goods’ that succeed one another
in the series of our conscious states, so we have formed the notion
of Universal Good by comparison and integration of the goods of all
individual human--or sentient--existences. And here again, just as in
the former case, by considering the relation of the integrant parts to
the whole and to each other, I obtain the self-evident principle that
the good of any one individual is of no more importance, from the point
of view (if I may say so) of the Universe, than the good of any other;
unless, that is, there are special grounds for believing that more
good is likely to be realised in the one case than in the other. And
it is evident to me that as a rational being I am bound to aim at good
generally,--so far as it is attainable by my efforts,--not merely at a
particular part of it.
From these two rational intuitions we may deduce, as a necessary
inference, the maxim of Benevolence in an abstract form: viz. that
each one is morally bound to regard the good of any other individual
as much as his own, except in so far as he judges it to be less,
when impartially viewed, or less certainly knowable or attainable by
him. I before observed that the duty of Benevolence as recognised by
common sense seems to fall somewhat short of this. But I think it may
be fairly urged in explanation of this that _practically_ each man,
even with a view to universal Good, ought chiefly to concern himself
with promoting the good of a limited number of human beings, and that
generally in proportion to the closeness of their connexion with him.
I think that a ‘plain man,’ in a modern civilised society, if his
conscience were fairly brought to consider the hypothetical question,
whether it would be morally right for him to seek his own happiness
on any occasion if it involved a certain sacrifice of the greater
happiness of some other human being,--without any counterbalancing gain
to any one else,--would answer unhesitatingly in the negative.
I have tried to show how in the principles of Justice, Prudence,
and Rational Benevolence as commonly recognised there is at least a
self-evident element, immediately cognisable by abstract intuition;
depending in each case on the relation which individuals and their
particular ends bear as parts to their wholes, and to other parts
of these wholes. I regard the apprehension, with more or less
distinctness, of these abstract truths, as the permanent basis of
the common conviction that the fundamental precepts of morality are
essentially reasonable. No doubt these principles are often placed
side by side with other precepts to which custom and general consent
have given a merely illusory air of self-evidence: but the distinction
between the two kinds of maxims appears to me to become manifest
by merely reflecting upon them. I know by direct reflection that
the propositions, ‘I ought to speak the truth,’ ‘I ought to keep my
promises’--however true they may be--are not self-evident to me; they
present themselves as propositions requiring rational justification
of some kind. On the other hand, the propositions, ‘I ought not to
prefer a present lesser good to a future greater good,’ and ‘I ought
not to prefer my own lesser good to the greater good of another,’[286]
do present themselves as self-evident; as much (_e.g._) as the
mathematical axiom that ‘if equals be added to equals the wholes are
equal.’
It is on account of the fundamental and manifest importance, in my
view, of the distinction above drawn between (1) the moral maxims
which reflection shows not to possess ultimate validity, and (2) the
moral maxims which are or involve genuine ethical axioms, that I
refrained at the outset of this investigation from entering at length
into the psychogonical question as to the origin of apparent moral
intuitions. For no psychogonical theory has ever been put forward
professing to discredit the propositions that I regard as really
axiomatic, by showing that the causes which produced them were such
as had a tendency to make them false: while as regards the former
class of maxims, a psychogonical proof that they are untrustworthy
when taken as absolutely and without qualification true is in my view,
superfluous: since direct reflection shows me they have no claim to be
so taken. On the other hand, so far as psychogonical theory represents
moral rules as, speaking broadly and generally, means to the ends of
individual and social good or well-being, it obviously tends to give a
general support to the conclusions to which the preceding discussion
has brought us by a different method: since it leads us to regard
other moral rules as subordinate to the principles of Prudence and
Benevolence.[287]
§ 4. I should, however, rely less confidently on the conclusions set
forth in the preceding section, if they did not appear to me to be
in substantial agreement--in spite of superficial differences--with
the doctrines of those moralists who have been most in earnest in
seeking among commonly received moral rules for genuine intuitions
of the Practical Reason. I have already pointed out[288] that in the
history of English Ethics the earlier intuitional school show, in this
respect, a turn of thought on the whole more philosophical than that
which the reaction against Hume rendered prevalent. Among the writers
of this school there is no one who shows more earnestness in the effort
to penetrate to really self-evident principles than Clarke.[289]
Accordingly, I find that Clarke lays down, in respect of our behaviour
towards our fellow-men, two fundamental “rules of righteousness”:[290]
the first of which he terms Equity, and the second Love or Benevolence.
The Rule of Equity he states thus: “Whatever I judge reasonable or
unreasonable that another should do for me: that by the same judgment
I declare reasonable or unreasonable that I should _in the like case_
do for him”[291]--which is of course, the ‘Golden Rule’ precisely
stated. The obligation to “Universal Love or Benevolence” he exhibits
as follows:--
“If there be a natural and necessary difference between Good and
Evil: and that which is Good is fit and reasonable, and that which
is Evil is unreasonable, to be done: and that which is the Greatest
Good is always the most fit and reasonable to be chosen: then ...
every rational creature ought in its sphere and station, according
to its respective powers and faculties, to do all the Good it can to
its fellow-creatures: to which end, universal Love and Benevolence is
plainly the most certain, direct, and effectual means.”[292]
Here the mere statement that a rational agent is bound to aim at
universal good is open to the charge of tautology, since Clarke defines
‘Good’ as ’that which is fit and reasonable to be done.’ But Clarke
obviously holds that each individual ‘rational creature’ is capable
of receiving good in a greater or less degree, such good being an
integrant part of universal good. This indeed is implied in the common
notion, which he uses, of ‘doing Good to one’s fellow-creatures,’ or,
as he otherwise expresses it, ‘promoting their welfare and happiness.’
And thus his principle is implicitly what was stated above, that the
good or welfare of any one individual must as such be an object of
rational aim to any other reasonable individual no less than his own
similar good or welfare.
(It should be observed, however, that the proposition that Universal
Benevolence is the right means to the attainment of universal good, is
not quite self-evident; since the end may not always be best attained
by directly aiming at it. Thus Rational Benevolence, like Rational
Self-Love, may be self-limiting; may direct its own partial suppression
in favour of other impulses.)
Among later moralists, Kant is especially noted for his rigour in
separating the purely rational element of the moral code: and his
ethical view also appears to me to coincide to a considerable extent,
if not completely, with that set forth in the preceding section.
I have already noticed that his fundamental principle of duty is
the ‘formal’ rule of “acting on a maxim that one can will to be law
universal”; which, duly restricted,[293] is an immediate practical
corollary from the principle that I first noticed in the preceding
section. And we find that when he comes to consider the ends at which
virtuous action is aimed, the only really ultimate end which he lays
down is the object of Rational Benevolence as commonly conceived--the
happiness of other men.[294] He regards it as evident _a priori_ that
each man as a rational agent is bound to aim at the happiness of other
men: indeed, in his view, it can only be stated as a _duty_ for me
to seek my own happiness so far as I consider it as a part of the
happiness of mankind in general. I disagree with the negative side of
this statement, as I hold with Butler that “one’s own happiness is a
manifest obligation” independently of one’s relation to other men; but,
regarded on its positive side, Kant’s conclusion appears to agree to a
great extent with the view of the duty of Rational Benevolence that I
have given:--though I am not altogether able to assent to the arguments
by which Kant arrives at his conclusion.[295]
§ 5. I must now point out--if it has not long been apparent to the
reader--that the self-evident principles laid down in § 3 do not
specially belong to Intuitionism in the restricted sense which, for
clear distinction of methods, I gave to this term at the outset of
our investigation. The axiom of Prudence, as I have given it, is
a self-evident principle, implied in Rational Egoism as commonly
accepted.[296] Again, the axiom of Justice or Equity as above
stated--‘that similar cases ought to be treated similarly’--belongs
in all its applications to Utilitarianism as much as to any system
commonly called Intuitional: while the axiom of Rational Benevolence
is, in my view, required as a rational basis for the Utilitarian system.
Accordingly, I find that I arrive, in my search for really clear
and certain ethical intuitions, at the fundamental principle of
Utilitarianism. I must, however, admit that the thinkers who in
recent times have taught this latter system, have not, for the most
part, expressly tried to exhibit the truth of their first principle
by means of any such procedure as that above given. Still, when I
examine the “proof” of the “principle of Utility” presented by the most
persuasive and probably the most influential among English expositors
of Utilitarianism,--J. S. Mill,--I find the need of some such procedure
to complete the argument very plain and palpable.
Mill begins by explaining[297] that though “questions of ultimate ends
are not amenable” to “proof in the ordinary and popular meaning of the
term,” there is a “larger meaning of the word proof” in which they
are amenable to it. “The subject,” he says, is “within the cognisance
of the rational faculty.... Considerations may be presented capable
of determining the intellect to” accept “the Utilitarian formula.”
He subsequently makes clear that by “acceptance of the Utilitarian
formula” he means the acceptance, not of the agent’s own greatest
happiness, but of “the greatest amount of happiness altogether” as the
ultimate “end of human action” and “standard of morality”: to promote
which is, in the Utilitarian view, the supreme “directive rule of human
conduct.” Then when he comes to give the “proof”--in the larger sense
before explained--of this rule or formula, he offers the following
argument. “The sole evidence it is possible to produce that anything
is desirable, is that people do actually desire it.... No reason can
be given why the general happiness is desirable, except that each
person, so far as he believes it to be attainable, desires his own
happiness. This, however, being a fact, we have not only all the proof
which the case admits of, but all which it is possible to require, that
happiness is a good: that each person’s happiness is a good to that
person, and the general happiness, therefore, a good to the aggregate
of persons.”[298] He then goes on to argue that pleasure, and pleasure
alone, is what all men actually do desire.
Now, as we have seen, it is as a “standard of right and wrong,” or
“directive rule of conduct,” that the utilitarian principle is put
forward by Mill: hence, in giving as a statement of this principle
that “the general happiness is _desirable_,” he must be understood to
mean (and his whole treatise shows that he does mean) that it is what
each individual _ought_ to desire, or at least--in the stricter sense
of ‘ought’--to aim at realising in action.[299] But this proposition
is not established by Mill’s reasoning, even if we grant that what
is actually desired may be legitimately inferred to be in this sense
desirable. For an aggregate of actual desires, each directed towards a
different part of the general happiness, does not constitute an actual
desire for the general happiness, existing in any individual; and Mill
would certainly not contend that a desire which does not exist in any
individual can possibly exist in an aggregate of individuals. There
being therefore no actual desire--so far as this reasoning goes--for
the general happiness, the proposition that the general happiness is
desirable cannot be in this way established: so that there is a gap
in the expressed argument, which can, I think, only be filled by some
such proposition as that which I have above tried to exhibit as the
intuition of Rational Benevolence.
Utilitarianism is thus presented as the final form into which
Intuitionism tends to pass, when the demand for really self-evident
first principles is rigorously pressed. In order, however, to make this
transition logically complete, we require to interpret ‘Universal Good’
as ‘Universal Happiness.’ And this interpretation cannot, in my view,
be justified by arguing, as Mill does, from the psychological fact that
Happiness is the sole object of men’s actual desires, to the ethical
conclusion that it alone is desirable or good; because in Book i.
chap. iv. of this treatise I have attempted to show that Happiness or
Pleasure is not the only object that each for himself actually desires.
The identification of Ultimate Good with Happiness is properly to be
reached, I think, by a more indirect mode of reasoning; which I will
endeavour to explain in the next Chapter.
NOTE.--The great influence at present exercised by Kant’s teaching
makes it worth while to state briefly the arguments by which he
attempts to establish the duty of promoting the happiness of others,
and the reasons why I am unable to regard these arguments as cogent.
In some passages he attempts to exhibit this duty as an immediate
deduction from his fundamental formula--“act from a maxim that thou
canst will to be universal law”--when considered in combination with
the desire for the kind services of others which (as he assumes) the
exigencies of life must arouse in every man. The maxim, he says,
“that each should be left to take care of himself without either aid
or interference,” is one that we might indeed _conceive_ existing
as a universal law: but it would be impossible for us to _will_
it to be such. “A will that resolved this would be inconsistent
with itself, for many cases may arise in which the individual thus
willing needs the benevolence and sympathy of others” (_Grundlegung_,
p. 50 [Rosenkrantz]). Similarly elsewhere (_Metaph. Anfangsgr. d.
Tugendlehre_, Einleit. § 8 and § 30) he explains at more length that
the Self-love which necessarily exists in every one involves the
desire of being loved by others and receiving aid from them in case of
need. We thus necessarily constitute ourselves an end for others, and
claim that they shall contribute to our happiness: and so, according
to Kant’s fundamental principle, we must recognise the duty of making
_their_ happiness _our_ end.
Now I cannot regard this reasoning as strictly cogent. In the first
place, that every man in need wishes for the aid of others is an
empirical proposition which Kant cannot know _a priori_. We can
certainly conceive a man in whom the spirit of independence and the
distaste for incurring obligations would be so strong that he would
choose to endure any privations rather than receive aid from others.
But even granting that every one, in the actual moment of distress,
must necessarily wish for the assistance of others; still a strong
man, after balancing the chances of life, may easily think that he and
such as he have more to gain, on the whole, by the general adoption
of the egoistic maxim; benevolence being likely to bring them more
trouble than profit.
In other passages, however, Kant reaches the same conclusion by an
apparently different line of argument. He lays down that, as all
action of rational beings is done for some end, there must be some
absolute end, corresponding to the absolute rule before given, that
imposes on our maxims the form of universal law. This absolute end,
prescribed by Reason necessarily and _a priori_ for all rational
beings as such, can be nothing but Reason itself, or the Universe of
Rationals; for what the rule inculcates is, in fact, that we should
act as rational units in a universe of rational beings (and therefore
on principles conceived and embraced as universally applicable). Or
again, we may reach the same result negatively. For all particular
ends at which men aim are constituted such by the existence of
impulses directed towards some particular objects. Now we cannot
tell _a priori_ that any one of these special impulses forms part of
the constitution of all men: and therefore we cannot state it as an
absolute dictate of Reason that we should aim at any such special
object. If, then, we thus exclude all particular empirical ends, there
remains only the principle that “all Rational beings as such are ends
to each”: or, as Kant sometimes puts it, that “humanity exists as an
end in itself.”
Now, says Kant, so long as I confine myself to mere non-interference
with others, I do not positively make Humanity my end; my aims remain
selfish, though restricted by this condition of non-interference with
others. My action, therefore, is not truly virtuous; for Virtue is
exhibited and consists in the effort to realise the end of Reason
in opposition to mere selfish impulses. Therefore “the ends of the
subject, which is itself an end, must of necessity be my ends, if the
representation of Humanity as an end in itself is to have its full
weight with me” (_Grundlegung_, p. 59), and my action is to be truly
rational and virtuous.
Here, again, I cannot accept the form of Kant’s argument. The
conception of “humanity as an end in itself” is perplexing: because by
an End we commonly mean something to be realised, whereas “humanity”
is, as Kant says, “a self-subsistent end”: moreover, there seems to be
a sort of paralogism in the deduction of the principle of Benevolence
by means of this conception. For the humanity which Kant maintains to
be an end in itself is Man (or the aggregate of men) _in so far as
rational_. But the subjective ends of other men, which Benevolence
directs us to take as our own ends, would seem, according to Kant’s
own view, to depend upon and correspond to their _non-rational_
impulses--their empirical desires and aversions. It is hard to see
why, if man _as a rational being_ is an absolute end to other rational
beings, they must therefore adopt his subjective aims as determined by
his non-rational impulses.
FOOTNOTES:
[280] Cf. _ante_, Book i. chap. viii. § 4.
[281] I am fully sensible of the peculiar interest and value of the
ethical thought of ancient Greece. Indeed through a large part of the
present work the influence of Plato and Aristotle on my treatment of
this subject has been greater than that of any modern writer. But
I am here only considering the value of the general principles for
determining what ought to be done, which the ancient systems profess to
supply.
[282] The following remarks apply less to _later_ Stoicism--especially
the Roman Stoicism which we know at first hand in the writings of
Seneca and Marcus Aurelius; in which the relation of the individual man
to Humanity generally is more prominent than it is in the earlier form
of the system.
[283] It should be observed that in determining the particulars of
external duty the Stoics to some extent used the notion ‘nature’
in a different way: they tried to derive guidance from the complex
adaptation of means to ends exhibited in the organic world. But since
in their view the whole course of the Universe was both perfect and
completely predetermined, it was impossible for them to obtain from
any observation of actual existence a clear and consistent principle
for preferring and rejecting alternatives of conduct: and in fact
their most characteristic practical precepts show a curious conflict
between the tendency to accept what was customary as ‘natural,’ and the
tendency to reject what seemed arbitrary as unreasonable.
[284] Cf. _Analogy_, Part ii. chap. i. and chap. viii.
[285] Cf. _ante_, note to p. 124.
[286] To avoid misapprehension I should state that in these
propositions the consideration of the different degrees of _certainty_
of Present and Future Good, Own and Others’ Good respectively, is
supposed to have been fully taken into account _before_ the future or
alien Good is judged to be greater.
[287] It may, however, be thought that in exhibiting this aspect of the
morality of Common Sense, psychogonical theory leads us to define in a
particular way the general notion of ‘good’ or ‘well-being,’ regarded
as a result which morality has a demonstrable natural tendency to
produce. This point will be considered subsequently (chap. xiv. § 1 of
this Book: and Book iv. chap. iv.).
[288] Cf. _ante_, Book i. chap. viii. Note, pp. 103, 104.
[289] In drawing attention to Clarke’s system, I ought perhaps to
remark that his anxiety to exhibit the parallelism between ethical and
mathematical truth (on which Locke before him had insisted) renders
his general terminology inappropriate, and occasionally leads him into
downright extravagances. _E.g._ it is patently absurd to say that “a
man who wilfully acts contrary to Justice wills things to be what
they are not and cannot be”: nor are “Relations and Proportions” or
“fitnesses and unfitnesses of things” very suitable designations for
the matter of moral intuition. But for the present purpose there is no
reason to dwell on these defects.
[290] Clarke’s statement of the “Rule of Righteousness with respect to
ourselves” I pass over, because it is, as he states it, a derivative
and subordinate rule. It is that we should preserve our being, be
temperate, industrious, etc., _with a view to the performance of Duty_:
which of course supposes Duty (_i.e._ the ultimate and absolute rules
of Duty) already determined. I may observe that the reasonableness of
Prudence or Self-love is only recognised by Clarke indirectly; in a
passage which I quoted before (p. 120).
[291] _Boyle Lectures_ (1705), etc., pp. 86, 87.
[292] _l.c._ p. 92.
[293] I think that Kant, in applying this axiom, does not take due
account of certain restrictive considerations. Cf. chap. vii. § 3 of
this Book, and also Book iv. chap. v. § 3.
[294] Kant no doubt gives the agent’s own Perfection as another
absolute end; but when we come to examine his notion of perfection, we
find that it is not really determinate without the statement of other
ends of reason, for the accomplishment of which we are to perfect
ourselves. See _Met. Anfangsgr. d. Tugendlehre_, I. Theil, § v. “The
perfection that belongs to men generally ... can be nothing else than
the cultivation of one’s power, and also of one’s will, to satisfy the
requirements of duty in general.”
[295] See note at the end of the chapter.
[296] On the relation of Rational Egoism to Rational Benevolence--which
I regard as the profoundest problem of Ethics--my final view is given
in the last chapter of this treatise.
[297] _Utilitarianism_, chap. i. pp. 6, 7, and chap. ii. pp. 16, 17.
[298] _l.c._ chap. iv. pp. 52, 53.
[299] It has been suggested that I have overlooked a confusion in
Mill’s mind between two possible meanings of the term ‘desirable,’ (1)
what can be desired and (2) what ought to be desired. I intended to
show by the two first sentences of this paragraph that I was aware of
this confusion, but thought it unnecessary for my present purpose to
discuss it.