iiiiimliill'iil iHiiii ' ' ' . : INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK BOSTON - CHICAGO DALLAS ATLANTA SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED LONDON BOMBAY CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. TORONTO INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS BY THEODORE DE LAGUNA PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN BRYN MAWR COLLEGE |f 0tft THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1914 All rights reserved COPYBI0HT, 1914, BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and electrotypcd. Published December, 1914. Norfoooto J. 8. Cashing Co. Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. PREFACE THE title of this book is intended to be fairly descriptive of it. It treats of ethics as a science, which if not wholly inde- pendent of metaphysical considerations and of no science can that be said is sufficiently independent to permit of separate positive treatment. And under the broad license of an 'introduction 7 it presents not only an outline of the science as we find it to-day, but some account of the past which has made it what it is. Part I contains brief chapters upon the scope and methods of the science and upon one metaphysical topic (the freedom of the will) which cannot well be passed over in silence. But it is mainly given up to a discussion of the subjects of moral judgments and a survey of the various kinds of standards according to which, under the conditions of savage or of civil- ized life, moral judgments are made. It is thus intended to present a broad background of facts against which the ex- planatory theories, old and new, may be the better appreciated. Part II is a review of the principal Greek and English ethical theories. In an introductory note I have given my reasons for including this review. It does not purport to be a history of ethics, even for the periods which it covers. By neglecting much that is important to the historian, I have gained space for a fuller and, I trust, more interesting and instructive treatment of the men and movements that are included. In connection with Part II a selection from the ethical classics should certainly be read; and this, however meager, should not fail to comprise Books I, II, and X of the Nicomachean Ethics. Especially in the case of the Greek ethicists, I have not always found it possible to separate the moral theories entirely from their metaphysical basis ; indeed, to have done so would vi PREFACE in some cases have amounted to a falsification. But I have at least relegated the metaphysics to a strictly subordinate place. In Part III a positive treatment of moral problems is pre- sented in connection with the elements of the general theory of values. So far as I know, this is the first attempt at an elementary presentation of any of the newer phases of the latter subject. Not that the theory of values as such is new. It is as old as ethics itself. But in recent years it has under- gone a great development, and one of unusual interest a development, however, which has remained buried in mono- graphs and treatises that are wholly inaccessible to the under- graduate student as well as to the educated public generally. It should be observed that Part III is intelligible I would not say equally intelligible without the previous reading of Part II, which may therefore be omitted if time requires or the instructor so prefers. Parts I and III will then serve as an < Elements of Ethics.' I hope, however, that this ex- treme course may not often be taken. It may, however, often be necessary to omit some passages of Part II ; and it is not so closely written but that omissions can easily be made. I would suggest that Chapter X and the account of the stimuli of the moral sense in Chapter XI, while dealing of matters of great importance in themselves, may be most easily spared by the beginner. I should not know how to record the debts which I have incurred in writing this book; and I shall not attempt it. The great debts, of which I remain ever conscious, are, natu- rally enough, to my own teachers of ethics, Professor Howison of California and Professor McGilvary of Cornell and Wis- consin; but such debts are more easily felt than set forth. I should, however, mention that in the writing of Chapter XI I received several suggestions from Dr. Edna Shearer (a pupil of the late David Irons), whose unpublished dissertation on Hume's ethics was completed under my supervision. CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND, November 14, 1914. CONTENTS PART I. THE FIELD OF ETHICS CHAPTER PA6K I. SCOPE AND RELATIONS OF THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS . 3 I. THE PROBLEMS OP ETHICS, 3. II. THE RELATIONS OF ETHICS, 8. III. ETHICS AS A THEORETICAL SCIENCE AND AS THE PHILOSOPHY OF PRACTICE, 11. II. THE METHODS OF ETHICS 13 III. THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS .... 23 I. CHARACTER AND CONDUCT, 23. II. THE MORAL AGENT, 26. III. EXTENT OF MORAL CONDUCT, 29. IV. CONTENT OF THE MORAL ACT, 31. 1. The Prob- lem, 31. 2. Status of Unforeseen Conse- quences, 33. 3. Motive vs. Intention, 39. APPENDIX : THE INTENTION TO Do RIGHT, 42. IV. RESPONSIBILITY AND FREEDOM 50 I. RESPONSIBILITY, 60. n. THE RELATION BETWEEN FREEDOM AND RE- SPONSIBILITY, 61. HI. FURTHER ARGUMENTS FOR INDETERMINISM, 56. IV. FURTHER ARGUMENTS FOR DETERMINISM, 68. V. PHYSICAL AND QUASI-PHYSICAL DETERMINISM, 63. V. GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS ... 66 I a. THE STANDARDS OF DUTY, 67. 1. Instinctive and Customarg Standards, 67. 2. Personal Au- thority, 73. 3. The Authority of Law, 77. vii viii CONTENTS CHAPTER PAG I 6. THE STANDARDS OF BENEVOLENCE, 80. 1. Ideality of Benevolence and Virtue, 80. 2. Benevo- lence in General, 82. 3. The Objects of Benevolence, 83. (1) Benevolence to Indi- viduals, 83. (2) Devotion to an Institution, 85. (3) Devotion to a Cause, 86. (4) Devo- tion to a Representative, 87. II. THE STANDARDS OF VIRTUE, 88. 1. The Kinds of Virtue, 88. (1) Courage, 89. (2) Temper- ance, 91. (3) Wisdom, 93. 2. Virtue without Effort, 96. 3. The Imitation of the Ideal, 97. PART II. THE CLASSICAL SCHOOLS INTRODUCTORY NOTE .101 VI. THE BEGINNINGS OF ETHICS 105 I. THE SOPHISTS, 105. II. SOCRATES, 112. l. Fundamental Assumptions, 113. 2. Theory of Virtue, 115. VII. HEDONISM . * 123 I. ARISTIPPUS, 124. II. OTHER HEDONISTS, 126. VIH. ENERGISM . . . . . . . . ' . 131 I. GENERAL FEATURES OF ANCIENT ENERGISM, 131. II. PLATO, 133. 1. The Virtues in General, 135. 2. Wisdom, 138. 3. Pleasure, 142. III. ARISTOTLE, 144. 1. Metaphysical Basis, 145. 2. Happiness, 147. 3. Virtue, 149. 4. The Supremacy of Pure Reason, 163. IV. CONCLUDING COMMENTS, 154. IX. RIGORISM . . 158 I. THE CYNICS, 158. n. THE STOICS, 163. 1. The Background, 163. 2. The Relation of Morality to Instinct, 164. 3. The Stoic Paradoxes, 167. 4- The Virtu- ous Life, 169. CONTENTS PAGE X. THE BEGINNINGS OF MODERN ETHICS .... 175 I. THE POINT OP DEPARTURE, 175. n. HOBBES, 177. 1. Fundamental Principles, 177. 2. The State of Nature, 182. 3. The Con- ditions of Peace, 185. 4. The Function of the State, 187. III. CUDWORTH, 189. IV. CUMBERLAND, 190. XL THE CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CEN- TURY . . . . . . . .198 I. PRELIMINARY REMARKS, 198. II. INTUITIONALISM, 200. 1. The Mathematical An- alogy, 200. 2. Obligation Reward and Punishment, 203. 3. The Universality of Moral Laws, 206. HI. SEKTIMENTALISM, 207. 1. Empirical Standpoint, 207. 2. The Analogy of Beauty, 208. 3. Ob- ligation, 215. 4. The Stimuli, 217. IV. UTILITARIANISM, 223. 1. The Utilitarian Pro- gram, 223. 2. Obligation, 226. 3. Appro- bation and Disapprobation, 230. V. CONCLUDING REMARKS, 232. XII. THE NINETEENTH CENTURY AND GERMAN INFLUENCE 235 I. THE NEW UTILITARIANISM, 235. H. KANT, 238. IIL FICHTE, 242. IV. HEGEL, 243. V. THE ENGLISH CONTROVERSIES, 245. XIIL THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY . . . . * . 247 I. THE KINDS OF HEDONISM, 247. II. THE SELFISH THEORY, 252. III. THE THEORY OF ORIGINAL SELFISHNESS, 259. IV. THE HEDONISTIC THEORY OF VALUES IN GEN- ERAL, 261. V. ETHICAL HEDONISM, 271. X CONTENTS PART III. THE EVOLUTIONARY THEORY OF MORAL VALUES CHAPTER PAGK XIV. THE SIGNIFICANCE OF MORALITY FOR SOCIETY . 281 I. INTRODUCTION, 281. II. MORALITY AND SOCIAL WELFARE, 282. III. SOCIAL INTERCOURSE, 286. IV. THE EELATION OP MORALITY TO SOCIAL IN- TERCOURSE, 292. XV. CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE . . . 296 I. MORALITY AND INDIVIDUAL WELFARE, 296. II. CHARACTER, 298. III. THE SENTIMENTS, 304. IV. VALUATION, 311. V. THE VALUE OF A SUM OF THINGS, 315. VI. VIRTUE AND HAPPINESS, 318. 1. Indirect Value of Morality, 318. 2. Direct Value of Morality, 320. XVI. THE SOCIAL CHARACTER OF SENTIMENTS, AND THE OBJECTIVITY OF VALUES . . . 324 I. INTRODUCTION, 324. II. THE EXCITATION OF SYMPATHY, 325. III. ADMIRATION AND CONTEMPT. PRIDE AND SHAME, 329. IV. THE EDUCATION OF THE SENTIMENTS, 330. V. THE OBJECTIVITY OF VALUES, 335. VI. THE FUNCTION OF THE ELITE, 340. VII. ABSOLUTE VALUES, 347. VIII. HISTORICAL CONTINUITY, 350. IX. INDIVIDUAL DIFFERENCES, 354. X. VALUES PECULIAR TO MINOR SOCIAL GROUPS, 358. XVII. THE SIGNIFICANCE OF DARWINISM . . . . 360 I. EVOLUTION IN GENERAL, 360. II. DARWINISM, 363. CONTENTS III. APPLICATION OP DARWINISM TO ETHICS, 367. IV. CONGENITAL BASIS OF MORALITY, 372. V. THE ANALOGY OP LANGUAGE, 376. XVHL THE EVOLUTION OF MORAL STANDARDS . . . 379 I. CONDITIONS OP MORAL EVOLUTION, 379. IL THE PROBLEM, 381. HE. THE MODIFICATION OP STANDARDS OP VALUE, 382. IV. CONVENTIONALITY IN MORAL STANDARDS, 388. V. DOUBT AND REFLECTION, 391. VI. THE RISE OP DISCONTENT, 394. VII. DUTY AND BENEVOLENCE IN EVOLUTION, 398. Vin. THE PROGRESS OF BENEVOLENCE, 401. IX. THE RELATION OP VIRTUE TO DUTY AND BENEVOLENCE, 404. CONCLUSION ........... 407 INDEX ............ 413 GENERAL REFERENCES ELEMENTARY WORKS. MACKENZIE, J. S., Manual of Ethics. MUIRHEAD, J. H., Elements of Ethics. SETH, J., A Study of Ethical Principles. THILLY, F., Introduction to Ethics. FITE, W., An Introductory Study of Morals. MEZES, S. E., Ethics, Descriptive and Explanatory. BOWNE, B. P., The Principles of Ethics. PERRY, R. B., The Moral Economy. DEWEY and TUFTS, Ethics. PALMER, G. H., The Field of Ethics, and The Nature of Goodness. PAULSEN, F., System of Ethics. ROYCE, J., The Philosophy of Loyalty. RASHDALL, H., Ethics. SORLEY, W. R., The Moral Life. MOORE, G. E., Ethics. TREATISES : WUNDT, W., Ethics. STEPHEN, L., Science of Ethics. JANET, P., The Theory of Morals. LADD, G., The Philosophy of Conduct. MOORE, G. E., Principia Ethica. TAYLOR, A. E., The Problem of Conduct. RASHDALL, H., The Theory of Good and Evil. HOBHOUSE, L. T., Morals in Evolution. WESTERMARCK, E., The Origin and Development of the Moral Ideas. READ, C., Natural and Social Morals. WALLACE, W., Lectures and Essays on Natural Theology and Ethics. PAET I THE FIELD OF ETHICS CHAPTER I SCOPE AND RELATIONS OF THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS I. THE PROBLEMS OF ETHICS Double Origin of the Science. The science of ethics has grown principally out of the attempts to solve two sets of problems, which at first sight may not appear to be closely connected with each other. On the one hand it has been asked : What is happiness ? What would be the highest or most complete happiness? What can a man do toward secur- ing happiness for himself or for others f On the other hand the inquiry has been raised : What is the meaning of ' right ' and l wrong' ' good ' and l bad,' as applied to men's conduct and character? How do we make these distinctions and what validity do they possess? But however different their starting-points, the two inquiries are apt to run together very speedily. The study of the conditions of happiness usually reveals the fact that virtue, or good character the sort of character that shows itself in right conduct is by far the most important condition. Some moralists have even identified virtue and happiness. And the study of moral distinctions has either led to the conclusion that their meaning is somehow bound up with the happy or un- happy consequences of conduct ; or, at least, the study has involved some consideration of reward and punishment, and thus the problem of the relation between virtue and hap- piness has come into view. Preliminary Definition. Ethics thus constitutes a unified body of doctrine, which may be defined as the science of 3 4 : INTW)jyVCTION :TQ 'THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS morality, or the science of moral distinctions. 1 Such a defi- nition will not apply perfectly to every system that has passed under the name of ' ethics ' ; but that is not to be expected. One can never give a logically perfect definition of an historical growth. One cannot, for example, define socialism or Christianity in such a way as to include all who have ever been regarded as socialists or as Christians, without making the terms so broad that scarcely any one would be excluded. Now it is one of the best approved maxims of science, that one should be content with the degree of exactness which the given subject-matter admits of. To strain beyond this is to make oneself liable to serious error. The definitions which we give here must be taken simply as preliminary indications, which may give the student a fair idea of what to expect, and may help him to thread his way through the discussions that are to follow. Ambiguity of Terms. If the attempt is made to amplify the definition of ethics by explaining the terms ' moral ' and ' morality/ a curious difficulty arises. Almost all the familiar expressions that might be used for such an ex- planation are found to be fatally ambiguous. For instance, let us consider the adjectives ' good ' and ' bad.' These are used to denote, not simply moral qualities, but any sort of worth or unworth whatsoever. Dogs and horses, houses and lands, groceries, pictures, scientific theories anything that is capable of attracting human interest may be good or bad. Men themselves may be thus described in more senses than one. " Antonio is a good man," may be a testimony to his virtue or an acknowledgment of his mer- 1 The term ' ethics ' is derived from the Greek i?0i/c< (moral), from ^0os (character), which Aristotle rightly surmised to be connected with tfflos (custom) . This connection seemed to him to be important, because he be- lieved that the process of character-forming is essentially one of habituation. The term ' moral ' is similarly derived from moralia (the Latin technical equivalent for iJfliAcel), formed by analogy from mos (custom, manners). Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics, II, 1 ; cf. Wundt, Ethics, vol. I, pp. 24-26. THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 5 cantile standing. Only the context can determine. So also with the other pair of adjectives, ' right ' and ' wrong.' Anything that conforms, or fails to conform, to a standard of sufficiency or correctness is right or wrong accordingly. Conformity to moral standards is only one sort of Tightness. To denote it plainly it must be set down as ' morally right.' Similarly of ' merit/ ' responsibility/ ' obligation.' They may be as wide or as narrow as you please. ' Ought/ like ' right ' and ' wrong/ refers to conformity to a given standard. Everything ought to be right. ' Virtue ' itself, though usually restricted to moral goodness, is sometimes applied to the valuable properties of inanimate substances. It must not be supposed that this ambiguity is due to any peculiar poverty of the English language. Other languages show a similar condition. Our language has, indeed, two important common terms that are regularly used in an ethical significance, ' conscience ' and ' duty.' But one hears too of an ' aesthetic conscience.' And the word ' duties ' is often used to denote merely what a man is employed to perform a sense far too narrow for ethical purposes. Consequently, if the student does not already know pretty well what ' morality ' means, no definition that we can give is likely to be of much use to him. The only ready device that could be used to cure his ignorance would be a list of typical actions and traits of character to which moral predicates are applied. Two Kinds of Moral Valuation. The fact that our language, like many others, has two common pairs of terms by which to denote moral distinctions is significant. It points to two markedly different attitudes toward the moral problems of daily life, from which important differences in ethical theory have arisen. ' Good ' and ' bad ' are names for positive and negative values, which are attributed both to conduct and to character. Various grades of ' better ' and ' worse ' are recognized, with the zero-point of the 6 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 1 indifferent ' somewhere between. ' Right ' and ' wrong ' also express a kind of valuation; but they are directly applicable only to conduct, and only indirectly to the author of the conduct. ' Right ' denotes- agreement with a certain standard, and hence it is not properly susceptible of degrees. Furthermore, there is no zero-point : an act is either right or not right, and if not right it is wrong. There may be degrees of wrongness, but only in the sense of amount of departure from the standard of Tightness. Examples. There is perhaps no way in which the student can better be introduced to the study of ethics than by setting before him examples of these two types of moral valuation the personal and the 'impersonal, as we may call them. The examples which we shall use for this purpose would have been so familiar to the reader of a generation or two ago, that the barest reference would have been sufficient. One may wish that this were the case to-day. The first, illus- trating the personal type of valuation, consists of the con- cluding words of a speech of a rude shepherd, whose younger brother whom he has promised his aged father to protect has been convicted of a serious theft and condemned to slavery : " Now therefore when I come to thy servant my father, and the lad is not with us ; seeing that his life is bound up with the lad's life ; it will come to pass, when he seeth that the lad is not with us, that he will die: and thy servants will bring down the gray hairs of thy servant our father with sorrow to Sheol. For thy servant became surety for the lad unto my father, saying, If I bring him not unto thee, then shall I bear the blame to my father for ever. Now therefore, let thy servant, I pray thee, abide instead of the lad a bond- man to my lord ; and let the lad go up with his brethren. For how shall I go up to my father, if the lad is not with me? lest I see the evil that shall come on my father." 1 1 Genesis xliv. 30-34 ; American Standard Version. THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 7 The second example exhibits a contrast to' the first, which is all the more striking because it too involves the fulfillment of a promise ; not, however, to a man, but to a tribal God. A chieftain, going out to battle, has vowed that if he returns victorious he will offer up as a burnt sacrifice whatever first comes out of his house to meet him ; and his daughter, an only child, is the first to appear : " And it came to pass, when he saw her, that he rent his clothes, and said, Alas, my daughter ! thou hast brought me very low, and thou art one of them that trouble me ; for I have opened my mouth unto Jehovah, and I cannot go back. And she said unto him, My father, thou hast opened thy mouth unto Jehovah ; do unto me that which hath proceeded out of thy mouth, forasmuch as Jehovah hath taken ven- geance for thee on thine enemies, even on the children of Ammon." * These examples might be paralleled without end ; but we shall limit ourselves to a third example, in which the personal and impersonal types of moral valuation are seen in conflict. A religious teacher and certain of his followers are walking through the grainfields on the sabbath day; and the latter have plucked some of the ears, thus technically breaking an ancient and venerated law, and arousing the criticism of punctilious lovers of the law : " And he said unto them, Did ye never read what David did, when he had need, and was hungry, he, and they that were with him? How he entered into the house of God when Abiathar was high priest, and ate the show-bread, which it is not lawful to eat save for the priests, and gave also to them that were with him? " And the whole issue is immediately summed up in the sen- tence that has passed into a proverb : " The sabbath was made for man, and not man for the sabbath." 2 1 Judges si. 35-36. 2 Mark ii. 23 ff. 8 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS II. THE RELATIONS OF ETHICS With Politics. Ethics stands in very close relations with several other sciences. In the first place, it is intimately connected with political theory. (1) When ethics is regarded as primarily the theory of happiness, the investigator soon discovers that political conditions have much to do in deter- mining the happiness or unhappiness of whole peoples. To distinguish between the two sciences, ethics may be regarded as treating of the conditions of happiness so far as these are under the control of the individual ; while to politics is left the problem of determining how the general happiness may be determined by wise government. Sometimes, indeed, the two sciences are regarded as essentially one. Politics may be treated as a department of ethics ; or ethics may be treated (as by Aristotle) as an introduction to politics. (2) When ethics is viewed as treating primarily of the moral distinc- tions, the connection with politics is equally close. For one of the most important functions of the state is the establish- ment of justice within its borders, that is to say, the enforce- ment of certain moral standards. And when it appears that the state is not adequately fulfilling this function, but that its laws are at various points in conflict with the ideal stand- ards of justice, an ethical question arises, whether the duty of the individual citizen is not to obey the laws of the land, imperfect as they may be, while, if possible, laboring for their amendment. Besides, in the dealings of states with each other, many questions as to rights and duties arise, which a comprehensive treatment of moral distinctions cannot wholly ignore. With Esthetics and Economics. In the second place, ethics is related to aesthetics and economics. These also treat of values ; the one of beauty and such allied values as the sublime, the tragic, and the comic ; the other of exchange- values. Some thinkers have pushed the connection between THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 9 ethics and aesthetics so close, that moral goodness has been regarded as a mere species of beauty, correlative with the beauty of sounds and shapes and colors. Certain it is that moral goodness often strikes us as beautiful or sublime, and that vicious suggestions may be a serious blemish upon an otherwise beautiful work of art. However, many ethicists have regarded moral goodness as so widely different from all other values, that the analogy with beauty has been lightly esteemed or altogether denied. It may be added that some writers, to whom the conception of conformity to a fixed type has seemed all-important, have found a relationship between ethics and formal logic. For formal logic, too, deals with fixed standards. The canons of correct reasoning must be observed, or the demonstration is fallacious; and there is no middle ground between validity and invalidity. Here also the analogy has sometimes been pushed to extremes, and morality has been regarded as a species of truth. The connection of ethics with economics is seemingly not so close as with aesthetics, though many similar phenomena are to be observed in the two fields. Just, for example, as the in- creased scarcity of a needed article brings about a rise in its price, so the estimation in which a virtue is popularly held is affected by its rarity. Among a licentious people the chaste man is a saint. Among the deceitful Greeks the hero Achilles was admired for nothing more than for his absolute lack of guile. With the Theory of Values. Ethics, aesthetics, and eco- nomics may all be regarded as subordinate to a general science of values. Only in recent years has such a separate science been organized under the name of ' axiology,' or the ' theory of values/ But from the earliest times discussions of this nature have formed a part of the foundations of ethics. " What is good ? " was one of the first questions to be asked when scientific attention began to turn to the problems of human life. The specifically ethical question, " What is 10 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS happiness ? " that is to say : What is the sort of experience which is good in itself, and not simply as a necessary condi- tion for some other experience ? only gradually distin- guished itself from this more general inquiry. With Sociology. Since the origin (in the nineteenth century) of a distinct science of social institutions, called ' sociology/ its contact with ethics has been unbroken. 1 Moral sentiments are recognized as one of the great forces by which the customs and forms of organization of societies are shaped. Contrariwise, the customs and organizations are almost universally believed to be an essential factor in the main- tenance and development of moral sentiments. Religious, political, commercial institutions all have their influence upon the moral life ; none more than that oldest of institutions, which under various transformations has come down to us from the very beginnings of civilization, and has its roots in the instinctive traits of our prehuman ancestors, the family. Consequently the study of social institutions, while it cannot for the purposes of ethics take the place of the study of the moral consciousness itself, is capable of illustrating it most admirably, and of casting light upon many of its most obscure problems. With Psychology. In common with all the other mental sciences, ethics is dependent upon the general science of mind, psychology. But the precise nature of this dependency is one of the most hotly debated questions of the present day. At one extreme are those who regard ethics as a branch of psychology, and particularly of social psychology. At the other extreme are those who declare that psychology is utterly incompetent to decide a single ethical question. The controversy is complicated by the fact that there exist two distinct types of psychological theory, the structural and the 1 It should be observed that the sense in which this word is used still fluctuates widely. As we use it here it does not include social psychology, the importance of which for ethics is doubtless even greater/ THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 11 functional; and the relation of ethics to each of these is matter for controversy. Meanwhile all are agreed that the ethicist must make constant use of psychological data and methods ; and this is, after all, the most important point for us to note. When, as is often the case, the study of ethics is begun without a previous grounding in the elements of psychology, some attempt must be made to remedy the de- ficiency as occasion arises. The ' is ' versus the ' ought to be.' There is one phase of this controversy which we cannot pass over without notice. Psychology, it is said, treats simply of what is, and has no con- cern with what ought to be, and hence the distinctions be- tween good and bad, right and wrong, do not fall within its province ; while ethics is precisely the science of what ought to be, regardless of what is. Such a statement is open to criticism. For a peculiar form of ethical theory is suggested which in our day has few defenders. All admit, to be sure, that the mere fact that a condition of affairs exists, or that an act is commonly performed, does not prove it to be right. But that the standards of right and wrong are absolutely independent of circumstances of every sort that under all possible conditions, in all ages and climes and in all stages of social development, the same laws of righteousness hold sway is not so clear ; and, if true, it is not to be lightly taken for granted. So weighty a doctrine ought not to be hidden away under cover of a verbal antithesis. III. ETHICS AS A THEORETICAL SCIENCE AND AS THE PHILOSOPHY OF PRACTICE Theoretical and Practical Sciences. Sciences are some- times classified as theoretical sciences and practical sciences (or arts). A theoretical science is the system of existing knowledge of a given subject-matter. The mathematical sciences, physics, chemistry, biology, and economics, are 12 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS examples of such sciences. A practical science is a system- atic body of knowledge bearing upon the accomplishment of a given end. The sciences of medicine and pedagogy are obviously of this kind. Ethics belongs on both sides of the classification. It is a theoretical science having as its subject-matter the moral distinctions. But it is also a practical science, having as its object the assurance of happiness. Philosophy and the Special Sciences. There is another familiar division of the sciences, into philosophy and the special sciences. The difference is here one of comprehen- siveness and generality. Here again ethics belongs on both sides. As the science of morality it is a special science, comprised, along with economics and aesthetics, under the general theory of values. But as a practical science it is not simply one among others. It is the art of life, having as its object the establishment of a universal policy. In this aspect, therefore, it is philosophical. In this introductory study, we shall consider ethics pri- marily as a special theoretical science, paying only secondary attention to its significance as the philosophy of practice. REFERENCES HIBBEN, J. G., The Problems of Philosophy, Ch. VIII. PALMER, G. H., The Field of Ethics (contains many further refer- ences). DEWEY and TUFTS, Ethics, Ch. XI. SIDGWICK, H., History of Ethics, Ch. I., and Methods of Ethics, Book I, Chs. I, II. The opening chapters of the text-books of Mezes, Mackenzie, Muir- head, and Hyslop. CHAPTER II THE METHODS OF ETHICS Empiricism vs. Rationalism. The methods which have been used in ethical speculation have been to a varying ex- tent affected by the views which philosophers have held with regard to the nature of scientific method generally. Of these views the two principal types are empiricism and rationalism. According to the former, all scientific truth is established by induction, that is to say, by deriving general rules from the comparison of particular instances, and by the gradual cor- rection of one's theories through noting and taking account of the exceptions to them. Some empiricists notably Socrates and Francis Bacon have believed that absolutely certain truth could be obtained by such means ; but for the most part it has been admitted that the best of theories is ever liable to correction in the light of some new observa- tion. According to the rationalistic view, the first principles of science are all self-evident. They are either definitions or intuitions of reason, and in either case need no support from particular instances. Other laws can be regarded as properly established, only when they have been deduced from these first principles. Particular facts may suggest or illustrate the truth, but no number or variety of them can prove it. Geometry has always been the model science of the rational- ist. Its axioms are his favorite examples of self-evident truths ; and its consecutive demonstrations are to him the perfection of method. The geometrician uses particular figures in his work, but only for their suggestive value. He never imagines that by heaping up instances he can 13 14 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS strengthen the evidence in favor of any of his theorems. His proofs are strictly universal in their scope. Between the extreme views various compromises have been made. Very generally it has been held that science has two distinct stages, the inductive and the deductive, and that the former is an indispensable prelude to the latter. Thus Aristotle believed that the first principles of science must first be brought to our attention by the devious and uncertain process of induction, but that when found they are perfectly evident in their own right. Experience, for exam- ple, has led us to notice that the straight line is the shortest between any two points ; but once noticed it is in need of no experimental evidence. Many ancient and modern writers have adopted this view. It is a modification of Plato's, who believed that in order to pass from the imperfect truths of induction to the single supreme principle (for he thought that there was but one), no further induction, no further reference to particular instances, is necessary; but that by gradually removing the self-contradictions, which a rigorous analysis shows the inductive truths to contain, the perfect truth can ultimately be reached. This mode of procedure he called ' dialectic/ Ethics as an Empirical Science. Ethics is the oldest science to which inductive methods have been consciously and deliberately applied. Inductive reasoning has, of course, been employed since men were men. But so far as we know, Socrates (who was one of the founders of moral science) was the first to employ it with a distinct conception of its nature; and ethics (including political theory) was almost the sole field in which he was interested. According to him the object of scientific inquiry was to frame clear and consist- ent definitions; for example, definitions of justice, courage, piety, and the like. Taking any proposed definition as a starting-point, his practice was to question the one who had offered it, with regard to border-line instances, which would THE METHODS OF ETHICS 15 serve to show wherein the definition was too narrow or too broad where it failed to include what the given term was obviously meant to cover, and where it actually included cases to which the term would never be applied. As each exception was pointed out, the interlocutor was invited to revise his definition accordingly, the hope being that a satisfactory form might thus ultimately be given to it. Or- dinarily, however, this was not accomplished, and the inter- locutor gave up the task in despair. The inquiry was then either dropped or continued in a deductive fashion starting from commonly accepted premises which both parties were willing to admit as probably true, and leading up to the matter in hand. It is, however, to the first (inductive) part of the inquiry, with its generally negative conclusion, that the term ' Socratic method ' is strictly applied ; and it is obviously to this method of procedure that he mainly trusted for the improvement of his own insight as well as for the real instruc- tion of his companions. It might be supposed, therefore, that ethics would be re- garded as the inductive science par excellence, and its later history throughout antiquity would tend to confirm this impression. Plato, indeed, looked forward to the construc- tion of a purely deductive ethics as one of the great desiderata of philosophy. But his own speculation in this field was mainly inductive ; and the literary expression of his results is in the form of Socratic dialogues. With his great pupil Aristotle, ethics is again confessedly an inductive science. " We must start," he says, " from the known. But this may mean either of two distinct things : ' what is known to us ' [i.e. the data of experience], or, ' what is certain ' [i.e. the truths of intuition]. It is clear that it is for us to start from what is known to us." Accordingly Aristotle is careful to call attention to the merely approximate truth and the ' practical ' value of ethical principles. In fact, of all the ancient ethicists, the only ones to rely to any great 16 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS extent upon mere deduction were the cynics and stoics; and, as we shall hereafter see, even in their case the most interesting part of the theory is largely inductive. Rationalistic Ethics. In modern times, however, a very strong tendency has shown itself, to distrust and avoid the use of induction in ethics, as if it were somehow unworthy of the subject. Especially among ethicists who give promi- nence to the impersonal standards of duty, it has been felt that the validity of moral standards must be absolutely certain and unconditional ; and induction, it seemed, could never vindicate for them more than a merely relative force. So the attempt has repeatedly been made to give ethics a purely deductive form, and, especially, to find a body of self-evident truths from which the whole moral law could be clearly demonstrated. The intuitionalist, for example, looks upon the fundamental moral laws as so many axioms, precisely like the axioms of geometry, the absolute cogency of which cannot be doubted by any man who understands the terms in which they are expressed. Upon these axioms, a system of morals, like another geometry, must be built up ; and the conclusions that are reached may be applied in common life with the same assurance as a demonstrated theorem of Euclid. It has not been uncommon for philosophers who exhibited in the main an empiricistic tendency, to insist that ethics, like mathematics, is (or can be made) a purely deductive science. 1 The Genetic Method. Since the middle of the eight- eenth century a modification of the inductive method has been perfected, which during the last fifty years has become 1 The so-called ' critical method ' of Kant is not a distinct method of the same order as induction and deduction. It consists (so far as ethics is con- cerned) in a deductive analysis of what is implied in the mere supposition that absolute moral laws exist. Kant tries to show that the whole system of ethics can be derived from this one supposition, which (as he further believes) no rational being can avoid making. A dialectic method, similar to that ad- vocated by Plato, has been attempted in modern times, notably by Hegel. THE METHODS OF ETHICS 17 increasingly important for ethics. This is the genetic method of analysis. In general terms the method may be described as follows. The key to the structure and functions of any complex organic or social type is to be found in its past. What appears to be inextricably confused in the later form becomes simple and distinct in the earlier ; and by following the development step by step the later confusion can be re- duced to an orderly plan. The circumstances of each change, if these can be ascertained, are an indication of its meaning and importance. For every organism or organization stands in constant dependence upon its environment ; and its whole development is subject to the necessity of readjustment to meet altered conditions in the environment. Its Application to Ethics. As applied to ethics, this means that the morality of the adult is to be explained by reference to the morality of the growing child; that the morality of civilized races is to be explained by reference to the customs and ideals of their ruder ancestors, as well as of other peoples by whom these were in any degree affected. Thus, if the problem were to explain the moral obligations of the modern European husband, most ethicists would not be content to ascribe them to the outcropping of an innate human sense for the requirements of the marriage relation. We should rather attempt to trace their development from the days when the wife was but a piece of property transferable at will yes, further back, if it were possible, to the time when mutual affection and helpfulness and common attach- ment to the dependent offspring were the sole bonds between the ape-like human pair. Or, to take a narrower instance, if we were asked to account for the prohibition-sentiment in this country, we should not be apt to attribute it to the force of an innate human conviction that the use of intoxi- cating beverages is wrong. We should more probably at- tempt to trace its rise from the time when it was a mark of sobriety in a man to get drunk but half-a-dozen times a year, 18 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS or even from the time when nightly drunkenness was looked forward to as one of the future rewards of the brave and just. The purpose in these inquiries would not be the learning of an interesting story. It would be the more thorough analysis and understanding of the present moral consciousness itself y to perceive, for example, how much of it (if any) was instinc- tive, how much cultivated benevolence, how much respect for custom, how much prudential regard for economic conditions, how much religious feeling. For all these things and many more may be included in an apparently simple ' ought ' or so the ethicists of to-day generally believe. 1 Use of Ethnological Material. The application of the genetic method to ethics would be a simpler matter, if our records of old moral standards and of the ways in which men viewed them were more complete. Not that we need a uni- versal history of mankind ; much less than that would make an ample basis for all our theorizing. But even in the case of the peoples of whom we know most, our information dwindles away rapidly as we go back of the period of the in- vention of writing. There are, to be sure, records of oral 1 Attention must here be called to a serious and widespread error concern- ing the use of the genetic method. It is the supposition that by this method the developed form is explained in terms of its origin, in the sense of the original simple form from which it has sprung. Sometimes the assertion is even made, that since an absolute beginning can never be exhibited, the genetic method cannot really explain anything. Now the fact is, as we shall quickly show, that the use of the genetic method has nothing to do with the notion of an absolute beginning. Many of its ablest exponents would question whether any beginnings are ever absolute and would incline to the opinion that they are merely arbitrary and conventional assumptions of ours. It is true that the earlier stages of a development, as compared with the later stages, have a peculiar value for the method ; but they have not a greater value. And if a choice were to be made, it is the later stages those more closely resembling the form that is to be analyzed that would have the preference. Suppose, for example, it is the adult human brain that is to be analyzed. This is an organ of such extreme complexity, that, to a direct examination, it is utterly baffling. How does the anatomist proceed ? In the first place, he arranges in an ordered series the brains of many other vertebrates, from THE METHODS OF ETHICS 19 traditions which date from earlier centuries. But such traditions may become so seriously modified in the course of time, and so encrusted over with later material, as to be rec- ognized only with great difficulty and uncertainty. Now the period before the invention of writing is of immense importance for genetic study. We are fortunate, therefore, in being able to supplement our records by a comparison with the savage and barbarous peoples that still exist just as the paleontologist pieces out the geological record of the ex- tinct forms of life upon the earth, by noting the survivals of the old types which still, in one place or another, have man- aged to persist. Much caution is of course necessary. It is not as if, while our race was steadily progressing, these sim- pler peoples were retaining unchanged the beliefs and prac- tices of their ancestors though at the same time it must not be supposed that social changes go on everywhere at anything like the same rate. But by a careful comparison it is possible in many cases to show important analogies be- tween the morality of the backward peoples and our own the lowest fishes to the anthropoid apes, which, on various grounds, he sup- poses may preserve the traits of man's ancestors. The brain of the chim- panzee is like a map of the human brain ; the brain of the fish is like a sche- matic diagram. Starting from the latter, and running his eye along the series, he sees the baffling complexity of the human brain sort itself out before him. In the second place, he examines the brains of human embryos of every stage ; and here again, as he passes from the simpler to the more complex, if he can but follow the dividing strands of the development, the problem of analysis is well advanced toward its solution. But the fish or the fish-like embryo, taken by itself, would be of very limited significance. The anato- mist could learn something from it ; but it would be of a very superficial and uncertain sort. It is the development that is instructive ; and it is the more instructive, the fewer and slighter are the gaps in the record, and the farther back it can be extended. But, when they are taken by themselves, one chimpanzee is worth a thousand fishes. Similarly, if it is the vocabulary of the English language that is studied, it is important to trace it to its Latin, Anglo-Saxon, and other sources. For a scientific knowledge of the English of to-day, a knowledge of Latin is in- dispensable. But, taken by itself, it is sufficient only to give one a super- ficial and dangerous conceit of knowledge. 20 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS primitive morality, and by more or less probable surmises to extend the historical record back far beyond the time when all direct evidences cease. Survivals of Barbarism in Civilization. Moreover, the survivals of old culture are not simply to be found among the backward peoples. They are present in ourselves. Consider, for example, the way in which the young girl is commonly taught to regard her chastity as a precious possession which once lost can never be regained ; as a kind of purity which, once contaminated, can never be restored to its former state. There is a certain amount of truth, no doubt, in these old conceptions ; and yet at times they are brought into the most violent conflict with higher and better views. That a single slip on the part of an unprotected and sorely tempted girl may doom her, in her own eyes as well as in those of the whole community, to a lifelong degradation, is barba- rism pure and simple. And it may help us to under- stand how our barbarian forbears felt about many other matters. The Morality of Childhood. Finally, the two genetic series, the development of the individual and the develop- ment of society, may be expected to illuminate each other at many points. Up to the present time, however, childish morality has been very inadequately studied. The practical problems of moral education have, indeed, received the atten- tion of many of the greatest and noblest thinkers. But the more fundamental theoretical problem of distinguishing the characteristic childish ways of thinking and feeling about moral distinctions is still in a very unsatisfactory condition. Less help, therefore, can be derived from this source than the ethicist would wish. Value of the Genetic Method. The genetic study of morality has not made the older direct methods superfluous if only because it is always in terms of the inner life of to-day that the records of the past must be interpreted. This THE METHODS OF ETHICS 21 fact has been used by thinkers of conservative tendencies to discredit the value of genetic studies. If the study of our own morality must give us the terms in which to understand that of primitive man, how can the knowledge of the latter help us to interpret the former? Is not the whole genetic procedure a vicious circle ? But, after all, the case is much the same as with our understanding of one another. No one of us can see directly into another's heart. We must interpret one another's words, actions, gestures, in terms of what we ourselves have thought and felt. Nevertheless we know that a richer self-knowledge is thus gained. The wise saying of Schiller applies without modification to the study of primitive man : " Wouldst thou thyself discern, then see how the others are living. Wouldst thou the others know look into thine own heart.'' Moral Dynamics. One result of the genetic study of morality has been to bring into prominence a new set of ethical problems, concerned with the discovery of the factors of moral evolution and the laws of their operation. These problems bring our attention forcibly back to the direct analysis of our own moral consciousness. Historical records at the best are disconnected. It is hard to catch in the act the most important changes. Their significance was not fully felt at the time, and their gradual stages passed unnoticed. Moral dynamics can be studied to the greatest advantage in the present or in the very recent past. Our own day is one of rapid moral changes. The social and economic trans- formations brought about by the varied utilization of steam and electricity and by the rise of the corporation of limited liabilities are having their inevitable effect upon traditional standards of right and wrong. Never was there a time when the ethicist could study to better advantage the phenomena of moral progress. The civilized world has become a veri- table laboratory 'for his use. 22 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS REFERENCES ARISTOTLE, Nichomachean Ethics, Book I, Chs. I-IV. WUNDT, W., Ethics, Introduction. SETH, J., A Study of Ethical Principles, Introduction, Ch. I. TAYLOR, A. E., The Problem of Conduct, Ch. I. LEVY-BRUHL, L., Ethics and Moral Science. STEPHEN, L., Science of Ethics, Ch. I. HOBHOUSE, L. T., Morals in Evolution, Part I, Ch. I. DEWEY, J., The Evolutionary Method as applied to Morality, Philo- sophical Review, 1902, pp. 107-124, 353-371. CHAPTER III THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS I. CHARACTER AND CONDUCT Order of Procedure. When one attempts a systematic account of so complex a matter as morality, it is not easy to find a natural order of procedure. On every page one finds oneself taking for granted positions which are justified only on some later page; and when the attempt is made to re- verse the order of exposition, no improvement is effected. In the case of ethics a partial remedy for this difficulty lies in the fact that the reader knows a good deal about morality already, if only in an uncritical, common-sense fashion ; so that except where our own conclusions fly in the face of com- mon sense, we can presume upon this prior knowledge. The difficulty is greatest where we touch on questions upon which a wide difference of opinion exists. Here we must (until we have had tune to discuss these questions on our own ac- count) adopt a middle-of-the-road policy, expressing our- selves in ways that will not be grossly inconsistent with any of the more important theories. And we shall be the more justified in this course, because, as a matter of fact, there is reason to think that in none of the great ethical con- troversies has any side been wholly right or wholly wrong. The Study of Moral Judgments. One of the oldest and most persistent grounds of difference has been the question whether morality is essentially (or predominantly) a matter of feeling or a matter of judgment. In the following chapters we shall take for granted that both feeling and judgment are essential, and easily and quickly pass into each other, though at any given time either may operate without the other. 23 24 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS Because the moral judgment is, in general, clearer and steadier than the feeling, and hence more readily referred to, we shall for the most part (where it does not matter other- wise) speak in terms of the judgment. The Question before Us. The study of moral judgments involves two main questions : first, What is the field within which we employ them, or to what kinds of things do they apply? and, secondly, What is their significance, or how do we intend to characterize the things to which we apply them ? In logical terms, we need an account of the subjects and the predicates of these judgments. The present chapter will try to furnish an answer to the first question, so far as it can be done without anticipating our answer to the second or, at least, without anticipating it any farther than common sense will authorize us in doing. General Answer. In a general way the answer which we seek is obvious enough. Moral judgments apply to char- acter and to conduct. We may, perhaps, go farther and say that they apply to character as it shows itself in conduct, and to conduct as it springs from the agent's character; but this will need some justification. Objections : (1) In the first place, it may be objected that character may be good or bad without showing itself in con- duct ; just as a talent may slumber in obscurity and be none the less real for that. Suppose a brave man dwelling in the midst of perfect security, or a man with the heart of a tyrant born to the life of a slave. Opportunity may give him the chance to exhibit his true self in action ; but, if not, is not the one still brave and the other still tyrannical ? Suppose we admit this though we shall soon find that the admission means less than at first sight appears. Never- theless it remains true, that if we are to judge of a man's character, his conduct must ever be our surest evidence; and this holds, even of ourselves. There are secondary indications, to be sure : features and tones of voice, and (in THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS 25 our own case) feelings and opinions in plenty. But, after all, " the tree is known by its fruits." Experience has shown us only too well that a benevolent countenance may be the mask of cruelty, and that nothing is more deceptive than the fine feelings in which we luxuriate without putting them into ef- fect. If there is actionless virtue, it is an unknown quantity what the philosopher calls a ' thing-in-itself.' However, we must beware of taking the term ' conduct ' too narrowly. The crouch must be counted as well as the spring. A good part of conduct consists in preparing ourselves for future contingencies, in assuming attitudes upon various issues; and this sort of conduct is observable both in ourselves and in others. " Thou shalt not covet " may be kept or broken as clearly as " Thou shalt not steal. " (2) In the second place, it may be said that conduct may be right or wrong in itself, wholly apart from the character that prompts it. A gift of money to the poor may spring from charity or from hypocrisy ; but in either case is not the act itself right? Would you feel warranted in advising the giver to withhold his gift? Again, if the act were a theft, would you stop to inquire what the agent's motives were before pronouncing it wrong? What if it were an act of sacrilege or treason? There are at least two distinct misunderstandings involved in this objection. It should be remembered that it is through men's conduct that we judge of their character; and this has to be done, more or less, by general rules. Now there are some deeds that we commonly condemn on sight, without reflection. In such cases we need not stop to inquire about motives, because the conduct itself is warrant for attributing an evil character to the agent. But so far from its being true that we judge the act and not the man, we are very apt to judge the man too harshly. We dub the man who has committed a single theft a ' thief/ and that may be a cruel exaggeration. 26 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS But the other misunderstanding is more serious. It con- sists in picking out a single act from the course of conduct of which it is a part, and insisting that there is nothing wrong with it, in itself. As well pick a single phrase out of an in- correct sentence, and say : "Is there anything intrinsically wrong in this? " The hypocritical gift does not stand by itself. It belongs to a general policy. To say that it is right as far as it goes means only that the wrongness lies elsewhere; and it is far from justifying the inference, that conduct may be judged one way and character the other. Restatement. What we suggested may, therefore, be affirmed with some confidence; namely, that moral judg- ments apply to character and conduct simultaneously, though with varying emphasis upon the one or the other. Men are such as their deeds declare them ; and to judge a deed is to judge the character of him who would commit it. II. THE MORAL AGENT Capacity for Deliberation and Self-judgment. But who are the men, and what are the deeds, that we judge? The men are obviously those whom we regard as capable of some deliberation. The baby, who acts from sheer impulse, upon the latest suggestion that has entered his head, we do not think of judging morally. We call it a ' good ' or a ' bad ' baby, but that means no more than ' comfortable ' or ' troublesome/ Similarly with the grossly imbecile and the insane : we do not count them as moral agents. But a ca- pacity for deliberation is not enough. The good or bad man must be capable of passing a moral judgment upon his own acts. This is probably why we do not regard as moral agents even the highest of the lower animals. For though scientists believe that they are almost entirely incapable of delibera- tion, this is not the popular opinion ; but few men have been willing to accredit them with a moral faculty. The utmost THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS 27 that even their good friend Darwin could say was that " dogs have something very like a conscience." On the other hand, as we are very apt to attribute to little children thoughts and feelings like our own, we are inclined to pass moral judg- ments on them from a very early age. Moral Judgments on Animals and Things among Savages. Here it may be objected, that while we may limit our moral judgments in this way, all men are not in accord with us. Many peoples have pronounced moral judgments freely upon animals and even upon inanimate objects. The savage is righteously indignant at the cocoanut which falls upon his head and thinks it treachery in the spear that it fails to strike the game; and he punishes them accordingly. If a tiger has killed his near kinsman, he seeks it out and compasses its death with as strong a sense of duty as if it were a human criminal. But this is because the savage does not draw the line between rational and irrational or unconscious beings, as we do. He thinks of the offending cocoanut either as alive and spiteful, or, at least, as harboring a malicious sprite, whom he tries to reach ; while the animals are regarded as being in all essential respects like men. Properly viewed, therefore, there is here rather a confirmation than a contra- diction of the view expressed above. Similar Phenomena among More Advanced Peoples. It may still, however, be said that among many peoples far removed from primitive savagery the legal punishment of animals and inanimate things for murder has been kept up for a long time. Athens had a special court for such cases ; and the great Plato in his model code of laws gave it his indorsement (Laws, 873 E-874 A). The man-slaying ani- mal was killed, and either animal or thing was thrown outside the borders. By the early Hebrew law, "If an ox gore a man or woman to death, the ox shall be surely stoned [like a man that had committed a foul crime] and its flesh shall not be eaten." (Exodus xxi. 28.) Similar practices 28 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS were found in Europe in the middle ages, and vestiges of them remained down to the nineteenth century. Explanation. But here there are evidently several fac- tors involved. In the first place, legal forms are wonder- fully tenacious, and are often preserved when they lead to consequences that are generally acknowledged to be fool- ish or positively harmful. Our own legal procedure is no- toriously full of instances. In the second place, the ' punish- ment ' may be a precautionary measure. It may prevent the repetition of a real danger. And where there is no real danger (as in the case of a knife that has fallen on a man), superstition readily imagines one. Bad magic or ill luck may attach to it. The shedding of human blood is especially thought of as causing a pollution that must be removed. That is why the Athenians ' banished ' the fatal thing or the carcass of the fatal animal; and that is why the Hebrews were forbidden to eat the murderous ox. Or an accidental death may be supposed to indicate some divine displeasure. So the English law of the deodand (repealed only in 1846) directed that a thing which had caused a man's death should be confiscated and sold for charity, in order that God's wrath might be appeased though the innocent owner might thereby suffer a ruinous loss. Here again the legal practice long outlived the superstition. In the third place, though we may no longer judge animals or things as we should moral beings, we are quite capable of being angry with them, and even of hating them. And so, unless we are unusually enlightened, we like to vent our ill feeling on the thing that has deeply hurt us. Finally, even though we may cherish no ill feeling, we like to have a thing to which evil associa- tions cling put out of the way. We have, therefore, no reason to infer that any moral judgment is involved in the matter, or to suppose that such a judgment is ever passed except upon agents who are conceived to possess the power of deliberation and moral judgment. THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS 29 III. EXTENT OF MORAL CONDUCT Moral Conduct is Voluntary. The conduct that we judge must, if it springs from the agent's character, be voluntary at least in the sense that his body must not be the helpless tool of a superior power. Ordinarily, we may add that the agent must not be coerced by intense pain or fear ; for except under special mental conditions say the enthusiasm of an heroic purpose pain or fear may move our limbs as irresistibly as any external force, and so we do not blame a man for what he does under such circum- stances. Deliberate and Unreflecting Acts. From what has been said above we may infer that the conduct that is open to moral judgment consists primarily of deliberate acts, and especially of acts which the agents themselves are thought to have judged; for except for these we should not regard the agents as moral beings at all. But we do not stop here. If the man is capable of deliberation and moral judgment, he need not show his capacity in each and every case. We freely approve or disapprove his most unreflecting acts. The very fact that a man did not stop to reflect may exhibit him to us all the more vividly as a hero or as a villain. How is this to be accounted for? The explanation comes to us from Aristotle. Our unreflective actions are (generally speaking) the result of habit. But our habits are formed by acts which in the first instance are more or less deliberate, as the trite example of learning to play a piece of music suffi- ciently illustrates. Our habitual conduct is thus, to a large extent, what our deliberate conduct has made it. Conse- quently, habitual conduct is indirectly subject to moral judgment as being an evidence of what deliberate conduct has been, and hence of what the agent's character was and is. Conduct preceded by a Moral Judgment. We may add to this that conduct which is preceded by a moral judgment 30 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS as to the Tightness or wrongness of the contemplated course of action has an especially important part in the shaping of character and of future conduct, and may well be con- sidered as the moral conduct par excellence. Many ethicists, ancient and modern, have even held that no act is morally good, if it is done for any other reason than that it is the right thing to do; and in modern times Immanuel Kant insisted that if there is the least admixture of any other motive, say love for one's friend or country, the act loses all its moral worth. This last view may be set aside as an ex- aggeration ; and, indeed, Kant himself admitted that on his theory we should have no logical ground for believing that an act with any degree of goodness at all had ever been committed. Summary. If we reflect how our conduct upon one occa- sion helps to determine how we shall behave upon another occasion, we shall have no difficulty in seeing that almost all our voluntary conduct is, directly or indirectly, open to praise or blame : first, acts that are accompanied by a moral judgment; next, deliberate acts in general; and finally, habitual acts. If there are any exceptions, they must spring from original instincts that have been unreached by conscious control ; and in the well-grown child, not to speak of the adult man, such acts are of very slight importance. The Correction of Habits. There is another side of the matter, of which we must also take account. We fre- quently judge habitual acts in this sense, that we hold that the habits which they exhibit ought to be corrected. (Less im- portant are the favorable judgments, that the habits need no correction.) The habits are wrong, we say ; and this means, not so much that they have been wrongly incurred, as that the agent would do wrong to continue to indulge them. The judgment thus looks forward, rather than back. But it equally involves an indirect moral judgment upon deliberate, morally controlled acts ; namely, the acts by which the habits THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS 31 in question are conceived to be corrected or tolerated. This sort of judgment is particularly important, as it is a means by which we call men's attention to their evil habits and thus, perhaps, bring about their correction. When we have de- clared to a man that one of his habits is wrong, it is no longer a mere habit, but a habit which has been brought before his own moral judgment ; and his later persistence in such con- duct must be judged accordingly. Morally Indifferent Conduct. It should be observed that the fact that almost all our conduct is open to moral judg- ment does not imply that if any given act were judged, it would necessarily be found to be appreciably good or bad. The vast majority of our acts are, so far as we know, indif- ferent. Of course we never stop to judge more than a petty fraction of them; and we should quickly defeat our own ends if we should attempt to do so. IV. CONTENT OP THE MORAL ACT 1. The Problem Complexity of Deliberate Conduct. The question may be raised, how much the act, as a subject of moral judgment, comprehends. For a deliberate act is a fairly complicated phenomenon. Let us take an example. A cowboy, who has lost his money at gambling, is weary of the hard life of the ranch and longs for a debauch in town. He tampers with a railroad switch. The train, he thinks, will certainly be derailed ; all on board will be more or less shaken up ; and some may be seriously injured or even killed. The thought makes him wince, though he has seen bloodshed more than once; but he is unwilling to go back to the ranch, and he must have his fling. In the confusion, he counts upon being able to surprise and overawe the passengers and crew, kill any one who attempts resistance, and make off with the valuable contents of the express car. What actu- 32 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS ally happens is, that while the train is partly derailed, no serious injury results, and the man himself is wounded and taken prisoner. Analysis. Here we may easily distinguish between the external side of the act, as it might have been seen by a favorably situated spectator, and the internal side, or voli- tion, of which only the agent himself could be directly aware. The former, we may say, contains the physical act itself the voluntary movements made in tampering with the switch and the actual consequences which followed from it. These consequences were in part foreseen, but for the most part unforeseen, by the agent. Again, the volition contains two parts or factors we need not now ask which term is more appropriate. In the first place, there is the emotional factor, the combination of motives which urge the man to persist in, or refrain from, his act : discontent, greed, lust, etc., on the one hand, and pity and fear, on the other. (The stronger emotions, which dominate the act, are often called simply ' the motive/) In the second place, there is the in- tellectual factor, or intention; that is to say, the act and its consequences as foreseen by the agent. The particular consequences for the sake of which the act is performed, and to which (as we say) the dominant motives attach, are the end, or purpose in our example, the escape from drudgery, and the debauch in town. From the end we dis- tinguish the means devised to accomplish it : the tampering with the switch, the display of force, and, if necessary, murder. And we similarly distinguish any other conse- quences which the agent perceives to be involved in his act, but in which he takes no effectual interest e.g. the risk of injury to the train and its occupants. For a second example, we may consider the act of a woman who drops a ten-dollar bill into the hat of a professional beggar. Her motive is pity; her end is to relieve misery; and the gift is intended as a means to effect this end. Actu- THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS 33 ally, let us say, the beggar spends the money in a debauch from which he never recovers. The whole division may be set forth thus : External f Voluntary movements side I Actual consequences The act Foreseen Unforeseen Volition Motives Intention Dominant Suppressed End Means Other foreseen conse- quences How Much does the Moral Act Comprehend? Now almost every fraction of the whole act as thus analyzed has been regarded as the proper subject of moral judgments. No thinker of any consequence has thus singled out the physi- cal side to the neglect of the psychological side ; but there has been a good deal of difference of opinion as to whether the psychological side alone constitutes the moral act. Again, some have held that only the motive counts, while others have said the same of the intention. Though no one has seriously held that the end alone is of consequence (apart from the means and from other anticipated consequences of the act), men have sometimes imputed this view to their adversaries, and it goes by the name of Jesuitry. This makes at least four important views as to the constitution of the moral act : (1) that it is the act and its consequences as a whole ; (2) that it is the volition ; (3) that it is the motive ; and (4) that it is the intention ; while (5) the view that it is the end may be dismissed from consideration. 2. Status of Unforeseen Consequences The Problem. From what was said in an earlier part of this chapter, we may be led to infer that so far as the con- sequences of the act are not foreseen by the agent, they do 34 INTRODUCTION TO THE ^SCIENCE OF ETHICS not express his character and hence form no part of his act. It is not due to the robber, we may say, that the train holds the track and that hundreds of men and women escape injury ; and it is not the woman's fault that the beggar does not make better use of his opportunity. But when we re- flect upon our judgments in such cases, do we find that they confirm this view? Is not our condemnation of the former far less severe and uncompromising than it would be if the horrors of an actual wreck were before our mind? And would we not admire the latter far more if there were a re- constructed life to show for her charity ? Indirect Approach. These questions are not so simply answered as a hasty inspection might lead us to suppose. No excuse is commoner than, " I didn't mean to " ; but it is by no means always accepted. It will be well for us to approach the consideration of the problem indirectly, and, before attempting to determine the moral significance of un- foreseen consequences, to try to see clearly just what the foreseen consequences contemplated by the moral judgment include. (1) Meaning of ' Foreseen.' ' Foreseen ' is a very much broader term than ' definitely expected.' We foresee not only certainties but probabilities and possibilities of every degree. The maid who empties a pitcher of water out of a window may see the man standing on the sidewalk below; or, without glancing out, she may be well aware that men are constantly passing by ; or the hour may be such that she thinks there is very little chance of any one's being in that locality. Now it is obvious that even slight possibilities may affect the moral value of an act. It is commendable to take into account a chance of doing good, even though a strong probability of a different result is perceived ; and it is blameworthy to take chances of doing harm, even though the chances are not great. The good physician does not spare his pains upon the desperate case ; and the good soldier THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS 35 holds the fort against overwhelming odds. And, on the other hand, the chauffeur who disregards the warning signals at a sharp turn in a narrow road is condemned as rash, even though there may be very little chance that another vehicle is approaching just at that moment. Some Possibilities are Negligible. And yet this must not be pushed too far. For if we attempt to allow for all the possibilities in every situation we shall never be able to act at all. We must omit chances of doing good, and we must take chances of doing harm. Probability must to a large extent be the guide of life. We may, then, fairly say that possibilities of a very low grade do not fall within the scope of the moral act ; and such possibilities are regarded as ' un- foreseen/ or ' unintended/ even though we have had them distinctly in mind. Negligibility is Matter of Opinion. But just how slight must the possibility be to warrant our ignoring it? There is no general answer. The degree varies greatly. Large interests, of course, lessen the attention that we can spare to small ones ; and the necessity for prompt action excuses what might otherwise be pure rashness. But beyond such vague principles as these, all is matter of opinion either one's own peculiar personal opinion, drawn from one's own experience, or the public opinion which grows out of the general experience and is more or less shared by all the mem- bers of the community. The Common Opinion as Standard. What happens when the spectator and the man whom he is judging differ in opinion as to the possibilities that may be disregarded? The former may say that the latter is committing a mere error of judgment, and acquit him of evil-doing. For an error of judgment is not an immoral act or even an act at all ; and no goodness of heart can take away a man's liability to error. It may, however, lessen it. The good man who sincerely tries to do what is right, takes his failures and his 36 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS almost-f allures to heart and corrects his judgment by them ; and besides he is ready to take note of, if not to accept, the criticisms of others ; whereas the bad man, who is less anx- ious to avoid evil consequences, goes on his way unreflecting. It thus often happens that an error of judgment may be taken as an indication of an immoral character. The chauffeur who cares very much whether he causes serious injury is very likely to form a tolerably sound judgment as to what he can safely do. We therefore take the common opinion as a rough standard, and regard any man who is distinctly less careful than it calls for as in this respect a bad man. (2) Unforeseen Possibilities. Now, is not the case per- fectly similar with the possible consequences which are not simply disregarded but are not borne in mind at all, or which the agent may be too ignorant to anticipate ? A man cannot bear everything in mind ; still less can he know everything. Accordingly, when we see any one acting in entire unmindful- ness of possibilities which we ourselves think of as important, we often excuse him on the ground of forgetfulness or igno- rance. And yet these are not always an excuse. The man who is anxious to do right is, generally speaking, less prone to forget and more ready to learn. There are some things which every good man may be expected to know and to remember. There are others which lack of experience may easily cause him to overlook. If the woman, who, without investigation, gave ten dollars to a professional beggar, were very young or had lived a very circumscribed life, we should not think ill of her for her impulsiveness. But when a man wastes his strength in dissipation ; when he spreads slander- ous reports ; when he neglects the training of his children in such cases we are not apt to admit the plea that he did not think of the possible consequences. For that is one of the characteristics of a bad man : not to think of consequences. As a general rule, the careless man is a man who does not care. THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS 37 The moral judgment which we pass upon an act because of its unconsidered possibilities is thus, like the judgment upon a wholly unreflective act (see above, p. 29), indirect. A man who was incapable of learning from experience how to weigh chances, and whose attention was so weak that it wan- dered constantly from the things that concerned him most, would be an idiot and not a moral agent at all. Of men in general we may safely say that what they now fail to consider is determined by what they have in the past considered. (3) Effect of Actual Consequences. In all this, let it be observed, it is mere possibilities that we have been discussing. We condemn the man who neglects his children, though there have been many cases in which neglected children have grown up into strong and useful citizens. So much is clear. But now let us ask what particular effect the actual conse- quences have upon our moral judgment. Exaggeration of Moral Value. It is easy to see that, as a rule, they affect us more strongly than mere possibilities do, and that consequently the good or evil quality of the act is greatly intensified in our eyes. When a man tries to do us a service, we perceive his kindness ; but when he succeeds, the more vivid sense of the benefit makes the kindness seem far greater. This effect, however, is one which reflection tends to weaken, and consequently is regarded as an illusion. In our cool moments of afterthought we do not hesitate to say that, where the endeavor is the same, success and failure do not affect the moral value of the act. Prima Facie Evidence of Possibility. At the same time the fact that a consequence occurs is prima facie evidence to us that it was reasonably possible ; that is to say, that it was possible enough to call for forethought. That is the position which we naturally assume ; and evidence (or preju- dice) to the contrary is necessary to make us take any other. When an automobile runs down a child, our tendency is to charge the chauffeur with criminal carelessness, unless a 38 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS strong personal regard for him, or the obvious impossibility of his avoiding the accident, produces a contrary effect. Now this is by no means a fallacious tendency, but is fully in accord with the logic of probabilities. Other things being equal, the fact that a thing does happen is presumptive proof that it was likely to happen. Evidence of Intention and Purpose. Furthermore, the actual consequence is prima fade evidence to us (though somewhat weaker than before), that it was intended by the agent, and even (with still weaker force) that it was his dis- tinct purpose in acting. What we see coming from a man we ascribe to him, unless further evidence or passion makes us think otherwise. This, of course, does not apply to our own acts, for we are well aware in advance what our intentions and purposes are in so far as we really have them. But we have to judge of the other man's intentions mainly by his overt acts ; and, in assuming that he means to do what he actually does, our judgment follows the natural path of least resistance. It must not be forgotten, however, that this assumption is capable of being removed by reflection; and the more given to reflection we are, and the less apt to be carried away by the impression of the moment, the more likely we are to correct our moral judgment by attentively discriminating between what the agent did or did not intend to do, as well as between what he might or might not reasonably have foreseen. Summary and Conclusion. We may, therefore, say, by way of summary, that it is only as the actual consequences of the act are assumed, or reflectively believed, to be due to the character of the agent, that they are regarded as belong- ing to the act. Unforeseen consequences are in themselves indifferent. They may, however, be indirectly judged, in so far as they are felt to be indications of the way in which the agent intentionally acts. THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS 39 The theory, that the psychological side of an act alone constitutes the act as morally judged, thus turns out to be substantially correct. Man is not a bodiless spirit, and his actions are not mere thoughts or feelings. And for the most part it is only as thoughts and feelings are incarnate in actual deeds that we are able to perceive and judge them. Still, as our account has shown, it is the psychological side of the act that, so far as it appears, is of determining significance for the moral judgment. These conclusions are exactly confirmed by the study of the development of punishment. Among peoples of a low grade of culture, little or no distinction is made between the reparation exacted for intentional or unintentional injury, and the penalty incurred by intentional injury. But as civil and criminal law have become differentiated from each other, the latter gradually gives up the cognizance of unintentional acts. Thus to the savage it is all one whether I kill his brother accidentally or of malice aforethought. He will get satisfaction if he can, either by killing me or by killing some near relative of mine. In a civilized country the state will punish for a criminal act, if it was intentional, but only exceptionally otherwise. But if I infringe upon legally pro- tected rights, the law will compel me to make restitution, whether I intended the act or not. 3. Motive vs. Intention The Motive as Object of Judgment. It has been said that moralists have been seriously divided upon the question, whether the motive or the intention is the proper and ulti- mate object of moral judgment. On the one side, it is urged that it is the motives that make up the character of the man, of which his intentions are but an after-effect. It is love and hate, charity and greed, pride and humility, and the like that make different objects appeal to us and set us a-following after them. And the only way in which the objects are of 40 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS importance for the moral judgment is that they serve to indi- cate the inner springs of feeling. In two actions, if the inten- tion is alike but the motive is different, the moral value differs with the motive. When one man enlists as a soldier from patriotism and another from ennui ; when one man refuses to fight from religious scruples and another from cowardice ; we admire the former and have contempt for the latter. When the objection is made, that the same feeling may be rightly indulged on one occasion, while it would be wrong to give way to it on another, the reply is, that all depends upon the other motives which are active upon the two occa- sions. Motives are higher and lower ; and, in the good man, when they clash the higher prevail. Parental love, for ex- ample, is noble as compared with love of money ; it is petty as compared with patriotism. The Intention as Object of Judgment. But, on the other hand, it may be urged, that while in a general way one mo- tive may be regarded as higher than another, yet one cannot from that infer that the one ought always to take precedence over the other. In the familiar conflict between love of country and love of wife and children, the issue has not al- ways to be decided in the same way. The urgency of the needs upon both sides, the consequences reasonably to be expected from the choice of each alternative, must be weighed. It is the intention alone that provides a sufficient basis for the decision. Motives are good, when they give rise to good intentions. As for the examples cited, where change of motive alone is supposed to bring about a change in the moral judgment, the evident fact is that the intention also changes. The coward, for example, does not see the same consequences impending upon his proposed enlistment that occur to the sturdy Quaker. Most of the terms used to denote emotions imply some particular sort of an object, and the intentions with respect to this object are taken for granted when the motive is said to be good or evil in itself. THE FIELD OF MORAL JUDGMENTS 41 ' Parental love ' implies the intention to care for one's chil- dren ; ' greed ' implies the intention to grasp after all the good things in sight ; and so forth. Criticism and Conclusion. As between the two opposed theories, the latter (making the intention the ultimate ob- ject of moral judgment) appears to have the best of the argu- ment. But a simple reflection serves to show that this theory also is defective. In forming an estimate of the moral value of a man's intention, it is far from being an irrelevant cir- cumstance, to what part of the intention the motive attaches which of the anticipated consequences constitutes the end, or purpose, of the act, and which are aimed at simply as a means to this end, or anticipated in a (wholly or relatively) indifferent way. Suppose that a legislator, voting for an anti- gambling bill, believes that the measure will be of great ad- vantage to the state, and also believes that his own part in passing it will increase his chances of reelection. Each of these anticipated results forms a part of his intention, and would be considered in forming an estimate of the act ; but the estimate would vary greatly according as we believed the one or the other to be the sole or principal end in view. But it is the feeling that determines this. We thus reach the result, that the true object of the moral judgment is the complex whole which motive and intention make up together ; that is to say, the volition. It is thoughts colored by feelings that we judge not gray outlines of thought, nor vague splashes of feeling. APPENDIX TO CHAPTER III THE INTENTION TO DO RIGHT The Question Stated. There is another question, inti- mately related to those discussed in the foregoing pages, which may be conveniently discussed in this place. We have seen that the moral conduct par excellence, aside from which no other conduct would be regarded as open to moral judgment, is the conduct which the agent himself judges at the time of action. Now when such a judgment accompanies the act, how is the judgment of the spectator (or of the agent himself at some later time) affected by it ? Does the inten- tion to do right always make an act right? In more general terms, must we always say that an act is right or wrong according as the agent at the time believed it to be right or wrong? The Affirmative Answer. This is a question which a sur- vey of our actual judgments in such cases seems to answer decisively in each of two contradictory ways. The story of Philip the Second and the Spanish Inquisition occurs as a fair test case. What are we to think of the part that he played in that memorable persecution, in the course of which thousands of innocent men and women were put to death with the most horrible tortures ? So far as we know, he was perfectly assured of his own righteousness in the matter. He was but doing his manifest duty. Now what more could he do, and what more can any man be expected to do ? To be sure, he had a strong natural vein of cruelty, and his pur- pose seems to have been mainly selfish he was morbidly anxious to secure the salvation of his own soul. But what of that ? One must not judge a man as one would a god ; and 42 THE INTENTION TO DO RIGHT 43 if a man lives up to the dictates of his conscience, he is virtu- ous in the only way a man can be. The Negative Answer. This sounds reasonable ; but somehow it is hard to accept it. It seems as if, on the same grounds, one would have to pardon the very worst acts of the worst men. For (as Aristotle pointed out) one of the essential characteristics of wickedness is the perversion of moral standards. How, then, shall we regard the very viciousness of a man's character as an excuse for the vicious- ness of his conduct? If Philip thought 'that duty required him to destroy heresy with fire, so much the worse for his own miserable self. Compromise. As usual, where there is a strong conflict of opinion, there is a popular compromise view. We are asked to distinguish between formal Tightness and material Tightness. Conduct which agrees with the agent's own moral standard is formally right, while conduct which agrees with the true standard is materially right. But, even supposing the person judging is possessed of the true standard, this distinction does not help much. For the question remains, What is formal Tightness worth ? Is it a shadowy delusion, or is it something real and precious? Perhaps the fact that the terms of the compromise are capable of being inter- preted to suit either extreme has helped to make it popular. We must try to go a little deeper and see what the funda- mental points at issue are, and how the truth on both sides can be satisfactorily accounted for. The Case for the Affirmative. On one side there is the con- viction that no man is ever compelled to do wrong. Where no freedom of choice is left, there is no scope for moral valuation. Now, for a man to do what he believes to be wrong is certainly wrong, even though, apart from this belief, it would be pre- cisely the right thing for him to do. To go against one's conscience is wrong from every point of view. Suppose that Philip, believing as he did that heresy was a deadly sin, and 44 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS that the men whom he consigned to the flames were in any case doomed to eternal torments and might easily lead others into their awful condition; thinking, too, that perhaps the torture of the flames might lead the dying sinner to repent- ance and salvation in the very hour of death suppose he had allowed a natural aversion to the thought of suffering to withhold him from his duty. Would not this have been vastly worse than what he actually did ? If so, then, if the course he took was wrong, how was it possible for him to act rightly ? It is not a question of what would have been right for one of us to do in Philip's place, but of what it was right for Philip to do, being the man he was. If it is never right to disobey one's conscience, it can never be wrong to obey it. 1 Here we must obviate some possible misunderstanding. The view which we are now presenting does not imply that a man's moral standards cannot change that as he reviews a former act, committed in the full belief in its Tightness, he may not conclude that on a similar occasion it would be well to do otherwise, or that he may not deeply regret the lack of insight which he then displayed. It does mean that the act was nevertheless morally right, and that the contrary course, inasmuch as it was condemned by the best judgment the man then possessed, would have been distinctly wrong. Again, it does not mean that a man ought to have unlimited confi- dence in his own judgment, but simply that, in the last re- sort, it is in his own judgment that he must trust. For the respect paid to a commonly received opinion or to the advice of a respected friend is, after all, the man's own judgment. Finally, it does not mean that one ought to desire nothing 1 As thus stated, the argument applies only to conduct which is believed by the agent to be not only right (i.e. permissible) but obligatory. But it may be extended to cases where the given alternatives seem to him to be equally innocent. If in such a case we say that the course which he pursues is wrong, are we not taking his moral character out of his power and making it the sport of chance? But that is to deny him all true liberty and re- sponsibility. THE INTENTION TO DO RIGHT 45 except to do what is right, and to regard everything else with the indifference of a cynic ; but simply that one ought not to desire to do anything that does not seem right. Why should there not be plenty of good things in the world, which a man may innocently seek after and enjoy? The Case for the Negative. On the other side there is the persistent conviction that men like Philip are wicked men, and that to condone their wickedness is to be false to our most precious ideals, to deliver ourselves over to a moral anarchy. If we make an idol of well-intentioned ignorance, every motive for self-enlightenment is taken away. Whether or not virtue is identical with knowledge, or with some sort of knowledge, it is outrageous to pretend that no knowledge is involved in it. Human virtue may not be the virtue of a god ; but it is the virtue of a man, not of a beast. How far are these last considerations valid? Let us see. Examination of the Negative Arguments. In the first place, it is an error to suppose that when a man resolves to follow the best judgment that he possesses, he will not try to better his judgment. Rather will he have a new and powerful motive for doing so. And if he sees another well- intentioned man doing what seems to him to be ill-advised, there is no reason why he should not wish to enlighten him in the matter. Nay, the very fact that the other man is doing his best gives an additional incentive to advise him ; for there is the greater chance that the advice, if sensible, will be acted on. We do not " make an idol of well-inten- tioned ignorance " when we say that in all grades of ignorance or enlightenment to be well-intentioned is right and to be evilly intentioned is wrong. Motives for Improvement not Affected. But is not a man with a good conscience content with himself, and does not a man who is content with himself cease to try to im- prove ? This is a plea that is often heard ; but it only needs to be set down in black and white for us to see how ground- 46 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF .ETHICS less it is. A man with a good conscience is content with himself on the whole. But he may be profoundly dis- contented with himself in many particular respects. In fact, as ordinary self-observation suffices to show, an earnest effort at self-improvement is one of the things that conscience most commonly demands of us. Quite as obviously false is the supposition that if we regard a man as morally justified in his foolish conduct, we can have no reason to wish him to be wise enough to act differently. If we have any affection or sympathy for him, we will wish to save him the many pangs which the consequences of his folly may bring upon him to say nothing of desiring for him the joy which ex- panding knowledge itself brings. And if we are selfish we will still wish to avoid ill consequences to ourselves. For men live together in so intimate a union that they are deeply concerned with one another's mode of life. The conditions of their happiness are most complexly interwoven. Now, doubtless the morality of our neighbors is much the most important factor in their usefulness to us. But it is not the only factor. We would rather have them ignorant and good than well-informed and malignant. But surely we would like best to have them good and wise to boot. General Agreement of Moral Standards. In the second place, what of the fear of moral anarchy? Is this well founded? Let us note, first, that the consciences of well- intentioned men in any society show a strong mutual resem- blance. Individuals are peculiar, but they are not altogether peculiar. The approval of certain modes of conduct as right, and of certain other modes as wrong, runs pretty uniformly through all classes of men and women. The differences that are observable are mainly with respect to the degree of im- portance of the various moral requirements, or with respect to the validity of the excuses that may be urged for various deviations from the usual requirements. Thus some will regard adultery as the deadliest of sins, and some others will THE INTENTION TO DO RIGHT 47 regard it as of much less consequence than commercial dis- honesty; but all will agree that it is wrong. Thus, again, one merchant may hold himself to strict truthfulness in his advertisements, while another may feel that trade customs are such that customers expect some degree of exaggeration and make allowance for it; but both agree that to receive money on false pretenses is wrong as a general rule. The actual difference in men's moral standards is thus far from being anarchical. To judge them by their own standards is, in general, not very different from judging them by our own or by the standard of public opinion. In fact, in most cases there is no practical difference. We cannot see into other men's consciences; and unless there is special reason for thinking them (or ourselves) peculiar, we are compelled to take for granted that they think as we do, and as men in general have been found to do. The Remaining Question. Still, there are many evident exceptions, and the question remains, how are they to be judged? What of the genial captain of finance, who, in the firm conviction that all is right that is not criminal, waters the stock of a railroad system to several times the physical value of the property? What of the courtly libertine, who thinks himself a man of honor, and regards the systematic corruption of young women as mere pleasantry? Because these men do not condemn themselves, must we forever ac- quit them? And if we acquit them, is not this anarchy? The Social Environment as an Excuse. The answer is not perfectly simple. Sometimes we do acquit them, or at least palliate the offense. There are reckless libertines, for example, who are among the most admired characters of history. Obviously, in such cases we take account, in some way, of the social conditions under which the men developed, and we regard them as in some measure excused by their environment. At the same time, it must be admitted, we often refuse to acquit them ; and even when the conditions 48 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS of their upbringing have been unfortunate, we make scant allowance on that account. No doubt we are not wholly fair in this. Factors of personal charm or repulsiveness, including even personal beauty or ugliness, move our feelings and give a bias to our judgment. But all the discrepancy is not thus to be explained. Even in our calmest reflective moments the fact remains that while we admit environmental conditions as some excuse for ill conduct, we seldom accept them as a complete excuse, and sometimes allow them almost no weight at all. The question, therefore, recurs with un- diminished force : If it is right for a man to do as he thinks right, how are we justified in judging him by any other stand- ard than his own? Or is our reflective moral consciousness involved in a hopeless self-contradiction ? Final Considerations. The solution of the difficulty lies along lines with which a previous discussion (cf. p. 29) has made us familiar. In so far as a man appears to us to be the passive product of forces among which his own will counted for naught, we do not regard him as morally responsible. But common observation shows that a man's character and opinions are largely formed through his own voluntary acts. Generally speaking, it is not the environment as such, but our own voluntary reactions upon it, that make us what we are. 1 What effect external forces have upon us depends upon what we are already. More particularly, the way in which we obey or disobey our consciences has a good deal to do in determining the whole development of our consciences. It is by doing what we believe to be right that we become aware of the defects of our conceptions of right and wrong, and they are enlarged and corrected and refined. And by persisting in doing what we believe to be wrong, we confuse 1 It may be urged, to be sure, that ultimately these voluntary acts must be traced back to involuntary beginnings in the shape of inherited instincts. But, however that may be, the question here is, not where the will comes from, but, having arisen, what part it plays in the determination of conduct. THE INTENTION TO DO RIGHT 49 and distort our conceptions. Thus our moral judgment upon an act may have a double bearing. An act in conformity with conscience, which, considered by itself, is perfectly right, may be a most significant index of the stunting of con- science by habitual disobedience to it in the past. As we have already had occasion to remark, there are things which a man may be expected to know, and among these a goodly body of moral distinctions have their place ; and while ig- norance of them may be regarded as a sufficient excuse for a particular course of conduct, it is none the less convincing evidence of general moral worthlessness. Conclusion. The truth, then, is that both parties to the controversy are fundamentally correct in their views, and no compromise is necessary. The apparent contradiction arises from the attempt to limit the moral judgment to a single item of conduct ; as, indeed, the use of the terms ' right ' and ' wrong ' constantly tempts us to do. If, instead of ask- ing whether an act is always right when the agent thinks it right, we asked whether an act is always just as good (or bad) as the agent thinks it ; or, better still, whether a man is al- ways just as good (or bad) as he takes himself to be ; every one would without hesitation reply in the negative. REFERENCES ARISTOTLE, Nichomachean Ethics, Book HI, Chs. I-V. WUNDT, W., Ethics, Part III, Ch. I, Sect. I. STOUT, G. F., The Groundwork of Psychology, Ch. XVIII. WESTERMARCK, E., The Origin and Development of the Moral Ideas, chs. vm-xm. MEZES, S., Ethics, Descriptive and Explanatory, Ch. II. DEWEY and TUFTS, Ethics, Chs. X, XIII. HYSLOP, J. H., Elements of Ethics, Ch. III. MUIRHEAD, J. H., Elements of Ethics, Book II, Ch. I. WRIGHT, H. W., Self-realization, Part I, Ch. I. CHAPTER IV RESPONSIBILITY AND FREEDOM I. RESPONSIBILITY Definition. By responsibility, we mean the relation of a man to his conduct, by virtue of which it makes him the sub- ject of moral approval or disapproval, especially the latter. As thus defined, it is closely connected with the notion of legal responsibility, in the sense of liability to punishment. The two notions, however, are clearly distinct. There are many immoral acts for which society has no punishment ; and, on the other hand, punishment is often inflicted for reasons far removed from moral guilt. Moral responsibility is liability to censure. Of course, to be liable to censure im- plies that one is equally liable to a favorable judgment, if one's conduct appears to deserve it. But (for reasons which need not here concern us) the possibility of unfavorable judgment is emphasized. The feeling of responsibility, especially in the form of remorse, has been thought by many writers to be the most distinctive feature of the moral life. When, for example, Darwin attempted to show how a social animal, such as man's ape-like ancestor, was bound to develop a conscience as soon as his intelligence was sufficiently advanced, it was the sense of remorse for a cruelly heedless act that he had especially in mind. This, no doubt, was one-sided; but certainly no experience is better fitted than that of remorse, to impress the importance of moral values upon us. Lapse of Responsibility. Responsibility has temporal limits, though these are very indefinite. The misdeeds of 50 RESPONSIBILITY AND FREEDOM 51 childhood and youth sometimes awake in us a sense of shame. Nevertheless we do not usually regard ourselves as still responsible for acts committed so long ago. We have left them behind us. And there are frequent illustrations of a lapse of responsibility for acts committed even in manhood. A few years ago, a convict, who had escaped from a federal prison, and later had married and settled down to a respect- able life, was betrayed through the malice of a former asso- ciate. There was a very strong public feeling of sympathy for him. The police officer who made the arrest, and who under the circumstances could have claimed a substantial reward, scorned to take it. Appeal was made to the Presi- dent of the United States for a pardon ; and though he re- garded it against public policy to grant a full pardon he did commute the sentence to a short term. Its Cause. What is it that causes responsibility to'cease ? Evidently a change of character such a change that the character can no longer be regarded as expressed in the act in question ; or, in other words, such a change as to warrant the expectation of different conduct in the future. The change may take place gradually, or it may be accomplished by a sudden acute repentance. Mere regret or even remorse, however, is not enough. These may be sentimental, i.e. may not represent the character as actual temptation reveals it. Nothing is commoner than ineffectual regrets that leave the man as they find him. If responsibility is to fall from a man, there must be a decided change of heart, show- ing itself in consistent conduct. II. THE RELATION BETWEEN FKEEDOM AND RESPONSIBILITY Indeterminism. We have elsewhere remarked that a man is not held responsible for what he does under physical compulsion or (generally speaking) under the influence of overmastering pain or fear. Such things reduce him to the level of the unconscious mechanism, or, at least, to the level 52 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS of the irrational animal; and it becomes out of place to apply moral predicates to him. A certain class of moral theorists have extended this principle. They have held that a man cannot be held responsible for his acts, except in so far as he is their first cause; that is to say, except in so far as his will is undetermined in its choice by any previous condition whatsoever. In a word, the will must be free. This is one of many senses in which the expression ' free- dom of the will ' has been used. (1) Sometimes it stands for knowledge both of the particular circumstances of the action and of the various values that are at stake. (2) Some- times it means the power of deliberation, the suspension of action while various motives are being weighed. (3) It may denote the control of lower motives by higher motives. Where the former have the upper hand a man is often said to be the ' slave of his appetites.' (4) It may mean the control of conduct by one's own judgments of value, be these correct or incorrect. But we are now to consider it in a sense very different from all these : (5) the exemption of volition from the principle of cause and effect. It is conceived that the will is not determined by the conditions at the time. Given the same conditions, external and internal, in the minutest detail character, habits, knowledge, ideals, momentary feelings and desires the act might be different. The will is indeed attracted or repelled by different motives, but not controlled by them. It must freely yield to a motive before volition takes place. The will sits as a judge over the differ- ent impulses, and decides between them as between different claimants. The fact that a man is good leaves him equally free to do evil things ; and if he be evil, that fact leaves him at all times free to do the very noblest things. This theory is called ' indeterminism,' or ' libertarianism.' The con- trary theory is called ' determinism. 7 Alleged Dependence of Responsibility upon Freedom. As has been said, some moralists have held that unless the RESPONSIBILITY AND FREEDOM 53 will is, in this last sense, free, all moral judgment is invalid, for the agent is not responsible. Determinism, it is urged, makes of a man a mere machine, and, indeed, a mere part of the world-machine. What he does he does not of himself, but as the universe acts through him. Some thinkers, admitting the force of this contention, have proceeded to deny the existence of any responsibility. Blame not the man, they have said, but blame his parents and teachers who have made him what he is. And yet, why them? The calm conclusion of science, we are told, is this : Judge not at all. For the most part, however, men have been unwilling to accept this conclusion. If they believed that there could be no responsibility unless indeterminism were true, they have regarded this as a proof of indeterminism. And if they were convinced that the universality of the law of cause and effect could admit of no exception, then they have denied that responsibility was for that reason at all impaired. Let us consider this alleged dependence of responsibility upon freedom. The Dependence Unreal. A little consideration should show us that there is a serious misunderstanding here. We judge a man's acts in so far as they are conceived to express his character. That means that they must be free in the sense of being his acts, due to his being the sort of man he is, not forced upon him despite his character. But it does not mean that they must be free in the sense of being inde- pendent of his character. For in so far as the acts are not caused by his character, they do not express that character, and hence are not open to moral judgment. But, it may be urged, if a man's character is the product of previous influences, are not those influences responsible for his acts? Most assuredly (we may reply), in so far as those previous influences consist of other moral beings his parents and teachers and associates. But, much as the gun upon a rider's shoulder is carried both by the man and 54 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS by the horse, so an evil deed that is directly due to the agent's character may (at least in part) be indirectly due to his father's character, and thus be a valid reason for our pass- ing an unfavorable judgment upon both. 1 The indeterminist argument is sometimes given a special point by being applied to the infliction of punishment. Can it be right to inflict pain upon a man for his misdeeds, when he is considered to be the inevitable product of a combina- tion of previous conditions? Is not punishment on such a basis simply adding one evil to another? Certainly, if punishment is an evil. If we are to think of punishment as a mere act of vengeance, it will be difficult indeed to find any adequate excuse for it. But if punishment is intended as a good to all concerned, and especially to the evil-doer him- self, the only excuse it needs is its efficacy. Why, because circumstances have joined together to make a wicked man, shall we not try to make him a better man? Dependence of Responsibility upon Determinism. If the argument for the dependence of responsibility on indeterminism is thus unconvincing, there are, on the other hand, reasons for holding that responsibility is dependent on determinism. For responsibility, as we have seen, de- pends on the continuity of character ; and this can only be observed in so far as conduct is uniform and hence predict- able. A good man must be more likely to do right than a bad man ; and if the latter has this probability against him, 1 The argument is often connected with the religious belief in a personal God and in everlasting punishment. If God, who is himself a moral agent, is the ultimate cause of all that we are, is not he, rather than ourselves, responsible for our sins ? And how, then, shall he be justified in damning us ? The only answer to the former question is that he certainly is respon- sible, though the possibility lies open that the creation of sinful man may be part of a larger purpose (not wholly comprehensible to us) which fully justifies it. To the second question it must be replied that everlasting pun- ishment, if it be a truth, is one which no one has succeeded in justifying upon any grounds whatsoever. The dogma is based, of course, upon a retributive conception of punishment. RESPONSIBILITY AND FREEDOM 55 it is hard to see how his act can be regarded as a fresh crea- tion, undetermined by previous circumstances. Moreover, we can say that indeterminism, by making conduct unpre- dictable, makes moral praise and blame ineffectual and moral education impossible. In particular, the practice of punish- ment is made ridiculous for what else can the infliction of pain be expected to accomplish, if it cannot help to deter- mine the culprit's future conduct ? If it is suggested that perhaps volition is partly deter- mined and partly undetermined, we may reply that in that case it remains true that it is only by reason of the degree of determination that exists that responsibility or moral educa- tion is possible, or that punishment is justifiable. The Kantian Theory. In this connection we may men- tion Kant's famous argument to prove that to acknowledge a moral obligation implies the assumption that man must be absolutely free to do what is right. Moral obligation (he said) is conceived to be absolute and unconditional ; it means that we ought to act in a certain way, in obedience to a moral law, regardless of circumstances. But we are never under obligation to do the impossible. Now all our natural motives (i.e. those that are causally determined) vary with circumstances; hence if all our motives are causally deter- mined, there may be circumstances under which we cannot do right, and hence are without moral obligation ; which is absurd. Therefore there must be a distinctive moral mo- tive which is wholly supernatural and undetermined; and this Kant identifies as reverence for the moral law. The weakness of the argument lies in the initial assumption that moral obligation is to follow certain rules regardless of cir- cumstances. Kant himself reduced this to an absurdity when he declared, " that to tell a falsehood to a murderer who asked us whether our friend, of whom he was in pursuit, had not taken refuge in our house, would be a crime." The question is too far-reaching for us to discuss 56 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS here ; but we shall elsewhere give reasons for holding that moral laws are by no means so rigid and invariable as Kant supposed. III. FURTHER ARGUMENTS FOR INDETERMINISM We may now be interested in examining some other con- siderations that have been urged in favor of indeterminism or of determinism. 1. The Intuition of Freedom. Beginning with the former, we have first to note, not an argument, but an assertion, that we have a direct (intuitive) consciousness of our free- dom. It is safe to say that the main basis for this assertion is (1) our not being fully conscious of the causes of our acts. It is an appeal to ignorance. Mental phenomena are very complicated, if not in themselves, at any rate in their pre- conditions, conscious and unconscious ; and it is easy for a man to overlook even important factors in the forming of his decisions. Add to this (2) our consciousness, based upon experience, that we can do a great many things when we so desire and are not forcibly restrained. We are very chary nowadays of trusting in alleged intuitive knowledge, for it is fatally easy to claim and (when it is disputed) fatally hard to validate; and the intuition of indeterminism has the least claim to respect of any. 2. Change of Choice. In popular discussion it is some- times urged that a man can prove his freedom by " doing it over again the other way." A certain choice has been taken ; the conditions are repeated ; and now, to prove his point, the man does differently. The reply is, of course, that the similarity of external conditions does not necessarily imply that the motives are the same ; and in this case we can even lay our finger upon one important new motive: the man's desire to prove his point. 3. The Destruction of Effort Fatalism. If determinism were accepted as true, would it not destroy all effort ? And RESPONSIBILITY AND FREEDOM 57 if , as a matter of fact, determinists have not been especially inert beings, does not this prove that they did not really believe in their doctrine? If we believe that everything in the universe is completely predetermined, how can we intelli- gently try to accomplish anything? And if, on the contrary, we do constantly frame ends and endeavor to accomplish them, does not this prove that in our hearts we believe in our own freedom? Before directly replying to these questions, it will be well for us to note the difference between determinism and fatal- ism. Fatalism is the belief that certain events especially death are bound to occur in a certain way (or to occur at a certain time) no matter what the previous conditions are. Thus a woman believed that she was fated to be drowned at sea ; and when a steamer in which she had taken passage was wrecked, she refused to enter a life-boat, be- cause, as she said, she would only bring disaster to the others in the boat. A Filipino quack doctor made the most ex- travagant claims with regard to his healing powers. When a number of his patients died, he was not in the least dis- concerted. He had been perfectly able to cure them, he said, but their time had come as, indeed, the fact of their death proved. And when a man's time has come to die, nothing can prevent it ! It is not difficult to see that fatalism is more closely allied to indeterminism than to determinism. It is a belief in the discontinuity of events. Determinism is a belief in their complete continuity : that nothing ever happens except as an outgrowth of previous conditions. Now fatalism does sometimes produce a sort of apathy. When a man believes that all the important issues of life are fixed in advance, in such a fashion that nothing that he can do can have the least influence upon the result, it is only natural that he should not feel very energetic. Some- times, we may add, fatalism produces an opposite effect, 58 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS especially when it attaches only to the issue of life and death. The Turkish soldier, for example, who believes that the day of his death is appointed, fights with an extraordinary abandon. If his time has come, no cowardice will save him ; and if it has not come, no danger can be fatal to him. But there is nothing in determinism to produce either the one effect or the other either indifference or desperation. The determinist believes that his impulses are efficient causes by which the future course of events must in part be shaped. Why, then, should he cease to feel? He believes that his efforts count for something in determining his happiness or unhappiness. Why, then, should he cease to struggle? There is no reason ; just as there is no reason why he should feel more passionately or struggle more desperately than the given conditions warrant. To be sure, a belief in determinism will not of itself awaken any sources of feeling in man's nature; but, then, nobody has ever pretended that it did. If a man is without love or ambition or loyalty, determinism will not inspire them in him. But neither if he has them will it take them away. IV. FURTHER ARGUMENTS FOR DETERMINISM Let us now turn to the evidences that are offered in favor of determinism. 1. The Intuition of Determinism. Just as indeterminism has been based on an alleged intuition, so has determinism. It has been held that the law of cause and effect is an axiom self-evident to human reason. But apart from our grow- ing unwillingness to rely on intuitions, there are particular reasons why the law of cause and effect should not be put upon such a basis. The distinguishing marks of an intuition are supposed to be its clearness and distinctness and its universal applica- tion. But few maxims of science or philosophy have been more shifting and uncertain in their meaning than this; RESPONSIBILITY A.ND FREEDOM 59 and none have been more in dispute. " Nothing happens by chance, but all things follow from necessity," is an old formulation, which might be more intelligible if we were first told what chance is ; and yet how can chance be defined except as absence of causal necessity? a vicious circle. " Every event presupposes a previous event upon which it follows according to a universal rule," is another famous version, the only fault with which is that it is obviously un- true. One event, taken by itself, does not cause another, regardless of all other attendant circumstances. There are no separate and distinct chains of causation, but a constant interference. Shall we then say that the true causes and effects are not events but tendencies tendencies which may thwart or conceal one another, but which are real none the less? But what is a tendency? Some men have held that it is nothing else than the momentum of a body moving in space, and that causality is simply the communication of motion from one body to another by impact. The dis- covery of the law of gravitation, which seems to imply ' ac- tion at a distance/ made this theory impracticable. In our own time many men declare that all causality is trans- formation of energy, and that the law of cause and effect, when properly stated, is nothing more or less than the law of the conservation of energy. But when we try to apply this law to the explanation of mental phenomena e.g. the association of ideas it becomes meaningless, at least so far as we can now see. Besides, there are men who hold that all causation is psychical that the very conception of a cause comes to us from the operation of our own wills, and that the action of bodies upon each other must be in- terpreted after the analogy of our own conscious behavior. The plain truth of the matter is that ' cause ' and ' effect ' have no single intuitively clear and distinct meanings, but a variety of meanings, some very clear and some very hazy, all held together by the fact that they are conceptions 60 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS according to which we explain the conditions of one time by the conditions that have gone before. " All conditions prevailing at any one moment can somehow be completely explained from the conditions that prevailed at any previous moment : " such is the law of causality. In saying this we must not be understood to imply that the law of cause and effect is meaningless or useless. On the contrary, there is much virtue in a ' somehow/ The point upon which we are insisting is that the presumption is all against the theory that we have an intuitive knowledge of such a law. 2. Determinism as a Presupposition of Science. It is sometimes said that determinism is an unavoidable assump- tion in all scientific work. For the business of science is to explain; and any condition that was inexplicable would lie outside the limits of science. To study anything is to assume that it can be explained and hence is subject to the law of cause and effect. Furthermore, science can never recognize any occasion for the opposite assumption. No matter how long a phenomenon has seemed to contradict all known principles, we can still take for granted that it is to be explained on principles yet unknown. This argument has its force, but it does not prove all that it is sometimes supposed to prove. The fact that I try to explain a phenomenon does imply that I take for granted that the phenomenon is explicable : if I believed otherwise, I should not try. And the universal program of science, to explain anything and everything that may interest the human intellect, similarly rests upon the presumption that all things are explicable : in so far as this presumption is false, science is foredoomed to failure. It is an essential postulate of the science which acknowledges no bounds. But that hardly warrants us in saying that any endeavor to explain any- thing can only be justified on the basis of a complete determinism. RESPONSIBILITY AND FREEDOM 61 3. The Progress of Science. How far does the actual progress of science prove the truth of determinism? It is easy to reply that it does not prove it at all : that however far men may have succeeded in laying bare the causal con- nections of things they can never be warranted in a leap to the conclusion that causal connection is universal. But this is not wholly just. Determinism as a Regulative Principle. A formally correct and sufficient proof of the principle of determinism cannot be derived from any evidence whatsoever. The world is too vast and too complicated for that. But neither can the principle ever be disproved by any evidence whatso- ever. On each side there is always the refuge of infinite ignorance. But just because it can never be proved or disproved, its significance is that of a regulative principle. It is not so much a matter of objective fact as of intellectual policy. What it declares is that we shall look for causal ex- planation everywhere and in all things, and never remit our search on the plea that this or that phenomenon may possibly lie outside the realm of law. Now when determinism is thus viewed as a regulative principle, the sort of proof that is necessary to establish it is precisely what is afforded by the progress of science. In ancient times the wisest men felt themselves justified in rejecting it. Plato and Aristotle believed in the existence of universal causal laws; but they thought that in no in- dividual case were these laws more than approximately realized. In each thing or event, as they thought, there was an element of blind, irrational chance, which could never be accounted for in any way. So far as physical events are concerned, this notion (though disputed by the stoics) per- sisted down to modern times ; until it was dispelled by the early triumphs of inductive science, culminating in the dis- covery of the law of universal gravitation. It was not that the scientist was now ready with a complete explanation of 62 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS anything and everything; but that the disposition of his mind was now to look for uniformity in all things, and to regard apparent chance as the manifestation of unknown causes. It is true that in relation to mental phenomena the notion of the uncaused still lingered. But it is almost within a generation that the wide and successful application of experi- mental, comparative, and genetic methods to psychology gave it its present secure place among the natural sciences. So that although the determinist position had its earnest advocates from the time of Hobbes onward, the spirit of the times was not definitely against indeterminism. The popu- lar consciousness was almost unanimous in its belief in the freedom of the will, and the scientific consciousness was far from being unitedly opposed to it. The case of Descartes (one of the fathers of modern thought) is typical. For the ma- terial universe he accepted the principle of determinism as intuitively certain. But the will he believed to be absolutely free. How both these propositions could be true together was, he confessed, an insuperable mystery. But in our own time we have become far more familiar with the uniformities of psychological phenomena. The discovery of Weber's law (of the relation between the in- tensity of the stimulus and the intensity of the sensation) marked an epoch here. The science is still young, to be sure; and in certain fields, such as sensation, perception, attention, and memory, far more has been accomplished than in some others, such as emotion and will. But the same is or has recently been true of the sciences of external nature. Of the vast and all-important subject of heredity, for example, both in the plant and in the animal world, what is known is but a scanty fringe upon the vast unknown. And as the deficiencies in our knowledge of the external world count to us as no argument against the universality of its causal laws, even so there is no reason to regard the RESPONSIBILITY AND FREEDOM 63 actual limitations of psychology as pointing to the existence of any transcendent, incomprehensible factor in mental phenomena. V. PHYSICAL AND QUASI-PHYSICAL DETERMINISM Let determinism remain altogether vague, and it has little difficulty in maintaining its position against all the assaults of indeterminism. But when it begins to specify the mode of determination, then the advantage is all on the side of indeterminism. This has been the real strength and animus of the free-will theory : not in its opposition to the conception of a universal causal necessity, but in its resist- ance to certain specific theories as to the way in which men's voluntary acts are determined. Two of these must be noted here. Physical Determinism. In the first place, there has been the theory, that men's thoughts and feelings are not causes of events, but helpless accompaniments of them; that the only true causes are physical forces operating between ma- terial bodies. This is not simply determinism, but a physical determinism. Against such a view we may fairly urge (1) that the causal value of thoughts and feelings is as obvious and familiar to us as any other whatsoever. To deny this value is to sacrifice plain fact to a far-stretched theory that is founded at best upon facts that are no plainer. And, furthermore, (2) when we try to apply the theory to mental and social phenomena it vanishes into thin air. It is not meant to be so applied. The Mechanical Analogy. In the second place, there is the far more important theory, which looks upon human motives as causes, but interprets their action after the analogy of mechanical causes. The favorite illustration is the ' paral- lelogram of forces/ If a force a, acting alone for a given time upon the object M, would move it to P; and if the force 6, acting alone for the same time, would move it to 64 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS Q; then the two forces, acting together, would move it to R, the point which with M, P, and Q marks out a parallelo- gram. In the special case where the two forces have the same direction or opposite directions, they simply add them- selves to each other in algebraic fashion. If they have the same direction, they reenf orce each other ; if they are opposed, the stronger triumphs, but with diminished strength. Even so, it is said, a man's motives push him in one direction and another, and his actual conduct is but the resultant of their united forces. In every conflict the strongest motive pre- vails. If the motives diverge, but are not absolutely opposed, the agent takes a middle course. This way of thinking is a fair example of the danger of carrying an abstraction too far. In the principle of the parallelogram of forces the object appears only as a point upon which forces external to it act. Its own nature counts for nothing in the supposed result. Now even in the me- chanical realm this is not strictly true. The object is not a point but has its shape, size, consistency, mass, etc. Put a differently formed object in its place and the result would be different. Moreover, the forces which act upon it are not so external to its nature as might be supposed. Sub- stitute lead for iron in a magnetic field, and the difference is easily seen. But if the abstraction is not wholly valid in its applica- ton to the physical world, it is much more strikingly invalid in its application to human conduct. A man is as far as possible from being a mere point; and the motives which actuate him are as far as possible from being external to his nature. To use a well-worn example, the glass of wine which upon one man exerts an almost irresistible attraction, is hateful to a second, and is taken or left by a third with cool indifference. It is a man's character that determines what things attract and what repel him ; and to leave that character out of account and think of the motives as a set RESPONSIBILITY AND FREEDOM 65 of external mechanical forces is the very extreme of falsi- fication. Conclusion. It is in its opposition to theories like these that the main significance of indeterminism has lain. In- deed, it is not hard to see that, at bottom, determinism and indeterminism have stood for very much the same thing. The one in opposing the superstition of chance, the other in insisting that man is not the helpless sport of external forces both have pointed to the truth, that man's character is the essential cause of his acts, and that upon this causal relation his moral responsibility depends. REFERENCES GIZYCKI, G. VON, Introduction to the Study of Ethics, Ch. VII. LOCKE, J., Essay concerning Human Understanding, Book II, Ch. XXI. HUME, D., Enquiry concerning Human Understanding, Sect. VIII. GREEN, T. H., Prolegomena to Ethics, Book II, Ch. I. WUNDT, W., Ethics, Part III, Ch. I, Sect. III. FISKE, J., Outlines of Cosmic Philosophy, Part II, Ch. XVII. STEPHEN, L., Science of Ethics, Ch. VII, ii. ALEXANDER, S., Moral Order and Progress, Book III, Ch. Ill, ii. HYSLOP, J. H., Elements of Ethics, Ch. IV. PAULSEN, F., System of Ethics, Book II, Ch. IX. SIDGWICK, H., Methods of Ethics, Book I, Ch. V. SETH, J., Ethical Principles, Part III, Ch. I. RASHDALL, H., Theory of Good and Evil, Book III, Ch. III. BERGSON, H., Time and Free Will, especially Ch. III. CHAPTER V GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS Classification. Before undertaking a systematic study of the theories of morality, it will be well for us to take a brief survey of its principal varieties and phases. In the intro- ductory chapter we noted the existence of two sets of pred- icates, ' right ' and ' wrong/ and ' good ' and ' bad/ and called attention to the distinction between impersonal and personal morality which they suggest. For our present purpose it will be convenient to make use of a somewhat different classification. In the first place, moral values may be thought of as be- longing (1) first to the act and secondly to the character of the man who would commit such an act ; or (2) first to the character, and secondly to the ways of acting in which such a character shows itself. For example, it is wrong to steal, and the man who does so is a thief ; and it is good to relieve the needy, and he who does so is charitable. And, on the other hand, it is good to be brave and to be master of one's passions, and the deeds by which one evinces these traits are in so far praiseworthy. The distinction is largely a matter of emphasis, and the two sides shade into each other ; but the extremes are well marked. In the second place, where the moral value belongs pri- marily to the act, the standard by which it is judged may be (a) a definite set of external requirements, to which, it is thought, men ought simply to conform, regardless of aught else; or the standard may be (6) the happiness of one's fellow-men. 66 GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 67 We have, then, a threefold division of moral standards. a. Standards of Duty Moral Standards I. Standards applying primarily to the Act II. Standards applying primarily to the Agent b. Standards of Benev- olence Standards of Virtue Here I a corresponds to the impersonal morality mentioned above ; and 1 6 and II correspond to the personal morality. It is probable that all three kinds of standards have a place in the morality of every people, civilized or uncivilized. But among some peoples one kind predominates; among others, another. Thus the morality of the ancient Jews was clearly a morality of duty, and that of the Greeks was quite as clearly a morality of virtue; while Christianity ushered in a morality in which the standards of benevolence have a much larger part. la. STANDARDS OF DUTY 1. Instinctive and Customary Standards (1) Instinctive Standards. Among the standards of duty, we may first consider certain standards which appear to have a direct instinctive source. There are some kinds of conduct, such as cannibalism and incest, which arouse in most men an instinctive loathing or even horror ; and this is attended with a feeling of intense moral disapproval. George Sand tells a story of a company of wandering actors shipwrecked on a barren rock in the Adriatic Sea. They are without food, and death by starvation is imminent. The captain of the vessel dies, and one of the actors throws him- self upon the corpse with the intention of devouring it, But 68 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS the leader of the company grapples with him, and, after a desperate struggle, succeeds in throwing the body into the sea. The subordinate actor is a man who throughout the narrative is everywhere represented as thoroughly contemp- tible ; while the leader is pictured as a noble and even heroic figure; and their acts upon this occasion are evidently re- garded by the writer as eminently in character. It might well be argued (from the standpoint of benevolence) that the one man was doing exactly what the occasion required supporting his life without injury to anyone else while the other was wickedly wasting a most valuable food-supply ; but that is not the way that George Sand expected the in- cident to be regarded by her public. Religious and Magical Sanctions. If we ask ourselves why we regard such acts as these as wrong, the answer most obvious to the psychologist is that the feeling that they are wrong has sprung from the sense of their loathesomeness. 1 Other reasons, however, are more often given; and certain of these are interesting, as showing the close connection between duty and benevolence. These reasons mostly fall under the two heads of bad magic and offended deities. In- cestuous love, for example, is often regarded as bringing a pollution upon the culprits, and through them upon their family and kindred, or even upon all who are in any way connected with them. For magical pollutions are catching (like infectious diseases) and a whole city or tribe may suffer from them. Or, as we have suggested, some deity may be particularly averse to incest; and he, like the infectious pollution, is apt to wreak his baleful spite, not only upon the guilty ones, but upon all their kith and kin. (Both of 1 The reader should be on his guard against supposing that because the feeling of disgust or loathing is instinctive, the moral judgment or sentiment is likewise instinctive. The latter very probably develops out of the former, and in its earlier stages cannot be clearly distinguished from it. But the very fact that the moral nature of the feeling is the product of a psychological development means that it is something higher than mere instinct. GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 69 these modes of explanation become more and more refined as culture advances ; but they then take on forms which belong elsewhere in our account.) In either case it will generally be said that the loathing for the sin is due to the universal fear of the pollution or of the divine displeasure which it causes. The psychologist, however, can scarcely doubt that the true explanation runs the other way that the supposed pernicious consequences of the sin are imaginative products of the loathing which is naturally excites. This distinguishes standards of this sort from those which are primarily standards of benevolence. Crudeness of Such Morality. Conformity to standards such as these is the crudest form of morality with which we have to deal. It shows its crudeness in many ways. Emo- tionally, the sense of moral condemnation is closely fused with the feeling of loathing or horror. Perhaps as a conse- quence of this, little distinction is made between intentional and unintentional wrong-doing. The man who unknowingly has eaten human flesh is like a leper even in his own eyes. According to the Greek story, (Edipus in all ignorance kills his father in self-defense, and soon after, in equal ignorance, marries his mother, who bears four children to him. When many years later the facts come to light, his horror of him- self is such that he puts out his own eyes. It may be added that the infectious pollution follows upon the involuntary offense just as upon the voluntary; and that the offended deity looks only to the external act, and cares nothing for the motive. On the other hand, the infection may be re- moved by magical devices in which repentance plays no part ; and the deity likewise may be bribed, by sacrificial offerings, to forego his vengeance. (2) Customary Standards. Divided from the foregoing by a very uncertain line are the standards set by long-es- tablished custom. The commission of adultery offends against no human instinct. But many men feel toward it 70 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS an aversion which is weaker, but hardly different in kind, from that which they feel toward incest; and their moral condemnation of it is very similar. So of sacrilege, of obscen- ity, and, among many peoples, of breaches of hospitality; and so also of a host of other offenses, not against instinct, but against custom that has become well-nigh as strong as instinct. Other customary standards are regarded less seri- ously ; so that a whole scale of offenses may be devised, rang- ing from the most abominable to the most trivial. Relation to Instinctive Standards. We have said that the line between instinct and custom is uncertain. All customs are, of course, in the last resort outgrowths of in- stinct, just as all languages are outgrowths of the instinctive ga and 600 of infancy. But because we cannot point to a precise time when, for example, mamma changes from a mere babbling to a true word, we do not therefore deny the reality of the change. At the same time it must be confessed that, as applied to the adult man, the distinction between instinct and custom (or habit) is merely one of degree, for the simple reason that scarcely any original instinct remains unmodified in the adult man. Thus the instinctive aversion to cannibalism is fostered by all manner of social influences or may, on the contrary, be altogether rooted out. So also, while incest appears to be naturally horrible to us, there is nothing natural about the long lists of ' prohibited degrees ' which are to be found in the marriage laws of many peoples. As far as ethics is concerned, the sole point of importance here is this : that our feelings toward ' unnatural ' sins are apt to contain so powerful an element of sheer disgust, that any definitely moral sentiment is apt to be submerged, or at least seriously restrained in its development. For most purposes the standards derived from instinct and those derived from custom may be regarded as alike customary. Not All Customs are Moral Standards. It is obvious that among civilized men not all customs are viewed as having GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 71 moral significance. 1 A man who thoughtlessly wanders down- town without his hat is perhaps the most uncomfortable creature in existence; but his conscience does not prick him. An eccentric young college professor, whose health was delicate, tried the experiment of going barefoot during one of his summer vacations. Walking into the village post-office one day, he met an old lady friend, and accosted her. " Get out of my sight," cried the old lady, horrified. Yet, as she told the story, she expressed no moral condemna- tion of the young man's conduct. It was, to her, simply disgusting. But it should be observed, in the first place, that the line of separation is not clearly marked. Bad taste passes easily into indecency and immodesty. And, in the second place, among savages the line practically disappears, and it may be roughly said that " every custom constitutes a moral law." Their sense of right and wrong is in all things guided by the modes of conduct which have come down to them from their ancestors. Sanctions. The iniquity of offenses against custom is usually conceived in much the same fashion that we have already noted : they bring pollution or the displeasure of supernatural beings. To rob or murder the unsuspecting guest is an infamy. It is enough to put a curse upon the dwelling where it was committed, from which the inhabitants would suffer as long as the house stood. Better, then, let the man depart in peace and intercept him at the first turn- ing of the road. He may then be seized, brought back, and held for ransom, or even murdered in cold blood, and no such evil be incurred. Petty moral offenses, of course, bring ill-luck or divine ill-favor in a roughly proportionate measure. 1 Sometimes, it is true, the term 'custom' is used in a narrow sense, so as to include only such traditional modes of behavior as are felt to be morally required. (The German Sitte and the French mceurs are regularly so used.) In that case ' customary morality ' is tautologous : ' custom ' alone expresses the whole idea. 72 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS Separation of Moral Guilt from its Consequences. As men become more reflective, the distinction between moral guilt and its supernatural consequences is drawn and becomes increasingly clear. We have observed that these consequences may fall upon innocent and guilty alike. (Edipus in the depth of his misery was still self-assured that he was innocent of any moral wrong ; and his sons and daugh- ters, who in various ways suffered with him, were even more evidently guiltless of the crimes of parricide and incest. So Orestes would have been held a craven if he had failed to avenge his father's death; but because one of the mur- derers on whom he took vengeance was his own mother, the furies pursued him none the less relentlessly. ' Wrong ' is therefore not the same as l accursed/ It denotes a pecul- iar quality which belongs naturally to certain kinds of volun- tary conduct. And it is senseless to ask why such conduct is wrong. It is wrong just because it is wrong. Moreover, what is wrong is always and everywhere wrong. It cannot be right, any more than black can be white or bitter can be sweet. Reduction of Morality to Convention. The develop- ment may, however, take a further turn. We are all to a great extent the slaves of custom ; but the uncivilized man is bound by it far more closely than we can easily imagine. His whole course of life is minutely prescribed and hedged about with innumerable taboos. Civilization, though it introduces many new notions of propriety, dispels many more ; and of those that remain an increasing part are viewed with little seriousness. We conform, say, because non- conformity attracts attention, and that is disagreeable; or because of mere inertia, since it is a saving of energy to do as others do without tormenting our brains to think of novelties. But to the savage, and, to a surprising degree, even to the comparatively advanced barbarian, every innovation is bad, and, if not positively immoral, is perilously near it. GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 73 It is inevitable, then, that the reflection should occur, that right and wrong, just and unjust, honorable and dis- honorable, are only other names for customary and contrary to custom; the custom itself being explained as due to a more or less arbitrary convention. What tends especially to the formation of this conception is the knowledge of other men with other customs and likewise other moral standards. As commerce increases, and diplomatic intercourse likewise extends, the most diverse traditions are brought into sudden and striking contrast. The first result is a mutual contempt ; the next a species of external toleration as when a people are willing to admit that polygamy may be all very well for their neighbors, but would condemn to death or exile the man who attempted it among themselves. It is at this stage of affairs that the custom-conception is most apt to become prominent; and it may help to bring on a fur- ther stage, the breakdown of morality. For the convention might have been otherwise. One custom, when you are used to it, is, it is felt, as good as another. The distinction be- tween right and wrong is thus illusory; it has no real basis in permanent facts ; and the man of sense will disregard it as often as his convenience requires. 2. Personal Authority Distinction between Personal Authority and Law. Among uncivilized men there is no one who is looked upon as authorized to change a custom or modify a moral require- ment. There is no legislative power. The mightiest chief holds his authority subject to time-honored traditions. When, in exceptional instances, social reforms are carried through, the leaders usually claim that they are simply restoring an ancient custom which has fallen into disuse, or that they are acting as the mouthpiece of an interested deity. There are, however, persons who have the right to direct 74 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS their fellows in matters which custom has left undetermined. They have, we repeat, no legislative power; but they can issue commands and injunctions which it is the duty of the others to obey. Why are these not laws? In the first place, because, as a rule, they are not general in their appli- cation, as laws are, but are addressed to particular men on a particular occasion. And, in the second place, because, even when they reach beyond the particular occasion, they express merely the ruler's will ; and when he is dead or de- prived of power they lapse at once. Analogous to the commands of the chieftain are the com- mands of the parent, the husband, the master. It is the recognized duty of the child, the wife, the slave, to obey not because the things commanded were in themselves obligatory, or because the things forbidden were in themselves wrong, but simply because he who is in authority has so ordered. The child, for example, who has been forbidden by his mother to eat a certain kind of fruit, begs for permis- sion to do so ; and if the permission is granted, he eats the fruit without a twinge of conscience. Relation to Custom. There is no clear line of distinction between this morality of obedience to authority, and the morality (above treated) of compliance with custom. The persons who are obeyed are those to whom customary morality gives the right to command. Sometimes on the surface this does not appear to be the case. The chief, let us say, has won his place by killing his predecessor. The husband has tamed his wife with a club. And the slaves and children know what to expect if they are caught in any disobedience. But it will generally be found that the force of custom is the real determining factor in the matter. Men may submit to a usurping chief out of mere fear, without feeling that he has any rightful claim upon them, and while eagerly await- ing the opportunity of casting off his yoke. And the like may be true of the other relations which we have mentioned. GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 75 But such a state of affairs does not constitute the recognition of authority, of a right to rule and a duty to obey. And this, we say, is what force alone does not produce. Again, there is such a thing as personal ascendancy, by which one man, without the use or display of force, imposes his will upon those about him. But this is far from constituting authority. It frequently happens that those who obey most slavishly are in a state of constant resentment against the personal influence which they cannot throw off. They are as far as possible from recognizing obedience as a duty. And even where there is no resentment, the sense of duty may be entirely absent. The personal ascendancy of the wife, for example, may keep her husband in complete subjection, without either of them having the least notion that it is his duty to obey her. The force of custom, we repeat, is a necessary factor in the constitution of authority. Where, for example, the chief has won his place by force, it will be found, perhaps, that the traditional sentiment of the people is that the strong- est men should rule. By this we do not mean simply that as a matter of fact the strongest man generally does rule, but that custom requires that he shall rule and makes it wrong to resist him. Where the custom is different where, for example, the oldest men are the rightful rulers the strong man who laid hands upon his honored chief would be an object of universal detestation, and his rule would in all probability be short. Or, again, the usurper may es- tablish himself in power by seizing the traditional symbols of authority, the chief's club or ring or robe or scepter ; or he may be initiated into his office by the rites and ceremonies which tradition requires. Again, when the husband beats his young wife into sub- mission, why does she not kill him as he sleeps and make her escape to her own people? Because she and they alike believe that he has the right to beat her. She expects to be 76 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS beaten; and having been beaten, she loves him none the less for it. And he too feels that he has a right to command and to require obedience. The use of force is simply a means by which the tradition is maintained. Much the same may be said of the part which personal ascendancy plays. It is almost indispensable to the success- ful ruler. And, on the other hand, the possession of tradi- tional authority is in itself an important source of personal ascendancy. The office gives weight to the man. He feels his own dignity; and the added self-importance makes itself felt in his bearing, and that tends to induce a suitable attitude in others. In any case, as we have said, personal ascendancy does not amount to authority. But it is one of the most potent means by which such authority as tradi- tion sanctions is acquired and maintained. Divine Authority. An especially interesting and signifi- cant example of authority is that of a god. It illustrates in striking fashion the principles which we have just con- sidered. The primitive gods have no legislative function. They do not alter customary standards even where they are regarded as the protectors of those standards. A god, for example, is angered by inhospitality, and vents his anger upon the offender and his household. But no one imagines that he might have bidden men be inhospitable, and then have been angered by hospitality. However, the gods do issue commands, and it is (generally speaking) the duty of men to obey. 1 Why? The answer is analogous to the answer in the case of human authority. They are wiser than we, and stronger, and the wise and strong ought to 1 The boundary-line between mere authority and legislative power is, of course, much more tenuous in the case of a god than in that of a human chief or assembly. For he is immortal and exceedingly wise and powerful ; so that there is no set term to his commands, such as death or infirmity sets to those of human chiefs. It is because of this fact that early law-makers so often claim to be speaking for a deity. The divine authority serves as a bridge between human authority and legislation. GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 77 rule. We are their property, and the masters ought to rule. We are their creatures, and the makers (like parents) ought to rule. Or, again, we are their creatures ; and, as a man, per- sonifying the work of his hands, expects it to serve his pur- poses, so the gods have a right to expect us to serve their purposes. Aside from the analogy of human authority, a man owes a god no obedience; though he may, indeed, stand in awe of him and obey his behests for that reason, just as he might be cowed into obedience to a man whose authority he did not acknowledge. 3. The Authority of Law Logically, then, the duty of obedience to personal authority is simply a particular case of the duty of conformity to a customary standard. 1 And yet it was necessary to give a distinct account of it, for the reason that the par- ticular case sometimes develops so as to cover the whole field. The Legislature. As we have said, authority is at first limited, as well as supported, by custom. There is no authority to change a customary standard. With the rise of states this limitation begins to disappear, or at least to recede. For a state possesses a legislature; 2 and though this legislature, too, in the last resort, owes its authority to custom, yet it comes to have in a larger and larger measure the power to change customs even those customs to which 1 The question may be asked, whether, in the case of obedience to parents, the authority may not be due to instinct rather than to custom. The answer very decisively is that there is no instinct of obedience. Little children have to learn to obey. It is true that they have a very high degree of suggestibility; and this is of good service in teaching them obedience. But unfortunately their suggestibility is often largely negative. Telling a child, or even hinting to a child, to do one thing is very apt to make it wish to do just the opposite. J It should be observed that, as the term is here used, the legislature may consist of one man, or of a limited assembly, or of the whole body of citizens. The legislature is that man or body of men which can make laws. 78 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS in earlier times the strongest moral sentiments have attached. Thus laws are passed affecting the marriage-relation and the avenging of family wrongs. 1 To be sure, there are always limits to this power, in customary standards which are too strongly intrenched for any legislature to dare attack. But, especially where the legislature consists of the whole body of citizens, this limitation is for the most part unfelt, for the simple reason that no large part of the assembly is likely to wish to legislate against their deepest moral convictions. To act wrongly under great temptation is human, and states as well as individuals do so. But deliberately to authorize what is universally felt to be wrong-doing, or deliberately to forbid what the common moral sentiment requires, is another and far more serious thing; and legislatures seldom desire to do it. Thus, we repeat, the limit to the legislative power is unfelt; and more and more in the mind of the people the distinction between right and wrong comes to be merged with the distinction between what the law of the land permits and what it forbids. Natural and Divine Law. But the two distinctions never entirely coalesce. In the first place, there are moral standards of which the state takes no account often by reason of their pettiness. And, besides, there are moral standards by which the legislator, in the very act of changing the law of the land, feels himself bound. Men in general are ' just ' or ' unjust ' according as they obey or disobey the laws. But the laws themselves are appraised as ' just ' or ' unjust ' laws evidently with reference to some higher standard. Again, the laws of the land, much as they may 1 The state of New York permits the marriage of uncle and niece, or aunt and nephew. Not many such marriages are performed custom is too strongly against it. But where they are performed, public indignation against the act is very slight. The provision of the law is accepted as a moral justification. GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 79 change, preserve a certain likeness. Never, for example, is murder, theft, or adultery freely permitted. And, simi- larly, as the laws of different states are compared and their specific differences are noted, their larger similarities also come into view ; and in a more or less vague way it is recog- nized that some things are unlawful the whole world over, while others are lawful in one place and unlawful in another. In these ways arises the notion of a natural law, universal and changeless; and because there can be no law without a legislator, and the natural laws have the support of the most ancient religious sanctions, they are inevitably regarded as divine laws. The divine law easily embraces the whole of morality if one leaves out of account the general duty to obey the divine law itself, which must, of course, rest upon some other basis. But this exception is easily overlooked; and it is not at all uncommon for men to regard all morality as consisting in obedience to the arbitrary will of the gods. (By ' arbitrary ' I mean that it is supposed, not that the gods forbid murder because it is wrong, but that murder is wrong simply and solely because they forbid it.) Mere custom is not thought of as establishing a moral standard. Where the custom has not been divinely ordained, it is at best indifferent, and is only too apt to be a serious corruption of the right and proper manner of life. The Moral Law Hypostatized. In conclusion, we must note that sometimes the notion of a legislator falls into abeyance, and the moral law is looked upon as having, so to speak, an existence in itself. It is hypostatized an eternal law without a law-giver. God himself is subject to it, although, since he is absolutely good, it is no con- straint upon him. To say that God is just would have no meaning, if conformity to the eternal law were not his duty as it is ours. 80 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 16. THE STANDARDS OF BENEVOLENCE 1. Ideality of Benevolence and Virtue Benevolence and Virtue set no Definite Exactions. The moral values which we have yet to consider differ from the foregoing in one most striking respect. Their standards are ideal. An imperative of duty must be fairly clear and explicit as doubt increases, duty fades away and it must not be impossible of complete fulfillment. But the standards of benevolence, and still more the standards of virtue, or self -development (which we are to take up last), are not capable of exact statement. Their spirit may be set forth in words, and has in fact found its expression in prov- erbs that are among the most precious heritages of the race; such, for example, as the old priestly maxim, which Jesus regarded as almost the finest in the Mosaic writings : " Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." But you must not ask for definitions of terms. If you do, the only answer is a story. That is because the morality of benevolence (for example) does not exact any definite course of conduct. It does not exact anything. Whatever is felt as an exaction is duty. But, on the other hand, it sets no bounds to the gift of love except an absolute self-surrender. So also the morality of virtue exacts nothing ; but it sets no bounds to human aspiration except the perfection of the all-wise and all-powerful God. Accordingly, the question of pos- sibility does not arise. Moral valuation is here the measur- ing of the actual by the ideal. Measurement by an Ideal need not be Condemnation. It must not be supposed that the valuation is necessarily negative, as if in the light of the ideal all things were to be condemned. That is a position which is sometimes taken by men of a juristic frame of mind, who have become con- scious of the infinitude of the standards of love and perfection. Such men interpret these as infinite duties; and since they GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 81 find no one who fulfills such duties, they pronounce all men (themselves, of course, included) to be utterly and altogether vile. But this is to mistake the nature of the ideal ; just as it would be mistaking the nature of ideal beauty to declare that every flower that blows is utterly and altogether ugly. Ideals are realized in things ; realized, to be sure, in varying degrees, but not less truly realized for that. Just as there is beauty in the common flower, so there is kindness in the common man. So far from implying universal condemna- tion, the judgment by an ideal standard tends rather to lead to an enlargement of sympathetic appreciation. The best judge is he who sees what good there is in everything. Not that disapproval is done away with. But the more it is reflective, the more it is qualified, just as approval is qualified. Doing More than One's Duty. The ideal standards of benevolence and virtue stand in a peculiar relation to certain of the standards of duty ; and it is this that has given rise to the old dispute, whether a man can do more than his duty. There are certain degrees of kindness and loyalty, courage and good sense, which we expect from men; and there are common manifestations of these qualities that we regard as a normal and reasonable requirement. They are distinctly duties. This is the case, for example, in the relations of father and child. It is the recognized duty of the father to provide for the support of the child ; and the latter has his reciprocal duties. So long as the conduct remains at this level the ideal standards of benevolence are not applied ; or, if they are applied, the judgment is one of indifference, or of very mild approval. To earn money with which to buy bread and shoes for one's children is ' simply doing one's duty.' But beyond the limits of all such duty there is an unmeasured scope for loving care that cannot be reduced to duty, and does not need to be. It is not felt as duty by the man himself. It is not looked upon as duty by others. The morality is of another, freer type. On the 82 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS other hand, the neglect of parental duties is a form of cruelty. Thus arises the peculiar relation to which reference has been made. The performance of duty (as thus conceived) coin- cides with the indifference-point between kindness and cruelty. The like might be said of the relation of duty to courage and cowardice, or to wisdom and folly. To do merely one's duty to do merely what any set of external standards require is to fail to interest the idealizing conscience at all. In answer, then, to the old query, whether a man can do more than his duty, we may say : No, so long as it is a ques- tion of duty. A man can do more than his duty, only when the question behind his conduct is such as this : What is best for my child, my friend, my country? or, How shall I be true to my manhood ? 2. Benevolence in General Grades of Benevolence. Happiness, or unhappiness, the value of a condition of life considered as a whole, contains many factors of varying complexity. To try to make a man happy may be to devote oneself to his amusement, to assist him in his business, to improve his taste, to convert him to the true religion, or any one of a thousand things. What- ever goods there are in human life, it is morally right and good to help our fellow-men acquire them. The morality, therefore, is of many grades, according to the kind of good which is in question. We need not attempt a classification here. Perhaps a satisfactory classification would be beyond our powers. Lowest of all, no doubt, is the imparting of an idle pleasure. Highest of all we would surely rank the en- deavor to make men morally better. Flexibility of the Standards of Benevolence. Whereas the standards of duty are hard and fast prescriptions, chang- ing, to be sure, but always resisting change, the standards of benevolence are adaptability itself. Duty looks above and beyond the particular case; benevolence is immersed GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 83 in it. It is for this reason that they supplement each other so admirably. But they sometimes conflict. The shoe- maker-saint, who stole leather that he might make shoes for the poor, is a familiar illustration ; and our experience is filled with similar temptations. " To do a great right do a little wrong," is the constant plea. Many excellent men have held that on such an occasion duty ought always to have the preference. Formally they are right, of course; for it is mere tautology to say that a man ' ought always to do his duty/ But when it comes to actual practice the common sense of humanity is against them. Summum jus, summa injuria. The particular circumstances cannot be utterly ignored. Why this is true, and how far it is true, we shall try to determine hereafter. The Direction of Benevolence set by Duty. One im- portant relation between duty and benevolence is this : that, for the most part, duty fixes the general limits within which benevolence is exerted. A man seldom or never stands in a perfectly uniform relation to all those by whom he is sur- rounded. There are some whose happiness is of especial concern to him ; and this is wholly proper. If he treats his own son and his neighbor's son alike, he is probably not treating either rightly. In other words, there are duties of benevolence. These do not exhaust the life of kindness, but they do give it its general direction. If dutifulness without benevolence is hard, benevolence divorced from a sense of duty is weak and unmanly. It does not even command gratitude from those who receive its benefits, much less the approval of disinterested observers. 3. The Objects of Benevolence (1) Benevolence to Individuals Benevolence is extended primarily to individuals, and in normal characters it never wholly loses this primitive per- sonal touch. It shows itself in acts of kindness in which 84 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS the happiness of particular persons is the only object in view. Biological Significance. Man is a social animal ; and there is a strong tendency in him to sympathetic feelings of joy and sorrow; and with these sympathetic feelings are connected the impulse to relieve distress and impart pleasure. But man's life, even among the lowest savages, is almost everywhere far more social than that for which organic evolution has fitted him as we may infer from the study of his nearest relatives among the apes and the course of civilization has generally tended to bring him into larger and more complex relations with his fellows. This has in- volved a constantly increasing exercise of sympathy. There is no reason to think that in this development man's inborn sympathetic tendency has become stronger, any more than his eyesight or his hearing. How, then, has its operation been so greatly increased ? In the first place, the establish- ment of any sort of lasting relation between man and man helps them to imagine each other's case, and is thus a fa- vorable condition for sympathetic emotion. In the second place, an important factor in the result has been morality. Moral approval and disapproval have reenforced natural sympathy and helped it to subdue opposing influences. Some ethicists would say that this is the chief function of morality ; it is at any rate a very important function. Relation of Benevolence to Love. It has just been said that any sort of lasting relation between men tends to facil- itate sympathy. This is seen in the members of the family, the community, the state, and all manner of voluntary as- sociations. Especially favorable to sympathy is the very complex group of sentiments to which the name ' love,' in one of its uses, is attached. All this is recognized in our moral standards. Love makes sacrifices praiseworthy, which without it would be folly ; and it makes reservations ignoble, which without it would be most proper. Love is GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 85 not morality. It may even be markedly vicious. But love and morality are close coadjutors; and one of the best fruits of morality is the capacity for strong and enduring love. (2) Devotion to an Institution Benevolence Universalized. Though benevolence begins with the individual, it does not stop there. It universalizes itself in two ways : first, as devotion to an institution ; and, secondly, as devotion to a cause. These two forms of benev- olence are not always easily .distinguishable from each other; as when an institution stands for a single definite cause. There is a difference, however. Vassar and Wellesley colleges are both institutions for the higher education of women ; yet one may love the one and despise the other. Often, too, an institution has many aims, and yet keeps its individuality in the prosecution of them all. A family and a community are institutions of this kind ; and so also is that supreme institution, a nation-state. To love one's country includes an interest in a thousand causes. Preference of the Wider Institution. It is generally felt that as institutions increase in magnitude, devotion to them increases in moral value. The community, for ex- ample, is more than the family, and the state is more than the community, and they should be preferred one to another accordingly. Some moralists have exalted this into a uni- versal moral rule; but in that form it will not hold. The narrower institution has its claims upon our goodwill even as against the broader, as our common moral standards recog- nize. The well-known French law, which exempts from military service a widow's only son, may serve to illustrate this point. So also the individual has his claims upon us, as against institutions of every grade. Sometimes devotion to an institution hardens a man's heart against particular individ- uals. A patriot may be led by his patriotism to be a ruth- 86 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS less oppressor of the poor. But though such men may be pardonable we certainly have no great admiration for them. Devotion to Humanity. There is an institution in the making which is wider than the state : humanity. By ' humanity ' we do not mean simply all men, but all men as organized in some fashion into a real whole which can claim our allegiance. In many ways this organization is going forward : through the improvement of the means of com- munication, the extension of travel and commerce and dip- lomatic intercourse, the growth of unions, the universal news-service, the international circulation of the master- pieces of literature, music, and painting. It means much, when, for example, funds can be raised in America for edu- cational institutions in Turkey or India. In some minds, at least, the conception of a common good of the human race is growing up, and is inspiring a benevolence of the noblest order. (3) Devotion to a Cause Very similar remarks may be made with reference to the other form of universalized benevolence : devotion to a cause. There are causes which affect the welfare of great numbers of men : civil liberty, popular education, the equali- zation of wealth or opportunity, prohibition, etc. Such a cause may very largely absorb a man's benevolence. In- stead of feeling for the separate individuals as such, he masses them under general conceptions. When the individuals' own private joys and sorrows do come into the account, it is as significant illustrations of widespread conditions. As compared with the more primitive personal benevo- lence, the devotion to a cause has both its advantages and its disadvantages, and both are sufficiently obvious. It is, so to speak, longer and narrower in its scope. Ordinarily we regard it as the higher, nobler form ; but when, as some- times happens, it results in a hardening of the heart to im- GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 87 mediate influences, we attribute much less merit to it. Nay, in extreme cases, it may even be regarded as a vice. The physician who, in the cause of human health, experiments upon the bodies of his helpless and confiding patients, is looked upon rather as a monster than as a benefactor of the race. If we are to be fair, however, we must remember that in a very similar way an absorbing love for a few persons may make one insensible to the needs of others. " None so selfish as the father of a family." And ordinarily it is well that this is so. If men did not love narrowly and in- tensely, and did not become absorbed in single, definite aims, the world would be much the poorer in consequence. (4) Devotion to a Representative Personal Loyalty. There is a peculiar type of benevo- lence which unites in itself the characteristics of individual and collective benevolence, and which historically has often marked the development of the latter from the former. It is devotion to the representative of an institution or a cause. In the person of the representative, the values of the complex institution or abstract cause are embodied in the most vivid and moving form. For illustration we need think only of the power which loyalty to a king or chief has been in the world. The Love of a God. The place which the love of a god has had in the moral life is similar. A god may be loved as the god of one's fathers, the god of one's country, the god of one's salvation, the god of humanity generally speaking, the institution which seems to be of supreme value in life. He is not loved from personal acquaintance. To be sure, a certain notion of his character is spread abroad among the people much like the legendary character which a mon- arch is given in the popular consciousness and this awakens an enthusiasm of loyalty. But this notion itself obviously arises from the cause or institution for which the god stands. 88 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS The God of Humanity. By Christians the love of God has generally been regarded as the supreme form of benev- olence. Among free-thinking moralists the love of human- ity is generally accorded the highest place. The difference is not without its importance ; but this is less than might be supposed. For the God of Christianity is a God of humanity. He represents all of the highest interests of mankind, as the believers understand them. For them, to love God and to love humanity are inseparable. We have again to observe here what we have observed before : that the higher without the lower is held of little account, or its genuineness is denied. " How shall ye love God whom ye have not seen, if ye love not your brother whom ye have seen?" The higher benevolence is an outgrowth from the lower ; and when the lower dies, the higher cannot maintain its vigor and purity. II. THE STANDARDS OF VIRTUE 1. The Kinds of Virtue We have considered morality as conformity to a given external standard, and as devotion to another's welfare. We have now to consider the immediate value of moral character in itself, or virtue. Further Classification. Virtue is of two kinds. The first kind, comprising justice and love (or charity), simply repeats the standards of duty and benevolence, looked at, how- ever, from a different point of view. The fulfillment of duty, for example, is no longer regarded as the mere satis- faction of a foreign demand. It is a pride and a pleasure. " His delight is in the law of the Lord." And similarly of the fulfillment of specific duties. Honesty, veracity, chas- tity, are viewed as treasures of the soul, of incalculable value to the possessor, and beautiful in the eyes of the beholder. So, too, of the various forms of benevolence. These are not GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 89 a mere robbing of the self to make others rich ; they are riches in themselves. The other kind of virtue (with which we shall here be more particularly concerned) consists of certain qualities of mind which, in some degree, are necessary to all morality quali- ties without which one cannot be consistently honest or chaste or obedient, or kind or loyal. Thus they present, as it were, a cross-division of morality. These qualities are comprised under the general heads of courage, temperance, and wisdom. (1) Courage Definition. By 'courage/ as the term is here used, is not meant fearlessness, whether due to impassivity, ignorance of danger, confidence in one's own strength or skill, or natural buoyancy of spirits. The brave man may be fearless, but he may also be nervous, cautious, self-distrustful, and pessimis- tic. The more fear a man feels, the more need he has for courage. Courage is the strength of determination that cannot be moved from its course by pain or fear. Kinds of Courage. Courage is said to be of various kinds according to the sort of pain or danger which it resists. Some men will face physical injury without hesitation, who cannot bear the thought of disgrace. Some, whom no threats against themselves can move, are made cowards when wife or child is concerned. There are limits, no doubt, to every man's endurance; and the nearer limits are in different directions for different men. But of far greater importance for ethics is the difference in the quality of courage due to difference in the motives by which the resistance to pain or danger is inspired. Lowest in the scale are the instincts of self-preservation. A cornered rat will fight ; and a human coward in a corner may look very much like a hero. A man may also be brave for gain or glory ; the latter motive being considered much the nobler. But the moral courage, which alone is essentially good, is 90 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS inspired by the sense of duty, or by benevolence, or by an ideal of character. In What Sense Courage is a Virtue. The difficulty has often been raised, that courage cannot be a virtue, because it can be displayed by the worst of men in the most vicious pursuits. But the objection is unsound. For courage is a virtue, not in the sense that whoever has it is morally good, or that whatever is done with it is morally right, but in the sense that it is a necessary quality of the good man, and that on countless occasions a man cannot, unless he is brave, do what is just or kind. Not every villain is a coward, not by any means, but every coward is a villain. Without moral courage, no high degree of justice or benevolence is possible. Is Moral Courage Sufficient ? The question may be asked, whether a man who possessed moral courage and was a coward in all other respects could be called a brave and good man. At first sight the question appears to be a fair one ; but as a matter of fact it is of a kind to which a direct answer cannot be given. It is much as if one should ask whether, if a man's moral nature were separated bodily from the rest of his character and given to another man, it would still retain its old significance and value. We could only answer yes and no at once. For this condition is an inconceivable one. Character is not divided into distinct sections ; and in particular the moral character (as we shall hereafter see) is most intimately connected with all the other sides of man's complex nature. A man is not born morally good ; he becomes so only through a process of educational development. And it is not to be thought that up to a certain point in that development he shows no power of self- control in the presence of danger, and then instantly exhibits such power in a high degree. No, a man who is distinguished by courage of the moral type is bound to be a brave man generally not in all things, for we all have our weaknesses, GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 91 but for the most part. This is why, although only moral courage is essentially good, no one in his ideal of virtue fails to include non-moral courage also. The Primitive Conception of Courage. In fact, among peoples of a low degree of culture, no distinction between moral courage and the lower grades of courage is formed. Courage with them means, of course, preeminently courage in war, where a man exposes his life for the safety or glory of his clan ; and no effort is made to distinguish whether this is due, say, to self-confidence in superior strength or skill, to an overmastering desire for glory, or to patriotic devotion. And so what appears to be the same quality, when exhibited in a private quarrel or even in an act of treason, is still virtue and is admired as such. Furthermore, even the physical qualities of bulk and strength are not definitely set off from the mental quality of courage, as if the latter were a moral excellence and the former not. The physical and moral qualities are ranked together. Strength and courage make a valuable man, just as (we may add) beauty and industry make a valuable woman. The case is thus much the same as we found with respect to certain customary standards of duty. The moral sentiment is not clearly differentiated from feelings and sentiments of a lower order. (2) Temperance Definition. As courage is strength of determination in the face of threatening pains, so temperance is strength of determination in the face of inviting pleasures. It does not mean insensibility to pleasure or self-denial for the denial's sake. It means that a man cannot be swayed by the near- ness and accessibility of a lesser good to give up a greater good for it. Relation to Courage. Temperance is the same quality of mind as courage, seen from a different point of view. This seems hard to realize, when we see a man who has shown him- 92 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS self brave yielding to temptation. But in just the same way a man who has shown himself brave before one danger may flee from another; and so also a man who has conquered one temptation may surrender to another. Courage is no more different from temperance than courage is from courage, or temperance from temperance. Each means the control of temporary and superficial, but, for the time being, intense feelings, by the relatively permanent and deeper lying forces of character. Corollaries. It follows that all that we have said above with regard to courage may be directly applied to temper- ance. Men are temperate, as they are brave, from a variety of motives, among which is ambition for wealth or power or glory. But the noblest temperance is that which has its springs in respect for the standards of justice, in devotion to others' welfare, or in a sense of the beauty of the temperate character itself. Temperance of the lower kinds may be displayed by evil men in the prosecution of evil enterprises. It is accordingly not sufficient to constitute moral goodness. But without temperance, and, in particular, without some degree of ' moral temperance ' (if we may so call it), a good character is unthinkable. Persistence of Primitive Conceptions. Temperance is like courage also in the fact that peoples of a low degree of moral culture do not distinguish it sharply from mere insensibility, on the one hand, or from physical endurance, on the other. And it may be added here, that the same often remains obstinately true of men of a higher culture. Plato, in the Banquet, depicts his ideal philosopher drinking all night, till his companions are under the table, and the reader is ex- pected to admire the hero for his prowess. The excuse is, first, that wine is no temptation to him, and, secondly, that it does not visibly affect him. I am afraid that even to-day we are more than half inclined to admire the performance. The same tendency is shown in the confusion of chastity GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 93 with physical virginity. A ' virtue ' preserved only by bolts and bars or by constant espionage may be preferred to a real chastity that has been a prey to guile or even to physical force. The author of Tom Jones assumes that by committing a rape upon a young woman a man can force her either to marry him or to give up all hopes of happiness. In the Vicar of Wakefield, the heroine, who is supposed to have been betrayed by a mock-marriage, is regarded as utterly ruined until the marriage turns out to have been a real one. (3) Wisdom Courage and temperance together constitute what is called ' strength of character/ But character does not need strength alone; it needs judgment. The intellectual side of morality is wisdom. A good man cannot be a weakling ; so also he cannot be a fool. Definition. ' Wisdom/ in the widest sense of the term (as it is now used), 1 means knowledge of the relative values of things. Of course, in order to know values one must know many other particular facts and general truths ; but this is subsidiary. The main thing is to know how to choose ; and if one has an immense amount of other knowledge and is deficient in this, he is not wise. Kinds of Wisdom. There are as many different orders of wisdom as there are orders of values among which to choose, or, again, as there are diverging lines of human in- terest and activity. Good judgment in business may or may not go with judgment in art or in the social world. There is common ground, to be sure; but also there is in each department of life something which requires a special experience for its appreciation. The highest type of wisdom is the knowledge of the moral 1 Elsewhere in this volume it is used as the conventional translation of ffO(pia, which in Aristotle denotes knowledge of pure science. In that con- nection the word 'prudence' is used just as we here use 'wisdom.' 94 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS values themselves, as measured by the various kinds of stand- ards which we have been discussing. We shall hereafter try to make clear though, in a way, it is obvious enough to common sense that moral values stand in a very close relation to values of the lower kinds. It may not be quite accurate to say (with Leslie Stephen) that to show that drunkenness is injurious is the same as to show that it is morally wrong; but it is certain that it is the injurious effects of drunkenness that have caused men to pronounce it morally wrong. The higher values of life are not to be resolved into the lower; but men's experience of the lower values has given at least a general direction to the evolution of the higher values. And so moral wisdom, the knowledge of the supreme values, cannot exist by itself. A man cannot be a general imbecile and a moral sage. Relation of Wisdom to Courage and Temperance. We have seen above that courage and temperance are the same quality of character seen in different relations. With some reservations the same remark may be applied to wisdom also. This is hard for us to understand, because so often we see men display great heroism and self-restraint in the support of a sadly misguided cause, the uprising of the Scotch Highlanders in favor of the Young Pretender, for example or, again, weakly deserting a cause of which they rightly approve. But in cases of the one sort we perceive, on re- flection, that the folly displayed is, in reality, a high degree of wisdom that has failed because of its application to new and untried conditions. The whole social existence of the Highlander was based upon his fidelity to his hereditary chief. This was his best wisdom, approved by the experi- ence of his clan for centuries. The support which he gave to his ' rightful sovereign ' was simply an extension of the wisdom of the clan. Now of course this does not warrant us in saying that a mistake is not a mistake ; but it should serve to warn us against associating the courage of the High- GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 95 lander with this particular mistake, and forgetting that it had grown up in connection with convictions which within their own limits were eminently wise. And in cases of the other sort, where wisdom seems to be coupled with cowardice and weak indulgence, examination may be counted on to show that the supposed wisdom is in reality of a very shallow nature. Men do not always act according to their convic- tions. Any man, no doubt, may be unmanned under suffi- cient stress of danger or temptation. But deeply settled convictions are not lightly discarded. It requires powerful motives to suppress them. So that when we see a man easily led to act against his better judgment, we may rest assured that the judgment itself was little more than a form of words, with little genuine appreciation behind it. The close mutual relation between strength and wisdom is to some extent recognized in common speech. Courage (or what would otherwise be courage) without wisdom is not courage but rashness; temperance without wisdom is not temperance but miserliness. And, on the other hand, a general knowledge of values, without the ' courage of one's convictions/ would by no one be called wisdom. Why, then, is the distinction between strength and wisdom preserved? If the two are inseparable, if neither is itself without the other, why are they not simply identified? There would be some advantage in identifying them, and some moralists have done so ; but the greater advantage is on the other side. It is often by no means a useless proce- dure to separate in our minds various aspects of one thing or event which in reality belong together, especially if they vary in degree or extent independently of one another, or seem to do so to common observation. This last is the case with wisdom and strength. They are related together as the full- ness and accuracy of knowledge to the efficacy of its control of conduct. And though in a general way we may say that probably no change in the one can occur without some cor- 96 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS responding change in the other, nevertheless in our actual observation of men we estimate the two qualities in great part separately. This is largely because we judge a man's wisdom not only from his deeds but from his expressed opinions ; whereas we are much less inclined to judge courage and temperance from words alone, except under circum- stances where the words amount to deeds. The Cardinal Virtues. Courage, temperance, and wis- dom, together with justice, are the four so-called cardinal virtues. The virtue of benevolence, or charity, is not in- cluded, because the Greek moralists, to whom the list is due, treated benevolence either as a form of justice or else as included in friendship. And friendship obviously is not a virtue of a single man, though the forming and maintaining of friendships is one of the most notable ways in which his virtue can manifest itself a truth which the Greeks were fond of pointing out. 2. Virtue without Effort When we compare the morality of virtue with that of duty and benevolence, one very important difference soon ap- pears. From the point of view of duty or of benevolence we attach little importance to conduct which, though right and good, calls for little effort on the agent's part. If I pay my rent promptly when next it falls due, no one will praise the deed. If I tell my children a story to-night at bedtime, neither they nor any one else will pay any attention to the moral quality of the act. It is only when I persist in my duty under strong temptation to the contrary, it is only when the benefit which I confer costs me dearly, that any approval is aroused. There must be the keen sense of obligation or of personal loss. But from the point of view of virtue, common acts, performed without effort, are exceedingly important. To be such a man as always to meet my petty obligations promptly, is to be a very worthy sort of man. To be the GENERAL SURVEY OF MORAL STANDARDS 97 sort of father that is ready to put down his book to tell the children their bedtime story is to be a very good sort of father. The separate acts are little or nothing; but the trait of character, which underlies and includes them all, is much. Not only is this true, but, furthermore, from the point of view of virtue the conduct which only a keen sense of obliga- tion can force through, the benevolence which costs a pang, does not appear to be especially admirable. As Aristotle puts it, he only is virtuous who takes pleasure in acting virtuously. The reason for this difference is simple. From the point of view of duty, the essential thing is that the ob- ligation has been performed, and the act appears admirable hi comparison with the breach of duty that under such cir- cumstances would not have been surprising. From the point of view of benevolence, the essential thing is that the impulses of selfishness were as a matter of fact overcome; and the act appears admirable in contrast to the easy-going acquiescence in another's ill, into which many men, under the circumstances, would have slipped. But from the point of view of virtue we note the weakness and hesitancy dis- played, and contrast them with the strength and decision that would not for a moment have left the issue in doubt. 3. The Imitation of the Ideal The Hero. The values of virtue are very commonly represented in our consciousness in the concrete form of the ideal personality, or hero; and in that case our moral- ity becomes in a peculiar sense an imitation not an indis- criminate imitation of the traits of character of the men and women about us, but a selective imitation of what is regarded as best. Primarily the heroes are real individuals, perhaps parents or friends " Can't any boy be as good as Ma " perhaps famous men of the present or of the past. The imitation of one's ancestors long exerted a powerful in- 98 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS fluence upon men, because of the way in which it allied itself with devotion to the family as a permanent institution. The heroes may also be imaginary ; but if they are known to be such, their influence is, in general, greatly diminished. The Divine Model. Most notable of all objects of moral imitation is the superhuman or divine hero; Hercules, Buddha, or the incarnate God of Christianity. The imita- tion of Christ has been the supreme formative and guiding influence in the lives of many of the noblest of men. Influence of Religion upon Morality. This is the third principal mode that we have found, in which religion has set its impress upon morality. The gods are guardians of justice ; or chiefs ; or legislators. They are friends of men ; or (changing to the singular) the loving Savior of us all, whom we love in turn with an unquenchable love. Or they are the archetypes of every human perfection, toward which our aspirations are set. Needless to say, in actual life all these conceptions unite together, reenforcing one another in varying degrees, according to the character of the moral agent. REFERENCES WUNDT, W., Ethics, Book III, Ch. IV. MEZES, S., Ethics, Descriptive and Explanatory, Chs. IX-XIV. DEWEY and TUFTS, Ethics, Part I, Chs. III-V, IX, XIX. MACKENZIE, J. S., Manual of Ethics, Book III, Chs. III-V. SORLEY, W. R., The Moral Life. ALEXANDER, S., Moral Order and Progress, Book II, Ch. VI. TAYLOR, A. E., The Problem of Conduct, Ch. IV. HOBHOUSE, L. T., Morals in Evolution, Part II, Chs. I, II. READ, C., Natural and Social Morals, Book II, Ch. VI. PART II THE CLASSICAL SCHOOLS 99 INTRODUCTORY NOTE Object of Part II. Ethics is a science that has grown up through centuries of controversy ; and, what is more, all the old controversies are still alive, or may at any moment be reborn. What the science is to-day cannot, therefore, be satisfactorily understood without some knowledge of the age-long disputations. In the following chapters we shall attempt, not a history of ethics for that would exceed our space but a critical account of some of the more important and typical ethical theories. In general we shall follow the historical order, but not strictly. The ethicist is often at least as closely connected with the kindred thinkers of a previous century as with the rival thinkers of his own. In this account we shall limit ourselves for the most part to the ethical thought of Greece in the fifth and fourth cen- turies B.C. and to that of England in the seventeenth, eight- eenth, and nineteenth centuries A.D. In Germany, in the half -century that centers at the year 1800, ethical specu- lation of the greatest importance was carried on; but it will suit our convenience to give it only a secondary place. Preliminary Classification. It will be helpful to have before us, for purposes of reference, a classification of prob- lems and theories, which will serve to map out this part of our study. As the student will recall, the theories of ethics have had as their starting-point the consideration either of happiness or of the moral values. During ancient times the theory of happiness was generally the point of departure. In modern times it has generally been the theory of moral values. 101 102 INT.HODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS Ancient Ethics : Its First Problems. Curiously enough, however, in the beginnings of the science it was the moral values that first attracted attention. In the latter half of the fifth century B.C. we find the following questions dis- cussed : (1) How far are the moral distinctions natural , and how far merely conventional ? (2) 7s morality always profit- able? (3) Is morality a matter of feeling and habit, or of in- tellectual discernment ? The Three Great Schools. At the beginning of the fourth century these questions are all still prominent. But behind them looms up the other question : What is goodness in general, and what is human happiness? And this soon becomes the primary issue between ethical thinkers. It divides them into three well-marked schools, holding the following distinctive theories : I. Hedonism, according to which happiness consists in pleasure, and unhappiness in pain, and things in general are good or bad according as they tend to produce pleasure or pain. II. Rigorism, according to which happiness is identical with virtue, and unhappiness with vice, and nothing else is good or evil. III. Energism (or the self-realisation theory), according to which happiness consists in the normal exercise of man's faculties, and especially of his highest faculty (supposed to be pure reason) ; and things in general are good or evil accord- ing as they produce favorable or unfavorable conditions for such exercise. 1 In these formulae, and quite generally in ethical literature, the term ' happiness ' is the conventional translation of the Greek evSa/xovwx, which was used by thinkers of all schools to 1 In his classification of ethical theories, Aristotle also mentions, as re- quiring critical notice, Plato's theory, that the goodness of anything is due to the active presence in it of the eternal idea of the good. As he suggests, the theory is really of far more importance for metaphysics than for ethics ; but we can hardly avoid giving some account of it. INTRODUCTORY NOTE 103 denote the highest human good, however great their disagree- ment as to the nature of this good. A less misleading trans- lation would be ' well-being ' ; and this might be defined as ' a condition of mind that is intrinsically desirable/ It is well, however, to follow convention in such matters. It is necessary to make this explanation because sometimes the term ' happiness ' is used as an equivalent for ' pleasure and the absence of pain/ Of course, in hedonistic literature the two meanings coincide. The three views thus defined persisted side by side, with various compromises and harmonizations, throughout the whole history of the ancient science of ethics. Energism had decidedly the least influence in ancient times, but it has had an immense influence upon modern thought, especially in the nineteenth century. The Beginnings of Modern Ethics. Modern ethics arose in the seventeenth century in the endeavor to answer the question : (1) What is the significance of the moral law, and how can its authority be demonstrated? Involved in this was the further question : (2) What is the nature of man, and for what manner of life is he naturally fit ? The Classical English Schools. But in the eighteenth century (which is the classical period in English ethics) the first place was taken by the psychological question : How do we perceive the distinctions between right and wrong, good and bad? The principal writers were divided into three schools, according as they professed : I. Intuitionalism, or the view that the moral quality of conduct is its agreement or disagreement with an intuitively perceived body of law. II. Sentimentalism, according to which the moral quality of conduct or character is its capacity for stimulating a certain class of sensations or feelings. III. Utilitarianism (or the derivative theory), according to 104 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS which the moral quality of conduct is its tendency to increase or decrease the general sum of pleasure ; and the apprecia- tion of this quality is not an innate faculty, but is developed in each man's experience from an original desire for pleasure. The Hedonistic Controversy. The nineteenth century is marked by a revival of the ancient controversy between hedon- ism and energism } with regard to the nature of happiness. (In the eighteenth century the principal adherents of all schools had been more or less definitely hedonists, with only an occasional imperfect expression of the energistic view.) The hedonistic side was championed by descendants of the old utilitarians. The cause of energism was supported by men who were strongly influenced by the German idealistic philosophy that had its rise in the speculations of Immanuel Kant. REFERENCES ON THE HISTORY OF ETHICS SIDGWICK, H., History of Ethics. MARTINEAU, J., Types of Ethical Theory. WUNDT, W., Ethics, Part II. PAULSEN, F., System of Ethics, Book I. HYSLOP, J. H., Elements of Ethics, Ch. II. ROGERS, R. A., Brief History of Ethics. HOBHOUSE, L. T., Morals in Evolution, Part II, Chs. VI, VII. WATSON, J., Hedonistic Thinkers from Aristippus to Spencer. CHAPTER VI THE BEGINNINGS OF ETHICS I. THE SOPHISTS Their Occupation. The beginnings of ethics were a con- sequence of the rise of democracy among the states of Greece, which took place during the fifth century before Christ. Hitherto, under an aristocratic regime, inherited wealth was the chief requisite for political power. Now birth and money lost a part of their influence. The humblest origin need not prevent any citizen of talent from becoming a leader in the state. Above all things else, the art of the orator was in those times essential to the politician. In the public assembly, as well as in the law courts where his ene- mies might at any time bring him, the power to hold and sway an audience was the chief element of success. Conse- quently, the ambitious young men of wealth were ardently desirous of training along this line, as well as in other branches of the art of governing men ; and a number of enterprising teachers soon appeared in response to this demand. These were the sophists. In the absence of organized schools, they traveled from city to city, giving their instruction at the homes of wealthy patrons, and arousing the most intense enthusiasm. In addition to oratory and politics, most of them taught other subjects belonging to a polite education, such as literature, history, geography, and mathematics; all of which, indeed, were felt to have a real value in prepar- ing a young man for civic usefulness. Their Philosophical Interests. The sophists were prac- tical men, training their pupils for practical ends, But 105 106 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS incidentally they were led to do some acute thinking upon the theory that lay behind the practice ; and in so doing they made an epoch in the history of human thought. The earlier philosophical thinking of the Greeks had been almost entirely limited to ' physical ' problems, that is, to the ex- planation of external nature. In a hundred years, a long succession of ingenious theories of the constitution of things had been originated, involving many scientific conceptions which have since proved wonderfully fruitful; but very little had been securely established. The sophists were well acquainted with the old physical theories, and some used them for purposes of display. But their originality lay else- where in reflections upon man and society ; upon lan- guage, science, and religion ; upon the nature and origin of law, civil and moral. Each sophist was independent of the others, and their teachings, though showing some common tendencies, were widely divergent. Prejudice against the Sophists. The sophists were the first Greeks to be professionally engaged in higher education ; and consequently men of conservative tendencies were in- tensely prejudiced against them. They were doing for money what had always been the work of friendship, to be paid for only with respect and affection. The young man who wished for higher culture had simply attached himself to some accomplished friend of the family, and informal companionship had done the rest. 1 The leisure-loving Greeks had a certain contempt for professionalism in any form, even for their great artists and successful athletes. 1 "Gorgias of Leontini, Prodicus of Ceos, and Hippias of Elis . . . each of them, my friends, can go into any city, and persuade the young men to leave the society of their fellow citizens, with any of whom they might as- sociate for nothing, and to be only too glad to be allowed to pay money for the privilege of associating with themselves." (Plato, Apol. Soc., 20 A, Church tr.) These, with Protagoras of Abdera, who died earlier, are the greater sophists. Thrasymachus of Chalcedon, who is also important for ethics, belonged to a younger group. THE BEGINNINGS OF ETHICS 107 Added to this, they did not like to have the faith of the young men upset by an impious prying into the religion and moral- ity of their fathers. Besides, the actual teaching of certain of the sophists had (as we shall see) a decidedly skeptical tendency, which increased as time went on. 1 In this respect they went no farther than the hardened men of the world about them. They gave scientific expression to a widespread spirit of unbelief. But for this very reason they were feared and hated the more. Their Real Character. It is not to be thought that the sophists were men of evil character. Certain of them may have been so ; but the great leaders of the movement cer- tainly were not. They are uniformly represented as hon- orable and worthy men. With the exception of Gorgias, who was more exclusively a rhetorician, they all gave formal instruction in morality. The Choice of Hercules, an allegory of Prodicus, in which the greater value of virtue as compared with self-indulgence is set forth, has been preserved by Xenophon (Mem. Soc. II, 1) in a rough transcript, and is a fine piece of moral eloquence ; and though Prodicus used to recite the piece as a specimen of his rhetorical ability, its tone is far removed from insincerity. The Weakening of Popular Morals. There are two beliefs with regard to moral laws that may be said to con- stitute the common-sense view of the matter : first, that these laws are universal and unchangeable; and secondly, that obedience to them is profitable. Not that common sense is unwavering in either belief; for, indeed, common sense has a habit of being upon both sides of every question. One 1 Thus, as to religion, Protagoras declared : "Whether the gods exist or not, I have no means of knowing. For there are many difficulties in the way the obscurity of the problem and the shortness of human life." Others were still more outspoken. It was perceived that the religions, like the laws, of different peoples are very dissimilar ; and this led to their being regarded as mere superstitions, or as a clever device of politicians for preventing secret crimes. 108 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS finds a widespread assumption, that whatever is not for- bidden by the law of the land is right enough ; and an even more widespread suspicion, that the rascals have an ad- vantage in the struggle for the good things of life, or, at any rate, that it is not well to push one's probity too far. The other views, however, are the dominant ones. Now at this time the widening of the civil and commercial relations of the Greek states with each other and with the outer world was leading to a serious questioning of the old convictions. The moral standards of different communities were too un- like for all to be eternally authoritative ; and men of sense could not forever keep saying that their own ways were right and those of all other men wrong. Even among the Greeks themselves, it was found that there was scarcely any course of conduct, however abhorred in one community, that was not in some other community regarded as eminently right and proper. Thus the Thebans condemned the ex- posure of infants; Athenian fathers practiced it without shame; while in Sparta the government decided which of the newborn infants were to be preserved, and which put out of the way. Nature vs. Convention : Hippias. Among the sophists the question was definitely raised : What is the natural basis, the permanent element (Averts), of morality, as distinguished from what is mere artifice and convention (0ns) ? That there was such a permanent element seems to have been at first unquestioned. Tyrants and free assemblies might make and unmake statutes as they pleased ; but since the very act of legislation might be just or unjust, there must be some- thing higher by which to judge it. This, thought Hippias, could only be discovered by setting aside in thought all that legislative caprice had ordered in one place and another, and looking to the underlying principles of justice which are everywhere tacitly acknowledged, and which are the spon- taneous dictates of human nature. " Law is a tyrant over THE BEGINNINGS OF ETHICS 109 men, and forces them to many things contrary to nature." As to just what the natural standard was supposed by him to contain we know almost nothing. " Like is by nature akin to like/' was one of his maxims an early expression of cosmopolitanism. Governments he evidently believed to have been established by the voluntary agreement of men as a device to secure an impartial arbitration of disputes be- tween individuals, and thus preserve the balance of justice amid the extremes of personal feeling. 1 Protagoras : the Moral Feelings. Protagoras, the great- est of the sophists, maintained that there is, indeed, a uni- versal element in morality, but one which, as he says, is " not of natural or spontaneous growth." That is to say, it con- sists of certain feelings, the capacity for which is not inherited, but is passed on from generation to generation by means of social tradition, or education much as the ability to speak Greek is not inherited, but is transmitted by social influences. These moral feelings are those of shame and justice. Importance of Morality. The importance of these feel- ings, which insures their universal perpetuation, is that without them organized society, and even the race of man- kind, could not be maintained. For, in the first place, gov- ernment is not a mere convenient device. Only in civil society can man, feeble creature that he is, be saved by united action from his natural enemies. And, in the second place, government is not possible by means of any mere wisdom or technical skill ; for these could never restrain human selfish- ness. It must have a foundation in feeling. Hence the necessity for morality. Without shame and justice a man is essentially an outlaw. The Moral Tradition. The social influences by which morality is perpetuated are active from infancy to age. First there is the family with its precepts and punishments ; next the schools of letters, music, and gymnastics, the main 1 Such a theory is satirized by Plato in Protagoras, 337 E-338 B. 110 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS object of which is the formation of character; and finally the state, which by the promulgation and enforcement of its laws continues to guide and control the individual until death. Virtue is a branch in which all men are willing teachers; for each stands to profit by the improvement of every other; and as a result the worst of civilized men is immeasurably better than the savage. The opportunities for improvement being approximately equal, the moral differences between individuals are to be ascribed mainly to differences in the congenital endowment which make them more or less apt pupils. The sophist is simply a little wiser in moral matters than the majority, and much more skilled in the art of instruction. Hence he can promise to his pupils a steady improvement in virtue, and his services are admit- tedly worth all he charges. Conventionality of Moral Standards. What, now, are we to say with respect to the external standards the laws and ordinances, in accordance with which the moral feelings are trained? Whence are they derived? Protagoras, in the extant account, answers only that those of the state are the " inventions of good and ancient law-givers/ ' and he leaves us to infer a similar origin for those inculcated in the family and the schools. Their whole content is thus to an undefined extent conventional. All men must have some laws ; but one people has one code, and another has perhaps a radically different code, to each of which, equally and in- differently, the moral feelings are caused by training to at- tach themselves. What seems right to any people is right so far as that people is concerned. Ethical Skepticism : Thrasymachus. Now this is very plausible as far as it goes. But there is one relevant circum- stance which it passes over ; namely, that not all laws have the sanctity of age, but new ones are made by every popular assembly. What reverence will a citizen feel for laws that he has seen in the making, especially when he realizes the THE BEGINNINGS OF ETHICS 111 pressure of selfish interests that has forced their passage? Brushing aside all sentimentality, Thrasymachus of Chalce- don boldly defined justice as " the interest of the stronger. " In every state the rules of just and unjust are made by the dominant party to suit their own selfish ends. It is the part of prudence for the weaker to obey (or conceal his disobedi- ence) and thus escape punishment. But if a man can be unjust enough if he has the power to overthrow the domi- nant party and substitute his interests for theirs that is of course much to be preferred. Justice is thus a prudent middle ground between the weak, unfortunate injustice that is followed by punishment, and the victorious injustice that goes scot-free. All talk of justice as having a value in itself is nonsense. To be restrained by moral scruples is " charm- ing simplicity," " egregious good-nature " letting oneself be victimized. " Collides." In the Gorgias of Plato, Callicles, a free- thinking man of the world who has enjoyed a sophistic edu- cation, expresses a similar but somewhat subtler view. The rules of morality, he declares, are a conventional device of the great mass of human weaklings to hold in restraint the men of exceptional ability who would otherwise oppress them. According to nature they ought to do this ; for might is the only natural right as every foreign conquest well illus- trates. But it is dinned into them from infancy that they must be content to have no more than their neighbors, that equality is honorable and just for equality is as much as the consciously inferior man dares hope for. Thus the su- perior men are cheated by empty words. But one who had sufficient force of character would break loose from this mys- tification and trample our unnatural laws under foot. In- stead of being a slave he would be a tyrant, and show the world what natural justice is. 112 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS II. SOCRATES His Historical Position. The position of Socrates with reference to this whole movement of thought is peculiar. He was an intense patriot and temperamentally conservative. Although a poor man, he shared to the full the aristocratic prejudice against receiving pay for the imparting of liberal culture, and this in itself marked him out from the ranks of the sophists. But he also felt deeply the dangerous tendencies toward selfish individualism which the sophistic theories were evincing, and he feared their effect upon the civic ideals of the state's most promising young men. At the same time, he saw that to go back to a blind traditionalism would never do. The principle of free inquiry was right. But he be- lieved that a sufficiently careful examination would show that the traditional morality and the institutions of government contained a core of eternal worth; and moreover that this core consisted of no mere blind feelings, but of distinct conceptions, that could be expressed in universally appli- cable definitions. 1 To the finding of this permanent core, and the separation from it of all that was arbitrary and non- essential, he devoted his life. This would make righteous- ness no longer a matter of ingrained prejudice, but of scien- tific knowledge ; and the threatened ruin of the state through the undermining of the morality of its citizens would be effectually prevented. As a constructive critic, Socrates thus 1 The reader who has some acquaintance with the history of philosophy will recognize that this difference between Socrates and Protagoras is symp- tomatic of a much larger difference, which runs through their whole thought. Protagoras believed that knowledge consisted of perceptions, or of images derived from perception. Between knowledge and mere opinion he saw no radical difference : when our opinions do not get us into trouble we call them knowledge. Socrates, on the other hand, considered the distinction between knowledge and opinion an absolute one, and made it the founda- tion of all his thinking. According to him, knowledge, in the proper sense of the term, is not made up of perceptions, which vary from moment to moment and from man to man, but of conceptions, which are constant and alike for all men, and hence are capable of exact definition. (Cf. p. 14.) THE BEGINNINGS OF ETHICS 113 came between two fires. On the one hand he was very gen- erally classed with the sophists as one who was impiously tampering with the moral convictions of the young men; and on the other hand the sophists and their friends looked upon him as a malicious enemy of free thought. 1. Fundamental Assumptions (1) Theory of Desire. There are two mainsprings of Socrates's ethical theory. The first is the assumption (almost as a self-evident truth), that no man ever willingly chooses for himself the worse of two given alternatives; and hence that if a man knows what is best he will be sure to act accordingly. We are all aware of experiences that seem to contradict this. As Aristotle says, Socrates speaks as if incontinence, or weakness of will, did not exist. In a later age Ovid gave us the classical expression of the common view of the matter : " I see the better things and recognize their worth I follow after the worse." But according to Socrates the so-called knowledge that does not control conduct is no knowledge at all, but mere opinion. It lacks the clearness, definiteness, and certainty of real knowledge. And that is why, under the influence of passion, it fluctuates and changes into its opposite. For that is what occurs when one acts, as the phrase is, ' contrary to one's judgment/ At the moment one has simply lost faith in it. To be sure, most of the so-called knowledge upon which men pride themselves is couched in terms which they cannot define. But that simply means that it is all mere opinion. Now on many topics a probable opinion is perhaps all that is needed ; at any rate it seems to be all that we are capable of devising. But in the field of moral conduct we need knowledge, we need an absolute assurance if the Greek states are not to go to ruin. And since in this case we are dealing with facts of our own nature, open to our direct inspection, there is no reason why knowledge should not here be possible. Accordingly, it was natural that Protagoras should make justice and honor matters of feeling, determined by tradition, while Socrates made them a matter of science, to whose final criticism all traditions must submit. 114 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS (2) Theory of Value. The second mainspring is his theory of value; namely, that the good is the useful; or, since it is the good of humanity that alone concerns the serious thinker, that the good is what is useful to man. This surprises us ; for we are apt to think of a kind of goodness, or value, which is more than mere utility ; beauty, for example, not to speak of moral values. But Socrates held of beauty, too, that it is nothing more or less than fitness for some purpose. " ' Then is a dung-basket beautiful ? ' ' Yes, by Jove, and a golden shield is ugly, if the one is beautifully made and the other badly made, each for its own purposes.' " Hence the beautiful thing becomes ugly when applied to a purpose not its own. Goodness and beauty are at bottom the same. The one is usefulness to somebody; the other is adaptation to some use. All things are good and beautiful, or bad and ugly, in precisely the same respects; as, indeed, the common idiom, by which the expression ' beautiful-and- good ' (KoXoKa.ya.66v) was used almost as a single word, made it easy for the Greek to believe. 1 It would probably not be fair to Socrates to say that he denied the existence of an ultimate good, which had its value in itself, apart from any application; though language is ascribed to him which seems to mean this. " If you ask me whether I know anything that is good for nothing, I neither know it nor care to." The truth seems to be that he did not distinctly put such a question to himself. He looked at life from a point of view to which the conception of a good-in- itself did not obviously belong. Life presented itself to him, not as a series of alternate strivings and achievements, but as a chain of activities each of which led on to others, and was not to be considered apart from its consequences. Even death did not end the chain. For, not to speak of the possi- 1 It should be noticed that Ka\6v (beautiful) includes what we should call ' honorable,' and must often be so translated ; just as a.lff\p6v (ugly) includes what is dishonorable, or shameful. THE BEGINNINGS OF ETHICS 115 bility of an after-life (concerning which he would not dogma- tize), there is the lingering good or evil fame to be considered, to which one's conduct in this life gives rise. Public and Private Good. For each man the good is what is useful to himself ; but this must not be understood too narrowly. Here again we must note that a question which in later days has become most important is not dis- tinctly raised. Socrates never, so far as we know, asked himself whether a man's private good might not conflict with the good of the society in which he lived. He simply takes for granted, as the intensely social life of the Greeks made it natural to assume, that public and private good are the same. A man's advantage may extend as far as his inter- ests. The good of each includes the good of all with whom his life is bound up family, friends, fellow-citizens even foreigners, perhaps, though Socrates admits that the nearer of kin make the stronger appeal. 2. Theory of Virtue The Central Thesis. Putting together the two funda- mental doctrines, we speedily arrive at the most famous of Socrates's teachings : that all virtue is knowledge. Speaking generally, no matter how good anything ordinarily is, it may on occasion prove to be an evil. So it is with beauty, health, riches, fame, technical skill. Likewise what is good for one man may be evil for another. But goods are of two sorts, those of the soul and those of the body. And among the goods of the soul there is one that is unconditionally good ; namely, wisdom (/ooow?7). "Wisdom and temperance he did not 116 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS distinguish. But by a man's using what he knew to be hon- orable and good, and avoiding what he knew to be shameful, he judged a man to be both wise and temperate. When he was further asked whether he regarded as wise and continent those who knew what they ought to do but did the opposite, ' No more that/ said he, ' than foolish and incontinent. For I think that all men do whatever (among the given possi- bilities) they prefer as most advantageous to themselves. So I believe that those who do not act rightly are neither wise nor temperate.' ' But the same is true of all the other virtues. " He said that justice and all other virtue was wisdom. For just acts and all things that are done virtu- ously are honorable and good. 1 And those who know them prefer nothing else to them; while those who do not know cannot do them, but, even when they try, miss the mark." Courage. But the most striking illustration of Socrates's theory of virtue is to be found in courage. For this too is wisdom. Mere fearlessness is not courage, for that may be due to ignorance or madness. The brave man in every situa- tion is the man who knows how to face it. Thus the Spar- tans stand firm in the battle line, because they know how to use their shields and spears. Give them the light arms of the Thracians or the bows of the Scythians, and they would be no longer brave. But the worst evils are moral evils. Hence the highest courage that is to say, the greatest wisdom is to be shown in preferring every other evil, even death itself, to these. The Utility of Virtue. It is clear, then, that while Soc- rates conceives of no ultimate good, he does believe in an absolute good unmixed with evil and more precious than any other. But its value is that of a supreme usefulness. " Not from wealth does virtue come ; but from virtue come 1 They are clearly honorable ; and, as we have seen, Socrates believes that the honorable and the good are identical. THE BEGINNINGS OF ETHICS 117 wealth and all other human goods, both public and private." So he was continually crying in the ears of his fellow-citi- zens. " When some one asked him what he thought to be the best pursuit for a man, he answered : ' Happiness.' (evirpa&a ; etymologically, ' doing well.') Asked further if he thought that good fortune could be a pursuit, he said : 1 1 regard fortune and happiness (or unhappiness) as alto- gether different. To chance upon something that one wants, without looking for it, is, I think, good fortune. To perform well what one has learned and thought about, I consider to be happiness, and those who pursue this course seem to me to be happy.' ' According to Socrates the virtuous life is a very pleasant one ; in fact, the most pleasant possible. Even the lower pleasures are advanced in value. Temperance in diet gives every morsel a relish. Temperance in all things takes away the annoyance of petty deprivations, leaves a man free to act for himself and his friends, and by winning general con- fidence puts him in the way of all manner of advantages. If the good man thinks little of bodily gratifications, that is because he has other and sweeter sources of pleasure, which not only give delight for the moment but promise a perma- nent benefit. The feeling of present success is always pleas- ant. But most pleasant of all is it to feel that one is becoming better and is gaining better friends. Self-knowledge. As virtue is the knowledge of good and evil, so the supreme virtue is the knowledge of the good and evil in oneself, that is to say, of the extent of one's own knowledge and ignorance. This is the significance which Socrates found in the famous inscription at Delphi : " Know thyself." This is the motive of that constant self-exami- nation and revelation of others to themselves, in which he was engaged. To have a virtue is to know the class of good and evil things with which it is concerned ; and to know is to have in one's mind a conception, such as can be expressed in 118 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS an exact definition. The object of ethical inquiry is to bring forward these conceptions and separate them out from the mass of opinion with which they are confused. Without this one can have no proper assurance that one is doing right, but may, perhaps, perform the worst iniquities in the belief that they are pure and holy. It is only through the knowl- edge of one's limitations that one can rationally strive to remove them. Moral Education. From this point of view we can understand Socrates's paradoxical theory of moral education. Virtue, he said, could not be taught, and he ridiculed the claims of: the sophists that they were able to teach it. " ' Cal- lias/ said I, ' if your two sons were colts or calves, we could hire an overseer for them, to perfect them in their own proper excellence ; and he would be a groom or a farmer. Now since they are men, whom do you intend to get for an over- seer ? Who understands their sort of excellence that of the man and the citizen ? I suppose you have inquired, since you have sons. Is there anyone/ said I, ' or not/ ' Why, certainly/ said he. ' Who/ said I, ' and from where, and for what fee?' ' Evenos, the Parian, Socrates/ said he, 'for five minae.' And I congratulated Evenos, if he really knows this art and teaches so properly. And I should be proud myself and take on airs, if I knew it ; but I do not, fellow Athenians." True moral education is more than a process of admonition and punishment. No overseer can train a man. Yet Socrates was confident that his followers had been greatly benefited by their association with him. The key to the apparent contradiction lies in his belief that moral advancement involves for each man an active process of self- analysis, which no other can take upon himself, and which no teacher can guarantee. The teacher and the pupil must be companions, engaged in a cooperative search. The teacher too is a learner, ever submitting his own convictions to new tests, and correcting them day by day. And with the THE BEGINNINGS OF ETHICS 119 best of intentions success must ultimately depend upon the blessing of God. Did Socrates allow no place to habituation in the formation of character ? In principle he did not ; but as a matter of fact he did. His whole philosophy was based upon the dis- tinction between knowledge (as the term is applied to exact science) and opinion ; and, as we have seen, he holds that all virtue is knowledge. But when examples of such knowledge are to be cited, he is represented as using the art of the car- penter, the musician, or the physician, or even the practiced skill of the diver or the soldier. He seems to have taken for granted that in the acquiring of knowledge the training of the body has its essential place. And so, in the cultivation of every virtue, study and exercise (fta^o-ts KM fieAen/s) go hand in hand. Perhaps it was by reason of this loose concep- tion of knowledge that Socrates was able to assume the possibility of knowing without knowing that you know the knowledge acquired in practice being afterwards brought to clear attention by a searching induction. The Standards of Justice. There is one important feature of Socrates's ethics which we have not yet considered, though it is involved in the conception of virtue as knowledge. Knowledge is distinguished from opinion by its perfect defi- niteness and certitude. This implies that the objects of knowledge are similarly definite and immovable that they cannot be arbitrary fictions that change with the changes of fashion or of personal whim. When, therefore, Socrates says that justice is knowledge of what is just and unjust, he implies that the distinction between just and unjust is an absolute one. Now justice means conformity to law; and the question arises, how, when laws change as they do, an eternal justice is possible. Socrates's answer is twofold. In the first place, even though laws be temporary, it may be eternally obligatory on us to obey whatever laws are in force. (Even so a state of war is temporary ; yet it is not for that 120 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS reason any the less the citizens' duty to fight for their country manfully while the war lasts.) But if that be true, as he believes, then it must be an eternal law that men should obey the temporary laws. (As Xenophon puts it, it is the pleasure of the gods that just and lawful should be the same.) In the second place, however, this is not the only eternal law. There are others too, which are universally in force, even though they are not always recognized or obeyed ; for when they are disobeyed, the penalty naturally and inevitably follows. Such are the laws, that men should worship the gods, honor their parents, be grateful to their benefactors. But the most important law of all is that men should seek knowledge and especially self-knowledge ; for the penalty is ignorance and folly. It was upon this ground that Socrates, at the trial which resulted in his condemnation and death, refused to purchase any indulgence by promising to discontinue his investigations. " Fellow Athenians, I love you and embrace you, but I will obey the god rather than you." But what, then, becomes of the broken human law? Are its claims to respect -undone ? Not by any means. It is no law of God that we should break even an unjust law for our own temporal profit ; and though adhering to the higher standard, Socrates was ready and willing to lay down his life in obedience to the lower standard. Religious Notions. Of Socrates's religion a few words may be said. The indications are that he accepted in the main the traditional religion of the people, regarding it as a state institution to which the obedient citizen was bound to give his allegiance, and which, moreover, was substantially confirmed by the fulfillment of oracles, dreams, and other indications of the future ; but that he imposed upon it, so to speak, a monotheism. The old gods the sun and moon, for example were thus recognized as finite beings, like men, though vastly superior to men in intelligence and worth. But above them was one who was god in a different THE BEGINNINGS OF ETHICS 121 sense, 1 a being of infinite knowledge and goodness, the author and ruler of the world, and, above all else, the eternal legis- lator and judge. The evidence for this Socrates found in the beauty and order of the universe ; in the adaptation of man's surroundings, and especially of his bodily structure to his needs ; and in the inevitable necessity by which, as he be- lieved, happiness attended upon virtue and misery upon vice. His notion of prayer was characteristic. He would pray for nothing in particular, but only for ' the good/ For any good fortune which he might specify might prove to be an evil to him. And the chief good was not to be had by good fortune, but to be attained by persevering effort. Of immortality he seems to have thought as a precious hope, suggested by an- cient and traditional lore. The idea of a future judgment was reasonable enough ; though he believed that divine judg- ment was perfectly executed in this world. The Issues. Is the basis of morality to be found in feeling or in intelligence ? Are its values perceived by the excitation of certain peculiar sentiments, or are they objects of rational knowledge ? Are the laws of morality, like the laws of par- ticular states, useful conventions, which might well have been otherwise, but which, as matters stand, serve their turn very well ; or are they eternal laws, so bound up with the nature of things that whether men recognize them or not their authority is undisturbed ? REFERENCES XENOPHON, Memorabilia of Socrates. PLATO, Apology of Socrates, Protagoras, and Hippias Minor. GROTE, G., History of Greece, Chs. LXVII, LXVIII. ZELLER. E., Pre-Socratic Philosophy, Section III, and Socrates and the Socratic Schools, Part II, Ch. VII, Ch. IX, C. 1 At the same time, Socrates seems to have identified him with Zeus and Apollo especially with the god of Delphi. Even so Heraclitus of Ephesus had said of the supreme being: "He is willing and unwilling to be called by the name of Zeus." 122 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS GOMPERZ, T., Greek Thinkers, Book III, Chs. IV-VI; Book IV, Ch. IV. CAIRD, E., Evolution of Theology in the Greek Philosophers, Lecture III. BLACKIE, J. S., Four Phases of Morals, Ch. I. FORBES, E. T., Socrates. BENN, A. W., The Philosophy of Greece, Chs. I, IV, V. WATSON, J., Hedonistic Theories, Ch. I. CHAPTER VII HEDONISM The Socratic Schools. The many-sidedness of Socrates's moral philosophy is such that it is no wonder that after his death his disciples at once separated into at least three differ- ent schools, each emphasizing a different aspect of the master's doctrine. The leaders of these schools were, at first, naturally enough, certain of his older pupils : Euclid of Megara, Antis- thenes of Athens, and Aristippus of Gyrene. Euclid was of a speculative turn of mind, and set himself to drawing the conclusions that followed from asserting that virtue is one ; that it is knowledge of the good; that the only absolute good is virtue itself ; and that what can be truly known must be eternal. And he emerged with the beautiful doctrine, that all that exists is one perfect being; all variety and change, and especially all evil, being an illusion. Antisthenes was an ardent reformer ; and what struck him as important was the fact that virtue was in itself sufficient to make life worth living, and that, as the only unconditionally good thing, all else was to be despised in comparison with it. To the genial Aristippus the significant point was that the virtu- ous life was full of pleasure. After a few years, a much younger pupil of Socrates rose to a prominence in which he overshadowed all his elders. This was Plato of Athens. At the outset he stood closest to Euclid ; but he developed all sides of Socrates's doctrine hi a remarkable way. Euclid's theories were not very fruitful for ethics, and we shall there- fore omit them from consideration here. Those of the other men have profoundly affected the later history of the science. In the present and the following two chapters, we shall study the three lines of speculation thus initiated. 123 124 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS I. ARISTIPPUS Conception of an Ultimate Good. We have remarked that in Socrates's thought the happy life appears as an indefinitely prolonged chain of activities, each of which leads on to others, without a definite goal being anywhere reached. To the generation which followed him this seemed an impossible position to maintain. Unless there is something which is good in itself, without reference to anything that may come after, how can anything be good at all? If the means is to have value, the end must have value ; and though this end may itself be only a means to a further end, the series of means and ends must have a final stopping-place; else all value is illusory. The Pleasure-theory. According to Aristippus l this stopping place is reached in each feeling of pleasure. This, whatever else may happen, is good. There is no need of re- finements or vague speculations about the matter. What makes the happy life worth living is the pleasure in it. It is not as if such a life had any peculiar higher value in itself for which it should be pursued. Its value is that of its par- ticular pleasant moments offset, to be sure, by whatever painful moments it contains. For pain, too, is a stopping place in the chain of consequences. Every feeling of pain is bad in itself. If any proof is wanted for these assertions, we have only to observe that all men, nay, all animate beings, from the very moment of birth, pursue pleasure and avoid pain except, perhaps, where some abnormality interferes with the ordinary course of nature. 1 Aristippus of Gyrene (in Africa) was a typical sophist, wandering from city to city and teaching for pay. His wit and courtliness made him a fa- vorite among men of the highest rank. How long he studied with Socrates we do not know ; but he evidently met him in a spirit of considerable inde- pendence. It is probable that he had previously been a pupil of Protagoras, of whose principles (not only in ethics but in the theory of knpwledge) we are frequently reminded. Late in life he established a school in Gyrene, the members of which were called Cyrenaics. HEDONISM 125 All pleasures are alike, all pains are alike, except in quan- tity. All that is pleasant is good, in so far as it is pleasant, no matter how shameful it may be or how productive of painful after-effects. Similarly, all that is painful is evil, in so far as it is painful. Between pleasure and pain lies the apathy of indifference. Aristippus and his earlier followers held that the greatest pleasures and pains are those of the body, i.e. those that arise from a present stimulus acting upon the senses of touch, taste, or smell. (Sight and hearing, they thought, affect us mainly by exciting sympathy.) The pleasures and pains of the mind, i.e. aesthetic feelings, those arising from memory or expectation, and those arising from sympathy with others, were therefore regarded as of less impor- tance. However, this point was not of fundamental im- portance, and some later members of the school modified it considerably. 1 Application to Moral Values. And now, what is virtue ? Virtue consists hi whatever qualities of mind enable the possessor to get pleasure and avoid pain; and in this use alone their value consists. Of these qualities wisdom is the chief, so far Socrates was right, but it is not the only one. There are virtues which even the fool may possess, such as a cheerful and confident disposition. Wisdom is not in itself sufficient to insure an unbroken succession of pleasures. But the wise man is for the most part happy, and the foolish man is generally unhappy. Wisdom brings with it release from three of the main sources of pain: envy, passionate desire, and superstition; for all these arise from vain opinions. Aristippus gave special warning against the second of these. That we should master pleasures and not be mastered by 1 Anniceris is especially mentioned as laying emphasis upon the pleasures of sympathy. Theodoras even declared that physical pleasures and pains were indifferent that the only real good and evil were the joy and grief that spring from wisdom and folly. But this was going far toward rigorism. 126 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS them * is his best-known maxim. To be too fond of one pleasure is to be blind to others. We should make the most of what is at hand, without longing for what is absent. As for the just and the honorable, they are merely what law and custom make them. But they are not for that reason unimportant. The good man does nothing unseemly, for he has a wise regard for punishment and social oppro- brium. Friendship is an excellent thing. The friend is use- ful much as an arm or leg is, and should be prized accord- ingly. II. OTHER HEDONISTS Plato and Eudoxos. The system, it will be seen, is beauti- fully simple, and for that reason it has been attractive to many men. Outside of the Cyrenaic school the pleasure- theory found important advocates. Plato, in an early work (the Protagoras), adopted in a tentative way the main prin- ciples of the school, but tried to show that wisdom ought still to be considered as the sum of all virtue. We always choose, he says, the greatest apparent pleasure, but we do not always compare pleasures correctly. The art of life is a sort of calculus, by which pleasures, present and future, are measured against each other. To be ' mastered by pleasure ' is really to be mastered by ignorance of its relative smallness. It seems probable that this criticism had a deep effect upon the development of the theory. However, in later works he rejects the whole theory decisively. One of his pupils,"the astronomer Eudoxos, reverted to it, and added to the older arguments in its support the curious new one, that pleasure must be the supreme good because it is above praise. Epicurus. But the most important of the ancient advo- cates of pleasure is Epicurus (341-270 B.C.) ; not for the originality of his work, indeed, but for its extraordinary 1 This is the purport of the ancient anecdote, which relates that when Aristippus was reproached for being a lover of Lais, the Corinthian courtesan, he replied : "I am not her lover. She is mine." HEDONISM 127 success. After a very superficial education, he established (in 306 B.C.) a school in Athens, which maintained his teachings without essential change for over six hundred years, and during the greater part of this time exerted a powerful world-wide influence. This success was no doubt due in part to personal qualities in Epicurus, for he was a man who inspired both love and admiration. (His followers to the latest days called themselves after his name, Epicureans.) But it was mainly due to the fact that he worked out a scheme of life, by following which the wise man might assure himself of happiness. For it is one thing to tell men of what happi- ness consists, and leave them, perhaps, to despair of securing it for themselves ; * and it is another thing to promise it. General Resemblance to Aristippus. With this definite promise of happiness all that is original in Epicurus's teach- ings is closely connected. Meanwhile the general structure of his ethical system is precisely the same as with Aristippus. That pleasure is good and pain evil needs no proof. All animals from birth naturally seek the one and avoid the other ; and so do we. Pleasure feels good, just as fire feels warm, snow looks white, or honey tastes sweet. No man willingly gives up a sum of pleasure except to avoid pain ; no man accepts an unnecessary amount of pain except in order to secure pleasure. The virtues wisdom, temper- ance, courage, and justice are the necessary and (as Epi- curus adds) sufficient means of securing happiness, and in this consists their value. Wisdom is the architect of the happy life and frees us from the turbulence of the passions ; temperance makes the most of things ; courage dispels imag- inary evils; and justice wins the good will of the public. 1 Certain of the later Cyrenaics, led by Hegesias, the "persuader unto death," even held that the happy life was an impossible ideal that escape from labor and pain was the most that could be looked for. As was pointed out in ancient times, Epicurus's position is not without its likeness to that of Hegesias ; the great difference being that Epicurus frankly identifies absence of pain with the ideal itself. 128 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS Friendship, too, is precious as a fountainhead of pleasure and a bulwark against misfortune. Superstition is recog- nized as a prime cause of unnecessary suffering; and Epi- curus by teaching that death ends all (so that there is nothing in it to fear), and that the gods in their eternal bliss are too far above us to think of interfering in human affairs, 1 believed that he was bestowing a great blessing upon men. Absence of Pain the Greatest Pleasure. Of the distinc- tive features in his view, the most important is the doctrine, that between pain and pleasure there is no middle ground of indifference, but that with the total removal of pain one already enjoys the most intense pleasure. To us this is apt to seem ridiculous ; but the Greeks had a great love for calm (yaXrivvj), and such an exaltation of it appealed to many as perfectly just. Higher and Lower Pleasures. A second feature is the express recognition of the distinction between higher and lower pleasures, though these are not understood as ultimate qualitative terms. The lower pleasures are those which are mixed with pain or followed by painful consequences. The higher pleasures are free from evil admixture or after-effect : they are literally purer. This distinction led to the exalta- tion of social and intellectual pleasures over the indulgence of physical appetites, and the mode of life of the genuine Epicurean became a very sober affair. The Storehouse of Memory. Suicide. Closely con- nected is the cult of pleasant memories. With these, thought Epicurus, one could so store one's mind that even amid the worst tortures one could preserve a balance of pleasure. 2 1 Supposed cases of divine interference were all to be explained mechani- cally, according to an atomic theory of matter, modeled after that of Democ- ritus of Abdera. Epicurus's physics, however, is an exceedingly childish affair. Like Aristippus, he was ignorant of mathematics. 2 He himself, while dying in great pain, wrote to a friend: "All these Bufferings are counterbalanced by the joy in the memory of our past dis- cussions." HEDONISM 129 Pain " when severe is short and when long is moderate " ; and if we will but banish it from our memories it is more than half conquered. Still, if pains persist in returning and nag- ging at us, and life has lost its charm, it is always possible to leave it as one would a tasteless comedy ; and this thought must always be a comfort. NOTE With all its simplicity, the pleasure-theory contains several distinct elements which we shall do well to distinguish. I. There is the general theory of values : that for each man his own pleasure and pain are alone good and evil (desirable and objection- able) in themselves ; and that everything else is good or evil to him, in so far as it brings him pleasure or pain. This is called simply hedonism (from ijdor/i, pleasure). Ha. In ancient times the foregoing theory is generally based upon a certain theory as to the objects of desire and aversion : that no animal desires anything except pleasure for its own sake, or avoids anything except pain for its own sake ; all things else being desired or avoided on account of the pleasure or pain expected from them. This is called psychological hedonism, or the selfish theory. It is easily seen that the hedonistic theory of values might be held, while this support was rejected ; for could one not naively desire things for their own sake, even though upon reflection one were compelled to admit that their real value consisted in their pleasure- producing properties ? b. Some Epicureans held that as a result of habit one could come to desire the happiness of a friend for its own sake ; and modern hedonists have applied this theory much more widely. III. There is a theory of moral values. It is held that the goodness of virtue and the evilness of vice consist in their tendency to pro- duce pleasure and pain respectively. This is called ethical hedonism. It is, of course, only the application to moral values of the general theory of values. It is found in two varieties, the one characteristic of ancient ethics, the other of modern ethics : a. Only the individual's own pleasure or pain (and hence only the value of his virtue or vice to himself) is counted. This is called egoistic hedonism. b. Virtue (or vice) in conduct or character consists in its tendency to increase (or decrease) the general sum of pleasure in society at large. This is called universalistic hedonism, or utilitarianism. K 130 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS The terminology is somewhat confusing, and the student is especially in danger of failing to distinguish between the selfish theory and egoistic hedonism. This error must be avoided. The selfish theory has, in fact, often been entertained by utilitarians. REFERENCES PLATO, Protagoras. DIOGENES LAERTIUS, Lives of the Philosophers, Books IX, X. CICERO, De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum, Books I, II. GROTE, G., Plato and the Other Companions of Socrates, Ch. XXXVIII. ZELLER, E., Socrates and the Socratic Schools, Ch. XIV; Stoics, Epi- cureans, and Sceptics, Chs. XIX, XX. GOMPERZ, T., Greek Thinkers, Book IV, Ch. IX. WATSON, J., Hedonistic Theories, Chs. II, III. WALLACE, W., Epicureanism, Ch. VII. TAYLOR, A. E., Epicurus. HICKS, R. D., Stoic and Epicurean, Ch. V. MUIRHEAD, J. H. Elements of Ethics, Book III, Ch. I. THILLY, F., Introduction to Ethics, Ch. VI. WRIGHT, H. W., Self-Realization, Part II, Ch. II. CHAPTER VIII ENERGISM I. GENERAL FEATURES OF ANCIENT ENERGISM The Appeal of Energism. If hedonism is attractive to many minds by reason of its simplicity, it is repulsive to many others by reason of its prosaic bareness. To reduce all the values of human experience to a dead level to measure poetry and morality, or even athletic sport, as one measures the pleasures of the table will always seem to some minds a grossly mistaken project. The theory of energism, or self-realization, avoids this dead- leveling. It starts from man in the fullness of his many- sided nature ; and it conceives of happiness as the symmetri- cally rounded life of such a man. Instead of attempting to eliminate variety, it admits it on principle. Happiness is pleasant, but that is only the beginning of its characteris- tics. As different human faculties come into play, different kinds of pleasure are experienced ; and to eliminate from the description of the happy life the differences of kind, is to fal- sify the description through and through. Self-realization is an aim that appeals to honorable pride and ambition. The very notion that there is in oneself an immanent ideal to be realized is to many men inspiring. To one who has once felt this inspiration the proposal to look for happiness in uniform bits of pleasure such as any beast might feel will always seem ignoble. It is not a mere matter of argument. It is a temperamental reaction. One feels that hedonism may have truth in it, but that it does not do justice to the dignity of man. 131 .32 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS Plato and Aristotle : their Common Features. In the present chapter we have to consider two ancient theories of self-realization, those of Plato and Aristotle. Both are comprehensively designed and minutely developed theories ; and they cannot be satisfactorily understood without much attention to detail. But there are certain general charac- teristics of the two theories that may easily be lost sight of in a detailed treatment, and that ought to be understood throughout. 1. The capacities of human nature are supposed to be fixed in advance. The soul has a certain set of faculties to be exer- cised. Life consists in exercising them. Neither Plato nor Aristotle contemplates the possibility (which is very real to us) that the higher faculties of man are products of social culture. They realize, indeed, that among civilized men certain faculties are exercised which their barbaric ancestors could not exercise; for example, the intuition of abstract truths. But the reason, as they see it, is merely that those ancestors lacked the necessary security and leisure. The ad- vance of civilization simply makes possible the realization of inner potentialities that have all along been latent. 2. Moreover, the capacities of the individual, as well as of the race, are fixed in advance. Most men are defective. One or more of the faculties is feeble or even completely want- ing in them. For most men, therefore, happiness in the full sense of the term is impossible. 3. The set of human faculties is an ordered system, in which each has a definite rank. And men are of different rank ac- cording to the faculties which they manifest. 4. The lowest of men's faculties (such as hunger) they have in common with the beasts. On the other hand, the highest faculty, and the rarest, is more than human, for it is common to the human and the divine nature. This is pure reason. Simply to know truth, with no further end in view that is the utmost of which man is capable. All lower activities ENERGISM 133 may rightly be regarded as only the external conditions of this one. And the great bulk of mankind, who are incapable of pure reason, serve no higher purpose in the economy of nature than to give peace and leisure to the favored few. 5. Plato and Aristotle thought of the individual as, pri- marily, the citizen. Life meant for them, first and foremost, civic life. Plato's principal ethical work is the Republic; and Aristotle expressly treats ethics as a branch of politics. But it is noteworthy that both conceived of the life of reason as ultimately an individual life. The state must establish the conditions under which leisure to think is possible ; and it is in the contact of friend with friend that the [stimulus and direction of scientific inquiry are found. But, in the last resort, what a man knows, it is he that knows. The supreme happiness of contemplation each must enjoy for himself alone. Thus the ancient energism, as represented by these preemi- nent thinkers, is anti-evolutionary, aristocratic, intellectualistic, and, in the last resort, individualistic. II. PLATO Comprehensiveness of his Thought. The great signifi- cance of Plato's ethics (as of all his thought) lies in its syn- thetic character. It is the result of a large-minded attempt to do justice to all the various one-sided views which others had assumed. His chief inspiration came from Socrates; but in the working out of his system Protagoras's conception of specific moral feelings, trained to their part by habituation, has a subordinate, but very important place. By the rigor- ist Antisthenes he was probably not affected ; difference of character, as well as of social position, put a chasm between them. But that virtue is a good in itself, and not simply as a means to pleasure, was a doctrine that early appealed to his own generous nature. Aristippus, on the other hand, he regarded as an able thinker, with whom his account had to 134 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS be made ; and he returns to the discussion of the pleasure theory repeatedly in the course of his long literary career. Life. Plato, better than any other man, represents the spirit of aristocracy in ethical thought. Born in a noble and wealthy family (of which he was intensely proud) he had an unmixed contempt for the masses of mankind. Under the influence of Socrates, however, he came to believe in an aristocracy of intellect rather than of mere birth, though al- ways believing that the lowly born and the hopelessly stupid were generally the same. From his youth he moved in liter- ary and philosophical circles. With Socrates he was asso- ciated from his twentieth year. After the death of Socrates, he traveled widely, visiting Egypt, Gyrene, southern Italy, and Sicily, pursuing the study of mathematics, and thus becoming intimately acquainted with members of the Pythag- orean religious society, in which mathematics had been ex- tensively cultivated. The influence of this study upon his ethi- cal theory will call for our attention. On his return to Athens, he founded a philosophical institute, which was called (from the neighboring ' gymnasium ' or public park) the Academy. Here, except for two later visits to Syracuse (where he un- successfully attempted to influence the younger Dionysius in favor of his advanced political ideas) he spent the remain- der of his life, and here his great work was done : oral teach- ing, varied by literary production in which the highest talents of the poet, the systematic thinker, and the religious enthu- siast are combined. Ethical Writings. Plato recognized that his own phi- losophy was an outgrowth of that of Socrates ; and his earliest dialogues (such as the Hippias Minor, Protagoras, Laches, Charmides, and Euthyphro) are largely devoted to the ex- position and defense of Socrates's views. But the Socrates of these dialogues is most keenly interested in bringing to light certain of the difficulties involved in the historical Socrates's position ; in part self-contradictions, in part dis- ENERGISM 135 agreements with common moral experience. The ethical doctrines contained in the dialogues of his middle and later years (the Gorgias, Meno, Phaedo, and Republic, and the Philebus and Laws) may be regarded as the result of an at- tempt to solve these difficulties in the master's own spirit. 1. The Virtues in General Goodness in General. If we examine into the conditions under which anything is called ' good/ we always find a definiteness of proportion in the relation of its various parts. Any artist or artisan in his work chooses, in the first place, materials that he can shape in a certain way, and then fits them together in an orderly and systematic fashion. So also the physical trainer does not try to make any one muscle as strong as possible, but to develop the whole body sym- metrically. Carry the induction as far as we may, we find that goodness is always marked by orderliness and regularity, badness by disorder. The Virtues. The soul is no exception. Its proper con- dition, or excellence, is marked by order. And this is what we call temperance, courage, justice, and piety; and the in- sight by which the order is established we call wisdom. This insight is either knowledge (which it must be if the virtue is to be permanent and thoroughly trustworthy) or right opinion, which is all that most men possess. (In this recog- nition of common-sense morality as possessing a certain value despite the absence of exact knowledge, Plato success- fully tones down one of Socrates's extreme views.) Distinction Between the Virtues : Earlier Theory. If now we proceed to ask how these virtues are distinguished and interrelated, Plato's first answer (in the Gorgias) is that temperance, courage, justice, and piety are all the same quality of orderliness seen in different relations. Temper- ance is orderliness as such. Piety and justice are orderli- ness as it manifests itself in conduct toward gods and men 136 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS respectively. Courage is orderliness as manifested in the pursuit or avoidance of anticipated goods and evils. The essential condition of all is wisdom ; for we must follow Soc- rates in asserting that a man always acts as seems best to him at the time. Mature Theory : the Problem. But in his most impor- tant ethical work, the Republic, Plato's theory has very materially developed. In the first place, he is no longer content to define the virtues in terms of relations to various objects or situations. He insists upon knowing what they are in themselves, as qualities of the soul itself. In the second place, he has given up Socrates's extreme intellectualism, which, indeed, had been more apparent than real, and had shown its inadequacy the more clearly to Plato, as he learned from the example of geometry what an exact science really is. Analysis of the Soul. He now finds that the soul con- sists of several distinct and partly independent parts, or faculties. First, there is reason, by which we have knowledge and opinion. Secondly, there are the appetites, which are due to the soul's union with a body that is subject to constant wants. Reason and appetite have nothing in common. But there is a third faculty which has something of the nature of both. The ' spirited element ' it is called ; by which is meant susceptibility to the emotions that hold a man up to a standard of personal dignity : honor, shame, indignation. This is like reason in the fact that it has standards ; and, in- deed, these standards are given it by reason, though it has to be trained to recognize them. It is like appetite in the way in which it impels men to action. Now reason has no direct control over appetite, on account of their utter dissimilarity. There is no argument against hunger. It is only through the spirited element, by means of the standards of self-respect which are set up, that reason is able to hold appetite in check. The Socratic axiom, that every man chooses what seems to ENERGISM 137 him best, holds good, then, only in so far as the spirited ele- ment has been brought by training into conformity with reason. Analogy of the Man and the State. Upon this analysis of the soul, Plato now bases his classification of the virtues. In order to guide his procedure, he calls into play an elaborate analogy between the individual and the state. The state contains three kinds of citizens, distinguished by the predomi- nance in them of one or the other of the mental faculties : the philosophers, or men of intelligence ; the warriors, or men of honor; and the artisans and merchants, or men of greed. In an ideally ordered state the first would direct the whole administration of war and peace, for they alone can know what is best. But because the men of greed are unamenable to reason the only way in which they can be governed is through, the men of honor. The warriors must be trained to act hi accordance with the standards which the philosophers impose upon them, and they must then forcibly keep the industrial, and commercial class hi order. The Virtues in the State. What are the peculiar excel- lences of which these several classes are capable? The uris- dom of the state is, of course, lodged in the philosopher- rulers; it is their insight into the common welfare. The courage of the state belongs to the warriors ; it is their fidel- ity to the standards of honor, to which they have been trained. The industrial class, base creatures, are capable of no virtue except as the warriors, directed by the philoso- phers, impose it on them. They may be forced to put such a limit to their cupidity as the welfare of the whole state de- mands, i.e. to be temperate. As for justice, that belongs to no class, but to the state as a whole. It is simply the division of labor between the classes, by which each performs its own function without loss of efficiency through friction or misapplied effort. 138 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS The Virtues in the Individual. As applied to the individ- ual, wisdom, the knowledge of the good, is the virtue of reason. Courage is the virtue of the rationally trained spirited element. Temperance is the virtue imposed by reason, through the spirited element, upon the cowed appe- tites. And justice is the harmonious functioning of all the faculties. 1 Plato was a restless thinker, and there are indications that he continued to remodel his ethical doctrine, as well as other parts of his philosophy. But this is his latest systematic account of the virtues, and there is at least one feature in it that remained undisturbed to the end. It is the conception of the soul as a complex unity, containing a rational and an irrational 2 element, the latter requiring training under the direction of the former in order to acquire its proper virtue. All virtue is not knowledge, but knowledge is essential to a high development of virtue though, as we have seen, the knowledge may belong, not to the individual in question, but to those by whom he is trained and governed. The question arises, how wisdom itself is acquired. The answer involves the whole of Plato's metaphysics. We must be content with a mere sketch of the leading notions. 2. Wisdom The Theory of Eternal Forms. Whenever we attempt a scientific definition (Plato observed), it is always of something assumed to be perfect, a standard of its kind. We define 1 This seems far-fetched, and except for the analogy of the state it would lack all plausibility. But the student must remember that Plato's problem is to define justice as it exists in the just man, considered entirely apart from his relations to other men. So also the justice of the state is defined entirely without reference to its relations with other states. Plato's conception is that if the inner harmony exists, the external harmony will follow as a matter of course. 2 We group together under this term the spirited element and the ap- petites. ENERGISM 139 types, not the particular things of ordinary sense-experience, with their multitude of peculiarities and imperfections. The straight line of science is not the edge of a ruler, or the path of a swift projectile, or even the line of vision. It is absolutely straight, as these are not. Now it was a widely accepted maxim of philosophy that the knowable is the real; that whereas what appears to the senses and impresses itself upon our unscientific opinion is either flitting phenomenon, passing from non-existence to exist- ence and back again with the course of time, or else a mere illusion of ignorance, what is manifest to reason is eternal. Plato boldly drew the conclusion that the true reality is not the world of space and time, but a system of eternal typical forms (1877, or i8u ; the latter term is often anglicized as ' ideas/ which is sadly confusing). And since, in the last resort, the apparent can only be explained in terms of the real, he concluded that the form-world is the true cause of the sensible world that all the definable character of the latter is due to the active presence in it of the forms. Thus a ruler is straight because the form of straightness inheres in it ; the wheel is round because roundness is in it ; Socrates is tem- perate because temperance is in him, and just because jus- tice is in him. That they are imperfect is due to matter, which all phenomena contain, and which is the source of all those individual irregularities of which science takes no ac- count. The Hierarchy of Forms. A similar relation exists among the forms themselves. For they are of different degrees; and the higher ones inhere in the lower and give them char- acter, just as the forms in general do to sensible things. Thus the circle is a line because of linearity; justice and temperance are good because of goodness. Goodness is the supreme form, for it inheres in all the others. (They are all good, and every sensible thing is good in so far as it exempli- fies its type. That is why goodness in anything is always 140 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS marked by regularity.) Hence goodness is the ultimate cause of all things ; and since things are explained by reveal- ing their causes, the conception of goodness is the ultimate explanation of everything, temporal or eternal. The Conceptions of the Forms Suggested by Particular Things. The question, how wisdom is acquired, resolves itself, therefore, into the question, how the conceptions of the several virtues, and finally of goodness itself, are brought to mind. There is a curious difficulty here. All the tem- perance, justice, etc., which we have ever seen in men, is imperfect; and yet it is evidently from the observation of such examples that we arrive at the conception of the per- fect forms. How is this possible ? A similar question arises in connection with the conceptions of geometry. No one of us has ever seen a perfect square or circle. The physical objects to which we apply these terms, even the diagrams which we draw to exemplify them, are far from geometrical exactness. Yet it is clear that without having perceived these imperfect instances, the exact conceptions would never have occurred to us. Obviously the physical objects suggest the perfect types let us say, by reason of their resemblance to them. 1 The same is, of course, true of virtuous men and deeds. They suggest to us the conceptions of the virtues in their purity. The Spontaneity of Reason. But when one thing brings another to mind by reason of the resemblance between them, the latter thing cannot be something that is alto- gether strange to us. If the sight of a man calls up his brother's face, the image of the brother must have been lin- gering in our memory ; we must have seen him at some time. Then if the geometrical diagram or the good man's conduct suggests to us the perfect square or circle or the perfect vir- tues, must we not have had some previous intuition of these 1 This is the view presented in the Phado, and will suffice for our purpose here. ENERGISM 141 absolute types? Plato was at first inclined to answer this question in the affirmative, and concluded that we must have had an existence before this present life, when the intuition of the perfect types was enjoyed. Later, however, he dropped this fantastical theory perhaps he never seriously committed himself to it in favor of the simpler conclusion, that the conceptions of geometrical and ethical types belong to the structure of our minds. We are built in such a fashion, that when the appropriate suggestions come we spontaneously think these thoughts. So it is, he thinks, with all possible science. The Development of Wisdom. Now this implies that the virtue of wisdon belongs naturally to all men that are capable of it. 1 It needs no training by means of habit and exercise, as other virtues do, but simply an awakening through appro- priate suggestions. This is the significance of the Socratic method, by which a mere series of questions suffices to lead us from ignorance to knowledge. All knowledge sets out from the things of sense-experience, passing from these to the lowest forms (those of mathematics), and gradually mounting higher and higher till it reaches the private and public virtues, and, last of all, goodness itself. Supreme Value of Wisdom. So much for the nature and origin of wisdom. A word must be added as to the relation between wisdom and the other virtues. Let us consider first the classes in the ideal state. It is the ruler's knowledge of the eternal forms that is the source of all the other public virtues. But this is not its only value. To the rulers them- selves it is its least value. They realize that it is only hi a well-ordered community that men like themselves could ever develop. They realize, too, that the service of the state calls for the exercise of all the faculties of the mind, from the lowest to the highest. And yet they regard the work of 1 Plato thinks that as a matter of fact only a very few men are capable of wisdom dv0p Since God invariably directs his actions by the moral law, it cannot be but that he wishes us to act thus also ; for he cannot have created us with the in- tention that we should act against himself. But since his wish is thus manifest it amounts to a command. Right is not right merely because God commands it ; but he assuredly commands it because it is right. The Certainty of Reward and Punishment. There is no real command without authority; and there is no real au- thority without the ability and the intention to reward obedi- ence or punish disobedience. (Of course, to miss a reward is in some sense to be punished, and to escape punishment is in some sense to be rewarded.) Now we cannot elude God's observation, nor can we resist his might. It is, therefore, certain, that the good must on the whole be happy, and the wicked miserable. The Future Life. This is a conclusion that our observa- tion in this life does not verify. It is not true that in human affairs ' honesty is the best policy.' The best policy includes an occasional dishonesty when detection or punishment is CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 205 improbable. And, aside from the matter of general policy, we note that accidents are constantly happening. We need little experience of the world to see that the righteous are often oppressed with suffering, while the unrighteous indulge in all manner of unrestricted pleasure. But this only proves that there must be a life beyond the present, in which the justice of God shall be made manifest, and the righteous and the unrighteous shall alike meet with their deserts. Summary. Thus, while moral relations are independent of future reward and punishment, future reward and punish- ment are a necessary consequence of moral relations in such a world as ours. As it was sometimes expressed, right and wrong are logically prior to reward and punishment. It is because right is right and wrong is wrong that reward and punishment are themselves right and may be confidently expected from God. Reenforcement of Moral Obligation. The expectation of a future reward and punishment is necessary in order to make it possible for the ordinary man to act rightly when such a course appears to be contrary to his temporal interests. There are men heroes, we call them in whom the feeling of moral obligation is so strong that even the utmost danger or pain cannot make them swerve from the course of right- eousness. But the vast majority of mankind are not so constituted. This was the great mistake of the high-sounding morality of the stoics, the mistake that made their teaching so ineffectual. The ordinary man cannot act rightly unless he believes that so doing will promote his own happiness, or, at least, not oppose it, and it would be unreasonable to expect him to do so. And therefore God has made the evidence of his existence and of his purposes toward man so clear and obvious, that if men were not the slaves of sensual lusts, none of them could possibly remain ignorant of these truths. 206 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS 3. The Universality of Moral Laws Such is the system of intuitionalism. To us of the twen- tieth century it seems hard and bare. To its advocates of the eighteenth century and these were numerous it seemed to possess certain strong recommendations. (1) Moral Laws are Objective. It raised morality above the level of conflicting individual impressions, and gave it the status of objective truth. No man could set up a standard of his own and declare that by following his private con- science he was acting rightly. If his conscience was not in accord with the eternal moral law, so much the worse for him ; he was condemned already. He might as well claim that an addition, in which he had set down 8 and 5 as making 14, was right, because that was the way it had seemed to him. (2) The Fundamental Laws are without Exceptions. Moreover, according to this system, the fundamental prin- ciples of morals were seen to be universal, admitting of no particular exceptions. If injustice is wrong, nothing can make it right. The more special laws, being due to the application of the more general laws to changeable human circumstances, may indeed break down. The law, Thou shall not kill, breaks down when we try to extend it to the soldier in battle or to the officer of the law, or even to the private citizen who acts in self-defense. That is because the law is thereby carried beyond the limits within which it is a valid application of first principles. But the first principles and all direct deductions from them are absolute. (The distinction is analogous to that between pure and applied mathematics.) Why was the universality of the fundamental laws felt to be important? Because moral practice was thus given a regularity, and social institutions a stability, that seemed to be otherwise impossible. In the eighteenth century, men were especially concerned to maintain the inviolability of CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 207 property rights. Ethicists of all schools vied with each other in proclaiming their loyalty to this doctrine ; but the intuitionalists were no doubt in the best position to defend it. If the principle of justice is an axiomatic truth, there seems to be little room for any excuse for depriving a man of his own. (3) Moral Laws are Valid for All Men. It belongs to the universality of the moral laws that they are valid every- where, and for all men. What is wrong for Peter is not right for Paul ; and what is wrong for the Greek is not right for the barbarian. Just so, there is but one geometry for all the nations. If differences in men's moral standards are reported to us by both ancient and modern writers, it may be said, first, that most of these reports are doubtless super- ficial and inaccurate. Secondly, men who are addicted to evil practices often profess to consider them innocent, though in their hearts they know them to be wrong. Thirdly, though the moral axioms are self-evident to one who attends to the significance, men who are led away by selfish desires may easily fail to attend ; just as, from lack of due consideration, it might never occur to a man that two intersecting straight lines cannot both be parallel to a third straight line. Lastly, such genuine differences in moral standards as do occur must be regarded as being due to the application of the same fun- damental principles to varying social conditions. (4) They are Changeless. It goes without saying that moral principles are not only universal spatially, but tem- porally also. All apparent changes are explained away like the apparent differences between the morals of different climes. III. SENTIMENTALISM 1. Empirical Standpoint The Question of Fact. But with all the advantages which the intuitionalistic theory can claim, the question remains : Does it square with the facts f And, in particular, 208 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS when we see men committing noble or contemptible acts, is our approval or disapproval brought about by a piece of deductive reasoning by an application of a general rule to the given case? And here let us not try to dodge the issue by saying that we reason, but reason unconsciously. Reasoning is a conscious process ; and unconscious reasoning is a preposterous contradiction in terms. If our approbation or disapprobation is the logical conclusion of a deductive inference, we should have no difficulty in attesting the fact. Can we? Perceptions before Rules. This was the question raised by the leaders of the sentimental school, and answered by them in the negative. These men were empiricists. To their mind the advancement of human knowledge is not so much deductive as inductive. The particular comes before the universal, the fact before the reason for the fact. And this attitude of theirs they show in the domain of morals as elsewhere. Their whole mental disposition inclines them to think that we first perceive the goodness or badness dis- played on particular occasions, and only later (if at all) learn to bring our perceptions under general rules. 2. The Analogy of Beauty But the sentimentalists, too, are influenced by a pervasive analogy. As the example of mathematical relations was determinative for intuitionalism, so the example of beauty is determinative for the present theory. (l) The Immediacy of Perception. When we look at a thing and find it beautiful, we do not ordinarily, at any rate reason out its beauty. We do not say, for example : Everything with such and such proportions is beautiful ; this object has those proportions ; therefore it is beautiful. Sometimes we may approach such a procedure, as when we note the conventional ' points ' of a fashionable breed of horses or dogs, or count the lines of an alleged sonnet to see CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 209 if there are just fourteen. But ordinarily our impressions of beauty are gained in a much more simple and direct fashion. We look, and are impressed. That is why we can speak ap- propriately of a sense of beauty. To see that a woman is beautiful requires no more reasoning than to see the color of her hair. Now, according to the ethicists of the sentimental school, the case is plainly the same in the perception of the moral qualities displayed in conduct. When we see a man beating a little child, we do not have to reason thus : To torment one who is helpless is cruel ; this man is tormenting one who is helpless ; therefore he is cruel. No ; as we look a sensation of moral indignation arises spontaneously within us. And, similarly, if the child's mother, at the risk of serious injury to herself, should try to stop the beating, we should feel, far more quickly than we could reason, a glow of admiration for her courage and self-sacrifice. (2) Approval and Disapproval are Unanalyzable and In- voluntary. The moral sense and the sense of beauty are like the external senses of sight, hearing, taste, etc., in the fact that they give rise to simple, unanalyzable sensations, that can be gained in no other way. The sensations derived from the moral sense are of two kinds : those of approval and those of disapproval; either of which may occur in a great many different intensities and in all sorts of mixtures and fusions with other feelings. The moral sense and the sense of beauty are like the external senses in this too : that however much in the way of reflection and volition may precede the sensation, the sensation itself contains no reflection or volition. I may reflect whether I shall look out of the win- dow at the lawn, and I may finally will to do so. But in the sensation of green, as I then become conscious of it, there is nothing but the green itself. And so long as the same stimu- lus continues to act upon my visual organs, I shall continue to see that same green. So it is with the sense of beauty or p 210 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS ugliness, of virtue or vice. My detestation of this man's cruelty, or my admiration for that woman's kindness, is perfectly spontaneous and involuntary. (3) The Idea-stimulus. The moral sense and the sense of beauty differ, however, from the external senses in one all- important respect. The exciting cause of the external sen- sation is physical a change of some sort in the nervous mechanism. The stimulus of the moral sense or the sense of beauty is an idea either of perception or of imagination. When, for example, I contemplate a fine painting, the sen- sations of color, with their various shades and intensities, are externally excited. The sensations combine with fainter images that are revived by association, to form an idea (or percept) of the object. This idea, now, is the direct stimulus of the sense of beauty. So the idea of an act of kindness may be the direct stimulus of the sensation of approval. The formation of the idea may be a very simple matter of direct perception ; or it may be a very complicated matter, involving much reflection and reasoning. Suppose, to take an extreme instance, that the object to be appreciated as beautiful or ugly is Shakespeare's King Lear. To form an adequate idea of the play as a whole may well test a man's utmost mental capacity. Or suppose that the act to be ap- preciated as good or bad is Henry the Eighth's declaration of the independence of the Church of England. Here again, in the formation of the idea of the moral action, the utmost critical ability of the historian may be called into play. The idea of the moral act of another person can never be quite so simply formed as the idea of an aesthetic object often is, because the moral act is essentially psychical in its nature an unseen determination of the will, which the observer must imaginatively reconstruct from the evidences afforded by the external aspect of the act. It is only in one's own case that a direct perception of the inner motives of conduct is possible. CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 211 But, whether the formation of the idea be simple or com- plicated, the stimulation of the aesthetic or moral sense takes place always in the same way ; and the aesthetic or moral sensation that results is equally a peculiar and ul- timate experience. The Sentiments. This difference, which we have re- marked, between the sense of beauty and the moral sense, on the one hand, and the external senses on the other hand, came in time to affect the terminology of the school. The former were called sentiments. Nor was it a matter of ter- minology alone ; for the sentiments were treated as a class of emotions, differing from another class, the passions, in that sentiments are seldom very intense, while passions (such as love, fear, and envy) are usually much more intense than the sentiments and sometimes reach a very high degree of in- tensity indeed. It was believed, too, that the sentiments were like other emotions in this : that no idea is capable of exciting them unless it is accompanied by a sensation (or idea) of pleasure or pain (Hume). All this, however, did not change the fundamental feature of the theory. Moral and aesthetic approval and disapproval are elementary con- tents of the mind, spontaneously called up by their peculiar stimuli not modes of rational judgment. (4) Relativity of Beauty and Virtue. Nothing is beau- tiful or ugly, virtuous or vicious, in itself. To say that a thing is beautiful means simply that the contemplation of it arouses in us the feeling of aesthetic approval ; and to say that an act is bad means simp] y that the thought of this act arouses in us the feeling of moral disapproval. It is just as it is with the external senses. If there were no sense of sight, there would be no colors ; if there were no sense of hear- ing, there would be no noises or tones. If a man is without a moral sense, he is, in so far, like one born blind. There is no way of making up to him his defect ; and the world must ever remain for him devoid of virtue and vice. 212 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS This is the feature of the moral-sense theory which called forth the most severe criticism : that it gave the moral dis- tinctions between right and wrong, good and bad, the same relativity as the distinction between red and yellow or hot and cold. (According to the intuitionalists, it will be re- membered, these distinctions are strictly objective, belonging eternally to the ' nature of things/ like the distinction be- tween equal and unequal or straight and curved.) For if morality is relative to feeling, then we must bear in mind that all feelings are individual. What is bright to one man's eyes may be dark to another's, and what is cold to one man's skin may be hot to another's. That may all be very well so far as beauty and ugliness are concerned " There is no disputing about tastes." But as applied to moral good and evil it is abominable, for it resolves the whole order of society into anarchy. Uniformity of the Moral Sense. The answer of the sen- timentalists to this criticism is that it is a gross exaggera- tion. Among normal, sound-minded men, the moral sense varies scarcely at all. Superficial critics often exclaim upon the prodigious differences between our moral standards and those of the ancient Hebrews, Greeks, and Romans, or even those of the French people of our own day. But these differences, great as they are, touch only the externals of conduct, and are for the most part to be justified by the very different conditions under which men in different times and places live. The appreciation of the underlying qualities of character remains practically constant. Thus the early Hebrews sanctioned polygamy, and we condemn it; and they regarded all plastic art as sinful, while we find it inno- cent. But in all times and places kindness, courage, loyalty, justice, and wisdom have been admired, and cruelty, coward- ice, treachery, injustice, and folly have been despised. The economic and social conditions which made polygamy jus- tifiable have disappeared ; and the temptation to idolatry, CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 213 which made the representation of human and animal forms dangerous, is no longer prevalent. But the good heart and the evil heart are what they have always been. Moral Defectives. The moral sense, it has been said, is uniform in its operation among all mankind. There are individuals whose moral sense has deteriorated, just as there are individuals whose sense of sight or hearing or taste has decayed; but these are readily recognized as abnormal. And, practically, these men no more disturb the values of morality than the blind or the deaf affect the greens or browns of the landscape or the shrill twittering of the birds. Infallibility of the Moral Sense. The moral sense may from two different points of view be regarded as infallible. In the first place, since, as we have said, right means only what the moral sense approves and wrong what the moral sense disapproves, it follows at once that whatever the moral sense approves is right, and that whatever it disapproves is wrong. It is the same, of course, with the sense of beauty, as it is also with the external senses. What feels hot is hot ; what tastes sour is sour ; what seems beautiful is beautiful ; for, in respect to sense-qualities, to seem and to be are the same. The moral sense is infallible just because there is no standard outside itself by which it might be judged. In the second place, the moral sense (except in case of abnormality) is infallible because of its uniformity among all mankind. That is to say, if we judge one man's moral sen- timents by comparing them with the sentiments which other men receive from like objects, we find them to be in entire agreement. Error in the Idea-stimulus. Here again we must bear in mind that the object which directly stimulates the moral sense is not an external fact but an idea; and that in the formulation of this idea an indefinite amount of reflection and even abstruse reasoning may enter. Now any part of 214 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS this reflective process may be seriously in error. Thus it may happen that a man of perfectly sound moral sense may appear to approve of the most dastardly crime. But that is because he has not formed a correct idea of it. His ap- proval is of the act as he conceives it to have been; and if he explains this conception of his to any other morally sound man, the latter will certainly agree with him. This is the way in which the moral-sense writers explain most of the variations in men's moral standards that are not to be ascribed to changed external conditions. As men learn to form clearer and fuller conceptions of conduct, their standards of righteousness naturally become more adequate. Not because the moral-sense has changed its action in the slightest, but because the intellectual stimulus to its action has changed. So much can be explained in this way that the later moral-sense writers gave up the notion of a defective moral sense. In cases where the earlier writers would have said that a man's misjudgments were certainly due to some intrinsic defect, the later writers blame all on ignorance, inattention, or faulty reasoning. (5) Utility of Rules. Since the moral sense (like the aesthetic sense) acts spontaneously when its peculiar stimuli are present, what is the significance or utility of moral rules ? We do not need these rules in order to judge conduct, any more than we need aesthetic rules in order to see that a picture or a poem is beautiful. Why, then, do we have them at all? In the first place, the rules satisfy a certain intel- lectual curiosity. We are interested to determine what sort of objects stimulate our approbation or disapprobation ; and the rules sum up the results of our observation. Some- times the rules are based on insufficient observation, and hence do not always hold. Just as the study of the an- cient drama led critics to certain rules of the unity of time and place, which the modern romantic dramatists showed to be entirely without cogency; so in the field of morals CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 215 men have jumped to such conclusions as, All dancing is wrong, which a wider experience fails to confirm. In the second place, our moral generalizations have an important effect upon the formation of the idea of the particu- lar conduct that is to be appreciated. The like is true, again, of aesthetic generalizations. If I am thoroughly convinced that the unities of time and place are sacred, I may sit through a performance of A Winter's Tale without being able to take in half the beauty of the drama. My previous expectations are so perverse that I cannot form other than a distorted notion of the whole ; and the play, as / see it, is really as poor as I take it to be. When a moral rule has become firmly fixed in a man's mind, it has a powerful in- fluence in directing his attention and in determining just what he shall notice. If I believe that all who dance are wicked, that fact may be sufficient to blind me to the utmost gen- erosity and courage. But it must not be supposed that this effect of moral rules is wholly bad. On the contrary, they fulfill a very important function. They give a stability to our moral reactions toward our fellows, that would other- wise be impossible. Our ideas are never a bare reproduc- tion or a full reproduction of the external reality. We cannot but add from our imagination ; and we cannot but neglect what does not appeal to our interests. The influence of moral rules may mislead us on occasion ; but in the ab- sence of all rules we might, for want of any proper direction of our attention, go even farther astray. 3. Obligation Relation between Virtue and Happiness. In our account of intuitionalism we gave due place to the doctrine that the good must ultimately be happy and the wicked miserable. There the proof turned upon the will of God, and verifica- tion was looked for in another world. The sentimentalists have a similar doctrine ; but, moved as they are by the spirit 216 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS of empirical science, they try to find evidence for their view in the common experience of mankind, maintaining that even here and now virtue is the good and vice the evil of every man. They try to show that the virtuous character is that which is in itself the source of the most enduring satisfaction and best predisposes one to the full enjoyment of all pleasures and to the calm endurance of all pains; and furthermore that it is only in so far as men are virtuous that they can hope for that loving companionship and cooperation of their fellows upon which human happiness largely depends. They try to show that vice is in itself a condition of uneasiness and turmoil, in which the higher pleasures are for the most part impossible and the lower pleasures quickly lose their savor ; and that even when the chances of fortune set the wicked man in a position of power and affluence, and visit the good man with poverty and affliction, the real advantage in all probability lies with the latter. They cannot claim (apart from the religious faith which they may have) that every good man is bound to be happier than every bad man ; but they do maintain that under any circumstances the chances that a man can increase his happiness by wrongdoing are practically nil. In other words, according to the sentimen- talists, it is never good policy to do wrong, even when this life only is considered. 1 The Two ' Obligations.' The term ' obligation ' is used by these writers in two senses. On the one hand, it is used to denote the fact that a certain course of conduct is the only right course under the given circumstances. To be ' obliged ' to pay one's debts means, then, that not to pay them would necessarily be wrong. On the other hand, it may denote the fact that a given course of conduct can be counted on to bring the agent greater happiness than any alternative, so that to act otherwise would involve a sacrifice. 1 The reader of the Republic cannot fail to observe that this is substan- tially the Platonic view. CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 217 In this sense, to be ' obliged ' to pay one's debts means that if one does not pay them one will have to suffer for it. The first interpretation gives us ' moral obligation/ or the 'ob- ligation of conscience ' ; the second, the ' obligation of self- love.' And the doctrine of the school is that these two ob- ligations, although logically distinct, are practically coin- cident. Feelings of Obligation. It goes without saying that a man's moral obligation may diverge widely from what he feels to be for his best interests. But in that case his feeling as to his interests is mistaken ; whereas the feeling of moral obligation is infallible. To feel an obligation of self-love and actually to lie under such an obligation are not at all the same thing; to feel a moral obligation is to lie under it. In thus maintaining the distinction between moral ob- ligation and the obligation of self-love, the moral sense theorists are in accord with the intuitionalists. It will shortly be seen that this is a point upon which both of the nativistic schools differ from the utilitarians, according to whom moral obligation is simply the highest self-interest. 4. The Stimuli The Further Question. In the preceding pages it has been our aim to give an account of the sentimental theory, which, while not absolutely faithful to any one of the writers, fairly represents the common thought of the principal men. But there remains to be treated a question of maximum im- portance, concerning which their disagreement is too great to be reconciled. This question concerns the stimuli of the moral sense. What is their nature? Just as we might ask with regard to the stimuli of sound : What is the nature of auditory stimuli generally, and how do those which produce tone differ from those which produce noise ? so we have to 218 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS ask concerning the stimuli of the moral sense : What is their nature generally, and how do those which produce approval differ from those that produce disapproval? Extent of Agreement. On the general question all the writers are still so far in agreement as to hold that the stimu- lus is always the idea of a trait of character as it expresses itself in conduct. The moral-sense ethics is thus preemi- nently an ethics of virtue (in contrast to the intuitionalistic ethics of duty). Shaftesbury : Harmonious Character. But immedi- ately disagreement sets in. According to Shaftesbury, approval is stimulated by any indication of an harmonious character, disapproval by any indication of an ill-balanced character ; and an harmonious character is one which is so organized as to be for the good of society (or of the human species) as a whole. To show more clearly what this amounts to, he divides all human propensities into three kinds : the natural (or benevolent) affections, the self-affections, and the unnatural (or malevolent) affections. And he finds that in the harmonious character the natural affections are very strong, the self-affections are moderate, and the unnatural affections are altogether absent. Hutcheson : Benevolence. This theory soon led to one much simpler. According to Hutcheson, the one stimu- lus of approbation is benevolence, and the one stimulus of disapprobation is the yielding of benevolence to some stronger motive. Hutcheson attempts to show that all other virtues, such as courage, prudence, or justice, are reducible to benev- olence. Justice, for example, while it may involve an ap- parent disregard of certain personal interests, is always di- rected to the furtherance of more extensive interests. And courage, when not prompted by benevolent motives, is either morally indifferent or positively wrong. Butler's Criticism. The question whether all virtue is reducible to benevolence was actively discussed by moral- CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 219 sense theorists. Bishop Butler urged that while for God this might well be true, for man it could not be true; for the simple reason that we have not sufficient intelligence and foresight to guide our conduct by a calculation of the interests involved. To try to live according to the dictates of pure benevolence would result most disastrously. We should soon be drifting into the most abominable crimes all for the sake of the general happiness. For us, therefore, justice must always be a second virtue, irreducible to benev- olence. It was generally felt that Butler's position was the more sound. Hume : Sympathy. According to Hume, the stimulus of approbation is any trait of character which is sympatheti- cally felt to be useful or immediately pleasant either to the possessor or (more importantly) to others who may be affected by his conduct. Disapprobation is aroused by any trait which is sympathetically felt to be harmful or im- mediately unpleasant to the possessor or others. The list of virtues and vices is thus greatly increased. Justice is valued wholly by reason of our sympathy for those who may generally be expected to benefit by it. Benevolence is mainly valued for a similar reason, but also because we sym- pathize with the immediate pleasure which the benevolent man feels in the practice of his virtue. Discretion, enter- prise, industry, frugality, sobriety, and perseverance are examples of virtues that are such because they are useful to their possessor. Courtesy, modesty, decency, and wit are immediately pleasant to others. Cheerfulness and self- respect are immediately pleasant to oneself. 1 Adam Smith : Propriety and Merit. Adam Smith's theory, in which the moral-sense school reached the limit of 1 It may be recalled that Plato has a somewhat similar theory. Accord- ing to him all goodness and beauty is either useful or pleasant or both. The novelty in Hume's view lies in his recognition of the part played by sympa- thetic feeling. 220 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS its development, 1 is of extraordinary importance, in spite of the fact that its psychological basis is slight. For Smith was a great observer of human nature in the large, even though his knowledge of its inner workings was defective. According to him, our sentiments of approbation and of dis- approbation are of two kinds : those of propriety (and im- propriety) and those of merit (and demerit). (1) The senti- ment of propriety arises in us, in the first instance, from a feeling of sympathy with the motives that actuate the agent whom we are observing. It is, so to speak, a sense of the accord of feeling between us; and though the sympathetic feeling itself may be painful, this sense of accord is pleasant. Thus a man shows indignation at a gross insult, and we feel a kindred indignation. This indignation itself is unpleasant. But at the same time we feel a pleasant sense of being able to sympathize with his indignation ; and this is as much as to say that we feel the propriety of his indignation. How- ever, it is to be observed, an actual sympathetic feeling is 1 Theory of the Moral Sentiments (1759). It should be observed that Smith considered his theory radically different from that of the moral-sense school, though he recognized a certain kinship with Hume, in that Hume too had used sympathy as the basis of his explanation. The point is that Smith denies that there is any peculiar elementary sentiment of approbation or dis- approbation. "If we attend to what we really feel when upon different occasions we either approve or disapprove, we shall find that our emotion in the one case is often totally different from that in another, and that no common features can possibly be discovered between them. Thus the ap- probation with which we view a tender, delicate, and humane sentiment, is quite different from that with which we are struck by one that appears great, daring, and magnanimous. ... As the emotions of the person whom we approve of are, in those two cases, quite opposite to one another, and as our approbation arises from sympathy with those opposite emotions, what we feel upon the one occasion can have no sort of resemblance to what we feel upon the other." Smith's remarks here are, however, based upon any un- fortunate confusion between the sympathetic emotion (which, of course, re- sembles the other man's emotion) and the sentiment of approbation, which, I according to his theory, must be quite distinct ; for even though the sym- ( pathetic emotion be unpleasant, the sentiment of approbation is pleasant. 1 Smith is really much closer to his predecessors than he supposed. CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 221 not necessary as a stimulus to the sentiment of propriety. We may not be in the mood to sympathize ; or the lack of sympathy may even be due to permanent limitations which we recognize in our own character. It is enough if the con- ditions appear to us to be such that a normal observer (the " ideal spectator ") would sympathize. This normal ob- server is, of course, for each man an idealization of himself. Thus we all regard fortitude, the suppression of the signs of grief, as a virtue ; because we are easily led to sympathize when the signs of emotion are slight, but are repelled when they are excessive. Our sense of the propriety of our own 1 conduct is throughout dependent upon our conception of/ the attitude of the ideal spectator. Similarly, the sentiment of impropriety is the feeling that we, or the ideal spectator, cannot sympathize. It is an un- pleasant sentiment, as that of propriety is pleasant. (2) Our sentiments of merit and demerit are aroused under conditions where we (or the ideal spectator) can sym- pathize with the gratitude or resentment which the agent's conduct may excite in those affected by it ; not their actual gratitude or resentment necessarily, but their gratitude or resentment if they should feel any. In other words, a senti- ment of merit or demerit is a feeling of the propriety of grati- tude or resentment. All of the more important virtues and vices fall under this head. When, for example, we see one man assisted in his need by another, we put ourselves in imagination in the place of him who has been assisted, and thus see his benefactor in the most favorable light; and even if the recipient of the favor does not respond in any way, we as it were respond in his place. Adam Smith's theory is thus, like Hume's, based upon sympathy. But there are two great differences. According to Hume, the sympathy is for the pleasant or unpleasant consequences of conduct. According to Adam Smith it is sympathy either for the motives of the agent himself, or for 222 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS the gratitude or resentment that may be aroused. Again, according to Hume, the sympathy is the actual sympathy of the person judging. According to Adam Smith, it may be only the probable sympathy of the ideal spectator. The Weakness of Sentimentalism. We have given these details, because they serve to exhibit in striking fashion the weakness in the sentimental school that led to its ulti- mate overthrow. In their descriptive analysis of the moral life, these men had no rivals in their time. But their ex- planations took too much for granted; and as time went on the assumptions were increased. The underivable moral sense was a good deal to manage at the outset ; but the more and more complex psychological mechanism imagined for its stimulation was too much for the theory to carry. It is therefore not surprising that even within the lifetime of Hume and Adam Smith the drift of opinion set in strongly in favor of utilitarianism. An Intuitionalist Criticism. Utilitarianism we shall shortly have to consider. Here we must note an objection of the intuitionalists. The advocates of the moral sense have appealed to experience to show that the approval and disapproval are not a process of reasoning not the appli- cation of a general rule to the particular case. The con- sciousness of a rule, they say, is superfluous. But, as a matter of fact, is it not rather the feelings that are superfluous ? Or, if they be not superfluous, is it not true, at any rate, that they can vary widely in quality and intensity without affect- ing the moral judgment? For let us admit that we have such feelings: that either accompanying our moral judg- ments or, perhaps, even preceding them, there arises in us a spontaneous sense of the charm of virtue and of the repul- siveness of vice. Let us admit, too, that these feelings have a real function in our mental economy. They reenf orce the rational consciousness of moral obligation, which, indeed, in most of us is none too powerful. Still the fact remains CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 223 that moral judgment is one thing and the accompanying feelings another; and that it is by the judgment that the distinction between right and wrong is ultimately decided. The mistake that the moral-sense theorists have made is in confusing the moral judgment, which is rational, with its emotional accompaniments. And as for the analogy of beauty upon which they lay so much stress, that is indeed more than an analogy; for the so-called moral feelings are really (at least in part) cesthetic feelings they are feelings of the beauty or ugliness of human conduct and character. Now it is true that virtue is beautiful and that vice is ugly ; but that does not justify us in confusing virtue with the beauty of virtue, or vice with the ugliness of vice. 1 IV. UTILITARIANISM 1. The Utilitarian Program Products, not Elements. It will be recalled that utili- tarianism differs from the two theories w T hich we have been examining, in holding that the perception of moral values is not a simple and original quality of human nature, but grows up in each man from psychological elements of a non- moral character. Conduct is morally good or bad, accord- ing as it tends to increase or decrease the happiness of all concerned. But we have no native impulse that forces us into good conduct, as thus defined ; and we have no native admiration or contempt for the good or bad conduct that falls under our observation. The feeling of obligation, the feeling of approbation or disapprobation, are products, not elements, of our experience. Much the same thing is to be said of the feeling of be- nevolence, which, aside from any sense of obligation, makes 1 For Hume's discussion of a similar objection see Treatise of Human Nature, Book III, Part III, Sect. 1. 224 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS the good man desire the happiness of his fellow men inde- pendently of any consideration of his own happiness, even when a certain degree of self-sacrifice is called for. Benev- olence is not by any means a fiction. It is a real charac- teristic of human nature. But it is not natural in the sense of being original and elementary. Utilitarianism vs. Sentimentalism. The moral-sense theorists are substantially correct the utilitarians say in their account of the moral experience of the man of de- veloped character. The recognition of moral good and evil is in such a man a matter of spontaneous feeling. The pos- sibility of performing a benevolent act is at once an impera- tive claim upon him ; and the perception of such an act is sufficient to arouse his approbation. And it may be well enough to label this fact of his nature a ' moral sense.' But the moral sense, like the benevolence of which it so warmly approves, and indeed all the higher human affections and impulses, is derived from the mere desire for pleasure and avoidance of pain. 1 How does the Moral Being Arise? Thus is determined the scientific program of the utilitarian school. Instead of contenting themselves with a mere description of moral experience, these men start from certain very simple and general psychological principles (which they regard as suffi- ciently established) and try to account for all the facts in terms of these principles. They try to show how from the infant, who is not yet a moral being, such a being arises. Rationalistic Method. But, it is to be observed, they do not go about this by a study of the actual development of morality in children. Child psychology, founded by J. J. Rousseau in his Emile (1762), has no influence upon them. Nor do they take any systematic account of the historical development of morality in the race. Their theory is an ingenious logical construction, a reasoning out CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 225 how, on the accepted principles, the origin of the moral being must take place. The Assumptions. Let us, therefore, set down in sys- tematic order the principles which utilitarianism takes as its starting point. I. Pleasure is the only original object of desire, and pain is the only original object of aversion. 1 II. The intensity of the desire or aversion is determined by 'the intensity and duration of the conceived pleasure or pain, together with its degree of probability or certainty, and perhaps also its nearness or remoteness in time. III. When we desire any circumstance A, and perceive that a second circumstance B is an efficient means of bringing about A, we are in so far led to desire B. We say, " in so far," because there may be other causes that tend to make us averse to B ; and in that case our resultant attitude will be the joint effect of all the causes acting together. Similarly of aversion : if we are averse to A, and perceive that B tends to produce A, we are in so far led to be averse to B. It follows that if we think of any future circumstance as directly or indirectly causing in us pleasure or pain, we de- sire, or are averse to, this circumstance proportionately. IV. When we have come to desire a circumstance as a means to some further end, this further end tends to drop out of our attention, and eventually out of consciousness; so that we then desire the means ' for its own sake/ as we say. The like is again true of aversion. The stock illus- tration of this principle is the miser, who has once loved 1 As regards the nature of desire or aversion, the utilitarians generally hold that it is a present feeling of pleasure or pain attaching to the idea of a future condition or event. Thus to desire the defeat of the French forces is to take a present pleasure in the thought of their defeat as occurring. And the statement, that we naturally desire our own pleasure, means that we are so constituted that the idea of a future pleasure is even now pleasant to us. However, this theory has been widely held outside the utilitarian school ; and we therefore do not set it down among their peculiar doctrines. Q 226 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS his gold for what it will buy, but now loves it so ardently for its own sake that he is unwilling to part with it for anything. Thus, while pleasure is the only thing which we originally desire for its own sake, we are capable of learning to love for their own sakes an indefinite number of sources of pleasure. It is thus that we learn to desire, among other things, the happiness of our fellow men, or of particular men whom we love. It is in this way, also, that we develop our love of virtue and our detestation of vice in other words, our moral sense. We are now ready to consider the utilitarian account of morality, which falls into two parts, treating respectively of obligation and of approbation and disapprobation. 2. Obligation Two Problems. It is to be explained how it is that men come to feel obliged to act in such a way as to promote the general happiness. Also, it is to be shown that they are, as a matter of fact, so obliged; and this latter point may con- veniently be taken up first. (1) Actual Obligation: Definition. " Obligation is the necessity of doing or omitting any action in order to be happy " (Gay). To say that a man is obliged to act in a given way, is to say that if he acts otherwise he must neces- sarily lose in the amount of pleasure he experiences, as com- pared with the amount of pain. If we regard pleasures as positive quantities, and pains as negative, we may say that when a man acts contrary to his obligation, the algebraic sum of his pleasures and pains is diminished. Classification of Sanctions. The pleasures and pains upon which obligations depend are called sanctions. These may be classified as follows : I. Natural, depending upon the causal connections of natural events (as distinguished from the behavior of per- CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 227 sonal beings). In this way we are obliged to take sufficient food and avoid poisonous substances. II. Social, arising from the approval and disapproval, gratitude and resentment of our fellow men. In this way we are obliged to defer to public opinion. III. Civil, resting upon the system of rewards and pun- ishments established by the state. It is thus that we are obliged to be law-abiding citizens. IV. Divine, resting upon the will of God the rewards and punishments which he will bestow upon men in the hereafter. To these may be added the internal sanction of conscience itself, our satisfaction or regret as we survey our own con- duct in retrospect. But this, as we shall see, is not in origin independent of the others. Supremacy of the Divine Sanctions. When we examine the four kinds of sanctions, we note at once that the social and the civil sanctions are not certain. Men often deceive each other successfully, and sometimes even outwit the law. These sanctions, therefore, do not suffice to establish an indubitable obligation. And the natural sanctions, though they are certain as far as they go, are altogether insufficient to determine how we shall direct our conduct. The rascal and the saint may equally observe the force of gravity and the boiling point of water. Furthermore, in comparison with the divine sanctions, the other three classes are really negligible. For the divine sanctions are absolutely certain ; and since God is omnipotent, we may be well assured that the rewards and punishments proceeding from his hand will far outweigh any earthly pain or pleasure. The divine sanctions, therefore, are in them- selves sufficient to impose absolute obligations. In all things we are obliged to do as God wills. The Will of God. Now theologians have proved from natural evidences (altogether apart from any supernatural revelation) that God is infinitely benevolent, and that he has 228 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS created men with no other purpose than to make them as happy as possible. 1 He must therefore prefer that men should be well disposed toward each other, acting harmoni- ously for the greatest good of all, rather than that each should work only for his own interest, to the neglect or detri- ment of the interests of all others. That is to say, it is God's will that we should in all things seek the greatest happiness of the greatest number concerned ; and hence we ought so to act. And because we are all created equal in God's sight, each man should count for one, and no man for more than one. (2) The Feeling of Obligation. So much for the proof of our actual obligation. When we turn to consider how it is that men feel this obligation, the argument takes a somewhat different course. It is to be admitted that the vast majority of men, by reason of their ignorance or unreflectiveness, are, to a large extent, unaffected by the divine sanctions. Either they have not learned to expect a future judgment, or they do not consistently bear in mind the awful alternative that awaits them. They are often far more strongly moved by their immediate hopes and fears than by all that heaven or hell can hold in store for them. And yet they are not with- out feelings of moral obligation. Hence, in explaining these feelings, we must take into account the operation of all four classes of sanctions. General Agreement of the Sanctions. We note, then, that all four classes are in general agreement. We cannot do much for our fellow men by disregarding the natural laws upon which our health and efficiency rest. And, though men are often deceived as to their interests, and though they are also often deceived as to one another's intentions, still, in the long run, the man who is devoted to their welfare is 1 Thus, while the utilitarians deny the existence of an original benevolence in man, they are ready to admit it in God. This part of their theory is obviously a mere logical tour de force. CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 229 loved, and the man who disregards it is treated with hatred or indifference. Similarly, though the laws of the land some- times constrain men to immoral conduct, this is by no means the general rule. What is forbidden as crime is generally wrong, though not all that is wrong is forbidden. A state in which the laws were to any considerable extent opposed to the practice of morality could not long escape dissolution. Value of the Lower Sanctions. Thus the divine sanctions may be in great measure replaced by the lower sanctions in the formation of our feelings of obligation ; although with- out the divine sanctions these feelings must naturally be less powerful and less trustworthy. The corrective experi- ences of our common earthly life suffice to impress us pretty forcibly with the consciousness, that if we wish to be happy, we must seek our happiness in connection with the happiness of our fellows. In producing this effect, the constant pres- sure of the social sanctions is doubtless the principal factor. The fear of the law does not, in itself, go far toward making a man good, though it is a valuable auxiliary. Obligation without Sanctions. But the objection will be raised : How does this account for the fact that men may still be controlled by feelings of moral obligation, when, to all appearances, they are in no danger from any human re- sentment? The fact is that under such circumstances their feelings of obligation are often greatly weakened espe- cially if they have no vivid sense of the reality and power of God and consequently they often succumb to the tempta- tion to seek only their own selfish ends. When this weaken- ing does not occur, it is because, through habitualion, the feelings of obligation have become independent of their original sanctions. The compelling impulse to do what is right be- cause it is necessary for happiness has become an impulse to do right without regard to any further consequences. The end has dropped out of mind, while the means remains as potently attractive as ever. 230 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS Always, however, the divine sanctions remain as the com- plete rational justification of morality to the reflective in- quirer who asks why, after all, he ought to consider the wel- fare of his fellow men, whenever he finds himself so strong or so clever as to be independent of their wishes. 3. Approbation and Disapprobation The theory of approbation and disapprobation is quite as simple. The Obligation to Encourage Morality. Even if action for the good of the greatest number were not profitable to the agent himself, it would still be most desirable from the standpoint of his fellows. To be sure, any particular fellow might prefer to be especially favored by everybody all the time ; but that everybody should be willing to do this is so exceedingly improbable as to be out of the question. All things considered, the happiness of each is best assured by the morality of all the rest. By encouraging morality in each of his fellows, therefore, each man is promoting the happiness of all. He is obliged, therefore (according to the foregoing account of obligation), to encourage morality in every man. The Obligation to Praise or Blame. Now how can he do this ? The only means by which a man's conduct is con- trolled is the expectation of pleasure or pain until, through association, other ends have become directly attractive. To influence a man to act rightly, one must, therefore, cause him to expect pleasure as a consequence of right action, and pain as a consequence of wrong action. This may be done to some extent by instructing him with regard to the conse- quences of his acts, especially with regard to their everlasting consequences. The most efficient means, however, is at once to reward the right act and to punish the wrong not necessarily in the formal ways provided by the state, for these are not always practicable, but at least by expressions of praise and blame. For praise is grateful to men, by reason CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 231 of the pleasant direction which it gives to the imagination ; and blame is for a similar reason unwelcome. We ought, therefore, to praise any conspicuous right conduct, and we ought to blame wrong conduct. Now to recognize that any conduct ought to be praised or blamed, is to approve or disap- prove of it. Importance of the Intention. With this explanation, various characteristics of moral approbation and disappro- bation are easily understood. Since the object of praise is to encourage, and of blame to discourage, conduct similar to that which is praised or blamed, it is seldom advantageous to praise or blame unintentional acts. We therefore if we are reflective men do not feel that such acts ought to be praised or blamed ; that is to say, we do not approve or disapprove of them. It is the intention that we judge. On the other hand, the feelings which prompt men to action (the motive) matters not at all, provided the intention is the same. All motives, from reverence to loathing, are natural ; and all have their place, large or small, in the economy of human life. In themselves they are neither good nor bad. But any motive becomes good or bad according as it gives force to a good or evil intention. 1 Particular Selfish Interests Irrelevant. We see, too, why our approval or disapproval is unaffected by the way hi which the particular acts benefit or injure ourselves. For though (say) a particular right act may hurt me, it is still to my advantage to encourage that sort of conduct in the community. Self-approval and Disapproval. We approve and dis- approve of our own acts, as well as of those of other men. For when we act rightly, we can see that other men ought to praise our conduct, and when we act wrongly, we can see that they ought to blame our conduct even though, as a matter of fact, they do not do so. 1 Cf. p. 40. 232 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS The Moral Sense. Finally, the feelings of approbation and disapprobation, like the feeling of obligation, may be- come wholly detached from all thought of the self-interest upon which they are originally founded. We then approve, or disapprove, simply and spontaneously, all conduct which we see to be directed in accordance with, or contrary to, the general welfare. We have developed a moral sense. V. CONCLUDING REMARKS Hedonism in the Three Schools. Such, in outline, are the three classical English systems of ethics. All three systems, as we remarked at the outset, take for granted a hedonistic theory of values in general : that pleasure is the only ultimate good, and pain the only ultimate evil. For this very reason it is plain that hedonism (in this sense) has no particular connection with any one of the three. It is necessary to emphasize this fact, because during the nine- teenth century hedonism came to be peculiarly associated with the derivative theory; so much so, indeed, that the terms ' utilitarianism ' and ' hedonism ' are often used as precise equivalents. The consequence is that nineteenth- century critics and historians, when they noted the signs of hedonism in the old intuitionalists and moral-sense writers, set this down to inconsistency or to mere carelessness of language. What is really peculiar to the utilitarians is not hedonism in the sense of a general theory of values, but their peculiar psychological hedonism : the theory that all desire is origi- nally for pleasure, and all aversion originally for pain, and that all new objects of desire and aversion are related to the old as means to end or cause to effect. This theory is earnestly repudiated by the opponents of utilitarianism. Resemblance between Intuitionalism and Utilitarianism. When we compare the three systems with each other, it is at once evident that intuitionalism and utilitarianism, CLASSICAL SCHOOLS OF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 233 despite the extreme opposition between them, bear a strong family resemblance to each other. Both are neatly worked- out logical schemes, based upon a minimum of direct evi- dence. The moral-sense theory, on the other hand, is thor- oughly empirical in its temper and procedure, departing as little as possible from the observation of fact. The contrast may be partly explained by the fact that several influential members of the two first-mentioned schools were theologians, while the moral-sense school was led by men whose interests were essentially scientific. It may be noted that while the ex- istence of God is an important presupposition of intuition- alism, and is absolutely essential to the utilitarian scheme, it plays no part in the moral-sense theory. Social Evolution Overlooked. The great weakness of all three systems, from our present point of view, lies in the universal neglect of the phenomena of social evolution. That moral standards had suffered extensive changes was ad- mitted by some, denied by others. But, even when ad- mitted, it was not regarded from an evolutionary standpoint. Even the utilitarians, who professed to give an account of the development of the moral sense, limited this account to the individual consciousness, and paid no attention to the means by which sentiments are transmitted from generation to generation and are progressively modified in the process. On the whole, we may say of the ethical theories of the eigh- teenth century that they are individualistic and mechanical. REFERENCES SBLBY-BIGGE, L. A., British Moralists: being Selections from Writers principally of the Eighteenth Century. These selections are sufficient for the needs of elementary students ; but Hume and Reid are not represented. HUME, D., Treatise of Human Nature, Book III ; Enquiry concern- ing the Principles of Morals; A Dialogue, 234 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS REID, T., Essays on the Active Powers of Man, Essay III, especially Part III; Essay V. STEPHEN, L., English Thought in the Eighteenth Century, Ch. IX. SIDGWICK, H., Methods of Ethics, Book III, Ch. XIII. SETH, J., Study of Ethical Principles, Part I, Ch. II. MEZES, S., Ethics, Descriptive and Explanatory, Ch. III. DEWEY and TUFTS, Ethics, Ch. XVI, 3, 4. CHAPTER XII THE NINETEENTH CENTURY AND GERMAN INFLUENCE I. THE NEW UTILITARIANISM DUBING the nineteenth century all three lines of the clas- sical English thought persisted ; but utilitarianism came to possess an overshadowing importance. At the same time, however, it underwent certain decided modifications in its structure and temper; so that its new phase calls for a brief separate treatment. Change of Emphasis. Utilitarianism had lost its theo- logical stamp. It was a theory of psychologists and of po- litical reformers. Some of its most important adherents, including the most distinguished of all, John Stuart Mill, did not even believe hi the existence of an omnipotent deity. The consequence was that less and less emphasis came to be placed upon the supernatural sanctions of mo- rality, the rewards and punishments of a future world, and more upon the empirically observed sanctions. Obligation. But this meant that the old notion of ob- ligation had to be revised; for without the assumption of an overruling Providence to make all things straight, the universal necessity of a given sort of conduct, at all times, in order to be happy, could not be proved. Instead of being an external necessity, therefore, obligation came to be re- garded only as an internal sense of compulsion the feeling that one cannot be satisfied to act except in a certain way. Thus it was admitted that right conduct might call for real and permanent self-sacrifice ; and utilitarianism acquired a tone of sadness, if not of pessimism. 235 236 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS The Utilitarian Standard. What is the standard of morality? There is no one. standard. Every man of formed character has some standard, however crude, to which he feels himself bound. But what the standard is depends upon the circumstances of his upbringing. The utilitarian standard the greatest happiness of the greatest number is one which has been consciously accepted by many men, and half consciously by many more. When other standards of right and wrong are examined, it is gen- erally (perhaps always) to be found that a regard for the general happiness underlies them ; though it may be a mis- taken regard, or a regard limited to the members of a re- stricted society. The utilitarian standard may therefore fairly be regarded as in some sort the logical outcome of all others : that to which men of insight and wide intelligence must naturally turn. Theory of Sanctions. What are the sanctions of mo- rality, the sources of the sense of compulsion ? These are of many kinds ; but they may be divided into two main classes, according as they depend, or do not depend, on the expected attitude of other persons toward the conduct in question. In the first class belong the social and civil sanctions of the old utilitarians, as well as the divine sanctions (for all who believe in a God). In the second class belongs the natural sympathy of men for their associates or for men in general, by reason of which they are gratified at one another's hap- piness and distressed at one another's pain ; and here also belongs the love of virtue for its own sake, which habit builds up in us. All these sanctions may attach to the utili- tarian standard; and, indeed, it is peculiarly adapted to gain their support. For conduct which is intended to ad- vance the general happiness will, unless it be misunderstood, win the good will of all except some few who may find their selfish interests threatened by it ; and it is only rarely that such conduct can fall under the disapproval of the law THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 237 especially under modern democratic conditions. The sym- pathetic sanction is, of course, in favor of the utilitarian standard; and the simplicity, clearness, and universal ap- plicability of this standard make its incorporation into our * second nature ' comparatively easy. ' Original Altruism.' It is to be noted that in the nine- teenth century utilitarians are no longer unanimous in in- sisting upon what was once the cardinal doctrine of the school : that all desire is originally for one's own happiness. This is now regarded as a debatable point, and some are inclined to the view that we have an original desire for the happiness of our fellow men ; that is to say, that the idea of another's possible pleasure is naturally attractive to us, and the idea of his possible future pain naturally repugnant to us, altogether apart from any thought of further conse- quences to ourselves. This is a rapprochement with the old sentimental school, and is probably to be ascribed to the continued influence of the writings of David Hume. Mill's Energism. In this radical transformation of the old theory, John Stuart Mill is a leading figure. It should be mentioned here that Mill himself gave up the hedonistic theory of values that had characterized utilitarianism (in common with the other eighteenth-century systems) in favor of a crude energism, which he abstracted from Plato and Aristotle. He continues to use the general language of hedonism. The final good, he says, is happiness ; and hap- piness consists of pleasure with the absence of pain. But he explains that by * pleasure ' or ' pain ' he means, not the elementary affection of pleasantness or unpleasantness, but the total experience in which the affection is felt. For ex- ample, if playing tennis is pleasant to him, he does not speak of it as a cause of pleasure but as a pleasure not as a source of happiness, but as a part of happiness. Furthermore, he declares that pleasures differ in quality, and that the quality affects their value, which is not dependent merely upon the 238 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS amount. " Better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied." How, then, is the comparative value of two kinds of pleasure to be determined? By the preferences of those who have experienced both. The fool knows, for the most part, only physical pleasures. Socrates knows these ; and he also knows intellectual and moral pleasure which he greatly prefers. If the vast majority of men of a similarly broad experience agree with him, we are warranted in rating intellectual and moral pleasures higher than physical. All this has been generally felt to be a compromise with the old enemy, and other utilitarians have lent it but little support. On the other hand, the essential feature of the ancient energism the notion of a harmonious functioning of the whole organism is not appreciated by Mill. So that as we look back upon his system it is apt to strike us as a very promising failure. There is another reason for this ill impression. Measured by our present standards of what explanation ought to be, the determination of values by a majority vote, even of a select electorate, seems very weak. But Mill, like the old utilitarians, has little conception of the method or significance of social evolution; and so he ac- cepts his majority as an ultimate fact. Since his time, neo- Hegelianism, on the one hand, and Darwinism, on the other, have made social-evolutionary theory the central field of interest for ethics. II. KANT In the latter part of the eighteenth century, the center of ethical speculation shifted from England to Germany. With German ethics we shall not concern ourselves except in so far as their influence on later English and American thought has made them of peculiar importance to us. . Accord- ingly, we shall confine our attention to Kant, Fichte, and Hegel. Kant's Undertaking. Kant's work in ethics is in origin GERMAN INFLUENCE 239 an attempt to rehabilitate intuitionalism, and to demonstrate its reasonableness as against the moral-sense theory and utilitarianism. He tries, in the first place, to make plausible the doctrine that we have a consciousness of a universal moral law, 1 which is not derived from experience; and, in the second place, to show precisely what the moral law con- tains and what its acceptance as authoritative logically im- plies. In this latter part of his undertaking, he comes to results which issue in the inauguration of a new self-realiza- tion theory. The Moral Motive. In Kant's view the moral life con- sists of an incessant struggle between reason and the inclina- tions that spring from the sense of pleasure and pain. What- ever reason freely determines itself to do is right, and that alone. .Whatever inclination effects is at best indifferent, and is wrong if it contradicts reason. The only moral motive is reason's reverence for itself and for its own com- mands. Even personal affection is no substitute. To serve your friends because you love them is not virtuous. It is virtuous only to serve them when and because you ought. The Categorical Imperative. The commands of reason the moral law take on an indefinite number of partic- ular forms according to the conditions to which they are applied; but they all spring from a single principle which is entirely independent of all conditions, and which may therefore be called the ' categorical imperative/ This general principle is simply : Revere reason. This may seem 1 We have tried to keep this account of the ethics of German idealism as free as possible from any reference to the underlying philosophical theories. It may be well, however, for us to observe here that according to Kant the consciousness of a moral obligation is not knowledge in the strict sense of the term, and is thus not analogous to mathematical knowledge. Our knowl- edge, he declares, can never extend beyond the limits of possible experience ; and whatever can be given in experience is conditioned. A moral obligation, i.e. an unconditional obligation, cannot, therefore, be known. It can only be accepted. Moral obligation belongs to reason, not in its theoretical activity, but in its practical activity. 240 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS to be an empty tautology, as if it ran, ' Revere the command to revere reason ' ; or, ' Revere the command to revere the command to revere . . . / ad indefinitum; and many critics so regard it. But Kant, observing that the commands of reason are always universal) while the solicitations of sense are always particular, expands the statement of the law as follows : Act always so that you can at the same time will that the maxim, by which you act, may be a universal law. In other words, act always on principles that are really uni- versal; and do not make an exception of the case in hand on account of the particular appeal to your inclinations which it makes. Ought I, for example, to lie to get myself out of trouble? Can I wish that everybody would do like- wise? If they tried to, all faith in men's word would soon be gone, and so lying would be impracticable. Such a wish, therefore, contradicts itself ; and hence my excuse for lying is invalid. This, says Kant, is precisely the test which all good men are forever applying : " What if everybody did the same ? " Virtue and Pleasure. Kant's ethics is exceedingly aus- tere, as austere in its way as that of the stoics. In one re- spect, however, his doctrine is milder than theirs. He does not, like them, maintain that virtue is the only good, and that the addition of all other so-called goods cannot swell its value. He does hold that virtue is the only uncondi- tional good, and that pleasure is only good when it is the pleasure of the good man. But he admits that the virtu- ous man who is enjoying every pleasure is better off than the virtuous man who drags out an existence of privation and pain. For man is not simply a rational being, but a sensuous being as well; and though the demands of his sensuous nature should be subordinated, they cannot be altogether silenced. Nevertheless the fact that this eminent thinker ascribed to morality a value independent of pleasure and pain impressed powerfully many English readers who GERMAN INFLUENCE 241 had been brought up on the unsatisfactory hedonism that prevailed in their own country. 1 The Future Life. Kant connects morality with the belief in immortality and in future reward and punishment in a manner analogous to that of the English intuitionalists. 2 His argument is substantially as follows (though involved in many complications). There can be no obligation where there is not liberty to comply. 3 The moral law commands us to be perfect ; therefore it must be possible for us to be perfect. But the universal experience of mankind shows that we cannot be perfect. Any man who claimed to be so would at once be branded as a fool or a liar. How can this contradiction be resolved? It can be resolved only if it is possible for us, despite the weakness of our sensuous nature, to become perfect through an everlasting process of approxima- tion. But for this we must be immortal. And since the process of our perfecting must go on in time, and must take place under natural conditions, the carrying-out of the proc- ess can only be assured if there exists a Moral Governor of the universe. Finally, although the moral law is unaffected by human inclinations, still we cannot think it right that, in the long run, the good man should suffer and the bad man 1 Thus Carlyle exclaims over Schiller's Kantian essays : "Whoever reads these treatises of Schiller with attention will perceive that they depend on principles of an immensely higher and more complex character than our 'Essays on Taste,' and our 'Inquiries concerning the Freedom of the Will.' The laws of criticism, which it is their purpose to establish, are derived from the inmost nature of man ; the scheme of morality, which they inculcate, soars into a brighter region, very far beyond the ken of our ' Utilities' and 'Reflex-senses.' They do not teach us 'to judge of poetry and art as we judge of dinner,' merely by observing the impressions it produced in us ; and they do derive the duties and chief end of man from other grounds than the philosophy of Profit and Loss" (Life of Schiller, Part III). 1 There is a difference due to the fact that he holds that the existence of God and the immortality of the soul life outside the field of possible knowl- edge. He does, however, maintain that the belief in God and in immortality is implied in the acceptance of any moral obligation. Of. p. 65. B 242 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS prosper. And hence we must expect the inequalities of the present life to disappear in the future. III. FICHTE The Everlasting Struggle. Fichte, like Kant, looks upon the moral life as an everlasting struggle with sensuous in- clination, in which we gradually approach an indefinitely distant ideal the completed self (das absolute Ich). In- deed, he goes so far as to claim that that is the only value pleasure and pain have, the value of something to struggle against. To live rightly is to keep up the struggle. Every accomplishment institutes a new challenge to further en- deavor. To live wrongly is to give up the struggle, to con- sent to be comfortable in a word, to be lazy. All vice is, at bottom, laziness. On the other hand, a perfect moral being, that had no longer to struggle, would for that very reason cease to be. Fichte, therefore, does not believe in the existence of a God. God is, for him, an ideal eternally in the making, not a present entity. The Vocation. Fichte emphasizes, as Kant does not, the fact that man's moral life, in which his only true good con- sists, is essentially a social life the fulfilling of a vocation, to which his actual relations with the society in which he lives call him. He is one of the first of modern philosophers to appreciate the ethical significance of marriage and the family: to realize that marriage is not a mere device for perpetuating the race and providing the state with citi- zens, but an all-important condition of ethical development and activity. And his further studies made him see that the like is true of the state : that the state is not merely an organization to provide for the common defense and to sup- press internal disorder, but the sphere of tremendously important human activities. (Fichte was himself a patriot, one of the foremost spirits in the rehabilitation of Germany after the conquest by Napoleon.) Moreover, the state, too, GERMAN INFLUENCE 243 has its vocation in forwarding the progress of humanity as a whole. For the ultimate ideal toward which all history moves Fichte's God-in-the-making is a moral order which embraces all humanity in one common life. Influence in England. The moral philosophy of Kant and Fichte influenced English thought less through the writ- ings of professional ethicists than through the essays of such popular leaders as Thomas Carlyle, who found in the German rigorism an inspiration for their preaching. The traditional English hedonism, which found the good of man to consist in bits of pleasure no different qualitatively from those which the hog enjoys in his sty, seemed to them by contrast a ' swine philosophy.' IV. HEGEL Relation to Fichte. But it was with the invasion of England and America by the Hegelian philosophy (which took place in the last quarter of the nineteenth century) that hedonism was first seriously weakened in its hold on English ethical thought. Hegel's system is a genial toning-down of Fichte's, under the influence of Plato and, especially, of Aristotle. Hegel, too, finds man's true good in a self-development which consists in a larger and larger entering into the life of society the life of the family, of competitive industry, and of the state, and ultimately of the society of states which constitutes humanity. The dif- ference between right and wrong cannot be reduced to any intuitively known formulae, or felt by an inborn moral sense. It is the difference between performing one's part and not performing it, amid the actual social conditions and institu- tions that exist. What that part is can only be learned from society itself, by becoming in the fullest sense of the term a citizen. Moral Development. Hegel's great difference from Fichte is that he does not conceive of the process of development as 244 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS essentially a struggle, though he is free to admit that strug- gle is constantly involved in it. For that against which we struggle is nothing alien or hostile to us. It is the narrow- ness of our own undeveloped nature. And in the process of development we do not set our old self aside we do not even cease to be an animal in becoming a man we pre- serve the old nature as a part, though only a part, of the new. Pleasure and pain, for example, are not to be contemned. They are for the lower life of feeling what the appreciation of good and evil is for the higher life of reason; and the higher life does not put an end to the lower. We often have to disregard particular pleasures and pains for the sake of more concrete interests ; in fact no moral development can take place without many such a clash. And in that case the suppressed feelings appear to us as enemies. But we still continue regularly to find pleasure in good things and pain in evil things. The Life of Humanity. Hegel has a more positive view, too, of the social life in which the goods of humanity consist. For Fichte, morality was a struggle for the struggle's sake. For Hegel, it is the entering into the great inheritance of civilization art, religion, and philosophy. Hegel, like Aristotle, finds man's supreme happiness in the contemplation of eternal truth. Only he does not think of this as a personal matter. It belongs to the life of humanity, in which the individual has but a passing share. It is significant that whereas Fichte speaks of his God (the perfect moral order) as an ideal whose existence would be a self-contradiction, Hegel thinks of his God (the developing reason of humanity) as existing eternally, though at any one time exhibiting him- self in but one stage of his continual unfolding. The ' Neo-Hegelians.' This moral theory, with the larger metaphysical system in which it was contained, was carried over into the English-speaking world by a band of veritable apostles men who were burningly convinced of THE NINETEENTH CENTURY 245 the essential truth of its doctrines, and filled with pity or contempt for all who could continue to think along the tra- ditional English lines. The success of their endeavors was most rapid. By the end of the century almost all the prin- cipal chairs of philosophy in Great Britain and America were filled by Hegelians. At the present time, though a strong tide of opposition to Hegelianism has arisen, the ablest critics recognize that there is much in the system, per- haps especially in its ethical doctrines, that is of permanent importance for science. V. THE ENGLISH CONTROVERSIES Subject of the Following Chapter. In the ethical con- troversies of the last quarter of the century, the two chief points at issue were (1) the significance for ethics of the Dar- winian theory of evolution (which is discussed in Chapter XVII) and (2) the hedonism which the utilitarian school still maintained as they received it from their eighteenth- century forbears, and which the Hegelians contemptuously repudiated. In the long controversy which raged over this latter point, a multitude of considerations were presented on both sides, in part repeated from ancient writers, in part new. The following chapter is intended to afford a general survey of the chief arguments. Its Importance. Such a survey cannot now claim the same interest that might have belonged to it fifteen or twenty years ago. Hedonism in all its forms is dead for the pres- ent; though past experience may lead us to expect for it many another rebirth. But even if it were dead for good and all, it would still deserve our careful attention, for the reason that the ethical science of to-day never could have been what it is if it had not been for hedonism ; and many of its chief doctrines can hardly be understood save in contrast to the hedonistic formulae which they have replaced. A thorough discussion of hedonism is therefore of prime im- 246 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS portance as an introduction to the direct presentation of theory which occupies the last part of this volume. REFERENCES KANT, I., Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals; Critique of Practical Reason; both translated in Abbott's Kant's Theory of Ethics. The selections contained in Watson's Philos- ophy of Kant are a sufficient reference for beginners. FICHTB, J. G., Vocation of Man (in Popular Works of Johann Gottlieb Fichte, translated by Wm. Smith, Vol. I), Part HI, especially pp. 447 ff. HEGEL, G. W. F., Philosophy of Right; best studied by the beginner in G. Morris's exposition, Hegel's Philosophy of the State and of History. MILL, J. S., Utilitarianism. SIDGWICK, H., Methods of Ethics. SPENCER, H., Data of Ethics (Part I of Principles of Ethics). STEPHEN, L., Science of Ethics. HUXLEY, T. H., Evolution and Ethics, first two essays. GREEN, T. H., Prolegomena to Ethics. The essential doctrines are best studied by the beginner in Muirhead's excellent text-book, Elements of Ethics, which is entirely in Green's spirit. BRADLEY, F., Ethical Studies. SORLEY, W. R., The Ethics of Naturalism; and Recent Tendencies in Ethics. PRINGLE-PATTISON, A. SETH, Man's Place in the Cosmos. DEWEY and TUFTS, Ethics, Chs. XVI, 1, 2, XVII, 1, 2. CHAPTER XIII THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY I. THE KINDS OF HEDONISM IN an earlier connection we have briefly explained the various senses in which the term ' hedonism ' (or its equiv- alent, ' the pleasure-theory ') is used. Here it may be convenient to repeat this explanation more at length. 1 (1) Theory of Values. As we well know, one of the primary problems of ethics is to determine what the dis- tinction between good and evil means ; where ' good ' and ' evil ' are understood to be applicable to any sort of thing or circumstance that can interest us in any way. An answer to this problem is a general theory of values. Such a theory must be applicable hi every particular field where values of 1 The following outline may assist the student in threading his way through a tangled mass of distinctions : A general theory of values : Hedonism Theories as to the objects of desire and aversion good = pleasant, evil = painful. The selfish theory : all desire is really for pleasure, all aversion for pain. The theory of original selfishness. Ethical hedonism : theories of moral values Egoistic hedonism : right conduct means conduct that is most con- ducive to the pleasure of the agent. Universalistic hedonism : right conduct means conduct that is most conducive to the pleasure of all concerned. The student should observe that in the discussion which begins on p. 252 the two theories of desire and aversion are first considered. 247 248 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS any sort are recognized. It must hold equally of the vir- tuous and the vicious, the well-bred and the ill-bred, the beautiful and the ugly, the cheap and the dear, and so forth and so on. One such general theory of values is hedonism. Put into few words it is the theory that ' good ' and ' pleasant/ ' evil ' and ' unpleasant ' are the same. Set forth in a formal, systematic fashion, it embraces the following points. 1. A thing may conceivably be good or evil either in itself or as a cause of something else that is good or evil. We are familiar with things that are good or evil in the latter way. Corn is good to nourish our bodies ; weeds are evil because they destroy the corn, or necessitate labor. But if nothing were good or evil in itself, nothing could be good or evil as a cause. There must, therefore, be an ultimate good and evil. 2. The ultimate good is pleasure; the ultimate evil is pain. Pleasure and pain are simple (unanalyzable) feelings, which we cannot define or describe, but with which we are all perfectly familiar. Every feeling of pleasure is good, every feeling of pain is evil, in itself, to him who feels it, independently of every other fact in the universe. Pleasure, with the absence of pain, is called ' happiness ' ; pain, with the absence of pleasure, is called ' misery/ 3. Pleasures are all alike in quality. They differ from each other only quantitatively (i.e. in intensity and dura- tion) and in ' purity ' (i.e. in freedom from admixture with pain). The like is true of pains. Possible pleasures and pains differ also in their degree of probability. 4. The amount of a pleasure or pain is the product of its duration and its average intensity. Pleasures and pains may be added to each other algebraically, the pains counting as negative pleasures. A sum of pleasures and pains is good or evil according as pleasure or pain predominates. 5. Everything that tends to produce pleasure is so far THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 249 good ; everything that tends to produce pain is so far evil ; that is, good or evil to him who may experience the pleasure or pain. It is good or evil, on the whole, according as it tends to produce more pleasure or more pain. When it is thus set forth in detail, the hedonistic theory of values shows itself to be not quite so simple as might at first be supposed. Still it is at least as simple as any rival theory, and this has been a strong point in its favor. For, other things being equal, scientific men are always disposed to prefer the simpler of two alternative modes of explanation. When we look to see the evidence that is offered for this theory, we frequently find none at all. It is advanced as if it were self-evident, or as if a slight examination of our habit- ual use of terms were sufficient to prove it ; and those who deny it are regarded as if they were the victims of a stupid prejudice. Sometimes, however, a proof is given ; and then it is almost always based on some theory of desire ; that is to say, more precisely, some theory with regard to the sorts of objects which excite desire and aversion in men and other animate beings. Two such theories must now be distin- guished. (2) Theories of Desire. A theory of values (such as we have been considering) is a theory as to what ought to be desired. We have now to deal with theories as to what men actually do desire. This is, of course, a very different ques- tion, since we often desire things that turn out to be unde- sirable ; and a theory of desire must explain this phenom- enon just as well as it explains desires for things that are actually good. The Selfish Theory. The theory of desire most widely held by hedonists in ancient times was this: that in all desire the ultimate object is the agent's own pleasure, in all aversion the ultimate object is his pain ; and that whatever else may be desired is viewed as a means of getting pleasure and avoiding pain whatever else is avoided is viewed as 250 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS an obstacle to pleasure or as a source of pain. When we desire what turns out to be unpleasant, or are averse to a real source of pleasure, that is due to ignorance. This theory is called ' psychological hedonism/ l the ' selfish theory,' or the ' theory of universal selfishness/ It is easy to see why, if the selfish theory be true, the hedonistic theory of values follows from it. If pleasure is the only object that can ever be desired for its own sake, it is folly to say that anything else ought to be so desired. There is no sense in quarreling with a universal law of nature. One might as well say that 2 + 2 ought to be 5. And as for secondary goods would it not be absurd to hold that something which we only desire through ignorance of its true effects is good? No moralist has ever defended such an absurdity. However, as we shall see, there are reasons for doubting the truth of the selfish theory, which do not directly affect the hedonistic theory of values ; and in modern times the former has been very generally displaced among hedonists by an alternative theory. Original Selfishness. This second theory of desire is called the ' theory of original selfishness.' It may be out- lined as follows : It is not indeed true that in all our desires and aversions pleasure and pain are the ultimate object. We desire things and relations of many sorts without a thought as to their future effects upon our own feelings. For example, we can desire the happiness of a friend as an end in itself, beyond which our hopes do not reach. But this is an effect of habit. Originally we desire only our own pleasure and are averse only to our own pain. Then we desire, or are averse to, the things which we find bring us pleasure or pain. And, finally, with the repetition of the experience, the end 1 This term is also used in a wider sense, so as to include the theory of original selfishness, mentioned below. THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 251 drops out of our minds, and what was formerly a means becomes an end in itself. We at first love our friends (i.e. desire their happiness) for what they are worth to us ; but with time we learn to love them whole-heartedly for them- selves. 1 (3) Theories of Moral Values. So much for the hedo- nistic theory of values and its psychological supports. We must now take account of hedonism as a theory of moral values ' ethical hedonism/ as we may call it. This is the application to moral values in particular, of the hedo- nistic theory of values in general. Character and conduct, like everything else (it is said), are good or evil according to their tendencies to produce pleasure or pain. Egoistic and Universalistic Hedonism. There are two particular forms which the hedonistic theory of moral values has taken. According to the one, when we speak of conduct as right or wrong, good or bad, we are referring to its value to the agent. According to the other, we are referring to its value to all who are affected by it. According to the former, the right thing for any man to do under any circumstances means the thing that will (barring unpredictable accidents) bring the greatest balance of pleasure to him. According to the latter, the right thing means that which will bring the greatest balance of pleasure to the group of persons con- cerned. The two forms of ethical hedonism are called ' egoistic hedonism ' and ' universalistic hedonism ' (or ' utilitarianism '), respectively. Roughly speaking, the for- mer is the ancient, the latter the modern form of the theory. The distinction between egoistic and universalistic hedon- ism is a little complicated by the fact that many hedonists (especially in modern times) have held that the conduct which is best for the agent and the conduct which is best for all concerned are always the same. (In fact, the attempted proof of this identity has been an important part of modem Cf . p. 225. 252 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS hedonistic theories.) In such a case it is sometimes difficult to classify the thinker one way or the other. A few recent hedonists have held that conduct to be right must be best for the agent and also best for all concerned. They are thus egoistic and universalistic at once. We shall discuss the various hedonistic theories in the above order, except that we shall place first the two theories of desire : the selfish theory and the theory of original sel- fishness. II. THE SELFISH THEOBY Its Plausibility. The theory of universal selfishness is a typical piece of worldly wisdom the sort of thing with which the disillusioned man of mature years damps the ar- dor of the romantic young enthusiast. In modern times this has been its chief significance, as few ethicists of any note have subscribed to it. However, it is exceedingly plausible, it explains so many things so easily, and the holder of it can flatter himself that he takes a cool and unprejudiced view of human nature, his own included. Not Immoral. To hold such a theory is no sign of wicked- ness or hardness of heart. The worst that its opponents can say of it is that it indicates a certain narrowness of mind or an inability to introspect clearly. The psychological hedonists have often been men of conspicuous generosity constant friends, devoted philanthropists, and sturdy patriots. They have almost never thought of denying that love and benevolence exist, or of declaring that all pretensions to them are mere hypocrisy. They simply declare that if all these so-called ' unselfish ' feelings be analyzed, they will be found to be nothing else than desire for various objects for the sake of one's own pleasure. The ultimate aim of all men is alike. They simply seek it in different directions. Difference of Tastes. According to this theory, then, if we wish for money or food or dress or books or music or THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 253 love or virtue, we are, perhaps unknown to ourselves, really desiring the pleasure (or escape from pain) which the par- ticular object brings. Men are, of course, of many different types. They inherit different tastes or capacities for pleas- ure ; and education magnifies these differences still further. It is to this that their differences of conduct are due. Each seeks his pleasure where he expects to find it. In fact, to desire a thing and to expect pleasure from it, to feel aversion for a thing and to expect pain from it, are psychologically identical. Sympathy is no exception. Grant that there are sympathetic pains and pleasures, which we feel at wit- nessing the experiences of others, especially those whom we love. We cannot get outside our own minds. The pains and pleasures which we feel are ours, not theirs ; and when we wish them to be happy, that is only because this will give us happiness. Benevolence simply indicates a capacity for deriving pleasure from a certain class of objects, and is at bottom no more disinterested than gluttony. The reason that the term ' selfishness ' has an evil sound to us is that it is commonly taken to denote either lack of sympathy or lack of the foresight that would show how one's own interests and those of other men are bound up together. But, strictly speaking, the broadest mind and the broadest heart only go to make up an enlightened selfishness; and that is all that moral goodness means. Proof of the Theory. If the psychological hedonist is asked to prove his doctrine, he may simply appeal to the general experience of his questioner for confirmation; or he may put an imaginary test case as follows : If we consider anything whatever, which we are intensely desirous to have or to keep fame, virtue, a place in heaven, or what you will and then imagine that we are never to have the slight- est pleasure from it, does not our attitude toward it lapse into utter indifference? Nay more, suppose that not only is it to give us no pleasure, but it is to be a perpetual source 254 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS of agonizing pain ; does not a positive aversion to it at once arise ? Similarly of anything which we detest : imagine it to be a cause, not of pain, but of intense and unfailing pleasure, and can we then help longing for it ? If an affirma- tive answer is given to these questions, the psychological hedonist regards the truth of his theory as granted. Objections. We shall have something to say with regard to this test later. Here let us consider some objections to the theory. (1) Is there an Idea of Pleasure? That we do at times desire our own pleasure is almost universally admitted, though in recent times some psychologists have denied it. Pleasure and pain, say these psychologists, are feelings (or affections), not sensations, and are not, like the latter, capa- ble of being represented in the mind by the faint copies which we call ' ideas.' What we call the idea of pleasure is, then, really a vague general notion of the various sorts of experience in which pleasure is felt. But if there is no idea of pleasure, pleasure as such cannot be desired. If this be correct, psychological hedonism is false indeed ; but there is no consensus of opinion upon the point. And, historically, the possibility of a desire for pleasure has not been seriously disputed. (2) Not Pleasure but Pleasant Objects Desired. What the critics urge is that the desire for pleasure occupies in most men a comparatively small part of their lives. What men ordinarily desire is not pleasure as such, to be gotten no matter how, but things and activities and all sorts of con- crete experiences. The man who desires food desires food ; the man who desires a game of billiards desires a game of billiards ; the man who desires the conversion of the heathen desires the conversion of the heathen not pleasure. The thought of pleasure may not enter into his mind at all. The reply of the psychological hedonist is, of course, that the idea of pleasure really is present, though not at the center of THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 255 attention. The immediate object of desire is not pleasure, but the means by which pleasure is directly or indirectly to be had. But still it is pleasure that the man is consciously, if not self-consciously and attentively, seeking. And the fact that one man looks to one source of pleasure, another to another, is due (as was explained above) to the differences in their inherited and acquired tastes. (3) Ante Mortem Desires. But, say the objectors, men often desire events from which they cannot possibly expect any pleasure. A favorite example is taken from the conduct of Epicurus himself in his last hours of life. Epicurus, it will be recalled, was confident that at death both pleasure and pain cease forever. And yet, when he was about to die, he took care to make provision for his wards, the orphans of his friend Metrodorus. What pleasure could he hope to gain from the future welfare of these children? None, to be sure. But (says the hedonist) in the moments of life that were left to him, was not the imagination of their happiness pleasant, and would not the prospect of their unhappiness have been painful ? for we can have pleasure or pain even in a mere fiction. And was not the securing of this pleasure and the prevention of this pain a sufficient motive for his act ? (4) Desire for Pleasure Defeats Itself. One favorite criticism is based upon the so-called ' hedonistic paradox/ The paradox, as alleged, is as follows: Men do sometimes desire particular objects only for the pleasure that they expect from them. Those who habitually do this we call ' pleasure-seekers/ Now our observation of such men constantly shows them to be unhappy. And when we look for the reason we see that to desire anything merely for the sake of pleasure soon takes away our capacity for getting pleasure from that thing. To get pleasure from billiards one must really care for billiards as an end in itself, and not simply as a means for which some other means might with perfect indifference be substituted. The proposition that all desire 256 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS is pleasure-seeking is, therefore, a manifest absurdity. 1 The reply of the psychological hedonist is simple. The melan- choly pleasure-seeker differs from other men simply in this : that he does not know himself, does not understand his own capacities for pleasure. He tries to get pleasure in ways in which he sees some other men getting it; or, without reckoning upon the deadening effects of custom, he tries to get pleasure as he himself has often gotten it in the past. Naturally, the chances are great that he is disappointed. Moreover, the notion that you must have a specific desire for something before it can give you pleasure is false. Pleas- ure does not arise only from the satisfaction of particular desires. It may arise and so may pain, too, for that matter from a totally unexpected source. The suddenly wafted scent of a bed of unseen roses is none the less grateful because unanticipated. A game of billiards, which I enter upon against my will, solely to avoid some greater evil, may turn out to be surprisingly pleasant. Before a thing has been found to be a source of pleasure, it is not desired. Afterwards it is desired for the sake of the expected pleasure. That is the whole story. 2 1 The hedonistic paradox is often urged as an objection to other parts of the hedonistic program, and we shall touch upon it again. 8 The paradox sometimes takes this form : To experience pleasure you must not attend to it. If you attend specifically to the pleasure itself (as distin- guished from its source), its intensity is weakened, and it is soon blotted out altogether. Sip a glass of your favorite wine ; and if your attention to the pleasure distracts you from the flavor, the pleasure vanishes. Hence the desire for pleasure, as distinct from the pleasant object, defeats itself. The hedonist's reply is, first, that the facts are substantially as stated, and, secondly, that they do not militate against his theory. For what is de- scribed is not the natural effect of pleasure. It does not tend to monopolize the attention, but shares it with the source. It is the analytical attention of the psychologist that isolates the pleasure and so destroys it. And the only moral is : If you wish to be happy, do not introspect too much. The hedon- ist adds that, in his view, although pleasure is the ultimate object of all our desires, we seldom give it any high degree of attention ; so that the whole argument of his opponent is badly misplaced. THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 257 Why Disproof is Difficult. Psychological hedonism is thus not so easy to refute as may at first sight be supposed. On a closer examination we can easily see why. It is a theory with regard to the contents of consciousness to which we are not attending the field of inattention. For whenever we analyze the object of our desire and find no expected pleasure there, the easy answer always is : It is there, but you do not notice it, because your attention is elsewhere on the means 'of getting it. Now it is practically impos- sible to disprove a statement like that, for how can we tell what may not be where we cannot distinctly see ? It trans- ports discussion to the night, " where all cats are gray," as the French proverb has it. Proof similarly Difficult. But if it is hard to disprove, so also is it fatally hard to prove. If we cannot be sure that a given content does not lurk in the field of inattention, neither can we be sure that it always does lurk there. The imaginary test which we mentioned above is no real test at all, for it cannot be performed with any precision. We cannot in imagination subtract pleasure (or pain) from a given experience, and add pain (or pleasure), without chang- ing the content of the experience otherwise. When, for example, we are told to think away all pleasure, we do more : we blur out the pleasant details upon which our attachment rests. When we are told to add pain, we add not pain as such, but pains, i.e. particular more or less definite sources of annoyance. Uselessness of the Theory. Now scientists have learned by a long experience that theories that cannot be brought to a test are seldom of any real service in explaining anything. The present theory is no exception. Every one admits that At the present time many psychologists hold that it is impossible to attend to any affection of either pleasure or pain : that it is only on the sensational side of consciousness that attention is possible. The old hedonists would probably have regarded this theory as perfectly compatible with their own. 258 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS when things are (directly or indirectly) pleasant to us, we learn to like them, and that when they are unpleasant, we learn to dislike them. It makes this fact not a bit more simple to declare that on every occasion when we feel desire or aversion the idea of pleasure or pain is present in our minds, and that all our conscious activities are planned accordingly. Why should we make ourselves out to be so calculating? Why not say simply that the past pleasure or pain has modified our likes and dislikes, instead of lugging in the idea of a future pleasure or pain which introspection almost always fails to discover? While, therefore, the selfish theory cannot be regarded as definitely refuted, no one in our time is inclined to regard it with favor. It is not a promising working hypothesis. Idea of Pleasure vs. Pleasure in an Idea. There is a further consideration which has told strongly against the self- ish theory, a consideration which we here put last because it is based on a psychological analysis of the processes of desire and aversion, which is widely, but not universally, accepted. Desire is undoubtedly a complex process; and one com- ponent of it seems to be a feeling of pleasure, attached to the thought of the desired object. Some psychologists (includ- ing many modern hedonists) have held that this is all that desire is : pleasure in the thought of a possible future condi- tion. Similarly, the complex process of aversion seems to contain a feeling of pain : some psychologists, again, going so far as to say that aversion is no more than pain at the thought of a possible future condition. 1 Now it should be observed that this pleasure or pain is not an idea referred to the future. It is not a possible contingency to which the man looks forward. It is an actual present feeling. It can- not, therefore, be regarded as a part of the desired or hated object; it is simply, as above said, a psychological element in the desire or aversion itself. Now the older hedonists, it is i Cf. note, p. 225. THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 259 said, made just this mistake: they confused the idea of pleasure with pleasure in an idea. And because there can be no desire without pleasure or aversion without pain, they jumped to the conclusion that all desire is for pleasure and all aversion for pain. The criticism is shrewd ; very likely there is truth in it. III. THE THEORY OF ORIGINAL SELFISHNESS Its Advantages. The theory of original selfishness is, as we have said, the modern substitute for the foregoing. It has the advantage of not being openly in opposition to our ordinary self-observation. It makes a slighter demand upon our ' scientific credulity.' Not all desire is for pleas- ure, not all aversion is for pain, but only has been : surely that is a very little thing to believe ! And the theory has the further advantage of being in line with modes of explana- tion which have been found serviceable in the treatment of other problems of mind the modes of explanation that are comprised under the general name of ' associationism/ Men who have held it could thus congratulate themselves that they were genuinely ' scientific/ Empirical Evidence. Besides, it is based on admitted facts. There is no doubt that we often do desire things first as means to further ends, and then (as these ends drop out of mind) for their own sake. The theory of original self- ishness asks us to generalize this observation, to conceive that all our various desires have thus originated in one simple original desire the desire for happiness. And there is this further direct evidence, which is generally admitted. We all desire pleasure, and are averse to pain, for its own sake, without ever having to learn ; and our liking for partic- ular objects increases as they give us pleasure, and decreases as they give us pain. What more natural, therefore, than to suppose that it is desire for pleasure and aversion to pain 260 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS that have been the fundamental agencies in shaping all our particular tastes? No longer Popular. And yet, with all these advantages in its favor, the theory of original selfishness is now almost as much out of fashion as the selfish theory. And again it is not so much any direct refutation that has counted against it, as the emergence of a more ' economical ' theory to account for the same facts : the theory that not desire for pleasure and aversion to pain are the agencies that form our tastes, but pleasure and pain themselves. Objection : Desire for Objects comes First. As for the direct refutation, that has always taken the form of trying to show that desire for particular objects must neces- sarily arise in the young animal earlier than the desire for pleasure. It is said, for example, that the very first desire cannot be for pleasure, because the animal has not yet experi- enced pleasure, and so can have no idea of it. The babe at the breast, when first he begins to suck, can have no idea of the pleasure the milk will give him. Only later, as he re- vives the experience in his mind, can a desire for a repetition of the pleasure arise in him. But the argument is almost un- believably weak. If the babe has no expectation of pleas- ure, so neither has he any expectation of milk. His desire is not for any object at all. It is, for that reason, not what we properly term ' desire/ It is a blind, instinctive impulse, following with mechanical precision upon its peculiar stimuli. Now the hedonist is perfectly willing to admit that there are many such impulses, both instinctive and acquired by habit, which often move us to act. His theory has only to do with desire for an object; and he holds that the primitive object is pleasure. If the milk gave no pleasure (or relieved no pain), it would never become an object of desire. It is the pleasure that is desired first. A Simpler Theory. The theory of original selfishness has been generally abandoned, not because it has been proved THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 261 to be false, but because it has been found to be unnecessary. For what hinders us from supposing that all objects of desire are particular from the start? Our first cravings are object- less ; but as soon as we become aware of the objects of these cravings we desire them, not for the sake of the satisfaction, but because of the satisfaction. The actual pleasantness of the warm, sweet milk intensifies the sucking impulse and makes the infant pull the harder. And when the child has formed an idea of the milk, and the natural stimuli of suck- ing recur (the sensation of hunger, and the pressure of the nipple upon the lips), the idea of the milk will also arise, and by its pleasantness its actually felt pleasantness reenforce these stimuli. There is no need to assume an idea of pleasure, much less a distinct desire for pleasure. ' Pleas- ure facilitates, pain inhibits ' that is the only principle we need. IV. THE HEDONISTIC THEORY OF VALUES IN GENERAL Relation to the Foregoing Theories. All this, however, may be regarded as a mere preliminary to the main problem, the nature of value. And it may even be set down as an unnecessary preliminary. For one may hold almost any theory you please with regard to the objects of desire ; one may even hold that pleasure in the abstract pleasure considered apart from any particular pleasant object or experience never is desired, and that pain in the abstract is never avoided; and still maintain that pleasure is the sole ultimate good, and pain the sole ultimate evil. For consider (it may be said) any object to which we ascribe great value; and let us admit that in thus valuing it no desire of pleasure as such is, or has been, active in our minds. If, now, for any length of time, the object is repeat- edly found to give us no pleasure, its value gradually di- minishes ; and if it becomes a source of pain, its value event- ually sinks below zero. The values of things are, in fact, 262 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS constantly changing in this way. Pleasure and pain are thus the essential factors in constituting values. The good is the directly or indirectly pleasant; the evil is the directly or indirectly painful. Objections: (l) The 'Swine Philosophy/ The criti- cisms which have generally been urged against this view are quite as weak as the criticisms of the hedonistic theories of desire. For the most part they amount to a mere senti- mentalism a feeling that man is of too noble a nature to be born for nothing better than pleasure, since it is within the reach of the lower animals. So hedonism has been called the ' swine philosophy ' as if that were a sufficient refutation. Of course, if swine are capable in any measure of enjoying the highest good, so much the better for them; we as men are not worse off for that. But the epithet ignores the fact that hedonists are fully capable of recognizing the dis- tinction between ' higher ' and ' lower ' pleasures. This distinction, indeed, plays an important part in their maxims for the guidance of life. The lower pleasures are those which, though they may for the moment be very intense, are not durable, and, when intense, are bound to be mixed with, or soon followed by, considerable pains. Such are the pleasures that arise from the satisfaction of sensual appetites. The higher pleasures, while less passionate, are purer and more durable, and are followed by no reaction. Such are the pleasures of refined social intercourse, and it is these that the wise man estimates most highly; while the pleasures of swine and the pleasures of swinish men belong to the other class. (2) The Good must be Permanent. Often it is objected that pleasure is transient, and that the supreme good must be something lasting that can permanently satisfy men's desires. But would not an unbroken succession of pleasures do this? After all, an unsatisfied desire is a pain, and in the hedonistic ideal this would not remain. THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 263 (3) Real Values are Objective. Or, again, it is said that pleasure and pain are subjective, existing only as contents of an individual mind, and not directly cognizable by any one else; while values are objective, existing as qualities of things or circumstances, open to general observation. When, for example, we look together at a painting, each of us feels little waves of pleasure, or it may be of pain, as his glance flits from one detail to another or widens to take in a view of the whole; and these feelings are absolutely private, shut up within his own soul. But the beauty of the painting (its aesthetic value) is there for all to observe and appreciate. We set ourselves up as authorities to criticize it, and proceed to defend our criticisms, thereby treating the beauty as an objective fact, concerning which there may be difference of opinion but only one truth. The contrast between pleasure (and pain) and value is like that between the sensations of pressure, color, sound, etc., that enter a man's consciousness as he observes a physical object, and the physical object itself. The sensations have no existence save as the observer is conscious of them. The physical object is a part of our common world, to which all sound men have access. The hedonist's answer to this objection is very simple. He points out that according to his own theory value is of two sorts, and that the objector confuses these. The one sort is ulti- mate value, which consists of pleasure and pain, and is, in- deed, subjective. But the other sort, relative value, which consists in the capacity to excite pleasure and pain, is ob- jective. No need to dispute this. We human beings are constructed, physically and mentally, on the same general pattern ; so that the object which is capable of pleasing one sound man is, in general, capable of pleasing others. To be sure, there are exceptions, due to individual differences between men, ranging all the way from slight variations of taste to positive abnormality. But this is also true of physi- cal qualities. Not all such qualities are observable by all 264 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS men. There are the deaf and the blind and the victims of catarrh, to whom more or less of the world is hidden. Fur- thermore, when one cannot appreciate the value of a thing directly, he can often become aware of it indirectly from the behavior of other men just as the blind man learns of the different colors. He finds that his fellows are pleased or pained by things which affect him not at all. And thus he realizes that there may be in things a real capacity to please or pain, to which he himself has not the capacity to respond. The values exist for others, though they do not exist for him. Of course, if no one could ever respond, the capacity to please or pain would not be real the value would not exist at all. (4) Common Good. Much the same answer is given to the allied objection, that the hedonistic theory is individ- ualistic : that it treats each man as if he lived only for him- self, and takes no account of any common good, whether it appertain to the welfare of the family, the community, the state, or humanity as a whole. To be sure, the hedonist may speak of the happiness of a number of men; but that is simply an external putting-together of the happinesses of so many individual men. Again the hedonist replies that the distinction between ultimate and relative value has been overlooked. It is on the side of relative value the capac- ity to give pleasure and pain that all common goods and common evils belong. Some things must be enjoyed ex- clusively if they are to be enjoyed at all. But there are other things that a number of men, even a great multitude, can enjoy without mutual hindrance. A man's portion of food, his best suit of clothes, his toothbrush, he cannot share without some loss to himself. But his comfortable home is not less his, because his wife and children enjoy it also ; indeed, were they removed, it would become a somber place for him. Good roads, a good water supply, good police protection are of value to every one in the community. THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 265 Good laws, good courts, a good army and navy spread their benefits nation-wide. The advances of science, the master- pieces of art, the encouragements and consolations of reli- gious faith may be unlimited in the possible scope of their contribution to human happiness. These are common goods, and hedonism recognizes them as such. (5) Kinds of Pleasures. Sometimes it has been urged that there are qualitative (as well as quantitative) differences between one feeling of pleasure and another, and that these differences affect the value of the pleasure. Plato and Aristotle, as we have seen, are the authors of this view. 1 Sometimes it is even said that some kinds of pleasure are bad ; but generally the objector is content with saying that the goodness of pleasure is not proportionate to its amount, but depends also upon the quality, or kind. It is admitted, then, that everything good is directly or indirectly pleasant, and, similarly, that all that is bad is unpleasant ; but it is denied that ultimate goodness and pleasure can be identical, because they are not proportional. The important thing (it is said) is the quality ; for a very little of one kind of pleasure may be worth more than a great deal of another kind. It is, then, essential to ethics to determine what kinds of behavior give rise to the higher kinds of pleasure, and what kinds impart only the lower. This is all very cogent if the initial observa- tions upon which it is founded are correct. Does pleasure vary in quality ? Hedonists have almost unanimously denied this ; and up to our own day it may be said to be an open question, with the balance of scientific opinion on the hedon- ists' side. What we might be tempted to regard as qualita- tive differences between different kinds of pleasure as between the pleasure of poetry and the pleasure of brisk exercise are explained as belonging, not to the feeling of pleasure itself, but to the complex of sensations or ideas that accompany it in consciousness. Of course, even if it should 1 Cf. pp. 143, 145. 266 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS be demonstrated that pleasure does vary in quality, the further question would still remain, whether different kinds of pleasure possess different grades of value. On the whole, it must be admitted that the hedonistic theory is still safe from attack in this direction. (6) Not Pleasure but the Pleasant Experience is Good. Sometimes it is said that the hedonistic view is one-sided : that we ought to consider as the ultimate good and evil, not pleasure and pain as such, but ' pleasures ' and ' pains,' i.e. the total experiences in which pleasure and pain are felt not the mere pleasantness of music, for example, but the music as heard and enjoyed. Such a view was held, in combina- tion with the foregoing, by Plato and Aristotle, and it has been very popular in modern times. Taken by itself, how- ever, it has not much controversial value. The hedonist can easily reply that the difference from his own view is merely verbal. We are, of course, so constituted that we cannot experience pleasure and pain except as elements in larger mental wholes. It is only as our senses or our imag- ination is stimulated in some way, that pleasure or pain can arise in us. They come as the accompaniments of tastes and shapes and sounds and fancies and expectations we cannot isolate them. Let, therefore, any one who pleases attach the verbal tags, ' good ' and ' evil,' to the total experi- ences and not to the pleasure and pain. These still remain essential constituents of the ultimate good and evil the constituents upon which its value, positive or negative, de- pends, and with which the value is directly proportional. The central point at issue between the hedonists and their critics is thus the proportionality of value and pleasure. Admit this, and the question of identity is not worth fighting over. (7) Are Pleasures and Values Proportional? Now at this central point the controversy becomes more technical THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 267 than ever and not a whit more conclusive. We shall con- tent ourselves with noting one favorite line of attack. Can There be a Sum of Pleasures? If pleasures and values are proportional, then, since values are capable of being added together, pleasures too must be capable of being added together. (This, indeed, the hedonists openly assert.) But can there be a sum of pleasures? If there cannot, the hedonistic theory is at once demolished. It might still be true that pleasure is essential to value, but pleasure and ulti- mate value would no longer be equivalent, but would belong to two separate orders of facts. Perhaps Not. Now upon this vital question there is no general consensus of scientific opinion, though the balance is here probably somewhat against the hedonist. The ques- tion is really quite difficult and complicated. Of course, when we compare a number of pleasant experiences together, we may value one as much as we value two others taken to- gether ; so that if we had to choose between the one and the two, we should be uncertain which choice would be the wiser. But do we in such a case add together two quantities of pleasure and compare them with a third? A pleasure of a given intensity is not a whole that can be broken up into separate parts. One pleasure may be more intense than another, but can it be twice as intense ? * In order to add to- gether pleasures of different intensities and durations, we should have to reduce them to a common denomination; let us say, by multiplying the intensity by the duration. Do we ever do such a thing not necessarily with any high degree of precision, but ever so roughly or approximately? Hedonists insist that we constantly do just this. The child who prefers the stick of ' sucking-candy ' to the better tasting 1 The same question has been asked with reference to the intensity of a sensation say the sensation of warmth. One object may be warmer to the touch than another a little warmer, or very much warmer. But can it be twice as warm? Or can one object be as warm as two others taken together ? Psychologists are generally disposed to answer no. 268 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS chocolate cream, because the former lasts longer, is multi- plying intensity by duration, is he not ? And is not a great part of the rational planning of our lives precisely similar? The reply of the anti-hedonist is that we do nothing of the sort, for the simple reason that it cannot be done ; the sup- posed operation is a psychological impossibility. The value of the candy does, indeed, depend on the pleasantness of its taste, and it does also depend upon its durability. Candy that pleased us not at all, or that pleased us but for an in- stant, would be worth nothing, or almost nothing. But to try to make this out to be a case of addition or multiplication of pleasures is to obscure the true limits of mathematical procedure. The Dispute Inconclusive. We leave it to the reader to form his own conclusion as to the merits of this dispute. But we venture this surmise : that no man was ever led by such considerations to change his attitude toward hedonism. The fact is that only very rarely in the history of the mental and social sciences has any important theory been overthrown by a frontal attack. In these sciences experiment has a narrow range of applicability. Men cannot repeat and con- trol their observations as they will. And hence disputations may rage on endlessly. It does not follow that the disputa- tions are idle. On the contrary, they are often most instruc- tive. But they are usually inconclusive upon the main points at issue. For the most part, in these sciences, theories are set aside, not because they have been proved to be false, but because they proved themselves, in their attempted applica- tion, to be unhelpful unimportant if true. Futility of Hedonism. Such is the case with hedonism. Suppose it true ; and then there are comparatively few cases in which we can even pretend to show, by a calculus of pleas- ures and pains, why one good thing is preferable to another. One can always, to be sure, repeat the general formula, that the better thing is better because it gives rise to a greater THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 269 net sum of pleasures ; and one can generally point to partic- ular pleasant and painful experiences which each thing makes possible. But anything like an estimate of their compara- tive value, in terms of pleasure and pain, is seldom so much as conceivable. An Instructive Parallel. Perhaps an illustration will help to make plain what we are asserting here, though at first sight the illustration may seem far-fetched. At the beginning of the eighteenth century a theory with regard to physical laws was advanced, which has had advo- cates down to our own day ; namely, that such laws are de- scriptions of the order in which our sensations come to us. The ' law of falling bodies/ for example, was held to be a description of the way in which certain visual (and other) sensations are accustomed to follow each other in our experi- ence ; and similarly of the law by which water expands in freezing, or the law by which the magnet attracts iron. The theory is plausible, because, of course, it is by means of our successive sensations that we observe the laws of nature. But it has this defect : that no one has ever succeeded in ex- pressing a single physical law in terms of sensations of any sort. Make the attempt with the law of falling bodies, and you will soon see why. Try to fill out the formula, " Such and such sensations are invariably followed by such and such others," substituting definite kinds and intensities and com- binations of sensations for each mere " such and such," and you cannot even begin. Physical terms, as distinguished from descriptions of sensations, must always be used. Or, better still, try to give a statement, in sensational terms, of the law of the indestructibility of matter, or of the law of the conservation of energy. The theory that physical laws describe the order of our sensations is, we repeat, plausible ; but it has not to its credit one single definite application. No one in dealing with a physical law has ever found this theory of the slightest use. It is unimportant if true. 270 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS The Analysis of Values. The case is the same, or almost the same, with hedonism. The value of a piece of candy which has no use beyond the immediate enjoyment of it ought to be conceivable as a sum of pleasures if anything is. But is it ? As soon as one begins to be precise, as soon as a real analysis of the value begins, one finds oneself consider- ing, not amounts of pleasure, but valuable details : the tex- ture, the flavor, the contrast of the dry, bitter chocolate shell with the moist, sweet interior. And the value of the candy is not figured as a sum of increments of pleasure due to the various factors so much to the texture, so much to the flavor, etc. ; for, as a matter of fact, there is no amount of pleasure that is with any uniformity due to texture, flavor, or any other factor, or to any definable combination of factors. And so it is with everything else. I value my tennis racket for its weight and balance and improved shape, the resilience of the strings, the exactness with which the handle fits my grasp, etc. I value my friend for his moral courage, his generosity, his wit, his barytone voice, his affection for me. Now all these features and proportions are sources of pleasure : let that be admitted. (Even so, in our late illustration, the physical properties of things are admittedly the cause of our sensations.) But neither a tennis racket nor a friend is ever valued by a calculation of amounts of pleasure even sup- posing such a calculation to be possible. Conclusion. The result of our discussion, then, is this : that although the hedonists are correct in saying that nothing is good except as it is capable of giving pleasure, or evil ex- cept as it is capable of giving pain ; nevertheless, in claiming that the goodness and evilness are proportional to the pleasure and pain provided, they are indulging in an idle speculation, for no actual valuations are conducted upon such a basis. Complexity of Value Systems. This result may be viewed from a different point of view. The values of things, as we reckon them in our daily life, are of many different kinds, THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 271 and the relations between these kinds are exceedingly complex and varied. The values of art alone such as beauty, sublimity, comedy, and pathos are subject matter for a science; and when we consider for a moment how the values of art are affected by economic, moral, and religious influences, the complexity of the subject is mightily increased. Such being the case, it is impossible to treat aesthetic values as reducible to amounts of pleasure and pain. No man of any critical appreciation at all would ever think of esti- mating the value of the simplest work of art in such terms. He might find it ' sweet ' or ' quaint ' or ' affecting ' or ' commonplace/ but never ' good for so much pleasure/ Sentiments and Institutions. What we actually find among men is that the valuations of things are determined by a vast array of sentiments sentiments which sometimes attach to particular things, as a favorite chair or a beloved wife, sometimes to types or kinds of things, as mission archi- tecture or military valor. These sentiments vary more or less with the character of individual men and, more im- portantly, with that of communities and races; and they have their expression in institutions great and small, from gov- ernments and confederacies to the games of childhood. The study of values must be the study of sentiments or of insti- tutions, or, in a comprehensive treatment, of both their analysis and classification, and the tracing of the conditions and order of their development. In such a study the hedonistic calculus does not enter. V. ETHICAL HEDONISM Full Discussion Unnecessary. After dwelling so long upon hedonism as a general theory of values, we need say little about ethical hedonism in either of its forms ; for the same arguments are repeated upon both sides, 1 and the 1 The argument against egoistic hedonism, based upon the 'hedonistic paradox,' deserves a footnote. If (it is said) to desire things only for the 272 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS outcome is very much the same : that neither egoistic he- donism nor universalistic hedonism can be definitely proved to be false, but that neither has any concrete application in the conduct of life. One or two points of special interest must, however, be mentioned. (l) Are Moral Values Absolute ? Many thinkers who have been quite willing to adopt the pleasure theory for all other sorts of values have balked at its application to moral values, for this reason : that moral values (as they have said) are absolute, or unconditional, while the conduciveness of any sort of conduct to produce pleasure or pain depends upon circumstances and may vary greatly. Thus, for example, it is always right to tell the truth, and wrong to lie ; but there may well be occasions when the telling of a lie would make everybody concerned very happy. Again to take the ex- ample which is of the greatest historical importance it sake of pleasure takes away the pleasure, how can it be true that a man ought always to aim at his own greatest happiness ? Answer : Egoistic hedonism does not declare that a man ought always to aim at his own hap- piness. It declares that he ought to have such aims (both ultimate and proximate) as will, in general, promote his happiness; and that, indeed, this is the meaning of the word ' ought.' If the hedonistic paradox be correct, if it be true that to aim at pleasure makes pleasure impossible, then it simply follows that men ought not to aim at pleasure. This would be a somewhat pessimistic conclusion ; for it would mean that the more clearly men understood the ultimate consequences of their acts, the less would be their capacity for happiness. It would involve men in a hopeless struggle to put out of mind the main concern of life. But it would not be a logi- cally ridiculous conclusion. All that one can say is that if the paradox be correct, egoistic hedonism and the selfish theory are plainly incompatible. However, no advocate of the selfish theory would for a moment admit the paradox. We may remark in this connection that universalistic hedonism does not declare that a man ought always to aim at the happiness of all concerned. It simply declares that his aims ought to be such as will, in general, promote the happiness of all concerned. In other words, universalistic hedonism does not reduce all morality to benevolence. However, it does undoubtedly tend to encourage benevolence, just as egoistic hedonism tends to encourage an 'enlightened selfishness.' THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 273 is never right to take from a man his property without due process of law ; and yet the accumulation of vast fortunes, with the accompanying impoverishment of a great portion of the people, may be the cause of untold misery which a wholesale confiscation might easily remedy. Radical and Conservative Views. In the face of this con- tention we find hedonists taking two different positions. (1) Some have simply denied that moral values are abso- lute. Truth-telling is sometimes wrong, and confiscation, or even stealing, is sometimes right. These men were moral and political reformers of the most extreme type ; and they made of their hedonism the excuse for a general assault upon all manner of traditional prejudices and vested interests. And, as a matter of fact, though they sometimes seemed to lose their balance of judgment, hedonism has done a tremen- dous amount of good in the world through them. (2) But hedonism has also had its conservatives, who have maintained the absoluteness of moral distinctions, and es- pecially of the distinction between justice and injustice. In the first place, it has been said, the various rules by which right is distinguished from wrong have been laid down by God, whom we can trust to make all work out for the best if we obey him, and who will certainly punish us if we do not. This argument is, of course, very satisfactory to those who believe themselves possessed of a clear and unmistakable revelation of God's will in all the different circumstances of life. But to many other good and pious men it has seemed hard to believe that God could ever wish to punish us for doing what, aside from his special interference, was well calcu- lated to promote the general happiness, And so they, in the second place, have advanced the following : We must govern ourselves by universal rules. In every particular case there are so many conflicting considerations that enter, that if we stopped to weigh them all, we should never get anywhere. It is easy to see in a general way that lying is T 274 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS bad. But in each case when the temptation to lie arises, to calculate out all the possible effects of veracity and un- veracity would be beyond our understanding. Besides, in the particular cases our private interests or our personal sym- pathy is apt to be aroused, and our judgment thus disturbed. And, finally, even if the rule were well broken on one occa- sion (supposing that to be the only exception), still the habit of breaking it, or even of considering breaking it, would be dangerous ; and the example set to others, who perhaps had not the opportunity of considering all the special circum- stances of the case, might easily be even more dangerous. Hence we ought never to make an exception. A stock re- mark of the conservative hedonists is this : that bad as the present division of property among men is, no man, and no assembly of men, would be wise enough to replace it by a better division. 1 However, the first alternative has, on the whole, been the more popular, and hedonists have generally been content to give up the absoluteness of moral values. (2) Egoistic and Universalistic Hedonism. When one considers the two special forms of ethical hedonism that which declares that a man ought always to act so as to pro- mote his own greatest happiness, and that which declares that he ought to act so as to promote the greatest happiness of all concerned one must not forget the assumption, that happiness is to be estimated as an algebraic sum of pleasures and pains. If this assumption be forgotten, the egoistic for- mula is easily interpreted as an exhortation to self-improve- ment; while the universalistic formula becomes practically an exhortation to benevolence. Now self-improvement and benevolence are, as we have elsewhere seen, two of the prin- cipal departments of morality. But, we repeat, it is not self-improvement or benevolence, as such, that is here in question, but two alternative hedonistic interpretations of moral values. 1 This is the typical eighteenth-century doctrinaire individualism. THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 275 Either without the Other Unsatisfactory. One very serious controversial difficulty that each of these interpreta- tions lies under is the other interpretation. For, some- how, there has been a strong and persistent feeling that both ought to apply. If we take the egoistic interpretation by itself, it strikes us as being heartless : to say that a man is justified in following his own pleasure regardless of the possible misery of every one else in the universe. To be sure most men are more or less sympathetic, and hence find it impossible to be happy when those about them are unhappy. But some men are very unsympathetic ; and shall we say that their very hardness of heart is an excuse for every act of cruelty or neglect that policy may advise? Grant that prudence is an excellent thing : it does not seem to be all that we mean by morality. But when we take the universalistic interpretation by it- self, the case is not much improved. Have we the right to say that a man ought to promote the general happiness, even though his own everlasting misery should be the price? What if the net gain to the world as a whole were very slight, and the man's own misery exceedingly intense? If there be any possibility that virtue may demand such a sacrifice, we are moved to say, in the words of Bishop Butler, " that when we sit down in a cool hour, we can neither justify to ourselves this or any other pursuit, till we are convinced that it will be for our happiness, or at least not contrary to it " (Sermons on Human Nature, XI). The Task of Reconciliation. And so the task is set of showing that the two interpretations really coincide: that the same conduct which promotes the general happiness must also promote the happiness of the agent. A general coin- cidence is not hard to make out. We all know that as a matter of ordinary experience honesty is the best policy. But is the coincidence exact and complete? Are there no exceptions? Perhaps our religion assures us that in a 276 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS future life all exceptions will be wiped out; and then this difficulty disappears for us. But if we have no such reli- gion, or if, as scientific men, we prefer to rest our case on ac- tual observations of men and manners, the difficulty remains. And, indeed, as controversy has gone on, hedonists have be- come more and more persuaded that the difficulty is insu- perable. Of the two most distinguished hedonists of recent times, Herbert Spencer and Henry Sidgwick, the former declared that only in an ideal society could a man's life be made right both toward himself and toward his fellow men ; while the latter threw himself into the study of ' spiritualistic ' phenomena, hoping to find empirical proof of a future life in which the inequalities of earthly fortune might be healed. (3) Futility of the Calculus. Deeper than all such consid- erations, however, is the question of the practicability of the hedonistic calculus in ordering the affairs of life. We have already given our reasons for deciding this question in the negative. Leaving aside the question whether the calcula- tion and summation of pains and pleasures is theoretically possible at all, the fact remains that our actual moral conduct is directed after a completely different fashion. And, indeed, in any situation that is complicated enough to call for a deci- sion of conscience, the possible pleasures and pains involved are so multitudinous that a pretense of calculation is at once seen to be a mockery. We do respect our fellows' happiness, and we do have a prudential regard for our own ; but this is not the atomistic happiness of hedonistic theory, made up of moments of pleasantness and unpleasantness, but an organ- ized happiness, made up of all manner of interrelated goods. When, for example, I restrain an impulse to slap an exas- perating child, think of the interests that are involved, which the hedonistic calculus would have to pull to pieces and put together again. The conceivable pain of the slap, the dis- comfort of the continued annoyance, are only a beginning. THE HEDONISTIC CONTROVERSY 277 Not to be too prolix, there is the order of the household, the prosecution of my work, the child's disposition, his sense of justice, the maintenance of affectionate relations between him and me and each of these opens up vistas of cause and effect that stretch on endlessly. Hedonistic Interpretation of Moral Standards. Hedonis- tic thinkers have come more and more to see the force of this objection, and they have tried to meet it as follows. The cal- culus of possible pains and pleasures does not have to be per- formed each time afresh, as if it had never been performed before. We have the accumulated experience of mankind for many centuries to guide us. For this is precisely what the traditional moral standards represent the standards that require of us truth and courage and obedience to author- ity, and all the rest of the long list of virtues. They repre- sent precisely the sort of conduct which long experience has shown to be most conducive to the happiness of the agent himself or of others. On each particular occasion we have, therefore, only to consider how far any extraordinary special circumstances may modify the force of the general precepts. Criticism. Now this suggestion comes very close to what is now very generally believed to be the truth of the matter ; and the reader should bear it in mind when he comes to con- sider our own account of the development of the moral senti- ments. But as a defense of ethical hedonism it does not hold. For it virtually refers back to the past the hedonistic calculus which we find impracticable in the present; with this difference, indeed, that it is not imagined possible pleasures and pains that must, for the most part, be summed up, but the reported or dimly remembered actual pleasures and pains of multi- tudes of men. Now it will not do to dump our difficulties upon the past. They bulk as largely there as in the present. Conclusion. The truth is, ethical hedonism, like the whole hedonistic program, savors of what is called ' intellec- tualism.' By this is meant the tendency to explain men's 278 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS perceptions, opinions, and sentiments, and their consequent conduct, in terms of supposed calculations or other reason- ings, of which they are supposed to be the logical outcome. It is, for example, intellectualistic to suppose (as psycholo- gists once did) that when a man meets a friend and recog- nizes him, he goes through a process of comparing the present perception with a revived image of his friend, and from their likeness concludes that they are to be referred to the same object. We know better than this now. The process of recognition seldom involves any such comparison or infer- ence. And, more and more, scholars are becoming convinced that reasoning plays a much smaller part in human life than has generally in the past been supposed. How this reflec- tion applies to the question of the nature and development of the moral sentiments will, we trust, be made sufficiently clear in the sequel. REFERENCES GREEN, T. H., Prolegomena to Ethics, Book HI, Ch. I, 156-170; Book IV, Chs. Ill, IV. SIDGWICK, H., Methods of Ethics, Book I, Ch. IV; Books II and IV. SPENCER, H., Data of Ethics, Chs. Ill, IV, IX. STEPHEN, L., Science of Ethics, Ch. II, 2, Ch. IX. ALEXANDER, S., Moral Order and Progress, Book II, Ch. V. SORLEY, W. R., Ethics of Naturalism, Part I. RASHDALL, H., Theory of Good and Evil, Book I, Chs. II, III ; Book II, Ch. I. PAULSEN, F., System of Ethics, Book II, Ch. II. SETH, J., Study of Ethical Principles, Part I, Ch. I. MEZES, S., Ethics, Descriptive and Explanatory, Ch. XV. MUIRHEAD, J. H., Elements of Ethics, Book III, Chs. I, III. PART III THE EVOLUTIONARY THEORY OF MORAL VALUES CHAPTER XIV THE SIGNIFICANCE OF MORALITY FOR SOCIETY I. INTRODUCTION Are the General Moral Predicates Definable? At one time and another a good deal of space has been given by ethicists to the question whether the general moral predi- cates, ' good ' and ' bad/ and ' right ' and ' wrong/ are de- finable or indefinable. Just now less importance is attached to this question than formerly, for the reason that logicians have come to the conclusion that the distinction between the definable and the indefinable is not an absolute one. In a mathematical science, such as geometry, for example, it used to be thought that certain concepts space, position, direction, distance must be assumed as intrinsically in- definable, and the other concepts defined in terms of these. But it is now known that one may use the greatest freedom in choosing the terms that one shall treat as indefinable ; so that the distinction in question is seen to be always relative to some particular arrangement of the subject. What is defined in one book may be assumed as indefinable in another. They are Practically Indefinable. But, putting the strictly logical question aside, we find that there are serious difficulties in the way of devising definitions of the moral predicates that shall be really illuminating and helpful, and at the same time shall not by implication involve a whole mass of disputed theories. ' Good/ we understand, is to mean ' morally good/ as distinguished from merely ' de- sirable/ or ' good ' in the widest sense of the term. But, then, we have to explain ' morally ' ; and, moreover, it re- 281 282 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS mains doubtful whether moral good is a kind of good, com- prised under the general conception of good, or a special meaning of the term 'good/ as different, perhaps, from other goods as the bark of a dog is from the bark of a tree. ' Right ' may be defined in terms of ' ought ' ; but how shall we define ' ought ' except in terms of ' right ' ? The two motions are obviously correlative, one no more fundamental than the other. The Question of Function. Accordingly we must adopt some other mode of exposition, less direct but more practi- cable. Instead of asking at once what the meaning of the moral predicates is, let us ask what the function of morality is what the part is that it plays in the life of the individ- ual and in that of society. It will be convenient for us to consider the social aspect of the question first, the individual aspect being postponed to the following chapter. II. MORALITY AND SOCIAL WELFARE The General Rule. It is a very old and trite observation, that morality is of great advantage to any society. Courage, honesty, and thrift defend it from enemies without and within. Other things being equal, the family or community or state in which temperate living is the rule is the successful rival, both in war and in peace, of that in which undisciplined self-indulgence prevails. Protagoras, it will be remembered, pointed out that without the moral sentiments of justice and self-respect no organized society can hold together ; and the truth of this can easily be seen, even in the case of societies whose most prominent aims are immoral. " Honor among thieves " is proverbial ; and the pirate crew, that flaunts the red flag in the face of all the laws of Christendom, must have laws of its own and an iron discipline in their observance. Speaking generally, then, we may say that morality is very useful to society and that some degree or amount of it is ab- SIGNIFICANCE OF MORALITY FOR SOCIETY 283 solutely essential to the existence of society. This general statement, of course, leaves room for all manner of particu- lar exceptions. It may still be true that some comparatively bad men are more useful to society than some better men ; or that some evil action may result in a higher social wel- fare than the right and proper alternative could have brought about; or, again, that in a struggle between two societies the less moral may triumph. Such cases may or may not occur. They often seem to occur, though some moralists have doubted or denied their reality. But whether they occur or not our general proposition is unaffected. As a general rule, the right is profitable and the wrong is unprofit- able if not to the moral agent himself, at least to the society of which he is a member. The Case of Justice. All this is strikingly clear where the alternatives of justice and injustice are in question. In the distribution of property, it often seems as if the interests of society would be much better served if one could simply ignore for a time the right and wrong of the matter. In a railway accident a wealthy man and his wife are killed, and a lawsuit over the estate arises between their relatives. If he died first, the property passed to her, and so goes now to her family ; if not, it goes to his family. The former are worthy people in straightened cir- cumstances; the latter are already immensely wealthy. The evidence in the case is scant and uncertain ; but, in the judge's opinion, there is a slight presumption that the wife died first, and he decides accordingly. His action, we say, is just and right ; but would not a more desirable distribu- tion of property be secured if he silenced his moral principles and gave his decision the other way? There might, it is true, be some popular suspicion as to his motives that would tend to destroy confidence in him and perhaps also in the bench generally; but there might not. He himself might fall into a habit of allowing his judgment to be warped by his 284 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS sympathies; but, again, he might not. But if judges in general should set their sympathies above the law, there would be no doubt about the social injury that their evil practice would cause. Beneficial as the single act of injustice might be or appear, widespread injustice would work ruin. Are Some Moral Rules Hurtful ? Sometimes, however, the general observance of a moral rule seems to many ob- servers to be exceedingly undesirable. Not only in particu- lar instances, but in the sum total of instances, it seems to them as if conformity did more harm than good or, at least, as if conformity to a different rule would result in a larger balance of good. In many instances the accepted rule works well enough ; but the number and importance of the instances in which it works ill is so great that it seems incorrect to set them down as mere exceptions. They threaten the value of the rule itself. Such a rule is this : Give every man his due; which is inter- preted to mean : Return good for good and evil for evil; or, in the biblical phrase, Thou shalt love thy neighbor and hate thine enemy. It is a venerable maxim, which has been widely reverenced and followed. To thousands upon thousands of men its soundness and justice have been perfectly manifest. Yet thoughtful observers can see limits to its usefulness. To return evil for evil invites further retaliation. Hate increases hate, and the gust of passion becomes a deep and abiding rancor. But enemies must be constantly on guard against each other ; and this is a strain upon the resources which they might otherwise devote to useful ends, and is thus a hindrance to normal social development ; whereas friendship and mutual helpfulness are the most potent instrumentalities of culture. Can these facts be regarded as merely exceptional considera- tions ? Such Rules have once seemed Advantageous. But it must be observed, with respect to these moral standards whose social value is called in question, that in times past the evil SIGNIFICANCE OF MORALITY FOR SOCIETY 285 consequences which their observance entailed were much less in magnitude, or at any rate much less obvious, than has since been the case. Though ill adapted to present con- ditions, they were excellently adapted to former conditions ; or, to speak more guardedly, their shortcomings were not such as the men of an older time readily appreciated. Let us return to the illustration which we have just used. In a military civilization i.e. where war is always either actual or imminent a good hater has a very evident value. The man who can be counted on to strike back and to put his heart into the blow is a man whom one hesitates to attack. A common hatred even brings men together, and indeed has been one of the great influences leading to the formation of the larger social groups. Enmity, though itself a form of disunion, may thus be a source of union and strength. On the other hand, a man who will not fight for his own rights can scarcely be expected to fight for his friends* rights, and so he will have few friends. The same is, of course, true of the family, the tribe, and the state. It is, therefore, not hard to see why a revengeful spirit should long have been counted among the virtues. Their Influence is Declining. Furthermore, when a standard has lost its real or apparent social utility, it tends to lose its hold upon men's respect, and to be gradually sup- planted by some modification more in accordance with the finer requirements of the new conditions. Sooner or later some moral reformer cries out : "It has been said unto you by men of old time . . . but I say unto you ..." And though many men may long continue to regard him as an impractical idealist, the consciences of an increasing number acknowledge the new claim which he has laid upon their obedience. The reform may be ultimately unsuccessful. It may never win general support. Or it may be so com- pletely triumphant that men will no longer realize that the older, cruder moral standard ever held sway. 286 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS Summary. Accordingly, the moral standards to be found at any time in a society may be divided into three classes : first, the great body of rules and ideals upon which the welfare, and even the existence, of society rests ; sec- ondly, those which have in times past been similarly useful, but now reveal serious shortcomings; and, thirdly, the newer standards which changing needs have brought forth, but which have not yet won general recognition. III. SOCIAL INTERCOURSE Let us now ask the deeper question : In what does this social utility of morality consist? What manner of service does it perform? We have already anticipated the answer to this question, as, indeed, we could scarcely help doing; but it must be set forth explicitly. With this object in view we will here take note of a few important truths with regard to the nature of societies. Society more than an Aggregate. A society, as we well know, is not a mere aggregate of individuals that happen to be living together in the same place. It is true that, gen- erally speaking, the members of a society must, at least at certain times, come together ; but this requirement, though necessary, is not sufficient. This is easily seen in the case of any particular form of social organization. Take the family, for instance. It is possible for a domestic servant to live in a house for months or even years, and never become a member of the family ; while, on the other hand, he or she may be ' taken into the family ' almost at the outset. Simi- larly in the case of polite society : one may long be a dweller in the midst of it, and even be constantly endeavoring to force one's way into membership, and yet remain permanently excluded. And so it is with society at large. French sol- diers were garrisoned for months in the city of Moscow; but they did not become in any sense members of the community. SIGNIFICANCE OF MORALITY FOR SOCIETY 287 In the same way, the possession of a common language is commonly necessary for membership in the same society; but this, too, is seldom or never a sufficient condition. Analogy of the Animal Organism. A society is often compared to an animal organism, and social intercourse to the life of the organism. Few comparisons are more help- ful and none is more dangerous. Just because it is so sugges- tive, we are easily tempted to carry it too far. We can find analogies for cells and tissues and organs ; for nutrition, the circulation of the blood, nervous activity, reproduction, growth, and decay. For individuals are like cells; classes and conditions of men are like tissues; courts and schools and armies are like organs. Society transforms raw materials into forms suitable for its use ; it has its channels of trade, and its lines of communication and control; it throws off colonies ; it increases in size and strength and range of ac- tivity; and it shrinks and shrivels into significance. To follow out these analogies in detail is a most valuable exercise. The attention is sharpened, and is directed toward features of social organization which might otherwise be unnoticed ; and, in fact, it is under the guidance of such analogies that a great part of our knowledge of society has been acquired. Failure of the Analogy. But let us note, hi the first place, that the human individual stands in a very different relation to the classes and institutions of society, from that hi which the body cell stands to the tissues and organs of the individual body. The cell is definitely of one sort or another, and of only one sort. It may be nerve cell or muscle cell, for instance; but it cannot be both at once. And, similarly, if it is a part of one organ, it cannot be part of another. But the individual man belongs to one class by his occupation, to another by his religion, to another by reason of his aesthetic culture, etc. And he may be at the same time member of a family, a business firm, a church, a musical club, a political organization, etc. Man, especially 288 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS civilized man, is of a many-sided nature; and each side connects him differently with his fellows. The Extent of a Society. Let us note, in the second place, the ambiguity of the term ' society.' It may stand for any one of the many organizations to which a man may belong. Or it may stand for the organization made up of all these organizations, for the complex unity made up of a mul- titude of men bound together in any or all of the ways in which men are bound together. It is evident that in this latter sense one society is rarely marked off sharply from another. National boundary lines must not deceive us. In some respects the society to which a man belongs may be confined to a single village. In other respects it may over- spread many nations. Here, then, is a second important respect in which the analogy with the animal organism breaks down. A society extends as far as social intercourse extends. Where means of transportation and communication fail, the society stops ; and thus under primitive conditions societies are apt to be far more definitely separated than is the case with us. The railroad, the steamship, and the electric telegraph have so enlarged the possibilities of social intercourse, that the whole world is rapidly becoming one society. Elements of Social Intercourse. But what is social in- tercourse? An answer to this question would have positive significance for us not merely the negative value of a distinction between society and the organism. Several ele- ments can easily be recognized. First, there is interchange of services. We say ' interchange/ for although certain mem- bers of a society, the babes and the helpless invalids and the old men and women, are, during a limited period, merely recipients of services, yet normally some payment in kind will be or has been made. The idle rich may also be thought to be exceptions. But a moment's reflection recalls the fact, that, though such persons are of no use to the world at large, SIGNIFICANCE OF MORALITY FOR SOCIETY 289 they do perform a variety of services for each other; and these strictly confined mutual services mark them out as a distinct class. Secondly, there is interchange of goods. This, indeed, might easily be included under the first heading, as an indi- rect exchange of services. There is an important difference, however, for which our terminology ought in some way to provide. A man often works for a lifetime, without ever forming the least acquaintance with any one of those who enjoy the products of his labor. These pass from hand to hand indefinitely, and personal contact is utterly lost. Whereas, then, in the direct interchange of services the con- nection that is established is physical and psychical at once, in the interchange of goods the physical connection stretches on continuously, while the psychological connection is con- stantly broken. Still, the distinction is not a sharp one. There are public services of many kinds, both in war and in peace, where the personal acquaintance between those who labor and those who enjoy has a very limited range indeed becomes, in fact, merely symbolic. Thirdly, there is interchange of ideas that is to say, of conceptions and beliefs. And, fourthly, there is interchange of sentiments which is as much as to say, of the valuations habitually set upon things. Here, again, these two kinds might easily be consolidated into one ; and we prefer to sepa- rate them only because the latter head is, as will soon appear, particularly important. Importance of a Common Language. It is, of course, for the communication of ideas and sentiments that a common language is so important. Translators and interpreters can effect much, but can never wholly wipe out a linguistic barrier. A religious movement, for example, like the spread of Methodism or of Christian Science, may assume powerful proportions in English-speaking countries, and cause scarcely a ripple of excitement outside. The Elizabethan drama ran 290 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS its course in England, and nearly two centuries elapsed be- fore its influence upon the German drama showed itself of decisive importance. By the time the demand for trans- lation comes, a movement must have already gained consider- able importance in its mother tongue ; and the demand may never come. In Germany, in the half century following the publication of Kant's Critique of Pure Reason (1781), there was a philosophical activity such as the world has seldom known. But during that time its influence outside of Ger- many was very feeble ; and even down to our own day the natural philosophy of Schelling and the metaphysics of Her- bart (two of the greatest geniuses of the period) have been almost entirely without foreign influence. In the interchange of sentiments, language is perhaps of less importance than conduct the observable preferences which men display for one state of things as against another. At any rate, language alone can effect little. Our expressed admiration for a symphony will do little for its success, if we are not willing to stop and listen to it. Our outspoken con- demnation of an act of injustice will go for naught, if we promptly commit a similar injustice at the first opportunity. This is in line with what the adage says : that " actions speak louder than words." They not only express one's sense of values more unmistakably, but they are far more likely to awaken a similar appreciation in others. Interchange of Sentiments fundamentally Important. All these four varieties of intercourse the interchange of services, goods, ideas, and sentiments are inseparable from the existence of society. But if any one is of predominant importance, it is the last. Trade and commerce are, as we have pointed out, an imperfect mode of union. Ideas to which no sentiments attach do not receive any persistent attention. And as for mutual services, it is easy to see that generally some common sentiment underlies them. Each man concerned must, in some way, take an interest in the others' SIGNIFICANCE OF MORALITY FOR SOCIETY 291 welfare ; and when one man does something for another, the doer must (in the vast majority of instances) think the favor worth the pains, and also expect that it will be appreciated by the recipient. We do not intentionally cast pearls before swine, or play sonatas for those who are tone deaf, or read poetry to one whose comment will be : " What does that prove? " We may further say that common sentiments are a direct cause of mutual services. The things and relations that men value may be divided into two classes : those which they enjoy in common or without mutual deprivation, such as good roads, good police protection, good literature, good religion ; and those which they enjoy exclusively, and for the possession of which they compete. That the former may be possible to them, they must cooperate. But even for the latter, cooperation in some form is necessary, in order that the struggle for exclusive possession may not end in all being alike destitute. Common sentiments and mutual services are thus approximately coextensive, and the former are the prevailing cause of the latter. Thus the interchange of sen- timents, by which community in them is established, may well be regarded as the fundamental part of social inter- course. Sympathy. How the sentiments are communicated from man to man is a question that we shall have to consider carefully in a later chapter. Here we must be content with the common-sense observation that it depends upon sympathy, the tendency which men show to feel emotions similar to those which are felt by others around them. Where men sympathize with each other in their joys and sorrows, their pride and fear and love and indignation, there somehow a community of sentiments extends and some form of social organization prevails. The Common Good. This doctrine, that the basis of social unity is community of sentiments, is often expressed in the equivalent form, that every social bond implies a com- 292 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS mon good. Perhaps in this form it is easier to trace it through its manifold applications. The common good may be a piece of material property; or it may be as abstract and impalpable as religious liberty. In the family the num- ber of such goods is very great indeed so great as to defy classification. In such a specialized institution as a school there is but one, or a few closely associated principal goods, although about these a variety of lesser goods are likely to cluster. In the huge and complex university, the unity of interests is in danger of being lost, unless the sharing of its name and the common pride in its student activities (in which members of all departments take part) suffice to hold it together. In the state there are a multitude of common goods, but all are centered in one : the maintenance of jus- tice. When in any state a manifest injustice is done to any of its citizens, and remains unredressed, every citizen that is worthy of the name feels himself assailed. For though the original offense may affect the injured man alone, or perhaps some few who are moved to pity for the suffering he may have to endure, the miscarriage of justice is an evil to every man alike. A ' sentimental ' evil ? Yes ; but not more sentimental than most of the other goods or evils that make life worth living or rob it of its sweetness. IV. THE RELATION OF MORALITY TO SOCIAL INTERCOURSE Morality a Condition of Intercourse. Let us now return to the question which was raised with respect to the nature of the social utility of morality, a question which we may now phrase : How does morality affect the interchange of services, of goods, and of ideas and sentiments? or, in the reverse form : How does immorality affect the interchange of these things? The answer is obvious. Immorality checks, retards, or puts an entire stop to social intercourse, while morality facilitates it. Consider some examples. What effect has dishonesty upon SIGNIFICANCE OF MORALITY FOR SOCIETY 293 the interchange of goods? By impairing credit, it tends to limit exchange to the occasions when the goods can be im- mediately delivered on both sides, or an iron-clad security can be given for future delivery ; and where this extreme is not reached, the added risk shows itself in exaggerated demands. What is the effect of intemperance upon the interchange of sentiments? The intemperate man, with his whole attention absorbed by a few overmastering desires, simply cuts himself off from the great mass of human inter- ests. He inevitably impoverishes his life. In like manner, the coward is unfitted by his vice to take a normal view of a multitude of enterprizes to which powerful sentiments at- tach : war, sport, and even many business activities. What is the effect of lying upon friendship? What is the effect of selfishness and cruelty upon the relations of husband and wife ? And, in a larger field, what is the effect upon a man's relations with his fellow-citizens, of a life of ruthless com- mercial brigandage? Such questions do not have to be an- swered one by one. Immorality of every kind necessarily produces isolation; and if we should stop to inquire about the effect of cruelty and ingratitude and insincerity upon the interchange of services and ideas, we should be led to an identical conclusion. The proverbial loneliness of the tyrant lonely in the midst of his servants, his favorites, and his concubines is simply an extreme instance of the workings of the universal law. Incidental Exceptions. It is true that incidentally a con- trary effect may be produced. Any common interest what- soever may bring men together, and the satisfaction of a vicious inclination will serve the turn. But the universal and necessary effect is not thereby eliminated. Though a little society is formed, the rupture with the larger society remains. And even within the little society of inebriates or gamblers or aristocratic parasites, it is the moral qualities which they possess that form the real connection between 294 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS them. Drunkards, for example, may be generous and kindly men. Gamblers may be (according to the conventions of the game) honest and honorable men. The national vice of the Filipinos, against which their great leaders have inef- fectually protested, is cock-fighting, with the attendant gambling. But they have no stakeholders. The man who wishes to place a bet simply goes about offering his money to any one who will take it, until some one accepts. If he loses, the money stays where it is. If he wins, it is handed back to him with the proper addition. An American soldier, who was out of cash, once accepted forty pesos from the mayor of a Filipino town, on a wager of this sort. By good fortune he won ; but if he had lost, it would have made the name of American infamous throughout the countryside, and would have put a serious obstacle to further gambling between Americans and Filipinos. " Only the good are friends," was an accepted principle among the Greek ethicists. True enough ; except that good men and bad men are by no means so sharply distinguished as some of the ancients supposed. If we phrase it with an 1 in so far as ' " It is only in so far as men are good that they can be friends " it expresses an indubitable truth. Incidentally, too, morality may cause division between men. Any marked difference in sentiments aesthetic, re- ligious, political, or what-not which makes men disagree- able to each other, puts them out of sympathy, and so inter- feres with the interchange of sentiments of any kind; and a difference in moral sentiments may have this effect. " Be good, and you will be lonesome," said the great humorist; but he meant by being good, holding oneself severely aloof from the pleasures that men ordinarily consider innocent or nearly so. But in such cases what generally does the harm is not a mere difference of moral sentiments, but moral intolerance, priggishness. A man's unwillingness to smoke, because he thinks that smoking is wrong, will not necessarily SIGNIFICANCE OF MORALITY FOR SOCIETY 295 put any bar between him and the common run of smoking men, provided he respects the sincerity of their contrary opinion. We must be on our guard, therefore, against at- tributing to morality an effect which is really due to a subtle form of immorality. Conclusion. After making due allowance for these sec- ondary phenomena, we are brought back to the general principle : that the social significance of morality is that it facilitates social intercourse, while immorality checks or prevents it. A greater importance could hardly be ascribed to the distinction. For it makes morality an essential con- dition for the existence of any social values whatsoever, that is to say, of any common good ; or, what amounts to the same thing, an essential condition of the existence of society itself. REFERENCES SPENCER, H., Data of Ethics, Ch. VIII. STEPHEN, L., Science of Ethics, Chs. III-V. CLIFFORD, W. K, Lectures and Essays: On the Scientific Basis of Morals, and Right and Wrong. WUNDT, W., Ethics, Part III, Ch. I, Sect. II. BOSANQUET, B., Philosophical Theory of the State, Chs. V, VII. MACKENZIE, J. S., Manual of Ethics, Book III, Chs. I, II. MUIRHEAD, J. H., Ekments of Ethics, Book II, Ch. I. CHAPTER XV CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND ^VALUE I. MORALITY AND INDIVIDUAL WELFARE Effect of Morality on Other Individuals. That, as a general rule, the better men are the happier they make those about them, is a proposition that no one seriously denies. Sometimes the good man interferes with the immoral pleas- ures of others, or (through an error of judgment) even with their innocent pleasures ; and he may make a decided nui- sance of himself by ill-advised attempts at discipline or charity. And sometimes, too, the bad man gives a good deal of pleasure to others by his very badness. But, when all such admissions have been made, we are well aware that the truth of the general principle remains unaffected. Some men (as we recall) have held that all morality is reducible to be- nevolence, the desire to make other men happier. Whether this is true or not, the general effect of morality is certainly to make others happier. To the direct working out of benev- olent intentions must be added the indirect benefit that comes from the facilitation of social intercourse, and, above all, from the tendency of good men to make others like them- selves, and so happier. Are Good Men themselves made Happier? For this also is true : that, in general, good men are happier than bad men, and that the better men are the happier they are. But this proposition is not nearly so obvious as the foregoing, and demands a thoroughgoing examination. It is easy to dispute, and is sometimes disputed ; and to give a formal demonstration of it that carries any conviction is most difficult. We cannot compile graded lists of moral and immoral men, 296 CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 297 and of happy and unhappy men, and then by comparison determine how far the gradations run parallel. One of us cannot even prove in this fashion that he is himself happier when he is good than when he is bad ; for nothing is more deceptive than our impression of our former joys and sorrows. These may be deepened or effaced or distorted to such an extent that it is dangerous to admit them into evidence. Propositions of this sort, maxims of common human wis- dom, are the net result of an age-long experience of untold multitudes of men, now confirmed, now contradicted, and again confirmed or contradicted, so that the judgment that prevails is the resultant of innumerable petty forces which no pen can record. That is why they are so easily disputed ; for while the (real or apparent) exceptions may be unimpor- tant in the great total, they are very numerous in them- selves ; and a few striking instances can always be cited to make out a case for the dissentient. A favorite ancient example of a good man made miserable by his excessive goodness is Regulus, tortured by the Cartha- ginians. He would not advise the Romans to make peace (as his Carthaginian captors wished), and he would not break his promise to return to Carthage if peace were not declared. The latter course, since it could not be kept concealed, would have brought him into public contempt, and so might well have made him miserable though hardly more miserable than the awful tortures. But he might easily have concealed his opinion. It was easy to argue for peace ; in fact the great majority of the Romans were strongly inclined to favor it. And though his secret conscience might still have troubled him for a time, that sting would eventually have died out, and he would have ended by persuading himself that very likely he had acted for the best anyhow. An unscrupulous man could cheerfully have chosen the easy and comfortable course, and would not even have had to pay the penalty of a restive conscience afterwards. 298 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS Are the Good necessarily Happy ? However, when we look carefully into the dispute, we find that the general truth of the principle is seldom called in question. It is the number and importance of the exceptions that disagreement turns on. Certain extremists, like the stoics, have held that moral goodness and happiness are absolutely coextensive, or rather are simply different names or different aspects of the same thing ; while many others, though admitting the distinction, have maintained that in the long run virtue must lead to happiness and vice must lead to misery. But the argu- ments (where there are any) for these contentions are either metaphysical or religious ; and hence are restricted in their appeal to men of a similar metaphysical or religious bias. Common experience does not support them. Even were the extreme position perfectly true, our observations are so far from being full and exact that we should never be able to demonstrate its correctness. To be sure, we cannot refute it. The dogmatic believer can always refer to secret pangs of remorse or to a purgatory or hell awaiting the wicked in the hereafter ; and so one can prove that he is wrong. But such considerations lie outside the field of science. Let us see what light can be thrown upon the principle by a study of the significance of morality as a factor in in- dividual life. II. CHARACTER The Unity of Character. Character may be roughly defined as the whole body of tendencies in a man, to act in various ways in various circumstances ; each such tendency being called a ' trait of character.' But one must beware of regarding these traits as making up a mere aggregate. Any trait that one might mention is apt to be inextricably involved with many others. Of the infant, indeed, this is hardly true. He is a bundle of uncorrelated instincts. But his education consists mainly of the correlation of instincts, CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 299 the fusing of them into what we call character. It is like the forming of a handwriting. The unformed hand sprawls its line in all sorts of ways, now at one angle, now at another, as the uncontrolled impulse of the hand determines. On the same page different portions may seem to be utterly dis- similar to each other. But the formed hand has its distinc- tive ' character/ recognizable at a glance. All the twists and curlycues are somehow brought into relation with each other, so that they form one whole. So the infant is at one moment a fretful hunger, at another a cooing contentment, and at yet another a wailing pin prick ; and there is no con- nection between these various phases. But the man of formed character, though he may be hungry, is seldom merely hungry ; and into his deepest contentment phi pricks find their way. He scarcely ever acts from mere instinct. He eats with knife and fork, handled as society directs ; or, if he be a savage, holds (say) his corn in his left hand and his meat hi his right. He drinks his soup without making a noise unless, being a Japanese, he makes a very loud noise indeed. When he fights to the death with his worst enemy, he avoids using a foul stroke. And his whole mode of con- duct, from eating and drinking to fighting and dying, is some- how bound together to make up his unitary personality. It is only under the disintegrating influence of disease or drugs, or of some overwhelming passion, that the work of education may be swept away, and he be reduced again to the condition of the infant a single incarnate want. How Character Develops. The development of charac- ter is thus not a mere intensification or weakening of inherited traits, whereby, for example, jealousy, cupidity, and iras- cibility may be strengthened at the expense of joviality and talkativeness. Such strengthening and weakening do, of course, occur, but they are not the distinctive feature of the process. It is essentially a complication, a weaving together of traits into composite wholes. It is brought about by the 300 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS conflict of impulses, instinctive or previously acquired; that is to say, if each instinct could operate in complete inde- pendence of every other, the development of character would never take place. To adopt a well-known analogy (of Gabriel Tarde), it is the cross-fertilization of impulses that is respon- sible for the result. Habitual Preferences. Suppose a situation arises, in which the agent is impelled toward two ends between which a choice must be made. One or the other of the impulses shows itself the stronger by issuing in action. If the choice proves unsatisfactory which may depend upon many fac- tors, such as the attitude of the bystanders and the persist- ence of the ungratified impulse, as well as upon the direct outcome of the action itself then, in a similar situation, the impulse that triumphed before is less likely to triumph again. The unpleasantness of the after-effects adds its force to the contrary tendency ; and by a cumulation of such results the direction of choice may be reversed. But let the consequences of choice be satisfactory, and the chance of its repetition is increased. Thus the repeated conflict of impulses leads to the regular subordination of one to the other. In other words, a habitual preference (or volitional disposition) is built up. It is important to note that such a preference has a force of its own that is measurably independent of the rel- ative strength of the two impulses as they come into conflict. If on some occasion the subordinated impulse is unusually strong, and the dominant impulse weak, the latter will promptly increase in strength, as if from some inner reser- voir, and will probably carry the day. The habitual prefer- ence has thus a stability which the uncoordinated elementary impulses do not possess ; and the conduct which it controls has a higher degree of regularity. It is of habitual prefer- ences that what we call ' character ' is mainly, if not entirely, composed. The establishment of habitual preferences must be care- CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 301 fully distinguished from the further stage in the process of habituation, in which the consciousness of preference is lost ; and action becomes as simple and spontaneous as if it were prompted by a single original instinct. The result is then a habit in the proper sense of the term ; though in general literature ' habit ' is often used to include habitual prefer- ences. However, it is not only in active choice that habitual preferences show themselves. When situations that would be preferred (to their common alternatives) are met with, the habitual preference manifests itself in the acceptance of the situation, that is to say, in pleased relaxation. And again, in situations which would generally be avoided, no suggestion of escape may present itself ; and then the habit- ual preference shows itself in an unpleasant tension. Perhaps for this reason ' volitional disposition ' (the literal transla- tion of the German Begehrungsdisposition) is a better term. But it is even more cumbersome; and so, with this word of explanation, we shall continue to use the other. Complexity of Habitual Preferences. The earliest habit- ual preferences are very simple. The situation that calls for choice contains but one or two relevant features that tend to awaken any feeling. But as the development proceeds, this is no longer true. We prefer, let us say, blue to red, but not as the color of a house. Most of our neckties are blue or gray ; yet we like a brighter flash of color for a change though many men would rather see it on another than on themselves. We like a red dressing jacket ; it looks so warm and cozy. A young woman can wear red on many occasions where in an older woman it would give offense. To a person of cultivated taste the question whether red or blue is in general preferable may well appear ridiculous, the prefer- ence depends upon so many possibilities. The choice is no longer between A and B simply, but between A and B, if C, when D, provided E, and so on to the end of the alphabet ; or, even so, not between A and B, but between such and such 302 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS relative amounts of the one and the other. The factors may easily be so numerous as to defy enumeration ; nay, even the most careful analysis may fail to reveal more than a very few of them. The situation is somehow taken in as a whole. It belongs to a type with which he has gradually become familiar; and it is his acquired preferences with respect to the type that determine his choice in the matter. Different Sides of Character. As habitual preferences of greater and greater complexity are formed, they group themselves into fairly distinct masses. For, in the ordinary course of life, we do not have to choose between a smile and a sunset, a bow and a second cup of coffee. But between the smile and the bow (or both, or neither) we do have to choose if we are to display good manners. The various occupations that make up the day and the year, the various relations into which we are brought with our fellow men, business, sport, domestic life, social entertainment, art, science, politics, religion, each have their hosts of delicately shifting situa- tions in which different sides of character display themselves. And very commonly the different sides function in virtual independence of each other. A man's good taste has nothing to do with his buying or selling railroad stocks. His reli- gion has nothing to do with his accepting an invitation to dinner. In some men the cleavage is so complete that they seem almost to be multiple personalities like Jekyll and Hyde. Between (say) the corrupt politician and the faith- ful and tender husband, between the social leader and the religious devotee, there may seem to be only the accidental connection of their being lodged in the same body. Moral Habits and their Function. And yet, as we know, it is only in peculiar cases of mental disease that this cleavage of the personality is really thoroughgoing. In the sane man there are a body of habitual preferences that run through all the many different departments of conduct and serve to unite them into a whole. These habitual preferences CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 303 are called moral habits, and taken together they make up the moral character. It is their function to reenforce, hold in check, harmonize, control all the other habitual preferences. A financier, let us say, is endeavoring to rehabilitate a weak concern. His conduct in so doing is for the most part simply controlled by his character as business man. But let him grow wearied or discouraged, and his industry and perse- verance keep him to the task, and self-respect makes him still strive to do his best moral habits which would be of equal service to him if he should undertake to learn to play the violin. On the other hand, his plan involves the selling of an issue of bonds, the value of which is largely speculative ; and when an elderly woman, attracted by the high rate of interest that is offered, proposes to invest her savings in them, he cannot advise her to do so. His moral character will not let him, just as it would not let him filch her purse from her pocket. In order to succeed in his undertaking he needs the support of some man of great wealth. The wife of one such man, whose antecedents are humble, has been vainly trying to make her way into society. By asking his own wife to call upon her, he can easily conciliate the husband's favor. Shall he do so ? His gentlemanly ' instincts ' are outraged at the thought. But the condition of his affairs is now des- perate. Failure, besides the great loss of time and money in- volved, would seriously injure his prestige. Ought he to let slip such an opportunity of relief? It belongs to his moral character to decide. Non-moral Unity of Character. Sometimes a kind of unity is given to character by the dominance of some body of habitual preferences other than the moral habits. A man may be an artist in all things in love, in religion, in politics, and so on. Not that his aesthetic tastes are always active, but that when an important clash occurs, these decide the issue. And a man may be a politician in all things, or a man of business, or the father of a family. But when this happens, 304 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS the development of the other sides of the character is seri- ously dwarfed. The man who is first and last an artist can- not be a very good husband. The mere business man is a poor patriot. The unity that results is a one-sided unity. Now, to be sure, something analogous may happen as a re- sult of the dominance of the moral habits. It may, for example, very well be that a man's moral nature interferes with his development as an artist. Lowell thought that this had been the case with himself. But this result is relatively infrequent and unimportant. As a rule a man's morality does not injure his taste quite the reverse. But the dwarf- ing produced by the dominance of the other sides of character is inevitable and far-reaching. Unity of Character Imperfect. After all, it must be re- membered, the unity of character which the moral habits produce is never perfect. No man is ever completely at one with himself. Again and again situations arise in which the conflict of the different elements of character is irreconcil- able, and, whatever choice is made, a persistent regret re- mains. The disconnected instincts from which education sets out are not wholly fused at the end. The moral habits themselves sometimes clash with one another; and though there is in each man a certain amount of subordination among them, the order is by no means clear and fixed. Complete unity of character is simply an ideal limit toward which the more strongly knit characters tend. We are all more or less creatures of impulse. Perhaps we shall find reason to think that this is not an unmixed disadvantage. III. THE SENTIMENTS Character as Seen from Within. We have been looking at the structure of human character from the outside ; that is to say, we have thought of character simply as that which controls conduct. What is it from the inside? What is it in the direct experience of the man himself? CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 305 The inner, conscious side of an habitual preference we shall call a sentiment. The usage of this term varies greatly, among both popular and scientific writers. As here defined, it has a somewhat wider sense than is common. It would generally be restricted to cases where the habitual preference was highly developed and applied to very complex types of situa- tions. One little girl's predilection for red and another's for blue would not ordinarily be called sentiments. However, the point is of little importance to us, as the sentiments with which we shall be especially concerned belong to a much higher grade of development. An Organization of Feelings. Now, with the possible exception of the very simplest cases, a sentiment is not one certain conscious process, but a system of interconnected processes, that can never occur together in one moment of time. The sentiment of the tragic, for instance, is not just one peculiar feeling; nor is the sentiment of justice one peculiar feeling. They are organizations of feelings that can at most follow each other closely in consciousness. It is not even true that there is some one feeling that must always arise if the sentiment is to be experienced, while the others accompany it or not as the case may be. The sentiment may be represented by any one of a host of feelings, between which little, if any, universal resemblance may exist. Analogy of the Concept. The sentiment thus plays a part in the affective life of man similar to that which the concept plays in his cognitive life. Suppose I take a child's building block in my hand, and look it over on all sides. As I place it at each new angle, my visual image of it takes a different shape. At no time do I see the six square faces at once ; and, indeed, it is only by limiting my view to a single face that I can make its four sides equal ' to the eye/ But I never for a moment doubt that I am looking at a cube. Each different view of the object conforms perfectly with this conviction. It belongs to such a solid to present just such 306 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS varying appearances under just such conditions, and I should be mightily surprised if it behaved otherwise. If, for example, I should see at one time six faces, all of whose sides were equal ' to the eye/ I should be instantly convinced that the block was not a cube. Now by my concept of the block's shape I mean the whole organization of ideas (of which only a vanishingly small part is ever present to con- sciousness at one time) which underlies my present experience the organization by virtue of which so many different visual images mean the same thing. For, let it be observed, however unequal the sides may be ' to the eye,' I see them equal. However oblique the angles may become in perspec- tive, I see them as right angles. The great superiority of the concept to the unorganized sensuous image rests upon its far greater stability. The image may vary within exceedingly wide limits, while the concept remains unmodified, and, whether for purposes of pure theory or for practical guidance, its efficiency is undisturbed. The cube, seen from whatever angle, is still a cube ; and it will not fit into a round hole. So it is with the sentiment. Our feelings with respect to all manner of things vary almost without limit from day to day or even from hour to hour. But our sentiments remain comparatively constant. The occupation which now fills me with enthusiasm, a few hours later bores me. If I were a little child, I should drop it im- mediately. If I do not, it is because my conduct is controlled by something more than a feeling of the moment by a per- sistent sentiment organized by many years of habituation. Standards. Something was said above (p. 302) with re- gard to the types of situations in which habitual preferences display themselves, and in which, accordingly, sentiments are experienced. What is preferred in typical situations is called a norm, or standard. Whatever conforms to the stand- ard is (in the most general sense of the term) right; what- ever fails to conform is wrong. Thus a printed wedding- CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 307 card, a Democratic victory, a rhyme of ' human ' and ' common/ are right or wrong according to the standard that prevails. It is evident that the concept of a standard of right and wrong develops with the growth of the sentiment itself. It is, in fact, its intellectual content. Sentimental Feelings. When feelings become organized into sentiments, ' sentimental feelings ' we may call them then, they themselves become modified in the process. One very common modification is the diminution of intensity. This fact has led some psychologists and ethicists (notably Hume) to regard sentiments as simply one class of feelings, distinguished from the other class (the passions) by their generally lower intensity. A more important modification, however, is the fusion of feelings into complex wholes. In- deed the loss of intensity is generally a mere incident to the fusion. Violent feelings do not easily fuse ; they rather ex- clude one another from consciousness. For example, the feelings belonging to the sublime generally contain an ele- ment of fear. But if the fear becomes intense, it occupies the whole of consciousness, and the effect of sublimity is de- stroyed. The storm at sea is sublime to the man on shore. It may also be sublime to the ship's passenger, but not if he becomes sensible of imminent danger. In the same way an element of cruelty the peculiar delight that comes from inflicting pain upon a helpless victim is a common element in the feelings of the comic ; but if this element be- comes too strong, the comedy is lost in mere brutality How- ever, for many men the limit is a high one ; the cruelty must be great indeed before the comic effect is impaired. Feelings of Obligation. When feelings of any kind are impelling men to action, and are resisted in their expression by contrary feelings, they are very apt to be greatly inten- sified, at least temporarily. When a sentimental feeling is thus resisted, it becomes what is called a feeling of obliga- tion. Obligations are thus of as many different kinds as 308 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS sentiments, or as the habitual preferences of which senti- ments are the internal aspect. Thus they may be profes- sional, social, artistic, religious, moral, and so on. And these may conflict. The painter, for example, who is finish- ing a miniature, and whose eyes are heavy from the strain of months of close application, feels keenly the obligation not to let it go till he has made it as beautiful as his skill will per- mit. It may be that as a matter of business any further work upon the miniature will not pay. The patron is more than satisfied, and the public is little educated in such matters; so that the artist's reputation would not suffer if he dropped the thing at once. Now dollars and cents are not everything, but they are certainly something; and the painter feels a certain obligation not to neglect them. Besides, while he keeps making scarcely discernible strokes with tiny brushes, his family in the hot city are suffering for the outing which he cannot afford to give them. The tints on his little girl's cheek, as well as the tints in the miniature, have their impor- tance. Supremacy of Moral Obligations. We have spoken of the manner in which the moral habits bring together the various departments of character into a unitary whole, har- monizing and controlling the conflicting tendencies. In terms of the feelings of obligation, this means that in the well- developed individual the moral obligations are supreme. Where these clash with obligations of other kinds, they are apt to supersede them; where other obligations clash, a moral obligation arises and subordinates them to itself ; or, if not, the unity of character in so far breaks down. The moral obligation is thus, in a certain sense, the obligation of the man as a whole ; the others belong only to fractions of the man. Take the case of the painter above. He feels the obligations of the artist, the business man, the father of a family. It may be that these will continue to pull and haul him without decisive issue, or until some one overwhelms CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 309 the others and remains in sole control. But if his is a well- organized personality, something different is likely to happen. His moral sentiments assert themselves, and he feels an obli- gation hi which the others are at once included and subordi- nated. Some one (or some combination) of the inferior obligations is reenforced at the expense of the rest. Which one is thus distinguished, is a matter which the strength of the original feelings does not ordinarily affect. It is the moral sentiments of the man that decide the issue. It may be, for instance, that the monetary consideration strikes the painter as an ignoble temptation ; and that, as far as his family are concerned, if he leaves them the heritage of his fair name, the loss of a summer's vacation is of little concern. He ought to be true to his art. Or he may decide otherwise that depends upon the man. Because of this normal supremacy of the moral obligations, they stand hi common usage as the obligations, without need of qualifying adjective ; and the equivalent verb ' ought/ as well as the adjectives ' right ; and ' wrong/ also belong especially to the moral domain. Separation of Obligations : (1) In Business. Lack of unity hi character, as well as the unnatural dominance of character by one of its inferior aspects, may also be viewed to advantage in its effect upon the feelings of obligation. The division between business, on the one hand, and home, polite society, and religion, on the other hand, is a very common phenomenon. The phrase, ' Business is business/ implying that in this sphere no other than commercial obligations have any weight, is proverbial. Thus, for example, a retail mer- chant, who hi the other relations of life is strictly truthful, and would regard a lie as ungentlemanly as well as immoral, does not hesitate to print lying advertisements of his goods ; or, if he does hesitate, it is because he is inclined to think that hi the long run truthful advertising brings in better returns. Moral considerations are simply excluded. He would be 310 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS ashamed, let us say, not to give up his seat to a woman in a crowded street car ; but he keeps his clerks, men and women alike, standing for ten hours a day or, if he gives them a chance to sit, it is pressure upon his pocketbook that makes him do it. At the same time, he would not let his wife assist him in the business in any capacity. Not that he doubts her ability. But she belongs to home and children. And, if business is business, it is none the less true that home is home. (2) In Art. But perhaps the most striking illustrations of the divided personality and its separate obligations are to be found in the life of the artist, and especially in that of the poet or novelist. ' Art for art's sake ' in this field no other sentiments than those of the beautiful must have any but a subordinate place. If the demands, say, of realistic truth and those of morality seem to clash, morality must be firmly ruled out of the inclosure. Chaucer in his Canter- bury Tales tells some capital funny stories, certain of which have the defect of being (in many men's opinion, at any rate) shockingly immoral. He himself frankly acknowledges this, but, in his humorous way, insists that he could not have written otherwise. It is, for example, the Miller and the Reeve (in whose mouths two of the stories are placed) that are to blame. These are coarse men ; and he but repeats their stories as they told them. In plain prose, he writes only as a due and proper realism demands. If the interests of morality suffer thereby, so much the worse for morality. The interests of art are paramount here. Now appended to all the best manuscripts of Chaucer's poems is an earnest prayer to the public, not to read these tales. Literary critics of a certain sort have been free to con- demn this prayer as a monkish forgery; but so far as we are aware there is no sound reason for doubting its genuine- ness. Chaucer was a deeply moral man; and however thoroughly, in the enthusiasm of creation, he could persuade CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 311 himself that art is its own sufficient excuse for being, the after- thought could not fail to arise, that human life is far more than art, and that the obligations of the poet are inferior to the obligations of the man. Compare the case of Scott's Ivanhoe. When this romance first appeared, a protest arose from thousands of readers, which has not yet wholly died out, that the hero ought not to have married the lady Rowena but the interesting Jewess Rebecca. In the preface which he published some years later, Scott justified his course in the matter. One would have expected him to urge aesthetic considerations, and no doubt he might have done so. But what he emphasizes is this: that a marriage between the young knight and the Jewess would have been untrue to life, and hence would have tended to give false ideas of the world to many young men and women perhaps to their moral detriment. Even though, therefore, his story might have been unproved, he was unwill- ing to improve it at such a risk. For examples of the dominance of conduct by the aesthetic sentiments (as distinguished from their supremacy within a restricted field), we are accustomed to look to the Italian renaissance. Browning's The Bishop Orders his Tomb is a remarkable study of this type. Tennyson's Romney's Re- morse illustrates a different but closely allied phenomenon the sacrifice of the closest of personal ties in order to realize more favorable conditions for aesthetic creation. IV. VALUATION Orders of Preference. One noteworthy consequence of the formation of stable sentiments is a certain classification, or rather ordering, of the contents of our world, according to the way in which they are preferred or rejected in comparison with each other. Things and their relations are good, bad, and indifferent; or, where a more elaborate division takes place, they may be excellent, very good, good, fair, tolerable, 312 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS poor, bad, very bad, abominable, etc. ; and sometimes even a quantitative scale is developed, according to which one thing is, say, twice as good or three times as bad as another. The so-called ' null-point ' of indifference is fixed by our not caring whether a thing (or a relation) exists or not. Their Complexity. There is not merely one such order. The orders are as various as the sentiments themselves. Where a consistent preference is impossible, the things are said not to be comparable. We do not ordinarily try to rank Shakespeare, Beethoven, and Titian, artists though they be ; nay, we should hardly try to compare the merits of Othello and Cymbeline, dramas though they be, and though they contain many elements that may well enough be compared. Nor would we be apt to weigh in the balance one man's cour- tesy against another man's wit. But the point is too obvious to be insisted upon. At the same time, the multitudinous orders of preference are not wholly distinct and independent. There are more comprehensive sentiments which connect them. We have wider as well as narrower standards of com- parison. There are occasions when we are called upon to compare courtesy and wit, or even one man's religious or- thodoxy with another's bank account ; and sentiments are formed by which our choice on such occasions is controlled. So that, after all, the many orders of preference do form one order, though a very ill-defined one ; whatever ultimate unity there is being largely due, generally speaking, to the most comprehensive class of sentiments, the moral sentiments. Valuation and Evaluation. The process by which the ob- jects of our experience are thus grouped and ordered is called valuation, and the place which any object takes in the scale is called its value. Values are positive or negative, according as they stand above or below the null-point of indifference, to which the zero value corresponds. Valuation is thus some- thing more than merely liking or disliking things, or even than habitual preference. It is the formation of a system of CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 313 concepts, the concepts of the various grades of valued objects. As a matter of fact, when a man is called upon to assign a given object to its proper place in the scale, in other words, to form a judgment of value, or an evaluation, the process is often a purely intellectual one. He observes that the thing is of a familiar type, which he remembers as being char- acteristic of objects of a certain grade ; and he classifies it accordingly. Not that this is always the case. Sometimes the judgment is inspired by an actual present sentiment. Perhaps most often the judgment is partly dictated by senti- ment and partly by external marks. In any case, however, it must not be forgotten that, however large a part purely intellectual processes may play in the particular evaluation, it is only through sentimental feelings that the scale of values, upon which the judgment is based, has itself been built up. Judgments of these various kinds are familiar to us in all the different spheres of valuation. The marking of an ex- amination paper affords some apt illustrations. This may be done without any sentiment whatsoever so many per cent off for each mistake. Or the examiner may have in his mind a certain body of facts which he expects each an- swer to contain ; and he may take off so many points for each omission. Every once in a while, however, he may have a feeling that the grade he has given is unjust, higher or lower than it should be; and if this impression is strong enough, he disregards his formal estimate and alters the mark. Or the operation may be guided by active sentiments through- out not so much a matter of counting as of weighing. Generally speaking, the better the criticism, the more fresh sentiment has gone into it. To trust to general criteria, without spontaneous feeling for the individual case, is to display a low order of judgment. Obligation and Values. The relation of valuation to the feelings of obligation is very simple. One ought always to choose the more valuable in preference to the less valuable. 314 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS It is an obligation of the merchant to buy as cheaply and sell as dearly as he can ; just as it is an obligation of the society woman to cultivate the ' best ' people, of the politician to nominate the most popular candidate, of the scholar to de- vote himself to the most significant problem, and so on. To get less than one might of any kind of good is in so far wrong, and can only be made right by becoming the condition of ol> taining a greater value of another kind. A Condition of the Subordination of Sentiments. A noteworthy consequence of this relation is that in any com- plex situation, where one sentiment is subordinated to another, the possible values of the kind appreciated by the lower sentiment must be less than those appreciated by the higher sentiment. Poe, in his account of the writing of The Raven, tells us that if any of the earlier stanzas of the poem had turned out " more vigorous " than that which contains the climax, he would " without scruple have purposely enfeebled them." Now if, in the writing of a poem, one's feeling for the beauty of stanzaic rhythm is to be subordinated to the sense of the climacteric effect of the whole, it must be possible to make the poem better by insisting on the climax than it could be made by letting each stanza have its own maximum rhythmical value. This does not "necessarily mean that in every poetic composition the details ought to be subordinated to the whole though Poe, indeed, thought so. Sometimes the general structure may be a mere excuse for bringing together the details. What we are urging is simply that when the poet is under obligation to subordinate the details, he must be able to make the poem in hand a better poem thereby. The Range of Moral Values. This principle applies most strikingly to the most comprehensive sentiments and the supreme obligations: the moral. It means that in any situation the possible moral values are greater than any others with which they there conflict or, if this is not the CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 315 case, the moral sentiments fail to perform their proper func- tion. And if (as seems probable) the complexity of human life is such that there is no non-moral value which may not in some situation conflict with a moral value, it follows that for the well-organized individual the moral values are capable of higher degrees than any others. When different scales of values are combined in one, it is generally to be observed that the highest positive values and the lowest negative values belong together. Greater potentialities of beauty, for example, go with greater poten- tialities of ugliness. If the best tragedies stand upon a level which comedy cannot reach, the worst tragedies sink to depths of dullness and brutality which the worst comedies cannot approach. And similarly, if good breeding is more desirable than good birth, ill breeding is a greater defect than lowly birth. This applies to the relation of the moral values to all others. Just as, in common estimation, virtue is capa- ble of heights to which no other type of good can be exalted, so vice is capable of depths to which no other type of evil can descend. V. THE VALUE OF A SUM OF THINGS Addition of Values. When the values of a number of things belong to the same scale, and the scale is a quantified one, the value of the collection as a whole is, as a general rule, simply the (algebraic) sum of the values of the several things. This is illustrated by economic values, and, again, by the credit marks on a student's examination paper. Six points in each of ten questions means sixty points on the whole. Addition generally Impossible. It is, however, only ex- ceptionally that a scale of values is quantified. It is far more apt to be like a scale of intensities the scale of the intensi- ties of warmth and cold, for example. The sensations may be arranged hi an ordered series, with a null-point of in- 316 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS sensibility in the middle. But one warmth cannot be twice as intense as another, or equal to the sum or difference of two others ; and it is only very roughly that we can say that a warmth is as intense as a given cold. So it is, we repeat, with most scales of value. One painting is more beautiful than another ; but it scarcely makes sense to say that it is twice as beautiful, or that its beauty is equal to the sum of the beauties of two others. We must, then, be careful to avoid the error of assuming that the value of a sum of things is necessarily a sum. It generally is not, even though the values all belong to the same scale. It is true, indeed, that the value of such a sum is generally greater than the value of any of the particular things ; but there are exceptions even to this. The value of Coleridge's poetry would be in no wise diminished if three fourths of his verses had never been written, though none of them are en- tirely without merit. A very few are so much better than the rest that the latter shrivel into insignificance beside them. Subordination of Sentiments Involved. But we are often called upon to value combinations of values of widely different kinds. The young woman that hesitates between two suitors does this. And the distinguished lawyer who hesitates before accepting an appointment to the bench must do this also. Consider some of the factors in the latter situation. As a lawyer he earns ten times the amount of the judge's salary; and this larger income provides many ad- vantages for himself and his family. He is to a considerable extent free in the choice of his interests and activities, while the judge is bound to his calendar. But the appointment is a great honor, and brings with it a great increase of power power which is attractive both in itself and as a means of public service. Now, of course, either the young woman or the lawyer may be carried away by passion, and may choose even without coming to any conclusion as to the comparative merits of the case. But if a conclusion is reached and an CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 317 evaluation is effected, it is obvious that some correlation and subordination of sentiments is involved, such as we have al- ready studied. Happiness. In like manner a whole condition of life may be recognized as having a value. This value, positive or negative, is called ' happiness ' or ' unhappiness.' (We have in English no word that covers both. In Greek wpo&s is used in this sense.) These conceptions involve no new theoretical difficulties ; but it is obvious that so complex a synthesis cannot possess any high degree of accuracy. It is often difficult for a man to decide whether he is happy or not, not to speak of deciding how happy or how unhappy. And yet such decisions play an important part in the conduct of life. The Greatest Happiness. The ideal of the greatest happiness (bonum consummatum) is the combination of all the good things in life, so far as they are compatible with each other ; where they are incompatible, the worse being sacri- ficed for the better. Needless to say, this ideal changes greatly with change of character, and is at all times exceed- ingly vague. It contains elements of widely different nature, each of which is open to wide variation ; for example, physi- cal health, a certain standard of living, affectionate relations with wife and children, social success, a good conscience. Sometimes a single element, such as a woman's love or a great fortune, outweighs all the rest. The man believes that if he had this one thing, nothing else would matter much. Such a valuation (when it persists) is, of course, indicative of a very one-sided character. The normal man includes in his ideal of the greatest happiness a great number and variety of elements. Among these a good moral character is bound to have an important place ; for, as we recall, it is the habit- ual ascendancy of the moral sentiments that is the essential condition of unity of character that is to say, of the har- monization of one's desires for different things. 318 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS The Essentials of Happiness. Men also form conceptions of what they regard as essential to happiness that without which they would necessarily be unhappy. These concep- tions also vary greatly from man to man. And here again, in the estimation of normal men, a good moral character has an important place. The habitual ascendancy which the moral sentiments have in their minds makes it impossible for them to conceive of happiness with the moral values left out. VI. VIRTUE AND HAPPINESS Two Considerations. On the basis of the above account of the place and function of the moral sentiments, can any- thing definite be said with regard to the question from which we set out, the question of the sufficiency of morality as a condition of happiness? There are here two distinct con- siderations to be borne in mind : (1) the relation in which morality stands to the other elements in happiness; and (2) the estimate that is due the moral values as such the value of a good or a bad conscience. 1. Indirect Value of Morality Immorality Prevents Content. In the first place, as we have so often had to repeat, the supremacy of the moral sen- timents in deciding the issues of life is a general condition of the harmonization and unification of our desires. But where desires are not unified every important choice contains the seeds of disappointment. From this point of view it appears obvious that while the moral man may often be un- happy, the immoral man can scarcely avoid a great deal of unhappiness. He is well-nigh doomed to a deep and abiding discontent. The Contraction of Life. We have admitted, to be sure, that in an exceptional case some other class of sentiments (the aesthetic, for example) may perform the work of unifi- cation. In such a case, as we have pointed out, the other CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 319 sides of a man's nature are of necessity starved and stunted. This means, of course, that numerous sources of happiness are cut off. Hence it is probable, that, even though upon the one abnormally developed side an unusual sensibility to its peculiar values may arise, the possibility of happiness on the whole is seriously reduced. At the same time, however, the possibilities of unhappiness are similarly reduced. The man who could not rejoice at a victory does not sorrow at a de- feat. From this point of view, then, we cannot say that such an exceptionally immoral man is probably less happy than a moral man. We can only say, somewhat as we would say in comparing a brute and a man, that the former has less capacity for both happiness and unhappiness. What fur- ther conclusion is drawn from these premises depends, of course, upon our optimistic or pessimistic attitude toward life in general. If, as a general rule, life is worth living, if, to point the question, it is better to live the wider life of a man than the narrower life of a brute, then it is better to be a good man than a mere aesthete. Effects of Isolation. A similar conclusion may be reached when we recall to mind what was said in the last chapter with regard to the social significance of morality. Morality, we there found, is an essential condition of social intercourse, and, hi particular, of the communication of sentiments, from man to man. Immorality, therefore, means so much isola- tion, means the being cut off to a greater or less extent from the common interests and occupations of one's fellows. Now in most bad men this undoubtedly gives rise to considerable unhappiness. They cannot help yearning for the society from which they find themselves excluded. In the extreme case of the thoroughly abnormal individual, who cares little for any other society than that of those who share his own narrow interests and who are bound to him through these interests alone in this extreme case, life simply proceeds upon a smaller scale. A vast multitude of joys and sorrows 320 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS are alike unfelt. The possibilities of happiness and of unhap- piness are reduced together. The Winning of Sympathy. There is another considera- tion, however, that points more decisively to the advantage of the better balanced moral man. The ability to sympathize is a potent means of gaining sympathy. The man whose one-sided development deprives him of interest in his fellows loses their good will and hearty cooperation. Whatever ills come to him, he has the greater chance of bearing their full brunt, even if he escapes active enmity. And however powerful he may be, he cannot compel or purchase the loving consideration upon which many of life's most substantial charms depend. 2. Direct Value of Morality Moral Values as Such. But aside from the indirect value of morality as a condition for the attainment of the other goods of life, it has a peculiar value of its own, which is appre- ciated by the moral sentiments themselves. It may be that in origin these two kinds of value are closely connected to- gether ; but as elements in the happiness of the individual they are so distinct as to require a separate appraisement. Every sane man feels and believes that it is worth something just to be good ; and we have to consider how far this condi- tion may compensate for the various ills of life. Their Relative Magnitude. Now, in the first place, we are confronted by the fact, that moral values, like values of other kinds, vary on both sides of the null-point of indiffer- ence. It is not a single value, or a pair of opposite values, but a whole range of values that we are called upon to place. Sometimes moral teachers have urged that any positive moral value, however low in the scale, is greater than any value whatsoever of any other kind. Such a statement does not ring true. It seems to express a species of fanaticism. And when we look for evidence in its support, we find none. For CHARACTER, SENTIMENT, AND VALUE 321 the plain fact of the matter is that such a comparison as the formula suggests cannot be performed. We have no mental machinery for performing it. What does appear to be true is that (for reasons above given) in any particular situation the possible moral values must be greater than any other values with which they come in opposition. Let us take an illustration. A Jew, walking though a field of grain on a Saturday, feels hungry. To pluck a few ears and thereby satisfy his hunger is a breach of a rule to which a powerful moral sentiment attaches. The question arises whether it is better for him to observe the rule or to eat. But this itself is a moral question. For in order to bring together and compare values of diverse kinds, a more comprehensive sentiment is necessary ; and where a moral value is concerned, only a moral sentiment can do this. If the function is usurped by a sentiment of any lower kind, the moral value in question is simply neglected and left out of account. Hence, to return to our illustration, a decision that it is better to eat is equivalent to a decision that in the case in hand the strict observance of the Sabbath would be im- moral ; and to pluck and eat becomes a moral obligation. The conflict is removed. If, on the contrary, the decision is that it is better to follow the rule, the man's hunger is not thereby stilled and the conflict persists. But the moral value now is not simply that of obedience to the rule. It is that of obedience to the rule despite urgent temptation to break it. The value of right conduct is not only judged to be superior, but it is enhanced by the act of judgment itself, and enhanced in proportion to the conflicting value which is foregone. General Conclusion. Putting this conclusion with the former one (as to the indirect effects of morality upon happi- ness), we may say that morality is an exceedingly important factor in the production of happiness, doubtless the most important ; that good men have far greater chances of happi- ness than bad men. Does this leave no room for individual Y 322 INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENCE OF ETHICS exceptions? Certainly it does. A man's character in gen- eral and his moral character in particular may well be the most important condition of happiness. But there are num- berless other contributing factors all that goes together under the inclusive name of good or evil ' fortune ' ; and nothing that we have said warrants the conclusion that a good man cannot be unhappy, or a bad man happy. Moral- ity and immorality are matters of degree ; and how far either can go in counterbalancing the effects of extraordinary ex- ternal conditions we have no means of determining with any assurance. We can only say that under any external condi- tions, the better a man is the happier he is at all times likely to be ; and in a lifetime of ordinary length the total likeli- hood amounts to a practical certainty. A simple illustration may help to make this point clear. The most important conditions for success in agriculture are, let us say, skill and industry in the farmer, a fertile soil, and a fair rainfall. The better farmer with the better farm has every chance of having the better crop. But in any particular year he may not. A stroke of lightning or a spark from a passing engine may undo all his toil. The sciences that deal with human affairs can never make universal predictions that exclude the possibility of exceptions. They must be content, as Aristotle said, to set forth the important general tendencies what is true for the most part (TO. 147, 164 f., 179 ff., 192, 261 ff., . 31 Iff., 335 ff., 382 ff. Virtue, 88 ff., 115, 135 ff., 149 ff., 165, 389, 404 ff. 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