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For my own part I am convinced, as the result of this and other investigations, that no Hedonistic theory can plausibly explain morality without assuming ideas inconsistent with its asserted principle. What is here presented to the public has been in manuscript for several years, and I have been induced to publish it now as a needful supple- ment to the ethical part of my Outline of Philosophy, At the same time each work is complete in itself. To obviate the necessity of continual foot-notes, I have relegated all references to authors to the end of the volume. University of Queen's College, Kingston, Canada, 26M Aprils 1895. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. INFLUENCE OF THE SOPHISTS ON GREEK THOUGHT. The question, Is life worth living? shows that we live in an age of philosophical doubt -Pessimistic answer— Carlyle's attitude un- • satisfactory— Spencer's "short and easy" method with those who deny Hedonism fallacious— The Greek Sophi mplicit Hedonists —Differences between Greek and modern State— The Sophists, by creating doubt of customary morality, helped to destroy the Greek State— They were (i) casuists, (2) rhetoricians— Protagoras denied natural morality— Hippias denied customary morality— Gorgias held morality to be the interest of the people— Thrasymachus made morality the interest of the ruler- The rhetoric of the Sophists led to disregard of truth pages i_i8 CHAPTER II. ARISTIPPUS THE CYRENAIC. The scepticism of the Sophists a condition of progress— Law of progress (i) construction, (2) destryction, (3) reconstruction— The Cyrenaics beyond the Sophists, in having a precise doctrine— Aristippus ( i ) held that there i s aj ttiel^ pnd r^j" jjif e. viz^leasure : (2) reduced all knowledge to feehng ;13) maintatrl ^Tlmt the end is the plpasnrp VUl HEDONISTIC THEORIES of the momen t — This is Hedonism in its naKve form — Criticism : *(l) Valuable as bringing out the logical result of the individualism of the Sophists — (2) Aristippus' theory of knowledge is a theory of ignorance — (3) As a mat frr trf f-r* 'nrn fin not seek pleasuie ^- (4) Aristippus' ethical theory is (a) self-contradictory, because it tells us to seek^>l« " > fl" »^ l^y n n t iii ,rl ring it ; (l>) false to the real nature of man, pages 19-46 CHAPTER III. • EPICURUS. Epicurus says that pleasui£-is-the^nd, but ^t can be obtained ^ orUyJ^ foresight — He Isa "practical" philosopher — ills problem was: How shall I find th&-bigh(bl salliifilLlI^ll In a woild'loreign to~me ? — Historical reasons for this — (i) Epicurus adopts the atomic theory to get rid of superstition — Modifies it to make room for freedom — (2) The soul material and mortal — (3) The "wise man" will keep clear of politics — Epicurean ideal of life, plain living and refined fellowship — (4) Pleasures da n"t ^V'«''°r i" '^'"j' — (5) 'Arapa^la the ideal — (6) Cardinal virtues are (a) self-restraint, {d) courage or cheerful endurance of pain, (c) justice or enlightened self-interest, (flO friendship — Criticism', (l) Epicurus' theory of nature a veiled scepticism — (2) His ethical theory involves two discrepant ends: (a) pleasure, l^h) permanent satisfaction — (3) 'Arapa^la Qot the higltesl y^uJ, bULauAt {a) oiUy-aHairTea by a ~iew, {d) an organize d selfishacBUi nnH thpiufytu hulf di'LTluctive, . pages 47-72 selhsnjiese CHAPTER IV. HOBBES. Hobbes shows the influence of Christianity in his Hedonism — Relation to his time — Man by nature selfish — The primary desires — Right CONTENTS in and wrong the creation of the State — Which is based upon contract — Ilobbes prefers an absolute monarchy — CritUistn'. (i) The theory of IIobt)es is unhistorical — («) There never was a ** state of nature " — {b) Society, therefore, did not originate in a contract — (2) The theory is unphilosophical— (a) The State not an " automaton " but an organism — (l>) The State could not be made by a contract — (3) Society a self-conscious organism — (4) Man is not by nature selfish any more than unselfish — (5) The natural desires not selfish — (6) Society not an instrument for securing selfish pleasure, but the embodiment of reason, pages 73~94 CHAPTER V. LOCKE. Locke, the philosopher of compromise — Seeks to determine the limits of knowledge — Contract not the basis of society, but for the pro- tection of existing rights — Toleration based upon the uncertainty of theological knowledge — No "innate ideas" — Locke's incon* sistency in holding that we know the "primary" qualities of bodies — His ethical theory inconsistent — (i)The man is free, but not the will — (2) The motive to action the " most pressing uneasi- ness" — (3) We have the power to "suspend the satisfaction of our desires" — (4) Distinction of present and future pleasure — (5) Moral obligation arises from law — Which is divided into (a) divine, (b) civil, (c) social — Shaftesbury holds that we desire the pleasure of others as well as of ourselves — But after all we are seeking our own pleasure in the pleasure of others — Hutcheson distinguishes between "blind" and "calm" affections — The "altruistic" tendencies need reinforcement from the "moral sense" — Criticism : (i) Locke's "freedom" is merely "spontaneity" : he is in reality a " determinist " — (2) He cannot consistently admit any power to "suspend" the desires — (3) His theory of moral obligation incon- sistent with his account of desire, .... pages 95-115 X HEDONISTIC THEORIES CHAPTER VI. HUME. Hume's watchword is "Thorough" — No ••substance" or '•causal nexus" — The Self a '• bundle "of feelings — Hume's ethics: (i)The • will is not free, for all actions proceed from motives — (a) Reason the •* slave of the passions " — It has no power to initiate or prevent action — (3) The •• passions "' divided into (irit of the 5 anything >ophist was demagogue, liscient re- reface and int a book our. The is to make from this w Carlyle tit speaker, th!" For, rtant than ►bier thing onist, and I of more IS rhetori- a mastery ppear the CHAPTER II ARISTIPPUS THE CYRENAIC In the former chapter I tried to explain the char- acter of the Greek as distinguished from the modern State, and to show how it was that the Sophists came to have so g/eat an influence on Greek thought. The Greek State was a city, not a nation. It was an organic unity, but a unity of a comparatively simple character. As there was in it no distinction of religion and politics, social and individual morality, doubt of the laws and customs of a particular State led to doubt of all the most cherished beliefs of the people. Even among ourselves the plain man, who has been accustomed to regard morality as resting upon divine enactment, feels as if he were cut loose from his moorings and were drifting helplessly into an unknown sea, when doubt is cast upon some article of his religious faith, or when a fundamental law of society, as it has hitherto 20 HEDONISTIC THEORIES existed, is called in question. Beliefs that arc supposed to rest upon external authority seem to lose all their sacredness and validity when that authority is denied. Hence the Sophists, in main- taining that morality did not rest upon divine authority but upon the arbitrary will of the people, seemed to the Greek of a conservative type to be the tearing up of society from its rootr, and to be opening a way for absolute anarchy. At the same time the natural progress of the Greek people, and especially of Athens, the most enlightened of all Greek States, had unconsciously prepared the soil for scepticism, otherwise the Sophists would very soon have found Athens too hot for them, and would have been compelled, like several of the earlier philosophers who denied the popular religion, to beat a hasty retreat. What view, then, are we to take of the teaching of the Sophists? Must we regard their scepticism as an unmixed evil ? I have already indicated that, in my opinion, the work they did was a work that had to be done. If progress is to be made, men's uncritical belief in what is must be shaken to its centre. The negative or critical movement of thought is as essential as the posi- tive or constructive. First constructive, next de- structive, and then reconstructive is the triple ARISTIPPUS THE CVRENAIC 21 ) tb.1t are y seem to when that s, in main- pon divine ill of the :onservativc y from its )r absolute al progress of Athens, States, had scepticism, have found I have been philosophers ;at a hasty le teaching scepticism indicated Idid was a 5s is to be It is must or critical the posi- next de- the triple movement by means of which man has developed. At the same time we cannot bless the Sophists altogether. Their scepticism in regard to external authority was justifiable, not so their contentment with scepticism as the last word. We ma)- even say that they were not thorough enough in their scepticism. It was good to deny the absoluteness of the laws and customs of this or that State, but it was not good to base morality upon a new sort of external authority, the arbitrary agree- ment of a particular people. The next step must therefore be to work out to its legitimate issue the principle that law and morality are the pro- duct of the individual will, and to prove an articulate theory of conduct on that basis. This was attempted by the Cyrenaics, the intel- lectual heirs of *he Sophists. The views of the Sophists were not put into a definite and well de- fined shape, and that is one of the reasons why Grote has been able to show, with a good deal of plausibility, that they had no common philo- sophical creed, but were merely men of unusual culture and intelligence, who devoted themselves to the task of teaching the young. It is quite true that they did not form a school of philosophy in the same sense in which we can speak of the school of Plato, or Locke, or Kant. There were no precisely formulated principles on which all 22 HEDONIS TIC THEORIES were agreed, and by which each was willing to be tested. But the want of such definite principles is one of the charges which we bring against them. They were sceptical without clearly appre- hending how sceptical they really were. There is no difficulty in finding a modern parallel. Ma ly a clever newspaper editor or magazine writer will tell you that he does not trouble himself to find any philosophical basis for morality or religion, not seeing that he is virtually committing himself to the indefensible position, that society and con- duct rest upon no foundation of ascertainable truth. For if, as is implied, it is hopeless to seek for truth, is it not plain that all is a matter of individual opinion, and that we " live in a vain show " ? Now the Cyrenaics, whatever we may think of their doctrine, at least had a doctrine. They were not content with hazy vievvs about the nature of morality, but had the full courage of their opinions, and sought to give them a precise formulation satisfactory to the critical intellect. (i) The first thing in which they show their superiority to the Sophists is in affirming that there is one single end which all men seek, and by reference to which every action must be judged. This notion of a supreme end of life was no doubt borrowed from Socrates, who was the AlUSriPPUS THE CVRENAIC n first thinker to i^rasp it clearly. It is (lifficiilt for us who are familiar with the idea to appreciate its importance in the history of human thoument of ies were om, but, -defence, ance to cies, but akes no ition of sive in- 2n from tell the 'A I manner in which the various combinations have taken place? Democritus had held that the atoms must from all eternity have been falling directly downwards through infinite space with various degrees of velocity, and that in colliding with one another, rotatory movements were set up, from which the bodies now scattered through space were formed. But as Aristotle had pointed out that in a vacuum all bodies must fall at the same rate, and, therefore, would never come in contact, Epi- curus, with that simplicity of theoretical intellect which is characteristic of the narrowly " practical " man, modified the doctrine of Democritus so far as to say that the atoms were capable of a slight deflection from the line of perpendicular descent, and so were brought into collision with one another. Lucretius with admirable simplicity adds that we have an instance of such deflection from the straight path in our own actions when we swerve aside from an original impulse. The sole original contribution of Epicurus to this theory, the supposition that the atoms have a power of spontaneous deflection, is not such as to call forth much respect for his scientific temper. In fact, so far from saying with M. Renan, that Epicureanism was " the great scientific school of antiquity," we must say that the founder of the school was as unscientific as he was unspeculative. i! Ill r I »" »i) 11)1 \t \\\^ %\ Jtl! fili I I All c; ( 54 HEDONISTIC THEORIES The basis of all science is the inviolability of natural law, and this very inviolability seemed to Epicurus to be even more objectionable than a supernatural interference with the course of nature, since the gods may be propitiated, while Fate or Necessity is deaf to the prayers of man. The atomic doctrine he therefore introduced merely to banish the gods from the sphere of human life. The gods are immortal and live a life of perfect blessedness, but, absolutely sufficient to themselves, they do not seek to interfere in the changing course of events in the world, nor have they any influence on the movements of the heavenly bodies. In fact, they are themselves composed of material atoms that have come together by chance. The Epicurean idea of the divine nature is beautifully expressed by Tennyson in his Lucretius^ where he speaks of " The gods, who haunt The lucid interspace of world and world, Where never creeps a cloud, or moves a wind, Nor ever falls the least white star of snow, Nor ever lowest roll of thunder moans, Nor sound of human sorrow mounts to mar Their sacred everlasting calm." Having banished the gods to the spaces between the infinity of worlds, Epicurus seemed at first to have left men to govern their own life. But in fleeing from one difficulty he stumbled upon an- EPICURUS 55 ability of eemed to t than a of nature, Fate or an. The nerely to man life. )f perfect lemselves, ng course influence In fact, al atoms lature is Lucretius^ id, between first to But in pon an- other. For is it not worse to be dragged in the dust behind the triumphal car of a merciless necessity than to be the sport of supernatural beings, who at least have something in their nature of human tenderness ? Pressed by this difficulty we may be sure that Epicurus eagerly welcomed the flaw in the atomic doctrine of Democritus already referred to and was only too glad to modify it by the view of spontaneous self-move- ment in the atoms. For admitting such spontaneity, it seems credible that in man also there is a certain freedom of movement enabling him to do what is best for his own felicity. Thus Epicurus sets up the mechanical doctrine of atomism to get rid of supernatural interference with human life, and he denies pure mechanism to make room for human freedom. (2) A second difference between Epicurus and Aristippus is that the former has a theory of the ultimate nature of man as a being composed of soul and body. In saying that pleasure, pain, and indifference are respectively gentle, rough, and equable movements, Aristippus confuses feeling with its bodily conditions — i.e. he draws no distinction between soul and body. Epicurus clearly dis- tinguishes them, although his theory of their nature is such as to allow of no essential difference. All existing things are composed of material atoms. \ nil I*. I ii(i \X li.i Hit i 56 HEDONISTIC THEORIES and the only difference between soul and body is in the relative fineness of the soul's particles, and the manner of their composition. For the soul is made up of the four elements of air, fire, winJ, and another element to which no name is given ; all of these being atoms of the finest texture. Epicurus' interest in the constitution of the soul, as in other forms of existence, is mainly practical. One of the most disturbing influences in the life of man is the fear of death and of future punishment. " The dread of something after death, The undiscovered country, from whose bourne No traveller returns" puzzles the will. But if the soul can be shown to be perishable like the body, that dread need no longer haunt us, and we shall be able to make the most of the present life. Now the mortality of the soul seemed to Epicurus to follow from its very nature ; for its particles being held together solely by the body, must be separated and dispersed when "the earthly house of this tabernacle is dissolved." The only other fear that remains to be combated is the natural shrinking from death ; but this Epicurus tries to reason away by saying, as has often been said since, that there can be nothing very dreadful % EPICURUS S7 in death, since it cannot come to us so long as we feel, and when we cease to feel we can know nothing at all. " When we are, death is not ; when death is, we are not." Thus by the removal of the superstitious dread of supernatural interference, and of the awful shadow of an immortality of darkness and despair, Epicurus thinks that he has satisfactorily prepared the way for his cheerful view of the life that now is. (3) Epicurus expressly advises his followers to abstain from participation in public life, and, with less decision, not to form family ties Even when a man has learned not to seek to pass beyond the " flaming rampart of the world " ; when he has severely circumscribed his desires within the clouded sphere of his earthly life, refusing to permit h'-: mind to "wander through eternity"; the possiule sources of discomfort have not yet been exhausted. The wise man must not only be free from the restless ambition for place and power of the professional politician, but he should take no active interest in affairs of state, but con- tent himself with " cultivating his garden." Let others frame laws ; enough for him is obedience to the laws that are framed. The kind of life that to Epicurus seemed best is that which was led by the brotherhood which n i- Hi I r 111 I )l III I Id i 58 HEDONISTIC THEORIES he founded, perhaps in imitation of Pythagoras. In a garden situated in the outskirts of Athens, a small body of men and women bound together in friendship by similarity of tastes and their belief in a common doctrine, walked and talked, living a simple and natural life, discoursing on philosophy, and letting the great world go on its way. Perhaps we cannot better describe the life of Epicurus and his friends than by saying that it was the uneventful and leisured life of a small university in which rivalries and ambitions were dis- solved in reverence for a loved teacher, and into which no disturbing spirit, burning with a sense of the wrongs and woes of humanity, was permitted to enter. A quiet, dreamy, cloistered life it was, ennobled by an air of antique grace and refinement. The Epicurean conception of life is not one to commend itself to daring and original spirits. The contrast between the prim and formal habits of this community and the popular notions of Epi- cureanism as the wild Bacchanalian revelry of roy- stering blades, or the fastidious selfishness of the epicure, had already struck Seneca in his day. " When the stranger," says Seneca, " comes to the gardens on which the words are inscribed, — 'Friend, here it will be well for thee to abide ; here plea- sure is the highest good,' — he will find the keeper of that garden a kindly, hospitable man, who will EPICURUS 59 set before him a dish of barley porridge and water in plenty, and say , ' Hast thou not been well entertained ? These gardens do not whet hunger, but quench it ; they do not cause a greater thirst by the very drinks they afford, but soothe it by a remedy which is natural and costs nothing.' " " Give me a barle\' cake and water," said Epicurus, '* and I am ready to vie even with Zeus in happi- ness." Whatever may be the demerits of Epicure- anism as conceived by its founder, it certainly did not err by ministering to the pleasures of sense. Nevertheless, (4), it is the basis of the Epi- curean doctrine that, not only is all pleasure good, but that all pleasures are ultimately pleasures of sense. To Aristippus any distinction of bodily ^rd mental pleasures would have been irrelevant, for the end he conceived to lie in filling up the measure of the present with vivid feelings, and as feelings all pleasures are alike. Epicurus, how- ever, in distinguishing between " flesh " and " spirit," mind and body, is compelled to admit either that there are two conflicting ends — {a) bodily pleasure and iU) mental pleasure — or to reduce one to the other ; and, as his psychology did not admit of any radical distinction between body and soul, he naturally affirmed that all pleasures are at bottom pleasures of the senses. In truth there can be no real distinction for i! Mil f ' I I 6o HEDONISTIC THEORIES Epicurus between, say, a pleasure of the palate, the pleasure felt in listening to fine music, and the pleasure of intellectual activity ; the only difference he can allow is, that sensuous and aesthetic plea- sures are immediately excited by the impact of the external thing, while mental pleasure is due to the excitation of fainter images of sensuous pleasures. Hence it seemed to Epicurus, if we may accept the testimony of Cicero, that the pleasures of the mind are more refined than those of the body, because, as capable of being felt in the absence of the external stimulus, and as freed from the pain that may have accompanied their original presentation, they afford a prolonged and a painless gratification. Accordingly, (5), when Epicurus goes on to define wherein true pleasure consists — the pleasure which is the end of life — he tells us that it consists in serenity of mind, and that it can only be obtained by the wise man who is ready to reject immediate gratification in favour of a permanent and tran- quil satisfaction. The wise man, accustomed to look at life as a whole, does not, as Aristippus held, eagerly snatch at whatever pleasure presents itself, but so orders his life that he is disturbed neither by intense pleasure nor by intense pain. His aim is to be independent of all vicissitudes of fortune, and to be continually in a state of EPICURUS 6l calmness and serenity. Hence his main pleasures will be those of memory and imagination, and those pleasures of sense that do not excite beyond measure. Many pleasures he w''l -esolve to forego, because they are incompatible ith the highest good, the attainment of a painless and equable serenity, and he will even cheerfully welcome a less pain for a greater future pleasure. So far does Epicurus carry this principle as to maintain that the wise man even on the rack may say, " How swe. t ! For having banished all dread of destiny, a; ' a superstitious fears of a future world ; awaits, » loreover, that nothing can come to him tha' need disturb his self-centred calm, he can afford to despise bodily pain, which he knows to be but momentary and evanescent. Thus, by a circuitous route, Epicurus reaches the same con- clusion as the Stoics, that true felicity is to be found in that peace of mind which is independent of the " slings and arrows of outrageous fortune." (6) Epicurus tries to show that his theory of pleasure as the highest good is consistent with the virtues of temperance, courage, justice, and friendship. {a) Temperance, or self-restraint in all its forms, is in a sense a name for the whole of virtue. The end is pleasure, but that end can be attained only by excluding all the sources of disquiet and I Mill 1;« '■1 I, -I lit II m I,. lit 62 HEDONISTIC THEORIES M II III in dissatisfaction. Epicurus therefore preaches the virtue of contentment with the worldly goods which fortune may bring us, and praises the simple and frugal life of the man of small means. The rich he enjoins to remember that with the loss of fortune all is not lost ; the necessary wants of man are few, and no one need lose his peace of mind who can get a piece of bread and a glass of water. {b) Courage, in its old heroic sense of the glad willingness to face pain and death for one's home and fatherland, is not a virtue that could be incor- porated in the Epicurean system without modifica- tion. A doctrine which found the highest wisdom in indifference to public life, and in freedom from the ties of family, could not attach much import- ance to enthusiastic devotion to one's home and country. Accordingly, courage is limited to the cheerful endurance of immediate pain by the remem- brance or anticipation of ideal pleasure. {c) Justice is simply a form of enlightened self- interest. Epicurus expressly denies that Injustice is in itself evil ; it is inconsistent with the perfect life only because the fear of possible punishment by society destroys a man's serenity. In the orthodox creed drawn up by Epicurus himself, and which his followers were asked to learn by rote, we find these articles: (i) "Justice is by nature 1 tl EPICURUS 63 les the Is which pie and rich he fortune lan are f mind ^lass of he glad s home ; incor- odifica- vvisdom n from mport- le and to the emem- d self- justice perfect hment n the f, and rote, lature *i a contract for the prevention of aggression; (2) Justice does not exist among animals which are unable, nor among tribes of men who are unwill- ing, to enter into such a contract ; (3) Apart from contract, Justice has no existence ; (4) In- justice is not an evil in itself, but only through the dread of punishment which it produces ; (5) No man who stealthily evade^> the contract to abstain from natural aggressions can be sure of escaping detection." {d) Friendship, as it will readily be understood, occupies a large place in the Epicurean picture of the perfect life. This virtue in the mind of Epi- curus is the sole form of the sympathetic emotions which it is wise to cultivate. Primarily, indeed, it is described, from the purely individualistic point of view, as valuable because it is needed to com- plete a man's happiness. But, as usual, Epicurus sacrifices consistency to his real goodness of heart. The friendship which gives a charm to life does not think of itself, but only of its object. As Professor Bain puts it : " The giver should not ex- pect compensation, and should nevertheless obtain it." As a matter of fact the members of the Epicurean brotherhood were remarkable for the tenderness and fidelity of their friendships, a fact which is no doubt partly due to the natural equanimity of temper of its members, but partly also to the e Win fill ..I i «tii V, III I" I 64 HEDONISTIC THEORIES II iifli 'Ml influence of the philosophical doctrine which they made the guide of their lives. On this doctrine of Epicurus one or two general remarks may be made : (i) In its theoretical aspect it is manifestly a veiled scepticism. To construct a hypothesis in regard to the nature of things, not for the purpose of explaining nature but to get rid of the dread of supernatural beings, can only lead to scepticism. If it is true, as Epicurus affirms, that there are different and even contradictory w^ys of explaining natural phenomena, what is that but to say that any science of nature is impossible? No doubt it is possible to apprehend what is true without seeing that there is a higher truth which transcends and includes it. There is, for example, nothing con- tradictory of the law of gravitation in the common- sense observation that bodies which are unsupported fall to the ground, and yet the one truth was known long before the other. But to say that the law of gravitation sometimes operates and sometimes does not is to deny law altogether. Such contradictions Epicurus not only was prepared to accept, but he rejoiced in them. We have seen that after banishing the gods and reducing all the phenomena of nature to the unconscious movements of material atoms, he con- tradicts himself with an equanimity worthy of his EPICURUS C5 hich they o general lifestly a thesis in ; purpose he dread :epticism. here are icplaining say that doubt it Jt seeing inds and ng con- ommon- jpported ath was ay that tes and ogether. prepared le gods to the he con- ^ of his own impcrtu'-bablc gods, by saj'ing that after all the movements of atoms are not purely mechanical but involve a degree of spontaneity. Now, if F2picurus may thus modify his mechanical theory of nature as he thinks fit, manifestly we may with the same right deny i*^ altogether. A theory which holds good only at the will of its author is a mere guess, and has no scientific value whatever. Hut with the denial of the atomic theor}' the concealed scepticism of the whole Epicurean philosophy be- comes clearly visible. For if that is an untenable hypothesis, what becomes of the dread of divine ii.torferencc, to destroy which it was invented ? Must not that dread return in its full force, and overturn the scientific bulwark that has been thrown up to exclude it ? Thus the denial of any real knowledge of nature leads on Epicurus' own show- ing to the overthrow of his theory of life. (2) It inay be said, however, that at least there is truth in the ethical doctrine of Epicurus, what- ever may be said of the weakness of his philosophy of nature. That a theory which has commended itself to some of the acutest minds of all ages contains a measure of truth I should be the last to deny. But the question for us to decide is whether the principle which it proclaims, or the principle which it tacitly assumes, is the true one. What it openly affirms is thai' the only reasonable E ItN i; ir: L •in ml Uli UK «)4 I!) I ^1 66 HEDONISTIC THEORIES \m iiitti end for a wise man to airi at is the securing for himself of the greatest amount of pleasure on the whole. Now, in speaking of the greatest pleasure on the whole, there is introduced a conception that, when carried out, destroys the whole hedonistic basis of the theory, and converts it into its opposite. Had Epicurus really understood himself when he said that pleasure is the only thing desirable, he would not have allowed himself to add that he meant not all pleasure, but only some pleasure. If pleasure, and nothing but pleasure, is the end of life, by what right does Epicurus go on to add : ' I do not mean you to take each pleasure as it comes, but to reflect and see that you get pleasure that will bring you permanent satisfaction'? For, not to repeat what was said in the last chapter as to the impossibility of getting permanent satisfaction from that which is essentially transient in its nature, I maintain that to say {a) ' Pleasure is the end,' is not to say {U) * Permanent satisfaction is the end,' but that the one end is diametrically opposite to the other. If to be pleased is to secure the end of living, Aristippus was right in assuming that we must be content with whatever pleasure chances to come in our way, inconsistent as he was in saying that our aim must be to secure such pleasure. Epicurus, when pressed with the difficulty that it EPICURUS 67 is impossible to get permanent satisfaction from a flux of individual feelings, which are "Like the snow-fall in the river, A moment white, ther; melts for ever," tries to turn the edge of the' objection by saying, ' Oh, I don't mean immediate pleasure, but that state of pleased enjoyment which may be made habitual by the man who aims at true pleasure, i.e. at that state of contentment which comes to the man who is free from an unreasoning dread of imaginary evils, and who confines his desires within reasonable limits.' Now, we have here two totally different ends : on the one hand pleasure, and, on the other hand, contentment. If Epicurus had really meant what he said when he declared pleasure, and pleasure only, to be the end, he would have seen t'lat it is an end which can only be secured if at every moment of existence there is not only pleasure, but pleasure than which no greater is conceivable. For if a single moment of a man's life is empty o^ pleasure, or if the pleasure felt falls below what he can imagine, then he mu.st sorrowfully confess that, if pleasure is the end it is useless to seek it, because it cannot be found. But if peace or tran- quillity of soul is the end, then, whatever may be said of it, at least it cannot be attained coincidently nil a ■M'l ■ 911 |< I* m It If •ill .11) li «iifl *l!tl llUli timl > liH 68 HEDONISTIC THEORIES i l!!lll| with the attainment of the greatest possible sum of pleasure. This is plainly admitted by Epicurus, when he says that the wise man will avoid all intense plea- sures and strive to attain to a cheerful impassibility. For if he had seriously meant that pleasure is the end, he would have seen that the end cannot be attained unless the intensest pleasure conceivable is secured at every moment of existence. Accordingly, Epicurus virtually abandons the view that pleasure is the end, and quietly substitutes for it peace, serenity, tranquillity of soul. Hence the curious feature in his system that, beginning with the assertion that all pleasures are of sense, he goes on to say that the only pleasures worth having are those of memory and imagination ; starting from the affirmation that the pleasure at which we should aim is positive pleasure, he is led on to admit that the only satisfactory pleasure is that which arises from the removal of pain ; and pro- fessing to make agreeable feeling the object of pursuit, he ends with the doctrine that the highest state of man is that of pure painlessness, a state which, strange to say, may coexist with the intensest bodily torture. Here we see Hedonism working out its own euthanasia. The end turns out to be, not an unbroken succession of the intensest feelinc^s of EPICURUS 69 pleasure imaginable, but an imperturbable calm which is indifferent whether the next moment may- bring pain or pleasure. (3) Let us, however, waive the difficulty, that on Epicurus' own showing, the end is- not pleasure but something which, whatever jlJs^ is the legation of pleasure ; Jet_us grant that the peace^or serenity of soul which it is reaso»able-to-aim at is a kind of pleasure, and the quest ion sti ll remains: Is the attainment of peace or serenity a worthy end of life? I do not think that it is, for these among other reasons : {a) In the first place, the tranquil life which Epicurus sets up as the ideal, is one to which the majority of men cannot possibly attain. It may be delightful for brethren to dwell together in unity, but when the unity has to be purchased by giving up all the serious business of life, and con- stituting oneself the member of a mutual admira- tion society, it is manifest that many men cannot, and some men will not, subscribe to the doctrine. Now, a theory of conduct that does not apply to all men, but only to a few of exceptional advan- tages, or exceptional temper, is self-condemned. It may be a statement of the manner in which the select spirits of the earth choose to spend their lives, but it is certainly not a true theory of man as such. No ethical doctrine can be true that does I IK ■' 1 Ml '■■1 ■ \ II ri i«ii %\\ •till ID!) I. A.-^ "% 1= 11.25 i2.5 12.2 m 140 1.4 12.0 1.6 HiDtogra{iiic .Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. U580 (7I6)S72-4S03 r^^ Li>^ iV <^ [V n HEDONISTIC THEORIES '■'% i(E; of life. From this equality of ability proceeded war, for, as all men desire wealth and power and all have an equal capacity to attain their end, natural distrust of others suggests the wisdom of making oneself master of their persons. The natural love of power causes this end to be pursued further than security requires ; and the love of glor}- prompts men to extort from others a recognition of their own superiority. Natural distrust, then, together with competition and glory, are the main springs of action in the natural man. These desires are not to be re- garded as immoral, nor are the actions which proceed from them wrong. Where there is no law there is no injustice. Justice and injustice are qualities that relate to men in society, not in solitude. In a state of nature there is no dis- tinction of mine and //line ; every man has un- limited right to all that he covets, and as he covets all, that means an unlimited right to all. The source of right and wrong, justice and injustice, must be sought in the laws of the state, and such laws cannot be imposed until the state itself is constituted. The state must be regarded as a great artificial man or monster constructed by men for the express purpose of putting an end to internecine war, and enabling the individual to secure the end which the natural state sets before i h t( HOBBES 79 proceeded )ower and their end, visdom of he natural ed further of glory Ignition of :)mpetition Dn in the to be re- )ns which sre is no injustice ty, not in no dis- has un- d as he : to all. itice and he state, the state regarded ucted by end to idual to :s before ! him, but prevents him from attaining. A right to all things is a right to nothing. The state is therefore based upon contract. All the social virtues are different ways of securing peace. The principle of the contract is a mutual agree- ment to abstain from aggression and to put down disturbance. Reason, therefore, teaches men to give up their individual will to the sovereign power. Thus they confer all power on one man or assembly of men, so that all their wills are reduced to one will. From the very nature of the contract, this surrender of will is made once for all. To seek for a revision of the contract is simply to restore the state of nature, and so to destroy the whole foundation of public security. The sovereign power, whether vested in a king or an assembly, is unlimited. In a monarchy, the king is absolute : he cannot be justly accused by his sub- jects, much less put to death, and he alone is judge of what is necessary in peace and war. And not only is he the head of the state but also of the church. Religion exists as a means of securing peace, and therefore it is one of the functions of government to determine what sort of religion shall be adopted by the people. Whether the government shall be a monarchy, an aristocracy, or a democracy, must depend on the terms of the contract ; but Hobbes inclines to 'II ; 1,1' •i < kill II ;» Nit «|it '.' t 'If 8o HEDONISTIC THEORIES 'I, '«t.||;. ||IIH. •llltli an absolute monarchy, on the ground that it is the interest of a single ruler to seek the good of his people, that he is perfectly free to select the best counsellors that can be found, and that he is not so liable to inconstancv as a large and heterogeneous body. No one would now accept the account of Hobbes as to the origin of the state and the 1 basis of morality, but the individualism from which it sets out is held in some form or other by all modern hedonists. The notion of " natural rights " is expressly defended by Mr. Herbert Spencer in one of his later works, iWan versus the State^ and it may be profitable to examine it with some minuteness. (i) The first thing that strikes the student of our own day is that Hobbes had no apprehension of the historical method as applied to the origin of society. He speaks of the " state of nature " as if it had an actual basis in fact, and of a contract entered into by men existing in that " state of nature." But {a) the more we inquire into the early condition of man the more certain we become that there never was a time when society was not, and when individuals stood to one another in an attitude of pure antagonism. The notion of the existence of a number of men, not united I HonnEs 8i I s by any social bonds, but each bent on seeking his own individual good and the destruction of his neighbour, is a pure fiction of the abstract intellect. Hobbes, in partial anticipation of this objection, says that, while the state of internecine war never existed at any time " over all the world," yet " the savage people in many places of America have no government at all, and live at this day in that brutish manner." The answer to this is, that, while savage races no doubt have no government or laws in their more developed form, they have chiefs whose authority is recognized and customs which they respect. The " savage people " of America are not individual units exhibiting nothing but repulsion towards one another, and therefore we cannot find among them that state of nature about which Hobbes and others have told us fairy tales. In the earliest form of society it is possible that even the family was not yet recognized as a unity, but in no conceivable form of human existence could there have been a mere aggregate of indi- viduals united by no social bonds whatever. As Plato says that there must be honour even among a band of thieves, so we may say that in the natural state of man, meaning by that his earliest or primitive state, the tacit recognition of the claims of others was the condition of mere exist- F III ii* 'II 'I I H t I,, i« ' •e • II ; !|l» till ir. li|lil Mil i«ii •« I 'III !!■ I 82 HEDONISTIC THEORIES * HI I'lll! , ■■ Hihi ence. Even if no other expre.ssion of social feeling were admitted but that of a regard for helpless children, the abstraction of the mere indi- vidual would be overthrown. But in any com- munity, however barbarous, some authority must be implicitly recognized, or it would become a prey to external nature, to the lower animals, and to hostile groups of men. How utterly unhistorical Hobbes' conception of the state of nature is may be seen at once if we consider that in the patriarchal form of society, the earliest which we can with certainty affirm to have existed, the unit is the family, and all property belongs not to the individual but to the family. And if we accept the view of M'Lennan, that there is an earlier form of society in which there is as yet no distinction of one family from another, we must still say that property first belongs to the community, next to the family, and last of all to the individual. So far from it being true that the primitive state of man was a mere group of individuals, we must rather say that originally there was no distinction of individual and society, and that only gradually, as men came to a consciousness of themselves, was a contrast drawn between the man and the state. The reflective grasp of the principle of personality, as the basis of individual rights of property and HOBBES «3 ' person, does not go further back than the age of the Stoics, who universalized Roman law and made it the type of all law. {b) As there never was a period when men existed out of society, it is plain that there never was a time when they instituted society by entering / into a contract such as Hobbes describes. Not only is there no historical evidence of the forma- tion of society by contract, but from the nature of the case the thing is impossible. The intelligence, foresight, and self-control demanded by the theory could only be developed in that very society which the contract is supposed first to establish. In such an instance as that of the Pilgrim Fathers, the formation of a community by mutual agree- ment is no doubt conceivable, but the Pilgrim Fathers had already been trained in a highly- developed form of society. Hobbes' theory of a social contract has therefore no historical foundation. (2) Nor, secondly, has it any real philosophical basis. The whole conception of the state as a mere aggregate of individuals is fundamentally un- sound. Hobbes, in accordance with his mechanical idea of nature as composed of minute material par- ticles, although not of indivisible atoms, and of all real processes as the movements of these particles, thinks of the state as an automaton formed arti- ficially by man in imitation of nature. Society, lit •hi •ii* >■ ^ ttf u I I I '«« li I* 2 « • 84 HEDONISTIC THEORIES Ml: si « nil I) II !' I I. f "1 S6 HEDONISTIC THEORIES m 'ijiiii ^'Milll capacities of the individual arc not exhausted in any of the functions which he discharges as a mem- ber of the social organism, but his actual nature is none the less developed, and made what it is by the functions he fulfils in society. That being so, the very idea of a " state of nature," in which man is supposed to be what he is apart from social influences, is a pure fiction of abstraction. We can no more speak of what a man would be apart from society than we can speak of an organ as independent of the whole body. In the one case, as in the other, the nature of the parts is determined by the nature of the whole, as the nature of the whole is determined by the nature of the parts. (d) As Hobbes has misconceived the nature of the parts, he naturally misconceives the nature of the whole. The state is the product of an artificial arrangement, being at first made, set together, and united *' by pacts and covenants." Like a machine, its construction depends on the arbitrary will of its maker. For his own interest man has chosen to put it together, but had he thought otherwise he might have chosen differently. The notion of the state as an organism might have prevented Hobbes from taking this external view had the organic unity of society not been an idea entirely foreign to his age. The mere juxtaposition of HOIUiES 87 stcd in \ mcm- naturc It it is t beinj^ 1 which t from Taction. )uld be 1 organ he one 3arts is as the nature ture of ture of irtificial er, and achine, will of chosen Herwise ion of vented id the ntirely ion of parts will form a heap or aggregate, but it will not make an organism. An organism is not made, bu^^ grows, and it grows only out of that which is already organized. No man can make an animal by an artificial combination of parts, nor is it pos- sible to make a state by artifice. The state de- rives its character from the sum of conditions of the age, and it cannot change its character, much less come into existence, by the fiat of any man or body of men. The notion that the state derives its authority from the arbitrary will of the indi- viduals composing it is as unphilosophical as it is unhistorical. (3) The imperfection of Hobbes' doctrine is even more apparent when we see that the state is not only organic, but is a unity in which each of the parts of which it is composed is self- conscious. If we think of an organism not only as made up of organs, each of which is dependent upon the others, but each of which is conscious of its own activity and of the activity of the other organs, we shall get some idea of the nature of the state. ^^ Sb ^^^ ^'^^^ °^ self-consciousness that makes hum'kn society possible. No doubt there are gregarious animals, but they have not the power of comprehending what is implied in their social instincts, and so they do not invent new forms of association as man does. The power of reflecting II Ml II Ml II m II a I'M II N» |ll« tl II tl II t «8 HE DO MS TIC TH FAIRIES I I » t-, fl liT! I *. I'll on the existing forms of society, of hoUHn^ it at arm's length and contemplating it as a foreign object, is the condition of progress. Ilcncc it is that the history of man has been in large measure the history of the changes in the form of social organization. And just in proportion as each member of the state is not only conscious of his own special sphere of operations, but is able to grasp in his thought the whole complex functions of the society in which he lives, and to distinguish from it alien forms of society, and even to form ideals of society as it may yet be, in that proportion is the state living and progressive. It is for this reason mainly that all the members of a free state ought to have an education that shall fit them not only for their more limited functions, but for the comprehension of the meaning of the state in its relation to the destiny of man. From this point of view we can see how imperfect is th Hobbist notion of the state, as a despotic power set over them by the individuals composing it. From pure individualism we pass at a bound to pure universalism. For if the state of nature is one of absolute anarchy, there is no remedy but a remedy of force. If, on the other hand, we look at the actual fact, we see that the same faculty of self-conscious reason which enables a i/oniiFs 89 n^' it at foreign ICC it is measure )f social • of the special ) in his of the sh from n ideals aportion for this ee state it them but for state in )m this is th power sing it. bound nature remedy md, we i same bles a man to be 'f^sh also enables him to be un- selfish. Hence (4) Ilobbes' conception of the natural state of man as one of unmitigated selfishness is as false as his idea that the state is merely an iron band connecting together a number of indi- vidual parts that otherwise would for ever repel each other. The state of nature is one that never existed or could exist. The nearest approach to it must be sought in the lowest form of society of which we have any knowledge. But in the lowest form of society that we can conceive the unselfish must be as developed as the selfish tendencies ; otherwise the society could not hold together for an hour. These two tendencies are strictly correlative. Where the capacity for the one is strong, so also is the capacity for the other. " Great criminals," as Plato says, " are perverted heroes." Gigantic selfishness is possible only to men of vast ability. By " nature," then, as we must say, man is both selfish and unselfish, i.e. " nature " is merely a term for those unrealized capacities which in their fruition become good or evil according as they are directed. These considerations apply to the forms assumed by the state in its transition from the lowest to the highest. In no age is there pure selfishness, in none is there pure unselfishness. \ in US iiS tiili liaP l'9 itH' 90 HEDONISTIC THEORIES H. I , I I ■'♦ill '•«!I8I %a L .yiV-*"icxi I Selfishness and unselfishness are terms expressing harmony or discordance with the ideal. Speaking generally, the ideal, so far as it has been developed by a people, is embodied in the various forms of organization which together form the state as a whole. Thus, the morality of a civilized people expresses itself partly in the unwritten laws of the popular conscience, and partly in the written laws of the state. But neither of these bodies of law is stationarj', because it is the nature of human reason per- petually to revise and elevate its ideal of life. The new ideal first exists in the mind of some choice spirits more than usually responsive to reason, and gradually permeates the whole people, and is embodied in their laws and customs. At each stage of this continuous process of evolution it is possible for the individual members of the community to come up to the ideal standard of their age, or, in the case of men of progressive conscience, to the ideal standard in advance of their age ; but it is also possible for them to fall below the standard. In the one case we say that a man leads a selfish life, in the other that he leads an unselfish lite. But observe that he could not be selfish were he not capable of unselfishness. A man cannot fall below his ideal if he has no ideal. We do \, HOBBES 91 :xpressing Speaking developed us forms state as ;d people vs of the tten laws tationan', son per- of life, of some nsive to i people, ms. At :volution of the dard of Dgressive ance of to fall say that that he sh were cannot We do not call a dog selfish, because we do not believe that a dog frames ideals. Hobbes, therefore, in speaking of the primitive state of man as one of pure selfishness, was really forming an abstract man that could not possibly exist ; for a being of unrelieved selfishness would have no consciousness of unselfishness, just because he would have no consciousness of an ideal self (5) We reach the same conclusion by examining Hobbes' analysis of the individual soul. The natural man is dominated by the love of gain and the love of glory, which are virtually identified with pure appetite. They are desires which are " born with a man," and as their aim is the good of the individual at the expense of others they are selfish in their nature. That the natural desires are selfish in their nature is a view which inevitably arises from the notion of men as pure individuals. Foi if men exist out of relation to society, and if in this independence of others they possess promptings to action, these prompt- ings must be regarded as tending to promote the continuance of the isolated individual. But this whole way of thinking is vicious. Man is not a mere individual, and he has therefore no purely individualistic tendencies. The desire of self-preservation is not selfish, because life is the primary condition of action, and therefore of moral v: I \ m l|IM» I Ml iiAv 't t I, nr 92 HEDONISTIC THEORIES Uf I. . action. The love of wealth is not in itseif a selfish propensity, for wealth is the symbol of the pro- ducts of that industrial activity without which our modern life would be stripped of what makes it the minister of the higher activities. There is nothing selfish in the love of esteem, which is simply the reasonable desire to have the approba- tion of one's own reason reflected in the good opinion of others. Hobbes, in calling these desires selfish, has confused their perversion with their exercise. The love of life only becomes selfish when it leads a man to neglect his duty, or to barter his higher conscience for the sake of exist- ence. The love of wealth may be selfish when it is made an end in itself, or when it leads a man to forget that wealth is a trust held for the good of others as well as for himself. The love of esteem may be selfish when it takes the form of an unhal- lowed ambition that sacrifices the public good in ord.er to climb into place or power. But in all these cases the natural desires are perverted from their end. The man tramples on his ideal, and becomes immoral. But to be moral is not to eradicate the natural inclinations, but to idealize and spiritualize them. Then the iove of life takes th^" shape of due care for health, the condition of all the higher activities ; the love of wealth is merged in the desire to advance the well-being of all act re a selfish the pro- hich our t makes There is which is approba- :he good ;e desires ith their ^s selfish :y, or to of exist- when it s a man good of f esteem n unhal- good in t in all ed from al, and not to idealize fe takes ition of ealth is Deing of HOBBES all ; and the love of honour becomes the noble activity of the statesman, the scholar, and the reformer. (6) Vve are now in a position to see how false it is to say that society is simply a roundabout way of securing one's own selfish pleasure. No doubt, men may seek to turn the various forms of social organization to their own advantage, but they do so at the peril of their spiritual nature. Society, as the more or less perfect embodiment of the ideal nature, is an expression of what is rational, and therefore of what commands the assent of reason. In obeying law we are giving assent to no tyrannical power, but to our own higher nature. It is for this reason that one is compelled to doubt the honesty of the man who is indifferent to the every-day morality of the family or the civic community. We refuse to put confidence in the man who is a bad husband or father, or who is not scrupulous of commercial morality, rightly feeling that he who offends in these things offends in all. Nor can we have much faith in the profession of ^•eligion of the man who is indifferent to the tender charities of husband, son, and brother. The spirit of genuine morality is one, however diverse may be its applications, and that spirit is not inaptly expressed in the command to love one's neighbour 'liMI % :::! (Mi iiiji lIMl HiKy I HCHT' as oneself. The doom of the man who makes his 94 HEDONISTIC THEORIES I . -'♦'• I'* ;•• ■ I..,, It*. •ft It'll X % }\ own selfish gratification his end is in himself. No man can get rid of the ideal self, because it is his very nature as a rational being to construct such an ideal, and having constructed it, to be con- scious of failure, even in outward success, when he falls short of it. The state, then, is not an organized selfishness, as Hobbes assumes, but the means of freeing men from selfishness. The end is not one's own pleasure, but ideal goodness, an ideal which secures the indi- vidual good in and through the good of the whole. True self-satisfaction is not to be found in aiming, however indirectly, at one's own pleasure, but in aiming at the realization of the higher self partially manifest in society, and in seeking to make society conform completely to our ideal of what it should be. In satisfaction of this type, the individual and |the universal coincide ; in seeking the common good a man secures his own good ; but the good which he attains cannot without perversity be called pleasure, nor can his motive be called selhsh. The true satisfaction of the spirit is the blessedness of him who seeks first the realization of an objective good, knowing that all other things will be added to him. elf. No it is his act such be con- when he Ifishness, ing men pleasure, the indi- te whole. 1 aiming, , but in partially 2 society t should iual and on good vhich he pleasure, ne true of him re good, to him. CHAPTER V LOCKE In his passion for clearness and consistency Hobbes " cuts things in two with an axe." Admitting no qualifications he carries out his theory to its conse- quences. Men seek their own pleasure, and therefore all their actions, however disintere.sted they may seem, are selfish ; society rests upon contract and the terms of the contract must be fulfilled to the letter ; religion exists for the common good, and no religion can be allowed except that which is imposed by the state. Locke is in all things the reverse of his prede- cessor. He is the most perfect embodiment of that ^r spirit of compromise and that practical sagacity, which are main features in the English character. The idea which rules all his thoughts is that human knowledge is narrowly limited in its range, and yet that the " candle of reason " throws enough light on a man's path to keep him from stumbling. i9l< y; .ibi ■i t t 96 HEDONISTIC THEORIES \l\ I"' I. K n "If we will disbelieve everything because we can- not certainly know all things, we shall do much as wisely as he who would not use his legs, but sit still and perish because he had no wings to fly." Hence Locke begins his Essay concerning Human Understanding by saying that he proposes to in- quire into the limits and origin of knowledge. " Were the capacities of our understanding well considered," he says, " the extent of our knowledge once discovered, and the horizon found which sets the bound between the enlightened and the dark parts of things, between what is and what is not comprehensible by us, men would perhaps with less scruple acquiesce in the avowed ignorance of the one and employ their thoughts and discourse with more advantage and satisfaction on the other." For " the light of reason shines bright enough for all our purposes." It is quite in keeping with this method of com- promise that Locke does not, like Hobbes, regard society and individual rights as the creation of contract, but assuming both already to exist, he holds that a contract is made between society and the government for the protection of the rights which already exist. Nor does he maintain that the contract is absolute ; as proceeding originally from the will of the people, it is subject to per- petual revision as circumstances may require ; a LOCKE 97 we can- much as , but sit o fly." " Human ;s to in- lowledge. ing well lowledge tiich sets the dark Lt is not with less e of the irse with tr." For for all of com- s, regard ation of ^xist, he iety and e rights ain that riginally to per- juire ; a view which manifestly affirms and denies contract in the same breath. For if, as Locke says, the grossest absurdities must be the issue of " following custom when reason has left the custom," we are really affirming that the constitution of the state is the product of reason, and not of the arbitrary agreement of individuals. Locke is a strong advocate of toleration in matters of religion ; but he bases it on the prin- ciple that, as absolute certainty is not obtainable in such matters, but only probability, no sect may reasonably assume that it has a monopoly of truth. This latitudinarian doctrine does not hinder him from maintaining that from this toleration must be excluded the atheist, because " the taking away of God dissolves all," and the Roman Catholic, who swears allegiance to a foreign potentate. A like inconsistency runs {:hrough the whole of his theory of knowledge. In the Es ay he brings forward a host of reasons to show that there are in the human mind no innate ideas — no ideas, that is, which are possessed by all men as a sort of original stock of which they can give no further account. In this denial Locke, no doubt, meant to strike a blow at the theory that there are notions which will not yield up their meaning to the reason of man but must be accepted on authority. But so little grasp had he of the principles implied 11/ rt«t 98 HEDONISTIC THEORIES If »tM it I- u. % *% Is. ■» . » li in his own criticism that he makes all knowledge consist in the passive reception of ideas of reality of which nothing can be said but that they " ob- trude themselves on our minds." For it is Locke's doctrine that all knowledge is derived from our own immediate feelings, and that of things in them- selves we have, strictly speaking, no knowledge. Now, if we apply this principle thoroughly and consistently, it is plain we can have no real know- ledge, not even probable knowledge, of anything. Again, Locke distinguishes between primary and secondary qualities of body, maintaining that the former we know just as they are in external things, while the latter arc but sensations in us to which some changes in bodies probably correspond, but of a nature incomprehensible to us. Here it is asserted on the one hand that there are changes in things of which we can know nothing, and, on the other hand, that certain of our sensations reveal to us the properties of things as they actually are. But, manifestly, incomprehensible changes are changes that we cannot know to exist, and no class of sensations can give us a knowledge of the properties of things, if, as Locke says, a sensation is a purely subjective state of the individual mind. Further, Locke by reducing actual knowledge to what is directly present to sense is finally led to " suspect a science of nature to be impossible," LOCKE 99 lowledge f reality ey " ob- Locke's rom our n them- owledge. Illy and .1 knovv- y^thing. lary and that the l1 things, which 1, but of 2 it is uiges in on the eveal to illy are. es are and no 2 of the snsation l1 mind, ^dge to led to ossible," although, as he characteristically adds, our know- ledge of bodies is " sufficient for our purpose." Such being the character of his political creed and his theory of knowledge, Locke's ethical doc- trine, as we might expect, is, like all systems of compromise, essentially self-contradictory. (i) Locke begins by affirming the freedom of man to act, but the account which he gives of the relations of will, freedom, and desire, is in essence the same as that which is now known as Deter- minism, or the theory that human actions, like other events, are bound in a chain of necessary causation. {a) Will is said by Locke to be simply the *' power of preference." When left to himself a man never does anything which he does not choose to do in preference to something else. It is not correct to say that will is the power of acting on preference. A man has the power of preferring to do one thing rather than another, bi't he has not always the power of acting as he prefers. For there are actions over whicli we have no control. A man cannot stop the ueating of his heart, or the circulation of the blood, and " a palsy or the stocks hinder his legs from obeying the determination of his mind if it would thereby transfer his body to another place." So there are ideas over which we have no control. " A man on 1l< 144) I .'It inn Mil lIJi t lOO HEDONISTIC THEORIES (if - I. Lb Si* I: I lie fc • » n 'in \ I 'tt the rack is not at liberty to lay by the idea of pain, and divert himself with other contempla- tions." Will or choice is, therefore, wider in its range than freedom. {b) Freedom is the power of acting on pre- ference. A man may prefer what he has no power to execute, as when the paralytic endeavours to walk, but finds himself unable to do so. There can be no freedom where there is no power of choice, but there may well be power of choice where there is no freedom. But freedom, properly speaking, has no meaning except in application to action. An action is either free or compulsory, but we cannot in strictness say that the will is free. A man is free when his action is voluntary, but there is no meaning in saying that the will is free. It is as " insignificant to ask whether man's will be free, as to ask whether his sleep be swift, or his virtue square." Will being just a man's power of choosing belongs to the man, as does also freedom to act where there is no compulsion ; hence, while we can say that, under certain circumstances, a man is free to act, it is absurd to say that will, the power of choice, possesses freedom, the power of acting upon choice. The two powers are quite distinct, although both belong to the agent. " Powers belong only to agents, and are attributes only of substances, and LOCKE lOI idea of itempla- r in its on prc- 3 power ours to There ower of choice properly ation to ipulsory, will is >luntary, :he will whether leep be just le man, is no under t, it is choice, choice. h both Dnly to :es, and not of powers themselves." So that to ask " whether the will be free " is " in effect to ask whether the will be a substance, an a<^ent." We may as properly say that there is a singing faculty which sings, or a dancing faculty which dances, as to say that the will chooses or the understanding thinks, or that the will directs the understanding, or the understanding obeys or obeys not the will. So far, Locke seem^ to be defending human freedom, and defending it on thoroughly reasonable grounds. But how little he comprehended the true force of his own contention becomes apparent in his account of desire. {c) Desire is distinct in nature from will. An act of will is simply the act of preferring or choosing to do one thing rather than another. But a man never wills without being prompted to will by some desire. Not only so, but he always wills in accordance with the desire which is strongest. Desire is a feeling of " uneasiness," in other words, a sense of want or craving, and, where there are various conflicting desires, that which is most urgent determines what the man prefers. In more familiar language, the will is determined by the strongest motive. (2) Having thus distinguished desire from will, and figured them after the manner of the external impact of one material object on another, Locke III' .'; ill tfsH Ml* % )0 102 HEDONISTIC THEORIES iSi. n lit I: I IF'. C. Ml goes on to iiujuirc into the nature of the motives by which the will is determined. The motive is in all cases either a desire for pleasure or an aversion from pain. (rt) The pleasure desired, as Locke dlstinctl}' tells us, is no pleasure in the abstract, no impcr- 'sonal conception of pleasure, but the imagination of some particular pleasure which to the individual 'at the time appears desirable. {b) The pleasure which is a motive is therefore what to the man at the time seems the greatest pleasure. A man " knows what best pleases him, and that he actually prefers." To say anything else, in fact, would be to deny the basis of Locke's theory of motives, viz., that the " most urgent uneasiness " always is the motive which causes a man to prefer one action to another. A man's motive is determined by his susceptibility to certain pleasures. The epicure will admit that there is great pleasure in the pursuit of knowledge, the studious man that there is pleasure in the grati- fication of the senses, but, unless the one is moved by the uneasiness of shame or some other motive he will not devote himself to study, nor will the other seek to satisfy his appetite until the desire for food arises in his mind. What a man wills, then, is always what appears to him at the time to be fitted to bring pleasure. motives otive is or an Istinctlj- impcr- ^ination dividual licrefore "greatest es him, nything Locke's urgent ^uses a man's certain lere is :e, the grati- one is some study, e until ppears easure. LOCKE 103 Happiness in the abstract moves no one, but " only that part, or so much of it, as is considered and taken to make a necessary part of his hap[>i- ness." It would seem, then, that every one always desires what for him is the greatest good at the time. How then, we naturally ask, can any one be blamed for what he does? If the will is always moved by the most pressing uneasiness, must not a man act in every case as alone he is capable of acting ? (3) To this Locke answers that sometimes we mistake imaginary for real happiness. We are able " to suspend the satisfaction of our desires in particular cases," until we have duly examined whether that which appears good has a tendency to our real happiness. Herein consists the liberty of intellectual beings. The very desire for happi- ness is a motive to " take care not to mistake or miss it, and suggests caution, deliberation, and wariness in the direction of their particular actionsi which are the means to obtain it." We canno^ prevent certain pleasures from appearing desirable that may not really bring happiness, but we can suspend our desires and " stop them from deter- mining our wills to any action till we have duly and fairly examined how far they are fitted to bring happiness." This explains why we can say that a man justly incurs punishment. When a / f X , (I 'J \t tm !«> IIP iir 'A n iir 104 HEDONISTIC THEORIES (if' I; flu., . •Willi C;n;i ' stronger impulse of shame. But as each man's desire is determined not by him but for him, and the desire determines his will, what he prefers in any case is that which alone he can prefer, and freedom is a word without meaning. The strongest " uneasiness " determines the will, and the uneasi- ness itself is simply the desire for pleasure th"' at the time is for him, constituted as he is, the strongest ; hence a man's actions are as unalter- ably determined as if he were an automaton. Until we get rid of the fiction that man can be properly spoken of as a thinking, or desiring, or willing things and that thought is one power, desire another, and will a third, while all three are distinct from action ; until we see the fallacy of this mechanical idea of human nature, the freedom of man must remain at the most an ineradicable belief, not a reasoned truth. (2) I may be reminded that Locke tries to preserve freedom by saying that, although a man cannot prevent certain desires from springing up in his mind, yet he may have the power of " sus- pending " his desires, and of choosing chat course of action which an enlightened reason sets before him as best. That Locke has here expressed what we all feel to be in some sense true there can be no possible doubt, but it is just as certain that here as always his theory will not allow him to prove LOCKE 113 sach man's r him, and prefers in prefer, and 2 strongest :he uneasi- ire th"* at le is, the Ls unalter- lutomaton. an can be esiring, or ne power, three are fallacy of freedom eradicable tries to h a man iging up of " sus- t course ts before sed what : can be hat here o prove what he affirms. For, as Hume afterwards pointed out, granting that the will is always determined by some form of feeling, nothing can produce a sus- pension of any desire but some other desire. If the mind has the power to prevent desire from acting on the will it must also be able to move the will of itself in the absence of all desire. The suspension of desire, on Locke's principles, must be due to a power or force acting contrary to the desire, and such a power is plainly itself competent to move the will. But, once admit that the motive to action is something different from a feeling of pleasure, and what becomes of the assertion that the only motive is a feeling of pleasure ? Either we must abandon the account of will as due to the " most pressing uneasiness " or we must deny to man the power of suspending desire, as we have denied to him the power of originating action without desire. (3) In his account of moral good and evil Locke displays a union of good intention and futile per- formance similar to that displayed in the other part of his theory. He feels that there is a radical dis- tinction between good and evil, but the hedonistic basis of his system will not permit of any justifi- cation of that feeling. A good action, he tells us, is one which conforms to law, divine, civil, or philosophical. This law he regards, although he 11 5; ill jti 114 HEDONISTIC THEORIES •fiiiiiit It: fin . !■? Ittr. Nlllil Ciiii I tvr Ciiii professes to discard all authority but that of a man's own reason, as externally imposed by a law- giver. What, then, gives to the law its power over the individual ? How does he come to take it into himself and make it the motive of his action ? The answer is, that the obligation to obey lav/ meanL- for the agent the pleasure .vhich he believes will result from obedience, and the pain which he is likely to experience should he violate it. But men are not always deterred from running counter to law by the anticipation of the pain that may ensue. Why not ? Because to some men the gratification of their immediate desires is a stronger motive, i.e. appears as more desirable, than the possible future pain of punishment. But on Locke's own theory .he pleasure which acts as a motive is what appears to the man at the time to be most pleasant, and this pleasure he cannot make more or less pleasant than it appears ; nor as we have seen can he prevent it from determining his will ; how then can a man be blamed for not doing what he has no power to do ? If criminal pleasure is to his mind more desirable than lawful pleasure surely he must will it. To say that he ought to prefer obedience to law is merely to say that he does not do that which in the long run will bring him most pleasure ; but while this may be a LOCKE that of a i by a lavv- er over the ike it into lis action ? obey law he beh'eves ^vhich he is i^ut men nter to law nay ensue, ratification -r motive, 2 possible cke's own ^e is what be most ake more we have his will; lot doing pleasure pleasure ought to that he ''ill bring y be a nS matter for regret it cannot properly be a matter for blame. The man has clone what his nature alone permitted him to do, and he can no more be called morally guilty than the pointer dog which does not point, or the terrier when it does not catch rats. The outcome of Locke's hcdon- istic theory of morality is thus the destruction of all morality. 4* II t 4 If It: i>»t r CHAPTER VI lb*. liiir ■c: '« ' HUME In David Hume we have a thinker who displays none of that disposition to compromise which is characteristic of Locke. Not only is all direct knowledge of things confined to the transient states of one's own consciousness, but it is im- possible for us to show that there is any real it}- distinct from those states. The " substance " of things, which to Locke seemed so mysterious, is only mysterious because it is ^ fiction of the imagination. Substantiality just means the reappearance in our consciousness of impressions similar to those which we have formerly had ; but the recurrence of the same impression, or bundle of impressions, does not entitle us to say that there is a self- dependent " substance " which continues to exist when we do not perceive it. And as we can never prove the existence of things beyond the HUME "7 moment of their ajjpearancc in our consciousness, it is absurd to speak of the connection of things. As there are no " substances " to connect, they cannot be connected. We commonly say that one thing is the cause of another, as, e.g. that a fire produces heat in us when we hold our hand to the blaze : but, from the point of view of knowledge, all that we can properly say is that never have we had the feeling of heat without finding it accompanied with the impression or remembrance of fire. The fact that the one feeling has .so often been associated with the other raises in us the expectation, when we have the one, that we shall have the other also. This expectation has never been disappointed, but we are not therefore entitled to infer that the uni- form relation between the two feelings of fire and heat which has hitherto prevailed might not be broken. No amount of repetition can entitle us to affirm necessary connection in things ; all that we can properly affirm is customary association or uniformity in the succession of our own ideas. Another thing which Hume .sees to follow from Locke's theory of knowledge, when it is developed to its consequences, is that what we call our- selves is not any " substance " or " agent " distinct from the train of feelings that make up our mental life. A man shall in vain .search in his con- % I \\\ It Jl lit !! ■t It H iK IS! ii8 HEDONISTIC THEORIES lir-ii lets iwi **" ^^ • ill 5f* ,>«. sciousness for anything but the vivid impressions of sense or their less vivid copies in memory and imagination. What he really means when he says "I," is the series of ideas which have occurred one by one in his experience. From moment to moment he is conscious of a new feeling, and what he calls himself is just this perpetually changing consciousness. In his account of the nature of knowledge Hume, as it will be admitted, is not kept from setting his axe to the root of the tree by any sentiment of reverence for the fair growth of man's beliefs. Locke had said that our real knowledge is of our own feelings, and Hume will have no half-hearted measures. If I have a consciousness only of my own feelings, away with your unknow- able " substances," material and mental ! Let us at least be consistent with ourselves. We may in fact regard Hume as having given the finishing stroke to the individualistic theory of knowledge which began with the sensationalism of Protagoras, was continued by Aristippus and Epicurus, adopted by Hobbes, and formulated by Locke. If any theory has shown itself historically to carry in itself the seeds of its own destruction, it is the theory of sensationalism, that knowledge is of immediate states of feeling. The watchword of Hume is " Thorough," in his HUME 119 mpressions 1 memory 5 when he e occurred loment to sling, and )erpetually knowledge vept from t by any I of man's knowledge have no sciousness unknow- Let us e may in finishing |nowledge otagoras, adopted If any |carry in t is the is of in his ethical doctrine as in his theory of knowledge. He will have no oscillation between freedom and necessity, desire and reason, individual pleasure and objective law. I. Locke denied that there is any propriety in calling the will free ; but he seemed to himself to be defending human freedom in saying that the man is free although his will is not. Hume will have no such subterfuge. You may call " spon- taneity," i.e. action done without compulsion, " freedom " if you please, but the act is in the strictest sense of the term necessitated. What do we me ap by '' neres.^ it v " but unifo rmity in the succession^-of—eiients, or rather in the order of our ideas ? Tried by this test a man's actions are as necessary as the law of gravitation. Given two men of exactly the same character and temper, placed in exactly the same circum- stances, and they will do exactly the same acts. It is true that sometimes men seem to act without any motive, but this is only because it is difficult to find out what the motive is. Were we perfectly acquainted with every circumstance of their situation and temper, we should see that their act is as rigidly bo ind in the chains of necessity as those acts the spring of which is open and manifest. That there is a " constant union between motives and actions " is not only .11 i II II I If I20 HEDONISTIC THEORIES *Eit If: mi: mi I I Cir liki 1111 mil iidi i recognized in our ordinary judgments, but all human laws as founded on rewards and punish- ments assume that " these motives have an influ- jence on the mind, and both produce the good and prevent the evil actions." 2. Having stripped off the disguise in which Locke concealed from himself and others the necessarian character of his doctrine of freedom, \ Hume completes the work by showing that as the sole motive by which our action is determined is desire for pleasure, reaspn can have no more power to hinder a desire from acting than to initiate an action of itself. This objection has already been stated, but it may be worth while considering it more fully. {a) Reason alone can never be a motive to any act of the will. In what form is reason exer- cised ? (a) It may take the form of the appre- hension of such abstract relations as those with which mathematics is concerned. But no one would say that a knowledge of the multiplication table, or of the elements of Euclid, or of the differential calculus, has of itself any influence on a man's action. No doubt it is important to know that 7-1-5 = 12, when you wish to pay an account, but that important piece of knowledge will not determine you to pay the account. " Abstract or demonstrative reasoning, therefore, never in- HUME 121 !, but all id punish- an influ- good and in which thers the freedom, that as letermined no more than to ction has rth while e to any on exer- le appre- ose with ne would 3n table, Terential man's ow that account, vill not Abstract ;ver in- fluences any of our actions, but only as it directs our judgment concerning causes and effects." (|8) Is reason as concerned with the causal relations of things a motive to action ? It is obvious enough that our desires bring the reason into play. If a merchant is afraid of bankruptcy he will naturally cast about in his mind for some means of escape from so grave a calamity. But this act of reason, by which the relation of means to ends is grasped, does not give rise to any impulse to action ; but, on the contrary, the impulse to action gives rise to the act of reason. The merchant would not trouble himself to think out the possible causes of insolvency, were it not that his feeling of aversion from pain is so strong as to drive him to it. " Where the objects themselves do not affect us, their connection can never give them any influence ; and 'tis plain that as reason is nothing but the discovery of this connection, it cannot be by its means that the objects are able to affect us." Hence it is con- cluded that neither in its scientific form as the apprehension of abstract truth, nor in its practical form as the knowledge of causes, can reason be a motive to action. {b) As reason alone can never produce any action, it is incapable of " disputing the pre- ference with any passion or emotion." The only i If ■A Ml tffi % 122 HEDONISTIC THEORIES It: c nil II III nil i>:NI iiiji: way in which reason could prevent volitron would be by giving an impulse in a contrary direction to our passion, and that impulse, had it operated alone, would have been able to produce volition. Nothing can oppose or retard the impulse of passion, but a contrary impulse ; and if this contrary impulse ever arises from reason, the latter faculty must have an original influence on the will,_and must be able to cause, as well as to hinder, any act of volition. But it reason has no original influence, it is impossible that it should withstand any principle which has such an efficacy, or ever keep the mind in suspense for a moment. Thus it appears that the principle which opposes our passion cannot be the same with reason, and is only called so in an improper sense. " We speak not strictly and philosophically when we talk of the combat of passion and of reason. Reason is, and ought only t o be, the slave^of the passions, and can never pretend to any other office than to serve and obey them." The motive, then, to all action comes from the desire for pleasure or the aversion from pain, and the sole function of practical reason is to show us the means by which we may best obtain the one and avoid the other. 3. The desires, or " passions," as he calls them, Hume divides ostensibly into two classes, the HUME 123 tfon would r direction t operated ;e volition, mpulse of d if this jason, the luence on , as well it reason lie that it s such an spense for h opposes ason, and We speak ilk of the )n is, and and can serve and on comes ion from son is to ■st obtain lis them, ises, the "direct" and the "indirect," but he virtually adds to these a third class. {(i) The " direct " passions are those which at once spring up in the mind on the contemplation of an object. When a man sees or thinks of a beautiful house, e.g, he cannot prevent the feeling of its desirability from springing up in his mind. If, again, there is a certainty or strong probability that he will himself get possession of it, he feels the emotion of joy. Should the likelihood of pos- session somewhat preponderate, he experiences hope, and if some exertion on his part is needed to secure the house, there arises volition or will. These four passions of desire, joy, hope, and volition, with the opposite states of aversion^ grief, and fear, constitute the direct passions. ^'f' {b) The "indirect" passions of pride and humility » love and hatred, involve the reference of the feeling of pleasure to ourselves or others. Pleasure in con- templating any beautiful object belonging to our- self gives rise to pride, when the object belongs to another it excites the feeling of love. The term " love," it must be understood, is used by Hume to cover all feelings for another's welfare, varying from simple esteem to intense passion. \ {c) The third class of " passions," not expressly allowed for by Hume, but mentioned by him, are those which take the form of a natural impulse or M Ml t il an '411 124 HEDONISTIC THEORIES l»^ vx 1 n I r a lifH I: II i? If t: » i iiiiiii iimii 1 instinct. Such are the bodily appetites, the in- stinct for revenge, and the social instinct. These do not so much proceed from the desire for pleasure and pain, as give rise to pleasure and pain. This distinction does not, however, prevent Hume from speaking of them as if they were themselves desires for pleasure. 4. The motive, then, which leads a man to act is always one of the passions. The next question is : How do we come to call some actions virtuous and others vicious? What is the source of moral approbation and disapprobation? Locke's view was, that action is morally good v/hen it is done out of regard for law. But this seems to place morality in something entirely distinct from the desire for pleasure. Hume cannot allow this discrepancy be- tween the assertion that pleasure is the motive of all actions, and the assertion that some actions are done not from pleasure but from respect for law, to pass unchallenged ; and so he seeks to show that all actions called virtuous are so called because of the pleasure which they give to one who con- templates their general tendency. {a) To explain the feeling of moral approbation, the passion of sympathy is in some cases sufficient. On this principle Hume accounts for the manner in which we view benevolent actions. Because we .an put ourselves at the point of view of others* \ HUME 12; we come to look away from the immediate effects of actions on ourselves, and to sympathize with the pleasure which they tend to produce in others. We do not directly approve or blame our own actions. A benevolent act done by ourselves calls up in us the feeling of pride. Primarily, we sympathize with the pleasure or pain of others, and by this constant tendency to sympathy our own feelings are limited. {b) Nothing more than sympathy is needed to explain those acts which directly excite in us a feeling of pleasure or pain. But what is to be said of those acts the immediate effect of which is to produce in us a feeling of pain, and which we yet morally approve ? How, in other words, are we to account for moral judgments in regard to laws of justice ? Justice is an " artificial " virtue, i.e. it gives rise to the pleasure of moral approbation, not directly, but indirectly. But Hume endeavours to show that the pleasure felt in just acts is developed out of the pleasure of direct sympathy with bene- volent acts, and rests on the same fundamental desire for pleasure. Hume speaks of society as resting upon, con tra^i;, and as based upon self- interest ; but he does not, like Hobbes, suppose rights to be brought into existence by the contract, nor does he adopt the view of Locke, that rights exist before government, and are only confirmed by it. His view is that rules of justice proceed from IK :i \% HP 1» 126 HEDONISTIC THEORIES ;!t' 'Ml \V N 'till »!■•< ^1, k ...l F' « ' III If; ••IKIl ,, ttlUl ji i;SJ ill ««» ill Miff III c L c: III III ill lli* action is possible until it is seen that passion and reason, desire and will, are not abstract oppositcs. Such an opposition implies that an unreflected feeling of pleasure or pain, as it may exist in beings that are not self-conscious, is the same in nature with the emotions of thinking beings. PJeasuxe as an immediate feeling, and the 4 esire f or pleasure, are not the same thing. Nc man desires pleasure purely for itself-; he desires it because he imagines that, having obtained it^Jie wiJi exper a satis- faction^ of Ills - id e al s elf. The striving after satis- faction thus implies a contrast between what is and what ought to be. Every man in virtue of his self-conscious nature must seek after complete self- realization. There is therefore impliedjn^the passions or natural inclinations a striving after ideal j)erfection, i.e. a man's acts are really directed tow;ards a rational end. The contrast of passion and reason is therefore not an absolute one. Similarly, when it is said that the strongest motive or passion means the will, motives are conceived after the fashion of an external force which push the will in different directions, the volition being the resultant of their combined action. That is to say, desire is one thing and will another. , Desire is related to will as an external force to the object which it sets in motion. \ HUME 133 ission and oppositcs. ted feeling in beings in nature Pleasure r pleasure, 3 pleasure \ imagines :e a satis- fter satis- I what is tue of his plete self- e passions perfection, Dwards a id reason stronsfest :ives are lal force ions, the :ombined le thing- Ill as an sets in This whole mode of thought is unsound. Desire is not the opposite of will, it is simply will before it has issued in activity. When I desire to do a certain act or series of acts, I set befoie myself the end which I wish to achieve, and, having the con- sciousness of that end, I am said to be in a state of desire. Desire, therefore, involves a state of tension between myself jis I now arn, and myself as I think of myself as capable .of_Jb€cpmiiTg. This contrast of the present and the possible self is of the essence of desire. The end which I set before myself is that which explains why it is that I act in a particular way. What is the difference between this condition of desire and the condition of willing the act ? What takes place when I pass from the desire of the end to the willing of the end? Does the desire act externally upon the will ? That is the ordinary conception, but it is plainly inadequate. When I will the end which I have set before my- self, I id?ntify myself in consciousness with the end. Such an identification would be impossible if I had no consciousness of myself. Were there no self-con- sciousness there would be nothing but a blind im- pulse followed by an unintelligent act. But I am self-conscious ; I can conceive of this end as one which to me it seems good to realize. I think the end, and I identify myself in thought with the end, and this peculiar form of thinking constitutes willing. II I' !1 ; i III i;i Ill iil If) 111 134 HEDONISTIC THEORIES JifW' ii it>tiii ^t\ .IMP !»• IKS Milft c III If iiii; ■w; iir.< Willing is not the same thing as the mechanical movement, which is its external expression ; it is absolutely and entirely a form of thought, and as such belongs to the realm of self-consciousness. Desire.,_tlien> ..is the consciousness of an end, as one which it is good to realize. -Will is self-identi- fication with that end. The difference is that what in desire is conceived of as an end to be realized is in will conceived of as an end now being realized. Hence, desire and will are just the same self-con- scious being now as capable of realizing an end» and again as realizing that end. (2) As, then, man's " passions " are not resolvable into mere units of feeling, the distinction of "direct" and " indirect " passions is inadmissible, {a) No passions enter into consciousness so as to become motives without being transformed in the process. Hence, all passions are " indirect," i.e. all imply de- termination by the idea of the self as capable of existing in a completed form, {b) Nor can we distinguish pride and love as dealing respectively with oneself and others. I cannot be conscious of myself except in relation to other selves, and I cannot relate any desirable object to myself with- out also relating it to other persons. Hence pride, as well as love, implies the relation of the individual to others. No man would take pride in a fine estate were it not that he values the good opinion HUME 135 nechanical 'on ; it is Kt, and as less. n end, as i>elf-identi- that what realized is 5 realized. t self-con- g an end, resolvable )f "direct" (a) No become process. mply de- pable of can we bpectively Iscious of and I ;lf with- |ce pride, idividual a fine opinion of others, {c) There are in man no mere appetites or instinctive feelings, or at least these do not lead to acts which can be referred to the agent. Appetite as it enters into consciousness is known for what it is, its end is discerned by the thinking being, and, being brought into relation with the idea of himself, it takes the form of desire, which, as we have seen, is incipient will. (3) Hume tries to explain moral judgments by means of sympathy. But he does not attempt to explain sympathy itself Now, sympathy is not really a feeling of pleasure in the pleasure of others ; it is, properly understood, just reason itself If, like Hume, we continue to regard it as a peculiar feel- ing on the same level as other feelings, there is no proper justification for moral judgments, except that we cannot help having them. We contemplate the action of one man who acts from the immediate desire for his own pleasure, and, finding that his acts tend to bring on the whole more pain than pleasure, we cannot avoid having a disagreeable feeling of moral disapprobation. But, after all, this feeling may be, for aught Hume can show, unreasonable. The only way in which we can really show the absoluteness of moral judg- ments is by basing them upon reason. Then sym- pathy is raised into the form of the judgment that an act is right or wrong, according as it does or I !il 136 HEDONISTIC THEORIES It If: a. IP* Itti III F Willi* ^ Mlliji<'iiiH llill Mill l|)l! i|i|t Mil! PI >llll C t does not tend to the realization of the ideal or spiritual nature. An act is not right because it is felt to be so, but we feel it to be so because it is right. Moral good thus means conformity to the ideal standard set up by reason and willed by reason. The true motive to a good action is there- fore not, as Hume makes it, love of reputation, but desire to conform to the ideal of reason. Hence, a man is prepared to endure the ill opinion of his neighbours, when that opinion conflicts with the revelation of the higher life flashed upon him by his own more sensitive conscience. •■'Id: Utll BENTHAM II It ir It CHAPTER VII It may safely be said that no hedonistic system subsequent to Hume has added anything to the general doctrine, but has either introduced dis- tinctions belonging to an earlier stage of its devolopment or has ennobled it by the introduction of conceptions that are inconsistent with its funda- mental principle. That all actions are determined by the desire for pleasure ; that the pleasure which to the individual at the moment seems strongest determines the will ; that reason has no power to originate, to retard, or to prevent action, but is a purely formal, or theoretical activity ; that there is no " innate__faculty " or " moral sense " belon~g^ ing to man in his natural state, but that moral judgments are resolvable into a peculiar form of pleasure ; that justice is a means of obtaining security for life and property, and so of securing the greatest pleasure of society as a whole ; and i > ^ ^ II f •II •38 HEDONISTIC THEORIES % %\ >! Ml h II 'II iC''"' «: 1 111, HlQg il, • •♦ lit iait iitii- \tl i'r laii lit! IWIi ,1 if' i«0 !l»ti' lilt Lit' 'PI ^Mumti'iiii cswji:: that a man's motive in doing a benevolent or just act is ultimately a regard for his own pleasure ; — these are the main features of a hedonism that is as self-consistent as hedonism can be made, and they are all clearly set forth by Hume. Jeremy Bentham is a thinker rather of the type of Hobbes, than of the type of Hume. His predominant interest is in the advancement of social well-being, and keeping this end ever before him, he presents us with a doctrine having in it much higher elements than any of his pre- decessors, but higher elements which logically have no place in a hedonistic theory of conduct. Des- titute of the speculative subtlety of Hume, he tries not so much to reconcile his hedonism with the principle that morality consists in doing actions which secure the greatest good of the greatest number, as to show how hedonism may be practi- cally applied in the regulation of the actions of private individuals, and to the improvement of legislation. Especially in the latter respect his writings have been of great practical value, a value which, as it may be fairly said, is independent of what he believed to be the motive of all actions, the desire for one's own pleasure. We shall, I think, best appreciate the strength and the weakness of Bentham by viewing him as a writer who above all things was interested in an ent or just pleasure ; — mism that be made, lume. er of the of Hume. Ivancement end ever ine having )f his pre- icaliy have uct. Des- Hume, he mism with ng actions greatest be practi- 1 actions of ement of :spect his [e, a value endent of |ll actions, strength Ig him as Ited in an BENTHAM 139 analysis of the springs of human conduct, with a view to finding the r ")st effective means of improving society by acting upon them. Hence his elaborate classification of the various pleasures which serve as motives, his endless divisions and subdivisions, and his continual insistence on the prmciple that " every one is_ to coun t for one and no one for more than_ one." Bentham is really attempting to construct a system of conduct that shall serve as a guide in actual life. Whether such a system can be constructed or not, we are at least entitled to demand that it should not be based upon inconsistent principles. Let us look at the main poincs in Bentham's doctrine. I. He has no hesitation in rej ecting as J^lse— all ot her principle s — except — that of " utility," the principle which " approves or disa pproves of every action whatsoever, according to the tendency which it appears to have to augment or diminish the happiness of the party whose interest is in ques- tion." The adver.se principles which he criticizes are those of asceticism and sympathy and antipathy. (a) Asceticism he defines as " that principle, which, like the principle of utility, approves or disapproves of any action, according to the tend- ency which it appears to have to augment or diminish the happiness of the party whose interest 140 HEDONISTIC THEORIES It: ' » IMI iMIlii lilt HMriiitiilin: ■IT #' I ll!i is in question ; but in an inverse manner, approv- ing of actions in as far as they tend to diminish his happiness ; disapproving of them in as far as they tend to augment it." Such a representation, or rather misrepresentation, of asceticism is a curious instance of the extraordinary want of intellectual sympathy which is characteristic of Bentham. That the end of life is to get as much pain as possible is a mere caricature of ascetic morality. What has given that mode of thought a peculiar fascina- tion to many minds is that it opposes the higher or spiritual life to the lower, and maintains that the former can only be obtained by the complete sacrifice of the latter. The end is therefore from the ascetic point of view, not the "production of pain, but the transcendence of the pleasures of the flesh by means of self-mortification, which is believed to be the only " way to the blessed life." {b) Bentham is more successful in detecting the weakness of the second principle to which he objects. The principle of " sympathy and anti- pathy," is, as he contends, " rather a principle in name than in reality." To say that an action is good merely because it '" felt to be good is the negation of all principle. One man says that a thing is right because his " moral sense " tells him so ; another appeals to " common sense," and con- veniently leaves out " the sense of those whose BE NTH AM 141 er, approv- to diminish I as far as ►resentation, is a curious intellectual lam. That as possible ity. What liar fascina- the higher ntains that le complete refore from Dduction of ures of the is believed tecting the which he and anti- rinciple in action is )od is the '■s that a tells him and con- )se whose sense is not the same " as his own ; a third speaks of an " eternal and immutable rule of right," but when he comes to particulars you find that he really means what he thinks to be right ; others appeal to the " law of nature " or " natural justice " or " right reason." In all these cases recourse is had to one's own feeling, which affords no standard of conduct at all. 2. Having thus cleared away the rubbish, Bentham goes to work with great energy to construct an edifice of morals on the basis of hedonism. The end is the securing of pleasure and the avoidance of pain. It is necessary, therefore, if we are to determine action in conformity with this end, to know how pleasures vary in value. Con- sidered by itself a pleasure or pain is greater or less according to {a) intensit}^, {U) duration, {c) certainty or uncertainty, {d) propinquity or lemoteness ; to which must be added, when we are estimating the value of an act (e) fecundity, or the chance it has of being followed by sensations of the same kind, (/) its purity, or the chance it has of not being followed by sensations of the opposite kind. When we are estimating the pleasures of a number of persons, we must add (g) extent, i.e. the number of persons who are affected by it. To determine the general tendency of an act, is to strike a balance between the pleasures a^id pains associated with it. If the II II II ir t 143 UliDONlSTIC THEORIES ij.- hi ^ lilt) J. »•' • ii«» It* l«v ItLb' Itlllf Iff 1 ■ 1 t,,.-... *rariii 'iif>ii CB «s! IE Ci mi iiri f pleasure is in excess the act is good, if the pain is in excess the act is bad. As an illustration of the method of determining value by a calcu- lation of pleasure j and pains, Bcntham ci^es the instance of a landed estate, which a man values for the pleasures it will bring and the pain it will enable him to avoid, while its value rises according to the length of time he is to have possession and the nearness of the time he is to come into possession of it. The other circum- stai.-os which go to make up the quantity of the rn-^.i! s pleasure, t.^o intensity^ fecundity^ and purity of the pleasures, are not considered beforehand because they vary with the use which each person may come to make of the estate. This process of calculation is not pursued in every case, but it may always be kept in view, and the more fully it is carried out the nearer will it approach to the character of an exact one. Not only do pleasures differ in quantity, but they are distinguished according to their exciting causes, and these are subdivided into {a) single, {b) complex. Fourteen different sorts or kinds of pleasure are mentioned, viz., pleasures of sense, wealth, skill, amity, good name, power, piety, benevolence, male- volence, memory, imagination, expectation, associa- tion, relief. A further division of even greater importance is into (i) self- regarding, (2) extra- BENTHAM 143 regarding, the latter ccmprehciuUng the pleasures of benevolence and the pleasures of malevolence, all the rest belonging to the former class. It is admitted by Bentham that the quantity of pleasure and pain is not excited by a given cause, is not the same in different persons. One man may be most affected by the pleasures of the taste ; another by those of the ear. The various circumstances which influence the sensibility are enumerated by Bentham, and are such as health, strength, hardness, bodi'y imperfection, knowledge, moral sensibility, etc. \ 3. Bentham's next attempt is to determine what enters into and constitutes the character of human actions ; and here he distinguishes, {a) the act ' 1 itself, (Jj) the circumstances in which it is done, j(^) the intentionality that may have accompanied ; it, {d) the consciousness that may have accom- panied it, {e) the motive which gives rise to it, (/) the disposition which it indicates. The intention may regard either the act itself or its consequences. The act may be intentional but not the consequences, as when you may intend to touch a man without intending to hurt him, and yet as a matter of fact you may chance to hurt him. But the consequences cannot be inten- tional without the act being intentional. If you do not intend the act, the consequences are not 144 HEDONISTIC THEORIES It: a, I*' |«t lii: tV Kill > intended. People often speak of a fjjood or bad intention, but this is an imperfect way of speaking. Nothing is either good or bad but pain or pleasure, or things that are the causes or preventives of pain and pleasure. A man certainly intends his act, but he cannot strictly s[)eaking be said to intend the consequences. He ma)' be conscious or not conscious of them, but he docs not intend them. If I take a prescription which is furnished me by a physician, I intend to take it, but I cannot be said to intend the consequences ; I can only know or not know what the consequences will be. No intention therefore can be called either good or bad, since goodness and badness arc dependent upon the consequences in the way of pleasure or pain. The motive to an act must be distinguished from the intention. The only motives with which we are concerned are those which act upon the will. Now, to be governed by any motive a man must look beyond his action to the consequences of it. " A fire breaks out in your neighbour's house ; you are under apprehension of its extending to your own ; you are apprehensive that if you stay in it you will be burnt ; you accordingly run out of it. This then is the act, the others are all motives to it." A motive is " substantially no- thing more than pleasure or pain, operating in a BENT HAM '45 ")cl or barl f speaking. )r pleasure, 'cntivcs of ntcnds his >e said to _• conscious not intend ; furnished it, but I cs ; I can nsequences be called adness arc le way of tinguishcd ith which upon the e a man uences of 's house ; nding to you stay run out are all ially no- ng in a certain manner. Now, ** pleasure is in itself good ; nay, even setting aside frecdoin from pain, the only good ; pain is in itself an evil ; and indeed, without exception, the only evil. And this is alike true of every sort of pain, and of ever)* sort of pleasure. It follows, therefore, that there is HO such thing as any sort of motive I hat is in itself a had one!' If motives are good or bad it is only on account of their effects ; good, on account of their tendency to produce pleasure, or avert pain ; bad, on account of their tendency to produce pain, or avert pleasure. The various motives corre- spond to the different sorts of pleasure. Frequently a man is acted upon by different motives at the same time : " one motive or set of motives, acting in one direction ; another motive, or .set of motives, acting as it were in an opposite direction." Is there nothing, then, about a man that can properly be termed good or bad ? Yes, cer- tainly ; his disposition. But the disposition is good or bad according to its effects in the pro- duction of pleasure and pain. When a man is accustomed to do acts which bring more pleasure than pain to the community, we say that he has a good disposition. 4. Bentham, then, places goodness and badness entirely in the disposition of the agent, as deter- mined by the view which is taken of the tendency 146 HEDONISTIC THFORIES I! If*. ' IL - Iitti II r , ^ ■! lap ■ »•• X^.'iiiti*' hiV II :«! ! " eli l» Sill) It" of his act combined with his view of its conse- quences. The question arises whether there is any difference between pleasures such as entitles us to speak of the disposition of a man as good or bad in a moral sense. A man's disposition is good when the tendency of his act is good, i.e. when it produces pleasure, and when he acts fiom an extra- regarding motive. But is the distinction of motives into the two classes of self- regarding and extra-regarding tenable ? Bentham virtually ad- mits that it is not. The only motive that can be brougrht to bear upon a man is " his own pain and pleasure." " On the occasion of every act he exercises every human bemg is led to pursue that line of conduct which, according to his view of the case taken by him at the moment, will be in the highest degree contributory to his own happiness." Whether, therefore, the man's motive is called f.elf-regarding or extra-regarding, the motive is ultimately a desire for his own greatest pleasure. 5. Bentham distinguishes, however, between " pri- vate ethics " and the " art nf legislation," endeavour- ing to determine the limits of each. " Ethics at large may be defined as the art of directing men's actions to the production of the greatest possible quantity of happiness." Private ethics is the art of self^oyernment, or " the art of directing a man's own actions," Government or legislation is the art BENTHAM H7 ts con se- re is any ititles us good or 1 is good i.e. when from an notion of ding and [ally ad- t can be pain and act he rsue that \v of the e in the ppiness." s called lotive is asure. en " pri- deavour- Lthics at ig mei^'s possible the art a man's » the art of directing the actions of other agents so as to produce a maximum of pleasure in the whole community. The quality which a man manifests in discharging his duty to himself (" if duty it is to be called") is that of prudence. In so far as his behaviour may affect the interests of those about him, it may be said to depend upon his duty to others. To forbear from diminishing the happiness of one's neighbour is probity ; to add something to his happiness is beneficence. If it is asked, why should I obey the dictates of probity and bene- ficence} Bentham answers that, while " the only interests which a man at all times and upon all occasions is sure to find adequate motives for consulting are his own," yet, " there are no occa- sions in which a man has not some motives for consulting the happiness of other men. In the first place, he has, on all occasions, the_purely social motive of sympathy or benevolence , in the next place, he has, on most occasions, the semi- social motives of love, of amit_y, and love of re- putation. The motive of sympathy will act upon him with more or less effect, according to the bias of his sensibility ; the two other motives, according to a variety of circumstances, principally according to the strength of his intellectual powers, the firm- ness and steadiness of his mind, the quantum of his moral sensibility, and the characters of the 148 HEDONISTIC THEORIES It; ' V Vint i>> lipr ' Iwif lap l»i» e«ilP!!! «s:iii til '!! people he has to deal with." As private ethics and legislation have the same end in view, viz., the happiness of every member of the community, to a certain extent they go hand in hand. How then do they differ ? They differ in so far as _the acts with \vhich__they - a re c on eer n e d a r c " not J>^;'- fectly and throu^kimt-\hQ^ sdsnQ^ "There is no case in which a private man ought_n ot to direct fiisown conduct to the production of his own liappiness, and of that of his fellow creatures ; but there are cases in which the legislation ought not to attempt to direct the conduct of the several other members of the community. Every act which promises to be beneficial upon the whole to the community (himself included) each individual ought to perform of himself; but it is not every such act that the legislator ought to compel him to perform." There are, then, actions with which legislation may not interfere, but which are left to private ethics. What are these cases ? (a) Legislation should not interfere where punish- ment would be inefficacious. It is useless, for example, to punish a man for not obeying a law that has not been duly announced beforehand ; and yet, admitting the law to be a wise one, the action prohibited is pernicious in its consequences, and is, therefore, contrary to " private ethics." Where no law would be of any efficacy, as in BENTHAM 149 ite ethics ^ievv, viz., immunity^ id. How ar as_the ' not J>^;'- is no case t fiis^ own iness, and are cases tempt to members 3mises to )mmunity > perform that the ' There may not What >. I punish- iless, for g a law Drehand ; one, the ^quences, ethics." y, as in the case of an insane person, neither is there any private law. But the main region in which private ethics operates of itself is in cases where punish- ment would be unprofitable. Thus, when the guilty person will in all likelihood escape detection, especially if the temptation to commit the offence is very strong, or when there is danger of the innocent being punished, the matter is one that private ethics alone should deal with. An instance of the latter is treachery or ingratitude. (J)) " Of the rules of moral duty, those which stand least in need of the assistance of legislation are the rules of prudence. It can only be through some defect on the part of the understanding, if a man be ever deficient in point of duty to himself" All that the legislator can hope to do is " to increase the efficacy of private ethics, by giving strength and direction to the influence of the moral sanction. With what chance of success, for example, would a legislator go about to extirpate drunkenness and fornication by dint of legal punishment? Not all the tortures which ingenuity could invent would com- pass it ; and, before he had made any progress worth regarding, such a mass of evil would be produced by the punishment, as would exceed a thousand- fold the utmost possible mischief of the offence. The great difficulty would be in the procuring evi- dence ; an object which could not be attempted ISO HEDONISTIC THEORIES liflf la It IIM[|Wl 1^^ 111 «:J1II with any probability of success, without spreading dismay through every family, tearing the bonds of sympathy asunder, and rooting out the influence of all the social motives." Legi.''^tive interference is even worse in matters of religion. Louis XIV., for example, out of pure sympathy and loving kind- ness was led into coercive measures which produced " all the miseries which the most determined male- volence could have devised." {c) The rules of probity are those which stand most in need of assistance on the part of the legis- lator, and in which, in point of fact, his interference has been most extensive. " There are few cases, if any, in which it would not be expedient to punish a man for injuring his neighbour." Here, in fact, " we must first know what are the dictates of legis- lation, before we can knov/ what are the dictates of private ethics." {d) The rules of beneficetice must necessarily be left in great measure to private ethics ; for, as a rule, the beneficial quality of the act depends upon its being free and voluntary. To sum up : " Private ethics teaches how each man may dispose himself to pursue_the__xQur^e_most conducive to his o\\\\ liappiness, by means of such motives as offer" of themselves; the act of legislation teaches how a multitude of men, composing a community, may be disposed to pursue that course which, upon the BENTHAM 151 spreading bonds of influence terference uis XIV, ing kind- produced led malc- ich stand the legis- terference ' cases, if to punish in fact, of legis- ictates of sarily be for, as a nds upon " Private 2 himself his ow'n offer" of \ how a , may be ipon the whole, is the most conducive to the happiness of the whole community, by means of motives to be applied by the legislator." Bentham adds, that social opinion and religion have also sanctions of their own, but the former not infrequently runs counter to the public good, while the influence of the latter is weak and uncertain in its action. Through the whole of Bentham's ethical theory there runs an ambiguity which imparts to it a delusive air of plausibility and consistency. The founder of the modern school of Utilitarianism has fixed for it the main outlines of the common creed, and his doctrine, like that of his disciples, rests upon two distinct and even contradictory principles. (i) Bentham's attempt to show that pleasures and pains may be balanced against one another by being separately summed up, rests upon r confusion between pleasure and pain as feelings and as objects of thought. Let us take Bentham's own instance of the man who thinks of buying an estate. He calls up in imagination the various pleasur s which are associated with it, and the quantity of each of these he multiplies by the time he expects to en- joy them, adding to the sum the extra amount of pleasure connected with immediate possession. Now, it is here implied that each of the pleasures that go to form the whole sum has a certain precise 152 HEDONISTIC THEORIES ilf Mil ltt» lait Hi':; V degree of intensity which car be, at least approxi- mately, determined beforehand. But Bentham him- self points out that pleasures vary according to the susceptibility of the individual. Now, surely that means that no pleasure has any quantity apart from its relation to the idea of one's self as the subject of the pleasure. Thus the quantity of the pleasure means the thought of a certain object as a means of bringing satisfaction to the man who anticipates it. What the man really does is to compare different means of self-satisfaction, and to pronounce that certain objects will, as he believes, judging from his own past experience, be a better means of realizing himself than certain other objects. He is not con- trasting feelings of pleasure as such, but he is comparing himself in one ideal set of circumstances with himself in another ideal set of circumstances. Take away this conception of himself, and he is unable to say that any one pleasure has more or less quantity than another. Always, when he says that one pleasure is greater than another, he tacitly adds, greater for me^ and for those of like nature with me. But if the conception of himself as a permanent subject capable of satisfaction in various defined ways is what gives meaning to the supposed calculus of pleasures, is it not plain that not pleasure as a mere feeling, but pleasure as the possible satis- faction of his ideal self, is what really determines approxi- [lam him- ng to the irely that part from e subject : pleasure means of :ipates it. different mce that from his realizing not con- It he is mstances Tistances. id he is more or he says le tacitly e nature elf as a various upposed pleasure >le satis- :ermines BE NTH AM 153 whether, in the case mentioned, he shall buy the estate ? (2) It follows from this that not pleasure, as Bentham supposes, but the realization of man's nature in its ideal perfection is the end of all action. When we set aside as inconsistent with the highest conduct anything with which a man may, as a matter of fact, seek to satisfy himself, we can justify our judgment only on the ground that it is incom- patible with the idea of perfect manhood. The man, we say, is trying to violate his true nature. The idea of himself which he is seeking to realize is incompatible with the idea of himself of which he is at least obscurely conscious. The prodigal wastes his substance in riotous living, but at last " he comes to himself." Contrasting what he has been trying to realize with the ideal of himself, he is visited with repentance, as he becomes aware of how poor is his real as compared with his ideal self. Thus arises the idea of what he ought to be, as contrasted with what he is. At first the notion of moral obligation is negative. " I have not done," he says, " what I ought to have done." And so he condemns himself in the presence of the unrealized self. But this is only the beginning of a change of life. What he ought to do is not merely the negative idea that what he is is inconsistent with what he ought to be, but in this negation there is already the " promise 154 HEDONISTIC THEORIES ii:' l:L III lap c: Jia.ii.ii. 0. LOI %iiltr 111 ii i» and potency " of what he may become. Thus he goes on to fill up the ideal of himself as he should be, and he adds, " I will arise and go to my father." (3) Bentham's account of intentionality or will is beset with a similar imperfection. A man in- tends to do an act, but his intention has nothing to do with the consequences of his act, to himself or others. Now, i , . thus separate an act from its consequences it v, as(.:r> to have any moral character, and hence Bentham naiiui Uy says that no intention is either good or bad. The truth is that an act which is isolated in this way is not an act at all, but is simply a physical movement. The act of taking a physician's prescription, viewed in itself, is not viewed as a distinctively human act. But no one takes a prescription without some end in view. He desires the removal of something which interferes with the healthy discharge of the bodily functions, and he desires health because that is in- cluded in his idea of himself as he ought to be. Thus the intention is properly the willing of a certain act as the means to a given end. But there can be no willing of an act as a means, unless there is the consciousness of the end to which it is the means. The intention, therefore, is just the willing of the means by which a preconceived end is sought to be obtained. (4) Bentham makes a similar separation between BE NTH AM 155 Thus he he should ly father." y or will man in- lothing to limself or from its character, intention it an act ct at all, le act of in itself, let. But ; end in ig which lC bodily [at is in- it to be. ing of a But there ess there it is the - willing s sought between motive and consequences. The motive, he says, is always a desire for pleasure, and as pleasure is always a good, no motive is in itself bad. Now, cer- tainly if we separate a motive from the consequences of an act, the motive is not bad, and neither is it good ; it simply has no moral character. What this shows is that a feeling of pleasure as such is not a motive at all. The motive is always the de- sire for the realization of one's self. Apart from such an ideal self, a motive can only be rega -^ 'd as a feeling that arises spontaneously in the "-un . and is followed by a certain external mo> m "it. But no motive is of this character. When a inan acts from the motive of benevolence, he doe. ;o be- cause he has set before himself this end as one of the ways in which his ideal nature may be realized. Thus from the very character of the motive, it involves the consequences ; only the consequences must not be conceived, as they are by Bentham, as merely the relation of an external movement to other external movements which follow as its effects. The consequences which a man sets before himself are consequences in the way of fulfilling his ideal of himself, and which, therefore, enter into and form his character ; and these are good or bad according as they do or do not make for that end. Thus the motive and the consequences are the same thing, viewed, the former from the side of the willing 156 HEDONISTIC THEORIES It: HlBC I ,1 lis :il f«» agent, and the latter from the side of thj object which he wills. So regarded, every motive has a distinct moral character as good or bad. (5) Fentham holds that the only thing that can be called good is a man's disposition. By this he means that a man's act is good if, on the whole, his acts tend to produce more pleasure than pain. This is another way of saying that no intention is properly either good or bad. This is almost ex- pressly said by Bentham when he tells us that a man's disposition is "the sum of his intentions," and it is implied in his virtual definition of a "good" disposition as one which is "beneficial," and of a " bad " disposition as one which is " mischievous." Thus a man's disposition is not strictly good or bad in any sense conveying moral praise or blame. That this should follow from Bentham's view of the will is not in the least surprising. It follows, as a matter of course, from the doctrine that will is merely the effect of certain motives that depend upon " the degree of a man's sensibility." (6) We now come to that part of Bentham's system, in which hi? false analysis of human nature exhibits itself in an almost open conflict of two diverse principles. Granting that pleasure is at once the end Lid the motive to action, the question still remains : Whose pleasure ? Is the end the production of the greatest amount of BENTHAM '57 ij object ve has a that can ' this he le whole, lan pain, ention is nost ex- is that a )ns," and I "good" ind of a :hievous." d or bad . That the will vs, as a will is depend ntham's n nature of two e is at on, the Is the Dunt of pleasure to each individual, or to the greatest number of individuals? Is the motive desire for one's own pleasure, or desire for the pleasure of the community as a whole ? Here Bentham plajs fast and loose with language in a way that makes all clear thinking on the question impossible. {(i) Both private ethics and legislation have the same end in view, the happiness of every member of the community. Now there is here a manifest ambiguity. If each man seeks his own good, no doubt we may sa)- that the good of every member of the community is made the end. But it is the good of each separately that is sought. The legis- lator, on the other hand, does not seek the good of any one man, or set of men, but the good of all men ; and this good may involve the taking pleasure from some that others may have more. {b) To say that the motive of each man is desire for his own pleasure is certainly to sa}- that every member of the community acts out of regard for pleasure. But the legislator is not seeking the good of men individually but collec- tively. How, then, is he to act upon individuals so as to make them choose the good of all ? Bentham admits that he can only do so by convincing each man that his own good is bound up with the good of others ; in other words, the motive to action of the individual is always a re- ill i:i8 HEDONISTIC THEORIES 11.. It:" ' a. !•• III l«ti j^ard for his own pleasure. Clearly, therefore, the distinction of self-rejjarding and extia-rcgarding motives is a distinction without a difference. All motives arc self-regarding. (7) This objection is not one that can be got rid of without completely recasting the whole system. When we see that the aim is always the realization of the higher self, we also .see that the opposition of self-rcgardir.g and other-regarding motives is a false one. A man best realizes him- self in seeking the good of others, and he cannot truly seek the good of others without seeking to realize himself. There are not two discrepant .sets of motives. From the moral point of view the distinction of .self and others is annulled and transcended ; and what popular language calls selfishness is seen to be contradictory at once of individual and of common good. sforc, the regarding; ncc. All n be ^ot ic whole ways the that the regard in^ izes him- le cannot Peking to jpant sets view the led and ^e calls once of CHAPTER VIII JOHN STUA; T MILL In Bcntham we have a man whose ethical theory reflects his own benevolent dispoj^i'^ion and practi- cal type of character, but who has little perception of the speculative difficulties attaching to the basis of his theory. John Stuart Mill has none of the limitations of his predecessor. In him the enthu- siasm of humanity burns with as steady a flame as in Bentham, but the flame itself is purer, and sheds a clearer and broader light. To the specu- lative subtlety of Hume he unites the ardour for truth of Spinoza. The ethical doctrine of such a man cannot but reflect his own largeness of nature. But it may also reflect his subtlety and capacity for self-deception. For reasons that can easily be understood Mill to the last held in words to the main principle of hedonism, that the end and motive of action is ple^.sure, while yet he introduced into his presentation of Utilitarianism i6o HEDONISTIC THEORIES !»' ' c ii.t «s«l elements that may be shown to be contradictory of it. I. As to the end of life Mill holds with all hedonists, that it is pleasure. The theory of life on which Utilitarianism is founded is " th?t plea- sure and freedom from pain are the only things desirable as ends ; and that all desirable things are de sirable either for the pleasure inherent in themselves, or as means to the promotion of plea- sure and the prevention of pain." Hence actions are right in proportion as they tend to promote happiness, wrong as they tend to produce the reverse of happiness. The happiness which is the (ind of life is not, however, " the agent's own greatest happiness, but the greatest amount of happiness altogether." So far Mill agrees with . Bentham, but he diverges in one most important ' particular when he denies that the only distinction ' between pleasures is one of quantity. This was a fundamental point in tne doctrine of the earlier thinker, and hence an attempt was m^ade by him to show that the goodness of an act can be, and as a matter of fact is, deterxnined by adding to- gether intensity, duration, and other quantitative differences of anticipated pleasures and pains, and striking a balance between them. This method of estimating the value of plea- sure is virtually abandoned by Mill, and for it JOHN STUART MILL l6l tradictory with eXi ry of life ;h?t plea- ily things )le things herent in 1 of plea- re actions promote iduce the which is ent's own mount of rees with important listinction This was he earlier I by him be, and ding to- antitative ains, and of plea- Id for it he substitutes the comparison of pleasures and pains by their differences of quality^ or, at least,, he retains the quantitative method only as a means of arranging pleasures of the same kind in a graduated scale of desirability. In many minds the hedonistic theory of life, as he says, produces inveterate dislike. " To suppose that life has (as they express it) no higher end than plea- sure, they designate as utterly mean a.id grovelling ; as a doctrine worthy only of swine, to whom the followers of Epicurus were, at a very early period, contemptuously likened." But this charge supposes human beings to be capable of no pleasures except those of which swine are capable. The compari- son of the Epicurean life with that of beasts is felt as degrading, precisely because a beast's pleasures do not satisfy a human being's conception of happiness. There is no known Epicurean theory of life which does not assign to the pleasures of the intellect, of the feelings and itTxagination, and of the moral sentiments, a much higher value as pleasures than to those of mere sensation. It is quite compatible with the principle of utility to recognize the fact, that some kinds of pleasure are more desirable and more valuable than others. It would be absurd that while, in estimating all other things, quality is considered as well as quan- 1 62 HEDONISTIC THEORIES it; ? Nit! J III CI! c:»' gr,ii& *•;«•> tity, the estimation of pleasures should be supposed to depend on quantity alone. No doubt the same pleasure is very differently estimated by different persons, but the superiority of one plea- sure over another must be determiried - J^y the judgment of those who have had experience of both. Mill goes so far as to say that there are pleasures so intrinsically superior that they out- weigh " any quantity of the other pleasure." This is true of all the pleasures connected with the higher faculties. " No intelligent human being would consent to be a fool, no instructed person would be an ignoramus, no person of feeling and conscience would be selfish or base, even though they should be persuaded that the fool, the dunce, or the rascal, is better satisfied with his lot than they p.re with theirs." The " sense of dignity " prevents every human being from being willing to /' sink into what he feels to be a lower grade of existence." *' It is better to be a human being dissatislred than a pig satisfied, better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied." / The ultimate end, then, is an existence exempt i^s far as possible irom pain and as rich as pos- leible in enjoyments, both in point of quantity and quality. If it is objected that this end is unattain- able, the answer is that by happiness is not meant a " life of rapture," but " moments of such in an ./ JOHN STUART MILL 163 supposed 3ubt the ated by )ne plea-^ „_by the rience of there are hey out- 2." This with the in being :d person sling and n though [le dunce, lot than dignity " villing to grade of an being Socrates exempt as pos- itity and mattain- )t meant Ih in an existence made up of few and transitory pains, many and various pleasures." Such a life all might attain under a proper condition of society. *' Unquestionably it is possible to do without happi- ness : it often has to be done voluntarily by the hero or the martyr, for the sake of something which he prizes more than his individual happiness. But this something, what is it, unless the happiness of others, or some of the requisites of happiness ? Self-sacrifice must be for some end ; it is not its own end ; and if we are told that its end is not happiness but virtue, which is better than happi- ness, I ask, would the sacrifice be made if the hero or martyr did not believe that it would earn for others immunity from similar sacrifices ? " Utili- tarian morality " only refuses to admit that the sacrifice is itself a good. A sacrifice which does not increase, or tend to increase the sum total of happiness, it considers as wasted." 2. As the greatest happiness is the end, an action to be good must tend to promote that end. But, like Bentham, Mill holds that it is not neces- sary that the individual should in all cases be moved to act solely by regard for the general in- terests of society. " The motive has nothing to do with the morality of the action. He who saves a fellow-creature from drowning does what is morally right, whether his motive be duty, or the hope of 164 HEDONISTIC THEORIES III" lll|/'''» ■ being paid for his trouble." To this it was objected^ that in that case a tyrant, who saved a man from drowning with the motive of inflicting upon him more exquisite torture, would be doing a morally right action. Mill's answer is, that the act in this case is done not merely with a different motive from duty or benevolence, but from a different intention^ and that it is this difference of intention which gives to the act its moral character. What is really intended is to put the man to torture, and saving him from drowning is merely " the necessary first step of an act far more atrocious than leaving him to drown would have been." " The morality of the action depends entirely upon the intention — that is, upon what the agent wills to do. But the motive, that is, the feeling which makes him will so to do, when it makes no difference in the act, rake.^ none in the morality : though it makes a great difference in our moral estimatioii of the agent, especially if it indicates a gond jr bad habitual disposition — a bent of character from which useful, or from which hurtful actions are likely to arise." Anact, then, is morally good when the agent in- tends to do it, and when it tends to produce as its consequences more pleasure than pain to the community. If I do not intend or will an act it is iioi 'nine, but, granting the act to be mine, its ^ood^iess depends entirely upon its effects in pro- objected^ lan from pon him morally t in this t motive different intention . What ture, and lecessary 1 leaving morality tent ion — But the n will so t, r'ake;;; a great |e agents habitual useful, o arise." gent in- duce as to the n act it ine, its in pro- JOHN STUART MILL 165 moting the general good. The disposition, again, is judged to be good if we have reason to suppose that it will lead to the willing of acts that will produce an excess of pleasure on the whole. 3. What are the motives to promote the general happiness ? These are either external or internal. {a) The external sanctions are *' the hope of favour and the fear of displeasure from our fellow- creatures, or from the Ruler of the Universe, along with whatever we may have of sympathy or affection for them, or of love and awe of Him, inclining us to do His will independently of selfish consequences." {b) The internal sanction is " a feeling in our own mind, a pain, more or less intense, attendant on violation of duty." This feeling is not innate but acquired. The desire to be in unity with our fellow-men is a " powerful natural sentiment," and tends to become stronger with advancing civiliza- tion. But " society between equals can only e ist on the understanding that the interests of al ire to be regarded equally." Hence people grow up unable to conceive as possible to them a staLe of total disregard of other people's interests. And even if a man has none of this sentiment him- self, he is as greatly interested as any one else that others should have it. Consequently, the smallest germs of the feeling are laid hold o^ and 1 66 HEDONISTIC THEORIES IttK', il Ian •* lil •« II lilt nourished by the contagion of sympathy and the influences of education. 4. But it may still be objected that, while it has been shown that there are powerful motives to seek the common good, it has not been shown that men ought to seek it. '' The Utilitarian doc- trine is, that happiness is desirable, and the only thing desirable as an end ; all other things being only desirable as means to that end." What is the proof of this doctrine ? " 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 desir- able, except that each person, so far as he believes it to be attainable, desires his own happiness. This, however, being a fact, wc 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 tlie general happiness, therefore, a good to the aggregate of all persons." But it may be said that this proof fails to show that people never desire anything but happiness. " They desire, for example, virtue, and the absence of vice no less really than pleasure and the absence of pain." If then there are " other ends of human action besides happiness, how can happiness be prove' to be the sole criterion?" JOHN STUART MILL 167 md the ivhile it motives : shown an doc- le only ;s being Vhat is lence it esirable^ reason s desir- believes bpiness. )t only 3ut all ss is a ood to efore, a show )piness. ibsence bsence human ess be Mill admits that " to the individual " virtue may be a *' good in itself." But he holds that virtue, although it is not " naturally and originally part of the end," has become so " in those who love it disinterestedly," and is desired and cherished, not as a means to happiness, but as a part of happi- ness. What was originally a means may " by association with what it is a means to, come to be desired for itself" Thus money is in many cases desired in and for itself. " From being a means to happiness, it has come to be itself a principal ingredient of the individual's conception of happi- ness." Virtue is a good of the same description. " There was no original desire of it, or motive to it, save its conduciveness to pleasure, and especially to protection from pain. But through the associa- tion thus formed, it may be felt a good in itself, and desired with as great intensity as any other good." In reality nothing is desired except happi- ness. " Those who desire virtue for its own sake, desire it either because the consciousness of it is a pleasure, or because the consciousness of being without it is a pain, or for both reasons united." 5. One other question remains, the connection between Justice and Utility. {a) What do we mean by justice ? What is the distinctive quality which causes us to speak of an action as just o; nnjust ? In the first place, it is 1 68 HEDONISTIC THEORIES If:'-' lit ; lap •' lav it a i ilH >» C„n? «:t t«ir» considered unjust to " deprive any one of his personal liberty, his property, or any other thin<^ which belongs to him by law." A just act is here one which respects legal rights. But sometimes law does not recognize the rights which individuals may claim on reasonable grounds ; and hence, secondly, justice consists in assigning to persons those things to which they have a moral right. Thirdly, it is CO sidered just that each person should obtain his deserts. Speaking in a general way, a person is understood to deserve good if he does right, evil if he does wrong. Fourthly, it is unjust to break faith with any one. Fifthly, it is inconsistent with jus- tice to be partial ; to show favour or preference to one person over another, in matters to which favour and preference do not properly apply. Lastly, the idea of equality in some sense is implied in justice, although in practice it comes to mean rather equal protection Lo the rights which exist than their equal distribution among all members of the community. Even in slave countries the rights of the slave have been theoretically respected, although those rights could hardly be said to exist. What is common to these various ideas is that justice im- plies something which it is not only right to do, and wrong not to do, but which some individual person can claim from us as his moral right. No one has a moral right to our generosity or benefi- JOHN STUART MILL 169 of his er thin^ t is here imes law aals may secondly, 56 things lly, it is btain his )erson is t, evil if eak faith vith JLis- jrencc to h favour stly, the justice, er equal ir equal imunity. le slave those IVhat is ice im- to do, dividual lit. No benefi- cence, because we are not morally bound to practice these virtues toward;: any given individual. {b) How then are we to account for the sentiment of justice, for the feeling which accompanies the idea ? The two essential ingredients in the senti- ment of justice are the desire to punish a person who has done harm, and the belief that there is some definite individual to whom harm has been done. The desire to punish a person who has done harm is the spontaneous outgrowth of two natural feelings, the animal impulse of self-defence, and the feeling of sympathy. It is natural to resent, and to repel or retaliate, any harm done or attempted against ourselves, or against those with whom we sympathize. This sentiment is found among all animals, for every animal tries to hurt those who have hurt itself or its young. Human beings differ from other animals in two particulars, first, in being capable of sympathizing with all human, and even with all sentient, beings ; secondly, in having a more developed intelligence, in virtue of which a human being is capable of apprehending a community of interest between himself and others. The desire to punish is thus the natural feeling of retaliation, rendered by intellect and sympathy applicable to those injuries which wound us through society. In itself this sentiment is not moral, but it becomes moral when it allies 170 HEDONISTIC THEORIES I 1» If"! It: l«tl IBJ - lav li CI! itself with the social sympathies. The natural feeling makes us resent indiscriminately whatever any one does that is disagreeable to us ; when moralized by the social feeling it resents what is hurtful to society, although it may not otherwise be a hurt to ourselves, and it does not resent a hurt to ourselves, however painful, if it is not of the kind which society has a common interest in repressing. The sentiment of justice, then, derives its peculiar energy of self-assertion from the animal desire to repel or retaliate a hurt ; but its morality is due to enlarged sympathy and intelligent self- interest. ic) This explains how as a matter of fact we do approve of just acts, and reprobate unjust acts. But why ought justice to be practised ? What gives it its binding force ? The only reason is because the observance of rules of justice is most conducive to the public good. But no form of utility is so important. The interest involved in the protection of rights is that of security^ to every one's feelings the most vital of all interests. Nearly all other earthly benefits we can forego, if necessary ; but on security we depend for all our immunity from evil, and for the whole value of all and every good. Nothing but the gratification of the instant would be of any worth to us, if we could be deprived of everything the next instant by whoever was JOHN STUART MILL 171 c natural whatever us ; when s what is otherwise resent a is not of nterest in n, derives he animal morality gent self- f fact we I just acts. ? What reason is is most form of olved in to every Nearly scessary ; mmunity nd every s instant deprived ver was momentarily stronger than ourselves. The intense feeling which gathers round the idea of justice causes it to appear different in kind from those concerned in the more common cases of utility. The moral obligation to respect the rights of others is thus in the last resort reducible to utility. In no other way can the same amount of pleasure be secured, while every violation of justice strikes at the v^ery lif .1 society itself, and threatens the destruction of the indispensable condition of nil happiness. Even from this hurried and imperfect summary of Mill's book on Utilitarianisin, it must be evident thai the conception of life which it embodies is of the highest and noblest character. We have tra- velled a long way from the animal absorption in the moment recommended by Aristippus, from the refined selfishness of Epicurus, and from the low conception of human nature of Hobbes. In its practical application the hedonism of Mill, as he says himself, does not differ from the golden rule of Jesus of Nazareth " to love one's neighbour as one's self" But an ethical doctrine must be tried, not simply by the principle which it assumes, but by the principle which it formulates. The philosopher and the preacher must submit to a different test. The perfection of a speculative doctrine lies in the success with which it expresses in the articulate IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) LO = 1.25 ■aai2.8 m m ^ L& 12.0 u 12.2 1.4 ilk 1.6 p ''/2»' > HiotografJiic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STRUT WIBSTIR.N.Y. I4SM (716)«72-4S03 .V .V 1/2 HEDONISTIC THEORIES iMDft Cjij III language of reflection that which is implied in the common consciousness of men. It is by this standard, therefore, that Mill's utilitarian theory of conduct must be judged, and I think it may be shown, as in the case of Bentham, that only by removing its hedonistic foundation, and reinter- preting it from the point of view of an ideal system of ethics, can the higher aspects of Mill's ethical doctrine be consistently retained. (i) Mill denies that the only difference in plea- sures are those of quantity ; the more important distinction is quality. This divergence from the earlier form of the theory is a virtual abandonment of its hedonistic basis. We have seen thai, no guide to action can be extracted from the purely quantitative balancing of pleasures and pains, because each pleasure and pain is what it seems to the individual at the time, and the individual is continually changing in his mood. At the same time Bentham was right in saying that a pleasure or/^in taken by itself differs from another only m jquantity. Mill assigns to "the pleasures of the tellect, of the feelings and imagination, and of the moral sentiments, a much higher value as pleasures than to those of mere sensation." But *' as pleasures " they cannot have a " higher value." The source of a pleasure does not enter as an ingredient into the pleasure itself. Pleasure is JOHN STUART MILL 1/3 ied in the ; by this m theory k it may that only id reinter- 2d\ system ll's ethical e in plea- important from the indonment I thai, no the purely id pains, it seems ndividual the same pleasure ther only es of the , and of value as ■►n." But r value." ter as an sasure is pleasure whether its source is in the palate or the intellect, the ear or the conscience. If it is really pleasure that is desired, and not the cultivation of the intellect, the development of the taste, or pro- gress in morality, there can be no distinction in quality between pleasures connected with different modes of activity. Assuming pleasure to be the object aimed at, it cannot make any real difference that one pleasure is obtained through the channel of the intellect, another through the imagination, and a third by means of the moral sense. When the question arises as to which of two pleasures is more desirable, the difference must be sought in the greater intensity, or duration, or pro- ductiveness of the one as compared with the other. Mill in rejecting this criterion practically admits tliat not pleasure as such, but the development of all the faculties of man in due subordination to one another, is the true end of life. To .say that *'it is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig .satisfied " is to say that, human nature being in- finitely higher than pig nature, the man who makes pleasure his end is ignoring the necessity that is laid upon him to strive after the standard of per- fection of which his nobler nature is capable. And the same principle holds good when we compare different men with each other. The man who pre- fers the pleasures of sense to the pleasures of intel- 174 HEDONISTIC THEORIES «ii lect or imagination does not violate the rule, "Seek greatest pleasure " ; what he violates is the command, " Seek that which is noblest." (2) As Mill cannot consistently classify pleasures as lower or higher, but only as more or less intense, enduring or productive, he is not entitled to say that the end of action is the common good. The common good, as described by Mill, is identical with the complete development of the powers of all mem- bers of the community. This noble ideal of life is too weighty to be borne by the frail substructure of pleasure. " Good " for the consistent hedonist must mean the experience by the sum of beings of the greatest pleasure of which they are capable. But this end will be equally subserved whether the pleasures are low or high, provided that an equal quantity of enjoyment is obtained. If it is said that equal enjoyment cannot be obtained from the pleasures of sense as from the pleasures of intellect, or imagination, or virtue, we answer that this de- fence rests upon the assumption that pleasures may differ in kind, and that assumption carries with it the denial of pure hedonism, and the sub- stitution of an ideal humanity as the end. ^ The "proof" of Utilitarianism on which Mill relies is unsatisfactory. " No reason can be given," he says, " why the general happiness— is. desirable, except that each person, aa. far, .a^-he.- believes it ,.yOHN STUART MILL 175 ule, "Seek command, ' pleasures ss intense, ed to say 3od. The ntical with f all mem- 1 of life is ibstructure t hedonist * beings of e capable, hether the an equal it is said from the f intellect, t this de- pleasures x\ carries the sub- Id. hich Mill e given," desirable, iclieves it to be attainable, desires his own happiness." What has to be proved by the utilitarian is that every man ought to .seek for his own happiness by aiming at the happiness of all. The " general happiness '1^ is " desirable" in the sense that // ought to be desired. This is what Mill has to prove. How does he prove it? He says that every one "desires his own happiness," That is to say, as a matter of fact every one desires his own happiness. The implied inference is that, as a man is aware that he is seeking his own happiness, he must grant it to be reasonable for others to seek their happiness, and hence he must admit that the end of society is to secure the happiness of all its members. As Mr. Sidgwick puts it, " The fact that 'I am I' cannot make my happiness intrinsically more desir- able than the happiness of any other person." Now here we have the same sort of equivocation as we have found to be implied in Mill's distinction of pleasures on the ground of their quality, and in the double sense which he attaches to such terms as " common good " and " general happiness." It is certainly unreasonable to seek for " our being's end and aim" apart from the good of others, because the highest form of self-realization cannot be found in that way. Individual good is identical with universal good. The fact that every one from his very nature is striving after completeness of being 176 HEDONISTIC THEORIES Iff >> #tll is a valid reason for the exclusion of self-seeking. As the end which is desired is proved to be un- attainable in that way, it is a reasonable demand that it should be sought in the only way in which it can possibly be found. But if the desire for one's own happiness means only the desire for a surplus of agreeable feeling, how can we logically pass to the conclusion that we ought to promote not a surplus of such feelin g in ourselves, but in the com- munity as a whole ? / Granted that I desire my own greatest pleasure, that is no reason why I ought to desire the greatest pleasure of other people, unless my own pleasure is bound up with theirs. iLet us assume it to be admitted that this is tKe case ; then our conclusion must be this, that we ought to desire the pleasure of others because only in that way can we secure our own pleasure. This consideration may have force as a rule of prudence or self-interest, but it carries with it no obligation to practise rules of virtue. When, therefore, any one objects that he prefers his own pleasure to the pleasure of others, I do not see how he is to be convinced of the error of his ways by those who begin by admitting the reasonableness of seeking for one's own pleasure. To every appeal in favour of making the pleasure of the greatest number his aim he may give the unanswerable retort, " Let others make their own JOHN STUART MILL ^77 If-seeking. to be un- i demand in which 3 for one's a surplus y pass to >te not a the com- e my own ought to Dig. unless ;. iLet us th^ case ; we ought I only in re. This prudence obligation le prefers ers, I do the error tting the pleasure. pleasure give the heir own pleasure a means to the pleasure of all ; as for me I prefer to make others a means to my pleasure." It is no answer to say, " But you cannot get pleasure in that way," because the man may reply, " I do not see how you can tell that ; you get your pleasure in benevolence, I get mine in selfishness ; we are both satisfied, and nothing more need be said." The real force, then, of Mill's " proof" of utilitarianism is in its tacit assumption that the end and standard of action is not pleasure but the perfect realization of a man's nature, as possible only in and through the identification of his personal good with the universal good. (4) Mill's account of the sentiment of justice, and of our obligation to obey rules of justice, differs very little from the similar account of Hume. The feeling of approbation at the doing of a just act has its source in the natural impulse to retaliate a hurt, and the social instinct as broadened and widened by the growth of sympathy. It may be pointed out that the instinct of retaliation and the social instinct cannot be a desire for pleasure, but must precede the pleasure of which they are the cause. But, waiving this objection, it is plain that Mill's ac count o f the sentiment of justice presupposes the idea of human perfection as the moving force in its evolution. Why is it that as time goes on there is a gradual widening of sympathy so as at i;8 HEDONISTIC THEORIES ,-tt •••"J I last to include all men in its comprehensive cm- brace, if not that man learns by the development of his nature that nothing short of complete union with the universal good can bring satisfaction? The animal instinct of retaliation does not simply take a new direction, but its very nature is changed and transformed as there dawns upon the conscience of man the worthier end of public well-being. In itself that instinct subserves the existence of the being endowed with it, but the meaning of the instinct is apprehended when, on the rise of self- consciousness, existence is seen to be valuable only as a means to the higher end of perfect existence. It _is this consciousness of the meaning of his individual life that leads a man to rise above the immediate desire to revenge a hurt. Justice as the means of securing to each what is necessary to the development of his nature is thus different in kind from the instinct of retaliation. The exten- sion of sympathy to all men is more than a mere extension, because the recognition of the claims of all men to respect involves the apprehension of the end of life as the union of all men in a common brotherhood, and therefore the elevation of every man to the perfection of an ideal humanity. The justification of all forms of rights is in fact their tendency to minister to the spiritual nature. The true defence of justice is therefore not advanced jnsive cm- ivelopment •lete union ion ? The mply take inged and isciencc of eing. In ce of the \g of the ;e of self- lable only existence, ig of his ise above Justice necessary ! different he exten- n a mere le claims tension of L common of every ity. The fact their ire. The advanced 70//N STUART MILL ^y^ by Mill when he reduces it to the promotion of more pleasure than pain, unless by pleasure ue understand what Mill is only too rcady^o identify with it, viz., complete perfection of nature ; and the laws and customs of a nation coincide with justice just in so far as they coincide with the ideal of perfection. CHAPTER IX HERBERT SPENCER '^«i ifti Like Bentham and Mill Mr. Herbert Spencer holds that the ultimate end of life is the pro- duction of the greatest pleasure to all, but he differs from them in connecting hedonism with the doctrine of evolution. All previous moralists he accuses of being " unscientific," and he seeks to construct a system of ethics which shall recognize throughout that actions are good or bad purely as it is their intrinsic nature to produce good or bad consequences in the way of preserving living beings in the fulness of their activities. To understand " scientifically " what conduct results in the most complete life we must take a survey of all forms of life, from the simplest to the most complex, in the order of their evolution. Hence Mr. Spencer seeks to deduce the rules of perfect con- duct from a consideration of that perfect form of life towards which evolution tends. Now, human HERBERT SPEXCER I8l Spencer the pro- , but he ism with I moralists seeks to recognize purely as or bad ig beings iderstand he most all forms complex, ce Mr. Ifect con- form of human conduct i s but one form in which the universal law of all existence manifests itself. All existence is a unity, and is pervaded by a single principle. That 4iruiciple is that the changes through which the world passes are from the indefinite to the definite, the incoherent to the c(^herent, the homo- geneous to the heterogeneous. The forms of being which we find around us have not been created as they are, but have developed from a much simpler condition. Our earth itself, along with the other bodies which form the solar system, was originally part of an attenuated nebulous matter, almost homogeneous in density, temperature, and other properties. How heterogeneous it now is ! Ig- neous rocks, metallic veins, mountains, continents and seas, differences of climate, combine to form a whole so complex as to defy complete description. The same development from simplicity to com- plexity is shown in animal life. Speaking gener- ally, the most complex organisms are also the latest, and have been evolved from the earlier and less complex. So man, who even in his least developed state, displays in his organism more differentiation than any other animal, himself exhibits in his development the same law. The various races of men exhibit greater complexity of physical structure according to the stage of develop- ment which they have reached. And what is 1 82 HEDONISTIC THEORIES true of the bodily life also holds ^ood of the social life. In primitive society there is little or no division of labour : every man is a warrior, a hunter, a fisher, and a workman. Contrast with this the minute subdivision of labour that is found in modern industrial society, and the law of evolution will be .seen to apply here also. The whole of existence is thus governed by a single law. In particular, we must cease to separ- ^te b ctwec a-^TTental and bodily lifc^ or between animal and human life. No line can be drawn between them that is otherwise than arbitrary. "It is not more certain that, from the simple reflection by which the infant sucks, up to the elaborate reasonings of the adult man, the pro- gress is by daily infinitesimal steps, than it is c:ertain that between the automatic actions of the lowest creatures, and the highest conscious actions of the human race, a series of actions ^played by the various tribes of the animal kingdom may be so placed as to render it impossible to say of any one .step in the series, — Here intelligence begins." Mr. Spencer's method, then, will con- sist in tracing the process by which conduct is gradually evolved, and in seeking to extract from this survey " scientific " rules of conduct. It must be added, that with the results of this method Mr. Spencer tries to connect the hedonistir. th^ocy HEl^nEKT SPENCKR •83 I of the little or varrior, a rast with that is the law lIso. led by a to separ- between be drawn arbitrary, le simple p to the the pro- lan it is IS of the s actions played om may :o say of telligence will con- jnduct is act from It must method ic-theocy '\ which finds in pleasure the ultimate end of con- duct. How this is attempted we shall afterwards see. In the present chapter I propose to give a statement only of the evolutionist part of Mr. Spencer's doctrine. (\) To determine the goal towards which all things tend we must ask what has as a matter of fact occurred. Or rather, since in ethics the problem is in regard to the ultimate form which conduct may be expected to assume when the process of evolution is complete, we may limit our inquiry to the nature and tendency of conduct. It is true that ethics does not directly deal with all conduct, but only with a part of it ; but it is impossible to understand the part without under- standing the whole. Just as an arm or a leg cannot be known • for what it is, by one who has no knowledge of its relation to the other parts of the body, so that part of conduct with which ethics deals can only be apprehended as it truly is by viewing it in relation to the remainder of conduct. {a) What, then, is to be included under conduct in general? We must not include such purposeless actions as those of an epileptic in a fit ; but we must include all purposive actions, — all acts which are adjusted to ends. " Conduct in its full accep- tation must be taken as comprehending all adjust- 1 84 HEDONISTIC THEORIES M 14^ 31 ments of acts to ends, from the simplest to the most complex." But moral conduct, the conduct which we pronounce to be right or wrong, is much less extensive than conduct in general. For there are many acts which have no moral character. It is morally indifferent whether I walk to the v/ater-fall or ramble along the sea-shore ; whether, if I decide to go to the water- fall, I go over the moor or take the path through the wood. But ** the transition from indifferent acts to acts which are good or bad is gradual." Thus the direction of my walk, which in ordinary cases is of no ethical importance, becomes important when, by taking a longer route, I fail to keep an appoint- ment. To have a complete comprehension of moral conduct we must therefore view it as coming by insensible degrees out of conduct vv'hich is not moral. And not only so, but to form a truly scientific conception of conduct we must examine the conduct, not only of human beings, but of all living creatures. The actions of man differ from the actions of the lower animals only in the ir relative c mplexity; but all actions, animal as well as hum an, imply the adjustm ent of acts to ends, '©understand the complex we must first under- stand the simple ; in other words, we must look upon human conduct as a part of that larger whole which comprehends the conduct of all living beings, HERBERT SPENCER 185 ;st to the 2 conduct wrong, is eral. For character. Ik to the ; whether, > over the ood. But icts which : direction is of no when, by n appoint- ension of as coming ich is not a truly examine 3ut of all fifer frn m in th eir al as well to ends, st under- nust look ger whole ig beings, and we must seek to interpret the former by tracing the process by which it has been gradually evolved from the very simple conduct of the lowest forms of being. {b) Purposeless actions, as we have seen, are not conduct, but only those actions which are adjusted to ends. But, just as actions which are morally indifferent pass by degrees into actions which are good or bad, so purposeless actions merge insen- sibly in purposive actions. An infusorium swims about at random, and apparently by chance it finds the food which prolongs its life. Here there is hardly any adjustment of acts to ends, and the conduct may be called on the whole purposeless. The rotifer again, although it is a very low form of living being, does display palpable adjustments of acts to ends : sucking in food by its whirling cilia, fixing itself by its prehensile tail to som.e fit object, and in other ways adapting itself to its environment, and so preserving itself for a longer period than the infusorium. We find the same law pervading the whole of the lower animals ; always there is a greater complexity of adjust- ments to ends, the result of which is greater pro- longation of the life of the creature. And when we pass from the animals to man, " we not only find that the adjustments of acts to ends are both more numerous and better than among lover 1 86 HEDONISTIC THEORIES •■■1! It animals ; but we find the same thing on comparing the doings of higher races of men with those of lower races." Food is obtained mo»-e regularly, in greater variety, and better prepared ; clothing is much better adapted to give warmth in all the variations of temperature from day to day, and from hour to hour ; and how great is the contrast between the shelter of boughs and grass which the lowest savage builds, and the mansion of the civilized man. So the ordinary activities of the civilized man are much more varied and complex than those of the savage. And " along with this greater elaboration of life produced by the pursuit of more numerous ends, there goes that increased duration of life which constitutes the supreme end." But it must also be observed tliat the increase in complexity implied in improved adjustments of acts to ends, not only tends to increase the length of life, but also to add to its breadth. The life of the civilized man is not only longer than that of the savage, but it is infinitely fuller and richer. So far we have spoken only of preservation of life, and increase in the complexity of life ; but we must now note, that as conduct evolves, and there is a greater adjustment of acts to ends, the preservation and development of the species is better secured. In the lowest forms of living being there is no conduct which can, strictly HERBERT SPENCER 187 :omparing those of jularly, in lothing is n all the day, and I contrast ivhich the I of the ;s of the complex with this le pursuit increased 2me end." icrease in ments of he length he life of I that of cher. vation ol ife ; but evolves, to ends, i species of living strictly speaking, be said to conduce to the presc vation of the species. " Protozoa spontaneously divide and subdivide, in consequence of physical changes over which they have no control." Here there is no conduct, because no purpose. But as we ascend in the scale of animal life, we find greater and greater complexity in the adjustment of acts to ends. Birds build nests, sit on the eggs, feed their broods for considerable periods, and give them aid after they can fiy. Thus the conduct which furthers race-maintenance evolves hand in hand with the conduct which furthers self-main- tenance. In man the development is still more marked. " A larger number of the wants of offspring are provided for ; and parental care, enduring longer, extends to the disciplining of offspring in arts and habits which fit them for their conditions of existence." And, as we ascend from savage to civilized man, we find conduct of this order, equally with conduct of the first order, becoming evolved in a still greater degree. " The adjustments of acts to ends in the rearing of children become far more elaborate, alike in number of ends met, variety of means used, and efficiency of their adaptations ; and the aid and oversight are continued throughout a much greater part of life." Speaking generally, then, the evolution of conduct is such that it tends to the simuU 1 88 HEDONISTIC THEORIES fiflMI taPd cb; taneous preservation of the individual and the species. But conduct cannot be perfectly evolved until the adjustments are such as may be made by all creatures without interference of one creature with another. In the case of man this implies per- manently peaceful societies. In the savage state, individual life is prematurely cut short, the fostering of offspring is incomplete even when it does not fail, and the individual and the species are preserved b}' the destruction of other beings. Finally, in the most evolved form of conduct the members of a society give mutual help in the achievement of ends, either indirectly by industrial co-operation, or directly by volunteered aid. From this survey of conduct we learn that ethics " has for its subject- matter that form which universal conduct assumes during the last stages of its evolution." (2) The conclusion, so 'ar, is that the best con- duct is the most evolved, z.e. is best adapted to the end of securing completeness of life to each and all. Now, the most evolved conduct is that which is manifested by human beings dwelling together in society ; and hence a description of the most perfect form of society ought to enable us to see what are the forms assumed by completely evolved or perfect conduct. The rules of this ultimate form of society will be absolutely true rules, and hence and the ed until le by all :ure with ilies per- ge state, fostering s not fail, ;erved b}- Y, in the )ers of a t of ends, ition, or survey of subject- assumes )est con- td to the lach and |at which together Ihe most Is to see evolved ite form id hence HERBERT SPENCER 189 ethics as laying down those rules may be called absolute ethics. The conduct with which morality is concerned conforms to the laws of evolution, i.e. to those fundamental truths which are common to the special sciences — physical, biological, psychological, and sociological. What are the data furnished by each of these sciences ? {a) From the physical point of view conduct is made up of external movements of the body and limbs, the facial muscles, and the vocal apparatus. Concentrating our attention on these movements we tind that (a) they are more coherent the higher the form of being. " The random movements which an animalcule makes have severally no reference to movements made a moment before." Birds, again, " show us in the building of nests, the sitting on eggs, the rearing of chicks, and the aiding of them after they fly, sets of motions which form a dependent series.'* But it is in man that we find the most coherent combination of motions. And of human conduct, that is the most coherent which we call moral. A man of high principles acts in fixed ways : he pays the money he owes, he keeps his appointments to a minute, he tells the truth. Thus his life is made up of a coherent system of move- ments. (/3) In moral conduct there is also a definite co- ordination of movements. " The conscientious man 190 HEDONISTIC THEORIES P ft,.. "■•'ii iifirll IM It Ciii'i Mil is exact in all his transactions. He supplies a precise weight for a specified sum, he gives a de- finite quality in fulfilment of understanding, he pays the full amount he bargained for." His statements correspond accurately to the facts. He observes the terms of the marriage contract, and, as a father, he adapts his behaviour carefully to the nature of each child. (7) Moral conduct is more varied or Jietcro- geneous than immoral conduct. The better a man fulfils every requirement of life the more varied do his activities become. In the matter of .social obligations, for example, the man who is helpful to inferiors, who takes part in politics, and who aids in diffusing knowledge, differs in the complexity of his movements from the man who is a slave to one desire or group of desires. (^) The evolution of conduct is towards cquili- briuin^ or the perfect harmony of internal and external relations. Men who lead an immoral life continually interrupt this harmony by excesses which tend to shorten life, whereas " one in whom the internal rhythms are best maintained, is one by whom the external actions required to fulfil all needs and duties, severally performed on the recurring occasions, conduce to a moving equilibrium that is at once involved and prolonged." This perfect harmony of the individual and his environment is pplies a es a de- he pays atements erves the father, he 2 of each )r hctero- vc a man varied do of social lielpful to who aids ^lexity of slave to ds cqiiili- rnal and [Tioral life excesses in whom s one b}' all needs recurring that is is perfect Inment is HERBERT SPENCER 191 only possible in a perfect society. Progress in morality, therefore, consists in a continual advance towards that condition of society in which there is perfect coherence, definiteness, and variety of move- ments, and, as a consequence, perfect harmony of the individual with his environment. ip) Expressed in terms of biology^ this means that the moral man is one in whom the functions of all kinds are duly fulfilled. It is immoral so to treat the body as in any way to diminish the fulness or vigour of its vitality. Hence, one test of actions is, Does the action tend to maintenance of complete life for the time being ? and does it tend to pro- longation of life to its full extent ? To answer Yes or No to either of these questions, is implicitly to class the action as right or wrong in respect of its immediate bearings, whatever it may be in respect of its remote bearings. This conclusion, however, refers only to " that highest conduct in which evolu- tion terminates." Further, a feeling of pleasure to a certain extent even now, and absolutely in an ideal state of society, accompanies the healthy dis- charge of each and every function, while a feeling of pain indicates, or, at least, will indicate, that the function is not sufficiently exercised, or is exercised in excess, (r) In his psychological view of moral conduct Mr Spencer gives us his analysis of the conscious- 192 HEDONISTIC THEORIES tl» «» ill mi ness of the agent, and traces the growth of social institutions and of the sentiment of moral obh'gation. What is the mental process by which the adjustment of acts to ends is effected ? There is (a) the rise of a feeling constituting the motive, and ifi) the thought through which the motive is shaped and finally issues in action. Now, just as moral conduct consists in the perfect adjustment of acts to ends, so the state of mind of the moral man is dis- tinguished from the state of mind of the immoral man by its complexity ; in other words, the motive and the thought which gives form to the motive are very remote from the simple presentations of the senses. Thus a conscientious man is restrained from taking his neighbour's property by the thought of the claims of the person owning the property, and of the pains which loss of it will entail on him, joined with that general aversion to acts injurious to others, which arises from the inherited effects of experience. Hence, as guides, the feelings have authorities proportionate to the degrees in which they are removed by their complexity and their ideality from simple sensations and appetites. So, with the development of intelligence, the ends to which acts are adjusted cease to be exclusively immediate. Present ends become increasingly sub- ordinate to future ends. Now, the restraints properly distinguished as HERBERT SPENCER 193 of social )bligation. djustment I the rise I ifi) the aped and .1 conduct ; to ends, in is dis- ; immoral he motive Tiotive are ns of the restrained le thought )erty, and on him, injurious effects of lings have in which land their lites. So, Ithe ends :clusively igly sub- ished as moral arc those which concern the intrinsic effects of actions. "The truly moral deterrent from murder is not constituted by a representation of hanging as its consequence, or by a representation of the horror and hatred excited in fellow-men, but by a repre- sentation of the necessary natural results, the in- fliction of death i.gony on the victim, the destruction of all his possibilities of happiness, the entailed sufferings to his belongings." At the same time the feeling of moral obligation has been gradually evolved. As man passes into the social state, to the restraints constituted by the idea of the intrinsic effects of actions, there are added the external sanctions in the shape of political, religious, and social penalties. "With the evolution of society men come to see that acts proscribed by authority have in themselves bad consequences, and so there grow up moral aversions and approvals. Thus the notion of obligation has come to be associated with acts, the intrinsic consequence of which is the true motive to do them. This sense of obli'^ation will disappear entirely when the individual mind is completely ac- commodated to the social environment. The higher actions required for the harmonious carrying on of life will be as much matters of course as are those lower actions which are prompted by the simple de- sires. " If some action to which the special motive is insufficient is performed in obedience to the feeling 194 HF.DONISTIC THEORIES ti: " I. If.!'. MM""* Mil Em «91 ■in of moral obligation, the fact proves that the special faculty concerned is not yet equal to its function, has not acquired such strength that the required activity has become its normal activity, yielding its due amount of pleasure. With complete evolution, then, the sense of obligation, not ordinarily present in consciousness, will be awakened only on those extraordinary occasions that prompt breach of the laws otherwise spontaneously conformed to." {^) From the sociological point of view, ethics is " an account of the forms of conduct that are fitted to the associated state in such wise that the lives of each and all may be the greatest possible, alike in length and breadth." At the outset the preservation of the individual is not harmonious with the preservation of society. But as fast as the social state establishes itcelf", .the preservation of societ y is a j r,^^"*^ t<^ thg pres ervatio n of it s uni ts. Hence social preservation comes to Eeset above individual preservation. But this is only a transitory state of things and is necessitated merely by the presence of antagonistic societies. The ultimate end is the furtherance of individual lives, and when the existence of the society is no longer in danger, the welfare of the units, no longer needing to be postponed, becomes the immediate object of pursuit. At present the individual man is sometimes called upon to be regardless of the HERBERT SPENCER I9S (le special function, required elding its evolution, y present on those ch of the 2VV, ethics that are wise that : greatest At the il is not :ty. But itcelf, -the esfirvation comes to t this is cessitated societies. ndividual ety is no no longer 11 mediate lual man 3s of the lives of those belonging to other societies than his own. Hence the incongruous rules by which he governs his life. " Hate and destroy your fellow- man is now the command ; and then the command is, Love and aid your fellow-man." So also the sentiments corresponding to the militant and the industrial fon.is of society are contradictory ; the former taking the shape of the feeling of loyalty, the latter of antagonism to external authority. " The leading traits of a code under which complete living through voluntary co-operation is secured, may be simply stated. The fundamental require- ment is that the life-sustaining actions of each shall severally bring him the amounts and kinds of advantage naturally achieved by them ; and this implies, firstly, that he shall suffer no direct aggres- sion in his person or property, and secondly, that he shall suffer no indirect aggression by breach of contract. Observance of these negative conditions to voluntary co-operation having facilitated life to the greatest extent by exchange of services under agreement, life is to be further facilitated by ex- change of services beyond agreement : the highest life being reached only when, besides helping to complete one another's lives by specified reciprocities of aid, men otherwise help to complete one another's lives." The sociological view, in other words, enables us to deduce the reasons for fulfilling contracts, 196 HEDONISTIC rilEOKlES P SI'*; lil'Jj IMll tff !■ 411 fill and assigning benefits in proportion to services, which is justice ; and, further, for the rendering of gratuitous services, which is beneficence. (3) From the whole course of his argument it is manifest that the rules which Mr. Spencer seeks to place on a " scientific " basis are the rules which apply to conduct in the ideal state of society. Accordingly, we are told that absolute ethics lays doym the rules— that "formulate normal conduct in an ideal socie ty." Absolutel y good conduct IS perlecHy pleasurable, and, where there is an)' concomitant of pain, the conduct can only be called relatively right. In the transition towards the ideal form of society, the acts of men are in most cases not absolutely right, but only least wrong. Let us take as an example of absolutely right conduct the relation of a healthy mother to a healthy infant — one of the best examples, because the harmony ^^amse before social evolution began. Here the mother receives gratification, while the child, in satisfying his appetite, is at the same time further- ing his own life, growth, and increasing enjoyment. The act as absolutely pleasurable is absolutely \fight. It is difficult to find instances in the inter- course of adults. But there are cases in which the energies are so abundant that pleasure is the concomitant of work. When such services are paid for by a man of like nature, the relation is pleasur- IfFJ^hl-RT SPFNCKK »97 services, Icriii^ of ument it cer seeks the rules f society, hies lays -conduct con duct I is any be called the ideal lost cases ig. Let conduct hy infant harmony I ere the child, in I further- joyment. Dsolutely le inter- vvhich is the are paid pleasur- able on both sides. Now, as the evolution of society is towards the industrial as distinguished from the militant form of society, we are entitled to expect that ultimately men's activities at lar^c will assume this character. Even at present the artist of genius — poet, painter, or musician — is one who obtains the means of living by acts that arc directly pleasurable to him, while they yield, immediately or remotely, pleasures to others. Again, there are certain benevolent acts which, as yielding pure pleasure to the doer and receiver, are absolutely good. Now, by eliminating perturbing or con- flicting factors we may form an ideal of conduct which, as absolutely pleasure-giving, is absolutely right. Having reached this system of ideal ethical truths, we shall then have a standard which " will be applicable to the questions of our transitional state in such ways that, allowing for the friction of an incomplete life and the imperfection of existing natures, we may ascertain with approximate correct- ness what is the relatively right." " An ideal social being may be conceived as so constituted that his spontaneous activities are congruous with the con- ditions imposed by the social environment formed by other such beings." Now, man has been " changing in the direction of such an ideal congruity." Hence "the ultimate man is on^ i" whorp the process has gone so far as to produce a correspondence 198 HEDONISTIC THEORIES »4ii iP* between all the promptings of his nature and atl the requirements of his life as carried on i n so ciety." Absolute ethics, then, " formulates the behaviour of the completely adapted man in the completely evolved society." There are two main divisions of ethics, personal and social. {a) There is a class of actions directed to personal ends which are to be judged in their relations to personal well-being, considered apart from the well- being of others. These must be classed as intrin- sically right or wrong according to their beneficial or detrimental effects on the agent himself. A code of perfect individual well-being can never be made definite. But certain general requirements must be fulfilled. By connecting conduct with physical necessities a partially scientific authority may be given to ethical requirements. Absolute ethics has to point out that conduct is good which preserves the due relation between expenditure of energy and the repair of waste by proper sustenance ; between activity and rest ; between the rate of mortality and the rate of increase of individuals : hence the practical rule, to consider what kind of conduct will fulfil these ends as well as may be. (^) The second division of ethics is that which deals with the effects of one's conduct on others. (a) The first set of regulations are those of justice. Here we have not only to define the equitable HERBERT SPENCER 199 E and "all 1 so ciety." laviour of ompletely visions of ) personal lations to the well- as intrin- beneficial A code be made ; must be physical may be ithics has preserves lergy and between mortality lence the duct will relations among perfect individuals, but to determine the relations between each man and the aggregate of men. Hence the limits of state interference must be pointed out. (/3) Beneficence has two sub- divisions, the negative and the positive. In an ideal society the former has only a nominal existence, for as no one will have feelings which prompt acts that disagreeably affect others, there can exist no code of restraints. But absolute ethics is of value in enforcing the consideration that inflicting more pain than is necessitated by proper self-regard, or by desire for another's benefit, is unwarranted. As to positive beneficence, " the desire for it by every one will so increase, and the sphere for exercise of it so decrease," that there will be as much competition in rendering services as there is at present in exacting them. The difficulty will in fact be to find scope for the altruistic cravings. This will be found chiefly in (i) family life, in which the care of children by parents and of parents by children will be better fulfilled, and (2) in the improvements of the social state. at which others, f justice, equitable CHAPTER X HERBERT SPENCER (Continued) gVK In the last chapter I gave an outline of Mr. Spencer's ethical theory in its evolutionist as dis- tinguished from its hedonistic aspect. I now propose to consider how far the theory can be accepted. Before we enter upon an express exam- ination of Mr. Spencer's doctrine, a word may be said upon the idea of evolution to which it appeals. The theory of Evolution or Development is associated in the popular mind with the theory first clearly propounded by Darwin, that all the living beings that have existed, or do exist, have come by way of natural descent from one or more primordial forms. What had previously been regarded as distinct species, having no connection with one another in the way of origin, Darwin maintained are really varieties of a single species ; or, rather, the distinction of species is simply one HERBERT SPENCER 201 ) t of Mr. st as dis- I now y can be jss exam- ord may which it e Dment is theory all the st, have one or sly been )nnection Darwin species ; ply one of classification, not of origin. The theory is not that one species changed into another species, but that the differences between what we call distinct species have been gradually produced by minute changes accumulating upon one another during vast periods of time. Just as the skilful gardener can produce new varieties of a flower by taking advan- tage of any peculiarity which presents itself, so any differences in a living being which were favour- able to its preservation were naturally transmitted to its descendants, and thus in course of ages arose all the varieties of life which have appeared on our earth. This theory, it will be observed, relates only to vegetable and animal life, and it only gives us an account of the manner in which the different species of living beings have as a matter of fact come into existence. It does not tell us how the " one or more primordial forms " of living being came to exist, nor does it show that one species of being is higher or lower than another. Denying that there has been any creation of distinct species, either at the same time or at different times, it does not deny that the original forms from which all the rest have sprung may have been created. Hence, supposing the Darwin- ian theory of the origin of species accepted, there are still two distinct explanations of the origin of the primitive types of living being ; we may say 202 HEDONISTIC THEORliLS tm mi»* either (a) that they were directly created, or (d) that they arose out of non-living things. And, further, granting that all living beings are connected by the chain of natural descent, the Darwinian theory does not tell us whether we are entitled to distinguish different species as higher and lower. Two questions therefore arise : first, did living things arise from non-living things, in the same way as the different species of organized beings have descended from one or more original forms ? Second, are all living beings essentially the same in nature, or are there differences between them which entitle us to speak of them as lower and higher? Now to the first of these questions Mr. Spencer, as we have seen, answers in the affirm- ative. He denies that there was any special creation of the primary forms of life, and maintains that life appeared on our planet in accordance with ordinary natural laws. So far as the question of natural descent goes, we must therefore hold that just as the infinite variety of living beings have all descended from a few original types, so those types are themselves the natural product of inor- ganic nature, and may be traced back to the nebulous matter originally diffused through vast, stretches of space. With this inclusion of all forms of being, and not simply of living beings, within the process of development, the second HERBERT SPENCER 203 I, or {b) s. And, onnected )arwinian ititled to d lower, id living he same d beings .1 forms? :he same en them ►wer and ions Mr. affirm - special naintains nee with istion of old that gs have so those of inor- to the ^h vast of all beings, second question connected with the idea of development takes a wider and more comprehensive form. We must now ask not merely : are all living beings the same in kind ? but, are all things, living and non-living, the same in kind ? For, if all the varieties of life that have existed or do exist have come down by natural descent from the atoms which composed the original nebulous vapour, must we not hold that all things are at bottom essen- tially the same in nature? If so, then a stone, a flower, a dog, and a man, differ not in kind but in degree. On the other hand, it may be said that the difference in nature between the stone and the flower, the dog and the man, is not in any way affected by the fact of their common descent. Just as a man may be more intelligent than his father, and just as in every individual the processes of nutrition and even of sensation precede consciousness, while yet consciousness is higher in kind ; so it may be said, living beings may as a matter of fact have originated from non-living things, and man from some lower form of being, while at the same time the living is higher than the non-living, and the rational than the irrational. The question then is this : Granting the truth of the Darwinian account of the origin of species, and granting even the wider doctrine of evolution 204 HEDONISTIC THEORIES (I of Mr. Spencer, can we, from a general view of the course of evolution, extract a principle which shall explain at once the changes of inorganic nature, of life, and of consciousness? This ques- tion Mr. Spencer tacitly answers in the affirmative, The law of development, applicable alike to th evolution of the solar system, the evolution of animal life, and the evolution of human society, is that the transition is from an " indefinite inco- herent homogeneity to a definite coherent hetero- geneity." Now, it lies upon the surface that such a formula does not allow us to say that there is any fundamental distinction between the different orders of existence which for our own convenience we separate from one another. An animal whose structure is more definite, coherent, and hetero- geneous than another is not different in kind from one that is less definite, coherent, and hetero- geneous ; nor i? a society which displays more definiteness, coherence, and heterogeneity, for that reason of a higher type than one which displays these characteristics in a less degree. It may be that the more complex animal or society is higher than the less complex, but to prove this we must be able to show why it is that the more complex is also the higher. I am told, for example, that a dog is a more developed or higher being than HERBERT SPENCER 205 I view of pie which inorganic his ques- ffirmative :e to th )lution of a society, nite inco- it hetero- ; such a there is different nvenience lal whose hetero- ind from hetero- ys more for that displays may be [is higher we must complex le, that ng than a worm, oecause it shows in its structure and conduct greater definiteness, coherence, and variety. But when I ask why the dog is held to be more developed I am told that it is because it displays greater power of adaptation to external circum- stances. Here the formula of evolution, by being specified, has completely changed its nature. It is not ^he mere fact of complexity which entitles us to call the dog higher or more developed than the worm, but the fact that, as a living being, it is capable of self-adjustment to the varying circumstances in which it is placed. So when I am told that the most complex society is the most perfect, I answer, Yes, but it is not the complexity which makes it more perfect, but the perfection which makes it more complex. The more perfect the society the greater is the division of labour and the more cultured and intelligent the citizens ; but the complexity of a civilized society is the result and not the cause of the perfection. No principle applicable to human life can be extracted from the formula that evolution is from an " indefinite incoherent homogeneity to a definite coherent heterogeneity." Like all per- fectly abstract principles, it may mean anything we choose to make it mean. I. Mr. Spencer tells us that ethics deals with that part of conduct to which we apply moral judg- 206 HEDONISTIC THEORIES P III ■'« lllUi IMII merits, and that, as the part cannot be understood except in relation to the whole, we must view moral conduct as an evolution from non-moral con- duct. It is true that not all actions are conduct, but only those which are adjusted to ends ; but the difference between moral and non-moral conduct is a difference in relative simplicity and ' ^nplexity. Here, therefore, the general formula O) evolution applies. Moral conduct is more coherent^ because the moral man acts according to a system and not from caprice ; it is more definite^ because he is exact in all his transactions ; it is more hetero- geneous^ because he takes an interest in all that concerns the general well-being ; and hence moral conduct tends towards equilibrium^ or the complete harmony of the individual with his environment. Now, I think it may easily be shown that the distinction between conduct and the wider sphere of action, and between moral and non-moral conduct, are distinctions which cannot be made without suc- cessive changes in the interpretation of the general formula of evolution, and that Mr. Spencer has failed to see the ground of those distinctions, because he has attempted to explain them by means of his purely abstract formula. (i) If we ask what formula will apply to the changes of all forms of being, from the aggregation of atoms to the formation of human societies, we HERBERT SPENCER 207 iderstood ust view loral con- conduct, ids ; but 1 conduct aiplexity. evolution ', because and not se he is re hetero- all that ice moral complete )nment. that the sphere of conduct, hout suc- i general las failed cause he IS of his ^ to the 2^regation eties, we must manifestly drop all the differences which dis- tinguish one class of being from another. And when we go on to apply our formula in explanation of different kinds of being, we must take up again the differences which we had let drop. If I am asked. What is common to the fall of a stone and the action of a man ? I must answer, Both are movements. But if I am asked, Do you mean that there is no difference in kind between the movement of the stone and the movement of the man ? I answer, There certainly is a difference, and a very great difference, but it is not one which applies to them as vioveuieiits. Now, i.ie charge which I have to make against Mr. Spencer is that his formula of evolution applies to the conduct of human beings only in the sense in which we can say that the actions of human beings are movements. Certainly they are movements ; but it is not the fact that they are movements which constitutes their essential nature. There can be no conduct without movement, but movement is no adequate characterization of conduct. I cannot think without a brain, but it does not follow that my thought is nothing but a molecular movement of my brain. So there can be no conduct, moral or non-moral, which does not take outwardly the form of movement ; but it by no means follows that conduct may be identified with movement. 208 HEDONISTIC THEORIES Hi"' a,- III'*' i«" IM^II When, therefore, Mr. Spencer tells us that from the physical point of view human conduct is made up of the movements of the body and limbs, the facial muscles, and the vocal apparatus, we have no objection to make except on the score of irrele- vancy and omission. So regarded, such movements, we say, are not conduct at all, because they do not differ from any other movements. Hence the formula of evolution may very well apply to con- duct regarded as movements, without helping us in the least to understand the distinction between one kind of conduct and another. Atoms move towards one another, and form aggregates of matter, and men combine with one another in society ; but, while there are physical movements in both cases, the one kind of movement is different in kind from the other. It is this difference of nature, whatever it is, that entitles us to separate between the move- ments of unconscious atoms and the movements of conscious beings. (2) It may be said, however, that Mr. Spencer recognizes the difference between the movements of dead matter and of living beings, when he says that not all actions, but only those which are adjusted to an end, come under the head of " con- duct." And no doubt Mr. Spencer does distinguish between random movements, such as those of an infusorium or of an epileptic in a fit, and purposive HERIiERT SPENCER 209 hat from t is made imbs, the we have of irrcle- ovements, they do ence the r to con- ing us in ween one e towards itter, and 2ty ; but, )th cases, nd from whatever he move- ments of Spencer ments of he says lich are of " con- stinguish e of an )urposive movements, l^ut what I wish to point out is that in drawing this (h'stinction he has so interpreted the general formuhi as practically to introduce a new law. The coherence, definitencss, and variety of which he now speaks is not that of movements regarded simply as movements, but of functions, i.e. of acts adjusted to ends. Now, certainly acts which are adjusted to ends imply movements. If, seeing a man drowning, I leap into the water to rescue him, my leaping into the water, swimming towards the man, and bringing him ashore, are all movements. But they receive their character, not from the fact that they are movements, but that they are move- ments done with a purpose. It was my intentioi to go through those movements in order to secure the end I had in view, and it is this fac' of intention that makes my conduct what it is. The movements of an epileptic in a fit arc not intentional, and hence they are rightly excluded by Mr. Spencer from the rank of actions which are conduct. But if we apply the formula in the .sense in which it is applicable to the movement of atoms, there is nothing to dis- tinguish purposive conduct from any other cla.ss of movements. No doubt, looking at those movements which are done purposely, we may find greater coherence and system in them than those which are not done purposely, but until we shift our point of view from the outer to the inner side of actions, 210 HEDONISTIC THEORIES we can find no difference in kind between them. Mr. Spencer's separation of purposive from non- purposive action is therefore the introduction of a new principle which transcends and includes the old. It is true that purposive conduct is more coherent than non-purposive conduct, but the reason why it is more coherent is that it is purposive. (3) But we have been going somewhat too fast. Mr. Spencer does speak of conduct as that action which is purposive, but we find when we look more closely that he applies the term conduct not only to that action which is intended to secure an end, but also to action which secures an end without any intention on the part of the agent. In birds, for example, which build nests, rear chicks, and teach them to fly, there is an adjustment of acts to ends, just as in human beings, who provide food and shelter for their children, and give them a physical and moral trai: ing. Fixing his atten- tion upon the fact that the lower animals as well as man do acts which tend to the preservation of themselves and their offspring, Mr. Spencer tells us that the transition from the very simple adjust- ments of lower forms of being to the complex adjustments of civilized society, is made by insens- ible degrees. The development of conduct, it would seem, consists only in the fact that, as we rise in the scale of animal life, the adjustments become liEKIiEN T SPENCER 211 sn them, om tion- ion of a udcs the is more le reason )osive. too fast, at action -)ok more Juct not :o secure 5 an end Tent. In r chicks, tment of ) provide ive them lis atten- j as well ation of cer tells ad just- complex ■ insen.s- it would we rise become more definite, coherent, and varied. All minor ends are comprehended in the one end of the preserva- tion of life, or rather of completeness of life, or the development of all the functions of which a living bein^^ is capable. Now, it is plain that the formula of evolution has here received a new inter- pretation. The evolution of the solar system c(»n- forms to the formula that ev(jlution is an advance from simple to complex movements. Hut it docs not correspond to the new intcrj^retation of the formula, that the advance consists in the more perfect adjustment of acts to ends. The atoms composing the orij^inal nebulous vapour when they ai^^rcf^ated into masses did not display in them- selves any adjustment of acts to ends. It is only in organized beinj^s, and, accordinpencer to of matter, :o obscure :e we find of human vely com- le adapta- it as the have not le special the sub- onsists of end, but Dserve an lore com- w'h}' we condition that the and so for this an end, it cannot le sense, 3f a bird entitled that the bird is conscious of seeking the well-being of its young. 2. We have seen, then, that we do not learn the true nature of human conduct by viewing it in relation to the conduct which, as less complex, is held to be that out of which it has gradually been evolved. But perhaps we may learn more by looking to the goal towards which conduct is pro- gressing, and which, according to Mr. Spencer, it will finally assume. It is this final form of con- duct, we are told, with which alone ethics properly has to deal, or which, at least, must first be deter- mined before we can tell how we are to act in that imperfect form of society which at present exists. Unfortunately, Mr. Spencer has not given us a positive description of the final form of society, but has contented himself mainly with negative state- ments. In its ultimate form conduct will be per- fectly definite, coherent, and heterogeneous ; there will be a complete adaptation of the individual to society ; there will be no external restraints ; and there will be no pain. But none of these predi- cates tells us anything except that, in its final form, conduct will be different from what it now is. To show how little is to be learned from such an abstraction as a perfectly developed form of society, let us take one or two of the predicates by which Mr, Spencer characterizes it. In the 2l6 HEDONISTIC THEORIES I ultimate form of society conduct will be perfectly " heterogeneous." Does this mean that there will be even a greater division of employments • than exists at present? If so, will the conduct of the individuals composing society not be less hetero- geneous than it now is, although society as a whole will be more h'^terogeneous ? Is it meant, on the other hand, that each man will discharge more functions than he now discharges, that while the individual will be moie heterogeneous 'n his con- duct, society will be less heterogeneous? Again, when it is said that there will be a perfect adapta- tion of the individual to society, will this adaptation result from a simpler form of society, or from the greater development of the individual? If the latter, how can we put a term to that development and view any form of society as final ? Must not every step in the evolution of society make greater and greater claims upon the individual, and make it impossible for all individuals to adapt themselves to the high level of intelligence reached by the few ? Once more, will the development of society arise from an increased authority of the state, or from a superseding of the authority at present exercised ? Mr. Spencer, as we learn from some of his other writings, would say that there will in the ideal state of society be less governmental in- terference with the individual than now prevails. HERBERT SPENCER 217 perfectly there will ents • than ct of the 5s hetero- s a whole it, on the rge more while the his con- } Again, :t adapta- idaptation from the If the /^elopment Must not :e greater nd make lemselves by the f societ}' state, or present pm some e will in ental in- prev^ails. There will be no state education, or factory acts, or public works, the sole function of the state being apparently to give advice to the citizens. It would take us too far out of our way to examine this conception of the state. But this, at least, vve may say, that Mr. Spencer's ideal of the state is one that cannot be deduced from the abstract notion of society as perfectly heterogeneous, and as implying the perfect adaptation of the indi- vidual to society. It is quite conceivable that by providing for the better satisfaction of the lower wants, and preventing the tyranny of one class over another, the individual members of the state would be better able to develop intellectually and morally than if all were left to the play of indi- viduality. In short, not having the gift of pro- phecy, no man can tell what form society will finally assume ; the most that he can do is to imagine a condition of things in which some of the inequalities of society as it now exists would be done away with. Now, if we cannot foretell the final form of society, the code of conduct which Mr. Spencer sets forth under the head of Absolute Ethics has no value except as a reminder that society has not reached its final form. The aim of all action is, in short, the attainment of per- fection ; but this must be an ideal which can only be gradually realized in the progress of humanity \ 2l8 HEDONISTIC THEORIES II, .t Si*;; Mill I tj itself. Thus, as the result of Mr. Spencer's " scien- tific method," we have as residuum that very idea of perfection which he refuses to accept as the ultimate end. 3. Mr. Spencer's account of action, viewed from the side of the agent, 5-eem.s to me imperfect. The question here is : Granting that we know the end of conduct, what is the motive which causes the individual to seek it? And as men may be acted upon by various motives, what is a truly good motive? All motives, according to Mr. Spencer, consist of mental presentations or representations combined with pleasurable or painful feelings. "The essential trait in the moral consciousness is the control of some feeling or feelings by some other feeling or feelings." And here, again, the formula of evolution is called into play, and we are told that motives are simple in the lowest animals and become more complex as evolution proceeds. The primary impulse is that of self-preservation. But experience shows that the actions to which it prompts are sometimes accompanied by pain. Hence when these actions are mentally pictured, they call up an idea of the attendant pains. The association becomes embodied in nervous structure, and is transmitted to the animal's offspring. As mind develops motives become more and more complex, the simpler being, as a rule, less authori- HERBERT SPENCER 219 r s scien- very idea pt as the jvved from feet. The \' the end :auses the be acted ruly good . Spencer, isentations igs. "The jss is the Dme other e formula are told imals and ds. The ion. But which it by pain. pictured, ms. The structure, ing. As nd more authori- tative than the more complex. This explains the virtue of prudence. A prudent man abstains from immediate gratification or submits to immediate pain, that he may secure a greater pleasure, or escape from a greater pain hereafter. And the results of his self-control and sagacity may be transmitted to his descendants. The same class of motives partly explains why the good of others is sought. The natural impulse to self-assertion is held in check by four prudential restraints: (i) fear of retaliation, (2) fear of legal punishment, (3) fear of divine vengeance, (4) fear of public opinion. The last three go on evolving as society evolves. These are not, however, truly moral sanctions. But the moral are evolved from them. How, then, is the transition made from enlightened self-interest to morality proper, involving when necessary the sacrifice of self? The moral restraints differ from the non-moral in this, that " they refer not to the extrinsic effects of actions, but to their intrinsic effects." Experience, then, teaches us the conse- quences of our actions, and the knowledge of them prompts us to refrain from the bad and to per- form the good. The essential weakness in this account of the origin of the moral sentiment is its failure to explain the idea of moral obligation. It seems that an action is not done from a right motive \ 220 HEDONISTIC THEORIES if/ ii; 111" iggi»ii Iff" unless that motive is the foresight of the natural consequences of the act. The motive is not moral when it consists in the representation of the punish- ment extrinsically connected with the act, but only when the act is done because of the consequences intrinsically connected with it. Suppose that a man is tempted to commit murder. If there arises in his imagination a picture of the unpleasant consequences connected with being hung, and he refrains from murder, his act is not moral. But if he pictures to himself the bad consequences which naturally flow from murder — the agony of the victim, the destruction of all his possibilities of happiness, the sufferings of all who belong him — and if there thus arises in his mind painful emo- tions which cause him to desist from his project, then his motive is a moral one. Now, it is difficult to see how the one motive is any more moral than the other, so far as the agent is concerned. Mr. Spencer tells us that " the essen- tial trait in the moral consciousness is the control of some feeling or feelings by some other feeling or feelings." But it is also Mr. Spencer's view that the feelings which arise in a man's mind are the con- comitant of his modified nervous structure, and are received by him in the way of hereditary character. As then the more complex feelings, by the natural process of evolution, come to control the less com- !■ HERBERT SPENCER 221 le natural not moral he punish- , but only ^sequences >e that a here arises unpleasant g, and he il. But if ices which ly of the ibilities of )ng him — inful cmo- is project, motive is Ithe agent he essen- control of jfeeling or that the the con- , and are character, e natural ess com- plex, why should it be said that one motive is more or less moral than another ? One man, from inherited structure and from the peculiar environ- ment in which he is placed, responds differently fnjm another ; but he has no power of making or unmaking the feelings which arise in his mind. How, then, can any motive be called either moral or immoral ? Hume saw clearly that if an action is always determined by th' jeling of pleasure which, to the individual, is strongest, no action can for the agent be either good or bad : and the elder utilitarians were consistent in saying that an act is good if it is done by the agent and brings good consequences, whatever may have been the motive by which it has been dictated. Mr. Spencer carries out neither side of his theory to its logical con- sequences. When he is comparing the actions of man with those of the lower animals, he makes the distinction one merely of degree, because both kinds of action tend to promote life. Good con- duct he therefore regards as that which is fitted to produce the most perfect form of life. But when he passes to a consideration of conduct as viewed from the side of the agent, he begins to see that not only must an act be done purposely to have any moral character, but it must be done from a good motive. His imperfect analysis of the moral consciousness leads him to say that all action is 222 HEDONISTIC THEORIES the consequence of the " control of one fceh'nj^ by another feeling " ; in other words, all action follows the strongest motive. The only difference, there- fore, between men's actions is as to the kind of motive that to them is strongest, and as that de- pends upon their inherited disposition and the nature of the environment, what a man does is what he alone can do, and the distinction of moral and immoral motives is meaningless. It is quite in accordance with this conclusion that Mr. Spencer regards the feeling of moral obli- gation as belonging only to an imperfect form of social development. For as the result of evolu- tion is to supersede the external sanctions by the moral motive connected with a representation of the natural consequences of our conduct, a time will come when no one will have any desire to do what will bring unpleasant consequences with it. What is meant, of course, is, that as moral obligation implies the tendency to act contrary to the " con- stitution of things," the feeling of obligation must disappear when no one desires to do acts of that kind. Here Mr. Spencer is contemplating ideal men in an ideal society. But, as we have seen, it is not possible to form any definite notion of this golden age, and we must be content to deal with men as they now are. I think, however, that it may be shown that the idea of moral obligation HERBERT SPENCER 223 feeling by on follows nee, there- ic kind of IS that de- and the m does is n of moral conclusion moral obli- ct form of of evolu- Dns by the tntation of ct, a time sire to do with it. obligation the " ccn- ition must :s of that ting ideal ^e seen, it )n of this deal with jr, that it obligation must always be retained by men of like nature with ourselves. Mr. Spencer's reason for rejecting the external sanctions — the religious, legal, and social — is because they are external. They oper- ate, he thinks, purely by calling up in the indi- vidual the idea of pleasurable or painful consequences to himself. Now, there can be no doubt that if we represent religion as acting through the " repre- sentation of tortures in hell," the motive is a thoroughly immoral one. But neither religion nor any other of the external sanctions need act on the individual in that wa)'. It is certainly possible for a man to conform outwardly to the forms of religion, and even to refrain from crime by the vivid representation of future punishment. Whether even such a man is not actuated by something higher than desire for his own freedom from pain, I shall not stay to inquire. But at least the religious sanction as it exists in the consciousness of the truly religious man is not dread of future punishment, but that " perfect love which casteth out fear." To call this identification of oneself with the infinite love a " dr^ad of tortures in hell," is a gross caricature. Similarly, there are no doubt individuals who are deterred from doincr wrong actions by the dread of legal punishment, or unwillingness to lose the esteem of their neigh- bours ; but whatever we may say of such persons, 224 HEDONISTIC THEORIES the jTood citizen does not obey the laws of his country because he pictures the unpleasant conse- quences to himself of disobedience, but because he regards obedience to them as a duty commanded by his own reason. And here we come upon the true origin of the idea of moral obligation. That idea is not, as Mr. Spencer supposes, a late pro- duct of the natural evolution of conduct. Man, even at the lowest stage of society, has had the consciousness of moral obligation. The essence of this consciousness is not the " control of one feel- ing by another feeling," but the consciousness that there is something which his own reason com- mands him to do. How otherwise could any authority command the assent of the community ? Mr. Spencer says that the truly moral motive is the feeling accompanying an idea of the natural consequences of an action. To this we entirely agree. But by " consequences " he means feelings of pleasure and pain, and from this we dissent. The consequences which must be taken into con- sideration are the influence of actions in tending to promote the complete development of man's nature. To the individual man the consequences of different acts are viewed in relation to the end of self- realization, and those acts which, as he believes, will lead to that end are pronounced to be morally right. To do a good act the following things are :|| HERIiERT SPENCER 2215 ,vs of his int consc- ccausc he unmandcd upon the on. That late pro- ict. Man, s had the essence of one feel- isness that ison com- could any imunity ? motive is ic natural e entirely IS feelings ^e dissent. into con- :ending to 's nature. If different of self- believes, ie morally hings are necessary: (i) the conception of an object to be gained, or the idea of the .self as in a more de- veloped state than that in which it now exists ; (2) the conception of the means towards the realiza- tion of that object ; (3) the determination of oneself to the doing of the acts which constitute the means to the end. It is plain from this that, .so long as there remains for man anything to be realized in the way of .self-development, .so long there must be the idea of moral obligation. Even granting, therefore, that the most perfect form of .social organization were realized, the notion of moral obligation could not disappear. Fci if the individual man is to act at all, it mu.st be because he contrasts his ideal with his real self, and this contrast implies the idea of duty. The notion of moral obligation is thus essential to the action of man, and its disappear- ance would at the same time be the disappearance of self-consciousness. M' CHAPTER XI HERBERT SPENCER (Concluded) We have now to see how Mr. Spencer connects evolutionism with hedonism. (i) Like other hedonists, he regards pleasure as the ultimate end. It is the only thing desired for its own sake. The pessimist as well as the optimist assumes that pleasure is intrinsically desir- able, and he condemns life because the pleasure which is sought cannot be obtained. Life is thus regarded as desirable or undesirable according as it does or does not bring" a " surplus of agreeable feeling." Conduct must be judged to be good or bad relatively to its consequences in the way of pleasure or pain. If gashes and bruises caused pleasure, should we regard assault in the same manner as at present? Would theft be counted a crime if picking a man's pocket excited in him joyful emotions? Conversely, should we regard ministering to the sick, or caring for the orphan HERBERT SPENCER 227 :d) IX connects Is pleasure ing desired ivell as the ically desir- le pleasure ife is thus cording as if agreeable le good or he way of ses caused the same le counted ;d in him we regard he orphan as good, if the result was to bring pain to the object of benevolence? Unquestionably, our ideas of goodness and badness originate from our con- sciousness of the certainty or probability that they will produce pleasures or pains somewhere. (2) Granting pleasure to be the ultimate end, how is it to be obtained ? Not by directly aiming at it, as the older utilitarians held, but by conforming to those principles which indirectly lead to it. The go^ of evolutioa is ±hat j^erjecjt form of. life in which there is a complete adjustment of acts to the end of^_the— preservation of all.iiviug beings in the fulness of their jx:tivities. That this is the true end of life is confirmed by a glance at the leading moral ideas men have otherwise reached. How do we ordinarily distinguish between good and bad conduct ? {a) A knife is said to be good which will cut, a good gun is one which carries far and true, a good house is one which yields the shelter, comfort, and accommodation sought for. {b) So in human actions which are morally indifferent, we call acts good or bad according to their success or failure. In all these cases we apply the term good and bad to what is well or ill adapted to achieve prescribed ends, {c) Why do we call conduct which calls forth moral judgments good or bad ? Here also, although the truth is somewhat disguised, we pronounce an action to be good which 228 HEDONISTIC THEORIES is adjusted to an end, and an action to be bad which is not adjusted to an end. (a) Actions which tend to self-preservation are said to be good. The goodness ascribed to a man of business as such is measured by the activity and ability with which he buys and sells to advantage. (j8) So acts which are adapted to the preservation of offspring are good. A mother is called good who, ministering to all the physical needs of her children, attends also to their mental health ; and a bad father is one who either does not provide the necessaries of life for his family, or otherwise acts in a manner injurious to their bodies or minds. (7) But it is especially to acts which further or hinder the complete living of others that we com- monly apply the terms good and bad. " Goodness, standing by itself, suggests, above all other things, the conduct of one who aids the sick in re-acquiring normal vitality, assists the unfortunate to recover the means of maintaining tnemselves, defends those who are threatened with harm in person, property, or reputation, and aids whatever promises to improve the living of all his fellows." An act is called good, then, which is well adapted to fulfil a certain end. No doubt we call an act good from one point of view, and bad from another. But the discrepancy arises from our viewing the action relatively to different ends. A good man of business may be HERBERT SPENCER 229 ) be bad nation are to a man tivity and id vantage, eservation lied good ds of her ;alth ; and )t provide otherwise )r minds, further or we com- Goodness, er things, acquiring :o recover nds those property, improve lied good, irtain end. point of screpancy tively to may be condemned because of his hard treatment of de- pendents : his conduct, that is, is good relatively to the end of self-preservation, bad relatively to the end of the preservation of others. Looking back to our former study of the evolution of conduct, we see that the use of the terms good and bad is quite consistent. Good conduct is relatively more evolved conduct ; bad conduct that which is relatively less evolved. The tendency of evolution is to secure more and more the preservation of the individual and the species, and to further complete- ness of life in others ; while the most evolved conduct is that which simultaneously achieves the greatest totality of life in self, in offspring, and in fellow-men. Thus the ordinary judgments of men agree with the results reached by the independent study of conduct as a whole, and in its evolution. To the method of egoistic hedonism there is the objection that a man's own pleasures and pains are incommensurable ; and to the method of uni- versalistic hedonism there is the much more decided incommensurability of the pleasures and pains experienced by innumerable other persons, all differently constituted from one another. But al- though happiness is not the immediate aim of con- duct^ it is the ultimate aim, and there is a method by which it may be Indirectly reached. The course of evolution is at once towards the most perfect 230 HEDONISTIC THEORIES life and the greatest happiness, and hence it is possible " to deduce from the laws of life and the conditions of existence, what kinds of action necessarily tend to produce happiness, and what kinds to produce unhappiness." The correspondence between greatest pleasure and completeness of life is proved in this way. Before the rise of con- sciousness, we find that the movements of living beings are such as tend to their self-preservation. A plant which gets moisture by enveloping a buried bone with a plexus of rootlets, a potato which directs its blanched shoots towards a grating through which light comes into the cellar, and a polype which attaches itself by its tentacles to some animal substance, all exhibit movements which tend to their own preservation. Thus the beneficial act, and the act which there is a tendency to perform, are originally two sides of the same thing. Now, when consci ousness arises, we cannot supprme that there is a sudden change in the kind of acts done ; the only difference is that the acts which formerly were reflex movements are now done because the creature desires to do ♦^hem. The pleasurable sensation is now the stimulus to the act. The defect of all previous ethical systems seems to Mr. Spencer to be the entire absence or the in- adequate presence of the idea of causation. The theological moralist, in saying that actions are right snce it is e and the of action and what spondence ess of life e of con- of living eservation. g a buried lich directs ugh which y^pe which le animal I tend to ificial act, ) perform, ig. Now> pose-that [cts done ; formerly [cause the leasurable HERBERT SPENCER 231 IS seems )r the in- m. The are right or wrong simply in virtue of divine enactment, ignores the fact that by the very nature of things the result of certain acts is to increase the well- being of man, and of others to decrease that well- being. The political moralist holds that conduct is made good or bad by Act of Parliament, not seeing that conduct cannot be made good or bad by law, but that its goodness or badness is determined by its effects us naturally furthering, or not further- ing, the lives of citizens. The intuitional moralist again, who affirms that we have an innate faculty or moral sense which directly tells us what actions are right or wrong, tacitly denies that there is any other way of knowing right from wrong, and thus denies any natural relations between acts and results. But surely the utilitarian moralist cannot be accused of neglecting the ideal of natural causation ! Bentham and Mill, for example, regard it as the distinguishing feature of utilitarianism that it values an action purely for its felicific consequences. Mr. Spencer finds, however, that even the utilitarian moralist does not recognize causation as com- pletely as could be wished. For he bases his rules of conduct simply on the observation of the kinds of effects produced by certain actions in what he regards as a sufficient number of instances. But this at the most can only tell us what are the consequences of certain actions in society as at 232 HEDONISTIC THEORIES present constituted. We wish however to know more than this ; to know " what kinds of action necessarily tend to produce happiness, and what kinds to produce unhappiness " ; and such absolute rules of conduct must be deduced " from the laws of life and the conditions of existence." The question therefore is : What cond uct must b e bene- ficial, and what conduct ;;/g/j/ b& detrimental ? This question cannot be answered without showing that the good and bad results of conduct are not accidental, but are " necessary consequences of the constitution of things." In illustration of the difference between the " em- pirical " method of utilitarianism and the " scientific " method of evolutionism, take the case of a man who suffers from want of proper nourishment. Suppose the man to be robbed of the fruits of his labour. The utilitarian would say, with Mill, that this violation of justice is found by experience to lead to an excess of pain over pleasure, and is therefore wrong. But the utilitarian does not trace the wrong back to its source in the " constitution of things." The true reason is to be found in the fact that the man in being robbed is prevented from getting proper food, and so suffers in health. The special cause which prevents a man from making up for the expenditure of energy by adequate nourishment is of no impori^ance. What is importaiit is the HERBERT SPENCER 233 to know of action and what \i absolute the laws :e." The f be bene- trimental ? t showing :t are not :es of the the " em- scientific " man who Suppose our. The olation of n excess ng. But back to s." The that the getting e special up for rishment is the fact that he is compelled to suffer in this way. If a labourer is paid partly in bad coin, or if his food is adulterated ; if unjust laws prevent him from enforcing his claim, or if a bribed judge gives a false verdict ; in all these cases the cause is to be found in the want of proper sustenance, just as much as if the man should be enfeebled from loss of blood, prevented from taking food on account of cancer of the oesophagus, deliberately starved to death, or insufficiently fed at the same time as he is forced by the whip to labour. And not only does injustice prevent the individual himself, but it may result in the injury or death of his children from under-feeding and inadequate clothing, and thus indirectly it tends to lower the life of society at large, which is damaged by whatever damages its units. It would seem, then, that what Mr. Spencer means by charging all other moralists with neglect of the law of causation is, that they have not shown that an action is good or bad according as it does or does not minister to the preservation of self, of offspring, and of society in general. That there must be this connection between life- preserving and pleasure-giving-jacts is plain, if we consider that only those races of beings can have survived in which on the whole pleasure is a con- comitant of acts that tend to maintain life. For 234 HEDONISTIC THEORIES It; .11 if those acts which are done from desire for pleasure should result in injuring the agent, it must quickly disappear. The very existence of a race of beings is therefore a proof that on the average the pleasure- giving are also the life-sustaining acts. No doubt this is contrary to the current view, which rather regards unpleasant acts as good, and pleasant acts as bad. But the reason why people have thus divorced pleasure from goodness is because the striking exceptions to the rule have forced them- selves on their notice. The drunkard, the gambler, and the thief, it is said, seek pleasure, and yet their actions are wrong ; while the self-sacrificing relative, the worker who perseveres through weari- ness, and the honest man who stints himself to pay his way, do acts which are beneficial and yet are disagreeable. It must, however, be remembered that even these undergo pain in consideration of remote and diffused plearure, and that the severance of pleasure and goodness is but incidental and temporary. The reason why pleasure and morality are not always conjoined is that in the transition from one stage of social development to the next the adjust- ment of the feelings lo the requirements is apt to be incomplete. Thus in the transition from the military to the industrial form of society, it is only natural that the conflict between the old and the HERBERT SPENCER 235, ►r pleasure 1st quickly of beings I pleasure- No doubt ich rather asant acts have thus cause the :ed them- I gambler, , and yet •sacrificing igh vveari- limself to and yet hat even Imote and pleasure mporary. are not from one e ad just- is is apt from the |t is only and the new feelings should give rise to pain. But in the / ideal form of society the harmony betw .^en pleasure / and beneficial action will be so perfect that every / one will do what is right because he will spon- I taneously desire to do it. We conclude, then, tlrat while the ultimate end is greatest pleasure, the practical rule is to do that which tends to further completeness of life. The difference between Mr. Spencer and other utilitarians is not in the object aimed at, but in the manner in which the object is sought to be attained. (3) Granting that pleasure is the end, and that this end will be best furthered by aiming at com- pleteness of life, we have to ask whether the pleasure which is the end is the agent's own greatest pleasure, or the greatest pleasure on the whole. Mr. Spencer virtually answers that these two are ultimately identical. We cannot have the perfect man except in the perfect state. But while the good of all, including the agent, is the end, we may still ask whether that end will be best realized by the individual directly seeking his own good, or directly seeking the common good. Mr. Spencer lays great stress on the importance of every man seeking for the most complete life for himself. The man who neglects his own well- being is really decreasing the sum of happiness in the community as well as his own. A man 236 HEDONISTIC THEORIES cannot cut himself off from others. " The pursuit of individual happiness within those h'mits pre- scribed by social conditions is the first requisite to the attainment of the greatest general happiness." After balancing the claims of egoism and altruism, Mr. Spencer comes to the conclusion tha: " general happiness is to be achieved mainly through the adequate pursuit of their own happiness by indi- viduals " — a conclusion which concides with that of Bentham and other utilitarians. One or two remarks may be made on the hedonism of ^' :. Spencer. (i) In his proof that completeness of life is aimed at as a means to the ultimate end of pleasure, Mr. Spencer appeals to the ordinary judgments of men as shown in their use of the terms " good " and '' bad." {(I) Things and actions are called good when they secure an end, bad wiien they do not secure an end, and they are called morally good when they further completeness of life in self, offspring, or fellow-men. Now, in thus assimilating things and actions, the characteristic difference of human action is left out of account, jj ^o do ubt wg^ call a thing good which is fitted to secure an end, but we never call ah "action morally good unless it not only secures an end, but was intended to secure an end. So far as Mr. Spencer's account HERBERT SPENCER 217 "he pursuit limits pre- requisite to happiness." (1 altruism, it " general irough the s by indi- with that le on the of life is :e end of ordinary ise of the ood when not secure ood when offspring, ng things of human „we_call an end, 3d unless ended to account of the matter goes, the cutting of bread by a knife ought to come under the head of " conduct '* since it achieves the purpose for which it was in- tended. But if such unconscious movements are not actions, our reason for calling the actions of men conduct must be because, as done by the individual with a certain end in view, they proceed from his will and are to be attributed to him. Nor is it enough to distinguish between uncon- scious and conscious movements ; but" to get the full meaning contained in the .vord *' good," as popularly applied in the way of moral praise, we must add that not only is it applied exclusively to purposed actions, but it is applied solel}^ to pur- posed actions which are the means to a good end. It is not correct to contrast good and bad conduct as respectively conduct which attains or does not attain an end. The burglar, who is an artist in his vocation, may achieve the end he has in view better than the honest but bungling mechanic. It is therefore not the fact of achieving what is aimed at that constitutes the character of a moral action. What, then, is it? Mr. Spencer tells us that it is completeness of life. If this means that the end is the realization of all a man's capabilities, it may be accepted as the end. But we must observe that this end is not one which can be attained unless it is made the end 238 HEDONISTIC THEORIES S'l: MM gffi u i by the agent. Not only must the end be good, but it must be sought because it is good. A man who does an act because it is customary is not morally on the same level as the man who does the same act because he judges it to be right. For it is not possible that there should be com- plete realization of the man's nature unless he has negated his individual self, and identified his good with the higher or ideal self. The man who lives a life of custom is still in bondage to the flesh, just because he has not reached up to the liberty of reason. The motive to an action must be good as well as the end which is sought. A motive in fact is just the good end taken up into the consciousness of the individual and made /it's end. Now this is what Mr. Spencer, like other utili- tarians, cannot admit. Not seeing that the true end of all action is the development of the rational or self-conscious nature, he seeks for an explanation ; morality in something external. Hence (d) we find Mr. Spencer saying that, completeness of life is not the ultimate, but only the p roximate end. The true end is pleasure, and life is valued, as even the pessimist is con- strained to admit, not for itself but for the pleasure it__brin^S;;_^ Now, in the first place, it is not necessary for the pessimist to admit that pleasure is the end. be good, A man ry is not who does be right. I be com- ;ss he has his good who lives the flesh, the liberty it be good motive in into the his end. ther utili- the true ic rational xplanation ymg that, but only pleasure, t is con- pleasure jssary for the end. HERBERT SPENCER 239 because it may be shown that it is not the end. Pessimism merely affirms that on the whole life brings more pain than pleasure, but it does not ne- cessarily affirm that life exists purely for the sake of pleasure. Secondly, when Mr. Spencer tells us that life is a means to pleasure, he is evidently thinking of life in the narrow sense of sentient existence. Well-being, as Aristotle said, presupposes being ; a man cannot live ivcll unl«^ss he lives. But Mr. Spencer has now forgotten that the end at which we are directly to aim is not physical being, but " completeness of life." Just consider what is implied in the latter. To live a *' complete life " is to have all the bodily functions in perfect order and efficiency; to have the intellect trained and disciplined ; to have the will under control of reason and always determining itself to good ends. All this, according to Mr. Spencer, is merely the means to an end lying beyond it ; it is not per- fection of nature but the securing of pleasure, which is the end. At the same time it is admitted that not every pleasure is a good, but only that pleasure which comes as the result of aiming at the good of all. In other words, the only genuine pleasure is that which accompanies the moral life. If so, manffestTy in aiming at completeness of life or morality, pleasure, in the only sense in which / 2/10 HEDONISTIC THEORIES ,11 / it is worth having, is an invariable accompaniment. But it cannot be obtained unless we aim at com- pleteness of life. Now, that which is an accom- paniment of action directed to another end than itself, and which cannot be secured if it is aimed m at, cannot be called the ultimate end of action. The moral man does not aim at it ; and the immoral man who does aim at it cannot obtain it ; hence it cannot be the end vhich ought to be aimed at. Completeness of life includes the only truly desirable pleasure^ as a parTT and it is manl-. festly absurd to say that we aim at the whole merely in order to obtain the part. The axiom that the whole is greater than the part is a fundamental law of thought. (2) Mr. Spencer would of course reply, that while pleasure cannot be obtained by being directly sought, it is none the less the only desirable end. And to this view he gives plausibility by seeking to connect pleasure-giving with life-preserving actions. In this argument he simply assumes pleasure to be the end, and then goes on to infer that that conduct which, on the whole, yields most pleasure is at the same time the conduct which tends to completeness of life. But this is to confuse the desirable with the pleasurable. That which is desirable must no doubt bring satisfaction with it, but the satisfaction is simply HERBERT SPENCER 241 ipaniment. 1 at com- in accom- end than is aimed of action, and the lot obtain ight to be > the only t IS marH-.. the whole rhe axiom part is a reply, that ig directly lirable end. )y seeking preserving assumes in to infer lie, yields conduct |ut this is easurable. bt bring is simply the reflex of the doing of actions which, as making for the development of the higher nature, are regarded by the agent as morally good. When a man desires to obtain health, or culture, or goodness, he values these not as means to pleasure, but as means to self-realization. To make the pleasure accompanying the realization of self the end, is to open the way to selfishness more or less refined. Nothing can be more immoral than to make all things in heaven and earth the means of securing agreeable sensations. No man who adopts that point of view — and it is the only consistent point of view for the pure hedonist — will really further the truly moral end of self-development. What Mr. Spencer really proves is, not that in the ideal form of society, men in aiming at plea- sure will be led to do acts morally good, but that in aiming at moral goodness they will at the same time obtain happiness. (3) When Mr. Spencer says that the good of the individual is ultimately identical with the good of all, he enunciates a most important truth. But when he identifies good, special and general, with pleasure, he makes the former proposition unin- telligible. Mill found it necessary to give a "proof" of the utilitarian end, intended to show how we may pass from the pleasure of the indi- vidual CO the pleasure of all. Mr. Spencer does Q 242 HEDONISTIC THEORIES not seem to have even seen the necessity of such a proof. Hence he assumes that greatest pleasure on the whole is the end, and merely a^^ks how best it may be attained. Egoism he therefore regards as the kind of conduct which, indirectly aiming at universal pleasure, directly aims at individual pleasure ; altruism, as the kind of con- duct which, directly aiming at the good of others, secures the good of the agent as well. But the question is not how universal good may best be obtained, but whether it is the endthat ought to be sought. Now the only reason the hedonist can give for his assumption is that each man desires his own pleasure ; and from this, as we saw in examining Mill's proof, we cannot infer that he ought to desire the pleasure of all. grant- ing pleasure, and pleasure alone, to be what is sought, we cannot show IhaL, wlitic individual— and- common good conflict, a man~ougKt to prefer the greater pleasure of all to greater_ jDleasure^ Jpr himself. Such a distinction introduces an order of considerations that have no place in a con- sistent hedonism. When we interpret general good as equivalent to complete realization of human nature, we are entitled to say that a man must not seek his own good to the exclusion of the general good, since to do so is to fail in the realization of his higher self. But, unless on the 3sity of such test pleasure y a^^ks how he therefore h, indirectly ly aims at dnd of con- >d of others, 11. But the lay best be fit ought to he hedonist each man this, as we :annot infer all. jGra nt- be what is ii-vj^ ual ajid - ) prefer the leasure for s an order in a con- eneral good of human man must ion of the fail in the ess on the HERBENT SPENCER -43 supposition that no man can get more pleasure for himself by selfish than by unselfish action, to make pleasure the end is to destroy the idea of common good. Now Mr. Spencer does not hold that, under present conditions, it is impossible to obtain more pleasure for oneself by neglecting the pleasure of all, but only that in an ideal society this will be the case. As, however, we have not to do with ideal men but with men as they are, he cannot show that a man will now get more' pleasure by self-sacrifice than by selfishness, and hence his ethical doctrine fails in the cardinal pomt of showing how conduct subserving the universal good is binding upon us. Iffi.ll SMI ViMU Urn REFERENCES TO AUTHORS. CHAPTER I. I'AUE 5 *• Such a critical account of hedonism." — Spencer's Da^a of Ethics, § 10, p. 27. CHAPTER II. 31 "No reason," he says, "can be given." — Mill's Utilitarianism, ch. 4, p. 53. CHAPTER III. 58 "When the stranger," says Seneca, "comes." — Wallace's Epi- cureanism, ch. 3, p. 48. 63 " The giver should not expect. " — Bain's Emotions and Will, p. 299. CHAPTER IV. 77 "His aim was ... to 'pass between the points.'" — Hobbes' Works, HI., Dedication. 77 " That great Leviathan." — Ibid., Introduction, p. ix. 77 " The weakest has strength enough." — Ibid., ch. 22, p. no. 81 " The savage people in many places." — Ibid., ch. 22, p. 114. CHAPTER V. 96 " If we will disbelieve everything." — Locke's Essay, I., § 5. 96 " Were the capacities of our understanding." — Ibid., I., § 7. 99 •* Will is said by Locke." — Ibid., II., ch. 21, § 15. REFERENCES TO AUTHORS 245 JTHORS. Spencer's Data of Ethics, ."—Mill's Utilitarianism, comes."— Wallace's Epf I Emotions and Will, p. 299. \ the points.'"— Hobbes' "Ruction, p. ix. fbid.ych. 22, p. no. [Il>id., ch. 22, p. 114- jcke's Essay, I., § 5« ^ing.''—Jl>id., I., § 7- 1. 21, §15- I'AOE 99 (( 99 (( 100 it 100 (< lOI i( lOI {( 102 (< 103 (( 103 (( 103 (( 103 (C 104 (( los i( 105 (( 105 (( A palsy or the stocks." — /did., II., ch. 21, § ii. A man on the rack." — /did., II., ch. 21, § 12. It is as 'insignificant.'" — /h'd., II., ch. 21, § 14. Powers belong only to agents." — /did., II., ch. 21, § 14. So that to ask 'whether the will.'"— /(^/V/., II,, ch. 21, § 16. Desire is a feeling of uneasiness." — /did., II., ch. 21, § 31. A man ' knows best what pleases him.' " — /did., II., ch. 21, § 58. Happiness in the abstract." — /did., II., ch. 21, § 43. We are able to 'suspend the satisfaction.'" — /did., II., ch. 21, §47- The very desire for happiness." — /did., II., ch. 21, § 52. When a man has once cho. • 1." — /did., II., ch. 21, § 56. No doubt a man can make no mistake." — /did., II., ch. 21, § 63. Moral good and evil consist." — /did., II., ch. 28, § 5. Of these moral rules or laws." — /did., II., ch. 28, § 6. The three forms of law. "— /(J/V/. , II., ch. 28, §§ 8-10. CHAPTER VI. 119 "That there is a 'constant union.'" — Hume's Treatise,* II., p. 191. 120 "Abstract or demonstrative reasoning." — /did., II., p. 194. 121 "Where the objects themselves." — /did., ^I., p. 194. 121 "As reason alone can never produce."- /.>/V/., II., p. 194. 122 "We speak not strictly and philosophically." — /did., II., p. 195. 123 "(fl) The 'direct ' passions." — /did., II., p. 214. 123 "(d) The 'indirect' passions."— /(5/V/., II., p. 77. 123 "(f) The third class of 'passions.'" — /did., II., p. 215. 124 "(a) To explain the feeling of moral approbation." — /did., II., p. 247. 125 " (d) Nothing more than sympathy is needed." — /did., II., p. 270. 126 "Hence, from the 'selfishness and confined generosity.'" — /did., II., p. 267. 127 "Granting that we have explained." — /did., II., p. 253. CHAPTER VII. 139 " He has no hesitation." — Bcniham^s A/ora/s and Ae^is/ation,f p. 2. 142 " As an illustration of the method." — /did., p. 30. * Green and Grose's edition, t Clarendon Press edition. 246 I'AGE 142 142 «43 143 144 144 145 •45 145 146 147 148 149 149 150 150 15^ HEDONISTIC THEORIES This process of calculation." — Ibid.^ p. 31. Pleasures differ in quantity . . . are distinguished." — Ibid. ^ch. 5 It is admitted by Bentham." — Ibid., ch. 6. Bentham's next attempt." — Jbid., ch. 7. A fire breaks out." — Ibid., p, 100. A motive is 'substantially.' " — Ibid., p. 102. If motives are good or bad." — Ibid., p. 102. Frequently a man is acted upon." — Ibid., p. 127. Is there nothing, then, about a man ?" — Ibid., p. 137. Ethics at large may be defined." — Ibid., p. 310. If it is asked, Why should i obey." — Ibid., p. 313. They differ in so far as the acts." — Ibid., p. 313. Of the rules of moral duty." — Ibid., p. 319. All that the legislator can hope." — Ibid., p. 320. The rules of probity." — Ibid., p. 321. Here in fact * we must first know.' " — Ibid., p. 322. To sum up : ' Private ethics teaches.'" — Ibid., p. 323. 160 " 160 *' 161 '* 161 162 162 162 163 163 163 164 165 16S 165 16S (( . CHAPTER VIII. The theory of life on which Utilitarianism." — Mill's Utilitarian- ism,* ch. I., p. 10. Hence 'actions are right in proportion.'" — Ibid., ch, i, p. 9. To suppose that life has . . . no higher end." — Ibid., ch. i. p. 10. The comparison of the Epicurean life.'" — Ibid., ch. i, p. 11. No intelligent human being." — Ibid., ch. i, p. 12. It is better to be a human being." — Ibid., ch. i, p. 14. The ultimate end." — Ibid., ch. i, p. 17. Unquestionably it is possible." — Ibid., ch. I, p. 22. Utilitarian morality only refuses." — Ibid., ch. i, p. 24. The motive has nothing to do with the morality." — Ibid., ch. i, p. 26. What is really intended." — Ibid., ch. i, p. 27 n. The external sanctions." — Ibid., ch. 2, p. 40. The internal sanction." — Ibid., ch. 2, p. 41. The desire to be in unity." — Ibid., ch. 2, p. 46. But 'society between equals.'" — Ibid., ch. 2, p. 47. Longmans, 4th edition. JR/ES ). 31. itinguishecl. "—//•/