We have seen that, in the organization of a given society, the social will may be imperfectly expressed. It may come about that the place in the social order assigned to a man cramps and pains him, or forces him to exertions which seem intolerable. He may passively accept it, or he may set himself in opposition to the social will as it is, appealing to a better social will. The fact that an individual finds himself out of harmony with given aspects of the social will characteristic of his age and country is no proof that he desires to set himself up in opposition to the social will in general.

In a given instance, he may be, from the standpoint of existing law, a criminal. Yet he may reverence the law above his fellows. His aberrations need not be arbitrary wanderings, prompted by selfish impulses. He may leave the beaten track because he does not approve of it, which is a very different thing from disliking it. Some will judge him to be a pestilent fellow; some will rate him as a reformer, a prophet, perhaps a martyr. Neither judgment is of the least value so long as it reflects merely the tastes or prejudices of the individual. Each must justify itself before the bar of reason, if it would have a respectful hearing. A reason must be given for conservatism and a reason must be given for reform.

89. THE ETHICS OF REASON AND THE VARYING MORAL CODES.—Several advantages may be claimed for the ethical doctrine I have been advocating:

(1) It gives a relative justification to the varying moral codes of communities of men in the past and in the present. A code may, even when imperfect from some higher point of view, fit well a community at a given stage of its development. It may be a man's duty to obey its injunctions, even where they are not seen to be the wisest possible. One reason for bowing to custom is that it is custom; one reason for obeying laws is that they are laws. They embody the permanence and stability of the social will, and have a prima facie claim to our reverence.

(2) In recognizing the social will as something deeper and broader than the will of the individual, as having its roots in the remote past and as reaching into the distant future, it admits the futility of devising utopian schemes which would bless humanity in defiance of the actual expressions of the social will revealed in the development of human societies. The whim of the individual cannot well be substituted for the settled purpose of the community—a purpose ripened by generations of experience, and adjusted to what is possible under existing conditions.

(3) On the other hand, it distinguishes between lower and higher ethical codes, or codes lower or higher in certain of their aspects. It sets a standard of comparison; it recognizes progress towards a goal.

(4) And, in all this, it does not appear to decide arbitrarily either what is the goal of man's moral efforts or what means must be adopted to attain to it. It rests upon a study of man; man as he has been, man as he is, in all the manifold relations in which he stands to his environment, physical and social.

There are other ethical theories in the field, of course. Some of them are advocated by men of original genius and of no little learning. Some deserve more attention than others, but all should have a hearing, at least. A close scrutiny will often reveal that advocates of different theories are by no means so far apart as a hasty reading of their works would suggest. Writers the most diverse may assist one to a comprehension of one's own theory. Its implications may be developed, objections to it may be suggested, its strong points may stand revealed. By no means the least important part of a work on ethics is its treatment of the schools of the moralists. If it be written with any degree of fairness, it may contain what will serve the reader with an antidote to erroneous opinions on the part of the writer. To a study of the most important schools of the moralists I shall now turn.



PART VII

THE SCHOOLS OF THE MORALISTS

CHAPTER XXIII

INTUITIONISM

90. WHAT IS IT?—"We come into the world," said Epictetus, "with no natural notion of a right-angled triangle, or of a quarter-tone, or of a half-tone; but we learn each of these things by a certain transmission according to art; and for this reason those who do not know them do not think that they know them. But as to good and evil, and beautiful and ugly, and becoming and unbecoming, and happiness and misfortune, and proper and improper, and what we ought to do and what we ought not to do, who ever came into the world without having an innate idea of them?" [Footnote: Discourses, Book II, chapter xi, translation by GEORGE LONG.] Seneca adds his testimony to the self-luminous character of moral truth: "Whatever things tend to make us better or happier are either obvious or easily discovered." [Footnote: On Benefits, Book VII, chapter i.]

With the general spirit of these utterances the typical intuitionist is in sympathy, although he need not assent to the doctrine of innate ideas, nor need he hold that all moral truths are equally self-evident. There are intuitionists of various classes, and there are sufficiently notable differences of opinion. Still, all intuitionists believe that some moral truth, at least, is revealed to the individual by direct inspection (intueor), and that we must be content with such evidence and must not seek for proof. It may be maintained that our moral judgments—or some of them—are the result of "an immediate discernment of the natures of things by the understanding." and appeal may be made to the analogy furnished by mathematical truths. [Footnote: This appeal has been made by famous intuitionists from the seventeenth century to the nineteenth— Cudworth, More, Locke, Clarke, Price, Whewell.]

91. VARIETIES OF INTUITIONISM.—Forms of intuitionism have been conveniently classified as Perceptional, Dogmatic and Philosophical. [Footnote: SIDGWICK, The Methods of Ethics, Book I, chapter viii, Sec 4.] To this nomenclature it may be objected that the term "dogmatic" carries with it a certain flavor of disapprobation, and predisposes one to the assumption of a critical attitude, while the term "philosophical" has the reverse suggestion, and smacks of special pleading. While admitting that there is something in the objection, I retain the convenient terms, merely warning the reader to be on his guard.

(1) Perceptional Intuitionism falls back upon the analogy of perception in general. I seem to perceive by direct inspection that my blotter is green, and that my penholder is longer than my pencil. I do not seek for evidence; I do not have recourse to any chain of reasonings to establish the fact. And I am concerned here with facts, not with some general proposition applicable to many facts. Even so, I may maintain that, in specific situations, the rightness or wrongness of given courses of action may be perceived immediately.

He who accepts the spontaneous deliverances of his conscience, when confronted with the necessity of making a decision, as revelations of moral truth, may be called a perceptional intuitionist. The deliverances must, however, be spontaneous and immediate, not the result of reasoning. If a man reasons, if he falls back upon general considerations, if he looks into the future and weighs the consequences of his act, and, as a result, decides what he ought to do, he is no longer a perceptional intuitionist.

The perceptional intuitionist, consistently and unreservedly such, is rather an ideal construction than an actually existing person. Most men, on certain occasions, are inclined to say, "I feel this to be right, and will do it, although I cannot support my decision by giving reasons." Many men are, at times, tempted to maintain that a given course of action is evidently right and should be followed irrespective of consequences. But this is not the habitual attitude even of men very little gifted with reflection, and it is highly unsatisfactory to those who have the habit of thinking.

Primitive man supports his decisions by an appeal to custom. Civilized man turns to custom, to law, or to general principles of some sort, which he accepts as authoritative, and which he regards as having a bearing upon the particular instance in question. That individual decisions should be capable of some sort of justification by the adduction of a reason or reasons is generally admitted. No sane man would maintain the general proposition that the consequences of acts should be wholly disregarded in determining whether they are or are not desirable.

(2) Thus, Perceptional Intuitionism gives place to what has been called Dogmatic Intuitionism—to the doctrine that certain general moral rules can be immediately perceived to be valid. The application of such general rules to particular instances implies discrimination and the use of reason.

Here decisions are not wholly unsupported. Reasons may be asked for and given. In answer to the question: Why should I say this or that? it may be said: Because the law of veracity demands it. In answer to the question: Why should I act thus? it may be said: Because it is just, or is in accordance with the dictates of benevolence. The general rule is accepted as intuitively evident, but it is incumbent upon the individual to use his judgment in determining what may properly fall under the general rule.

But there are rules and rules. It is not easy to draw a sharp line between Perceptional Intuitionism and Dogmatic, just as it is not easy in other fields to distinguish sharply between knowledge given directly in perception, and knowledge in which more or less conscious processes of inference play a part. Do I perceive the man whom I see, when I look into a mirror, to be behind the mirror or in front of it? Do I perceive the whereabouts of the coach which I hear rattling by my window, or does reasoning play its part in giving me information? And if I follow my conscience in not withholding from the cabman the small customary fee in addition to his fare, am I prompted by an unreasoned perception of the rightness of my act, or am I influenced by general considerations—the thought of what is customary, the belief that gratuities should not be withheld where services of a certain kind are rendered, etc.?

Even so, it is difficult to draw a sharp line between Dogmatic Intuitionists and Philosophical, or to regard Dogmatic Intuitionists as a clearly defined class of any sort. A man may accept it as self-evident that a waiter should receive ten per cent of the amount of his bill; a woman may find it obviously proper that an old lady should wear purple. Those little given to reflection may accept such maxims as these without attempting to justify them by falling back upon any more general rule. We all find about us human beings who have their minds stored with a multitude of maxims not greatly different from those adduced, and who find them serviceable in guiding their actions. But thoughtful men can scarcely be content with such a modicum of reason, and they distinguish between ultimate principles and minor maxims which stand in need of justification by their reference to principles.

The intuitional moralists by profession draw this distinction. We find them setting forth as ultimate a limited number of ethical principles of a high degree of generality. It is obvious that, the more general the principle, the more room for conscious reasoning in its interpretation and application. The man to whom it appears as in the nature of things suitable that the waiter should receive his ten per cent is relieved from many perplexities which may beset the man who feels assured only of the general truth that it is right to be benevolent.

A glance at a few of the moralists who are treated in the history of ethics as representative intuitionists reveals that they are little in harmony as touching the particular moral intuitions which they urge as the foundation of ethics.

Thus, John Locke maintains that from the idea of God, and of ourselves as rational beings, a science of morality may be deduced demonstratively; a science: "wherein I doubt not but from self-evident propositions, by necessary consequences, as incontestible as those in mathematics, the measures of right and wrong might be made out to anyone that will apply himself with the same indifferency and attention to the one, as he does to the other of those sciences." [Footnote: Essay Concerning Human Understanding, Book IV, chapter iii, Sec 18.]

Among Locke's self-evident propositions or moral axioms we find: where there is no property there is no injustice; no government allows absolute liberty; all men are originally free and equal; parents have the power to control their children till they come of age; the right of property is based upon work, but is limited by the supply of property left for others to enjoy. [Footnote: See above, chapter iii, Sec 10.]

These axioms cannot be identified with Samuel Clarke's four chief rules of righteousness, which inculcate: piety toward God, equity in our dealings with men, benevolence, and sobriety. [Footnote: A Discourse concerning the Unalterable Relations of Natural Religion, Prop. I.] Richard Price gives us still another choice, in dwelling upon our obligation as regards piety, prudence, beneficence, gratitude, veracity, the fulfillment of promises, and justice. [Footnote: A Review of the Principal Questions and Difficulties in Morals, chapter vii.] And Whewell, emulating the performance of Euclid, tried to build up a system of morals upon axioms embodying the seven principles of benevolence, justice, truth, purity, order, earnestness, and moral purpose. [Footnote: The Elements of Morality, Book III, chapter iv.]

These moralists press the analogy of mathematical truth. It must be confessed, however, that a row of text-books on geometry, with so scattering and indefinite a collection of axioms, would do little to support one another; and little to convince us that they represented a coherent and consistent body of truth in which we might have unquestioning faith.

(3) It is not unnatural that some thoughtful intuitionists, dissatisfied with a considerable number of independent moral principles, should aim at a further simplification. Such a simplification Kant finds in the Categorical Imperative, or unconditional command of the Practical Reason: "Act only on that maxim whereby thou canst at the same time will that it should become a universal law." [Footnote: Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals, Sec 2.] And Henry Sidgwick, refusing to regard all intuitions as of equal authority, selects two only as ultimately and independently valid—that which recommends a far-seeing prudence, and that which urges a rational benevolence. [Footnote: The Methods of Ethics, Book III, chapter xiii, Sec 3.] Those who make their ultimate moral rules so broad and inclusive base upon them the multitude of minor maxims to which men are apt to have recourse in justifying their actions. Whether their doctrine may be called philosophical in a sense implying commendation is matter for discussion.

92. ARGUMENTS FOR INTUITIONISM.—What may be said in favor of intuitionism?

(1) It may be urged that it is the doctrine which appeals most directly to common sense, and that it is found reasonably satisfactory in practice by men generally.

Intuition appears to be, in fact, man's guide in an overwhelming majority of the situations in which he is called upon to act. In the face of the concrete situation he feels that he should say a kind word, help a neighbor, stand his ground courageously, speak the truth, and a thousand other things which a moralist might, upon reflection, approve.

That he "feels" this does not mean merely that he is influenced by an emotion. We constantly employ the word to indicate the presence of a judgment which presents itself spontaneously and for which men cannot or do not seek support by having recourse to reasons.

He who, without reflection, affirms, "this action is right," has framed a moral judgment. He has in a given instance distinguished between right and wrong, although he has not raised the general problem of what constitutes right and wrong. He has exercised the prerogative of a moral being, though not of a very thoughtful one.

We have seen above, that perceptional intuitionism tends to pass over into dogmatic intuitionism of some sort, even in the case of minds little developed. The egoistic rustic may defend his selfishness by citing the proverb, "my shirt is closer to me than my coat." If he does so, it means that a doubt has been suggested, a conflict of some sort called into being. Were such conflicts, causing hesitation and deliberation, of very frequent occurrence, life could scarcely go on at all. Conversation would be impossible were no word placed and no inflection chosen without conscious reference to the rules of grammar. No man could conduct himself properly in a drawing-room or at a table, were his mind harking back at every moment to the instructions contained in some volume on etiquette. He who must justify every act by reflection is condemned to the jerkiest and most hesitant of moral lives. Perceptional moral intuition must stand our friend, if there is to be a flow of conduct worthy of the name.

There are, however, occasions for checking the flow by reflection. Then men are forced to think, and we find them appealing to custom, citing proverbs, quoting maxims, taking their stand upon principles. Recourse may be had to generalizations of a very low or of a very high degree of generality.

But low or high, it is upon intuitions that men actually fall back in justifying their actions. Benevolence, justice, honesty, truthfulness, purity, honor, modesty, courtesy, and what not, are intuitively perceived to be right, and an effort is made to bring the individual act under some one of these headings. The mass of men, even in enlightened communities, do not feel impelled to justify these general moral maxims, to reduce them to a harmonious system, or to reconcile with each other the different lists of them which have been drawn up. They find it possible in practice to resolve most of their doubts by an appeal to this maxim or to that. From such doubts as refuse to be resolved they are apt to turn away their attention. But the moral life goes on, and to intuitions it owes its guidance.

As to the few who reduce the moral intuitions to a minimum, and, like Kant and Sidgwick, end with one or two ultimate intuitional moral principles, we may say that they, like other men, are compelled, in the actual conduct of life, to turn to intuitions of lower orders. All sorts of moral intuitions are actually found helpful by all sorts of men.

(2) To the minds of men differing in their education and traditions, and at different stages of intellectual and moral development, very different moral judgments spontaneously present themselves. It is not a matter of accident that this man may "feel" an action to be right, and that man may "feel" it to be wrong. There is evident adaptation of the judgments to history and environment. They spring into being because the men are what they are and are situated as they are.

It is this adaptation that renders the moral intuitions serviceable in carrying on the actual business of life. It is more complete, the less abstract the moral intuitions which come into play. Plato, who in his "Laws" enters very minutely into the question of the permissible and the forbidden in the life of the citizens of his ideal state, finds it necessary to leave some things to the judgment of the individual. Thus, he finds it impossible to determine exhaustively what things are, and what things are not, worthy of a freeman. He leaves it to the virtuous to give judgments "in accordance with their feelings of right and wrong." [Footnote: Book XI; see the account of the occupations permissible to the landed proprietor.] The intuitions of the mediaeval saint, of the upright modern European, of the virtuous Chinaman, would have impressed him as without rhyme or reason. He appealed to the Greek gentleman, whose sense of propriety was Greek, and might be expected to be adjusted to the situation.

(3) The intuitive judgment of a sensitive moral nature may often be more nearly right than moral judgments based upon the most subtle of reasonings.

It is not hard to find, with a little ingenuity, apparent justification for actions which the consciences of the enlightened condemn at first sight. Scarcely any action may not be brought under some moral rule, if one deliberately sets out to do so. A narrow selfishness is defended as caring for one's own; a refusal of aid to the needy is justified by a reference to the evils of pauperization; patriotism becomes the excuse for hatred, wilful blindness and untruthful vilification. To the sophistries of those who would thus make the worse appear the better, the intuitive judgment of the moral man opposes its unreasoned conviction. That the conviction is not supported by arguments does not prove that it is not a just one.

93. ARGUMENTS AGAINST INTUITIONISM.—What may be urged against Intuitionism?

(1) It may be pointed out that such considerations as the above constitute an argument to prove the value of moral intuitions, and not one to prove the value of intuitionism as an ethical theory. That moral intuitions are indispensable may be freely admitted even by one who demurs to the doctrine that intuitionism in some one of its forms may be accepted as a satisfactory theory of morals.

(2) Perceptional Intuitionism, at least, cannot be regarded as embodying a rational theory or furnishing a science of any sort. Its one and only dogma must be that whatever actions reveal themselves to this man or that as right, are right, and there is no going behind the judgment of the individual.

Shall we say to men: "In order to know what is right and what is wrong in human conduct, we need only to listen to the dictates of conscience when the mind is calm and unruffled"? [Footnote: THOMAS REID, Essays on the Active Powers of Man, v, Sec 4.] As well say: "The right time is the time indicated by your watch, when you are not shaking it." If men are to keep appointments with each other, they must have some other standard of time than that carried by each man in his vest-pocket.

Perceptional Intuitionism ignores the fact that consciences may sometimes disagree, and that there may be a choice in consciences. The consistent perceptional intuitionist is, however, scarcely to be found, as has been said above; and we actually find those, some of whose utterances read as though the authors ought to be adherents of such a school, dwelling upon the desirability of the education of the conscience, i.e., upon the desirability of acquiring a capacity for having the right intuitions. In other words, they tell us to follow our noses—but to make sure that they point in the right direction. [Footnote: See THOMAS REID, Essays on the Active Powers of Man, iii, Part 3, Sec 8] In which case the determination of the right direction is not left to perceptional intuition.

(3) The Dogmatic Intuitionist has difficulties of his own with which to cope. It is not enough to possess a collection of valid and authoritative rules. The rules must be applied; there is room for the exercise of judgment and for the possibility of error. Error is not excluded even when the rule appears to be at only one or two removes from the individual instance; where the rule is one of great generality the problem of its application becomes correspondingly difficult. The interpretation of the rule is not given intuitively with the rule. This means that the rule must, in practice, be supplemented.

Always and everywhere, a straight line appears to be the shortest distance between two points. What is meant by shortness hardly seems to be legitimate matter for dispute. But the man convinced that he ought to pay his workman a fair wage, and that he ought to do his duty by his son, may be in no little perplexity when he attempts to define that fair wage or that parental duty. If he turns for advice to others, he will find that history and tradition, time, place and circumstance, very perceptibly color the advice they offer.

The application of the general rule is, hence, quite as important as the rule. There is no such thing as conduct in the abstract. Let us admit that benevolence is morally obligatory. How shall we be benevolent? Shall we follow Cicero, and give only that which costs us nothing? or shall we emulate St. Francis? The general rule may be a faultless skeleton, but it is, after all, only a skeleton, and it cannot walk of itself.

Again. The dogmatic intuitionist has quite a collection of rules by which he must judge of his actions. They are severally independent and authoritative. Suppose an act appears to be commanded by one rule and forbidden by another? Who shall decide between them? Prudence and benevolence may urge him in opposite directions. Benevolence and justice may not obviously be in harmony. The rule of veracity may seem, at times, to prescribe conduct which will entail much suffering on the part of the innocent. To what court of appeal can we refer the conflicts which may arise when ultimate authorities disagree? He who, in war time, can conscientiously shoot a sentry, but cannot conscientiously lie to him, may, later, have his misgivings, when the Golden Rule knocks at the gate of his mind.

(4) Nor does he leave all difficulties behind him, who abandons Dogmatic Intuitionism and takes refuge in Philosophical.

Kant's maxim needs a vast amount of interpretation. As it stands, it is little more than an empty formula. What I can wish to be the law of the universe must depend very much upon what I am. The lion and the lamb do not thirst for the same law. To the quarrelsome heroes of Walhalla a world of perpetual fighting and feasting must seem a very good world, in spite of knocks received as well as given. Kant's fundamental maxim scarcely appears to be a moral rule at all, unless we make it read: "Act on a maxim which a wise and good man can will to be a universal law." But how decide who is the wise and good man?

The philosophical intuitionist who accepts more than one ultimate moral rule must face the possibility that he will meet with a conflict of the higher intuitions to which he has had recourse. Shall his intuitions be those recommending a rational self-interest and a rational benevolence? Can he be sure that the two are necessarily in accord? Can there be a rational adjustment of the claims of each? Not if there be no court of appeal to which both intuitions are subject. [Footnote: With his usual candor, SIDGWICK admits this difficulty. He leaves it unresolved. See, The Methods of Ethics, in the concluding chapter.]

Furthermore, between the philosophical and the dogmatic intuitionist serious differences of opinion may be expected to arise. He who makes, let us say, benevolence the supreme law naturally allows to other intuitions, such as justice and veracity, but a derivative authority. It appears, then, that there may be occasions on which they are not valid. To some famous intuitionists this has seemed to be a pernicious doctrine.

"We are," writes Bishop Butler, "constituted so as to condemn falsehood, unprovoked violence, injustice, and to approve of benevolence to some preferably to others, abstracted from all consideration, which conduct is likeliest to produce an overbalance of happiness or misery." [Footnote: Dissertations appended to the "Analogy," II, Of the Nature of Virtue. Cf. DUGALD STEWART, Outlines of Moral Philosophy, Part 2, Sec 348.]

Butler thought that justice should be done though the heavens fall; the philosophical intuitionist must maintain that the danger of bringing down the heavens is never to be lost sight of. But this doctrine that there are intuitions and intuitions, some ultimately authoritative and others not so, raises the whole question of the validity of intuitions. How are we to distinguish those that are always valid from others? By intuition? Intuition appears to be discredited. And if it is proper to demand proof that justice should be done and the truth spoken, why may one not demand proof that men should be prudent and benevolent? One may talk of "an immediate discernment of the nature of things by the understanding" in the one case as in the other. If error is possible there, why not here?

94. THE VALUE OF MORAL INTUITIONS.—It would not be fair to close this chapter on intuitionism, an ethical theory competing with others for our approval, without emphasizing the value of the role played by the moral intuitions.

They are the very guide of life, and without them our reasonings would be of little service. They should be treated gently, gratefully, with reverence. To them human societies owe their stability, their capacity for an orderly development, the smooth working of the machinery of daily life. Their presence does not exclude the employment of reasoning, but they furnish a basis upon which the reason can occupy itself with profit. They are a safeguard against those utopian schemes which would shatter our world and try experiments in creation out of nothing.

Nevertheless, he who busies himself with ethics as science must study them critically and strive to estimate justly their true significance. He may come to regard them, not as something fixed and changeless, but as living and developing, coming into being, and modifying themselves, in the service of life. Does he dishonor them who so views them?



CHAPTER XXIV

EGOISM

95. WHAT IS EGOISM?—Egoism has been defined as "any ethical system in which the happiness or good of the individual is made the main criterion of moral action," [Footnote: Encyclopedia Britannica, 11th edition.] or as "the doing or seeking of that which affords pleasure or advantage to oneself, in distinction to that which affords pleasure or advantage to others." [Footnote: Century Dictionary.]

It may strike the average reader as odd to be told that such definitions bristle with ambiguities, and that it is by no means easy to draw a sharp line between doctrines which everyone would admit to be egoistic, and others which seem more doubtfully to fall under that head. "Happiness," "good," "advantage," "self," all are terms which call for scrutiny, and which set pitfalls for the unwary.

96. CRASS EGOISMS.—We may best approach the subject of what may properly be regarded as constituting egoism, by turning first to one or two "terrible examples."

No one would hesitate to call egoistic the doctrine of Aristippus, the Cyrenaic, the errant disciple of Socrates. He made pleasure the end of life, and taught that it might be sought without a greater regard to customary morality than was made prudent by the penalties to be feared as a consequence of its violation. Where the centre of gravity of the system of the Cyrenaics falls is evident from their holding that "corporeal pleasures are superior to mental ones," and that "a friend is desirable for the use which we can make of him." [Footnote: Diogenes Laertius, Lives of the Philosophers, "Aristippus," viii.]

The doctrine of the English philosopher, Thomas Hobbes, is as unequivocally egoistic.

"Of the voluntary acts of every man," he writes, [Footnote: Leviathan, Part I, xiv.] "the object is some good to himself;" and again, [Footnote Ibid. xv.] "no man giveth, but with intention of good to himself; because gift is voluntary; and of all voluntary acts the object is to every man his own good."

He leaves us in no doubt as to the sort of good which he conceives men to seek when they practice what has the appearance of generosity. Contract he calls a mutual transference of rights, and he distinguishes gift from contract as follows:

"When the transferring of right is not mutual, but one of the parties transferreth, in hope to gain thereby friendship, or service from another, or from his friends, or in hope to gain the reputation of charity or magnanimity, or to deliver his mind from the pain of compassion, or in hope of reward in heaven, this is not contract but gift, free gift, grace, which words signify the same thing." [Footnote: Ibid. I, xiv. The italics are mine. It was thus that Hobbes accounted for his giving a sixpence to a beggar: "I was in pain to consider the miserable condition of the old man; and now my alms, giving him some relief, doth also ease me." Hobbes, by G. C. ROBERTSON, Edinburgh, 1886, p. 206.]

There is a passage from the pen of the British divine, Paley, which appears to merit a place alongside of the citations from Hobbes, widely as the men differ in many of their views. It reads:

"We can be obliged to nothing but what we ourselves are to gain or lose something by; for nothing else can be a 'violent motion' to us. As we should not be obliged to obey the laws, or the magistrate, unless rewards or punishments, pleasure or pain, somehow or other, depended upon our obedience; so neither should we, without the same reason, be obliged to do what is right, to practice virtue, or to obey the commandments of God." [Footnote: Moral Philosophy, Book II, chapter ii.]

97. EQUIVOCAL EGOISM?—The above is unquestionably egoism. The man who accepts such a doctrine and consistently walks in the light must be set down as self-seeking. But self-seeking, as understood by different men, appears to take on different aspects. Shall we class all those who frankly accept it as man's only ultimate motive with Aristippus and Epicurus and Hobbes?

Thomas Hill Green writes: "Anything conceived as good in such a way that the agent acts for the sake of it, must be conceived as his own good." [Footnote: Prolegomena to Ethics, Sec 92.] The motive to action is, he maintains, always "some idea of the man's personal good." [Footnote: Sec Sec 95, 97.] He does not hesitate to say that a man necessarily lives for himself; [Footnote: Sec 138.] and he calls "the human self or the man" [Footnote: Sec 99.] a self-seeking ego, a self-seeking subject, and a self- seeking person. [Footnote: Sec Sec 98, 100, 145.]

Were Green's book a lost work, only preserved to the memories of men by such citations as the above, the author would certainly be relegated to a class of moralists with which he had, in fact, little sympathy.

But the book is not lost, and by turning to it we find Green continuing the first of the above citations with the words: "Though he may conceive it as his own good only on account of his interest in others, and in spite of any amount of suffering on his own part incidental to its attainment." He is willing to grant the self-seeking ego an eye single to its own interests, but he is careful to explain that: "These are not merely interests dependent on other persons for the means to their gratification, but interests in the good of those other persons, interests which cannot be satisfied without the consciousness that those other persons are satisfied." [Footnote: Sec 199.]

When Hobbes gave an account of "the passions that incline men to peace," [Footnote: Leviathan, I, xiii.] he made no mention of the social nature of man. That nature Green conceives to be so essentially social that the individual cannot disentangle his own good from the good of his fellows. To live "for himself," since that self is a social self, means to live for others. May this fairly be called egoistic doctrine?

98. WHAT IS MEANT BY THE SELF?—It is sufficiently clear that the happiness, or good, or advantage, or interests of the individual or self may mean many things. It is equally clear that in our interpretation of all such terms our notions of the nature of the self will play no inconsiderable role. What is the self?

In his famous chapter on the Consciousness of Self, [Footnote: Psychology, New York, 1890, I, chapter x.] William James enumerates four senses of the word. With three of these we may profitably occupy ourselves here. He calls them the Material Self, the Social Self and the Spiritual Self.

The innermost part of the material self he makes our body, and next to it, in their order, he places our clothes, our family, our home, and our property. They contribute to our being what we are in our own eyes, we identify ourselves with them, and we experience "a sense of the shrinkage of our personality" when even the more outlying elements, such as our possessions, are lost. "Our immediate family," he writes, "is a part of ourselves. Our father and mother, our wife and babes, are bone of our bone and flesh of our flesh. When they die, a part of our very selves is gone. If they do anything wrong, it is our shame. If they are insulted, our anger flashes forth as readily as if we stood in their place."

It is obvious that the limits of the material self, as above understood, may be indefinitely extended. There are men who feel about their country as the average normal man feels about his home; and doubtless the suffering of a stray beggar tugged at the heart of St. Francis as the misfortune of wife or child does in the case of other men. How far abroad our "interests" are to be found, and just what "interests" we shall regard as intimately and peculiarly our own, depends upon what we are.

The Social Self James describes as the recognition a man gets from his mates: "We are not only gregarious animals, liking to be in the sight of our fellows, but we have an innate propensity to get ourselves noticed, and noticed favorably, by our kind." Men certainly regard their fame or honor as to be included among their interests, and they may value and seek to obtain the good opinion of a very little clique or of a much wider circle.

By the Spiritual Self is meant our qualities of mind and character—"the most enduring and intimate part of the Self, that which we most verily seem to be." Our interest in these it is impossible to overlook, and their cultivation and development may become a ruling passion.

James's illuminating pages make clear that he who speaks of the advantage or interest of the individual may have in mind predominantly any one of these aspects of the Self, or all of them conjointly. The Self as he conceives it may be a narrow one, or it may be a very broad one.

99. EGOISM AND THE BROADER SELF.—It may with some plausibility be maintained that he who lives for himself may not properly be regarded as an egoist and called selfish, if his Self is sufficiently expanded. May it not, theoretically, include as much of the universe as is known to man? And where can a man seek ends of any sort beyond this broad field? On this view, all men are, in a sense, self-seeking, but only those are reprehensibly self-seeking who have narrow and scanty selves.

But common sense and the common usage of speech do not sanction such statements as that a man necessarily lives for himself and that all men are self-seeking. It is justly recognized that some men with broad interests—of a sort—are self-seeking, and that some others with great limitations are not.

He who has property scattered over four continents and watches with absorbing interest all movements upon the political and economic stage may nevertheless be a thorough-going egoist. The breadth of his horizon will not redeem him. One may look far afield and live laborious days in the pursuit of fame, and be egoistic to the back-bone, although one's interests, in this case, include even the contents of the minds of generations yet unborn. One may forego many pleasures and concentrate all one's efforts upon the attainment of intellectual eminence or of a virtuous character, and yet seem to have a claim to the name of egoist.

That even the pursuit of virtue may take an egoistic turn has frequently been recognized: "Woe betides that man," writes Dewey, "who having entered upon a course of reflection which leads to a clearer conception of his own moral capacities and weaknesses, maintains that thought as a distinct mental end, and thereby makes his subsequent acts simply means to improving or perfecting his moral nature." [Footnote: Ethics, chapter xviii, Sec 3, p. 384.] He characterizes this as one of the worst kinds of selfishness. The task set himself by the egoist who aims at outshining his fellows in an unselfish self-forgetfulness would seem to be a particularly difficult one; yet we have all met persons who appear to be animated by some such desire.

100. Egoism not Unavoidable.—On such cases as the above the common judgment can hardly be in doubt. But there are cases more questionable. Was Hobbes really self-seeking when he gave the sixpence to the old beggar? Is it egoism that leads the young mother to give herself the exquisite pleasure of feeding and caring for her babes? or that induces the patriot to die for his country? To be sure, both the babes and the fatherland may fall within the limits of the self, as the psychologist has broadly defined it.

But they fall within it only in a sense. No doctrine of the mutual inclusion of selves can obliterate the distinction between self and neighbor, and make my neighbor merely a part of myself. The common opinion of mankind is not at fault in basing upon the distinction between selves the further distinction between egoism and altruism. Whatever interests the egoist may have, his ultimate motive to action cannot be the recognition of the desire or will of another. Such can be the motive of the altruist.

Human motives are of many sorts, and just what they are it is not always easy to discover. Cornelia, in exhibiting her "jewels," may have been puffed up with pride. When Cyrano de Bergerac threw, with a noble gesture, his purse to the players, his "Mais quel geste!" reveals that he was a player himself and was "showing off." There may be spectacular patriots, who are willing to suffer the extreme penalty for the sake of a place in history. But all maternal affection is not identical with pride; all generous impulses cannot be traced to vanity; all patriotism is not spectacular; nor is the motive to the relief of suffering necessarily the removal of one's own pain. It is one thing to hire Lazarus not to exhibit himself in his shocking plight on our front porch, and it is a distinctly different thing to be concerned about the needs of Lazarus per se.

It is obvious, then, that it is only by a straining of language that one can say that man necessarily lives for himself, or is unavoidably self- seeking. He who makes such statements overlooks the fact that, even if is true that, in a sense, a man's self may be regarded as coextensive with all that interests him, it is equally true that different selves are mutually exclusive and that the good of one may serve as the ultimate motive in determining the action of another. The ethnologist is compelled to recognize altruistic impulses in men primitive and in men civilized: "Of the doctrine of self-interest as the primary and only genuine human motive, it is sufficient to say that it bears no relation to the facts of human nature, and implies an incorrect view of the origin of instinct." [Footnote: HOBHOUSE, Morals in Evolution, p. 16]

101. Varieties of Egoism.—The egoist may set his affections upon pleasure, and become a representative of Egoistic Hedonism, the variety of egoism normally treated as typical and made the subject of criticism in ethical treatises. But there is nothing to prevent him from making his aim, not so much pleasure, as self-preservation; or from taking as his goal wealth, power, reputation, intellectual or moral attainment, or what not. [Footnote: Thus, Hobbes made his end self-preservation; Spinoza takes much the same position; Nietzsche makes that which is aimed at, power.]

So long as the motives which impel him to get, to avoid, to be, or to do, something, do not include, except as means to some ulterior end, the desire or will of his fellow-man, there appears no reason to deny him the title of "Egoist." Nor need we deny him the title because he may be unconscious of his egoism. There are unconscious egoists who are wholly absorbed in the individual objects which are the end of their strivings. They may be quite unaware that they are ruled by self-interest, when it is clear to the spectator that such is the case. [Footnote: James, Psychology, Vol. I, chapter x, pp. 319-321; a baby is characterized as "the completest egoist."] But the philosophical egoist must rise to a higher plane of reflection.

There are, thus, egoisms of many sorts, and they may urge men to very different courses of conduct. Some of them may pass over more naturally than others into forms of doctrine which are not egoistic at all. He who aims at a maximum of pleasure for himself is likely to remain an egoist; he whose ambition is to be a patron of science or a philanthropist, may, it is true, remain within the circle of the self, but it is quite possible that his ulterior aim may come to be forgotten and his real interest be transferred to the enlightenment of mankind or to the relief of suffering.

It is especially worthy of remark that in judging a system of doctrine we must take it as a whole, and not confine ourselves to a few utterances of the man who urges it, however unequivocal they may appear when taken in isolation. He whose motive to action is always some idea of his own personal good is an egoist. But a philosopher may hold that human motives are always of this sort, and yet reveal unmistakably, both in his life and in his writings, that he is not really an egoist at all. In which case, we may tax him with more or less inconsistency, but we should not misconceive him.

102. THE ARGUMENTS FOR EGOISM.—So much for the forms of egoism. It remains to enquire what may be urged in favor of the doctrine, and what may be said against it.

(1) It has been urged that egoism is inevitable. This, to be sure, can scarcely be regarded as an argument that a man ought to be an egoist, for there seems little sense in telling a man that he ought to do what he cannot possibly help doing. But the argument may be used to deter us from advocating some other ethical doctrine.

"On the occasion of every act that he exercises," says Bentham, "every human being is led to pursue that line of conduct which, according to his view of the case, taken by him at the moment, will be in the highest degree contributory to his own greatest happiness." [Footnote: The Constitutional Code. Introduction, Sec 2.]

From this we might conclude, not only that every man is an egoist, but also that every man is at all times a prudent and calculating egoist— which seems to flatter grossly the drunkard and the excited man laying about him in blind fury. But one may hold that egoism is inevitable without going so far. [Footnote: Psychological Hedonism, the doctrine that "volition is always determined by pleasures or pains actual or prospective," need not be thus exaggerated. See SIDGWICK's Methods of Ethics, I, iv, Sec 1.]

(2) The egoistic ideal may be urged upon us on the ground that it addresses itself to man as natural and reasonable.

Thus, the Cyrenaics saw in the fact that we are from our childhood attracted to pleasure, and, when we have attained it, seek no further, a proof that pleasure is the chief good. [Footnote: Diogenes Laertius, II, "Aristippus," Sec 8.] Paley maintains that, when it has been pointed out that private happiness has been the motive of an act, "no further question can reasonably be asked." [Footnote: Moral Philosophy, II, Sec 3.] Our citations from Hobbes and Bentham and Green reveal that these writers never think of giving reasons why a man should seek his own good.

And various moralists, who do not make self-interest the one fundamental principle which should rule human conduct, are evidently loath to make of it a principle subordinate to some other. Bishop Butler, who maintains that virtue consists in the pursuit of right and good as such, yet holds that: "When we sit down in a cool hour, we can neither justify to ourselves this nor any other pursuit till we are convinced that it will be for our happiness, or at least not contrary to it." [Footnote: Sermon XI.] Clarke, who dwells upon the eternal and immutable obligations of morality "incumbent on men from the very nature and reason of things themselves" teaches that it is not reasonable for men to adhere to virtue if they receive no advantage from it. [Footnote: Boyle Lectures, 1705, Prop. I.]

The moral here seems to be that, whatever else a man ought to do, he ought to seek his own advantage—real self-sacrifice cannot be his duty. This conviction of the unreasonableness of self-sacrifice reveals itself in another form in the doctrine that morality cannot be made completely rational unless a reconciliation between prudence and benevolence can be found; [Footnote: SIDGWICK, The Methods of Ethics, concluding chapter, Sec 5.] and in the labored attempts to show that the good of the individual must actually coincide with that of the community. [Footnote: E. g. GREEN, Prolegomena to Ethics, Sec Sec 244-245. Aristotle tries to prove that he who dies for his country is impelled by self-love. He does what is honorable, and thus "gives the greater good to himself." Ethics, Book IX, chapter viii.] It may be questioned whether the same conviction did not lurk in the back of the mind of that sternest of moralists, Kant, who denied that happiness ought to be sought at all, and yet found so irrational the divorce of virtue and happiness that he postulated a God to guarantee their union. [Footnote: The Critique of the Practical Reason, chapter ii.]

Thus, moralists of widely different schools agree in recognizing that self-interest is a principle that should not be placed second to any other. The confessed egoist only goes a step further in recognizing it as a principle that has no rival. And that men generally are inclined to regard egoism as not unnatural seems evinced by the fact that for apparently altruistic actions they are very apt to seek ulterior egoistic motives, while, if the action seems plainly egoistic, they seek no further.

Does, then, anything seem more natural than egoism? and, if natural, may it not be assumed to be proper and right?

(3) Finally, it may be urged that he who serves his own interests at all intelligently has, at least, a comprehensive aim, and does not live at random. In so far, egoism appears to be rational in a sense dwelt on above; [Footnote: Sec Sec 55-56] it harmonizes and unifies the impulses and desires of the man.

103. THE ARGUMENT AGAINST EGOISM.—What may be said against egoism?

(1) Enough has been said above to show that egoism is not inevitable, but that men actually are influenced by motives which cannot be regarded as egoistic. It is, hence, not necessary to dwell upon this point.

(2) As to the naturalness of egoism. Both the professional moralist and the man in the street may hesitate to admit that a man should neglect his own interests, and may find it natural that he should cultivate them assiduously. But it is only the exceptional man who maintains that he should have nothing else in view.

There are individuals so constituted that self-interest makes to them a peculiarly strong appeal. Others, more social by nature, may be misled by psychological theory to maintain that a man's chief and only end is his own "satisfaction." [Footnote: See below, chapter xxvi, 3.] Still others, realizing that both one's own interests and the interests of one's neighbor are natural and seemingly legitimate objects of regard, are perplexed as to the method of reconciling their apparently conflicting claims, and are betrayed into inconsistent utterances.

But it is too much to say that the professional moralist and the plain man normally regard pure egoism with favor and find it natural. In spite of our cynical maxims and our inclination to seek for ulterior motives for apparently altruistic acts, we abhor the thorough-going egoist, and we are not inclined to look upon the phenomena, let us say, of the family life, as manifestations of self-seeking.

It is worth while to remark that, even if the approach to the Cyrenaic ideal were so common as not to seem wholly unnatural, that would not prove that it ought to be embraced; it is natural for men to err, but that does not make error our duty.

(3) By the moral conviction of organized humanity, as expressed in custom, law, and public opinion, egoism stands condemned. Neither in savage life nor among civilized peoples, neither in the dawn of human history nor in its latest chapters, do we find these agencies encouraging every man to live exclusively for himself. Egoistic impulses are recognized, in that reward and punishment are allotted, but the end urged upon the attention of the individual is the common good, not his own particular good.

The social conscience has always demanded of the individual self- sacrifice, even to the extent of laying down his life, on occasion, for the public weal. And the enlightened social conscience does not regard a man as truly moral whose outward conformity to moral laws rests solely upon a basis of egoistic calculation. The very existence of the family, the tribe, the state, is a protest against pure egoism. Were all men as egoistic as Aristippus seems to have professed to be, a stable community life of any sort would be impossible.

(4) The argument that egoism is rational at least in so far as it introduces consistency into actions and unifies and harmonizes desires and impulses deserves little consideration. Any comprehensive end will do the same, and many comprehensive ends may be very trivial. One may make it the aim of one's life to remain slender, or may devote all one's energies to the amelioration of the social position of bald-headed men. He who counsels deliberate egoism does not recommend it merely on the score that it leads to consistent action. He does it on the ground that the end itself appeals to him as one that ought to be selected and will be selected if a man is wise. That the interest of the individual is in this sense a matter of obligation, is something to be proved, not assumed.

104. THE MORALIST'S INTEREST IN EGOISM—It has been worth while to treat at length of egoism because the doctrine takes on more or less subtle forms, and its fundamental principle, self-interest, has a significance for various ethical schools which are not, or are not considered, egoistic. Men have been vastly puzzled by the moral claims of the principle of self-interest, both plain men and professional moralists.

That prudence is not the only fundamental virtue, most men would be ready enough to admit; but is it properly speaking, a virtue at all? Ought I, for example, to try to make myself happy? Suppose I do not want to be happy, what is the source of the obligation?

Butler tells me that interest, one's own happiness, is a manifest obligation; [Footnote: Dissertation on the Nature of Virtue, Sec 8; Sermons III and XI.] Bentham, a writer of a widely different school, informs me that "the constantly proper end of action on the part of any individual at the moment of action is his real greatest happiness from that moment to the end of his life." [Footnote: BENTHAM, Memoirs, Vol. X of Bowring's Edition, Edinburgh, 1843, p. 560.] On the other hand, Hutcheson teaches me that I am under no obligation to be good to myself, although I am under obligation to be good to others: "Actions which flow solely from self-love, and yet evidence no want of benevolence, having no hurtful effects upon others, seem perfectly indifferent in a moral sense." [Footnote: An Enquiry concerning Moral Good and Evil, Sec 3, 5.] Which means that intemperance is blameworthy only so far as it is against the public interest.

May I, should I, on occasion, sacrifice myself? Thoughtful men generally recognize self-sacrifice, not only as possible, but as actual, and believe it to be at times a duty. But the moralist gives forth here an uncertain sound.

Self-interest and benevolence have been left to fight out their quarrel in a court without a judge to decide upon their conflicting claims; [Footnote: See Sec 102, the citations from Butler and Clarke.] self- sacrifice has been enjoined; [Footnote: KANT, see, later, chapter xxix.] it has been declared impossible; [Footnote: See, above, the position of Green, Sec 97; cf., below, Sec 126.] it has been denied that it can ever be a duty; [Footnote: FITE, An Introductory Study of Ethics, chapter vii, Sec 5.] the kind of self-sacrifice in question has been regarded as significant. [Footnote: SIDGWICK, The Methods of Ethics, Introduction, Sec 4.]

He who has rejected as unworthy of serious consideration the naive egoism of an Aristippus or an Epicurus is not on that account done with egoism, by any means. [Footnote: The question of self-sacrifice recurs again in chapter xxvi, 3.]



CHAPTER XXV

UTILITARIANISM

105. WHAT IS UTILITARIANISM?—The division of things desirable into those desirable in themselves, and those desirable for the sake of something else, is two thousand years old. Those things which we recognize as desirable for the sake of something else, we call useful.

What we shall regard as useful depends in each case upon the nature of the end at which we aim. If our aim is the attainment of pleasure, the preservation of life, the harmonious development of our faculties, or any other, we may term useful whatever makes for the realization of that end.

Hence, we can, by stretching the application of the word, call utilitarian any ethical doctrine which sets an ultimate end to human endeavor and judges actions as moral or the reverse, according to their tendency to realize that end, or to frustrate its realization. As the ends thus chosen may be very diverse, it is obvious that widely different forms of utilitarian doctrine may come into being.

It is, however, inconvenient to stretch the term, "utilitarianism" in this fashion. Certain forms of doctrine which, in its wider sense, it would include, have come to be known under names of their own; and, besides, the especial type of utilitarianism advocated by Bentham and John Stuart Mill appears to have a claim upon the appellation which they set in circulation. Common usage has thus limited the significance of the word, and we naturally think of the doctrine of these men when we hear it uttered. It is in this sense that I shall use it.

"The creed which accepts as the foundation of morals, Utility, or the Greatest Happiness Principle," writes Mill, "holds that actions are right in proportion as they tend to promote happiness, wrong as they tend to produce the reverse of happiness. By happiness is intended pleasure, and the absence of pain; by unhappiness, pain and the privation of pleasure." This means, he adds, "that pleasure, and freedom from pain, are the only things desirable as ends; and that all desirable things ... are desirable either for the pleasure inherent in themselves, or as means to the promotion of pleasure and the prevention of pain." [Footnote: Utilitarianism, chapter ii. In the pages following, when I leave out a reference to pain in discussing the utilitarian doctrine, it will be for convenience and for the sake of brevity. The intelligent reader can supply the omissions. ]

The pleasure here intended is not the selfish pleasure of the individual. Utilitarianism is not Cyrenaicism. The goal of the utilitarian's endeavors is the general happiness, in which many individuals participate. The moral rules which control and direct the strivings of the individual derive their authority from their tendency to serve this end.

106. BENTHAM'S DOCTRINE.—Most uncompromising is the utilitarianism set forth in the writings of Mill's master, that most benevolent and philanthropic of men, Jeremy Bentham. He is true to his principles and he makes no concessions.

He regards that as in the interest of the individual which tends to add to the sum total of his pleasures or to diminish the sum total of his pains. And he understands in the same sense the interest of the community. [Footnote: Principles of Morals and Legislation, chapter i, Sec 5.] That which serves that interest he sets down as "conformable to the principle of utility." What is thus conformable he declares ought to be done, what is not conformable ought not to be done. Right and wrong he distinguishes in the same manner. "When thus interpreted," he insists, "the words ought, and right and wrong, and others of that stamp, have a meaning; when otherwise, they have none" [Footnote: Ibid., i, 10.]

Of differences in quality between pleasures Bentham takes no account. In his curious and interesting chapter entitled "Value of a Lot of Pleasure or Pain, how to be Measured," he enumerates the circumstances which should determine the value of a pleasure or a pain. They are as follows: [Footnote: Ibid., chapter iv.]

1. Its intensity. 2. Its duration. 3. Its certainty or uncertainty. 4. Its propinquity or remoteness. 5. Its fecundity. 6. Its purity. 7. Its extent.

The first four of these characteristics call for no comment. By the fecundity of a pleasure Bentham understands its likelihood of being followed by other pleasures; by its purity, the likelihood that it will not be followed by pains. The characteristic "extent" marks off utilitarianism from egoism, for it has reference to the number of persons affected by the pleasure or the pain. The greater the number, the higher the value in question. The greatest number of pleasures of the highest value, as free as possible from admixture with pains, is the goal of the endeavors of the utilitarian. Naturally, when the interests of many persons are taken into account, the question of the principle according to which "lots" of pleasure are to be distributed becomes a pressing one. Bentham decides it as follows: "Everybody to count for one, and nobody for more than one." [Footnote: See the discussion of Bentham's dictum in its bearings on justice, J. S. Mill, Utilitarianism, chapter v.] In other words, the distribution should be an impartial one.

At first sight, this account of the relative desirability of pleasures and undesirability of pains seems sensible enough. Men do desire pleasure, and they undoubtedly approve the preference given to pleasures more intense, enduring, certain, immediate, fruitful in further pleasures, free from painful consequences, and shared by many, over those which have not these characteristics:

"Intense, long, certain, speedy, fruitful, pure— Such marks in pleasures and in pains endure. Such pleasures seek, if private be thy end: If it be public, wide let them extend. Such pains avoid, whichever be thy view; If pains must come, let them extend to few."

[Footnote: Principles of Morals and Legislation, chapter iv, i, Note.]

These mnemonic lines may well strike many readers as embodying a very good working rule of common-sense morality; as paying a proper regard to prudence and to benevolence as well. But there are passages in Bentham calculated to shake such acquiescence. He writes:

"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." [Footnote: Ibid., chapter x, 10.]

"Let a man's motive be ill-will; call it even malice, envy, cruelty; it is still a kind of pleasure that is his motive: the pleasure he takes at the thought of the pain which he sees, or expects to see, his adversary undergo. Now even this wretched pleasure, taken by itself, is good: it may be faint; it may be short; it must at any rate be impure: yet, while it lasts, and before any bad consequences arrive, it is as good as any other that is not more intense." [Footnote: Ibid, note.]

Reflection upon such passages may well lead a man to ask himself:

(1) Is it, after all, the consensus of human opinion that pleasure is the only good and pain the only evil?

(2) Are some pleasures actually regarded as more desirable than others, solely through the application of the standard given above?

(3) Can the pleasure of a malignant act properly be called morally good at all?

107. THE DOCTRINE OF JOHN STUART MILL.—Bentham's purely quantitative estimate of the value of pleasures has aroused in many minds the feeling that he puts morality upon a low level. [Footnote: In justice to Bentham it must be borne in mind that his prime interest was not in ethical theory, but in legislative reform. His doctrine, such as it was, and applied as he applied it, was a tool of no mean efficacy. Bentham must count among the real benefactors of mankind.] Mill attempts an improvement upon his doctrine. "It is quite compatible with the principle of utility," he writes, "to recognize the fact that some kinds of pleasure are more desirable and more valuable than others. It would be absurd that, while in estimating all other things quality is considered as well as quantity, the estimation of pleasures should be supposed to depend on quantity alone." [Footnote: Utilitarianism, chapter i.]

Thus, Mill distinguishes between higher pleasures and lower, and he gives a criterion for distinguishing the former from the latter: "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." He refers the whole matter to the judgment of the "competent;" and, in accordance with that judgment, decides that: "It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be 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." [Footnote: Ibid.]

That some pleasures may properly be called higher than others moralists of many schools will be ready to admit, but to Mill's criterion of what proves them to be higher they may demur. Of the delight that a fool takes in his folly a wise man may be as incapable as a fool is of the enjoyment of wisdom. With mature years men cease to be competent judges of the pleasures of boyhood. To each nature, its appropriate choice of pleasures. That human beings at a given level of intellectual and emotional development actually desire certain things rather than certain others does not prove that those things are desirable in any general sense. It does not prove that men ought to desire them. For that proof we must look in some other direction; and a critical scrutiny of the pleasures which moralists ancient and modern have generally accepted as "higher" reveals a common characteristic which explains their being thus classed together much better than the appeal to Mill's criterion. [Footnote: See chapter xxx, Sec 142.]

As has often been pointed out, Mill, while defending Utilitarianism, really passes beyond it, and his doctrine tends to merge in one widely different from that of Bentham. For the "Greatest Happiness Principle" he virtually substitutes the "Highest Happiness Principle." But he scarcely realizes the significance of his substitution, and he gives an inadequate account of the significance of higher and lower.

108. THE ARGUMENT FOR UTILITARIANISM.—We have seen above that Bentham maintains that such words as "ought," "right" and "wrong" have no meaning unless interpreted after the fashion of the utilitarian. He admits that his "principle of utility" is not susceptible of direct proof, but claims that such a proof is needless. [Footnote: Principles of Morals and Legislation, chapter i, 11.]

Accepting it as a fact revealed by observation that the actual end of action on the part of every individual is his own happiness as he conceives it, he appears to have passed on without question to the further positions, that the proper end of action of the individual is his own greatest happiness, and, yet, his proper end of action, as a member of a community, is the greatest happiness of the community. [Footnote: See the paper entitled "Logical Arrangements, Employed as Instruments in Legislation" etc., Memoirs, Bowring's Edition, Volume X, page 560.]

The second of these positions cannot be deduced from the first, nor can the third be inferred from the other two. Bentham appears to have taken the "principle of utility" for granted; but one coming after him and scrutinizing his work can scarcely avoid raising the question of the justice of his assumption. That happiness is the only thing desirable, and that the happiness of all should be the object aimed at by each, are propositions which seem to stand in need of proof.

Such proof Mill attempted to furnish. [Footnote: He does not regard his doctrine as provable in the usual sense; but he adduces what he regards as "equivalent to proof." Utilitarianism, chapter i. ] He argues as follows:

"The only proof capable of being given that an object is visible, is that people actually see it. The only proof that a sound is audible, is that people hear it; and so of the other sources of our experience. In like manner, I apprehend, the sole evidence it is possible to produce that anything is desirable, is that people do actually desire it. If the end which the utilitarian doctrine proposes to itself were not, in theory and practice, acknowledged to be an end, nothing could ever convince any person that it was so. No reason can be given why the general happiness is desirable, except that each person, so far as he believes it to be attainable, desires his own happiness. This, however, being a fact, we have not only all the proof 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. Happiness has made out its title as one of the ends of conduct, and, consequently one of the ends of morality." [Footnote: Utilitarianism, chapter iv.]

That happiness is the only ultimate end, Mill regards as established by the argument that other things, for example, virtue, though they come to be valued for themselves, do so only through the fact that, originally valued as means to the attainment of happiness, they become, through association, valued even out of this relation, and thus treated as a part of happiness. [Footnote: Ibid.]

The defects in Mill's argument have made themselves apparent, not merely to the opponents of utilitarianism, but even to its advocates. [Footnote: SIDGWICK, The Methods of Ethics, Book III, chapter xiii, Sec 5] We cannot say that things are desirable in any moral sense, simply because they are desired. In a loose sense of the word, everything that is or has been desired by anyone is desirable—it evidently can be desired. When we say no more than this, we say nothing. But when we call a course of action desirable we mean more than this; and we are compelled to admit that a multitude of desirable things are not generally desired. This is the burden of the lament of every reformer.

Furthermore, it does not appear to follow that, because his own happiness is a good to each member of a community, the happiness of all must likewise be a good to each severally. A community in which every man studies his own interest may conceivably be a community in which no man regards it as desirable to consult the public weal. That the general happiness is desirable, in a loose sense of the word, is palpable fact; it is obvious that it can be desired, for some persons do actually desire it. But that it is desirable in any sense cannot be inferred from the fact that all men desire something else, namely, their own individual happiness.

We must, then, look further for the proof of the utilitarian principle. Henry Sidgwick, that admirable scholar and most judicial mind, falls back upon certain intuitions which, he conceives, present themselves as ultimate and unassailable. He writes:

"Let us reflect upon the clearest and most certain of our moral intuitions. I find that I undoubtedly seem to perceive, as clearly and certainly as I see any axiom in Arithmetic or Geometry, that it is 'right' and 'reasonable' for me to treat others as I should think that I myself ought to be treated under similar conditions, and to do what I believe to be ultimately conducive to universal Good or Happiness."

And again: "The propositions, 'I ought not to prefer a present lesser good to a future greater good,' and 'I ought not to prefer my own lesser good to the greater good of another,' do present themselves as self- evident; as much (e. g.) as the mathematical axiom that 'if equals be added to equals the wholes are equal.'" [Footnote: The Methods of Ethics, concluding chapter, Sec 5, and Book III, chapter xiii, Sec 3.]

Whether these intuitions will be accepted as furnishing an indisputably sound basis for utilitarianism will depend upon one's attitude toward intuitions in general and the list of intuitions one is inclined to accept. It is significant that Sidgwick does not accept as self-evident such subordinate propositions as, "I ought to speak the truth." He regards their authority as derived from the Greatest Happiness Principle.

109. THE DISTRIBUTION OF HAPPINESS.—The man who accepts the Greatest Happiness Principle as the sole basis of his ethical doctrine is faced with the problem of its application in detail. The "greatest good of the greatest number" is a vague expression. What is properly understood by "the greatest number"? and upon what principle shall "lots" of happiness be assigned to each? Very puzzling questions arise when we approach the problem of the distribution of pleasures and the calculation of their values. Let us look at them.

I. Who should be considered in the Distribution?

(1) Shall we aim directly at the happiness of all men now living? or shall we content ourselves with a smaller number? Certainly, with increasing intelligence and broadening sympathies, men tend toward a more embracing benevolence.

(2) Shall we admit to the circle generations yet unborn? and, if so, how far into the future should we look?

(3) Should we make a deliberate attempt to increase the number of those who may share the common fund of happiness, by striving for an increase in the number of births? This end has been consciously sought for divers reasons. The ancestor-worship of China has made the Chinaman eagerly desirous of leaving behind him those who would devote themselves to him after he has departed this life. Nations ancient and modern have endeavored to strengthen the state by providing for an increase in its population. Shall a similar end be pursued for the ethical purpose of widening the circle of those who shall live and be happy? Most ethical teachers do not appear to have regarded this as a corollary to the doctrine of benevolence.

(4) Shall we enlarge the circle so as to include the lower animals? As Bentham expressed it: The question is not, "Can they reason? nor, Can they talk? but, Can they suffer?" [Footnote: Principles of Morals and Legislation, chapter xvii, Sec 4.]

II. How should the "lots" of happiness be measured?

(1) Should everybody count as one, and nobody as more than one? in other words, should strict impartiality be aimed at?

Dr. Westermarck's striking reply to the argument for impartiality as urged by Professor Sidgwick has already been quoted. [Footnote: See chapter v, Sec 16.] Let the reader glance at it again.

It must be confessed that to put one's parents, one's children, one's neighbors, strangers, foreigners, the brutes, all upon the same level, is contrary to the moral judgment of savage and civilized alike. It would seem contrary to the sentiments which lie at the root of the family, the community, and the state. Nor have we reason to look forward to any future state of human society in which such lesser groups within the broad circle of humanity will be done away with, though they tend to become less exclusive in their demands upon human sympathy.

(2) Suppose that the greatest sum of happiness on the whole could be best attained by an unequal distribution—by making a limited number very happy at the expense of the rest. Would this be justifiable? It would be in harmony with the Greatest Happiness Principle, though not with the principle of the greatest happiness equally shared.

III. The question of the distribution of happiness in the life of the individual is not one to be ignored. If we are concerned only with the quantity of happiness, may we not take as the ethical precept "a short life and a merry one"—provided the brief span of years be merry enough, and there be no objection to the choice on the score of harm to others?

This problem is closely analogous to that of the distribution of pleasures to those who compose the "greatest number" taken into account. There we were concerned with the shares allotted to individuals; here we are concerned with the shares assigned to the different parts of a single life. In the attempt to solve the problem, Bentham's criteria of intensity, certainty, purity, etc., might naturally be appealed to.

110. THE CALCULUS OF PLEASURES.—Nor are the problems which meet us less perplexing when we pass from questions of the distribution of pleasures to that of the calculus of pleasures. How are delights and miseries to be weighed, and reasonably balanced?

(1) Men desire pleasure, and they desire to avoid pain. The two seem to be opposed. But men constantly accept pleasures which entail some suffering, and they avoid pains even at the expense of some pleasure. Are, however, pleasures and pains strictly commensurable? How much admixture of pain is called for to reduce the value of a pleasure to zero? and how much pleasure, added to a pain, will make the whole emotional state predominantly a pleasurable one? A disagreeable taste and an agreeable odor may be experienced together, but they cannot be treated as an algebraic sum. If we do so treat them, we seem to fall back upon the assumption that the mere fact that the heterogeneous complex is accepted or rejected is evidence that its ingredients have been measured and compared. This is an ungrounded assumption.

(2) Undoubtedly men prefer intense pleasures to mild ones, and those long-continued to those which are fleeting. But what degree of intensity will overbalance what period of duration? Here, again, we appear to be without a unit of measure, both in the case of pleasures and of pains.

(3) Obviously, he who would distribute pleasures with impartiality must take into consideration the natures and capacities of the recipients. All are not susceptible of pleasure in the same degree, nor are all capable of enjoying the same pleasures. It is small kindness to a cat to offer it hay; nor will the miser thank us for the opportunity to enjoy the pleasures of liberality. The gift which arouses deep emotion in one man, will leave another cold. The diversity of natures would make the calculus of pleasures, in any accurate sense of the expression, a most difficult problem, even if such a calculus were admissible in the case of a single individual. [Footnote: This difficulty has not been overlooked by the Utilitarian, see BENTHAM, Principles of Morals and Legislation, chapter vi.]

III. THE DIFFICULTIES OF OTHER SCHOOLS.—It would be unjust to the utilitarian not to point out that those who advocate other doctrines must find some way of coping with the difficulties which embarrass him.

Thus, the egoist may ignore duties to others, but he cannot free himself from the problems of the distribution of happiness in his own life and of the calculus of pleasures. The intuitionist, who, among other precepts, accepts as ultimate those enjoining upon him justice and benevolence, may well ask himself toward whom these virtues are to be exercised, and whether the claims of all who belong to the class in question are identical in kind and degree. If they are not, he must find some rule for estimating their relative importance. He who makes it his moral ideal to Follow Nature, to Strive for Perfection, or to Realize his Capacities, must determine in detail what conduct, self-regarding and other- regarding, the acceptance of such aims entails. Only the unreflective can regard the utilitarian as having a monopoly of the difficulties which face the moralist. The vague general statement that we should strive to render others happy—a duty recognized by men of very different schools— never frees us from the perplexities which arise when it is asked: What others? With what degree of impartiality? When? By what means? But that such questions can be approached by a path more satisfactory than that followed by the utilitarian, there is good reason to maintain. [Footnote: See, below, chapter xxx, Sec Sec 140-142.]

112. SUMMARY OF ARGUMENTS FOR UTILITARIANISM.—It is worth while to summarize what may be said for utilitarianism, and what may be said against it. It may be argued in its favor:

(1) That it appears to set as the aim of human endeavor, an intelligible end, and a fairly definite one. Everyone has some notion of what happiness means, and is not without ideas touching the way to seek his own happiness, or to contribute to that of others.

(2) The end is one actually desired by men at all stages of intellectual and moral development. Men are impelled to seek their own happiness, and there are few who do not feel impelled to take into consideration, to some degree, at least, the happiness of some others.

(3) The general happiness is not merely desired by some men, but it is felt to be desirable; that is, it is an end not out of harmony with the moral judgments of mankind. It makes its appeal to the social nature of man; it seems to furnish a basis for the exercise of benevolence and justice.

(4) The utilitarian's clear recognition of the general happiness as the ultimate end of human endeavor, and his insistence that institutions, laws and moral maxims must be judged solely by their fitness to serve as means to that end, have made him an energetic apostle of reform, and intolerant of old and passively accepted abuses. His insistence upon the principle of impartiality in the distribution of happiness has made him a champion of the inarticulate and the oppressed. Whatever one may think of his abstract principles, the general character of the specific measures he has advocated must meet with the approval of enlightened moralists of very different schools.

113. ARGUMENTS AGAINST UTILITARIANISM.—Against utilitarianism as an ethical theory various objections have been brought or may be brought.

(1) Objection may be taken to the utilitarian assumption that the only ultimate object of desire is pleasure or happiness.

It was pointed out forcibly by Bishop Butler in the eighteenth century that men desire many things besides pleasure. Man's desires are an outcome of his nature, and that results in "particular movements towards particular external objects"—honor, power, the harm or good of another. [Footnote: Sermons, Preface, Sec 29; cf. Sermon XI.] To be sure, "no one can act but from a desire, or choice, or preference of his own," but this is no evidence that what he seeks in acting is always pleasure. Particular passions or appetites are, Butler ingeniously argues, "necessarily presupposed by the very idea of an interested pursuit; since the very idea of interest or happiness consists in this, that an appetite or affection enjoys its object."

Here we find our attention called to a very important truth, the significance of which there is danger of our overlooking. Pleasure or happiness is not something that can be parcelled up and handed about independently of the nature of the recipient. It is not everyone who can desire everything and feel pleasure in its attainment. That the objects of desire and will are many, and that the strivings of conscious creatures have in view many ends, and vary according to the impulsive and instinctive endowments of the creatures in question, has been well brought out in the admirable studies of instinct which we now have at our disposal. The most ardent devotee of pleasure must recognize, that only certain pleasures are open to him; that, such as they are, they are a revelation of his nature and capacities; that pleasures, if sought at all, cannot be secured directly, but only as the result of a successful striving for objects not pleasures, which bring pleasure as their accompaniment. He who would have the pleasure of eating must desire food; and neither food, nor the eating of food, can be regarded as, per se, pleasure. The pleasure of the brooding hen is beyond the reach of man, who, however pleasure-loving, cannot desire to sit upon eggs, and so must forego the pleasure which, in the case of the bird, crowns that exercise.

Such considerations as the above have led some moralists to define, as the end of desire, not pleasure, but self-satisfaction. Every desire, it is pointed out, strives to satisfy itself in the attainment of its appropriate object. With the attainment of the object, the desire has produced its proper fruit and ceases to be. It is admitted that the satisfaction of desire is accompanied by pleasure, but it is denied that the pleasure may be properly called the object of the desire, or regarded as calling it into being: "The appetite of hunger must precede and condition the pleasure which consists in its satisfaction. It cannot therefore have that pleasure for its exciting object." [Footnote: GREEN, Prolegomena to Ethics, Book III, chapter i, Sec 161. See also Book II, chapter ii, Sec 131; Book III, chapter i, Sec Sec 154-160.]

At the same time it is conceded that the idea of a pleasure to be attained may "reinforce" the desire for an object, may "intensify the putting forth of energy," and may tend "to sustain and prolong any mode of action." [Footnote: Prolegomena to Ethics, Sec 161; DEWEY, Ethics, chapter xiv, Sec 1, p. 271; MCDOUGALL, Social Psychology, London, 1916, p. 43.] It is further conceded that pleasures may be consciously aimed at, but it is urged that this does not result in true self-satisfaction, and is evidence of the existence of unhealthy desires. [Footnote: Prolegomena to Ethics, Sec 158; DEWEY, Ethics p. 270.]

The utilitarian is not wholly helpless in the face of such objections. He may argue that, if it is difficult to see how a pleasure which is the result of a desire may cause the desire, it is equally difficult to see how it may prolong, reinforce or intensify it. And he may maintain that, although the pursuit of pleasure, in certain forms, is calculated to defeat its own aim and is undoubtedly unhealthy, this need not be the case if one's aim be the true utilitarian one—the happiness of all. The direct attack upon his Greatest Happiness Principle which consists in the objection that, if pleasure is the only object of desire, a sum of pleasures, as not being a pleasure, cannot be desired, [Footnote: Prolegomena to Ethics, Sec 221.] he can put aside with the remark that no far-reaching and comprehensive aim can be realized at one stroke. I can desire a long and useful life; this cannot be had all at once. I can desire a long life full of pleasures; this cannot be enjoyed all at once either. But each can certainly be the object of desire.

But, when all is said, it remains true that the contention of those, who distinguish sharply between the satisfaction of desire and the attainment of pleasure, is of no little importance. It calls our attention to the following truths:

(a) We have definite instincts and impulses which tend to satisfy themselves with their appropriate objects.

(b) At their first exercise, our aim could not have been the pleasure resulting from their satisfaction, for that could not have been foreseen.

(c) Although, after experience, the attainment of pleasure may come to be our aim in the exercise of many activities, and may often, as far as we can see, be a natural and not unwholesome aim; it is by no means evident that, even when we are experienced and reflective, the exercise of our faculties comes to be regarded only as a means to the attainment of pleasure.

(d) The hedonist, in maintaining that pleasure is the only ultimate object of desire, appears, thus, to be committed to the doctrine that the satisfaction of all other desires is subordinated to the satisfaction of the desire for pleasure. For this position he can furnish no adequate proof. Self-evident the doctrine is not.

(e) It is incumbent upon him, as a moralist, to prove, not merely that all other satisfactions are, but also that they ought to be subordinated to the satisfaction of the desire for pleasure. This he appears to assume without proof.

(2) We have seen above [Footnote: See Sec 108.] that the fundamental principle of utilitarian hedonism, as against egoistic, namely, the making the Greatest Happiness of the Greatest Number the object of the endeavors of each individual, has not been satisfactorily established by leading utilitarians. Bentham assumes the principle; Mill advances a doubtful argument; Sidgwick falls back upon intuitions which all will not admit to be indubitable. To his assertion: "Reason shows me that if my happiness is desirable and a good, the equal happiness of any other person must be equally desirable," [Footnote: The Methods of Ethics, Book III, chapter xiv, Sec 5.] the doubter may reply: Desirable to whom? to him or to me?

(3) Finally, it may be objected that the consistent utilitarian, in making pleasure, abstractly taken, the only ultimate good, and in regarding as the sole criterion of right actions their tendency to produce pleasure, really tears pleasure out of its moral setting altogether.

Thus Bentham's contention [Footnote: Sec 106, above.] that the pleasure a man may derive from the exercise of malice or cruelty is, "taken by itself," good—while it lasts, and before any bad consequences have set in, as good as any other that is not more intense—derives what plausibility it has, from an ambiguity in the word "good." Pleasure, taken by itself, is undoubtedly pleasure, whatever be its source. To affirm this is mere tautology. And, if we chose to make "good" but a synonym for pleasure, we remain in the same tautology when we affirm that every pleasure is a good. But Bentham assumed that good in this sense and moral good are the same thing.

His assumption is not borne out by the moral judgments of mankind. Even a cursory view of those moral judgments as revealed in customs, laws and public opinion makes it evident that, under certain circumstances, pleasure is regarded as, from a moral standpoint, a good, and, under other circumstances, an evil. Torn out of its setting, it is simply pleasure, a psychological phenomenon like any other, with no ethical significance.

Take the case of the pleasure enjoyed by the malignant man. It may be intense, if he be peculiarly susceptible to such pleasure. The pain suffered by his victim may conceivably be less intense. Both may die before the "bad consequences," that is to say, other pains, arrive. There may be no spectators. Is, in such a case, the pleasure one to be called a "good"? Can it be approved? No reflective moralist would maintain that it can. Which means that the moralists, in all ages, have meant by "good" something more than pleasure, taken abstractly, and that Bentham's assumption may be regarded as an aberration.

114. TRANSFIGURED UTILITARIANISM.—It is possible to hold to a utilitarianism more circumspect and less startling than Bentham's. It is possible, while maintaining that pleasure is the only thing that an experienced and reasonable being can regard as ultimately desirable, to maintain at the same time that it is rash for any man to attempt to seek his own happiness, or to strive to promote the general happiness, without taking into very careful consideration the instincts and impulses of man and the nature of the social organization which has resulted from man's being what he is. One may argue that the experience of the race is, as a rule, a safer guide than the independent judgment of the individual; and that, in the secular endeavor to compass the general happiness, it has discovered the paths to that goal which may most successfully be followed. Thus, one may distrust Utopian schemes, recognizing the significance of custom, law, traditional moral maxims, and public opinion, and yet remain a utilitarian.

But he who does this must still answer the preceding objections. He must prove: (1) That pleasure is the only thing ultimately desirable; (2) that each is under obligation to promote the pleasure of all; (3) that its mere conduciveness to the production of a preponderance of pleasure makes an action right, even though the pleasure be a malicious one, as in the illustration above given.

Still, his doctrine has become less startling, and he has moved in the direction of a greater harmony with the moral judgments of men generally. The conduct he recommends need not, as a rule, differ greatly from that recognized as right by moralists of quite different schools.

Such a utilitarian may easily pass over to a form of doctrine which is not utilitarian at all. Thus, Sidgwick asks whether there is a measurable quality of feeling expressed by the word "pleasure," which is independent of its relation to volition, and strictly undefinable from its simplicity—"like the quality of feeling expressed by 'sweet,' of which also we are conscious in varying degrees of intensity;" and he answers: "For my own part, when the term (pleasure) is used in the more extended sense which I have adopted, to include the most refined and subtle intellectual and emotional gratifications, no less than the coarser and more definite sensual enjoyments, I can find no common quality in the feelings so designated except some relation to desire or volition." [Footnote: The Methods of Ethics, Book II, chapter ii, Sec 2, 4th Edition. SIDGWICK never appreciably modified this opinion, which is most clearly expressed in the Edition quoted.]

When we seek, then, to "give pleasure," are we doing nothing else than giving recognition to the desire and will of our neighbor? What has become of the Greatest Happiness Principle? Has it not dissolved into the doctrine of the Real Social Will?



CHAPTER XXVI

NATURE, PERFECTION, SELF-REALIZATION

I. NATURE

115. HUMAN NATURE AS ACCEPTED STANDARD.—The three doctrines, that the norm of moral action is to follow nature, that it is to aim at the attainment of perfection, and that it is the realization of one's capabilities, have much in common. They may conveniently be treated in the same chapter.

Early in the history of the ethics we find the moralist preaching that it is the duty of man to follow nature, and branding vice as unnatural and, hence, to be abhorred.

The word "nature," thus used, has had a fluctuating meaning. Sometimes the thought has been predominantly of human nature, and sometimes the appeal has been to nature in a wider sense.

Aristotle, who finds the "good" of man in happiness or "well-being," points out that this is something relative to man's nature. The well- being of a man he conceives as, in large part, "well-doing," and well- doing he defines as performing the proper functions of a man. [Footnote: Nichomachean Ethics, Book I, chapters iv, vii, viii.] If we ask him what is proper or natural to man, he refers us to what man, when fully developed, becomes: "What every being is in its completed state, that certainly is the nature of that thing, whether it be a man, a house, or a horse." [Footnote: Politics, i, 2.] He conceives man's nature, thus, as that which it is in man to become. Toward this end man strives; and it is this which furnishes him with the law of his action.

But, it may be asked, how shall this end be defined in detail? Individual men, who arrive at mature years, are by no means alike. Some we approve; some we disapprove. We evidently appeal to a standard by which the individual is judged. The appeal to the nature of man helps us little unless we can agree upon what we may accept as a just revelation of that nature—a pattern of some sort, divergence from which may be called unnatural, and is to be reprobated.

Neither Aristotle, nor those who, after him, took human nature as the moral norm, were without some conception of such a pattern. They kept in view certain things that men may become rather than certain others. They accepted as their standard a type of human nature which tends, on the whole, to realize itself more and more in the course of development of human communities. But as different human societies differ more or less in the characteristics which they tend to transmit to their members, in the kind of man whom they tend to form, we find the ideal of human nature, with which we are presented, somewhat vague and fluctuating. Different traits are dwelt upon by different moralists. Still, the appeals to human nature have a good deal in common; upon man's rational and social qualities especial stress is apt to be laid.

116. HUMAN NATURE AND THE LAW OF NATURE.—"Every nature," said Marcus Aurelius, [Footnote: Thoughts, translated by George Long, viii, 7.] "is contented with itself when it goes on its way well; and a rational nature goes on its way well, when in its thoughts it assents to nothing false or uncertain, and when it directs its movements to social acts only, and when it confines its desires and aversions to the things which are in its power, and when it is satisfied with everything that is assigned to it by the common Nature."

In the last clause the Stoic turns from the contemplation of man's nature, taken by itself, and dwells upon the nature of the universe, which he conceives to be controlled by reason. He thus gains an added argument for the obligations laid upon man by his own nature. He writes:

"Every instrument, tool, vessel, if it does that for which it has been made, is well, and yet he who made it is not there. But in the things which are held together by Nature there is within and there abides in them the power which made them; wherefore the more is it fit to reverence this power, and to think that, if thou dost live and act according to its will, everything in thee is in conformity to intelligence." [Footnote: Ibid vi, 40.]