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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 60422 ***</div>
<p class="center"><big>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:</big></p>
<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation and punctuation have not been corrected.
A list of other corrections can be found at the <a href="#Corrections">end
of the document</a>. The Table of Contents is left as in the original and does
not list all of the subsections.</p>
<h1 class="hidden">Outlines of a Critical Theory of Ethics.</h1>
<hr />
<div class="blockquote">
<p><cite>For we are not children of the bond-woman, but of
the free.</cite></p>
<p><i lang="la" xml:lang="la">E pur se muove.</i></p></div>
<hr />
<p class="ph1">OUTLINES<br />
<small>OF A</small><br />
CRITICAL THEORY OF ETHICS</p>
<p class="center">BY</p>
<p class="ph2">JOHN DEWEY<br />
<small>Professor of Philosophy in the University of Michigan</small></p>
<p class="center">ANN ARBOR, MICHIGAN<br />
REGISTER PUBLISHING COMPANY<br />
The Inland Press<br />
1891.</p>
<hr />
<p class="center">Copyright, 1891. <span class="smcap">Register Publishing Co.</span>, Ann Arbor, Mich.</p>
<hr />
<div class="chapter">
<h2>CONTENTS.</h2>
<table class="toc" summary="Table of Contents"><tr>
<td class="tocchap"><span class="smcap">Introduction</span></td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg001">1-12</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocpart">PART I.—FUNDAMENTAL ETHICAL NOTIONS.</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocchap"><span class="smcap">Chapter I.</span>—<i>The Good</i></td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg013">13-138</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Hedonism</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg014">14</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Utilitarianism</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg052">52</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Evolutionary Utilitarianism</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg067">67</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Kantianism</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg078">78</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Problem and Solution</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg095">95</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Realization of Individuality</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg097">97</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Ethical Postulate</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg127">127</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocchap"><span class="smcap">Chapter II.</span>—<i>The Idea of Obligation</i></td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg139">139-158</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Bain's Theory</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg140">140</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Spencer's Theory</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg142">142</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Kant's Theory</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg147">147</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Its Real Nature</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg152">152</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocchap"><span class="smcap">Chapter III.</span>—<i>The Idea of Freedom</i></td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg158">158-166</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Negative Freedom</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg158">158</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Potential Freedom</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg159">159</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Positive Freedom</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg164">164</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocpart">PART II.—THE ETHICAL WORLD.</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Social Relations</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg167">167</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Moral Institutions</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg169">169</a><span class="pb" id="Pgvi">[vi]</span></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocpart">PART III.—THE MORAL LIFE OF THE INDIVIDUAL.</td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Division of Subject</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg181">181</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocchap"><span class="smcap">Chapter I.</span>—<i>The Formation and Growth of Ideals</i></td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg182">182-211</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Conscience</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg182">182</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Conscientiousness</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg199">199</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Development of Ideals</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg206">206</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocchap"><span class="smcap">Chapter II.</span>—<i>The Moral Struggle or the Realizing of Ideals</i></td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg211">211-227</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Goodness as Struggle</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg211">211</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Badness</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg214">214</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Goodness and Badness</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg221">221</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocchap"><span class="smcap">Chapter III.</span>—<i>Realized Morality or the Virtues</i></td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg227">227-233</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocsec">Cardinal Virtues</td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg231">231</a></td>
</tr><tr>
<td class="tocchap"><span class="smcap">Conclusion</span></td>
<td class="tocpag"><a href="#Pg233">233-238</a></td>
</tr></table>
</div>
<hr />
<div class="chapter">
<h2>PREFACE.</h2>
<p>Although the following pages have taken shape
in connection with class-room work, they are intended
as an independent contribution to ethical
science. It is commonly demanded of such a work
that its readers shall have some prefatory hint of
its sources and deviations. In accordance with
this custom, I may state that for the backbone of
the theory here presented—the conception of the
will as the expression of ideas, and of social ideas;
the notion of an objective ethical world realized in
institutions which afford moral ideals, theatre and
impetus to the individual; the notion of the moral
life as growth in freedom, as the individual finds
and conforms to the law of his social placing—for
this backbone I am especially indebted to Green's
'Prolegomena to Ethics', to Mr. Bradley's 'Ethical
Studies', to Professor Caird's 'Social Philosophy of
Comte' and 'Critical Philosophy of Kant' (to this
latter book in particular my indebtedness is fundamental),
and to Alexander's 'Moral Order and Progress'.
Although I have not been able to adopt
the stand-point or the method of Mr. Spencer, or of
Mr. Leslie Stephen my obligation to the 'Data of
Ethics' and to the 'Science of Ethics' (especially
to the latter) is large.</p>
<p>As to the specific forms which give a flesh and
blood of its own to this backbone, I may call attention
<span class="pb" id="Pgviii">[viii]</span>
to the idea of desire as the ideal activity in contrast
with actual possession; to the analysis of individuality
into function including capacity and environment;
to the treatment of the social bearings of
science and art (a point concerning which I am
indebted to my friend, Mr. Franklin Ford); to the
statement of an ethical postulate; to the accounts
of obligation, of moral rules, and of moral badness.</p>
<p>While the book is an analysis, in outline, of the
main elements of the theory of ethics rather than
a discussion of all possible detailed questions, it
will not be found the less fitted, I hope, to give a
student an idea of the main methods and problems
of contemporary ethics. Other teachers, indeed,
may agree that a general outline is better than a
blanket-mortgage spread over and forestalling all
the activity of the student's mind.</p>
<p>I have not been unmindful of the advisability
of avoiding in presentation both undue polemic,
and undue dogmatism without sufficient reference
to the statements of others. I hope the method
hit upon, of comparing opposite one-sided views
with the aim of discovering a theory apparently
more adequate, will help keep the balance. I have
quoted freely from the chief modern authorities,
hoping that the tastes here given will tempt the
reader to the banquet waiting in the authors
themselves. The occasional references introduced
are not bibliographical, nor intended as exhaustive
statements of authorities consulted; they are meant
as aids to an intelligent reading on the part of the
general student. For this reason they are confined
mainly to modern English writings.</p>
</div>
<hr />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pb" id="Pg001">[1]</span>
<h3>INTRODUCTION.</h3>
<h4>I.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Definition of Ethics.</div>
<p>The term ethics is derived from a
Greek word meaning manners, customs,
habits, just as the term morals
is derived from a Latin word with a similar meaning.
This suggests the character of the science as
an account of human action. Anthropology, ethnology,
psychology, are also, in their way, accounts
of human action. But these latter branches of
knowledge simply <em>describe</em>, while the business of
ethics is to <em>judge</em>.</p>
<p>This does not mean that it belongs to ethics to
prescribe what man ought to do; but that its business
is to detect the element of obligation in conduct,
to examine conduct to see what gives it its
<em>worth</em>. Anthropology, etc., do not take into account
the <em>whole</em> of action, but simply some of its
aspects—either external or internal. Ethics deals
with conduct in its entirety, with reference, that is,
to what makes it conduct, its <em>end</em>, its real meaning.
Ethics is the science of conduct, understanding by
conduct man's activity in its whole reach.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Three of the branches of philosophy may be called
<em>normative</em>, implying that they deal with some <em>norm,
<span class="pb" id="Pg002">[2]</span>
standard</em> or <em>end</em>, estimating the value of their respective
subject-matters as tested by this end. These are
Logic, dealing with the end Truth, and the value of
intellectual processes with respect to it; Æsthetics,
dealing with Beauty and the value of emotional conditions
as referred to it; and Ethics, as defined above.
But this norm in no case comes from outside the subject-matter;
it is the subject-matter considered in its
totality.</p></div>
<h4 id="II">II.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Meaning of Moral.</div>
<p>In its widest sense, the term moral or
ethical means nothing more than relating
to conduct; having to do with practice,
when we look at conduct or practice from the
point of view not of its occurrence, but of its value.
Action is something which takes place, and as such
it may be described like any objective fact. But
action has also relation to an end, and so considered
it is <em>moral</em>. The first step in ethics is to fix firmly
in mind the idea that the term moral does not mean
any special or peculiar kind of conduct, but simply
means practice and action, conduct viewed not
partially, but in connection with the end which it
realizes.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>It should be noted that the term moral has a wider
and a narrower sense. In the wider sense it means
action in the moral sphere, as opposed to <em>non</em>-moral,
and thus includes both good and bad conduct. In the
narrower sense it means moral, as opposed to <em>im</em>moral.
See Bradley, Ethical Studies, p. 53, note, for a
further meaning.</p></div>
<span class="pb" id="Pg003">[3]</span>
<h4 id="III">III.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Meaning of Conduct.</div>
<p>Ethics then has to do with conduct or
action viewed completely, or in relation
to its end. But what is conduct? It
must be distinguished from action in general; for
any process of change, the working of a pump, the
growth of a plant, the barking of a dog, may be
called action. Conduct implies more than something
taking place; it implies purpose, motive,
intention; that the agent knows what he is about,
that he has something which he is aiming at. All
action accomplishes something or brings about
results, but conduct has the result <em>in view</em>. It
occurs for the sake of producing this result. Conduct
does not simply, like action in general, have a
cause, but also a reason, and the reason is present
to the mind of the agent. There can be conduct
only when there is a being who can propose to himself,
as an end to be reached by himself, something
which he regards as worth while. Such a being is
a moral agent, and his action, when conscious, is
conduct.</p>
<h4>IV.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Division of Ethics.</div>
<p>The main ethical problem is just this:
What is the conduct that really deserves
the name of conduct, the conduct of
which all other kinds of action can be only a perverted
or deflected form? Or, since it is the end
<span class="pb" id="Pg004">[4]</span>
which gives action its moral value, what is the true
end, <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">summum bonum</i> of man? Knowing this, we
have a standard by which we judge particular
acts. Those which embody this end are <em>right</em>,
others wrong. The question of the rightness of
conduct is simply a special form of the question
concerning the nature of the end or good. But the
end bears another relation to specific acts. They
are not only marked off by it as right or wrong, but
they have to fulfill it. The end or good decides
what should be or <em>ought</em> to be. Any act necessary
to fulfill the end is a <em>duty</em>. Our second inquiry
will be as to the nature of obligation or duty.
Then we have to discuss the nature of a being who
is capable of action, of manifesting and realizing the
end; capable of right (or wrong) of obligatory and
good action. This will lead us to discuss the question
of <i>Freedom, or Moral Capacity and its Realization</i>.
The discussion of these three abstract questions
will constitute Part I of our theory; Part II
will take up the various forms and institutions
in which the good is objectively realized, the family,
state, etc.; while Part III will be devoted to an
account of the moral experience of the individual.</p>
<h4>V.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Motive in Conduct.</div>
<p>Before taking up the first problem
presented, the nature of the good or
the end of conduct, it is necessary to
<span class="pb" id="Pg005">[5]</span>
analyze somewhat further the various sides and
factors of conduct in order to see where the distinctly
ethical element is to be found. The elements
particularly deserving consideration are (1)
the Motive; (2) the Feelings or Sentiments; (3)
Consequences of the Act; (4) Character of Agent.
We shall begin with</p>
<p>1. <i>The Motive.</i> The motive of the act is the
end aimed at by the agent in performing the act.
Thus the motive of Julius Cæsar in crossing the
Rubicon was the whole series of results which he
intended to reach by that act of his. The motive
of a person in coming to college is to gain knowledge,
to prepare himself for a certain profession.
The motive is thus identical with the ideal element
of the action, the purpose in view.</p>
<p>2. <i>The Feelings or Disposition.</i> Some writers
speak of the feelings under which the agent acts
as his motive. Thus we may suppose Julius Cæsar
'moved' by the feelings of ambition, of revenge,
etc., in crossing the Rubicon. The student may be
'moved' by curiosity, by vainglory, by emulation,
by conscience, in coming to college. It is better,
however, to regard the motive as the reason for
which the act is performed, and to use the term
moving or impelling cause for the feelings in their
relation to action. Thus we may imagine a parent
asking a child why he struck a playmate, meaning
<span class="pb" id="Pg006">[6]</span>
what was the motive of the action. If the child
should reply that he struck his playmate because
he was angry, this answer would give the moving
cause or impelling force of the action, but not its
motive. The motive would be the idea of punishing
this playmate, of getting even with him, of
taking something away from him. The motive is
the end which he desired to reach by striking and
on account of which he struck. This is implied by
the fact that the parent would ask, "What <em>made</em> you
<em>angry</em>?"</p>
<h4>VI.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Moral Bearing of These Distinctions.</div>
<p>It is the feelings which supply
the impelling force to action.
They may be termed, collectively,
the <em>natural disposition</em>. The natural disposition
in itself has no <em>moral</em> value. This has been well
illustrated by Bentham.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Principles of Morals and Legislation, pp. 49-55.
Bentham here uses the term 'motive' to designate
what we have called the moving cause.</p></div>
<p>We may select of the many examples which he
gives that of curiosity. We may imagine a boy
spinning a top, reading a useful book and letting
a wild ox loose in a road. Now curiosity may be
the 'motive' of each of these acts, yet the first act
would generally be called morally indifferent, the
second good, the third abominable.</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg007">[7]</span>
<p>What we mean by the 'natural' feelings, then,
is the feelings considered in abstraction from
activity: Benevolence, as a <em>mere</em> feeling, has no
higher moral value than malevolence. But if it is
directed upon action it gets a value at once; let the
end, the act, be right, and benevolence becomes a
name for a <em>moral</em> disposition—a tendency to <em>act</em> in
the due way. Nothing is more important than to
distinguish between mere sentiments, and feeling
as an element in conduct.</p>
<h4 id="VII">VII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Relation of Consequences and Conduct.</div>
<p>Do the consequences of an act
have anything to do with its morality?
We may say no, pointing
to the fact that a man who does his
best we call good, although the
consequences of his act may be far from good.
We say his purpose in acting was right, and using
as he did all the knowledge that he had, he is not
to be blamed for its bad consequences. On the
other hand, it is evident that we do take into account
consequences in estimating the moral value
of an act. Suppose, to use one of Bentham's examples,
a person were about to shoot an animal but
foresaw that in doing so there was a strong probability
that he would also wound some bystander.
If he shot and the spectator were wounded, should
we not hold the agent morally responsible? Are
<span class="pb" id="Pg008">[8]</span>
there not multitudes of intended acts of which we
say that we cannot tell whether they are good or
bad until we know how they are likely to turn
out?</p>
<p>The solution of the difficulty is in recognizing
the ambiguity of the term 'consequences'. It may
mean the whole outcome of the act. When I speak,
I set in motion the air, and its vibrations have, in
turn, long chains of effects. Whatever I do must
have an endless succession of 'consequences' of
which I can know but very little; just so far as, in
any act, I am ignorant of the conditions under
which it is performed, so far I am ignorant
of its consequences. <em>Such</em> consequences are
wholly irrelevant morally. They have no more to do
with the morality of the act than has the fact that
the earth is revolving while the act is taking
place.</p>
<p>But we may mean by consequences the <em>foreseen</em>
consequences of an act. Just in the degree
that any consequence is considered likely to result
from an act, just in that degree it gets moral value,
for it becomes <em>part of the act</em> itself. The reason
that in many cases we cannot judge of the morality
of an intended act until we can judge its probable
results, is that until we know of these results the
action is a mere abstraction, having no content at
all. <em>The conceived results constitute the content of
<span class="pb" id="Pg009">[9]</span>
the act to be performed.</em> They are not merely relevant
to its morality, but <em>are</em> its moral quality. The
question is whether any consequence is foreseen,
conceived, or not. The foreseen, the <em>ideal</em> consequences
are the end of the act, and as such form
the <em>motive</em>.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>See on Sections 6 and 7, Alexander, Moral Order and
Progress, pp. 36-46; on Section 7, Green, Prolegomena
to Ethics, pp. 317-323.</p></div>
<h4 id="VIII">VIII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Character and Conduct.</div>
<p>We have seen that the moral sentiments,
or the moral disposition (distinguished
from the feelings as passing
emotions), on one side, and the consequences as
ideal or conceived (distinguished from the consequences
that, <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">de facto</i>, result), on the other, both
have moral value. If we take the moral feelings,
not one by one, but as a whole, as an <em>attitude</em> of
the agent toward conduct, as expressing the kind of
motives which upon the whole moves him to action,
we have <em>character</em>. And just so, if we take the
consequences willed, not one by one, but as a
whole, as the kind of end which the agent endeavors
to realize, we have <em>conduct</em>. Character and
conduct are, morally, the same thing, looked at first
inwardly and then outwardly. Character, except
as manifest in conduct, is a barren ideality. Our
moral judgments are always severe upon a man
<span class="pb" id="Pg010">[10]</span>
who has nothing to show but 'good intentions' never
executed. This is what character comes to, apart
from conduct. Our only way of telling the nature
of character is the conduct that issues from it.
But, on the other hand, conduct is mere outward
formalism, excepting as it manifests character. To
say that a man's conduct is good, unless it is the
manifestation of a good character, is to pass a
judgment which is self-contradictory.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>See Alexander, Op. cit., pp. 48-50 and p. 39.</p></div>
<p>From this point of view we are enabled to
identify the two senses of motive already discussed—the
ideal of action and the moving feelings.
Apart from each other they are abstractions.
Cæsar's motive in crossing the Rubicon may have
been 'ambition,' but this was not some bare feeling.
It was a feeling of ambition produced in view of
the contemplation of a certain end which he wished
to reach. So a boy's motive in striking a playmate
may be anger, but this means (if the act is anything
more than one of blind physical reaction) an
anger having its conscious cause and aim, and not
some abstract feeling of anger in general. The
feeling which has its nature made what it is by the
conceived end, and the end which has ceased to be
a bare abstract conception and become an interest,
are all one with each other.</p>
<p>Morality is then a matter pertaining to character—to
<span class="pb" id="Pg011">[11]</span>
the feelings and inclinations as transformed
by ends of action; and to conduct—to conceived
ends transformed into act under the influence of
emotions. But what <em>kind</em> of character, of conduct,
is right or realizes its true end? This brings us to
our first problem.</p>
</div>
<hr />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pb" id="Pg013">[13]</span>
<h2>PART I.<br />
FUNDAMENTAL ETHICAL NOTIONS.</h2>
<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter I.</span>—THE GOOD.</h3>
<h4>IX.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Subdivision of Theories.</div>
<p>We may recognize three main
types of theories regarding the good,
of which the first two represent (we
shall attempt to show) each respectively one side of
the truth, while the third combines the one-sided
truths of the other two. Of the first two theories
one is abstract, because it tends to find the good in
the mere consequences of conduct aside from
character. This is the hedonistic theory, which
finds the good to be pleasure. This is either individualistic
or universalistic according as it takes
individual or general pleasure to be the good. The
second type of theories attempts to find the good
in the motive of conduct apart from consequences
even as willed; it reduces the good to conformity
to abstract moral law. The best type of this
<span class="pb" id="Pg014">[14]</span>
theory is the Kantian. We shall criticize these
theories with a view to developing the factors
necessary to a true moral theory.</p>
<h4>X.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Hedonism.</div>
<p>According to the strict hedonistic
position, the pleasure resulting to the agent from
his act is the end of conduct and is therefore the
criterion of its morality. The position as usually
taken involves, first, that pleasure is psychologically
the sole motive to action; and, secondly, that the
results of an act in the way of the pain or pleasure it
produces are the only tests we have of the rightness
of the act.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>It is said above that these two points are involved
in the hedonistic position as <em>usually</em> taken. They are
not <em>necessarily</em> involved.</p>
<p>Sidgwick (Methods of Ethics, Bk. I, ch. IV and
Bk. IV, ch. I) holds that pleasure is not the object
of desire or motive of action, but that happiness is
the moral end and criterion. On the other hand
Hodgson (Theory of Practice, Vol. II, ch. II) holds
that pleasure may be the motive (in the sense of impelling
force) but it is never the criterion of conduct.
Kant adopts the psychology of hedonism regarding
pleasure as the object of desire, but holds that on that
very account no object of desire can be the standard
of moral conduct.</p>
<p>A good statement of strict individualistic hedonism
is the following from Barratt, Physical Ethics,
page 71: "If man aims at pleasure merely by the
physical law of action, that pleasure must evidently be
ultimately his own, and whether it be or not preceded
<span class="pb" id="Pg015">[15]</span>
by phenomena which he calls the pain and pleasure of
others, is a question not of principle but of detail, just
as the force of a pound weight is unaltered whether it
be composed of lead or of feathers, or whether it act
directly or through pulleys."</p></div>
<h4>XI.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Hedonistic Position Supported.</div>
<p>Hedonism holds that pleasure
is both the natural end and the
proper criterion of action:</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>The following quotation from Bentham (Principles
of Morals and Legislation, Works, Vol. I, p. 1)
gives a statement of both these elements. "Nature
has placed man under the governance of two sovereign
masters, pain and pleasure. It is for them alone to
point out what we ought to do, [i. e. they are criteria]
as well as to determine what we shall do [motives]. On
the one hand, the standard of right or wrong [criterion];
on the other the chain of causes and effects
[motives], are fastened to their throne."</p></div>
<p>1. <i>Pleasure as Criterion.</i> That the tendency
of an action to produce pleasure is the standard
for judging its moral value is generally held by the
hedonists to be so axiomatic as to be beyond
argument.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>See Bain, Moral Science, p. 27. "The ultimate data
must be accepted as self-evident: they have no higher
authority than that mankind generally are disposed to
accept them.... Now there can be no proof offered
for the position that happiness is the proper end of all
human pursuits, the criterion of all right conduct. It
is an ultimate or final assumption to be tested by
reference to the individual judgment of mankind."
So Bentham, Enquiry I, II, "The principle is not
<span class="pb" id="Pg016">[16]</span>
susceptible of direct proofs for that which is used to
prove everything else can not itself be proved; a chain
of proofs must have their commencement somewhere."
Mill, Utilitarianism. (Dissertations and
Discussions, pp. 348-349). "The only proof capable of
being given that an object is visible is that people
actually see it. In like manner the sole evidence it is
possible to produce that anything is desirable is that
people do actually desire it." See Stephen, Science
of Ethics, p. 42; Spencer, Data of Ethics, pp. 30-32
and p. 46; Lotze, Practical Philosophy, pp. 18-19:
Sidgwick, Methods of Ethics, pp. 368-369.</p></div>
<p>Hedonism, then, represents the good or the
desirable and pleasure to be two names for the
same fact. What indeed can be worth while unless
it be either enjoyable in itself or at least a means
to enjoyment? Would theft be considered bad if it
resulted in pleasure or truth itself good if its
universal effect were pain?</p>
<p>2. <i>Pleasure as object of desire.</i> It is also
urged that psychological analysis shows that pleasure
is not only the desirable, but also always the
<em>desired</em>. Desire for an object is only a short way
of saying desire for the pleasure which that object
may bring. To want food is to want the pleasure
it brings; to want scientific ability is to desire
to find satisfaction, or attain happiness. Thus it
is laid down as a general principle that the invariable
object of desire, and motive of action is some
pleasure to be attained; the action itself and the
direct end of action being simply means to pleasure.</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg017">[17]</span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>For a strong statement of this doctrine see Mill,
Op. cit., pp. 354-5. "Desiring a thing and finding it
pleasant, aversion to it and thinking of it as painful,
are phenomena entirely inseparable, or rather two
parts of the same phenomenon,—in strictness of language,
two different modes of naming the same psychological
fact; to think of an object as desirable and
to think of it as pleasant are one and the same thing.<ins id="C017" title="endquote missing">"</ins>
See also, Bain, Emotions and Will, p. 436, Senses and
Intellect, pp. 338-344; Sully, Outlines of Psychology, p.
575, "The inclination or tendency of the active mind
towards what is pleasurable and away from what is
painful is the essential fact in willing." Also pp. 576-577.</p></div>
<h4>XII. Criticism.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Pleasure Not the End of Impulse.</div>
<p>Taking up the points in reverse
order, we shall endeavor to show
first, that the motive of action, in
the sense of end aimed at, is not pleasure. This
point in itself, is, of course, rather psychological
than ethical. Taking up then the psychology of
pleasure in its connection with will, we shall
discuss its relation to impulse, to desire and to
motive.</p>
<p>It is generally agreed that the raw material of
volition is found in some form or other of the impulsive
or instinctive actions. Such tendencies
(<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">e. g.</i>, the impulse for food, for drink, for unimpeded
motion) clearly precede the reaching of an
end, and hence the experience of any pleasure in
the end. Our first actions, at least, are not for
<span class="pb" id="Pg018">[18]</span>
pleasure; on the contrary, there is an activity for
some independent end, and this end being reached
there is pleasure in an act which has succeeded.
This suggests as a possible principle that pleasure
is not so much the end of action, as an element in
the activity which reaches an end. What Aristotle
says of another matter is certainly true of instinctive
action. "It is not true of every characteristic
function that its action is attended with pleasure,
<em>except indeed the pleasure of attaining its end</em>."</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>See Martineau, Types of Ethical Theory, Vol. II,
pp. 299-300; Sidgwick, Op. cit., pp. 38-45.</p></div>
<h4 id="XIII">XIII. Criticism—<i>Continued</i>.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Pleasure Not the End of Desire.</div>
<p>It may, however, be said that,
while our instinctive actions have
another end than pleasure, this is
not true of conscious desires—that, indeed, just the
difference between instinct and desire is that the
former goes blindly to its end, while the latter
superimposes the thought of the pleasure to be
reached upon the mere instinct. So we have to
analyze the nature of desire.</p>
<p>A child, led by impulse, has put a piece of sugar
into his mouth, just as, under the same circumstances,
he would put a piece of stone into his
mouth. But his action results in a state of pleasure
wholly unforseen by him. Now the next time
the child sees the sugar he will not merely have
<span class="pb" id="Pg019">[19]</span>
the impulse to put it in his mouth. There will
also be the remembrance of the pleasure enjoyed
from sugar previously. There is consciousness of
sugar as satisfying impulse and hence desire for it.</p>
<p>1. This is a description of an instance of desire.
Does it bear us out in the doctrine that pleasure is
the object of desire? It is possible that, in an irrational
animal, the experience of eating food reinforces
the original instinct for it with associated
images of pleasure. But even this is very different
from a desire for pleasure. It is simply the primordial
instinct intensified and rendered more
acute by new sensational factors joined to it. In
the strict sense, there is still no desire, but only
<em>stronger</em> impulse. Wherever there is desire there
is not only a feeling of pleasure associated with
other feelings (<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">e. g.</i>, those of hunger, thirst), but
there is the <em>consciousness of an object in which
satisfaction is found</em>. The error of the hedonistic
psychology is in omitting one's consciousness of an
<em>object</em> which satisfies. The hedonists are quite
right in holding that the end of desire is not any
object external to consciousness, but a condition
of consciousness itself. The error begins in eliminating
all objective (that is, active) elements from
consciousness, and declaring it to be a mere state
of feeling or sensation. The practical consciousness,
or will, cannot be reduced to mere feeling,
<span class="pb" id="Pg020">[20]</span>
any more than the theoretical consciousness, or
knowledge, can be so reduced.</p>
<p>Even Mill, in its statement of the hedonistic
psychology, does not succeed in making the object
of desire mere pleasure as a state of feeling. It
is the "pleasant <em>thing</em>" and not pleasure alone
which he finds equivalent to the desire. It is
true enough that sugar as an external fact does not
awaken desire, but it is equally true that a child does
not want a passive pleasure. What he wants is his
own activity in which he makes the sugar his own.
And it should be remembered that the case of sugar
is at once a trivial and an exceptional one. Not
even children want simply <ins id="C020" title="sweat-meats">sweet-meats</ins>; and the
larger the character which finds expression in wants,
the more does the direct object of want, the bread,
the meat, become a mere element in a larger system
of activity. What a man wants is to live, and he
wants sweet-meats, amusements, etc., just as he
wants substantials—on account of their value in
life.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Professor James compares the idea that pleasure is
the end of desire to saying that "because no steamer
can go to sea without incidentally consuming coal,
... therefore no steamer can go to sea for any other
motive than that of coal-consumption." Psychology,
Vol. II, p. 558. See the entire passage, pp. 549-559.</p></div>
<p>2. But granting that an 'object' and a 'pleasure'
are both necessary to desire, it may be argued
<span class="pb" id="Pg021">[21]</span>
that the 'object' is ultimately a means to 'pleasure.'
This expressly raises a question already incidentally
touched upon: What is the controlling
element in desire? Why is the object thought of
as pleasant? Simply because it is thought of as
satisfying want. The hedonists, says Green (Prolegomena
to Ethics, p. 168), make the "mistake of
supposing that a desire can be excited by the anticipation
of its own satisfaction." This is to say, of
course, that it exists before it exists, and thus
brings itself into being.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Green, Op. cit., p. 167, states the matter thus:
"Ordinary motives are interests in the attainment of
objects, without which it seems to the man that he
cannot satisfy himself, and in the attainment of
which, <em>because he has desired them</em>, he will find a certain
pleasure, but only because he has previously desired
them, not because pleasures are the objects
desired." Bradley says on this same point (Ethical
Studies, p. 230): "The difference is between my finding
my pleasure in an end, and my finding means for
the end of my pleasure, and the difference is enormous."
Consult the entire passage, pp. 226-235. See
also Caird, Critical Philosophy of Kant, Vol. II, p. 229.</p></div>
<p>It is the object, then, which controls, and the
pleasure is on account of the attaining of the
desired object. But even this statement makes
more division in desire than actually exists; for</p>
<p>3. The real object of desire is activity itself.
The will takes its rise, as we have seen, in impulse;
in the reaching for something to satisfy some felt
<span class="pb" id="Pg022">[22]</span>
lack. Now, in reality, desire adds nothing to
impulse excepting <em>consciousness</em> of the impulse.
Volitional action does not differ from impulsive or
instinctive, <em>except in bringing to consciousness the
nature of the want and of the activity necessary to
satisfy it</em>. But this makes just the difference
between 'natural' or animal activity, and 'moral'
or human activity. To be conscious of the impulse
is to elevate it from a blind impelling force to an
intended or proposed end; and thus, by bringing it
<em>before</em> consciousness, both to extend its range and
to idealize it, spiritualize it. To be conscious of an
impulse for food means to give up the unreasoned
and momentary seizing of it; to consider the relation
of things to this want, what will satisfy it best,
most easily, etc. The <em>object</em> of desire is not something
outside the action; it is an element in the
enlarged action. And as we become more and
more conscious of impulse for food, we analyze our
action into more and more 'objects' of desire, but
these objects never become anything apart from the
action itself. They are simply its analyzed and
defined content. Man wants activity still, but he
knows better what activity means and includes.</p>
<p>Thus, when we learn what the activity means, it
changes its character. To the animal the activity
wanted is simply that of eating the food, of
realizing the momentary impulse. To man the
<span class="pb" id="Pg023">[23]</span>
activity becomes enlarged to include the satisfaction
of a whole life, and not of one life singly, but of
the family, etc., connected with the single life.
The material well-being of the family becomes
one of the objects of desire into which the original
impulse has grown. But we misinterpret, when
we conceive of this well-being as an external object
lying outside the action. It means simply one
aspect of the fuller action. By like growing consciousness
of the meaning of the impulse, production
and exchange of commodities are organized.
The impulse for food is extended to include a
whole range of commercial activities.</p>
<p>It is evident that this growing consciousness of
the nature of an impulse, whereby we resolve it into
manifold and comprehensive activities, also takes
the impulse out of its isolation and brings it into
connection with other impulses. We come to have
not a series of disconnected impulses, but one all-inclusive
activity in which various subordinate activities
(or conscious impulses) are included. Thus,
in the previous example, the impulse for food is
united with the family impulse, and with the
impulse for communication and intercourse with
society generally. It is this growing unity with
the whole range of man's action that is the
'spiritualizing' of the impulse—the natural
and brutal impulse being just that which insists
<span class="pb" id="Pg024">[24]</span>
upon itself irrespective of all other wants. The
spiritualizing of the impulse is organizing it so
that it <ins id="C024" title="becoms">becomes</ins> one factor in action. Thus we literally
come to 'eat to live', meaning by life not
mere physical existence, but the whole possible
sphere of active human relations.</p>
<p>4. Relation of activity to pleasure. We have
seen that the 'object' of desire in itself is a mere
abstraction; that the real object is full activity itself.
We are always after larger scope of movement,
fuller income in order to get larger outgo. The
'thing' is always for the sake of doing; is a part of
the doing. The idea that anything less or other
than life (movement, action, and doing), can satisfy
man is as ridiculous when compared with the actual
course of things in history, as it is false psychologically.
Freedom is what we want, and freedom
means full unimpeded play of interests, that
is, of conscious impulses (see Sec. <a href="#XXXIV">34</a> and <a href="#LI">51</a>). If
the object is a mere abstraction apart from activity,
much more is pleasure. Mere pleasure as an
object is simply the extreme of passivity, of mere
having, as against action or doing. It is <em>possible</em> to
make pleasure to some degree the object of desire;
this is just what the voluptuary does. But it is a
commonplace that the voluptuary always defeats
himself. He never gets satisfaction who identities
satisfaction with having pleasures. The reason is
<span class="pb" id="Pg025">[25]</span>
evident enough. Activity is what we want, and since
pleasure comes from getting what we want, pleasure
comes only with activity. To give up the activity,
and attempt to get the pleasure is a contradiction in
effect. Hence also the 'hedonistic paradox'—that
in order to get pleasure we must aim at something
else.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>There is an interesting recognition of this in Mill
himself, (see his Autobiography, p. 142). And in his
Utilitarianism, in discussing the feasibility of getting
happiness, he shows (pp. 318-319) that the sources of
happiness are an intelligent interest in surrounding
things—objects of nature, achievements of art, incidents
of history—and especially an unselfish devotion
to others. Which is to say that man does not find satisfaction
in pleasure as such at all, but only in objective
affairs—that is, in complete interpretation, in
activity with a wide and full content. Further consideration
of the end of desire and its relation to
pleasure may be found in Green, Op. cit., pp. 123-132;
pp. 163-167. Bradley, Mind, Vol. XIII, p. 1, and
Dewey, Psychology, pp. 360-365.</p></div>
<h4>XIV. Criticism—<i>Continued</i>.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Character and Pleasure.</div>
<p>It now being admitted that the end
of desire is activity itself in which the
'object' and 'pleasure' are simply factors,
what is the moving spring to action? What
is it that arouses the mind to the larger activity?
Most of the hedonists have confounded the two
senses of motive already spoken of, and have held
that <em>because</em> pleasure is the end of desire, therefore
<span class="pb" id="Pg026">[26]</span>
it is the moving spring of conduct (or more often
that because it is the moving spring of conduct
it <em>therefore</em> is the end of desire).</p>
<p>Mr. Stephen (Science of Ethics, pp. 46-58),
although classing himself as a hedonist, has
brought out this confusion very clearly. Ordinary
hedonism confounds, as he shows, the judgment of
what is pleasant—the supposed end—with the
pleasant judgment—the moving spring. (See also
Bradley, Op. cit., pp. 232-236). It may be admitted
that it is feeling which moves to action, but
it is the <em>present</em> feeling which moves. If the
feeling aimed at moves, it is only as through
anticipation it becomes the present feeling. Now
is this present feeling which moves (1) mere pleasure
and (2) mere feeling at all? This introduces
us to the question of the relation of pleasure (and
of feeling in general) to character.</p>
<p>1. If the existing state of consciousness—that
which moves—were pure pleasure, why should
there be any movement, any act at all? The feeling
which moves must be in so far complex: over
against the pleasure felt in the anticipation of an
end as satisfying, there must be pain felt in the
contrasting unsatisfactory present condition. There
must be tension between the anticipated or ideal
action, and the actual or present (relative) non-action.
And it is this tension, in which pain is just
<span class="pb" id="Pg027">[27]</span>
as normal an element as pleasure, which moves.
Desire is just this tension of an action which satisfies,
and yet is only ideal, against an actual possession
which, in contrast with the ideal action, is felt
as incomplete action, or lack, and hence as unsatisfactory.</p>
<p>2. The question now comes as to the nature of
this tension. We may call it 'feeling,' if we will,
and say that feeling is the sole motive power to
action. But there is no such thing as feeling at
large, and the important thing, morally, is what
<em>kind</em> of feeling moves. To take a mere abstraction
like 'feeling' for the source of action is, at root,
the fallacy of hedonism. To raise the question,
What is it that makes the feeling what it is, is to
recognize that the feeling, taken concretely, is <em>character</em>
in a certain attitude.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Stephen, who has insisted with great force that
feeling is the sole 'motive' to action, has yet shown
with equal cogency the moral uselessness of such a
doctrine, when feeling is left undefined (Op. cit., p. 44).
"The love of happiness must express the sole possible
motive of Judas Iscariot and his master; it must explain
the conduct of Stylites on his column, of Tiberius
at Capreæ, of A Kempis in his cell, and of Nelson in the
cockpit of the Victory. It must be equally good for
saints, martyrs, heroes, cowards, debauchees, ascetics,
mystics, cynics, misers, prodigals, men, women, and
babes in arms." Surely, this is only to say, in effect,
that 'love of happiness' is a pure bit of scholasticism,
an undefined entity.</p></div>
<span class="pb" id="Pg028">[28]</span>
<p>In a hedonistic argument (by Stanton Coit, Mind,
Vol. XI, p. 349), the fallacy is seen in the following
discussion. The story is told of Abraham Lincoln
that he once passed an animal in distress by the
side of the road, and that, after going by, he finally
went back and got him out of the ditch. On being
praised for his act, he replied that he did it on his
own account, since he kept getting more uncomfortable
as he thought of the animal in distress. From
this, it cannot be inferred that love of pleasure is at
the basis of moral acts. The mere lumping off of
feeling as the spring of conduct overlooks the only
important thing morally—the fact that Lincoln felt
pain at the thought of the animal unrelieved,
and pleasure at the idea of its relief, just because
he was a man of compassionate <em>character</em>.
It was not the feeling, but the character revealed
in, and creative of, the feeling that was the real
source of the act.</p>
<p>To connect this with our previous account of desire
(p. 26): the important thing morally is that the
nature of the tension between fact and idea—the
actual state and the ideal activity—is an expression
of character. What kind of activity does it take
to satisfy a man? Does riding in a comfortable
carriage, and following the course of his own reflections
exhaust his need of action? or does his full
activity require that note be taken of a suffering
<span class="pb" id="Pg029">[29]</span>
animal? It is the kind of character one is (that is,
the kind of activity which satisfies and expresses
one) which decides what pleasure shall be taken in
an anticipated end, what feeling of lack or hindrance
(what pain) there shall be in the given state,
and hence what the resulting tension, or desire,
shall be. It is, therefore, character which moves to
conduct.</p>
<p>Mere wishing, the mere floating fancy of this or
that thing as desirable, is not desire. To <em>want</em> is
an active projection of character; really and deeply
to want is no surface and passing feeling; it is the
stirring of character to its depths. There may be
repressed activity; that is not, of itself, desire.
There may be an image of larger activity; that is
not, of itself, desire. But given the <em>consciousness</em>
of a repressed activity in view of the perception of
a possible larger action, and a man strives within
himself to break his bonds and reach the new satisfaction.
This striving within one's self, before the
activity becomes overt, is the emotional antecedent
of action. But this inward striving or tension,
which constitutes desire, is so far from being <em>mere</em>
emotion that it is character itself—character as it
turns an inward or ideal advance into an outward,
or real progress, into action.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>We may fall back on Aristotle's statement (page
38, of Peters' translation of his ethics): "The pleasure
<span class="pb" id="Pg030">[30]</span>
or pain that accompanies an act must be regarded as a
<em>test</em> of <em>character</em>. He who abstains from the pleasures
of the body and rejoices in his abstinence is temperate,
while he who is vexed at having to abstain is still profligate.
As Plato tells us, man needs to be so trained
from youth up as to take pleasure and pain <em>in the right
objects</em>."</p></div>
<h4>XV.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Summary.</div>
<p>The truth in hedonism is its conviction
that the good, the end of man, is not to be
found in any outward object, but only in what
comes home to man in his own conscious experience.
The error is in reducing this experience to
mere having, to bare feelings or affections, eliminating
the element of doing. It is this doing
which satisfies man, and it is this which involves as
its content (as knowledge of impulse, instead of
blind impulse) objective and permanent ends.
When Mill speaks of the end of desire as a "satisfied
life," (p. 317 of Utilitarianism) he carries our
assent; but to reduce this satisfied life to feelings of
pleasure, and absence of pains, is to destroy the
life and hence the satisfaction. As Mill recognizes,
a life bounded by the agent's own feelings would
be, as of course, a life "centred in his own miserable
individuality." (Mill, p. 319). Such words
have meaning only because they suggest the contrast
with activity in which are comprehended, as
'ends' or 'objects' (that is, as part of its defined
<span class="pb" id="Pg031">[31]</span>
content) things—art, science and industry—and
persons (see Secs. <a href="#XXXIV">34</a> and <a href="#XXXV">35</a>).</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Here too we must 'back to Aristotle.' According
to him the end of conduct is <i lang="gr" xml:lang="gr">eudaimonia</i>, success, welfare,
satisfied life. But <i lang="gr" xml:lang="gr">eudaimonia</i> is found not in
pleasure, but in the fulfillment of human powers and
functions, in which fulfillment, since it is fulfillment,
pleasure is had. (Ethics, Bk. I, ch. 4-8).</p></div>
<p>We now take up the question whether pleasure
is a standard of right action, having finished the
discussion concerning it as an end of desire.</p>
<h4 id="XVI">XVI.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Pleasure as the Standard of Conduct.</div>
<p>The line of criticism on this point
may be stated as follows: Pleasure
fails as a standard for the very reason
that it fails as a motive. Pleasure,
<em>as conceived by the hedonist</em>, is passive,
merely agreeable sensations, without any objective
and qualitative (active) character. This being
so, there is no permanent, fixed basis to which we
may refer <em>acts</em> and by which we may judge them.
A standard implies a single comprehensive end
which unifies all acts and through connection with
which each gets its moral value fixed. Only action
can be a standard for acts. To reduce all acts to
means to getting a mere state of feeling is the inevitable
consequence of hedonism. So reducing them
is to deprive them of any standard of value.</p>
<p>An end to serve as standard must be (1) a comprehensive
<span class="pb" id="Pg032">[32]</span>
end for all the acts of an individual, and
(2) an end comprehending the activities of various
individuals—a common good.</p>
<p>1. The moral end must be that for the sake of
which all conduct occurs—the <em>organizing principle</em>
of conduct—a totality, a system. If pleasure is
the end it is because each detail of conduct gets its
placing, its moral value through relation to pleasure,
through the contribution it makes to pleasure.</p>
<p>2. The moral end must also include the ends of
the various agents who make up society. It must
be capable of constituting a social system out of
the acts of various agents, as well as an individual
system out of the various acts of one agent; or,
more simply, the moral end must be not only the
good for all the particular acts of an individual,
but must be a <em>common good</em>—a good which in satisfying
one, satisfies others.</p>
<p>All ethical theories would claim that the end
proposed by them served these two purposes. We
shall endeavor to show that the hedonistic theory,
the doctrine that the pleasure is the good, is not
capable of serving either of them.</p>
<h4>XVII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Pleasure Not a Standard.</div>
<p>1. <i>It does not unify character.</i> In
the first place, the hedonistic theory
makes an unreal and impossible separation
between conduct and character. The psychology
<span class="pb" id="Pg033">[33]</span>
of hedonism comes into conflict with its
ethics. According to the former the motive of all
action is to secure pleasure or avoid pain. So
far as the motive is concerned, on this theory there
can be no immoral action at all. That the agent
should not be moved by pleasure, and by what, at
the time of acting, is the greatest pleasure possible,
would be a psychological impossibility.
Every motive would be good, or rather there would
be no distinction of good or bad pertaining to the
motive. The character of the agent, as measured
by his motives, could never, under such circumstances,
have any moral quality.</p>
<p>To the consequences of action, or the conduct
proper, however, the terms good and bad might be
applied. Although the agent is moved by pleasurable
feelings, the result of his action may be painful
and thus bad. In a word, on the hedonistic theory,
it is only the external consequences of conduct, or
conduct divorced from character, to which moral
adjectives have any application. Such a separation
not only contradicts our experience (see <a href="#VIII">VIII</a>), but
inverts the true order of moral judgment. Consequences
do not enter into the moral estimate at
all, except so far as, being foreseen, they are the
act in idea. That is, it is only as the consequences
are taken up into the motive, and thus related to
character, that they are subject to moral judgment.
<span class="pb" id="Pg034">[34]</span>
Indeed, except so far as action expresses character,
it is not conduct, but mere physical sequence, as
irrelevant to morality as the change in blood distribution,
which also is the 'result' of an action.
Hedonism has to rule out at the start the only
thing that gives totality to action—the character of
the agent, or conduct as the outcome of motives.
Furthermore, the ordinary judgment of men, instead
of saying that the sole moral motive is to get pleasure,
would say that to reduce everything to means for
getting pleasure is the very essence of immorality.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>On the point above, compare Bentham, Op. cit., I,
p. 48. "A motive is substantially nothing more than
pleasure or pain operating in a certain manner. Now
pleasure is in itself a good: nay, even, setting aside
immunity from pain, the only good; pain is in itself
an evil, and, indeed, without exception, the only evil;
or else the words good and evil have no meaning. And
this is alike true of every sort of pain and of every
sort of pleasure. It follows, therefore, immediately
and incontestably, that there is no such thing as any
sort of motive that is in itself a bad one. If motives
are good or bad, it is only on account of their effects;
good on account of their tendency to produce pleasure
or avert pain; bad on account of their tendency to
produce pain or avert pleasure. Now the case is, that
from one and the same motive, and from every kind
of motive, may proceed actions that are good, others
that are bad and others that are indifferent." Further,
on p. 60, Bentham asks: "Is there nothing, then,
about a man that can properly be termed good or bad,
when on such or such an occasion he suffers himself
to be governed by such or such a motive? Yes, certainly,
<span class="pb" id="Pg035">[35]</span>
his <em>disposition</em>. Now disposition is a kind of
fictitious entity, feigned for the convenience of discourse,
in order to express what there is supposed to
be <em>permanent</em> in a man's frame of mind. It is with
disposition as with everything else; it will be good or
bad according to its effects." The first quotation, it
will be noticed, simply states that the motive is in
itself always good, while conduct (<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">i. e.</i>, consequences)
may be good, bad or indifferent. The second quotation
seems, however, to pass moral judgment upon character
under the name of disposition. But disposition is
judged according to the tendency of a person's actions.
A good or bad disposition, here, can mean nothing
intrinsic to the person, but only that the person has
been observed to act in ways that usually produce pain
or pleasure, as the case may be. The term is a
'fiction', and is a backhanded way of expressing a
somewhat habitual <em>result</em> of a given person's conduct
his motive remaining good (or for pleasure) all the
time. The agent would never pronounce any such judgment
upon his own disposition, unless as a sort of
<ins id="C035" title="suprise">surprise</ins> that, his motive being 'good,' his actions turn
out so 'bad' all the time. At most, the judgment
regarding disposition is a sort of label put upon a man
by others, a label of "Look out for him, he is dangerous,"
or, "Behold, a helpful man."</p></div>
<p>The moral standard of hedonism does not, then,
bear any relation to the character of the agent, does
not enable us to judge it, either as a whole or in
any specific manifestation.</p>
<h4>XVIII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">It Does Not Give a Criterion for Concrete Acts.</div>
<p>Pleasure, as the end,
fails also to throw light
on the moral value of
any specific acts. Its failure in this respect is,
<span class="pb" id="Pg036">[36]</span>
indeed, only the other side of that just spoken
of. There is no organizing principle, no 'universal'
on the basis of which various acts fall into a
system or order. The moral life is left a series of
shreds and patches, where each act is torn off, as
to its moral value, from every other. Each act is
right or wrong, according as <em>it</em> gives pleasure or pain,
and independently of any whole of life. There
is, indeed, no whole of moral life at all, but only a
series of isolated, disconnected acts. Possession,
passivity, <em>mere</em> feeling, by its very nature cannot
unite—each feeling is itself and that is the end of
it. It is action which reduces multiplicity to unity.
We cannot say, in the hedonistic theory, that pleasure
is the end, but <em>pleasures</em>.</p>
<p>Each act stands by itself—the only question is:
What pleasure will <em>it</em> give? The settling of this
question is the "hedonistic calculus." We must
discover the intensity, duration, certainty, degree
of nearness of the pleasure likely to arise from the
given act, and also its purity, or likelihood of being
accompanied by secondary pains and pleasures.
Then we are to strike the balance between the
respective sums on the pleasure and pain sides, and,
according as this balance is one of pleasure or pain,
the act is good or evil.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Bentham, Op. cit., p. 16, was the first to go into
detail as to this method. He has also given certain
<span class="pb" id="Pg037">[37]</span>
memoriter verses stating "the points on which the
whole fabric of morals and legislation may be seen to
rest.</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse">Intense, long, certain, speedy, fruitful, pure,</div>
<div class="verse">Such marks in pleasures and in pains endure,</div>
<div class="verse">Such pleasures seek, if private be thy end.</div>
<div class="verse">If it be public, wide let them extend.</div>
<div class="verse">Such pains avoid whichever be thy view,</div>
<div class="verse">If pains must come, let them extend to few."</div>
</div></div></div>
<p>This, however, in its reference to others, states the
utilitarian as well as the hedonistic view.</p></div>
<p>Now, it must be remembered that, if pleasure
is the end, there is no intrinsic connection between
the motive of the act, and its result. It is not
claimed that there is anything belonging intrinsically
to the motive of the act which makes it result
in pleasure or pain. To make such a claim would
be to declare the moral quality of the act the criterion
of the pleasure, instead of pleasure the
criterion of the act. The pleasures are external to
the act; they are irrelevant and accidental to its
quality. There is no 'universal,' no intrinsic bond
of connection between the act and its consequences.
The consequence is a mere particular state of feeling,
which, in this instance, the act has happened
to bring about.</p>
<p>More concretely, this act of truth-telling has in
this instance, brought about pleasure. Shall we
call it right? Right in <em>this</em> instance, of course;
but is it right generally? Is truth-telling, as such,
<span class="pb" id="Pg038">[38]</span>
right, or is it merely that this instance of it happens
to be right? Evidently, on the hedonistic
basis, we cannot get beyond the latter judgment.
<em>Prior</em> to any act, there will be plenty of difficulties
in telling whether it, as <em>particular</em>, is right or wrong.
The consequences depend not merely on the result
intended, but upon a multitude of circumstances
outside of the foresight and control of the agent.
And there can be only a precarious calculation of
possibilities and probabilities—a method which
would always favor laxity of conduct in all but <ins id="C038" title="the
the">the</ins> most conscientious of men, and which would
throw the conscientious into uncertainty and perplexity
in the degree of their conscientiousness.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>"If once the pleas of instinct are to be abolished
and replaced by a hedonistic arithmetic, the whole
realm of animated nature has to be reckoned with in
weaving the tissue of moral relations, and the problem
becomes infinite and insoluble".—Martineau, Op. cit.,
Vol. II, p. 334.</p></div>
<p>But waive this; let the particular case be settled.
There is still no law, no principle, indeed no presumption
as to future conduct. The act is not right <em>because</em>
it is <em>truth-telling</em>, but because, in this instance,
<ins id="C038a" title="cicumstances">circumstances</ins> were such as to throw a balance of
pleasure in its favor. This establishes no certainty,
no probability as to its next outcome. The result
<em>then</em> will depend wholly upon circumstances existing
<em>then</em>—circumstances which have no intrinsic
<span class="pb" id="Pg039">[39]</span>
relation to the act and which must change from
time to time.</p>
<p>The hedonist would escape this abolition of all
principle, or even rule, by falling back upon a
number of cases—'past experience' it is called.
We have found in a number of cases that a certain
procedure has resulted in pleasure, and this result
is sufficient to guide us in a vast number of cases
which come up.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Says Mill (Op. cit., pp. 332-4): "During the whole
past duration of the species, mankind have been learning
by experience the tendencies of actions, on which
experience all the prudence as well as all the morality
of life are dependent.... Mankind must by this
time have acquired positive belief as to the effects of
some actions on their happiness; and the beliefs which
have thus come down are the rules of morality for the
multitude, and for the philosopher, until he has succeeded
in finding better.... Nobody argues that
the art of navigation is not founded on astronomy,
because sailors cannot wait to calculate the 'Nautical
Almanac'. Being rational creatures, they go to sea
with it ready calculated; and all rational creatures go
out upon the sea of life with their minds made up on
the common questions of right and wrong, as well as
on many of the far more difficult questions of wise and
foolish."</p></div>
<p>That we do learn from experience the moral
nature of actions is undoubted. The only question
is: <em>if</em> hedonism were true, <em>could</em> we so learn?
Suppose that I were convinced that the results of
murder in the past had been generally, or even
<span class="pb" id="Pg040">[40]</span>
without exception (though this could not be proved),
painful; as long as the act and the result in the
way of feeling (pain or pleasure) are conceived as
having no intrinsic connection, this would not prove
that in the present instance murder will give a surplus
of pain. I am not thinking of committing murder
in general, but of murder under certain specific
present circumstances. These circumstances may,
and, to some extent, <em>must</em> vary from all previous instances
of murder. How then can I reason from
them to it? Or, rather, let me use the previous
cases as much as I may, the moral quality of the
act I am now to perform must still be judged not
from them, but from the circumstances of the present
case. To judge otherwise, is, on hedonistic
principles, to be careless, perhaps criminally careless
as to one's conduct. The more convinced a man
is of the truth of hedonism and the more conscientious
he is, the more he is bound <em>not</em> to be guided
by previous circumstances, but to form his judgment
anew concerning the new case. This result
flows out of the very nature of the hedonistic ideal.
Pleasure is not an activity, but simply a particular
feeling, enduring only while it is felt. Moreover,
there is in it no principle which connects it intrinsically
with any <em>kind</em> of action. To suppose then
that, because ninety-nine cases of murder have resulted
in pain, the hundredth will, is on a par with
<span class="pb" id="Pg041">[41]</span>
reasoning that because ninety-nine days have been
frosty, the hundredth will be. Each case, taken as
particular, must be decided wholly by itself. There
is no continuous moral life, and no system of conduct.
There is only a succession of unlike acts.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Mill, in his examination of Whewell, (Diss. and Diss.,
Vol. III, pp. 158-59), tries to establish a general principle,
if not a universal law, by arguing that, even in exceptional
cases, the agent is bound to respect the rule,
because to act otherwise would weaken the rule, and
thus lead to its being disregarded in other cases, in
which its observance results in pleasure. There are,
he says, persons so wicked that their removal from the
earth would undoubtedly increase the sum total of
happiness. But if persons were to violate the general
rule in these cases, it would tend to destroy the rule.
"If it were thought allowable for any one to put to
death at pleasure any human being whom he believes
that the world would be well rid of,—nobody's life
would be safe." That is to say, if every one were
really to act upon and carry out the hedonistic principle,
no rule of life would exist. This does very well
as a <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">reductio ad absurdum</i> of hedonism, or as an argument
against adopting hedonism, but it is difficult to
see how Mill thought that it established a 'rule' on a
hedonistic basis. Mill's argument comes to saying
that if hedonism were uniformly acted upon, it would
defeat itself—that is, pleasure would not result. Therefore,
in order to get pleasure, we must not act upon the
principle of hedonism at all, but follow a general rule.
Otherwise put: hedonism gives no general rule, but
we must have a general rule to make hedonism works
and therefore there is a general rule! This begging of
the question comes out even more plainly as Mill goes
<span class="pb" id="Pg042">[42]</span>
on: "If one person may break through the rule on his
own judgment, the same liberty cannot be refused to
others; and, since no one could rely on the rule's
being observed, the rule would cease to exist." All of
this is obviously true, but it amounts to saying: "We
<em>must</em> have a rule, and this we would not have if we
carried out the hedonistic principle in each case; therefore,
we must not carry it out." A principle, that carried
out destroys all rules which pretend to rest upon
it, lays itself open to suspicion. Mill assumes the entire
question in assuming that there is a rule. Grant
this, and the necessity of not 'making exceptions,'
that is, of not applying the hedonistic standard to
each case, on its own merits, follows. But the argument
which Mill needs to meet is that hedonism
<em>requires</em> us to apply the standard to each case in itself,
and that, therefore, there <em>is</em> no rule. Mill simply says—<em>assume</em>
the rule, and it follows, etc.</p>
<p>See Bradley, Op. cit., pp. 96-101; Green, Bk. IV, Ch.
3; Martineau, Vol. II, pp. 329-334.</p></div>
<h4>XIX.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Sum and the Quality of Pleasure as the Standard.</div>
<p>We have been dealing with hedonism
in its strict form—that which
makes <em>a</em> pleasure, considered as to
its intensity, certainty, etc., the end
of an act. Hedonism in this form
fails to unify life, and fails, therefore,
to supply any standard. But
the end of conduct is often stated to be the greatest
possible sum of <ins id="C042" title="pleasnres">pleasures</ins> thus introducing a certain
element of generality. Mill goes further and
brings in the idea of quality of pleasure.</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg043">[43]</span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Regarding the sum of pleasures the following from
Sidgwick (Op. cit., p. 382; see also p. 114) gives the
hedonistic statement. "The assumption is involved
that all pleasures are capable of being compared qualitatively
with one another and with all pains; that
every feeling has a certain intensive quality, positive
or negative (or perhaps zero) in respect to its desirableness
and that the quantity may be known, so that
each may be weighed in ethical scales against any
other. This assumption is involved in the very motion
of maximum happiness," as the attempt to make "as
great as possible a sum of elements not quantitatively
commensurable would be a mathematical absurdity."</p></div>
<p>I. Sum of pleasures as the moral end. This,
first, taken as criterion, comes into conflict with the
hedonistic psychology of pleasure as the motive of
acts; and, secondly, it requires some objective
standard by means of which pleasure is to be
summed, and is, in so far, a surrender of the whole
hedonistic position.</p>
<p>1. If the object of desire is pleasure or a state
of feeling which exists only as it is felt, it is impossible
that we should desire a greatest sum of
pleasures. We can desire a pleasure and that only.
It is not even possible that we should ever desire a
continuous series of pleasures. We can desire one
pleasure and when that is gone, another, but we can
not unify our desires enough to aim at even a sum
of pleasures.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>This is well put by Green (Op. cit, p. 236). "For
the feeling of a pleased person, or in relation to his
<span class="pb" id="Pg044">[44]</span>
sense of enjoyment, pleasure cannot form a sum. However
numerous the sources of a state of pleasant feeling,
it is one and is over before another can be
enjoyed. It and its successors can be added together
in thought, but not in enjoyment or in imagination of
an enjoyment. If the desire is only for pleasure, <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">i. e.</i>,
for an enjoyment or feeling of pleasure, we are simply
victims of words when we talk of desire for a sum
of pleasures, much more when we take the greatest
imaginable sum to be the most desirable." See the
whole passage, pp. 235-246.</p></div>
<p>2. But the phrase "sum of pleasures" undoubtedly
has a meaning—though the fact that it has a
meaning shows the untruth of the hedonistic psychology.
Surrendering this psychology, what shall
we say of the maximum possibility of pleasure as
the criterion of the morality of acts? It must be conceded
that this conception does afford some basis—although
a rather slippery one—for the unification
of conduct. Each act is considered now not in its
isolation merely, but in its connection with other
acts, according as its relation to them may increase
or decrease the possible sum of future happiness.
But this very fact that some universal, or element of
relation, albeit a quantitative one, has been introduced,
arouses this inquiry: Whence do we derive
it? How do we get the thought of a sum of pleasure,
and of a maximum sum? <em>Only by taking into
account the objective conditions upon which pleasures
depend, and by judging the pleasures from the
<span class="pb" id="Pg045">[45]</span>
standpoint of these objective conditions.</em> When
we imagine we are thinking of a sum of pleasures,
we are really thinking of that totality of conditions
which will come nearest affording us self-satisfaction—we
are thinking of a comprehensive and continuous
activity whose various parts are adjusted to
one another. Because it is complete activity, it is
necessarily conceived as giving the greatest possible
pleasure, but apart from reference to complete
activity and apart from the objects in which this is
realized, the phrase 'greatest sum of happiness' is
a mere phrase. Pleasures must be measured by a
standard, by a yard stick, before they can be summed
in thought, and the yard stick we use is the
activity in which the pleasure comes. We do not
measure conduct by pleasure, but we compare and
sum up pleasures on the basis of the objects which
occasion them. To add feelings, mere transitory
consequences, without first reducing those feelings
to a common denominator by their relation to one
objective standard, is an impossibility. Pleasure is
a sort of sign or symbol of the object which satisfies,
and we may carry on our judgment, if we will,
in terms of the sign, without reference to the standard,
but to argue as if the sign were the thing, as
if the sum of pleasure were the activity, is suicidal.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Thus Green says (Op. cit., p. 244): "In truth a
man's reference to his own true happiness is a reference
<span class="pb" id="Pg046">[46]</span>
to the objects which chiefly interest him, and has
its controlling power on that account. More strictly,
it is a reference to an ideal state of well-being, a state
in which he shall be satisfied; <em>but the objects of the
man's chief interests supply the filling of that ideal
state</em>." See the argument as put by Alexander (Moral
Order and Progress, pp. 199-200). Alexander has also
brought out (Ibid., pp. 207-210) that even if we are
going to use a quantitative standard, the idea of a
sum is not a very happy one. It is not so much a sum
of pleasures we want, as a certain proportionate distribution
and combination of pleasures. "To regard
the greatest sum of pleasures as the test of conduct,
supposing that we could express it in units of pleasure,
would be like declaring that when you had an
atomic weight of 98 you had sulphuric acid. The
numerical test would be useless unless we knew what
elements were to be combined, and in what proportion.
Similarly till we know what kinds of
activities (and therefore what kinds of pleasures)
go with one another to form the end, the greatest sum
of pleasures will give us only the equivalent of the
end, but will not tell us what the composition of the
end is, still less how to get at it; or, to put the matter
more simply, when we know what the characters of
persons are, and how they are combined in morality,
we then estimate the corresponding sum of pleasures."
(p. 209.)</p></div>
<p>II. A certain quality of pleasure the end.
Some moralists, notably John Stuart Mill, introduce
considerations regarding the quality of pleasure into
the conception of the end. "It is quite compatible,"
says Mill, "with the principle of utility to
recognize the fact that some kinds of pleasure
<span class="pb" id="Pg047">[47]</span>
are more desirable and more valuable than others."
(p. 310.) Is it compatible? Is kind of pleasure
the same thing as pleasure? does not strict hedonism
demand that all kinds of pleasure equally present
as to intensity in consciousness shall be of
the same value? To say otherwise is to give up
pleasure as such as the standard and to hold that
we have means for discriminating the respective
values of pleasures which simply, <em>as feelings</em>, are
the same. It is to hold, that is to say, that there is
some standard of value external to the pleasures as
such, by means of which their moral quality may
be judged. In this case, this independent standard
is the real moral criterion which we are employing.
Hedonism is surrendered.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Kant's position on this point seems impregnable.
"It is surprising," he says, "that men otherwise astute
can think it possible to distinguish between higher
and lower desires, according as the ideas which are
connected with the feeling of pleasure have their origin
in the senses or in the understanding; for when
we inquire what are the determining grounds of desire,
and place them in some expected pleasantness, it is of
no consequence whence the <em>idea</em> of this pleasing
object is derived, but only how much it <em>pleases</em>....
The only thing that concerns one, in order to decide
choice, is how great, how long continued, how easily
obtained and how often repeated, this <ins id="C047" title="agreableness">agreeableness</ins> is.
For as to the man who wants money to spend, it is all
the same whether the gold was dug out of the mountain
or washed out of the sand, provided it is every-where
<span class="pb" id="Pg048">[48]</span>
accepted at the same value; so the man who
cares only for the enjoyment of life does not ask
whether the ideas are of the understanding or the
senses, but only <em>how much</em> and <em>how great pleasure</em>
they will give for the longest time."</p>
<p>See also Bradley, Op. cit., pp. 105-110.</p></div>
<p>When we ask how the differences in quality are
established and how we translate this qualitative
difference into moral difference, the surrender of
pleasure as the standard becomes even more evident.
We must know not only the fact of different
qualities, but how to decide which is 'higher' than
any other. We must bring the qualities before a
tribunal of judgment which applies to them some
standard of measurement. In themselves qualities
may be different, but they are not higher and lower.
What is the tribunal and what is the law of judgment?
According to Mill the tribunal is the preference
of those who are acquainted with both kinds
of pleasure.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>"Of two pleasures, if there be one to which all, or
almost all who have experience of both, give a decided
preference, irrespective of any feeling of moral obligation
to prefer it, that is the more desirable
pleasure." It is an unquestionable fact that such
differences exist. "Few human creatures would consent
to be changed into any of the lower animals for a
promise of the fullest allowance of a beast's pleasures.
No intelligent person would consent to be a fool; no
instructed person would be an ignoramus; no person
of feeling and conscience would be selfish and base,
<span class="pb" id="Pg049">[49]</span>
even though they should be persuaded that the fool,
the dunce or the rascal is better satisfied with his lot
than they are with theirs.... It is better to be a
human being dissatisfied, than a pig satisfied; better
to be a Socrates dissatisfied, than a fool satisfied. And
if the fool or the pig are of a different opinion, it is
because they only know their own side of the question.
The other party to the comparison knows both
sides."—Mill, Op. cit., pp. 311-313. And in an omitted
portion Mill says the reason that one of the higher
faculty would prefer a suffering which goes along
with that higher capacity, to more pleasure on a lower
plane, is something of which "the most appropriate
appellation is a sense of dignity, which all human
beings possess in one form or another."</p></div>
<p>A question immediately arises regarding this
standard of preferability. Is it the mere historical
fact that some man, who has experienced both, prefers
A to B that makes A more desirable? Surely
I might say that if that person prefers A, A is more
desirable to him, but that I for my part prefer B,
and that I do not intend to give up my preference.
And why should I, even though thousands of other
men happened to prefer A? B is the greater
pleasure, none the less, to me, and as a hedonist I
must cling to the only standard that I have. The
hedonists, in a word, have appealed to feeling, and
to feeling they must go for judgment. And feeling
exists only as it is felt and only to him who feels it.</p>
<p>On the other hand, perhaps it is not the bare
act that some men prefer one pleasure to another
<span class="pb" id="Pg050">[50]</span>
that makes it more desirable, but something in the
character of the men who prefer. And this is
what Mill implies. It is a "sense of dignity"
belonging to man which makes his judgment of
pleasure better than that of animals; it is the
human being against the pig, Socrates against the
fool, the good man against the rascal. This is the
complete surrender of hedonism, and the all but
explicit assertion that human character, goodness,
wisdom, are the criteria of pleasure, instead of
pleasure the criterion of character and goodness.
Mill's "sense of dignity," which is to be considered
in all estimates of pleasures, is just the sense
of a moral (or active) capacity and destiny belonging
to man. To refer pleasures to <em>this</em> is to make
it the standard, and with this standard the anti-hedonist
may well be content, while asking, however,
for its further analysis.</p>
<p>To sum up our long discussion of pleasure as a
criterion of conduct in respect of its unity, we may
say: Pleasure, <em>as it actually exists in man</em>, may be
taken as <em>a</em> criterion, although not the really primary
one, of action. But this is not hedonism; for
pleasure as it <em>exists</em> is something more than pleasurable
feeling; it is qualified through and through
by the kind of action which it accompanies, by the
kind of objects which the activity comprehends.
And thus it is always a secondary criterion. The
<span class="pb" id="Pg051">[51]</span>
moment we begin to analyze we must ask what
<em>kind of activity</em>, what kind of object it is which
the pleasure accompanies and of which it is a symbol.
We may, if we will, calculate a man's
wealth in terms of dollars and cents; but this is
only because we can translate the money, the
symbol, into goods, the reality. To desire pleasure
instead of an activity of self, is to substitute
symbol for fact, and a symbol cut off from fact
ceases to be a symbol. Pleasure, as the hedonist
treats it, mere agreeable feeling without active and
thus objective relationships, is wholly an abstraction.
Since an abstraction, to make it the end of
desire results in self-contradiction; while to make
it the standard of conduct is to deprive life of all
unity, all system, in a word—of all standard.</p>
<h4>XX.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Failure of Pleasure as a Standard to Unify Conduct Socially.</div>
<p>Thus far our examination of
the hedonistic criterion has been
devoted to showing that it will
not make a system out of individual
conduct. We have now to
recognize the fact that pleasure is not a common
good, and therefore fails to give a social unity to
conduct—that is, it does not offer an end for which
men may coöperate, or a good which reached by
one must be shared by another. No argument is
needed to show, theoretically, that any proposed
<span class="pb" id="Pg052">[52]</span>
moral criterion must, in order to be valid, harmonize
the interests and activities of different men, or
to show, practically, that the whole tendency of the
modern democratic and philanthropic movement
has been to discover and realize a good in which
men shall share on the basis of an equal principle.
It is contended that hedonism fails to satisfy these
needs. According to it, the end for each man is
his own pleasure. Pleasure is nothing objective in
which men may equally participate. It is purely
individual in the most exclusive sense of that term.
It is a state of feeling and can be enjoyed only
while felt, and only by the one who feels it. To set
it up for the ideal of conduct is to turn life into an
exclusive and excluding struggle for possession of
the means of personal enjoyment; it is to erect into
a principle the idea of the war of all against all.
No end more thoroughly disintegrating than individual
agreeable sensation could well be imagined.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Says Kant, (page 116 of Abbott's Trans., entitled
Kant's Theory of Ethics) on the basis of the desire of
happiness "there results a harmony like that which a
certain satirical poem depicts as existing between a
married couple bent on going to ruin: O, marvellous
harmony, what he wishes, she wishes also; or like
what is said of the pledge of Francis I to the emperor
Charles V, what my brother Charles wishes that I
wish also (<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">viz.</i>, Milan)."</p></div>
<p>Almost all modern moralists who take pleasure
as the end conceive it to be not individual
<span class="pb" id="Pg053">[53]</span>
pleasure, but the happiness of all men or even of
all sentient creatures. Thus we are brought to the
consideration of Utilitarianism.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Says Mill (Op. cit., p. 323), "The happiness which
forms the Utilitarian standard of what is right in conduct
is not the agent's own happiness, but that of all
concerned; as between his own happiness and that of
others, Utilitarianism requires him to be as strictly
impartial as a disinterested and benevolent spectator."
And (page 315) the Utilitarian standard is "not the
agent's own greatest happiness, but the greatest
amount of happiness altogether." See also Sidgwick
(Op. cit., p. 379), "By Utilitarianism is here meant
the ethical theory, first distinctly formulated by Bentham,
that the conduct which, under any given circumstances
is externally or objectively right is that
which will produce the greatest amount of happiness
<em>on the whole</em>; that is, taking into account all whose
happiness is affected by the conduct. It would tend to
clearness if we might call this principle, and the
method based upon it, by some such name as Universalistic
hedonism." As popularly put, the utilitarian
standard is the "greatest happiness of the greatest
number." While in its calculation "each is to
count for one and only one." (<cite>Bentham</cite>). And finally
Bain (Emotions and Mill, p. 303), "Utility is opposed
to the selfish theory, for, as propounded, it always implies
the good of society generally, and the subordination
of individual interests to the general good."</p></div>
<h4>XXI.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Criticism of Utilitarianism.</div>
<p>The utilitarian theory certainly
does away entirely with one of the
two main objections to hedonism—its
failure to provide a general, as distinct from a
<span class="pb" id="Pg054">[54]</span>
private end. The question which we have to meet,
however, is whether this extension of the end from
the individual to society is consistent with the fundamental
principles of hedonism. <em>How</em> do we get
from individual pleasure to the happiness of all?</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>An intuitional utilitarian, like Sidgwick, has ready
an answer which is not open to the empirical utilitarians,
like Bentham, Mill and Bain. Methods of Ethics,
Bk. III, ch. 13-14, p. 355. "We may obtain the
<em>self-evident principle</em> that the good of any one individual
is of no more importance, as a part of universal
good, than the good of any other. The abstract principle
of the duty of benevolence, <em>so far as it is cognizable
by direct intuition</em>" is, "that one is morally
bound to regard the good of any other individual as
much as one's own"—and page 364, "<em>the principles,
so far as they are immediately known by abstract intuition</em>,
can only be stated as precepts to seek (1) one's
own good on the whole, and (2) the good of any other
no less than one's own, in so far as it is no less an element
of universal good." Sidgwick, that is, differs in
two important points from most utilitarians. He
holds that pleasure is not the sole, or even the usual
object of desire. And he holds that we have an immediate
faculty of rational intuition which informs us
that the good of others is as desirable an end of our
conduct as is our own happiness. Our former arguments
against pleasure as the <em>end</em>, bear, of course, equally
against this theory, but not the following arguments.
Criticisms of this position of Sidgwick's will be found
in Green (Op. cit., pp. 406-415); Bradley (Op. cit., pp.
114-117).</p></div>
<p>The popular answer to the question how we get
from individual to general happiness, misses the
<span class="pb" id="Pg055">[55]</span>
entire point of the question. This answer simply
says that happiness is '<em>intrinsically</em> desirable'.
Let it be so; but 'happiness' in this general way is
a mere abstraction. Happiness is always a particular
condition of one particular person. Whose
happiness is desirable and <em>to whom</em>? Because my
happiness is intrinsically desirable to me, does it
follow that your happiness is intrinsically desirable
to me? Indeed, in the hedonistic psychology, is it
not nonsense to say that a state of your feeling is
desirable to me? Mill's amplified version of the
popular answer brings out the ambiguity all the
more plainly. He says (Utilitarianism, p. 349),
"No reason can be given why the general happiness
is desirable, except that each person, so far as
he believes it to be obtainable, desires his own happiness.
This, however, being a fact, we have not
only all the proof which the case admits of, but all
which it is possible to require, that happiness is a
good; that each person's happiness is a good to
that person; and the general happiness, therefore,
a good to the aggregate of all persons." But does
it follow that because the happiness of A is an end
to A, the happiness of B an end to B, and the
happiness of C an end to C, that, therefore, the
happiness of B and C is an end to A? There is
obviously no connection between the premises and
the supposed conclusion. And there appears to be,
<span class="pb" id="Pg056">[56]</span>
as Mill puts it, only an account of the ambiguity
of his last clause, "the general happiness a good
to the aggregate of all persons." The good of A
and B and C may be a good to the aggregate
(A + B + C), but what universalistic hedonism
requires is that the aggregate good of A + B +
C, be a good to A and to B and to C taken separately—a
very different proposition. Mill is guilty of
the fallacy known logically as the fallacy of division—arguing
from a collective whole to the distributed
units. Because all men want to be happy,
it hardly follows that every man wants all to be
happy. There is, accordingly, no <em>direct</em> road from
individualistic hedonism—private pleasure—to universalistic—general
pleasure. Moreover, if we
adopt the usual psychology of hedonism and say
that pleasure is the motive of acting, it is absolutely
absurd to say that general pleasure can be a
motive. How can I be moved by the happiness
which exists in some one else? I may feel a pleasure
resembling his, and be moved by it, but that is
quite a different matter.</p>
<h4>XXII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Indirect Means of Identifying Private and General Pleasure.</div>
<p>Is there any <em>indirect</em>
method of going from the
pleasure of one to the
pleasure of all? Upon the
whole, the utilitarians do not claim that there is any
<span class="pb" id="Pg057">[57]</span>
natural and immediate connection between the
desire for private and for general happiness, but
suppose that there are certain means which are
instrumental in bringing about an identity. Of
these means the sympathetic emotions and the
influence of law and of education are the chief.
Each of these, moreover, coöperates with the other.</p>
<h5>1. <i>Sympathetic and Social Emotions.</i></h5>
<p>We are so constituted by nature that we take
pleasure in the happiness of others and feel
pain in their misery. A proper regard for our
own welfare must lead us, therefore, to take an
interest in the pleasure of others. Our own feelings,
moreover, are largely influenced by the feelings
of others toward us. If we act in a certain way
we shall incur the disapprobation of others, and
this, independently of any overt punishment it
may lead them to inflict upon us, arouses feelings
of shame, of inferiority, of being under the displeasure
of others, feelings all of which are decidedly
painful. The more enlightened our judgment,
the more we see how our pleasures are bound
up in those of others.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>"The Dictates of Utility" (Bentham, Op. cit., p. 56)
"are neither more nor less than the dictates of the most
extensive and enlightened (that is, well advised) benevolence,"
and (p. 18), "The pleasures of benevolence are
the pleasures resulting from the view of any pleasures
supposed to be possessed by the beings who may be
<span class="pb" id="Pg058">[58]</span>
the objects of benevolence.... These may also be
called the pleasures of good will, the pleasures of sympathy,
or the pleasures of the benevolent or social
affections"; and (p. 144), "What motives (independent
of such as legislation and religion may choose to furnish)
can one man have to consult the happiness of
another?... In answer to this, it cannot but be
admitted that the only interests which a man at all
times and upon all occasions is sure to find <em>adequate</em>
motives for consulting, are his own. Notwithstanding
this, there are no occasions in which a man has not
some motives for consulting the happiness of other
men. In the first place he has, on all occasions, the
purely social motive of sympathy and benevolence;
in the next place he has, on most occasions, the semi-social
motives of love of amity and love of reputation."
And so in the Deontology, which, however,
was not published by Bentham himself, page 203, "The
more enlightened one is, the more one forms the
habit of general benevolence, because it is seen that
the interests of men combine with each other in more
points than they conflict in."</p></div>
<h5>2. <i>Education and Law.</i></h5>
<p>Education, working directly and internally upon
the feelings, and government, appealing to them from
without through commands and penalties, are constantly
effecting an increasing identity of self-interest
and regard for others. These means
supplement the action of sympathy and the more
instinctive emotions. They stimulate and even
induce a proper interest in the pleasures of others.
In governmental law, with its punishments, we
have an express instrument for making the pleasures
<span class="pb" id="Pg059">[59]</span>
of one harmonize with (or at least not conflict
with) the pleasures of others.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Thus Bentham, after stating that an enlightened
mind perceives the identity of self-interest and that of
others (or of <em>egoism</em> and <em>altruism</em>, as these interests
are now commonly called), goes on (Deontology, p.
201): "The majority do not have sufficient enlightenment,
nor enough moral feeling so that their character
goes beyond the aid of laws, and so the legislator
should supplement the frailty of this natural interest,
in adding to it an artificial interest more appreciable
and more continuous. Thus the government augments
and extends the connexion which exists between prudence
and benevolence." Mill says (Op. cit., p. 323):
"To do as you would be done by, and to love your
neighbor as yourself, constitute the ideal perfection of
utilitarian morality. As the means of making the
nearest approach to this ideal, utility would enjoin,
first, that laws and social arrangements should place
the happiness or the interest of every individual as
nearly as possible in harmony with the interest of the
whole; and, secondly, that education and opinion,
which have so vast a power over human character,
should so use that power as to establish in the mind of
every individual an indissoluble association between
his own happiness and the good of the whole."</p></div>
<h4>XXIII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Private Pleasures and General Welfare.</div>
<p>In criticism of these indirect
methods of establishing
the identity of 'egoism' and
'altruism,' it may be said:</p>
<p>1. That the supposed relation between the private
and the general happiness is extrinsic, and
<span class="pb" id="Pg060">[60]</span>
hence always accidental and open to exception.</p>
<p>It is not contended that there is any order which
<em>morally</em> demands that there be an identity of interests.
It is simply argued that there are certain
physical and psychological forces which operate,
<em>as matter of fact</em>, to bring about such a result.
Now we may admit, if we like, that such forces
exist and that they are capable of accomplishing all
that Bentham and Mill claim for them. But all
that is established is, at most, a certain state of
facts which is interesting as a state of facts, but
which has no especial moral bearing. It is not
pretended that there is in the very order of things
any necessary and intrinsic connection between the
happiness of one and of another. Such identity
as exists, therefore, must be a mere external result
of the action of certain forces. It is accidental.
This being the case, how can it constitute the universal
ideal of action? Why is it not open for an
agent, under exceptional circumstances, to act for
his own pleasure, to the exclusion of that of others?
We may admit that, upon the whole (or that
always, though this is wholly impossible to prove)
in past experience, personal pleasure has been best
attained by a certain regard for the pleasures of
others; but the connection being wholly empirical
(that is, of past instances and not of an intrinsic
law), we may ask how it can be claimed that the
<span class="pb" id="Pg061">[61]</span>
same connection is <em>certain</em> to hold in this new case?
Nor is it probable that any one would claim that
the connection between individual pleasure and
general pleasure had been so universal and invariable
in past experience.</p>
<p><em>Intrinsic moral considerations</em> (that is, those
based on the very nature of human action) being
put aside, a pretty strong case could be made
out for the statement that individual happiness is
best attained by ignoring the happiness of others.
Probably the most that can be established on the
other side is that a due prudence dictates that <em>some</em>
attention be paid to the pleasures of others, in calculating
one's own pleasures.</p>
<p>And this suggests:</p>
<p>2. That the end is still private pleasure, general
pleasure being simply a means. Granting all that
the hedonists urge, what their arguments prove is
not that the general pleasure is the end of action,
but that, private pleasure being the end, regard for
the pleasures of others is one of the most efficient
means of reaching it. If private pleasure is a
selfish end, the end is not less selfish because the
road to it happens to bring pleasure to others also.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>See Royce, Religious Aspect of Philosophy, pp.
61-74.</p></div>
<p>3. The use of education and law to bring about
this identity, presupposes that we already have the
<span class="pb" id="Pg062">[62]</span>
<em>ideal</em> of the identity as something desirable to
realize—it takes for granted the very thing to be
proved. Why should it occur to men to use the
private influence of opinion and education, and
the public influences of law and penalty to identify
private welfare with public, unless they were already
convinced that general welfare was the end
of conduct, the one desirable thing? What the
hedonist has to do is to show how, from the end of
private happiness, we may get to the end of general
happiness. What Bentham and Mill do show is,
that if we take general happiness as the end, we
may and do use education and law to bring about
an identity of personal and general pleasures.
This may go undoubted, but the question how we
get the general happiness as the end, the good, remains
unanswered.</p>
<p>Nor is this all. The conception of general happiness,
taken by itself, has all the abstractness,
vagueness and uncertainty of that of personal happiness,
multiplied indefinitely by the greater number
of persons introduced. To calculate the effects
of actions upon the general happiness—when happiness
is interpreted as a state of feeling—is an
impossibility. And thus it is that when one is
speaking of pleasures one is really thinking of welfare,
or well-being, or satisfied and progressive
human lives. Happiness is considered as it would
<span class="pb" id="Pg063">[63]</span>
be, if determined by certain active and well defined
interests, and thus the hedonistic theory, while contradicting
itself, gets apparently all the support of
an opposed theory. Universalistic hedonism thus,
more or less expressly, takes for granted a social
order, or community of persons, of which the agent
is simply one member like any other. This is the
ideal which it proposes to realize. In this way—although
at the cost of logical suicide—the ideal
gets a content and a definiteness upon which it is
possible to base judgments.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>That this social organization of persons is the
ideal which Mill is actually thinking of, rather than
any succession of states of agreeable sensation, is evident
by his treatment of the whole subject. Mill is
quite clear that education and opinion may produce
<em>any</em> sort of feeling, as well as truly benevolent motives
to actions. For example, in his critique of Whewell,
he says, (Op. cit., p. 154): "All experience shows that
the moral feelings are preëminently artificial, and the
products of culture; that even when reasonable, they
are no more spontaneous than the growth of corn and
wine (which are quite as natural), and that the most
senseless and pernicious feeling can as easily be raised
to the utmost intensity by inculcation, as hemlock and
thistles could be reared to luxuriant growth by sowing
them instead of wheat." It is certainly implied here
that legislation, education and public opinion must
have as a presupposed standard the identity of general
and private interests or else they may produce anything
whatever. That is to say, Mill instead of arriving
at his result of general happiness simply takes it
for granted.</p>
<p><span class="pb" id="Pg064">[64]</span>
This fact and the further fact that he virtually
defines happiness through certain objective interests
and ends (thus reversing the true hedonistic position)
is obvious from the following, (Mill, Op. cit., pp. 343-347):
After again stating that the moral feelings are
capable of cultivation in almost any direction, and
stating that moral associations that are of artificial
construction dissolve through the force of intellectual
analysis (<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">cf.</i> his Autobiography, p. 136), and that the association
of pleasure with the feeling of duty would
similarly dissolve unless it had a <em>natural</em> basis of sentiment,
he goes on. "But there is this basis of powerful
<em>natural</em> sentiment. This firm foundation is that
of the social feelings of mankind; the desire to be in
unity with our fellow-creatures. <em>The social state is at
once so natural, so necessary, and so habitual to man
that except in some unusual circumstances, or by an
effort of voluntary abstraction he never conceives of
himself otherwise than as a member of a body.</em> Any
condition, therefore, which is essential to a state of
society becomes more and more an inseparable part of
every person's conception of the state of things which
he is born into, and which is the destiny of a human
being." Mill then goes on to describe some of the
ways in which the social unity manifests itself and
influences the individual's conduct. Then the latter
"comes, as though instinctively, to be conscious of
himself as a being who <em>of course</em> pays regard to others.
The good of others becomes to him a thing naturally
and necessarily to be attended to, like any of the physical
conditions of our existence. <em>The deeply-rooted
conception which every individual even now has of
himself as a social being tends to make him feel it as
one of his natural wants, that there should be harmony
between his feelings and aims and those of his fellow-creatures.</em>
<span class="pb" id="Pg065">[65]</span>
This conviction is the ultimate sanction of
the greatest happiness morality."</p></div>
<p>It is to be noticed that there is involved in this
account three ideas, any one of which involves such
a reconstruction of the pleasure theory as to be a
surrender of hedonism.</p>
<p>1. There is, in one instance, a <em>natural</em> (or intrinsic)
connection between the end of conduct and
the feelings, and not simply an external or artificial
bond. This is in the case of the social feelings.
In other words, in one case the ideal, that is, happiness,
is intrinsically, or necessarily connected with
a certain kind of conduct, that flowing from the
social impulses. This, of course, reverses hedonism
for it makes happiness dependent upon a certain
kind of conduct, instead of determining the nature
of conduct according as it happens to result in
pleasure or pain.</p>
<p>2. Man conceives of himself, of his end or of
his destiny as a member of a social body, and
this conception determines the nature of his wants
and aims. That is to say, it is not mere happiness
that a man wants, but a certain <em>kind</em> of happiness,
that which would satisfy a man who conceived of
himself as social, or having ends and interests in
common with others.</p>
<p>3. Finally, it is not mere general "happiness"
which is the end, at all. It is social unity; "harmony
<span class="pb" id="Pg066">[66]</span>
of feelings and aims," a beneficial condition
for one's self in which the benefits of all are included.
Instead of the essentially vague idea of states of
pleasurable sensation we have the conception of a
community of interests and ends, in securing which
alone is true happiness to be found. This conception
of the moral ideal we regard as essentially
true, but it is not hedonism. It gives up wholly
the notion that pleasure is the <em>desired</em>, and, since it
sets up a standard by which it determines pleasure,
it gives up equally the notion that pleasure as
such is the <em>desirable</em>.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>In addition to the works already referred to, the
following will give fuller ideas of hedonism and utilitarianism:
For historical treatment see Sidgwick,
History of Ethics; Jodl, Geschichte der Ethik, Vol.
II., pp. 482-468; Bain, Moral Science, Historical Mention;
Guyau, La Morale Anglaise Contemporaine;
Wallace, Epicureanism; Pater, Marius, the Epicurean;
Paley, Moral and Political Philosophy; Grote, Examination
of the Utilitarian Philosophy (especially fair
and valuable criticism); Lecky, History of European
Morals, Vol. I, ch. I; Birks, Utilitarianism (hostile);
Blackie, Four Phases of Morals: Essay on Utilitarianism
(hostile); Gizycki, Students' Manual of Ethical
Philosophy, (Coit's trans., favorable); Calderwood,
Hand-Book of Moral Philosophy (opposed); Laurie,
Ethica (<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">e. g.</i>, p. 10). "The object of will is not pleasure,
not yet happiness, but reason-given law—the law
of harmony; but this necessarily ascertained through
feeling, and, therefore, through happiness."</p>
<p>Wilson and Fowler, Principles of Morals, Vol. I,
<span class="pb" id="Pg067">[67]</span>
pp. 98-112; Vol. II, pp. 262-273. Paulsen, System der
Ethik, pp. 195-210.</p></div>
<h4>XXIV.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Utilitarian Theory Combined With the Doctrine of Evolution.</div>
<p>There has lately
been an attempt to
combine utilitarian
morality with the theory of evolution. This position,
chiefly as occupied by Herbert Spencer and
Leslie Stephen, we shall now examine.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Alexander, also, Moral Order and Progress, makes
large use of the theory of evolution, but does not
attempt to unite it with any form of hedonism.</p></div>
<p>For the combination, at least three decided advantages
are claimed over ordinary utilitarianism.</p>
<p>1. It transforms 'empirical rules' into 'rational
laws.' The evolutionary hedonists regard pleasure
as the good, but hold that the theory of evolution enables
them to judge <em>of the relation of acts to
pleasure</em> much better than the ordinary theory. As
Mr. Spencer puts it, the ordinary theory is not scientific,
because it does not fully recognize the
principle of causation as existing between certain
acts as causes, and pleasures (or pains) as effects.
It undoubtedly recognizes that some acts <em>do</em> result
in pain or pleasure, but does not show <em>how</em> or <em>why</em>
they so result. By the aid of the theory of evolution
we can demonstrate that certain acts <em>must</em> be
beneficial because furthering evolution, and others
painful because retarding it.</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg068">[68]</span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Spencer, Data of Ethics, pp. 5758. "Morality
properly so-called—the science of right conduct—has
for its object to determine <em>how</em> and <em>why</em> certain rules
of conduct are detrimental, and certain other rules
beneficial. Those good and bad results cannot be accidental,
but must be necessary consequences of the
constitution of things; and I conceive it to be the
business of moral science to <em>deduce, from the laws of
life and the conditions of existence</em>, what kinds of
action <em>necessarily</em> tend to produce happiness, and what
kinds to produce unhappiness. Having done this, its
deductions are to be recognized as laws of conduct;
and are to be conformed to irrespective of a direct
estimation of happiness or misery.... The objection
which I have to the current utilitarianism is,
that it recognizes no more developed form of utility—does
not see that it has reached but the initial stage
of moral science.... It is supposed that in future,
as now, utility is to be determined only by observation
of results; and that there is no possibility of knowing
by deduction from fundamental principles what conduct
<em>must</em> be detrimental and what conduct <em>must</em> be
beneficial." <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Cf.</i> also ch. IX, and Stephen, Science of
<ins id="C068" title="Ehtics">Ethics</ins>, ch. IX.</p></div>
<p>It is contended, then, that by the use of the evolutionary
theory, we may substitute certain conditions,
which in the very nature of things tend to
produce happiness, for a calculation, based upon
observation of more or less varying cases in the past,
of the probable results of the specific action. Thus
we get a fixed objective standard and do away with
all the objections based upon the uncertainty,
vagueness and liability to exceptions, of the ordinary
utilitarian morality.</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg069">[69]</span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Spencer, Op. cit., p. 162: "When alleging that
empirical utilitarianism is but introductory to rational
utilitarianism I pointed out that the last does not
take welfare for its <em>immediate</em> object of pursuit, but
takes for its immediate object of pursuit conformity
to certain principles which, in the nature of things,
causally determine welfare."</p></div>
<p>2. It reconciles 'intuitionalism' with 'empiricism.'
The theory of evolution not only gives us
an objective standard on which happiness necessarily
depends, and from which we may derive our
laws of conduct, instead of deriving them from observation
of particular cases, but it enables us to
recognize that there are certain moral ideas now
innate or intuitive. The whole human race, the
whole animal race, has for an indefinite time been
undergoing experiences of what leads to pleasure
and of what leads to pain, until finally the results
of these experiences have become organized into
our very physical and mental make-up. The first
point was that we could substitute for consideration
of results consideration of the causes which determine
these results; the present point is that so far
as we have to use results, we can use those of the
race, instead of the short span of the individual's
life.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Spencer, Op. cit., pp. 123-124. "The experiences of
utility organized and consolidated through all past
generations of the human race have been producing
corresponding nervous modifications, which, by continued
<span class="pb" id="Pg070">[70]</span>
transmission and accumulation, have become
in us certain faculties of moral intuition—certain
emotions corresponding to right and wrong conduct,
which have no apparent basis in the individual experiences
of utility.... The evolution hypothesis thus
enables us to reconcile opposed moral theories....
The doctrine of innate powers of moral perception
become congruous with the utilitarian doctrine, when
it is seen that preferences and aversions are rendered
organic by inheritance of the effects of pleasurable
and painful experiences in progenitors."</p></div>
<p>3. It reconciles 'egoism' with 'altruism.' As
we have seen, the relation of personal pleasure to
general happiness presents very serious difficulties to
hedonism. It is claimed, however, that the very process
of evolution necessitates a certain identity.
The being which survives must be the being which
has properly adapted himself to his environment,
which is largely social, and there is assurance that
the conduct will be adapted to the environment
just in the degree in which pleasure is taken in
acts which concern the welfare of others. If an
agent has no pleasure in such acts he will either not
perform them, or perform them only occasionally,
and thus will not meet the conditions of surviving.
If surrounding conditions demand constantly certain
actions, those actions in time must come to be pleasurable.
The conditions of survival demand altruistic
action, and hence such action must become
pleasurable to the agent (and in that sense egotistic).</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg071">[71]</span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>"From the laws of life (Spencer Op. cit., p. 205) it
must be concluded that unceasing social discipline
will so mould human action, that eventually sympathetic
pleasures will be pursued to the fullest extent
advantageous to each and all.... Though pleasure
may be gained by giving pleasure, yet the thought of
the sympathetic pleasure to be gained will not occupy
consciousness, but only the thought of the pleasure
given."</p></div>
<h4>XXV.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Criticism of Evolutionary Utilitarianism.</div>
<p>Regarding the whole foregoing
scheme, it may be said so far as it
is true, or suggestive of truth, it is
not hedonistic. It does not judge
actions from their effects in the way of pleasure or
pain, but it judges pleasures from the basis of an
independent standard 'in the nature of things.'
It is expressly declared that happiness is not to be
so much the end, as the <em>test</em> of conduct, and it is
not happiness in general, of every sort and kind,
but a certain kind of happiness, happiness conditioned
by certain modes of activity, that is the test.
Spencer's hedonism in its final result hardly comes
to more than saying that in the case of a perfect
individual in a perfect society, every action whatever
would be accompanied by pleasure, and that,
therefore, <em>in such a society</em>, pleasure would be an
infallible sign and test of the morality of action—a
position which is not denied by any ethical writer
whatever, unless a few extreme ascetics. Such a
<span class="pb" id="Pg072">[72]</span>
position simply determines the value of pleasure
by an independent criterion, and then goes on to
say <em>of pleasure so determined</em>, that it is the test of
the morality of action. This may be true, but, true
or not, it is not hedonistic.</p>
<p>Furthermore, this standard by which the nature
of pleasure is determined is itself an ethical (that
is, active) standard. We have already seen that
Spencer conceives that the modes of producing happiness
are to be deduced from the "laws of life and
the conditions of existence". This might be, of
course, a deduction from <em>physical</em> laws and conditions.
But when we find that the laws and conditions
which Spencer employs are mainly those of
<em>social</em> life, it is difficult to see why he is not employing
a strictly ethical standard. To deduce not
right actions directly from happiness, but the kinds
of actions which will produce happiness from a consideration
of a certain ideal of social relationships
seems like a reversal of hedonism; but this is what
Mr. Spencer does.</p>
<h4>XXVI.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Real Criterion of Evolutionary Ethics.</div>
<p>Mr. Spencer expressly recognizes
that there exists (1) an ideal code of
conduct, formulating the conduct of
the completely adapted man in the
completely evolved society. Such a
code is called absolute ethics as distinguished from
<span class="pb" id="Pg073">[73]</span>
relative ethics—a code the injunctions of which are
alone to be considered "as absolutely right, in contrast
with those that are relatively right or least
wrong, and which, as a system of ideal conduct, is
to serve as a standard for our guidance in solving,
as well as we can, the problems of real conduct"
(p. 275 of the Data of Ethics). "The ideal code
deals, it will be observed, with the behavior of the
completely adapted man in a completely evolved
society." This ideal as elsewhere stated, is "an
ideal social being so constituted that his spontaneous
activities are congruous with the conditions
imposed by the social environment formed by
other such beings.... The ultimate man is
one in whom there is a correspondence between
all the promptings of his nature and all the
requirements of his life as carried on in society"
(p. 275). Furthermore, "to make the ideal man
serve as a standard, he has to be defined <em>in terms
of the conditions which his nature fulfill</em>—in terms
of the objective requisites which must be met
before conduct can be right" (p. 179). "Hence it
is manifest that we must consider the ideal man as
existing in the ideal social state" (p. 280).</p>
<p>Here we have in the most express terms the recognition
of a final and permanent standard with
reference to which the nature of happiness is determined,
and the standard is one of social relationships.
<span class="pb" id="Pg074">[74]</span>
To be sure it is claimed that the standard
is one which results in greatest happiness, but every
ethical theory has always claimed that the ideal
moral condition would be accompanied by the maximum
possible happiness.</p>
<p>2. The ideal state is defined with reference to
the end of evolution. That is, Spencer defines
pleasure from an independent standard instead of
using pleasure as the standard. This standard is
to be got at by considering that idea of "fully
evolved conduct" given by the theory of evolution.
This fully evolved conduct implies: (i.) Greatest
possible quantity of life, both in length and
breadth; (ii.) Similar maintenance of life in progeny;
and (iii.) Life in which there is no interference
of actions by one with those of another, and,
indeed, life in which the "members of a society<ins id="C074" title="endquote missing">"</ins>
give material help in the achievement of ends,
thus rendering the "lives of all more complete".
(See Chap. II of Data of Ethics). Furthermore,
the "complete life here identified with the ideally
moral life" may be otherwise defined as a life of
perfect equilibrium (p. 74), or balance of functions
(p. 90), and this considered not simply with reference
to the individual, but also with reference to
the relation of the individual to society. "Complete
life in a complete society is but another name
for complete equilibrium between the co-ordinated
<span class="pb" id="Pg075">[75]</span>
activities of each social unit and those of the aggregate
of units" (p. 74, and the whole of chap.
V. See also pp. 169-170 for the position that
the end is a society in which each individual has
full functions freely exercised in due harmony, and
is, p. 100, "the spontaneous exercise of duly proportioned
faculties").</p>
<p>3. Not only is pleasure thus determined by an
objective standard of "complete living in a complete
society" but it is expressly recognized that
<em>as things are now, pleasure is not a perfect guide
to, or even test of action</em>. And this difficulty is
thought to be removed by reference to the ideal
state in which right action and happiness will fully
coincide.</p>
<p>The failure of pleasure as a perfect test and
guide of right conduct, comes out in at least three
cases:—</p>
<p>1. There is the conflict of one set of pleasures
with another, or of present happiness with future,
one lot having to be surrendered for the sake of
another. This is wrong, since pleasure as such is
good, and, although a fact at present, exists only on
account of the incomplete development of society.
When there is "complete adjustment of humanity
to the social state there will be recognition of the
truth that actions are completely right only when,
besides being conducive to future happiness, special
<span class="pb" id="Pg076">[76]</span>
and general, they are immediately pleasurable, and
that painfulness, not only ultimate but proximate,
is the concomitant of actions which are wrong"
(p. 29. See for various cases in which "pleasures
are not connected with actions which must be performed"
and for the statement that this difficulty
will be removed in an ideal state of society, p. 77;
pp. 85-87; pp. 98-99).</p>
<p>2. There is also, at present, a conflict of individual
happiness with social welfare. In the first
place, as long as there exist antagonistic societies,
the individual is called upon to sacrifice his own
happiness to that of others, but "such moralities
are, by their definition, shown to belong to incomplete
conduct; not to conduct that is fully
evolved" (See pp. 133-137). Furthermore, there
will be conflict of claims, and consequent compromises
between one's own pleasure and that of
others (p. 148), until there is a society in which
there is "complete living through voluntary co-operation",
this implying negatively that one shall
not interfere with another and shall fulfill contracts,
and positively that men shall spontaneously help to
aid one another lives beyond any specified agreement
(pp. 146-149).</p>
<p>3. There is, at present, a conflict of obligation
with pleasure. Needed activities, in other words,
have often to be performed under a pressure, which
<span class="pb" id="Pg077">[77]</span>
either lessens the pleasure of the action, or brings
pain, the act being performed, however, to avoid a
greater pain (so that this point really comes under
the first head). But "the remoulding of human
nature into fitness for the requirements of social
life, must eventually make all needful activities
pleasurable, while it makes displeasurable all
activities at variance with these requirements"
(p. 183). "The things now done with dislike,
through sense of obligation, will be done then
with immediate liking" (p. 84, and p. 186;
and pp. 255-256). All the quotations on these
various points are simply so many recognitions
that pleasure and pain as such are not tests of
morality, but that they become so when morality
is independently realized. Pleasure is <em>not</em> now a
test of conduct, but becomes such a test as fast as
activity becomes full and complete! What is this
but to admit (what was claimed in Sec. <a href="#XIII">XIII</a>) that
activity itself is what man wants; not <em>mere</em> activity,
but the activity which belongs to man as man, and
which therefore has for its realized content all
man's practical relationships.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Of Spencer's conception of the ideal as something
not now realized, but to be some time or other realized
once for all, we have said nothing. But see below,
Sec. <a href="#LXIV">64</a>, and also Alexander, Op. cit., pp. 264-277, and
also James, Unitarian Review, Vol. XXII., pp. 212-213.</p>
<p>We have attempted, above, to deal with evolutionary
<span class="pb" id="Pg078">[78]</span>
ethics only in the one point of its supposed
connection with pleasure as a standard. Accounts and
criticisms of a broader scope will be found in Darwin,
Descent of Man; Martineau, Op. cit., Vol. II, pp. 335-393;
Schurman, Ethical Import of Darwinism; Sorley,
Ethics of Naturalism, chapters V, and VI; Stephen,
Science of Ethics, particularly pp. 31-34; 78-89; 359-379;
Royce, Religious Aspect of Philosophy, pp. 74-85;
Everett, Poetry, Comedy and Duty, Essay on the New
Ethics; Seth in Mind, Jan. 1889, on Evolution of Morality;
Dewey, Andover Review, Vol. VII, p. 570;
Hyslop, Ibid., Vol. IX, p. 348.</p></div>
<h4>XXVII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Formal Ethics.</div>
<p>We come now to the ethical
theories which attempt to find the good not only
in the will itself, but in the will irrespective of
any end to be reached by the will. The typical
instance of such theories is the Kantian, and we
shall, therefore, make that the basis of our examination.
Kant's theory, however, is primarily a theory
not of the good, but of the nature of duty, and that
makes a statement of his doctrine somewhat more
difficult.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>"The concept of good and evil must not be determined
before the moral law (of which it seems as if it
must be the foundation), but only after it and by
means of it" (Abbott's Trans., p. 154).</p></div>
<p>Separating, as far as we can, his theory of the
good from that of duty, we get the following results:</p>
<p>1. Goodness belongs to the will, and to that alone.
<span class="pb" id="Pg079">[79]</span>
"Nothing can possibly be conceived, in the world
or out of it, which can be called good without qualification
except a good will." The will is not good
because of what it brings about, or what it is fitted
to bring about; that is, it is not good on account
of its adaptation to any end outside of itself. It
is good in itself. "It is like a jewel which
shines by its own light, having its whole value in
itself."</p>
<p>2. The good, then, is not to be found in any
<em>object</em> of will or of desire, nor in the will <em>so far as it
is directed towards an end outside itself</em>. For the
will to be moved by inclination or by desire is for it
to be moved for the sake of some external end, which,
moreover, is always pleasure (Kant, <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">i. e.</i>, agrees
with the hedonists regarding the object of desire,
but on that very ground denies that pleasure is the
good or the desirable). If, then, no object of desire
can be the motive of a good will, what is its motive?
Evidently only some principle derived from the will
itself. The good will is the will which acts from
regard to its own law.</p>
<p>3. What is the nature of this law? All objects
of desire (<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">i. e.</i>, all material) have been excluded
from it. It must, therefore, be purely formal.
The only content of the law of the good will is the
<em>idea of law itself</em>. The good will acts from reverences
for law as <em>law</em>. It not only acts <em>in conformity
<span class="pb" id="Pg080">[80]</span>
with law</em>, but has the conception of law as its
directing spring.</p>
<p>4. There must, however, be some application of
this motive of law in general to particular motives
or acts. This is secured as follows: The idea of
law carries with it the idea of universality or self-identity.
To act from the idea of law is then so to
act that the motive of action can be generalized—made
a motive for all conduct. The good will is
the <em>legislative</em> will; the will whose motive can be
made a law for conduct universally. The question
in a specific case is then: Can your motive
here be made universal, <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">i. e.</i>, a law? If the action
is bad, determined by an object of desire, it will be
contingent and variable, since pleasures are different
to different persons and to the same person
from moment to moment. The will is good,
then, when its motive (or maxim) is to be found
solely in the <em>legislative form</em> of the action, or in its
fitness to be generalized into a universal principle
of conduct, and the law of the good will is: "Act
so that the maxim of thy will can always at the
same time hold good as a principle of universal
legislation" (Abbott's Trans., p. 119; also p. 55).</p>
<p>5. The application may be illustrated by the following
cases:</p>
<p>(<i>a</i>) Some one, wearied by what he conceives to
be the entire misery of life proposes to commit suicide,
<span class="pb" id="Pg081">[81]</span>
but he asks himself whether this maxim based
on the principle of self-love could become a universal
law of nature; and "we see at once that a system
of nature in which the very feeling, whose office is
to compel men to the preservation of life, should
lead men by a universal law to death, cannot be
conceived without contradiction". That is to say,
the principle of the motive which would lead a man
to suicide cannot be generalized without becoming
contradictory—it cannot be made a law universal.</p>
<p>(<i>b</i>) An individual wishes to borrow money which
he knows that he cannot repay. Can the maxim of
this act be universalized? Evidently not: "a system
of nature in which it should be a universal law to
promise without performing, for the sake of private
good, would contradict itself, for then no one would
believe the promise—the promise itself would become
impossible as well as the end it had in view."</p>
<p>(<i>c</i>) A man finds that he has certain powers,
but is disinclined to develop them. Can he make
the maxim of such conduct a universal law? He
cannot <em>will</em> that it should become universal. "As a
rational being, he must will that his faculties be
developed."</p>
<p>(<i>d</i>) A prosperous individual is disinclined to relieve
the misery of others. Can his maxim be generalized?
"It is impossible to <em>will</em> that such a
principle should have the universal validity of a
<span class="pb" id="Pg082">[82]</span>
law of nature. For a will which resolved this
would contradict itself, in as much as many cases
might occur in which one would have need of the
love and sympathy of others, and in which, by
such a law of nature, sprung from his own will, he
would deprive himself of all hope of the aid he
desires."</p>
<p>In conclusion, then, the good is the good will
itself, and the will is good in virtue of the bare
form of its action, independently of all special
material willed.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>See Abbott's trans., pp. 9-46; 105-120. Caird's Critical
Philosophy of Kant, Vol. II, pp. 171-181; 209-212.</p></div>
<h4>XXVIII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Relation of this Theory to Hedonism.</div>
<p>The Kantian theory, as already
noticed, agrees in its psychology with
hedonism. It holds that pleasures
are the objects of desire. But it
reverses the conclusion which hedonism
draws from this fact <em>as to the desirable</em>. Since
pleasures are the object of desire, and pleasures
can give no law, no universality to action, the end
of action must be found wholly <em>outside</em> the pleasures,
and wholly outside the desires. It can be
found only in the bare law of the will itself.</p>
<p>1. Hedonism finds the end of conduct, or the
desirable, wholly determined by the various particular
desires which a man happens to have; Kantianism
<span class="pb" id="Pg083">[83]</span>
holds that to discover the end of conduct,
we must wholly exclude the desires.</p>
<p>2. Hedonism holds that the rightness of conduct
is determined wholly by its consequences;
Kantianism holds that the consequences have nothing
to do with the rightness of an act, but that it
is decided wholly by the motive of the act.</p>
<p>From this contrast, we may anticipate both our
criticism of the Kantian theory and our conception
of the true end of action. The fundamental
error of hedonism and Kantianism is the same—the
supposition that desires are for pleasure
only. Let it be recognized that desires are for
objects conceived as satisfying or developing the
self, and that pleasure is incidental to this fulfillment
of the capacities of self, and we have the
means of escaping the one-sidedness of Kantianism
<ins id="C083" title="of">as</ins> well as of hedonism. We can see that the end
is neither the procuring of particular pleasures
through the various desires, nor action from the
mere idea of abstract law in general, but that it is
the <em>satisfaction of desires according to law</em>. The
desire in its particular character does not give the
law; this, as we saw in our criticism of hedonism, is
to take away all law from conduct and to leave us
at the mercy of our chance desires as they come
and go. On the other hand the law is not something
wholly apart from the desires. This, as we
<span class="pb" id="Pg084">[84]</span>
shall see, is equally to deprive us of a law capable
of governing conduct. The law is the law of the
desires themselves—the harmony and adjustment
of desires necessary to make them instruments
in fulfilling the special destiny or business of the
agent.</p>
<p>From the same point of view we can see that the
criterion is found neither in the consequences of
our acts <em>as pleasures</em>, nor <em>apart from consequences</em>.
It is found indeed in the consequences of acts, <em>but in
their complete consequences</em>:—those upon the agent
and society, as helping or hindering them in fulfillment
of their respective functions.</p>
<h4>XXIX.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Criticism of Kantian Criterion of Conduct.</div>
<p>1. <i>With reference to the unification
of the conduct of the individual.</i> Of
pleasure as the object of desire, we need
now say nothing further, but may proceed
at once to the criticism of the
theory that the will, acting according
to the mere idea of law in general, is the end of man
and hence that it is the criterion of the rightness
or wrongness of his acts. We shall attempt to
show that such an end is wholly empty, and that it
fails (as much as hedonism) to unify conduct or
to place any specific act as to its morality.</p>
<p>The difficulty of the end proposed by Kant is
that it is an abstraction; that it is remote. The
<span class="pb" id="Pg085">[85]</span>
hedonist leaves out one element from conduct, and
takes into account the merely particular or individualistic
side; the Kantian abstracts the opposite
element—the merely universal. The formal
universal, or universal stripped of all particular
content, has, considered as an end of action, at least
three defects.</p>
<p>I. It is an end which would make impossible
that very conduct of which it is taken to be the
end—that is, moral conduct. In denying that
pleasure is the end of action, we took pains to show
that it (or rather the feeling due to the tension
between pleasure of a state considered better and
the pain of the experienced worse state) is a necessary
element in the force impelling to action. The
mere conception of an end is purely intellectual;
there is nothing in it to move to action. It must
be <em>felt</em> as valuable, as worth having, and as more
valuable than the present condition before it can
induce to action. It must <em>interest</em>, in a word, and
thus excite desire. But if feeling is, as Kant declares,
to be excluded from the motive to action, because
it is pathological or related to pleasure as the
object of desire, how can there be any force moving
to action? The mind seems to be set over
against a purely theoretical idea of an end, with
nothing to connect the mind with the end.
Unless the end interests, unless it arouses emotion,
<span class="pb" id="Pg086">[86]</span>
why should the agent ever aim at it? And if the
law does excite feeling or desire, must not this,
on Kant's theory, be desire for pleasure and thus
vitiate the morality of the act? We seem to be in
a dilemma, one side of which makes moral action
impossible by taking away all inducing force,
while the other makes it impossible by introducing
an immoral factor into the motive.</p>
<p>Kant attempts to escape from this difficulty by
claiming that there is one feeling which is rational,
and not sensuous in quality, being excited not by
the conception of pleasure or pain, but by that of
the moral law itself. This is the feeling of reverence,
and through this feeling we can be moved to
moral action. Waiving the question whether the
mere idea of law in general would be capable of
arousing any moral sentiment—or, putting the
matter from the other side, whether Kant gives us
a true account of the feeling of reverence—it is
clear that this admission is fatal to Kant's theory.
If desire or feeling as such is sensuous (or <em>pathological</em>,
as Kant terms it), what right have we to
make this one exception? And if we can make
this one exception, why not others? If it is possible
in the case of reverence, why not in the case,
say, of patriotism, or of friendship, or of philanthropy,
or of love—or even of curiosity, or of
indignation, or of desire for approbation? Kant's
<span class="pb" id="Pg087">[87]</span>
separation of reverence, as the one moral sentiment
from all others as pathological, is wholly arbitrary.
The only distinction we can draw is of the feelings
as they well up naturally in reaction upon stimuli,
sentiments not conceived and thus neither moral nor
immoral, and sentiments as transformed by ends
of action, in which case all without exception may
be moral or immoral, according to the character of
the end. The Kantian separation is not only arbitrary
psychologically, but is false historically.
So far is it from true that the only moral sentiment
is reverence for law, that men must have been
moved toward action for centuries by motives of
love and hate and social regard, before they became
capable of such an abstract feeling as reverence.
And it may be questioned whether this feeling, as
Kant treats it, is even the highest or ultimate form
of moral sentiment—whether it is not transitional
to love, in which there is complete union of the
individual interest on one hand, and the objective
end on the other.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>For these criticisms at greater length, see Caird,
Critical Philosophy of Kant, Vol. II, Bk. II, ch. IV.</p></div>
<p>II. The Kantian end would not bring about any
system in conduct—on the contrary, it would tend
to differences and collisions. What is required to
give unity to the sphere of conduct is, as we have
seen, a principle which shall comprehend all the
<span class="pb" id="Pg088">[88]</span>
motives to action, giving each its due place in contributing
to the whole—a universal which shall
organize the various particular acts into a harmonious
system. Now Kant's conception of the good
does not lead to such result. We may even say
that it makes it impossible. According to Kant each
act must be considered independently of every
other, and must be capable of generalization on its
own account. Each motive of action must be
capable of being <em>itself</em> a universal law of nature.
Each particular rule of action is thus made absolute,
and we are left not with one universal which
comprehends all particulars in their relations to
one another, but literally with a lot of universals.
These not only fail to have a unity, but each, as
absolute, must contradict some other. If the principles
always to tell the truth and always to
preserve life are universal <em>in themselves</em>, and not
universal simply <em>through their relation to some
total and controlling principle of life</em>, it must be
impossible to reconcile them when they come into
conflict.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>See Caird, Op. cit., Vol. II, pp. 187-190, and p. 215.
<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Cf.</i> "Treated as universal and without exception,
even two such commands as <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">e. g.</i>, 'Thou shalt not
steal,' and 'Thou shalt not kill,' must ultimately come
into conflict with each other; for, if all other interests
are to be postponed to the maintenance of the rights
of property, it is impossible that all other interests
should also be postponed to the preservation of
<span class="pb" id="Pg089">[89]</span>
human life—and to make either property or life an
absolute end is to raise a particular into a universal,
to treat a part as if it were a whole. But the true
moral vindication of each particular interest cannot
be found in elevating it into something universal and
absolute, but only in determining its place in relation
to the others in a complete system of morality."</p></div>
<p>III. The principle is so empty of all content
that it does not enable us to judge of any specific
act.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>A caution should be noticed here, which is equally
applicable to the criticism of hedonism: When it is
said that the end does not enable us to judge of specific
acts, the objection is not that the <em>theory</em> (Kantianism
or hedonism, as the case may be) does not give us
rules for moral conduct. It is not the business of any
theory, however correct as a theory, to lay down rules
for conduct. The theory has simply to discover what
the <em>end</em> is, and it is the end in view which determines
specific acts. It is no more the business of ethics to
tell what in particular a man ought to do, than it is of
trigonometry to survey land. But trigonometry must
state the principles by which land <em>is</em> surveyed, and so
ethics must state the end by which conduct <em>is</em> governed.
The objection to hedonism and Kantianism is
that the end they give does not <em>itself</em> stand in any
practical relation to conduct. We do not object to
Kantianism because the <em>theory</em> does not help us as to
specific acts, but because the <em>end</em>, formal law, does
not help us, while the real moral end must determine
the whole of conduct.</p></div>
<p>Suppose a man thrown into the complex
surroundings of life with an intelligence fully
developed, but with no previous knowledge of right
<span class="pb" id="Pg090">[90]</span>
or wrong, or of the prevailing moral code. He is
to know, however, that goodness is to be found in
the good will, and that the good will is the will
moved by the mere idea of the universality of law.
Can we imagine such an one deriving from his
knowledge any idea of what concrete ends he ought
to pursue and what to avoid? He is surrounded
by special circumstances calling for special acts,
and all he knows is that <em>whatever</em> he does is to be
done from respect for its universal or legislative
quality. What community is there between this
principle and <em>what</em> he is to do? There is no bridge
from the mere thought of universal law to any
concrete end coming under the law. There is no
common principle out of which grows the conception
of law on one hand, and of the various special
ends of action, on the other.</p>
<p>Suppose, however, that ends are independently
suggested or proposed, will the Kantian conception
serve to <em>test</em> their moral fitness? Will the conception
that the end must be capable of being generalized
tell us whether this or that end is one to be
followed? The fact is, that there is no end whatever
that <em>in or by itself</em>, cannot be considered as
self-identical, or as universal. If we presuppose a
certain rule, or if we presuppose a certain moral
order, it may be true that a given motive cannot be
universalized without coming into conflict with this
<span class="pb" id="Pg091">[91]</span>
presupposed rule or order. But aside from some
moral system into connection with which a proposed
end may be brought, for purposes of comparison,
lying is just as capable as truth-telling of
generalization. There is no more contradiction in
the motive of universal stealing than there is in
that of universal honesty—unless there is as standard
some order or system of things into which the
proposed action is to fit as a member. And this
makes not the bare universality of the act, but the
system, the real criterion for determining the morality
of the act.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Thus Mill remarks, regarding Kant's four illustrations
(<cite>Ante</cite>, <a href="#Pg080">p. 80</a>), that Kant really has to employ utilitarian
considerations to decide whether the act is
moral or not.</p>
<p>For the foregoing criticisms, see Bradley, Ethical
Studies, Essay IV; Caird, Op. cit., Vol. II, pp. 185-186,
and 212-214, and, indeed, the whole of ch. II of Bk. II.</p></div>
<h4>XXX.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Criticism of Kantian Criterion of Conduct.</div>
<p>2. <i>With reference to the furnishing
of a common good or end.</i> If
the Kantian end is so formal and
empty as not to enable us to bring
into relation with one another the various acts of one
individual, we may agree, without argument, that
it does not provide us with an end which shall unify
the acts of different men into a connected order of
conduct. The moral end, the acting from regard
<span class="pb" id="Pg092">[92]</span>
for law as law, is presented to each individual by
himself, entirely apart from his relations to others.
That he has such relations may, indeed, furnish additional
material to which the law must be applied,
but is something to which the character of the law
is wholly indifferent. The end is not in itself a
social end, and it is a mere accident if in any case
social considerations have to be taken into account.
It is of the very quality of the end that it appeals
to the individual as an isolated individual.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>It is interesting to note the way in which Kant,
without <ins id="C092" title="expressily">expressly</ins> giving up the purely formal
character of the moral end, gives it more and more
content, and that content social. The moral law is
not imposed by any external authority, but by the rational
will itself. To be conscious of a universal self-imposed
law is to be conscious of one's self as having
a universal aspect. The source of the law and its end
are both in the will—in the rational self. Thus man
is an end to himself, for the rational self is man. Such
a being is a person—"Rational beings are <em>persons</em>, because
their nature marks them out as ends in themselves,
<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">i. e.</i>, as beings who should never be used merely
as means.... Such beings are not ends simply <em>for us</em>,
whose existence as brought about by our action has
value, but <em>objective ends</em>, <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">i. e.</i>, beings whose existence
is an end in itself, an end for which no other end can
be substituted so as to reduce it to a mere means."
Thus, we get a second formula. "Always treat humanity,
both in your own person and in the person of
others, as an end and never merely as a means." (Abbott's
Trans., pp. 46-47; Caird, Op. cit., Vol. II, 219).
Here the criterion of action is no longer the bare self-consistency
<span class="pb" id="Pg093">[93]</span>
of its motive, but its consistency with the
rational nature of the agent, that which constitutes
him a person. And, too, "the will of every rational
being is likewise a universally law-giving will." (Abbott,
p. 49). The conception of humanity embodied in
others as well as in one's self is introduced, and thus
our criterion is socialized. Even now, however, we
have a lot of persons, each of whom has to be considered
as an end in himself, rather than a social unity as
to which every individual has an equal and common
reference. Kant advances to this latter idea in his
notion of a "Kingdom of ends." "We get the idea of
a complete and systematically connected totality of
all ends—a whole system of rational beings as ends in
themselves as well as of the special ends which each
of them may set up for himself—<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">i.e.</i>, a kingdom of
ends.... Morality is the reference of all deeds to the
legislation which alone can make such a kingdom possible."
(See Abbott's Trans., pp. 51-52). This transformation
of a mere formal universal into a society or
kingdom of persons—while not sufficiently analyzed
as Kant states it (see Caird, Vol. II, pp. 225-226)—gives
us truly a social criterion, and we shall hereafter meet
something resembling it as the true ideal. As finally
stated, it does not differ in essential content from Mill's
individual who "conceives of himself only as a member
of a body," or from Spencer's free man in a free society.</p></div>
<h4>XXXI.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Value of Kantian Theory.</div>
<p>We must not leave the Kantian
theory with the impression
that it is simply the caprice of a philosopher's brain.
In two respects, at least, it presents us, as we shall
see, with elements that must be adopted; and even
where false it is highly instructive.</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg094">[94]</span>
<p>Kant's fundamental error is in his conception
that all desires or inclinations are for private pleasure,
and are, therefore, to be excluded from the
conception of the moral end. Kant's conclusion, accordingly,
that the good will is purely formal follows
inevitably if ever it is granted that there is any
intrinsic opposition between inclination as such,
and reason or moral law as such. If there is such
an opposition, <em>all</em> desire must be excluded from relation
to the end. We cannot make a compromise
by distinguishing between higher and lower desires.
On the contrary, if the end is to have content,
it must include all desires, leaving out none as in
itself base or unworthy. Kant's great negative
service was showing that the ascetic principle logically
results in pure formalism—meaning by ascetic
principle that which disconnects inclinations from
moral action.</p>
<p>Kant's positive service was, first, his clear insight
into the fact that the good is to be found only
in activity; that the will itself, and nothing beyond
itself, is the end; and that to adopt any other doctrine,
is to adopt an immoral principle, since it is to
subordinate the will (character, self and personality),
to some outside end. His second great service
was in showing the necessity of putting in abeyance
the immediate satisfaction of each desire as it happens
to arise, and of subordinating it to some law
<span class="pb" id="Pg095">[95]</span>
not to be found in the particular desire. He
showed that not the particular desire, but only the
desire as controlled by the idea of law could be the
motive of moral action. And if he fell into the
error of holding that this meant that the desire
must be excluded from the moral motive, this error
does not make it less true that every particular
desire must be controlled by a universal law. The
truth of asceticism is that the desire must be
checked until subordinated to the activity of the
whole man. See Caird, Op. cit., Vol. II, p. 200;
pp. 203-207; 226-227.</p>
<h4>XXXII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Problem and Its Solution.</div>
<p>If we gather together the results
of our observations of hedonism
and of Kantianism we get something
like the following problem and solution
in outline. The end of action, or the good, is the
realized will, the developed or satisfied self. This
satisfied self is found neither in the getting of a
lot of pleasures through the satisfaction of desires
just as they happen to arise, nor in obedience to
law simply because it is law. It is found in <em>satisfaction
of desires according to law</em>. This law,
however, is not something external to the desires,
but is their own law. Each desire is only one
striving of character for larger action, and the only
<span class="pb" id="Pg096">[96]</span>
way in which it can really find satisfaction (that is,
pass from inward striving into outward action) is <em>as</em>
a manifestation of character. A desire, taken as a
desire for its own apparent or direct end <em>only</em>, is an
abstraction. It is a desire for an entire and continuous
activity, and its satisfaction requires that it
fitted into this entire and continuous activity; that
it be made conformable to the conditions which will
bring the whole man into action. It is this fitting-in
which is the law of the desire—the 'universal'
controlling its particular nature. This 'fitting-in' is
no mechanical shearing off, nor stretching out,
but a reconstruction of the natural desire till it
becomes an expression of the whole man. The
problem then is to find that special form of character,
of self, which includes and transforms all
special desires. This form of character is at once
the Good and the Law of man.</p>
<p>We cannot be content with the notion that the
end is the satisfaction of the self, a satisfaction
at once including and subordinating the ends of
the particular desire. This tells us nothing positive—however
valuable it may be negatively in
warning us against one-sided notions—until we
know <em>what</em> that whole self is, and <em>in what</em> concretely
its satisfaction consists. As the first step
towards such a more concrete formula, we may
say:</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg097">[97]</span>
<h4 id="XXXIII">XXXIII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Moral End or the Good is the Realization by a Person and as a Person of Individuality.</div>
<p>In saying that this realization
is <em>by a person</em> and <em>as a
person</em> we are saying nothing
new. We are simply repeating
what we have already
learned about moral conduct
(Sec. <a href="#III">III</a>). Conduct is not that which simply reaches
certain consequences—a bullet shot from a rifle
does that; there is conduct only when the consequences
are foreseen; made the reason of action.
A person is a being capable of conduct—a being
capable of proposing to himself ends and of attempting
to realize them.</p>
<p>But what is the meaning of the rest of the formula?
What do we mean by individuality? We
may distinguish two factors—or better two aspects,
two sides—in individuality. On one side, it means
special disposition, temperament, gifts, bent, or
inclination; on the other side, it means special
station, situation, limitations, surroundings, opportunities,
etc. Or, let us say, it means <em>specific capacity</em>
and <em>specific environment</em>. Each of these elements,
apart from the other, is a bare abstraction
and without reality. Nor is it strictly correct to
say that individuality is constituted by these two
factors <em>together</em>. It is rather, as intimated above,
that each is individuality looked at from a certain
<span class="pb" id="Pg098">[98]</span>
point of view, from within or from without.</p>
<p>If we are apt to identify individuality with the
inner side alone, with capacity apart from its surroundings,
a little reflection will show the error.
Even the most devoted adherent of "self-culture"
would not hold that a gift could be developed, or a
disposition manifested, in isolation from all exterior
circumstances. Let the disposition, the gift be
what it may (amiable or irascible, a talent for
music or for abstract science, or for engineering),
its existence, to say nothing of its culture, apart
from some surroundings is bare nonsense. If a
person shuts himself up in a closet or goes out into
the desert the better to cultivate his capacities,
there is still the desert or the closet there; and it
is as conditioned by them, and with reference to
them that he must cultivate himself. For more is
true than that, as a matter of fact, no man can
wholly withdraw himself from surroundings; the
important point is that the manner and the purpose
of exercising his capacity is always <em>relative</em> to and
<em>dependent</em> upon the surroundings. Apart from the
environment the capacity is mere emptiness; the
exercise of capacity is always establishing a relation
to something exterior to itself. All we can say of
capacity apart from environment is that <em>if</em> certain
circumstances were supplied, there would be something
there. We call a capacity <em>capability</em>, possibility,
<span class="pb" id="Pg099">[99]</span>
as if for the very purpose of emphasizing
the necessity of external supplementing.</p>
<p>We get the same fact, on the other side, by calling
to mind that circumstances, environment are
not indifferent or irrelevant to individuality. The
difference between one individual and another lies
as much in the station in which each is placed as in
the capacity of each. That is to say, environment
enters into individuality as a constituent factor,
helping make it what it is.</p>
<p>On the other hand, it is capacity which makes the
environment really an environment <em>to</em> the individual.</p>
<p>The environment is not simply the facts which
happen objectively to lie about an agent; it is such
part of the facts as may be <em>related</em> to the capacity
and the disposition and gifts of the agent. Two members
of the same family may have what, to the outward
eye, are exactly the same surroundings, and
yet each may draw from these surroundings wholly
unlike stimulus, material and motives. Each has a
different environment, made different by his own
mode of selection; by the different way in which
his interests and desires play upon the plastic material
about him. It is not, then, the environment
as physical of which we are speaking, but as it appeals
to consciousness, as it is affected by the make-up
of the agent. This is the <em>practical</em> or <em>moral</em>
environment. The environment is not, then,
<span class="pb" id="Pg100">[100]</span>
what is then and there present in space. To the
Christian martyr the sufferings of his master, and
the rewards of faithfulness to come to himself were
more real parts of his environment than the stake
and fire. A Darwin or a Wallace may find his environment
in South America or the Philippine
Islands—or, indeed, in every fact of a certain sort
wherever found upon the earth or in whatever geological
era. A man of philanthropic instincts may
find <em>his</em> environment among Indians or Congo
negroes. Whatever, however near or remote in
time and space, an individual's capacities and
needs relate him to, is his environment. The moment
we realize that only what one conceives as
proper material for calling out and expressing some
internal capacity is a part of his surroundings, we
see not only that capacity depends upon environment,
but that environment depends upon capacity.
In other words, we see that each in itself
is an abstraction, and that the real thing is the individual
who is constituted by capacity and environment
in their relation to one another.</p>
<p><em>Function</em> is a term which we may use to express
union of the two sides of individuality. The idea
of function is that of an active relation established
between power of doing, on one side, and something
to be done on the other. To exercise a
function as a student is not to cultivate tastes and
<span class="pb" id="Pg101">[101]</span>
possibilities internally; it is also to meet external
demands, the demands of fact, of teachers, of
others needing knowledge. The citizen exercises
his function not simply in cultivating sentiments of
patriotism within; one has to meet the needs of the
city, the country in which one lives. The realization
of an artistic function is not poring over emotions
of beauty pumped up within one's self; it is
the exercise of some calling. On the other hand,
it hardly needs saying that the function of a student,
a citizen, an artist, is not exercised in bare
conformity to certain external requirements. Without
the inner disposition and inclination, we call
conduct dead, perfunctory, hypocritical. An activity
is not functional, unless it is organic, expressing
the life of the agent.</p>
<p>A function thus includes two sides—the external
and the internal—and reduces them to elements
in one activity. We get an analogy in any animal
function. The digestive function includes the material
appropriated, just as much as it does the
organ appropriating. It is the service, the work
which the organ does <em>in</em> appropriating material. So,
morally, function is capacity <em>in action</em>; environment
transformed into an element in personal service.</p>
<p>Thus we get another formula for the moral end:</p>
<p>The performance by a person of his specific
function, this function consisting in an activity
<span class="pb" id="Pg102">[102]</span>
which realizes wants and powers with reference to
their peculiar surroundings.</p>
<h4 id="XXXIV">XXXIV.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Moral Functions as Interests.</div>
<p>If morality consists in the
exercise of one's <em>specific</em> functions,
it follows that no <em>detailed</em>
account of the content of the moral end can possibly
be given. This content is thoroughly individual
or infinite. It is concrete to the core, including
every detail of conduct, and this not in a rigid
formula, but in the movement of life. All we can
do is, by abstraction, to select some of the main
features of the end, such as the more common and
the more permanent. While each individual has
his own particular functions, which can no more be
exhausted by definition or description than the
qualities of any other individual object, it is also
true that we can recognize certain typical functions
to be found permanently and in all. These make,
as it were, the skeleton of the moral end which each
clothes with his own flesh and blood.</p>
<p>Functions are <em>interests</em>—objective interests were
not the term tautological. Interests have three
traits worth special mention.</p>
<p>1. They are <em>active</em>. An interest is not an emotion
produced from without. It is the reaction of
the emotion to the object. Interest is identified, in
ordinary speech, with attention; we <em>take</em> an interest,
<span class="pb" id="Pg103">[103]</span>
or, if we say simply 'interested,' that involves
some excitation, some action just beginning. We
talk of a man's interests, meaning his occupations
or range of activities.</p>
<p>2. They are <em>objective</em>. The emotion aroused
goes out to some object, and is fixed upon that; we
are always interested <em>in something</em>. The active
element of interest is precisely that which takes it
out of the inner mood itself and gives it a terminus,
an end in an object.</p>
<p>3. An interest is <em>satisfaction</em>. It is its own reward.
It is not a striving for something unrealized,
or a mere condition of tension. It is the
satisfaction in some object which the mind already
has. This object may be possessed in some
greater or less degree, in full realization or in faint
grasp, but interest attaches to it as possessed. This
differentiates it from desire, even where otherwise
the states are the same. Desire refers to the lack,
to what is not present to the mind. One state of
mind may be called both interest in, and desire for,
knowledge, but desire emphasizes the unknown,
while interest is on account of the finding of self,
of intelligence, in the object. Interest is the union
in feeling, through action, of self and an object.
An interest in life is had when a man can practically
identify himself with some object lying
beyond his immediate or already acquired self
<span class="pb" id="Pg104">[104]</span>
and thus be led to further expression of himself.</p>
<p>To have an interest, then, is to be alert, to have
an object, and to find satisfaction in an activity
which brings this object home to self.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Not every interest carries with it <em>complete</em> satisfaction.
But no interest can be wholly thwarted. The
purer the interest, the more the interest is in the object
for its own sake, and not for that of some ulterior
consequence, the more the interest fulfills itself. "It
is better to have loved and lost than never to have
loved at all", and love is simply the highest power of
interest—interest freed from all extrinsic stuff.</p></div>
<p>Of the interests, two abstract forms may be recognized,
interest in persons and interest in things.
And these may be subdivided: Interest in persons:
interest in <em>self</em> and <em>others</em>. Interest in things—into
their contemplation (<em>knowledge</em>) and into their
production (<em>art</em>). And art again may be either
productive of things to be contemplated (fine art),
or useful—manufactures, industry, etc. The
moral end, then, or the Good will consist in the
exercise of these interests, varied as they may be in
each individual by the special turn which his capacities
and opportunities take.</p>
<h4 id="XXXV">XXXV.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Exercise of Interests as the Moral End.</div>
<p>Let us now, as a means of rendering
our conception of the
moral end more concrete, consider
briefly each of the forms of interest.</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg105">[105]</span>
<p>1. Interest in self. We must free ourselves
from any notion that an interest in self is non-moral,
if not actually immoral. The latter position
is seldom consciously assumed, but it is not uncommon
to have interest in self, under the name of
prudence, marked off from the moral sphere. Interest
in self, if the interest is pure, is just as much
an interest in the moral end as interest in anything
or anybody else. Interest in self may take the
form of selfishness, or of sentimentalism; but this
is only an <em>impure</em> interest, an interest not in self,
but in some consequences to which the self may be
directed. Interest in self may take many forms,
according to the side of self which is the object of
attention, and according to the range of the self
taken into account. A <em>rudimentary</em> form is prudence,
but even this, instead of being non-moral, is,
in proper place and degree, moral, as moral as benevolence;
and, if not in its proper place, immoral.
From such an interest there are all stages up to
the interest in self as it most deeply and broadly is,
the sense of honor, moral dignity, self-respect,
conscientiousness, that attempt to be and to make
the most of one's self, which is at the very root of
moral endeavor.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>The ground that is usually given for making the
distinction between Prudence, Self-Regard, Self-Love
as non-moral, and Benevolence, Altruism etc., as moral,
is that in the former case a mere regard for one's own
<span class="pb" id="Pg106">[106]</span>
advantage dictates proper conduct, while in the latter
case there must be a positive virtuous intent. We
may, for example, be pointed to some cool calculating
man who takes care of his health and his property,
who indeed is generally 'prudent', because he sees that
it is for his advantage, and be told that while such an
end is not immoral it is certainly not moral. But in
return it must be asked what is meant here by advantage?
If by it is meant private pleasure, or advantage
over somebody else, then this conduct does not
spring from interest in self at all, but from interest in
some exterior consequence, and as springing from such
an impure interest is not simply non-moral, but positively
immoral. On the other hand, if 'advantage'
means regard for one's whole function, one's place in
the moral order, then such interest in self is moral.
Care for bodily health in the interest of efficiency in
conduct is supremely moral beside reckless disregard
of it in the interest of some supposed higher or more
spiritual function.</p>
<p>If it is meant that conduct is immoral because it
springs from some interest on the part of the agent,
the reply is that all conduct must so arise, and that
any other supposition leads us immediately into asceticism
and into formalism.</p></div>
<p>2. Interest in others. The generic form of interest
in others is sympathy, this being specified by
the various forms of social organization of which the
individual is a member. A person is, we have seen,
one who can conceive of ends and can act to realize
these ends. Only a person, therefore, can conceive
of others as ends, and so have true sympathy.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>It is not meant, of course, that animals do not perform
acts which, <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">de facto</i>, are altruistic or even self-sacrificing.
<span class="pb" id="Pg107">[107]</span>
What is meant is that the animal does
not act from the <em>idea</em> of others of his kind as ends in
themselves. If the animal does so act, it cannot be
denied the name of person.</p></div>
<p>True interest in others is pure, or disinterested,
in the sense of having no reference to some further
and external consequence to one's self. Interest in
others need not be moral (or pure) any more than
interest in self is necessarily immoral (or impure).
It is a mistake to distinguish interest in self as
<em>egoistic</em> and interest in others as <em>altruistic</em>. Genuine
interests, whatever their object, are both egoistic
and altruistic. They are egoistic simply because
they <em>are interests</em>—imply satisfaction in a realized
end. If man is truly a social being, constituted by
his relationships to others, then social action must
inevitably realize himself, and be, in that sense,
egoistic. And on the other hand, if the individual's
interest in himself is in himself <em>as</em> a member of
society, then such interest is thoroughly altruistic.
In fact, the very idea of altruism is likely to carry
a false impression when it is so much insisted upon,
as it is nowadays in popular literature, as the
essence of morality. The term as used seems to
imply that the mere giving up of one's self to others,
as others, is somehow moral. Just as there may be
an immoral interest in self, so there may be an immoral
'altruism.' It is immoral in any case to sacrifice
the actual relationships in the case, those
<span class="pb" id="Pg108">[108]</span>
which demand action, to some feeling outside themselves—as
immoral when the feeling to which the
sacrifice is offered up is labelled 'benevolence', as
when it is termed 'greediness'. It is no excuse
when a man gives unwisely to a beggar that he
feels benevolent. <em>Moral</em> benevolence is the feeling
directed toward a certain end which is known to be
the fit or right end, the end which expresses the situation.
The question is as to the <em>aim</em> in giving.
Apart from this aim, the act is simply relieving the
agent's own feelings and has no moral quality.
Rather it is immoral; for feelings do have a moral
<em>capacity</em>, that is, a relation to ends of action, and
hence to satisfy them on their account, to deprive
them of their practical reference, is bad. Aside
from what this illustrates, there is a tendency in the
present emphasis of altruism to erect the principle
of charity, in a sense which implies continued social
inequality, and social slavery, or undue dependence
of one upon another, into a fundamental moral
principle. It is well to "do good" to others, but
it is much better to do this by securing for them
the freedom which makes it possible for them to
get along in the future without such 'altruism' from
others. There is what has been well termed an
"egotism of renunciation"; a desire to do for others
which, at bottom, is simply an attempt to regulate
their conduct. Much of altruism is an egoism of a
<span class="pb" id="Pg109">[109]</span>
larger radius, and its tendency is to "manufacture
a gigantic self", as in the case where a father sacrifices
everything for his children or a wife for her
husband.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>See Caird, Op. cit., Vol. II, p. 402. See also Hinton,
The Law Breaker, p. 287: "The real meaning
of the difficulty about a word for "regard for others"
is that we do not want it. It would mislead us if we
had it. It is not a regard for <em>others</em> that we need, but
simply a <em>true</em> regard, a regard to the facts, to nature;
it is only a truth to facts in our regard, and its nature
is obscured by a reference to "others", as if that were
the essential point.... It is not as being for
others, but as being <em>true</em>, that the regard for others is
demanded."</p></div>
<p>Some ethical writers have gone to the other
extreme and held that all benevolence is a disguised
or an enlightened selfishness, since having a necessary
reference to self. The reference to self must
be admitted; unless the action springs from an
interest of the agent himself the act may be outwardly
useful, but cannot be moral. But the argument
alluded to inverts the true relation involved.
If a man's interests are such that he can find satisfaction
only in the satisfaction of others, what an
absurdity to say that his acting from these interests
is selfish! The very fact of such identity of
self with others in his interest is the proof of his
unselfishness.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>See Leslie Stephen, Science of Ethics, p. 241, for an
admirable discussion of this difficulty. When it is said
<span class="pb" id="Pg110">[110]</span>
that your pain is painful to me, he says, the inference
is often "insinuated that I dislike your pain because
it is painful to me in some special relation. I do not
dislike it <em>as</em> your pain, but in virtue of some particular
consequence, such, for example, as its making you
less able to render me a service. In that case <em>I do not
really object to your pain as your pain at all</em>, but only
to some removable and accidental consequences."
(And see his whole treatment of sympathy, pp. 230-245).
The whole question is shown to come to this: Is my
interest in, my sympathy with, your joy and sorrow as
such, or in your joy and sorrow as contributing to
mine? If the latter, of course the interest is selfish,
not being an interest in others at all. But if the former,
then the fact that such sympathy involves one's
own satisfaction is the best proof that man is not selfishly
constructed. When Stephen goes on to say that
such sympathy does not involve the existence of a real
unity larger than the individual, he seems to me to
misread his own facts, probably because he conceives
of this unity as some abstract or external thing.</p>
<p>Discussion regarding self-love and benevolence,
or, in modern phrase, egoism and altruism, has been
rife in English ethics since the time of Hobbes, and
especially of Shaftesbury and Butler. See, in particular,
the Sermons of the latter, which gave the central
point of discussion for almost a century. With reference
to the special weakness of this point of view,
with its co-ordination of two independent principles,
see Green, Philosophical Works, Vol. III, pp. 99-104.
The essential lack (the lack which we have tried to
make good in the definition of individuality as the
union of capacity and surroundings in function), was
the failure to analyze the idea of the individual.
Individuality being defined as an exclusive principle,
the inevitable result was either (i.) the "disguised
<span class="pb" id="Pg111">[111]</span>
selfishness" theory; or (ii.) the assumption of two
fundamentally different principles in man. The ordinary
distinction between prudence and virtue is an echo
of the latter theory. Then, finally, (iii.) a third principle,
generally called conscience by Butler, was brought
in as umpire in the conflict of prudence and virtue.</p>
<p>Suggestive modern treatment of the matter, from
a variety of points of view, will be found in Spencer,
Data of Ethics, chs. XI-XIII; Stephen, Op. cit., ch.
VI; Sidgwick, Op. cit., Bk. V, ch. VII; Royce, Op.
cit., ch. IV; Sorley, Ethics of Naturalism, pp. 134-150;
Alexander, Op. cit., pp. 172-180; Caird, Op. cit., Vol. II,
pp. 400-405; Paulsen, System der Ethik, pp. 295-311.</p></div>
<p>3. Interest in Science and Art. Man is interested
in the world about him; the knowledge of the
nature and relations of this world become one of
his most absorbing pursuits. Man identifies himself
with the meaning of this world to the point that
he can be satisfied only as he spells out and reads
its meaning. (See, for example, Browning's
"Grammarian's Funeral".) The scientific interest
is no less a controlling motive of man than the personal
interest. This knowledge is not a means for
having agreeable sensations; it is not dilettanteism
or "love of culture"; it is interest in the large and
goodly frame of things. And so it is with art; man
has interests which can be satisfied only in the
reconstruction of nature in the way of the useful
and the beautiful.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>I have made no distinction between 'fine' and
'useful' art. The discussion of this question does not
<span class="pb" id="Pg112">[112]</span>
belong here, but the rigid separation of them in æsthetic
theory seems to me to have no justification.
Both are products of intelligence in the service of
interests, and the only difference is in the range of
intelligence and interests concerned. 'Use' is a <em>limited</em>
service and hence implies an external end; beauty
is complete use or service, and hence not mere use at
all, but self-expression. Historically, all art which has
not been merely sentimental and 'literary' has
sprung from interest in good workmanship in the
realizing of an idea.</p></div>
<p>It seems as if here interests violated their general
law, and, in the case of use at least, were an
interest in some ulterior end. But it may be questioned
whether a carpenter whose aim was consciously
beyond the work he was doing, would be
a good workman—and this whether the further
end is his own private advantage, or social benefit
at large. The thought of the further benefit to
self and of the utility to accrue to some one else,
will, if it becomes a <em>part</em> of what he is doing, undoubtedly
intensify his interest—it must do so, for
it enlarges its content. But to <em>identify</em> one's own
or another's well-being with work, and to make the
work a mere <i>means</i> to this welfare, are two quite
different things. The good artisan "has his heart
in his work". His self-respect makes it necessary
for him to respect this technical or artistic capacity,
and to do the best by it that he can without
scrimping or lowering. To a good business man
<span class="pb" id="Pg113">[113]</span>
business is not the mere means to money-making;
and it is sentimentalism (and hence immoral) to
demand that it be a mere means to the good of society.
The business, if it is a moral one (and <i>any</i>
business, <i>so far</i> as it is thus carried on, is moral),
is carried on for the sake of the activity itself, as a
realizing of capacity in a specific situation.</p>
<h4 id="XXXVI">XXXVI.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Moral Quality of Science.</div>
<p>We seem, however, to meet here,
in relation to science and art, a difficulty
which threatens our whole
theory. Can it be claimed, it may be asked, that
devotion to science or art constitutes goodness in
the same sense that devotion to the interests of
one's family or state constitutes it? No one doubts
that a good father or a good citizen is a good man,
in so far forth. Are we ready to say that a good
chemist or good carpenter, or good musician is, in
so far, a good man? In a word, is there not a
reference to the good of persons present in one case
and absent in another, and does not its absence
preclude the scientific and artistic activities from
any share, <em>as such</em>, in the moral end?</p>
<p>It must be remembered that the moral end does
not refer to some consequence which happens, <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">de
facto</i>, to be reached. It refers to an end <em>willed</em>;
<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">i.e.</i>, to an idea held to and realized as an idea. And
this fact shows us the way to meet the query, in
<span class="pb" id="Pg114">[114]</span>
part at least. If, when we say good carpenter, or
good merchant, we are speaking from the standpoint
of results, independently of the idea conceived
as end in the mind of the agent; if we mean
simply, 'we like what that man does', then the
term good has no moral value. A man may paint
'good' pictures and not be, in so far, a good man,
but in this sense a man may <em>do</em> a great deal of
'good', and yet not be a good man. It was agreed
at the outset that moral goodness pertains to the
kind of idea or end which a man clings to, and not
to what he happens to effect visibly to others.</p>
<p>If a scientific man pursues truth as a mere
means to reputation, to wealth, etc., we do not (or
should not) hesitate to call him immoral.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>This does not mean that if he <em>thinks</em> of the reputation,
or of wealth, he is immoral, for he may foresee
wealth and the reputation as necessarily bound up in
what he is doing; it may become a part of the end. It
means that if knowledge of truth is a <em>mere means</em> to
an end beyond it, the man is immoral.</p></div>
<p>What reason is there why we should not call him
moral if he does his work for its own sake, from
interest in this cause which takes him outside his
"own miserable individuality", in Mill's phrase?
After all, the phrase a 'good father' means but a
character manifesting itself in certain relations, as
is right according to these relations; the phrase has
moral significance not in itself, but with reference
<span class="pb" id="Pg115">[115]</span>
to the end aimed at by character. And so it is
with the phrase 'a good carpenter.' That also
means devotion of character to certain outer relations
for their own sake. These relations may not
be so important, but that is not lack of moral
meaning.</p>
<h4>XXXVII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Adjustment to Environment.</div>
<p>So far we have been discussing
the moral ideal in terms of its
inner side—capacity, interest.
We shall now discuss it on its outer or objective
side—as 'adjustment to environment' in the phrase
made familiar by the evolutionists. Certain cautions,
however, must be noted in the use of the
phrase. We must keep clearly in mind the relativity
of environment to inner capacity; that it exists
only as one element of function. Even a plant
must do something more than adjust itself <em>to</em> a
fixed environment; it must assert itself <em>against</em> its
surroundings, subordinating them and transforming
them into material and nutriment; and, on the
surface of things, it is evident that <em>transformation</em>
of existing circumstances is moral duty rather than
mere reproduction of them. The environment
must be plastic to the ends of the agent.</p>
<p>But admitting that environment is made what it
is by the powers and aims of the agent, what
sense shall we attribute to the term adjustment?
<span class="pb" id="Pg116">[116]</span>
Not bare conformity to circumstances, nor bare external
reproduction of them, even when circumstances
are taken in their proper moral meaning.
The child in the family who simply adjusts himself
<em>to</em> his relationships in the family, may be living a
moral life only in outward seeming. The citizen
of the state may transgress no laws of the state, he
may punctiliously fulfill every contract, and yet be
a selfish man. True adjustment must consist in
<em>willing</em> the maintenance and development of moral
surroundings as <em>one's own end</em>. The child must
take the spirit of the family into himself and live
out this spirit according to his special membership
in the family. So a soldier in the army, a friend
in a mutual association, etc. Adjustment to intellectual
environment is not mere conformity of ideas
to facts. It is the living assimilation of these facts
into one's own intellectual life, and maintaining
and asserting them as <em>truth</em>.</p>
<p>There are environments existing prior to the
activities of any individual agent; the family, for
example, is prior to the moral activity of a child
born into it, but the point is to see that 'adjustment',
to have a moral sense, means <em>making the environment
a reality for one's self</em>. A true description
of the case would say that the child takes for
his own end, ends already existing for the wills of
others. And, in making them his own, he creates and
<span class="pb" id="Pg117">[117]</span>
supports for himself an environment that already
exists for others. In such cases there is no special
transformation of the existing environment; there
is simply the process of making it the environment
for one's self. So in learning, the child simply appropriates
to himself the intellectual environment
already in existence for others. But in the activity
of the man of science there is more than such personal
reproduction and creation; there is increase,
or even reconstruction of the prior environment.
While the ordinary citizen hardly does more than
make his own the environment of ends and interests
already sustained in the wills of others, the
moral reformer may remake the whole. But
whether one case or the other, adjustment is not
outer conformity; it is living realization of certain
relations in and through the will of the agent.</p>
<h4 id="XXXVIII">XXXVIII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Moral End is the Realization of a Community of Wills.</div>
<p>Since the performance
of function is,
on the other side, the
creation, perpetuation, and further development of
an environment, of relations to the wills of others,
its performance <em>is a common good</em>. It satisfies
others who participate in the environment. The
member of the family, of the state, etc., in exercising
his function, contributes to the whole of
which he is a member by realizing its spirit in
<span class="pb" id="Pg118">[118]</span>
himself. But the question discussed in section
<a href="#XXXVI">XXXVI</a> recurs under another aspect. Granting
that the satisfying of personal interests realizes a
common good, what shall we say of the impersonal
interests—interests in science and art. Is the
good carpenter or chemist not only in so far a good
man, but also a good social member? In other
words, does every form of moral activity realize a
common good, or is the moral end partly social,
partly non-social?</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>One objection sometimes brought to the doctrine
that the moral end is entirely social, may be now
briefly dismissed. This is the objection that a man
has moral duties toward <em>himself</em>. Certainly, but what
of <em>himself</em>? If he is essentially a social member, his
duties toward himself have a social basis and bearing.
The only relevant question is whether one is wholly a
social member—whether scientific and artistic activities
may not be non-social.</p></div>
<p>The ground here taken is that the moral end is
wholly social. This does not mean that science
and art are means to some social welfare beyond
themselves. We have already stated that even the
production of utilities must, as moral, be its own
end. The position then is that intellectual and
artistic interests <em>are themselves</em> social, when considered
in the completeness of their relations—that interest
in the development of intelligence is, in and
of itself, interest in the well-being of society.</p>
<p>Unless this be true there is no moral end at all,
<span class="pb" id="Pg119">[119]</span>
but only moral ends. There is no comprehensive
unity in life, but a number of ends which, being
irreducible to a common principle, must be combined
on the best principle of compromise available.
We have no 'The Good', but an aggregate of
fragmentary ends.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>It helps nothing to say that this necessary unity is
found in the <em>self</em> to be realized, unless we are pointed
to something in the self that unites the social and non-social
functions. Our objection is that the separation
of intellectual interests from social makes a chasm in
the self.</p></div>
<p>For the same reason it follows that in the case
of a collision of social with intellectual ends—say
the conflict of a man's interests as a member of a
family with his interests in new scientific discovery—no
reconciliation is possible. If the interests are
forms of social interest, there is a common end in
both, on the basis of which the conflict can be resolved.
While such considerations do not prove
that there is but one end, and that social, they may
well make us hesitate about carelessly taking a
position of which they are the logical consequence.</p>
<p>Of course, every one recognizes that a certain
amount of scientific and artistic interest is social
in character. A certain amount of interest in truth,
or in intelligence, a certain amount of susceptibility
to beauty, a certain amount of devotion to utility,
are universally recognized to be necessary to make
<span class="pb" id="Pg120">[120]</span>
judicious, agreeable and efficient social members.
The whole system of modern education has meaning
only on this supposition.</p>
<p>More than this: A certain amount of intelligence,
and a certain amount of susceptibility to
embodied ideals, <em>must</em> exist to give moral conduct.
A moral end is, as we have seen, always a <em>conception</em>,
an idea. The very act of bringing conduct
out of the impulsive into the moral sphere, depends
upon the development of intelligence so as to transform
a feeling into the perception of a situation.
And, as we watch moral development from childhood
to maturity, is it not evident that progress
consists in power to conceive of larger and better
defined ends? to analyze the situation which demands
active response, the function which needs
exercise, into specific relations, instead of taking it
partially or even upon some one else's say so?
Conduct, so far as not based upon an intelligent
recognition and realization of the relationships involved,
is either sentimental, or <em>merely</em> habitual—in
the former case immoral, and in the latter failing
of the complete morality possible.</p>
<p>If the necessary part played in conduct by artistic
cultivation is not so plain, it is largely because
'Art' has been made such an unreal Fetich—a
sort of superfine and extraneous polish to be acquired
only by specially cultivated people. In reality, living
<span class="pb" id="Pg121">[121]</span>
is itself the supreme art; it requires fineness of
touch; skill and thoroughness of workmanship;
susceptible response and delicate adjustment to a
situation apart from reflective analysis; instinctive
perception of the proper harmonies of act and act,
of man and man. Active art is the embodiment of
ideals; the clothing of ideas otherwise abstract
in their peculiar and fit garb of concrete outward
detail; passive art is the quick and accurate
response to such embodiments as are already
made. What were human conduct without the one
and the other?</p>
<p>Granting the necessity of knowledge and of
its artistic application in conduct, the question
arises as to where the line is to be drawn.
Evidently, if anywhere, at specialisms, remote philosophic
or mathematical endeavors; life-times
spent in inventive attempts without appreciable
outcome. But to draw the line is not easy. The
remote of one generation is the social tool of the
next; the abstract mathematics and physics of the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries are the great
social forces of the nineteenth—the locomotive, the
telegraph, the telephone, etc. And how, in any
case, can we tell a scientific investigator that up to
a certain experiment or calculation his work may
be social, beyond that, not? All that we can say is
that beyond a certain point its social character is not
<span class="pb" id="Pg122">[122]</span>
obvious to sense and that the work must be carried
on by faith.</p>
<p>Thus it is that we dispose of objections like
Bradley's (Ethical Studies, p. 202): "Nothing is
easier than to suppose a life of art or speculation
which, as far as we can see, though true to itself,
has, so far as others are concerned, been sheer
waste or even loss, and which knew that it was so."
That we can not <em>see</em> any social <em>result</em> in such cases
has nothing to do with the question whether or not
the interests themselves are social. We may imagine
a life of philanthropic activity, say of devotion
to emancipation of slaves in a country wholly given
over to slavery, or of a teacher in an unenlightened
country, which, as far as we can see, (though, in
this case, as in the one referred to by Mr. Bradley,
everything depends upon how far we <em>can</em> see) has
been sheer waste, so far as influence on others is
concerned. The point is whether in such cases the
life lived is not one of devotion to the interests of
humanity as such.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>We have been trying to show that everyone admits
that science and art, up to a certain point, are social,
and that to draw a line where they cease to be so, is in
reality to draw a line where we cease to <em>see</em> their social
character. That we should cease to <em>see</em> it, is necessary
in the case of almost every advance. Just because the
new scientific movement is new, we can realize its
social effects only afterwards. But it may be questioned
whether the motive which actuates the man of
<span class="pb" id="Pg123">[123]</span>
science is not, when fully realized, a <em>faith</em> in the social
bearing of what he is doing. If we were to go into a
metaphysical analysis, the question would have to
be raised whether a barely intellectual fact or theory
be not a pure abstraction—an unreality if kept apart
entirely from the activities of men in relation to one
another.</p></div>
<h4>XXXIX.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Science and Art as Necessary Factors of Social Welfare.</div>
<p>Let us consider the problem on its
other side. What kind of an interest is
our interest in persons, our distinctively
social interest? Suppose we
attempt to separate our interests in
truth, beauty, and use from our interest
in persons: <em>What remains in the
persons to be interested in?</em> Is not a
necessary part of out interest in persons,
an interest in them as beings fulfilling their
respective intellectual and artistic capacities; and
if we cut this out of our social interest, have we not
maimed and stunted our interest in persons? We
wish the fullest life possible to ourselves and to
others. And the fullest life means largely a complete
and free development of capacities in knowledge
and production—production of beauty and use.
Our interest in others is not satisfied as long as
their intelligence is cramped, their appreciation of
truth feeble, their emotions hard and uncomprehensive,
their powers of production compressed.
To will their true good is to will the freeing of all
<span class="pb" id="Pg124">[124]</span>
such gifts to the highest degree. Shall we say
that their true good requires that they shall go to
the point of understanding algebra, but not quaternions,
of understanding ordinary mechanics, but
not to working out an electro-magnetic theory of
light? to ability to appreciate ordinary chords <ins id="C124" title="and
and">and</ins> tunes, but not to the attempt to make further
developments in music?</p>
<p>And this throws light upon the case referred to
by Mr. Bradley. <em>Social</em> welfare demands that the
individual be permitted to devote himself to the
fulfilling of <em>any</em> scientific or artistic capacity that
he finds within himself—provided, of course, it does
not conflict with some more important capacity—irrespective
of results. To say to a man: You may
devote yourself to this gift, provided you demonstrate
beforehand its social bearing, would be to
talk nonsense. The new discovery is not yet made.
It is absolutely required by the interests of a progressive
society that it allow freedom to the individual
to develop such functions as he finds in
himself, irrespective of any <em>proved</em> social effect.
Here, as elsewhere, morality works by faith, not by
sight.</p>
<p>Indeed the ordinary conception of social interests,
of benevolence, needs a large over-hauling.
It is practically equivalent to doing something
directly for others—to one form or another of
<span class="pb" id="Pg125">[125]</span>
charity. But this is only negative morality. A
true social interest is that which wills for others
freedom from dependence on our <em>direct</em> help, which
wills to them the self-directed power of exercising,
in and by themselves, their own functions. Any
will short of this is not social but selfish, willing
the dependence of others that we may continue
benignly altruistic. The idea of "giving pleasure"
to others, "making others happy", if it means anything
else than securing conditions so that they
may act freely in their own satisfaction, means
slavery.</p>
<p>As society advances, social interest must consist
more and more in free devotion to intelligence for
its own sake, to science, art and industry, and in
rejoicing in the exercise of such freedom by others.
Meantime, it is truth which makes free.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>See Spencer, Data of Ethics, pp. 249-257, where this
doctrine is stated with great force.</p></div>
<p>Where, finally, does the social character of science
and art come in? Just here: they are elements
in the perfection of individuality, and they are elements
whose very nature is to be moving, not rigid;
distributed from one to another and not monopolistic
possessions. If there are forms of science
and art which, at present, are static, being merely
owned collections of facts, as one may have a collection
of butterflies in a frame, or of etchings in a
<span class="pb" id="Pg126">[126]</span>
closed portfolio, this is not because they are science
and art, but imperfect science and art. To
complete their scientific and artistic character is to
set these facts in motion; to hurl them against the
world of physical forces till new instruments of
man's activity are formed, and to set them in circulation
so that others may also participate in their
truth and rejoice in their beauty. So far as scientific
or artistic attainments are treasured as individual
possessions, so far it <em>is</em> true that they are
not social—but so far it is <em>also</em> true that they are
immoral: indeed that they are not fully scientific
or artistic, being subordinated to having certain
sensations.</p>
<p>The intellectual movement of the last four or
five centuries has resulted in an infinite specialization
in methods, and in an immense accumulation
of fact. It is quite true, since the diversity of fact
and of method has not yet been brought to an
organic unity, that their social bearing is not yet
realized. But when the unity is attained (as attained
it must be if there is unity in the object of
knowledge), it will pass into a corresponding unity
of practice. And then the question as to the social
character of even the most specialized knowledge
will seem absurd. It will be to ask whether men
can coöperate better when they do not know than
when they do know what they want. Meantime
<span class="pb" id="Pg127">[127]</span>
the intellectual confusion, and the resulting divorce
of knowledge from practice, exists. But this
constitutes a part of the environment of which
action must take heed. It makes it one of the
pressing duties that every man of intelligence
should do his part in bringing out the public and
common aspects of knowledge. <em>The</em> duty of the
present is the socializing of intelligence—the realizing
of its bearing upon social practice.</p>
<h4 id="XL">XL.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Ethical Postulate.</div>
<p>We have attempted to show that
the various interests are social in
their very nature. We have not attempted to show
that this can be seen or proved in any given case.
On the contrary, in most, if not all cases, the agent
acts from a faith that, in realizing his own capacity,
he will satisfy the needs of society. If he were
asked to <em>prove</em> that his devotion to his function
were right because certain to promote social good,
he might well reply: "That is none of my affair.
I have only to work myself out as strength and
opportunity are given me, and let the results take
care of themselves. I did not make the world, and
if it turns out that devotion to the capacity which
was given me, and loyalty to the surroundings in
which I find myself do not result in good, I do not
hold myself responsible. But, after all, I cannot
believe that it will so turn out. What is really
<span class="pb" id="Pg128">[128]</span>
good for me <em>must</em> turn out good for all, or else
there is no good in the world at all." The basis,
in a word, of moral conduct, with respect to the
exercise of function, is a faith that moral self-satisfaction
(that is, satisfaction in accordance with the
performance of function as already defined) means
social satisfaction—or the faith that self and others
make a true community. Now such faith or conviction
is at the basis of all moral conduct—not
simply of the scientific or artistic. Interest in self
must mean belief in one's business, conviction of
its legitimacy and worth, even prior to any sensible
demonstration. Under any circumstances, such demonstration
can extend only to past action; the social
efficiency of any new end must be a matter of
faith. Where such faith is wanting, action becomes
halting and character weak. Forcible action fails,
and its place is taken by a feeble idealism, of
vague longing for that which is not, or by a pessimistic
and fruitless discontent with things as they
are—leading, in either case, to neglect of actual
and pressing duty. The basis of moral strength is
<em>limitation</em>, the resolve to be one's self only, and to
be loyal to the actual powers and surroundings of
that self. The saying of Carlyle's about doing
the "duty that lies nearest", and of Goethe's that
"America is here or nowhere", both imply that
faith in the existing moral capacity and environment
<span class="pb" id="Pg129">[129]</span>
is the basis of conduct. All fruitful and
sound human endeavor roots in the conviction that
there is something absolutely worth while, something
'divine' in the demands imposed by one's
actual situation and powers. In the great moral
heroes of the world the conviction of the worth of
their destiny, and of what they were meant to do,
has amounted to a kind of fatalism. They have
done not simply what they <em>could</em> do, but what they
<em>must</em> do.</p>
<p>On the other hand, effective social interest is
based upon what is vaguely called 'faith in humanity',
or, more specifically, belief in the value of
each man's individuality, belief in some particular
function which he might exercise, given appropriate
conditions and stimuli. Moral interest in others
must be an interest in their possibilities, rather
than in their accomplishments; or, better, in
their accomplishments so far as these testify
to a fulfilling of function—to a working out of capacity.
Sympathy and work for men which do not
grow out of faith in them are a perfunctory and
unfertile sort of thing.</p>
<p>This faith is generally analyzed no further; it
is left as faith in one's 'calling' or in 'humanity'.
But what is meant is just this: in the performing
of such special service as each is capable of, there
is to be found not only the satisfaction of self, but
<span class="pb" id="Pg130">[130]</span>
also the satisfaction of the entire moral order, the
furthering of the community in which one lives.
All moral conduct is based upon such a faith; and
<em>moral theory must recognize this as the postulate
upon which it rests</em>. In calling it a postulate, we
do not mean that it is a postulate which our theory
makes or must make in order to be a theory; but
that, through analysis, theory <em>finds that moral
practice makes this postulate</em>, and that with its
reality the reality end value of conduct are bound
up.</p>
<p>In calling it a postulate we do not mean to call
it unprovable, much less unverifiable, for moral
experience is itself, so far as it goes, its verification.
But we mean that the further consideration of this
postulate, its demonstration or (if the case so be)
its refutation, do not belong to the realm of ethics
as such. Each branch of human experience rests
upon some presupposition which, <em>for that branch</em>,
is ultimate. The further inquiry into such presuppositions
belong not to mathematics, or physics,
or ethics, but to metaphysics.</p>
<p>Unless, then, we are to extend our ethical theory
to inquire into the possibility and value of moral
experience, unless, that is, we are to make an excursion
into the metaphysics of ethics, we have here
reached our foundation. The ethical postulate, the
presupposition involved in conduct, is this:</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg131">[131]</span>
<p><span class="smcap">In the realization of individuality there is
found also the needed realization of some community
of persons of which the individual is a
member; and, conversely, the agent who duly
satisfies the community in which he shares, by
that same conduct satisfies himself.</span></p>
<p>Otherwise put, the postulate is that there is a
community of persons; a good which realized by
the will of one is made not private but public.
It is this unity of individuals as respects the end
of action, this existence of a practical common
good, that makes what we call the moral order of
the world.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Shakespeare has stated the postulate—</p>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div class="verse indent6">To thine ownself be true;</div>
<div class="verse">And it must follow, as the night the day,</div>
<div class="verse">Thou can'st not then be false to any man.</div>
</div></div></div></div>
<p>Its significance may be further developed by
comparing it with the scientific postulate.</p>
<p>All science rests upon the conviction of the thorough-going
and permanent unity of the world of
objects known—a unity which is sometimes termed
the 'uniformity of nature' or the 'reign of law';
without this conviction that objects are not mere
isolated and transitory appearances, but are connected
together in a system by laws or relations,
science would be an impossibility. Moral experience
<em>makes for the world of practice</em> an assumption analogous
in kind to that which intellectual experience
<span class="pb" id="Pg132">[132]</span>
makes for the world of knowledge. And just as it
is not the affair of science, as such, or even of logic
(the theory of science) to justify this presupposition
of science, or to do more than show its presence
in intellectual experience, so it is not the business
of conduct, or even of ethics (the theory of conduct)
to justify what we have termed the 'ethical
postulate'. In each case the further inquiry belongs
to metaphysics.</p>
<h4>XLI.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Does the End Proposed Serve as a Criterion of Conduct?</div>
<p>We have now concluded that
an end which may be termed indifferently
'The Realization of
Individuality', 'The Performance
of Specific Functions', 'The Satisfaction
of Interests', 'The Realization of a Community
of Individuals' is the moral end. Will
this end serve the two aims (see Sec. <a href="#XVI">XVI</a>) required
of a criterion, or standard: (1) Will it unify individual
conduct? (2) Will it afford a common
good? We have just been endeavoring to show
that it does both of these things; that as the realization
of one's specific capacity, it unifies individual
conduct, and that, as the performance of function, it
serves to satisfy the entire community. To take
up just these points, accordingly, would involve a
repetition of what has been said, and we shall
therefore take up instead some aspects of the individual
<span class="pb" id="Pg133">[133]</span>
and social unity of conduct, not already considered.</p>
<p>1. The System of Individual Conduct. We
must be careful not to interpret the idea of
specific function too rigidly or abstractly. It does
not mean that each one has some supreme mission
in life to which everything else must be sacrificed—that
a man is to be an artist, or a soldier, or a
student, or a day-laborer and nothing else. On the
contrary, the idea of function is that which comprehends
all the various sides of life, and it cannot
be narrowed below the meaning we have already
given: the due adjustment of capacity and surroundings.
Wherever there is any capacity or any
circumstance, no matter how trivial, there is something
included in the exercise of function, and,
therefore to be satisfied—according to its place, of
course, in the whole of life. Amusements and all
the minor details of life are included within the
scope of morality. They are elements in the exercise
of function, and their insignificance and triviality
does not exclude them from the grasp of
duty and of the good. It is a mistake to suppose
that because it is optional or indifferent—as it constantly
is—what acts among the minor details of
life are to be done or left undone, or unimportant
whether they are done or left undone at all, therefore
such acts have no moral value. Morality consists
<span class="pb" id="Pg134">[134]</span>
in treating them just as they are—if they are
slight or trivial they are to be performed as slight
and trivial. Morality does not simply permit the
performance of such acts, but demands it. To try
to make, in the interests of duty, a serious matter
out of every detail of life would be immoral—as
much so, in kind, as to make light of momentous
matters.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>See Alexander, Op. cit. pp. 53-54.</p>
<p>Bradley, Op. cit., pp, 194-197.</p></div>
<p>Consider, also, how this conception of the end
stands in definite relation to concrete acts; how it
explains the possibility of decision as to whether
this or that proposed act is right. We do not have
to trace the connection of the act with some end
beyond, as pleasure, or abstract law. We have
only to analyze the <em>act itself</em>. We have certain
definite and wholly concrete facts; the given capacity
of the person at the given moment, and his
given surroundings. The judgment as to the
nature of these facts is, in and of itself, a judgment
as to the act to be done. The question is not:
What is the probability that this act will result in
the balance of maximum pleasure; it is not what
general rule can we hunt up under which to bring
this case. It is simply: <em>What is this case?</em> The
moral act is not that which satisfies some far-away
principle, hedonistic or transcendental. It is that
<span class="pb" id="Pg135">[135]</span>
which meets the present, actual situation. Difficulties
indeed, arise, but they are simply the difficulty
of resolving a complex case; they are intellectual,
not moral. The case made out, the moral end
stands forth. No extraneous manipulation, to bring
the case under some foreign end, is required.</p>
<p>And this suggests the elasticity of the criterion.
In fact moral conduct is entirely individualized.
It is where, when, how and of whom. There has
been much useless discussion as to the absolute or
relative character of morals—useless because the
terms absolute and relative are not defined. If absolute
is taken to mean immobile and rigid, it is anything
but desirable that morals should be absolute.
If the physical world is a scene of movement, in
which there is no rest, it is a poor compliment to
pay the moral world to conceive of it as static and
lifeless. A rigid criterion in a world of developing
social relations would speedily prove no criterion
at all. It would be an abstract rule, taking no
account of the individualized character of each act;
its individuality of capacity and of surroundings,
of time, place and relationships involved. A truly
absolute criterion is one which adjusts itself to each
case according to the specific nature of the case;
one which moves with the moving world. On the
other hand, if relative means uncertain in application,
changing in time and place without reason for change
<span class="pb" id="Pg136">[136]</span>
in the facts themselves, then certainly the criterion is
not relative. If it means taking note of all concrete
relations involved, it <em>is</em> relative. The absoluteness,
in fine, of the standard of action consists
not in some rigid statement, but in never-failing
application. Universality here, as elsewhere, resides
not in a thing, but in a way, a method of
action. The absolute standard is the one applicable
to all deeds, and the conception of the exercise
of function is thus absolute, covering all conduct
from the mainly impulsive action of the savage to
the most complex reaches of modern life.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Aristotle's well known theory of the 'mean'
seems to have its bearing here. "It is possible," he
says (Peters' trans. of Ethics, p. 46), "to feel fear,
confidence, desire, anger, pity, and generally to be
affected pleasantly and painfully, either too much or
too little—in either case wrongfully; but to be
affected thus at the right <em>times</em>, and on the right <em>occasions</em>,
and toward the right <em>persons</em>, and with the
right <em>object</em> and in the right <em>fashions</em>, is the mean
course and the best course, and these are characteristics
of virtue." The right time, occasion, person, purpose
and fashion—what is it but the complete individualization
of conduct in order to meet the whole
demands of the whole situation, instead of some abstraction?
And what else do we mean by fit, due,
proper, right action, but that which just hits the
mark, without falling short or deflecting, and, to mix
the metaphor, without slopping over?</p></div>
<p>2. The system of social conduct, or common
good. Moral conduct springs from the faith that
<span class="pb" id="Pg137">[137]</span>
all right action is social and its purpose is to justify
this faith by working out the social values involved.
The term 'moral community' can mean
only a unity of action, made what it is by the co-operating
activities of diverse individuals. There is
unity in the work of a factory, not in spite of, but
<em>because of</em> the division of labor. Each workman
forms the unity not by doing the same that everybody
else does, or by trying to do the whole, but by
doing his specific part. The unity is the one activity
which their varied activities make. And so
it is with the moral activity of society and the
activities of individuals. The more individualized
the functions, the more perfect the unity. (See
section <a href="#LII">LII</a>.)</p>
<p>The exercise of function by an agent serves,
then, both to define and to unite him. It makes him
a <em>distinct</em> social member at the same time that it
makes him a <em>member</em>. Possession of peculiar capacities,
and special surroundings mark one person
off from another and make him an individual;
and the due adjustment of capacities to surroundings
(in the exercise of function) effects, therefore,
the realization of individuality—the realization of
what we specifically are as distinct from others.
At the same time, this distinction is not isolation;
the exercise of function is the performing of a
special <em>service</em> without which the social whole is defective.
<span class="pb" id="Pg138">[138]</span>
Individuality means not separation, but
defined position in a whole; special aptitude in
constituting the whole.</p>
<p>We are now in a position to take up the consideration
of the two other fundamental ethical conceptions—obligation
and freedom. These ideas
answer respectively to the two sides of the exercise
of function. On the one hand, the performing of
a function realizes the social whole. Man is thus
'bound' by the relations necessary to constitute
this whole. He is subject to the conditions which
the existence and growth of the social unity impose.
He is, in a word, under <em>obligation</em>; the performance
of his function is duty owed to the community
of which he is a member.</p>
<p>But on the other hand, activity in the way of
function realizes the individual; it is what makes
him an individual, or distinct person. In the performance
of his own function the agent satisfies his
own interests and gains power. In it is found his
<em>freedom</em>.</p>
<p>Obligation thus corresponds to the <em>social</em> satisfaction,
freedom to the <em>self</em>-satisfaction, involved in
the exercise of function; and they can no more
be separated from each other than the correlative
satisfaction can be. One has to realize himself as
a member of a community. In this fact are found
both freedom and duty.</p>
</div>
<hr />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pb" id="Pg139">[139]</span>
<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter II.</span>—THE IDEA OF OBLIGATION.</h3>
<h4>XLII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Theories Regarding Moral Authority.</div>
<p>The idea of obligation
or duty has two sides.
There is the idea of law, of something which controls
conduct, and there is the <em>consciousness</em> of the
necessity of conforming to this law. There is, of
course, no separation between the two sides, but
the consideration of the latter side—the recognition
of obligation—may be best dealt with in discussing
conscience. Here we shall deal simply with
the fact that there is such a thing in conduct as
law controlling action, and constituting obligation.
Theories regarding obligation may, for our purposes,
be subdivided into those which make its
exercise restraint or coercion (and which therefore
hold that in perfect moral conduct, duty as such
disappears); and those which hold that obligation
is a normal element in conduct as such, and
that it is not, essentially, but only under certain
circumstances, coercive. Of the former type, some
theories (mainly the hedonistic) regard the restraint
as originally imposed from without upon
the desires of the individual, while others (as the
Kantian) regard it as imposed by man's reason
upon his desires and inclinations.</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg140">[140]</span>
<h4>XLIII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Bain's Theory of Obligation.</div>
<p>It is obvious that the question
of obligation presents considerable
difficulty to the hedonistic school.
If the end of conduct is pleasure, as the satisfaction
of desire, why should not each desire be satisfied,
if possible, as it arises, and thus pleasure
secured? What meaning is there in the term
'duty' or 'obligation' if the moral end or good
coincides wholly with the natural end of the inclinations
themselves? It is evident, at all events, that
the term can have significance only if there is
some cause preventing the desires as they arise
from natural satisfaction. The problem of obligation
in hedonism thus becomes the problem of
discovering that outside force which restrains, or, at
least, constrains, the desire from immediate gratification.
According to Bain, this outside force is
social disapprobation manifested through the form
of punishment.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>"I consider that the proper meaning, or import of
the terms [duty, obligation] refers to that class of
action which is enforced by the sanction of punishment....
The powers that impose the obligatory
sanction are Law and Society, or the community acting
through the Government by public judicial acts, and
apart from the Government by the unofficial expressions
of disapprobation and the exclusion from social
good offices". Emotions and Will, p. 286. See also pp.
321-323 and p. 527.</p></div>
<span class="pb" id="Pg141">[141]</span>
<p>Through this 'actual and ideal avoidance of certain
acts and dread of punishment' the individual
learns to forego the gratification of some of his natural
impulses, and learns also to cultivate and even
to originate desires not at first spontaneous. "The
child is open from the first to the blame and praise
of others, and thus is led to do or avoid certain acts".</p>
<p>On the model, however, of the action of this
external authority there grows up, in time an
internal authority—"an ideal resemblance of public
authority" (p. 287), or "a <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">fac simile</i> of the system
of government around us" (p. 313).</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>"The sentiment, at first formed and cultivated by
the relations of actual command and obedience, may
come at last to stand upon an independent foundation....
When the young mind, accustomed at the
outset to implicitly obeying any set of rules is sufficiently
advanced to appreciate the motive—the utilities
or the sentiment that led to their imposition—the
character of the conscience is entirely changed....
Regard is now had to the intent and meaning of the
law, and not to the mere fact of its being prescribed
by some power" (E. and W., p. 318).</p>
<p>But when the sense of obligation becomes entirely
detached from the social sanction, "even then the
notion, sentiment or form of duty is derived from
what society imposes, although the particular matter
is quite different. Social obligation develops in the
mind originally the feeling and habit of obligation,
and this remains although the particular articles are
changed" (page 319, note). <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Cf.</i> also Bain, Moral Science,
pp. 20-21 and 41-43.</p></div>
<span class="pb" id="Pg142">[142]</span>
<h4>XLIV.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Spencer's Theory of Obligation.</div>
<p>Spencer's theory is, in substance,
an enlarged and better analyzed
restatement of Bain's theory. Bain
nowhere clearly states in what the essence of obligation
consists, when it becomes independent, when
the internal <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">fac simile</i> is formed. <em>Why</em> should I
not gratify my desires as I please in case social
pressure is absent or lets up? Spencer supplies
the missing element. According to him, "the essential
trait in the moral consciousness is the control
of some feeling or feelings by some other feeling
or feelings" (Data of Ethics, p. 113). The kind
of feeling which controls is that which is more complex
and which relates to more remote ends; or,
we are 'obliged' to give up more immediate, special
and direct pleasures for the sake of securing more
general, remote and indirect ones. Obligation, in
its essence, is the surrender or subordination of
present to future satisfaction. This control, restraint,
or suppression may be 'independent' or,
self-imposed, but is not so at first, either in the
man or in the child. Prior to self-restraint are the
restraints imposed by the "visible ruler, the invisible
ruler and society at large"—the policeman, the
priest and public opinion. The man is induced to
postpone immediate gratification through his fear of
others, especially of the chief, of the dead and of
<span class="pb" id="Pg143">[143]</span>
social displeasure—"legal penalty, supernatural
punishment and social reprobation". Thus there
grows up the sense of obligation. This refers at first
only to the above-mentioned extrinsic effects of
action. But finally the mind learns to consider the
intrinsic effect of the action itself—the evil inflicted
by the evil deed, and then the sense of duty, or
coercion, evolved through the aforesaid external
agencies, becomes transferred to this new mode of
controlling action. Desires are now controlled
through considerations of what their <em>own</em> effects
would be, were the desires acted upon.</p>
<p>It follows "that the sense of duty or moral obligation
is transitory, and will diminish as fast as
moralization increases" (page 127). Even when
compulsion is self-imposed, there is still compulsion,
coercion, and this must be done away with.
It <em>is</em> done away with as far as an act which is at
first done only for the sake of its own remoter
consequences comes to be done for its own sake.
And this will ultimately occur, if the act is continued,
since "persistence in performing a duty
ends in making it a pleasure".</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>See Guyau, La Morale Anglaise Contemporaine,
besides the works of Bain and Spencer. In addition
to objections which will forthwith be made, we may
here note a false abstraction of Spencer's. He makes
the act and its consequences <em>two</em> things, while the act
and its consequences (provided they are known as
<span class="pb" id="Pg144">[144]</span>
such) are the same thing, no matter whether consequences
are near or remote. The only distinction is
that consequences once not known as such at all are
seen in time to be really consequences, and thus to be
part of the content of the act. The transfer from the
"external consequences" imposed by the ruler, priest
and public-opinion to the intrinsic consequences of the
act itself, is thus a transfer from an immoral to a
moral basis. This is very different from a change
of the form of obligation itself.</p></div>
<h4>XLV.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Criticism of these Theories.</div>
<p>Putting aside the consideration of
the relation of desire to duty, (the
question whether duty is essentially
coercive) until after we have taken up the Kantian
idea of obligation, we may note the following
objections to the theories just stated. Their great
defect is that they do not give us any method
of differentiating moral coercion (or obligation)
from the action of mere superior physical force.
Taking it (first) upon the side of the individual: Is
there any reason <em>why</em> the individual submits to the
external authority of government except that he <em>has</em>
to do so? He may argue that, since others possess
superior force, he will avoid certain pains by conforming
to their demands, but such yielding,
whether temporary or permanent, to superior force
is very far from being a recognition that one <em>ought</em>
to act as the superior force dictates. The theories
must logically commit us to the doctrine that 'might
<span class="pb" id="Pg145">[145]</span>
makes right' in its baldest form. Every one knows
that, when the individual surrenders the natural
gratifications of his desires to the command of
others, if his sole reason is the superior force of the
commanding party, he does not forego in the surrender
his right to such gratification the moment
he has the chance to get it. Actual slavery would
be the model school of duties, if these theories were
true.</p>
<p>The facts adduced by Bain and Spencer—the
growth of the recognition of duties in the child
through the authority of the parents, and in the
savage through the use of authority by the chief—are
real enough, but what they prove is that obligation
may be brought home to one by force, not that
force creates obligation. The child and the man
yield to force in such a way that their sense of duty
is developed only in case they recognize, implicitly,
the force or the authority as already <em>right</em>. Let it
be recognized that <em>rightful</em> force (as distinct from
mere brute strength) resides in certain social
authorities, and these social authorities may do
much, beyond the shadow of doubt, to give effect to
the special deeds and relations which are to be considered
obligatory. These theories, in fine, take
the fact of obligation for granted, and, at most, only
show the historical process by which its fuller
recognition is brought about. Force in the service
<span class="pb" id="Pg146">[146]</span>
of right is one thing; force as constituting and
creating right is another.</p>
<p>And this is to say (secondly), considering the
matter from the side of society, that the theories of
Bain and Spencer do not explain why or how social
authority should exercise coercive force over the
individual. If it is implied that they do so in the
moral interests of the individual or of the community,
this takes it for granted that there already is
in existence a moral ideal obligatory upon the
individual. If it is implied that they exercise
coercive force in the interests of their own private
pleasure, this might establish a despotism, or lead
to a political revolt, but it is difficult to see how it
could create the fact of duty. When we consider
any concrete case, we see that society, in its compelling
of the individual, is possessed of moral
ideals; and that it conceives itself not merely as
having the <em>power</em> to make the individual conform to
them, nor as having the <em>right</em> merely; but as under
the bounden <em>duty</em> of bringing home to the individual
<em>his</em> duties. The social authorities do not, perforce,
create morality, but they embody and make effective
the existing morality. It is only just because the
actions which they impose are thought of as <em>good</em>,
good for others as for themselves, that this imposition
is taken out of the realm of tyranny into that of
duty (see Sec. <a href="#XXXVIII">XXXVIII</a>).</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg147">[147]</span>
<h4>XLVI.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Kantian Theory of Obligation.</div>
<p>As we have seen, Kant takes the
conception of duty as the primary
ethical notion, superior to that of
the good, and places it in the most abrupt opposition
to desire. The relation of duty to desire is
not control of some feelings by others, but rather
suppression of all desire (not in itself, but as a
<em>motive</em> of action) in favor of the consciousness of
law universal. We have, on one side, according to
Kant, the desire and inclination, which are sensuous
and pathological. These constitute man's 'lower
nature'. On the other side there is Reason, which
is essentially universal, above all caprice and all
prostitution to private pleasure. This Reason, or
'higher nature', imposes a law upon the sentient
being of man, a law which takes the form of a
command (the 'Categorical Imperative'). This
relation of a higher rational nature issuing commands
to a lower sensuous nature (both within man
himself), is the very essence of duty. If man
were wholly a sentient being, he would have only
to follow his natural impulses, like the animals.
If he were only a rational being, he would necessarily
obey his reason, and there would still be no
talk of obligation. But because of the dualism,
because of the absolute opposition between Reason
and Desire, man is a being subject to obligation.
<span class="pb" id="Pg148">[148]</span>
Reason says to the desires "Thou shalt" or "Thou
shalt not". Yet this obligation is not externally
imposed; the man as rational imposes it upon himself
as sensuous. Thus Kant says that, in the
realm of morality, man is both sovereign and subject.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>The reflex influence of Rousseau's social theories
upon Kant's moral doctrines in this respect is worthy
of more attention than it usually receives. Kant's
moral theory is hardly more than a translation of
Rousseau's politics into ethical terms, through its
union with Kant's previously established dualism of
reason and sense.</p></div>
<h4>XLVII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Criticism of the Kantian Theory.</div>
<p>1. No one can deny that a
genuine opposition exists between
the 'natural' desires and
moral activity. The being that satisfies each desire
or appetite as it arises, without reference of it to,
or control of it by, some principle, has not had the
horizon of conduct lift before him. But Kant
makes the satisfaction of desire <em>as such</em> (not of
this or that desire) antagonistic to action from
duty. Kant was forced into this position by his
fundamental division of sense from reason, but it
carries with it its own condemnation and thus that
of the premises from which it is derived. It comes
to saying that the actual desires and appetites
are not what they ought to be. This, in itself,
<span class="pb" id="Pg149">[149]</span>
is true enough. But when Kant goes on to
say, as he virtually does, that what ought to be <em>cannot</em>
be, that the desires as such cannot be brought
into harmony with principle, he has made the
moral life not only a riddle, but a riddle with no
answer. If mankind were once convinced that the
moral ideal were something which ought to be but
which could not be, we may easily imagine how
much longer moral endeavor would continue. The
first or immediate stimulus to moral effort is the
conviction that the desires and appetites are not
what they should be; the underlying and continuing
stimulus is the conviction that the expression of
desires in harmony with law is the sole abiding good
of man. To reconcile the two is the very meaning of
the moral struggle (see Sec. <a href="#LXIV">LXIV</a>). Strictly, according
to Kant, morality would either leave the
appetites untouched or would abolish them—in
either case destroying morality.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>See Caird, Op. cit., Vol. II, pp. 226-28.</p></div>
<p>2. Kant again seems to be on the right track
in declaring that obligation is not anything externally
imposed, but is the law of man's being, self-imposed.
This principle of 'autonomy' is the
only escape from a theory of obligation which
would make obligation external, and regard for it
slavish fear, or servile hope of reward. To regard
even a Divine Being as the author of obligation is
<span class="pb" id="Pg150">[150]</span>
to make it a form of external constraint, appealing
only to hope or fear, unless this Divine Being is
shown to be organically connected with self.</p>
<p>But this abstract universal reason which somehow
dwells, without mediation or reason, in each
individual, seems to be somewhat scholastic, a trifle
mythological. There is undoubtedly in man's experience
a function which corresponds to what
Kant is aiming, thus mythologically, to describe.
But it is one thing to recognize an opposition of a
desire, in its isolation, to desire as organic to the
function of the whole man; it is another to split
man into a blank dualism of an abstract reason,
on one side, having no antecedents or bearings, and
of a mess of appetites, having only animal relationship,
on the other. The truth that Kant is
aiming to preserve seems to be fairly stated as two-fold:
first, that duty is self-imposed, and thus
the dutiful will autonomous or free; and, second,
the presence of struggle in man between
a 'lower' and a 'higher'. The first point
seems to be sufficiently met by the idea already advanced
that self, or individuality, is essentially
social, being constituted not by isolated capacity,
but by capacity acting in response to the needs of
an environment—an environment which, when
taken in its fullness, is a community of persons.
Any law imposed by such a self would be 'universal',
<span class="pb" id="Pg151">[151]</span>
but this universality would not be an isolated
possession of the individual; it would be another
name for the concrete social relationships which
make the individual what he is, as a social member
or organ. Furthermore, such a universal law would
not be formal, but would have a content—these
same relationships.</p>
<p>The second point seems to be met by recognizing
that in the realization of the law of social
function, conflict must occur between the desire as
an immediate and direct expression of the individual—the
desire in its isolation—and desire as an
expression of the whole man; desire, that is, as
wholly conformable to the needs of the surroundings.
Such a conflict is real enough, as everyone's
experience will testify, but it is a conflict which
may be solved—which must be solved so far as
morality is attained. And since it is a conflict
within desire itself, its solution or morality, does
not require any impossible obliteration of desire,
nor any acting from an 'ought' which has no relation
to what 'is'. This, indeed, is <em>the</em> failure of
the Kantian Ethics: in separating what should be
from what is, it deprives the latter, the existing
social world as well as the desires of the individual,
of all moral value; while, by the same separation, it
condemns that which should be to a barren abstraction.
An 'ought' which does not root in and
<span class="pb" id="Pg152">[152]</span>
flower from the 'is', which is not the fuller realization
of the actual state of social relationships, is a
mere pious wish that things should be better. And
morality, that is, right action, is not so feeble as
this would come to.</p>
<h4>XLVIII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Source and Nature of Obligation.</div>
<p>The basis of a correct theory
of obligation lies, as already
stated, in holding fast to its
concrete relations to the moral end, or good. This
end consists in an activity in which capacity is exercised
in accordance with surroundings, with the
social needs which affect the individual. It is implied
in this very idea, that the end is not something
which the individual may set up at his own
arbitrary will. The social needs give control, law,
authority. The individual may not manifest his
capacity, satisfy his desires, apart from their specific
relation to the environment in which they
exist. The general fact of obligation which is
constituted through this control of capacity by the
wider function is, of course, differentiated into
specific 'laws' or duties by the various forms which
the one function takes, as capacity and circumstances
vary.</p>
<p>In other words, obligation or duty is simply the
aspect which the good or the moral end assumes, as
the individual conceives of it. From the very fact
<span class="pb" id="Pg153">[153]</span>
that the end is the good, and yet is not realized by
the individual, it presents itself to him as that
which <em>should be realized</em>—as the ideal of action.
It requires no further argument to show that obligation
is at once self-imposed, and social in its content.
It is self-imposed because it flows from the
good, from the idea of the full activity of the individual's
own will. It is no law imposed from without;
but is his own law, the law of his own function,
of his individuality. Its social content flows from
the fact that this individuality is not mere capacity,
but is this capacity <em>acting</em>, and acting so as to comprehend
social relationships.</p>
<p>Suppose that man's good and his conviction of
duty were divorced from one another—that man's
duty were other than to fulfill his own specific
function. Such a thing would make duty purely
formal; the moral law would have no intrinsic relation
to daily conduct, to the expression of man's
powers and wants. There have, indeed, been moralists
who think they do the Lord service, who
think they add to the dignity and sacredness of
Duty by making it other than the idea of the activity
of man, regulated indeed, but regulated only
by its own principle of activity. But such moralists
in their desire to consecrate the idea of duty
remove from it all content, and leave it an empty
abstraction. On the other hand, their eagerness to
<span class="pb" id="Pg154">[154]</span>
give absoluteness and imperativeness to duty by
making it a law other than that of the normal expression
of man, casts discredit upon the one moral
reality—the full, free play of human life. In denying
that duty is simply the <em>intrinsic</em> law, the <em>self</em>-manifestation
of this life, they make this life
immoral, or at least non-moral. They degrade it
to a bundle of appetites and powers having no
moral value until the outside moral law is applied
to them. In reality, the dignity and imperativeness
of duty are simply the manifest dignity and unconditioned
worth of human life as exhibited in its
free activity. The whole idea of the separateness
of duty from the concrete flow of human action is
a virulent example of the fallacy mentioned in an
early section—the fallacy that moral action means
something more than action itself (see Sec. <a href="#II">II</a>).</p>
<p>The attempt to act upon a theory of the divorce
of satisfaction and duty, to carry it out in practice,
means the maiming of desire through distrust of
its moral significance, and thus, by withdrawing
the impetus of action, the reduction of life to mere
passivity. So far as this does not happen, it means
the erection of the struggle itself, the erection of
the opposition of law to desire, into the very principle
of the moral life. The essential principle of
the moral life, that good consists in the freeing of
impulse, of appetite, of desire, of power, by enabling
<span class="pb" id="Pg155">[155]</span>
them to flow in the channel of a unified and
full end is lost sight of, and the free service of the
spirit is reduced to the slavish fear of a bond-man
under a hard taskmaster.</p>
<p>The essential point in the analysis of moral law,
or obligation, having been found, we may briefly
discuss some subsidiary points.</p>
<p>1. The relation of duty to a given desire.
As any desire arises, it will be, except so far as
character has already been moralized, a demand
for its own satisfaction; the desire, in a word, will
be isolated. In so far, duty will be in a negative
attitude towards the desire; it will insist first upon
its limitation, and then upon its transformation.
So far as it is merely limitative, it demands the
denying of the desire, and so far assumes a coercive
form. But this limitation is not for its own sake,
but for that of the transformation of desire into a
freer and more adequate form—into a form, that is,
where it will carry with it, when it passes into
action, <em>more of activity</em>, than the original desire
would have done.</p>
<p>Does duty itself disappear when its constraint
disappears? On the contrary, so far as an act is
done unwillingly, under constraint, so far the act is
impure, and <em>undutiful</em>. The very fact that there is
need of constraint shows that the self is divided;
that there is a two-fold interest and purpose—one
<span class="pb" id="Pg156">[156]</span>
in the law of the activity according to function, the
other in the special end of the particular desire.
Let the act be done <em>wholly as duty</em>, and it is done
wholly for its own sake; love, passion take the place
of constraint. This suggests:</p>
<p>2. Duty for duty's sake.</p>
<p>It is clear that such an expression states a real
moral fact; unless a duty is done <em>as</em> duty it is not
done morally. An act may be outwardly just <ins id="C156" title="what
what">what</ins> morality demands, and yet if done for the
sake of some private advantage it is not counted
moral. As Kant expresses it, an act must be done
not only in accordance with duty, but <em>from duty</em>.
This truth, however, is misinterpreted when it is
taken to mean that the act is to be done for the
sake of duty, and duty is conceived as a third
thing outside the act itself. Such a theory contradicts
the true sense of the phrase 'duty for duty's
sake', for it makes the act done not for its own sake,
but as a mere means to an abstract law beyond itself.
'Do the right because it is the right' means
do the right <em>thing</em> because it <em>is</em> the right thing; that
is, do the act disinterestedly from interest in the act
itself. A duty is always some act or line of action,
not a third thing outside the act to which it is to
conform. In short, duty means <em>the act which is to
be done</em>, and 'duty for duty's sake' means do the
required act as it really is; do not degrade it into
<span class="pb" id="Pg157">[157]</span>
a means for some ulterior end. This is as true in
practice as in theory. A man who does his duty
not for the sake of the acts themselves, but for the
sake of some abstract 'ideal' which he christens
duty in general, will have a morality at once hard
and barren, and weak and sentimental.</p>
<p>3. The agency of moral authority in prescribing
moral law and stimulating to moral conduct.</p>
<p>The facts, relied upon by Bain and Spencer, as
to the part played by social influences in imposing
duties, are undeniable. The facts, however, are
unaccountable upon the theory of these writers, as
that theory would, as we have seen, explain only
the influence of society in producing acts done from
fear or for hope of reward. But if the individual
and others are equally members of one society, if
the performance by each man of his own function
constitutes a good common to all, it is inevitable
that social authorities should be an influence in
constituting and teaching duties. The community,
in imposing its own needs and demands upon the
individual, is simply arousing him to a knowledge
of his relationships in life, to a knowledge of the
moral environment in which he lives, and of the
acts which he must perform if he is to realize his
individuality. The community in awakening moral
consciousness in the morally immature may appeal
to motives of hope and fear. But even this fact
<span class="pb" id="Pg158">[158]</span>
does not mean that to the child, duty is necessarily
constituted by fear of punishment or hope of reward.
It means simply that his capacity and his
surroundings are both so undeveloped that the
exercise of his function takes mainly the form of
pleasing others. He may still do his duty <em>as</em> his
duty, but his duty now consists in pleasing others.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>On Obligation see Green, Op. cit., pp. 352-356;
Alexander, Op. cit., pp. 142-147. For different views,
Martineau, Op. cit., Vol. II, pp. 92-119; Calderwood,
Op. cit., pp. 131-138, and see also, Grote, Treatise on
Moral Ideals, ch. VII.</p></div>
</div>
<hr />
<div class="chapter">
<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter III.</span>—THE IDEA OF FREEDOM.</h3>
<h4>XLIX.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Forms of Freedom.</div>
<p>We may now deal, more briefly,
with the problem of moral capacity.
It is, in principle, the ability to conceive
of an end and to be governed in action by this
conceived end. We may consider this capacity in
three aspects, as negative, as potential and as
positive.</p>
<p>1. <i>Negative Aspect of Freedom.</i> The power to
be governed in action by the thought of some end to
be reached is freedom <em>from</em> the appetites and desires.
An animal which does not have the power
of proposing ends to itself is impelled to action by
its wants and appetites just as they come into consciousness.
<span class="pb" id="Pg159">[159]</span>
It is <em>irritated</em> into acting. Each
impulse demands its own satisfaction, and the
animal is helpless to rise above the particular want.
But a <em>person</em>, one who can direct his action by
conscious ends, is emancipated from subjection to
the particular appetites. He can consider their
relation to the end which he has set before himself,
and can reject, modify or use them as best agrees
with the purposed end. This capacity to control
and subjugate impulses by reflection upon their
relationship to a rational end is the power of self-government,
and the more distinct and the more
comprehensive in scope the end is, the more real
the self-government.</p>
<p>2. <i>Potential Freedom.</i> The power to conceive
of ends involves the possibility of thinking of
many and various ends, and even of ends which
are contrary to one another. If an agent could
conceive of but one end in some case, it would always
seem to him afterwards that he had been
necessitated to act in the direction of that end;
but the power to put various ends before self constitutes
"freedom of choice", or potential freedom.
After action, the agent calls to mind that
there was another end open to him, and that if he
did not choose the other end, it was because of
something in his character which made him prefer
the one he actually chose.</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg160">[160]</span>
<h4>L.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Moral Responsibility.</div>
<p>Here we have the basis of moral <em>responsibility</em>
or <em>accountability</em>. There
is no responsibility for any result
which is not intended or foreseen. Such a consequence
is only physical, not moral. (Sec. <a href="#VII">VII</a>).
But when any result has been foreseen, and adopted
as foreseen, such result is the outcome not of any
external circumstances, nor of mere desires and
impulses, but of the agent's conception of his own
end. Now, because the result thus flows from the
agent's own conception of an end, he feels himself
responsible for it.</p>
<p>It must be remembered that the end adopted is
that which is conceived <em>as satisfying self</em>—that,
indeed, when we say end of action, we mean only
some proposed form of self-satisfaction. The
adopted end always indicates, therefore, that sort
of condition which the agent considers to be good,
or self-satisfactory. It is because a result flows
from the agent's <em>ideal of himself</em>, the thought
of himself which he considers desirable or worth
realizing, that the agent feels himself responsible.
The result is simply an expression of himself; a
manifestation of what he would have himself be.
Responsibility is thus one aspect of the identity of
character and conduct. (Sec. <a href="#VII">VII</a>). We are responsible
<span class="pb" id="Pg161">[161]</span>
for our conduct because that conduct is
ourselves objectified in actions.</p>
<p>The idea of responsibility is intensified whenever
there have been two contrary lines of conduct
conceived, of which one has been chosen. If the
end adopted turns out not to be satisfactory, but,
rather, unworthy and degrading, the agent feels
that he <em>might</em> have chosen the other end, and that
if he did not, it was because his character was such,
his ideal of himself was such, that this other end
did not appeal to him. The actual result is felt to
be the outcome of an unworthy character manifested
in the adoption of a low form of satisfaction;
and the evident contrast of this low form
with a higher form, present to consciousness but
rejected, makes the sense of responsibility more
acute. As such, it is the judgment of disapprobation
passed upon conduct; the feeling of remorse
and of the desert of punishment. Freedom as the
power of conceiving ends and of realizing the ideal
end in action, is thus the basis both of responsibility
and of approbation (or disapprobation).</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><i>The Freedom of Indifference.</i> It is this potential
freedom, arising from the power of proposing various
ends of action, which, misinterpreted, gives rise to the
theory of a liberty of indifferent choice—the theory
that the agent can choose this or that without any
ground or motive. The real experience is the knowledge,
after the choice of one end, that since another
<span class="pb" id="Pg162">[162]</span>
end was also present to consciousness that other end
might have been chosen, <em>if only the character had
been such as to find its satisfaction in that other end</em>.
The theory of indifference misconstrues this fact to
mean that the agent might just as well have chosen
that other end, without any if or qualification whatever.
The theory of indifference, moreover, defeats
its own end. The point which it is anxious to save is
responsibility. It sees that if only one course of
action were ever open to an agent, without the possibility
of any <em>conception</em> of another course, an agent,
so acting, could not be held responsible for not having
adopted that other course. And so it argues that
there must always be the possibility of indifferent or
alternate choice; the possibility of adopting this or
that line of action without any motive. But if such
were the case responsibility would be destroyed. If
the end chosen is not an expression of character, if it
does not manifest the agent's ideal of himself, if its
choice is a matter of indifference, it does not signify
morally, but is mere accident or caprice. It is because
choice is <em>not</em> a matter of indifference, but an outcome
of character that the agent feels responsibility, and
approves or disapproves. He virtually says: "I am
responsible for this outcome, not because I could have
chosen another end just as well <em>without any reason</em>,
but because I thought of another end and rejected it;
because my character was such that that end did not
seem good, and was such that this end did seem good.
My character is myself, and in this unworthy end I
stand self-condemned."</p></div>
<h4 id="LI">LI.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Moral Reformation.</div>
<p>Freedom considered as potential,
depending upon the power
of the agent to frame diverse ends, is the basis not
<span class="pb" id="Pg163">[163]</span>
only of responsibility, but also of the possibility of
reformation, or of change in character and conduct.
All moral action is the expression of self,
but the self is not something fixed or rigid.
It includes as a necessary part of itself the possibility
of framing conceptions of what it would
be, and there is, therefore, at any time the possibility
of acting upon some ideal hitherto unrealized.
If conduct were the expression of character,
in a sense which identified character wholly
with past attainments, then reformation would be
impossible. What a man once was he must always
continue to be. But past attainments do not exhaust
all the possibilities of character. Since conduct
necessarily implies a continuous adjustment of
developing capacity to new conditions, there is the
ability to frame a changed ideal of self-satisfaction—that
is, ability to lead a new life. That the new
ideal is adopted from experience of the unworthy
nature of former deeds is what we should expect.
The chosen end having proved itself unsatisfactory,
the alternative end, previously rejected, recurs to
consciousness with added claims. To sum up:
The doctrine that choice depends upon character is
correct, but the doctrine is misused when taken to
mean that a man's outward conduct will always be
in the same direction that it has been. Character
involves all the ideas of different and of better
<span class="pb" id="Pg164">[164]</span>
things which have been present to the agent, although
he has never attempted to carry them out.
And there is always the possibility that, if the
proper influences are brought to bear, some one of
these latent ideals may be made vital, and wholly
change the bent of character and of conduct.</p>
<h4 id="LII">LII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Positive Freedom.</div>
<p>The <em>capacity</em> of freedom lies in
the power to form an ideal or conception
of an end. <em>Actual</em> freedom lies in the
realization of that end which actually satisfies. An
end may be freely adopted, and yet its actual working
out may result not in freedom, but in slavery.
It may result in rendering the agent more subject
to his passions, less able to direct his own conduct,
and more cramped and feeble in powers. Only
that end which executed really effects greater energy
and comprehensiveness of character makes for
actual freedom. In a word, only the good man,
the man who is truly realizing his individuality, is
free, in the positive sense of that word.</p>
<p>Every action which is not in the line of performance
of functions must necessarily result in
self-enslavement. The end of desire is activity;
and it is only in fullness and unity of activity that
freedom is found. When desires are not unified—when,
that is, the idea of the exercise of function
does not control conduct—one desire must conflict
<span class="pb" id="Pg165">[165]</span>
with another. Action is directed now this way, now
that, and there is friction, loss of power. On account
of this same lack of control of desires by the
comprehensive law of social activity, one member
of society is brought into conflict with another, with
waste of energy, and with impeded and divided activity
and satisfaction of desire. Exercise of function,
on the other hand, unifies the desires, giving
each its relative, although subordinate, place. It fits
each into the others, and, through the harmonious
adjustment of one to another, effects that complete
and unhindered action which is freedom. The
performance of specific function falls also into
free relations with the activities of other persons,
coöperating with them, giving and receiving what
is needed, and thus constituting full liberty.
Other aspects of freedom, as the negative and the
potential, are simply means instrumental to the realization
of individuality, and when not employed
toward this, their true end, they become methods
of enslaving the agent.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>On the subject of moral freedom, as, upon the
whole, in agreement with the view presented here: See</p>
<p>Green: Prolegomena to Ethics, pp. 90-117; 142-158.
Bradley: Ethical Studies, ch. I; Caird: Phil. of Kant,
Vol. II, Bk. II, ch. 3; Alexander: Moral Order and
Progress, pp. 336-341.</p>
<p>And, for a view agreeing in part, Stephen: Science
of Ethics, pp. 278-293.</p>
<p>For presentations of the freedom of indifference,
<span class="pb" id="Pg166">[166]</span>
see, Lotze: Practical Philosophy, ch. 3. Martineau:
Op. cit., Vol. II, pp. 34-40. Calderwood: Handbook
of Moral Philosophy.</p></div>
</div>
<hr />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pb" id="Pg167">[167]</span>
<h2>PART II.<br />
THE ETHICAL WORLD.</h2>
<h4>LIII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Reality of Moral Relations.</div>
<p>The habit of conceiving moral
action as a certain <em>kind</em> of action,
instead of all action so far as it really
is action, leads us to conceive of morality as a
highly desirable something which somehow ought
to be brought into our lives, but which upon the
whole is not. It gives rise to the habit of conceiving
morality as a vague ideal which it is praiseworthy
for the individual to strive for, but which
depends wholly for its existence upon the individual's
wish in the matter. Morality, that is, is
considered as a relation existing between something
which merely <em>ought to be</em>, on one hand, and the
individual's choice, or his conscience on the other.
This point of view has found typical expression in
Bishop Butler's saying: "If conscience had might
as it has right, it would rule the world."</p>
<p>But right is not such a helpless creature. It
exists not in word but in power. The moral world
is, here and now; it is a reality apart from the
<span class="pb" id="Pg168">[168]</span>
wishes, or failures to wish, of any given individual.
It bears the same relation to the individual's activity
that the 'physical world' does to his knowledge.
Not till the individual has to spin the physical
world out of his consciousness in order to know it,
will it be necessary for him to create morality by
his choice, before it can exist. As knowledge is mastery
in one's self of the real world, the reproduction
of it in self-consciousness, so moral action is the
appropriation and vital self-expression of the values
contained in the existing practical world.</p>
<p>The existence of this moral world is not anything
vaguely mysterious. Imagine a well organized
factory, in which there is some comprehensive
industry carried on—say the production of cotton
cloth. This is the end; it is a common end—that
for which each individual labors. Not all individuals,
however, are doing the same thing. The
more perfect the activity, the better organized the
work, the more differentiated their respective labors.
This is the side of individual activity or freedom.
To make the analogy with moral activity complete
we have to suppose that each individual is doing the
work because of itself, and not merely as drudgery
for the sake of some further end, as pay. Now
these various individuals are bound together by
their various acts; some more nearly because doing
closely allied things, all somewhat, because contributing
<span class="pb" id="Pg169">[169]</span>
to a common activity. This is the side of
laws and duties.</p>
<p>This group of the differentiated and yet related
activities is the analogue of the moral world.
There are certain wants which have constantly to be
fulfilled; certain ends which demand coöperating
activities, and which establish fixed relations between
men. There is a world of ends, a realm of
definite activities in existence, as concrete as the
ends and activities in our imagined factory. The
child finds, then, ends and actions in existence when
he is born. More than this: he is not born as a
mere spectator of the world; he is born <em>into</em> it.
He finds himself encompassed by such relations,
and he finds his own being and activity intermeshed
with them. If he takes away from himself, as an
agent, what he has, as sharing in these ends and
actions, nothing remains.</p>
<h4>LIV.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Moral Institutions.</div>
<p>This world of purposes and activities
is differentiated into various
institutions. The child is born as a member of a
<em>family</em>; as he grows up he finds that others have
possessions which he must respect, that is, he runs
upon the institution of <em>property</em>. As he grows still
older, he finds persons outside of the family of
whose actions he must take account as respects his
own: <em>society</em>, in the limited sense as meaning relations
<span class="pb" id="Pg170">[170]</span>
of special intimacy or acquaintanceship. Then
he finds the political institutions; the city, state
and nation. He finds an educational institution, the
school, the college; religious institutions, the church,
etc., etc. Everywhere he finds men having common
wants and thus proposing common ends and
using coöperative modes of action. To these organized
modes of action, with their reference to common
interests and purposes, he must adjust his
activities; he must take his part therein, if he acts
at all, though it be only negatively or hostilely, as
in evil conduct. These institutions <em>are</em> morality
real and objective; the individual becomes moral as
he shares in this moral world, and takes his due
place in it.</p>
<p>Institutions, then, are organized modes of action,
on the basis of the wants and interests which unite
men. They differ as the family from the town,
the church from the state, according to the scope
and character of the wants from which they
spring. They are not bare <em>facts</em> like objects of
knowledge; they are <em>practical</em>, existing for the sake
of, and by means of the will—as execution of ideas
which have interest. Because they are expressions
of common purposes and ideas, they are not merely
private will and intelligence, but, in the literal sense,
<em>public</em> will and reason.</p>
<p>The moral endeavor of man thus takes the form
<span class="pb" id="Pg171">[171]</span>
not of isolated fancies about right and wrong, not
of attempts to frame a morality for himself, not of
efforts to bring into being some praiseworthy ideal
never realized; but the form of sustaining and
furthering the moral world of which he is a member.
Since the world is one of action, and not of
contemplation like the world of knowledge, it can
be sustained and furthered only as he makes its
ends his own, and identifies himself and his satisfaction
with the activities in which other wills find
their fulfillment.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>This is simply a more concrete rendering of what
has already been said about the moral environment
(see Sec. <a href="#XXXIII">33</a>).</p></div>
<h4>LV.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Aspects of a Moral Institution.</div>
<p>An institution is, as we have
seen the expression of unity of desires
and ideas; it is general intelligence
in action, or common will. As such common
will, it is, as respects the merely private or
exclusive wants and aims of its members, absolutely
<em>sovereign</em>. It must aim to control them.
It must set before them the common end or ideal
and insist upon this as the only real end of individual
conduct. The ends so imposed by the public
reason are <em>laws</em>. But these laws are for the
sake of realizing the <em>common</em> end, of securing that
organized unity of action in which alone the individual
<span class="pb" id="Pg172">[172]</span>
can find freedom and fullness of action, or
his own satisfaction. Thus the activity of the
common will gives freedom, or <em>rights</em>, to the various
members of the institution.</p>
<p>Every institution, then, has its sovereignty, or
authority, and its laws and rights. It is only a
false abstraction which makes us conceive of sovereignty,
or authority, and of law and of rights
as inhering only in some supreme organization, as
the national state. The family, the school, the
neighborhood group, has its authority as respects
its members, imposes its ideals of action, or laws,
and confers its respective satisfactions in way of
enlarged freedom, or rights. It is true that no
one of these institutions is isolated; that each
stands in relation with other like and unlike institutions.
Each minor institution is a member of
some more comprehensive whole, to which it bears
the same relation that the individual bears to it.
That is to say, <em>its</em> sovereignty gives way to the
authority of the more comprehensive organization;
its laws must be in harmony with the laws which
flow from the larger activity; its rights must become
aspects of a fuller satisfaction. Only humanity
or the organized activity of all the wants,
powers and interests common to men, can have absolute
sovereignty, law and rights.</p>
<p>But the narrower group has its relations, none
<span class="pb" id="Pg173">[173]</span>
the less, although, in ultimate analysis, they flow
from and manifest the wider good, which, as
wider, must be controlling. Without such minor
local authorities, rights and laws, humanity would
be a meaningless abstraction, and its activity
wholly empty. There is an authority in the family,
and the moral growth of the child consists in identifying
the law of his own conduct with the ends
aimed at by the institution, and in growing into
maturity and freedom of manhood through the
rights which are bestowed upon him as such a
member. Within its own range this institution is
ultimate. But its range is not ultimate; the family,
valuable and sacred as it is, does not exist for
itself. It is not a larger selfishness. It exists as
one mode of realizing that comprehensive common
good to which all institutions must contribute, if
they are not to decay. It is the same with property,
the school, the local church, and with the
national state.</p>
<p>We can now translate into more concrete terms
what was said, in Part I, regarding the good,
obligation and freedom. That performance of
function which is 'the good', is now seen to consist
in vital union with, and reproduction of, the
practical institutions of which one is a member.
The maintenance of such institutions by the free
participation therein of individual wills, is, of
<span class="pb" id="Pg174">[174]</span>
itself, the common good. Freedom also gets concreteness;
it is the assured rights, or powers of
action which one gets as such a member:—powers
which are not mere claims, nor simply claims
recognized as valid by others, but claims re-inforced
by the will of the whole community. Freedom becomes
real in the ethical world; it becomes force
and efficiency of action, because it does not mean
some private possession of the individual, but means
the whole coöperating and organized action of an
institution in securing to an individual some power
of self expression.</p>
<h4 id="LVI">LVI.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Moral Law and the Ethical World.</div>
<p>Without the idea of the ethical
world, as the unified
activity of diverse functions
exercised by different individuals, the idea of the
good, and of freedom, would be undefined. But
probably no one has ever attempted to conceive of
the good and of freedom in total abstraction from
the normal activity of man. Such has not been
the lot of duty, or of the element of law. Often by
implication, sometimes in so many words, it is
stated that while a physical law may be accounted
for, since it is simply an abstract from observed
facts, a moral law stands wholly above and apart
from actual facts; it expresses solely what 'ought
to be' and not what is; that, indeed, whether anything
<span class="pb" id="Pg175">[175]</span>
in accordance with it ever has existed or not,
is a matter of no essential moral importance theoretically,
however it may be practically. Now it
is evident that a law of something which has not
existed, does not and perhaps never will exist, is essentially
inexplicable and mysterious. It is as
against such a notion of moral law that the idea of
a real ethical world has perhaps its greatest service.</p>
<p>A moral law, <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">e. g.</i>, the law of justice, is no more
<em>merely</em> a law of what ought to be than is the law of
gravitation. As the latter states a certain relation
of moving masses to one another, so the law of
justice states a certain relation of active wills to
one another. For a given individual, at a given
time and circumstances, the law of justice may appear
as the law of something which ought to be,
but is not:—is not <em>for him in this respect</em>, that is to
say. But the very fact that it ought to be for him
implies that it already is for others. It <em>is</em> a law of
the society of which he is a member. And it is because
he <em>is</em> a member of a society having this law,
that is a law of what <em>should</em> be for him.</p>
<p>Would then justice cease to be a law for him if
it were not observed at all in the society of which
he is a member? Such a question is as contradictory
as asking what would happen to a planet if
the solar system went out of existence. It is the
law of justice (with other such laws) that <em>makes</em>
<span class="pb" id="Pg176">[176]</span>
society; that is, it is those active relations which find
expression in these laws that unify individuals so
that they have a common end, and thus mutual
duties. To imagine the abolition of these laws is
to imagine the abolition of society; and to ask for
the law of individual conduct apart from all relationship,
actual or ideal, to society, is to ask in what
morality consists when moral conditions are destroyed.
A society in which the social bond we
call justice does not obtain to some degree in the relations
of man to man, is <em>not</em> society; and, on the
other hand, wherever some law of justice actually
obtains, there the law <em>is</em> for every individual who
is a member of the society.</p>
<p>This does not mean that the 'is', the actual
status of the moral world, is identical with the
'ought', or the ideal relations of man to man.
But it does mean that there is no obligation, either
in general or as any specific duty, which does not
<em>grow</em> out of the 'is', the actual relations now obtaining.<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>
The ethical world at any given time is
undoubtedly imperfect, and, <em>therefore</em>, it demands
a certain act to meet the situation. The very imperfection,
the very badness in the present condition
of things, is a part of the environment with
reference to which we must act; it is, thus, an element
<span class="pb" id="Pg177">[177]</span>
in the <em>law</em> of future action that it shall not
exactly repeat the existing condition. In other
words, the 'is' gives the law of the 'ought', but it
is a part of this law that the 'ought' shall not be
as the 'is'. It is because the relation of justice
does hold in members of a stratum of society, having
a certain position, power or wealth, but does
not hold between this section and another class,
that the law of what should be is equal justice for
all. In holding that actual social relations afford
the law of what should be, we must not forget that
these actual relations have a negative as well as a
positive side, and that the new law must be framed
in view of the negatives, the deficiencies, the
wrongs, the contradictions, as well as of the positive
attainments. A moral law, to sum up, is the
principle of action, which, acted upon, will meet
the needs of the existing situation as respects the
wants, powers, and circumstances of the individuals
concerned. It is no far-away abstraction, but expresses
the <em>movement</em> of the ethical world.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> See Secs. <a href="#LIX">59</a>, <a href="#LX">60</a> and <a href="#LXIII">63</a> for discussion of other aspects of
this question.</p></div>
<p>One example will help define the discussion.
Take the case of a street railway conductor,
whose union has ordered a strike. What determines
the law of his conduct under the circumstances?
Evidently the existing ethical institutions
of which he is a member, so far as he is
conscious of their needs. To determine what he
<span class="pb" id="Pg178">[178]</span>
should do, he does not hunt up some law of an
'ought' apart from what is; if he should hunt for
and should find such a law he would not know
what to do with it. Just because it is apart from
his concrete circumstances it is no guide, no law
for his conduct at all. He has to act not in view
of some abstract principle, but in view of a concrete
situation. He considers his present wage,
its relation to its needs and abilities; his capacity
and taste for this and for that work; the reasons
for the strike; the conditions of labor at present
with reference to winning the strike, and as to the
chance of getting other work. He considers his
family, their needs and developing powers; the
demand that they should live decently; that his
children should be fairly educated and get a fair
start in the world; he considers his relationships
to his fellow members in the union, etc. These
considerations, and such as these, give the law to
his decision in so far as he acts morally and not instinctively.
Where in this law-giving is there any
separation from facts? On the contrary, the more
right the act (the nearer it comes to its proper law),
the more it will simply express and reflect the
actual concrete facts. The law, in other words, of
action, is the law of actual social forces in their onward
movement, in so far as these demand some
response in the way of conduct from the individual.</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg179">[179]</span>
<p>We may restate from this point of view, what
we have already learned: A moral law is thoroughly
individualized. It cannot be duplicated; it
cannot be for one act just what it is for another.
The ethical world is too rich in capacity and circumstance
to permit of monotony; it is too swift
in its movement to allow of bare repetition. It
will not hold still; it moves on, and moral law is
the law of action required from individuals by this
movement.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>The consideration of specific institutions, as the
family, industrial society, civil society, the nation,
etc., with their respective rights and laws, belongs
rather to political philosophy than to the general theory
of ethics.</p></div>
</div>
<hr />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pb" id="Pg181">[181]</span>
<h2>PART III.<br />
THE MORAL LIFE OF THE INDIVIDUAL.</h2>
<h4>LVII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Division of Subject.</div>
<p>We have now analyzed the fundamental
moral notions—the good, duty
and freedom; we have considered their
objective realization, and seen that they are outwardly
expressed in social relations, the more typical
and abiding of which we call institutions; that
abstract duties are realized in the laws created and
imposed by such institutions, and that abstract
freedom is realized in the rights possessed by
members in them. We have now to consider the
concrete moral life of an individual born into this
existing ethical world and finding himself confronted
with institutions in which he must execute
his part, and in which he obtains his satisfaction
and free activity. We have to consider how these
institutions appeal to the individual, awakening in
him a distinct <em>moral</em> consciousness, or the consciousness
of active relations to persons, in antithesis
to the theoretical consciousness of relations
which exist in contemplation; how the individual
<span class="pb" id="Pg182">[182]</span>
behaves towards these institutions, realizing them
by assuming his proper position in them, or attempting
to thwart them by living in isolation
from them; and how a moral character is thus
called into being. More shortly, we have to deal
(I) with the practical consciousness, or the formation
and growth of ideals of conduct; (II) with
the moral struggle, or the process of realizing
ideals, and (III) with moral character, or the
virtues.</p>
</div>
<hr />
<div class="chapter">
<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter I.</span>—THE FORMATION AND GROWTH
OF IDEALS.</h3>
<h4>LVIII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Analysis of Conscience.</div>
<p>The practical consciousness, or
the recognition of ends and relations
of action, is what is usually
termed <em>conscience</em>. The analysis of conscience
shows that it involves three elements, which may be
distinguished in theory, although they have no
separate existence in the actual fact of conscience
itself. These three elements are (1) the knowledge
of certain specific forms of conduct, (2) the
recognition of the authority or obligatoriness of
the forms, and (3) the emotional factors which
cluster about this recognition. That is to say, we
often speak (1) of conscience telling or informing
<span class="pb" id="Pg183">[183]</span>
us of duties; we speak of an enlightened or unenlightened
conscience; of savage, or mediæval, or
modern conscience. Here we are evidently thinking
of the kind and range of particular acts considered
right or wrong. But we also speak (2) of
the authority and majesty of conscience; of the
commands of conscience, etc. Here we are thinking
of the consciousness of <em>obligation in general</em>.
The savage and the civilized man may vary
greatly in their estimate of what particular acts
are right or wrong, and yet agree in the recognition
that such acts as are right are absolutely
obligatory. Finally we speak of an approving or
disapproving, or remorseful conscience, of a tender
or a hardened conscience, of the pangs, the pricks
of conscience, etc. Here (3) we are evidently dealing
with the responsiveness of the disposition to
moral distinctions, either in particular acts, or in
the recognition of moral law in general.</p>
<h4 id="LIX"><ins id="C183" title="LVIX.">LIX.</ins></h4>
<div class="sidenote">Conscience as the Recognition of Special Acts as Right or Wrong.</div>
<p>Conscience in this sense is
no peculiar, separate faculty
of mind. It is simply intelligence
dealing with a certain
subject-matter. That is, conscience
is distinguished not
by the kind of mental activity
at work, but by the kind of material the mind
<span class="pb" id="Pg184">[184]</span>
works upon. Intelligence deals with the nature
and relations of things, and we call it understanding;
intelligence deals with the relations of persons
and deeds, and it is termed conscience.</p>
<p>We may, with advantage, recognize these stages
in the development of intelligence as dealing with
moral relationships:</p>
<p>1. <i>The Customary or Conventional Conscience.</i>
The existing moral world, with the types
and varieties of institutions peculiar to it, is constantly
impressing itself upon the immature mind;
it makes certain demands of moral agents and enforces
them with all the means in its power—punishment,
reward, blame, public-opinion, and the
bestowal of social leadership. These demands and
expectations naturally give rise to certain convictions
in the individual as to what he should or
should not do. Such convictions are not the outcome
of independent reflection, but of the moulding
influence of social institutions. Moreover the
morality of a time becomes consolidated into
proverbs, maxims and law-codes. It takes shape
in certain habitual ways of looking at and judging
matters. All these are instilled into the growing
mind through language, literature, association and
legal custom, until they leave in the mind a corresponding
habit and attitude toward things to be
done. This process may be compared to the process
<span class="pb" id="Pg185">[185]</span>
by which knowledge of the world of things
is first attained. Certain of the more permanent
features of this world, especially those whose observance
is important in relation to continued
physical existence and well-being, impress themselves
upon the mind. Consciousness, with no
reflective activity of its own, comes to mirror
some of the main outlines of the world. The
more important distinctions are fixed in language,
and they find their way into the individual mind,
giving it unconsciously a certain bent and coloring.</p>
<p>2. <i>The Loyal Conscience.</i> But just as the
mind, which seems at first to have the facts and
features of the world poured into itself as a passive
vessel, comes in time through its own experience to
appreciate something of their meaning, and, to
some extent, to verify them for itself; so the mind
in its moral relations. Without forming any
critical theory of the institutions and codes which
are forming character, without even considering
whether they are what they should be, the individual
yet comes at least to a practical recognition
that it is in these institutions that he gets his satisfactions,
and through these codes that he is protected.
He identifies himself, his own life, with
the social forms and ideals in which he lives, and
repels any attack upon them as he would an attack
<span class="pb" id="Pg186">[186]</span>
upon himself. The demands which the existing
institutions make upon him are not felt as the
coercions of a despot, but as expressions of his
own will, and requiring loyalty as such. The
conventional conscience, if it does not grow into
this, tends to become slavish, while an intelligence
which practically realizes, although without
continual reflection, the <em>significance</em> of conventional
morality is <em>free</em> in its convictions and
service.</p>
<p>3. <i>The Independent or Reflective Conscience.</i>
The intelligence may not simply appropriate, as
its own, conventions embodied in current institutions
and codes, but may <em>reflect</em> upon them. It
may ask: What is this institution of family,
property for? Does the institution in its present
form work as it should work, or is some modification
required? Does this rule which is now
current embody the true needs of the situation,
or is it an antiquated expression of by-gone relations?
What is the true spirit of existing institutions,
and what sort of conduct does this spirit
demand?</p>
<p>Here, in a word, we have the same relation to
the ethical world, that we have in physical science
to the external world. Intelligence is not content,
on its theoretical side, with having facts impressed
upon it by direct contact or through language; it
<span class="pb" id="Pg187">[187]</span>
is not content with coming to feel for itself the
value of the truths so impressed. It assumes an
independent attitude, putting itself over against
nature and cross-questioning her. It proposes its
own ideas, its own theories and hypotheses, and
manipulates facts to see if this rational meaning
can be verified. It criticises what passes as truth,
and pushes on to more adequate statement.</p>
<p>The correlative attempt, on the part of intelligence
on its practical side, may have a larger or a
smaller scope. In its wider course it aims to criticise
and to re-form prevailing social ideals and institutions—even
those apparently most fixed.
This is the work of the great moral teachers of the
world. But in order that conscience be critical,
it is not necessary that its range be so wide. The
average member of a civilized community is nowadays
called upon to reflect upon his immediate relationships
in life, to see if they are what they
should be; to regulate his own conduct by rules
which he follows not simply because they are customary,
but the result of his own examination of
the situation. There is no difference in kind between
the grander and the minuter work. And it
is only the constant exercise of reflective examination
on the smaller scale which makes possible,
and which gives efficiency to, the deeper criticism
and transformation.</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg188">[188]</span>
<h4 id="LX">LX.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Reflective Conscience and the Ethical World.</div>
<p>This conception of
conscience as critical
and reflective is one of
the chief fruits of the Socratic ethics, fructified
by the new meaning given life through the
Christian spirit. It involves the 'right of free
conscience'—the right of the individual to know
the good, to know the end of action, for himself,
rather than to have some good, however imposing
and however beneficent, enjoined from without.
It is this principle of subjective freedom,
says Hegel, which marks the turning-point in the
distinction of modern from ancient times (Sec. 124,
<cite>Grundlinien der Philosophie des Rechts</cite>, Vol. VIII
of Hegel's Works).<a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> I hardly need say how largely I am indebted in the
treatment of this topic, and indeed, in the whole matter of
the 'ethical world', to Hegel.</p></div>
<p>But this notion of conscience is misinterpreted
when the content as well as the form of conscience
is thought to be individual. There is no right of
private judgment, in the sense that there is not a
public source and standard of judgment. What is
meant by this right is that the standard, the source,
is not the opinion of some other person, or group
of persons. It is a common, objective standard. It
is that embodied in social relationships themselves.</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg189">[189]</span>
<p>The conception of conscience as a private possession,
to be exercised by each one in independence
of historical forms and contemporary ideals, is
thoroughly misleading. The saying "I had to follow
my own notion of what is right" has been
made the excuse for all sorts of capricious, obstinate
and sentimental performance. It is of such
notions that Hegel further says: "The striving
for a morality of one's own is futile, and by its
very nature impossible of attainment; in respect
of morality the saying of the wisest men of antiquity
is the only true one: To be moral is
to live in accordance with the moral tradition
of one's country" (Hegel, Works, Vol. I, p. 389).
And in discussing the same question, Bradley has
said that the wish to have a morality of one's own
better than that of the world is to be on the
threshold of morality (p. 180).</p>
<p>Yet, on the other hand, conscience should not
simply repeat the burden of existing usages and
opinions. No one can claim that the existing
morality embodies the highest possible conception
of personal relations. A morality which does not
recognize both the possibility and the necessity
of advance is immorality. Where then is the way
out from a capricious self-conceit, on one hand,
and a dead conformity on the other? Reflective
conscience must be <em>based</em> on the moral consciousness
<span class="pb" id="Pg190">[190]</span>
expressed in existing institutions, manners and
beliefs. Otherwise it is empty and arbitrary.
But the existing moral status is never wholly self-consistent.
It realizes ideals in one relation which
it does not in another; it gives rights to 'aristocrats'
which it denies to low-born; to men, which
it refuses to women; it exempts the rich from obligations
which it imposes upon the poor. Its institutions
embody a common good which turns out
to be good only to a privileged few, and thus
existing in self-contradiction. They suggest ends
which they execute only feebly or intermittently.
Reflective intelligence cross-questions the existing
morality; and extracts from it the ideal which it
pretends to embody, and thus is able to criticise
the existing morality in the light of its <em>own</em> ideal.
It points out the inconsistencies, the incoherencies,
the compromises, the failures, between the actual
practice and the theory at the basis of this practice.
And thus the new ideal proposed by the individual
is not a product of his private opinions,
but is the outcome of the ideal embodied in existing
customs, ideas and institutions.</p>
<h4>LXI.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Sense of Obligation.</div>
<p>There has been much discussion
regarding the nature of the
act of mind by which obligation is recognized. A
not uncommon view has been that the sense of
<span class="pb" id="Pg191">[191]</span>
duty as such must be the work of a peculiar faculty
of the mind. Admitting that the recognition
of this or that particular thing as right or wrong, is
the work of ordinary intelligence, it is held that
the additional recognition of the absolute obligatoriness
of the right cannot be the work of this
intelligence. For our intellect is confined to judging
what is or has been; the conception of obligation,
of something which should be, wholly transcends
its scope. There is, therefore, some special
moral in faculty called which affixes to the ordinary
judgments the stamp of the categorical imperative
"You ought".</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>See for example Maurice on "Conscience". The
view is traceable historically to Kant's conception of
Practical Reason, but as the view is ordinarily advanced
the function of Practical Reason in Kant's
philosophy is overlooked. The Practical Reason is no
special faculty of man's being; it is his consciousness
of himself as an acting being; that is, as a being
capable of acting from ideas. Kant never separates
the consciousness of duty from the very nature of
will as the realization of conceptions. In the average
modern presentation, this intrinsic connection of duty
with activity is absent. Conscience becomes a faculty
whose function it is to clap the idea of duty upon the
existent conception of an act; and this existent conception
is regarded as morally indifferent.</p>
<p>It is true that Kant's Practical Reason has a certain
separateness or isolation. But this is because of
his general separation of the rational from the sensuous
factor, and not because of any separation of the
<span class="pb" id="Pg192">[192]</span>
consciousness of action from the consciousness of
duty. If Kant erred in his divorce of desire and
duty, then even the relative apartness of the Practical
Reason must be given up. The consciousness of obligation
is involved in the recognition of <em>any</em> end of
conduct, and not simply in the end of abstract law.</p></div>
<p>Such a conception of conscience, however, is
open to serious objections. Aside from the fact
that large numbers of men declare that no amount
of introspection reveals any such machinery within
themselves, this separate faculty seems quite
<ins id="C192" title="superflous">superfluous</ins>. The real distinction is not between the
consciousness of an action with, and without, the
recognition of duty, but between a consciousness
which is and one which is not capable of conduct.
Any being who is capable of putting before himself
ideas as motives of conduct, who is capable of
forming a conception of something which he would
realize, is, by that very fact, capable of a sense of
obligation. The consciousness of an end to be
realized, the idea of something to be done, is, in
and of itself, the consciousness of duty.</p>
<p>Let us consider again the horse-car conductor
(see Sec. <a href="#LVI">LVI</a>). After he has analyzed the situation
which faces him and decided that a given course of
conduct is the one which fits the situation, does he
require some additional faculty to inform him that
this course is the one which should be followed?
The analysis of practical ideas, that is, of proposed
<span class="pb" id="Pg193">[193]</span>
ends of conduct, is from the first an analysis of
what should be done. Such being the case, it is no
marvel that the conclusion of the reflection is: "This
should (ought to) be done."</p>
<p>Indeed, just as every judgment about existent
fact naturally takes the form 'S <em>is</em> P', so every
judgment regarding an activity which executes an
idea takes the form, 'S ought (or ought not) to be
P'. It requires no additional faculty of mind, after
intelligence has been studying the motions of the
moon, to insert itself, and affirm some objective
relation or truth—as that the moon's motions are
explainable by the law of gravitation. It is the
very essence of theoretical judgment, judgment
regarding fact, to state truth—what is. And it is the
very essence of practical judgment, judgment regarding
deeds, to state that active relation which
we call obligation, what <em>ought to be</em>.</p>
<p>The judgment as to what a practical situation <em>is</em>,
is an untrue or abstract judgment.</p>
<p>The practical situation is itself an <em>activity</em>; the
needs, powers, and circumstances which make it
are moving on. At no instant in time is the scene
quiescent. But the agent, in order to determine his
course of action in view of this situation, has to <em>fix</em>
it; he has to arrest its onward movement in order
to tell what it is. So his abstracting intellect cuts a
cross-section through its on-going, and says 'This
<span class="pb" id="Pg194">[194]</span>
<em>is</em> the situation'. Now the judgment 'This ought
to be the situation', or 'in view of the situation, my
conduct ought to be thus and so', is simply restoring
the movement which the mind has temporarily
put out of sight. By means of its cross-section, intelligence
has detected the principle, or law of movement,
of the situation, and it is on the basis of this
movement that conscience declares what ought to be.</p>
<p>Just as the fact of moral law, or of authority, of
the incumbency of duty, needs for its explanation
no separation of the 'is' from the 'ought' (see
<a href="#LVI">LVI</a>), but only recognition of the law of the 'is'
which is, perforce, a law of movement, and of
change;—so the consciousness of law, 'the sense
of obligation' requires no special mental faculty
which may declare what ought to be. The intelligence
that is capable of declaring truth, or what
is, is capable also of making known obligation.
For obligation is only <em>practical</em> truth, the 'is' of
doing.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>See upon this point, as well as upon the relation of
laws and rules to action, my article in Vol. I, No. 2, of
the International Journal of Ethics, entitled 'Moral
Theory and Practice'.</p></div>
<h4>LXII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Conscience as Emotional Disposition.</div>
<p>Probably no judgment is entire-free
from emotional coloring and
accompaniments. It is doubtful
whether the most indifferent judgment is not based
<span class="pb" id="Pg195">[195]</span>
upon, and does not appeal to, some interest. Certainly
all the more important judgments awaken
some response from the self, and excite its interests
to their depths. Some of them may be excited by the
intrinsic nature of the subject-matter under judgment,
while others are the results of associations
more or less accidental. The former will necessarily
be aroused in every being, who has any emotional
nature at all, whenever the judgment is
made, while the latter will vary from time to time,
and may entirely pass away. That moral judgments,
judgments of what should be (or should
have been) done, arouse emotional response, is
therefore no cause for surprise. It may help clear
up difficulties if we distinguish three kinds of such
emotional accompaniment.</p>
<p>1. There are, first, the interests belonging to
the sense of obligation as such. We have just
seen that this sense of obligation is nothing separate
from the consciousness of the particular act
which is to be performed. Nevertheless the consciousness
of obligation, of an authority and law,
recurs with every act, while the special content of
the act constantly varies. Thus an idea of law, or of
duty in general, is formed, distinct from any special
duty. Being formed, it arouses the special emotional
excitation appropriate to it. The formation
of this general idea of duty, and the growth of
<span class="pb" id="Pg196">[196]</span>
feeling of duty as such, is helped on through the
fact that children (and adults so far as their moral
life is immature) need to have their moral judgments
constantly reinforced by recurrence to the
thought of law. That is to say, a child, who is not
capable of seeing the true moral bearings and
claims of an act, is yet continually required to perform
such an act on the ground that it is obligatory.
The feeling, therefore, is natural and
legitimate. It must, however, go hand in hand
with the feelings aroused by the special moral
relations under consideration. Disconnected from
such union, it necessarily leads to slavish and arbitrary
forms of conduct. A child, for example, who
is constantly taught to perform acts simply because
he <em>ought</em> to do so, without having at the same time
his intelligence directed to the nature of the act
which is obligatory (without, that is, being led to
see how or why it is obligatory), may have a
strongly developed sense of obligation. As he
grows up, however, this sense of duty will be
largely one of dread and apprehension; a feeling
of constraint, rather than of free service. Besides
this, it will be largely a matter of accident to what
act this feeling attaches itself. Anything that
comes to the mind with the force of associations of
past education, any ideal that forces itself persistently
into consciousness from any source may
<span class="pb" id="Pg197">[197]</span>
awaken this sense of obligation, wholly irrespective
of the true nature of the act. This is the explanation
of strongly 'conscientious' persons, whose
morality is yet unintelligent and blundering. It
is of such persons that it has been said that a
thoroughly <em>good</em> man can do more harm than a number
of bad men.</p>
<p>When, however, the feeling of obligation in
general is developed along with particular moral
judgments (that is, along with the habit of considering
the special nature of acts performed), it is one
of the strongest supports to morality. Acts constantly
need to be performed which are recognized
as right and as obligatory, and yet with reference
to which there is no fixed habit of conduct. In
these cases, the more direct, or spontaneous, stimulus
to action is wanting.</p>
<p>If, however, there is a strong sense of obligation
in general, this may attach itself to the particular
act and thus afford the needed impetus. In
unusual experiences, and in cases where the ordinary
motive-forces are lacking, such a feeling of
regard for law may be the only sure stay of
right conduct.</p>
<p>2. There is the emotional accompaniment appropriate
to the special content of the act. If, for
example, the required act has to do with some
person, there arise in consciousness the feelings of
<span class="pb" id="Pg198">[198]</span>
interest, of love and friendship, or of dislike,
which belong to that person. If it relate to some
piece of work to be done, the sweeping of a room,
the taking of a journey, the painting of a picture,
there are the interests natural to such subjects.
These feelings when aroused necessarily form part
of the emotional attitude as respects the act. It is
the strength and normal welling-up of such specific
interests which afford the best assurance of
healthy and progressive moral conduct, as distinct
from mere sentimental dwelling upon ideals. Only
interests prevent the divorce of feelings and ideas
from habits of action. Such interests are the
union of the subjective element, the self, and the
objective, the special relations to be realized (Sec.
<a href="#XXXIV">XXXIV</a>), and thus necessarily produce a right
and healthy attitude towards moral ends. It is
obvious that in a normal moral life, the law of obligation
in general, and the specific interests in
particular cases, should more and more fuse. The
interests, at their strongest, take the form of <em>love</em>.
And thus there is realized the ideal of an effective
character; the union of law and inclination
in its pure form—love for the action in and of
itself.</p>
<p>3. Emotions due to accidental associations. It
is matter of common notice that the moral feelings
are rarely wholly pure; that all sorts of sentiments,
<span class="pb" id="Pg199">[199]</span>
due to associations of time and place and person
not strictly belonging to the acts themselves, cluster
about them. While this is true, we should not
forget the great difficulty there is in marking off
any associations as <em>wholly</em> external to the nature of
the act. We may say that mere fear of punishment
is such a wholly external feeling, having no place
in moral emotion. Yet it may be doubted whether
there is any feeling that may be called mere fear of
punishment. It is, perhaps, fear of punishment by
a parent, for whom one has love and respect, and
thus the fear has partially a genuinely moral aspect.
Some writers would call the æsthetic feelings, the
feelings of beauty, of harmony, which gather about
moral ends adventitious. Yet the fact that other
moralists have made all moral feelings essentially
æsthetic, as due to the perception of the fitness
and proportion of the acts, should warn us from
regarding æsthetic feelings as wholly external.
About all that can be said is that feelings which
do not spring from <em>some</em> aspect of the content
of the act itself should be extruded, with growing
maturity of character, from influence upon
conduct.</p>
<h4 id="LXIII">LXIII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Conscientiousness.</div>
<p>Conscientiousness is primarily
the virtue of intelligence in regard to
conduct. That is to say, it is the formed habit of
<span class="pb" id="Pg200">[200]</span>
bringing intelligence to bear upon the analysis of
moral relations—the habit of considering what
ought to be done. It is based upon the recognition
of the idea first distinctly formulated by
Socrates—that "an unexamined life is not one that
should be led by man". It is the outgrowth of
the customary morality embodied in usages, codes
and social institutions, but it is an advance upon
custom, because it requires a meaning and a reason.
It is the mark of a "character which will not
be satisfied without understanding the law that it
obeys; without knowing what the good is, for
which the demand has hitherto been blindly at
work" (Green, Op. cit., p. 270). Conscientiousness,
then, is reflective intelligence grown into
character. It involves a greater and wider recognition
of obligation in general, and a larger
and more stable emotional response to everything
that presents itself as duty; as well as
the habit of deliberate consideration of the moral
situation and of the acts demanded by it.</p>
<p>Conscientiousness is an analysis of the conditions
under which conduct takes place, and
of the action that will meet these conditions;
it is a thoroughly <em>objective</em> analysis. What is
sometimes termed conscientiousness is merely the
habit of analyzing internal moods and sentiments;
of prying into 'motives' in that sense of motive
<span class="pb" id="Pg201">[201]</span>
which identifies it not with the end of action,
but with some subjective state of emotion.
Thus considered, conscientiousness is morbid. We
are sometimes warned against <em>over</em>-conscientiousness.
But such conscientiousness means simply
over-regard of one's private self; keeping an eye
upon the effect of conduct on one's internal state,
rather than upon conduct itself. Over-conscientiousness
is as impossible as over-intelligence,
since it is simply the application of intelligence to
conduct. It is as little morbid and introspective
as is the analysis of any fact in nature. Another
notion which is sometimes thought to be bound up
with that of conscience, also has nothing to do
with it; namely, the notion of a precision and coldness
opposed to all large spontaneity and broad
sympathy in conduct. The reflective man of narrow
insight and cramped conduct is often called
the conscientious man and opposed to the man of
generous impulses. This comes from identifying
conscience with a ready-made code of rules,
and its action with the application of some such
fixed code to all acts as they come up. It is
evident, on the contrary, that such a habit is
opposed to conscience. Conscience means the
consideration of each case <em>in itself</em>; measuring it
not by any outside code, but in the existing moral
situation.</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg202">[202]</span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>On conscientiousness, see Green, Op. cit., pp. 269-271
and 323-327; and Alexander, Op. cit., pp. 156-160.
These writers, however, seem to identify it too much
with internal scrutiny. Green, for example, expressly
identifies conscientiousness with a man's "questioning
about himself, whether he has been as good as he
should have been, whether a better man would not
have acted otherwise than he has done" (p. 323). He
again speaks of it as "comparison of our own practice,
as we know it on the inner side in relation to the motives
and character which it expresses, with an ideal
of virtue". The first definition seems to be misleading.
Questioning as to whether the end adopted was
what it should have been, <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">i. e.</i>, whether the analysis of
the situation was correctly performed, may be of
great service in aiding future decisions, but questioning
regarding the purity of one's own 'motive' does
not seem of much avail. In a man upon the whole
good, such questioning is apt to be paralyzing. The
energy that should go to conduct goes to anxiety
about one's conduct. It is the view of goodness as
directed mainly towards one's own private motives,
which has led such writers as Henry James, Sr., and
Mr. Hinton, to conceive of 'morality', the struggle
for goodness, to be in essence bad. They conceived
of the struggle for 'private goodness' as no different
from the struggle for private pleasure, although
likely, of course, to lead to better things. Nor in a
bad man is such scrutiny of 'motive', as apart from
objective end, of much value. The bad man is generally
aware of the badness of his motive without much
close examination. The truth aimed at by Green is, I
think, amply covered by recognizing that conscientiousness
as a constant will to know what should be, and
to readjust conduct to meet the new insight, is the
spring of the moral life.</p></div>
<span class="pb" id="Pg203">[203]</span>
<h4 id ="LXIV">LXIV.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Moral Commands, Rules and Systems.</div>
<p>What is the part played
by specific commands and
by general rules in the examination
of conduct by conscience? We should
note, in the first place, that commands are not
rules, and rules are not commands. A command,
to be a command, must be specific and individual.
It must refer to time, place and circumstance.
'Thou shalt do no murder' is not strictly speaking
a command, for it allows questioning as to what is
murder. Is killing in war murder? Is the hanging
of criminals murder? Is taking life in self-defense
murder? Regarded simply as a command,
this command would be 'void for uncertainty'. A
true command is a specific injunction of one person
to another to do or not to do a stated thing or
things. Under what conditions do commands
play a part in moral conduct? In cases where the
intelligence of the agent is so undeveloped that he
cannot realize for himself the situation and see the
act required, and when a part of the agent's environment
is constituted by others who have such
required knowledge, there <em>is</em> a moral element in
command and in obedience.</p>
<p>This explains the moral responsibility of parents
to children and of children to parents. The soldier,
too, in recognizing a general's command, is recognizing
<span class="pb" id="Pg204">[204]</span>
the situation as it exists for him. Were there
simply superior force on one side, and fear on the
other, the relation would be an immoral one. It
is implied, of course, in such an instance as the
parents' command, that it be so directed as to
enable the child more and more to dispense with
it—that is, that it be of such a character as to give
the child insight into the situation for himself.
Here is the transition from a command to a rule.</p>
<p>A rule does not tell what to do or what to leave
undone. The Golden Rule, for example, does not
tell me how to act in any specific case. <em>A rule is
a tool of analysis.</em> The moral situation, or capacity
in its relation to environment, is often an extremely
complicated affair. How shall the individual resolve
it? How shall he pick it to pieces, so as to
see its real nature and the act demanded by it? It
is evident that the analysis will be the more truly
and speedily performed if the agent has a method
by which to attack it, certain principles in the light
of which he may view it, instruments for cross-questioning
it and making it render up its meaning.
Moral rules perform this service. While the
Golden Rule does not of itself give one jot of information
as to what I should do in a given case,
it does, if accepted, immensely simplify the situation.
Without it I should perhaps have to act
blindly; with it the question comes to this: What
<span class="pb" id="Pg205">[205]</span>
should I, under the given circumstances, like to
have done to me? This settled, the whole question
of what should be done is settled.</p>
<p>It is obvious, then, that the value of a moral
rule depends upon its potency in revealing the
inner spirit and reality of individual deeds. Rules
in the negative form, rules whose application is
limited in scope because of an attempt to be specific,
are midway between commands proper and
rules. The Golden Rule, on the other hand, is
positive, and not attempting to define any specific
act, covers in its range all relations of man to man.
It is indeed only a concrete and forcible statement
of the ethical principle itself, the idea of a common
good, or of a community of persons. This is also
a convenient place for considering the practical
value of ethical systems. We have already
seen that no system can attempt to tell what in
particular should be done. The principle of a
system, however, may be of some aid in analyzing
a specific case. In this way, a system may be regarded
as a highly generalized rule. It attempts
to state some fundamental principle which lies at
the basis of moral conduct. So far as it succeeds
in doing this, there is the possibility of its practical
application in particular cases, although, of
course, the mediate rules must continue to be the
working tools of mankind—on account of their
<span class="pb" id="Pg206">[206]</span>
decided concrete character, and because they have
themselves taken shape under the pressure of
practice rather than of more theoretical needs.</p>
<h4 id="LXV">LXV.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Development of Moral Ideals.</div>
<p>Thus far we have been
speaking of conscience mainly
as to its method of working. We have now to
speak more definitely of its content, or of the development
of ideals of action.</p>
<p>It is of the very nature of moral conduct to be
progressive. Permanence of <em>specific</em> ideals means
moral death. We say that truth-telling, charity,
loyalty, temperance, have always been moral ends
and while this is true, the statement as ordinarily
made is apt to hide from us the fact that the content
of the various ideals (what is <em>meant</em> by temperance,
etc.) has been constantly changing, and
this of necessity. The realization of moral ends
must bring about a changed situation, so that the
repetition of the same ends would no longer satisfy.
This progress has two sides: the satisfaction
of wants leads to a larger view of what satisfaction
really is, <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">i. e.</i>, to the creation of new capacities
and wants; while adjustment to the environment
creates wider and more complex social relationships.</p>
<p>Let the act be one of intelligence. Some new
fact or law is discovered. On one hand, this discovery
may arouse a hitherto comparatively dormant
<span class="pb" id="Pg207">[207]</span>
mind; it may suggest the possession of
capacities previously latent; it may stimulate
mental activity and create a thirst for expanding
knowledge. This readjustment of intellectual needs
and powers may be comparatively slight, or it may
amount, as it has with many a young person, to
a revolution. On the other hand, the new fact
changes the intellectual outlook, the mental horizon,
and, by transforming somewhat the relations
of things, demands new conduct. All this,
even when the growth of knowledge concerns only
the physical world. But development of insight
into social needs and affairs has a larger and more
direct progressive influence. The social world
exists spiritually, as conceived, and a new conception
of it, new perception of its scope and bearings,
is, perforce, a change of that world. And thus it
is with the satisfaction of the human want of
knowledge, that patience, courage, self-respect, humility,
benevolence, all change character. When,
for example, psychology has given an increase of
knowledge regarding men's motives, political
economy an increase of knowledge regarding
men's wants, when historical knowledge has
added its testimony regarding the effects of
indiscriminate giving, charity must change its
content. While once, the mere supplying of
food or money by one to another may have been
<span class="pb" id="Pg208">[208]</span>
right as meeting the recognized relations, charity
now comes to mean large responsibility in knowledge
of antecedents and circumstances, need of
organization, careful tracing of consequences, and,
above all, effort to remove the conditions which
made the want possible. The activity involved has
infinitely widened.</p>
<p>Let the act be in the region of industrial life—a
new invention. The invention of the telephone
does not simply satisfy an old want—it creates
new. It brings about the possibility of closer
social relations, extends the distribution of intelligence,
facilitates commerce. It is a common saying
that the luxury of one generation is the necessity
of the next; that is to say, what once satisfied
a somewhat remote need becomes in time the basis
upon which new needs grow up. Energy previously
pent up is set free, new power and ideals are
evoked. Consider again a person assuming a family
relation. This seems, at first, to consist mainly in
the satisfaction of certain common and obvious
human wants. But this satisfaction, if moral,
turns out rather to be the creation of new insight
into life, of new relationships, and thus of new
energies and ideals. We may generalize these
instances. The secret of the moral life is not getting
or having, it is doing and thus being. The
getting and the possessing side of life has a moral
<span class="pb" id="Pg209">[209]</span>
value only when it is made the stimulus and nutriment
of new and wider acting. To solve the
equation between getting and doing is the moral
problem of life. Let the possession be acquiesced
in for its own sake, and not as the way to freer
(and thus more moral) action, and the selfish life
has set in (see Sec. <a href="#LXVII">LXVII</a>). It is essential to
moral activity that it feed itself into larger appetites
and thus into larger life.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>This must not be taken to deny that there is a
mechanical side even to the moral life. A merchant,
for example, may do the same thing over and over
again, like going to his business every morning at the
same hour. This is a moral act and yet it does not
seem to lead to a change in moral wants or surroundings.
Yet even in such cases it should be noted that
it is only outwardly that the act is the <em>same</em>. In itself,
that is, in its relation to the will of the agent, it is
simply one element in the whole of character; and as
character opens up, the act must change somewhat
also. It is performed somehow in a new spirit. If
this is not to some extent true, if such acts become
wholly mechanical, the moral life is hardening into
the rigidity of death.</p></div>
<p>This progressive development consists on one
side in a richer and subtler individual activity, in
increased individualization, in wider and freer
functions of life; on the other it consists in increase
in number of those persons whose ideal is a
'common good', or who have membership in the
same moral community; and, further, it consists in
<span class="pb" id="Pg210">[210]</span>
more complex relations between them. It is both
intensive and extensive.</p>
<p>History is one record of growth in the sense of
specific powers. Its track is marked by the appearance
of more and more internal and distinguishing
traits; of new divisions of labor and corresponding
freedom in functioning. It begins with
groups in which everything is massed, and the good
is common only in the sense of being undifferentiated
for all. It progresses with the evolution of
individuality, of the peculiar gifts entrusted to each,
and hence of the specific service demanded of each.</p>
<p>The other side, the enlargement of the community
of ends, has been termed growth in
"comprehensiveness". History is again a record
of the widening of the social consciousness—of the
range of persons whose interests have to be taken
into account in action. There has been a period
in which the community was nothing more than a
man's own immediate family group, this enlarging
to the clan, the city, the social class, the nation;
until now, in theory, the community of interests
and ends is humanity itself.</p>
<p>This growth in comprehensiveness is not simply
a growth in the number of persons having a common
end. The quantitative growth reacts upon
the <em>nature</em> of the ends themselves. For example,
when the conceived community is small, bravery
<span class="pb" id="Pg211">[211]</span>
may consist mainly in willingness to fight for the
recognized community against other hostile groups.
As these groups become themselves included in the
moral community, courage must change its form,
and become resoluteness and integrity of purpose
in defending manhood and humanity as such.
That is to say, as long as the community is based
largely upon physical facts, like oneness of blood,
of territory, etc., the ideal of courage will have a
somewhat external and physical manifestation.
Let the community be truly spiritual, consisting in
recognition of unity of destiny and function in
coöperation toward an all-inclusive life, and the
ideal of courage becomes more internal and spiritual,
consisting in loyalty to the possibilities of
humanity, whenever and wherever found.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>On this development of moral ideals, and especially
of the growth in "comprehensiveness" as reacting
upon the intrinsic form which the ideal itself takes,
see Green, Op. cit., pp. 264-308, followed by Alexander,
Op. cit., pp. 384-398. For the process of change of ideals
in general, see Alexander, pp. 271-292, and 369-371.</p></div>
</div>
<hr />
<div class="chapter">
<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter II.</span>—THE MORAL STRUGGLE OR
THE REALIZING OF IDEALS.</h3>
<h4>LXVI.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Goodness as a Struggle.</div>
<p>We have already seen that the
bare repetition of identically the
same acts does not consist with morality. To aim
<span class="pb" id="Pg212">[212]</span>
at securing a satisfaction precisely like the one
already experienced, is to fail to recognize the
altered capacity and environment, and the altered
duty. Moral satisfaction prior to an act is <em>ideal</em>;
ideal not simply in the sense of being conceived,
or present to thought, but ideal in the sense that
it has not been already enjoyed. Some satisfaction
has been enjoyed in a previous activity, but
that very satisfaction has so enlarged and complicated
the situation, that its mere repetition would
not afford moral or active satisfaction, but only
what Kant terms 'pathological' satisfaction. Morality
thus assumes the form of a struggle. The
past satisfaction speaks for itself; it has been verified
in experience, it has conveyed its worth to our
very senses. We have tried and tasted it, and
know that it is good. If morality lay in the repetition
of similar satisfactions, it would not be a
struggle. We should know experimentally before
hand that the chosen end would bring us satisfaction,
and should be at rest in that knowledge. But
when morality lies in striving for satisfactions
which have not verified themselves to our sense, it
always requires an effort. We have to surrender
the enjoyed good, and stake ourselves upon that of
which we cannot say: We <em>know</em> it is good. To
surrender the actual experienced good for a possible
ideal good is the struggle.</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg213">[213]</span>
<p>We arrive, in what is termed the opposition of
desire and duty, at the heart of the moral struggle.
Of course, taken strictly, there can be no opposition
here. The duty which did not awaken <em>any</em> desire
would not appeal to the mind even as a duty.
But we may distinguish between a desire which is
based on past satisfaction actually experienced,
and desire based simply upon the idea that the end
is <em>desirable</em>—that it ought to be desired. It may
seem strange to speak of a desire based simply
upon the recognition that an end <em>should</em> be desired,
but the possibility of awakening such a desire and
the degree of its strength are the test of a moral
character. How far does this end awaken response
in me because I see that it is the end which is fit
and due? How far does it awaken this response
although it does not fall into line with past satisfactions,
or although it actually thwart some
habitual satisfaction? Here is the opposition of
duty and desire. It lies in the contrast of a good
which has demonstrated itself as such in experience,
and a good whose claim to be good rests only
on the fact that it is the act which meets the situation.
It is the contrast between a good of possession,
and one of action.</p>
<p>From this point of view morality is a life of
<em>aspiration</em>, and of <em>faith</em>; there is required constant
willingness to give up past goods as the good, and
<span class="pb" id="Pg214">[214]</span>
to press on to new ends; not because past achievements
are bad, but because, being good, they have
created a situation which demands larger and more
intricately related achievements. This willingness
is aspiration and it implies <em>faith</em>. Only the old
good is of sight, has verified itself to sense. The
new ideal, the end which meets the situation, is
felt as good only in so far as the character has
formed the conviction that to meet obligation is
itself a good, whether bringing sensible satisfaction
or not. You can prove to a man that he
ought to act so and so (that is to say, that such an
act is the one which fits the present occasion), but
you cannot <em>prove</em> to him that the performance of
that duty will be good. Only faith in the moral
order, in the identity of duty and the good, can
assert this. Every time an agent takes as his end
(that is, chooses as good) an activity which he has
not already tried, he asserts his belief in the goodness
of right action as such. This faith is not a
mere intellectual thing, but it is practical—the
staking of self upon activity as against passive
possession.</p>
<h4 id="LXVII">LXVII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Moral Badness.</div>
<p>Badness originates in the contrast
which thus comes about between <em>having</em>
the repetition of former action, and <em>doing</em>—pressing
forward to the new right action. Goodness
<span class="pb" id="Pg215">[215]</span>
is the choice of doing; the refusal to be content
with past good as exhausting the entire content
of goodness. It is, says Green, 'in the continued
effort to be better that goodness consists'. The
man, however bad his past and however limited his
range of intellectual, æsthetic and social activity,
who is dissatisfied with his past, and whose dissatisfaction
manifests itself in act, is accounted better
than the man of a respectable past and higher
plane of life who has lapsed into contented acquiescence
with past deeds. For past deeds are not
<em>deeds</em>, they are passive enjoyments. The bad man,
on the other hand, is not the man who loves badness
<em>in and for itself</em>. Such a man would be a
mad man or a devil. All conduct, bad as well as
good, is for the sake of <em>some</em> satisfaction, that is,
some good. In the bad man, the satisfaction which
is aimed at is <em>simply</em> the one congruent with existing
inclinations, irrespective of the sufficiency of
those inclinations in view of the changed capacity
and environment: it is a good of <em>having</em>. The bad
man, that is to say, does not recognize any <em>ideal</em> or
<em>active</em> good; any good which has not already commended
itself to him as such. This good may be
good in <em>itself</em>; but, as distinguished from the good
which requires action, that which would fulfill the
present capacity or meet the present situation,
it is bad.</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg216">[216]</span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Thus Alexander terms badness <em>a survival</em>, in part
at least, of former goodness. Hinton says (Philosophy
and Religion, p. 146), "That a thing is wrong does not
mean that it ought never to have been done or
thought, but that it ought to be left off". It will be
noted that we are not dealing with the metaphysical
or the religious problem of the nature and origin of
evil, but simply with an account of bad action as it
appears in individual conduct.</p></div>
<p>Badness has four traits, all derivable from this
basal fact. They are: (1) Lawlessness, (2) Selfishness,
(3) Baseness, (4) Demoralization.</p>
<p>1. <i>Lawlessness.</i> When desire and duty, that
is, when desires based on past having and on future
acting, conflict, the bad man lets duty go. He
virtually denies that it is a good at all—it may be a
good in the abstract but not a good for him. He
denies that obligation as such has any value; that
any end is to be consulted save his own state of
mind. He denies that there is law for conduct—at
least any law beyond the inclination which he happens
to have at the time of action. Keeping himself
within that which has verified itself to his
feeling in the past, he abrogates all authority excepting
that of his own immediate feelings.</p>
<p>2. <i>Selfishness.</i> It has already been shown
that the self is not necessarily immoral, and hence
that action for self is not necessarily bad—indeed,
that the true self is social and interest in it right
(see Sec. <a href="#XXXV">XXXV</a>). But when a satisfaction based on
<span class="pb" id="Pg217">[217]</span>
past experience is set against one proceeding from
an act as meeting obligation, there grows up a
divorce in the self. The actual self, the self recognizing
only past and sensible satisfaction, is set
over against the self which recognizes the necessity
of expansion and a wider environment. Since the
former self confines its action to benefits demonstrably
accruing to itself, while the latter, in
meeting the demands of the situation, necessarily
contributes to the satisfaction of others, one
takes the form of a <em>private</em> self, a self whose good
is set over against and exclusive of that of others,
while the self recognizing obligation becomes a
social self—the self which performs its due function
in society. It is, again, the contrast between
getting and doing.</p>
<p>All moral action is based upon the presupposition
of the identity of good (Sec. <a href="#XL">XL</a>), but it by
no means follows that this identity of good can be
demonstrated to the agent at the time of action.
On the contrary, it is matter of the commonest
experience that the sensible good, the demonstrable
good (that is, the one visible on the line of past satisfaction)
may be contradictory to the act which
would satisfy the interests of others. The identity
of interests can be proved <em>only by acting upon it</em>;
to the agent, prior to action, it is a matter of faith.
Choice presents itself then in these cases as a test:
<span class="pb" id="Pg218">[218]</span>
Do you believe that the Good is simply your private
good, or is the true Good, is <em>your</em> good, one which
includes the good of others? The condemnation
passed upon the 'selfish' man is that he virtually
declares that good is essentially exclusive and private.
He shuts himself up within himself, within,
that is, his past achievements, and the inclinations
based upon them. The good man goes out of himself
in new action. Bad action is thus essentially
narrowing, it confines the self; good action is
expansive and vital, it moves on to a larger self.</p>
<p>In fine, all conduct, good and bad, satisfies the
self; bad conduct, however, aims at a self which,
keeping its eye upon its private and assured satisfaction,
refuses to recognize the increasing function
with its larger social range,—the 'selfish' self.</p>
<p>Light is thrown upon this point by referring to
what was said about interest (Sec. <a href="#XXXIV">XXXIV</a>). Interest
is <em>active</em> feeling, feeling turned upon an object,
and going out toward it so as to identify it with self.
In this active and objective interest there is satisfaction,
but the satisfaction is <em>in</em> the activity which
has the object for its content. This is the satisfaction
of the good self. In the bad self, interest is
reduced to mere feeling; for the aim of life in such
a self is simply to have certain feelings as its own
possession; activity and its object are degraded
into mere means for getting these sensations.</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg219">[219]</span>
<p>Activity has two sides; as activity, as projection
or expression of one's powers, it satisfies self; as
activity, also, it has some end, some object, for its
content. The activity as such, therefore, the activity
for its own sake, must involve the realization
of this object for its own sake. But in having, in
getting, there is no such creation or maintenance of
an object for itself. Objects cease to be 'ends in
themselves' when they cease to be the content of
action; and are degraded into means of private
satisfaction, that is, of sensation.</p>
<p>3. <i>Baseness.</i> For, when we say that bad action
takes account of ideals only on the basis of possession,
we say, in effect, that it takes account only of
<em>sensible</em> satisfaction. As it is in the progressive
movement of morality that there arises the distinction
of the law-abiding and the lawless self, of the
social and the selfish self, so in the same aspect
there comes into existence the distinction of the
low, degraded, sensual self, as against the higher or
spiritual self. In themselves, or naturally, there is
no desire high, none low. But when an inclination
for an end which consists in possession comes into
conflict with one which includes an active satisfaction—one
not previously enjoyed—the contrast
arises. It is wrong to say, with Kant, that the bad
act is simply for pleasure; for the bad act, the
choice of a past satisfaction as against the aspiration
<span class="pb" id="Pg220">[220]</span>
for a wider good, may have a large content—it
may be the good of one's family; it may be scientific
or æsthetic culture. Yet the moment a man
begins to live on the plane of past satisfaction as
such, he has begun to live on the plane of 'sense',
or for pleasure. The refusal to recognize the ideal
good, to acknowledge activity as good, throws the
agent back into a life of dwelling upon his own
sensible good, and thus he falls more and more
into a life of dwelling upon mere sensations. What
made the past good a good at all was the spirit, the
activity, in it, and when it is no longer an activity,
but a mere keeping, the life is gone out of it. The
selfish life must degenerate into mere sensuality—although
when sensuality is 'refined' we call it
sentimentality.</p>
<p>4. <i>Demoralization.</i> Morality is activity; exercise
of function. To cease this activity is not to
remain on the attained level, for that, <em>when attained</em>,
was active. It is to relapse, to slip down into badness.
The moral end is always an activity. To
fail in this activity is, therefore, to involve character
in disintegration. It can be kept together only by
constant organizing activity; only by acting upon
new wants and moving toward new situations. Let
this activity cease, and disorganization ensues, as
surely as the body decays when life goes, instead
of simply remaining inert as it was. Bad conduct
<span class="pb" id="Pg221">[221]</span>
is thus <em>unprincipled</em>; it has no center, no movement.
The good man is 'organic'; he uses his
attainments to discover new needs, and to assimilate
new material. He lives from within outwards, his
character is compact, coherent; he has <em>integrity</em>.
The bad man, having no controlling unity, has no
consistent line of action; his motives of conduct
contradict one another; he follows this maxim in
relation to this person, that in relation to another;
character is <em>demoralized</em>.</p>
<p>The bad man is unstable and double-minded.
He is not one person, but a group of conflicting
wills. So far as he is really bad he becomes as
many persons as he has desires. His conduct cannot
be made universal. He always makes exceptions
in favor of himself. He does not want moral
relations abolished, but relaxed or deflected in his
own case, while they still hold for other men.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>This is the truth at the basis of Kant's contention
regarding goodness as conduct whose maxim is capable
of generalization. See also Bradley, Op. cit., pp. 261-271.
And Alexander, Op. cit., pp. 309-312.</p></div>
<h4>LXVIII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Goodness in its Relation to the Struggle.</div>
<p>1. Two aspects of this we
have already noted; one, that of
conscientiousness, or habitual
alertness and responsiveness of intelligence to the
nature of obligation, both in general and as to the
<span class="pb" id="Pg222">[222]</span>
specific acts which are obligatory. The other is
that goodness, in this relation, consists in <em>progressive</em>
adjustment, involving aspiration as to future conduct,
and correlative humility as to present achievements
of character.</p>
<p>2. We may state what has already been suggested,
that goodness as self-sacrifice or self-renunciation
has also its place here. The moral attitude
is one of renunciation, because, on account of the
constantly growing wants and circumstances, the
satisfactions which belong to the actually realized
self must be given up for active goods. That the
self-sacrifice takes largely the form of the surrender
of private interests to the welfare of the whole,
is explained by what has just been said regarding
selfishness. Self-sacrifice is not in any way the
moral end or the last word. Life is lost that it
may be found. The smaller local life of the private
self is given up in order that the richer and
fuller life of the social or active self may be realized.
But none the less the self-sacrifice at the
time that it is made is genuine and real. While it
is involved in the very nature of morality that moral
conduct shall bring greater activity, larger life, the
motive of the agent in self-sacrifice is not to give
up the lesser satisfaction for the sake of getting a
greater. It is only so far as he is already moral that
he is convinced that the new duty will bring satisfaction,
<span class="pb" id="Pg223">[223]</span>
and his conviction is not one of sense, but
of faith. To the agent at the time of action, it
is a real satisfaction which is given up for one
that is only ideal, and given up because the ideal
satisfaction is ethical, active—one congruent to
duty, while the actual satisfaction is only pathological;
that is, congruent to the actualized self—to
the having, instead of the doing self.</p>
<p>3. Goodness is not remoteness from badness.
In one sense, goodness is based upon badness; that
is, good action is always based upon action good
once, but bad if persisted in under changing circumstances.
The moral struggle thus presents itself
as the conflict between this "bad" and the good
which would duly meet the existing situation. This
good, of course, does not involve the annihilation
of the previously attained good—the present bad—but
its subordination; its use in the new function.
This is the explanation of the apparently paradoxical
statement that badness is the material of good
action—a statement literally correct when badness
is understood as it is here. Evil is simply that
which goodness has to <em>overcome</em>—has to make an
element of itself.</p>
<p>Badness, as just spoken of, is only potential—the
end is bad as contrasted with the better. Badness
may also, of course, be actual; the bad end
may be chosen, and adopted into character. Even
<span class="pb" id="Pg224">[224]</span>
in this sense, goodness is not the absence of evil,
or entire freedom from it. Badness even on this
basis is the material of goodness; it is to be
put under foot and made an element in good action.
But how can actual evil be made a factor of right
conduct? In this way; the good man learns from
his own bad acts; he does not continue to repeat
such acts, nor does he, while recognizing their badness,
simply endeavor to do right without regard to
the previous bad conduct. Perceiving the effect of
his own wrong acts, the change produced in his
own capacities, and his altered relations to other
people, he acts so as to meet the situation which
his own bad act has helped to create. Conduct is
then right, although made what it is, to some
degree, by previous wrong conduct.</p>
<p>In this connection, the introduction of Christianity
made one of its largest ethical contributions.
It showed how it was possible for a man to put his
badness behind him and even make it an element
in goodness. Teaching that the world of social
relations was itself an ethical reality and a good (a
redeemed world), it taught that the individual, by
identifying himself with the spirit of this ethical
world, might be freed from slavery to his past
evil; that by recognizing and taking for his own
the evil in the world, instead of engaging in an
isolated struggle to become good by himself, he
<span class="pb" id="Pg225">[225]</span>
might make the evil a factor in his own right action.</p>
<p>Moreover, by placing morality in activity and
not in some thing, or in conformity to an external
law, Christianity changed the nature of the
struggle. While the old struggle had been an
effort to get away from evil to a good beyond,
Christianity made the struggle itself a good. It,
then, was no longer the effort to escape to some
fixed, unchanging state; the constant onward movement
was itself the goal. Virtue, as Hegel says, is
the battle, the struggle, carried to its full.</p>
<p>4. <i>The conception of merit.</i> This is, essentially,
the idea of social desert—the idea that an agent
deserves well of others on account of his act or his
character. An action evokes two kinds of judgments:
first, that the act is right or virtuous, that it
fulfills duty. This judgment may be passed by any
one; as well by the agent as by any one else. It is
simply the recognition of the moral character of
the act. But a right act may also awaken a conviction
of desert; that the act is one which furthers
the needs of society, and thus is meritorious.</p>
<p><em>This</em> is <em>not</em> a judgment which the agent can pass
upon his own act. Virtue and duty are strictly
coextensive; no act can be so virtuous, so right, as
to go beyond meeting the demands of the situation.
Everything is a duty which needs to be done in a
given situation; the doing of what needs to be done
<span class="pb" id="Pg226">[226]</span>
is right or virtuous. While the agent may and
must approve of right action in himself, he cannot
claim desert or reward because of its virtuousness;
he simply does what he should.</p>
<p>Others, however, may see that the act has been
done in the face of great temptation; after a hard
struggle; that it denotes some unusual qualification
or executes some remarkable service. It is
not only right, but obligatory, for others to take
due notice of these qualities, of these deeds.
Such notice is as requisite as it is to show gratitude
for generosity, or forgiveness to a repentant
man.</p>
<p>Two errors are to be avoided here; both arising
from the identification of merit with virtue. One
view holds that the virtue and merit consist in
doing something over and above duty. There is a
minimum of action which is obligatory; to perform
this, since it is obligatory, is no virtue. Anything
above this is virtuous. The other view reverses
this and holds that since no man can do more than
he ought, there is no such thing as merit. Great
excellence or heroism in one man is no more meritorious
than ordinary conduct in another; since the
one man is naturally more gifted than the other.
But while one act is no more right or virtuous
than another, it may be more meritorious, because
contributing more to moral welfare or progress. To
<span class="pb" id="Pg227">[227]</span>
depreciate the meritorious deed is a sign of a carping,
a grudging or a mean spirit.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>The respective relations of duty, virtue and merit
have been variously discussed. Different views will be
found in Sidgwick, Method of Ethics, Bk. III, ch. iv;
Alexander, Moral Order and Progress, pp. 187-195 and
242-247; Stephen, Science of Ethics, pp. 293-303; Martineau,
Types of Ethical Theory, pp. 78-81; Laurie,
Ethica, pp. 145-148.</p></div>
</div>
<hr />
<div class="chapter">
<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter III.</span>—REALIZED MORALITY OR
THE VIRTUES.</h3>
<h4>LXIX.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Goodness as Found in Character.</div>
<p>We have treated of the forming
of moral ideals, and of the attempt
to realize them against the counter
attractions of sensible desire. We have now to
treat these ideas as actual ends of conduct and
thus reacting upon the agent. The good character,
considered in relation to the moral <em>struggle</em>, is the
one which chooses the right end, which endeavors
to be better. The good character <em>in itself</em> is that
made by this choice. It is good for the self to
choose a due end in an effort caused by contrary
allurements. But the very fact of the struggle
witnesses that morality is not yet the natural and
spontaneous manifestation of character. A <em>wholly</em>
<span class="pb" id="Pg228">[228]</span>
good man would feel such satisfaction in the contemplation
of the ideal good that contrary desires
would not affect him. He would take pleasure
only in the right. Every accomplished moral deed
tends to bring this about. Moral realization brings
satisfaction. The satisfaction becomes one with
the right act. Duty and desire grow into harmony.
Interest and virtue tend toward unity.</p>
<p>This is the truth aimed at, but not attained, by
the hedonistic school. In complete moral action,
happiness and rightness know no divorce. And
this is true, even though the act, in some of its
aspects, involves pain. The act, so far as its quality
of rightness is concerned, calls forth unalloyed
satisfaction, however bound up with pain to self
and to others in some respects. The error of
hedonism is not in insisting that right action is
pleasurable, but in its failure to supply content to
the idea of happiness, in its failure to define what
happiness is. In the failure to show those active
relations of man to nature and to man involved in
human satisfaction, it reduces happiness to the
abstraction of agreeable sensation.</p>
<p>A virtue then, in the full sense, that is as the
expression of virtuous character, and not of the
struggle of character to be virtuous against the
allurements of passive goods, is an <em>interest</em>. The
system of virtues includes the various forms which
<span class="pb" id="Pg229">[229]</span>
interest assumes. Truthfulness, for example, is
interest in the media of human exchange; generosity
is interest in sharing any form of superior
endowment with others less rich by nature or
training, etc. It is distinguished from natural
generosity, which may be mere impulse, by its
being an interest in the activity or social relation
itself, instead of in some accidental accompaniment
of the relation.</p>
<p>Another way of getting at the nature of the
virtues is to consider them as forms of freedom.
Positive freedom is the good, it is realized activity,
the full and unhindered performance of function.
A virtue is any one aspect which the free performance
of function may take. Meekness is one form
of the adjustment of capacity to surroundings;
honesty another; indignation another; scientific
excellence another, and so on. In each of these
virtues, the agent realizes his freedom: Freedom
from subjection to caprice and blind appetite,
freedom in the full play of activity.</p>
<h4>LXX.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">Two Kinds of Virtues.</div>
<p>We may recognize two types of
virtuous action. These are:</p>
<p>1. <i>The Special Virtues.</i> These arise from
special capacities or special opportunities. The
Greek sense of virtue was almost that of "excellence",
some special fitness or power of an agent.
<span class="pb" id="Pg230">[230]</span>
There is the virtue of a painter, of a scientific
investigator, of a philanthropist, of a comedian, of
a statesman, and so on. The special act may be
manifested in view of some special occasion, some
special demand of the environment—charity,
thankfulness, patriotism, chastity, etc. Goodness,
as the realization of the moral end, is a system,
and the special virtues are the particular members
of the system.</p>
<p>2. <i>Cardinal Virtues.</i> Besides these special
members of a system, however, the whole system
itself may present various aspects. That is to say,
even in a special act the whole spirit of the man
may be called out, and this expression of the whole
character is a cardinal virtue. While the special
virtues differ in content, as humility from bravery,
earnestness from compassion, the cardinal virtues
have the same content, showing only different sides
of it. Conscientiousness, for example, is a cardinal
virtue. It does not have to do with an act
belonging to some particular capacity, or evoked
by some special circumstance, but with the spirit of
the whole self as manifested in the will to recognize
duty—both its obligatoriness in general and
the concrete forms which it takes. Truthfulness
as a special virtue would be the desire to make
word correspond to fact in some instance of speech.
As a cardinal virtue, it is the constant will to clarify
<span class="pb" id="Pg231">[231]</span>
and render true to their ideal all human relations—those
of man to man, and man to nature.</p>
<h4>LXXI.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Cardinal Virtues.</div>
<p>The cardinal virtues are
marked by</p>
<p>1. <i>Wholeness.</i> This or that virtue, not calling
the whole character into play, but only some special
power, is partial. But a cardinal virtue is not <em>a</em>
virtue, but the spirit in which all acts are performed.
It lies in the attitude which the agent
takes towards duty; his obedience to recognized
forms, his readiness to respond to new duties, his
enthusiasm in moving forward to new relations.
It is a common remark that moral codes change
from 'Do not' to 'Do', and from this to 'Be'. A
Mosaic code may attempt to regulate the specific
acts of life. Christianity says, 'Be ye perfect'.
The effort to exhaust the various special right acts
is futile. They are not the same for any two men,
and they change constantly with the same man.
The very words which denote virtues come less and
less to mean specific acts, and more the spirit in
which conduct occurs. Purity, for example, does not
mean freedom from certain limited outward forms of
defilement; but comes to signify rightness of natures
as a whole, their freedom from all self-seeking
or exclusive desire for private pleasure, etc. Thus
purity of heart comes to mean perfect goodness.</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg232">[232]</span>
<p>2. <i>Disinterestedness.</i> Any act, to be virtuous,
must of course be disinterested, but we may now
connect this disinterestedness with the integral
nature of moral action just spoken of. Immoral
action never takes account of the whole nature of
an end; it deflects the end to some ulterior purpose;
it bends it to the private satisfaction of the agent;
it takes a part of it by making exceptions in favor
of self. Bad action is never 'objective'. It is 'abstract';
it takes into account only such portion of
the act as satisfies some existing need of the
private self. The immoral man shows his partial
character again by being full of casuistries,
devices by which he can get the act removed
from its natural placing and considered in some
other light:—this act, for example, <em>would</em> be dishonest,
of course, if done under certain circumstances,
but since I have certain praiseworthy feelings,
certain remote intentions, it may now be considered
otherwise. It is a large part of the badness
of 'good' people that instead of taking the whole
act just as it is, they endeavor to make the natural
feelings in their own mind—feelings of charity, or
benevolence—do substitute duty for the end aimed
at; they excuse wrong acts on the ground that
their 'intentions' were good, meaning by intentions
the prevailing mood of their mind. It is in this
sense that 'hell is paved with good intentions.'</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg233">[233]</span>
<p>Now it is against this deflection, perversion
and mutilating of the act that disinterestedness
takes its stand. Disinterested does not mean without
interest, but without interest in anything
except <em>the act itself</em>. The interest is not in the
wonderful moods or sentiments with which we do
the act; it is not in some ulterior end to be gained
by it, or in some private advantage which it will
bring, but in the act itself—in the real and concrete
relations involved. There is a vague French
saying that 'morality is the nature of things.'
If this phrase has a meaning it is that moral conduct
is not a manifestation of private feelings nor a
search for some unattainable ideal, but observance
and reproduction of actual relations. And this is
the mark of a disinterested character.</p>
</div>
<hr />
<div class="chapter">
<h3>CONCLUSION.</h3>
<h4>LXXII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Practical End of Morality.</div>
<p>Virtues, then, are cardinal,
and character is integral,
just in the degree in which every want is a want
of the whole man. So far as this occurs, the burden
of the moral struggle is transformed into
freedom of movement. There is no longer effort
to bring the particular desire into conformity with
<span class="pb" id="Pg234">[234]</span>
a law, or a universal, outside itself. The fitting
in of each special desire, as it arises, to the organism
of character takes place without friction, as a
natural re-adjustment. There is not constraint,
but growth. On the other side, the attained character
does not tend to petrify into a fixed possession
which resists the response to needs that grow
out of the enlarged environment. It is plastic to
new wants and demands; it does not require to be
wrenched and wracked into agreement with the
required act, but moves into it, of itself. The
law is not an external ideal, but the principle of
the movement. There is the identity of freedom
and law in the good.</p>
<p>This union of inclination and duty in act is the
practical end. All the world's great reformers
have set as their goal this ideal, which may be
termed either the freeing of wants, or the humanizing
of the moral law. It will help summarize
our whole discussion, if we see how the theories of
hedonism and of Kant have endeavored to express
this same goal. Hedonism, indeed, has this
identity for its fundamental principle. It holds
strongly to the idea of moral law immanent in
human wants themselves. But its error lies in
taking this identity of desire and the good, as a
direct or immediate unity, while, in reality, it exists
only in and through activity; it is a unity which
<span class="pb" id="Pg235">[235]</span>
can be attained only as the result of a process. It
mistakes an ideal which is realized only in action
for bare fact which exists of itself.</p>
<p>Hedonism, as represented by Spencer, recognizes,
it is true, that the unity of desire and duty is
not an immediate or natural one; but only to fall
into the error of holding that the separation is due
to some external causes, and that when these are
removed we shall have a fixed millenium. As
against this doctrine, we must recognize that the
difference between want and duty is always removed
so far as conduct is moral; that it is not an
ideal in the sense of something to be attained at
some remote period, but an ideal in the sense of
being the very meaning of moral activity whenever
and wherever it occurs. The realizing of this ideal
is not something to be sometime reached once for
all, but progress is itself the ideal. Wants are
ever growing larger, and thus freedom ever comes
to have a wider scope (Sec. <a href="#LXV">LXV</a>).</p>
<p>Kant recognizes that the identity of duty and
inclination is not a natural fact, but is the ideal.
However, he understands by ideal something
which ought to be, but is not. Morality is ever a
struggle to get desire into unity with law, but a
struggle doomed, by its very conditions, not to
succeed. The law is the straight line of duty,
which the asymptotic curve of desire may approximate,
<span class="pb" id="Pg236">[236]</span>
but never touch. An earthly taint of pleasure-seeking
always clings to our wants, and makes
of morality a striving which defeats itself.</p>
<p>The theory that morality lies in the realization
of individuality recognizes that there is no direct,
or natural, identity of desire and law, but also
recognizes that their identification is not an impossible
task. The problem is solved in the exercise
of function, where the desires, however, are not
unclothed, but clothed upon. Flowing in the
channel of response to the demands of the moral
environment, they unite, at once, social service and
individual freedom.</p>
<h4>LXXIII.</h4>
<div class="sidenote">The Means of Moralization.</div>
<p>This practical end of the
unification of desire and duty,
in the play of moral interests, is
reached, therefore, so far as the desires are socialized.
A want is socialized when it is not a want
for its own isolated and fixed satisfaction, but reflects
the needs of the environment. This implies,
of course, that it is bound by countless ties to the
whole body of desires and capacities. The eye, in
seeing for itself, sees for the whole body, because it
is not isolated but, through its connections, an organ
of a system. In this same way, the satisfaction of
a want for food, or for commercial activity, may
necessitate a satisfaction of the whole social system.</p>
<span class="pb" id="Pg237">[237]</span>
<p>But how shall this socialization of wants be
secured? It is in answering this question that we
are brought again to a point already discussed at
length: the moral bearings of intelligence. It is
intelligence that is the sole sure means of taking a
want out of the isolation of merely impulsive
action. It is the passing of the desire through the
alembic of ideas that, in rationalizing and spiritualizing
it, makes it an expression of the want of the
whole man, and thus of social needs.</p>
<p>To know one's self was declared by Socrates,
who first brought to conscious birth the spirit of
the moral life, to be the very core of moral endeavor.
This knowledge of self has taken, indeed,
a more circuitous and a more painful path, than
Socrates anticipated. Man has had, during two
thousand years of science, to go around through
nature to find himself, and as yet he has not wholly
come back to himself—he oftentimes seems still
lost in the wilderness of an outer world. But
when man does get back to himself it will be as
a victor laden with the spoils of subdued nature.
Having secured, in theory and invention, his unity
with nature, his knowledge of himself will rest on
a wide and certain basis.</p>
<p>This is the final justification of the moral value
of science and art. It is because through them
wants are inter-connected, unified and socialized,
<span class="pb" id="Pg238">[238]</span>
that they are, when all is said and done, the preëminent
moral means. And if we do not readily
recognize them in this garb, it is because we have
made of them such fixed things, that is, such
abstractions, by placing them outside the movement
of human life.</p>
</div>
<hr />
<div class="chapter">
<span class="pb" id="Pg239">[239]</span>
<h2>INDEX.</h2>
<ul class="index">
<li class="ifrst">Absolute—and relative Ethics, according to Spencer <a href="#Pg072">72</a>.</li>
<li>Accountability—See <a href="#RES">responsibility.</a></li>
<li><a id="ACT">Activity</a>—human, the subject-matter of ethics <a href="#Pg001">1 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—the object of desire <a href="#Pg021">21 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—the standard of pleasure <a href="#Pg045">45</a>; <a href="#Pg050">50</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—equals exercise of function <a href="#Pg101">101</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—opposed to mere possession <a href="#Pg209">209</a>; <a href="#Pg215">215</a>; <a href="#Pg218">218</a>; <a href="#Pg220">220</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—two sides of <a href="#Pg219">219</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—see <a href="#FRE">freedom</a>.</li>
<li>Æsthetic feelings—may be moral <a href="#Pg199">199</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—see <a href="#ART">art</a>.</li>
<li>Agent—moral, one capable of acting from ideas <a href="#Pg003">3</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—see <a href="#PER">person</a>.</li>
<li>Alexander, S.—quoted: on idea of sum of pleasures <a href="#Pg046">46</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—referred to: <a href="#Pg009">9</a>; <a href="#Pg046">46</a>; <a href="#Pg077">77</a>; <a href="#Pg111">111</a>; <a href="#Pg134">134</a>; <a href="#Pg158">158</a>; <a href="#Pg165">165</a>; <a href="#Pg202">202</a>; <a href="#Pg216">216</a>; <a href="#Pg221">221</a>; <a href="#Pg227">227</a>.</li>
<li><a id="ALT">Altruism</a>—how identified with egoism <a href="#Pg059">59</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—reconciled, by Spencer, with egoism <a href="#Pg070">70 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—conflicts, at present, with egoism <a href="#Pg076">76</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—older moralists termed benevolence <a href="#Pg195">195</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—not necessarily moral <a href="#Pg107">107</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—not disguised selfishness <a href="#Pg109">109</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—may equal charity <a href="#Pg125">125</a>.</li>
<li>Amusements—moral nature of <a href="#Pg133">133</a>.</li>
<li>Approbation—nature of <a href="#Pg161">161</a>.<span class="pb" id="Pg240">[240]</span></li>
<li>Aristotle—quoted: on pleasure <a href="#Pg018">18</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on pleasure and character <a href="#Pg029">29</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on the mean <a href="#Pg136">136</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—referred to: <a href="#Pg031">31</a>.</li>
<li><a id="ART">Art</a> (and Science)—nature of interest in <a href="#Pg111">111</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—distinction of fine and useful <a href="#Pg112">112</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—interest in, why moral <a href="#Pg113">113 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—interest in, really social <a href="#Pg118">118 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—life an, <a href="#Pg120">120</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—essentially dynamic <a href="#Pg126">126</a>.</li>
<li>Asceticism—means formalism <a href="#Pg094">94</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—element of truth in <a href="#Pg095">95</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—results when interest is excluded <a href="#Pg106">106</a>.</li>
<li>Aspiration—involved in morality <a href="#Pg213">213</a>; <a href="#Pg222">222</a>.</li>
<li>Autonomy—Kant's conception of justified <a href="#Pg149">149</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst">Badness—of environment a factor in right action <a href="#Pg176">176</a>; <a href="#Pg224">224</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—its source and factors <a href="#Pg214">214</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—its relation to goodness <a href="#Pg223">223</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—potential and actual <a href="#Pg223">223</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—of good people <a href="#Pg232">232</a>.</li>
<li>Bain, A.—quoted: that pleasure is a self-evident criterion <a href="#Pg016">16</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">his definition of utilitarianism <a href="#Pg053">53</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on obligation <a href="#Pg140">140</a>; <a href="#Pg141">141</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—referred to: <a href="#Pg017">17</a>; <a href="#Pg066">66</a>; <a href="#Pg227">227</a>.</li>
<li>Barratt—quoted: that all pleasure is individual <a href="#Pg014">14</a>.</li>
<li>Baseness—why badness becomes <a href="#Pg219">219</a>.</li>
<li>Benevolence—see <a href="#ALT">altruism</a>.</li>
<li>Bentham, J.—quoted: pleasure both criterion and motive <a href="#Pg015">15</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">self-evident criterion <a href="#Pg016">16</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">all motives good <a href="#Pg034">34 ff</a>.;</li>
<li class="isub2">hedonistic calculus <a href="#Pg036">36 ff</a>.;</li>
<li class="isub2">identity of individual and general pleasure <a href="#Pg057">57 ff</a>.;</li>
<li class="isub2">influence of law <a href="#Pg059">59</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—referred to: <a href="#Pg053">53</a>.<span class="pb" id="Pg241">[241]</span></li>
<li>Birks—referred to: <a href="#Pg066">66</a>.</li>
<li>Blackie, J. S.—referred to: <a href="#Pg066">66</a>.</li>
<li>Bradley, F. H.—quoted: on pleasure and desire <a href="#Pg021">21</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">scientific interest not necessarily social <a href="#Pg122">122</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on merely individual conscience <a href="#Pg189">189</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—referred to: <a href="#Pg025">25</a>; <a href="#Pg026">26</a>; <a href="#Pg042">42</a>; <a href="#Pg048">48</a>; <a href="#Pg054">54</a>; <a href="#Pg091">91</a>; <a href="#Pg124">124</a>; <a href="#Pg134">134</a>; <a href="#Pg165">165</a>; <a href="#Pg221">221</a>.</li>
<li>Browning, R.—referred to: <a href="#Pg111">111</a>.</li>
<li>Butler—Bishop, quoted: on conscience <a href="#Pg167">167</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—referred to: <a href="#Pg110">110</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst">Caird, E.—quoted: on collision of moral ends <a href="#Pg088">88</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—referred to: <a href="#Pg021">21</a>; <a href="#Pg082">82</a>; <a href="#Pg087">87</a>; <a href="#Pg091">91</a>; <a href="#Pg092">92</a>; <a href="#Pg093">93</a>; <a href="#Pg095">95</a>; <a href="#Pg109">109</a>; <a href="#Pg111">111</a>; <a href="#Pg149">149</a>; <a href="#Pg165">165</a>.</li>
<li>Calderwood—referred to: <a href="#Pg158">158</a>; <a href="#Pg166">166</a>.</li>
<li><a id="CAP">Capacity</a>—its relation to environment <a href="#Pg097">97</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—increased by moral action <a href="#Pg206">206</a>.</li>
<li>Carlyle, T.—referred to: <a href="#Pg128">128</a>.</li>
<li>Casuistry—inevitable, if moral end is not wholly social <a href="#Pg119">119</a>.</li>
<li><a id="CHA">Character</a>—reciprocal with conduct <a href="#Pg009">9</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—the source of motive, desire and moral pleasure <a href="#Pg026">26 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—separated from conduct by hedonists <a href="#Pg032">32 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—and virtues <a href="#Pg227">227 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—see <a href="#CAP">capacity</a>, <a href="#CON">conduct</a>, <a href="#INT">interests</a> and <a href="#MOT">motive</a>.</li>
<li>Charity—idea of, involves social inequality <a href="#Pg125">125</a>.</li>
<li>Christianity—ethical influence of <a href="#Pg224">224</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—has no specific ethical code <a href="#Pg231">231</a>.</li>
<li>Coit, S.—referred to: <a href="#Pg028">28</a>; <a href="#Pg066">66</a>.</li>
<li>Commands—moral value of: <a href="#Pg203">203</a>.<span class="pb" id="Pg242">[242]</span></li>
<li><a id="COM">Common Good</a>—an ethical ideal <a href="#Pg051">51</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—not furnished by hedonism <a href="#Pg060">60</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—not furnished by Kant <a href="#Pg091">91</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—why necessarily involved in morality <a href="#Pg117">117</a>; <a href="#Pg217">217</a>; <a href="#Pg222">222</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—demands reciprocal satisfaction of individual and society <a href="#Pg127">127</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—its existence postulated by moral conduct <a href="#Pg130">130</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—results from exercise of function <a href="#Pg168">168</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—constituted by activity <a href="#Pg169">169 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—realized in institutions <a href="#Pg173">173</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—development of <a href="#Pg210">210</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—see <a href="#INS">institutions</a> and <a href="#SOC">society</a>.</li>
<li>Comprehensiveness—growth of, in moral end <a href="#Pg210">210 ff</a>.</li>
<li><a id="CON">Conduct</a>—defined <a href="#Pg003">3</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—relation to consequences <a href="#Pg007">7</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—relation to character <a href="#Pg009">9</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—an individual system <a href="#Pg133">133</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—a social system <a href="#Pg136">136</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—how related to character <a href="#Pg163">163</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—see <a href="#ACT">activity</a>, <a href="#CONS">consequences</a>, <a href="#CHA">character</a> and <a href="#MOT">motive</a>.</li>
<li><a id="CONF">Conflict</a>—of moral ends <a href="#Pg088">88 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—morality has an aspect of <a href="#Pg151">151</a>; <a href="#Pg227">227</a>.</li>
<li>Conscience—Bain's idea of <a href="#Pg141">141</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—equals consciousness of action <a href="#Pg181">181</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—elements in <a href="#Pg182">182</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—not a special faculty <a href="#Pg183">183</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—kinds of <a href="#Pg183">183 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—not merely individual <a href="#Pg188">188</a>.</li>
<li>Conscientiousness—nature of <a href="#Pg199">199</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—does not equal introspection <a href="#Pg200">200</a>.<span class="pb" id="Pg243">[243]</span></li>
<li class="isub1">—nor application of code <a href="#Pg201">201</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—a cardinal virtue <a href="#Pg232">232</a>.</li>
<li><a id="CONS">Consequences</a>—moral value of <a href="#Pg007">7 ff</a>.; <a href="#Pg084">84</a>; <a href="#Pg114">114</a>; <a href="#Pg160">160</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—excluded from morality by Kantianism <a href="#Pg013">13</a>; <a href="#Pg029">29</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—identified with moral value by hedonism <a href="#Pg033">33</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—responsibility for <a href="#Pg160">160</a>.</li>
<li>Criterion—hedonistic is pleasure <a href="#Pg015">15</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—criticism of hedonistic <a href="#Pg031">31 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—two ends to be met by every <a href="#Pg032">32</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—of higher and lower pleasures <a href="#Pg049">49 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—when pleasure may be a <a href="#Pg050">50</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—Mill's really social <a href="#Pg063">63</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—Spencer's really social <a href="#Pg073">73</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—Kant's nominally formal <a href="#Pg079">79 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—the real <a href="#Pg132">132 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—its elasticity <a href="#Pg135">135</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst">Darwin, C.—referred to: <a href="#Pg078">78</a>.</li>
<li>Demoralization—involved in badness <a href="#Pg220">220</a>.</li>
<li><a id="DES">Desire</a>—pleasure as end of <a href="#Pg016">16</a>; <a href="#Pg018">18 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—defined <a href="#Pg019">19</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—how spiritualized <a href="#Pg023">23</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—not purely pleasurable <a href="#Pg027">27</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—an expression of character <a href="#Pg028">28</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—excluded from moral motive by Kant <a href="#Pg079">79</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—all or no involved in morality <a href="#Pg094">94</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—relation to pleasure <a href="#Pg083">83</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—particular, an abstraction <a href="#Pg096">96</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—how distinguished from interest <a href="#Pg103">103</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—opposed to reason by Kant <a href="#Pg147">147</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—when opposed to moral action <a href="#Pg148">148</a>; <a href="#Pg155">155</a>; <a href="#Pg213">213</a>; <a href="#Pg216">216</a>.<span class="pb" id="Pg244">[244]</span></li>
<li class="isub1">—how socialized, <a href="#Pg237">237</a>.</li>
<li>Dewey, J.—referred to: <a href="#Pg025">25</a>; <a href="#Pg078">78</a>; <a href="#Pg194">194</a>.</li>
<li>Disinterestedness—equals full interest <a href="#Pg107">107</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—an aspect of cardinal virtue <a href="#Pg232">232</a>.</li>
<li>Disposition—Bentham on <a href="#Pg035">35</a>.</li>
<li>Dualism—the Kantian <a href="#Pg148">148 ff</a>.</li>
<li>Duty—see <a href="#OBL">obligation</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst">Egoism—see <a href="#ALT">altruism</a>.</li>
<li>Empiricism—Spencer's reconciliation with intuitionalism <a href="#Pg069">69 ff</a>.</li>
<li>End—moral: see <a href="#COM">common good</a>; <a href="#FUN">function</a>; <a href="#MOT">motive</a>.</li>
<li>Environment—defined by relation to capacity <a href="#Pg099">99 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—meaning of adjustment to <a href="#Pg115">115 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—moral, exists in institutions <a href="#Pg171">171</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—badness of, an element in right action <a href="#Pg176">176</a>; <a href="#Pg190">190</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—enlarged by moral action <a href="#Pg207">207</a>.</li>
<li>Ethical World—discussed <a href="#Pg167">167 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—nature illustrated <a href="#Pg168">168</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—relation to moral law <a href="#Pg174">174</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—see <a href="#INS">Institutions</a>.</li>
<li>Ethics—defined <a href="#Pg001">1</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—divided <a href="#Pg003">3</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—its object according to Spencer <a href="#Pg068">68</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—see <a href="#THE">theory</a>.</li>
<li>Evolution, Theory of—combined with hedonism <a href="#Pg067">67 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—not really hedonistic <a href="#Pg071">71 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—its real standard objective <a href="#Pg072">72</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst">Faith—a factor in moral progress <a href="#Pg123">123</a>; <a href="#Pg127">127 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—in humanity, meaning of <a href="#Pg129">129</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—why demanded in moral action <a href="#Pg217">217</a>; <a href="#Pg222">222</a>.</li>
<li>Feelings—natural and moral <a href="#Pg005">5 ff</a>.; <a href="#Pg025">25 ff</a>.; <a href="#Pg087">87</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—sympathetic relied upon by utilitarians <a href="#Pg057">57</a>.<span class="pb" id="Pg245">[245]</span></li>
<li class="isub1">—necessary in moral activity <a href="#Pg085">85</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—active, equal interests <a href="#Pg102">102</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—moral, defined by end <a href="#Pg108">108</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">see also <a href="#MOT">motive</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—value of <a href="#Pg195">195 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—moral, not too narrowly limited <a href="#Pg199">199</a>.</li>
<li><a id="FRE">Freedom</a>—is object of desire <a href="#Pg024">24</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—equals exercise of function <a href="#Pg138">138</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—various aspects of <a href="#Pg158">158</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—of choice defined <a href="#Pg159">159</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—of indifference discussed <a href="#Pg161">161 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—actualized in rights <a href="#Pg172">172</a>; <a href="#Pg174">174</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—positive, realized in virtues <a href="#Pg229">229</a>.</li>
<li><a id="FUN">Function</a>—union of capacity and circumstance in act <a href="#Pg103">103</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—freedom found in exercise of <a href="#Pg164">164 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst">Gizycki—referred to: <a href="#Pg066">66</a>.</li>
<li>God—an external, cannot be the source of obligation <a href="#Pg149">149</a>.</li>
<li>Goethe—referred to: <a href="#Pg128">128</a>.</li>
<li>Golden Rule—identified by Mill with principle of utilitarianism <a href="#Pg059">59</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—gives no directions as to conduct <a href="#Pg204">204</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—is a concrete statement of ethical postulate <a href="#Pg205">205</a>.</li>
<li>Green, T. H.—quoted: on desire and pleasure <a href="#Pg021">21</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on sum of pleasures <a href="#Pg043">43</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on nature of happiness <a href="#Pg045">45</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on conscientiousness <a href="#Pg200">200</a>; <a href="#Pg202">202</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on goodness <a href="#Pg215">215</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—referred to: <a href="#Pg009">9</a>; <a href="#Pg025">25</a>; <a href="#Pg042">42</a>; <a href="#Pg054">54</a>; <a href="#Pg110">110</a>; <a href="#Pg158">158</a>; <a href="#Pg165">165</a>.</li>
<li>Grote, J.—referred to: <a href="#Pg066">66</a>; <a href="#Pg158">158</a>.</li>
<li>Guyau—referred to: <a href="#Pg066">66</a>; <a href="#Pg143">143</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst"><a id="HED">Hedonism</a>—defined <a href="#Pg014">14 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—its paradox <a href="#Pg025">25</a>.<span class="pb" id="Pg246">[246]</span></li>
<li class="isub1">—confuses feeling and idea <a href="#Pg026">26</a>; <a href="#Pg043">43 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—summarized <a href="#Pg030">30</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—all motives good <a href="#Pg033">33</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—its calculus <a href="#Pg036">36</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—fails to provide laws <a href="#Pg039">39 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—its contrast with Kantianism <a href="#Pg082">82 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—its treatment of obligation <a href="#Pg140">140 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—is correct in holding rightness to be pleasurable <a href="#Pg228">228</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—truth and falsity in <a href="#Pg234">234</a>.</li>
<li>Hegel—quoted: on reflective conscience <a href="#Pg188">188</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on merely individual conscience <a href="#Pg189">189</a>.</li>
<li>Hinton, J.—quoted: on altruism <a href="#Pg109">109</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on badness <a href="#Pg216">216</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—referred to: <a href="#Pg202">202</a>.</li>
<li>Hodgson, S. H.—referred to: <a href="#Pg014">14</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst">Idealism—when feeble <a href="#Pg128">128</a>.</li>
<li>Ideals—moral, progressive, <a href="#Pg206">206</a>.</li>
<li>Imperative, Categorical—of Kant <a href="#Pg147">147</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—of conscience <a href="#Pg191">191</a>.</li>
<li>Impulse—and pleasure <a href="#Pg017">17</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—and desire <a href="#Pg022">22</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—nature of action from <a href="#Pg159">159</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—see <a href="#DES">desire</a>.</li>
<li>Individuality—defined <a href="#Pg097">97</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—not identical with inner side alone <a href="#Pg098">98</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—evils of defining from this standpoint <a href="#Pg110">110</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—made by function <a href="#Pg131">131</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—realized is autonomy <a href="#Pg150">150</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—realized is freedom <a href="#Pg164">164</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—growth in <a href="#Pg210">210</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—see <a href="#FRE">freedom</a> and <a href="#RIG">rights</a>.</li>
<li><a id="INS">Institutions</a>—nature of <a href="#Pg169">169 ff</a>.<span class="pb" id="Pg247">[247]</span></li>
<li class="isub1">—sovereignty, rights and law inhere in <a href="#Pg171">171 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—influence of, upon conscience <a href="#Pg184">184</a>; <a href="#Pg189">189</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—movement of, the source of duties, <a href="#Pg194">194</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—see <a href="#COM">common good</a> and <a href="#SOC">society</a>.</li>
<li><a id="INT">Interests</a>—are functions on personal side <a href="#Pg102">102 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—classified and discussed <a href="#Pg104">104 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—social, involve science and art <a href="#Pg123">123 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—realized in institutions <a href="#Pg170">170</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—their relation to conscience <a href="#Pg198">198</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—pure, are virtue <a href="#Pg228">228</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—the active element of <a href="#Pg218">218</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—the freeing of, the moral goal <a href="#Pg233">233</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst">James, Sr., H.—referred to: <a href="#Pg202">202</a>.</li>
<li>James, Wm.—quoted: on pleasure and desire <a href="#Pg020">20</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—referred to: <a href="#Pg077">77</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst">Kant—agrees with hedonism as to end of desire <a href="#Pg079">79</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—his end an abstraction <a href="#Pg084">84</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—his practical ideal that of Mill and Spencer <a href="#Pg093">93</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—value of his theory <a href="#Pg093">93</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—his theory of obligation <a href="#Pg147">147</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—his conception of autonomy <a href="#Pg149">149</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—his idea of duty <a href="#Pg156">156</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—his conception of practical reason <a href="#Pg191">191</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—quoted: on pleasure <a href="#Pg047">47</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on pleasure as common good <a href="#Pg052">52</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on priority of duty to good <a href="#Pg078">78</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on good will <a href="#Pg079">79</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">his formula for right action <a href="#Pg080">80</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">illustrations of moral law <a href="#Pg080">80 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—referred to: <a href="#Pg014">14</a>; <a href="#Pg078">78</a>; <a href="#Pg212">212</a>; <a href="#Pg221">221</a>; <a href="#Pg235">235</a>.</li>
<li>Kantianism—compared with hedonism <a href="#Pg082">82 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—its practical breakdown <a href="#Pg090">90</a>.</li>
<li>Knowledge—moral effect of advance in <a href="#Pg207">207</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—socializes wants <a href="#Pg237">237</a>.<span class="pb" id="Pg248">[248]</span></li>
<li class="isub1">—see <a href="#ART">art</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst">Laurie, S. S.—quoted: on happiness <a href="#Pg066">66</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—referred to: <a href="#Pg227">227</a>.</li>
<li><a id="LAW">Law</a>—utilitarian use of <a href="#Pg058">58</a>; <a href="#Pg061">61 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—Kant's moral, formal <a href="#Pg078">78</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—relation to desire <a href="#Pg094">94</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—realized in institutions <a href="#Pg172">172</a>; <a href="#Pg174">174</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—of the 'is', not merely of the 'ought' <a href="#Pg175">175</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—idea of, in general <a href="#Pg195">195</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—see <a href="#OBL">obligation</a>.</li>
<li>Lawlessness—involved in morality <a href="#Pg216">216</a>.</li>
<li>Leckey—referred to: <a href="#Pg066">66</a>.</li>
<li>Limitation—the basis of moral strength <a href="#Pg128">128</a>.</li>
<li>Lincoln, A.—anecdote regarding <a href="#Pg028">28</a>.</li>
<li>Lotze—referred to: <a href="#Pg016">16</a>; <a href="#Pg166">166</a>.</li>
<li>Love—the union of duty and desire <a href="#Pg154">154</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst">Martineau, J.—quoted: on the difficulty of the hedonistic calculus <a href="#Pg038">38</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—referred to: <a href="#Pg042">42</a>; <a href="#Pg078">78</a>; <a href="#Pg158">158</a>; <a href="#Pg166">166</a>; <a href="#Pg227">227</a>.</li>
<li>Maurice, F. D.—referred to: <a href="#Pg191">191</a>.</li>
<li>Merit—means social desert <a href="#Pg225">225</a>.</li>
<li>Mill, J. S.—criticizes Kant <a href="#Pg091">91</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—his equivoke of pleasure and pleasant thing <a href="#Pg020">20</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—his fallacy <a href="#Pg056">56</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—introduces quality of pleasure into hedonism <a href="#Pg042">42</a>; <a href="#Pg046">46</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—quoted: pleasure self-evident criterion <a href="#Pg016">16</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">end of desire <a href="#Pg017">17</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on rules of morality <a href="#Pg039">39 ff</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on moral tribunal <a href="#Pg048">48</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on utilitarian standard <a href="#Pg053">53</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on importance of law and education <a href="#Pg059">59</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on social feeling <a href="#Pg063">63 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—referred to: <a href="#Pg025">25</a>; <a href="#Pg030">30</a>; <a href="#Pg049">49</a>.<span class="pb" id="Pg249">[249]</span></li>
<li>Morality—sphere of as broad as conduct <a href="#Pg002">2</a>; <a href="#Pg154">154</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—not dependent upon an individual's wish <a href="#Pg167">167 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—realized in institutions <a href="#Pg170">170</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—struggle for private, bad <a href="#Pg202">202</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—in the nature of things <a href="#Pg233">233</a>.</li>
<li><a id="MOT">Motive</a>—defined <a href="#Pg005">5</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—two elements in <a href="#Pg010">10</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—determined by character <a href="#Pg028">28</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—never bad according to hedonism <a href="#Pg033">33</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—formal and legislative according to Kant <a href="#Pg080">80</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—not a subjective mood <a href="#Pg232">232</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst">Norms—in philosophy <a href="#Pg001">1</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst"><a id="OBL">Obligation</a>—in conflict with pleasure <a href="#Pg076">76 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—how related to function <a href="#Pg138">138</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—theories regarding <a href="#Pg139">139</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—distinct from coercion <a href="#Pg144">144</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—enforced, not created by power <a href="#Pg145">145</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—Kantian idea of criticized <a href="#Pg148">148</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—does not relate simply to what ought to be, but is not <a href="#Pg151">151</a>; <a href="#Pg174">174 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—relation to conscience <a href="#Pg183">183</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—how made known <a href="#Pg190">190 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—practical value of sense of <a href="#Pg196">196</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—must be individualized <a href="#Pg197">197</a>; <a href="#Pg201">201</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—when opposed to desire <a href="#Pg213">213</a>; <a href="#Pg216">216</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—the union with desire the moral ideal <a href="#Pg234">234</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—see <a href="#DES">desire</a>, <a href="#LAW">law</a> and <a href="#UNI">universal</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst">Pater—referred to: <a href="#Pg066">66</a>.</li>
<li>Pathological—all inclination, according to Kant <a href="#Pg086">86</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—opposed to active <a href="#Pg212">212</a>.</li>
<li>Paulsen—referred to: <a href="#Pg067">67</a>; <a href="#Pg111">111</a>.</li>
<li><a id="PER">Person</a>—is one capable of conduct <a href="#Pg097">97</a>.<span class="pb" id="Pg250">[250]</span></li>
<li>Pleasure—an element in activity <a href="#Pg024">24</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—not the moving spring to action <a href="#Pg026">26</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—sum of, dependent on objective conditions <a href="#Pg044">44 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—quality of, similarly dependent <a href="#Pg047">47 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—may symbolize action <a href="#Pg051">51</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—general, a vague idea <a href="#Pg062">62</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—fixed by social relations <a href="#Pg065">65</a>; <a href="#Pg077">77</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—not a sufficient guide at present <a href="#Pg075">75</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—dependent on self-realization <a href="#Pg083">83</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—all right action involves <a href="#Pg228">228</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—see <a href="#DES">desire</a> and <a href="#HED">hedonism</a>.</li>
<li>Postulate—moral, defined <a href="#Pg129">129 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—equals Golden Rule <a href="#Pg205">205</a>.</li>
<li>Problem—moral <a href="#Pg003">3</a>.</li>
<li>Progress—necessary in moral action <a href="#Pg135">135 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—moral, nature of <a href="#Pg209">209</a>.</li>
<li>Prudence—not outside moral sphere <a href="#Pg105">105</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst">Reason—opposed to desire by Kant <a href="#Pg147">147</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—Kant's conception too immediate <a href="#Pg150">150</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—practical, idea of <a href="#Pg191">191</a>.</li>
<li>Reformation—possibility of <a href="#Pg162">162 ff</a>.</li>
<li>Relativity—of morals, means what <a href="#Pg136">136</a>.</li>
<li><a id="RES">Responsibility</a>—nature of <a href="#Pg160">160 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—of parents and children <a href="#Pg203">203</a>.</li>
<li>Reverence—Kant regards as sole moral feeling <a href="#Pg086">86</a>.</li>
<li><a id="RIG">Rights</a>—exist by common will <a href="#Pg172">172</a>.</li>
<li>Rousseau—his influence upon Kant <a href="#Pg148">148</a>.</li>
<li>Royce, J.—referred to: <a href="#Pg061">61</a>; <a href="#Pg111">111</a>.</li>
<li>Rule—moral, not a command <a href="#Pg204">204</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—a tool of analysis <a href="#Pg204">204</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst">Satisfaction—moral, creates new wants <a href="#Pg208">208</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—good and bad <a href="#Pg217">217</a>.<span class="pb" id="Pg251">[251]</span></li>
<li>Science—nature of interest in <a href="#Pg111">111</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—the preëminent moral means <a href="#Pg237">237</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—see <a href="#ART">art</a>.</li>
<li>Schurman, J. G.—referred to: <a href="#Pg078">78</a>.</li>
<li>Self—interest in <a href="#Pg105">105 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—involves sympathy <a href="#Pg109">109</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—dualism in self, how arises <a href="#Pg216">216</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—knowledge of <a href="#Pg237">237</a>.</li>
<li>Selfishness—involved in immorality <a href="#Pg216">216</a>.</li>
<li>Self-sacrifice—its moral nature <a href="#Pg222">222</a>.</li>
<li>Sentimentality—immoral <a href="#Pg113">113</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—escape from, only through knowledge <a href="#Pg120">120</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—results from abstract idea of duty <a href="#Pg157">157</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—refined, equals sensuality <a href="#Pg220">220</a>.</li>
<li>Shakespeare—quoted: on common good <a href="#Pg131">131</a>.</li>
<li>Sidgwick, H.—quoted: on the hedonistic assumption <a href="#Pg043">43</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on utilitarian standard <a href="#Pg053">53</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on intuitional utilitarianism <a href="#Pg054">54</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—referred to: <a href="#Pg014">14</a>; <a href="#Pg016">16</a>; <a href="#Pg018">18</a>; <a href="#Pg066">66</a>; <a href="#Pg111">111</a>; <a href="#Pg227">227</a>.</li>
<li><ins id="C251" title="entry missing"><a id="SOC">Society</a></ins>—its moral influence <a href="#Pg146">146</a>; <a href="#Pg157">157</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—its relation to obligation <a href="#Pg152">152</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—constituted by moral relationships <a href="#Pg175">175</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—development of, changes moral ideals <a href="#Pg207">207</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—see <a href="#COM">common good</a>, <a href="#INS">institutions</a>.</li>
<li>Socrates—author of idea of reflective conscience <a href="#Pg188">188</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—initiator of modern ethical spirit <a href="#Pg237">237</a>.</li>
<li>Sorley—referred to: <a href="#Pg078">78</a>; <a href="#Pg111">111</a>.</li>
<li>Sovereignty—exists in common will and good <a href="#Pg171">171</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—ultimate possessed in humanity <a href="#Pg173">173</a>.</li>
<li>Spencer, H.—believes in fixed social ideal <a href="#Pg073">73 ff</a>.; <a href="#Pg235">235</a>.<span class="pb" id="Pg252">[252]</span></li>
<li class="isub1">—quoted: on pleasure as a necessary effect <a href="#Pg068">68</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">not immediate object of desire <a href="#Pg069">69</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">egoism and altruism <a href="#Pg070">70 ff</a>.;</li>
<li class="isub2">on ideal man <a href="#Pg073">73</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">equilibrium of functions <a href="#Pg074">74</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on obligation <a href="#Pg142">142</a>; <a href="#Pg143">143</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—referred to: <a href="#Pg016">16</a>; <a href="#Pg067">67</a>; <a href="#Pg072">72</a>; <a href="#Pg073">73</a>; <a href="#Pg074">74</a>; <a href="#Pg075">75</a>; <a href="#Pg076">76</a>; <a href="#Pg111">111</a>; <a href="#Pg125">125</a>; <a href="#Pg235">235</a>.</li>
<li>Stephen, L.—quoted: on feeling as universal motive <a href="#Pg027">27</a>;</li>
<li class="isub2">on sympathy <a href="#Pg109">109 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—referred to: <a href="#Pg016">16</a>; <a href="#Pg025">25</a>; <a href="#Pg067">67</a>; <a href="#Pg068">68</a>; <a href="#Pg078">78</a>; <a href="#Pg111">111</a>; <a href="#Pg165">165</a>; <a href="#Pg227">227</a>.</li>
<li>Struggle—when morality is a <a href="#Pg212">212</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—changed by Christianity into movement <a href="#Pg225">225</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—see <a href="#CONF">conflict</a>.</li>
<li>Sully, J.—referred to: <a href="#Pg017">17</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst"><a id="THE">Theory</a>—ethical and conduct <a href="#Pg001">1</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—ethical, sub-divided <a href="#Pg013">13</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—ethical, not casuistry <a href="#Pg089">89</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—value of <a href="#Pg186">186</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst"><a id="UNI">Universal</a>—a, lacking in hedonism <a href="#Pg037">37</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—Kant's emphasis of <a href="#Pg080">80</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—Kant's, formal <a href="#Pg080">80</a>; <a href="#Pg085">85</a>; <a href="#Pg090">90</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—Kant's, leads to conflict <a href="#Pg087">87</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—true, equals organization, <a href="#Pg088">88</a>; <a href="#Pg090">90</a>; <a href="#Pg096">96</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—bad action cannot be <a href="#Pg221">221</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—means a method, not a thing <a href="#Pg136">136</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—found in movement of character <a href="#Pg234">234</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—see <a href="#LAW">law</a>.</li>
<li>Utilitarianism—is universalistic hedonism <a href="#Pg013">13</a>; <a href="#Pg053">53</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—defined by Mill, Sidgwick, Bain, <a href="#Pg053">53</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—criticized <a href="#Pg054">54 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—assumes social order <a href="#Pg063">63 ff</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—combined with evolution <a href="#Pg067">67</a>.<span class="pb" id="Pg253">[253]</span></li>
<li class="ifrst">Virtue—change in nature of <a href="#Pg211">211</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—correlative to duty <a href="#Pg225">225</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—distinguished from merit <a href="#Pg226">226</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—is an interest of character <a href="#Pg228">228</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—two types of <a href="#Pg229">229</a>.</li>
<li class="isub1">—cardinal <a href="#Pg230">230</a>.</li>
<li class="ifrst">Wants—see <a href="#DES">desires</a>.</li>
<li>Wilson (and Fowler)—referred to: <a href="#Pg067">67</a>.</li>
<li>Will—Kant's good will <a href="#Pg079">79</a>.</li></ul>
</div>
<hr />
<p class="center" id="Corrections"><big>Transcriber's Corrections:</big></p>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="corrections">
<tr><td>page</td><td>original text</td><td>correction</td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#C017">17</a></td><td colspan="2">endquote missing</td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#C020">20</a></td><td>sweat-meats</td><td>sweet-meats</td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#C024">24</a></td><td>becoms</td><td>becomes</td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#C035">35</a></td><td>suprise</td><td>surprise</td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#C038">38</a></td><td>the the</td><td>the</td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#C038a">38</a></td><td>cicumstances</td><td>circumstances</td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#C042">42</a></td><td>pleasnres</td><td>pleasures</td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#C047">47</a></td><td>agreableness</td><td>agreeableness</td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#C068">68</a></td><td>Ehtics</td><td>Ethics</td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#C074">74</a></td><td colspan="2">endquote missing</td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#C083">83</a></td><td>of</td><td>as</td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#C092">92</a></td><td>expressily</td><td>expressly</td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#C124">124</a></td><td>and and</td><td>and</td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#C156">156</a></td><td>what what</td><td>what</td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#C183">183</a></td><td>LVIX</td><td>LIX</td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#C192">192</a></td><td>superflous</td><td>superfluous</td></tr>
<tr><td><a href="#C251">251</a></td><td colspan="2">entry Society missing in original</td></tr>
</table>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 60422 ***</div>
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